Legacy: An Event Group Thriller

by David L. Golemon

  “Colonel, are you all right?”

  As Jack gained his senses he felt hands lifting him up. When he looked to his right he saw it was Will Mendenhall who had taken his shoulder. In his other arm Will held Ryan by the back of his neck, keeping him afloat. There was a lot of blood clouding the water around Jason and that brought Collins back to complete consciousness as he reached out to see how badly hurt Ryan was.

  “Mr. Everett?” Jack called out.

  “Right here,” came the answer. The Navy SEAL had taken both the fall and the water in stride, great swimmer that he was.

  “Is Ryan all right?” Carl asked as he joined the three men holding each other up.

  “He’s breathing. I think his nose is broken.” Will looked around to get his bearings.

  At that moment they became aware of eyes upon them. Jack looked to his left and that was when he saw a man and two small boys. They were staring at the strange scene before them with fishing poles in their hands. Their eyes were wide and they didn’t notice that the smallest child was getting a large strike on his pole.

  Jack waved his hand at the three fishermen, and then out of the corner of his mouth said, “I think now may be a good time to get the hell out of here.”

  FAITH MINISTRIES, INC., LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

  Rev. Samuel Rawlins paced the floor with the cordless phone held tightly in his hand. He was irritated at the two-second delay in the voice signal caused by the scrambled transmission. That was just another thing James McCabe, or Mr. Smith as he was called, had installed that had become an incredible waste of time.

  “And what do your people say? Who is this man?” he asked the person at the other end of the line. He waited in frustration for the scrambled reply.

  “We don’t really know. We have a background check running right now and so far all we’ve come up with is that he was the highest-ranking student ever to come out of Harvard and MIT. After graduation in 1985, this Compton just fell off the map. That fact makes me suspect he’s CIA.”

  “Mr. Vice President, you of all people should know that top MIT graduates do not go to work for low-paying intelligence agencies.” Rawlins wondered why he dealt with men who had to have the smallest things explained to them. “Now, what did their visit consist of?”

  The silence on the other end of the line was far longer than the scrambling could account for. Rawlins squeezed the handset even tighter.

  “They were asking questions about how fast the United States could get to the Moon.”

  With the vice president’s answer, the whiteness of Rawlins’s hand on the phone increased and blood was forced out of it with the pressure he brought to bear.

  “And?” he said, gritting his teeth.

  “I don’t know. All of this information was passed to me as the head of the space program, but I’m being kept at arm’s length as far as the president is concerned. He’s not taking me into his confidence.”

  “If that is the case, Harry, why the hell am I paying you so much money?”

  “Look, this Compton can’t get any information that won’t eventually get back to me. Obviously the president has chosen this man to formulate a plan of some kind, possibly as a contingency only, so all we have to do is watch him.”

  “No, we can’t take that chance. I want this man eliminated.”

  “What? He works directly for the president of the United States, Reverend. I think that would cause some very serious consequences.”

  Rawlins moved out from behind his desk and strode to a large couch fronted by an ornate coffee table. On the couch was a woman reading a magazine with her legs tucked underneath her. Rawlins placed his hands on her blond hair. The softness seemed to calm him considerably. He looked down at the family portrait sitting on the coffee table. It was a photo of Rawlins and his two daughters. The elder of which was sitting right in front of him.

  “Use your imagination. If he is indeed on his way to Houston, as you say, any number of things can go wrong in flight. Am I correct?”

  The young, beautiful woman on the couch, his daughter Laurel, lowered the Esquire and turned her head toward her father. She had a questioning look on her face. He smiled down at her.

  “I wouldn’t even know how to go about ordering something like that. I can’t be caught committing what amounts to an assassination. That’s tantamount to treason, no matter what you—”

  “Do you really think I would put such an assignment into your lap, Harold? I’m not a fool. Just keep me informed about what this Niles Compton learns on his trip to NASA. That will give me time to make the arrangements. With luck, NASA and DARPA will tell him the same thing you’ve told me for years, that our space program is tits up in the water.”

  “Look, Reverend, we need to think this out. We need—”

  Rawlins pushed the disconnect button on the phone and lowered it to his side. His hand continued toying with his daughter’s blond hair until she finally became irritated enough to push him away.

  “Are you going to keep me in the dark forever, Daddy?”

  Rawlins looked down at his eldest daughter and smiled. “Just the usual incompetence with employees. You know the drill. They just can’t see the things I do.” Rawlins leaned over the back of the couch. “God’s will can be an angry and ugly thing.”

  “I love your euphemisms for murder, Daddy, I always have.”

  “I will assume you mean that in the most respectful way, daughter.” Rawlins straightened and walked back to his desk, tossing the phone into its cradle.

  Laurel Rawlins stood and walked to her father’s desk, perching on the edge. Her shapely right leg swung back and forth as she tilted her head low so that her father could see her eyes.

  “I told you, you need more dependable people on your payroll. Now, give me your wish list and I’ll get things done. I have the people, and I have the contacts. You said it yourself. Mr. McCabe will have his hands full in the coming days and weeks and can’t be every place he needs to be. And we don’t need the Mechanic getting himself killed before his usefulness is at an end, do we?”

  Rawlins looked up at his older daughter. Her blue eyes were as blue as his own. Unlike his younger daughter, Laurel was all him. She was a woman who even as a child knew what made her world go around and that was the money her father could provide her. She had so much of it that her nighttime activities were a mere hobby to her. That fact alone should have concerned him, but he knew she had to have excitement in her life.

  “I do things for the love of my God, daughter, but never for myself. Of course, the money is always nice, but it never seems to be enough.”

  “The money is good. And I have no doubt that you do what you do for the love of God,” Laurel said, reaching out and touching his cheek. “And I do what I do for the love of you.” She smiled broadly and batted her eyes. “And the money too, of course.”

  “I suspect that is not all you do it for. I believe I should be worried about your wicked ways, Laurel—for instance, your little affair with Mr. McCabe.”

  The young woman slid off the desk, hopping gently to the carpeted floor and straightening her skirt. “Believe me, Daddy, when I say that my relationship with our former Army friend had its little perks. I’ve met people who will be a benefit to us, even if our dear Mr. McCabe has to, well, even if he suddenly has to leave our employ.”

  “For now, I need him like no other. He devised a brilliant plan that will shift blame away from our actions to where it belongs. It’s ingenious really. And he chose the perfect man in the Mechanic, a man who will set us on the road to everlasting glory.”

  Laurel raised her eyebrows, knowing that her father was as crazy as they come, but she still loved him in her own special way. She returned to his desk and became serious.

  “Now, if I heard you right, you spoke of a Niles Compton?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he’ll be in Houston this afternoon?”

  Rawlins saw the gleam in his daughter’s eyes as she demurel
y took a notepad from his desk and wrote down the pertinent information.

  “Yes, the Johnson Space Center.”

  “Now,” she said, lowering the writing pad, “I take it you want him to cease his activities, whatever they are?”

  Rawlins looked through the large window. His eyes fell on the smoggy afternoon outside his offices.

  “Fine, if you want to know about the ugly side of God’s work, I may have something even more thrilling for you when you finish with this. If what is happening is truly going to happen, we will not only be out many valuable patents on the technology in the mines, but the world could turn against the word of God for those damnable petrified bodies. The nonbelievers of the world are going to try to make my people, and others of our kind, turn from their faith. If it comes to that, we may have to commit ourselves to the salvation of our very souls, and that of the people who allow us into their homes three times a week.”

  “Sounds like we may be busy then,” she said, moving her head to get her long blond hair behind her shoulders. She tore the page from the pad and tossed it onto the desk. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a flight to catch.”

  “Not to ruin your good mood, my dear, but the Mechanic is coming in from Ecuador immediately and I will have him meet you in Houston. Use him. I do not want you directly involved if the Mechanic finds an opening against this Dr. Compton.”

  “Oh, I have many uses for our Arab friend. Using him to kill is just one of them,” she said, shooting her father a demure look.

  Rawlins watched his daughter leave the office. He knew Laurel was not a follower of his word, but there was a quid pro quo. She allowed him his own small peccadilloes as far as his religion went. As long as the money supply was up to a minimum level, Laurel was his forever. He smiled as he figured that it was probably time she earned her keep. He looked at his watch and frowned.

  “All right, Mr. McCabe, where are you?”

  30 MILES OUTSIDE QUITO, ECUADOR

  Ryan had come around nicely. They made their way through the thick stand of trees as Jason asked Will Mendenhall one more time if his nose looked as bad as it felt. Collins raised his hand when he saw Everett suddenly stop and hold up five fingers, then clench his fist. He lowered his hand slowly with the palm facing down, telling through his fingers to stop, get down, and be quiet. Collins eased his way forward.

  They had heard helicopters fly very low over the sparsely forested part of the foothills, and each time they had to scramble for cover, barely staying out of view of people who were obviously McCabe’s men searching for them. For the most part they had been lucky. The bulk of the search was being conducted around the falls and the lake they had been near more than two hours before.

  Everett turned around and knelt beside Jack. “Looks like a cop up ahead on that small road—looks local to me. He’s parked next to a ’66 Chevy Impala with a male driver and a woman passenger. Looks like they’re changing a flat. The cop is just standing there, jawing.”

  “This may be our chance to bum a ride.”

  “That’s what I was figuring,” Everett confirmed, and looked back at the scene just below on the roadway.

  Jack turned and held up a hand to Ryan and Mendenhall, indicating for them to stay put. As he watched, Will reached out and patted Ryan on the shoulder. He silently shook his head and made a face indicating that the nose looked real bad, causing the small Navy man extreme consternation.

  “Okay, looks like we may be in business here, Jack. The cops are leaving.”

  “Okay, stay in the tree line. I’ll see if we can get a ride.”

  “Well, they look to be pointed in the right direction,” Carl said as he moved aside to let Jack by. “Watch your ass.”

  “Yeah, my judgment hasn’t been real good today, so maybe you better watch it for me,” Collins said, easing out of the trees.

  “Hola,” Jack called out. He raised his right hand and crossed the broken macadam of the old roadway.

  The man was just lowering the large car from its jack. He paused and stood. He pulled the woman behind him as he looked at the bedraggled man crossing the road.

  “Hola,” the old man answered, as his eyes searched the area around Collins to see if he was alone.

  “Habla inglés?” Collins asked, smiling the best nonthreatening smile he could muster.

  “Sí,” the man said. “Little … bit,” he said, holding up his index finger and thumb about an inch apart.

  “Uh, I and some friends seem to be in a fix. Our car broke down a few miles back, and we need a ride into the next town.”

  The middle-aged man watched as Jack approached the car, hands held slightly out in front of him. He seemed to relax a bit as he stepped away from the car.

  “You need assistance?” the man said, the words clearly understood by Jack.

  “Yes,” Collins said, looking around the car. All he could see was the woman standing behind the man, as though hiding.

  “Sí, we will assist you,” the man said. He pointed west. “Quito,” he said, looking back at Collins.

  “That’s where we’re headed.”

  “Sí, bring your friends,” the man said.

  Jack turned away and gestured toward the trees. Everett came first, followed by Will and then Ryan. As Jack watched them come down the small incline, he was shocked when he saw Everett dive into some bushes, quickly followed by Mendenhall and Ryan.

  As he turned he saw that the small woman had stepped out from behind the older man. She held an ugly-looking UZI machine gun. Jack’s eyes widened as she brought the weapon up and started shooting. The initial line of bullets stitched a path directly to Jack’s front. He saw the gun move in slow motion. Without thinking, he jumped to the right and landed behind the car’s rear bumper. He rolled until he was underneath the hot exhaust pipe. The heat was intense, but he kept rolling until he hit the right rear wheel, still partially suspended by the jack on the rear bumper. As he watched, the man went to one knee and the first thing Jack saw was the blue steel barrel of an automatic being angled toward him. Thinking fast, Jack spun on his back, causing broken pieces of blacktop to dig into his skin. The woman once again opened fire on Everett, Ryan, and Mendenhall across the road. Collins, mustering all the strength he had, kicked at the jack. It didn’t take as much strength as he thought to make it break loose. The man had just spotted Collins and was about to open to fire when the car began to fall.

  “Oh, shit,” Collins said, flattening himself as low as he could manage. The large Chevy came down and the rear quarter panel caught his would-be killer in the side of the head, propelling the side of his face into the roadway. The weapon was knocked out of his hands just as the car’s bottom hit Jack in the chest. The heavy-duty springs brought the car back up. Jack reached for the gun and fired into the woman’s legs. Two bullets hit her in each thigh, dropping her to the ground. Jack saw her face twist in anger, shock, and pain. She desperately tried to bring the UZI around.

  “Don’t do it,” Jack yelled, aiming at a spot between the woman’s eyes.

  Before she had a chance to fire her weapon, and before Collins managed to kill her, a large boot came down onto the side of the woman’s face. Jack relaxed when he realized Everett had come up on her without her knowing it. He lowered his head and took a deep breath.

  “You okay?” Carl asked as he knelt and looked at Jack’s dirty face. “It’s a damn good thing you don’t have a beer gut, buddy. This car would have surely flattened it for you.” Everett reached out a hand and pulled Jack out from under the car.

  When Collins stood he saw that the woman was out cold not two feet from the man’s body. Was the man her husband?

  “Will, see what you can find in the car,” Jack said, reaching down and retrieving the UZI. He tossed it to Carl. “Get her legs wrapped. You and Ryan can pull both of them into the trees. I suspect their friends will find them soon enough.”

  “Yes, sir,” Mendenhall said, amazed at the close call the colonel had just had.
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br />   “May I suggest we take the car and get the hell back to the city?” Everett removed the ammunition clip from the UZI and checked its remaining rounds. He smiled as he slammed the clip back home. He went around to the driver’s side, kicking the jack stand and crowbar out of the way as he did so.

  “Let’s go, gentlemen. I have a feeling our ex-Delta man may have more friends waiting for us.”

  * * *

  Two hours later the old and battered Impala pulled into the main concourse area of the airport. Everett had taken all the back roads he could find into the outskirts of the city and the zigzag route had cost them time. The four men were sore and exhausted.

  “Well, here we are,” Everett said, slamming the car’s gearshift into park. “Ryan, do you think you can fly with that swollen nose of yours?”

  “Very funny. I want you guys to know that this thing hurts like hell—and the face Mendenhall makes every time he looks at me doesn’t help.”

  Will turned away and opened the rear door without saying a word, but he was smiling where Ryan couldn’t see him.

  Jack stood and stretched as he tried to examine as much of his surroundings as he could.

  “What do we do about the excavation, Colonel?” Will asked.

  “There’s nothing we can do about it at the moment. We don’t have a clue how deep this thing goes. We may be dealing with the Ecuadorian government and their military.” He turned and faced the others as he closed the car’s door.

  “What about the weapons inside?” Ryan asked. He gently touched his nose.

  “They won’t be there even if we do come back. We need to bring Niles up to date as fast as possible. This thing has to be figured out at management level.”

  * * *

  As the men turned and headed for the private section of the new airport, James McCabe lowered the field glasses that he had been using to examine the parking structure across the way.