Field of Fire

by James O. Born

MIKE GARRETTI SETTLED INTO THE COMFORTABLE RECLINER with his Browning Hi-Power 9mm pointed at the distraught Alberto Salez. He wrestled with his feelings of relief, satisfaction and anger. His long second job was finished, although his employers might be pissed off after what he had done to blow their shot at the ATF man. Following Salez’s directions, he had just retrieved the file from a ceiling tile in the bathroom, and managed to get Maria Tannza out of the trailer without her being too upset or finding out what role he had played in her son’s death. She wouldn’t care how upset he was by the incident, she’d still want to kill him. And he couldn’t blame her.

  “What now?” grunted Salez from the rigid kitchen chair where he had been ordered to sit. He held his left hand up in the air to keep the bleeding down. A blood-soaked white gauze bandage was still draped around his missing pinky.

  Garretti glanced at the photographs in the file and the single page of notes. “I thought I tore up this photo of me, you and al-Samir?” he said, holding up the four-by-six-inch photo.

  Salez smirked. “Double prints. I had the other one, where you tore off the side with you in it.”

  Garretti nodded, looking at another photo of the whole group: himself, the young Saudi prince, Oneida Lawson, Don Munroe, Janni Tserick and Salez. That was the night they did the job. Poor kid had no clue. Never understood what was happening, or why. When had Garretti lost his ability to judge right from wrong?

  Salez stared at his hand. “When’s Maria coming back with that first-aid kit? This shit is killing me.”

  “She said the office was closed. It might take a while.”

  “And she believed you were a cop. She’s sharper than that.”

  “It’s the haircut. I look official.”

  “I like how you hustled her out so we could get the file and talk. But, mainly, I like how she has no idea you killed her kid.”

  Garretti leveled his eyes and gun at him. “And if she finds out, you’re dead on the spot.”

  “I’m dead anyway.”

  Garretti shrugged. He looked through the file again. “Anything else?”

  Salez shook his head.

  “I’m gonna verify this, if I have to. You won’t like my verification process.” Garretti stood and casually strolled into the small kitchen, with its linoleum floor. He kept the gun up at his side, pointing at Salez’s head. “Is this all the dirt you have on us?”

  “I told you yes.” He threw an emphatic huff at the end of the sentence.

  Garretti leaned down slightly and, without telegraphing his intention, grasped Salez’s bandaged fingers and squeezed. Salez leaned back, his eyes wide, and gasped. Garretti in a steady tone said, “I’ll let go when you tell me what else you have about this incident.”

  Salez looked like he might faint. He panted like a dog as Garretti kept a firm grip, and added the barrel of the gun to the mix by putting it to his forehead. “What else?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all, I swear to God.”

  “Let me ask a control question to see if you’re telling the truth.” He released the bloody hand and stood up. “You killed the woman in the Honda Element?”

  The injured fugitive nodded his head without hesitation.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere. You kill anyone else since?” He almost laughed at the question; just wanted to see his reaction and denial.

  Instead, Salez nodded his head.

  “You did?” Now Garretti was confused. “Who?

  “Kid in Georgia. Attendant at a Hess station.”

  Garretti stepped back. “You’re an asshole.” He wanted to put a bullet in him right there but didn’t want to explain it to Maria. “Stand up.”

  A shaky Salez rose to his feet, still a few inches shorter than his captor. “Why? What’re you gonna do?”

  “Turn out your pockets.”

  Salez used his good hand to reach across and pull his left pocket first. It was empty. Then he pulled the baggie holding his severed little finger out of his right pocket. He held up the baggie. “That’s it. That’s all I have.”

  Garretti stared at the bloody baggie with the flesh-colored piece in it. “Really? You saved your finger?” Garretti had already heard the story of how he lost it.

  Salez nodded.

  “Let me have it.”

  “What?”

  “C’mon, toss it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ll shoot you in the dick if you don’t.” He pointed the pistol at Salez’s crotch.

  Salez tossed the small bag the few feet to Garretti, who caught it in his left hand but never let the gun drop off the target area.

  “Now sit back down, asshole.” Garretti had to admit he was enjoying this a little. Salez had caused a lot of suffering. Killing that poor woman, and now admitting to killing another person. He was a remorseless ass-wipe. Garretti looked forward to capping him near a canal and just letting him rot in the water where he landed. Maybe a gator would get to him.

  Garretti backed to the sink. “Now, Berto, you’re sure there’s nothing else linking me or you to al-Samir?”

  The broken Salez shook his head slowly.

  Garretti started the garbage disposal by flicking the switch with the barrel of the pistol. He opened the seal on the baggie.

  Salez perked up and snapped his head forward at the jarring sound. “What are you gonna do?”

  Garretti dangled the baggie over the whirring disposal.

  Salez jumped up and screamed: “No, don’t.”

  Garretti couldn’t help but smile as he dumped the bag’s contents into the running disposal. The blades grinded and stuttered as they ground up the severed finger.

  Salez dropped back into the chair and looked as if he might vomit.

  Garretti dropped the baggie into the empty sink and shut off the disposal. “They wouldn’t be able to save it anyway.” He moved back to the recliner. “Now you know a little suffering yourself.”

  “You have no idea how I’ve suffered.”

  “And you have no idea how those people you killed suffered. I live with what I’ve done, but I still am bothered by it.”

  “What if I am too?”

  “Then you won’t be much longer.”

  Salez slumped back in the hard chair and said, “There is no God.”

  Garretti leaned up. “Yes there is, and He doesn’t put up with assholes like you.”

  Salez was silent.

  “I’d start asking for forgiveness right now. Admit your mistakes and mean it and maybe you and He can work something out.”

  Salez looked up. “You’re serious?”

  “You think after all I’ve done I don’t worry about what God thinks of me? I’m hanging my hat on all the Christians telling me He can forgive anything. You and me got a lot to forgive.”

  Salez just shook his head. He seemed to try to gather his strength. Garretti could feel it like the asshole was going to make one last attempt to escape. As much as he didn’t want to shoot him in the trailer, he felt like that might be his only choice as Salez started to stand.

  Garretti aimed the Browning pistol, then heard Maria on the outer steps.

  Salez heard her too.

  “Sit down and I may go easy on you. She’s coming.”

  Salez looked beaten as he eased back into the chair. Maybe he didn’t want to upset her either. Maybe he realized he had no chance of rushing his captor. Garretti didn’t care which, he was just glad he sat back down.

  “Smart move,” said Garretti, tucking the pistol back into his waistband and yanking his polo shirt over it.

  The door opened, and he was prepared to greet his lovely host, but instead was shocked to see a pistol pointed at him and ATF agent Alex Duarte behind it.

  He said, “Hello, Mr. Garretti. I’m glad we have this chance to talk.”

  Alex Duarte wasn’t sure which emotion was bubbling in him more intensely: relief for having all the principals of the investigation together, fear for not knowing who to trust or excitement for believing he
might, finally, hear the entire story. He had the dazed and whining Alberto Salez at one end of the couch and the bomber, Mike Garretti, at the other. Duarte leaned against the small table, which held the TV. He held his Glock in his right hand but not aiming at anyone. These two knew what he was prepared to do. They wouldn’t cause any trouble.

  Salez had already told him about his missing digit, and accused Garretti of trying to kill him if Duarte hadn’t arrived. Surprisingly, the more the fugitive ran his mouth, the less Duarte cared whether he was killed or not.

  He glanced to the front door, which was opened a crack, so he could see Caren Larson as she chatted with Maria Tannza, who was out of his line of sight. Caren had Garretti’s nice Browning 9mm, and also had an eye on Tom Colgan, because no one knew if he could be trusted, although it was starting to look like the FBI man was on the level. Stupid but on the level.

  Duarte didn’t dare call for help yet. There was too much he needed to know, and at this point it wasn’t necessarily for a court case. His inquisitive nature didn’t allow him to leave things alone. His training in the military, and the things he had witnessed, gave him the will to do what was needed to uncover information. And his newfound skill in interviewing gave him the ability to discern bullshit. But it was his willingness to ignore the rules of police interrogation guidelines that concerned these two at the moment.

  He had so many questions, he started with the most pressing. “Mr. Garretti?”

  The man looked unruffled, which was disconcerting. Did he know he would walk away from this?

  Garretti asked his own question. “How’d you find my name? I’m just curious.”

  Duarte hesitated, but figured if he handled things correctly Garretti wouldn’t have a chance to make the same mistakes twice. “You left a print at Salez’s apartment. After our encounter in Los Angeles, I remembered where I had seen you.”

  “Very sharp. Very sharp indeed. I’d expect no less from a combat engineer.”

  Duarte cocked his eyebrow and said, “Is it my turn yet?”

  Garretti calmly looked up, smiled slightly and said, “What would you like to know?”

  “It’s that easy?”

  “Why not? We’ll either be dead in a few hours or I have some payback I’d like to deliver, for my treatment in this matter. You may be able to help me with my payback efforts.”

  “That just brings up more questions.”

  Garretti nodded and said, “That is the nature of life complicated by conspiracy. I have found that humans tend to fuck things up.”

  Duarte had to agree with some of that philosophy. “Why were you trying to kill this moron?” He turned his gaze to the silent and pouting Alberto Salez.

  Garretti said, “You still think he’s my victim, don’t you?”

  “You did try to kill him.”

  “Do you have any idea what this guy has done?”

  “Why don’t you tell me.”

  “He confessed, just a few minutes ago, that he’s murdered two people in the last few weeks. And that’s just what he admitted to.”

  Salez cut in: “Because he was torturing me. He squeezed my fingers.” He held up his freshly soaked bandaged left hand for emphasis.

  Duarte said, “Did you kill someone?”

  “Like you could use it against me. I’m under arrest. Believe me, I got as much to trade as him.” He nodded toward the still-calm Garretti.

  Duarte said, “This is for me. Did you kill anyone?” He stared at Salez, and noticed his Adam’s apple bob and a slight jerk of his head.

  “I have not killed anyone.”

  Duarte leaned over and reached like he would grab Salez’s fingers. The fugitive flinched and gasped, “You wouldn’t.”

  “I will if you lie to me.” He stood to get closer to Salez. “Did you kill anyone?”

  “That’s how we got in this mess together.” He pointed at Garretti. “We killed a guy in Texas.”

  “You mean Wahlid al-Samir.”

  That caught both Garretti and Salez by surprise.

  Garretti said, “I figured you were on the ball. How’d you come up with that name from the past?”

  “Just lucky.” He still focused on Salez. “Who is he talking about you killing recently?”

  Salez hesitated, and finally said, “This murdering nut thinks I killed a woman and took her car. I didn’t, I swear to God.”

  Duarte nodded. “I already fell for that. The day you swore you were on the level and wouldn’t escape.”

  “I had to escape. I didn’t know who to trust. You probably realize that now.”

  “I do believe you are the target of some kind of conspiracy, but I can’t figure out who’d want to go to the trouble of killing a lowlife like you.”

  Garretti smiled and said, “I know the answer to that.”

  41

  CAREN LARSON FELT RELIEF THAT SHE HAD TOLD ALEX Duarte the truth about what she knew. Now she wanted to make amends. She wasn’t sure if Alex had asked her to keep an eye on Maria and Colgan outside because he needed the help or because he didn’t want her to hear what Garretti would say. Either way, she knew not to argue with the intense ATF man. He was operating on his own set of ethics now, and she thought that violence wasn’t prohibited in his code of conduct like it was in the Department of Justice’s.

  Colgan asked from across the car hood, “When do you think Alex will give me back my gun?”

  “When he drops you at the FBI office. Till then, it’s locked in his glove compartment.”

  “What are they talking about?” He pointed toward the air-conditioned trailer.

  “Wish I knew.”

  Maria cut in. “So the man with the dark hair is not a policeman, is he?”

  Caren shook her head, not sure if she should upset Maria with his true identity.

  Maria leaned in closer. “And this man out here with us is a FBI agent?”

  Caren nodded.

  “I am completely confused as to what’s going on,” said the young teacher.

  Caren smiled and said, “Join the club. All I know is, Salez hid evidence in your trailer and that’s why everyone is here. I think things can return to normal for you very soon.”

  Maria looked down silently.

  Caren immediately said, “I’m so sorry, I know they’ll never be like they were. I just meant no one will be bothering you.”

  Maria nodded and wiped a tear from her eye. “That’s okay.”

  Looking down the road, Colgan said, “Caren, dear, I think we got problems.”

  Caren turned to see the tall FBI agent watching a vehicle slowly turn down the dirt road toward the trailer.

  Colgan said, “That looks like the guys that tried to grab Duarte this morning. We better do something.”

  Then the driver saw them and gunned the engine as the passenger’s-side window lowered. While the big SUV was still a hundred and fifty feet away, a man leaned out of the passenger’s window with an MP-5 machine gun and opened fire in fully auto mode.

  Caren shoved Maria’s head down below the Taurus’s hood and shielded the teacher as rounds bounced off the car and trailer behind her. She had a pistol in her hand but was not familiar with the Browning.

  She peeked around the front of the car and aimed the 9mm, squeezing the trigger like so many federal agents had taught her to do over the years, but nothing happened. She did like she had always been shown, and used her left hand to rack the slide back in case there was no bullet in the chamber. A stupid way to carry a pistol, but she did as she had been taught. A live round ejected, then she remembered Duarte’s instruction that it was a single-action automatic. The hammer had to be pulled back. The action of her racking the pistol locked back the hammer, and she leaned around the car again and this time squeezed off three rounds.

  The SUV skidded to a stop and all three men slipped out of the vehicle.

  She peeked around the car and felt like she could only see down a narrow space directly in front of her. She didn’t even notice Maria
next to her. Was this the combat tunnel vision she had heard so much about? Then she felt a shove, as Tom Colgan piled into her and Maria huddling behind Alex Duarte’s Taurus.

  If this was the action she had heard so much about, she didn’t see what the attraction was. She ducked as more rounds pinged into the trailer.

  Mike Garretti was almost glad he was going to tell this story to someone now. He hoped the ATF agent had enough juice to get the story investigated. He hoped Duarte even believed him. In a real way, he felt this was his chance to make up for his incredible stupidity for getting involved in this in the first place. He now realized that retirement on a master sergeant’s pay with free medical for life was not such a bad thing. He wished he would’ve seen things this clearly a few years ago.

  “I can tell you who told us to kill al-Samir and why, and about the bombings.”

  Duarte said flatly, “In return for what?”

  “I know I’m screwed, but this is big enough I think someone will cut me some slack, and you can tell everyone how I saved your ass this morning.”

  “I know I could do that. The rest isn’t up to me.”

  “I expected an honest answer from you. Good man.”

  Salez fidgeted in his seat.

  Garretti looked at the Latin fugitive and said, “This asshole sort of started it. He knew all of us. Me, Tserick, Munroe, Oneida Lawson and, most important—” He stopped himself. Once he continued, he knew there was no turning back. He looked up at the attentive Alex Duarte and wished he had a life like his. Doing good work for good pay. No temptation to do anything as illegal as murder.

  Duarte prompted him. “Who else did Salez know besides you four?”

  Salez squirmed openly in his seat now. “I don’t know if this is the right time to talk about this subject.”

  Duarte said, “It’s the right time. You missed your chance to talk. Now Mr. Garretti has the floor.” He looked at Garretti. “Who else was involved?”

  “Bob Morales.”

  As Duarte was about to speak, they all heard a shout from outside, then the lamp next to Duarte shattered and all three men instinctively ducked then fell to the floor of the trailer.