Hellfire- The Series, Volumes 1-3

by Leigh Barker

  “Okay, as one highly trained professional to another, walk me through the impeccable logic that led you to this… conclusion.”

  Now he opened his eyes and gave her a long look. He sat up. “Brigadier General Harper, shot to death outside a diner by two punks. General Davy shot in his car by a Grach Rook firing armour-piercing rounds. In a car.” He gave her a moment to negotiate the traffic lights on amber, by putting her foot down.

  “Colonel Morgan run off the road coming home from Pendleton. See a trend here?”

  “Yes, of course.” Kelsey gave him a stern look. “All amateurs and sloppy.”

  “Correct. And Senator Wakeman? Professional hit. No brass, no prints, no physical evidence at all. And the concierge killed for the surveillance footage.”

  “Agreed, but Wakeman’s murder isn’t linked to the others.”

  “You believe that?”

  “No, not really. Davy was on his committee. Wakeman headed up the procurement subcommittee so probably authorized the purchase of the missile that killed Faraj’s family. Too many coincidences.”

  “That’s what I thought. Except how did you know Davy and Wakeman were linked? The FBI didn’t.”

  “Because I’m a highly trained professional,” she said, with a grin.

  “Touché.”

  “But I still don’t think there’s two shooters.”

  “There are,” Ethan said. “Wakeman’s murder proves it. It was a professional hit. The others were done by stooges.”

  “So Faraj has an accomplice?”

  Ethan looked ahead at the darkening sky. There was a storm coming, probably snow.

  “I don’t know. I just know something doesn’t fit,” he said, and returned to his rest.

  Kelsey glanced at him. He was asleep. Five seconds and he was asleep. That wasn’t natural. She checked her rearview, then stepped on the brakes for a second. Long enough to slam him against his seat belt and wake him up.

  “So what do you propose doing about it?” she said, as if there hadn’t been a break in the conversation.

  “Catch them and ask.”

  “I thought that was what we were supposed to be doing.”

  “It is.” He settled his shoulder against the car door and rested his head on the window. It looked truly uncomfortable.

  She woke him again when they reached the hotel SecNav was paying for, but this time by tapping him on the shoulder. He stretched and reached behind the seat for his bag.

  “You coming up?” He got out and crouched so he could see her. “We could give the Berlin Wall another chance.”

  She chuckled. “I’ll give it a miss tonight. It’s been a big couple of days. And I said I’d call Tessa. She’s with her father.”

  He nodded his understanding. “Say hi from me.”

  “I will. I think she’ll remember you. All those girls will. Forever.”

  “That’s worrying.” He tapped the roof of the car and closed the door.

  As he walked towards the hotel entrance, the first snowflakes drifted past his nose. At least Chuck’s somewhere warm. He hates the cold. He chuckled at the thought of his gunnery sergeant being questioned by agents who had no idea that this man had been captured and tortured, so was not about to break down and cry for his momma because a couple of kids rolled up their Armani shirt sleeves. Maybe Dryer had got him released. But he doubted it, the man was probably busy covering his ass from all angles. Dipshit.

  Half an hour later, he sat at the desk in his room and switched from TV to computer. He logged onto the FBI extranet, just because he could. Then got up and took the four bourbon miniatures from the minibar and lined them up next to the keyboard. A hundred dollars’ worth of booze he could’ve bought for ten dollars at the 7-Eleven. It would’ve broken his heart, if he’d been paying for them. He poured two of them into a glass thoughtfully provided by the hotel for use with its minibar contents.

  The FBI system was no use to him and he returned to Google to find the list of senior officers in all branches of the military, then scrolled through them. He’d done that before, but now he had a better idea what he was looking for. He took his time. He wasn’t going anywhere and it was barely midnight, so the night was young.

  An hour later he gave up and switched back to the TV. The news was showing pictures of Senator Wakeman and telling viewers what a fine man he’d been. They seemed to have forgotten he was a politician, and being a fine man and a politician was an oxymoron. He turned off the sound and watched the pictures. The outside of the senator’s apartment block. Police cars with flashing blues, and men in suits who kept to the shadows. A complete waste of time. They’d find nothing. But they had to look, he accepted that. They started putting up pictures of the dead guy’s friends in high office. As he reached for the off button, they posted a picture of SecAF, a good-looking woman and a great friend and supporter of the senator, apparently. He turned it off.

  He took the last bourbon, lay on the bed and rested against the padded headboard. It was a good room, hell, it was a great room. But he wasn’t sleeping. Too much comfort. He threw the pillows and covers on the floor and joined them. Much better.

  He killed the lights and lay back on the thickly carpeted floor and felt the first hum of sleep as the bourbon did its duty.

  Then he was awake.

  What a bonehead! He got to his feet and dressed as quickly as years of combat had taught him. He was fastening his belt when he hit Kelsey’s number on this cell. A few seconds later she answered.

  “This better be good,” she said, in a sleep-slurred voice.

  “We’ve been looking the wrong way.”

  “Can’t it wait till morning?”

  He thought about it. It had waited this long. And four bourbons weren’t famous for helping coherent thought. “Yeah, I suppose so. Goodnight.”

  She killed the call without answering.

  He got undressed again and lay back on the floor. It would be a while before he slept, he knew that. A minute and a half.

  He’d set his mental alarm clock for six and woke up on the dot, though he didn’t really need to remind himself to wake, he’d been getting up at that time for twenty years, and old habits…

  He showered while he waited for room service to bring him bread rolls and coffee, then he read SecAF’s schedule on the FBI site. He could’ve saved himself some time because when he turned on the TV to watch while he ate the croissants they’d brought instead of the hard bread rolls he’d ordered, she was featured. She was the keynote speaker at the aeronautics conference being held at the Marriot Hotel in DC. Convenient. He turned up the sound and listened to the anchor telling him what a great person she was, and he couldn’t argue, never having met her. She looked okay, competent, at ease, authoritative as a secretary of the air force should be.

  One thing he was certain of, one of Faraj’s stooges was going to try to assassinate her at the dinner. Which would be a shame, he liked her. If it’s possible to like somebody just from what you see in the media.

  He turned off the TV when Kelsey knocked softly on the door. It had to be her, she’d be the one showing consideration for the other guests. He opened the door slowly. “Shhh. Creep in here,” he whispered.

  She cut her eyes at him in a mock scold, but didn’t speak until the door was closed.

  “Have you been in a hotel when people carry on loud conversations in the corridor in the middle of the night?”

  “Couple times.”

  “Then can your sarcasm.” She took off her coat and poured herself a cup of his coffee. “So what was all the panic about last night?” She spotted the empty miniatures on the desk. “Right, I see.”

  “I wish it was booze talking.” He pushed the little bottles into the waste bin. “I had an epiphany when I was going to sleep.”

  She looked at the pile of bedclothes and pillows on the floor. “Yes, that’ll happen if you rough sleep in a four-star hotel.”

  “Bed’s bad for my old back.” He looked in the coff
ee pot, then at her cup and tutted.

  “So, this epiphany you had on the floor after partying.”

  Ethan smiled. “Partying? On four thimbles of bourbon?” He sat on the bed and left the chair in front of the desk for her.

  “We thought… I thought Faraj was working his way down the chain of command, killing the people responsible for the missile attack.”

  “And so have I. It makes sense.”

  “It does, but only if he started at the top.”

  Kelsey thought about it. “The President’s the top. You’ve got… you had your people watching that avenue.”

  “Still do. Chuck’s taking a bit of a vacation, but the rest of the squad’ll take up the slack.”

  “So between the entire Secret Service, and your three marines, that target is secure.”

  He couldn’t tell if she was being facetious, but decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. “Yes, I think he’s safe. Well, as safe as he ever is with every nut-job in the world wanting to make a name by offing him.”

  “Then who?” She thought about it, then stared at him. “SecAF!”

  “Yes,” Ethan said, and pointed at the TV. Still off. “She’s out in the open today. Keynote speaker at a conference here in DC.”

  “You think he’ll try for her here in the capital?”

  “Sure of it.”

  “Then we should inform her office and Dryer.”

  Ethan shook his head. “We have no proof. Her security people will think it’s an FBI ploy to make them look like hicks, running around looking for a ghost. And Dryer? He already thinks I crossed the line putting a tail on the President.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “A bit.”

  “Then what are you proposing?” She raised her eyebrows. “Don’t tell me. We’re going for a quiet stroll. Near the venue for the conference?”

  “The Marriot.”

  She sighed. “I put my sensible shoes in the car this morning. I guess I knew I’d be needing them.”

  Baxter entered the office building sharing access to the park with the hotel, walked across reception as if he belonged there, and took the elevator to the fourth floor. He put his aluminum case down in the corridor and held the elevator door open for a young woman carrying a box of files that was way too heavy for her. She grunted something from behind the cardboard and he let the door slide shut.

  He retrieved his case marked projection equipment in bold blue letters and walked the length of the corridor until he found the door to the roof. He took out his cell and looked over it as he checked that he was alone, then stepped through and closed the door behind him.

  The stairs to the roof were in sharp contrast to the plush carpeted interior. Bare metal rungs littered with debris and junk probably dating back to the day the building went up. He stepped over it, careful not to put his foot in the globs of chewing gum. Why in god’s name do people chew latex? He flinched as he caught a whiff of spearmint.

  He stopped, put his head above the top step and scanned the roof. There was nobody there and he didn’t expect to see anyone, but just blundering up there would be stupid, and that was something he could never be accused of.

  He walked slowly around the edge of the roof, keeping far enough back so he wouldn’t be seen from the ground, until he found the spot he was looking for. He put the aluminum case down next to a block of aircon exhaust fans near the steel window-washing rail that ran around the roof, then double-checked the roof. It was just possible somebody had sneaked up there for an illicit smoke. Nobody.

  He unclipped the case, took out a six-foot plastic sheet and spread it on the roof, then carefully lifted out the Remington MSR sniper rifle and laid it on the sheet. The stock and the bipod were folded so it could be transported without causing a riot.

  He sat on the case and snapped out the stock and the bipod, stood and took a Nightforce NXS scope from the case and screwed it on the muzzle. Finally he snapped in a five-shot magazine and attached the AAC Titan silencer. He turned the rifle slowly in his hands, checked everything was ready to go, then placed it in the middle of the plastic sheet and brought the sides over to tuck it in as if it were his only child.

  Then he walked away.

  Ethan and Kelsey crossed the park to the entrance to the hotel, where the covered steps met the driveway. Ethan looked at his watch.

  “Two hours.”

  “Copy that,” Kelsey said, without taking her eyes off the surrounding buildings. “Where do you think he’ll be?”

  Ethan looked at each building in turn. “The office block to the south or one of those apartment blocks east of the zoo.”

  “How far do you think they are?”

  “Three hundred yards to the apartments. Half that to the office block.”

  “Three hundred yards sounds iffy.”

  Ethan shook his head. “I could make that shot with my Sig.”

  “Hey, you had a Colt at Creech. Sig’s good, but the Colt has the edge on build quality.”

  He looked at her with a puzzled expression. “You’re a gun geek?” He shook his head. “I prefer the Sig. The Colt I got from Mancini back in Vegas. Flying with a weapon is a sure way to get a free vacation in the pokey. Unless you’re FBI.”

  She hadn’t heard most of it. “Gun geek?”

  He quickly changed the subject and waved his hand towards the apartment blocks. “It’s an easy shot with a good sniper rifle and an average sniper,” he said, looking from the apartments to the hotel entrance.

  “Okay, I’ll take the office. You take the apartments.”

  She turned to go.

  “And be careful.”

  She turned back slowly. “Oh, thanks for that advice. I was planning to march in there singing ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’.”

  He shook his head. “No, don’t do that. He’ll hear you.”

  She strode off, leaving his smile hanging in the air like the Cheshire cat’s.

  He left the hotel grounds and headed west for a few hundred yards until he reached the building Baxter had entered two hours earlier. And he reprised Baxter’s entrance, walking through the lobby as if he owned it, then took the elevator to the fourth floor, found the roof door and took the stairs slowly and silently. If the shooter was there, the sound of the city would’ve masked his approach. Ethan hoped.

  He drew his gun and put his head above the top step. Then snatched it back. No shot came his way. He looked again and stayed up. The roof was deserted.

  He walked slowly around the edge of the roof, just as Baxter had. And found the sniper perch. He pulled back the plastic sheet and knelt down. Remington Modular Sniper Rifle, good choice.

  He lay down on the plastic and took the rifle in his hands, then looked through the scope at the couple at the hotel entrance. Perfect position. If SecAF was that woman, he could shoot her top button out.

  Question was, where was the shooter?

  “Show me your hands!”

  “Don’t move!”

  “It has to be one or the other, boys,” he said, and looked over his shoulder very slowly.

  Mancini and Rayford stood ten feet from him, with their weapons pointed at his head.

  “Not such a big man now, Master fuckin’ Sergeant,” Rayford said, and shifted his aim to Ethan’s head.

  “Take the shot,” Mancini said.

  The Hitman

  Ethan watched Rayford’s eyes and knew he was getting ready to fire. There was no way in hell he was just going to lie there and let the agent shoot him without trying to do something. Okay, against a trained agent, doing something wasn’t going to achieve much. But he was going to try.

  Rayford took a breath. He wanted this to be up close and personal.

  “You got a special god, Master Fuckin’ Sergeant?” he said and stepped forward for an easier shot. “Because if you do, now’s the time to—”

  Rayford slammed forward like he’d been hit by a truck, his chest exploding in a crimson spray.

  Ethan had see
n the effects of a .50 cal often enough to know instantly that this is what he was looking at, but didn’t stop to think about it. He rolled to his left and made a space for Rayford’s body to flop down.

  “Sniper!” he shouted and scrambled on his hands and knees behind the aircon extractors lining the edge of the rooftop. He dropped to his stomach and crawled along next to the three-foot-square vent pipes just as a round punched a hole right where he’d been lying.

  “Mancini,” he shouted under the ventilation duct.

  “What?” Mancini said, but his voice was shaking.

  “You dead?”

  “Not last time I checked, but Rayford’s blown to hell.”

  “Yeah,” Ethan said. “I’m all broken up about that.”

  “Ethan?”

  Yeah, all friendly now he was about to get his head splattered.

  Ethan moved again, crawling further along the duct.

  “You see the shooter?” Mancini’s voice was high and strained.

  “No. Hang on.”

  He got to his knees and peered carefully through the gap between two vertical ducts. A hole the size of his fist burst out of the duct, like the alien in the mess hall. He hadn’t heard the shot, so the rifle was suppressed.

  “Shit. This guy is good,” he said to the hole and moved again.

  There was nowhere left but the small space behind the extractor fan in the corner of the roof. He started to move that way, then stopped. The shooter had been up there, the sniper rifle he’d left as bait showed that. So he’d have scouted the roof and would know its layout. He glanced at the tight space. If he went in the corner, there’d be no avoiding the next shot. He backed up, turned and retraced his crawl back to the first hole, got to his knees and looked through it. It’s angle pointed right at the shooter.

  He moved his head out of the way in case the sniper had him in the crosshairs, and from the top floor of the office building just across the street, that was highly likely. A hundred yards at most. He sat back against the illusory protection of the thin galvanized steel ducting. The sniper was a pussy, a kindergarten kid could make the shot at that range. It didn’t make him feel much better; he was still trapped on the roof, far enough from the exit to get more holes than a Baby Swiss cheese before he made it halfway.