Christie clipped the Luger holster onto her belt at her hip, wondering just how much Rachel worried about safety. Most thirteen-year-olds wouldn’t ask to bring a gun along on a day hike. Yet Rachel had grown up around guns, and had been through hell. And she was her father’s daughter in more ways than one. Cautious and security conscious. Christie grabbed a pair of binoculars from the dash of the Jeep, wanting to gaze at mountain peaks along the way.
They both put their phones on vibrate. Christie appreciated that Steel had taught his daughter to be sensitive when in nature. She smiled. “Okay, Eagle Eye, twenty dollars if you find Dad’s rifle.”
Rachel cocked her head, her tone persuasive. “Do I get to lead the hike?”
Christie chuckled. “Alright, go ahead, Big Eagle.”
Rachel grinned. “Forward, Little Eagle.”
They followed the trail, which wasn’t much more than a narrow footpath. Brown pine needles covered the firm ground and dappled light striped the tree trunks. Christie’s chest ached a little, but she had taken some aspirin before coming. It felt good to get some fresh air and exercise. Her steps lightened and she hummed to herself. She wished Steel was here—he would love spending time like this with his daughter.
They walked for an hour, noting different bird species and scaring up a few grouse. Often they heard downy woodpeckers pound tree trunks and ravens calling to each other—they always sounded like deep-throated crows to Christie. An avid birder, like her father, Rachel was excited and often stopped to observe warblers, finches, and robins. A barred owl was making calls that could have been mistaken for a chimpanzee.
At one point Rachel stopped to peer down a small embankment. Christie stopped beside her, disgusted by what lay below them. Flies buzzed around the bones of a large, headless carcass.
“Yuck.” Rachel wrinkled her nose. “What was it?”
“A big elk. Let’s search for signs of hunters, Rachel. We’ll both take one side of the path.”
They walked off-trail for a while, paralleling it fifty yards in the forest on either side. There hadn’t been a fire in these woods for a long time, so deadfalls and thick undergrowth made walking off the path slower.
Christie was beginning to think it was a waste of time, when Rachel called out, “Here, Christie!”
She crossed back over the trail and found Rachel in a small clearing. Blackened pieces of wood were clumped together; a recent campfire. Christie touched it. Cold. They hunted around and found faint boot tracks. They also found bits of fur on the ground, and bloody rope ties hanging from tree branches.
“Why do they do this?” Rachel sounded disappointed.
“Poachers can sell big antler racks for a lot of money. At least they took the meat too. Bears are more valuable. There’s a huge Asian market for bear paw soup, bear gall bladders, and other parts. You can poach bear cubs and raise them to kill later. Poaching of black bears is an epidemic in the U.S.”
“Ugh.” Rachel’s face wrinkled up. “Sick.”
“I agree.” Christie wanted something brighter to end the hike. “Okay, let’s forget about the rifle and circle back a different way, Rach. It’s a bit of a hike, but I want to show you a beautiful meadow.”
“Okay. That sounds cool.”
Christie walked east, off the path, picking her way through deadfalls and shrubs, the scent of pine thicker. She wondered about her dad’s accident. Her father’s shoulder wound was clean—the bullet had gone through—so they had no evidence of the gun that had been used. It might not have been her father’s Springfield. If he had come upon the poachers, they might have shot him, and either taken his rifle, or he might have lost it while escaping. Poaching involved prison time and serious fines, and people had killed for far less.
That also meant her father might not have mentioned the west trail because he didn’t want them coming up here and running into the poachers. That would be like him. Typical Thorton male protectiveness. Her brother Clay was like that too.
She was happy to see Rachel still stopping occasionally to watch birds. Christie concluded that she was reacting more than Rachel to the poached elk. She smiled over that.
After a mile of small rolling inclines and mostly level forest, they broke out into an expansive meadow. Thigh-high grass ran a mile south down a twenty-degree incline, another half-mile north, and a quarter-mile to the east. The midday sun shone on the grass, and yellow bells and arrowleaf balsamroot flowers dotted the landscape in yellow. A bald eagle circled above.
They walked out to the middle and sat down. A breeze ran up the slope.
“I love it!” Rachel beamed at Christie.
Breathing in the fresh air, Christie stretched her arms up. “Doesn’t it make your heart sing?”
Rachel opened her knapsack and pulled out sandwiches to share. After some food and water, Christie gave a contented sigh. “I used to come up here a lot with my brothers when I was your age, Rachel.”
Rachel didn’t respond. She had her binoculars up and whispered, “Bears.”
“Really?” Christie aimed her own binoculars down the slope. A mother black bear with two cubs in tow was ambling across the meadow a hundred yards below them, heading east. “Cool!” she murmured.
Christie lowered her binoculars when Rachel tapped her shoulder. Rachel pointed down the slope to the east.
Christie didn’t need her binoculars. A man was standing at the edge of the tree line, barely visible from this angle behind a tree. He didn’t seem aware that they were here. Given the direction of the breeze, the bears wouldn’t smell him. She raised her binoculars.
Dressed in hunting camo, the man held a scoped, suppressed rifle aimed west. Maybe he was just sighting on the bear. But who brought a suppressed rifle into the woods, especially when it wasn’t hunting season? Only a poacher. And if this man had shot her father a day ago, it was unbelievably bold of him to return to this area. That also sent a burst of anger into her thoughts.
“He’s going to shoot the mother!” exclaimed Rachel.
Without thinking, Christie drew her SIG, extended her arm vertically, and fired three rounds straight up into the air, the shots cracking across the meadow. Lowering her gun, Christie brought her binoculars back up. Led by momma, the cubs were running west. She swung the binoculars east.
The man was aiming his rifle at them.
Gasping, Christie used her arm to push Rachel to her back, going prone herself as a rifle shot split the air of the meadow. Swearing under her breath, she whispered, “Belly crawl west, Rach. Keep your head down.”
They both flipped to their bellies and crawled fast. Christie still held the SIG. Her chest wound ached so she tried to crawl off the ground a few inches to keep the wound from brushing against the soil. She hoped the man had just given them an angry warning shot and would leave them alone. Stupid. She shouldn’t have fired her gun. Maybe the man would claim self-defense if he shot both of them.
As they crawled through the grass, another shot hit the ground near Christie’s right hand, sending bits of dirt over it. The man couldn’t see them in the grass from where he stood, but with a scoped rifle he might be able to see the grass moving as they crawled.
Christie stopped, resting a hand on Rachel’s back to stop her too. “Crawl out, Rachel. Try not to move the grass, and don’t stand until you get to a tree big enough to hide behind. Text me what you see. Then run for help.” She unclipped Rachel’s gun holster from her hip and shoved it in front of her. “Now go!”
Rachel gripped the holster and moved forward as if she was climbing a ladder, with very little side-to-side body motion.
Good girl, thought Christie. To distract the shooter, she stuck her right arm out as far as she could and waved it back and forth an inch above the ground. She wanted to move the grass for a few seconds. Then she withdrew her arm and pressed it against her side. Another rifle crack sounded and a bullet hit the dirt two feet from her neck.
Rachel had already disappeared in the grass. Relieved that
Rachel might soon be free, Christie slowly crawled forward again, moving as little grass as possible. Another shot hit the ground a foot in front of her head, making her gasp. The man was letting her know he wasn’t going to let her leave. It also felt like he could have killed her already if he wanted to. That made her wonder what else he wanted her for.
The shooter was skilled, and had to be aware of Rachel’s presence in the grass. Why wasn’t he shooting at her?
“Throw your gun out now or I’m going to shoot you,” called the man.
He sounded closer than Christie expected—he was advancing toward her. She could crawl and get shot, remain here and get shot, or throw her gun out and take her chances with someone who might have shot her father and left him for dead.
She rolled to her back. Obsessed about Rachel’s safety, she was tempted to sit up and shoot. But to see down the hill she would have to lift her head above the grass. Imagining the poacher having his rifle trained on her location ended that plan. Another idea came to her—get him to shoot to the side again, and then sit up fast and nail him.
Sticking out her left leg, she moved it back and forth an inch off the ground, moving the grass stems again. Quickly she pulled her leg back. Another shot rang out, hitting the ground near her left leg.
Angry, and about to sit up, she froze when her phone vibrated. Rachel. She retrieved the cell out of her back pocket.
The text from Rachel read; “Two men.”
PART 3
OP: STEEL’S TEAM
CHAPTER 16
Steel watched Angel expertly motor his boat into a slip in a small marina south of Miami. They tied it off and then got into a souped-up, white van with tinted windows. The van had a bench seat behind the front two seats, but the back of it was empty.
Angel drove. Angel was still in his old man disguise, and he had told Matt and Val to call him Old Man. He still refused to give them his real name. Steel wanted to honor that. He also wasn’t sure how much Angel was going to help them. It surprised him that the man was still with them, but he decided to not say anything for the moment.
Everyone was quiet. Sleep on the boat had been rough. They made one quick stop at a store where they all purchased socks, jeans, shirts, and tennis shoes. Next Angel drove them southwest of Miami, into a rural area with older homes. Lower middle class.
Emilia had called Steel in the early morning to fill him in. CIA operation manager Phil Edwards would give Matt and Val a written agreement for witness protection in exchange for the flash drive at the hand-off. And CIA Director Bill Bishop had relayed through the Director of Special Activities Division that he had a personal interest in making sure every SOB on the flash drive list went down in flames. But he refused to put that in writing. It was the best they would get. Take it or leave it.
Val and Matt had agreed to take it. Steel knew the agreement wasn’t ironclad, but he had advised them to take it too. Emilia indicated that Bill Bishop had always been straightforward and she trusted his word. Emilia texted Phil Edwards’ photo to Steel, and Steel had given Emilia the approximate location and time for the hand-off. He wouldn’t give the final location until just before the hand-off—he didn’t want any surprises and figured a leak would have a harder time setting up an ambush. Even so, he was wary because they still didn’t know who the leak was.
Angel informed them on the boat ride of the two men he had killed at the clinic in Eleuthera—they had to be Dima’s men. Dima was still a threat.
Steel had to shake off uncertainty over another matter. In less than a day his team had fallen apart. It was just him and Zeus now—Angel was a question mark. Harry was probably out for at least six months to a year, and who knew what Harry might decide then? And Christie was in Montana. He had become comfortable on assignments with Christie and Harry. Family. Complete trust. But it had felt like a curse at times when assignments became dangerous. However, just when he was learning to cope with that, Christie and Harry were gone.
Yet Christie would be back. Maybe Harry would too. Now he had to make sure Matt and Val remained alive, and that the CIA met their demands. And then he would hunt Dima. The real truth was, he already missed Christie. But he viewed that as a good thing.
Angel stopped the van at the entrance to a gated driveway. The roof of a rambler was barely visible behind a ten-foot-high wooden privacy fence with peeling paint that surrounded all sides of the property. Vines and trees lined the inside of the fenced three-acre lot. After unlocking the chained gate, Angel pulled the van up the driveway.
An eight-foot-tall metal fence with rolled barb wire at the top ran along the inside of the wooden fence around the whole perimeter. Steel appreciated the security. The driveway curved to the back of the house, ending in front of a three-car garage, which had been hidden from street view. The three garage doors were closed.
Angel stopped in front of the right garage door. He used a remote to open it, and drove in, shutting the door behind them. Lights came on in the garage.
Steel got out of the rear seat. Matt and Val followed. Due to his size, Zeus had taken the front passenger seat.
Angel sent Matt and Val into the back door of the house to prepare a quick lunch for the road. He eyed Steel and Zeus. “I use this as a safe house for illegals I bring in, waiting for IDs and jobs. I screen everyone. It’s mostly women and children fleeing dangerous situations created by men.”
“That’s pretty noble of you, sir.” Zeus gave him a look of admiration.
In the middle bay was a custom black Chevy SS. Angel gestured to the car. “We will take the van and this car to the hand-off. Let me show you some modifications on the Chevy.”
Steel already knew one of them—a secret outer trunk compartment hid two silenced Glocks. That’s how Angel had killed Christie’s brother, and it brought up resentment in Steel that he had to let go. He needed any help that Angel offered and didn’t want to antagonize the man.
Zeus whistled several times over what Angel revealed, saying, “Fantastic! Love it!”
Steel hung back, watching. A few things surprised him, including the FN P90 hidden beneath the front passenger floor mat. Angel had always struck him as extremely creative; the Chevy SS was another example of that.
After they went through the car, Angel brought them to the last bay, which was empty. In the back was a steel door, with a keypad and deadbolt. Angel led them through it into a large walk-in storage compartment that ran the length of the three car stalls. Guns, rifles, knives, and other weapons lined the walls, and Kevlar, night vision, and other equipment for ops filled shelves above a perimeter workbench.
“Wow. I’m a kid in a candy store.” Zeus swung to Angel. “Can we take whatever we want?”
Angel nodded. “I had a half-dozen stations throughout the U.S. that I consolidated into just a few for security reasons. This is one of them.”
Zeus picked up a SIG MCX rifle. “Love it.”
Steel appreciated that Angel had always been unpredictable when they had fought each other in the past, and he wondered if the man had any ideas on how to do the hand-off. But first he had to clear the air.
“Angel.” Steel faced him.
Angel calmly turned to Steel. “You are wondering what Christie said to me, if I am invested in this mission, and if you can trust me.”
“All of it.” Steel waited.
Zeus put down the gun and listened.
“Christie thinks my debt for killing her brother is paid, but my sister’s is not.” Angel shrugged. “I understand her anger and loss.” He ran a hand over an MK18 rifle with a scope. “Last fall you could have killed me and my sister, or allowed Diego to kill us. You didn’t. That’s not something I can forget. I didn’t agree with Christie’s argument, but I understand her emotion. I will see you through the hand-off. And yes, I will have your back, Jack Steel.”
Steel believed him. “I’ll have your back too, Angel.”
Angel’s voice softened. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t believe that.”
“What changed?” Steel was still curious.
Angel shrugged. “I’m not sure yet. But it feels like the right thing to do.”
“I’m willing to cut you in for half of Harry’s and half of my compensation for the assignment.” It was more than Steel wanted to pay, but Angel was a master, and they needed him. Besides, the man had already done more than enough to earn it.
Angel shook his head. “This is for myself and Renata. There is no need for money.”
Zeus tossed up his hands. “Wonderful. We’re all friends. Bros forever. Now how are we going to play this, sirs?”
Steel studied the young Greek. “Expect treachery. Plan for surprises. And keep Matt and Val safe no matter what. That’s what we’re getting paid for.” He gestured to Angel. “Any tricks up your sleeve?”
Angel patted the rifle with a faint smile. “I’m very accurate with the MK18 at three hundred yards.”
ANGEL LEFT THEM TO get Matt and Val while they sorted through weapons. Zeus kept the SIG MCX, grabbed a sawed-off shotgun with a left thigh holster, shoved a Glock into a right hip holster, and slid a SIG into a back holster. Steel thought because of Zeus’ size the big Greek still didn’t look overly armed.
Steel decided on a Glock and HK MP7 with a scope. They both grabbed a night vision monocular. While they loaded weapons and grabbed extra mags, Steel said, “Zeus. Regarding Angel...”
Zeus opened the shotgun and inspected the barrel. “I get it, sir. Hope for the best, expect the worst, depend on nothing.”
“Then you’re ready.” Steel checked the barrel of a Glock. “How did you become so wise so young?”
Zeus smiled. “Collections for a loan shark are always chaotic. You never know if a mark is going to get down on his knees and cry, or come out trying to blast you with a shotgun. I realized the only way I could handle it was to roll with the punches.”
Steel Trap: A Jack Steel Action Mystery Thriller, Book 4 Page 10
