by Andrew Watts
He saw the farmer’s field, his intended landing spot, and maneuvered them around into the wind, lowering the throttle and making his approach on a flat patch of grass just next to the tree line. He quickly shut the engine down, and Trent disappeared into the woods with the duffle bag over his shoulder. Max walked along the field until he reached the street, then headed towards the senator’s driveway gate. He kept an eye on his watch, making sure that he gave Trent at least five minutes to make his way through the woods and towards the house.
Eventually Max walked up to the police car outside Becker’s property and waved. “Good afternoon.” He must have looked like a drifter, coming down the street without a car.
“Can I help you?” asked the uniformed cop, approaching from the nearest police vehicle.
“Sir, my name is Max Fend. My father is Charles Fend. Perhaps you’ve heard of him? He’s the CEO of Fend Aerospace and a good friend of Senator Becker’s. I know the senator is in, and I wished to pay our respects and offer our services.”
“The senator told us he didn’t wish to be disturbed.”
“Of course, I understand that, sir. However, my father and I have a personal relationship with the senator—”
The second cop got out of his vehicle and approached, this one in plain clothes. Good. Two cars, two cops. No one else watching the house. Max could make out a shadowy figure in the distance, walking fast from the woods towards the house, a black duffle bag over its shoulder. Moving quick enough to make up the ground at a good pace, but slow enough not to draw the eye’s attention. Just another few seconds.
“What’s going on?” asked the second officer. Max surmised that this was the senior man, based on the way he was posturing. Max relayed his request to pay Senator Becker a visit, adding, “Officer, our family is very close with the senator. My father, Charles Fend, owner of Fend Aerospace, is a good friend. I will only be a few minutes. My father wants to offer him a flight on his private jet back to D.C., where the funeral will be held.”
The last part was total BS, since the funeral likely hadn’t even been discussed, but Max figured where there was confusion, there was opportunity.
The two cops looked at each other. Max heard one whisper to the other, “Well, his dad is famous. I mean, what’s he gonna do? I say let him at least go to the door.”
The plainclothes cop shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Fend. But the senator said—”
A yell from the home interrupted them, and for a moment Max panicked, thinking Trent might have run into trouble.
But it was the senator, standing in the doorway, waving. “Let him in, gentlemen! Thank you.”
The police officers tipped their hats to Max, and he walked the fifty yards down the paved driveway and up the steps to the front entrance. The door was left cracked open, and the senator’s face looked much less peaceful this close up.
“They still looking?” Max asked.
“Yeah,” replied Trent from the dark hallway.
The maid was on the floor, her wrists and ankles bound with zip ties and her mouth covered with duct tape. Trent stood next to her holding a pistol, its suppressor nuzzled against the senator’s back.
Max shut the door behind them.
“Hello, Senator. We’d like to have a quick word.”
Chapter 30
From inside the home, Renee could see Ian Williams’s men moving closer to the group in the middle.
She spoke quietly, still trying to dig for information. The man was holding a weapon. A small black pistol. “Who are the men here, do you think?”
The assassin said, “I don’t know exactly. But I don’t give them much longer to live.”
Renee gave him a concerned glance.
One of the men sitting on the patio furniture called out to Williams. Renee could hear him speaking Spanish and laughing. Then Williams nodded to one of his gunmen, and the rest happened quick.
She cupped her mouth as the gunman wheeled around and unslung his submachine gun. One of the tiny black ones, with a long cylinder on the end. A rapid spray of flame, and the group of men around the fire pit were cut down in a burst of red, their bodies littered with bullet holes.
Everything went quiet as the shooters surveyed the scene. Renee was horrified. She saw two of the gunmen rolling out the same blue tarp that they had used to wrap up Jennifer Upton’s body. It looked like they were about to start cleanup.
The French-speaking assassin standing next to Renee suddenly cursed.
“What’s wrong?”
He had been calm during the gunfire but was now agitated. He stood up quickly and moved towards the window, holding his weapon in both hands.
“What’s wrong?” asked Renee again, wondering if he would go outside, leaving her alone in the room.
A chance to escape.
“Shhh.”
The men outside were now upset as well, she saw. One of Williams’s Mexican gunmen was down on the ground, dead and bleeding from his head. She heard Williams swearing at his men.
“Well, one of you must have bloody shot him! It couldn’t have ricocheted from there! How the hell…?”
Then another gunman’s face went missing, his body dropping to the brick patio.
For a moment everyone was frozen in confusion. By the time the third gunman was hit, they were scattering like ants. Williams and Syed sprinted towards the house, heads tucked low. Loud cracks of gunfire rang out as some of the sicarios began shooting towards the inlet.
At what, Renee couldn’t see.
The senator hadn’t known who Renee was or whether she was in captivity. But after Trent had held a gun to his head, Becker had done two things rather fast: wet his pants, and revealed Ian Williams’s location.
Williams was—incredibly—just across the bay, at the mansion on the peninsula. Within Trent’s rifle range. The senator’s window was the only spot with a view over the stone wall of the peninsular property. Just as Max and Trent looked out the window, they witnessed several men in black gun down a group sitting on a patio.
Trent had taken out his suppressed rifle and gone to work. Max ran down the stairs and out the senator’s front door, towards the police vehicles in front of the house. He had quickly called Wilkes, frantically filling him in. Wilkes promised to contact local law enforcement.
Now Max watched as the black-and-white police car put its lights on and sped out of the driveway, heading north on the main road. The plainclothes officer was halfway into his vehicle when he saw Max.
“We just got a call from our chief. It seems you misled us, Mr. Fend.”
“Sorry about that,” Max huffed.
They both turned as the sound of popping gunfire erupted in the distance.
“It was suggested to me that I let you tag along. You’ve got some three-letter agency affiliation.”
“Please…”
The cop rolled his eyes. “Get in. Get in. We got to go.”
Max hopped in the passenger side and the police vehicle accelerated down the road.
“Does Oshkosh have a SWAT team?”
“Yes, we do.”
“They on the way?” The speedometer got up to eighty on the tiny road, the trees flying by. Then the police officer decelerated rapidly and took a hard right, following the lake road, the car bouncing as they drove.
“Most of them are on duty at the air show. But they’ve been notified to get here as soon as possible.”
Ahead of them, Max saw the other police car parked outside of a stone wall with a wrought-iron gate. The cop had his pistol drawn and was standing behind the car. Max’s vehicle came to a halt right behind the first vehicle, and both he and the plainclothes officer got out.
The gunfire was louder now that they were here, coming in rapid bursts. But they couldn’t see anyone manning the gate. The whole property was surrounded by a tall stone wall. All Max could see through the wrought-iron front gate was a row of fancy SUVs parked on the lawn just inside the stone wall, and two more SUVs parked in
the roundabout driveway in front of the mansion.
“What are you doing?” asked the cop.
Max was feeling his way up the stone wall, finding a grip and placing his shoe on a foothold.
“I need to get in there. I suggest you two wait here for your SWAT team. There’s at least one hostage inside—a woman. Tell them to be careful when they arrive.”
Max didn’t wait for a response. He flung himself over, scraping his leg and ignoring the pain, landing on his feet on the grass. He then removed his pistol from his concealed carry holster and jogged towards the entrance of the house.
Trent had picked off seven of the twelve gunmen from the senator’s office window across the bay when he’d decided to move his position. By then, some of the gunmen had located him and he was drawing fire.
He placed his weapon on safe and tucked it back in the duffle bag. Then he headed down the stairs. The senator and maid were both still tied up, sitting in the front hallway. The duct tape had been taken off the maid’s mouth and placed over the senator’s.
A knock at the door made Trent reach for his pistol. Mike, the young CIA operative, stuck his head in.
“Wilkes asked me to give you a hand here.”
Trent looked at the senator, who was avoiding eye contact. “You babysit them. And give me your keys.”
“Wilkes is outside. He’ll drive you.”
“Fine.”
Trent jogged to the car and got in.
“Everything go alright?”
“For me. Not so much for them.”
Wilkes hit the gas and they headed towards the fight.
Wilkes said, “Any word from Max?”
“I couldn’t see him, but he should be there by now.”
“How many?”
“At least five of them were left.”
“That’s not great odds.”
Renee was wired with adrenaline and sheer terror as she witnessed the gunfire. Williams and Syed were now inside the room, both looking out at the carnage in the yard. The assassin was also looking that way, but he’d moved to an adjacent room, still holding his gun.
She decided it was now or never, and she bolted.
Renee raced towards the mansion’s front door, pumping her arms and gritting her teeth, her limbs feeling like they were twice their usual weight. She was scared half out of her mind as she braced herself for a bullet in the back.
“Hey!” someone shouted from behind, and she heard the fast squeaks of footsteps on hardwood flooring.
Her sweaty palm pushed down the ornate door latch and pulled, but she felt resistance. She cursed, then flipped the deadbolt and repeated. The door flung open, and she could just barely make out a man running towards her with a gun in his hand. She almost panicked but then realized who it was.
She screamed, “Max!”
As she started to run out the door, what felt like a locomotive hit her from the side, knocking her out of the way and to the floor. The sound of gunshots and a slamming door and then more yelling and a searing white-hot pain in her temple.
“Take her with you.”
Her vision was blurred, but somewhere in her mind she knew the voice belonged to Ian Williams. She felt herself being dragged away. She tried to squirm and fight, but the strong grip and multiple hands on her were too much to overcome.
Renee blinked away the haze and realized she was being carried into a garage, then thrown in the backseat of a car. The cough of an engine turning over and the familiar creak of a garage door opening. Then a lurch as the car accelerated and the deafening roar of gunfire coming from inside her vehicle. Ears ringing and a clang as the car must have hit something.
Then everything got quiet. She looked up, and Ian Williams’s face was smiling over hers. Licking his lips in his disgusting way.
He whispered, “I told you that I would take you myself, dearie.”
Chapter 31
Max cursed from his hiding spot in the hedges in front of the house. He’d seen Renee at the door, screaming his name. She was so close, but then someone had tackled her from the side. Max had shot one of the gunmen square in the chest before the door had slammed shut. He was getting ready to break through a window when an SUV had emerged from the garage. Max was sure he could make out Renee’s face in the backseat.
Someone from the getaway vehicle had fired at the now-substantial police presence on the main street in front of the home as it barreled through the wrought-iron gate.
Max got up, tucked his gun into its holster, and ran the fifty or so yards towards the police vehicles, hoping no one would mistake him for one of the cartel gunmen. He heard a pop shot behind him and the snap of a bullet going past but kept running, knowing it was his best course of action.
As he arrived at the now-bashed gate entrance, a man in SWAT tactical gear grabbed him and pulled him behind the stone wall. A few of the police cars were starting up, looking like they were getting ready to pursue the fleeing SUV.
Someone yelled, “It’s okay, he’s with us!”
A sedan came to a halt in the middle of the street and two men got out. Trent and Wilkes.
Max pointed down the road as the SWAT man released him. “Trent, they’re about a half mile ahead. Dark SUV. They’ve got Renee.”
Trent nodded and grabbed the keys out of Wilkes’s hand, jumping in the driver’s seat. Max opened the passenger door and threw himself inside.
Wilkes stared at the two from the street as Trent accelerated, and the world spun past. Max’s mind raced as he thought of what Renee was going through. Of where she was headed. Of what they might do to her…
Renee felt the SUV jolt as they drove through a chain-link fence. She was sitting up in the center of the backseat, a Latino gunman to her left, Williams to her right.
“There,” William yelled. “That’s ours.”
The SUV zoomed along the flight line, where the private jets were parked. It came to a halt outside a sleek white Learjet.
Williams talked to one of the pilots out the window, speaking rapid Spanish and getting angrier by the moment.
“He says we can’t take off. Several of the private jets have been defueled by airport operations, this one included. They say the order came from the Department of Homeland Security. We need another way.”
Syed said, “If we can get to Fond du Lac’s airport, my aircraft is there.”
“How do you know we won’t face the same issue?”
“My men will not have allowed this to happen. If we can get there, we will be able to leave without problem.”
“Well, we can’t drive there. The police are everywhere now.”
The younger man—the assassin—was in the front passenger seat. He pointed out the front window. “That aircraft over there across the runway has started up. We can tell the pilot to take us to Fond du Lac.”
“That thing is a relic. It’s for tourists.”
“It doesn’t matter, it flies,” spat Williams.
He said something in Spanish, and the driver raced across the taxiways and main runway as fast as the SUV would go. The vehicle slammed to a stop just in back of the running aircraft.
Renee recognized the plane. She realized it was the Ford Trimotor. The one the old Tuskegee Airman had been telling her about. A short line of passengers stood at the gate. Renee was forced out of the SUV at gunpoint, and the group began walking towards the old aircraft. Three loud external motors, each the size of a man, sputtered and rattled, their propellers spinning, angled upward.
The crowd in line for Ford Trimotor rides looked alarmed as the menacing group walked towards the plane. Some noticed that they were carrying weapons, and someone yelled, “Gun!”
A police officer wearing a bike helmet and a neon-yellow-and-black uniform shouted and began to draw his weapon. Ian Williams lifted his pistol and shot the man twice in rapid succession, the dark red holes appearing in the neon yellow uniform as the man fell backward.
Renee cringed and let out a yelp, the crowd aroun
d them screaming, running away.
As she was marched towards the plane, she saw the assassin get on first and point a gun towards the pilot. She walked up a short staircase and ducked through the entrance. Renee was made to sit in the front of the cabin. The rear door slammed shut, barely audible over the noise, and Williams and Syed sat in the seats behind and next to her. Then the engines roared louder, and she could barely hear a thing. She looked up at the cockpit of the plane, high up another set of stairs, bright white daylight from outside the cockpit windscreen contrasting with the dark cabin. The assassin stood there, pointing a gun at the head of the pilot in the right seat.
She realized the man in the left pilot seat was the little old Tuskegee Airman. For a brief moment she thought she was hallucinating, yet there he was, his wrinkled face looking up at the assassin’s eyes and then down at his gun.
Renee felt a jolt as the aircraft’s engine power overcame the friction of its own chocks, and they began moving slowly forward down the taxiway.
Max’s vehicle raced across the runway as the Ford Trimotor began taxiing.
“We’ve got to stop them from taking off.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. The plane’s passenger door is on the rear right side. See if you can get me on board.”
Trent glanced at Max quickly. Maybe seeing if he was kidding. Then he looked forward, gripping the wheel tight, the gas all the way to the floor. “Roger. Get in the backseat.”
Max hopped in the back-left seat and lowered the window.
Trent kept the speed up and stayed wide, maneuvering his vehicle around the aircraft’s tail and then pulling in left, slowing and getting snug up to the aircraft.
