Perfect Killer

by Lewis Perdue

  am proud to say our snacks do beat Southwest's… but that's not saying much." I couldn't suppress my smile as I recalled the tiny bags of kibble I had eaten on my trip from L.A. Kilgore took a lunch box, set it on the seat, and took a sip from a plastic container of Odwalla juice before beginning.

  "This whole situation started a few days ago when I got a Mayday call from the first commanding officer of 86M. I served with him and under him."

  He took another sip of the juice as he let this sink in. I plowed into my own lunch.

  "You've undoubtedly read about my friend Lieutenant General Dan Gabriel."

  "Whoa!" Tyrone said. "Braxton's secretary of defense?"

  "One and the same," Kilgore said, "Over a giant pile of steam-table egg foo yung, he told me a tale about a closetful of snakes in General Braxton's head."

  "I think we know a little about that," I said, nodding to the microfilm bag.

  "Affirmative," Kilgore said. "But hold on for a moment and let me tell you Dan's story, then you can fill me in on yours. Together, we might get a better picture of the elephant."

  We polished off our lunches as Kilgore related his meeting with Gabriel, their subsequent conversations, Gabriel's last phone conversation regarding Frank Harper, and the significance of the last GPS location of Gabriel's phone before it was turned off.

  Kilgore polished off his second bottle of juice and nodded at me. "Your turn."

  With help from Tyrone and Jasmine and not a word at all from Rex, I told Kilgore about my mother's funeral and finished with the raid on the VA hospital and the close call with the high-voltage electrical wires.

  "Incredible." Kilgore shook his head. He looked at Tyrone. "I hate to tell you this, but you didn't kill David Brown."

  "But how—"

  Kilgore smiled. "The arrogant, chain-smoking bastard had a coronary. The Marlboro Man killed him." He paused. "I only hope that stinking hemorrhoid was conscious until he hit the ground." He looked around for agreement and found it unanimous.

  "Good," Kilgore said. "This is the situation. First we stop the deployment of this Xantaeus, then we rescue Dan Gabriel." He paused. "Not necessarily in that order, because I think Dan knows how to deal with the General and the patch.

  "A couple of our former guys work Braxton's security detail." Kilgore continued. "That's not unusual, given the quality of our personnel. Anyway, one of the guys called me from a pay phone in Napa last night and told me he heard Gabriel and Harper are being held at Castello Da Vinci, the General's Napa Valley estate. Rumor says an accident's being arranged for Dan and the doctor. That's what bothered him and why he called."

  The small jet hit an air pocket, first lifting us up, then dropping us into a hole. Kilgore casually fended his tall frame off the ceiling with one hand.

  "So," he said when the aircraft had regained its equilibrium, "I think we get Dan first because he's got the stuff in his head which will let us take down Braxton and this Xantaeus thing."

  Kilgore raised his eyebrows as he looked from person to person. "What do you mean we, white man," Rex finally spoke up.

  "Damn good question… Tonto." Kilgore cleared his throat, and when he spoke, his tone rang dissonant and discomforted.

  "This is a rogue operation. If we don't succeed, it's a lifetime in a crappy military prison for me and my second-in-command, Bill Lewis, who'll be meeting us in Napa. Bill and I know it, we accept it, but we cannot—will not—put the personnel under our command at risk.

  "And we can't send a request through military channels or even civilian police because it would take too long. Gabriel would be dead by the time we got a response. And Braxton has loyalists up and down both chains of command."

  "Are you asking us to go in and rescue your friend?" I asked.

  Kilgore shook his head. "Bill and I are committed, but I won't ask you to follow us. That's not why you're here. We came after you because Bill and I are convinced you were framed, and your lives are in danger."

  "So we owe you?" Rex asked.

  "Wrong, Tonto."

  "It's Rex, if you don't mind."

  "Whatever," Kilgore said. "Getting the CD from Shanker, rescuing Talmadge, and locating the microfilm outweighs any pathetic effort I've made so far. You don't owe me a thing … Rex."

  "Well, its pretty clear without Braxton put away for good, we're marked for the rest of what will probably be very short lives," I said. Jasmine's eyes encouraged me to continue. "For my part, I'd say the only way out of this mess we're in leads right through Castello Da Vinci."

  "We could go to the press," Tyrone offered, "but even with everything we have, who'll believe us? Braxton's hugely popular."

  "Even if they believed us, would they believe in time?" Jasmine added. "I'm with Brad." She gave me a look that connected to my soul.

  "Jasmine's right," Kilgore agreed. He remained silent long enough for reality to sink in.

  "Right," Rex said reluctantly, and looked at me. "I'm in, but only because I promised ya'mama I'd take good care of you."

  Given my background, his comments drew laughter from everybody but him. Anita looked at him with a combination of fear and pride. She nodded at him.

  "I appreciate your sentiment," Kilgore said "But I want you to think about it for the rest of the flight. This has to be a clear and unequivocal decision. We have very limited resources and severe consequences for failure. I'll describe the situation; if you change your mind, I'll understand. Genuine decisions always keep consequences clearly and constantly in mind."

  CHAPTER 88

  Our jet began a gradual descent.

  "Fuel," Kilgore said. The jet got us in and out of Jackson nonstop, but won't get us back. We'll land near Longview, Texas, for a minute. But before we get there, let's go over a few things. Time's awfully short and we'll need to hit the ground running when we land."

  Without waiting for us to reply, he retrieved a large brushed-aluminum briefcase from the seat across the aisle, walked back to the rear of the aircraft, unlatched a table, and folded it down.

  "C'mon down." He waved at us as he covered the table with topo maps, aerial photos, and street maps.

  I stood next to Jasmine and reveled in the warmth of our casual touch.

  "First of all, rules of engagement. We will avoid hurting or killing anyone except as a last, desperate resort. Other than the one or two folks out to dispose of Dan and the doctor, I'd say we're dealing with good folks just doing their jobs. Let's use that bear repellent and other nonlethal items whenever possible."

  "Finally, we're not going to use U.S. government assets or equipment other than information. I do not want to get my quartermaster in trouble, and I do not want to make my legal case worse through multiple charges of misappropriation of government property."

  I looked around the jet and back at Kilgore.

  He caught my question. "American Express. My personal card. I'll worry about how to pay it off next month—if it matters by then. Same at the other end. Bill Lewis used his card to rent a van and an RV to use as a sort of mobile base. He's done some shopping for us as well."

  Talmadge snorted in his sleep then. Anita looked over at him.

  "Now, for personnel assignments," Kilgore continued. "Let me finish. Then if you disagree, we can discuss it."

  Heads nodded.

  Anita, we'll keep him sedated in the RV with you to look after him." She nodded.

  "Bill Lewis'll be with his unit, which still believes we're monitoring Castello Da Vinci to assess security readiness. He'll relay the information to me as it happens. Nothing suspicious about that; I'm usually involved in penetration operations against high-profile targets."

  "Rex: you, Brad, and I will attempt the main penetration and rescue. Jasmine and Tyrone will mount a diversion from a safe distance since neither's got combat experience."

  Tyrone frowned. Kilgore shook his head. "For you I have something that would be fun if results weren't so important."

  "Such as?"

  "I've
read your rap sheet," Kilgore said.

  "That's juvenile stuff," Tyrone said "Sealed by the court."

  "Uh-huh."

  "I'm awfully rusty with that stuff."

  Kilgore's smile and eyebrows said he was unconvinced. "I want to see if you can hack Castello Da Vinci's network."

  "I can most probably do that."

  "Lives depend on it."

  "Do they have any wireless parts of their net?" Tyrone asked.

  "Just for guests," Kilgore said. "They have hot spots for all the visitors they have. But it's firewalled off from the main network. Plus, everything's encrypted. Guests get a onetime use Wireless Encryption Protocol key."

  "WEP's a piece of Swiss cheese," Tyrone said. "Total moving target. Crackers break it, router guys issue some new firmware, which hardly anybody ever upgrades, and even if they did, the crackers are usually a step ahead."

  "I thought a WiFi hot spot only went a few hundred yards," Jasmine said.

  "Depends," Tyrone said. "Back at a DEFCON hackers convention in Vegas, they had a contest and managed more than fifty miles. My guess is that with all the guests they have and all the rock and stone around Castello Da Vinci, they will have ratcheted up the power of their system and tweaked antennas so their important guests won't get a weak signal. And, if the place is as big as you say—and we know Braxton has access to all sorts of corporate things—he probably has an IT setup there, probably a VPN to his company and maybe links to other places."

  The air got rough for a moment as we closed in on the Longview airstrip.

  "So you can do it?"

  "Yeah," Tyrone said confidently. "I can do it, but I need a decent laptop with two wireless 802.11n cards, some wire, aluminum foil, a couple of Pringles cans, and an hour or so with a good Internet connection to download some software."

  "We can do that." Kilgore nodded. "But, remember, you can't access your servers anymore."

  "Don't need to. The software I need to blow open the General's network is available for free to anyone with an Internet connection."

  "Oh, jeez," Rex said.

  "Okay, we've got only a couple of minutes here," Kilgore said as he spread out the topo maps to offer the lay of terrain, roads, and the fortresslike security around and in Castello Da Vinci.

  "Our guy's certain Gabriel and Harper are jailed in one of the half dozen barrelaging caves at the base of the complex. None of them have locks, just big iron bolts on the outside. They're off a spur tunnel intersecting the main service tunnel not far from the loading docks.

  "Bad news is the weather's hot as hell, well over one hundred degrees. Good new is there's one helluva big wildfire on the other side of the valley and the prevailing winds are blowing it right over the General's place, so visibility's pretty bad.

  "More bad news: there's a big party tonight—Pentagon brass, corporate execs— which means extra security and a lot more people we will not want to shoot. The upside's all the caterers, and deliveries of food and wine. That's how we get in."

  "Why wine delivered?" Rex asked. "From everything I've read, Braxton's got a multimillion-dollar wine cellar."

  "But he doesn't drink it," Kilgore said.

  "Doesn't drink it?"

  "He's a collector," Jasmine said. "It's all about the collection, not about the drinking."

  "Now that's crazy," Rex said.

  "It's one sign of the type of brain injury Braxton has," I said. "And he picked up his collecting mania right after the head wound."

  The pilot interrupted us with his final approach announcement. We helped Kilgore secure his papers and cleaned off the fold-down table until only a single red file folder remained. The jet lurched and yawed as the downdrafts of approaching afternoon thunderstorms tossed it about.

  "Here." He handed the file folder to Jasmine. "This describes your mission. Pass it along to Tyrone when you're done."

  The landing gear groaned into position. Only then did Jack Kilgore take his seat and buckle in for the landing.

  CHAPTER 89

  Castello Da Vinci's barrel-aging caves were rough semicircles in cross section and huddled deep inside the base of the old volcanic cone. Sprayed concrete and reinforcing mesh coated the rock walls to prevent the odd piece from falling onto the heads of winemakers and distinguished guests.

  The floor trickled damp from some deep and ambitious aquifer. The French-oak barrels came from trees near Limousin and reached to the ceiling, eight-high on metal racks that held two barrels each. All bore the General's coat of arms burned into the heads.

  Durable paper stapled to each head detailed the varietal, vintage, vineyard, winemaker; and other pedigree. A small alcove hollowed out of the rock walls off the main cave held a long, rough oak table around which sat twelve straight-backed chairs. A strikingly modern light hung over the table where barrel samples were tasted, admired, fawned over, and worshiped by the high priests of wine and the acolytes fortunate enough to be granted an audience with wine made from some of the world's most expensive grapes by one of the world's most exclusive celebrity winemakers under contract to one of the richest and most powerful men in the world.

  Dan Gabriel sat in one of the high-backed chairs and sneezed at the cold dankness. He was naked from the waist up, having given the rest of his clothes to Frank Harper, who lay semi-fetally on the table.

  "Bless you," said Harper.

  "Thanks." Gabriel got up and rubbed his shoulders as he walked around the room again. The thick, solid-oak cave door was the only exit and had a simple but hefty iron bolt that slid from the outside only.

  "It's no use," Gabriel mumbled as he made his circuit of the room, looking for a weapon, a path out, a tool, or any sort of inspiration for escape. "I've been around this room a hundred times and there's nothing that can help us."

  "Let's pull the bung on one of them and drink it," Harper said.

  Gabriel finished his circuit of the room and sat heavily back in the chair next to Harper.

  "Might as well," Gabriel said. "At least we'd go out happy"

  "That your choice?

  "Not much of a choice."

  "I suppose," Harper said. "But then, not making a choice is a choice itself, now isn't it?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "The decision not to make a choice is a decision to put yourself at the mercy of events and other people and allow them to make those choices for you."

  "What about now when we don't have a choice?"

  We always have a choice," Harper said, "but sometimes we have to search very hard for it."

  "Doctor, I've been scouring this damn place for hours now and all I get from you is philosophy." Gabriel's voice was sharp and raw.

  "I am sorry I don't have an answer," Harper said softly. "But if you are going to give up, then make it a conscious decision. That way you, and not someone else, will have made the choice, visualized the consequences, and come to terms with yourself. There is dignity in being responsible for one's own choices even if they turn out wrong."

  Gabriel listened to the quavering voice and couldn't tell if the old man was talking about the current situation or the past fifty years. Probably both.

  "Look, I'm sorry for being so tense," Gabriel said. "But this conversation is not helping us get out of here."

  "Is getting out of here your decision?"

  "Jeez, Doc!" Gabriel threw up his hands and stood up. "Of course it is, but making a decision is like Braxton deciding he's acting out of his own free will when he's a puppet of the short circuits in his head."

  "We've all got short circuits. Which doesn't mean we can't exercise free will."

  "Can Braxton?"

  Harper was silent for a thoughtful moment. "Not entirely."

  "Does that make him insane?"

  Again Harper let the silence grow around them. "I suppose we are all a bit insane in our own ways, but the General? No. Not in the legal sense, anyway."

  "Oh, boy," Gabriel mumbled as he made another circuit of the room. "Oh, boy; oh, boy: that w
as a lot of help."

  "All I can say is you need to be open for nonobvious choices," Harper said. "Free will depends on choices. I have faith there are always choices if we can but see them."

  "Sure, Doc. Sure."

  CHAPTER 90

  We landed at the Napa airport as the sun slouched toward the jagged western ridgetops and smoldered through the blood orange smoke and haze. A dark green Chrysler minivan with what looked like quarter- and half-sheets of thin plywood strapped to roof racks followed us as we taxied toward a row of hangars.

  As the jet slowed to a stop, Kilgore motioned us to pull down the window shades and stay on board. He then opened the door and stepped out.

  I reached for Jasmine's hand then, and she met me halfway. I gazed at her and marveled at the astounding energy of a simple touch. I thought about the deep, hidden power of this physical connection and visualized the contact where our skins met, taking it to smaller and smaller scales in my mind, skin to skin, molecules, atoms, all the way back to an ethereal quantum foundation where consciousness meets the essence of existence. In that moment of clarity, the twin blades of love and the fear of loss twisted again in my heart.

  A moment later, Kilgore stuck his head into the cabin. "Okay let's roll."

  We filed out with Rex carrying Talmadge by himself and climbed into a gearjammed minivan with Bill Lewis behind the wheel. Kilgore shoehorned himself inside and slid the door shut.

  "We don't have a lot of time," Lewis said. "My Intel guys say the delivery truck with the wine is supposed to be at the General's palace in something over an hour. It needs to arrive within a specific time window, partly because of security and partly because there are a lot of vehicles for the big shindig tonight and they all have to be inspected before getting inside."

  Outside the airport, we passed a boring row of forgettable buildings and shortly reached a traffic light at Highway 29, then turned north toward Napa. Minutes later Lewis turned into a big shopping-center parking lot and steered us past the Home Depot, toward a large RV, a dark blue Chevy pickup with a matching camper shell, and a white Toyota. Lewis parked next to the RV.