Off the Grid (A Gerrit O'Rourke Novel)

by Young, Mark

  Gerrit raised an eyebrow. “You know about that?”

  Stafford gave him an offended look. “You think I don’t know what you Americans are up to on my own island? Ever since that trouble we had with you colonists, we’ve always made it our business to keep tabs on you rebels.”

  Gerrit smiled. “And I thought you didn’t like me.”

  “I don’t, Doc. We just happen to be on the same side in this fight.” The British agent grinned before opening the driver’s door. “Climb on in, everyone. On our way to the safe house, you can fill me in on what I need to know.”

  A gray, blustery sky greeted them the next morning. Gerrit was one of the first to rise, quietly opening the front door, stepping out on the front porch. A cold biting wind forced him back inside. He closed the door and made his way to the kitchen.

  Stafford was there, making tea and coffee. “What’s your pleasure, Gerrit?”

  “Coffee, please.”

  The British agent handed him a cup and saucer. “I made some calls last night after our planning session. I got us a lift—a helicopter—to Harrogate in about two hours. I know time is of the essence.”

  “Can you tell me anything about what we’re going up against?”

  Stafford stirred his cup of tea. “I know George Lawton made several trips to Kane’s headquarters in Harrogate. Been keeping tabs on the two of them. Even followed my boss up there one time to see what he was up to.”

  “Lawton doesn’t know about you helping us?”

  “Man, if he did, Kane would have his hooks into you faster than you could sneeze. Malloy wanted this handled discreetly. That’s what I’m doing. On a need-to-know basis. Now, regarding what you might encounter, there’s a security net set up around the place. Infrared cameras, laser trip wires, and a security team—”

  “Any idea of their strength? How many at the compound?”

  The agent took a sip of tea. “Not sure how many. And…” Stafford grimaced “I am not sure how many bodies I can give you for this detail. The chaps I’d normally pick have been called out for duty elsewhere. In the last twenty-four hours.”

  Gerrit raised his eyebrows. “Last twenty-four hours?”

  “I know. What a coincidence.”

  “Any chance Lawton is trying to screw up this operation? Kane put out the word?”

  Stafford shrugged and set his cup and saucer down. “Thought we covered our tracks pretty well, but this…” The agent stood. They heard someone walking around upstairs. Alena and Willy must be awake.

  “How many people can you give me, Stafford?”

  Stafford grimaced. “You’re looking at him. Me, a chopper and cars to get us in range, and any weapons we need.”

  “I’ll take what I can get.” Gerrit tried to hide his disappointment as he recalled firsthand the fortress they would have to hit. His team and Stafford seemed woefully outgunned. There was no more time to think this out.

  They had to go in now.

  Chapter 54

  Harrogate, England

  Gerrit flattened himself in the grass. “Willy, you copy?”

  “Loud and clear, Mr. G.”

  Willy had remained in one of the vehicles they left behind a quarter-mile back. Stafford arranged for two vehicles to be waiting on the edge of Harrogate, farthest from Kane’s compound, when they arrived in the chopper. In back of one of the vehicles lay weapons, dark camouflage clothing, and an encrypted radio network so each member could keep in touch. Now came the hard part.

  Patience.

  They waited for darkness to fall before moving toward Kane’s compound. A moonless light overhead kept visibility to a minimum, but Stafford’s gift—night-vision scopes—allowed the group to move effortlessly toward the compound.

  “Give me an update from your eye in the sky.” The chopper they rode up in was providing double duty—quick transportation from London and a thermal-imaging camera that could pick out warm bodies to target. The aircraft hovered high above, its muffled engines just under the fog bank, noise almost indistinguishable.

  A moment later, Willy’s voice came over the radio. “I count four bodies, two on the ground floor and two on the roof.”

  “No other targets?”

  “Nope. Just four. Nothing else registering.”

  Gerrit keyed his mike. “Stafford, you think there are others down below?”

  “Possibly, but if I were calling the shots, mate, I’d put all my resources topside. Down below, they’re trapped. Only one way in and out. Right?”

  Gerrit tightened his jaw. “Yeah. That’s all I saw. So where are all the others?”

  “Maybe we got lucky?”

  “Don’t believe in luck—neither does my partner.” He glanced at Alena and was rewarded a smile. “They have to know we’re coming. Look for others beyond our perimeter, Willy. This could be a trap.”

  He turned to Alena. “You ready?”

  She nodded.

  “We have maybe a minute or two to scale that wall before they come checking on us.”

  “Let’s just get this over with.” She seemed nervous.

  “Okay.” He keyed his mike. “Stafford, you ready?”

  “Game on! Once I start a diversion on my side, you’d better make like a track star. I won’t be able to hold them off for long.”

  Willy cut in. “Once he starts the fireworks, Gerrit, I can’t give you an accurate thermal reading until they cease. There will be heat signatures popping all over the place.”

  “Roger that. Here we go, guys. On the count of three. One! Two! Three!” Gerrit saw the first flare rise in the sky a moment later, and a weapon started firing on the far side of the Kane mansion where Stafford lay hidden. “Alena. Go! Go! Go!”

  Together, they sprinted toward the building. Ten yards from the outer wall, Gerrit aimed a grappling-hook gun at the roofline. He fired it, watching the hook hurl through the air, an attached rope trailing behind. Once the hook landed, he pulled the rope taut. Suddenly, the rope tension slacked as the hook lunged toward him, narrowly missing his head.

  Cursing under his breath, he repeated the action, reloading the rope and replacing the suppressed-air canister. Just as he fired the gun once again, Stafford let loose with another volley, concealing the noise of the grappling hook landing on the roof.

  Holding his breath, Gerrit gently pulled the rope toward him until the hook caught hold of the stone ledge. He tugged lightly on the rope and felt it tighten. He could only guess how well the hook gripped the roofline.

  “Okay,” he whispered, shouldering his assault rifle. “When I start up, pull it taut.”

  She nodded, watching him hang from the rope and begin his ascent.

  They were closing in on two minutes. He had to move faster. The targets—he hoped—took Stafford’s bait and shifted their attention to the other side. Alena would remain on the ground. Once Gerrit attacked the targets on the roof, she’d hurl a flash bang through the windows. They planned a simultaneous attack on the two remaining guards below—he from the top and she through the first-floor windows.

  So far, so good. They hadn’t yet encountered any hostile fire.

  Stafford continued his mock gunfight, remotely firing several weapons, making it appear as if more than one shooter was firing from his position. He tossed in a few hand grenades for good measure.

  Gerrit heard weapons firing from the roof. They must be trying to locate and eliminate Stafford’s weapons.

  As Gerrit neared the roof’s edge, suddenly Stafford’s cover fire ceased. Something was wrong. The bad guys on the roof fired several sporadic volleys, but even they ceased firing. As he neared the roofline, he heard footsteps coming in his direction. A small ledge, about the size to allow a foothold, ran parallel to the roofline and just a few feet below.

  Gerrit caught the toe of his boot on the ledge and pulled himself closer to the cold stone facade. The footsteps came closer, a couple yards to his left. With one hand clinging to the rope and standing by one toehold, he grabbed h
is holstered semi-automatic pistol with his right hand and pointed it toward the roofline.

  He miscalculated. If the suspect peered over the edge, Gerrit couldn’t get a clean shot. The roofline extended out for several feet from the wall, leaving him under the overhang and at a disadvantage. The gunman could lean over, see Alena below and fire as Gerrit watched helplessly. If the gunman saw the rope, he could lean over and fire blindly—with a great chance of hitting him—or just cut the rope and let Gerrit fall. Either way, Gerrit would not be able to return effective fire.

  He froze as the footsteps drew near.

  Holding his breath, he strained to listen as the man stopped at the ledge. In the dark, the man might not be able to the see the grappling hook, but if he got any closer, he might stumble over it.

  Gripping the weapon, he felt himself slipping on the rope. The exertion of the climb and the gunman only a few feet away made him sweat like a basketball player after a full-court press under a hot sun. Cold night air on his face did little to cool him down. Perspiration on his rope hand caused him to lose more of his grip. He clamped his hand on the rope tighter, trying to stave off a fall.

  The gunman’s head leaned over the side. The man’s broad face, with close-cropped dark hair, seemed close enough for Gerrit to reach. He raised the pistol and pointed it at the man.

  Suddenly, gunfire erupted on the far side of the building. Stafford. The gunman above him disappeared. Gerrit assumed he was moving back into position to cover his partner. Gerrit reholstered and swung out from the wall, quickly climbing up to the ledge and pulling himself up to peer above the flat roofline.

  Both gunmen were on the far side of the roof, firing wildly in Stafford’s direction.

  Gerrit swung up his right leg and caught it on the edge, pulling himself up and over. He quickly unslung his rifle and brought it up to the ready. He walked toward them keeping the targets in his line of fire.

  One of the men glanced back and Gerrit hit him with a short burst. The second gunman heard Gerrit’s gunfire and swung his rifle around.

  “Freeze,” Gerrit said. “Freeze or you’re dead.”

  The gunman let his weapon fall and slowly raised his hands in the air.

  Gerrit keyed his mike. “One down and one in custody.”

  Alena’s whisper came over the radio. “Let me know when you want me to make entry.”

  “Give me a second—” He saw the gunman suddenly make a move. Weapons. Gerrit’s trigger finger reacted immediately. The gunman’s body fell backward and then over the side of the building.

  “Gerrit, what’s happening up there?” Alena whispered into the radio.

  He started to respond. “I shot—”

  Gunfire erupted below. Coming from inside the building. They were shooting at Alena. He swore to himself, lunging for the stairway that led downstairs. He flung the door open and darted inside, rifle at the ready. He needed to get downstairs and neutralize the threat against Alena. He didn’t hear her firing back.

  “Gerrit, I’m moving in for support.” Stafford’s transmission broke Gerrit’s concentration for a moment. He dared not respond from his position for fear of giving his location away. He keyed the mike twice and continued down the steps.

  Nothing from Alena. No transmission. No returning fire. As he edged downward, panic began to set in. In all the combat he’d been through, never had he felt this before. It almost made him freeze up.

  A noise below him forced him to snap back and start moving. One of the gunmen must be moving just below him.

  Still no sound from Alena, he moved forward, fearing the worst.

  Chapter 55

  Seattle, Washington

  A brisk ocean breeze made Richard pull his coat tighter as he stood on the deck of the cabin cruiser. The boat churned through the water toward the peninsula west of Port Angeles. The vessel rose and fell beneath him, his feet balanced as the deck pitched with each wave. The last vestiges of the Seattle shoreline disappeared a while back as they plowed ahead for the Strait of Juan De Fuca.

  He moved back inside the cabin, feeling warm air circulating. Rubbing his hands together, Richard peered into the sun, almost hidden by the Olympic Mountains beyond. There were quicker routes to the lab atop Angeles Point, but he wanted to protect their destination at any cost.

  Gerrit and his people somehow stumbled on the Albuquerque site. This time, Richard intended to keep this lab here in Washington a secret—at least until they launched Project Megiddo. After that, it would no longer matter.

  He eyed his cell phone, waiting for confirmation from his people in Harrogate. Grimacing, he hoped the contingent of security he left behind would be enough to wipe out Gerrit and the others.

  As soon as Collette finished in England, she had orders to hightail it to the lab here. He wanted all hands on deck in case something went awry and they needed to protect this lab. If all went as planned in England, Gerrit and his crew would not be in any shape to cause him any more problems. It was Collette’s final chance to prove herself after the debacle in New Mexico.

  That left only Joe O’Rourke. Once confirmation came in that the others were dead, Richard intended to give the order to kill that obstinate scientist after dragging out every last ounce of intelligence the man held inside. It infuriated him to no end that he had failed to make O’Rourke cave in. They threw everything they had at the man and came up empty. Here, they would take their time. Joe would not be able to resist forever.

  He must ferret out Joe’s federal contacts. They must be hunted down and terminated.

  Richard stared across the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Just a short hop across the strait, and he could be on foreign soil if unwanted visitors showed up here. British Columbia would be a good jumping-off place to return to some of his European haunts; countries where his large cache of money greased the palms of those who could offer protection from meddling law enforcement.

  Money makes the world go around. And once this project was underway, money would give him and Stuart’s people all the juice they needed to reach their goals.

  For a moment, he closed his eyes and thought about the exhilarating use of power that would finally be in his grasp. Power to force armies to stand down, dictators to bend a knee to Richard’s will. No more political bickering between countries. A one-world government with enough power to bring peace to every square inch of this planet. No more wars, unless they decided to start one. No more poverty. No more wealthy class taking their undue share—except for those like himself wielding absolute power.

  No more pettiness. Richard’s people would be able to fairly distribute the earth’s resources to benefit all of mankind, not just a few wealthy countries like the United States. It would be a bitter pill for those so-called patriots to swallow, but they would be offered a choice—just like everyone else—either accept this new world order or face extinction.

  Disease. Hunger. War. Crime. All the plagues of mankind finally conquered by a unified and centralized power base. Some within this organization even mentioned that a Utopia might be possible, a nirvana in which mankind could live in peace, harmony and accord. There would be no more struggles to survive. Man’s technology and research could feed, clothe, house, and protect the world. No more wars. To take advantage of others. He was not one of those dreamers. Nirvana could never be reached as long as human nature imposed itself, but they might come close.

  For the last fifty years, he’d been working toward this goal. Finding others with the same interest, those with enough clout to make this happen. Politicians, business leaders, military—all the cogs of society that could be used to wield together one powerful force to create this new world. People not held back by provincialism and self-interested ideology.

  His cell phone vibrated. Glancing down, he saw a text message from Collette. He activated the message.

  Targets entered the trap. They are about to die.

  Richard turned the phone off, smiling to himself. Now he could focus on more important
matters.

  Every time Beck came to the Pentagon, he felt in awe at the size of this place. Today was no exception. He finally reached the office he sought and tapped on the door. “Mind if I come in?”

  Jack Thompson looked up from his desk. “I’m beginning to think you’re a ghost. How did you get past security? And how did you know I wouldn’t be down at SOCOM in Florida?”

  Beck grabbed a chair and pulled it closer to Thompson’s desk. “It’s all about who you know.”

  Thompson chuckled. “Well, I know for a fact you do business with a ton of people. I keep running into them all over this globe. What can I do you for?”

  “Tracking down Richard Kane.”

  The colonel nodded. “I’d like to know where that scumbag is right now. I’d be tempted to send in a drone to take him out.”

  Beck’s eyes narrowed. “You may get your chance. I’ve got a hit on a boat off the Washington State coast. Somewhere in the waters between the U.S. and Canada—Strait of Juan de Fuca.”

  “How did you manage that?”

  “Remember that radio-frequency tracking program DARPA farmed out to private industry?”

  “Enhancement of RFID chip batteries? Yeah, but that stuff is only good for close surveillance. Not good for long-range operations.”

  “Old news, Colonel. An Israeli company came up with a battery-powered RFID chip that can send out a unique identification number read by our satellites. I had one of these chips planted on Kane when he was running around Vienna trying to recruit Gerrit.”

  “You were watching him over there? How did an FBI agent stateside get clearance to monitor an operation overseas?”

  “I’d rather not say, sir.”

  Thompson smirked. “I’ll bet you don’t.”

  Beck leaned forward. “I put a trace on him ever since. He left England just before Gerrit and his crew arrived. I’ve tracked him to this boat, and we should be able to get a fix on his exact location once he hits land.”