Field of Fire

by James O. Born

44

  AFTER DUARTE HAD FINISHED HIS INITIAL PREP WORK IN the field in front of the manager’s trailer, he surveyed his efforts and nodded, satisfied. At least for now. He tromped through the mixture of grass and weeds that were just a little on the dry side. Perfect.

  At the front door, Duarte wiped his feet on the mat out of habit, though he doubted his ma would be yelling at him to keep these floors clean. It was still the courteous thing to so. He made a quick assessment of the room as he entered, mainly ensuring that the prisoners were still secure. Both men still leaned against the back wall, and Tom Colgan stood over them with a pistol in his hand. Good.

  Caren was talking with Garretti as he walked in, but she stopped and turned to him.

  Duarte said, “We’re in good shape.” He passed Caren to speak directly to Garretti. “Any ideas on remote detonation of your C-4?”

  Garretti thought about it, and smiled. “You’re gonna blow the bridge?”

  “You read my file. You know it’s what I do.”

  “That’ll show these guys. Good one. But how do you get them to come to us and cross the bridge?”

  Duarte smiled. “That’s the easy part. Now, what about the remote detonation?”

  “A current to the blasting caps will work. Any extension cords?”

  “The little shed is full of them, along with dozens of other things we can use for defense. The old manager apparently bought in bulk.”

  Garretti smiled and said, “Don’t wanna use too much C-4 on the bridge.”

  Duarte glared at him.

  “See, I really did see your entire file.”

  Now Caren stepped closer to Duarte. “Alex,” she started softly, so only he could hear her clearly. “What happened in Bosnia? He keeps dropping hints. Is it anything we should be worried about?”

  He looked at her and then spoke in a plain voice, not needing to conceal anything. “I worry about it every night, but, no, it has nothing to do with this. It’s just a coincidence.”

  “What is?”

  “Having to blow a bridge with bad guys coming after us.”

  She kept her confused expression and said, “I don’t understand.”

  He looked over to Maria, who was now watching from the rear of the couch and paying attention. Garretti didn’t look smug; in fact, he looked like he was sorry he had brought up the subject. Duarte didn’t feel this was the right time to keep secrets. He owed them the truth. Especially Maria. He looked around the room and realized he had everyone’s attention.

  “Well,” he started slowly, “I was attached to a unit in Bosnia on the border with Serbia, near the Drina River. We received intel that three Serb tanks were going to cross the Drina and attack a Croatian arms depot. Our orders were to keep them apart. No direct fighting between the two armies.

  “My commanding officer had dealt with the Serbs, and figured that if he blew the bridge over the Drina River they’d just move on to the next one, or maybe start shelling a small village from across the river. We had no real air support because, at the time, our F-15s were told not to break a twenty-thousand-foot ceiling. They didn’t want to risk a downing of an American warplane or collateral damage to any of the villages that dotted the area. The nearest U.S. Army Abrams tank was an hour away and we didn’t have any time. The answer seemed obvious: blow the bridge with the tanks on it.”

  They all hung on his every word. Even Maria had left the couch to join the group. Duarte felt a little self-conscious, but he had started the story and didn’t feel like stopping now. This was the first time he had spoken of it since leaving Bosnia.

  Caren prompted him. “Go ahead, we’re listening.”

  “Well, I set all the C-4 I could lay my hands on under the bridge. I laid in pounds of it, with a long cord to detonate from a good distance. So we lay in wait in a ditch almost a quarter mile up the road from the bridge. Sure enough, the tanks came rumbling out of the woods on the far side, then over the bridge without hesitation. When all three were on the bridge, I detonated the C-4.”

  “What happened?” asked Caren.

  “Just what you’d think. The bridge went up in a big way with two of the tanks. The third one had backed onto the land and immediately retreated back into the woods.”

  “So you accomplished your mission?”

  “We did. The tanks were neutralized, and there was no contact between the Serbs and Croats.”

  “What was the problem, then?”

  “I had used so much C-4 that it blasted fragments of the bridge everywhere. One piece, about the size of a dime, flew down the riverbank and hit a twelve-year-old boy.”

  Maria gasped.

  “In the neck.”

  Caren put her arm around Maria as she started to cry.

  “When we walked down to survey the bridge, we could see the boy’s father and a few locals gathered around the boy on the riverbank. I knew something was wrong and raced down to them. As soon as I saw the wound, with blood pumping out of his neck, I knew it was my fault. We did everything. Called in a medevac. I tried to stem the blood with direct pressure, but there was nothing we could do. He died at the U.S Army first-aid station a few miles away.”

  Now Maria was sobbing, obviously connecting the story to her own tragedy, and possibly now realizing why Duarte had been so diligent on the case. He looked up into Caren’s eyes and saw she now understood as well.

  From the back wall, Garretti said, “Let me help you out there. I won’t try anything. I can splice an extension cord and be ready to roll in a few minutes.”

  Duarte looked at him, considering the help from a guy who had more recent experience setting bombs.

  Garretti said, “C’mon, you can keep the pistol on the whole time, but I need some payback, and this way I’ll be saving our asses too.”

  Before Duarte could answer, Salez said, “If you’re done with your boohoo story, I gotta take a piss, and unless you let me out of these cuffs someone is going to have to hold my dick.”

  Duarte said, “Tom, he’s all yours. I’ll take Garretti. That way you just have to concentrate on him.”

  Colgan nodded.

  “And Tom,” he waited for Colgan to look at him. “Don’t hesitate to shoot him if you need to.”

  Garretti helped Duarte push another fifty-five-gallon drum of fuel into his trap. Garretti could see this guy knew what he was doing. He didn’t know if that was from training or actual combat. This looked like one hell of a trap, but the plan had holes. The biggest, as far as Garretti could see, was how to get the bad guys where they needed them to go.

  Duarte had good focus. He reminded Garretti of a missile that was streaking toward a specific target. Once everything was in place, Garretti followed Duarte to the shed at the side of the property. He noticed that Duarte had a Glock on his hip, and he was always aware of Garretti’s location. He was subtle, this ATF man. He never allowed Garretti to be on the same side as his gun. He’d shift or sidestep. Once, he even used his hand to guide Garretti to the side. Garretti could tell by the way this guy moved that he was quick, and confident that he could stop Garretti if he tried to escape. Garretti was confident he’d be stopped too. But he had no plan to escape. At least, not at the moment.

  When Garretti got his first look inside the shed, all he could say was, “Holy Mother of God.”

  Duarte smirked and nodded.

  It was a treasure trove of wires, tools, chemicals, containers with oil, mineral spirits, hydrochloric acid and just about anything else that could burn, blow up or maim.

  Garretti said, “Wow.” He ran his fingers over a few of the farm implements, then stopped on some coils of leatherlike rope. “This quick fuse isn’t even legal anymore. This is old as shit. This whole place is a dream.”

  “More like a nightmare. I wonder if the old manager knew how lethal this shed was.”

  “Bet he had no clue.”

  Duarte said, “I left out some C-4 with a couple of your releases for some small surprises.” He guided Garretti to the work
bench, still keeping him away from his pistol. He held up a glass jar filled with clear liquid and a small thin patch of C-4 wrapped around it. “Hydrochloric acid.” He held it up to show Garretti where he would place them in the shed. “A homemade release for the cord, and these will make hiding in here uncomfortable.”

  “You don’t fool around.”

  “Time for games is over.”

  “You’re awfully sure they’ll show.”

  “They’ll come.”

  “And how do you get them in here?”

  “Guys like that are lemmings. Scare them and they all flee the same way.”

  “I may have started this, but you sure seem eager to finish it.”

  “All this pain. Maria’s boy, the others—all for profit. It doesn’t seem right.”

  Garretti nodded. “Hey, it’s your man, Morales, keeping it all going.”

  “He’s not my man.”

  “Whoever he is, someone needs to set his ass straight. If I make it through this, I hope it’s me.”

  “You’ll testify?”

  “On TV, if that’s what it takes,” Garretti said.

  Duarte nodded and grabbed a coiled electrical extension cord. “This should reach from the bridge to the trailer.”

  Garretti said, “How about the second trap? How’re you gonna ignite it?”

  He grabbed some quick fuse as they left the shed. “You’ll see.”

  They trudged through the weeds and thick dry grass to the small bridge. Duarte pulled out his folding BenchMark knife and popped it open with a hard flick of his wrist. He laid the end of the extension cord across one of the wooden pilings next to the bridge and cut the end of the cord. He split the remaining cord, then peeled back the plastic to reveal the two separate copper wires.

  Garretti said, “That’ll work.” He watched as Duarte leaned under the bridge and attached the wires to the first in a series of blasting caps. Garretti nodded his approval, then followed Duarte as he uncoiled the cord to the side of the bridge heading back to the trailer. As they came to the front door, there was still thirty feet of cord.

  Pausing at the front door, Garretti said, “So how do you get them here now that you have this great defensive position?”

  Duarte allowed himself one of the first real smiles Garretti had seen. He held up his small Nextel cell phone and scrolled through some contacts. As he held the phone to his ear, he actually winked at Garretti. Then he said, “Chuck, it’s Alex.” He waited, and said, “Just listen. I have two witnesses in the bombing case hidden in the manager’s trailer near the labor camp. It’s the road that breaks off from the camp to the right. We’re about two or three miles down the road, the only trailer back here.” He paused, letting the other person speak, and added: “We’ll be here another hour or so. No one will ever find us out here. I’ll call you when we know what we’re going to do.” He flipped the phone closed and looked up at Garretti. “They tapped my phone. They believed that whole conversation. They’ll be here in less than an hour.”

  Garretti nodded his approval. “You’re smooth.” He turned and climbed the three steps, then turned toward the door when it opened on its own, swinging out slowly. Garretti saw the tall FBI agent standing there.

  Duarte said, “We’re all set, Tom.”

  The tall man tried to speak, then fell face forward onto the landing as Duarte leaped up and caught him before he tumbled down the short flight of stairs. It didn’t really matter. A butcher knife was buried in the back of his neck, deep in his spine, at an angle. Blood had already stained his light blue shirt.

  As Duarte and Garretti looked up, they saw Alberto Salez with Colgan’s revolver pointing at them. “C’mon in, boys. You’re letting out all the air-conditioning.”

  45

  ALEX DUARTE ENTERED THE TRAILER SLOWLY, FIRST checking to make certain the women were safe, then assessing his options. Both Caren and Maria sat frozen on the couch. Maria had her faced buried on Caren’s shoulder. Neither made a sound.

  Salez had dropped back to the rear wall and kept the pistol aimed at both Duarte and Garretti.

  Salez said, “Now, Agent Duarte. Slowly pull your pistol, using only two fingers, and slide it to me.” He carefully aimed the pistol at Duarte and added, “If I miss you, I’ll turn to shoot our lady friends.”

  Any plans Duarte had of trying to quick-draw and fire from the hip were ended with that threat. Besides, he was better with his hands and feet than he was with a pistol. It would be a tricky mess to draw on a guy holding a pistol on him. He pulled the Glock as he had been commanded, then stooped and shoved it hard enough to slide part way to Salez.

  The fugitive said, “I’m not falling for that again. You’re too fast for me. I should just shoot you.”

  Garretti cut it. “You do and you’ll never make it past our booby traps out there.”

  Salez turned his attention from Duarte. “What traps?”

  “You shoot us and you’ll never find out.”

  “I can wait until you tell me. I got food and water.”

  Duarte chimed in, “Nope, you got about an hour at most.”

  “Whadya mean?”

  “Those nice men who shot up Maria’s trailer are on their way over here right now.”

  Maria gasped at that news.

  Salez said, “How do you know that?”

  “Trust me, I do. Why do you think we’ve been laying those traps?” He looked at the wavering Salez and added, “Those guys are after you specifically. They’re not gonna care what you have to say when they get here.”

  Salez waved the gun. “Both of you get over on the couch with the women.” When no one moved, he shouted: “Now.”

  Duarte calmly moved around to the front of the couch, careful not to betray his growing anxiety that he needed to be watching for the arrival of the gunmen. Garretti had already sat down next to Maria, who seemed to be recovering from the sight of Tom Colgan being impaled with the long, thick knife. Duarte had reverted to his military training, and knew he’d be upset by the FBI agent’s death when this was all over. Until then, he had to focus on how he would get himself and the others out of this situation in one piece.

  As he sat at the far end of the couch, he watched Salez make a long circle around the couch so he could face them. “You’re saying that I have a small window of time and I have to go. And I can’t take the Taurus because you guys laid traps in the front yard.” He seemed in a remarkably good mood for someone trapped with the rest of them. “I can cut through the back. I know the way. My Caddy is still at the camp.”

  Duarte said, “Then go ahead and take off, because I need to get ready for the visitors.”

  Salez considered the comment.

  Duarte added, “Look, it’s in your interest that I take those guys out.”

  “I’ll say this: you’re determined and logical. I won’t deny it.” Salez looked at the younger ATF agent and said, “Okay, you sold me. But I have one piece of unfinished business.”

  “What’s that? You already have the file.” He had seen the photos crammed in Salez’s back pocket.

  “But I owe that asshole.” He pointed the pistol at Garretti, who gave no hint of what he was thinking.

  Salez stepped closer and raised the pistol.

  Maria flung her arms around Garretti and covered him with her body. “No, no. There’s been enough killing.”

  Salez snickered and lowered the gun. “Maria, you know who you’re protecting?”

  She didn’t move or show interest in what he was talking about.

  Before he could answer, Salez snapped his head up to the side window. “Son of a bitch.”

  Duarte turned and saw the same thing. The SUV was coming down the dirt road that led to the bridge.

  Salez didn’t hesitate. He turned and darted out the back door. Not even looking back at his captives.

  It was showtime.

  Alberto Salez was not a runner, but fear fueled him as he cut through the thick woods and brush in an arc that he
thought would take him back to the labor camp. He would’ve liked to shoot that asshole, Garretti, but he might need all his ammo. He had two guns with him. The FBI agent’s little revolver and Duarte’s Glock. He didn’t know where Garretti’s Browning was. He thought it might be in the Taurus.

  His hand ached from his missing pinky, but the rest of him was charged with adrenaline as he waited to hear the sound of gunfire. The more people killed at the trailer, the better, as far as he was concerned. If they all killed each other, he might make a clean getaway.

  He slowed to catch his breath. Man, had he been lucky today. If that FBI man had been more worried about him, and not so intent on looking out the window to make sure Duarte was all right, he never would’ve seen his chance coming out of the bathroom. He didn’t hesitate to walk through and pick up the knife sitting on the counter. He drove that thing home as hard as any hit or punch he had ever delivered. It cut through the tall man’s skin and muscle, bouncing off bone and vertebrae like a pinball. He couldn’t believe the guy stayed standing for so long, and even made it to the door to warn Duarte. It had worked out perfectly.

  Once he was a good distance from the trailer, after maybe six minutes of running, he slowed to a walk, still expecting gunfire. What he heard instead was an explosion. A big one.

  Duarte watched the fugitive flee out the back door and fought the instinct to give chase. But Mr. Alberto Salez would not be forgotten; he’d just have to wait his turn.

  He raced to the front door and sprang out to grab the extension cord at the foot of the steps. He dragged it back inside and slammed the flimsy door on the cord. Garretti joined him at the window for a better view, and since Duarte had lost his gun he didn’t care where he stood. He didn’t believe Garretti was a threat right now. At least, that was how he had read him, and he was starting to trust his ability to read people.

  Caren came closer and said, “What’re you doing?”

  Garretti turned and said, “He has a good plan. Watch as these assholes come across the bridge.”

  Duarte kept his eyes on the window, the hand holding the plug of the cord poised next to the outlet. He saw the SUV come down the front road and slow to a crawl as they approached the bridge.