Empty Promises

by Edwin Dasso

“It’s not bad enough they’re breaking the law, now they’re using taxpayer money to coordinate with Russian crooks. The gall of them!” Jack exclaimed. “This will be nothing more than mass murder—a healthcare holocaust—and they get rich off the deaths of unsuspecting citizens.”

  “Makes me want to puke!” Wes said.

  “And don’t forget, they killed George,” Hank snarled.

  “We have Congresspeople and White House appointees who aren’t any better than the South American cartel thugs, damn it! They’re just hiding behind their positions, putting at risk the very people they are supposed to be representing!” Jack slammed his fist on the table. “All so they can add another zero to their already too big bank accounts!”

  Hank pulled his pistol from its holster and started wiping it with a rag. “Enough bitching…what’re we gonna do about it?”

  “Good question, Hank,” Wes stated flatly. “We haven’t been able to come up with a good plan…”

  “I just know I’m tired of all the greedy pukes in this world!” Jack yelled. “I’m tired of having to fight them every step of the way. C’mon—we’ve got to think of a way to stop this!”

  After a couple minutes of silence, Hank stiffened in his chair. “Jack?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I think I just got an idea! Their trip to Crimea may actually be an opportunity for us.”

  “How?” Jack and Wes asked in unison.

  Hank smiled devilishly. “I have a good buddy, Boone, who’s been…consulting with the anti-Russian resistance factions in the Ukraine. He was a Green Beret, too. I’ll just bet he might be able to get them to help us in some way—especially if it will screw over the Russians in Crimea.” His grin broadened. “They might even have some ideas that could help us solve our problems with Schanlon and crew while they’re over there.”

  Jack clapped Hank on the shoulder. “What say the three of us get together for coffee in the morning and start expanding on that.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll reach out to my buddy tonight—see what he thinks,” Hank said.

  “See you guys in the morning at your hotel.” Wes disconnected.

  Chapter 67

  Two Days Later

  Hank, Wes, and Jack sat at the small table in the hotel room. They had met and kicked around a variety of plans then bounced them off Boone, and he had shared the plans with his Crimean colleagues. They’d embellished the plan, suggesting an approach they thought would work…on a short timeframe.

  “That’s pretty devious thinking on their part,” Jack said after Hank finished describing what the Crimeans had suggested. “I like that.”

  “Yep. Playing on the old ‘no honor among thieves’ ploy. You guys think it might work?”

  “I already said I like it,” Jack said then looked at Wes.

  “Ditto,” Wes said. “Should keep us in a good plausible-deniability position, too.”

  Hank smiled broadly. “Okay, I’ll put the wheels in motion.”

  * * *

  Next Day

  Jack sipped coffee from a styrofoam cup as Hank finished dialing and set his cellphone on the countertop of the hotel room kitchenette. Wes shot quick glances at the other two, smiling tentatively as the rings came over the speaker.

  “Hey, guys.” Boone’s voice sounded distant, slightly distorted by static.

  Hank, Jack, and Wes leaned in closer to the phone.

  “So…are they in?” Hank asked hesitantly.

  “Oh, yeah!” Boone responded.

  Jack leaned back and pumped a fist in the air.

  “When they saw the Russian guys on that CNN clip, they got pretty riled up. Apparently, those are some old Russian oligarchs…mafiya leaders. They’ve been taking over all the industry in Crimea. Been driving a lot of Ukrainian-owned businesses into the dirt…by hook or crook. And these militia guys have lost a lot of friends as a result. Lost, as in dead! They see this as a shot at a little payback.”

  Wes nodded. “Nothing like a good vendetta to gain some allies.”

  “So, they had some good ideas about what to do?” Hank asked. “Including dealing with Schanlon.”

  “They sure did.” He chuckled. “Cunning bastards. I’ll need to finalize some details, but I think the plan will address your ‘friends’ who are visiting…or, at least, poison the well for them in Russia.”

  “I guess poisoning the well is better than nothing,” Jack chimed in. “If we keep throwing wrenches in their plans, maybe they’ll give up. Move on to their next scheme.”

  Wes snorted. “We can only hope.”

  “This will also require some cooperation—and good acting—by your DEA friends, Wes,” Boone said. “Think we can count on that?”

  Wes hesitated. “I think so…as long as it doesn’t get too publicized…”

  “No way we can control that. We’ll just have to make do with whatever support they can provide. The rest we can piece together from news tidbits and information you guys have gathered.” Boone hesitated. “The Crimeans will want to see some convincing proof, though, before they give this the green light.”

  “Tell them we can provide them all the proof they’ll need,” Jack blurted.

  “Do you think you and they can get it into the…right hands then?” Wes asked. “Make sure there’s a convincing story to go along with it?”

  Jack leaned in close, listening intently for Boone’s response.

  “No promises, Wes. I’ll try to organize the information into something persuasive. I’m even hoping the local militia troops might agree to become more visible around the proposed factory site—you know, put on a little show to lend the story more credibility.”

  “That’s a great idea!” Hank exclaimed. “Tell them to be obvious…but not so much that it looks like a set-up. Maybe they can make themselves just look like bumbling idiots who are trying to be covert.”

  Boone guffawed. “That won’t be much of a stretch for these local guys. They’re, how shall I say…amateurish?”

  “That’s actually good,” Hank said. “What do you think this is gonna cost us?” he asked after a few seconds.

  “Ain’t gonna be cheap, buddy,” Boone replied. "I’m fine with doing this gratis—except for my expenses—but the militia guys are gonna want some real money. Actually, anybody I involve over here is gonna be holding out a hand for some piece of the pie.”

  “I figured as much.” Hank turned to Jack. “What’s our budget?”

  Jack shrugged. “Well, I checked our account balance from that slave camp money. We’ve got about a million-and-a-half in there. I hate to drain it, though…we’ve been helping a lot of homeless veterans with that money.”

  “I get that,” Hank said. “Your call.”

  Jack stroked his chin for a few seconds then leaned closer to Hank’s phone. “You think a million would cover it?”

  Boone laughed uproariously. “Ohhh. Sorry for laughing, Dr. Bass, but you forget what part of the world you’re talking about. These local guys would be ecstatic about a few thousand.”

  “Yeah, but I want it to be enough to guarantee they’ll deliver as promised.”

  “Okay then. Transfer me a hundred grand, and I’ll see what I can negotiate with that,” Boone said. “I think you’ll get most of it back, though.”

  “That’d be great.” Jack smiled and leaned back. “I know you said you’d do this gratis but, whatever’s left from the hundred grand, you keep as your fee.”

  “No, no, I couldn’t—”

  “I insist!” Jack responded quickly. “You’re sticking your neck out in your operating territory. I think you should be rewarded accordingly.”

  “I agree,” Hank hastily chimed in.

  There was silence on the line for several seconds. “All right…we’ll see,” Boone responded. “Let’s just wait and see if we even have any leftover funds. We can discuss it then.”

  “Deal,” Jack said.

  “So, did you figure out how to drop some hints for the Russians about th
e…’technique’ we discussed?” Hank asked.

  “Well, when it comes to picking up on Machiavellian shit, the mafiya are pretty astute. And it will be consistent with their historical methods…”

  “That’s what we thought, too,” Hank responded. “That should help make the rumors we’ll circulate to the US press more believable.” He turned to Wes. “That’s where we’ll really need the help of your DEA contacts, too.”

  “Like I said, I think they’ll cooperate,” Wes said. “Actually, they agree the journalists, especially Fox, will swallow the story whole if it ‘leaks’ from the DEA. Hinting that there’s a connection between this visiting U.S. business delegation and the Russian mafiya will really get the reporters worked into a frenzy!”

  “Agreed,” Jack replied.

  “Hank, I’ll send you an email on my encrypted account with all the plan details. You guys take a look at it and tell me if I captured everything correctly,” Boone said.

  “Sounds good,” Hank replied. “Include your bank wiring instructions so Jack can get the funds transferred ASAP.”

  “All right. I’ll tell you if there are any problems with the transfer.” Boone was silent for several seconds. “Hank?”

  “Yeah?”

  “This is kinda fun—doing some tactical planning like this. Reminds me of the old days.”

  Hank snorted. “Yeah, except that in the old days, it was much more obvious who the enemy was.”

  Chapter 68

  Midnight, That Night

  Amanda’s eyes flew open. The clanging of the old alarm bell Hank had rigged to the proximity detector was dinging incessantly. She blinked a few times as she became more fully awake and remembered where she was. She sprang out of her bed and raced over to Sara’s bunk.

  “I need the key!” she whispered urgently, shaking Sara’s shoulder.

  “Wh-what?” Sara asked in a sleepy voice. She turned her head toward Amanda and opened one eye. “Amanda, what are you doing?”

  “Can’t you hear that damn alarm? I need the key for the gun vault! Now!”

  Sara’s eyes shot wide, and she threw her blankets aside.

  “They’re in my purse…over on the table.”

  “Get them!”

  “What is it? What’s happening?” Sara asked as she rushed across the creaky planks of the shack floor.

  “I don’t know! I just know that’s the perimeter alarm.” Amanda motioned for Sara to hurry. “And that means something—or someone—is close!”

  Sara stopped digging in her purse and spun toward Amanda, her eyes wide. “Do you think we’re in danger?”

  “Hell if I know—just get me the keys!”

  Sara nodded and twisted back to her purse, dumping the contents on top of the ramshackle table. She rummaged through the items that fell out, finally holding up a fob with a single key on it.

  “I think this is it.”

  Amanda snatched it from her hand and vaulted to the safe, quickly opening it. She couldn’t see inside the dark interior but didn’t want to turn on any lights for fear of making them more visible targets if someone outside was hunting them. She felt around inside the safe, her hand soon finding the familiar feel of a Colt .45 grip. She wrapped her fingers around it then hesitated.

  “Shit! It’s dark—I may not be able to see a target…and Hank said he’d recommend the shotgun as a first line of defense.”

  She let her fingers slip from the pistol then moved her hand around inside the safe until she felt the stock of the twelve-gauge pump shotgun. She carefully extracted it, slowly pulling the slide back to chamber a round.

  “Look!” Sara said from where she was standing in front of the monitor displaying the night-vision video feed from outside.

  Amanda looked at where Sara was pointing on the screen then groaned softly. There was no mistaking the reflection of the infrared light from a pair of eyes.

  “What is it?” Sara asked, fear obvious in her voice.

  Amanda shrugged. “I don’t know—I can’t see any more than you can,” she replied in a terse whisper.

  “What are we going to do?”

  “My dad has always said that the best defense is a good offense,” Amanda said, trying to sound more confident than she actually felt. She moved a fingertip over the stock of the gun to assure the safety was off, as Hank had taught her. “So, I guess we go check it out.”

  “B-but…what can I do?” Sara stuttered.

  “Stay here and guard Sasha. I-I’ll check it out myself.”

  Sara put a trembling hand on Amanda’s shoulder. “A-are you sure? Can’t we just wait to see what happens?”

  Amanda was silent for several seconds then shook her head. “No! I’m not going to just sit and wait for someone to come in and kill us.”

  Sara hugged her. “You are definitely your father’s daughter. Please, be careful!”

  Amanda stepped back and jutted out her chin, glad it was too dark for Sara to see how badly she was shaking. She crouched and crept toward the front door, stopping to take a deep breath when she reached it. She slowly unlatched the door, cringing when the rusted, old hinges squeaked as she inched the door open.

  “So much for stealth,” Amanda mumbled.

  She crouched lower and slid through the narrow opening, constantly scanning the open yard area in front of the shack. She scooted over to a post on the porch, turning sideways to better conceal herself behind it. She snuck her head around the post just far enough to see beyond it. The gun rattled slightly in her shaking hands. She gasped and ducked back as a shadow darted from behind a bush.

  “You’re already out here, Amanda. Trying to hide isn’t going to save your ass.”

  She again slid her head around the edge of the post, gazing intently into the murk. The shadow bolted directly toward the porch. She swung the shotgun toward it, not taking time to sight, then pulled the trigger. The recoil knocked her back against the wall of the cabin, and her ears rang from the blast. Her body was shaking too hard for her to raise the gun again. She spun and scurried back inside the shack, slamming the door behind her, fumbling to drive home the bolt on the locking mechanism.

  “What happened?” Sara called in a frightened voice from near the bunks.

  Sasha was standing at her side, her arms wrapped around Sara’s legs. “Momma, I’m scared.”

  “I-I don’t know—I saw something moving. I shot at it…”

  “What was it?”

  “I don’t know!” Amanda screamed. “Okay? I don’t know! You two hide under your beds.” She rushed over to her bunk and dug around until she found her cellphone. She hurriedly brought up her contact list and called Jack. The phone rang several times before going to voicemail.

  “Dad! Somebody might be outside.” She stifled a sob. “I need you! Wh-where are you…and when is this crap going to end?” She sniffled again. “I’m tired of being scared!” She dropped the phone and squatted on the floor, her eyes glued on the door…and waited.

  Chapter 69

  Next Evening

  Jack slid a steaming cup of coffee across a battered wooden plank of the table as Hank entered the shack. Jack waved him over.

  Jack had been in the bathroom when Amanda had called the night before. As soon as he listened to her message, he had grabbed Hank, and they’d jumped in a car and drove it like they stole it, racing toward the old veteran slave camp. When they’d arrived and settled everyone down, Hank suggested it would actually be the safest place for all of them, as his and Jack’s plan played out in Crimea. It was a unanimously popular suggestion. Jack was just happy to be back in the company of Amanda, having missed her terribly while they’d been separated.

  “Thought you could use this after being out there in the cold,” he whispered.

  Hank took a sip then held the mug up to Jack. “Thanks. Much appreciated.”

  Jack looked over his cup at Hank then nodded toward the front door.

  “Don’t you think that’s a bit of overkill—making guard roun
ds, I mean?” He pointed over his shoulder with his thumb. “You’ve got all that surveillance stuff set up.”

  Hank looked stonily at Jack as he took a seat at the table.

  “Maybe. Old habits die hard, I guess.” He shrugged. “I just feel better actually laying my eyes on the landscape…especially after what happened last night.” He smiled and shook his head. “That daughter of yours is something else. I don’t think there’s another kid alive her age who would’ve gone out there like that.”

  Jack smiled sadly. “Yeah…probably not another kid her age who would find herself in that position…” he mumbled dejectedly.

  Hank grunted. “Probably.” He chuckled. “I feel bad for any other coyotes who are dumb enough to wander in that close, though.”

  Jack nodded, breaking the silence after a few seconds. “I’m sure she was scared shitless…but she still did what needed to be done,” he said proudly.

  “Yep. Like I said, she’s one impressive kid.”

  They sat in silence for several minutes and sipped at their coffees.

  “What do you think will happen…over in Crimea, I mean?” Jack eventually asked.

  Hank set his mug down and shrugged. “No idea. We just laid some groundwork. I can tell you from my Green Beret days that what happens…happens. From here on out, we aren’t in control.”

  “What if those Russians do decide to play rough…conclude that death is the best solution for a double-cross?”

  “Then we have a good outcome.”

  Jack sat back in his chair and stared blankly at Hank. “Is it? I mean…I hate to be responsible, even indirectly, for someone getting killed.”

  “You’ve been directly responsible in the past,” Hank said flatly. “Right in this very building.”

  Jack looked around the interior of the old, clapboard shack, suddenly shuddering. “So you’ve told me before.” He shook his head. “I just can’t remember what happened, and I hate to believe the story you told me.”

  “Just as well you don’t remember. I don’t think the memory sat well with you. Guess that’s why you’ve buried it.” Hank tapped a finger on the table. “But this is also the place where you died…at the hands of another group of crooks. Don’t forget that!”