A Touch of Revenge (A Nick Bracco Thriller)

by Gary Ponzo

  He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a hand-rolled Dominican cigar. The Cuban’s had the best tobacco, but the Dominican’s knew how to roll better than anyone he’d ever seen. He licked his lips, then placed the cigar in his mouth. The female bartender gave him a firm look.

  “Don’t worry, darling,” he assured her. “I’m just getting it lubed up for later.”

  She grinned and Joe winked back.

  A thin man with dark skin and thick mustache sat next to Joe. “Are you Joseph?” the man said with a Middle Eastern sounding accent.

  Joe didn’t like the guy already. He was stiff and uncomfortable and drawing attention to himself just by his formal behavior. He’d called him Joseph as if he’d learned his name from looking up Joe’s driver’s license.

  “Joseph?” Joe said. “That’s who you’re looking for?”

  The man nodded. “Yes, please.”

  If Joe didn’t suspect the guy was carrying an envelope full of money he would’ve just shot him right then. Joe looked around the shadowed room, pool tables and dart boards filled the east side of the bar. Lynyrd Skynyrd blared from an antique jukebox. He gestured toward a booth on the other side of the bar. The two of them slid in on opposite sides.

  “What exactly are you looking for?” Joe said, blunt and not caring how it sounded.

  The man swiveled his head around, then said, “We need someone eliminated.”

  “We?” Joe said. “Who’s we?”

  “I mean me,” the man tried to recover.

  “No, you said we. So tell me who I might be working for and maybe I’ll listen.”

  The man with the mustache just stared. It wasn’t a deep thoughtful stare, just a blank expression like he hadn’t considered the possibility the assassin would ask any questions.

  Joe got out of the booth and patted the guy on the arm as he passed. “See ya, pal. Good luck finding someone stupid enough to work blind.”

  He’d only taken four or five steps before he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Please,” the man said. “Let me explain.”

  Joe had no intention of leaving. He was way too intrigued to let this guy fly the coop, but he wasn’t going to be bullied by an incompetent negotiator.

  They returned to the booth and Joe twisted the tip of his cigar between his lips, waiting for an explanation. The man looked down at his hands folded on the table.

  “Do you know the name Kemel Kharrazi?” the man said.

  “Of course.”

  “Well, when he died he left behind some loyal followers.” The man looked up at Joe as if that might be enough. Joe kept his mouth shut which he knew would force the imbecile to keep talking.

  “And some of these followers have a grudge against the person who murdered their leader.”

  Joe wanted to tell the guy that Kharrazi wasn’t exactly murdered, but that was beside the point. As far as he knew Kharrazi was trying to escape an FBI manhunt when one of their agents tracked him down to a path in the woods of Payson and won a game of chicken against the terrorist. The two of them were supposedly racing head-on toward each other with trucks when Kharrazi turned into a tree and died from the collision. But Joe still stayed quiet and watched the man raise his eyebrows as if Joe should finish the story on his own.

  “I’m listening,” Joe said, playing stupid just to watch the guy squirm.

  “So,” the man said. He looked around the room. Only a few people were playing pool and two old-timers were watching an East Coast football game at the bar. It was noon and the Winchester wasn’t exactly a lunchtime type of place. “We’re part of a group of people who support the Kurdish search for a nation of their own.”

  “The KSF,” Joe said.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  Joe shrugged. He wasn’t particularly political, but you had to be living in a cave not to know who the KSF was. “All right, who’s the target?”

  The man drew a thin envelope from his pants pocket and laid it in front of Joe.

  Joe opened the envelope and saw the picture inside. He had to hide his surprise.

  “You know her?” the man said.

  Joe nodded, but kept it straight. “I never met her, but sure I know her. Most people around here would.”

  “Are there any problems?”

  Joe lifted his glass and took a long pull on his beer. Now’s when the negotiations began and it was one of the few pleasures Joe missed about the business.

  “Well,” Joe began, “I’ve been retired almost ten years now. I’m not exactly chomping at the bit to take any unnecessary chances, if you know what I mean.”

  The man was paying full attention, which was good.

  “Plus, this isn’t your ordinary get-rid-of my-ex-wife kind of thing,” Joe added.

  He thought he saw the man twitch at the idea Joe might decline the job.

  “So, I don’t think this is something worth the risk,” Joe finally said.

  The man reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a lumpy envelope and placed it in front of Joe.

  “I give you ten thousand right now,” the man blurted. “The other forty when you’re done.”

  Joe looked at the envelope, then up into the man’s jittery face. “When does this need to be done?” he asked.

  “By tomorrow.”

  This time Joe didn’t hide his surprise. “Tomorrow?”

  “Yes.”

  Joe picked up the envelope and felt it like he was testing a ripe cantaloupe. Then he put it on the seat next to him.

  “Tell you what,” Joe said. “You give me that other envelope you’re carrying with the forty and maybe we can agree on something. But you’ll give me another fifty when I’m done.”

  “Another fifty? That’s one hundred—that’s double what we agreed.”

  Joe pointed his cigar at him. “We didn’t agree on jack shit. I said I’d listen to your proposal, that’s all. Now, those are my terms. I don’t need any of this to live a full and happy life.”

  Joe gave the man his hundred thousand dollar smile and waited.

  Finally, the man pursed his lips and pulled a larger envelope from his pocket and handed it to Joe. “Okay. By tomorrow.”

  There, Joe thought, sticking the cigar in his mouth. That wasn’t so hard, was it?

  Chapter 5

  Matt tossed Kemin’s corpse into the hole, then he and Tommy continued their search of the KSF’s safe house. They weaved their way through the dense woods twenty yards apart, both seeking traces of the unordinary. Something that was out of place in the serene, suburban cabin community.

  Matt made eye contact with Tommy and watched him shrug.

  “I’m a city boy,” Tommy said. “I don’t even know what to look for.”

  They walked further, slowly, listening to the leaves crunch under their steps. Five minutes later Matt held out his hand and snapped his fingers. Tommy stopped. A bush moved fifty yards ahead of them. It was the type of movement only a trained sniper would notice. It wasn’t wind.

  Matt motioned Tommy to take cover and Tommy slid behind a large tree with his pistol by his side. Matt dropped to his knees, tucked behind a fallen log. His eyes focused on one spot, while monitoring his peripheral vision. There was unnatural movement all around them. Bushes, tree limbs, leaves along the forest floor. He could sense the danger and tried to quantify his targets. He counted at least six. That meant there was more than ten. Not a number even he could overcome.

  Tommy poked his head out and searched for something he would never see.

  “Get back,” Matt said.

  “I don’t see nothing.”

  Matt sighed. All of his sharp-shooting prowess wasn’t going to get them out of this. The only thing that gave him hope was the fact that these weren’t terrorists. They were too organized. Too much training as a team. Terrorists weren’t good at playing together. These were professionals. They acted like Special Forces, but that couldn’t be right. The FBI SWAT team had the only pros around and they were down in Phoenix two
hours away.

  “Hey,” Tommy said. “What’re we waiting for?”

  “Drop your gun,” Matt said.

  Tommy cocked his head. “Come again?”

  “Drop your gun and raise your hands up high.”

  Tommy just squinted.

  “Listen to me. If you don’t do what I tell you, you’ll be dead in a few moments.”

  Matt dropped his Glock and slowly walked out from behind the tree. He placed his hands on his head and motioned for Tommy to follow his lead.

  Tommy hesitated.

  “If not for me, Kemin would have finished you off an hour ago,” Matt said. “Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

  Tommy grimaced. He dropped his pistol and walked into the open with his palms on his head.

  “You’d better,” Tommy said.

  It only took a moment to prove Matt’s theory. A male voice called to them from a spot thirty yards in front of them.

  “Keep coming,” the voice said.

  They sprang from the left, the right and the treetops. In less than twenty seconds a dozen soldiers in camouflage gear surrounded them with automatic weapons and blackface. The clicks of chamber rounds echoed in the quiet of the woods.

  Their leader was easy to spot. He was the one who maintained a leisurely stroll while everyone else knelt into a perfect attack position. The leader must’ve been pushing sixty, but he seemed fit and alert.

  “FBI,” Matt said, holding his hands lower now waiting permission to remove his credentials from his pocket.

  The man nodded.

  Matt pulled out his creds and watched the man examine it for a moment, before returning it to him. The man glanced at Tommy.

  “He’s working with me. An informant,” Matt said.

  The man seemed to buy it. He held out his open palm to Matt. “Name’s Buck Martin.”

  Matt shook his hand. “Matt McColm. This is Tommy Bracco.”

  Buck shook Tommy’s hand.

  “Which unit are you with?” Matt asked.

  “Well,” Buck said. “We’re not exactly with the military. We’re private contractors. Iron Mountain, USA.”

  “Mercenaries? In Payson, Arizona?” Tommy said.

  “Soldiers of fortune, if you wish,” Buck said. “The fortune is paid to us all over the world. Even here in the states.”

  Matt gestured toward the soldiers still training their M-4’s at him and Tommy. “Any chance of getting them to relax?”

  Buck nodded. “Stand down, boys.”

  In unison the soldiers placed their weapons to their side.

  “May I ask exactly what you’re being paid to do?” Matt said.

  Buck seemed to mull it over in his head. Finally, he said, “We’re contracted to rid the area of residual terrorists. They’re believed to have dug in and waited out the original eradication.”

  “You’re in luck. I’m one of two the resident agents here in Payson. I was here during the original eradication. My partner and I came over from Baltimore and—”

  “Nick Bracco,” Buck said. “Yes, I know all about you. Unfortunately, we’re not set up to work with outside agencies. We’re much more effective on our own.”

  That stopped Matt. He’d never heard of any law enforcement turning down help. But these guys weren’t the law. They were more closely related to hired assassins.

  “You mind if I ask you something?” Tommy said.

  Buck nodded.

  “You know where this safe house is?”

  Buck paused. “That’s privileged information.”

  “Oh that’s fucking rich,” Tommy said. “You see, that little hesitation tells me you don’t know squat. We’re in the middle of nowhere searching for a group of foreign soldiers and you’re too privileged to accept our help?”

  Tommy walked around Buck and said to Matt. “C’mon. We’re running out of time. These terrorists already suspect something is up when they didn’t hear from Kemin. Let’s not give them a reason to skip town.”

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Buck snapped.

  Tommy dug a bright orange toothpick into the corner of his mouth. “The fuck you gonna do about it, pops? You gonna shoot an FBI agent and his informant? That your plan?”

  “I can’t let you interfere with our mission.”

  “Your mission?” Tommy sneered. “Let me tell you about my little mission. I got a cousin in the hospital from a gunshot wound ordered by someone hiding in these woods. My mission is to stomp my shoe on his throat until he understands my feelings about the matter. That’s my mission.”

  Tommy walked over and picked up his gun, then retrieved Matt’s gun and handed it to him.

  “Let’s go,” Tommy said.

  Matt stood there for a moment, weighing his options.

  “For crying out loud,” Tommy bellowed, “they ain’t gonna shoot us. Let’s get out of here.”

  Matt followed Tommy. He looked straight ahead and never wavered, even when Buck hollered for them to stop. Tommy was right, they weren’t going to shoot an FBI agent—were they?

  Buck gave a command that Matt didn’t quite hear. He kept pace with Tommy. The clatter of rifles and machine guns rushed into firing position echoed through the forest. Matt’s pulse quickened.

  Buck growled another command to his troops.

  Matt kept walking.

  “One more step and you’re both dead men,” Bucked yelled as clear as if he were a foot away.

  Tommy kept going. He waved a middle finger over his shoulder as he continued his stride.

  Matt stopped, but didn’t turn around. His instincts told him they were bluffing, but he wasn’t willing to wager his life on it.

  Matt turned to face the troops who looked very much like a firing squad.

  “Are you going to shoot me?” Matt asked.

  “You bet your ass I am,” Buck sneered.

  A female voice called from behind Buck’s men. The voice was cool and calm. It was Jennifer Steele. She held out her 9mm. Next to her was Deputy Luke Fletcher aiming his rifle at Buck.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Steele said.

  Buck turned and scoffed at the sight. His men turned their weapons on the two law enforcement officials. “This is your posse, Agent McColm?”

  Matt grinned at the sight of Steele coming to save him. “Yeah,” he said. “You can call it that.”

  Buck’s amused face turned sour, then approached Steele with a slow, methodical gait.

  “We’re contracted to do a job,” Buck said, and left it at that.

  Steele nodded. “Give me a reason why I shouldn’t take you all in for treason?”

  “Because,” Buck said, “we’re all on the same side here.”

  “Is that what you’re calling this?”

  Buck sneered at Steele while pointing at Deputy Fletcher. “Is that supposed to scare me?” He made it a point to look at his crew which were all standing with one eye in their site, focusing their automatic weapons directly at the deputy. “I mean, what’s he going to do, shoot every one of my crew before his body gets pulverized with bullets?”

  “No,” Steele said. “He’s just going to shoot you.”

  Buck frowned, then gave a nod to his soldiers and they lowered their weapons.

  “We have a job to do here,” Buck said in a low voice.

  Steele put her gun down. “Does your job include threatening an FBI agent?”

  “We have a contract with the State Department.”

  “So?”

  Buck looked back at Matt as if he might understand his authority best. “Our contract affords us complete immunity while on our mission. Which includes unlawful deaths.”

  “What?” Tommy blurted. He looked at Matt. “Is that even possible?”

  Matt took a breath and exchanged glances with Steele. They both knew how these private forces worked. If it were a Black Budget Contract, Buck’s team could shoot anyone they wanted, whenever they wanted, without any ramifications.

  “
Yeah,” Matt said to Tommy. “It’s possible.”

  Tommy pulled out his cell phone and glanced at the time, then shoved it back into his pocket. He looked at Buck. “Listen, you’re a real pisser to chat with, but we’ve got a terrorist to catch.”

  “He’s right,” Matt said. “We have a live target around here.”

  “Yeah,” Buck said. “That’s our target.”

  “Well then let’s all get it done,” Tommy said.

  Matt chewed on his lower lip, searching for a way to make it work. They might be able to combine forces, but there could be only one leader.

  It seemed Buck had sensed the same predicament. “All right,” he said, “let’s join forces and find these guys, but,” the experienced soldier glared at Matt, “I’m the one giving the orders here.”

  Matt shook his head. “I can’t do that.”

  “Tell me,” Buck said.

  Matt apprised the group of mercenaries who watched intently. “You guys are good, no question.”

  “The best,” Buck said.

  “And your equipment is superior.”

  Buck nodded in agreement.

  “But when it comes to terrorists you forget to ask the most important question. Why.”

  “Who gives a crap why?” Buck snorted. “Let the man upstairs figure that one out for them.”

  “But you don’t track a terrorist the same way you track a drug dealer, or a serial killer.”

  “Sure you do,” Buck said, looking over his men for a moment. “Bad guys are bad guys. You think you’re something special just because you and your partner took care of Kemel Kharrazi?”

  “No,” Matt said. “We just have more experience with this organization.”

  Buck stretched out his thick neck and sneered. “You think I’m some dumb hick who doesn’t understand his adversary?”

  Tommy pulled the toothpick from his mouth and pointed it at Buck. “Yeah, I think you’re on to something there, killer.”

  Matt shot Tommy a look and watched him shrug.

  “For your information, I happen to know quite a bit about these KSF turds,” Buck said. “I know they’re tunnel-diggers. I know they don’t follow any particular religious sect. And I know they’re a little lost ever since your partner won a game of chicken with their leader a few months back.”