Old habits die hard, and the men had grown accustomed to checking each others' gear, parachutes, and weapons prior to every mission. They nodded to one another before stepping towards the front door.
The sky was beginning to darken as twilight descended on September in eastern Virginia.
Jackson and Mike stepped past the thick steel door of Chief Jones' home. Mike turned, scanning his right thumb on the fingerprint scanner by the door frame. The magnetic door locks could be heard securing the heavy door.
"Alright man," said Mike, "first things first. We need to get rid of this stolen vehicle."
The two men walked over to the rusting Cadillac Fleetwood.
Mike whistled. "I like your style, Jackson. Powerful engine, non-descript and non-computerized. I was leaning towards torching the car. But it would be a shame to waste such a nice old car like that. Tell you what... Help me get the car in the garage. I'll take care of the VIN numbers and get it a new paint job later. It'll make a good Sunday driver."
The two men pulled Chief Jones' blue Chevrolet Silverado out of the garage, and replaced it with the fading black Cadillac. They piled into the truck, placing the machine guns underneath the gray cloth seats while they fastened their seatbelts.
The well maintained Silverado turned over immediately and Mike pulled the vehicle onto the narrow and windy dirt road that led from his home to the main road that would take them to the interstate.
Jackson and the Chief rumbled down the street without speaking for a few minutes before Jackson interrupted the silence. "Take the interstate southbound and I'll let you know when we are getting close to the exit."
"Roger," said Mike, allowing the silence of the car ride to wash over the two men as they proceeded south along the interstate, the red setting sun in the window.
It wasn't long before Jackson again broke the eerie silence of the transit.
"This is your exit," he said simply, and Mike complied.
The vehicle merged into the right lane and exited the interstate highway. After a few more turns directed by Jackson, the vehicle pulled up behind a copse of trees that divided a two lane road from the non-descript office building which housed Carmike's secretive Special Security Group.
The two men sat silently for a few seconds before Jackson spoke up.
"Mike, from what I remember, the only way in is going to be the front door. I'm going to need a distraction." Jackson said this with a concerned look on his face as he surveyed the well lit parking area adjacent to their current location.
"I bet they have a pretty good fire suppression system," said Mike, a mischievous grin crossing his face for a moment as he pulled a smoke grenade from his jacket.
"You know Mike, I bet they do." Jackson returned the smile.
Darkness had descended fully on eastern Virginia now, and Jackson and Mike stepped from the vehicle, sure to close the doors of the Silverado pickup truck softly.
They left the machine guns behind. If things went well, they wouldn't need the weapons.
Jackson crouched behind the tree nearest to the parking lot as Mike walked casually towards the side of the building, quickly spotting a weak area in the facility's security and stepping towards the four story building while Jackson waited patiently in the shadows of the trees near the parking lot.
Mike drew his silenced Beretta from his belt and took aim at the floodlights which illuminated the side of the office building. They were a much easier target than the cameras which were distributed throughout the area, and their absence would achieve the same result. The cameras would be rendered ineffective.
Mike shot out the three lights which illuminated the east side of the office building with three well aimed shots from the handgun as he walked. The side of the building was shrouded in darkness immediately.
Mike scaled the fire escape, his black clothing concealing his movements as he skillfully climbed the wrought iron ladder that led to the roof.
Reaching the roof, Mike spotted intake for the ventilation system immediately, and walked rapidly towards the air inlet.
He drew a sharp black Ka-Bar knife from a leather sheath on his hip and pried the cover of the ducting off before pulling the pin on two smoke grenades. He dropped the two grenades into the blackness of the ventilation ducting.
He turned his back and grinned broadly as smoke billowed from the ventilation system.
Jackson had his distraction.
Mike was quick but judicious in his movements now. He was down the fire escape in seconds as the fire alarm began to sound loudly, the smoke from Mike's distraction billowing quickly through the building's ventilation system.
Mike walked towards Jackson's position, shrouded by darkness as he signaled for Jackson to make his move.
Chapter 23:
8:05 PM- Saturday, September 9th
Norfolk, VA
Nadir Assad and Nathan Stone had sat patiently in the deserted conference room for over an hour now. Their arms and legs still ached from the physical labor of hand loading dozens of 55-gallon drums of chemicals and explosives onto twelve separate trucks.
They had finally wrapped up their work around two hours ago, and were both glad to be showered and back in their normal attire, handmade pinstripe suits.
It had been a long day.
And the next few days would doubtless prove to be even longer.
Since they had lost Mohammed, the original coordinator of the entire operation, the success or failure of the mission now depended on the two men who sat across the large mahogany conference table from one another, impatiently awaiting a call from one of their only two remaining superior officers.
Nathan Stone spoke first, pushing his long blonde hair from his face as he sighed heavily. "When do you think he'll call?"
"I can't say," said Nadir in a heavily accented Middle Eastern voice. He cleared his throat and poured a glass of water from the pitcher that sat on the heavy wooden table. "But we must wait."
Nathan Stone's blonde head was lowered in thought as he stared at the dark wood of the conference table sadly. "We should have been there. If we had been there, Mohammed would still be alive."
"Stop whining." Nadir's voice cut through the conference room harshly. "We had no way of knowing that Mohammed was pursuing a former member of Navy SEAL Team 6. Regardless, he should have been able to defend himself. He was well trained."
Nathan inhaled deeply, the truth of Nadir's words cutting through the quiet room. He peered around the well appointed conference room at the empty high back chairs that had been packed during the operations briefing earlier in the week.
At least two of the members who had been in attendance earlier in the week had been killed. Susan Winters by Mohammed himself, and Mohammed by the witness to Winters' death, a former Navy SEAL named Jackson Pike.
Jackson Pike, the thorn in their side.
Nathan shook his head as the men sat in silence awaiting the ring of the black speakerphone that sat in the center of the table.
Mr. Pike was the reason for tonight's teleconference with the boss, and the only person who could potentially impede the progress of Mohammed's plan.
Nathan only wished that Mohammed had been able to get a clean shot at Pike from the moving SLK 350 on the day of Winters' murder. Apparently, it hadn't been possible.
Pike was going too fast, his bike too close to the tree line to run him down or get a clean shot.
And then he had disappeared under the water.
Nadir and Nathan had been sure he was dead.
But when they didn't find a body, Mohammed Fatal had been the first one to take steps ensuring that a living Jackson Pike would not negatively impact the progress of their mission. In the process, Mohammed had broken into a home that he believed to be Jackson Pike's.
It wasn't. In fact, it had been Pike's ex-wife's home.
After ascertaining from the ex-wife Jackson's new address, Mohammed had shot and killed both the ex-wife and her eleven year old daughter.
Strangely, the thought caused Nathan no discomfort. He likely would have done the same. The prime directive of their mission had been clear from the beginning. No witnesses.
But now, since Mohammed's death, the coordination of the mission fell to the next two senior members of the team. And since both Nathan and Nadir had joined the company during the same recruiting class and both had assisted in the planning and coordination of the mission, both were responsible for seeing it through to the end.
There was a reason that the company hired former military special operators. Not only were the men highly skilled in combat operations and counterintelligence, but they were intimately familiar with chain of command and combat casualty operations.
Mohammed had been a combat casualty. His lieutenants had taken command in his stead and were prepared to report to their next level supervisor.
But unlike combat casualties, there were no flags to drape over Mohammed's coffin. No tears would be shed for the fallen operator. In fact, when Nathan and Nadir had discovered Mohammed's body on the floor of Jackson Pike's home they knew only one thing. They needed to destroy the evidence.
So they had.
They piled Mohammed in the SLK 350 with the body of the former Susan Winters and made both deaths look like accidents. Neither had been shot, so there were no bullet wounds to explain, which made their task easier.
Nathan and Nadir had known both would be mangled beyond recognition by the car fire that they had started. To a passing investigator, it would look and smell like a car accident.
The lieutenants had solved that problem.
That left only one potential snag in the accomplishment of their mission.
Mr. Jackson Pike.
Before his death, Mohammed had done the hard work of dispensing of Jackson Pike, or at least ensuring that no one would lend credence to any of his first hand witness accounts of what occurred at the chemical distribution center.
The note had been brilliant. Although Mohammed's original plan had been to kill Pike at his residence, killing his family and faking a suicide had been the next best option. It would just look like the degenerate former Navy SEAL had lost it and decided to take his family out before ending his own life.
Unfortunately, that plan had fallen through, and Pike had killed Mohammed Fatal. But the note remained. Jackson Pike still looked like the murderer. And the police were on an all out search to find him.
When they did, there was no doubt that they would arrest him for double homicide and no story that he attempted to spin at that point would be given any credence.
All and all, it was a neatly wrapped package for the boss, despite the unforeseen circumstances that had impeded the progress of the mission.
So far, the plan continued on track. The chemicals were secured. Evidence at the chemical distribution center had been destroyed in the fire. Winters and Fatal had been disposed of, and the only witness was wanted for a double homicide.
Nathan breathed softly and deeply for a moment, relaxing a little as he reviewed their progress over the past day.
But his self reflection was broken by the ring that both men had awaited for almost an hour.
"Yes sir." It was Nadir who spoke first, his accented voice slicing through the silence of the conference room.
The deep voice was calm. "What is the status of our project?"
Before Nadir could speak, a loud siren began to sound in the hallway.
It was a fire alarm. They were ordering an evacuation of the building.
Nadir paused for a moment. They needed to evacuate the building in case the fire department arrived. "Sir, can you hold? We need to step out momentarily."
There was an audible click from the speakerphone as both men stood, walking to the elevator.
Chapter 24:
8:10 PM- Saturday, September 9th
Norfolk, VA
Jackson made his move quickly.
He could see the security guard on the telephone with the fire department. He assumed the security officer's next step would be to evacuate the building, and it was. The man had left his post.
Jackson sprinted to the front door of the building, his swift feet carrying him into the polished lobby of the building.
He looked at the sign behind the security desk, which listed the office locations of different personnel. Susan Winters' name had not yet been removed from the sign- Executive Vice President of Special Projects. Jackson whistled. The woman had been somebody.
Suite 3A. Winters' office was on the third floor.
He ran to the stairwell, covering the distance from the lobby to the third floor of the non-descript building in little time, taking three stairs at a stride.
He opened the stairwell door to the third floor, peering around the hallway of the Carmike Special Security Group.
He found Suite 3A almost immediately. It sat across the hall from where Jackson stood peering from the partially opened door of the dark stairwell.
He crouched low, covering the ten feet or so between the stairwell and Winters' office silently, praying that the door was open. Lucky for Jackson, it was.
He closed the door to the office behind him.
He was standing in a meticulously decorated office, complete with area carpeting and mahogany furnishings. The deep wood paneling and installed bookshelves lent an air of authority and permanence to the office, which was decorated with books and knickknacks from all over the world.
Jackson noted the lack of family photos or any other personally identifying data in the office space itself. He was not surprised. People like Winters would never bring anything that could be used against them in a tactical sense to their workspace.
Jackson stepped to a large mahogany desk and black ergonomic chair that sat on the opposite side of the room from the door. The desk itself was cleared off except for a small green banker's lamp.
This Winters was a meticulous woman.
Her inbox and outbox were both empty, and even the pens that sat to the side of her small green banker's lamp were aligned with one another in a neat line, all facing the same direction.
Jackson switched on the small green desk lamp and began searching the drawers of Winters' desk. The five desk drawers opened easily, but something about the desk didn't seem right. There should have been a third drawer on the right hand side of the desk where there was only a flat wooden surface that shone in the soft green light of the banker's lamp.
Jackson pulled the Ka-Bar from his belt holster and slid the sharp metal tip of the knife into the crack between the flat mahogany panel and the surface of the top of the desk.
He pried as hard as he could, and a hidden drawer surged open, splinters of rich mahogany showering onto the decorative area rug at his feet.
In the formerly hidden drawer sat a small black calendar book and a manila file labeled simply "Insurance".
Jackson pulled the file from the drawer and laid it on the desk.
He opened the folder. Jackson had attended college and even taken economics, but the financial papers that stared back at him from the desk confounded him.
Far from what he would have expected as "insurance", they seemed to be benign in every sense. The folder contained reports on corporate profitability, stock price charts, forward looking statements, and tax documents. They were stapled together within the manila envelope, arranged alphabetically.
Jackson shrugged and tucked the only two items which had been secured in the hidden drawer into the back of his trousers and tucked his black shirt over the papers before switching off the desk lamp.
"I can't believe it. It was just another fucking false alarm." The voice echoed down the corridor as Jackson was about to step from the meticulously decorated office of the former Susan Winters.
"Unbelievable," answered another voice, dripping with a thick accent that Jackson couldn't immediately identify.
Jackson froze, unsure of where the two men were heading.
The two voices faded as they stepped
down the pale blue carpeting of the wood paneled hallway. Jackson stood still in the darkness of the office, his right hand subconsciously gripping the handle of the silenced 9mm Beretta concealed in a shoulder holster beneath his motorcycle jacket.
The voices were only soft echoes now in Jackson's ear as he stood in the dark and opened the door to Susan Winters' office. With the door open, the voices were louder, and Jackson could make out some of the men's' conversation.
He allowed the door to swing open somewhat more. The voices were coming from a few doors down, in what Jackson correctly assumed to be a conference room.
He could hear a dial tone.
The men were placing a conference call. The sequential beep of dialing could be heard even from Jackson's concealed vantage.
Almost immediately, a deep and grating voice answered the call.
A deep voice answered, "What the hell was that?"
Jackson allowed the door to swing almost a quarter of the way open now. He could hear every word.
"Sorry, Sir;" began the thick and accented voice Jackson had heard a moment ago.
"We had a false fire alarm, and our security team ordered a full evacuation of the building. It was nothing. Some smoke on the 4th floor with no secondary indications of fire."
The deep and ponderous voice responded after a momentary pause. "I understand, gentlemen. Where do we stand on our project?"
The second man's voice answered up this time. "We have procured the rest of our required supplies. They have been relocated to temporary storage."
The deep voice responded much more quickly this time. "Good. I take it this is a secure line?"
The blonde replied. "Affirmative, but be advised, you are on speaker phone."
The voice was clearly somewhat irked by this fact. "Roger. What is the status of our information leak?" He was referring to Susan Winters. That much was clear, even to Jackson.
The deeply accented voice answered now. "Mohammed took care of that issue yesterday evening. But, there was a witness."
Jackson controlled his breathing. The men were talking about him.
One could cut through the silence with a knife as the man on the other end of the conference call paused. Finally, he asked the question. "What is the status of the witness?"
Iron Triangle: A Jackson Pike Novel (Book One of The Iron Triangle Series) Page 9