Smoked Out (David Wolf Book 6)

by Jeff Carson

  “Speaking of,” Munford said, “you going to be able to hit anything?”

  Rachette glared at her and then smiled.

  Wolf had trouble figuring out if she was kidding or not.

  “No, I mean I have to take a shit,” Baine said. “I’m not feeling so good.”

  Rachette removed his hand from his shoulder. “Yeah. Okay, man.”

  Wolf watched Baine slink away into the trees, knowing exactly what the man was feeling. It was pre-game jitters, and they were multiplied by ten when losing the game meant dying.

  He remembered how he felt on his first mission as an Army Ranger. He’d vomited right in front of the entire squad. They’d even called him Puke for a few weeks after that.

  Wolf pushed the radio button and put it to his lips. “Nate, you copy?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “We’re on.”

  “Got it. We’re on.”

  Wolf clipped the radio to his belt and turned to Luke.

  Luke stood tall and still, her hand resting on the stock of the M4 Fabian had given her earlier.

  “You know how to fire that thing?” Wolf asked.

  She blinked in response.

  Baine came out of the trees, looking better, and came over to Wolf.

  “You okay?” Wolf asked.

  Baine wiped his forehead. “I’ve felt better.”

  Luke eyed him up and down and stepped back.

  “All right, everyone. Let’s go over the plan once again.”

  Wolf outlined their plan to let the cartel get close and attack, going over various scenarios that could happen and what they would do in response.

  There was no way to predict their exact movements. Would they stop down the road and come in on foot? Would they drive all the way to the front of the house and come out with guns blazing?

  It was going to take good play calling on the fly from Wolf and quick reactions from everyone.

  Morale was high after Wolf’s third rendition of the basic plan and all variations he and the others could think of to deal with complications.

  He checked his watch: 9:01. It had been eleven minutes since he’d talked to Patterson.

  “What do you think?” MacLean stepped close to Wolf.

  Wolf closed his eyes against the sun’s warmth. “I think Patterson will be in touch any minute now.”

  He shifted onto his left foot, and his right leg throbbed in pain. Looking down at Rachette’s phone, he wondered if Patterson was having trouble getting back in touch. Maybe the wheels were already in motion but she had no way of contacting them.

  “How are you holding up?” MacLean asked.

  Wolf walked away. “All right, let’s get into positions.”

  Chapter 40

  Wolf checked the phone again. 9:13 am, and still no response from Patterson.

  Baine swiped at something invisible. “Damn spiders are everywhere.”

  They both squatted behind a rotting pile of firewood a few paces off the east end of the house. The wood sat underneath a sagging lean-to structure made of bleached wood.

  Off to their right Rachette and Munford huddled next to one another alongside the house, taking refuge behind a couple of large piles of scrap wood.

  “They’re quite the couple,” Baine said with a smirk.

  Wolf watched as Rachette’s lips moved and Munford’s stretched in a nervous smile.

  “I wonder what her angle is,” Baine said.

  “What do you mean?”

  Baine shrugged. “Mm. I don’t know. Beautiful girl like that going after Rachette? Kind of reminds me of Gail Olson all over again.”

  Wolf kept silent. He’d been thinking the same thing, but was never going to say it.

  “She’s the only Byron person here.”

  Wolf ignored Baine, because he’d already gone through all these thoughts in his own mind. Wolf had already pulled Rachette aside and told him to keep a close eye on her when the action started, and that’s all that could be done.

  “We have approaching vehicles.” Nate’s voice came through the radio.

  Baine perked up. “What? Pattterson hasn’t even called.”

  Wolf held up a hand to Baine and raised the radio. “What do they look like?”

  “They just came onto the straightaway. The lead is a black pickup truck with KC lights on top. It’s kicking up a lot of dust, but I think there are three pickups in line behind it. Same type, different colors.”

  “All right! They’re coming in. Everyone out of sight and wait for my signal!”

  Wolf’s pulse thumped in his neck.

  Baine leaned on one knee and stared past Wolf down the dirt road.

  They had a small gap in the trees where they could see all the way down the quarter-mile driveway to the end, where the county road passed by.

  Right here they could see what the cartel’s first moves would be, whether they pulled in and stopped, letting out the men to come in on foot, or whether they decided to drive up.

  “All right. Keep me posted Nate. You ready?”

  “Damn right,” his voice scratched.

  Wolf smiled, thinking about one high school game when Nate had the assignment of blocking the most dangerous man on the other team—a lightning quick linebacker who later went on to play in the NFL. Repeatedly, Nate got smothered into the ground, just barely slowing the big man enough to give Wolf time to let his desperate passes fly before getting leveled himself. Every time in the huddle before the next play Wolf would ask him, You got #78?, and Nate would straighten his sod-covered helmet and say, damn right.

  “They’re two hundred yards out.”

  A bead of sweat slid down Wolf’s cheek. The droning insects suddenly stopped and a low rumble filled the silence.

  “They’re … not slowing,” Nate said.

  Wolf dared not blink as he watched the county road below.

  The rumble grew louder and then a black pickup truck flitted by, and then a white pickup, then two more pickups, and then there was nothing but a cloud of dust.

  “They just went by. I’m looking … no brake lights. They’re not stopping.”

  Wolf stood up. “What the …”

  “What’s going on?” Baine asked coming up alongside him.

  “What happened?” Rachette asked from the side of the house.

  “They drove right by!” Baine answered.

  Wolf held the phone in his hand and stared at it. There was still nothing from Patterson. He brought her phone number up on the screen.

  “Wait a minute,” Nate said, his voice urgent in the radio. “We’ve got more vehicles coming. Stand by.”

  Wolf pocketed the phone and walked to the woodpile again. “Everyone hold your positions!”

  “What the hell is going on?” Nate said. “It’s FBI.”

  “What? Are you sure?” Wolf gripped the radio tight.

  “It’s the same unmarked Crown Vics that have been crawling all over town the last few days. I’m sure.” Nate sounded like he was standing in a waterfall. “Looks like they’re going after the cartel? They’re keeping their distance, that’s for sure … geez, there’s seven, eight vehicles. I saw light bars inside the rear windows. Definitely FBI … they’re gone.”

  Wolf stood and put the radio on his belt.

  “What do we do?” Baine asked.

  Wolf felt a vibration in his jeans pocket, and pulled out the second phone he carried—the white skinned, tattooed guy from the storage locker.

  He pressed the button and put it to his ear.

  “Is this Wolf?”

  The background noise was loud.

  “Who’s this?” Wolf asked.

  “I said, is this Wolf?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I just wanted to let you know we’re on our way to get your son.”

  Wolf held his breath.

  “I’ll be in touch. Keep the phone on.”

  The phone went dead.

  Already at a full run, Wolf pocketed the phone an
d opened Baine’s truck door. Sitting behind the wheel, he reached up, finding the jingling keys still in the ignition, and fired it up.

  Baine jumped in the passenger seat. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Wolf reversed and turned the truck around, and jammed the brakes as Luke jumped in front of the truck.

  She ran to the back door and dove into the back seat. “What the heck is going on?” Luke asked. “Was that the Bureau trailing them?”

  Wolf nodded. “Yep.”

  “What are they up to?” Baine asked.

  Wolf stomped the accelerator, leaving Nate in a fresh cloud of dust as he turned onto the county road.

  Chapter 41

  Pope hung up and smiled to himself.

  Pulling out the map he’d printed off their satellite internet enabled computer twenty minutes earlier, he placed a finger on the turnoff they’d just passed, then followed the road to the turn off they needed.

  He leaned toward the windshield. “There’s a gradual turn left, and then we’re taking the next right turn after that.”

  Johnson was going too fast.

  “Right, right!”

  The truck careened sideways as he jammed the brakes, and they skidded past, missing the turn.

  “Idiot!”

  The train of trucks jammed their brakes behind them, and Pope heard sliding tires and then a pop of fender slamming into fender.

  Pope bared his teeth. “Go.”

  Johnson swallowed and leaned toward the windshield. Chalky dust came in through the cracked windows and it was impossible to see, but Johnson pressed the gas anyway, knowing he’d get the wrath of Pope if he didn’t.

  The truck lurched and bounced as they passed through the drainage dip, and Pope held tight onto the roof bar. Through his flexed arm he released the murderous rage he felt for the man next to him, threatening to rip the plastic handle clean off.

  “Sorry, boss,” Johnson said as they revved up onto the road and were on their way in the right direction.

  He glanced in the rear view and shook his head, watching two men climb back in the trucks, shaking fists at one another, like they were a traveling circus.

  Leaning back, he visualized murdering this Wolf guy one more time. Then he visualized murdering the numb nuts in charge of the FBI for losing Wolf in the first place.

  Pope clenched his eyes and elbowed his window as hard as he could, and it exploded into a thousand pieces, showering onto his arm and lap.

  Checking his elbow, he wiped a dollop of blood onto his pants and looked over at Johnson.

  Johnson stared unblinking out the windshield.

  “Don’t worry, Johnson. When we get Wolf’s kid, Wolf will come running. And then we’re back in the clear.”

  But Pope was lying and they both knew it. Too many people were involved now, all lining up to help out this Wolf guy. He’d underestimated this man’s resources. This had the potential to be a loud and messy situation. Biblical violence.

  He closed his eyes and took deep breaths, feeling the crisp mountain air fluttering against his skin from the blown out window.

  Not necessarily. If he got the kid, they could separate Wolf from whomever else he was with, and then just make him and his kid disappear completely. Or maybe stage a murder-suicide. A distraught father unable to cope with the sticky web of reality he’d spun around himself.

  The framing of Wolf could still stand up. All the blame could still be pointed in Wolf’s direction.

  Pope exhaled and opened his eyes. The FBI and their incompetence.

  He wished he could smash the window again, or kill Johnson.

  For a long moment he stared at Johnson and visualized shooting him in the throat, and it made him feel better when Johnson broke into a fresh sweat.

  Pope brushed off the map and put his finger on the dashed line representing their county road. “It’s going to be a left after this straightaway.”

  Johnson let off the gas so fast it was a flinch, and Pope smiled to himself.

  Checking the side view mirror, he swept a chunk of glass outside and saw the line of trucks bringing up the rear, all within a few car lengths of them and choking on dust.

  Just as he leaned back his mind registered a glint in the distance and he reached out in the wind and gripped the mirror.

  “Slow down.”

  Johnson let off the gas.

  Pope counted the trucks.

  “We’re being followed.” The grill of the Dodge pickup riding their ass swung into view.

  He pulled out his phone. There was no service.

  “Damn.” Checking the map again, he pulled out his pistol and laid it on his leg. “Punch it. Get to that left turn, then pull over.”

  Johnson mashed the accelerator and the truck jumped forward. The trucks behind them disappeared, but before long the chrome truck grill behind them emerged in the storm of dust, as the men behind desperately kept close as they were ordered to do.

  “Don’t miss the turn this time.” Pope pointed his pistol forward. “It’s coming up.”

  They reached the end of the straightaway and the road gently curved right, and then the left turn was clear as day up ahead.

  Johnson braked with plenty of time and turned.

  “Pull over.”

  Pope was out of the truck before they were stopped, and he took higher ground in the trees to see who was following them.

  The other trucks pulled behind and parked, and everyone looked up at him in silence behind the windows.

  He gave the cut engine sign, and the forest plunged into silence.

  Eyes stinging as the dust coated his eyeballs, he squinted and focused on the turn in the road ahead.

  With stomach sinking horror he watched as a line of FBI vehicles came skidding around the corner.

  Chapter 42

  Wolf leaned onto the steering wheel.

  “This is definitely the way?” Luke asked for the third time.

  “Yes,” Baine said, “for the last time, this is the way.”

  “But it doesn’t make any sense. How would they know?” Luke leaned up next to Wolf and pointed out the windshield. “I saw a flash. Did you see that?”

  Wolf nodded, letting off the gas. They’d been driving in a perpetual trail of dust for over a mile now, and it had dissipated enough to see there was a long straightaway, so Wolf had pushed the engine of Baine’s old pickup truck to the max.

  The needle dropped down from eighty miles per hour fast.

  “Turn!” Baine yelled as he pressed himself back in the seat.

  Wolf jammed the brakes and tried to control the skid as the rear end drifted left.

  The dust was thick now.

  There were three metallic pops on the hood, and the windshield became a white web of cracks.

  “Gunshots!” Luke yelled.

  Still skidding, Wolf cranked the wheel the other way to correct for the initial spin, and felt the truck swing opposite. Outside the passenger window a maroon sedan parked in the middle of the road came up fast.

  “Hang on!”

  The bed of the truck slammed into the back of the sedan with a pop and the window next to Baine shattered on impact, spraying inside the cab.

  Wolf reached for Baine and pulled him close just as Baine dove at him to escape the brunt of the impact.

  They rocked to a stop and the truck stalled out.

  Wolf straightened and saw Luke was upside down in the back seat.

  “Are you guys all right?”

  Baine grunted. “Yeah.”

  Luke squirmed and kicked, and then righted in the back seat. She had a stream of blood down her face, but looked alert. “I’m all right.”

  Only then did it dawn on Wolf that outside it had been a constant rat-tat-tat of automatic gunfire interspersed with popping pistols.

  A man in a suit and flack jacket poked his head in Baine’s window. “Are you folks all right? We need to get you …” He stared at Luke in the back seat. “
Luke.”

  “Benjamin.”

  “Are you all right? We’ve been looking for you guys for days.”

  Luke slid to the back door and tried to open it. “No shit.”

  Wolf got out and opened the driver’s side rear door and she slid out.

  Baine climbed out after them and they ducked behind the wrecked truck next to Agent Benjamin.

  Bullets smacked into the side of Baine’s truck and they ducked low.

  Benjamin crawled next to Luke. “No, I mean. We’ve been looking for you. Haven’t you checked your email?”

  Wolf racked back the slide on the Beretta and watched the conversation out of his peripheral.

  “My email?” Luke checked her pistol. “No.”

  Benjamin fired at a man dressed in camouflaged pants and football jersey carrying an assault rifle.

  The guy dropped without knowing what hit him.

  “What?” Luke asked. “An email?”

  Benjamin nodded at Wolf and Baine. “Hey, I’m Agent Benjamin.”

  “Baine.”

  “Why were you guys on their tail?” Luke asked.

  A window above them exploded and a bullet ricocheted off the dirt.

  “A sting gone bad. We followed them and they stopped and opened fire on us.” Benjamin pointed. “At least most of them. One truck drove away up the road as we came up. They turned on us and started firing. It’s like they were covering the one guy as he escaped, the coward.”

  Wolf ducked and ran behind the maroon Crown Vic, and then raised the Beretta as he passed through into the open.

  A cartel member was standing behind the hood of a truck, firing a string of auto fire in another direction. Wolf fired two rounds into the man’s side, dropping him, and then continued on to the next FBI vehicle.

  The agent cranked his head, gave Wolf a double take, and then aimed at Wolf.

  Wolf recognized the man as Agent Frye, the small wiry man from his interrogation months ago.

  Frye dropped his aim as Wolf slid next to him.

  “You, what are you doing here?” Frye asked.

  “I need a car, now.”

  Frye fired twice into the trees after a fleeing cartel member. “Kind of bad timing for you to finally show up, Wolf.”