by Luke Murphy
“About half an hour.”
She tried to stand up. “I’m okay.” But gravity quickly brought her to her knees. “I’m dizzy.”
“Take it easy.” Calvin helped her sit. “Your body was just through a highly stressful situation. Give yourself some time to recover.”
“My muscles are sore and stiff, but I don’t have time to rest.”
Calvin agreed, they were on a tight deadline and being hunted by everyone in South America. But even he had to admit that he needed a healthy Livia, or at least as close to one hundred percent as she could get.
“What’s your plan?” Livia asked.
“I’ve been listening to ATVs traveling past here for the last hour. I don’t think their camp is far. That’s probably as good a place as any to start.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” She got up and stretched, arching her back erotically, her breasts pointing out. She shouldered one of the heavier duffel bags and almost teetered over.
Calvin hesitated, looking at her. He really did want to go, but didn’t want to risk her health or safety.
“It’s dark enough to hide us.”
She grabbed the tree to steady herself. “Yes, the darkness will hide us from the cartel, but the dangers of traveling in this forest at night might be more than what the cartel brings.”
“If you’re not up for it, I can come back for you.”
She didn’t even look at him. “Let’s go.”
He put his arms up in a conciliatory gesture and gave her the flashlight. “We’ll use these until we get closer, then one of us can switch to the goggles. Always point this to the ground. A light beam in the middle of the night would give us away. And I don’t think either of us knows this area well enough to move around without it.”
He grabbed another flashlight, slung the bag over his shoulder and took the lead. Using the beam, Calvin followed the earlier sounds he’d heard from the vehicles. He was glad that he’d been keeping tabs on their passing.
He moved as fast as he could, but the going was slow. His body was sore, it was dark and they were in a strange country with armed and dangerous men surrounding them, as well as the dangers of the rainforest to endure. He also didn’t want to rush Livia, wanted to give her time to get her senses back, but she showed no signs of wanting a break.
They traveled for about thirty minutes before they came upon a lighted cabin set well back from the worn trail. They closed in quietly, flashlights off, steps weightless. The rain helped deaden their approach as they moved.
They crouched behind a row of Walking Palm trees and peered around their stilt-like roots. The trees were the perfect coverage.
What they saw was a fully-functional, fully-armed camp base.
“This has to be their main camp for producing cocaine,” Livia said, looking through night-vision binoculars.
They could see a group of men going in and out of the cabin. All armed with heavy automatic, semi-automatic and artillery weapons. They were dressed in grungy clothes, ripped muscle shirts, greasy pants, and cut-off shorts topped with dirty headbands.
“Not military, that’s for sure.”
“Wonder how their aim is?” Livia asked.
“With artillery like that, it doesn’t matter. One pull of the trigger and those weapons fire about thirty rounds per second. You don’t have to be a sharp shooter to use them. I guess drug money can buy a lot of protection.”
Calvin grabbed the binoculars from Livia and scoped the surroundings, taking it all in. He counted men, guards, vehicles, and standpoints. He checked for possible escape/evade areas, the best place to enter, and the most likely place for a trap.
He noticed two smaller cabins behind the main building, and a square-shaped, roofed cage made from Palla trees, located in the well-lit back corner of the area. The cage was claustrophobically small, but could easily fit a full-sized human.
He shifted the binoculars around, searching the grounds surrounding the cage. It took a while, but with razor sharp eyes and intuition, the aid of snapping twigs, coughing, whispers, and swaying branches, Calvin spotted four armed guards covering the prison: one up in a tree, two in bushes on either side of the cage, and one lying flat on his stomach, set up with a scope aiming at the back of the cage.
“Sanders is here.”
“How do you know?”
He looked at her. “Because they’re waiting for us.”
She looked around. “I don’t see anything. Let’s go get him.”
She attempted to get up but Calvin put a hand on her shoulder and easily held her down. He smiled at her.
“This isn’t a Rambo movie. We need a plan.”
Livia snorted a laugh.
Calvin moved to stand up when noise from the front of the large cabin shifted his attention. A man emerged, pulling a woman behind him by the hair. Calvin couldn’t get a close look at the man’s face.
The head honcho screamed at the woman, and although they could see his lips moving, they weren’t close enough to hear what he said. The man turned and yelled to a group of onlookers and then threw the girl on the ground.
The men in the group pushed at each other, racing to the woman. Finally, one of the men from the group emerged as the “chosen one” and broke away from the gang, grabbing the girl, and dragging her to one of the cabins in the back.
Calvin heard a small noise erupt from Livia’s mouth and hurried over to cover it, until she calmed down.
“They’re raping that poor girl.”
Calvin nodded. He knew what was happening, didn’t like it, but there was nothing he could do about it for the time being. “They’re distracted. You stay here, I’m going to get closer.”
“What?”
“I need to know for sure Sanders is here.” He clipped and safetied a gun, handing it to her. “If something happens, if I don’t come back or if someone discovers you out here, aim for the center of the chest.”
“What are you going to do?”
Calvin smiled. “Run a test.”
He left her and unholstered his silenced pistol, duck-walking through the trees in heavy bush coverage. His over-heightened senses were on high alert, ears listening for sudden sounds, gaze peering through night vision goggles for the tiniest movements.
The closer he got, the thicker the smell of weed became and the more prominent the sound of a large gas-powered generator.
Calvin got to within twenty feet of the homemade cage, close enough to smell the body odor of the man on guard. He was only five feet behind the guard, but there was no way for the armed cartel member to spot the PI.
Calvin studied the man watching the cage. He looked strung out. He was sweating heavily and his hands trembled holding the weapon. He constantly swiped his leaking nose.
Although the flood lights were bright surrounding the cage, the roof made it impossible to see inside. But Calvin could hear movement—tiny sobs and a grunt that was unmistakable. There was no doubt that Sanders was the animal caged-up and guarded by the drug cartel.
He crept towards the four-thousand-watt generator, planted behind some bushes with multiple cords extending throughout the area. There were numerous large, full, portable fuel cans stacked up beside the generator waiting to be unloaded.
Sanders was within his grasp. Now Calvin just had to come up with a plan to get him away from nearly thirty, angry, highly-armed, doped-up drug dealers.
Calvin looked around, watching the guards who seemed focused away from the generator. He crept to it, unhooked the spark plug and half-sprinted back to sit and watch the chaos ensue.
♣
Dale sat slumped in his car, parked at the curb a few doors down from his house. He fidgeted quietly, staring out the windshield at his place, the house that he and Betty had turned into a home. His cellphone rang, and without looking away from the house, Dale answered.
“Hello?”
“Dale.”
“Calvin.” Dale sat up in his seat. “What’s the news?”
“I’ve
located Sanders.”
Even though Calvin whispered, Dale could make out the words. “That’s great! When can you bring him back?”
“It’s not that simple.” Calvin told Dale about Sanders being kept in a cage, heavily guarded by the Colombia Drug Cartel.
“Are you sure Sanders is there? Did you see him?” He’d been a cop long enough, and saw enough drug crews to know that the cartel couldn’t be trusted and might not keep Sanders around long.
“He’s there, I could smell him.”
“Don’t mess around with these guys. They aren’t pros like Baxter, but they’re lethal and they’ll show no mercy.”
“I know. I’ve seen them in action.”
“Do you have a plan?”
“I’m working on one,” Calvin’s tone was hard.
Dale exhaled loudly. “If you get close and don’t think it’s going to happen, pull out. Don’t risk your life, again, for this department. It’s not fair that we keep putting you in this position.”
“You going soft on me, Dayton? I didn’t come all this way to turn back now. I’m not coming home empty handed.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Be the hunter, instead of the hunted.”
“Stay safe and let me know when you have Sanders.”
Dale hung up just as the lights went off in the house. He looked at his watch. 9:00 p.m., same time every night, like clockwork.
Betty had agreed to move with Sammie back into the house a month ago, under the condition that Dale find somewhere else to stay until they figured things out. It was a small step, but Dale conceded and started renting the apartment, staying there in hopes that Betty would someday let him move back home. He’d do anything if it meant a chance to get his family back.
He looked in the rear-view mirror at his haggard reflection. He’d aged significantly in the last year, since the Grant case and the separation from his family. Worry lines, dark circles under his eyes, all physical side effects of his sleeping problems. His hair was grayer than it had ever been, and he’d let it grow out. He was also down to shaving only once a week.
He still thought of Linda Grant every day, contemplating if he was the reason she was dead. He knew that, as a cop, he should never take a case personally. But he’d lived with the torment, the wonder that had he acted quicker, might Linda Grant still be alive? It ate at him.
Even though everyone close to him, friends, family and colleagues in the department had told him there was nothing he could have done differently, Dale always expected more from himself.
Dale now lived in the modest apartment complex. Paying a house mortgage and apartment rent on his seventy-thousand dollar a year detective-salary was a belt-tightener, but hopefully worth it in the long run.
As he put the vehicle into drive, his cellphone rang again. His first instinct: something was wrong.
“Calvin?”
“Detective Dale Dayton of the Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department?”
Dale didn’t recognize the caller ID or the voice. “Yes.”
“This is Major General Howard Kennedy of the United States Army.”
Dale didn’t know much about the military or how high a Major General was on the ladder, but Kennedy’s voice sounded like he outranked Colonel Hughes. “What happened to Colonel Hughes?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.”
Dale was silent. He had no idea what Kennedy was talking about. Last he’d heard from Hughes, the Colonel was on his way to pick up Baxter. Had something happened?
“Colonel Hughes dropped out of the sky today.”
The Major General’s words were so matter-of-fact they caught Dale off guard. He took a moment to compose himself.
Kennedy continued, “We were at Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery, providing funeral honors for fallen comrades, when Colonel Hughes’ body dropped out of a passing helicopter. By the time we regrouped, the chopper was gone. The GPS device had been ripped out of the helicopter so there’s no way of tracking it.”
Dale wasn’t sure what to say. The whole situation was surreal. But he didn’t have time to say anything.
“When I got back to the base, we were able to track the GPS before it had been disconnected. We found that it had landed and spent significant time on an island in Mexico. We organized a search zone with gridded sectors, and sent a chopper in with our special response team to check it out.”
Dale shivered. “What did you find?”
“A God damn bloodbath. A slaughterhouse. Bodies of good men, some of the best the military had ever trained. So, when I started asking questions around the base, your name came up as a possible contact source with Colonel Hughes.”
That’s when it clicked. Hughes had been working off the grid. He acted as a rogue soldier. Dale wondered how many people actually knew about the mission and who had squealed his name to the Major General.
“So, Detective Dayton, what exactly were you and Colonel Hughes working on?”
“I’m not sure what you mean?”
“Do you deny working with the colonel on a secret mission? A mission that has resulted in the death of eight premium soldiers, including Colonel Hughes? Are you going to lie to me, or are you going to be a man, admit it, and help me find the person who did this?”
“Derek Baxter.”
Dale could hear the Major General breathing loudly. “There has been no word from Baxter since his disappearance. He’s gone off the grid.”
“That’s what Hughes wanted you to believe. He used Baxter as a science experiment. A perfect weapon superhero, he called him.”
Now it was Kennedy’s turn to be quiet. Dale thought that Kennedy obviously didn’t like being lied to, and wasn’t used to deceit by his group.
“So, do you have any idea where Baxter is heading?” the Major General asked.
♣
Shawn Grant had one of his cocktail waitresses bent over his desk when his personal cellphone rang. Only a handful of people had the number, and when he saw the caller ID, he slapped the woman on the ass before he’d even finished, and told her to get lost.
He pulled up his pants and waited until she’d shut the door before he answered. “I didn’t think I’d be hearing from you so soon. Is Calvin Watters worm food?” Shawn smiled.
“You mother fucker!”
The words jolted Shawn, his smile vanished. Baxter was pissed.
“What’s wrong?” Shawn could feel the hairs on his neck stand on end.
“You’re a dead man. You set up the wrong man. You cross me…I’m coming for you.”
Shawn swallowed hard. “Mr. Baxter…”
The line went dead.
Shawn stood holding the phone to his ear. He couldn’t swallow. His heart beat like a jackhammer and he was sweating, his two-hundred and fifty-dollar dress shirt stuck to his body.
What just happened? Was Baxter joking? Highly unlikely. That wasn’t his style. What was he talking about a set up?
He tried to call Baxter back but the hitman wasn’t answering, the phone just rang.
Shawn took a few moments to think of his options. There really weren’t that many. He was worth billions of dollars, but there was very little that money could do against a psychopath. He could hire extra muscle, but no one could compete or even come close to scaring the military assassin.
He tried to call Calvin Watters, but the former bone-breaker wasn’t answering his phone either. Shawn was alone.
He picked the phone back up and dialed, hoping this time, his call would be answered. He sighed when the voice mail came on.
“Detective Dayton, this is Shawn Grant. We need to talk.”
Chapter 20
Dale arrived early at the office the next morning to find a lab tech guy sitting in his desk chair, talking with Jimmy. When the techie saw Dale, he jumped to his feet.
“Good morning, Detective.” His face reddened.
“You have the tapes?”
The lab guy held up two mini cassettes
in cases. The labels were marked “Grant Fakes”. The techie had already set a cassette player on Dale’s desk. He popped the first tape in and handed Dale a set of headphones.
Dale placed the headphones over his ears, pressed play and sat back in his chair. He smiled as he listened to the recordings, nodded and stopped the audio device. He removed the headphones.
“Nice job.” He looked at Jimmy. “You hear this?”
Jimmy nodded. “Sounds clean and authentic. Shawn Grant will be shitting his pants.”
“Thanks, Guy.”
The lab tech smiled, nodded and left them.
Dale picked up his desk phone and checked his messages. After hearing a message from Shawn Grant, he handed the phone to Jimmy.
“Listen to this.” Dale watched Jimmy’s reaction to the phone message as it replayed, a look of surprise registering on his partner’s face.
Jimmy hung up. “What do you think that’s about? Why would he want to talk to us?”
Dale shook his head. “Pretty vague, but he sounded scared.”
“Do you think he wants to turn himself in?”
“Doubtful. I don’t think our first phone call from Linda’s cell spooked him that much. It has to be something else. Let’s go stir Grant out of his plush surroundings.” They grabbed their jackets. As they left, Dale said, “And I have something important to tell you in the car about Colonel Hughes.”
♣
They announced their presence to the intercom and the iron-gate swung open. Jimmy steered the unmarked car up the drive and parked behind a BMW Sedan with vanity plates they didn’t recognize.
“Early visitor for Grant?” Dale asked.
“Or an all-night guest.” Jimmy smiled.
“Is that all you think about?”
Jimmy chuckled. “Yeah, like you don’t.”
Grant lived in a large estate on ten acres of wooded-lot. The house was located outside of Vegas, where the closest neighbors lived far apart, and hidden by bush.
Shawn Grant opened the door before they had time to knock.
“Come in, detectives.”
Grant looked on edge. He was pale, with bags under his eyes and he smelled of booze. His hair was greasy and disheveled and he had a coarse five-o’clock shadow. Grant needed a shower and a shave.
