Grave Mistakes (The Grave Diggers Book 3)

by Chris Fritschi

  Kaiden nodded as she brushed her hair out of her eyes. “This war with The Ring is getting serious,” she said, “and you’re a liability.”

  Tate hadn’t known what he was going to hear, but she was going in a direction he did not expect.

  “You’re making bad decisions,” said Kaiden, “and taking stupid risks. Since Jennie died I think there’s times you want to die.”

  “Her name’s Jessie. She’s gone. I get it.”

  Tate fought the restless urge to squirm under Kaiden’s long stare. He refused to be the next one to speak, choosing to use the prolonged silence as a weapon.

  “She still lives inside of you,” said Kaiden.

  Tate’s breath hitched in his throat her words drove deep inside him.

  “If you die,” said Kaiden, “that’s when you really loser her and she will be gone forever.”

  Tate could feel himself groping for words as the strength of Kaiden’s insight rocked through him. He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off.

  “But if you’re going to die,” said Kaiden, “stop dancing around it and just do it. And, have the decency not to suicide by combat risking getting the rest of us killed too.”

  Kaiden casually turned her attention to the view outside, softly humming to herself.

  Tate began to speak then stopped. Started again and stopped. There wasn’t anything Tate could say that she was interested in. She’d said what he’d invited her to say leaving Tate to sort through everything he’d heard.

  * * *

  Looking at the satellite map Tate saw a single dirt road coming up that lead to Nathan’s location. Turning off the asphalt, the PLAV’s tires easily bit into the dry soil, rolling gently on the uneven dirt road. The blue of the sky, above, melted into a dramatic orange where it met the land as the sun began to glide beneath the horizon. Shadows stretched out, creeping over the ground until the soft light of dusk extinguished them.

  The rumble of the mighty V8 engine died away as Tate switched the PLAV over to its electric motor. He turned off the headlights and engaged the PLAV’s onboard night vision. The NV ultra-sensitive cameras saw everything, transforming the desert into an alien landscape of greens and grays. The hulking armored truck melded into the night with nothing to betray its presence but the soft crunch of its tires.

  Several miles later the dirt track rose to a crest and Tate stopped.

  Scanning the area ahead with the camera, Kaiden followed the road as it dipped into a small box canyon. At the far side was a one story structure a car parked next to it. She patched her image into the monitor in the back of the PLAV where the rest of the team was sitting.

  “Switching to thermal,” said Kaiden.

  The landscape changed to a grey negative. Cooler objects were darker while the warmer things were lighter, hot was bright white.

  Kaiden zoomed the camera in on the car which glowed a pale white.

  “It’s been there a while,” she said. “If the engine was still warm it would be brighter than the rest of the car.”

  She adjusted the camera until they had a close-up view of the ground in front of the door and then the front door handle.

  “What are you looking for,” asked Fulton, fascinated with the technology.

  “Footprints, handprints,” said Kaiden. “That sort of thing.”

  “No kidd’n,” said Rosse, impressed.

  “If it’s recent enough,” said Kaiden, “they can leave a heat signature. Judging by this, nobody’s been outside in a couple hours.”

  She panned the camera over the walls of the building, stopping on a darker patch of wall.

  “That’s where they are,” she said.

  “But it’s darker,” said Fulton. “Wouldn’t it be lighter because the people inside warm it up?”

  “It’s the only room running air conditioning,” said Rosse. “Am I right?”

  “Yes, you are,” said Tate.

  “I knew it,” grinned Rosse. “The wall’s darker because it’s cooler than the rest of the house.”

  “See anything else?” asked Tate.

  “If we get closer,” said Kaiden.

  With almost predatory stealth the PLAV rolled up next to the ranch house. Kaiden trained the roof-top camera on the wall where they suspected Nathan might be and scrolled through the camera settings until she found what she was looking for.

  “Come on, baby,” she said.

  A moment later shadows appeared on the monitor. Vague and indistinct as they were it was clear they were looking at people inside the house.

  One shadow was sitting, hunched forward while another shadow was moving back and forth, pacing. Two other shadows stood further away, at an odd angle.

  “My guess is that’s Nathan,” said Tate, pointing to the seated figure. “Those two are leaning.”

  “On their feet all day,” added Kaiden.

  “Exactly,” said Tate. “They’re on guard-duty and nobody sits on guard-duty.”

  “What about the other one?” asked Fulton.

  “Want to field this one, Wesson?” asked Tate.

  “It’s another guard,” said Wesson without hesitation.

  “How do you figure,” asked Tate.

  “The two guards wouldn’t let a threat close to them. If it was someone in authority, or their boss, they wouldn’t be casually leaning. It’s got to be someone equal to them.”

  “Outstanding, sergeant,” smiled Tate, then turned serious. “All right. We have three hostiles, expect them to be armed, in a confined space with our high value target. Ota and I will recon the outside for ways inside then return here.”

  * * *

  “You’re only going to annoy the boss, Hogan,” said the taller of the two guards as they leaned against the far wall.

  It had been two days and Hogan was getting cabin fever. Recruited by The Ring shortly after she left the Dutch special forces, Hogan wasn’t wired for the stationary demands of being a guard. The constant hum of computer fans and the ion tinge in the air made her crave the openness of the outdoor.

  She had been watching Nathan while pacing the room like a restless animal in a zoo. Three times, now, she’d seen strings of numbers scrolling on Nathan’s monitor and stop. He’d type something, without comment, and the numbers would begin scrolling again.

  “You can’t see he’s stalling, Pernette?” asked Hogan.

  “My job,” said Pernette, “is to keep him here; not watch the clock.”

  “Eikel,” swore Hogan under her breath. “Bryant, it’s your boss,” she continued, “you heard him say he wanted quick results.”

  “You see this?” said Bryant gesturing to his nondescript, dark suit. “We’re all wearing the same style because we’re supposed to blend into the background. The background doesn’t get paid to decide if this guy’s stalling. Getting involved is …”

  “Don’t say above your pay grade,” warned Hogan.

  Bryant simply shrugged his shoulders and grinned.

  “I’m calling the boss and letting him decide what to do.”

  “You’re funeral,” said Pernette.

  She was right. Nathan was stalling and running out of excuses. The computer had finished calculating the satellite’s target area the day before and Tate hadn’t appeared.

  At the time he sent the message to Tate’s sat phone, Nathan was sure he jump at the chance hurting The Ring, but where was he? Doubts began to whisper in his mind that maybe Tate wasn’t coming. Or, maybe he was minutes away. Not knowing gnawed at him.

  When Walter first brought him to the ranch house Nathan made a mental note of the room in case he had to escape on his own. One door lead back the way he’d come in, through the creepy hallway. The other door led to the bathroom, which surprisingly, had an unbarred window, but after he climbed out where would he go? Open miles of desert lay in every direction. Nathan knew the time to make a decision, wait for Tate, or try to escape on his own was staring him in the face. In his heart he knew that Tate was his only s
alvation. A salvation he was becoming convinced was not coming.

  Nathan had rerun the satellite’s reentry calculation twice more and knew it was moments from completing again. Hogan was threatening to call Walter and if she could add to his own suspicions things for Nathan could go very bad.

  A new plan occurred to Nathan. It was desperate and dangerous, but he couldn’t wait anymore. He had to get himself out of this and his only leverage was if he was the only person who knew the satellite target location. He’d only have a window of a few seconds to act. The moment the mainframe completed its processing he’d have to memorize the satellite vector, target circumference, longitude and latitude then wipe the mainframe memory and crash the system. If he could pull that off before anyone realized he was up to something, he’d be their only source of the information. Leverage.

  His thoughts were broken as an arm reached past him and snapped a gate drive into an open port on the computer console.

  “What ever this computer is doing,” said Hogan, leaning over his shoulder, “I’m making a copy of it.”

  Nathan’s expression hid the urge to yell in frustration, but the distraction cost him dearly as a small window opened on Nathan’s screen. The computer recognized the gate drive and requested what action it should take. Before Nathan moved, Hogan mashed the number two key, selecting Back up file.

  There went Nathan’s leverage. His one saving grace was Hogan’s impatience. As soon as she pressed that key the mainframe began trying to ram terabytes of data into the gate drive. The multi-layered fiber-optic storage of the gate drive had an incredible transfer rate, but nothing that could keep up with the output the mainframe was throwing at it.

  Data began cueing up in a buffer, waiting for the gate drive to catch up. To anyone else the delay was only a few extra seconds, but they were the vital seconds Nathan needed to memorize the information. But, the timing was critical because he’d have to pull out the gate drive before the download completed.

  Nathan saw Hogan’s face reflected in his monitor as she watched his every movement from over his shoulder. She wasn’t going anywhere. His breathing felt rushed and he forced himself to breathe deeply. Stress was his enemy. It would interfere with his focus and short term memory and he desperately needed both to save his life.

  Before Nathan recognized the click of the hallway doorknob turning, the three guards were reaching for their pistols. Suddenly the door slammed open and three figures swarmed into the room, shouting, with assault rifles up and ready. Their eyes flashing from dark faces streaked with black and green camo paint.

  Bryant and Pernette froze, looking down the barrels of automatic rifles pointed at their faces, but Hogan was faster, her pistol up and standing in an aggressive shooting stance.

  “DOWN, DOWN, DOWN!” yelled Tate, Kaiden and Wesson.

  “Drop it!” scowled Hogan, aiming squarely at Wesson.

  “Put down the gun,” cautioned Monkhouse appearing from the bathroom, behind Hogan.

  Startled she spun around and backed up, aiming her gun from one intruder to another.

  “Drop your weapon,” yelled Wesson, aiming at Hogan.

  “It’s over,” said Monkhouse almost soothingly. “Put it down.”

  Hogan swung her aim, pointing her gun at Monkhouse’s face. She was so close he could see her knuckles were white from the death grip on her gun.

  “I said drop the damn weapon!” commanded Tate.

  Bryant and Pernette, their hands still on the butt of their guns, had recovered from their surprise and were keenly watching for that split-second of advantage to draw and shoot their attackers.

  “Lets see who’s faster,” growled Kaiden, pressing the barrel of her gun against Pernette’s eye.

  “Drop yours,” screamed Hogan. “Last chance!”

  Tate’s eyes glinted behind the gun site as he braced the stock of his rifle against his shoulder. “Not happening.”

  Hogan was on the edge of panic, her fingers flexing her grip on her gun, tensing her shoulders to absorb the anticipated recoiled of her gun.

  “No, no, no,” cautioned Monkhouse. “Don’t do that.”

  She glanced at him in surprise, her face a mask of finality. Her sweat-streaked hair plastered to her cheek, her eyes a mix of fear and anger.

  “Let’s call it a day, all right?” said Monkhouse, calming his voice. “Everyone’s tired. We all just want to go home.”

  Bryant and Pernette began to tense as they watched Hogan’s expression, almost hearing the screaming voices in her head. She whipped her eyes back to Tate, terrified he might have come at her in her seconds of distraction, then back to Monkhouse.

  The air felt too thick to breathe, almost solid, slowing time and accentuating the smallest sounds. Monkhouse could sense more than see Tate was about to take the shot and who knows what blood-bath would follow.

  “Home,” said Monkhouse trying to keep the quiver out of his voice. He tried not looking at Hogan’s gun barrel inches from his face. Crouching at the bottom of that dark pit was an unstoppable monster ready to devour his life. “I know I’d like to go home. I bet you’d give anything to be there right now. Soooo.”

  Light flickered off the satin finish of Hogan’s gun from the subtle waver of her grip as Monkhouse’s words penetrated her panicked mind.

  Momentarily caught up in the stand-off, Nathan had forgotten about the gate drive. His heart slammed in his chest as he saw the progress bar hit ninety eight. Ninety nine. Nathan scrambled out of his chair, pretending to stumble against the computer console and knocked the gate drive loose, where it clattered to the floor.

  Startled by the noise, Hogan flinched and pulled the trigger. Monkhouse winced as the hammer snapped down with a muffled thud, and nothing more. He looked up astonished to see Tate standing next to Hogan. His thumb pinned under the hammer of her gun.

  Bewildered, Hogan looked up into Tate’s grim face. She began to say something, but was cut short as Tate slammed his rifle’s buttstock into her head and she crumpled to the floor.

  Glaring at Monkhouse, Tate pulled his thumb free and pitched Hogan’s gun at his feet.

  “Tie her up,” growled Tate.

  The metal cinch around Monkhouse’s chest disappeared and he filled his lungs. Bryant and Pernette dropped their guns and backed up a few steps.

  Tate’s adrenaline was bleeding off when there was a blur of movement. Before he could react, Nathan picked up Hogan’s gun and emptied it into the mainframe computer. The shots cracked loudly as sparks and the smell of burnt plastic spurted out of the machine and the monitors turned to static.

  “What ever you’re after,” announced Nathan, tossing the gun aside, “you’re not getting it now.”

  “Son of a…” sputtered Tate, confused and irritated. “Get him out of here!” ordered Tate. “We’ll meet up outside after we bind these three.”

  Wesson grabbed Nathan by the arm and shoved him toward the door.

  Monkhouse pulled a couple of heavy-duty nylon cuffs from his pack and knelt next to Hogan who groaned as she swam back to consciousness. With a zip he cinched her wrists behind her back. “This is better than a hole in the head,” said Monkhouse. Hogan wasn’t listening. Her attention was on the gate drive laying on the floor.

  Standing up, Monkhouse was surprised to see Kaiden close in front of him. The way she seemed to appear next to him without making any noise always made him nervous.

  “Why didn’t you pull the trigger?” asked Kaiden.

  “I, uh, I mean,” Monkhouse stammered, caught off guard by her question. “I thought I could talk her down.”

  “You thought?” said Kaiden, intently.

  Monkhouse had few interactions with Kaiden, but he thought she was cute, if not a little unapproachable. He may even played with the idea of asking her to have coffee with him, but all of his preconceptions were being obliterated and he could only gape in speechless confusion at her.

  “I mean, I could have shot her,” fumbled Monkhouse, look
ing for help from Tate, but he was busy with the prisoners and unaware of the quiet grilling Kaiden was giving him. “But, I didn’t get the sense she wanted to shoot.”

  Kaiden stepped in close to Monkhouse, nearly eye to eye with him. “Your sense?” she hissed. “You let her point a gun at Tate.”

  The sudden intensity of cold anger radiating from Kaiden’s deep brown eyes set off a tingling of fear that spiderwebbed though Monkhouse’s body. Any second now, he expected to feel the barrel of her gun under his jaw and she would blow the back of his head off. Instead she pointed to the bound guards on the floor. “Them.” Then pointed at Tate, herself and Monkhouse. “Us.”

  Kaiden was close enough Monkhouse could feel her breath on his face. He nodded quickly, unable to break free of her stare.

  Kaiden’s expression instantly changed to a bemused smile leaving Monkhouse deeply unsettled. She opened the space between them and patted him, good-naturedly, on the chest making him flinch. “Good talk,” she said, sighing lightly.

  “I got this one,” said Tate, holding Nathan by the arm. “Lets go.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IT'S A BIG JUNGLE

  Nathan sat, tucked into the troop compartment of the PLAV taking in his surroundings as the rest of the team hid their curiosity about him with varying degrees of success.

  “You almost got yourself shot,” growled Tate, angrily wiping the camo paint off his face. “What were you thinking picking up that gun?”

  “Optics,” said Nathan.

  Everyone swayed as the PLAV came to a stop.

  “Which way?” called Wesson from the driver’s seat.

  Unsatisfied with his answer, Tate’s stared at Nathan, but the connection was reciprocated. Nathan sat back and looked to the front where he saw Kaiden smiling at him from the navigators seat.

  “Hello, again,” said Nathan. “Pen?”

  Kaiden handed him a pen and small notebook between the two front seats. “You look different when you’re not strapped to a chair and bleeding.”