The Jordan Quest FBI Thriller Series: Books 1-3: The Jordan Quest FBI Thriller Series Boxset Book 1

by Gary Winston Brown

  Jordan said, “Before we leave, I want to speak to my children.”

  “Of course,” Dunn replied. “Agent Hanover will walk you out.”

  Hanover opened the back door to the Suburban. Emma and Aiden leaned forward and gave their mother a hug.

  “How are you guys doing?” Jordan said.

  “Scared,” Emma said.

  “Me too,” Aiden replied.

  “I know, babies,” Jordan replied. “But we’re going to go to Grandma and Grandpa’s house now. We’ll be safe there.” The day had been as hard on them as it had been on her. She was proud of her children for the strength they had shown under such difficult circumstances.

  “Want to know a secret?”

  “What?” they asked in unison.

  “Grandma and Grandpa wanted to tell you themselves, but I guess I’ll have to do it for them. You guys both have your own rooms now.”

  “Really?” Emma asked. “Cool!”

  “I know!” Jordan shared in her jubilation. “Because we both know how loud your brother is when he snores!”

  “Hey,” Aiden said. “I don’t snore!”

  Jordan teased him. She winked at her daughter. “Like a freight train, right?”

  “More like two freight trains… full of honking geese.”

  “Three freight trains, full of honking geese… playing the bagpipes.”

  Aiden crossed his arms. “Very funny.”

  Jordan gave him a friendly poke. “Just kidding, buddy.”

  “Was not!” Emma said.

  Jordan smiled. “You two be good. Uncle Grant’s going to ride with you. Listen to him and do exactly what he says.”

  “Yes, Mom,” the children replied.

  “All right. I’ll see you soon.” Jordan closed the car door.

  She turned to Director Dunn. “I want to ride with my kids. They’ll be more comfortable if I’m with them.”

  Dunn shook his head. “Not happening. It’s clear that whoever is trying to harm your family has made you their primary target. We need to separate you from them as much for their safety as yours.”

  “And if we’re attacked en route?” Jordan asked. “What happens then?”

  “We break off. LAPD will provide cover until we get to safety. But don’t worry. It won’t come to that.”

  “Forgive me for saying, Director, but I don’t share your level of confidence. Whoever is coming after my family was able to take down the jet and get close enough to me to try to kill me in my room. I wouldn’t underestimate them.”

  “Agreed.”

  “One more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “If we come under fire, you’ll give me a gun. No questions asked.”

  The Director shook his head. “That’s not a very good idea, Mrs. Quest.”

  “You carry a Glock 9-millimeter, correct?”

  Dunn nodded. “It’s standard issue.”

  “A G17M to be exact,” Jordan continued. “Safe action trigger, 17 rounds per clip, twelve- to eighteen-inch wound penetration effectiveness depending on the size of your target and whether your round hits center mass, the chance of which will probably be no more than twenty percent after factoring in heightened awareness, adrenaline, and the fact that your target will most likely be moving, not stationary.”

  Dunn smiled. “You’ve had small arms defense training.”

  “Honest answer?”

  “Please.”

  “I’m probably a hell of a lot more proficient with that weapon than you are.”

  Dunn smiled. “Considering how effectively you were able to defend yourself earlier tonight that wouldn’t surprise me one bit.”

  Commander Callum opened the door to the lead vehicle. “Advance teams are on their way, Director,” he said. “Time to roll.”

  Jordan and Dunn stepped into the vehicle. Callum closed the door behind them.

  Next stop, Farrow Estate.

  36

  ZOE REMOVED ONE of the handguns from its hook in the hidden compartment, racked the weapon, caught the bullet in mid-air as it jumped out of the breech, and checked the clip. “Full,” she said. She fed the ejected round back into the magazine, readied the weapon, and slipped the gun into her waistband.

  Shannon inspected the second gun. “Same here,” she replied. “Walther PPK’s,” she said. “.32 caliber, eight-round capacity. Nice. How are we for ammo?”

  Zoe held up a single box of bullets.

  “That’s it?” Shannon said.

  Zoe nodded. “Afraid so. How much do you want to bet Uncle Emmett and his boys are gun freaks? Which means they’ll be heavily armed.” She poured half the box of bullets into Shannon’s hand and pocketed the remaining rounds. “If you have to take the shot…”

  “… make it count,” Shannon finished.

  “Exactly.”

  Shannon turned to Lily. “You told us you needed to be last through the hatch because you had to engage countermeasures, right?”

  Lily nodded and pointed towards the ladderway. “I released the leaf net.”

  “Are you sure it worked?” Zoe asked.

  “My father and I tested it a dozen times. It’s foolproof.”

  “Not that I don’t trust you,” Zoe said, “But I’d prefer to see that for myself.”

  “You can,” Lily replied.

  “How?”

  “By using the periscopes and night vision cameras.”

  Zoe looked at Shannon and threw her hands in the air. “Sure, why not. Because who would think of building a nuclear fallout shelter and not install periscopes and night vision cameras.”

  “Not me,” Shannon said.

  “Me neither.” Zoe continued. “While I was at it, I’d probably throw in a few more goodies, like maybe a Jacuzzi.”

  Shannon shrugged. “I’m more of a lap pool girl, myself.”

  “Why not both?”

  “I could work with that.”

  “And a bowling alley.”

  “Five or ten-pin?”

  “I’m not fussy.”

  “Mini-putt?”

  “Absolutely. And a batting cage.”

  “Most definitely.”

  “Home gym?”

  “There’s room for a Bowflex.”

  “Basketball court?”

  “Now you’re talking.”

  “Hilarious,” Lily said. The girl rose from her chair and walked across the room. “This,” she said, tapping the side of a six-inch wide metal tube which extended two feet down into the room from the ceiling, “is a periscope. The second one is in my parent’s room. This one rises twelve feet above ground, the second twenty. Dad painted them to look just like tree trunks. They even have branches attached to special collars so that when the periscope turns the branches don’t. It’s ingenious.”

  “Your father was one smart dude,” Zoe said. She lowered the periscope handgrips and looked through the eyepiece. “Hmm,” she muttered.

  “What?” Lily asked.

  “Good thing you’ve got a second one. This one’s broken. I can’t see a thing. Just darkness.”

  “That’s because it’s nighttime,” Lily said. “This is a basic periscope. Which means light needs to reflect off its mirrors for it to work.” She glanced at Shannon and rolled her eyes. “I thought everybody knew that. Duh.”

  “Hey!” Zoe said. “Nobody likes a smartass. Especially when she’s a genius smartass. But point taken just the same.”

  Lily smiled.

  “And the cameras?” Shannon asked.

  “There are four of them,” Lily replied. “Installed in the treetops. All infrared, so we can see in the dark. If you didn’t know where they were, you’d never see them from the ground. They’re camouflaged, too. Together they cover a thousand-foot perimeter so that outside conditions can be monitored.”

  Lily turned on the camera’s display monitor. The screen was divided into four sections. Each gray image captured a different section of the forest. The bottom right corner of the screen glowe
d bright white.

  Zoe pointed to the picture. “How come this one’s not working?”

  “It’s working just fine,” Lily said. “Give it a second.”

  The bright glow disappeared. The picture flickered into view as the ATV drove under the camera. “The lights from the ATV hit the camera lens head on,” Lily explained. “That’s why it whited out.” She tapped the screen with her finger. “That’s Ben,” she said. “He’s the one who killed my parents.”

  “Which direction is this camera pointing?” Zoe asked.

  “This is camera number four,” Lily replied. “It covers the west perimeter of the forest. It points toward us.”

  “Which means he’s driving toward the camera and away from us.”

  Lily nodded. “That would be correct.”

  “And the others?” Shannon asked. “Where’s Basil and your Uncle Emmett?”

  Camera’s one, two and three captured no movement. The forest was quiet.

  “I don’t see them,” Lily said.

  “But if they were still in the forest you would, right?”

  “As long as they’re within camera view, yes,” Lily said. “It would display their image as clear as day.”

  “Looks like they’ve given up trying to find us,” Shannon said. “We should get out of here while we can.”

  “And go where, Shay?” Zoe said. “We don’t have wheels. And I’m pretty sure those three psychos wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave their car keys in the ignition.”

  “We need to examine our options,” Shannon said. “As I see it, we have two choices. One, we stay here for as long as we need to and wait them out, or two, we figure out a way to steal their car and hightail it to the nearest police station.”

  Zoe walked across the room and sat on the sofa. “There is a third option,” she said.

  Shannon stared at her sister. “I’ve heard that tone before,” she said. “I already know I’m not going to like this.”

  “We play their game,” Zoe finished. “But that’ll mean getting a little dirty.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  “About the promise we made to Lily.” She patted the sofa. “Come here, genius girl. Take a seat.”

  Lily sat beside her.

  Zoe put her arm around her. “We promised we’d keep you safe, that we’d never let them touch you again, and that we’d come back for your mom and dad. That’s exactly what we’re going to do.”

  “How?” Lily asked.

  Zoe directed her response to Shannon. She removed the gun from her waistband. “We’re going to take back your house.”

  37

  SHUFFLING OUT OF the front door of his burning home, Tim Crawford dropped the spent fire extinguisher on the veranda and helped Harrison Tasker down the front steps. Tim’s neighbor, Ron White, ran to their aid.

  “You okay, Tim?” White asked.

  “I’m fine, Mr. White,” Tim answered.

  White helped Tim carry Tasker down the stairs. “You’re going to be okay, mister,” he said. “Fire departments on the way.” The old man saw the particles of glass, screws and nails embedded in Tasker’s face and body. “Sweet Mother of God!” he said. “We have to get you to a hospital.”

  Tasker whispered in Tim’s ear. “That can’t happen. You need to get rid of this guy.”

  “I know,” Tim replied quietly.

  Tasker nodded at his Mustang GT parked down the street. “That’s my car.”

  Ron White asked, “Is anyone else in the house?”

  “No,” Tim said. “Just me.”

  “Thank God. Where are your parents?”

  “Police awards ceremony.”

  “Have you called them yet?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Okay,” White said. “I have your dad’s cell number. I’ll take care of it. You two going to be okay if I leave you for a minute?”

  “We’re good,” Tim said. “Thanks, Mr. White.”

  “All right. I’ll be back.”

  Tim watched his neighbor return to the crowd and place the call to his father.

  He turned to Tasker. “Soon as my dad finds out what’s happening here, he’ll make a few calls of his own. When that happens, you’ll never get out of here. The street will be crawling with LAPD before you know it.”

  “Just get me to my car.”

  “You’re in no shape to drive?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “No, you’re not. In case you hadn’t noticed, you’re pretty messed up. No offense.”

  “None taken. It’s all right. I’ve been hurt worse than this.”

  The two shuffled across the street to Taskers car. “So, what are you really?” Tim asked. “Military or something?”

  “Or something.”

  “Delta Force?”

  “The keys are in my pocket,” Tasker replied. “Open the door.”

  “CIA?” Tim asked. He fished out the keys and opened the driver’s door.

  Tasker moaned as the teen helped him into the driver’s seat. A wave of pain shot through his body. He gripped the steering wheel, steadied himself. “There’s a medical kit in the trunk. White box, red cross. Get it.”

  Tim found the kit and handed it to Tasker. “You’re not Delta or Central Intelligence Agency,” Tim said. “That leaves NSA. You’re National Security Agency, right?”

  “You forgot Homeland,” Tasker said.

  “You’re Homeland Security?”

  Tasker removed a blister pack containing six capsules from the box, pushed two of them through their foil backing, swallowed them. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and waited for the heavy-duty pain killer to take effect. A few seconds later he answered the question. “No. None of the above.”

  “Then who are you?”

  Tasker looked at the teen. “I’m Death.”

  It took a second for the answer to register with Tim before he understood what Tasker meant. “You’re a hitman?”

  Tasker didn’t reply. The drug had started to work, the pain to abate.

  “The guy that tried to kill me, the one you called Rigel. Is he a pro, too?”

  “You shouldn’t be asking these questions,” Tasker said.

  “You were after him, weren’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t tell you that. Let it go.”

  “Let it go?” Tim said, pointing to his home which was now fully involved. “Have you seen my house?”

  “It’s just brick and wood,” Tasker said. “I’m sure your parents are insured.”

  “Oh, of course,” Tim scoffed. “Because every insurance company on the planet covers home invasions by machine-gun-toting-bomb-throwing-mad-ass-hitmen. I’m pretty sure that’s a separate policy. Probably costs my dad an extra ten bucks a month.”

  “You’ll get a new house,” Tasker said. “Put it all into perspective. You’re still breathing, right?”

  Tim paused. “Thanks to you.” He closed the car door.

  “You’re going to be all right, kid. You’ll see.”

  Tasker started the car. He looked in his rearview mirror. A fire engine raced around the corner on its way to the Crawford home followed by an ambulance and four LAPD squad cars.

  “I’d call that one hell of an over-response,” Tasker said.

  “Yeah. Looks like dad called in the cavalry.”

  “You better get back there. Your parents will be showing up any second.” Tasker dropped the car into gear. “Thanks for your help, kid. You saved my life tonight.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Tim said.

  Tim stepped away from the car. The rain, which had begun to fall harder since they had escaped the home, pinged off the roof of the Mustang. Orange rivers ran down the back window, reflecting the blaze. Tim watched his parent’s bedroom windows blow out with a boom! The crowd stepped back as emergency vehicles arrived on the scene and took up positions in front of the Crawford home. The quiet residential street was now the epicenter of an
urban disaster.

  “I’ll take that as my cue to leave,” Tasker said. “I’d say see ya around but… you know.”

  Tim nodded. “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “To work.”

  “After Rigel?”

  Tasker nodded.

  “Good,” Tim said. “Do me a favor when you find him?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Set fire to the bastard.”

  “I’ll add it to the list.”

  Tim watched Tasker pull away from the curb, then joined the crowd in front of his house. Mr. White ushered him over to the paramedics even though he wasn’t in need of their assistance.

  The Tec-9 hung inside Tasker’s jacket. He winced as the Mustang rounded the corner and the weight of the weapon pressed against the screws, nails, and glass shards embedded in his body. He should have removed the gun before getting into the car. But the sight of a stranger standing on the street beside Tim, strapped with a machine pistol, might not go over very well with the neighbors.

  Light from an overhead streetlamp washed over the passenger seat and briefly illuminated the interior of the car. Tasker noticed the compartment cover under which hid the Tec-9 and military grade ordinance was ajar. He pulled the car to a stop at the curb and lifted the cover.

  The foam inserts that held the OC foggers were empty. The tear gas canisters were gone.

  Rigel!

  Tasker turned on his phone and opened the tracking app.

  Rigel’s signal had disappeared. No locator blip appeared on the screen.

  He had lost the target.

  “Dammit!” Tasker yelled. He threw the phone on the passenger seat. He needed to think through the situation, to rely on his experience and intuition in the absence of technology. How could he find Rigel now? Where would he go?

  Tasker slammed his foot on the gas pedal and raced down the street. He would return to Angel of Mercy Hospital, take out the protection detail, and assassinate Jordan Quest and her family quickly and professionally.

  For now, Rigel would have to wait. He would eventually resurface. When he did, he would make sure his death was slow. And exquisitely painful.

  38