The Olympus Device: Book Three

by Joe Nobody

  Everyone, including Mitch and Dusty, was stunned. Before either man could say a word, the chief executive continued, peering directly at the camera. “I know you’re out there, Mr. Weathers. My staff and I are well aware of what you did the other night. Please contact my offices and come out into the light. My family and I owe you our lives. The citizens of this great country owe you a debt of gratitude for preserving the democracy.”

  And then without another word, the president pivoted and entered his limousine. The door was closed and the motorcade zooming off in a matter of seconds, leaving the baying voices of the press in their wake.

  The news broadcast then returned to the anchor, the stoic looking man staring down at a stack of papers as if he’d never seen them before. The explanation came quickly. “I’ve just been handed an official statement from the Departments of Justice and Defense. We’ll analyze this new information while we take a short break for a message from our sponsors.”

  “Well I’ll be horn swaggered and hogtied,” Dusty began, his eyes still fixated on the new car commercial now on the screen. “I… I… What the hell just happened, Mitch?”

  The door opened before Mitch could respond, Grace appearing in the entrance. “Hi guys,” she greeted.

  “Grace, you’re not going to believe what the president just said on TV,” Dusty stammered, still not believing his eyes.

  Grinning with a twinkle in her eye, she put her hands on hips and said, “Oh let me guess… you’ve been granted a full presidential pardon and are invited to Camp David to meet the man in person. Right?”

  “How’d… how’d you know?” the Texan managed.

  “Because I’ve been on the phone with the White House’s chief of staff, that’s why. They know exactly what happened that night. It seems the U.S. Air Force can trace the rail gun’s shots with pinpoint accuracy. The president is well aware that you saved his bacon.”

  “And were the guys trying to overthrow the government who we thought? Were they the missing members of the Blue Ribbon Panel?”

  “Yes, they believe the admiral was killed that night at the White House, although there’s been no positive identification. Senator Hughes is still missing, but now that they’re not looking for you, I’m sure they’ll have the manpower to track him down. The rebels they found alive at the White House are singing like birds.”

  Dusty shook his head, “I don’t care about any of this shit. What did you find out about Andy’s situation?”

  “The FBI, at the president’s behest, is going to let you through,” she said sadly. “Are you sure this is the right thing to do, Dusty?”

  The Texan didn’t answer with words. Setting down his food, Dusty moved with purpose toward the rail gun. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Chapter 12

  Dusk was settling on the lakeshore as Dusty exited the SUV. Monroe and Shultz were there, the senior agent apparently unhappy about his orders.

  When the two FBI agents spied the rail gun in Dusty’s hands, both men had trouble taking their eyes from the weapon. “So that’s what it looks like,” Monroe said quietly. “After all these weeks… after all we’ve been through, it’s so close, and I can’t do shit about it.”

  The Texan ignored their stares, strolling straightaway toward the two men who would’ve shot him on sight just a few hours prior. “Good evening, gentlemen,” Dusty greeted.

  For a moment, the Texan studied Shultz. “We’ve met.”

  “Yes,” the agent answered uncomfortably. “Outside Laredo.”

  Dusty only nodded, seeing no reason to review historical events. “What can you tell me about the setup?” he continued, nodding in the general direction of the lake.

  Despite being disgusted at having to do so, Monroe provided Dusty with a professional briefing.

  “I see,” the Texan replied after absorbing it all. “Can you call them and tell them I am coming in?”

  “Yes,” replied Monroe. “What else?”

  “Tell them I want… oh hell… just let me talk to them if that’s possible.”

  “It’s your son, sir,” Monroe replied with a nasty tone.

  Millard answered the phone on the third ring. “You’d better be calling me to say you have the Olympus Device and are ready to make a trade,” he spat.

  “That’s exactly why I’m calling you,” came the strange voice. “This is Dusty Weathers, the father of the young man you’re holding. I’m here. Let’s parlay.”

  For a moment, the sergeant thought it was some stupid trick being attempted by a desperate Fed. “And why should I believe you, Mr. Weathers… if it is indeed you on the other end of the line.”

  “Put my son on the line, he’ll vouch that I’m his father.”

  “I’m not inclined to do that,” Millard responded. “For all I know, you’re trying to distract us while the HRT goons sneak up on us.”

  “I’m not going to make the trade unless you verify Andy’s alive anyway, son,” Dusty said calmly. “Why not kill two birds with one stone?”

  The logic was difficult to argue, especially with the ex-operator’s mind rushing 1,000 miles per hour. “Okay, Weathers. I’ll do just what you suggested. Hold on.”

  “I’m not going anyplace,” Dusty replied.

  It was a full three minutes before Andy’s voice sounded on the line. “Hello?”

  “Andy, it’s your dad. Are you okay, son?”

  “Dad! Where are you? These guys are keeping me in….” And then Andy’s voice was gone.

  “Okay, I’ll buy that you’re the kid’s father, at least for the moment. Do you have the device?”

  “Yes. I’m going to walk up to the house. I’ll come alone. I’ll have the rail gun with me. Meet me in the street out front with Andy, and we’ll make the trade. It’s that simple.”

  “Bullshit,” laughed Millard. “The minute I show my ass outside this house, one of those FBI snipers will pop me with about 180 grams of high-velocity lead. Do you think I’m that stupid?”

  “Oh come on now, Sergeant. Do you really think they’d do that with your other men covering us from the house? They would have to know your guys would chop Andy and me to pieces if they tried any skullduggery. Besides, I’m taking one hell of a chance myself. How do I know the minute I show up with the rail gun, you won’t just shoot me down and take the weapon? If you want to make a trade, there’s got to be some trust or neither one of us will get what we want.”

  For a second, Dusty thought he’d gone too far, an extended period of silence obvious across the connection.

  “Okay, come on up. Alone. And with the device in plain sight. Your son will be wired with explosives, and if the feds try anything, my men will detonate us all into a cloud of red vapor. Understand?”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  The line went dead. Dusty turned to look at the two FBI agents who had been listening to the call. It was Shultz who spoke first. “What are you going to do, Mr. Weathers?”

  “Can I borrow a handgun?”

  “No!” shouted Monroe without thinking.

  But Shultz wasn’t so quick to condemn, raising his hand to silence his partner, tilting his head as if trying to follow Dusty’s thinking.

  The Texan sensed the agent’s curiosity, a nervous smile forming on his lips. “Agent Shultz, do you remember how you felt when I first got out of that SUV and was holding the rail gun?”

  “Yes, but….”

  “I see a lot of that. People can’t seem to take their eyes off of my little invention. I now know how a gorgeous woman in a low cut dress feels. I guess it’s a normal, human reaction. I’m assuming that guy holding my son will do the same. As a matter of fact, I’m counting on it.”

  A smile crossed the junior agent’s face, and without regard for his superior’s wrath, he unholstered his sidearm and handed it to the Texan.

  Dusty examined the weapon, a knowing grin crossing the gunsmith’s lips. “Springfield Armory, 1911. Custom made. I’d read where they were issuing these t
o the FBI. It’s a fine weapon, Agent Shultz.”

  “Do you need a spare magazine?” Shultz asked.

  “No. This will all be over before I can use up eight rounds.”

  “Good luck, then,” Shultz said, offering his hand.

  Dusty hesitated a moment, and then accepted the offering. “Thanks. I’ll need it,” he replied, tucking the .45 caliber pistol inside the back pocket of his jeans.

  Dusty stepped over where Grace and Mitch stood nearby. After hugging his brother, the tall Texan bent and kissed his lady friend on the forehead. “I love you,” he whispered.

  “I love you, too. Please come back to me… and bring Andy with you.”

  It was almost a half-mile trek to his son’s prison, the street quiet and lonely. Only the sound of his own footfalls reached Dusty’s ears. That and the rush of his own heartbeat.

  He continued putting one step in front of the other, fighting hard to push down the fear that threatened to overwhelm him.

  “What are you afraid of?” he whispered to the night. “Either Andy will be free, or you’ll be dead and won’t care anymore. Suck it up. This is almost over. Finish the job.”

  And then he was in front of the house.

  Standing in a small pool of illumination provided by the street’s only utility light, Dusty waited. The rail gun was slung over his shoulder, a tube of ball bearings in his shirt pocket.

  Through the shadows surrounding the darkened home, Dusty spotted movement. Two figures emerged, one treading in front of the other.

  He spied Andy first, his son’s petrified eyes and drawn skin helping the Texan battle his fear by replacing it with a quickly forming rage. And then the second man stepped into the light, pressing an M4 carbine directly into his hostage’s back.

  Dusty scanned Andy’s torso and spotted several lumps of what appeared to be bars of soap, but what he knew were actually cakes of C4 explosive. Red and black wires were attached to each deadly hunk.

  Millard held his weapon steady, his voice sounding without the slightest hint of fear. “So, let me see the Olympus Device.”

  Dusty did as instructed, slowly pulling his invention off his shoulder and holding it up so the sergeant could see.

  “Turn it on.”

  Again, Dusty did as he was told, making a show of turning on the power button, watching as the green LED glowed.

  “How do you load it?”

  With a deliberate motion, the Texan reached into his shirt pocket and produced the device’s ammunition. “You simply work the bolt, drop in one of these projectiles, and close the bolt,” he stated honestly, performing each step to coincide with the instructions.

  “So now it’s loaded and ready to fire?”

  “Yes. You adjust the power setting with this slide. I’ve been advised not to shoot it at more than 30%. A physics professor informed me that the shot might crack the earth’s crust at any higher level.”

  Just as he’d anticipated, the man holding his son couldn’t take his eyes off the device.

  Almost as if he were hypnotized by the potential power of the rail gun, Millard stood silent, just staring with what could only be described as weapon lust painted all over his face.

  “Shoot it,” the hostage taker finally stated. “Turn around and light up that line of police cars down the road. I want to make sure it’s the real deal.”

  “No,” Dusty replied firmly. “Not until my son has those explosives removed from his body. I’ve held up my end of the deal so far, now it’s your turn to establish a little faith.”

  “I could just shoot you both and take it. Do as I ask. If it’s the real deal, I’ll let you and your son go free.”

  Dusty shook his head, “Maybe… maybe not. Regardless, I’m not going to murder a bunch of innocent cops. If you want to fire off a test shot, that’s up to you, but I’m not going to kill needlessly.”

  The Texan’s refusal seemed puzzling to Millard. Shrugging his shoulders, the man lowered his M4 and stepped closer to the Texan. Dusty extended the rail run toward the man with one hand, the other going to the pistol in his back pocket.

  In that fleeting moment, with his mind fueled with adrenaline-charged clarity, the irony of it all wasn’t lost on Dusty. Here stood one of the world’s most highly trained fighting men, one of the deadliest individuals on the planet. Yet, despite all of his experience, knowledge, and combat tested fortitude, the man was making mistakes.

  Greed was to blame. An irresistible lust for power now dictated Millard’s actions, his brain desperately trying to cope with an unbelievable destiny now that the instrument of his dreams was within reach. He could be anything. Ask for anything. Be everything.

  Words like king, president, and emperor raged through Millard’s head. No, fuck that, he thought. With this device, I’m a god.

  When the Sergeant reached for the rail gun, Dusty surprised the man by holding on with a steel tight grip. Before the ex-operator could react, the pistol appeared in the Texan’s free hand. In one motion, Dusty flipped down the thumb safety and began firing point blank, directly at the kidnapper’s face.

  “Get down!” the Texan screamed at the same moment the first shot rang out, hoping Andy would react and get out of the line of fire.

  After spying a fog of red mist exit from the back of Millard’s head, Dusty let loose of the pistol, his hands grasping the rail gun before the discarded sidearm bounced off the pavement.

  The now-dead hostage taker had said his men would detonate the explosives on Andy’s body at the first sign of trouble. Please just hesitate for half a second, raced through Dusty’s mind as he brought the rail gun to bear. Oh God, please don’t let them blow up my son.

  He didn’t even aim, not wanting to take the time to raise the weapon to his shoulder. Pointing from the hip, Dusty squeezed the trigger.

  The rental house exploded in a fireball of white and red, the blast lifting Andy and his father into the air with a wall of burning hot air.

  The two men slammed hard into the pavement, rolling across the street with rag-doll arms flopping from the gale of force that expanded outwards from the shot’s epicenter.

  No sooner than he’d stopped moving, Dusty felt large chunks of siding, wood, and other airborne debris raining down. His last conscious movement was to try and shield Andy with his body.

  Grace’s smiling face was the first vision that popped into Dusty’s mind. That pleasant experience was quickly followed by a less pleasurable feeling when the Texan tried to move his limbs.

  Bolts of pain shot through Dusty’s frame as he attempted to sit up, his body protesting the effort to the extreme.

  “Stay put,” Grace stated with a firm tone. “The paramedics are looking you over. You might have some broken bones.”

  “Andy?” Dusty inquired, his kid’s welfare the first thought.

  “He’s okay. The bomb squad guys are removing the explosives, and then the EMTs will check him out as well, but he’s okay. You did it, Dusty. You actually pulled this off.”

  The knowledge that Andy was unharmed helped offset some of Dusty’s discomfort. His next question was almost as important. “Where’s the rail gun?”

  “Mitch has it. He’s standing right over there, with Monroe and Shultz. They’re not taking any chances. It’s fine.”

  Dusty nodded, smiled, and closed his eyes.

  “We need to take him into the ER, Miss Kennedy,” Dusty heard a male voice say. “He needs a series of x-rays. While we can’t find any obvious broken bones, his body has taken quite a beating, and it would be wise to have him checked out.”

  His eyes shooting open, Dusty protested, “No. No hospital. Just help me up. I'm okay.”

  Grace and an EMT appeared at his side, the medical man wanting to argue with the patient. “Sir, it’s really best if you let us take you in. You could have internal bleeding or hairline fractures we can’t detect.”

  “No,” Dusty answered, his voice firm. “Please, help an old man up,” he continued, extending
his arms for a lift.

  And then he was standing, a bit unsteady on wobbly legs, but supporting his own weight. A moment later, Andy was at his father’s side, gingerly wrapping his arms around his dad’s chest for an embrace. “You came for me,” he said. “I knew you would. I just knew it.”

  And then Maria appeared, Dusty’s ex holding her son in a tight, nurturing hug. Initially, she flashed her ex-husband a dirty look, a message that could only be interpreted as: “How dare you endanger our son,” but then she softened and mouthed the words, “Thank you.”