Black Flag Rising: A James Jackson Thriller

by Jesse Russell

  “Can you please call him off? Now?” The cop begged.

  The old man shook his head and waved the gun around even more.

  “I no call heem off. Chu get outta here. We no want no cops roun' heer.”

  The cop looked over at his partner, who was in agony, and whipped out his Taser. He aimed for the mutt and shot just as the cop turned, and it hit the cop straight in the chest. Screaming and bucking, he went down in a blubbering heap. The little terrier let go and fell on the ground, twitching and yelping.

  The old timer shouted, “You 'letrocute mi little Pakito!! I shoot you! I shoot yoooooou!” He hobbled down the stairs to pick up the whimpering mutt. The Taser cop was helping his partner up and checking him over. The bitten and tased cop was groaning.

  Relieved at the distraction, Ryan hustled back across the street. He snaked along the backyard of the trailer next to George's and crept back to home base. He slid in the front door and closed it quietly. He pulled down all the shades and laid out his food and drink on the table. His heart was pounding out of his chest and he was sweating profusely. He got down on the floor and lay dead silent.

  “So much for ever going outside again.” He said out loud. “Next time, I’ll make sure and hit the dog treats aisle for the mutt.”

  31

  They turned onto Detroit Drive, north of town and headed due west. Brad pulled over and they all pulled up behind.

  He clicked his radio on transmit. “It's about an eighth of a mile straight ahead. Everyone get ready.”

  They both clicked once and off they went.

  A block away, Jackson pulled over and got out, heading into the trees. Brad kept going straight, and he could see Tom slowing and pulling into the driveway.

  Jackson crept along the road, staying in the tree line as he came up to the driveway. Tom was walking up the front walk, and Jackson stayed down low as Tom rang the doorbell. Nothing happened. He crept around back and spotted Brad coming up low to the back door. He tried the knob gently. No go. It was locked.

  Brad pulled out his lock picks and went to work. They heard someone inside say, “No one home! Go 'way!”

  Tom kept ringing the doorbell and knocking on the door. “This is urgent! There is a fire coming! Open the door. Now!”

  Just as Brad popped the lock, one of the goons stomped over to the front door and flung it open, shouting, “Go 'way! We no care ‘bout no damn fire!”

  They heard the crackle of the taser and heard the goon shout and go down. Hard.

  There was more shouting coming from the living room area. “Vlad! Wha’ hoppen?” He came running around the corner as Brad reached out and grabbed him around the neck. The big Russkie whirled around and batted his arm away, then reared back and took a swing and hit Brad in the middle of his chest. He shoved him aside, and Brad went down on the floor as the goon bolted out the back door, running across the backyard.

  Jackson ran into the living room and saw Sam and the kids lying on the floor by the wall. All three were whimpering, terrified.

  He ran up and pulled the gags out of their mouths, one by one. They all started screaming and crying.

  He rolled each one over and cut the plastic zip ties around their wrists and they all grabbed him and hugged all over him.

  “Oh, Jim! I thought we were all dead! Thank God you came!” Sam grabbed him tightly and sobbed uncontrollably against his chest. Both kids were bawling and hanging onto him on each side.

  He looked out the window and saw the goon hobbling off in the distance, headed through the trees.

  “He got away! Tom, go after him!”

  Tom flew out the front door and hopped into the ATV. He headed down the road at full speed and saw the goon flip over a hill and vanish down a canyon. He parked and hopped out and went scrambling through the dense tree cover. Just as he was nearing the spot where the goon disappeared, he stepped hard on a hidden rock and went down. He grabbed his leg and pulled it up. “YOW!!!!”

  He had turned the ankle on a near sprint, and it hurt like hell. He was seeing stars and taking quick breaths. It wasn't so much the ankle but losing the Russkie that hurt the most.

  He pulled himself up off the ground and one-footed over to a nearby tree. He pulled his foot up and looked his ankle over. It was starting to swell. He gingerly turned his foot back and forth. No break, but it hurt like hell. He clicked his radio and said “I lost him. I turned my ankle in the chase. Come down and help me look for him.”

  “Roger,” Brad replied.

  He came driving up and hurried down and looked over the edge of the canyon. Nothing. The bastard must have gotten all the way down to the bottom or was hiding behind cover. He put Tom's arm around his shoulder and helped him back to the road. They got back to the ATV, and he set Tom down in it.

  “Can you drive?”

  “I think so. It's my left leg, so I should have function on the gas and brake.”

  “I'll follow you back over.” Brad said.

  “Did you secure the other one?” Tom asked.

  “Got him zipped and tied, bro. He's pretty woozy.” Brad added.

  “How are the wife and kids?”

  “Shook up, but elated to be with Jackson.”

  “We'll need to take him to the bunker.”

  “Yeah, I already thought of that. That should come in handy.” Brad stated.

  They headed back over to the cabin leaving the goon to the wilderness for now. Jackson was out on the front with Sam and the kids. They were all drinking water and wiping tears away.

  Brad came over to help Tom out of the rig. He hobbled over and Jackson said, “These are the men who got you free, guys. I know Tom through someone else, and I cannot thank them enough.”

  Sam and the kids all thanked them, and Sam noticed Tom’s ankle. “You hurt your ankle! We need to get it elevated and wrapped.”

  “Yeah, that's probably a good idea, but I'm good for now. I am so happy to meet you all and that you are safe. Jackson told me all about you. You are even sweeter and better looking than Jackson said.”

  The kids both ginned and Sam smiled weakly and pushed her hair off her face.

  “Let's go see our prisoner.” Tom said.

  The goon was still reeling, and his head was drooping towards the floor. Tom grabbed him under the chin and jerked his head up. “Hey, Tough Guy! Wake up! Well, looky here brother, we got us a big tough Russian who likes to kidnap and torture women and little kids. What a big man!” Tom shouted.

  “Yeah, he's real tough. That taser took him down like a little pussy, wetting his diapers,” Brad taunted.

  “Hey big man. Wake up. Were gonna take a little ride.” Tom said as the goon grunted and shook his head.

  Tom reached back and slapped him. The goon snarled and glared up at him.

  “You’re not going to like where we are taking you. In fact, we may decide you’re never going to leave. Now, play nice, or you won't,” Tom said, right up in his face.

  Brad grabbed him and stood him up. “Shit, this turd is heavy. Let's go, Big Pussy.”

  The goon grudgingly shuffled along, his legs zip-tied just below his knees. Tom hobbled out and said, “Here you go, kids. Your big tough guy. See what a loser he really is?”

  The kids and Sam stepped back in fear and huddled back into Jackson.

  “Aww, see. He won't hurt you anymore. We'll make sure of that,” Tom said.

  They walked him out to the ATV, and Brad shoved him down face first into the small truck bed. His legs and feet hung off the end of the bed by about three feet.

  “Don't worry. I won't hit too many chuckholes, asshole.” Brad laughed.

  “Ready to get out of here, Jackson family? We’re going to go secure this freak-boy. Brad wants to get up in the air to see if he can find his twin asshole.” Tom grimaced, remembering the kids were right there. “Sorry, kids. No offense meant.”

  “It's OK, Tom. They've heard worse. And never to a more deserving asshole either. We'll be right behind you,” Jackso
n said.

  Jackson hugged everyone tight again, and they walked down the road to the Suburban.

  They headed back in a convoy with the ATV in the middle, Tom purposely driving over every bump and hole he could find on the road, steering hard left to right to roll him around in back.

  He was so big that the ATV was practically popping a wheelie. The kids started snickering in the Suburban.

  “See kids? He's no big deal. I would never let him hurt you. I hope you understand that,” Jackson reassured them.

  Sam looked at him and said quietly. “Jim, they were speaking in broken English, but they were getting calls and discussing something, like sex trafficking or something. Also, some big plan they have coming up.”

  “I know, Sam. We are working on it. Don't worry. “He rolled his eyes towards the back, not wanting to scare the kids any worse. “I, uh…we'll talk later. Hey, kids! Wait until you see these guys’ place! They even have a big sunken pool and a helicopter! Maybe Brad will take you up for a ride!” Jackson tried to get their minds off what had happened to them.

  Their eyes got huge. “Like a real helicopter, Dad?” Payton asked.

  “Better than a real one, honey. This one used to belong to the President of the United States!” Jackson said.

  Jackie grinned and looked out the window. “Cool!”

  “They have ATVs and motorcycles and telescopes and all kinds of cool stuff. You'll see.” He added.

  They looked at each other and giggled. Sam frowned at him when he mentioned the motorcycles, and he sheepishly grinned and shrugged.

  They pulled into the ranch, and Brad got out and locked the gate behind them. They drove up the road, and Sam looked around wide-eyed at the heavenly forest. As they pulled around the trees up to the lodge, her eyes practically popped out of her head. “Oh my God, Jim. This place is incredible!”

  The kids were bouncing up and down on the back seat.

  They pulled up and got out. The kids went racing over to look at all the Big Boy Toys, and Sam got out, taking everything in.

  Brad wheeled the four-wheeled cart up behind the ATV, and Jackson and he pulled the goon out and dropped him on it. He was seething.

  “I need to take him down to our secure area. Jim, you want to get the doors?”

  They wheeled him in and down the hall. Brad pushed the elevator button and rolled him inside. He pushed three, and down they went.

  “I was wondering what Floor Three was for.”

  “It's our little holding cell. Fully secure. No way out. We've only used it a few times with some drug runners and assorted criminals we've tracked down. We keep them in here until the proper authorities can take possession. He ain't getting out of this place.”

  The door opened, and they walked into a hall leading to a full jail set up. Bright florescent light blared down on them. The goon was blinking and turning his head from side to side.

  Brad palmed the screen and entered a code. The main door hissed and the bolts clinked open, and they walked into a fully outfitted series of cells. There were four in all.

  They pushed him down the hall, and Brad entered another code. The last door hissed and clicked open.

  They wheeled him in and picked him up off the cart, plopping him down on a steel bench. Brad walked out and came back with a two-inch-thick mattress and a tiny pillow and threw them towards the goon. There was a crapper in the corner and a bright light recessed in the ceiling. That was it.

  Brad walked over and said to the goon, “We’re leaving you in here for now. I'll be back to check on you later. There will be two meals a day, and you better not think about making a damn peep down here or you’re going to regret it. Really regret it. I am not the government, and I can do any damn thing I please. The cops will never believe you over me anyway. So if you so much as twitch when I take the ties off, you’re going down. Understand?”

  The goon nodded.

  Brad handed Jackson a new taser. “Here, buddy. If this dickhead flinches, hit him full go.”

  It took every ounce of his self-control not to just blast the shit out of him right then, but he didn't want to hurt Brad with the side effects.

  Brad pulled out a knife and pushed him forward, then cut the ties off his wrists, and then the leg ties. The goon glared at Jackson like a raging bull.

  They slowly backed out of the cell and slammed the door shut. The Russkie came over and pounded on the door. “You be sorry dis, you little faggots! We ‘gon win dis war!”

  Brad banged on the door. “Calm down, douchebag! Unless you want three thousand volts again.”

  He quieted down and stopped pounding.

  They walked out and slammed the main door. Brad entered a code, and all the locks made a soft hiss. The bolts clicked shut.

  “That bastard could have taken us both out. He's a big one,” Brad said.

  “Yeah, I wish he had tried,” Jackson said, his fingers still itching to use the taser.

  They went back up the elevator and walked down the hall into the living room. The kids were up on the top deck looking through the telescopes. Tom was talking to them from down below, unable to walk up the steps.

  “That one looks out toward Overgaard. You can pick up a lot of deer and elk up that way.” He was directing them.

  Jackson walked over and said, “Tom, get off that foot. I'll take over from here.”

  Brad headed down to the heliport to fire up the Sikorsky. “I'm going up in the air. I'll find that puke-boy.”

  The kids stood in awe as they watched him take off, up and over the house. The sound and sight froze everyone in place until the chopper faded off into the distance.

  “Dad. That is so cool!” Payton shouted.

  He rubbed the top of her head. “Maybe when we get everything under control, Brad will take you guys up with him. It is awesomely fun.”

  Jackson bent down and hugged them both until he thought he would crush the very life out of them. He never wanted to let go.

  32

  Fountain Hills

  The mule came out of the bathroom and plopped down at the table, arms crossed. He looked cranky. His dirty, government-issued T-shirt was soaked in sweat. “I'm hungry.”

  “Tough shit. We got more important things to do right now than to worry about your little tummy,” George said.

  “George, if we don't give him something to eat, his brain might not work right,” Adam cautioned.

  “I don't care. This is my daughter's house, and I decide when this terrorist beaner eats.”

  “Isn't everything I have already told you enough to get a sandwich or something?” the mule whined.

  “You'll eat when I say you'll eat. Let's get started!” George shouted.

  “Suit yourself, George. It is your place, but I think you’re wrong. I’m going to be doing the questioning,” Adam interjected.

  “Have at it. I'll let you know when I think he can eat,” George said, waving him on.

  “How long have you worked for the Moon Gods?” Brunell started.

  “I never worked for them directly, only through my contacts on the border. I have lived in the United States my whole life, but everyone knows people down there.” Juan said.

  “So, tell us about how your contact hooked you up with them. When did it all start?” Adam asked.

  “A few years ago.”

  “A few as in two? Five? Longer?”

  “I'd say longer.”

  “How long, you little shit?” George jumped in.

  Brunell looked over at him. “George, please. This is my job. I can handle this.” His patience was wearing thin.

  George threw up his hands and leaned back in his chair.

  “On and off since I was nineteen.” Juan said.

  “You’ve been running illegals and drugs from the border for eleven years?” Adam asked.

  “Yes. That’s right.”

  “Is anyone else in your family involved with them?”

  “No. All my brothers and sisters have good
jobs.”

  “So who connected you with them?” Adam queried.

  “I have a friend. We both went to Horizon High. We did some drugs, some petty stuff. We didn't have much money, so he found out that we could get paid in both cash and drugs for running the routes. In the beginning, it was pretty harmless. Maybe twice a month or so we’d run kids and wives up to their families here. Sometimes pot, sometimes coke.” Juan said.

  “Is your friend still involved as well?”

  “No. He passed.”

  “Natural causes or something else?”

  “Something else.” Juan was starting to fidget and look around uncomfortably.

  “Drugs?”

  “No.”

  “Then what happened to him?

  “I guess he shot his mouth off and got disappeared,” Juan said flippantly.

  “When did this happen?”

  “About a year ago. They found him out in the desert by Marana. He was half eaten by coyotes.”

  “I see. Do you know who did it?” Adam asked.

  “Sort of. I guess.”

  “The cartels?”

  “I guess,” Juan hedged.

  “If not them, then who?”

  “It was them, I guess. I'm not really sure.” He was getting jumpy.

  “Who killed him, Punk Ass? Stop lying to us!!” George lunged at him, banging on the table.

  “I said it was them! I don't know if anyone else was involved for sure.” He started looking at his feet and rubbing his hands together.

  Brunell put his hand on George's shoulder to calm him down. He looked at him and shook his head, giving him the ‘back off’ hand sign.

  “So when did things change from some occasional drug and mule running to more serious stuff?” Adam asked.

  “About six years ago. It became pretty well known that things had loosened up on the border. And it got real big after the gun running thing the ATF did.” Juan said.

  “You mean the Fast and Furious gun program the Attorney General did with the WH?” Adam asked.

  “Yes, that was it.” Juan replied.

  “So what did you start seeing then?”