by John Grit
Raylan waited for the men out front to get impatient. The longer he could wait before firing, the more time Carla would have to get away. He thumbed the safety to semi auto, worried about what might happen once bullets started flying in a crowded neighborhood. Those men would not care how many innocents got hurt.
When a tall man reared back to kick the door, Raylan fired. Raylan saw him fall but wasn’t sure he had connected solidly. The others jumped for cover before firing blindly in Raylan’s general direction. He kept up a slow but steady rate of suppression fire, concentrating mostly on the Mercedes, flattening both tires on the near side and drilling the engine area. He wanted to deprive them of transportation. A road race against them in the underpowered van would prove comical.
Two men sprinted around the corner of the house where he couldn’t get a shot, and Raylan decided he had delayed them all he could. Jumping back into the van, which he had parked out of the line of fire, he sped off, turning onto the back street where he hoped Carla was waiting.
He found them, of all places, crouched down behind an off-duty cop’s cruiser, parked in front of his home. Raylan slammed on the brakes and jumped out. While he was helping Ramirez dump the limp victim in the back, the city cop came out of his front door in T-shirt and shorts with a pistol in his hand.
Carla kept her pistol hid and screamed, “Home invasion! The house right behind yours! We have a wounded man here, and we’re taking him to the hospital.”
Viktor came running around the corner of the house with a bloody shoulder and started shooting at Raylan with a pistol, who ducked behind the van, pulling Carla with him. The startled cop fired at Viktor and missed.
One of Viktor’s men stepped around the corner of the house and cut the cop in two with a burst from a Krinkov. He doubled over and died before he hit the ground. A woman inside the home screamed. Raylan fired from under the van with his pistol, first taking out the shooter’s legs and then killing him when he hit the ground and sending Viktor diving for cover with more rapid fire. In the confusion, no one noticed Ramirez lying in the street near the van’s open cargo doors, holding his bloody leg and moaning in pain.
Carla jumped up, her Glock in her hand. “I’m driving. Get Ramirez and close the back doors.” She fired at the Russians, who had ducked behind the house next door, keeping their heads down as she ran around to the front of the van and climbed behind the wheel.
Raylan unceremoniously threw Ramirez into the back of the van and climbed in with him, pulling the doors shut as Carla floored it. She had the tires smoking at the next corner, heading out of the neighborhood. The Russians continued to fire wildly, hitting the van a few times before houses and parked cars blocked their fire.
In the back of the van, Raylan labored to keep Ramirez from bleeding to death. “You know where you’re hit, Doc.” Raylan tightened Ramirez’s belt around his leg. “And you know you have to get to a hospital.” He mopped sweat from his forehead. “We can drop you off at one in a few minutes. But first you must answer a few questions.”
Ramirez’s face was pale and drawn. Sweat beaded from every pore on his body. “I’ll talk fast and tell you everything I know, which isn’t any more than what I already told her.”
Raylan relaxed his grip on the belt, and blood spurted across the floorboard. “Better be more than that, Doc. Or you’ll never make it to that hospital.”
“Please!” His eyes grew wide. “I’m not shitting you. I know little, but I’ll tell it all.”
“Hurry.” Raylan braced himself as Carla navigated a sharp turn at high speed, tires screaming.
“This tall Russian by the name of Viktor came to me and demanded I provide my services. I called my contact with the cartel, and they said do what he says, so I did. They worked on this guy who turned out to be CIA, using methods I never dreamed of, and got a lot of info out of him.” Ramirez lost his breath when the pain was too much for a moment. He swallowed and continued to talk fast, with frantic excitement. “What they wanted most was info on a man and a woman. I guess that would be you two. The poor guy didn’t have much to give them about you, but he kept offering other info that they were not interested in. It was you two they wanted. That’s it.” He swallowed and licked his lips. “Except he gave up his partner. That’s him there.” He looked at the still unconscious man. “I hadn’t given him the drug to wake him yet when she came in. Viktor was going to put him through the same treatment he gave the other guy. He’ll be alright when the drug I gave him wears off.”
Raylan released the tension on the belt a little. “You’re holding out, and it’s going to cost you.”
Ramirez’s eyes rounded. He knew full well how close he was to bleeding to death. “No! I’m not! Oh, wait. When the guy started talking about what the CIA had on a Russian named Janowski, they perked up and wanted more. Other than Janowski, they only wanted info on you and her.”
“Did they say where Janowski is now?” Raylan noticed Ramirez was starting to appear groggy.
“Palm Beach, Florida.”
Raylan blinked. The thought Janowski was in the U.S. and within reach stirred the hunter’s blood coursing through his body.
Carla spoke up. “We’re in the parking lot. I’ll drive up to the emergency entrance when you’re ready.”
Raylan snatched Ramirez’s cell phone off his belt. “Cops will be all over this place any second, expecting wounded to show up.” He punched in 911. “Get us up there, and I’ll dump them both out.”
Carla raised her voice. “Hell no. Ramirez dies. He’s a piece of shit.”
Raylan ignored her temporarily while he spoke to the emergency services dispatcher. “Listen carefully. A CIA operative who has been drugged will be dropped off at Mercy Hospital. Inform the CIA. Another man with a GSW in the upper leg will also be dropped off. He is the one who drugged him. He also was involved in the torture and murder of CIA operative Mitch Swanson. Have the local police hold him. This is a national security matter. Take what I have told you as fact and act accordingly.” He hung up. “Drive on up, Carla. What the company will give him is worse punishment than if we let him bleed out. Dying in this van is too easy for this bastard.”
Chapter 16
President Riley listened intently until acting CIA Director Brantly Ottoman finished his oral report, not interrupting. “So it was Maddox and Baylor who dropped the doctor and the CIA operative off at the hospital. What was the CIA guy’s name?”
“Better if you don’t know,” Ottoman answered. “He may still go back into the field, and his real identity shouldn’t be bandied around.”
“I understand. So he’s recovering well?”
“Yes sir.”
“And the doctor. Has he been talking?”
“No resistance at all. He was close to death that day. The bullet clipped a major artery. But the doctors saved him. He says a man working for Janowski hired him to help bleed Swanson dry and he was just about to start with the other man when Maddox and Baylor showed up and spoiled the party.”
“Strange.” Riley turned and looked out the window of the Oval Office. “Despite everything, they help us and save a CIA agent.”
Ottoman’s chest rose. He appeared to be sick to his stomach. “Not so strange when you understand that they are patriots who love this country and are willing to die for it. They also are willing to die for a fellow CIA operative – if he is honest and not a traitor.”
Riley spun around, his eyes flaring. “If you know of any traitors in your organization, they shouldn’t be there. In fact they should be behind bars.”
“Yes, Mister President, I’m working on that.”
“Good. We need to clean Dulling’s stench from the CIA and anywhere else it still lingers. And call me Preston.”
“I would rather…be more formal, sir.”
Riley forced a smile. “Preston isn’t formal enough? Hell, it sounds more formal than Riley.”
“Maybe later I will feel more comfortable with being on a first name basi
s.”
Riley nodded, understanding fully. “You’ve had a rough time, serving under Dulling, haven’t you?”
Ottoman squirmed in his seat. “I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”
“You know exactly what I mean. And serving under me hasn’t been so great, either.”
Ottoman examined his tie but said nothing.
Riley sat on the edge of his desk and crossed his arms. “Look, Brant, let’s cut right through the shit to the truth. The fact is you know Dulling had me by the balls for some time, and I was forced to look the other way while he broke every damn law ever written. I’m here to tell you that’s over. He’s gone.”
Ottoman raised his face to look Riley squarely in the eye and kept quiet, listening.
“You say you want to retire. Okay. But I would rather you stay on. I’m thinking of nominating you for Director. I know you’ve made it clear you don’t want the job, but think about it. In the mean time, I would like for you to ferret out the rotten wood in the CIA house and perform a complete remodeling.” Riley’s eyes met Ottoman’s. He didn’t look away and didn’t show any sign he wanted to. “Would you do that for the country? Forget about me. My term will end soon enough, and I’ll be out of here. I’m talking about the country, the American people.”
“I’m sixty-three years old, Mr. President, some jobs are too big to complete in a lifetime.”
Riley glanced up at the ceiling. “Yes, so much work must be passed on to the next generation, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do what we can. Just as some mistakes cannot be undone in a lifetime, but we should try.”
Ottoman stared Riley down. “Some mistakes require punishment. You must accept that, Mr. President. Until you do, I cannot… uh… be on a first name basis with you, and I cannot accept your nomination for Director.”
Riley flinched, looked away, and bit his lip. “You drive a hard bargain. What you ask would end my ability to undo any other mistakes I committed, and it would dump the entire mess Dulling made in others’ lap. There must be something else I can do. I mean, what you ask, I was already thinking about, but it would be my last act as president, so it must be my last act as president, if you get my drift.”
“I do.”
“Well, I’m sure you will not take my word that I’ll do it later, after I’ve done all I can do to clean up Dulling’s mess, so we’re at an impasse.”
Ottoman sat up straight on the edge of his seat. “Mr. President, I am not sitting here passing judgment and I will not talk to the press or Congress – ever. This is not the ghost of Dulling sitting here blackmailing you. Neither of us can claim sainthood. I sat by and pretended I didn’t see what Dulling was doing because he could have had my family harmed and because I was close to retirement and planned to just collect my pay and get out soon. I must confess, also, that I thought the corruption was too vast and entrenched too deeply for one man or a thousand to do anything about it but get himself killed. Yes, I am a coward. A coward who has worked with people like Mitch Swanson and the man Maddox and Baylor saved, people who put their lives in danger at our command on the promise that it is for the protection of the American people and not for personal gain or political favors. Baylor and Maddox are two people of that ilk, yet we are at this moment endeavoring to hunt them down and kill them.” Ottoman’s face hardened. “Mr. President, if you want to prove to me your sincerity, rescind the sanction order of those two. Then I will think about staying on at the CIA.”
Riley’s eyes lit up. “Done.”
Ottoman sat back in his chair and relaxed.
Riley examined Ottoman’s reaction with interest. “Is there anything else?”
“We need to keep it quiet. Just let it go. The two thinking we’re still after them will keep them on their toes and alert. It may keep them alive. The Russian Mob wants them dead, and they need to be at their best game. Also, we should call off all the law enforcement agencies. Remove all wants and warrants from the system. That part, we release to the press. We want them to know the police are not hunting them anymore. They’ve managed so far not to kill a cop, and it was only through their care and just plain luck that hasn’t happened. It was a Russian who killed the cop in New Mexico, not them.”
“We can’t call Congress off, and they want them to testify.”
“We’ll worry about that if they live and if they come in.”
“Okay. But what is all this about. What are you up to?”
“You want to clean house? Janowski is after Maddox for reasons I won’t get into. After what happened in New Mexico, Maddox and Baylor know where he is. This is more between Maddox and Janowski, but Baylor is along for the ride because of Maddox, so she’s in too. I expect Janowski isn’t long for this world. Let it play out. Legally, we have no proof that’ll hold up in court. The quack doctor’s testimony would be a joke, especially since all he has is overhearing this Viktor talking with Janowski. Without Viktor’s testimony, it’s worthless in court. Janowski isn’t likely to stay in the States long and will be out of our reach before we have the warrant to arrest him. He’s got people in the Justice Department who would tip him off and a jet waiting to take him anywhere in the world. So the only way we can touch Janowski is through our two rogue agents.”
“This is a bit dirty. I’m through with that.”
“Actually, it’s the very kind of thing the CIA usually does. Janowski is an arms smuggler and has been known to deal in nuclear material, a clear and present danger to the security of the United States.”
“And a sadistic slaver,” Riley added.
“There’s that too. A real turd.”
“In the meantime?” Riley walked over to a small table to pour himself a cup of coffee. First, he offered it to Ottoman, who shook his head.
“I’ll keep working on cleaning my house. There are many good people helping me.”
Riley took a sip. “And after it plays out?”
“Maddox and Baylor die.”
Riley almost dropped his cup.
~~~
A Dassault Falcon 7 X sat in a distant, out-of-the-way area of Orlando International Airport, its running lights still blinking in the dark and jet engines just winding down.
Eighteen hardened men emerged from the open door, their thin faces expressionless, part of a private army of specialist mercenaries. Viktor looked them over. Satisfied, he spoke in Russian, “Grab your bags and come with me.” They each picked up a small black duffel bag at their feet. They contained just enough basic clothing to get them by for a few days. Weapons, ammunition, and explosives were waiting at Janowski’s mansion. He led them through an open gate where a security guard stood holding a packet of pay-off money to a minibus waiting in the parking lot. There would be no customs search of the men’s bags or any scrutiny of their travel papers. The men wasted no time, piling in. The driver sped away.
Viktor walked to the black Mercedes and pulled a burn phone from a pocket before ducking in and closing the door behind him. He punched a number while the driver followed the minibus onto the street and then the highway, heading for Palm Beach.
Janowski answered. “Yeah, what?”
“The last group is en route, sir.”
“Very good. Any update on the other matter?” Janowski asked.
“Our contacts have nothing new to report. They haven’t shown up in any police reports either. No one has seen them since New Mexico, and there are a lot of people hunting them.”
“Well, we both know that fool doctor talked and they’re heading here.”
“Those two aren’t the only ones he talked to. I advise you to go home and let me handle this.”
Janowski raised his voice. “I heard you yesterday. Advice is great, but once is enough. My ears work fine, and I don’t forget.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“Let me know if there are any new developments.” Janowski terminated the call.
A burly Russian approached Janowski at the swimming pool behind his mansion. “I just completed
a sweep of the neighborhood. Other than a teen couple making out on the beach, I found no one moving around on foot. This being a gated community helps to keep civilians out of the way, and at the moment there is nothing suspicious going on.” His light suit was soaked with sweat. “It’s too hot for most of the neighbors to be wondering about on foot tonight.”
“Make sure your men stay alert,” Janowski said. “I’m expecting trouble any time.” He decided to go for a swim and cool off, just hoping Raylan would try something. In a couple hours, he would have enough firepower and men to take on the local police force. Certainly, they could handle a man and a woman.
Chapter 17
The humid night was typical of Florida, even though it was getting a little late in the year. The van was parked under the shade of trees and hidden in the lowland fog. Raylan slept for the first time in twenty hours. In the back of the van, next to him lay Carla. The heat and the smell of Ramirez’s blood would have kept them awake if not for their fatigue. They had the back doors wide open and a bug net stretched across the opening to welcome in what little cooling breeze there was and yet keep mosquitoes out. Sounds emitted from the emerald gloom of the night forest, and low to the ground, the undergrowth stirred with the movement of swamp creatures, as they roused themselves for nocturnal hunting. Several bullfrogs sounded off in a distant bayou. Farther distant, the whine of truck tires on a highway gave evidence they were still in civilization.
They were only twenty-five miles northwest of Palm Beach and yet a world away from the opulence of Janowski’s gated community.
~~~
Morning broke and with it the sun’s hot rays streamed in at an angle, landing on Raylan’s face and stirring him. He opened his eyes and immediately noticed Carla was not there. Bolting upright in alarm, he caught himself when the smell of coffee and eggs being prepared over a campfire came to his nose. He slid his pants on and grabbed the Glock. Following the aroma, he tread on bare feet until he came to Carla bent over a fire, forking eggs onto a plate.
