Devil's Brigade (Trackdown Book 3)

by Michael A. Black

  Smith pointed to another door, this one metal and obviously in working order, that was on the back wall.

  “On the other side of that wall’s another room,” Smith said. “Look like a loading dock. Secured by a big overhead door.”

  They came to another pile of what appeared to be stacks of rippled fiberglass panels. Smith stopped and squatted down.

  “Grab that other end there,” he said. “It ain’t heavy.”

  A couple of small lizards scurried off the fiberglass as Cummins reached down to lift it. After putting the stack aside, Cummins saw a hinged, stainless steel door fitted into a triangular cement base. A keyed handle, shiny as a new nickel, was centered halfway down the left side.

  “You got to unlock it from the other side,” Smith said, grinning. “There’s a ladder that goes down to a flat area next to the ramp that’s connected to the tunnel. There’s another set of doors so you can’t see the ramp unless you know it’s there. The tunnel’s about thirty feet down and it’s big enough to drive a fucking pickup truck through. Goes all the way back to the bunker.”

  “The bunker?”

  “Yep.” Smith pulled out another cigarette and lit it up, blowing out a wispy haze of smoke as he continued. “Back in the day, when the fort was operational, they built this underground bunker. It was for the command staff in case of a nuclear emergency. There was an engineering company stationed here and they were told to do all the construction work. A couple of them got this idea to extend the tunnel all the way over to here, so they could sneak shit in and out of the fort undetected.” Smith’s lips curled back over his teeth in a smirk. “You know, black market stuff to sell, as well as bringing booze and whores in and out.” He waved his arms at the empty building. “That’s what this place was before, back in the day. A whorehouse.”

  Cummins looked around, trying to imagine the place in its heyday.

  “And the tunnel’s still there?” he asked.

  Smith nodded. “It’s built like a brick shithouse.”

  “It’s got to be a long hike all that ways,” Cummins said, moving to the window and looking out toward the very distant fort.

  “It’s a ways, all right, even to the bunker,” Smith said. “But our lazy-ass colonel’s got some golf carts that he keeps down there. Shouldn’t take us that long at all.”

  And it would be a lot easier to transport Cherrie and the kid in a damn golf cart than pulling them both along on foot.

  “Where’s the entrance to this bunker?” Cummins asked.

  Smith took one last drag on the cigarette and tossed it through the door as a larger lizard scaled the empty doorjamb.

  “You know that big auditorium building where you took the oath?” he said.

  Cummins nodded.

  “It’s in the basement,” Smith said, with a crafty smile. “Right next to the fucking vault. There’s a sliding metal door underneath the stairs. I’ll show ya when we get back.”

  Cummins smiled and nodded.

  Things were starting to take shape. All he had to do now was time it so that he could get hold of Wolf and have him bring that damn bandito here.

  The Pittsfield Building

  Phoenix, Arizona

  The drive through the night from Bendover had taken them a little less than fifteen hours, which they’d done in shifts so no one got overly tired. They’d stopped for food one time, for gas twice, and once again along the freeway to allow Zeus, aka Booker Nobles, to empty his bladder while standing by the side of the road. Wolf temporarily removed the handcuffs but left the leg irons on. Nobles had complained that he couldn’t urinate while Wolf and McNamara were watching.

  “That’s something you better get used to, where you’re going,” McNamara said. “Now get to it or we’ll zip you up in one of them body-bags and let you piss all over yourself.”

  “You can’t do that,” Nobles said. “It’s against the law.”

  “Listen, asshole,” McNamara said. “Right now, I am the law. Now either complete your business or I’ll tie your fucking body in a knot and say you got shot trying to escape.”

  Something in Mac’s tone convinced Nobles to be cooperative. He was able to successfully urinate and was meek and mild for the rest of the trip.

  After arriving back in Phoenix in the early afternoon, they’d called Manny who met them at Central Detention to assist in getting the bond revocation recorded when they dropped off the prisoner. Ms. Dolly announced that the P-Patrol had a couple pressing engagements back in Vegas and Wolf and McNamara agreed to drop them off at the airport and send them their portion of the recovery fee and reward bonus later. All of them were feeling exhausted.

  “I know y’all are good for it, sugar,” Ms. Dolly said.

  Wolf had more that he wanted to say to Yolanda, like asking her to stay and spend a few days with him but before he could ask, he got the first phone call. It was from that lawyer named Soraces asking that Wolf stop by the law offices of Bailey and Lugget on “a matter of mutual concern and great importance.”

  Wolf agreed, more out of curiosity than anything else, and McNamara agreed to drop him off and then stop back to pick him up after he’d dropped the girls off. His goodbye kiss to Yolanda has been little more than perfunctory due to the audience watching but they made the most of it.

  Best be careful, McNamara had subsequently texted him after he’d dropped him off in front of the Pittsfield Building. Or you’ll end up getting serious with that gal.

  She’s way out of my league, Wolf texted back, set his phone on vibrate, and went inside the building to check the legend. His thoughts once again turned to his bleak financial situation and the lack of anything tangible in his life. It was foolish to think he could go on sponging off Mac’s largess forever. He owed the man way too much as it was, and being an ex-con with DD from the military left him with few options. At this point, there was little he could offer a high-maintenance girl like Yolanda.

  Bailey and Lugget were in suite 402. Wolf pressed the button for the elevator and when the doors open he got in.

  Here goes nothing, he thought.

  The pretty receptionist at the law firm gave Wolf the once-over as she pressed a button on her phone and whispered into it that “Mr. Wolf ” was here. She hung up and stood, giving him ample time to appreciate her svelte figure in the tight-fitting business attire. Wolf had to admit that everything about the office area looked first class. After ushering him down a hallway which had frosted glass doors and fine mahogany frames, she paused, knocked, and opened one of them. She stepped in and to the side, allowing Wolf to enter.

  Richard Soraces looked to be in his late forties as he rose from behind a large desk, his back to an expansive window affording a pleasant view of downtown Phoenix. His blond hair was long and swept back, showing a bit of curl and some artistic and expert coiffing. The charcoal gray suit hung somewhat loosely on his frame, indicating that he had a rather slender build but his grip was firm and strong as they shook hands. He flashed a flawless smile that was either the result of expert orthodontics or dazzling veneers.

  “Ah, the elusive Mr. Wolf,” he said. “We meet at last.”

  He held his hand out toward the chair positioned in front of the desk.

  As Wolf took a seat, the receptionist asked if they needed anything.

  “Coffee?” Soraces asked.

  Wolf, who was actually feeling like he could use some, shook his head.

  Soraces dismissed the receptionist and leaned forward, his elbows on the top of the glass covering of the desk. Stacks of paper were all arranged in symmetrical stacks, each seemingly placed at exact separations. Wolf saw a double-framed photograph off to the left side and since his chair was positioned in the center, he caught a glimpse of the photo. It was an apparent family photo, showing a man, a woman, two children, and a dog. The man in the photo didn’t resemble Soraces.

  “You’re a hard man to get ahold of,” Soraces said. “I appreciate you coming in.”

  “I move
around a lot,” Wolf said, still trying to size the man up.

  “Sort of the embodiment of the peripatetic bounty hunter, eh?” Soraces said and flashed the smile again. When he saw that Wolf didn’t react, it faded and his tongue flicked over his lips. “I know you’re a busy man, and so am I, so if you don’t mind, I’ll cut right to the chase.”

  “I don’t mind,” Wolf said.

  “First, let me say that I’m not from this area.” The smile reappeared. “I saw you looking at the picture on the desk. Actually, I’m employed by another law firm back East. I’m here on a special assignment, under the largess of Bailey and Lugget.”

  “So you work for Fallotti and Abraham?” Wolf asked, tossing out one the mystery names that he knew. He was keen to see the other man’s reaction but it was flat and unexpressive.

  “No,” Soraces said. “I’m based in Maryland but I have done occasional work for Mr. Fallotti in the past. I believe his firm was recently dissolved.”

  Wolf nodded. The guy was sharp and observant. Wolf waited for him to continue.

  “I have been retained by a client, who wishes to remain anonymous,” Soraces said. “To approach you about a matter of certain delicacy.”

  “Anonymous?” Wolf said. “Why’s that?”

  “He has his reasons, which will become clear shortly. It has to do with a certain piece of property that he wishes to acquire. He’s willing to pay a substantial amount for its acquisition.”

  It had to be the bandito and the anonymous client had to be that Von Dien character. Maybe this would provide some answers.

  “What property?” Wolf asked. “I think he has me mixed up with someone else. I don’t have very much.”

  Soraces lifted an eyebrow. “Perhaps the word property was not the best choice of words. It’s actually an item you acquired during your trip to Mexico.”

  “The bandito.”

  “Ah, it’s refreshing to deal with a man who doesn’t mince words.”

  This run-around was starting to wear thin. Wolf was tired and he wanted answers but it was obvious this guy wouldn’t be giving out any unless he was prodded.

  “It’s a pretty sought-after item,” Wolf said, deciding to take the initiative. “But I’m sure you already know that.”

  “Indeed. And since you seem to be a man of action, shall we discuss price?”

  “Not quite yet,” Wolf said. “Why does your client want this bandito?”

  Soraces waited the customary few beats before answering. “He didn’t say.”

  “Any ideas?”

  Again, the customary two- or three-second pause before answering: “I’m not in the business of speculating. My only role is to try to facilitate an agreement and acquisition. Now, am I correct in assuming you have this item in your possession?”

  Wolf took his time answering and decided to be just as evasive. “A lot of people seem to think so.”

  Soraces sighed. “We seem to be backtracking into the avenues of evasiveness. My client is aware that you’ve come under severe hardship over the past few weeks. He wants you to know that although he regrets what has happened, he had no knowledge of or participation in any of it. It was the result of unscrupulous individuals seeking to take advantage of both you and him.”

  Unscrupulous individuals?

  Give me a break, Wolf thought.

  “And,” Soraces continued, “he’s willing to pay you substantial damages, no questions asked, for the inconvenience you’ve suffered.”

  “I’d hardly call two attempts on my life an inconvenience.”

  Soraces raised his eyebrows once again. “Nor would he. And while he does not in any way want to suggest culpability brought on by these rogue elements, he is open to paying substantial reparations, in addition to a finder’s reward.”

  This was getting interesting. Wolf was pretty sure he could keep fencing with his guy all day and not get more than a whole lot more double-talk but he wanted to see just how far “the client” was willing to go.

  “I’m listening,” he said.

  “I’m authorized to do a reparations fund transfer to your bank account today, as a show of good faith.”

  “A reparations fund transfer?” Wolf felt slightly amused at the verbiage.

  “Shall we say, fifty thousand dollars?” Soraces canted his head slightly and Wolf knew the lawyer was trying to gauge his reaction. Wolf did his best not to show him one.

  “Fifty thousand dollars for two attempts on my life?”

  “Yes, that does seem a bit paltry, doesn’t it?” Soraces smiled again. “Why don’t we raise it to say … a hundred thousand?”

  Wolf had to consciously stop himself from showing any reaction whatsoever. This was either a real lucrative, no questions asked deal or one hell of a setup.

  Soraces picked up a cellphone from the desktop and waggled it.

  “If I may have your preferred bank account number I’ll have the money there in an hour. Again, this is a show of good faith. We can discuss adding the finder’s fee later.”

  Wolf was tempted. After all he’d been through, giving up some stupid plaster statue for that amount of money seemed like a no brainer but there was more to it than that. Someone had tried to kill him twice and he still had no total understanding of why. Plus, there was the little matter of what was inside the bandito. He wanted answers more than money and an assurance that he would stop being a target. But he was bush-leaguer compared to these guys … a welterweight in the ring with the heavyweight champ. They knew who he was, and seemingly everything about him, and he was still punching at shadows. Treading cautiously was the best course now, especially as tired as he was.

  “Let me think about it,” he said.

  The space between Soraces’s eyebrows formed into twin creases.

  “We have more to offer, Mr. Wolf.” He waggled the cell phone again. “And I’m not just talking about money.” He pressed a few buttons on the smart phone, then rotated the screen toward Wolf. “We’re also offering something worth much, much more.”

  A frozen video hung on the screen. Soraces punched another button and it sprang to life as an obese man sat at a table obviously engaged in a conversation with an unseen party. The obese man was Jack Cummins.

  “Sure, we set him up over there,” Cummins said. “But that was Eagan’s doing, not mine. Him and Nasim were the ones that killed those ragheads.”

  The image disappeared.

  Wolf was stunned.

  A confession by the man he was seeking … This was all tied not only to the debacle in Mexico but to four years ago in Iraq as well. A confession that could be the proof that could provide exculpatory evidence and maybe get him a new trial, get his conviction tossed out. It was a chance to clear his name.

  He felt a surge of anxiety as his heart sped up. This was it—the Holy Grail, but there had to be a catch.

  You’ve seen the bait, he thought, but don’t swallow the hook just yet.

  Soraces sat there with a triumphant grin on his face. He’d obviously played what he thought was going to be the trump card.

  “Well, Mr. Wolf? I’m told that this was only a taste. Believe me, I’ve been authorized to tell you that the entire video would get you completely exonerated. I’d be available to prepare an appeal to your conviction, introduce this new, exculpatory evidence.” He canted his head to the side and shrugged in a nonchalant manner. “A new trial would be a given. Most likely we’d be looking at an outright dismissal. Imagine, clearing your name, a reinstatement of all rank and benefits, not to mention a lucrative wrongful conviction suit which I’d also gladly handle for you.” Soraces brandished the phone as if he were holding a bar of gold.

  “Well,” he said. “What do you say?”

  It was like a dream come true but Wolf was still a bit mistrustful. Why the sudden overture to play let’s make a deal after two failed attempts on his life? Was it true that the client, whom Wolf figured had to be that Von Dien character, wanted to pay him off? Or would the ultimate
payoff come in the form of a jacketed hollow point?

  This whole scenario was skewed. Wolf knew he wasn’t dealing from a position of strength and didn’t like it. Hell, it wasn’t even a level playing field. He had the bandito, but his adversaries had all the money and power at their disposal. It left him feeling powerless and more than just a little angry.

  Wolf was about to speak when his cell phone chirped with a text. He pressed a button and saw it was from Mac.

  TROUBLE. YOU AVAILABLE? 9 1 1

  The 9 1 1 after the message was their personal signal for something really serious and requiring immediate attention. Wolf pocketed the phone and stood up.

  “You’ve given me a lot to think about,” he said, turning toward the door. “I’ll get back to you.”

  Soraces looked confused. It was clear that he hadn’t expected this reaction.

  “But,” he said. “Our proposal…”

  “I’ll have to get back to you, Mr. Soraces,” Wolf said. “Something’s come up.”

  Soraces nodded, compressing his lips. His nostrils flared a bit and he asked for Wolf’s bank account information.

  “At least let my client follow through with that show of good faith on my client’s part to show our commitment,” he said. “May I have a bank routing and account number?”

  Wolf considered the offer and thought, why not? There was next to nothing in it anyway. He took his bank card out of his wallet and read off the routing and savings numbers. It was amusing to watch Soraces scramble to find a piece of paper and a pen before scribbling them down.

  “Look for the deposits by this afternoon,” Soraces said. “Reparation showing our remorse over your pain and suffering and as a show of our good faith.”