David Wolf series Box Set 2

by Jeff Carson

  She straightened. “So he’s not missing?”

  Rachette thought of Gail Olson’s seductive smile, and of the humiliation that had followed. It had been the start of this entire mess.

  He held out his hand. “Just give me your keys.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  His hand-held air for another few seconds and he lowered it. “Shit.”

  For a second he entertained the idea of forcibly taking the keys from her pocket. But she’d heard his phone conversation. Even if he managed to wrestle her keys away from her, she would go inside and tell MacLean what he’d said. Burton had specifically told him to keep the information on the down low.

  Hell, he didn’t even know which cruiser she drove. He’d probably still be outside in the lot searching for her vehicle when the bulk of the department came out to chase after him.

  He looked to the sky, hoping a solution would present itself.

  Why was Jack with Burton? And why did Patterson think he was missing? He must be in danger. Burton had said to bring every gun and all the ammo he had.

  “Hey, you look like you’re about to have a seizure. You want my help or not? Either way, I have to tell you, Rachette, as a cop I’m not comfortable keeping silent with this. You say Jack Wolf is missing? And you want me to walk away and pretend I didn’t hear that? No can do.”

  He wiped the sweat beading on his forehead.

  She stepped forward and hypnotized him. “Hey, I’m paired with Deputy Wilson. He just went inside to use the restroom. When he gets back out, we’ll take you wherever you need to go. You can tell us all about it. Okay? Great.”

  Rachette stared at her. It was impossible to say no to her, but more importantly, it was the best choice he had. The only choice. Rachette’s read on this woman was a moot point. And besides Patterson and Wolf, Wilson was as trustworthy as they came.

  “Okay, Munford, you win. I’ll take that ride.”

  “Yeah?” She nodded. “Okay, good. I just want to help.”

  “But if you try to screw me over, I’ll kill you.”

  She chuckled. “Oh really?”

  Rachette stared at her.

  She hardened her gaze and nodded, then cracked a smile. “I’d like to see you try.”

  “I’m sorry, Munford, but I’m serious. About this, I’m dead serious. Dave Wolf has killed people to protect me. I wouldn’t hesitate one second to do the same to protect his only son.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Okay, I think you’ve officially turned me on, Tom Rachette.”

  His face caught fire.

  Burton was going to be pissed.

  Chapter 26

  As Pope drove Pepper’s truck over another batch of rocks sticking out of the unmaintained road, he grasped the wheel with both hands to counter the terrible pull to the left, hoping the neglected, piece of crap, whining engine would make it to camp.

  His left forearm skin stung when he flexed his hand. No longer pink from the smeared blood, it now glowed bright red, having been slow roasted through the untinted window on the drive.

  His sunscreen was in his truck. His truck that had been stolen by David Wolf and that field goal kicker fed bitch.

  He’d be able to borrow a shirt from someone, but he’d never show such weakness as to ask whether any of the men at the compound had sunscreen. Damn his pigment-free skin in the Colorado altitude.

  Clenching the wheel, he slowed at the barbed-wire fence and was glad to see that there was no one in sight.

  He stopped and cranked down the window.

  A few seconds later, a man dressed in full camouflage and carrying an M4 Carbine assault rifle stepped from the trees.

  It was Andre. The overweight man squinted and paused at the sight of Pope.

  Shirtless and redder than usual, he didn’t blame Andre for giving a long second look.

  Pope held his breath and watched the M4’s barrel closely. It pointed at the ground, never wavering. Andre’s finger remained outside the trigger guard.

  The compound sentinel gave him a knowing nod and Pope returned the gesture. Keeping a confident air about himself, Pope let off the brake and drove up the double track.

  In a matter of minutes, his ambitions would be realized. Or not. He would live, or he would die.

  And what if he lived, and all went to plan here? Despite the incredibly important moment facing him now, he forced himself to think even further ahead.

  Because his truck had been stolen along with his phone. Those two things alone spelled trouble.

  But it was not the feds who had shown up at the storage unit. It had been David Wolf and that woman, who he now knew was Special Agent Kristen Luke, who had been Agent Tedescu’s partner until Pope had emptied his brains onto his entryway floor.

  Special Agent Luke was being pursued by the feds, just like Wolf. She was helping the former sheriff because she probably knew the truth. Tedescu had probably told her. Luckily, he’d gotten to the storage unit first and burned all the waiting evidence.

  The solution to the remaining problem was clear: Two people had to die.

  As he trundled up the bumpy road through the thick lodge pole pines, his inner strength swelled, thinking about the people he’d killed in the past couple of days—all the tiny explosions of red flesh, the streaming blood from gaping wounds.

  It was a shame what all these incompetent bastards in the organization made him do. It was no different than the marines had been—they were dropping the ball and he had to take over.

  If he’d wanted to, he could have ripped the steering wheel right off with the surge of adrenaline-fed rage that coursed through him.

  As he pulled out into the clearing and drove to the doublewide trailers, a swarm of men appeared at the sight of the truck. Some were armed. Most were not.

  The sight of Pope inside the vehicle, rather than Pepper, had apparently caused a stir, and those who were armed fondled their rifles—a subconscious preparation of what was to come.

  Pope parked and opened the door. Stepping out into the sun, he felt his bare shoulders sizzle under the ultraviolet radiation.

  The metal door to the nearest doublewide squeaked open and the Chairman loomed in the doorway. “Pope,” his deep voice boomed.

  Pope nodded.

  The steps squealed under the Chairman’s ample weight and then the ground crunched under each footfall. His chin raised and his head tilted to the side, his waxed pate reflecting a tiny version of the sun.

  Under the Chairman’s gray army T-shirt, ham-like pectoral muscles flexed in turn, pushing the talisman that hung around his neck back and forth.

  Pope stood still, fixing a perfect poker face, ignoring the searing glare off his own bare skin.

  “Where’s Pepper?” the Chairman asked.

  “I killed him with a pair of bolt cutters.”

  The Chairman chuckled as if he was kidding, then nodded at Pope’s unflinching gaze. “You look like shit. You know, they told me what some of the men have been calling you lately. The Pope.”

  The Chairman’s voice was like a trained actor’s. He projected himself well when he needed to.

  The men shuffled near one another, keeping a safe distance from the confrontation. Just watching the Chairman in action could get you killed. Stray bullets were certainly about to fly.

  “The Pope? You know what I see? I see Poop. I think I’ll call you Poop.” The man’s silverback-gorilla torso bounced up and down as he chuckled.

  Three other men in the crowd laughed. Pope knew exactly which three without looking.

  “I didn’t think you’d be showing your face here ever again.”

  “Why’s that?” Pope asked, matching the Chairman’s theatrical volume.

  The Chairman stopped ten paces away. “You’ve put the entire operation in danger. Killing our insurance with the FBI? Killing that real-estate agent in Rocky Points? Killing the runner bitch from Ashland? And I hear your plans are going to shit.”

  My plans? There was a traitor.<
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  Pope pointed at the Chairman and raised his voice higher. “You put the entire operation in danger long ago. Two FBI agents were running our organization, because you let them.”

  “Running our organization? They were—”

  “They were not insurance, they were a liability, and you sat back and let it happen.” Pope shook his head in disgust. “Hell, you didn’t care. You’ve still been getting your cut. But what about us?” Pope extended his arms and twirled in a circle. “What about these men and their families? You’re bringing in more partners, and we’re getting pushed out on profits. But we’re the ones putting ourselves in danger out there!”

  None of the men in the crowd made a sound or moved a muscle.

  The Chairman took a step forward. His lip curled and his fists clenched into bowling balls. The man had a volcanic temper, and this was a look they all knew well. Mutinous talk like this was not tolerated in the least, and death was coming soon. Doled out by the Chairman himself.

  Once, Pope had watched the Chairman strangle a man to death with one hand while punching him with the other. The men that day had all stood in silence, listening to the connections of fist on face mixed with gurgling, each man unable or afraid to look away until the Chairman was done with his tirade of violence, which had been minutes after the man had actually died.

  Pope had also seen the Chairman kill twice by gunfire. Each man had been made to suffer long with shots to the arms and kneecaps, the gut, and only after were they put out of their misery with a headshot.

  But Pope did not intend to die by the Chairman’s hand today.

  By God, he hoped not.

  Raising his chin high, he puffed out his shirtless chest and pointed at the Chairman again. “Your time is up, Chairman. I’ve removed the FBI infiltration, which was something you should have done at the beginning. I’ve fixed your mess and ensured the future of this organization. Once again, we’re going to be free to do business the way it was done before you took over, when we thrived under our own organization rules. Not under the thumbs of a couple of crooked FBI agents that you didn’t have the balls to stand up to.”

  Two men stepped out of the crowd. Both holding M4 carbines, they flanked the Chairman and faced Pope. Their eyes were relaxed and malicious.

  Pope’s palms began to sweat.

  The Chairman smiled and stepped up between the gun-wielding men. “Your time is up, Poop. This conversation is over.” He turned to one of the men and held out his hand. “Give me your M4.”

  The man turned, raised the barrel, and fired three shots into the Chairman’s muscled thigh.

  “Ahh!”

  Pope stepped forward, watching the Chairman writhe on the ground. Blood soaked the man’s desert camos. Arterial spurts flowed between his fingers.

  The man who’d shot him, Luther, gave Pope the M4 and stepped away.

  Three pistol shots rang out somewhere behind them, and the men shuffled and murmured in surprise, but Pope kept his attention on the Chairman’s squirming form.

  Raising the M4, he aimed at the Chairman’s face.

  The Chairman opened his mouth to speak.

  He pulled the trigger, silencing him for good with a three-round burst to his face.

  Handing back the gun to Luther, he reached down and unclasped the talisman from Fred Fontaine’s dead neck.

  Fingers drenched in blood, Pope stood up and placed it around his own neck.

  The medallion known as “the talisman,” which hung from a silver chain, was a symbol of the Chairman’s power within the organization, and now its warm metal rested on Pope’s chest. It was heavier than he’d imagined it would be. Perhaps it was a harbinger of the responsibility to come.

  Raising his hands, he turned full circle once again, giving the men a good look at the historic moment. He made sure that there was no mistaking what had just happened.

  Half the men, those who called Pope “The Pope” with genuine reverence, had known this moment was coming. The other half looked down at the three lifeless bodies among them, and the dead Chairman in front of them, and understood—those who were against the changing tide would be dealt with accordingly.

  Every man raised his right hand in a fist and hailed him.

  “Chairman!” they chanted.

  Pope reveled in the glory of the moment for a good sixty seconds and then whisked himself up the steps and into the command building.

  Luther and Trey, the two men with the M4s, followed closely.

  The door shut behind them, and the noise of the men was drowned out and replaced by a tiny radio playing classic rock. Pope flicked it off and the three men stood in silence.

  Pope paced on the low-pile carpet for a few moments, listening to the squeak of the decaying wood underneath. It smelled like coffee and old food. He would need to change that, but there was work to do first.

  “We have trouble,” he said.

  The two men looked at each other.

  “The sheriff. Wolf. He’s escaped the FBI’s clutches, and he’s with a rogue agent who’s helping him. A woman. I destroyed the information in the storage unit.”

  Luther nodded. “And?”

  “After I burned it, Wolf and this FBI bitch showed up. They took my truck and phone.” He paced some more. “They need to die, fast. We need to move. Get ten men ready. We move in ten minutes. We’ll convene at GH 3. It’s nearest Rocky Points.”

  “Wait a minute,” Trey said.

  Pope felt a flash of rage, but let it dissipate. Trey was much taller and bigger, and he was holding an M4. “What?”

  “You killed the lawyer and his family, correct?” Trey asked.

  Pope considered not responding—as of two minutes ago, he answered to no man in this organization—but Luther looked interested. It was good leadership to get other men involved. “Yes.”

  “And you got the second agent this morning.”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s the original FBI threat taken care of, but what is this female FBI agent doing with Wolf? Who is she?”

  Pope stared at Trey. “Agent Tedescu’s new partner.”

  Trey rolled his eyes. “Shit. So she might know everything, right along with this guy Wolf. Tedescu could have easily told her. And now they have your phone and truck?”

  Pope walked to the paper-strewn desk and started opening and closing drawers. In the third drawer there was a Glock sitting on a notebook.

  “So we’ve got to move on this Wolf guy,” Trey said as if it were his own original thought. “And this other agent. Or else we’re really screwed. Where are they now?”

  Pope picked up the gun and checked the chamber for a round. Then, with his trophy-winning speed, he aimed and pulled the trigger, shooting Trey between the eyes.

  As Trey’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, the M4 exploded in fire, three rounds spraying into the wood-paneled wall. Then his body collapsed to the floor.

  Pope aimed through the smoke at Luther. “You want to tell me some more things I already know?”

  Luther shook his head. “We move in ten minutes.”

  Pope slid the Glock in his pants and nodded. “Get eight men now that Trey’s decided to quit. Then we move. Trey was right about everything. We have to kill these two, the ex-sheriff and FBI agent, or we’re screwed.” He looked at the wall clock. “Is that right? The time?”

  Luther pulled out his phone and checked it. “Yeah.”

  “We still have five men worth a shit near Rocky Points, so I called and mobilized them. They know what to look for—my pickup truck—and they know where to look for it—on County 17 between Carbondale and Rocky Points. There’s no way they’re going to risk coming in on highways with all the attention they’re getting from law enforcement.”

  “Who’s in Rocky Points? Fellman and Larson? That crew?”

  Pope nodded with a confident smile.

  Luther smiled back. Besides Pope, Fellman and Larson were the two most ruthless and clever men in the organization.
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  “They’re setting up an ambush.”

  “Time till engagement?”

  Pope glanced at the clock again. “Thirty minutes.”

  Luther nodded, looking like he had another question but was afraid to ask.

  “What?”

  Luther shook his head. “Nothing.”

  “Just ask. I’m not going to shoot you.”

  He stood straight. “And if they get through the ambush?”

  Pope hid the welling anger. “Then we’ll hold a knife to the kid’s throat to smoke them out. Then we’ll cut off his head in front of them. Then we’ll give the bitch to Reichlund, and if she’s not dead after that we’ll give her to the rest of the men until she is. And only then, after that guy Wolf watches the entire thing, will we start on him.”

  Averting his eyes, Luther looked down at the lifeless man at his feet and swallowed. He was probably thinking how much the dead man had sacrificed to get Pope into power, only minutes ago shooting the deadliest man Luther had ever known in the leg, and how quickly Pope had disposed of him for insubordination.

  That’s the kind of leader Pope was going to be. “Move. And get someone to clean this shit up.”

  Luther nodded and was out the door.

  Pope’s body was electrified. He felt a pang of regret looking down at Trey, but knew he needed to be quick and decisive, using measured doses of violence to rule this dangerous mob of men.

  So help him, if these two weren’t taken out, the violence was going to be biblical.

  Chapter 27

  Wolf’s head bumped against something and he opened his eyes.

  After a couple of blinks, he realized he’d hit his head on a window inside a truck cab, and then he remembered just where he was and who he was with.

  “He lives!”

  He stretched his arms and straightened up in the ample passenger seat. “How long was I sleeping?”

  “An hour and a half.”

  “Where are we?”

  Luke jabbed a thumb backwards. “About fifteen miles past Aspen.”

  They were rumbling on a two-lane dirt road through God’s country. The hills on either side of them glowed yellow from the changing aspen leaves, with an occasional blood-red burst of color near the sparkling river to Wolf’s right. Steep hills and mountains sculpted from brown and maroon earth flanked either side.