No Options

by Jennifer Haynie

  At this time of night, the drive took five minutes. When he arrived at the Francis family’s duplex, he paused and listened. The windows were open. A ballgame played. He should know since he’d been watching the same one when the call came. Most likely, Francis’s kids were already in bed and wouldn’t have to witness their father’s arrest.

  Jillian, Francis’s wife, met them at the door. “Gabe, hey...” Her voice faded as she stared at the others. “What are you doing here?”

  He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to make his voice as gentle as possible. “Is Nate around?”

  His sergeant, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, joined them. “What’s going on?”

  Gabe tapped the envelope holding the warrant against his hand.

  Francis’s gaze flicked downward. His eyes narrowed, and he hissed, “Not here, all right?”

  Jillian’s eyes widened. “Nate?”

  “Everything’s okay, honey.” He returned his gaze to his CO. “At least let me get some shoes on.”

  Without another word, he headed toward the stairs. His steps turned into a run.

  Crap. Gabe shoved his way inside, nearly knocking Jillian off her feet. He steadied her, then raced up the stairs. Just as he reached the top, the lock on the bedroom door clicked. Something scraped. “Nate, don’t!”

  Gabe slammed into the door. The frame cracked, but he bounced off. Francis must have shoved a dresser in front of it. Downstairs, Jillian started screaming. Gabe ignored her and put his shoulder into the door. More cracking but no give.

  A child began crying somewhere.

  Gabe stepped back a few feet. He charged the door and leaped upward. The flimsy wood gave way. He tumbled across a dresser and slid to the floor. With a hand on his gun, he sprang to his feet, only to see Francis whip around. His Glock pointed at Gabe’s heart. Adrenaline shot through him. He drew his pistol. “Nate, I’m sorry. I’ve got to arrest you. I’ve got no choice in the matter.”

  The muzzle of the gun quivered as he kept it aimed at the major. “I’m not going! I had no choice but to help Sal, you understand?”

  “I’m sorry, but Abigail may be dead right now. I need to bring you in, okay?” Gabe tried to tune out the crying down the hall that increased in volume. “C’mon. Put the gun down. Talk to the investigators. I’m sure you can work something out with them.”

  “I-I can’t.” Francis’s eyes had widened with fear. “I talk to them, I die. You understand?”

  “You won’t die.”

  Francis shook his head. “You don’t know Sal! And his family. Cartels, man.” The trembling worsened. “You know what they do to traitors? And their families?”

  “Nate—”

  “I’m not going to let that happen.” Francis’s finger tightened on the trigger. In one smooth motion, he turned the gun toward his own temple.

  Gabe bolted toward him. “No!”

  A gunshot blasted through the air.

  Sunday, April 23 2017, 2100 hours MDT, near Burning Tree, UT

  Time to do it. Jonathan crouched with six of the others in a gully a klick from the warehouse where Randleman’s beacon had stopped. Docek and Warner had taken up residence on a mesa about a thousand yards from the abandoned uranium mine an hour’s drive east of the airfield. They’d parked along a deserted road, then walked the rest of the way via a dry streambed.

  “The guards just changed shifts,” Docek reported. “From what we can tell, each has a side of the warehouse.”

  “No activity in the mine itself?” Nabeelah asked.

  “Nope. Guess no one wants radiation poisoning,” Docek replied.

  Their plan was hasty and thrown together, just like some of the missions they’d run when Jonathan was with the Mighty Men. They’d had no choice. Each hour they waited meant another hour that Abigail and Marti might die. He set that aside. He couldn’t think about that ever-increasing risk.

  He peered through a pair of binoculars. Lights glowed from the few windows in the warehouse office. Three SUVs had pulled up and parked along the side of the office. A guard walked near them. Another strolled the length of the back.

  Jonathan glanced at Nabeelah. Like him, she now wore black and white ACUs along with camouflage face paint. Unless she moved, she faded into the scenery.

  “I’m standing by,” Warren stated.

  “Take out the back guard,” Nabeelah murmured.

  Jonathan took a deep breath. The sniper shot from a thousand yards out.

  The man collapsed just as the distant gunshot echoed off the walls of the surrounding mesas. Coyotes began howling to each other.

  Smitty, who lay at the lip of the gully next to Rothstein, aimed a directional listening device toward their targets.

  “What was that?” someone asked.

  Their radio crackled something, and another person stepped outside.

  “Is that normal?” the guard asked.

  His pal shrugged. “Sal says people hunt here all of the time. And hey, I heard coyote tastes good.” Nervous laughter rippled between the two of them before his pal retreated inside.

  Nabeelah twirled her finger in the air.

  Go time.

  With Smitty and Rothstein staying behind to provide cover, David, Jonathan, Nabeelah, Frisco, and Uhler crept forward to the chain link fence. David wielded a pair of bolt cutters. Within moments, they slipped through the fence. Uhler dragged the guard’s body and laid it behind a mess of old crates and pallets. He crouched to guard a ladder leading to the roof.

  David began climbing with a coil of rope over his shoulders. Nabeelah followed, then Jonathan. When he reached the top, he found the other two on overwatch as Frisco and Nesbitt made their way upward. The five of them carefully picked their way along the roof.

  “The vent’s over here,” Frisco whispered into his mic. He led the way to a set of vents near a skylight.

  Nabeelah set down the backpack she’d worn and pulled out a coil of wire. At one end was a clear sphere enclosing a small camera. The better to get an idea of the interior of the warehouse. She handed the coil to Jonathan and knelt. She carefully threaded it into the vent. With her guiding it, he slowly unwound the spool.

  Frisco had a tablet out. He held up his hand in a fist. Stop.

  Jonathan did, and he secured the coil before crowding around the tablet while David and Nesbitt remained on guard duty. The camera provided a 360-degree view of the interior and infrared light. His heart caught. A form sat in darkness. Abigail? Probably. She sagged against her bonds. And Marti? Another motionless form appeared suspended from something. Maybe Marti. He fervently prayed she wasn’t dead.

  What about Sal?

  Most likely in the warehouse office.

  “We have to get in,” he murmured.

  Nabeelah took the tablet from Frisco. “Get the charges ready.”

  Jonathan took over as guard with Nesbitt as David and Frisco worked together more like two men who’d done so for years rather than two who had just met. David rolled out thin lines of Semtex and placed them on the edge of the skylight. Frisco followed with detonators. Soon, red pricks of light glowed like malevolent eyes. The team crept behind another vent and huddled there. 2130 hours. Go time soon. Or blow time, as David had grimly joked during their planning.

  The minutes ticked by too slowly. All around them, the coyotes yowled as if the sniper shot had awakened a whole pack. Or packs.

  Their sounds haunted Jonathan. The sound of loneliness. Of desolation. David had always laughed him off and told him it was like white noise. Hah. No chance of that. He wanted to scream.

  Finally, they faded away. The stillness resumed. He heard someone saying something and could only hope Uhler could take down any additional guards.

  Then more silence.

  Jonathan cocked his head. What did he hear? A truck engine?

  He raised his binoculars, which had an NVG feature in them. “Guys, we’ve got company.”

  “And they’re coming in dark,” David muttered.


  Jonathan frowned. Who on earth would approach the warehouse with lights doused? Then it dawned on him. “Stone.”

  “Huh?”

  “Stone’s coming to get his revenge. Randleman didn’t escape from Stone. He let him go.”

  “When do we go in?” David whispered.

  “As soon as our friends start their little drug war,” Nabeelah replied.

  Jonathan stared at the screen Frisco cradled. His heart caught. Someone had just stepped into the warehouse. Things were about to get dicey.

  Sunday, April 23, 2017, 2120 hours MDT, near Burning Tree, UT

  Pain. It awakened Abigail with its unwelcome presence. Her neck hurt from her head slumping forward. A headache still pounded at her skull, and if she interpreted her neck pain correctly, she’d been unconscious for some time. How long, she had no idea.

  Slowly, she opened her eyes.

  Darkness.

  Lord, I’m scared.

  A peace settled over her. God was with her.

  She noted a sliver of light emanating from underneath a door. Then came the faint sound of men arguing. Where was Marti? She tried her best to peer through the darkness, but she could see nothing else beside that faint glow. She rotated her neck. Aaaah. At least the pain in those muscles diminished.

  She moved her hands. Something bit into her wrists. Handcuffs. They weren’t tight but still secured her hands behind her so she was stuck on the chair. That was a good thing, especially since she wore what could be the literal key to her freedom. She worked the fingers on her right hand. They brushed the charms of her bracelet on her left wrist. Good. They hadn’t taken it off.

  When Abigail turned twenty-five, Mama gave her a charm bracelet and encouraged her to fill it with charms about her life. She’d done so. A cross. Cats. A beach umbrella. A shape of North Carolina. And a handcuff key. As a joke, she’d added a real handcuff key, stating that it looked like a charm, and—who knew?—it might actually come into handy one day. She’d been kidding on that one.

  Now, it could save her life.

  Light flashed overhead. Pain seared her skull, and she scrunched her eyes closed. Her legs flailed. A chain from leg irons clinked.

  Steps echoed.

  Ah, she sat in a high-ceilinged room.

  Carefully, she cracked her eyes open a bit. The light was above her, leaving the rest of the cavernous space in the dark. Gradually, her eyes adjusted.

  A man chuckled.

  Sal.

  Anger flared in her gut.

  He stepped into the golden glow, only this time, he didn’t remind her of the commanding officer she’d respected and admired for over five years. No, what with his dark blue shirt, khaki trousers, and black loafers, he looked like what she now knew him to be, head of a high-powered drug family. The gold chain she’d occasionally caught glimpses of and gold watch he’d said was a college graduation gift completed the picture.

  A smirk curved his lips. “Welcome to our little hideout, Abigail.”

  “Where’s Marti?” she demanded.

  “Oh, no worries about her. She’s fine.”

  Behind her back, her fingers clenched. “Fine, as in she’s still alive, or fine, as in you already killed her?”

  “The former.” He approached her and put his hands on his hips. “When I authorized you to conduct the investigation on the Mighty Men, I knew you would find nothing.”

  She fought a smile. He didn’t realize Jonathan’s written testimony existed. Fine by her.

  “Only I never expected you to go behind my back with another, off-the-books investigation. You never should have done that.”

  “You lied to me last year. You never assigned the Athena file to anyone because you were the one who stole it. And Katrina Miller paid the price.”

  “She did, didn’t she?” He stopped mere inches from her knees. “I needed her help, and I knew she wouldn’t go quietly.”

  “But to murder her?” She hated staring up at him!

  “A mere necessity.” He pulled the band holding her hair in a ponytail. “You’re a pragmatic person as well. You understand, as an officer of the law, that sometimes we must make difficult choices.”

  “Not on that level.”

  “Maybe not.” He sifted some of her hair through his fingers. “You know, Abigail, when I first met you, I was drawn to you, yet something about you held me back.”

  “I don’t sleep with my CO.”

  “Exactly. That same integrity will now be your undoing.” He pulled back, thankfully. “Your investigation and that of your brother has drawn others into the fight, has it not?” He turned his head. “Guillermo! Bring Mr. Randleman.”

  “Wait. Rupert Randleman?” Yeah, she remembered him. Too well.

  The door opened, and four men walked in, one caught between two others, the Boulder trailing behind them. Another bulb snapped on, illuminating more of the interior but still keeping the other end of what she realized was a warehouse in the dark.

  Sal turned away as the two guards holding Randleman shoved him to his knees. The man quaked from head to foot, and he tried to free his hands, which were bound behind his back.

  Plastic crinkled, and her blood chilled.

  She sat on a killing floor.

  “Mr. Randleman, while serving his purpose for a while, has outlived his usefulness.”

  Randleman began crying, a pitiful sound that would have made her laugh had the circumstances not been so dire. “I served you! Let me go! Spare me. Please!”

  Sal approached him. “Why? So you can betray me like you did your boss? I think not.”

  The crying turned to sobbing.

  Abigail began praying, something, anything, to make Sal change his mind. Her grip on her handcuff key tightened. She needed to free herself.

  Fast.

  Sal pulled out his pistol, a silver one with a pearl handle. He held it to the back of Randleman’s head. The gunshot echoed through the warehouse.

  Abigail flinched as Randleman crumpled to the floor. Nausea crept into her gut.

  Sal muttered something in Spanish.

  Two guards wrapped the body in plastic and carried it from the room.

  Oh, no. More layers underneath.

  The Boulder approached Sal and murmured something into his ear.

  Sal stared at him for a moment and asked a question in Spanish. The Boulder answered in the negative.

  Sal’s jaw clenched. He stepped forward and popped Abigail across the jaw.

  It startled more than hurt her. She stared. He’d taken out his angst related to whatever news he’d received on her.

  “That, Abigail, is what will continue to happen if you do not answer my questions. Who knows about your investigation? Who has all of the files?”

  “I’m not quite sure I understand.”

  He slapped her again.

  Oh, that one hurt like the dickens. Blood from her split lip trickled down her chin.

  He began circling her. “Who knows about that? Does Gabe? Was he with you this weekend?”

  “Darned if I know where he went.”

  Sal sighed and shook his head as if she’d been an errant schoolgirl delivering the wrong answer. He muttered something to The Boulder, who stepped to an electrical panel by a hallway leading to the door. “You need to learn that your answers—wrong answers, that is—have consequences for others.”

  Sal tucked the gun into his belt at the small of his back. “As you can see, Abigail, I am quite pragmatic when it comes to protecting my freedom. I may have lost my career in the Army and, it seems, my brother Enrique, but I still have Los Jaguares. Now. Let’s talk about your answers and the impact they may have on Marti.”

  He nodded to his henchman, who hit a switch.

  Something hummed, and a pulley with a chain dangling from it, began moving their way.

  Marti, handcuffed, hung from the chain. Blood ran down her face.

  “No!” Abigail’s cry echoed in the warehouse. “Sal, no, this is—”
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  “Ridiculous? Cruel?” He smirked.

  “She’s not dead, is she?”

  “Not yet.” He bent so their faces were inches apart. “That now depends on you.”

  The Boulder approached with a bucket of water. He threw it on Marti, who awakened with a shriek. She struggled, but her bare toes only brushed the plastic beneath her.

  Sal straightened. “Now that she’s awake, let me refresh your memory on what we did to Katrina Miller when getting that password we so badly needed. You probably read all about her injuries in the ME’s report. We beat her.” Sal approached Marti and turned. “Of course, being a good soldier trained to resist, she said nothing. We then raped her. Once more, she took it without a word. We went to work on her toes since we needed her hands intact. We started with her little toe. When we were cutting off her big toe, she gave us the password.”

  Abigail flinched. I’m going to throw up. No, she couldn’t. Not and live another day. Once more behind her back, her fingers shifted the key so it lay against the plate of the cuff on her opposite hand.

  “I’ll start with Marti, Abigail, and if you don’t tell me anything, then she’ll make the same exit as Rupert, minus a few appendages.”

  “Don’t tell them anything, Abigail!” Marti shouted.

  That earned a slap from Sal.

  Where is it? Abigail frantically searched for the hole on the plate.

  “Who has copies of the files?” he asked. “I know you would be smart enough to leave a copy with someone. Who?”

  Marti thrashed. “Don’t tell him.”

  He hit her in the stomach. Breath and bile whooshed out of her. She moaned.

  There! The key slid into the tiny hole.

  “I’m waiting on an answer, Abigail.”

  With a deep breath, Abigail turned the key. The cuff fell away from her wrist. She kept her hands behind her back and forced herself to hold back as Sal exacted his frustration on Marti. Below her breath, she mumbled, “You’re a killer, Sal Torres. More than that, a traitor.”

  He paused. “What did you say?”

  “You’re a killer, Sal Torres. And a traitor.”