Vigilante Assassin: An Action Thriller (Jake Wolfe Book 2)

by Mark Nolan

  Jake nodded reassuringly at the kids, but he knew it wasn’t over yet. Not even close.

  Chapter 20

  Jake asked Chrissy to give him his phone, and then he spoke to Lauren. “Call the FBI. Tell them it’s an emergency and you have to speak with Agent Knight. Tell Knight to trace my phone, find my location and send the FBI helicopter to pick up the kids. Hurry; we’re not out of the woods yet.”

  “I’ll do it right now.” Lauren ended the call.

  Jake said, “Cody, find the garage. Find me a car.”

  Cody ran into the hallway.

  Jake and the kids followed him, with Paul covering their backs.

  Cody stopped at a door. “I’ll clear it,” Jake said. He opened the door while holding his weapon up and ready, and went into the garage. A few seconds later he yelled, “Clear!”

  Paul came into the garage first, weapon ready. He confirmed that it was Jake who’d spoken, and he was not captured. Only then did he let Cody and the children through the door.

  Jake nodded at Paul. They both looked at the stolen Porsche SUV parked there with the hood up and the back hatch open. The floor mats and the spare tire had been removed and tossed aside. Jake checked the front seat and saw the key fob in a center console cupholder. “Everybody get in the car—hurry!”

  He quickly made sure the kids were buckled in while Paul slammed down the hood and closed the back hatch. Jake pushed a button on the wall that opened the garage door, then jumped in the Porsche, started it up, and backed down the driveway into the street.

  As he shifted into drive, a car careened to a stop at the curb in front of the house with a screech of tires. An angry man flung the passenger door open and ran in front of the Porsche with a pistol in his hand.

  Jake yelled, “Duck down out of sight. Do it!”

  The kids leaned over on their sides in the backseat and Cody crouched in the back cargo area.

  Paul lowered his window and drew his weapon. The man in the street fired at the Porsche. His bullet hit Jake’s driver’s-side mirror and then slammed into Chrissy’s door.

  Chrissy screamed. Paul fired his pistol and hit the man in the chest. Jake stomped on the gas pedal, sending the Porsche charging forward like a rocket, running over the attacker, with the car’s wheels thumping over the body.

  Paul pointed his finger at the road ahead and Jake swerved just in time to avoid crashing into an oncoming car.

  “Jake, you should let me drive,” Paul said.

  Jake shook his head. “We can’t stop.”

  The man who was sitting behind the wheel of the parked vehicle got out and started shooting at the back of the Porsche.

  Jake ducked his head and drove blind for a moment. The back window exploded and a section of the front windshield splintered into a spiderweb of hundreds of tiny cracks. Jake lifted his head and found that he could only partly see out of the windshield. He stuck his face out his door window and barely avoided hitting an oncoming car. “Close your eyes and cover your faces with your hands.”

  Jake pulled over for a second, closed his eyes and used his pistol to knock the cracked safety glass out of the windshield. He opened his eyes, looked in his rearview mirror and saw that other vehicle was now in pursuit. He roared down the street, arrived at a main road, turned right, and sped up. Everything he saw looked as if it was extra bright, shimmering with movement, and melting. His forehead was warm, and he felt smarter and better than the other drivers on the road. They were idiots—he was a genius. Why didn’t the fools pull over and get out of his way?

  Paul took off his seat belt, leaned out his window and methodically fired shots at the pursuing vehicle.

  Windshield.

  Radiator.

  Front tire.

  A black helicopter appeared overhead, and a loudspeaker crackled with a female voice that said, “Jukebox, follow us.”

  Jake flashed his headlights in reply and followed. A mile down the road, the helicopter landed in the empty parking lot of a restaurant. Jake pulled up in the Porsche and said, “Paul, leave the pistol in the car.”

  “Roger that.” Paul took off the holster belt and dropped it in the footwell.

  Everybody got out of the vehicle.

  “Chrissy and Ben, hold hands with me,” Jake said. He held hands with the kids and they ran to the bird and climbed inside. Paul and Cody jumped in after them, and the helicopter took off just as the pursuing vehicle came roaring down the street.

  Jake helped the kids into their seats. “Put on your seat belts and tighten them.”

  The kids buckled up and looked around with wide eyes.

  The helicopter was over fifty feet long and could normally hold up to fourteen passengers, plus one pilot, but the inside of this one was custom-configured.

  “Give me a rifle, and circle back around,” Jake said. He was down on one knee in front of the open door, in an area where some of the seats had been removed. The wind blew in his hair as he held onto a strap and looked down at the pursuing vehicle.

  The woman closed the helicopter door. “Stand down, Wolfe. This is an extraction, not a firefight.”

  Jake recognized her. “Agent Reynolds, I know you have a rifle. Give it to me.”

  “You’re not in charge. I am. The police are going to capture those men alive, so they can be interrogated.”

  “Some of them are already dead.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of.”

  Jake grabbed a pair of binoculars off a seat, looked out the window, and saw police vehicles arriving from all directions, with their blue and red lights flashing. “Are you sure we can’t provide air support for the police?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Terrell Hayes and Beth Cushman are closing in on the targets.”

  The look on Reynolds’ face told Jake she wasn’t going to back down. He respected her for that.

  Jake looked through the binoculars again, seeing a police SUV drive up and stop a few blocks ahead of the pursuing vehicle.

  Terrell got out of the SUV holding what looked like a black duffel bag. He threw it underhanded like a bowling ball while holding on to one handle. It unfurled and rolled across the road, leaving a strip of spikes designed to deflate the tires of a vehicle.

  The speeding car ran over the spike strip and all four tires burst, sending the car careening out of control and crashing into a light pole.

  Terrell ran toward the car while Beth drove up in front of it, blocked the road, and got out of her police SUV with her pistol drawn.

  There were flashes of gunfire from inside the crashed car, and Beth’s pistol and Terrell’s shotgun blazed repeatedly as they returned fire in self-defense.

  Jake nodded his head. “Get some, Grinds.” He then reached out and shook Agent Reynolds’ hand. “Thanks for the ride. How did you know my Marine radio call sign was Jukebox?” He slurred his speech a bit as he talked, and he swayed from side to side.

  “The FBI knows more about you than your own mother does—and we’re just as disappointed in you.”

  Jake smiled. “You made a joke, Reynolds?”

  She shook Jake’s hand. Jake got the feeling she wanted to understand him but just couldn’t do it. He’d seen that look before. The two of them had past experience of not seeing eye to eye. His guess was she never knew what he might do next and that unsettled her. He was a wild card, a loose cannon, full of surprises. She didn’t trust him because he didn’t follow the rules. But somehow he got results in his own crazy way. She had to grudgingly admit that much. He’d heard that speech in any number of meetings, and was past giving a damn about it.

  After Jake observed her facial expressions and body language, he held her gaze and raised his eyebrows as if he’d read her thoughts.

  Reynolds frowned. Her face went red, and she turned her back on him. She went to the kids and checked their seat belts.

  Jake sat down in a seat but didn’t bother with the seat belt. Cody sat on the floor and Jake petted him. He was relieved that the kids were safe in
the helicopter, and he felt grateful to be alive. Waves of drug-fueled emotion made him feel lightheaded. His phone vibrated with a text message from Sarah, along with a picture of her holding a puppy.

  Look at my new client. A cute Scottie dog! I think I’m falling in love with this guy.

  Jake misunderstood her text and sent a drunk-on-truth-serum text in reply. I think I might be falling in love with you too, girlfriend.

  Jake suddenly began swaying, and he felt dizzy and sick. He was surprised because in the Marines, he’d never had any problem with airsickness, not even in an Osprey tilt-rotor aircraft. He felt so weak that he held his arms out by his sides as if he was crossing a rushing river.

  Cody stood up and barked at him.

  Jake’s vision went blurry, and he fell forward, collapsing onto the floor. His breathing became labored, and he started turning blue in the face.

  Cody pawed at Jake’s chest while barking frantically at Reynolds.

  Reynolds rushed to him. “Jake, what happened? You have the symptoms of an overdose of heroin or painkillers.”

  He tried to speak, but was beginning to lose consciousness. “The kidnappers—gave me some kind of drugs—to make me talk.” He let out a gasp. His eyes rolled back in his head, his breathing shut down, and his heart stopped beating.

  Chapter 21

  Cody barked at the top of his lungs and clawed at the Red Cross box mounted on the wall.

  The children screamed.

  Reynolds opened the first aid kit, grabbed the Narcan nasal spray and administered a dosage of the anti-opiate drug to Jake through his nostrils, then slapped him across the face several times.

  The drug worked as it was designed to do, and soon Jake began breathing again. The color returned to his cheeks, and he sat up abruptly, sniffing at the unexpected medicine inside his nose. He looked around to make sure Cody and the kids were safe. Cody pressed against him and Jake gave him a hug. “What just happened, Reynolds? I think I blacked out for a moment.”

  “You were dying, reacting to an overdose of opioids. The drugs suppressed your cardiovascular system and your body shut down. I gave you Narcan and brought you back from the dead.”

  “Damn. It’s a good thing you had that on hand.”

  “Everyone in law enforcement is carrying these. In case you hadn’t heard, there’s an opioid epidemic going on in America.”

  “Thank you, Reynolds.”

  “Remember this, Wolfe. I saved your life. You owe me now.”

  “I do owe you, but you should thank me too, because you finally got the chance to slap me around like you’ve always wanted to.”

  Reynolds scowled and turned away to secure the first aid kit.

  Jake noticed she had a tight smile on her face, as if he’d spoken the truth about her wanting to slap him.

  Once Reynolds had secured the kit, she gestured at Paul. “Who is this? You said he helped rescue the kids.”

  “He’s a homeless veteran named Paul.”

  “How did he find you and the kids?”

  “Cody led him to us.”

  “I’m going to have to check him for criminal records.”

  “No problem, I understand. When you’re a hammer, everybody looks like a nail.”

  Reynolds ignored Jake’s remark and turned to Paul. “Can you show me some ID?”

  Paul shook his head. “No, ma’am. Sorry, but my wallet was stolen recently when I was passed out from drinking.”

  “Name and Social Security number?”

  Paul recited the information.

  Reynolds took a picture of Paul’s face with her phone and then tapped the display screen several times.

  Jake watched her and remembered what he’d heard about the FBI’s facial recognition software.

  The system found a match within seconds. “He’s clean,” Reynolds said, holding up the display.

  Jake saw that Paul didn’t have any wants or warrants. The only thing on his record was an arrest for public intoxication a few years back, and Jake figured that it had probably been BS. Any homeless person with a drinking problem could be considered “publicly intoxicated” every night when they slept outdoors.

  “Not bad; that’s better than my record,” Jake said. He saw some bottles of water and grabbed one, slowly pouring water into his cupped hand so Cody could have a drink. “Thank you for coming to the rescue when I was taken hostage, boy.”

  Cody barked once and nodded. He held Jake’s hand in his mouth, not biting it, just holding it. This was a behavior Jake had never seen in another dog. He believed it was due to Cody being a retriever, and something more, his unique intelligence.

  Jake looked over at the children who were watching him and Cody. He handed them each a bottle of water.

  Paul opened his small backpack and removed the bag full of sandwiches that he’d picked up off the floor during the rescue. “Does anybody want a sandwich?”

  The kids shook their heads and stared at Paul as if they didn’t know what to think of him. He looked like one of the homeless people they’d seen standing by highway off-ramps and holding cardboard signs.

  Cody sniffed the air and stared at the food, then turned and looked at Jake.

  “Of course; you definitely earned a sandwich, Cody.” He turned to Paul. “Just meat and cheese, no onions, no avocado, no raisins.”

  Paul nodded. “Sometimes there are raisins or grapes in chicken salad sandwiches.”

  “Bad for dogs,” Jake said.

  Paul tore open a paper wrapper, removed the meat and cheese from a sandwich, put it on the paper, and set it on the floor.

  Cody attacked the roast beef and cheddar cheese, devouring it.

  Paul held out a wrapped sandwich toward Jake, but Jake smiled and waved it off. “My stomach is too queasy from the drugs.”

  Reynolds approached Jake, holding a tablet so he could see it. On the display, Jake saw a close-up police dash-cam video of Terrell stopping his SUV and rolling the sixteen-foot-long roadblock strip of tire-shredding spikes across the street.

  The car that had been chasing Jake passed over the spike strip and its tires were instantly deflated.

  From there the clip moved to the firefight.

  “Yeah, I saw that through the binoculars. My bro Terrell doesn’t mess around.”

  As they flew toward the mansion, Jake sent a text message to Terrell. The kidnappers said they were looking for a thumb drive. You might want to have your K-9 unit search every inch of the Stephens mansion for electronic items.

  Terrell replied: The K-9 team has already searched the house, and they didn’t find any thumb drives. Good work rescuing the kids. How in the world did you find them?

  Jake texted: It was the luck of the Irish.

  Jake’s phone buzzed with a FaceTime call from US Secret Service Agent Shannon McKay. He had talked to her recently and thought she was a badass. She was wearing her trademark dark blue blazer, white blouse, and plain tie. There was a telltale bulge of a pistol in a shoulder holster under her left arm. The serious look on her face suggested that she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. Jake had a lot of respect for her.

  He remembered that McKay had traveled from Washington DC to San Francisco, and she’d requested to have a lunch meeting with him. But he’d been hoping to avoid it, and he’d blocked it out of his mind. His reasoning was that she was from the White House, and that usually meant nothing but trouble in his life. He’d already been through enough trouble on behalf of his country. Thanks anyway, White House—carry on without me.

  Jake was starting to realize that once you did any black ops missions for the government, it might be nearly impossible to leave your violent past behind. You were nothing more than a valuable tool and deadly weapon to them, so why would they ever let you go?

  He didn’t answer McKay’s call. Instead he called Lauren and said, “The kids are on the FBI helicopter, safe and sound.”

  Lauren started crying in relief. “Thank you, Jake! Please let me
talk to my babies.” Jake handed his phone to the kids and looked out the window at the city below as he wondered what McKay was going to try to talk him into at the meeting.

  Chapter 22

  The FBI helicopter landed on the acre of lawn in front of the Stephens mansion.

  Jake saw Lauren run out of the house with tears on her face.

  Reynolds opened the helicopter door and helped the kids unbuckle their seat belts.

  Jake scooped up Ben with his left arm and held him close to his chest. He reached out and held Chrissy’s hand and then ducked his head as they ran beneath the helicopter blades, followed by Cody and Paul.

  Lauren knelt down on the grass, not caring about her white pants for once, and hugged her kids tight. All three of them cried in relief. Lauren then stood up and threw her arms around Jake. He returned her hug and patted her on the back and when she let go of him, she said, “Jake, could you please come inside with us? I have some questions for you.”

  Jake nodded and turned to Paul. “Can you stand post, right here?”

  “Good to go,” Paul said. He stood up straight with his hands by his sides, looked left and right, and then studied the gated entrance to the estate.

  Jake and Cody followed Lauren into the house. “You might want to feed these kids some comfort food. Sit at the table and eat lunch together as a family. Restore at least some normal routine to your life.”

  Lauren called out for the cook, but she’d been questioned by the police and sent home.

  Jake shook his head. “Don’t trust any of your domestic employees until the police and the security firm say you can.”

  “I’ll call out for a pizza delivery.”

  “That won’t work either. Levi won’t allow deliveries of any kind.”

  “Okay, I still remember how to cook. I can whip up some grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup for lunch.”

  “That sounds good, you’re making me hungry,” Jake said. “By the way, your daughter is a tough cookie, and you might want to enroll her in karate classes. I think every girl in America should know some kind of martial arts. It should be taught in school as physical education.”