After Agent Palmer’s briefing on his capture and interrogation, he had grudgingly admitted to himself that had he been a part of that decision-making group, he would have come to the same conclusions they had arrived at. The TER had adequate checks and balances and multiple decision points throughout their mission. They’d gone outside their small circle for an independent assessment. They had not acted rashly. They had not targeted his son for assassination.
Despite all that, Mark was still dead, and Carl couldn’t get past that. He struggled to find reasons to continue to blame those people for trying to save the president’s daughter. He tried in vain to find a difference between them and the new Carl Johnson. He was a killer of their magnitude, if not of their experience.
It quickly became clear to Carl why he despised Aaron McGrath so much, and why he still wanted the man to die. It was because McGrath needed no absolution for what he had done to Carl and Mark. That man lived and breathed in the abyss. He was in the business of death. He was not remorseful, and Carl hated that.
Carl had also stepped into the abyss, and now there was only one manner of absolution available to him. That was why he had agreed to an errand of mercy to save a sixteen-year-old girl he didn’t even know and would ordinarily never meet in a million years. When all the emotions, blame, guilt, and past evil deeds were set aside, only one fact remained. Melissa Mallory was going to die unless he saved her. No one else could do it. Not SEAL teams or CIA covert operators or hostage rescue teams.
Still, it was beyond any stretch of the imagination that a drug lord, who was now a kidnapper, could defeat the US Secret Service. Carl figured even a small contingent of the well-trained agents should have been able to hold off a bunch of drug-dealing thugs.
Carl thought the snatch had to have been an inside job, or at least executed with inside help. He hadn’t shared his thoughts with Agent Palmer on the issue, and he hadn’t been briefed on the actual kidnapping. That event didn’t impact his current mission.
He shook his head in the darkness at the irony. An innocent child had become a pawn in a terrorist plot against America, and Carl Johnson—a real estate broker who was now a terrorist—was the only man on the planet who could rescue her. After all the people he’d killed in his berserk rage, he was a fucking hero.
About to be, anyway, unless he screwed it up.
He’d had several hours to contemplate all the events of the past week, but it always came down to too much time to think. He kept seeing the same faces over and over again. He saw his son’s face, peaceful in death. He saw Lisette’s terror-filled face, and her mother’s desperate face as she begged for her daughter’s life. He saw Anita Chapman’s battered and bloody face. He even saw the struggle for emotional control on President Mallory’s face. She was, after all, a mother facing the very real possibility that her daughter would die within a couple of days.
On his drive into Mexico, Carl tried to tell himself that in a year he’d be okay without his son, that he’d be able to get on with his life, and that the month from hell he’d just experienced would simply turn into a dim and distant memory. It would merely be an anomaly in the fabric of time, a speed bump along the path of life.
He’d lost a child, and he would learn to live with the loss, just like thousands of other parents did every year. Meanwhile, in the here and now, he had to feel it, like Palmer said. He had to look into the eyes of the faces in his memory, and they were not forgiving faces.
He grazed on snacks and water almost continuously until he reached his destination. The well-lit fuel stop just north of a place his GPS labeled Nuevo Casas Grandes first peeked out of the darkness as a blur of light some five miles ahead. Slowly, as the miles passed, it materialized into a modern convenience rest stop with half a dozen pumps.
Funny, Carl thought as he pulled in, he hadn’t expected to see modern in Mexico. He’d never traveled to the country, but he’d always viewed it in his mind as a third-world country, though he had no logical basis to do so. The rest stop was as modern as any found on long stretches of interstate highways in the US. It had modern electronic pumps with ATM card readers under a well-lit roof that kept the elements off the people refueling their vehicles. The small complex featured a modern convenience store with signs advertising Cokes, juices, coffee, donuts, and snacks. Separated from the store by a covered walkway were restrooms for men and women, and two water fountains, one high and one low.
He bypassed the pumps and instead parked in front of the convenience store. He got out and stretched every muscle in his body for a few moments, then proceeded up the hallway toward the restroom signs. He looked for surveillance cameras, but saw none. That was good because after he relieved himself, he continued out behind the convenience store instead of going back to his SUV.
He followed a walking trail beyond the restrooms where families could walk their dogs and passed a couple of poop disposal stations. He walked past several park benches and then went along a short driveway leading to a utility service stand that provided fresh water and sewage removal for RVs. He approached a nondescript Volkswagen bus with tinted windows waiting at one of the utility pumps.
Then he saw a flurry of dark shadows moving around the vehicle. Backlit by dim utility lights, two men jumped toward him. The shadows were armed with machine pistols, and Carl heard the metallic sounds of slide mechanisms being racked back.
Chapter 52
0230 EST Thursday
Andrews Air Force Base, MD
Shirley Mallory and Aaron McGrath sat in the president’s private stateroom on Air Force One as the big aircraft sped down the runway at Andrews Air Force Base. They sat next to each other on a black leather couch, seat belts fastened. The president held McGrath’s right hand with both her hands. She looked sideways at him and clenched his hand tighter as the front of the plane tilted skyward and they left the ground. She heard the drone of the engines through the well-insulated fuselage, and she felt herself pushed back into the cushions of the couch.
Aaron had been her pillar of strength for two decades, and he’d been a friend even longer. Their relationship was one of the best-kept secrets in Washington, mostly due to his covert occupation, and only a few of her closest confidants even knew of his existence.
There was something ominously symbolic about this particular take-off.
She was flying to New Mexico to be reunited with her daughter, but the man she had to rely on was wounded, spiritually and emotionally. He was untrained, untested, and unpredictable. Aaron had made his position clear about relying on Johnson. Only Agent Palmer was convinced the terrorist could succeed, but she hadn’t explained why.
Not that they had any choice. There were simply no other non-military options. In the end, either Johnson would succeed, or Mallory had to be prepared to beg a foreign government for a very costly favor.
“He’s my last hope. If he can’t bring her back….”
“We can still send in the Delta unit from Fort Bliss. They’ve been on standby since we identified Alfonso Reyes as the man responsible for Melissa’s kidnapping.”
“I know.” She paused for a long time. “But I can’t start a war by invading an ally, not even for my daughter. We’ll have to try a diplomatic solution if Johnson can’t locate her and bring her back quietly.”
“Quietly is not one of Johnson’s strong points.”
“Madam President. Aaron.” Agent Palmer’s voice came through their earbuds since the wall monitor was muted. She waited until they both looked up at her image on the monitor. “I have an update on Anita’s condition in Albuquerque. She’s out of emergency surgery and is stable. Her family is with her.”
The president glanced to her left. She knew Aaron’s moods, and she knew what was going through his mind even as she felt him tense. It was difficult for him to work with Johnson after seeing what the man had done to his daughter. That Palmer had removed Aaron from command turned out to be the best possible scenario. Otherwise, Mallory knew she would have had to.
&nbs
p; She loved Aaron, and their relationship was strong, but she had to think of the best way to get her daughter back. They’d had several heated discussions in private, but she agreed with what she’d read in Palmer’s report. Aaron had crossed the line by trying to send more covert units after Johnson. He was compromised.
The mission was probably equally difficult for Johnson, though she was surprised she felt empathy for the man. They needed him, but so many things could go wrong with the operation or with him.
“This has all been one big mess,” she said. Aaron remained silent, so she addressed the monitor. “Agent Palmer, what’s our operational status?”
“The surveillance camera at Columbus Port of Entry showed Mr. Johnson crossing over a little more than an hour ago. His team picked up transportation, weapons, and tech from our CIA contact earlier this afternoon and are at the rendezvous coordinates. Also, the Marine One contingent will land at Holloman Air Force Base within the hour and will be deployed by the time Air Force One lands.”
“Good. I want to be at the border when he brings my daughter back.”
“If he brings her back,” McGrath said. “We should have a backup plan in place.”
“You mean, other than the diplomatic channel? In case he is unsuccessful?”
“No, Shirley. I mean in case he is successful. In case he decides to renege on his agreement.”
“You think he might betray me...us.”
“I know he will,” McGrath said. “As soon as he has Melissa, he’ll think about revenge again. He knows your role in all this, Shirley. When his pain fades, he’ll want to hurt you along with me. And if Reyes is dead, he’ll have Melissa. That will be his endgame.”
Palmer interrupted. “I disagree. He’s not going down there to get Melissa to use against us.”
McGrath said, “You saw what he did to Anita. He damn near killed her.”
Palmer was silent for a moment. “His moral compass is fractured, and he doesn’t know how to fix it. Saving Melissa can help him.”
The president said, “Explain.”
“What I saw in his eyes at Aaron’s house was a controlled viciousness. We brought it out of him, and we honed him. He has his own rules of engagement, but he’s not sure whether revenge or mercy will heal him. Right now, though, he’s on our side, so let’s use him.”
McGrath shook his head. “I’ve seen many men like Johnson. After he gets what he wants, he’ll—”
Palmer shook her head. “He’s smart, and he’ll be prepared for a take-down, I guarantee you. We’ve seen how quickly and easily he is willing to escalate, and that’s the last thing we want.”
The president nodded at the monitor. “I agreed in writing to his terms.” Mallory looked out the starboard portal at the city lights as the big plane banked. “So what if he returns without Melissa?”
Chapter 53
0220 MST Thursday
Northern Mexico
The first thing that went through Carl Johnson’s mind was the fact that he was unarmed. He couldn’t risk bringing weapons across the border, though the guards hadn’t even searched his car. Now he stood in the middle of a no-man’s zone, too close to the van to escape getting shot and too far away to even attempt to go down fighting.
Then he recognized the two men pointing silenced weapons at him. It was Merc Two and Merc Three.
“Yo, what the hell?” Carl said.
“Boss, is that you? Dammit! I almost killed you.”
Both men quickly lowered their weapons away and glanced around to see if they’d been spotted. The area was not well lit, but it wasn’t completely dark either.
Merc Three said, “See what happens when we work with the government. They didn’t tell us you’d be in disguise.”
They all bumped fists and got in the van.
“Am I free of surveillance?”
Merc Two nodded and started the van. Merc Three sat in the passenger front seat, and his wife, Merc Four, sat on the bench seat behind the driver. Carl pulled the rickety door closed behind him, but had to slam it twice before it caught and stayed closed. Two revved the engine a couple times, then started the van into motion with a grinding of gears. They followed the road to the south, and at a sign proclaiming Fierro Grande, the bus turned east.
Merc Four said, “Here. Put this in your ear.” She handed him a small tan earpiece smaller than his index fingernail. It looked exactly like the one he’d seen in Palmer’s ear. He stuck the device in his left ear, pushing it in deep to spread out a cushioned barb that held it tightly in place.
She said, “It’s a two-way encrypted intranet plus voice comm.”
Carl nodded as he pulled his wig from his head. He rubbed his scalp with his fingers to get rid of the itchy sensation caused by the synthetic hair fibers. Merc Four handed him some alcohol wipes, which he used to scrub the color from his face and neck.
“Radio check,” he said. “Mr. Garcia, you with me?”
“I’m here, Boss.”
“Good,” Carl said. “If this thing goes sideways and Reyes escapes, plan on him learning as much about your people as you know about his. If we’re compromised on this end, close up shop, no questions asked.”
“Roger that.”
“Agent Palmer, you promised me a Predator surveillance drone.”
“It is orbiting overhead as we speak, and it will stay with you for the next thirty-one hours. By the way, I apologize for not mentioning your disguise. That was my oversight.”
“Well, they didn’t shoot me,” Carl replied.
Merc Four said, “If we’re in-country for thirty-plus hours, I think we can count that as a mission failure. Operational success should occur in ten hours or less.”
Palmer said, “The one you call Merc Four has a tablet for you. I’ve already gone over the layout of the estate with her and the others, but let’s review it once more.”
Carl took the tablet offered by the female mercenary and listened while Palmer described the latest intel on the estate. Map locations and terrain features became highlighted on the tablet as Palmer spoke, and Carl got the impression she was manipulating the highlights on her own display in Virginia and transmitting to his tablet in real time. It was remarkable high-tech gadgetry, and it reminded him again how over-matched he was in his war against the government. It was only a matter of time until they would have found him and killed him with all that tech. Of that, he was now certain.
Carl tried to get a sense of their current location in relation to the border that Mexico shared with Texas and New Mexico. The New Mexico border was miniscule, while the border of Texas stretched in a twelve-hundred-mile wavering line from northwest to southeast. A mere two-hour drive due east would put him back on US soil, assuming there was a border crossing in that area.
A blinking red triangle indicating the location of the Volkswagen bus popped onto the western edge of the terrain map. He actually felt the van swaying into curves as the blinking triangle followed the curved outline of the road. The topographical lines indicated hills outside the windows, but it was too dark to see them.
Merc Two pulled the van to the side of the road about a mile from the estate. Carl could see on the tablet map that Reyes’s mansion sat nestled in a shallow valley at the end of a narrow road that branched off the road they were now on. Agent Palmer reported that earlier Wednesday evening, Alfonso Reyes was seen getting into a Hummer, which then drove away from the estate and proceeded further east on the same road they were parked alongside. After sundown, another vehicle left the compound with two occupants showing on thermal imagery, but it was unclear who those people were.
The critical part of the deception was getting Carl into the compound without arousing suspicion. Agent Palmer’s plan was to make him seem drunk, since Reyes was known to be a sophisticated but wild partier. Once Carl was escorted inside the house and left alone he could begin his search for Melissa. Carl made no comment on the simplicity of the plan, but he had expected something more…military.
Three grunted from the front seat. “There’s best, and then there’s good enough. This plan ain’t either.”
The dome light in the center of the van provided little light, and the two mercs in the front seats sat mostly in shadow. Carl could see both men were dressed casually in slacks and short-sleeve shirts. Neither were what Carl would consider big men, though both were taller than his five-nine height. They both outweighed him by a good twenty pounds, but neither topped the two hundred pound mark.
Carl recalled that Two had blue eyes, and Three had gray, but in the shadows of the van their eyes seemed almost black. Three had let his stubble grow into a respectable half-inch beard over the last three days, but Two was still clean-shaven. They didn’t look like killers, as they did when he had first met them. They looked like any ordinary men he’d encounter at Starbucks. He marveled at their ability to jump in and out of combat mode.
Carl turned his attention to Merc Four on the bench next to him. She was also dressed casually, and she’d separated her hair into two loosely braided ponytails. He hadn’t noticed how long her hair was before, but now her shoulder-length ponytails made her look innocent.
“Well,” he said to Four. Then he looked back at the other two mercs. “We’ll do the best we can with what we have.” The three mercs nodded. “We get the girl, kill the man, and high-tail it back to the US border.”
He pointed his index finger at his chest with that comment, then pointed three fingers at the mercs and jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. They nodded their understanding. He would deliver the girl to safety while the mercs disappeared and made their own way to safety. He felt an innate trust of Agent Palmer, though he could not explain why, but after Mallory got her daughter, Carl knew she’d transition from vulnerable mother back to being president. Mallory, or even McGrath, might change the rules of the game, and Agent Palmer would have no choice but to follow orders.
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