Collateral Damage

by Fern Michaels

  “Who the hell thinks up this crap?” Harry asked, referring to the boots that adorned his normally sandaled feet.

  “Some stupid advertising agency, for big bucks,” Bert volunteered.

  “You’re both whining,” Jack said. “I’m not feeling any love here. We need warm and fuzzy before we go into battle.”

  “Screw you, Jack,” Harry shot back. “I don’t like swamps. I hate the slimy things that live in them. What the hell are they thinking?” he asked, referring to the Sisters. “We’re going right into the CIA’s nest. That’s making me a tad nervous.”

  It was making Jack nervous, too, but he wouldn’t admit it. Bert just looked openly worried. He wished he could think of something witty to say, but nothing came to mind. He concentrated on watching the road.

  “A sing-along might be good right now,” Bert chimed in.

  “Is that what you FBI guys do when crunch time comes?” Harry snorted to show what he thought about that.

  Bert Navarro had excelled at the FBI Academy in the endurance and defensive driving course. He was driving the black SUV with the blackened windows that Charles had somehow commandeered from the Secret Service. What that meant was it was not your normal SUV—more horsepower, bulletproof, with special weapons built into the sides of the doors. Harry had turned white when he saw the rocket launcher in the back cargo hold. Even Bert and Jack had a bad moment. It was Bert who had the temerity to ask if any of them knew how to work it. He’d shrugged and climbed into the driver’s seat. Grenades—now those with pins intact, would have given him a problem.

  “What the hell are we waiting for?” Jack asked an hour later.

  “For a break in traffic,” Bert said. “I thought I was calling the shots on this one.”

  “You are. You are. We’re still two hours out. We need to make our move. Traffic is steady. I don’t see it lightening up anytime soon.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Bert spotted a wide shoulder. He slowed the SUV and told Jack to call Cummings. “Get your face gear on. Remember now, no English. Jack, just Spanish if you can remember it. Harry, only Japanese, and I’m pretty damn good in Arabic. Even if we screw it up, they aren’t going to know the difference.”

  Jack punched in Cummings’s number. “Drive one mile and pull over to the shoulder of the road. But first, confiscate Russell and Winters’s cell phones.” Jack grinned as he slipped his own phone into his pocket. He knew all of about thirty words in Spanish. He wondered if either one of the jerks in the car would notice if he kept saying them over and over. Probably not, he decided, and if they did, who cared? They were never going back to the District.

  “Showtime!” Bert grinned when he pulled the SUV behind the FBI sedan.

  “What? What’s going on?” Russell bellowed as he watched the three camouflaged men striding toward their car. “Jesus H. Christ, will you call 911? Where’s your damn gun? Get it the hell out, Cummings. I don’t like this.”

  “Look, just do what they say and let me handle it. I think it would be a good idea for both of you to keep your mouths shut,” Cummings said.

  “Up to now you haven’t done a fucking thing,” Winters said. “Good Christ, they look like mercenaries. Fuck you, Cummings! Will you fucking do something already?”

  “I detest profanity. You need soap in your mouth. Do not ever speak that way again in my presence.”

  “Fuck you,” Winters squealed. “Oh, Jesus, they’re opening the door! Will you fucking call 911?”

  Cummings reached over the seat and with the butt of his gun cracked Winters alongside his jaw. “I told you no more profanity. I never say anything I don’t mean. In case you don’t realize it yet, we’re being kidnapped. You always play along and hope you get out alive. Now shut up!”

  Bert Navarro swung open the passenger-side door and pushed Russell to the floor as he jabbered a mile a minute. Jack and Harry were busy pulling Winters out of the backseat and had him on the ground, leaving the door open so no one in the passing vehicles would see what was going on. Harry rattled off an impressive stream of Japanese that Jack couldn’t hope to duplicate with his limited Spanish, so he kept his mouth shut.

  Winters, even though he was on the ground, was proving to have more guts than his friend Russell as he shouted to him that the big guy was speaking Arabic and he knew it was Arabic because he’d sat in on hundreds of Arabic translations. “You can’t trust those sneaky bastards.”

  Director Cummings opened the door and slid out the driver’s side, but not before he slid his gun and the three cell phones across the seat. Jack jammed them into a black mesh bag that hung from his utility belt as he waited for the head of the FBI to walk around to the side of the car. Jack spoke a few halting words in Spanish to Bert and waited. A long string of guttural words ensued.

  Cummings translated for his two passengers. “Mr. Russell and Mr. Winters, you are to go with these men. If I understand what this big man is telling me, he is saying he doesn’t want me because I am with the FBI, and he wants no trouble with my people. He just wants you two. I’d do what he says if I were you.”

  “Well, you aren’t me, you asshole,” Winters tried to snarl, but it came out as a whimpering whine.

  Harry clamped one of his swamp boots down on the man’s back. Russell remained cowering on the floor with his eyes closed.

  Bert let loose with another string of words.

  Cummings rolled his eyes as he attempted to translate. Finally, he gave up and said in English, “Either you get up, get your asses in that black SUV, or they’re going to shoot your dicks off.”

  Russell and Winters hustled.

  Director Cummings climbed back in his car and waited a moment until Jack tossed in the mesh bag. “Drive carefully, Director. Don’t lose those cell phones. They’re going to be worth their weight in gold when this shit goes down tomorrow. By the way, good job.”

  Cummings laughed. “What was your language of choice?”

  “Pure Bronx, with about thirty words of Pidgin Spanish.”

  “Good thing you didn’t say much, then.”

  “Yeah, yeah, that’s what I thought. See ya.”

  “No, you won’t. I’m taking early retirement starting next week. By the way, what are those things on your feet?”

  “Swamp boots. I’ll send you a pair for Christmas, Director.”

  Jack could hear the director laughing as he clipped his strobe light to the top of his car, hit the siren, crossed the median, and drove back the way he’d come.

  Back in the SUV, Jack slipped into the passenger side and ripped off his knit face mask. He tossed it on the floor. He turned around to see Harry doing the same thing. He was sitting between the two men but he’d handcuffed each of them to a door handle with stout FlexiCuffs.

  It was obvious to all three men that Russell was scared out of his wits. The consensus was that Winters was too stupid to be scared. A string of obscenities spewed from Winters’s mouth about it all being a setup, and he knew the three sons of bitches were in on the heist and he was going to make sure they went to a federal prison.

  “Well, damn! See! See! Now we’re having fun.” Jack cackled uproariously; Bert and Harry joined in. “I love it when the good guys catch the bad guys. Just luv, luv it! Being up close and personal is so important. I just feel warm and fuzzy all over. How about you guys?”

  Winters started to explode again, but Harry whacked him full in the mouth. One of Winters’s front teeth flew out of his mouth and landed on the dashboard. Jack laughed harder. “If he opens his mouth again, take off one of those swamp boots and shove it in. Then shove the other one up his ass. That should shut him up until we get where we’re going.”

  “I hear you, boss.”

  Chapter 23

  It was late afternoon when Bert steered the armor-plated SUV to the rendezvous point. He pulled into a gas station that looked like it had gone out of business a hundred years ago. He drove around to the back, where a huge Dumpster was leaning against the ramshackle buil
ding that had once been a minimart, so they would be invisible from the road.

  The two black Hummers with their blackened windows, engines running, looked frightening in the gray afternoon light. “Why do I feel like I’m in a Stephen King movie?” Jack asked under his breath.

  “What’s going on? Where is this place? I want out of here right now. This is Goddamn kidnapping. I’ll have your asses for this, all three of you. Russell, do something,” Daniel Winters bellowed.

  The fund-raiser stared straight ahead but remained silent.

  “Shut up,” Bert said. “I can’t stand that whiny voice of yours. How the hell did you ever get to be the president’s chief of staff, anyway?”

  Russell finally spoke. “He probably blackmailed him. That little shit isn’t even good at what he does. The rumor in town is that he’s going to get his walking papers if the president gets in for a second term. Didn’t you figure out yet that this is what it’s all about?”

  “Well, yeah, I did figure it out. I just like hearing that little squirt make himself sound important. Loser,” Jack snarled.

  “You’re going to regret this. Russell is just a greedy bastard who tries to seduce every woman in town. Sex is all he thinks about,” Winters sniped.

  Russell rose to the bait and squawked. “Yeah, well me and everyone else in town heard about you and that intern and how you couldn’t get it up. Then you wrote a disparaging letter, and she was terminated.”

  “Boys, boys, boys! Enough of this pettiness. You’re giving me a headache. Just sit there and worry about what’s going to happen to you at the hands of the vigilantes,” Jack said.

  “It will be dark in fifteen minutes,” Harry said. “You sure you have the route down pat, Bert?”

  “Got it. I take the lead. I’ve been at The Point before, so I pretty much know my way around. It’s not like we’re going to drive up to the gate or anything. This is clandestine. I came here with Cummings about two years ago, and we got the royal tour. He wasn’t the director back then. Contrary to what the media says, the CIA and the FBI do get along. Most of the time. Relax, Harry.”

  “I see snow flurries,” Jack said. “Temperature must be dropping.” He craned his neck to look at the impressive dash with all its bells and whistles. “I’d say 34 degrees is a bit nippy. Too bad our guests are wearing Wall Street attire. Those wing tips are not going to do well in a swamp.”

  “Where are you taking us?” Winters bellowed so loud, Jack clamped his hands over his ears.

  “All right, all right, if you really need to know, we’re taking you to the vigilantes. They are going to take you into the swamp. Now, are you happy that you know where you’re going?”

  Winters sounded like a petulant schoolboy when he said, “I’m not going into any swamp in the dark. You can’t make me.”

  Bert turned around and glared at Winters. “You know, for an asshole, you’re one cocky little bastard. You messed with the wrong people, and now they’re going to make you pay for what you did. Get it through that thick head of yours, the life you had before this morning…gone.”

  Russell tried to lean forward, but Harry slapped him back into place. “Please, I’ll tell you everything I know, and it isn’t much. All this was Winters’s idea. For God’s sake, I’m just a professional fund-raiser who believes in his president. That little shit doesn’t even like the president. All he does is bad-mouth him.”

  “Save it for someone who cares. We’re just the transportation guys. The vigilantes are the ones you need to tell that sob story to,” Bert said.

  “Okay, it’s dark,” Harry said. “Time to get this show on the road.”

  Bert turned on the headlights and backed up one car length. He gave a light tap to the horn so the Hummers would follow him.

  The caravan drove forward on what looked like a normal country road but was actually government property. Bert turned on his signal and made a left turn into a deeply rutted road that looked like it led to nowhere. Minutes later, he pulled off to the side and parked the SUV. Bert ran around to the back and opened the cargo hold’s door. He started tossing out gear left and right. Night vision goggles, infrared binoculars, an infrared-equipped handheld video camera, weapons, and a length of steel cable.

  The women were busy doing the same thing.

  “We look like a pack of space aliens,” Jack said as he opened the door and yanked at Russell.

  Harry pulled a protesting Winters from the backseat.

  “Gag them!” Jack recognized Nikki’s voice.

  “With what?” Jack demanded.

  “Who cares?” Nikki shot back. “This place is quiet as a tomb. If they start yelling, the whole damn complex will come on the run.”

  She had a point. Jack peeled off his swamp boots and ripped off his socks. He stuffed them into Russell and Winters’s mouths and used some duct tape he took from his pocket to keep the gags in place.

  “How far, Bert?” Myra asked.

  “A half hour’s walk, maybe a little less. From here on in we have to be quiet. We use hand signals to do our talking. If anyone has anything to say, now is the time to say it.”

  “Actions speak louder than words,” Kathryn said, leaning in close to Daniel Winters to make sure he got the message. He cringed, and Kathryn grinned.

  “This is so exciting, isn’t it, Myra?” Annie asked. “I can’t believe I’m walking through a swamp in the dark, and the CIA doesn’t even know I’m here. This is like a dream.”

  “It’s a nightmare, Annie. My heart is pumping so hard it might leap right out of my chest.”

  “That’s what I mean. Our adrenaline is telling us we’re alive, and the world is ours for the taking.”

  “I hope you still think that when the CIA catches up with us. Didn’t you hear Bert? We have to keep quiet now.”

  “You’re such a poop sometimes, Myra.”

  What was supposed to be a thirty-minute hike to their destination turned into a fifty-minute slog, with Winters dragging his feet, falling down, and having to be dragged. Finally, in frustration, Harry slung him over his shoulder and joined the parade.

  Bert stopped suddenly and raised his arm. He turned to Jack, and hissed, “Did you hear something?”

  Jack shook his head. The others waited until Bert raised his arm again to continue. Five minutes later they came to a small clearing surrounded by old oaks and maples. To the left of the clearing was a fenced-off area. Razor wire was stretched all along the top of the six-foot-high chain-link fence.

  Harry dumped Winters into a heap on the ground and pointed to the fenced-off area. He grinned down at the man groveling at his feet.

  Kathryn minced her way over to Winters, dropped to her haunches, and whispered, “Do you know what’s inside that fence? C’mon, take a guess, you piece of shit. No? Okay, I’m going to tell you. It’s QUICKSAND!” Winters’s eyes rolled back in his head, and the tears flowed. Russell sank to his knees, shaking from head to toe.

  A strong gust of wind whipped through the clearing, bringing a swirl of snowflakes that temporarily blinded the group. Winters opened his eyes to see ten sets of green eyes staring at him. His eyes rolled back in his head a second time. Russell, to all appearances, had given up and was just sitting propped up against a tree with his head between his knees.

  The rest were a team then, working in sync as Bert lashed the length of cable to a stout oak limb that was bigger than his waist. The end dangled down over the quicksand pond. Jack and Harry were snapping at the razor wire with bolt cutters and tossing it into the underbrush. When they finished, they hauled both men to their feet and slipped the cable under their arms and tightened it. Standing at the big oak, Bert reached up to see how much slack he had. Satisfied, he gave two tugs, and Winters sailed up and over the quicksand pond. Jack did the same thing with Russell.

  Annie, who was standing beneath the tree, looked up, and said, “Hey, Mister Chief of Staff, look at this!” She pulled up one of the signs with bold red letters that said, STAY CLE
AR. QUICKSAND. She threw the sign into the dark, muddy pond, and they all watched as it disappeared with a gurgling sound. “That was quick,” she said, her voice full of awe.

  “Serves you right, you…you…you Republican!” Myra said.

  “Oh, Myra, I’m so happy for you. You’ve accepted being a Democrat!” Annie gushed.

  “Jack, bring Winters down and take out his gag,” Nikki said. “We need to have a little talk. If he opens his mouth except to answer my questions, just drop him in the quicksand.”

  Jack eased back on the cable, and Winters dropped to the ground three feet from the edge of the deadly pool.

  “It’s too late to lie, Mr. Winters. Just tell us why you tried to set us up,” Nikki demanded.

  Annie directed the beam of a high-intensity light at his face while Jack stood behind Winters and propped up a screen, which had been unfolded to shield the light directed at Winters from prying eyes. Once the interrogation began, Kathryn stood a ways behind Nikki and operated the handheld video camera, recording Winters’s answers for later use just in case it ever became necessary.

  “If I tell you, will you let me go?”

  Nikki and the others had to strain to hear what he was saying. “Of course. This is all about truth and the American way. I don’t want little bits and pieces, I want it all. Whose idea was all of this? Speak up so we can all hear you,” Nikki said.

  With his eyes focused on Nikki, Winters did not know he was being taped, which no doubt contributed to his speaking freely. “It was my idea, but POTUS had told me to find a solution to our problem. He said he didn’t want to know the details. I did nothing but eat, sleep, and drink this crisis, and it was a crisis to the president. We kept dropping in the polls. Those in the know said he was toast unless a miracle occurred. Catching you was supposed to be that miracle. I went to the director of the FBI, told him Navarro was a mole. Told him to set up that task force to flush you out. I really did try to get you a pardon, but the president laughed in my face. That’s the truth, I swear it.