Search and Destroy

by JT Sawyer

  Why did you bring me here, buddy?

  Cal knelt down, examining the underside of the table and chair, then rapped his fist on the floorboards throughout the tiny space. He leaned back against the wall, wondering if whatever Burke had in here was now in some evidence locker at FBI headquarters.

  Cal turned off his flashlight, listening to the gurgle of the stream and the crickets. What am I doing here? What was so important that he would have sent an automated text to me? Maybe it wasn’t him after all.

  He craned his head up, staring out the windows on either side, then retraced his steps outside and scrutinized the rooftop. There aren’t even power lines or an electrical hookup running to this place from the house. Cal stepped back inside, shining his light on the power outlet in the floor. He crept closer, kneeling down, recalling the rest of the text message:

  Two Red, Two Black

  H9R3X5N7

  There was only a red and a black button for the GFI outlet. He depressed them twice in the order he recalled from the text message. A mechanical sound issued from below the floorboards, followed by a small section of the floor rising up six inches.

  An alphanumeric keypad was the only thing evident. He tapped the surrounding surface with his knuckles, sensing that the cast-iron hatch and whatever was below was integrated into the foundation of the little cabin. This was a contraption that rivaled the small safe in Patterson’s office, and he suspected Burke had it custom made and outfitted by one of his friends in the defense industry.

  Cal felt like he was either about to unlock something of great significance or initiate a self-destruct device. He punched in the numbers from memory.

  The keypad turned from red to green then the lid rose, lifted by two hydraulic arms on either side of the interior. Cal swept his light down, seeing a brick-sized black container and a folded piece of tan paper.

  He picked up the note, opening it.

  Cal, if you’re reading this then something has happened to prevent my completion of Perseus, and I am most likely dead. This device contains the source code, and without it, Perseus can never come to fruition.

  My colleague Terry Zemenova, in Mumbai, will know what to do.

  This is my life’s work, and I am entrusting it to you now. I know you will make sure it is used as it was intended. I’m just sorry I couldn’t join you for the show.

  Take care, my friend.

  Stephen

  Cal felt his heart racing, like he was staring down at a mystical artifact.

  Stephen, you son of a bitch. You were always thinking five moves ahead of the rest of us. Were you also the one who arranged for the mainframes to be removed from your building, or was that someone else? And who the hell is Zemenova?

  He knew he’d have to wait for the latter answer another time, since he didn’t have access to Langley’s resources any longer. Cal clutched the black box, turning it end over end, seeing only three data ports and a power charging slot. He folded the paper then placed both items into his jacket and turned off his flashlight.

  Standing up, he felt a burden upon his shoulders. While he was in awe of Burke’s request and felt a moral obligation to fulfill his friend’s wishes, he now sensed a greater burden than when he had first walked through the door.

  He probably just figured I would carry on with Perseus and didn’t know I’d have a fucking bullseye on my head. Cal just wanted to finish his personal crusade for vengeance and then disappear. Now, it seemed like that would be impossible.

  At least for a little while longer.

  A flash of light to the right caught his eye. He pressed himself against the door frame, peering out towards the driveway, where a half-dozen police officers had just emerged from the shadows.

  Shit, did someone from the area spot me pulling up, or is the entry way rigged with pressure plate alarms?

  It didn’t matter now. He had to move before the property was completely surrounded.

  Skulking down from the porch, he slipped around the back and entered the woods, keeping the black box in his coat pocket pressed against his side as he began descending the hill towards the road below.

  44

  He’d barely touched down on the pavement when he heard branches to his right cracking and saw an armed officer stumble from the bushes around the bend. Cal charged at him before he could gain his footing on the pavement, tackling him at the waist in a wrestler’s clinch and lifting him before dropping him onto the ground.

  The man landed with a dull thud, groaning but struggling to turn on his side. Cal spidered up along the right part of his torso, flinging one arm around the officer’s neck until the crease of his elbow was aligned with the man’s chin while sliding his other arm around the back and interlocking it to secure a rear naked Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu choke.

  The man thrashed, trying to escape, realizing that he was about to endure several helpless minutes of unconsciousness.

  Once the man slumped back into Cal, he set the officer down then removed his pistol, Taser and OC spray, flinging them into the woods.

  He grabbed the officer’s radio on his vest, shining his flashlight across the nametag. “This is Moore. Subject is headed to the northwest corner near the horse barn.”

  Cal hopped up, trotting down the hillside just as another patrol car was driving up from town. The car sped up upon seeing him, his face still partly concealed with his hoodie. He darted to the left, running down another rocky slope through the maples then stumbling onto the lower section of the road. He saw more red and blue lights coming up the switchbacks below as the net of law enforcement began flooding into the region.

  Shit!

  He looked to the left, seeing bobbing flashlights trotting through the trees as more men on foot descended from Burke’s place.

  So much for my attempt at redirecting them.

  They’d be swarming in on his location in another minute.

  The single light of a speeding motorcycle blinded him for a second as it raced down a narrow dirt road to the left that was used by the utility company.

  He heard the screech of tires as the bike slowed, pivoting to the left as it came up alongside him. The lithe driver flipped up the helmet visor.

  Cal’s eyes widened when he looked at the familiar face.

  “Get on. We need to get the hell out of here now!”

  45

  Cal hopped onto the BMW motorcycle, clasping his arms around the woman’s waist as she sped off. He was as grateful as he was anxious at the sudden appearance of his old teammate.

  Viper…but how did you find me?

  “Hold on…this is going to be one helluva bumpy ride.”

  She wove past a police car, making the sharp turn on the switchback just as a cluster of flashlights from the tree-lined slope to the right came into view. Four officers were heading down the hill, their pistols pointing at the bike.

  Viper made a swift left turn, heading down an incline and over a large patch of river rocks put in place for erosion. She pulled onto a small road and sped up then took another shortcut down the steep slope, avoiding the switchbacks to gain some more distance.

  She repeated the maneuver two more times, narrowly avoiding the last patrol car that was struggling to turn around on the sharp turns that wound up the hill.

  Viper opened up the throttle, speeding down the remaining stretch of straight road until it leveled out, then she turned off her lights and veered down a side street, making several evasive maneuvers until they cleared the neighborhood.

  Once she was sure they were free of their pursuers, she flicked on the lights again then made a series of L-patterned turns through the city before continuing north for three miles. She headed onto a secondary highway, driving for another fifteen minutes then turning onto a dimly lit two-lane road southwest of Arlington.

  She headed straight for a half-mile then pulled into the driveway of a storage unit, entering the code on the numeric keypad before the sliding gate.

  Viper drove down to the last
unit on the left then parked the motorcycle. She got off and opened the bulbous lock on the large rental unit, yanking up the door panel.

  “If you can get the bike inside, I’ll get the car ready.” She thrust her chin at a white cargo van with a surfboard mounted on the roof rack.

  Cal looked over his shoulder in the direction they’d just come as he wheeled the BMW bike inside, noticing the lack of license plate.

  “How the hell did you find me?”

  “Really…you wanna do this now? I’d rather get on the road, then we can catch up.”

  “How, dammit?”

  She held up her phone, showing a text with a listing of cross-streets in the area from within the past fifteen minutes. “I got a call then a series of texts, telling me you were here.”

  She loaded an elongated duffle bag with rifle barrels sticking out of the end into the back of the van. “Bird-Dog was worried you might need some help and reached out to me. She pinpointed you with the drone she gave you.”

  He glanced at his jacket, irritated that he hadn’t considered the device had a GPS chip embedded in it. “Vogel got you into this and put her own neck on the line? Goddammit. She had no right to…”

  “Shut up. I know what you’re going to say, but I’m already here, so deal with it. She knew the risks better than anyone, and so do I.”

  “And now you’re risking being put away for a long fucking time if you’re caught with me.”

  “You’ve saved my life a dozen times over, Cal. I’d say that’s worth it. And Cassie was family. She always welcomed me in your home when I was in between missions, and I’ll never forget that.” She looked at his torn hoodie. “Besides, you’re getting old and slow, and I knew you could use someone watching your back.”

  “Hell I am.” He glanced down at her left leg, which had taken a 5.56 round in Algeria eight months earlier. “How’s the war wound?”

  “Which one?” She grinned. “I’ve got almost as many as Foley and Patterson now.”

  “Hope not, although I think Foley has different genetics than the rest of the human race.”

  Cal looked in through the rear doors, seeing that Viper had built up the interior like a mini camper complete with a bed, small sink, cooler and batteries connected to a solar panel on the roof.

  “You been a road rat all this time?”

  “I don’t like staying in hotels when I travel, so it’s my home on wheels, and since my contract working as a firearms instructor at the Farm is up, I figured a trip to the coast for a few months was in order.” She opened the side doors then climbed up halfway to untie the surfboard and remove it from the roof rack.

  “You gonna tell me where we’re headed?” he said.

  She grabbed a plastic bucket filled with dehydrated meals and placed it in the van then closed the doors. “That’s up to you, Cal. I hadn’t thought beyond savin’ your ass back there.”

  “Sounds like you.” He rubbed his aching shoulder. “I’ve got a few flash drives with intel on a ranch I have to look over, then I need to get the hell away from the East Coast. I’m done here. Everything I cared about and tried to build is gone now.”

  She paused, glancing over at him. “It shoulda been different, Cal. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “So, seriously, where are we going from here?”

  He knew the woman was as obstinate and bull-headed as he was. It was why they clashed so much when he first became team leader of their SD unit. He sure didn’t mind being with a friend, especially one as trusted as her. And he had to admit, he welcomed the help. He was worn out and could only keep up his vigilance for so long.

  He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “How much gas you got?”

  “Enough to get us a few hours away from here.”

  “I think it’ll take more than that to get us to Texas.”

  “The desert… You missing being in the sandbox after all this time back in the States?”

  “Hardly. The last piece of the puzzle is a ranch in the western part of the state.”

  She grinned. “Three or more days on the road… I’ve got a better idea. My family has a place north of Atlanta. It’s a little cottage that’s not being used right now. We could hole up there for a bit and you can fill me in on what you’re thinking. You look like you could use some rest anyway.”

  He just wanted to keep pushing forward and finish what he started, but he knew she was right. His tank was nearly depleted, and the next leg of his personal vendetta was going to take considerable planning and a clear head.

  “Alright, but after that, we go our own ways.”

  “You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore.” She shook her head. “How about I let you know if I’m going to stick it out with you when that time comes.”

  He nodded at the driver’s side. “Just get in and let’s go already.”

  She grinned, falling back into a familiar routine between them. “Aye, aye, boss-man.”

  46

  Diamond T Ranch, West Texas

  The dry and windy conditions accentuated the crow’s feet around Carlos Montoya’s eyes as he stood on the second-story porch of a converted barn, watching Roth’s private jet landing on the airstrip to the north. With twelve more of his mercenaries from Colombia arriving, he’d be able to further fortify the ranch in preparation for the storm he knew was coming.

  Shepard better have an army to take down this place.

  With Landis and Rourke dead, he knew that the next logical step was for the former agency operator to strike at the heart of Roth’s empire, either here or in Houston at the corporate headquarters.

  Roth’s personal bodyguard was handling the security at the Houston location while Montoya, with his decades of experience running guerilla operations in remote regions, was better suited to preparing the rural property. Out of the 64,000-acre spread, only around 1,200 acres near the main road were developed, with Roth’s spacious estate occupying the center stage around a spring lined with ancient cottonwoods while the rest of the outbuildings, barns and living quarters fanned out in a half-arc beneath the mesa.

  The ranch foreman, Blake Weisman, walked past with a young mare tethered by the reins. The barrel-chested man paused beneath the porch, glancing up at Montoya. “Just keep your guys away from my stables and we won’t have no problems, you got it?”

  Montoya gave an almost imperceptible nod. Most of the three-dozen cowboys who worked under Blake were out on roundup in the hinterlands to the east and wouldn’t be back for another week. Blake and two other cowboys remained on site to handle the day-to-day feeding of the horses and livestock while preparing the cattle chutes and eighteen-wheelers for the coming horde of cows that they’d be loading up for the trip to the slaughterhouses in East Texas.

  Montoya knew that Blake was an iron-tough man from working in the elements his entire life, but he was no killer, which was why Roth had sanctioned bringing in more of Montoya’s mercs. Some of them would be posted as snipers on the nearby rooftops while the rest would be staked out in and around the main house.

  Roth already had an enviable perimeter security system around the main living compound and cameras on the buildings, so even a jackrabbit would have a hard time crossing the property without being flagged.

  Montoya trotted down the wooden steps, walking towards the small hangar near the landing strip as the jet came to a standstill. Now, he just hoped Shepard would rear his head in the coming days so he could wrap up his contract with Roth and Hunley and be on his way back home to Cartagena.

  47

  Viper did all the driving to Atlanta while Cal got in a few hours of sleep on the bed in back. When she needed to rest, she pulled into the parking lot of a truck stop or up alongside other appliance vans after hours at big-box stores where her vehicle would blend in.

  During the ten-hour drive, Cal filled her in on the tumultuous events of the past few weeks and all the players involved.

  “Infiltrating this ran
ch in Texas is going to be on par with ops we’ve done in small villages in the Middle East,” she said. “And what makes you think the Feds won’t already be there or have warned Roth since you took out that guy Landis?”

  “I think they’re going to have a lot on their platters as it is between what happened at Burke’s, the cartel safehouse, Rourke’s and Landis’ place. Besides, the intel and maps I got from Rourke indicated that both Roth and Landis have multiple properties around the country.”

  “If only we had a plane we could hop on,” she said.

  “Driving is better—it’ll give the mercs who are no doubt gathered at the ranch time to stew and get bored. By the time we get there in three or four days, their guard will be down a little.”

  “How can you be sure that Roth will even be there when we arrive and not at one of his other properties?”

  Cal rested his hand on the small drone from Vogel. “Don’t worry…we’ll do a recon after we arrive to make sure of the numbers and his presence.”

  His mind drifted over the names on his list of suspects. “Say, you ever heard of a guy named Gardner? He’s a case officer down in Venezuela. He was in on that briefing Burke did with Begley, Rourke and Patterson at the Pentagon.”

  She gave a hearty nod. “Yeah, Milo Gardner. He’s worked the South American scene for years. Good dude. We came up together from the Farm.”

  “Know him well?”

  “Enough…he’s someone I’d trust at my six. We actually spoke on the phone about a month ago. He called to check on how my leg was doing, but he was mostly fishing around to see if I’d be interested in working down south for him.”

  “And you turned down a job in the tropics?”

  “Ticks, parasites and centipedes the size of my arm…no, thanks.”

  He chuckled. “Think you can reach out to him? Find out what he knows about a guy named Ernesto Rimaldi who’s running for the presidency in Venezuela?”