Collateral Damage: Silent Warrior, Book 1

by J. L. Saint

  “But they were damn it, and I knew it in my gut.”

  Weston turned to face the wall and rested his forehead on the hard cement.

  “Beck, you and I both know that sometimes decisions can’t be made on gut feelings. We had to go with the facts. That we now know about the existence of Wipeout and its ability to disable our systems doesn’t change the decision we had to make then.” Experts were still trying to analyze the jamming device the terrorists had used. The downed communications and signs of life signals had been bad, but the effect the device had on the Samson’s GPS had been a disaster. The Samson was the newest air-to-surface missile in the precision strike arsenal with an accuracy of less than a meter. The missile, launched from a UH-60 Black Hawk, was the US’s compliment to Israel’s Delilah and had a small but effective warhead designed to keep collateral damage to a minimum. But it was the stored explosives, both in the terrorist’s hideout and in the building next door, a supposed orphanage, that had caused the devastation.

  “You’re wrong, Commander. You were wrong then and you’re wrong now. DT, Rico and Pecos deserve the truth.”

  “Damn it, Beck. We’ve set a course and we have to see it through. Do you have any idea what the global ramifications would be if you blew the lid off of this? The orders came from the top and it’s our sworn duty to—”

  The line went dead in Roger’s ear. Shit. Bad just turned worse.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  0330 hours

  “¿Y ahora que, George?” Andreas demanded, wanting to know what would be next in the continuous plague of disasters following Bill Collins’s betrayal. Flying at the top speed of four Rolls-Royce Trent 977/B engines in an Airbus A380 customized by Design Q in Worcestershire, he sat in the fully outfitted Turkish bath with George at his side, agitated that he couldn’t relax and enjoy his newest acquisition. He’d recently bought the flying palace off the hands of an oil-rich prince whose well had run dry when his father disapproved of his repeated dalliance with a junked-out pop star.

  The thought of having eighteen hours to twiddle his thumbs before reaching El Santuario had him stretched over a torturous rack of painful frustration—pain that the incompetence of Fidel’s hired operatives in Atlanta only sharpened. The therapeutic benefits of the mint showers and eucalyptus steam room did little to help ease him. Not even Mozart’s “Eine kleine Nachtmusik” being broadcasted live from the musicians in the concert hall above helped. Minute by minute the reports feeding in from Atlanta went from bad to worse. Bill’s wife and children had escaped and they had help now. Someone who could handle a gun, a man by the name of Jack Hunter that Andreas’s resources were having difficulty in getting information on. Hunter’s abandoned rental car had been found on Angie Freemont’s street about fifty yards away from where Lauren Collins had parked hers.

  Sure at any moment he’d be driven past his soft-spoken vow to screaming like a maniac, he shut his eyes and upped the volume of the music. He tried to focus on easing his anger as he turned his mind to his home above all others, El Santuario. Almost as big as an entire Peruvian region, El Santuario housed Andreas’s perfect home, his research and development facility, and George’s personal primate reserve, where a number of George’s wild brethren roamed. The area also provided an ample and secretive operational base for his special ops teams as well as anything else he wanted to keep from prying eyes. He imagined exactly what he would do the minute he arrived. Bill Collins’s body would already be there and so would the traitor’s wife and children. Andreas would personally extract what in the hell Collins’s had planned to do with the formula for GXP from his wife, using the children, of course. Then he’d make an example of Collins’s family.

  Putting the fear of Diablo himself into the people working for him was the only way to close ranks on Collins’s betrayal. The video of the event would make the current executions on YouTube look like Walt Disney films. Andreas prided himself on speaking softly and carrying a big stick—the binding, torturing and killing of a betrayer’s family made for a really big stick—one that he anticipated George would have a hand in this time.

  The kids would never even see it coming. Cute, funny chimp suddenly going murderously wild. The video would likely go viral.

  Andreas must have had the music unusually loud because he never heard Fidel knock. He felt George move and opened his eyes to see Fidel standing fearfully before him. George had moved to stand between Andreas and Fidel, clearly agitated and wanting to protect Andreas. Andreas’s heart swelled.

  Fidel had better have good news. “¿Que?”

  “We’re f-f-finally learning that J-J-Jack Hunter is part of the US Military, and Guru has decrypted one of Collins’s email acc-counts.” Fidel’s skin color went from green to white and back to green.

  “And?” Andreas stood, barely choking back the accompanying yell that went with his question. Why should he have to pull information out of his own assistant?

  “C-C-Collins’s l-l-l-left you a m-m-message on it.”

  Andreas blinked. “¿QUE?” He almost shouted when Fidel didn’t say a more. Instead he bit his tongue until it bled.

  George immediately went ape shit, jumping up and down, holding his ears and crying.

  “The n-n-note s-s-says that proof of your involvement in the terrorist acts h-h-has been sent to a n-n-number of sources along with the f-fuel formula.”

  “¡Madre de Dios!” Andreas screamed.

  George went for Fidel’s face first, ripping skin, biting off ears and then Fidel’s fleshy lips. Fidel screamed and flailed in horror and shock, thrusting his hands out to stop George. George only ate them and ripped them off the man. The Turkish bath ran red with the spewing blood. Andreas breathed in the acrid scent, remembering times when the smell meant his power and rule were supreme. He didn’t intervene. It was time for a new Fidel anyway.

  When Fidel was nothing but pieces, Andreas calmed George down. He cleaned them both up in the mint showers. Then he sent George off with his nanny to rest. After shoving Fidel’s remains into a garbage chute that would be jettisoned over the Atlantic, Andreas went to find Guru with his usually soft spoken calm restored and the tones of “Eine kleine Nachtmusik” bolstering his resolve. He supposed he shouldn’t feel too bad about losing his control and yelling. After all, the Godfather had had his moments as well.

  Dios, whatever diabolical double cross Collins had set in motion had to be stopped dead in its tracks immediately. And so did everyone else the bastard had involved. Nothing and no one was going to interfere with the legacy of safety that economic and environmental justice would bring to his son. No matter what the cost.

  When Guru heard that Fidel was out of a job, the man worked like a genius on steroids and soon produced emailed confirmations from Collins’s account of packages delivered just two days ago. The names and addresses of the recipients were conveniently included. One to Lauren Collins. One to Matt and one to Mitch Collins. One to Conrad Gardner. One to Thomas Ettinger. One to Edward Weiss. One to Bob Cantrell. And one to Ray Branson. Assassins were immediately dispatched.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Buford, Georgia

  0900 hours

  “Thomas’s house is the next one on the left,” Laruen directed as Jack drove. The morning was bright and peaceful and at complete odds with the hellish night she had spent. Violence from the day, the heat of Jack’s kiss and his haunted words afterward had run roughshod over her mind, making her shiver in fear, sweat with need, and writhe in pain for him until she’d given up trying to sleep and spent the rest of the night sitting in the desk chair, staring at the letter Bill had written.

  She still didn’t have a clue as to what Bill meant. Now she was sleep deprived and feeling self-conscious over her complete abandonment of everything beneath Jack’s potent kiss. Kiss? It was more like a rehearsal for a grand slam home run. He’d conquered second base, had touched on third, and there had been nothing to stop him from scoring.

  Fire filled her cheek
s again. How had she let it happen? Angie and her sons were in the other room. She’d only met Jack less than ten hours before. To hell with the whole quality verses quantity crap. That amount of time compared to the strength of her desire was pure insanity.

  Could be worse, a little voice said, much like her son’s would say when they were caught being bad. What if you didn’t regret it?

  She didn’t.

  Could be worse, the little voice said again. You could want a repeat and more.

  She did. Every single moment of it and every bit of him. His demanding tongue, his hard erection, his hot hands. His intoxicating scent, powerful muscles and gripping passion. The whole damn package.

  “Lauren, hello, are you with me?”

  Lauren blinked and focused her eyes on Jack, whom she had been apparently staring at as she recalled him and his kiss. She shifted her gaze as a knowing gleam flickered through his green eyes. He knew. He knew what she was thinking and OMG, he knew she wanted more. “Sorry, I was thinking about Bill’s letter,” she said, primly. “What did you say?”

  Well, it was partly true. She had thought about it for a brief moment.

  He snorted his disbelief. “I asked you if Ettinger usually kept his security gate open.”

  Lauren sat upright, her gaze riveting to the open gate looming ahead of them. “No. The man is a stickler for security. He has Conrad Gardner’s security company upgrade his system every year.”

  “I don’t like it.” Jack hit the gas and rushed on past Thomas’s driveway.

  Lauren gripped her seat as Jack quickly snaked around several curves before bringing the car to a stop just inside another driveway on the left. He edged the car to the right of the road so others could pass and killed the engine.

  “I don’t know what I was thinking.” He pressed his palm to his temple. “I should have left you safe at the hotel with Rico.”

  Rico was an army buddy of Jack’s who had shown up early this morning after Jack called him in the middle of the night. Even with his right arm in a sling, the dark-haired, dark-eyed man looked extremely capable of handling any safety issue that might arise and made Lauren feel immensely better about leaving her sons with Angie at the hotel this morning.

  Rico stood several inches above what she’d guesstimated to be Jack’s six-foot height and had studied her intently when introduced. She’d met his gaze head-on and waited for him to pass judgment. He obviously knew of Bill’s terrorist activities and she wanted to cringe inside. It hit her that people would think she was involved in what Bill had been doing.

  She hadn’t thought of it but Jack figured the men after her would know who he was by now from the rental car left on Angie’s street and would then find record of the second car he’d rented. He had Rico bring him a car and they’d left the old rental car at the mall this morning.

  “You think something has happened to Thomas, don’t you?” Lauren shifted sharply in her seat to face Jack and tugged on his free hand to break his reverie. “We need to hurry to him.”

  She opened the car door.

  “No.” He grabbed her arm. “You’re staying here.”

  “Like a sitting duck? No, thank you. I’ll take my chances hiding behind some trees while you check on Thomas, so don’t waste your breath arguing now.”

  Jack cursed his displeasure, but still grabbed his backpack and exited the car with her. He guided her into the forested terrain. Though the air had a touch of fall to it, the southern sun was still warm enough to bring a sheen of perspiration over her skin, dampening the blue baby-doll T-shirt she’d bought last night and her jeans. The scent of pine, dense woods and lake water filled her nose. Jack stopped the moment they were out of sight of the car.

  “If you’re going to go any farther then you do exactly what I say when I say,” he told her. “That doesn’t mean move five feet and take a shower when I tell you to stay in one spot.”

  She blinked at him and nearly tripped over a root. “Getting rid of the tear gas—”

  “Turned out to be the right logical decision to make in that circumstance,” he interrupted her, his expression grim. “But it could have just as easily been the wrong decision too. It wasn’t following orders and we don’t go a step farther unless I have your word that you will do as I say. I’ve got enough blood on my hands. We clear?” His direct gaze held the ghosts he worked hard to keep at bay.

  She swallowed the rising lump of emotion his stark words and expression caused. War never left a man unscathed and she could see that Jack bore scars, deep ones. “Roger that,” she said, repeating her brother’s favorite response. “You have my word, Jack.”

  He nodded. “Then let’s go.”

  The pace he set through the trees seemed agonizingly slow to her as she wanted to run to Thomas’s house. She didn’t realize it until she saw the surface of green-blue water rippling just ahead that Jack had cut his way down to the lake before heading to Thomas’s house next door.

  Reaching the water, Jack crouched behind a cropping of bushes and looked up at the sky. “Damn. I’m afraid this is going to be bad.”

  “What?” Lauren joined him and squinted up at the sky, expecting to see the dark clouds of an approaching storm.

  He pointed at two large black birds flying in a circle overhead. “I thought I heard buzzards but wasn’t sure.” He opened his backpack and slipped out a pair of binoculars, directing his gaze toward Thomas’s house, which was partially visible from its perch on the wooded hillside.

  His body tensed. He had seen something. “What is it?” she whispered.

  “Either our friendly neighborhood assassin and his side-kick cop have a set of twins or they’re a step ahead of us. They’re on the back deck of the house looking at a broken rail.” Jack shifted the binoculars. “There’s a body on the ground, but from the looks of him, he’s been dead a while. Let’s go.”

  “But—”

  “Orders are not discussions. We’ll talk later. Stay low. Stay behind me, and make as little noise as possible.”

  She followed Jack like a shadow until they reached the car. Once inside, he took off, going opposite the direction of Thomas’s house. The circling road would eventually take them back to the entrance to the subdivision. He handed her his phone. “Turn it on and call Edward Weiss. See if you can get him on the phone. Then turn it back off.”

  “All right, but shouldn’t we call the police? They might be able to catch the killers at Thomas’s house.”

  “Those two are likely killers, but they didn’t kill the man on the ground. Not unless they did it a day or two ago and returned to the scene of the crime, which is highly unlikely. The broken rail leads to the thought that he could have fallen, but that’s just too damn suspicious to believe. We can’t call the police until we reach a pay phone. Even if there is a chance they already know who I am, with a dirty cop after us, I’m not giving them anything they can use to track me down.”

  Thomas was dead, or at least someone was dead. And it was real. Dear God. Her hand shook as she dialed information and called the Weiss’s home phone. Though Edward’s wife Sandy and she had never really hit it off, Lauren feared for Edward, her and their daughter. A woman answered the phone in sepulcher-like whisper. “Hello.”

  “Sandy?” It had been a while and Lauren wasn’t sure if Sandy had answered or not.

  “This is her sister, Amy. Can I help you?”

  “This is Lauren Collins. I needed to—”

  “Lauren. Yes, I remember. Your husband is one of Edward’s closest friends. God, I have some awful news. Edward was murdered last night. He apparently walked in on a burglar and the bastard beat him to death with a golf club. They found him this morning when he didn’t show up for an important closing. Sandy is on her way back from California now.”

  “Dear God.” Lauren had to reach deep for her voice. The horrendous pounding of her heart created a deafening roar in her ears.

  “I know. I’ll tell Sandy you called and we’ll be in touch with you
about funeral arrangements. I’m sure she’ll want Bill and the others to be part of the funeral.”

  Lauren wasn’t sure what her strangled reply was, but it must not have been that Bill and Thomas were dead because Amy hung up the phone. Lauren sat there staring at the trees and mail boxes whizzing by. Suddenly the car bumped and she was slung to the right as Jack whipped into the parking lot of a mom and pop bait and tackle store. While she’d sat stunned he’d exited the residential area where Thomas lived and had reached the main road that would lead them to Interstate 85.

  Jack took his phone from her numb fingers and latched onto her hand. As hot as his was, hers must have been like ice. He pressed her hand between both of his. “Tell me.”

  Lauren sucked in a deep breath, realizing she hadn’t even been able to breathe. Spots wavered before her eyes and she practically reeled in the seat. “Edward was murdered last night. Clubbed to death in his own home. His sister-in-law says it was a burglar, but, Dear God, Jack that’s too coincidental. Who’s next? My children? What would have happened to us if you hadn’t shown up yesterday?” Lauren shuddered hard.

  “Come here.” He pulled her across the console and wrapped his arms around her. He held her against his chest, his voice a deep rumble as he spoke. “Don’t let yourself go back and worry over it. I was there, that’s all that matters.” He was warm and solid, so very real and assured as he hugged her closer that her careening world stabilize a little. She inhaled again, drinking in his scent, already finding comfort in its familiarity amid the surreal macabre world surrounding her. “I’m not going to let anything happen to Matt, Mitch, you or Angie, okay? So wipe that worry out of your mind. What we need to focus on is moving forward. We need to call the rest of Bill’s friends. Warn them. Find out what they know, then we need to sit down and try again to figure out what in the hell is going on, okay?”