Killing Game (Veritas Book 2)

by Chandler Steele

  Cait forced herself back into warrior mode. There, she felt secure, less confused. “Let’s figure out the best way to get the cavalry in here without too many casualties. They’ll probably want to come in by water.”

  “Or helicopter?”

  Cait shook her head. “No LZ . . . no landing zone. So unless they’re going to fast-rope from the chopper, it’ll have to be by boat.”

  “I don’t know how fate arranged to have both a Ranger and a Marine on this trip, but I’m definitely headed to shul to say thanks the moment I get back to Atlanta.” Susan thumbed the sat phone. “I’ll let them know about the lack of a landing zone. Oh, got a voicemail. Maybe it’s good news.”

  As Cait waited, she watched Susan’s expression go from hopeful to sincerely pissed off. Apparently, whoever had left the message hadn’t said the right things. After she sent a text, the agent turned the phone off, swearing under her breath.

  “And?” Cait asked, keeping her attention on the area around them as they walked deeper into the woods.

  “That was my boss, who just had to chew me out for my ‘reckless and irresponsible’ behavior. Said we’d be having ‘a talk’ once I get back to the office.”

  “Does this desk jockey not realize that you might not get back to your office if he doesn’t help you out?”

  “The desk jockey is a she, and I’m her problem child, as she puts it.”

  Cait ground her teeth. “We put up with enough of that bullshit from guys, but when it comes from a woman, that really rags me. So what is she going to do for us?”

  “It sounds like the various offices are weighing their options. My boss is urging restraint, that the situation might not be as dire as I painted it.”

  Cait looked back over the swamp in the direction of the compound. “Yeah, I can see that. You’re totally overplaying this whole goat rope. I mean, it’s only an armed militia and a few IEDs. What could possibly go wrong?”

  Susan rolled her neck around, apparently trying to reduce her tension. From the glower on her face, the maneuver failed. “I swear to God, if the state of Georgia didn’t have the death penalty, my boss would be a rotting corpse.”

  Cait grinned. “I’ll help you dispose of the body. I know a few tricks.” That earned her a thoughtful smile. “How’s about we go prove that your boss is an idiot and earn you a nice commendation?”

  Susan’s smile dimmed. “I’d be happy just to get out of this alive.”

  “Right there with you, sister.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  There had been a few moments in Brannon’s life when he knew he was pushing his luck. That night in the mountains of Afghanistan, when he’d tracked a group of insurgents on his own so he could call in an air strike. That day in Fallujah. Now here in the swamp.

  The rational, “you thought this was a good idea?” portion of his brain was bitching at him that this plan sucked. That it was stupid and suicidal, especially when he had Cait and Susan counting on him. Nevertheless, he hoped that the majority of Ellers’s people were tired of being holed up out in the swamp, and sick of the man’s bullying dictatorship. Or at least that’s what he was telling himself.

  Larry, Brannon’s escort, was a guy who loved to talk and he’d done that all the way to the compound. By the time they approached the gates, Brannon had heard that one of the hostages had escaped—someone he’d claimed not to have seen—that Commander Ellers was pissed off at everyone, and that the food rations had been cut again. Also, that no one understood exactly why the hostages had been taken in the first place, except for the writer guy and the photographer. And that Larry was thinking it was time to head back to Arkansas. He’d had his fill of Ellers and his crew.

  When they reached the compound, one of the guards in the tower called down to Larry and told them to stay put. Time passed, but he didn’t move. He made note that there was one man in both of the guard towers and each held a sniper rifle, though that didn’t mean they had any skill with those weapons. Brannon did, and if he could get his hands on one of those, his chance of survival would improve dramatically.

  “It’s him,” a man called out, his face peering through the fencing at the front gates. “Let him in.”

  The gates opened and Brannon marched inside. He was immediately surrounded, his rucksack and knife confiscated. Then he was patted down. He had to act the outraged party here, that Ellers owed him for the betrayal. That he was a loyal soldier to their unholy cause.

  “No other weapons,” one of the guards said.

  Brannon stared at the guy who’d identified him. “How’d you know who I was?”

  “I saw you that night.”

  “You one of the assholes who tried to kill me?”

  “No, I’m not. My name’s Rafferty,” he said.

  “Then it’s good to meet you, Rafferty.”

  “By coming here you’re putting your head in the noose.”

  “Says the man who lives inside an armed compound.”

  Rafferty glanced over at him. “Then it appears neither of us is that smart.”

  The open area in front of the cedar house was primarily white sand. A single flagpole sat in the center, but Old Glory wasn’t flying proud today, hanging wet and limp on the pole. Rafferty told Brannon to wait there, and he did as ordered, feeling the guns trained on his back. Hopefully, if Ellers wanted him dead, he’d do the deed himself. That way Brannon wouldn’t die alone; a single snap of the anarchist’s neck would ensure he had company when he stood in front of St. Peter. But this wasn’t just about him anymore. He had someone who cared for him. Someone who needed him.

  The door to the house swung open and Ellers walked out, down the stairs, right up to him. His weapon went up against Brannon’s forehead in a fluid motion.

  “I was told you were dead.”

  Brannon made sure not to flinch. “You were told wrong.”

  “How did you find this place?”

  “Once a Ranger, always a Ranger.”

  “How?” Ellers insisted, pushing harder with the gun.

  “The tour guide had maps in her ruck. I’ve been checking islands for the last couple of days. When I heard ‘Reveille’ this morning, I knew I’d hit pay dirt.”

  “Just how did you do that when the canoes were wrecked?” Rafferty asked.

  “Fixed one up. Wasn’t about to be stranded just because someone felt the need to fuck me over.”

  Ellers chewed on that bit of news for a time. “What about the guide?”

  “Dead. Took a round in her skull.” Brannon pointed toward his rucksack. “The rest of your money is in there. Whoever tried to kill me was in a hurry.”

  “Why bring it to me?”

  “Because I want to settle the score with the bastard who tried to kill me and I wanted to meet you. So here I am.”

  There was a very long pause as the commander sized him up. “The traitor was executed earlier today. He’s no longer a problem.”

  Brannon gave a brisk nod, waiting to see if the same fate awaited him. Ellers took a step backward. At least the gun wasn’t poking a hole in his forehead any longer.

  “The FBI is looking for you,” the commander announced.

  “That, I wouldn’t doubt. Doesn’t mean they’re going to find me.”

  “I’ve got a friend in the Army. He did some checking on you. He says you’d never be the type to join up with me. That if you’re here, you’re working for the enemy. So which one of you do I trust?”

  Shit. Brannon hadn’t expected that.

  “Did your friend rob an armored truck and risk time in federal prison? Did he haul the loot all the way into some goddamned swamp to bring it to you, even after one of your people tried to kill him? No, he did not. But I did. So your friend is wrong.”

  Ellers cocked his head. Brannon felt sweat trickle down his back and into his cargo pants, l
ike it was summer in the desert.

  The gun went back into the holster. “Come on,” the man said, gesturing. “We need to talk.”

  Somehow Brannon had passed the first test, but he knew there would be many more.

  The interior of Ellers’s office was stark in its simplicity. There was a jerry-rigged desk, a rusty fold-up chair behind it. Papers sat on that “desk” in no discernable order. On the wall behind it was a framed black-and-white photograph of Ellers with a group of men, all in camo. From his time in the Army? Or maybe later?

  There was no chair for Brannon, so he adopted the parade-rest position, moving his left foot out and interlocking his thumbs behind his back. This telegraphed that he viewed Ellers as his superior, massaging the man’s ego.

  “At ease, soldier,” Ellers said, after sitting in the lone chair. He pulled his gun out of the holster and placed it in front of him, within easy reach. “What did you do in the Rangers?”

  “Usual stuff. Explosives, hostage rescue.”

  “Sniper?”

  “Yes.”

  “How good?”

  “Good,” he replied. “I’m better with explosives.”

  “So if I gave you a rifle, you could kill anyone I wanted you to?”

  “Yes, but I don’t kill women or kids. Unless they’re trying to kill me.”

  The cunning look in Ellers’s eyes made Brannon wonder if that comment had been a mistake. “Even if I ordered you to do so?” the man asked.

  “Even then. I have some lines I don’t cross.”

  “Huh. But you could kill anyone else?”

  “Yes, but optimum results require a military-grade sniper rifle and proper site planning. It’s not a point-and-shoot kind of thing, like in some damned arcade.”

  Ellers leaned back in his chair, sending an ominous creak throughout the room. “Why do you want to join us?”

  Time for the sales pitch. “Because I went to war for this country and now it’s not the one I fought for.” In many ways, that was true, though not how Ellers imagined.

  “Do you know the best way to kill a snake?”

  “Take off its head?”

  “Yes. And the best way to start a war?”

  Brannon knew where this was headed. He’d read too much of Ellers’s online rants not to. “By ensuring that the world understands the sacrifices required for liberty.”

  The commander slammed his palm down on the planks. “That’s it exactly. When I get done, everyone will know why I struck the blow for freedom. They’ll see the bloated bodies, they’ll know the government is corrupt. There will be no way Washington can spin this to be our fault.”

  “Sounds like you got it all worked out.”

  “I do. Question is, do you want to be part of it?”

  Brannon took a deep breath. “Yes, sir, I do, sir.”

  Ellers rose, jamming the Glock back into his holster. “Time for you to get settled in, Hardegree.”

  Well, hell. He seemed to have made the cut. Something told him that it shouldn’t have been that simple.

  Ellers escorted him to Rafferty, who was in the mess tent with a woman and two children. Most likely his family. The two little boys were about five and seven, wide eyed and curious at the newcomer. One had a wooden truck and was running it along the table, executing a tight course between a staggered line of salt shakers.

  “You stick with Rafferty from now on,” Ellers said. Then, as he turned away from the table, he added under his breath. “See that woman and those kids? You try to fuck me over, and they’ll be the first to die. You got a line in the sand? So do I, asshole. You’ve been warned.”

  Ellers exited the building, leaving Brannon to stare at the boys and their mom, chilled by the threat.

  “Something wrong?” Rafferty asked, unaware of what his boss had just said.

  “Just your commander warning me to be on my best behavior.”

  “Huh. Well, sit and have some coffee.”

  The fellow’s wife rose, gave a nod to her husband, and herded the kids away. Before Brannon could say a word, a tin cup full of coffee arrived in front of him, courtesy of an older woman.

  “Thanks, Maudie,” Rafferty said.

  This was the one who’d helped Susan escape.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Brannon said, and he didn’t mean just for the coffee.

  She studied him for a moment, then returned to the kitchen.

  “Are the hostages okay?” Brannon asked.

  “They’re good. The photographer and the writer are working on Ellers’s book.”

  “Really?” he replied, trying to sound surprised since Susan had already given him that bit of information.

  “Yeah. He’s having them compile some of his writings. Says they need to be ready for when he isn’t here anymore.”

  “Isn’t here, as in dead?”

  Rafferty shrugged his shoulders. “You can never tell with him,” he said quietly.

  “Is his nephew leaving that young girl alone?”

  The man’s eyebrows rose. “He is for now. He kept trying to sneak in to see her, claiming she was ‘his.’ His uncle got so pissed, he sent him off the island about an hour ago.”

  “Why do I think he didn’t go quietly?”

  Rafferty shook his head. “Not that kid. I don’t know why Ellers puts up with him. Probably only because he’s a relative.”

  “How long have you folks been here?” Brannon asked, then took a long sip of the black coffee. It was better than he’d expected.

  “Been here about five months. I was one of the original few who came out here with the commander. Once we got the place livable, we brought in our wives and families.” Rafferty rose. “Come on, I’ll give you the tour.”

  As they walked through the compound, he pointed out certain buildings and introduced Brannon to various people. It was a community on edge. People’s eyes weren’t meeting his and they weighed each word as if it might prove to be their last. The one thing that was clear: They respected Rafferty.

  “How far do you trust the commander?” Brannon asked, playing a hunch.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because he told me that if I fucked him over, he’d kill your wife and kids.”

  Rafferty stumbled to a halt. “You serious?”

  “Absolutely.”

  The man’s expression hardened. “Then you better not fuck up and betray us, because if you do, I’ll kill you first.”

  “That’s exactly what I’d do in your shoes.”

  Rafferty grunted and continued the tour, but his demeanor had changed now, and Brannon didn’t think that it was in regard to him.

  He knows Ellers is a threat. All of them do.

  *~*~*

  Hours later, by the time they’d completed the full reconnaissance and mapped out as many of the IEDs and traps as they could find, Susan was exhausted. She did field work, which involved long hours interviewing people, collecting evidence, then going back to interview the same people who’d lied to you the first time around. In contrast, Cait’s skillset included forced marches, living on a single protein bar and some sips of water, and not issuing one complaint.

  I feel like a damned wimp.

  “Why do you think that?” her companion asked.

  Apparently, she’d voiced her thoughts.

  “You just keep going and going. Me? I’m exhausted, I ache, and I would kill for a hot bath, a massage, and a steak dinner. Yeah, that’s me whining.”

  “You do remember Patti, right? That girl had whining down to an art form. Yours isn’t anywhere near that level.”

  Susan chuckled at the memory. “So how’d you get so tough?”

  “I learned early on not to complain in front of the guys, because they might see it as a weakness.”

  “So you couldn’t be a wo
man?”

  “I couldn’t act like a weak woman. There’s a difference,” Cait said. “Once they got to know me, I could joke about stuff like that, but not until then.”

  “I can understand that. It’s like breaking in a new partner at the Bureau.” She sighed. “So are we going to stop tromping around eventually? I have a hot date with a few blisters, and I can’t wait to see just how big those puppies are.”

  “Here is as good a place as any to park it for the night. Hopefully, come morning, your crew will be moving in.”

  She heard the worry in Cait’s voice, and she knew it wasn’t all for them. “Brannon will be okay. He strikes me as the ‘I can survive anything’ kind of dude.”

  Cait did not reply as she laid out a ground cloth between two bushes. Only when she was done did she look back at Susan. “Trust me, even those kinds of dudes can die. If he does . . . ”

  “Then we won’t be needing to put Ellers on trial, right?”

  “You got it.”

  “If it goes down like that, I’ll make sure the official report uses the phrase ‘in self-defense,’” Susan said.

  She blinked up at her. “I thought you FBI folks were all by the rulebook.”

  “I’m not and that’s why my boss hates my guts.”

  Cait held up a protein bar, waggling it at her. “Split it with you.”

  “I’m all over that. I know, I’m easy.”

  Cait actually laughed, and it sounded as if she didn’t do that very often. “You keep it up, and we’ll be picking out china patterns in a few weeks.”

  It was Susan’s turn to laugh. “My mother will be ecstatic. She’s given up on me ever getting married.”

  “Mine too—or remarried, that is.”

  “What about Brannon? You two looked good together.”

  Cait’s eyes shuttered, the mirth gone in an instant. “He’s not the problem. It’s me. I’m not the marrying kind.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Yeah. Ellers’s mines and I have a lot in common. We’re unstable and can destroy anyone who comes too near.” She handed Susan the bar, then rose. “I’ll take first watch.” Before she could reply, the former Marine vanished into the night.