Rogue Operator (9 page)

It was
an honest answer. In fact, this trip was pretty stupid. It was pitch black, it
was an abandoned airfield in the middle of nowhere. If there was something to
find, they wouldn’t find it until morning, and besides, they were officially
off the case.

And if
they needed backup, it would be a long time coming.

“You
don’t know?”

He
shrugged his shoulders.

“Not the
answer you were expecting?”

Jamie
reached into her purse and pulled out a protein bar. Before he could ask if she
had another, she stuck it in his face.

“Thanks,”
he said, taking the bar and tearing it open with his teeth as she retrieved a
second bar for herself.

“Oh, it
was the answer I was expecting, it just wasn’t the answer I was hoping for.”

He
chewed on the gooey mass, using it as an excuse not to answer. She was right.
This was stupid. It was his stubborn pigheadedness that had them roaring across
the evaporation pads, toward an airfield without a single light on it four
hours after sunset.

He
swallowed.

“You’re
right, this
is
stupid.”

“I
didn’t say that.”

“But you
were thinking it.”

“What,
you’re a mind reader now?”

“Hey,
don’t think I don’t notice that when you think I’ve said or done something
stupid, you reach for a protein bar. You’re trying to occupy your mouth so it
doesn’t spout off what your mind is thinking.”

“Am I
that transparent?”

“To me
at least.”

“I’ll
have you know, sometimes I’m just hungry.”

“So
other times, I’m right?”

He saw
her shrug her shoulders, and take another bite. He sighed.

“Okay,
fine, I’ll turn us around after these cars pass.”

Two
pairs of headlights were heading toward them, fast. Percy took his foot off the
gas, his rearview mirror clear, as the two vehicles whipped past them. He felt
his heart slam into his chest.

“Did I
just see what I think I just saw?”

“If
you’re thinking you saw two black SUV’s breaking the speed limit, drafting each
other as if on a NASCAR track, then yes, you
did
see what you think you
saw.”

Percy
slammed the brakes on, cranked the wheel and reached for the switch to turn on
the integrated cherries on their unmarked car when he felt Jamie’s hand on his.

“How
’bout we follow them?”

He
nodded, hitting the gas, the car rushing forward.

“That’s
assuming they didn’t spot us turning around.”

They
raced after the two vehicles, their speed approaching eighty miles per hour, when
suddenly there was a blaze of red in the distance.

“Shit!
Brake lights!”

“Guess
they spotted us.”

“Not
hard to at this time of night,” said Percy, easing off the gas. “But what do
you think they mean to do?” The vehicles appeared to now be beside each other,
each set of taillights clearly visible as they approached. He reached forward
and flipped the switch, their blue and red lights now flashing across the road
and the embankments extending toward the evaporation ponds. In the distance the
glow of home, the glow of Ogden radiated across the horizon.

A home
too far away to help them if they were about to get in trouble.

Flashing
from between the vehicles caused him to slam on the brakes, the muzzle flashes
unmistakable. He ducked down, as did Jamie, as bullets slammed into the front
of the car. Putting the car in reverse, he hit the gas as the bullets continued
to pound the engine compartment and windshield.

Jamie
was on the two-way, trying to call in for backup, as he slumped down, driving
blind, his only view an occasional glimpse from Jamie’s mirror. There was a pop
and a hissing sound, and a quick glance up showed the engine was fried, steam
pouring out from under the hood, the windshield quickly blackening with oil and
water. The car coasted to a rest and Percy pushed open his door, then stepped
out at a crouch, scrambling behind the car.

The
gunfire continued, and he could smell gas, the fuel line probably having been
cut at some point. Jamie yelped as he heard her door open, it met with a hail
of gunfire that tore through the feeble protection. “Backup’s on the way, ETA
twenty minutes!”

We’re
not going to last that long.

“Can you
pop the trunk?” he yelled.

There
was no reply, and he began to worry she had been hit, when the lid popped a
fraction. He peered around his side of the vehicle, and could see several
silhouettes approaching, still about fifty feet out. He dropped to his belly,
and took aim at the feet he could see. It would be a difficult shot, but a safe
one. Breathing in, he slowly exhaled as he squeezed the trigger. The bullet was
low, the ricochet spraying their attackers with shards of pavement and
shrapnel, causing them to at least turn away.

He fired
again, raising his weapon slightly, and was rewarded with one of the men
dropping. He fired several more rounds, emptying his clip, then reloaded. As he
did so, Jamie joined him, the break in enemy fire finally permitting her
escape.

“Get the
shotgun from the trunk and load it with as many rounds as you can.”

She
nodded and threw up the trunk lid as he took aim again and fired. Another cry
and another empty clip. He didn’t know how many he had hit, he was guessing
two, but how many they were facing he had no clue. There could be as little as
four from what he could see, but there could be more in the SUVs.

He
rolled on his back and reloaded. He only had one more clip after this one.

“How’s
it coming with that shotgun?”

“Almost
there—”

She was
cut off by a hail of bullets, their attackers finally regrouping, but this time
they had taken a page out of his book, and were firing low. Jamie cried out and
dropped beside him, the glow of the taillights revealing the agony.

“Where
are you hit?”

“Leg!”

She
reached for the wound then jerked several times, her body spasming as bullet
after bullet ripped under the car and tore through her body. Percy gagged,
reaching out for her, pulling her from behind the car toward him and the
protection the tires were providing, but it was too late. The moment he touched
her he could feel it was a dead weight he was pulling. He tugged, and her body
rolled over, her lifeless face staring up at him as tears filled his eyes, and
rage filled his heart.

He
grabbed the shotgun from her hands, chambered a round, and with a roar, rose
from behind the car, raising the shotgun to his shoulder, pressing his cheek
against the butt, and when the first silhouette was in his sights, fired. The
gun kicked back against his shoulder as he pumped the grip, ejecting the spent
round and chambering the next. He took aim again, and fired, repeating the
process until all six rounds had been fired.

Tossing
the spent weapon aside, he retrieved his handgun from his belt, and continued
to fire, arcing out from the car, the only clue as to where he was in the pitch
black, his muzzle flash. In the confusion of his counterattack, their attackers
were in retreat, dragging the bodies of two of their comrades, firing blindly
at the car. He took aim and dropped one of them, the only man remaining
standing letting go of his fallen comrade and rushing toward the safety of the
SUVs.

Percy
aimed carefully, and squeezed.

The
crack of the weapon was followed by the man hitting the ground. The brake
lights on the SUVs dimmed and he heard the engines roar as they both peeled
away, leaving their fallen comrades behind. Percy cautiously continued toward
the downed attackers, several feet below the embankment, his weapon still
pointing at the motionless bodies. When he had reached their position, he
climbed the embankment, and quickly rushed forward, kicking any weapons away,
then with his shoe, kicking each body to see if they were alive.

One
groaned.

Percy secured
the man’s wrists with a zip tie from his pocket, then checked his wound. He
found a wet patch on the man’s shoulder, but with nothing but the light from the
moon and stars to work by, there was nothing he could do.

And he
didn’t much care.

Part of
him wanted the fucker to die, but another part wanted him to live long enough
to be questioned. Then die.

He
needed answers. He needed to know why two families had been kidnapped. Why a
helicopter had been used. Why the military was involved. Why it was the first
instinct of these men to shoot at a car that might be following them, without
knowing who was inside.

And he
had to know why his partner had to die.

Mona Reservoir, Utah

One Day after the Kidnappings

Sheriff Jack O’Neill pulled up in his pickup truck and slapped it in
park. He pulled the mike off the dash radio, and clicked the push-to-talk
button. “Martha, this is Jack. I’m on the north side of the reservoir, checking
on our scientist friends, if you need me, over.”

“Roger
that, Sheriff. While I’ve got you, Billy’s going out to pick up some food. Did
you want anything, over?”

O’Neill’s
mouth opened, knowing exactly what it wanted as his stomach growled. He looked
down at it, protruding a little too far out for his liking.

He
clicked the button.

“Tell
Billy I’ll pass. Over and out.”

He hung
up the mike and climbed out of the truck. There was a late model sedan parked
nearby, Utah plates, most likely belonging to the three scientists he had come
to expect this time every year. They had been visiting the same lake like
clockwork for as long as he could remember—first Saturday of May. As far as he
could tell, they were great guys who always cleaned up after themselves, always
bought local, every year buying new gear much to the delight of Chip at the
local general store. They spent little time in town, but when they did, they
were always friendly, generous tippers at the diner, and so polite, he at first
thought they were Canadian.

“What’re
you talkin’ aboot, eh?” had cracked one of them, Phil if he recalled correctly.
There had been a belly full of laughs from everyone present.

Good
guys.

Two of
whom may have just had their wives and kids abducted.

O’Neill
frowned as he walked past the car, toward the shore where he could see their
three tents fluttering in the breeze. He hated delivering bad news. It was rare
anything untoward happened in Mona. Usually it was hunting accidents, the
occasional car crash, and last year there was that freak lightning storm that
had killed Old Man Keller when a tree fell on his cabin. O’Neill had had to
tell his two grown sons. They had both cried like babies.

Just as
he had when his pop had died from cancer a few years back.

Nope,
nothing exciting happened here, which was just the way he and the residents
liked it. The youngsters were desperate to get out, at least some of them, but
quite often they ended up coming back, big city life not all it was cracked up
to be. Some did tough it out, but quite often they would retire back home after
they were done with the rat race.

He
kicked at a rock, and it skipped a little farther than he was expecting. He
winced as it hit one of the tents, rolling up the side, then back down. He
looked out on the lake for their boat, but didn’t see it. Nor was it onshore.

He
stopped, hands on his hips, staring out.

God’s
country.

There
was no one. In another month it would be filled with tourists, but not now. It
was too cold for most, and there were other lakes that most of the brave souls
took to, with cabins and heaters.

But not
these three. They were definitely hearty souls.

But
where the hell are they?

His
alarm bells were going off. He had spent thirty years on the force in Seattle,
finally “retiring” here as Sheriff. It kept him busy, in the job he loved, in
his home town, with none of the stress the same job in the city entailed.

And that
experience had taught him to pay attention when his spine tingled.

Something’s
wrong.

He stood
at the edge of the water and stared, scanning the shoreline to see if they
might be pulled up on the other side for some reason, but found nothing. Then
he started to look at the water itself, and his heart leapt.

Running
back to the truck, he didn’t look back, he just prayed what he had seen was an
optical illusion, a trick of the waves. He reached in the truck and grabbed the
binoculars, spinning around and scanning the water where he had seen what he
hoped wasn’t real.

His
heart sank.

He
reached inside and grabbed the mike off the dash.

“Martha,
this is Jack. Better get Randy and his crew out here. We’re going to need
divers in the water. Over.”

As he
contemplated the search ahead, another thing nagged at him as if the old days
in the city were still pulling on the strings of his subconscious.

Their
families get kidnapped, and these guys go missing on the same day?

“No
fuckin’ way.”

Salt Lake City International Airport, Salt Lake City, Utah

Today, Five Days after the Kidnappings

Dylan Kane stepped off the plane, refreshed after taking advantage
of a true sleeper seat on his Thai Air flight from Bangkok to LA. He gave a
wink to one of the flight attendants who had been particularly attentive on the
last leg of his trip. She extended her hand.

“Thanks
for flying Delta.”

He
smiled, clasping her hand with both of his.

“It was
indeed a pleasure.”

He felt
something pressed into his hand as she withdrew hers, and he closed his fist
around it so the other passengers wouldn’t notice. As he exited the jetway, he
looked in his palm and found a small piece of folded paper. He opened it and
smiled.