Kill the Heroes

by David Thurlo

  The phone rang, and he recognized the number. “Charlie, you injured?” came Russell Turner’s voice, showing a trace of his Southern drawl.

  If the CIA guy had been trailing him, he’d never noticed. “No, I’m fine, just a little smelly. Where are you?” Charlie added, looking toward the street. A white sedan had pulled over beside the gap in the fence line, and he could see a man inside.

  “I’m in the car you’re looking at, pal. I was leading the way, watching you in the rearview mirror ’cause I knew your destination. I didn’t snap on the van until it forced you off the road. I tried to intercept, but the guy did a one-eighty and went back in your direction. I lost sight of it for a while. Did you see it flash by you?”

  “More than that. The driver did a slow-motion drive-by, took a couple of shots with a hand gun, then hauled ass back north,” Charlie said.

  “Well, I lost track of the van when it went around a curve, and you were on the ground, so I decided to check on you first,” Turner replied. “I did get a read at the vehicle tag, however, earlier when I was watching the action at the Koury residence. I’ll message it to you. Call it in while I search the area for the van. Once you get a name to go with that plate, let me know. I can’t use local sources without identifying myself. There was also a Marine Corp decal on the left rear window of the van.”

  “Copy. Thanks for backing me up, but I’d like to ask a favor right now.”

  “What do you have in mind?” Turner asked.

  Charlie thought about it a second. “If you can’t locate the van, I’d like you to get into a position to protect Dawud and his family—not me. I’ve got Gordon and some good APD allies, but the Koury family is facing some rough days. You saw that yourself this evening. What do you say?”

  “I’ll think about it, Charlie. Dawud saved some American lives, mine included. Meanwhile, I’ve got to get going. Catch you later.” Turner ended the call.

  Turner wanted to remain anonymous, Charlie understood. He dialed 911 as the spook drove off north. Rio Grande Boulevard dead-ended at the bosque a few miles to the north, but there was always east and west, or doubling back south. Charlie wanted to alert APD and country deputies ASAP. The van was distinctive, maybe they’d get lucky.

  While he was waiting for the Bernalillo County deputies, the law enforcement agency that covered the village, Charlie called Gordon. Looking back at the pickup while he waited for the connection, he saw two bullet holes, one centered in the driver’s door, the other just aft of the seat, a few feet above the gas tank. There were probably a hundred feet of wire fencing stretched across the field and wrapped around the front of the truck.

  Thinking back at the sensation of his ride, Charlie imagined it was like running into a giant rubber band at twenty miles an hour. Thank God he was going the speed limit already and was slowing down as he was struck by the van. If he’d have gone off the road any faster, he might be lying on his side with a pickup wrapped around him.

  Hearing a siren in the distance, he walked over to the pickup and placed his Beretta on the seat cushion. No sense in alarming the law.

  * * *

  Nancy arrived around seven thirty, just after the deputy, despite the fact that she was technically out of her jurisdiction. Charlie had already been told that because of the current terrorist threat, all local agencies would be on call, and for him especially, because of previous attempts on his life. It was uncomfortable being a celebrity for all the wrong reasons, evident when every officer he encountered knew who he was despite having never met.

  When Nancy walked up to the scene Charlie had already given BCSD Sergeant Randy Trujillo the essentials on what had gone down, then retrieved his Beretta. Right now, the officer was photographing Koury’s damaged pickup and the tire marks in the field.

  “You okay, Charlie?” Nancy asked, looking back at him after nodding to the county officer and taking in the mess.

  “Yeah, I’m just glad I was creeping along when he cut me off. If I’d have known it wasn’t just some crazy out to break the land speed record, I might have been able to prevent this. The van came up fast, I decided to let him come on around, then boom!”

  “Shots were fired, I gather. Sure it wasn’t just road rage?”

  “I can’t say for sure, but the driver came back after running me off the road and fired three shots. If I’d have cut him off, flipped the finger, or defamed his mother, maybe so. But he was after me all along. I saw a van like this one among the vehicles parked on Koury’s street, which means I was followed, then attacked,” Charlie said, stretching the truth. He’d probably seen the van, all right, but for the moment, he wanted to leave Turner out of the conversation.

  “Again, no description. Good thing you managed to notice and remember his plate numbers, though,” Nancy said, looking at him skeptically.

  “I have a knack for numbers. You have an ID on the owner?” he said.

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. The listed owner is a Marine vet, and his apartment isn’t too far from here. I’m heading there next.”

  “Can I go with?” Charlie asked. He was tired of being in the bull’s-eye and wanted to take action. “If Sergeant Trujillo says okay.” He turned to face the county officer, who’d just come over.

  “I’ve already interviewed Mr. Henry, Serge … um, Detective Medina, is it now?” Trujillo said, reaching out and shaking Nancy’s hand.

  “Good to see you again, Randy,” Nancy said, nodding. “How’s the wife and daughter?”

  “It’s the terrible twos with Cindi. She’s already developed way too much attitude,” Trujillo responded. “Go ahead and take off, people. I’ve got to wait for CSI,” he joked. “When you come back, remind me to show you five hundred photos of my little terror.”

  Nancy laughed, then put her hand on Charlie’s arm. “Let’s go before he takes us up on that.”

  They continued down Rio Grande, with emergency lights on in Nancy’s APD unmarked unit, traveling at twice the speed limit. “What else did you get on this Marine?” Charlie asked.

  “His name is Benjamin Webster. He served for six years and was discharged at the rank of Lance Corporal. Webster was wounded in Afghanistan, and since leaving the military has changed his residence at least seven times in the last two years,” Nancy responded. “No arrests, except two bar fights, charges dropped, both more than a year ago.”

  “Another vet with issues. I wonder if there’s a connection with Back Up?” Charlie asked.

  “That could be interesting. When we reach Webster’s residence, be on your toes. If he’s the shooter, remember that you’re the target.”

  “Maybe you should have some backup.”

  “Already on the way. If they arrive before we do, the units have been told to keep out of sight,” Nancy added.

  “I don’t think he’s the guy that murdered the pilot,” Charlie said, “or took the shot in the alley.”

  “Why not?”

  “The shooter has missed me twice. Most Marines could have taken me out with the first shot in the alley.”

  “Unless he was high on something.”

  “People high on drugs or booze aren’t as careful as the profile suggests. And either the terrorist, or whoever it is, attacked on impulse today, breaking the pattern. Maybe it was someone else, but not the Marine.”

  “Like a local ‘patriot’ trying to injure or kill who he thought was Dawud Koury? But you don’t look like Koury, and if he was there, the perp in the van probably saw you getting into the truck.”

  “Okay. Nothing quite fits. I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

  Twilight was approaching as they drove up the street where Webster supposedly lived. Nancy parked on the street in front of an adjacent apartment building. “There’s the van,” Charlie pointed out. “In front of what looks like apartment C. The place doesn’t look like much,” he said, noting the roof of the structure was missing a few shingles, the cinder-block walls needed paint, and the wooden trim around Webster’s apartment
door was just hanging on.

  She grabbed her radio mike and advised her backup officers, setting up approaches to cover her and also to watch the rear in case Webster tried to sneak out a back door or window.

  “Stay in the vehicle, Charlie,” Nancy ordered. “If he’s after you, no sense in giving him an easy target.”

  “Leave the keys, though. If he runs, you don’t want to have your car this far away.”

  “Okay, but don’t move the vehicle without my signal. Just keep an eye on things,” she said.

  “Be careful, girl.”

  Nancy smiled. “Always, boy.”

  As soon as Nancy reached the building, Charlie slipped out onto the sidewalk and watched as Nancy made a tactical approach, backed up by an officer. She knocked, announced she was a cop, then stood back and waited, weapon out but down by her side.

  “Police officer, Mr. Webster. Come outside with your hands behind your head,” she shouted.

  Chapter Twelve

  Charlie started walking in that direction, alert to a sudden ambush, his hand resting on the 9mm handgun at his hip. Nancy was a smart cop, but she was also mortal.

  Instead of a sudden attack, the door of apartment A, the manager’s apartment two doors down, opened. A woman in her early fifties wearing jeans and a loose, sleeveless top stepped out into the common parking area. “What’s going on, Officers? Ben’s in Phoenix right now.”

  Charlie continued toward the building, looking around in case the man was hiding beside or behind a house or vehicle. Nearly an hour had passed since he’d been run off the road, so Webster could have returned here with at least thirty minutes to spare. It would be dark soon, and there were plenty of backyards and alleys to hide in. The manager could be lying.

  Nancy noticed he was approaching, held up her palm to signal he should halt, then stepped back and gingerly put her hand on the van’s hood.

  “Maintain position,” Nancy ordered the other officers, then, not turning her back to apartment C, responded to the woman. “Are you sure, ma’am? This van was seen several miles from here less than an hour ago. The engine is still warm, too hot for just sunshine.”

  The lady walked over to where Nancy was standing. “That’s not possible. I’m the only one besides Ben with a key, and if it had been … oh,” she added, looking down at the gravel parking lot.

  By then, Charlie had inched closer, and even from twenty feet away he could see two sets of similar tracks in the pea-sized gravel.

  The woman noticed Charlie, smiled, and then turned back to Nancy. “Well, it looks like someone had moved his van recently. But it can’t be Ben—unless he quit his job and returned without me noticing. He’s been gone for two weeks and isn’t supposed to be back in the city for several more days. What do the police want with him anyway?”

  “You don’t have any surveillance cameras, do you Miss…” Charlie asked.

  “Beverly Larson, handsome,” the woman smiled, holding out her hand to shake.

  “I’m Charlie, Beverly. About the cameras?” he asked again, looking along the roof trim but not seeing anything.

  “Are you kidding? If it wasn’t for God, we wouldn’t even have air at this dump!” Beverly responded with a grin. “Our slum lord, I mean landlord, cuts corners when it comes to safety and maintenance. When Ben is in town, we all sleep a little better.”

  Nancy finally spoke. “I’m Detective Medina, ma’am. Did you see anyone near the vehicle within the last hour?”

  “No I did not, but I’ve been catching up on my email. Now, exactly what could you want with Ben Webster? He’s laying off the booze, never causes any trouble, and has managed to find work almost every day since he moved in. He’s a vet, I want you to know, and has been through some hard times.”

  “We appreciate that. Did Mr. Webster leave you a cell phone number? We need to know where he is right now,” Charlie asked, then looked over at Nancy and shrugged.

  Beverly glanced at Nancy, who nodded. “Make that an official request, ma’am.”

  The woman shrugged, then reached into the hip pocket of her too-tight jeans and brought out a phone. “Want me to call him for you?”

  “Save your minutes, ma’am. Just the number, please,” Nancy replied, bringing out a notebook.

  The lady read the number off her display, and Nancy wrote it down before her next question. “Ms. Larson. Could you let us into Mr. Webster’s apartment just long enough for us to verify that he’s not home?”

  “Don’t trust me, huh?”

  “Family and friends of suspects and witnesses to crimes often lie to officers in order to protect someone else,” Nancy said softly, now looking back at apartment C with her hand clearly on the butt of her pistol. “I can get a warrant. But why not cooperate and save us all some embarrassment and publicity, and the need to contact your employer?”

  “Just what did the driver of that van do, anyway?” Beverly asked.

  “Among other things, he tried to kill me,” Charlie responded instantly, hoping for impact.

  “Oh no! Well, it wasn’t Ben, that’s for sure. In order to protect him, I’ll let you into his apartment. Just don’t touch anything, okay?”

  “Nothing but a very orderly apartment—and a thin layer of dust,” Nancy announced after a few minutes, crouching down low to allow light to enter the apartment from the opened door.

  “Smart, checking to see if any fresh boot prints show on a floor with weeks of New Mexico dust,” Charlie said, also crouching down for a look.

  “If the man has really been out of town, there’s no way he used his apartment as a home base for recent events. I’m going to give him a call,” Nancy said, turning toward the door where the manager was standing. “We’re done here for now, ma’am.”

  As Nancy walked away, phone to her ear, Charlie had a question for Beverly. “Did Ben happen to get his jobs through a vet’s service called Back Up?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Just a lucky guess, Beverly. Did he ever say anything about the service, maybe the owner, Nathan Whitaker?”

  “You mean the officer killed by the terrorist at that park?” Beverly asked. “No, Ben really respected Captain Whitaker. Said he was a good soldier in spite of being just Army—his words. Wait a minute, aren’t you one of the heroes? The Native American who’s also been attacked? That’s where I saw you, on the news.”

  “Yes, and that’s why I have a personal stake in finding this … terrorist. We’re doing everything we can to put the animal into a cage.”

  “Do us all a favor,” Beverly declared, her arms across her chest. “Shoot him instead.”

  “Charlie, let’s go,” Nancy called. “And thanks, ma’am, for your help. Here’s my card, if you think of anything. Officers will remain here until a wrecker comes to transport the van downtown. Our crime scene people are going to search for trace evidence.”

  “Do you need the key to Ben’s van?” Beverly asked.

  “That would help,” Nancy answered.

  “I’ll get it then,” she said, then walked back toward her apartment.

  “How’d the shooter get inside?” Charlie asked Nancy. “A slim jim?”

  “No doubt. This is an older model, which makes it easy to gain entry. I also saw fresh scratches on the door. And once inside, it would be easy to hot wire. It’s probably been wiped clean, but we need to verify,” she replied.

  “So the shooter has auto theft skills?” Charlie asked.

  “Law enforcement people know how to get inside a vehicle, and so do locksmiths. Or anyone who has access to the internet and the right tools,” Nancy replied. “That includes a lot of potential suspects—including lone-wolf terrorists who know how to look up online instructions.”

  Charlie thought again of Caleb Koury, still unable to believe the kid was a terrorist. “I wonder what kind of conversations Dawud’s son had on that computer?”

  “The boy’s not the shooter, at least for today, that’s for sure. Though he may have some id
ea who that could be,” Nancy said just as the woman manager returned with the key.

  “What do I tell Ben if he calls?” Beverly asked.

  “Tell him to contact me,” Nancy answered, taking the key. “I’ll try to reach him, but please, ma’am, don’t call him yourself, not until we can clear his name. We don’t want to point any more suspicion in his direction, do we?”

  A short time later Nancy and Charlie were headed west across Albuquerque. Charlie remained silent for a while, noting that the route was taking them toward the north valley and FOB Pawn. “What’s next?”

  “It’s past dinnertime already, and you’re going home, I hope. Your car is still parked at the shop, right?”

  Charlie nodded. “Did you manage to get Webster on the phone?”

  “No, I got the ‘not available’ message. He may have just turned his phone off to save some minutes. I contacted Max Mitchell, hoping to find out who Webster is working for right now. He gave me a name, I got an answering machine, and left a message. I’m going to have Phoenix PD track down Webster to verify his location.”

  “Okay, Nancy. But it’s no coincidence that the victim and Webster have a connection to Back Up. Why did the shooter, terrorist or not, steal that particular van?”

  “Hell if I know. Either way, that individual, or group of individuals, are leading us in a big circle. We have no real motive either, except for that kill the heroes angle.”

  “I vote we keep one eye on the victim’s business and personal life. Azok is still on my list, and just because nobody connected with Back Up has been identified as the potential killer, that doesn’t rule them out either,” Charlie said.

  “I’ve still got to focus on the terrorist angle, Charlie, but I’ll keep after the Webster issue. How about you and Gordon, as vets, start showing a lot more interest in Back Up? Keep digging for those personal motives.”

  “And Azok?”

  “DuPree wants me to run that down, but let’s stay in touch. I don’t like to see you putting yourself in danger again.”

  “My plan is to put the shooter in danger,” Charlie admitted.