Stallings slowly extracted his 9mm Glock with the thumb and finger of his left hand. He set it on the deck bordering the harbor before backing away from it with his hands in the air.
Nick waved. “You’re welcome by the way, you ungrateful asshole. Be careful what you wish for in the future. It would be best to never let me see your face again, pal. I’m not one to forget someone who craves justice, but pulls up their skirts when the time arrives for justice to be done.”
The two men traded stares. Stallings turned and walked away.
Nick looked down at Deke. “Good Lord, Deke. I hope I don’t have to kill him. Don’t worry though, buddy. It’s my fault. I’m screwing up with my El Muerto identity. I admit it’s the most fun I’ve had in years.”
Deke snorted while resuming their walk ahead as if he understood.
“Just between you and me, Deke, I’m worried about Rachel and Dagger in a situation they could be killed in an instant. Life is not a bouquet of roses, my canine friend. I have a thin line to walk. Taking out this Isis cell threatening the country we live in has to take priority, right Deke?”
Deke kept marking territory, not really into the subliminal part of his walk.
Nick nodded. “I get it. You’re first dog. You only handle threats within your jaw’s reach. I need to order you a steak tonight from room service, my friend. Keep it on the down low or I’ll have to answer to those absentee owners of yours.”
Deke glanced back while Nick talked with a canine’s observance of things said, but when it didn’t fit into his repertoire of recognized commands, he kept going. Nick decided to forego his flask until he reached his hotel room. They did an hour’s walk. By the time they returned, Nick saw Paul Gilbrech waiting for him.
“Damn, Deke, this guy must have a teleportation device. Hi Paul. Did Scotty beam you here or what?”
Gilbrech shrugged. “What can I say? With so much happening in Boston, I decided to check in with you before your trip North.”
“Come up to the room, and we’ll sip one or two. You can tell me all about your whiney friend, Stallings. Are you sure you guys were in the Marines together and not the cub-scouts?”
“Sorry about that, Nick. Barry’s a good friend, just not too smart.”
When the two men were settled in Nick’s room, with a happy Deke chowing down on a steak Nick had in the suite refrigerator, Nick poured them both a double. He served Barry, and sat across from him. Nick held up his glass.
“To smarter friends.”
“And dumber enemies,” Paul added.
They sipped together. “Did your crew collect anything good from the former terrorist hangout?”
“I have a team working on everything gathered from the warehouse as we speak. Nick, are you really going to do this El Muerto gig on every mission? At some point, people will put two and two together, and come up with El Muerto. Your work with the NSA as a contractor was impeccable.”
“I might point out Frank wanted to have me killed when my novels became bestsellers. Then he incorporated my author status into missions. I enjoy the hell out of writing, and I enjoy doing this El Muerto. The closest I’ve come to screwing up is shutting down this Isis bunch with your buddy Stallings in the know. I hope my talk with him has an effect on what he lets spew out of his mouth, or your pal and I are going to have a problem.”
“No worries there,” Paul replied. “I talked with him. He doesn’t want to see, hear of, or talk about anything to do with either of your identities. When you mentioned his wife by name and his kids, after showing him compared to you, he’s a novice with a weapon, Barry’s sorry he ever approached me.”
“Some of my shit rolled downhill, huh?”
“I don’t do touchy-feely well. In that, you and I are alike. I honor commitments, and friendships that are real, but only when they intersect with something like the Isis connection. Barry will get his head on straight or else. We have a country to protect. The media blitz is on with El Muerto and Payaso. You’ve been too busy I’m sure to sample it. El Muerto and Payaso are the subject of every talking head show, not to mention print headlines across the country. Internet bloggers keep heralding the video clips on YouTube to the point El Muerto clips are being viewed in the millions. Right now, you’re hotter than crazy cat videos.”
Nick enjoyed the crazy cat video comparison for a moment. He finished his drink, and poured another. Paul held out his glass for Nick to add more. Nick sat down, contemplating whether to tell Paul about Charleston. He sipped a couple while enjoying the view through the suite’s window. “I have a personal situation in Charleston I need to handle. If for some reason I need cover, can I get it?”
“A personal vendetta? Will Muerto be involved?
“Nope. I have a book signing in Charleston. If I did a Muerto hit down there, I may as well pin a nametag on my chest. I may have to make a couple of drug dealers and their cronies disappear from my wife’s former Mom-in-law’s neighborhood.”
“Family’s a bitch, but I’ll look into what I have in place there. No videos or pictures though on this neighborhood adjustment, right?”
“Exactly. If I can do this without any exposure I will. I am familiar with the Charleston area. Unfortunately, I’m thinking making this look like a gang retaliation would be best, but I need to get down there to scope out the situation.”
Paul shrugged. “Sucks to be them. If I have anyone in authority on the hook, I’ll let you know before the op in the North is done. I’m staying close here in Boston while this Isis cell in the North gets handled. If you need me to provide violent backup, let me know. I’ve already moved some pieces into place near Champlain. They know to steer clear unless called in. I don’t want you hung out to dry there. This is too big a cancer to allow to grow. Erase it in any way you wish, including the El Muerto touch. If you scope out something needing a team, I will get you one, and damn the consequences. We both know those pussies in the FBI and HS won’t deal with this threat. They’ll set up a surveillance team for six months as Isis spreads infiltrators across the country. If you hit the mother lode on info at their place, let me know. I’ll get a team to slip in and gather what you find before the regular yokels arrive.”
“I think we’re on the same page on all counts. I’ll handle the Charleston mess with kid gloves. Those toads don’t have a fort they hole up in. They can’t resist stepping out to party. When they do, I’ll snatch them. They’ll be found in the usual arenas, bound and gagged with a hole in their head. For the operation North, do you want a network connection?”
“If it’s possible, I would like to monitor the op.”
“You’ve earned it, Paul. We’ll hook you up when the time comes.”
“Are you taking Deke with you?”
“Yep. Deke’s been with me in bad places before. He’ll be fine. I’m thinking of putting a black cape on him with a black mask. His secret identity will be Fang the Ferocious.”
Many moments passed while Paul recovered from the introduction of Muerto’s newest sidekick.
* * *
A huge gray barn structure stood at the property’s front where New York State Route 9 bordered it. A long well maintained access driveway wound toward a two story structure with three attached garages over a hundred yards from Route 9. No trees or other structures obscured the house. Only a huge expanse of mowed grass covered the area between the barn structure and the house. Gus slowed as they passed by as Nick captured the entire area on video, paying close attention to any movement around the seemingly empty barn. The partially cloudy day enhanced the late afternoon visibility.
“John’s description was spot on. I can see why they would attract no attention whatsoever set that far away from Route 9. He told me they do not travel even in pairs. Each stopover is thoroughly screened, poked, and prodded. When the time comes to transport them to where they are stationed, they have first class identities, and even passports. I’m afraid we have some people working in government who don’t give a shit they are
selling their own country out to a murderous stone-age cult. Something must be done to right this wrong, Payaso.”
Gus snorted his half amusement and annoyance. “It’s incredible to me citizens living in the greatest nation on earth embrace scum bent on the destruction of everything they’re taking for granted. I wonder sometimes what they think will happen if they finally succeed. I’d bet this Isis cult would have mass executions as a reward for the traitors. Anyway… we ain’t letting it happen, Muerto.”
“Right you are, Payaso. Truth, justice, and the American way will win out,” Nick replied, joking only in his tone. “There will be blood. I’m glad they took in John. He must have given them a hell of a performance. With the headlines generated by our last escapade, if he arrived in a state of disarray, sincere about reassignment to another live cell, John may have had enough cover to sell his act completely. Hell, he was one of them, so it’s not like he’d be diving into a foreign environment. John’s in the danger zone, but he’s doing it for atonement. I plan to keep him breathing if I can.”
“You thought they’d kill him the moment he showed up, didn’t you?” Gus suddenly realized the last piece in the puzzle he couldn’t figure out with Nick and the new John. “You psychopathic prick! You figured John was dead meat!”
Nick shrugged. “I’m not his mommy. He made his choice of atonement, and I gave him the chance. Think of the alternative, Gus. He would have been shot right between his eyes, and he would have never experienced the death of his family’s killer. Sorry, but I have been above board in this recruitment package, Payaso. Now, thanks to me, he has a chance to be a hero, and join our superhero squad. What could be better?”
“Only you could invent a tagline like that,” Gus said, shaking his head. “Okay, I’m thinking I see your nest. What’s your plan?”
“If you figured the old barn, you’re dead on right. I’ll have you drop me off around midnight for my first recon. I wish you could be my spotter, but I may need a ride out faster than anticipated. You’re more valuable watching for signs on the road, and being ready to zoom in and pick my ass up immediately if need be. You’ll be in my ear throughout this op. In the meantime, we take our sidekick Fang for a long walk in the wonderful countryside here before we get a few hours’ sleep.”
“How’s John doing? You didn’t say anything about his call, only the fact he was in position, and the location of this Isis cell. By the way, Deke hates his new nickname.”
Deke grumphed from the back seat when hearing his name. He stuck his nose in between the seats to get petted by Nick before relaxing again. “Deke knows it’s a secret identity, so he plays it cool. John’s fine. He’s gone this far without a single whine. He’ll be in position to text us when I start the party later. I’ll need him to pinpoint the head honcho, Ahmed Abaza, so we can give Paul a target rich environment for the Isis cells the guy is feeding recruits into. That should be enough to keep HS and the FBI busy, so we don’t have to hear about the poor terrorist rights that are about to get violated. See, El Muerto knows how to navigate these politically correct waters.”
“Oh sure you do,” Gus replied. “Is this really going to be an El Muerto/Payaso finish?”
“That’s up in the air right now, depending on how things go after I start killing people. Tonight will be a test. We have a man inside, so if I put a bullet into an Isis dupe’s head tonight, we can kick back and watch how they react.”
“I get it!” Gus shook his head, reminding himself he was working with one of the most dangerous men alive. “They can’t go to the police. They’ll post guards, run around like chickens with their heads cut off, and you’ll simply pick them off. They won’t know who the hell’s killing them. For all they know, you could be the Feds.”
“That’s how I figure it, Payaso. At some point, the fools will figure I’m picking them off from the barn. When they move on me, I’ll sanction the attackers from another position. We will hold up while they scramble around in terror. At that point, we’ll lie in wait for a vehicle exiting their place. We’ll take it out immediately.”
“Damn, Nick, your plan sounds good, but when are you due in Charleston?”
“I called Cassie. We have another week to bring this op to fruition before we have to be in Charleston for the three book signings.”
“What if you clip one, and they abandon ship immediately? They could head for the hills after the first shot.”
“Such is life. They have to try and escape in a vehicle,” Nick replied. “I don’t like their chances. I’ll do the stakeout. It will take them a while to figure out the shots aren’t stopping. When they finally move on the barn, then things get interesting. Should I take Fang with me on this op?”
“Sure… if you want Rachel to kill you in your sleep, Muerto.”
* * *
Nick exited the slow moving vehicle with Gus driving, both interior and exterior lights off. He snapped his night vision helmet into place, carrying his Remington modular sniper rifle case. In multiple pockets throughout his black weather proof parka and pants, clips for his Berretta and rounds for the Remington moved only slightly as he approached the barn. The Kevlar vest underneath the parka also provided extra warmth. Nick took nothing for granted. While approaching the barn structure, he kept his eyes on the ground, looking for anything indicating recent digging or snares close to the ground. His cautious approach was rewarded when he reached the barn entrance. The door hung off to the side, but inside the door a thin trip wire strung at shoe height revealed itself in Nick’s careful observation. He used a mini-beam light to check beyond and all around the entryway before entering.
“Damn, Gus! These assholes have an explosive pack trip-wired at the door. A kid could blow himself to kingdom come exploring this old barn.”
“You suspected a minefield in the front. Be glad that wasn’t the case,” Gus replied. “Maybe you should back the hell out and set up a nest from the grounds.”
“Nope. The loft in here is the perfect spot to target the house. I will be looking for more surprises. Can you see anything from the low light cam?”
“Grainy, but clear,” Gus answered. “Nothing clear enough for me to watch for something you can’t see on scene though.”
“Acknowledged.”
Nick found the loft stairway after a significantly slowed exploration of the area around it. He inspected each step, and tested for stability until reaching the open loft covering a significant area in the upper barn structure. An open swing out hatch meant for hay baling at one time revealed a clear unobstructed house view. Nick settled in, building a sturdy spot for his Remington. He then took off his helmet, and used his night vision range finders to monitor any activity within the house. Gambling on the Isis recruits messing around until at least midnight, Nick was in position by eleven-thirty.
“Oh, Payaso, my old friend, you will never believe what our supposedly ultra-religious nutcakes are indulging in. These sinners right now gamble hideously within my vision, their gambling den of sin at a table for eight. Our new John is indulging with alacrity as I see others in the group eyeing him with malevolent looks.”
“A wide range of targets for El Muerto the exterminator, huh?”
“Yep. It’s lucky you were able to access a file on Ahmed Abaza. He’s sitting next to John. Want to wager how many of these true believers I can hit before they duck out of sight?”
“They may be ignorant, but they’re not stupid,” Gus replied. “I’m thinking your main target plus one possibly.”
“Game on, Payaso,” Nick said. “They’ve been drinking.”
In the next thirty seconds, Nick put .300 Winchester magnum rounds into four men before the players at the table fully reacted. He wounded one more on the target’s way down out of sight. Nick watched with satisfaction as John grabbed Abaza, shielding him as if he would give his own life to protect him. Nice touch indeed, John – well played, pal. With deadly accuracy, Nick killed two more as they revealed themselves for more than a second
. He then sat back against the barn wall, his murderous side kicking in on this deadly game.
“Ah, Payaso, I killed six, with one wounded.”
“Holy shit… how… oh never mind. Bolt action, and you killed six? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph… that has to be a record in the psychopathic hall of fame.”
“John covered Abazza with his own body. It was so cute. Our head terrorist probably thinks John is the greatest thing since sliced bread.”
“What the hell are you doing right now, Muerto?”
Nick chuckled. “I’m allowing my pot to come to a boil, Payaso. I play out the game here to the lucrative end. I’m not sure how many more recruits they have in there; but rest assured, they’re crawling to the escape pods. I don’t like their chances, Payaso. Checking now.”
Nick peeked with his range finders. One of the garage doors opened within seconds of his surveillance. “Damn, Payaso, they’re not even planning an attack on the barn. I’ll disable their escape pod, and wait for targets of opportunity. This should be fun.”
“Only to you, Muerto… oh fuck it… yeah… it’s kind of fun thinking about the demise of yet another potential Isis cell, trying to devastate America, running to their deaths like scalded rabbits. I bet those threats they’ve been making taste like sand now, Muerto.”
“I believe you are right, Payaso,” Nick whispered, the pad of his index finger triggering the demise of the escape pod driver, the .300 Winchester magnum round passing with ease right between his eyes. The vehicle, a Ford Expedition, wobbled out of control to a slow meandering path to nowhere on the grassy lawn.
Nick targeted carefully. He spotted John, who held on to Abazza as the rats bailed out of the sinking terrorist land vehicle. With smiling satisfaction, Nick brought down three others in the vehicle, who ran for it in different directions, returning to each downed victim for a killing shot after the initial wounding. John dragged the struggling Abazza out, throwing him to the ground, and kneeling on his back.
Cold Blooded III: Sins and Sanctions (Nick McCarty Assassin Series Book 3) Page 10
