He had every right to be paranoid. The work he had done in the past had painted a bright red target on his back and he knew that there were more than a few entities out there with the same far reaching grip as the very government he had worked for. He had done his best to keep his head down and stay hidden. Out of sight meant out of mind.
Until it didn’t.
He had been talked into doing some internet recon work on various patriot groups. His actions online brought him back to center stage, and he got pulled into a mess that he almost couldn’t get out of. Thank god for friends…no. That wasn’t quite right. Thank god for brothers.
But here he was. Back in the suck. Doing the jobs that nobody wanted because they needed to be done. And being paid handsomely for it.
Bridger stepped into the main room of the earth-bermed bunker he had inherited from a teammate and walked around the table saw still standing in the middle of the room. He placed his coffee cup on a sawhorse and swiped dirt from the lone chair. Since the compound had come under fire, he had a list of repairs as long as his arm to bring the place up to his standards, but work kept pulling him away. The needed remodel was a perfect excuse to take a couple of weeks off and get the job finished.
He sighed as he sat back and opened a newspaper. He scanned the headlines then jumped to the back pages and the funnies. He had just started reading Garfield when his phone chirped.
Bobby snapped the paper shut and glared at the small black device. “Who the hell?” He snatched it up and checked the number.
Punching the green button, he scowled as he answered. “What do you want, Slip?”
“You got an urgent call here, bro. Want me to patch it through?”
Bobby sighed. How urgent could it be? “Sure.” He leaned back in the chair and waited while Gregg did Slippy stuff. He wasn’t expecting the voice that came across the line.
“Bridger? Is that you?”
Bobby sat up and blinked, his mind unsure he was hearing correctly. “Mauk?”
“Thank god.” David sighed heavily and Bobby could feel his anxiety through the line.
“What’s going on?”
Mauk hesitated and Bobby knew that wasn’t a good sign. “Do you remember where we went fly fishing? The first time?”
Bobby nodded. “Yes.”
“Get there as quickly as you can.”
Bridger stood and picked up his coffee cup. He dumped it into the sink as he spoke. “How will I find you?”
“You won’t,” Mauk quietly said. “I’ll find you.”
“Should I ask what this is about?”
There was an awkward silence on the line before Mauk’s voice returned. “Somebody’s hunting down Bravo team. All of the crew from White Rock. You may be next.”
Bridger stiffened and stared through the front windows of his new home. He nodded slowly. “I’ll be there first thing in the morning.”
“Pack warm,” Mauk said, his tone changing.
“No worries. I’ll bring plenty of heat.”
Dallas, TX
* * *
Bridger pushed open the doors to the hangar that housed Baba Yaga. He marched past Viktor Teplov as he polished the brass work near the entrance. “Good morning to you as well, comrade Bridger.”
“Even the Russians don’t call each other comrade any more, Viktor,” Bobby muttered as he went in.
“They do if they are from my era.” Viktor smiled and gave him a mock salute.
Bobby strode into the bullpen and stepped around Steve Gibbons. “Where’s Slippy?”
Steve pointed to the weapons locker. “New stock came in. He’s alphabetizing or some shit.” He stared at the paper in his hand and tapped a pen to his front tooth. “What’s a five letter word for ‘stinging pain’?”
“Prick,” Bobby yelled as he marched through the bullpen.
“Yeah? Well you’re an asshat…oh, wait.” He chuckled. “Thanks, man.”
Bobby pushed open the heavy steel door to the weapons locker. “I need you.”
Gregg looked up and smiled. “I knew you’d finally succumb to my charms.” He shot him a wink and dropped the box of ammunition he held. “You gonna do me here?”
Bobby ignored him as he reached over Gregg and pulled a duffle from a hook in the wall. “Load up. We got a drive to make.”
“Oh.” Gregg grabbed the bag and began to shove survival gear into it. “How heavy are we loading?”
“Heavy enough to do the job.”
Gregg hefted the bag to the workbench then paused. “Wait. What’s the job? The boards are quiet for a change.”
Bobby inhaled deeply then turned and gave him a knowing look. “Somebody is hunting our old Bravo team. Remember White Rock?”
Gregg stared at him for a moment while his mind searched ancient archives. “White Rock?” He shook his head. “Damn, Bridger. That was a hundred years ago.”
Bobby nodded and pulled a .338 Lapua Magnum rifle from the wall. “That was Mauk that you piped in to my cell.”
Gregg paused and turned on him. “The big, Lurch looking motherfucker?”
Bobby nodded. “He sounded scared, Slip.” He paused and dropped another box of ammunition into the bag. “Mauk doesn’t scare.”
Gregg swallowed hard and glanced to the door. “Should we tell the guys? I’m sure they’d help.”
Bobby shook his head. “The fewer of us involved in this the better.”
Gregg nodded slowly. “I still think we should tell them where we’re going. That way if they don’t hear from us, they can come and…where are we going?”
Bobby pulled the twin 10MM Glocks from the wall and dropped them into the bag. “Beaver’s Bend State Park.”
Gregg smiled and gave him a thumb’s up. “Awesome.” He shoved extra power supplies into the bag then zipped it shut. He turned and faced Bobby. “Where the hell is that?”
Southeastern Oklahoma
* * *
“I thought we were going somewhere cool. I am seeing zero beavers.” Gregg crossed his arms and nearly pouted. “Oklahoma? Really? Why couldn’t Mauk have hid out someplace nice like the Astoria or the Four Seasons? Hell, I’d settle for a nice little bed and breakfast in Paris, but no, he has to go to the great outdoors and get in touch with nature.”
Bobby gave him a sideways stare. “Why are you bitching? You were a spec op warrior and you’re bitching about a trek to the woods?”
Gregg raised a brow at him. “I’m retired from that crap, sir, no disrespect intended. Now I rely almost entirely on technology, and have you tried to get Wi-Fi in the woods? Smokey the Bear don’t give out his WEP key to just anybody, you know.”
“Relax. I’ve been there before and I had cell signal.”
“Joy. Probably 3G.” Gregg pouted as the pair pulled off of the highway and followed the huge brown sign toward the state park. He glanced to his phone and shot Bridger a dubious look. “You said you had signal.”
Bobby shrugged. “So maybe Verizon doesn’t cover the great outdoors.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out the rugged flip phone. “Try this.”
Gregg stared at the device then at Bobby. “What the hell? Are you a caveman?”
Bobby shot him a toothy grin. “You may actually have to recall some of your survival training, tech-boy.”
Gregg reached behind him and pulled the duffel to the front seat of the Tahoe. “Fine. Maybe I’ll just do that.” He pulled out a pair of pistols and tucked them into his jacket. “But I’m too old to interrogate, if you capture somebody.” He wiggled his fingers at him. “Arthritis you know.”
“If they tracked him here, I don’t plan to take prisoners.” Bobby slowed the SUV and turned into the park. In the dead of winter, there were few visitors to the lake park and the few who lodged there were shut inside as the snow gently fell. “It looks dead out here.”
“Not my favorite choice of words, bud.” Gregg stared out of the window as Bobby drove the curving roads. “Did he say where he’d be?”
Bobby shook his head. “Nope. He said he’d find me.”
“But he knows we’re coming, right?”
Bobby nodded, his eyes cutting through the gloom of the woods. He rounded a sharp curve and slammed on the brakes, the tires skidding somewhat in the light snow.
Gregg braced himself against the dash and nearly came up with a weapon in his hand as the brown and green “bush” stepped out onto the road.
“I’m guessing that’s him,” Bobby said as he put the Tahoe into park.
“It had better be or I’m breaking out the weedeater and going to town.”
2
Southeastern Oklahoma
* * *
Bridger sat on the ottoman holding a steaming cup of coffee as Mauk hung his ghillie suit on the wall. “I’ve got a camp set up higher in the hills.” He shot the duo a knowing look. “Just in case.”
“This is pretty basic shit,” Slippy muttered as he sipped the bitter coffee. “I’m thinking a campground would be a notch higher on the luxury scale.”
Mauk sat down next to the fire and, for the first time, Bridger noted how tired he looked. “When was the last time you slept?”
Mauk shrugged. “Three…four days ago?” He sipped the coffee then looked up. “What day is it?”
“Tuesday,” Slippy stated.
Mauk gave him a confused stare. “What month?”
Bridger stood and set the ceramic cup on the wood stove. “Get some sleep. You can fill us in after you’ve had some rest.”
Mauk leaned away from him and brushed his arm off. “No, I gotta tell you what’s been happening.” He stood and began to slowly pace the small cabin, his coffee threatening to slosh out as he did. “I got a call from Lisa Vasquez…you remember her?”
Bridger nodded and Slippy smiled. “Tall drink of water, that one.”
“What did she say?” Bobby asked.
Mauk shook his head slowly, trying to recall the details. “She said that Wollychop was killed in a car accident.” He looked up and shook his head. “Couldn’t have been.”
“Explain.”
Mauk inhaled deeply and continued pacing. “He took some job at a federal lockup. He was driving to work and was involved in a single car accident. Except it wasn’t an accident. Somebody pushed him into a ravine and his Jeep rolled. Somehow his body was pinned between the ground and the roll bar.”
Bridger glanced to Slippy and gave him a knowing look. “It could have been an accident. Verify it.”
Slippy pulled his laptop and turned it on. “I’ll pull the accident reports, the police reports, the insurance…” He turned and gave Bridger a hateful glare. “I mean, I would if I could get a Wi-Fi signal.”
Bridger tossed him his flip phone. “Piggyback off that.”
Slippy opened his mouth to argue but Bridger nodded to Mauk. “What else did Lisa say?”
Mauk tossed back the rest of his coffee and poured another cup. “She said that she was still in shock after hearing about Rob. Then somebody shot up her house.”
“Was she hurt?”
Mauk shook his head. “No, but she had family in there and they were pretty shaken up. It took her a while to get them relocated.”
Bridger gave him a shocked look. “I never thought of Lisa as the marrying type.”
Mauk snorted. “I was surprised too; then she informed me that it was her sister’s family, in for the holidays.” He stretched his neck and grimaced. “She said it felt like a gangland style attempt.”
“Like, street gangs?” Bridger nodded to Slippy, who still looked pissed.
Mauk sat down heavily and wiped a calloused hand over his face. “Yeah, except not…it was that style, but she caught a glimpse of the shooters. These weren’t your typical gangbangers.”
Bridger set his coffee down and snapped his fingers in front of Mauk’s face. “Concentrate buddy. I need details.”
Mauk shook his head. “She didn’t give details, but she’s been working with the Houston PD for long enough that if it had been gang related, she’d know.” He stood again and paced slowly. “The worst part was that they left some kind of cryptic message.”
Bridger gave him a confused stare. “Don’t leave me hanging, bro.”
“She said that they spray painted something on the car.” He swallowed hard and sat back down. “Fantasma.”
Southern Texas, near Houston
* * *
Lisa Vasquez pulled the baseball cap lower on her head and peered through the dark aviator sunglasses as she stepped away from the cheap motel room. She tucked the newspaper under her arm and strode purposefully across the second floor walkway toward the parking lot. She paused at the top of the stairs and stared at the old Crown Victoria parked near the office. Her eyes studied every inch of the old police car then without turning her head, she scanned the other cars in the parking lot. The Mercedes S560 stood out like a sore thumb.
The hair on the back of her neck stood on end and she slowly backed away from the stairs. She rounded the corner and made her way toward the rear of the building. She heard the car doors slamming as she broke into a hard run and bolted for the rear stairs.
She planted her hands on the rail and swung her legs up and over, landing deftly behind the building. She spun and twisted the knob of the nearest room while ramming her shoulder into the edge of the door. It easily gave way and Lisa rolled into the room, her hand bringing up the Sig Sauer pistol in a silent, sweeping motion.
She thrust her leg out and pushed the door shut, thankful that the room was empty. She knew that if they paused long enough to actually look, the broken door would stand out and give away her position immediately.
She crept to the dirty window and used the barrel to pull the curtain back slightly. She watched as two men in tan overcoats rounded the corner and stared down the length of the building, confusion crossing their dark features.
She watched as one of the men stepped forward and yelled something to his compatriots at the other end. The thick cement block walls muffled their words, but she knew they must have asked about her.
She rolled across the narrow gap between the curtains and came up along the edge of the doorjamb. She leveled her pistol where she knew her pursuer’s head would be and reached into her pocket to retrieve the suppressor. She held the gun at arm’s length while quickly screwing the silencer to the barrel.
She had just tightened the black cylinder when she heard the muffled sounds of excitement from outside the room. The door burst open and one of the men stepped into the room, a pistol swinging wildly. She squeezed the trigger and watched as the man crumpled in the doorway, the contents of his cranium spraying against the block exterior.
She threw herself across the open doorway and fired at the first silhouette she saw. His compatriot stumbled back and fell into the wrought iron fencing that separated the rooms from the closed swimming pool.
Lisa did a forward leap over the body in the doorway and rolled beside the other dead man, bringing her pistol up and scanning the expanse of concrete that ran along the rear of the motel.
The other two men were either in a room looking for her or had doubled back to the front of the building. Lisa crab walked to the corner before bolting for her car. She slid to a stop and stared at the old cop car. Her pulse pounded at the idea that they might have wired it to blow while she slept. Her hand hovered over the door handle when the sounds of the other two men yelling and running toward their downed cohorts caught her attention.
Lisa cursed under her breath and ran across the parking lot as fast as she could. She pulled open the rear door of the Mercedes and slid into the backseat, pulling the door shut behind her. She laid low in the rear floor, her Sig Sauer held tightly to her chest.
Time seemed to slow as she waited for the men to return. She could hear them barking at each other in Spanish as they approached the car. She barely caught one of them bitching about calling this in and who would be held accountable, when the front door opened.
Lisa h
eld her breath for a moment and when the second man fell into the front passenger seat, she fired two rounds through the rear of the S Class’s expensive leather seat, then sat up and pressed the still smoking, and very hot, barrel of her suppressor to the driver’s head.
“Who sent you?” Her voice dripped with venom as she thought of the terror her sister had endured, trying in vain to console her children.
The driver stiffened and Lisa pressed the barrel tighter to his head. She switched to Spanish. “I asked, who sent you?”
The man shook his head slightly, his lips pressed tightly together. Lisa felt rage as she pulled herself higher into the rear cabin of the car. With her left hand she pulled a lever activated knife and laid it across the driver’s neck, then lowered the barrel of her pistol until it was pressed to his crotch. “Last chance.”
The man inhaled deeply and shook his head.
Lisa grunted a laugh as she squeezed the trigger. The man howled and lurched forward, both hands cupping his ruined reproductive organs.
She kicked the back door open and reached for the driver’s door handle. She grabbed the man by his lapel and dragged him from the car. She pressed a booted foot to his shoulder and lowered the barrel to his forehead. “You can still live…”
The man’s face was a mask of pain-filled hatred as he leaned forward, pressing his forehead tighter to the end of the pistol. In heavily accented English he spat, “Fuck you!”
Lisa squeezed the trigger again then stepped over the quivering body. She glanced inside the Mercedes and saw the keys splayed on the center console. She reached across and opened the passenger door then pushed the other assassin’s body to the pavement.
She glanced at her disposable getaway car and tsk’d as she slipped the Mercedes key into the ignition. “I guess I’ll have to make do with this piece of imported crap.” She smirked as she threw the transmission into reverse and backed unceremoniously over the body of the driver. “Oops.”
Burning Bridges Page 2
