The Ackerman Thrillers Boxset

by Ethan Cross

  Ramirez wouldn’t make eye contact with him, and neither man attempted an excuse or explanation. They knew better.

  Canyon looked from the pair of his incompetent underlings to where the old trading post sat atop Red Bluff like a castle on a hill designed to dispel intruders. He knew that the element of surprise had now been lost, which made taking down the man named Frank all the more difficult. His plan had been to roll up in force, drawing the attention of Frank and whoever was helping him, while Ramirez and his partner, who were already hidden and in position, would be able to slip in the back and take their enemy by surprise.

  Canyon didn’t look at the two men as he said, “You were supposed to wait for us.”

  Ramirez, eyes still on the hard-packed dirt road in front of him, replied, “It was my call, sir. We saw an opportunity to end this. Your man is badly injured and the only other person with him was the Nakai girl.”

  “Liana Nakai?”

  “Yessir, we overheard her and the outsider talking. She kept telling him that he needed a hospital and then he passed out, fell right off his seat, and face-planted into the floor. I saw a shot, and I took it.”

  “How did that work out for you?”

  “I don’t know how, but he must have known we were there. When we flipped him over—”

  Canyon interrupted, “I think I can fill in the blanks from there.” Considering the intel about the injuries and the inside of the building that the two men obviously possessed, perhaps their screwup wasn’t a total loss.

  “Sir, he totally blindsided us, and he’s armed to the teeth. We saw grenades, gun cases, ammo boxes. It looked like he was preparing for war.”

  “Good. That’s what’s coming for him,” Canyon replied. Then, turning back to the caravan of his soldiers, he called Todacheeney over and said, “Toad, take these two idiots back to the ranch and get them patched up. I don’t want either of them dying before I have a chance to kill them myself.”

  36

  At the first sign of engines in the distance, Ackerman pulled out the case containing the .50 BMG caliber Barrett sniper rifle and calmly assembled the weapon from its base components. Completing the task in less than thirty seconds, he slammed home a magazine full of ten armor-piercing five-and-a-half-inch-long bullets and pulled back the slide to position a round ready to fire. He loved the way the Barrett smelled. Brand new, never before fired, virgin steel oiled to perfection.

  All the while, in his peripheral vision, he watched Liana pace back and forth. Her breathing was erratic. He estimated that her short and shallow gulps of air verged on hyperventilation. She kept repeating things like: “This can’t be happening,” “My career is over,” and “My life is over.” Sometimes in a whisper, sometimes bordering on a scream.

  All of her babbling was beginning to give Ackerman a headache, an affliction that was commonplace for his brother but rare for him, until recently.

  He said, “Can you please take some deep breaths, or count to ten, or breathe into a paper sack, or something? Some of us are trying to work here.”

  In reply, Officer Liana barked, “I don’t understand how you can be so calm! A group of trained killers are coming to—”

  “Yes, yes, I understand and validate your feelings on the matter. The situation is well under control. You need but to remain calm and enjoy the ride.”

  “Don’t patronize me. I’m a Navajo Nation Police officer.”

  Ackerman smiled up at her. She was so very beautiful. Hair black as midnight, high cheekbones, and skin the color of wet sand. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes full of fear. He said, “My apologies, Officer. I sometimes forget how easily excitable you normals can be. But I would appreciate it if you would stop pacing so close to the nitroglycerine.”

  Liana froze, wide eyes searching around her feet as if she’d heard the rattle of a diamondback.

  “Are you screwing with me?” she whispered.

  “Absolutely not. In that shed out back, I found a couple crates of aged dynamite. Normally, the fire department for the area would be called and the danger removed by controlled detonation. It’s actually a common task of fire departments in rural America. Aged dynamite, regardless of the sorbent used, will sweat nitroglycerine, which then pools up and creates a sweetly volatile cocktail capable of discharge without the need of blasting caps or fuses.”

  “So when you found the volatile, sweating, highly-dangerous dynamite, your first thought was to pick it up and carry it inside?”

  “You can’t very well use your hammer if you leave it in the tool shed.”

  She sighed. “Please tell me you have a plan.”

  “Did you see that old cast-iron bathtub sitting alongside the trading post? The one built atop a sheet of plywood on wheels, to make it mobile. I found it beside the trailer. I suspect the former proprietor used it for bathing.”

  Her brow furrowed, and she said, “What else would you use a bathtub for?”

  “You’d be surprised, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen one able to be pulled around the yard.”

  Liana still seemed confused by his reaction and replied, “They put the wheels on so they could pull the tub out into the sun and have a warm bath.”

  “Interesting. Mystery solved, I suppose. For some reason, I missed that explanation in favor of other more…fantastical musings. Regardless, I considered turning the tub into a sort of missile to roll down the hill. The long slope and mild curvature of the road would make it possible to reach the bottom of the bluff, where Canyon will be encamping his forces. And the cast iron would deflect any bullets fired at it from striking the dynamite. But I ultimately decided that the bumps, the ease of the the tub hitting a rock and flipping halfway down, and a myriad of other factors would make it infeasible. In the end, there were just too many rogue variables. Wild cards, as they say. Like you.”

  Liana cocked an eyebrow. “Me?”

  “You’re certainly unpredictable. And quite a bit of a distraction, if I’m being honest. Don’t forget that you were never supposed to be here. My plan all along was to handle this alone. You, Officer Nakai, are a rogue variable. A random anomaly who stumbled into my path. You’re like the bug, and I’m the car windshield. You were going along in your simple little life, and then I hit you. No, that’s a weak analogy. I’m more like a train than a car. But trains must also hit bugs all the time, so I’m like a freight train, and you’re—”

  She interrupted, “You realize that they might start shooting in here, and if any bullets strike this dynamite or—”

  He interrupted back, “Yes, I’m fully aware of the properties of my explosives. I don’t intend for them to be shooting in here. They should be getting my message any time and reaching out.”

  “Reaching out with what? The cell towers must be down. Signal is never good, but I had zero service all the way from the station to here.”

  “I believe that’s Mr. Canyon shutting off the flow of communication in and out of his kingdom.”

  “No way. He doesn’t have that kind of power.”

  Ackerman shrugged. “It wouldn’t even be that difficult, but the source of the blackout isn’t of paramount concern. We are cut off from the outside world. We typically bring along several different forms of short-range communication: cellular, radio frequency, plastic cups connected by strings. We’ve encountered killers in the past who have employed jamming equipment. I stashed a handheld radio set to the proper frequency in the pants pocket, or I suppose I should say headdress pocket, of Mr. Ramirez. We also have other forms of staying in touch as a team. Unfortunately, we did not come prepared with a satellite phone. But no one thinks of everything. Not even me. Most importantly, our incoming attackers wouldn’t risk shooting the heir apparent to the Canyon empire.”

  Mention of Tobias Canyon caused Liana to look toward the former main checkout counter of the old trading post. Ackerman had showed her how he had wrapped the hostages in fishing line and burlap and placed them behind the counter like sacks of potatoes.


  Ackerman placed his eye to the scope of the rifle and sighted in on his target, which was quickly approaching. Then he reiterated, “Nothing to worry about, officer. Just sit back and enjoy the ride.” He punctuated his sentence with a blast from the .50 caliber sniper rifle.

  Liana ran over to the window to see what he had fired on and exclaimed, “What in the hell are you shooting at?”

  He handed her a pair of binoculars. “As you can see, I didn’t kill anyone. Unless you count Mr. Canyon’s F-150. With as much as people spend on their vehicles these days, I suppose that you could consider it a member of the family. I mean, honestly, there are many who see no problem in spending forty thousand dollars on a vehicle, but they scoff at spending that same amount on their child’s education.”

  She said, “You could have killed someone with that cannon.”

  Through the scope, he watched the truck spurt oil and smoke. Canyon fought to keep the truck under control and the top-heavy vehicle from flipping. With expert driving technique, Canyon was able to get the vehicle to the side of the path. Ackerman said, “I merely shot out their engine block. I wanted to send a message that we are well armed and we don’t want them coming any closer. And now that the message has been sent, they’ll have no other choice but to reach out with the radio I provided. Simple.”

  Liana asked, “So you planned all of this? You wanted Canyon and his men to come and find you here?”

  “That’s right. Exactly why I left that little calling card back at your station. You were supposed to be a good girl and tell your superior who would then tell Mr. Canyon. You didn’t do that because you’re a wild card. But it seems that everything has worked out just fine. Your boss probably suspected what you were doing and tracked you here using the GPS positioning of your patrol vehicle.”

  She whispered, “My life is over. This may be exactly how you planned things, but what about me? The two men you released are gonna tell Canyon and Captain Yazzie that I’m working with you. You just gave me a death sentence.”

  He laughed. “Hardly. You were simply traded to the winning team.”

  “I think you’re a bit overconfident.”

  “Why do you normals keep telling me that?”

  “It’s going to get the both of us killed.”

  “I’ve heard that before many times as well.”

  “How can you be so damn calm?”

  He chuckled. “Do you know the best indicator of future behavior and future outcomes?…Past behavior and past outcomes. And as you can see, despite all those who have tried to kill me, despite all those who have scarred me, tortured me, shot me, stabbed me, burned me… In spite of them all. I’m still standing.”

  37

  The past…

  After a few moments, she said, “Do you love me or not?”

  The bluntness of the question shocked Marcus and made him hesitate. He wasn’t sure how to respond to something like that.

  Apparently taking his silence as a negative, Maggie said, “I guess that’s my answer.”

  “It’s not as simple as all that.”

  “Yes, it is. Either you do or you don’t.”

  “It doesn’t matter either way. You just don’t understand that. What did you think would happen? That we’d get married, have kids, and bring them along on cases? There was a time when all that I wanted was to be normal. Settle down with you and start a family. But I can’t do that, because I’m not normal. I’m just as broken as the men we hunt.”

  “I can’t quit the Shepherd Organization, if that’s what you want,” she said.

  “I don’t know what I want. But I know now that I can’t run from what I am.”

  A long, cold silence accompanied them down Route 12 past houses and businesses and bare trees. They were all vague shapes at the dark edges of the headlights’ beam. The snowfall had tapered off as they drove, and the snowplows were out in force. They had already seen three of them along the way. But Marcus had heard that the worst of the storm was still on its way.

  Part Three

  38

  John Canyon stood beside his ruined truck and seethed up at the dilapidated trading post. He estimated it to be around five hundred yards away, up a sloping lane of fading gravel. He could see the outline of the buildings by the light of the moon and the glow of the caravan’s headlights. They were beyond the effective range of most of their guns, certainly the automatic assault rifles and submachine guns that most of the men were carrying. They definitely out of range, however, for whatever kind of military-grade sniper rifle the man named Frank, the man without fear, was using. John Canyon stood there staring, grimacing. His years in the military and his being forced to work with idiots for so many years had instilled in John a definite sense of calm. But this new man, this newcomer, had invaded his home and stolen his calm. People often matched the anxiety levels of those with whom they came in contact. Canyon wasn’t sure if it was something subconscious or some learned habit of evolution, but he had found it to be true.

  This man Frank was different, however. He was unlike any man John had ever encountered. While Frank seemed to be completely fearless, he caused a strange energy to enter the room which instead of matching his anxiety, his calm caused your anxiety to rise. His fearlessness seemed to manufacture fear in others.

  Pulling out the small radio Toad had discovered in Ramirez’s pants pocket, Canyon pushed the button on the small device and said, “You made your point, Frank. We’re staying back, for now. Over.”

  “Salutations, John. Wonderful to see you again so soon. I assume by your presence here that you’ve located my missing colleague and are ready to deliver her to me. If so, stand by for instructions. If not, follow step number one, before attempting to move onto step number two. I’m really trying to keep things simple for you here, John. Over,” came the reply from the small speaker mounted in the device.

  Gritting his teeth, Canyon replied, “I’m gonna make you pay. You took my son and now you killed my F-150.”

  “I’m sure your drug money will have no problem paying for a new pickup truck.”

  Canyon gripped the small radio so tightly he was afraid he might break it. He wasn’t sure how Frank knew so much about him and his operations, but Canyon did know that Frank knew way too much to be allowed to live. Through clenched teeth, he replied, “I don’t see my other truck either, the semi you stole from me earlier along with all of my little friends loaded up in the back. Over.”

  “Don’t worry, John. Your sheep and your drugs are perfectly safe. Did you know the Incas believed that coca plant was a gift from the gods or that pure cocaine was first extracted from the leaves of the coca plant in 1859 and was marketed as a coca wine in France in 1863?”

  “Is my son in there with you or is he with the truck?”

  “They’re both safe. I would worry more about myself if I were you. You’re the one with crosshairs over your forehead, with an itchy trigger finger caressing the steel of a .50 BMG rifle. Have you ever seen what a .50 BMG will do to a man, John? Oh yes, of course you have, you would have witnessed it several times during your military service. Sometimes I have a tendency to preach to the choir. My apologies. My point is that you should be focusing your tracking skills on more fruitful pursuits. Perhaps hunting down Maggie Carlisle and returning her to me, saving your own life, that kind of thing. Just a suggestion. Over.”

  “You’re not getting out of this place alive.”

  Frank said, “I could kill you where you stand right here and now and you are completely aware of that fact, and yet you still choose to challenge me?”

  “If you wanted to kill me, you would have done it already. I didn’t take your friend. You have the wrong man. You’re barking up the wrong tree. This is your last chance. You surrender now, you give up your hostages and my truck, and we’ll see what happens from there. Maybe you walk out of here with all of your body parts. You and your little partner. Over.”

  “Well, isn’t this interesting. Here we a
re back in the same position in which we started. You sitting there declaring that you’re in charge while I sit here knowing that I’m in charge. Why do you normals keep insisting that I demonstrate my skills to you at every turn? It would be a lot easier for everyone if you merely looked to past experience and put two and two together. I mean, wouldn’t that just save us all a bit of time? And make no mistake time is running out, John. For you and your son. Out.”

  “I’ll kill you, you belegana bastard. I’ll kill you and everyone you love. I don’t have your girl. I don’t know where she is. And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you, because this has gone too far now. There’s no way you’ll leave this place alive. I’m half tempted to just blow you off the face of the Earth and be done with it. I’m starting to have my doubts that my son is even in there with you.”

  “Oh, is that your issue? If you’d like a little proof of life, I can understand where you’re coming from. Unfortunately, you’re going to have to give me a few moments.”

  “What does that mean? You’re not leaving this place.”

  “No, no, I just need a moment to unwrap him. Talk soon. Good times. Over and out.”

  39

  In order to gain intel about Canyon, Marcus had first visited The Grand Canyon Hotel and Casino and, after slipping a bartender a hundred dollar bill, he had learned a lot of rumors about Canyon and his operation. For one, Mrs. Canyon had been staying almost entirely in their suite at the casino instead of living at the ranch with her husband. Marcus could care less about the man’s marital problems, but that same intel also told him that he wouldn’t have to worry about waking anyone inside the house.