Field of Fire

by James O. Born

  Duarte had his pistol up as he crawled to the door. Before he reached the slightly opened door, he heard more gunfire, this time coming from directly in front of the trailer. More automatic gunfire struck the trailer high, as he reached the door and saw Maria, Caren and Colgan wedged behind the Taurus. He sprang out the door and fired at the SUV he saw, recognizing it from this morning. As he raced across the dirt road hoping to draw fire away from the trailer, he could see all three men from his earlier encounter in position near their SUV. They looked as if they were planning an assault. He stole a look across the road and saw Caren and the others still pinned behind the Taurus. He found cover behind a twisted banyan tree trunk that looked like a hurricane had ripped up from its roots.

  Then he noticed something flying through the air above the men from the SUV. It smashed the big vehicle’s windshield. Then he saw something else as it bounced off the SUV’s roof. Then more objects from all directions started to fall near the surprised men.

  Duarte stared, not immediately realizing what was happening.

  It was the residents of the camp. Duarte saw one small Guatemalan man step into the open and heave a piece of cement up in an arc so that it landed within five feet of the gunmen. It caused the men to leap out of the way, but, more important, it kept them from shooting.

  The residents of the camp were coming to the aid of their beloved teacher. The pace of the attack picked up, as rocks, trash and even some fruit started to fall from the sky like rain.

  The men moved as a group back toward the SUV like a well-trained military unit. Duarte thought he could disable the vehicle with his Glock, but right now he wanted these guys out of here. He didn’t know who they were, or if there were more of them, but he knew this was not the place to fight. Too many people could get hurt. But, right now, the people looked like they were doing all right on their own.

  He watched as they piled into the Excursion and backed up, bumping a trailer, then spun dirt up as they tore onto the road and down the street. More rocks followed them as they took the corner at high speed.

  Duarte started to relax, until he looked across the street and saw Salez backing away from the others with a fillet knife to Maria Tannza’s bare throat.

  Caren watched helplessly as Salez backed away from her. She knew she couldn’t accurately shoot Salez without risking Maria, but she had the handgun up anyway. Garretti had stepped out of the trailer and said calmly, “Give me the pistol and I’ll cap that son of a bitch.”

  Caren didn’t know if she should point the weapon at him or at Salez. Then Duarte came running back from across the street with his pistol up.

  He pointed the Glock at Garretti and said, “On the ground—now.”

  Garretti dropped.

  Duarte said to Caren, in a steady voice, “Keep him covered. I’ll deal with this.”

  He stood where he was, as Salez shouted, “Come any closer and I’ll open her throat.” He pressed the long, thin blade tighter against Maria’s neck, causing a thin line of blood to dribble down.

  The sight of the blood, and the potential for more violence, made Caren’s stomach flip-flop, but she kept her focus. She had been told to watch Garretti, and she didn’t intend to let Alex Duarte down again.

  Duarte stopped his advance and concentrated on Salez over the sight of his Glock.

  From the ground, Garretti said, “What’s your plan, hotshot? You need to kill him, soldier, and need to do it now.”

  Duarte seemed to hear the command and pulled up the slack in the trigger.

  Then Caren saw movement next to Salez, and Maria fell to the ground. Salez slammed against the end of the trailer, and she saw Tom Colgan pop up from behind him with the fugitive’s arm twisted at a sickening angle behind him.

  Colgan looked down as Maria scurried toward the car, and called, “You all right, ma’am?”

  Duarte lowered the pistol and looked at Garretti, saying, “I got a plan, and a new partner.”

  42

  DUARTE FELT LIKE HE PRETTY MUCH HAD THINGS UNDER control, considering he was responsible for two prisoners, a civilian, a non-sworn DoJ attorney and an FBI agent who was beginning to prove he wasn’t as useless as he appeared. Maybe.

  He had given Tom Colgan back his little Smith & Wesson revolver and assigned him a job as lookout as they got ready to move as a group. He still didn’t know where they were going, but they couldn’t stay here. His parents’ house briefly flashed through his head, but he dismissed it. He’d be replacing one set of Latins in danger with another.

  There was no one to call. At least, not yet. He had taken the C-4 Garretti had in his rental, but they had only three handguns between them. But there was a lot of C-4, and the bad guys weren’t expecting it. That was his biggest advantage, but now he found himself in the same position as Robert E. Lee at Gettysburg. The fight had started and he wasn’t on the right ground. He had to seize the high ground to give himself a clear field of fire. Then an idea started to work its way into his head. They were near the Everglades. The place was nothing but fields. He just had to find the right one.

  Now he waited as Maria composed herself in the master bath and Caren hung out by the bedroom door, still looking shaky from her baptism of fire.

  Duarte looked over at Garretti, sitting comfortably on the couch, untied. Duarte felt he owed him that much. Salez was on the ground, handcuffed behind his back, and whimpering about his aching hand and the arm Colgan had twisted.

  “You okay?” Duarte asked Garretti as he peeked out the window.

  Garretti nodded and said, “Now do you believe me about this douche bag?” He pointed toward Salez.

  Duarte’s eyes dropped to Salez and then he nodded. “Tell us about Morales. That’s the story that sounds slim.”

  “Look, I met the guy once with Salez, and he’s been my contact ever since. I guess he liked my military background and figured I was trustworthy. I woulda been too, if they hadn’t kept asking for more and more. Do you know how hard it is to set a bomb to kill the right person? You did it in Bosnia on a battlefield and still fucked up. Just like I did.”

  Duarte flinched, and stole a quick glance at Caren to see if she had caught all that. Of course she had. She was as sharp as they came.

  “Let’s start with al-Samir. Why’d you guys kill him?”

  “Far as I can tell—and it makes sense—he was the son of some big-shit Saudi oil prince. Right after nine-eleven, with their image shattered, and the U.S. getting bowed up to kick some ass, they approached officials at Powercore about some deal to deliver more oil, outside of OPEC, directly to the U.S. at discounted prices.”

  “Yeah? I don’t see the problem.”

  “Because you’re a stand-up guy, not like these cocksuckers.” Garretti gathered his thoughts, and Duarte took the moment to scan first the bound Salez on the floor, then Caren, then out the window to ensure Tom Colgan remained vigilant.

  Garretti continued. “The government was apparently in favor of it. It was a personal thing from this raghead directly, not the Saudi government. But once it started, it would have been hard to stop. Powercore—or, more precisely, from what I’ve found out, Bob Morales—predicted a horrendous effect on Powercore stock and their oil exploration efforts if cheap oil flowed into the country. When the kid flew out here to finalize some aspects of the deal, under the protection of the U.S. government, Morales had us take him out to a bar in Austin after we’d spent the evening drinking. The five of us, each had a role. I hung back to make sure witnesses were either confused or clobbered. Tserick drove the car, and Salez, Munroe and Lawson beat his ass outside the bar. The whole time, they shouted shit like ‘Remember the Twin Towers’ and ‘Fuck you, Osama.’”

  Now Caren cut in. “Say I believe that load of crap, which I don’t. Why did he have you kill everyone involved? They were the killers too. It was in their interest to keep their mouths shut.”

  “My guess is that as he moved up politically he got nervous and decided to hide the whole thin
g.”

  Duarte said, “Why bombs? It’s neater and lower profile to use a gun. They never woulda connected four shootings in four different states.”

  “I think it was a couple of things. First, to make my services more attractive I may have overstated my ability and experience with C-4. They liked that kind of shit. A lot more sexy than a drive-by.”

  Garretti nodded, thinking.

  “The second reason, as I figure it, was economics. He needed the labor bullshit for his own political agenda, and instead of hiring someone to stir that shit he killed two birds with one stone.”

  Caren said, “He told you to make it look like union unrest?”

  “He told me to use the C-4 at work sites. He was very specific. The only one I couldn’t do that with was Janni Tserick, because he was always on the move checking lines.”

  Now Salez chimed in. “You didn’t mind doing Janni.”

  Garretti kicked at him.

  Duarte asked, “What’s he mean?”

  Salez pushed on. “Garretti here knew Tammy Tserick a little too well. She popped out his baby instead of Janni’s. Garretti had to do him, if he ever wanted a life with his kid.”

  “That’s not true. I mean, I did him for the same reason as everyone else.”

  Duarte wondered why it was important to Garretti for people to know he killed someone for business rather than personal reasons.

  Garretti looked up at Duarte. “You got a plan yet? I don’t think the bad guys are done with us.”

  Duarte smiled. He couldn’t help it. “I got news for you. I’m not done with them either.”

  43

  ALEX DUARTE FELT NEITHER HURRIED NOR STRESSED. HE had learned in the army that stress only screws things up. In the history of the world, panic had never helped any situation. Aside from those compelling arguments, he had no reason to be stressed. He had what he thought was an excellent plan, and he was preparing to execute it at a location of his choosing. He had read books on the Civil War his entire life. He knew personally what combat was. He had his plan and he would stick to it. If only Lee had followed his plan.

  Maria was his main concern, because she had no idea what was going on, and the events which had just taken place had scared her. Not car accident scared. More like “everything I’ve ever believed in has been shattered” kind of scared. She knew bits and pieces, but understood that someone in the U.S. government had tried to kill her, or at least people around her. He had made certain Maria didn’t know the role Mike Garretti played in her son’s death. It might complicate his plan. Duarte didn’t want her to be a casualty of this plan, either physically or mentally. He knew she was plenty tough and would get through this as long as he projected calm and competence.

  Maria had been calm enough to suggest this location when she heard Duarte mutter about needing an isolated place that he could defend. He had come out to the old deceased manager’s trailer a few miles from the camp once before. It wasn’t too hard to find. This time, he studied the landscape as they drove in his Taurus. Five people in the passenger compartment and Salez in the trunk. Maria informed him that the manager’s widow had gone to stay with her daughter for an extended period. She had asked Maria to keep an eye on the old homestead. Duarte felt as if it were divine intervention. This place was perfect, with the small bridge and the wide field leading to a trailer. He thought the trailer could provide some measure of cover if they stacked the furniture forward. He hoped even that wasn’t needed.

  Now he had Tom Colgan holding both Salez in cuffs and Garretti at gunpoint, at the far end of the room.

  Caren sat on a couch with Maria. Both of the women had demonstrated that they were no cowards. Duarte had been particularly impressed with Caren’s confession of her more in-depth knowledge about the case. It was tough to step up and do the right thing after you’d already made a bad choice. She had done it.

  Duarte stooped down and said, “Maria, you’re certain no one is supposed to come to this trailer?”

  “Not for three more weeks.” Her brown eyes looked into his. “Who’s coming to help us?”

  Duarte gave her a small smile. It wasn’t hard; this was what he had lived for. “You need to ask who is coming to help the men who come after us.”

  Colgan called out: “Alex, Caren.”

  When they looked up, he jerked his head to motion them closer. When they were next to the tall FBI man, he started to speak quietly, so the prisoners couldn’t hear him.

  Colgan said, “I been thinking about this bullshit about Bob.”

  Duarte said, “What about it?”

  “I don’t think it is all bullshit.”

  “Why?”

  “Couple of things.” His Texas drawl was starting to fade. “You remember when you were in D.C.?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Bob told me to make sure you didn’t get out of the office that day until after one in the afternoon at the earliest.”

  Duarte thought about that, and said, “That’s the day we went to the amusement park.” Duarte snapped his fingers and added, “He was keeping us from seeing Garretti when he tried to kill Salez at the park. He had a time frame.”

  Colgan nodded and said, “I thought maybe it fit in with his story. And then there’s the box of leads I FedExed to you in Seattle. Bob told me to load up the box with anything I could find on the union. He wanted to slow you down on the case.”

  Duarte said, “It worked.” He looked at the FBI man. “And you helped.”

  “I did. I followed orders.”

  “So did the Nazis.”

  “I didn’t know what was going on.”

  Duarte said, “Now we all know.” He stood and nodded to Tom. “I’ll be back in a while. Check the window, in case we’re surprised.” Duarte ducked out the front door, then waved to his audience through a wide bay widow with the curtain pulled back.

  Alberto Salez had been in tough situations before. Maybe not like this, but at least now he had seen several possible escape routes. He knew the area, for one thing. He had caused the old manager to slip off that bridge just a week ago. He could cut through the woods to his car at the camp in about twenty minutes, if he had to.

  The other thing in his favor was that everyone thought he was hurt much worse than he was. Sure, his hand ached, and he was missing his pinky. But it wasn’t bothering him to the extent that he had been whining. He kept acting like he was drifting off now and then from the pain, hoping to lull everyone into a false sense of security.

  He knew it wouldn’t be easy. The ATF man, Duarte, had proven himself to be smart and tough. He’d be tough to slip. The woman, Caren Larson, was also alert and intelligent, her blue eyes scanning him every few minutes. Even his fellow prisoner, Garretti, was a problem. That self-righteous ass would be the first to stop him, if he ran. Maybe if the gunmen came back, he’d have a chance to slip away in the confusion. He was prepared to wait it out. He could see a knife on the counter in the kitchen. A thick, heavy butcher knife. Not his fillet knife, but it would do. He knew it was sharp, because he had seen the ATF man use it to strip some wires and to cut bricks of Garretti’s C-4. That boy had a party he was setting up. That might be enough to escape right there.

  Salez leaned his head down on Garretti like he was passing out again.

  Garretti scooted away, allowing Salez to fall on his side.

  Garretti said, “Hey, asshole. I’m not a bed. I don’t care if you choke in your own vomit.”

  The tall guy with the pistol said, “Play nice, boys.”

  Salez looked at him and said, “That ain’t a Texas accent. Where you from?”

  The man hesitated, and said, “Shut up, asshole.” He raised the pistol like he was going to strike Salez.

  Salez knew he wouldn’t. That was another thing in his favor. This guy was an idiot.

  Caren Larson stood up from the couch and walked around the trailer’s living room to stretch her legs. It seemed much wider than Maria’s trailer. She moved closer to the two prisone
rs leaning against the back wall with Tom Colgan hovering in front of them. She had a purpose in her casual trek around the trailer but didn’t want to seem too obvious. She looked out the bay window at Duarte as he hustled around in the wide-open front yard. He rolled out what looked like plastic tarp near the little bridge that crossed the canal, then wrestled with one of the big fifty-five-gallon drums. He had not filled her in on his plan, but she wasn’t worried. Alex Duarte was the steadiest person she had ever met. If he felt they could get out of this safely, she believed him. Even if she did think he was a little paranoid about not calling for help. After all, Tom Colgan worked directly for Bob Morales, and he turned out to be trustworthy. Of course, he didn’t believe any of the things Garretti had said about his boss, but he appeared to be doing his job well. She gave him a sideways glance. Something in the back of her mind popped up. Maybe she was paranoid too. She wondered if he could be pretending to be on their side to find out more information. Maybe he would lead them into a trap? He looked harmless enough.

  But none of that had anything to do with why she had left the couch. There was really only one person she wanted to talk to. One person with the answers she needed right this minute.

  She stopped and turned toward the prisoners, then squatted down so she could look Mike Garretti in the eye.

  Garretti, ever cagey, said, “Yes, ma’am, what do you need to know?”

  “Why do you think I need to know something?”

  “Because you’ve been tentatively circling us for five minutes. You just leaned down to look at me like I’m about to testify. Who are you worried about? Morales or Duarte?”

  “Why would I worry about Alex?”

  Garretti smiled. “Because you want to know what I meant about his service in the army. What happened in Bosnia.”

  She silently assessed the intelligent bomber. “Okay, what about his service in Bosnia? What happened?”

  “He killed a kid too.”