The Olympus Device: Book Three (18 page)

Dusty returned, his gaze fixated on the duffle bag sitting by the door. Inside was the rail gun, the object responsible for all of the chaos and strife. Now, another life had been pulled into the swirling tempest of agony and mayhem that seemed to loom over the device.

Some small voice in his head shouted for reason and calm. It tried to remind the Texan that the rail gun was only a
thing
…. and couldn’t be responsible for the pain and anger surging through his core.

A device with so many possibilities
, the reasonable voice tried to argue.
You’ve suffered so much, paid such a high price already… don’t give in to the devil now
.
Don’t let the need for retribution and vengeance overwhelm your soul
.

But that voice was weak, barely a whisper as compared to the overwhelming chorus that called for him to lay waste to those responsible for stealing his freedom, his life, and now his son.

A thunder pounded in the Texan’s head, the cadence of war drums driven by the heart of a slayer, a warrior bent on the absolute annihilation of those who would harm his loved ones. A vision of Andy as a toddler popped into the father’s mind, the unsteady infant smiling with joy as he took early steps into his dad’s comforting arms.

That happy image was replaced with a dark and foreboding visual – Andy as a young man, bound and gagged, eyes wide with fear and uncertainty. Would they torture him? What kind of death would befall his own flesh and blood if he didn’t give the kidnappers what they wanted? The father could hear the son’s screams for mercy.

Dusty made up his mind. He took a step toward the rail gun, ready to grind all of mankind into dust, wanting to pulverize every symbol and cell of humanity. He was halfway to the case when a faint sound drifted through the boiling cloud of fury that roared in his head.

Another step and the distant siren became louder.

He was within reach of the weapon when Grace’s words finally cut through the fog of hatred. “Dusty? Dusty… please… don’t.”

Something in the woman’s tone stopped the Texan, giving him pause at the edge of no return. Her softness pulled him back from the abyss, kept him from stepping into a state from which he could never return.

Dusty paused, trying to push her from his head. She was mother, sister, wife, woman, and giver of life. She was nurturing. She was balance.

The darkness again was winning, pulling the Texan away from her call. She was vulnerable. She didn’t understand. His arm reached for the rail gun, nothing but coiled rage and cold murder in his soul.

“Dusty! I’ve lost a child, too,” Grace pleaded. “Remember my wall of pictures? I’ve been where you are, I know what you’re feeling. I lost everything. Don’t. Please don’t tumble down that hole. You’ll never come back.”

Somehow, her words resonated, cutting their way through the hatred and bile that filled his throat, distracting his single-minded lust for vengeance. He paused, looking at her with blank, blinking eyes, staring like a man who didn’t know who or where he was.

“What did you say?” he mumbled.

“I reminded you I've lost a husband and child. I don’t want to lose you, too. Please… listen to me. Talk to me. Share with me. It will help.”

“I’ve got to save Andy,” he replied numbly. “This is all my fault… and I’ve got to make it right.”

“And how are you going to do that?” she asked calmly. “You don’t know where he is.”

“They’ll tell me where he’s being held,” came the cold, hollow response. “They’ll bring him to me after I’m done with them. I will heap their bodies shoulder high, and the blood will flow in rivers. They’ll gladly bring me my son before I send them all to hell.”

Mitch realized his brother was bordering on losing all control. And who could blame Dusty? The weeks of unending stress, violence, and uncertainty were taking their toll. “Dusty, chill for a bit, brother. You’re freaking me out. Let’s sit down for a minute and talk this through.”

With Grace on one side, Mitch on the other, they guided the Texan to the couch. As an afterthought, Mitch switched off the television – just in case.

“We all want Andy back, safe and sound. Let’s talk this through, plan it out. Rushing off half-cocked and mad isn’t going to accomplish what we want,” Grace reasoned.

With soft voices and gentle words, they talked and talked, slowly bringing the Texan out of his accelerating spiral of hatred.

After thirty minutes, Dusty’s adrenaline dump was wearing off, his reason and logic slowly returning. An hour after learning of his son’s abduction, he was finally talking sense. Two hours later, he began to work on a plan.

Then exhaustion hit the distraught father, a series of yawns quickly followed by burning, itching eyes. “I need to go to bed,” he announced. “Getting that mad is enough to tire a man out.”

After saying their goodnights, Dusty shuffled off to dreamland, Grace and Mitch hanging back. Both were eager to talk.

“That was close,” Mitch stated. “Dusty’s always been about the most stable, sane man I’ve ever met. But he was right at the edge. We’re lucky.”

Grace nodded, “Yes, and who knows how many people would’ve died if he hadn’t pulled back. It’s a scary thought.”

“Let’s hope he can get some sleep. In the meantime, I think we should hide the rail gun.”

Grace thought about Mitch’s suggestion for a bit, and then shook her head. “No, if he figured it out, it might send him down that path again. We have to trust him. He’ll be okay.”

Mitch finally agreed. “Let’s hope they find Andy… or change their mind… or confess. And let’s hope they do so damned quick. Dusty may have calmed down, but don’t you think for one minute he’s forgotten about his son.”

“I can’t blame him,” Grace said. “But right now, we need cool, collected, clear thinking heads. Let’s hope that’s what we have when he wakes up in the morning.”

Shultz and Monroe landed in Austin, the director demanding both men be pulled from their ongoing investigations and assigned immediately to the Weathers kidnapping.

Their assignment made sense, the two men having the most experience with both the Olympus Device and the Weathers family. Neither of the lawmen was happy with being selected.

“Every time I hear the words Olympus Device, I get a headache,” Shultz informed the senior agent. “Both of us have almost bought a 6 x 3 dirt farm chasing that damn thing around.”

“That’s not to mention all of the hospital time,” Monroe replied. “I’ve spent more time on my back being a pin cushion than all of my other cases combined.”

Shultz nodded, still full of apprehension. “Such is the life of a government servant. We don’t get to pick and choose, I guess.”

Trying to make the best of it, Monroe added, “I suppose. On the bright side, we both get one more shot at closure on this cluster fuck. That wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

“It’s the only black mark on my record,” Shultz confessed. “Sure would be nice to move this file to the win column.”

Their first stop was Central Hospital, the current location of the only eyewitness to the abduction.

After exchanging greetings with the local agent guarding the door, the two men entered the intensive care room to discover the wounded man lying with closed eyes, his head wrapped in a thick bandage.

The guard came in behind the two newcomers, glancing at his co-workers and whispering, “He was awake long enough to provide a description of the man who attacked him. It was pretty thin. Early 30s, excellent physical condition, dark, short hair. That was about it.”

“And the gas company van?”

“We found it about an hour ago. The inside was clean as a whistle. No witnesses, no security cameras in the area. Whoever did this job knew their shit.”

“Sounds like we’re at a dead end already,” Shultz replied. “Any witnesses at the university? Any security cameras in the dorm?”

“Yes, there were video units in the building’s lobby, but we’re not going to get much. According to the techs, the two men who entered were wearing standard gas company uniforms, down to the work boots. Both of them knew exactly where the cameras were and kept their baseball hats low. You can barely see their chins.”

“Shit,” Monroe said, louder than he intended.

“The tattoo,” came a croaky voice from the bed. “He had a tattoo on his right forearm.”

All three of the standing agents moved toward their wounded colleague, the local man speaking first. “Rick? Rick, are you talking about the guy that hit you?”

“CAG,” sounded the horse whisper. “It said CAG with a lightning bolt.”

They tried for another few minutes to draw more out of the witness, but didn’t learn anything of value.

Stepping outside, the three conferred over the new information. Monroe was skeptical. “How can we be sure he’s talking about the same incident? Given the shock his brain has endured, he could be thinking of just about anything… or nothing at all.”

“But it’s all we’ve got to go on,” Shultz responded.

“I’ll call downtown and get somebody doing a search across the databases,” added the Austin agent. “Can’t hurt.”

Monroe and Shultz left the hospital, neither man optimistic over the new information. “Let’s head to the crime scene, maybe we’ll see something everybody else has missed.”

Climbing into the passenger seat, Shultz withdrew his smartphone and starting searching for the letters, “CAG.” The device displayed a long list of possible meanings, but one stood out. “Combat Applications Group,” he muttered, pressing on the screen to dive into more details.

A few moments later, a shocked Shultz looked over at the driver, “Delta Force.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“CAG is an abbreviation for Combat Applications Group… that’s Delta Force… like that old action movie.”

“Is that even real? I thought all that was a myth?”

“No sir, according to several different sources, it exists and is very real.”

Monroe still wasn’t buying it. “Even so, why would an elite Special Forces unit want to kidnap Andrew Weathers? They’re supposed to be on our side.”

“Maybe they want the rail gun? I mean, everybody keeps saying what a professional job this was. Didn’t that agent back at the hospital even say it was executed with military precission? And now we have a potential tie in between a Special Forces unit and one of the attackers? Didn’t I read in Armstrong’s dossier that he commanded the boys pulling the dark ops? We should dig into this, sir.”

The senior man didn’t like Shultz’s answer, the wrinkles on his forehead growing deeper. “Let’s get on the phone with somebody from this mythical unit, and see if they can shed any light on tattoos and rail guns.”