So far the trip had gone flawlessly. He’d met only a few contacts on the road, and none of them had tried to attack him. But the sun had receded over the mountains, and he feared the darkness would bring out the real threats. The gangs, especially the Russians that had moved into the area around Fort Collins to benefit from the legalization of marijuana, were well-organized, well-armed, and extremely violent. His gut told him some of the raiders were affiliated with the Russian Mafia.
A year back Colton had worked jointly with Sheriff Gerrard on a homicide that left three Russian mobsters dead, mutilated, and buried in shallow graves just outside Rocky Mountain National Park. Those murders were some of the worst Colton had ever seen. But he had a feeling he was going to be seeing more atrocities—and, like in Afghanistan, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to tell the enemy apart from the general population.
Colton’s experience in scanning for potential threats was nearly worthless in this new, lawless landscape. Since he’d left the final roadblock outside Estes Park, he’d driven by two men walking along Highway 34 and several teenagers riding bicycles. Any of them might have fired at his Jeep. Since there was no way of knowing what he’d find at the FEMA camp, he decided to head out to meet with Sheriff Thompson first. The lawman and cage fighter would know better than anyone what the conditions were around here—and if Colton could hope to get any help from the Feds at the camp.
He took a drink of water, carefully placed the bottle back in the cup holder, and pulled away from the shed. To his left was Glade Road, a less-traveled route to Fort Collins. He kept the speed of the Jeep around twenty miles an hour. The light snow hadn’t accumulated on the road, which meant no tracks. He hoped he’d be able to make it to Loveland without leaving a trail to follow.
You’re getting paranoid, he chided himself. Except it wasn’t really paranoia when anyone he met might be a hostile.
As soon as he was sure there wasn’t anyone on the street, he pressed down on the pedal and continued into the darkness, using the full moon to guide him around the abandoned vehicles. Drab fields framed the road on both sides, and rolling hills rose above them. The arid terrain was far removed from the lush landscape in the Estes Valley.
Most people used Highway 287 to get to Fort Collins. This route would allow him to take the back way in, which was the reason he’d selected it in the first place. Still, the threat of snipers, raiders, and gangs had Colton on edge, and driving without headlights made it even worse. It wasn’t much different than driving with his eyes closed, something he used to do as a teenager with his friends, daring each other to keep them shut for as long as they could.
Although he kept both hands on the wheel, his weapons were just a heartbeat away. He scanned the concrete and fields on both sides for any sign of a flashlight or movement, but Glade Road appeared to be empty.
This was worse than driving in Afghanistan on night missions. At least then he’d had Jake and his other brothers with him. It was every soldier’s worst nightmare to be heading into potential battle alone.
An abandoned pickup truck blocked the road around the next turn, and Colton eased off the gas. With one hand on the wheel, he reached for his Colt .45. For several minutes he sat in the vehicle, eyes darting over the landscape for any sign of hostiles. Shadows seemed to move back and forth on the road. He looked toward what appeared to be a person crouched in the field to the right, but saw it was just a bush.
Take it easy, Marcus. You’re freaking yourself out.
He steered around the pickup truck. Once clear, he pushed down on the pedal, giving the engine plenty of gas to speed away. He passed the mailboxes of ranch homes with boarded up windows. No trespassing signs were raised in front yards, but nobody seemed to be home.
Glade Road turned into County Road 38 E, and Colton got his first glimpse of Horsetooth Reservoir, the water sparkling in the moonlight. Several abandoned cars dotted the road along the water’s edge. He passed them on the right side, giving himself plenty of clearance.
A rocky overpass blocked the view of the city, making it a great place to scope out things to the east. He drove onto the shoulder, checked the road for contacts, and then shut off the engine. He grabbed both of his rifles and locked the Jeep.
The climb up the rocky hill only took him a few minutes. At the top, he set his rifles against a boulder and looked out over the flat terrain bordering the Rocky Mountains. A fire raged in the heart of the city. Aside from the wind, it was quiet—almost unnerving.
To the east, a wall of black clouds made it almost impossible to see anything. He brought up his rifle and zoomed in. They weren’t clouds at all. The black wall was more smoke. Colton crouched there for several moments, breathing heavily at the sight. Had something else happened to the FEMA Camp? Don had said it was all clear. So why did it look like the entire area was on fire?
He pivoted back to the city of Fort Collins. Several headlights were moving down a street to the east. Deciding to risk using his flashlight, he pulled out his map and marked the roads that appeared blocked by barriers or vehicles. It didn’t look like there were any good routes to the sheriff station.
After a few more moments studying the city, he picked up his weapons and headed back to the Jeep. When he got to the vehicle, he crouched once more and searched for any hostiles, but the road still looked empty. He loaded the rifles and fired up the Jeep.
This time he drove with both hands on the wheel and the Colt .45 on the dashboard. A fence of trees lined the road to his right. He kept to the left and prepared to gun the engine down what appeared to be an open stretch. Just as his foot pushed down, a silhouette burst from the wall of pine trees.
More massive shapes powered through bushes and around trees a moment later to move into the street. Flashlights flickered on all around, painting the Jeep with bright beams. In the glow, he saw a dozen horses, all mounted by armed men directing rifles at the windshield of his Jeep.
He slammed on his brakes and then put the vehicle in reverse. Looking over his shoulder, he saw more men on horses flanking the Jeep.
Colton pulled to the left side of the road, but that earned several warning shots that came dangerously close to the hood. He pushed down on the brakes again, coming to a stop with the front of the truck angled downward into a ditch. With nowhere to run, he put both hands on the steering wheel, knowing it was his only chance to get out of this alive.
A man wearing a bandana dismounted and walked over with a shotgun. Three other men followed, all of them carrying rifles. Colton kept his breathing steady and his hands in sight. The guy with the shotgun used the barrel to tap the window lightly.
“Roll down your window and then shut off the vehicle,” the man said.
Colton obeyed the order and cool air rushed into the vehicle. He caught a scent of something else too—something burning.
“Evenin’,” the man said, leaning down. Colton got a good look at him then—forty or so, dark eyes and hair, and a handlebar mustache. “What brings you to Fort Collins?”
“Got a meeting with Sheriff Thompson,” Colton said. He decided to give his name after a brief pause. “I’m Estes Park Police Chief Marcus Colton.”
The man turned and looked up to the road. “You hear that, boys? This here is a police chief all the way from Estes Park, and he’s here to see Sheriff Thompson.”
Someone laughed. Colton felt as though he were missing something. The men weren’t threatening him—they were mocking him. But why?
“So that’s what you guys are calling Thompson, eh?” the man said.
“I was told Sheriff Gerrard was killed by raiders and Thompson replaced him,” Colton said.
“Second part is true,” the man said.
Colton narrowed his eyes. “My patrol sergeant said…”
His words trailed off when he realized that no one had confirmed Don’s story. Colton cursed himself again for driving out here without doing more research. He had made a rash decision, and this time he feared it would
get him killed.
“On second thought, I think I should be getting back to Estes Park,” Colton said. “Would you men be kind enough to let me through?”
The guy propped his shotgun up on his shoulder and grinned, revealing a gap between his front teeth. “You just got here, Chief, and now you already want to go home?”
“Yes, sir,” Colton said.
“Well, that ain’t very polite of you. How about you get out of the Jeep? We’ll take your guns, and then we’ll take you to meet ‘Sheriff’ Thompson.”
***
Fenix had yet to see Nile Redford smile. Talking to him was like talking to a carved block of cedar—albeit one with a very large vocabulary. But this was only their second conversation, and Fenix was going to do everything in his power to get his ass out of here, even it meant joking with a damn redskin.
“What if I told you I could make you a better offer than ten million in gold?” Fenix said.
“I’m a businessman first and foremost,” Redford said. “Usually I wouldn’t listen to anything a racist prick like you had to say, but these are challenging times. I’m willing to give your misguided views a pass if you can do something for me.”
Redford sat in a red leather chair behind a fancy wood desk. Weapons, including several spears and bows, hung on the wall. Pictures featuring Redford and celebrities like Benjamin Bratt, Mike Tyson, and Angie Harmon were displayed between the weapons.
“Impressive place,” Fenix said.
Redford opened his desk drawer and pulled out a tobacco pipe. He lit it and took a puff, blowing out the smoke in Fenix’s face. It took everything in his power not to reach out, grab the pipe, and jam it down Redford’s throat.
Instead, Fenix glanced out the second-floor window, which overlooked a town he didn’t recognize. It was Colorado, had to be. But where, he wasn’t sure.
“I’m also a man that doesn’t like to waste time,” Redford said after taking another drag off his pipe.
“Nor do I,” Fenix replied. He coughed, and raised his handcuffs. He tried his best to hide his anger and disgust, reminding himself that at one point the United States military fought alongside some redskin tribes in the battle for the American West. Fenix was willing to do the same thing now if it meant achieving his end goal.
“I have over five hundred soldiers spread throughout Colorado,” Fenix said. “Men that have been preparing for this for years. We have weapons, supplies, vehicles, and communication equipment that is far more valuable than gold.”
Redford leaned back slightly in his chair. He took another hit of the pipe, blew the smoke into Fenix’s face, and gestured for him to continue.
Fenix coughed a second time and then gave Redford his best smile.
“The Feds ‘might’ give you ten million in gold bars for catching me,” he continued, tracing quotation marks in the air with his cuffed hands. “But what if they don’t? Judging by the looks of this place, and the fact you got a dude named Hacker working for you, I’m willing to guess you’re some sort of high-level loan shark at best and organized crime boss at worst.”
That got Redford’s attention. He straightened in his chair and narrowed his dark eyes.
“So my question, again, is, what makes you think that Montgomery bitch is going to give you shit for handing me over?” Fenix paused for a moment. “I, on the other hand, can ensure you make out real good if you get me back to my men.”
Redford finally smiled, just a quick flash of the whitest teeth Fenix had ever seen.
“And what makes you think I would trust a Nazi asshole like yourself?” Redford asked, leaning forward. He set the pipe down on his desk. “Hacker thinks we should cut your balls off, scalp you, and then tell the Feds which tree we hung you from. I’m inclined to agree.”
Fenix chuckled. “I like how he thinks, but I promise that would be a very bad idea.”
“Oh?” Redford relaxed back in his chair and folded his hands together. “And why is that?”
“Because those five hundred soldiers I told you about? Well, they’re out there looking for me,” Fenix said. He swallowed, hoping Redford couldn’t see his bluff. In reality, he had only half that many men, and he doubted they were mounting some sort of SEAL Team Six-style rescue mission.
Fenix placed his cuffed hands back in his lap. “Join up with me and my men, and let’s take over Colorado. You’ll have hundreds of millions of dollars’ worth of loot. Maybe more.”
“I do that, and I’ll have the government coming after me,” Redford said. “I’m a very rich man, partly because I like to keep a low profile.”
He stood behind his desk and sighed. “I thought you had something real to offer me. Instead you’ve wasted my precious time.”
Fenix wasn’t the type of man to beg—and it pained him to even be negotiating with an Indian—but the alternative was ending up in a dark prison cell for a few months before the Feds gave him the gas chamber. That was, if Hacker didn’t cut his nuts off first.
“Hold on, now. Don’t be hasty. There’s something else I haven’t told you yet.” He waited for Redford to take a seat. When the man had settled back into his plush leather chair, Fenix brought out the big guns. “I’ve got more than ten million in gold, silver, and weapons stowed away. You let me go and I’ll have it delivered to a place of your choosing. The government doesn’t have to know you ever met me.”
Redford stared at Fenix like a poker player trying to get a read on his opponent. Fenix tried not to let the fact that he was lying show on his face.
“That does sound tempting, but before I agree to anything, I think we need to have a little test. There’s something else I want. I heard you want it as well, which should make this mutually beneficial,” Redford said. “I want Raven Spears.”
Fenix cursed. The goddamn injun again.
“I understand Mr. Spears ambushed and slaughtered at least a dozen of your men,” Redford said. “Word travels fast over the radio channels that still work, and my men intercepted a transmission.”
“Yeah,” Fenix replied. He wasn’t sure if Redford was a friend of Raven’s or not, so he kept his answer simple.
Redford walked over to the pictures hanging on the wall of his office. He stopped to look at one.
“Raven killed one of my best enforcers and sent my cousin to jail. I retrieved Theo, and I’ve made Estes Park pay for their error in judgment. But frankly, I’ve taken a liking to the town. I want Raven captured and the way cleared for me to take over Estes Park. Do you think your men can handle that?”
Fenix nearly licked his lips at what sounded a lot like a proposition. “We’d be happy to help. Hell, I had similar plans, to be honest.”
Redford clasped his hands behind his back. It wasn’t the handshake Fenix was hoping for, but a quick nod from the well-dressed man told him that maybe this partnership wasn’t going to be such a bad thing after all.
***
Charlize was half asleep when she heard a knock on her apartment door. Ty heard it too. He sat up in bed and looked over at her with rumpled hair and squinty eyes.
“Mom, someone’s here,” he mumbled.
“I know. Go back to bed, sweetie.”
Ty remained sitting up as Charlize left the room. She threw on a large t-shirt and opened the door. Colonel Raymond stood in the hallway.
“Ma’am, I’m very sorry to bother you, but we just got word from Charlotte. I thought you would like to know immediately.”
“What is it? Is Al okay?”
“Albert Randall has located his sister, but his team is trapped. They encountered more resistance than expected.”
“I’ll come to the Command Center and monitor the situation myself,” she said. “Just give me a few minutes.”
Raymond held up a hand. “Ma’am, there’s something else.”
She hesitated, the door half closed.
“The SC in Charlotte is under a major attack,” he added. “It’s not random, either.”
“What do you mean?�
��
Raymond took a moment to think, or perhaps to choose the right words. “It appears to be a coordinated attack by several gangs. Captain Harris is requesting reinforcements.”
Charlize hesitated, recalling what had happened on her flyover. If she authorized aircraft to transport more troops, they could be shot down. A single crash would kill hundreds, if not more, in the teeming crowds surrounding the SC.
Charlize stood in the doorway. So much was happening, and it was all happening so fast. “We can’t let that SC fall,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” Raymond replied, apparently just now noticing her baggy t-shirt and shorts. Charlize had never been vain, but the look of mingled pity and horror on his face when he noticed her burn scars made her want to cover up. She made her way back into the bedroom and kissed Ty on his forehead. He was wide awake now.
“What’s going on, Mom? Did something happen to Big Al?”
Charlize shook her head and ran her hand through Ty’s thick hair. “Big Al is just fine. I’m going to go see if I can help him to get home, okay?”
Ty nodded. “Okay. Tell him I said hi.”
A few minutes later and Charlize was back in the situation room. It was quiet compared to the usual bustle, but several officers and General Thor sat with laptops and satellite phones. The clock read 0100 hours, but Charlize didn’t feel tired.
“Who’s got a SITREP on the situation in Charlotte?” she said as soon as she entered the room.
Thor stood. “Good eveni—morning,” he corrected himself. “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.”
Charlize remained standing. “Yes?”
“The east wall of the SC just came down, and people are pouring in. Captain Harris has ordered everyone to fall back. I doubt they will be able to hold the line through the night.”
Trackers Omnibus [Books 1-4] Page 71
