The Warriors Series Boxset I
Page 7
Zeb parks his cab on Broadway and walks down a narrow street. Bunk’s outfit is at the far end of that street, at a dead end with a good firing line over the alley if he has to withstand a siege. Zeb can feel people looking at him from behind the boarded doors of the abandoned houses – most likely the gang members protecting Talbot.
Talbot’s gun shop would make an armory proud. Gleaming glass cases house pistols of all kinds, ammunition neatly laid out, combat rifles arranged in racks, new metal and gun oil hanging heavy in the air, and even a small firing range at the back of the shop.
Talbot knows why Zeb is here. Zeb had let him know he was coming, and in the circles he moves in, there are few secrets. Talbot has built a nice business here; the gangs and mercenaries pay cash and keep trouble in check. He sells to rival gangs, and they have no qualms about it. They know he sells the best weapons and is always able to get them in the quantities they want. He has spoken to some Special Forces friends of his about Zeb, and they’ve all said Zeb isn’t someone anyone wants on their case.
He makes Zeb wait a long time before seeing him. Zeb is used to such power games, and it makes no difference to him.
‘Dude, I know what you want, and I have no idea where he is. I sell guns. I don’t sell information, even if I had it. Now if you’re looking for a gun, we can talk.’
‘Did you outfit Holt?’ Zeb asks, looking around the gun shop.
‘No comment. Dude, if you want to buy something, let’s talk, or else get out. Don’t waste my time. You’re bad for business. This town’s infested with gangs – my customers, by the way – who’ll think you’re the FBI or the cops. The only reason I’ve wasted the last few minutes of my life talking to you is because we both served.’
‘You have a good setup here. How have you managed to stay under the cops’ radar? I bet they’d be interested in your clientele,’ says Zeb, ignoring what Talbot has been saying.
Talbot slaps a hand on the counter, the guns on the wall rattling with the report and drawing looks from the group at the firing range. He glares at them, and they get back to business. Turning to Zeb, he says, ‘Carter, look into my eyes. Read my lips. I am not interested in talking to you unless you’re buying. And even then, I’m not sure I want your business.’
Zeb looks at him for a long time. ‘Tell Holt I am coming. Tell him I was the one in the hut. He’ll know what I’m referring to.’
Talbot laughs. ‘There’s such a thing as a phone, you know. You could’ve told me all this on the phone. Not that it makes any difference to me and not that I’m going to do what you say, anyway. Holt and I served together a long time back. I have no contact with him now. And even if I did, I wouldn’t be your go-between over whatever bug you have up your ass about him. Now why don’t you vamoose before I take a more active role in ejecting you from my shop?’
‘Tell him,’ says Zeb. He leaves, knowing that Holt will be getting his message from Talbot shortly. The Seals bond is unbreakable, and it has an active network.
Out in the street, word of his altercation with Talbot seems to have spread. Several gang members are hanging around the street, giving him the stink eye.
Zeb is amused by their posturing and wonders how many of them will live to see another year. He glides like oiled steel through the heat of their gazes, not one daring to stop him.
On reaching New York, Zeb has the urge to visit his old tabla school in Jamaica. He can hear dimly the sounds of the tabla through the outer doors, and once he enters, he is awash in the sounds and smell of the drums. A bunch of young kids are seated around a frail old Indian man, with a full head of hair, keen eyes and strong fingers. His teacher, who on spotting Zeb, flashes a warm smile. Zeb sits against a far wall, with folded knees, and listens.
‘The tabla is empty, hollow, for a reason.’ His teacher beckons Zeb to sit next to him, takes the dagga, and places it in front of him and the kids.
‘Playing the tabla is easy. Once you learn the techniques, you can play it. But if you feel the tabla, if you allow it to speak, then it will allow you to fill it up. That’s why it is hollow, so that you can create and fill it up.’ He strikes the syahi of the dagga and produces a deep tone. He motions Zeb to sit beside him and offers him a pair of tablas. He draws another pair for himself and leads off on a taal.
Zeb follows, and teacher and student fill themselves with rhythm.
Chapter 8
He meets Bear and his partner the next day and outlines the circumstances to them. They agree about the need for close protection; they’ve been doing this for several years and can read a situation well.
Cassandra is furious when she learns about Zeb’s plans for Bear and his partner to protect her, shadow her, for an indefinite length of time. Zeb is vague about the reasons for their presence.
‘What is the worst that will happen to me?’ she shouts. ‘Someone will come and do me harm? So what? I am not prepared to be followed by a gorilla and his mate and have them cramp my life.’
Zeb ignores her.
‘Zeb, don’t stonewall me. I will not have them around. After living in a bloodthirsty city like D.C., do you think your enemies scare me?’
Zeb doesn’t doubt that bit. Cassandra has faced down muggers, survived bar fights, and talked down a gun-wielding hostage-taker, all courtesy of living in D.C. But all that cannot be compared to the ruthlessness that Holt brings to the table. Zeb isn’t taking any chances. He continues to ignore her, and she finally stomps out and slams her bedroom door behind her.
Bear coughs politely. ‘Gee, that went well. Do you think she’s gonna be difficult?’
‘Nope, she’ll be fine by tomorrow. By the way, she doesn’t know that you’ve already been shadowing her for weeks…so it might be best if you kept that to yourselves.’
He shows them around the apartment and his arms cache. He’d built a hidden compartment by knocking out a section of the wall, covering the inside of it with soft velvet and rebuilding a hinged door on it that looks exactly like the wall. It can be opened only by specific pressure on three pressure points in a particular sequence. Cassandra doesn’t know it’s there. Zeb has several of these scattered around the city, complete with new identities and bundles of cash.
Bear whistles when he sees the Glock 19, Smith and Wesson .357 SIG, a Steyr S40-A1, a Heckler and Koch HK416, CS Gas, stacks of ammunition, hunting knives and even some flashbangs and sting grenades.
‘Enough to start a war,’ he grunts.
‘Or survive one,’ Chloe replies.
‘We have our own kit, but it’s good to know that this is around,’ Bear continues. ‘We’ve cased the building and the neighborhood in the last few weeks, and we’re good to go from tonight.’
Zeb briefs them on the neighbors, the doorman, and various routines in the building, and works out call codes with them.
As he prepares to leave, Rory rushes in. He comes to an abrupt halt and gapes at Bear. Bear is huge, towers over Zeb by a foot, is built like a fortress, and sports a full beard; Chloe is just the opposite, petite and svelte.
Bear returns his stare and then winks slowly at Rory. He holds out a hand and introduces himself, ‘You must be Rory. For some strange reason I’ve never been able to understand, all my friends call me Bear.’ A twitch of a smile. ‘This is my partner, Chloe. We’ll be staying at your Aunt Cassandra’s place for a few weeks.’
Rory giggles in spite of himself and looks at Zeb.
‘Cass needs some help, and Bear and Chloe pitched in. They’re good friends of mine. Bear is a better pitcher than I am, by the way, and knows more about baseball than anyone else I know.’
That swings it for Rory, and he rushes out to tell his mother. Zeb looks at Bear and Chloe. ‘Let me introduce you to the rest of them.’
He brings them next door and introduces them to Lauren. Lauren’s eyes are full of questions, but Zeb says he’ll explain later when Connor is home. He leaves Bear and Chloe to sort things out with Lauren, and then later, with Cassandra.
He checks his phone and sees a message from Broker.
‘Jackpot,’ he shouts when Zeb calls him. ‘I got the mother of the fucker! Her name is Pamela Whitlock; her address is in Williamstown – about an hour and a half away from Jackson. She married again and changed her name to Whitlock. No kids and she willed the family home in Jackson to Holt. That’s how I got her.’ All coming in a rush from Broker as he enjoys his high.
‘Her second husband passed away a few years back. No known income right now, except a state pension. I guess her husband left her a decent pile to live off.
‘You want to check her house out? I know you want to, and this time I’m coming along with you,’ Broker says.
‘Don’t get involved. This has nothing to do with you.’
‘Bubba, we’ve had this discussion before. I got involved the day I met you. It’s not as if I haven’t been in the field ever since I started dealing in information.’
Zeb is aware of this.
Broker has been on a few missions with other military contractors, though he picks and chooses his missions. If he has to choose a partner, Broker will be his first choice, rock steady under fire, cool head, and a first-rate sniper. For an analyst, Broker has a knack for using a long gun.
He could do with a second pair of eyes, but doesn’t want to involve anyone else in this. As it is, there are too many non-principals involved.
‘Bubba, I know what you’re thinking, but there’s no way you’re going to Williamstown alone. I am coming along with you.’
Silence on the line, then Broker continues, ‘I’ll outfit a vehicle tomorrow, and we can go. Right now all we want to do is check the place out and see if we can pick up any sign of Holt there.’
Zeb looks out the window. If Holt is staying with his mother, then that could be a complication. Zeb has never strayed from his rule of not involving non-principals.
He also wonders if Mendes and Jones are with Holt. He thinks it’s a strong possibility. The six of them were working together a long time, and the events in the DRC would only bind them closer together. Holt still remains his priority, since he was the ringleader, and once he finds Holt, he can turn his attention to the others.
Broker drives up in an anonymous Honda Civic with New Jersey plates the next day. Zeb inspects the car and sees that he has kitted it out with a parabolic mike, infrared binoculars, a fiber-optic camera and recorder, and a thermal imager.
‘I love technology,’ he says defensively when Zeb looks across at him. ‘Besides, these will be useful.’
‘Is this your car?’ Zeb asks.
‘One of them. You know I have a car rental agency, which is a front for my cars. It’s easier and offers anonymity as well as control.’
Zeb thinks for a moment. ‘Let’s go back to the rental agency and change the rental name to mine. I also want your agent to have a good look at me.’
Broker looks at Zeb as if he just sang ‘I’m a Little Teapot’ while wearing a pink tutu and Spock ears.
Zeb looks back at him.
Broker snaps his fingers. ‘Gotcha. If Holt trails back, you want him to know it’s you.’
Zeb nods. ‘That’s why I don’t want you involved. This has nothing to do with you.’
Broker snorts. ‘Let’s get going. Enough wasting time on this. And don’t bring this up again.’
They drive to the rental agency, where Zeb walks in and changes the rental name and hangs around aimlessly, checking out the flyers on the walls, making sure he is visible to the CCTV cameras mounted inside the agency.
They drive off once they’re done, with Broker at the wheel. ‘So how do you want to play this?’ he asks. ‘We can just do a few passes by the house, we can stay till dark and break in, or we can mount long-term surveillance with a few others…there are many ways.
‘And what will you do once you find Holt?’ he pushes on before Zeb can reply. ‘For all your badass rep, you were never the cold-blooded execution type.’
‘Are you done?’
‘Just.’
‘We are not going to do anything you’ve suggested. We’re parking right opposite her house to sit for a few hours.’
‘I figured you were going to say something like that. Do you know what a spoilsport you are, Zeb? All these gadgets…when am I going to get to use them?
‘And what will you do once you find him? What if you come across him in the subway? You can’t take him to the Feds because they told you to back off. They might, in fact, go after you. If the cops get him, they’ll just hand him over to them. Other than the execution option, I don’t see a Plan B or a Plan C.’
‘I’ll be handing him over to the DRC’s Embassy.’
Broker sits in stunned silence for a beat, then laughs long and loud – right into New Jersey.
Chapter 9
They reach Williamstown close to noon. A small town with barely twenty thousand people, a town that can be driven through in an hour and forgotten in less than that. A town for retirees and those who want to escape the rapidity of large cities.
They find Pamela Whitlock’s home without much difficulty and make a few passes in front of it. The house is set back from the street and is surrounded by foliage. Broker has the house blueprints, so they look them over – it’s a six bedroom with front and back gardens. The gardens are surrounded by tall trees and have an exit to the side. Broker has activated the body-heat detector in his Civic, and it comes up empty. No one in the house…or nothing the machine can detect.
A B&E in a residential area such as this is always high risk. Neighbors know each other, strangers stand out, and residents gossip – not to mention the Block or Neighborhood Watches. Whitlock’s house has the saving graces of being set back a distance and surrounded by dense foliage. The streetlights are covered with grime, their illumination poor. Though Zeb has no intention of breaking in, force of habit makes him automatically seek out entry and exit points.
They park on the street, just to the left, still visible to anyone inside the house. Zeb makes himself conspicuous by getting out of the car, staring long and hard at the house, then walking past the place a few times, making a show of taking notes and photos as he observes the structure.
‘The house looks empty, feels empty, and the machine says it’s empty. You’re just hoping that the neighbors spot you and get the word to his mother and from her lips to Holt’s ear. All this dicking around…Zeb, I thought you were a man of action,’ grumbles Broker as he settles in the car and prepares to snooze.
Zeb spends a couple of hours on the street. In that time a neighbor comes back from shopping, the kids piling into the house with the parents following, staring curiously at Zeb. A patrol car passes him, slowly, once and then twice, but does not stop. A few other cars pass by, all with New Jersey plates.
They leave in the late afternoon, Broker driving, all the while grumbling about the waste of time.
‘Happy? Now that you’ve made yourself a target, painted yourself bright orange?’ asks Broker as they reenter New York.
‘There isn’t any other way,’ says Zeb, ‘if I want him to come to me.’
Broker throws up his hands in frustration. ‘I’ll keep plugging away at my databases, on my network, and also keep at it on Hardinger. If anything turns up, I’ll let you know. Do you want me to check into Mendes and Jones?’
Zeb shakes his head.
Broker leaves Zeb at Jackson Heights,
a few blocks away from his apartment. Zeb uses the walk to run through what he has so far and to plan his next move.
He has two choices at this stage – keep hunting for Holt’s whereabouts, which might be a long, drawn-out process during which Holt could escape from the country, or draw Holt out by being provocative. Zeb being Zeb, has taken the provocative option by hanging around his mother’s house, without being directly aggressive, below the cops’ and the FBI’s radar. There is no guarantee that his actions will work nor that Broker’s digging might find Holt, but Zeb has to run with what he has, and his hunting instincts tell him that Holt will come after him.
It’s what he would have done, had he been in Holt’s position.
He goes to his apartment and takes out his carryall, which has all his weapons – a Glock 17, a Beretta 92A1, a HK416 as well as a Heckler and Koch G28, a Benchmade spring-loaded Entourage knife, some flashbangs, his cable camera – and makes a lightweight pack of his clothes. He will be living in rundown seedy hotels, where there’s no one to note his comings and goings, till this blows over. He takes out a map and works out a grid of blocks between 58th and 25th Street. Broker had hired the Civic within that grid, and it will give Holt a starting point for locating Zeb.
He walks into a hotel near 58th Street on the West Side and checks in. The porter does not look up from the football game playing on his TV as he wordlessly takes Zeb’s money and hands over a key. The room is surprisingly clean and well organized, with a small, well-maintained bathroom and a tiny window overlooking the street. He freshens up and explores the hotel thoroughly, noting the fire escape next to his window, the rear exit, the lighting along the corridors, and the single camera facing the entrance.
He walks around the block and familiarizes himself with its layout.
He then walks to that perennially populous place in New York City, Times Square, and hangs out, watching the ebb and flow of people, the pulse of the city throbbing.
The next day he hires the same Civic from the same agency, drives out to Williamstown, and repeats his observation of Holt’s mother’s home.