The Olympus Device: Book Three

by Joe Nobody

The COS scratched his chin, “It could work to our advantage. Very good, sir.”

  “Putting us on the Texan’s team does more than just sway public opinion and confuse those accusing us of conspiracy and cover-up. Let the press interview the FBI team. Tell them to be open and honest. Give us a big, fat, ‘I told you so,’ to parade out in front of the press. Weathers might not buy it, but some people will.”

  Noah nodded his understanding, “And in the meantime, we can hope the abduction provides the FBI with more clues regarding the whereabouts of Hughes and Armstrong. It all fits nicely.”

  “I want you to put every resource we have into finding Andrew Weathers. Make solving this crime a high priority, and make it a public demonstration,” ordered the Commander in Chief.

  “But sir, law enforcement is already stretched to the limit, trying to protect the country’s infrastructure. I’m afraid there aren’t many resources available.”

  The POTUS waved off his friend’s concern. “With this latest event, all of that is now just a waste of time and manpower. Weathers isn’t going to bother with anyplace other than right here in the capital. Call off the guard dogs everywhere but Washington. We don’t have to hunt him. He’ll be hunting us, and we need to be ready for him.”

  Nodding, Rhodes left the Oval Office with a renewed vigor in his step, the scowl now absent from his face.

  “God help us if we don’t find those two assholes soon,” whispered the president. “Or if Weathers is closer than we think.”

  Dusty joined Grace in front of the television, a sandwich of cold cuts and a cold beer in his hands. “Anything good on tonight?” the Texan inquired.

  “Not really, but then again, there rarely is. I just finished watching the national news, and our attack on Fort Knox is having some pretty far-reaching effects. I’m not sure we did the right thing there, Dusty. A lot of innocent people are being hurt in the aftermath. One of the talking heads even predicted the entire economy is going to collapse.”

  Dusty seemed unimpressed. “The president should have thought about that before he tried to murder us. Surely all that Ivy League brainpower in DC must have calculated the consequences if they missed the target.”

  “So you’re still convinced that the White House ordered a hit on the conference? Even after learning about that rogue admiral and senator? You’re being quite the pessimist, Mr. Weathers.”

  Dusty shook his head, “Has that asshat in the Oval Office resigned yet? That’s the only news I’m interested in hearing, Grace. Until that crook leaves, whether it’s by force or voluntarily, no American should trust this government. In fact, I’m a little surprised you’re even considering the man’s innocence after being unlawfully detailed in a Houston jail for several days. As I recall, you were ready to go burn the White House down after that. Why the change of heart?”

  “Because it doesn’t make any sense, that’s why. Right after the missile attack, I was sure Washington was behind it all. I would’ve bet the ranch that the president would come out claiming you and your rail gun had murdered all those people at the airport. But… and this is the critical point… they didn’t. Instead, they claim that it’s some of their own ilk that initiated the treachery. If the president ordered the hit, why not blame you instead of his political cohorts?”

  “Because so many of the people are on my side in this, that’s why. Throughout this entire ordeal, the government has overstepped and abused its authority. They did with Hank, Maria, you, and me. The only thing that’s changed is that people began to put two and two together, and the sum equaled political egos in the District of Columbia.”

  Grace started to counter his logic when the television’s picture flashed to large characters advertising, “Breaking News.”

  Both of the Texans inhaled sharply when an image of Andrew came on the screen. “Turn it up,” Dusty barked, frustrated as Grace fumbled with the remote control.

  “The Austin office of the FBI has just released a few details of the abduction, informing reporters that the crime occurred less than two hours ago on the campus of Texas Tech. According to the spokesman, at least one member of the bureau’s protection detail has been hospitalized with severe injuries. Various sources have confirmed that the wounded agent was trying to rescue the victim when he was brutally attacked. While the agent’s name hasn’t been released, I’ve been informed that his condition remains critical.”

  “Oh my, God… no… not Andy!” Dusty shouted. “No… no, not my son.”

  Grace reached over, placing a reassuring hand over Dusty’s clenched fist.

  “I’m going to kill them,” the Texan hissed. “I’m going to kill every last one of those bastards if they harm my son. He’s an innocent. He had nothing to do with any of this.”

  Dusty’s outrage was interrupted by the news station flashing a series of pictures. “Authorities are asking all citizens to report any information regarding the whereabouts of these two men, both of whom have been identified as persons of interest in several recent crimes.”

  The couple watched as Admiral Armstrong and Senator Hughes were profiled on the screen. “While my contacts don’t want me to use their names, I’ve learned from inside sources that the FBI believes this incident is directly related to the missile attack just outside St. Louis.”

  “Yeah… the average Mr. Joe Nobody might buy that line of shit, but I ain’t,” Dusty replied as if the reporter could hear his words. “I know damn well the feds snatched Andy to use as leverage against me.”

  Mitch strolled in just then, having overheard his brother’s angry voice in the next room.

  While Dusty went to the bathroom to splash some water on his face, Grace filled the younger brother in on the news report.

  “Oh, no… not Andy. I bet Maria is about to have a coronary. This isn’t good.”

  Dusty returned, his gaze fixated on the duffle bag sitting by the door. Inside was the rail gun, the object responsible for all of the chaos and strife. Now, another life had been pulled into the swirling tempest of agony and mayhem that seemed to loom over the device.

  Some small voice in his head shouted for reason and calm. It tried to remind the Texan that the rail gun was only a thing…. and couldn’t be responsible for the pain and anger surging through his core.

  A device with so many possibilities, the reasonable voice tried to argue. You’ve suffered so much, paid such a high price already… don’t give in to the devil now. Don’t let the need for retribution and vengeance overwhelm your soul.

  But that voice was weak, barely a whisper as compared to the overwhelming chorus that called for him to lay waste to those responsible for stealing his freedom, his life, and now his son.

  A thunder pounded in the Texan’s head, the cadence of war drums driven by the heart of a slayer, a warrior bent on the absolute annihilation of those who would harm his loved ones. A vision of Andy as a toddler popped into the father’s mind, the unsteady infant smiling with joy as he took early steps into his dad’s comforting arms.

  That happy image was replaced with a dark and foreboding visual – Andy as a young man, bound and gagged, eyes wide with fear and uncertainty. Would they torture him? What kind of death would befall his own flesh and blood if he didn’t give the kidnappers what they wanted? The father could hear the son’s screams for mercy.

  Dusty made up his mind. He took a step toward the rail gun, ready to grind all of mankind into dust, wanting to pulverize every symbol and cell of humanity. He was halfway to the case when a faint sound drifted through the boiling cloud of fury that roared in his head.

  Another step and the distant siren became louder.

  He was within reach of the weapon when Grace’s words finally cut through the fog of hatred. “Dusty? Dusty… please… don’t.”

  Something in the woman’s tone stopped the Texan, giving him pause at the edge of no return. Her softness pulled him back from the abyss, kept him from stepping into a state from which he could never return.

 
Dusty paused, trying to push her from his head. She was mother, sister, wife, woman, and giver of life. She was nurturing. She was balance.

  The darkness again was winning, pulling the Texan away from her call. She was vulnerable. She didn’t understand. His arm reached for the rail gun, nothing but coiled rage and cold murder in his soul.

  “Dusty! I’ve lost a child, too,” Grace pleaded. “Remember my wall of pictures? I’ve been where you are, I know what you’re feeling. I lost everything. Don’t. Please don’t tumble down that hole. You’ll never come back.”

  Somehow, her words resonated, cutting their way through the hatred and bile that filled his throat, distracting his single-minded lust for vengeance. He paused, looking at her with blank, blinking eyes, staring like a man who didn’t know who or where he was.

  “What did you say?” he mumbled.

  “I reminded you I've lost a husband and child. I don’t want to lose you, too. Please… listen to me. Talk to me. Share with me. It will help.”

  “I’ve got to save Andy,” he replied numbly. “This is all my fault… and I’ve got to make it right.”

  “And how are you going to do that?” she asked calmly. “You don’t know where he is.”

  “They’ll tell me where he’s being held,” came the cold, hollow response. “They’ll bring him to me after I’m done with them. I will heap their bodies shoulder high, and the blood will flow in rivers. They’ll gladly bring me my son before I send them all to hell.”

  Mitch realized his brother was bordering on losing all control. And who could blame Dusty? The weeks of unending stress, violence, and uncertainty were taking their toll. “Dusty, chill for a bit, brother. You’re freaking me out. Let’s sit down for a minute and talk this through.”

  With Grace on one side, Mitch on the other, they guided the Texan to the couch. As an afterthought, Mitch switched off the television – just in case.

  “We all want Andy back, safe and sound. Let’s talk this through, plan it out. Rushing off half-cocked and mad isn’t going to accomplish what we want,” Grace reasoned.

  With soft voices and gentle words, they talked and talked, slowly bringing the Texan out of his accelerating spiral of hatred.

  After thirty minutes, Dusty’s adrenaline dump was wearing off, his reason and logic slowly returning. An hour after learning of his son’s abduction, he was finally talking sense. Two hours later, he began to work on a plan.

  Then exhaustion hit the distraught father, a series of yawns quickly followed by burning, itching eyes. “I need to go to bed,” he announced. “Getting that mad is enough to tire a man out.”

  After saying their goodnights, Dusty shuffled off to dreamland, Grace and Mitch hanging back. Both were eager to talk.

  “That was close,” Mitch stated. “Dusty’s always been about the most stable, sane man I’ve ever met. But he was right at the edge. We’re lucky.”

  Grace nodded, “Yes, and who knows how many people would’ve died if he hadn’t pulled back. It’s a scary thought.”

  “Let’s hope he can get some sleep. In the meantime, I think we should hide the rail gun.”

  Grace thought about Mitch’s suggestion for a bit, and then shook her head. “No, if he figured it out, it might send him down that path again. We have to trust him. He’ll be okay.”

  Mitch finally agreed. “Let’s hope they find Andy… or change their mind… or confess. And let’s hope they do so damned quick. Dusty may have calmed down, but don’t you think for one minute he’s forgotten about his son.”

  “I can’t blame him,” Grace said. “But right now, we need cool, collected, clear thinking heads. Let’s hope that’s what we have when he wakes up in the morning.”

  Shultz and Monroe landed in Austin, the director demanding both men be pulled from their ongoing investigations and assigned immediately to the Weathers kidnapping.

  Their assignment made sense, the two men having the most experience with both the Olympus Device and the Weathers family. Neither of the lawmen was happy with being selected.

  “Every time I hear the words Olympus Device, I get a headache,” Shultz informed the senior agent. “Both of us have almost bought a 6 x 3 dirt farm chasing that damn thing around.”

  “That’s not to mention all of the hospital time,” Monroe replied. “I’ve spent more time on my back being a pin cushion than all of my other cases combined.”

  Shultz nodded, still full of apprehension. “Such is the life of a government servant. We don’t get to pick and choose, I guess.”

  Trying to make the best of it, Monroe added, “I suppose. On the bright side, we both get one more shot at closure on this cluster fuck. That wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

  “It’s the only black mark on my record,” Shultz confessed. “Sure would be nice to move this file to the win column.”

  Their first stop was Central Hospital, the current location of the only eyewitness to the abduction.

  After exchanging greetings with the local agent guarding the door, the two men entered the intensive care room to discover the wounded man lying with closed eyes, his head wrapped in a thick bandage.

  The guard came in behind the two newcomers, glancing at his co-workers and whispering, “He was awake long enough to provide a description of the man who attacked him. It was pretty thin. Early 30s, excellent physical condition, dark, short hair. That was about it.”

  “And the gas company van?”

  “We found it about an hour ago. The inside was clean as a whistle. No witnesses, no security cameras in the area. Whoever did this job knew their shit.”

  “Sounds like we’re at a dead end already,” Shultz replied. “Any witnesses at the university? Any security cameras in the dorm?”

  “Yes, there were video units in the building’s lobby, but we’re not going to get much. According to the techs, the two men who entered were wearing standard gas company uniforms, down to the work boots. Both of them knew exactly where the cameras were and kept their baseball hats low. You can barely see their chins.”

  “Shit,” Monroe said, louder than he intended.

  “The tattoo,” came a croaky voice from the bed. “He had a tattoo on his right forearm.”

  All three of the standing agents moved toward their wounded colleague, the local man speaking first. “Rick? Rick, are you talking about the guy that hit you?”

  “CAG,” sounded the horse whisper. “It said CAG with a lightning bolt.”

  They tried for another few minutes to draw more out of the witness, but didn’t learn anything of value.

  Stepping outside, the three conferred over the new information. Monroe was skeptical. “How can we be sure he’s talking about the same incident? Given the shock his brain has endured, he could be thinking of just about anything… or nothing at all.”

  “But it’s all we’ve got to go on,” Shultz responded.

  “I’ll call downtown and get somebody doing a search across the databases,” added the Austin agent. “Can’t hurt.”

  Monroe and Shultz left the hospital, neither man optimistic over the new information. “Let’s head to the crime scene, maybe we’ll see something everybody else has missed.”

  Climbing into the passenger seat, Shultz withdrew his smartphone and starting searching for the letters, “CAG.” The device displayed a long list of possible meanings, but one stood out. “Combat Applications Group,” he muttered, pressing on the screen to dive into more details.

  A few moments later, a shocked Shultz looked over at the driver, “Delta Force.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “CAG is an abbreviation for Combat Applications Group… that’s Delta Force… like that old action movie.”

  “Is that even real? I thought all that was a myth?”

  “No sir, according to several different sources, it exists and is very real.”

  Monroe still wasn’t buying it. “Even so, why would an elite Special Forces unit want to kidnap Andrew Weathers? They
’re supposed to be on our side.”

  “Maybe they want the rail gun? I mean, everybody keeps saying what a professional job this was. Didn’t that agent back at the hospital even say it was executed with military precission? And now we have a potential tie in between a Special Forces unit and one of the attackers? Didn’t I read in Armstrong’s dossier that he commanded the boys pulling the dark ops? We should dig into this, sir.”

  The senior man didn’t like Shultz’s answer, the wrinkles on his forehead growing deeper. “Let’s get on the phone with somebody from this mythical unit, and see if they can shed any light on tattoos and rail guns.”

  It took four hours, several phone calls, and direct intervention by the president of the United States before the two FBI men were provided a contact and phone number for the CAG.