by Thomas Scott
Reif looked out the front window of the SUV. “Take a right up here, through the alley. We need to get out of sight for a minute.”
Stone kept his eyes straight ahead, but he let his right arm drift down along his thigh. He began to pull his right leg back toward the seat.
Chase made the turn. A picket fence ran along one side of the alley, a row of brick buildings without windows on the other. They were isolated and alone, the alley deserted.
“Okay. Stop here,” Reif said. “We’ve got to talk.”
Chase put the truck in park and left the engine running.
“That was Gus. He’s not too happy with us, me in particular. A couple of kids were out at that quarry and found Fischer and Reed. They got hits on the DNA and they’ve traced everything all the way up the chain. We won’t be seeing the northwest anytime soon, if ever.”
“Are the feds in on it?” Stone asked.
“Gus says yes. ATF and ICE.”
“ICE?” Chase said. “What are they doing on this?”
“That’s on me,” Reif said. “Those boys did their homework. They know I’ve got dual citizenship. They’ve turned the whole thing over to DHS. Gus says they’ve got someone at ICE who might be able to help, but I’d rather we handled things ourselves.”
“What about the job?” Stone asked.
“It’s still on. But there have been a few changes. We also now know where we’re taking the load.”
“Where?” Stone asked.
“To the Shelby County farmer’s Co-op. We’ve got a little cleanup that needs to be addressed first. Let’s get back to the house.”
Chase put the SUV in gear and drove out of the alley. Stone slipped the gun back in his ankle holster.
Murton got right in Gibson’s face. “What kind of trouble, Paul?”
Gibson held his hands up, his palms out. “Listen, sit down and we’ll talk about it.” Murton gave him a hard stare then sat back down at the table.
“We think your old man is playing us. In fact, we’re sure of it. You know how many times a bad actor working with the feds has some sort of agenda of their own?”
“Yeah, I do,” Murton said. “This isn’t new information to me, Paul, for two reasons: One, I used to be a fed, and two, I know what that man is capable of. I barely survived it. So how about you get to the point?”
“The point is this: The people who set up the fracking deal in Shelby County are out for one thing and one thing only. They want the gas under the ground and they don’t care what it takes to get it. Remember when I said we had people on the inside at Sheridan? It wasn’t only for your protection. It’s a big part of how we get our intel. Your old man’s been running his little side operation ever since he got out of the joint, all backed by the people who helped protect him on the inside. He needs to get out from under their thumb. Working for us was a good move on his part. We’ve agreed not to pursue charges against him for crimes committed since he’s been out in exchange for his assistance. The problem is your old man has the impression that being a C.I. for DHS means it’s open season to operate outside the lines.”
“What does any of that have to do with Jonesy and Small?”
Gibson rubbed his temples. “Think it through, Murt. When you and Jonesy worked the Shelby County case, everyone thought the fracking deal was on the up and up, like it was Exxon Mobile or any other Fortune Five Hundred company backing the play down there, but it wasn’t. It was a Russian company. Westlake failed to get everyone on board and they got rid of him like he was yesterday’s toilet paper. Gordon too. And you took care of Decker for them.”
“I took care of Decker for other reasons, and you know it.”
“Fair enough. But none of that changes anything, Murt. There’s money under that land…billions of dollars worth. People will go to extraordinary measures to take it out of the ground once they know it’s there. This bomb you’re putting together? It’s not meant to destroy a city. It’s meant to destroy the land, specifically the land that Virgil and Sandy own. Once a radioactive bomb goes off the land will be worthless, unless of course you make a deal with a group of big oil executives who know how to get the gas out.”
Murton laughed at him. “And you think my old man set up a deal like that all by himself? No way.”
Gibson was shaking his head. “No, we don’t. He’s had help the entire time.”
“Help? From who?”
Reif, Chase, and Stone came around the corner. Reif had his gun pointed straight at the back of Gibson’s head. “I can answer that for you.”
Gibson and Murton both froze. “Hands on the backs of your heads, boys. C’mon, don’t make me repeat myself here.”
Gibson and Murton brought their hands up and locked their fingers behind their heads.
“Chase, get their weapons. Stone, get the Flex-cuffs.”
“What’s going on here?” Gibson said, his voice calm.
“This, asshole,” Reif said. He swung the butt of his gun against the side of Gibson’s head, knocking him to the floor. The blow left him dazed and bleeding from a gash above his ear. Murton dropped his hands and moved to stand, but Reif was right there, his gun now pressed against the back of Murton’s head.
“Try it,” Reif said. Murton knew his options were limited. He put his hands back. Stone came back with two sets of cuffs and restrained both men with their hands behind their backs.
“Time for a little truth telling, boys,” Reif said. “I just had something of an unpleasant conversation with my boss. Want to guess what he told me? No? Okay, I’ll fill you in anyway.” He looked at Murton. “It seems your old man might be a little smarter than he likes to let on.”
Murton laughed without humor. “My old man couldn’t find his ass if someone handed it to him. If you think you’re being played by him you might want to check your sources.”
“My source is good. That’s the one thing I’m sure of in all of this.”
Just keep them talking, Murton thought. He’d been in worse situations than this before. Get their thinking twisted up. Turn it back around on them. It was undercover-101. “So where’s all this help coming from? I’d like to know myself. We’re all on the same side here.”
Reif ignored him and waved his hand in the general direction of Gibson, who was still on the floor. “Chase, Stone, get him in the chair and hold him there.”
Chase and Stone grabbed Gibson and set him in the chair, their hands on his shoulders. They looked at their boss.
“Want to know where the help is coming from? I’ll show you.” He stepped clear of Murton, swung his gun over and pointed it at Gibson. Then before Murton could do anything, Reif fired two quick shots in a row.
The first shot killed Chase. The second killed Stone.
Murton tried to remain calm. Why had Reif killed his own men? They weren’t working against him. He’d have known about it if they were. Gibson was still only half conscience from the blow he’d taken to the side of his head. When he tried to look up he could only hold Murton’s gaze for a few seconds before his chin dipped back down against his chest.
“You’re wondering why I killed my own men, aren’t you?” Reif said to Murton. “We’ve all been compromised. It was Fischer’s fault really. But the people I work for don’t like to leave loose ends. They also don’t like undercover feds sticking their noses into their business. It’s getting harder and harder to trust anyone these days.” He brought the gun back up and pointed it a Gibson. Murton closed his eyes.
The gun went off again and Murton opened his eyes. When he saw Gibson’s dead body, he knew he was at his own end. Reif was looking right at him. “Why so glum? Things just got a whole lot easier. C’mon tough guy.” He grabbed Murton’s arm and hoisted him out of the chair. “Time for a family reunion. Your old man seems to be running the show. For now, anyway.”
“Where are we going?”
“All the way to hell, I’m sure. Gotta make a little run north first.”
Murton’s wheels we
re spinning. North? Then Reif clubbed him hard on the back of his head and Murton was out.
Reif bound his ankles, knees, and thighs and placed a hood over his head. Then he loaded him into the back of the SUV and hit the road. He had the detonator and bomb Murton had built.
The old man had the nuclear material. Time for a little trade.
Some kind of jacked up family, Reif thought.
39
Four Hours Ago
Cal Lipkins was alone at the Co-op, going over the paper. The Co-op property was quiet this time of year. Not much going on except the delivery of fuel, seed, fertilizer, and other basic necessities to get the crops in the ground, and all of that had already happened. The activity picked up around harvest time of course, but that was months away, and if things went according to plan, there wouldn’t be a harvest this year. There wouldn’t, in fact, be any harvests ever again. Not for the Co-op, anyway.
When Lipkins looked out the window he saw the truck coming down the road. He went through the back of the building where the maintenance shop was located and opened the overhead door. Wheeler turned into the lot and drove the truck into the shop. Lipkins hit the button and the door began to lower.
Both men walked to the back of the truck and opened the rear doors. They stood and stared at the contents for a moment. Two large shipping crates sat on pallets at the very back of the truck. Both containers were covered with placards and warnings, the contents obvious even if you didn’t know how to read.
“The other truck ready?” Wheeler asked.
Lipkins pointed at another box truck, almost identical to the one with the nuclear material. “Yep. Fertilizer and fuel are already packed inside. You know the best part?”
“What’s that?”
Every drop of fuel and every ounce of fertilizer was ordered with Virgil Jones’s name on it. When the feds come knocking, they’ll be pulling him out of his office in handcuffs. C’mon, get that door opened and I’ll move the load over.”
“Be careful with that lift,” Wheeler said. “That’s one load you don’t want to topple on you.”
Ten minutes later with the nuclear material locked up in the truck with the fertilizer and fuel, Wheeler got back in the Radiology truck and pulled out of the shop. He was almost to the end of the Co-op’s drive when he saw a car turn in, coming right at him. When he saw who was driving he knew he’d have to improvise…revise his plan a little.
Fact was, his job just got a little more interesting.
Sandy let the GPS on her phone guide her to their destination. Jonas was strapped in the back in his car seat. When she pulled in at the Co-op, she had to make a tight turn and stay close to the shoulder of the drive, as a large box truck approached from the opposite direction. When the truck passed she glanced at it in the rear-view and saw its brake lights flare as it pulled to a stop at the intersection.
“That’s a big truck,” Jonas said.
“Sure is, big guy.”
Jonas laughed. “I’m big guy and Wyatt’s little guy.”
Sandy smiled at him. “You’ll both be big guys some day.”
“Then what will you call us?”
She reached behind the seat and found his leg. “Probably call you both trouble. What do you think of that?” She tickled him and Jonas laughed.
Then he pointed out the window. “That building looks funny.”
“It’s called a Quonset hut.”
He pointed out the side window and Sandy caught it in the rear-view mirror. “What are those big things?”
“Those are silo’s. That’s where they keep all the crops after the harvest.”
“Then what happens?”
Good question. “I’m not sure. But I’ll bet we can find out.” She parked the car away from the Co-op’s main building. She wasn’t sure how things worked around here, and she didn’t want to be in the way. Besides, there was only one other vehicle in the lot—a pickup truck—and it was parked some distance from the building as well. She picked up her phone and noticed the battery indicator was in the red. The phone was about to die. The GPS had drained it. She plugged it into the charger and left it on the passenger seat.
“Come on. Mommy’s got some paperwork to sign. Let’s see if we can find somebody named Mr. Lipkins. He’s supposed to help us.”
Sandy and Jonas walked into the Co-op and found Cal Lipkins sitting at a desk that fronted a window at the side of the building. He looked up from the paperwork, a mask of irritation on his face. “Hep ya?” He practically spat the words at them.
Sandy caught the irritation but tried a friendly grin anyway. “Are you Cal Lipkins? I’m Sandy Jones, Virgil’s wife. This is my son, Jonas. I guess there’s some forms or something I need to sign?”
Lipkins glanced out the window and saw Wheeler’s truck coming back up the drive. What the hell was he doing? This wasn’t part of their plan.
“Are you Mr. Lipkins?”
Lipkins turned away from the window and gave Sandy an awkward smile, his irritation replaced with something he couldn’t quite get straight in his own mind. “I’m sorry. Yes.” He walked from behind the desk and greeted her with a gentle handshake. Then he squatted down and offered his hand to Jonas. “How you doing, little guy?”
Jonas stuck his entire arm straight out, the way young boys do when they shake an adult’s hand. “I’m big guy. Wyatt is little guy. He’s at home because he’s still a baby. Wyatt’s my little brother. That’s how come I’m big guy because he’s little and I’m bigger. So I’m big guy.”
Lipkins laughed and rubbed the top of his head. “Wow, that’s a mouthful. Big guy it is then.” He stood up and glanced out the window and watched the other truck as it drove past, around toward the back of the building.
“Is this a bad time?” Sandy asked.
Depends on your perspective, I guess, Lipkins thought.
“I’m sorry?”
“I said, no, it’s fine. I wasn’t expecting you quite so soon, is all. I may have overstated the urgency about the forms and such to Virgil when I spoke with him last. Here, have a seat at the table and I’ll get the paperwork. There’s quite a bit of it, but it should go pretty quick unless you want me to go through it all like I did with your husband.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Sandy said.
“Fine, fine,” Lipkins said. He sounded relieved. “You’ll need to sign next to your husband’s signature on each page. We’ll have you out of here in no time.”
“That’s no problem,” Sandy said. “We’ve got plenty of time.” She sat down. Jonas ran over to the window to look outside.
“I’ll be right back,” Lipkins said. “Let me have a word with that truck driver, then I’ll get you the paperwork. That be all right?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, don’t leave.”
Sandy said they wouldn’t. Then she thought, that was sort of an odd thing to say. Why would they leave for Pete’s sake? They just got here.
Lipkins hustled out the back and caught Wheeler climbing from the cab of the truck. “What are you doing? Do you know who that is in there?”
“Damned right I do,” Wheeler said.
“Then turn that truck around and get out of here. Let’s stick to the plan.”
“The plan just changed. Those two are mine.”
“Yours? What the hell are you talking about?”
Wheeler got right up against him and when he did, Cal Lipkins felt something he’d not felt in a long time from another man. Fear.
“That cocksucker Jones and his family ruined my life a long time ago. Ruined yours too. Isn’t that what you told me? Time for a little payback.”
“I ain’t hurtin’ some little kid,” Lipkins said.
“Didn’t seem to bother you when we took the girl.”
“She was practically grown. Besides, we didn’t kill her. We left her with supplies and everything.”
“And you think she’s still alive after all this time?” Wheeler laughed at
him, a cruel, contemptuous bark. “Time to get your big-boy britches on, Cal. That girl is dead. If she ain’t, you better go back and finish the job. If you don’t, I will. Same goes for those two out there. When that bomb goes off and the land gets contaminated, I’ll be gone and you’ll get that drilling deal you’ve wanted for so long now. So what’s it gonna be?”
Cal tried to hold Wheeler’s gaze but felt his eyes slip away.
“That’s what I thought. Now get back in there and find a way to separate them. Send the kid outside or something. I’ll take it from there. It’ll be like you had nothing to do with it. You can convince yourself of that, can’t you?”
Lipkins turned and walked away. It felt like the whole thing was suddenly coming undone. But it wasn’t sudden, was it? How had he let himself get to this point? The land was his. So was the gas under it. All he wanted to do was find a way to get it out. But he’d let it turn him into something he wasn’t. He’d let his single-minded objectiveness get the better of him. It was like he had gas on the brain or something. He hadn’t seen things clearly. He’d taken part in a kidnapping? What was he thinking? He wasn’t a monster. He was a farmer.
That’s what he kept telling himself. I’m just a farmer. I’m just a farmer.
When he returned to the office, Cal Lipkins held a stack of papers in his arms.
When Sandy saw the size of the stack her eyes widened. “Boy, Virgil wasn’t kidding. That’s a lot of paper.”
Lipkins set the stack down on top of the table. “Yeah, there’s a mess of it alright.” He glanced at Jonas who was sitting in a chair at the end of the table, his little legs swinging back and forth. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realized that he’d deluded himself into thinking the college girl would be okay. Or had he? They hadn’t bothered to hide their identities. If she lived, she’d be able to pick him out of a line-up with little difficulty. Whether he wanted to admit it or not he’d known all along that she was going to die one way or another. He hadn’t cared at the time. Why should he care now? What was wrong with him? Why did he suddenly feel this way? He didn’t have the answers.
