Hellfire: A Suspense Thriller (A Hawk Tate Novel Book 4)

by Dustin Stevens

  By the time we arrived, we were bouncing over potholes. Dust from the dirt road rose around us, causing us both to lift our shirts over our noses and mouths.

  A mile after making the final shift, the road ended abruptly in a turnabout. Like a closed fist on the end of an arm, it gave just enough room for a vehicle to curl back and return the opposite direction.

  Pushed in tight on both sides was sugar cane, growing thick and dense.

  Pulling to a stop, we could see a pair of vehicles waiting for us. Parked nose-to-tail, dark silhouettes sat behind either steering wheel.

  Once we arrived, each waited until our dust had cleared before all four of us stepped out at the same time.

  The two men that exited bore a faint semblance to one another, the kind that hinted it wouldn’t be out of the question to think they were related. Each had thick hair that was dark, grey just setting in around the edges. Both had leathered skin from years of sun exposure.

  A few extra pounds graced both their frames, giving them the soft appearance of desk workers.

  The only difference I saw between them was that one wore wire-rimmed glasses. Recognizing him as the man from the images Ela had shown me in the safehouse, I approached him first, extending a hand.

  “Agent Farkus.”

  He returned the shake. Thick calluses lined his palms. Clearly, he was more physical than I gave him credit for.

  “You must be Tate.”

  I nodded.

  “Thanks for what you did back at the airport.”

  “Sorry about your fellow agent.”

  Bobbing his head, he turned toward the third man. “Which means you must be...”

  “Call me Santa Clause,” the man said. His accent much heavier than Farkus’s, it was obvious that he was a local.

  How Vance had managed to line him up as the care package provider, I didn’t feign to know.

  Turning a shoulder, he walked around to the rear of his truck and dropped the tailgate. Grabbing at the edge of a black tarpaulin, he dragged it forward until it was flush against his thighs.

  “Were you able to get everything?” I asked.

  “Everything he ordered,” the man replied. Using his chin, he gestured toward the far end of the truck bed. “Mind giving me a hand with this?”

  Glancing to Farkus, I circled around, waiting as the man slowly dragged the package his way. Once it was within reach, I grasped the end, finding it much heavier than anticipated, and the two of us lowered it to the ground.

  The instant it hit the dirt, he pushed his tailgate back into position and nodded. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

  A moment after that, he fired up the engine and was gone, nothing but twin red lights peeking back at us through a plume of dust.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  I didn’t bother saying anything in the wake of the man’s departure. Instead, I merely smirked, waiting until the cloud of dust had passed before turning back to my two new cohorts.

  “Welcome to the CIA,” Farkus said.

  This time, my lips parted wide enough to flash some teeth. Beside me, Ela’s smile was even larger.

  Bending at the waist, I grabbed the corner of the tarp and peeled it back, an odd assortment of items spread out on the ground around us. Under the glow of our headlights, each one stood out plainly, practically beckoning us toward them.

  Starting on the end closest to me were two rifles. Both oiled and polished, they looked to be exact copies of one another, both standard Army-issue M-24s.

  And not the Venezuelan army. The United States edition, this being the preferred firearm of Chris Kyle, the most well-known shooter in recent history.

  Based on the Remington 700, both looked to be pristine, boxes of ammunition lined up beside either.

  How these two mint items had found their way here, and in such a short time, was truly amazing.

  Beside them sat a pair of bolt cutters, the handles elongated so they resembled garden shears.

  A few inches away was a pair of night vision goggles. Essentially one large plastic and rubber piece made to fit down over the eyes, an elastic strap was tied to the back end for securing them in place.

  Not the most up-to-date model on the planet, but more than sufficient for what I needed.

  Leaving each of those where they lay, I shifted my attention to the far end of the spread. Taking up most of the space - and comprising the bulk of the weight - were the items we had requested for Farkus.

  Enough fireworks to put the July 4th shows of most midwestern cities to shame.

  “Think that’ll do it?” I asked.

  I didn’t bother going into further detail. Already I had shared my idea with Vance, who in turn had shared it with Farkus, leading to his standing before us now.

  At the time, I’d had little more to go on than the man’s file portrait.

  Now, having met him in person, I felt completely at ease that my decision was correct. This man was not a killer. He wouldn’t be able to even get the rifle inside the stadium, let alone execute someone with it.

  I had no doubt he was a capable agent, but that was a far cry from what Director Joon was wanting him to do.

  “Damned sure ought to,” Farkus said.

  If he had any misgivings about the plan, he didn’t say them. Likely because - like me - he knew that voicing the obvious wouldn’t do much good.

  It was ugly, but it was the best we could do.

  “Just remember,” I said, “get as close to the stadium as you can, and be sure they go off before he goes on.”

  Raising a hand, Farkus nodded. “Yeah, I got it. Otherwise, it just looks like part of his show.”

  “Which would defeat the whole purpose,” Ela added.

  “Exactly,” I added.

  For a moment, none of us said anything. We merely scanned the items again, fitting each piece into the plan we had devised for the evening.

  Every single one had a clear purpose. No extraneous evidence to be left around. Nothing that couldn’t be easily cast aside at a moment’s notice.

  Farkus was the first to break. Taking up the closest few items, he began to load them into his rig.

  I went next, grabbing up an armload as well. Ela brought up the rear, cleaning up the last few fireworks.

  Once everything was stowed, Farkus opened the driver’s side door, intent to be moving again. Sensing the countdown in my own head continuing to run, I made no effort to stop him.

  As soon as he was off, we were loading up and doing the same.

  “Thank you,” he said, extending his hand a second time.

  He didn’t bother detailing exactly what for as I returned the gesture, but he didn’t need to. We both knew this scheme was a bit crazy, but it was a hell of a lot better conceived than whatever Joon wanted to pull.

  And in this one, I was the only one that was likely to end up a martyr.

  Leaning in, he took up something from the passenger seat. Pulling back, he thrust it my way. “Good luck.”

  Looking down, I saw a pair of dark jeans rolled up in his hand. A smile came to my lips as I accepted the gift. “You too.”

  Much like the man before him, he closed the door and was gone, nothing but a cloud of dust in his wake.

  Three minutes later, we did the same.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Just six words had passed between Charles Vance and Director Joon in the wake of the meeting with President Underall. The moment the video feed had cut out and the screen shifted to black, Joon had set his jaw. He didn’t even bother to look at Vance, anger pulsating through him.

  “Go. Do what you have to.”

  Every syllable was muttered with dripping bitterness, a clear signal that he did not appreciate what had just taken place.

  And that Vance would likely later be crucified for it.

  Vance didn’t have the time or the inclination to sit and dwell on such things. Rising from his seat, he bolted from the enclosed office, swallowing deep pulls of fresh oxygen a
s he made his way back.

  In short order, he had returned to the conference room and briefed everybody, sending them in a handful of different directions, all with explicit orders.

  Now that the better part of an hour had passed, every one of them had been completed, the energy having shifted from organized chaos to more of a wait-and-see vibe.

  Standing at the front of the room, Vance had his jacket off. With his shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows and his arms folded, all he needed was an oversized headpiece to be an image from central casting of some beleaguered NASA mission control engineer. Maybe even a New York Stock Exchange broker.

  On the table in front of him was the remaining dregs of his third cup of coffee since leaving Joon’s office. Armed with the renewed jolt of liquid caffeine and a steady natural drip of adrenaline, every nerve was running high.

  “Okay, let’s count it off. Starting in a half hour, all hell breaks loose, and we need to be ready for it.

  “Step one, John Farkus creates a diversion at the stadium.”

  “Correct,” Hannah Rowe said without waiting to be prompted. “His supplies arrived with the care package.”

  “Sufficient to make a scene?” Vance asked.

  “Sufficient to make it look and sound like a war zone,” Rowe replied.

  Nodding, Vance asked, “Range?”

  “Best part,” Rowe confirmed. “He won’t have to be closer than a quarter mile to achieve his objective.”

  Again, Vance nodded. Farkus was a quality agent, a man with many talents, but murder was not one of them. Pushing forward with Joon’s plan would have almost certainly gotten him killed, a waste in every sense of the word.

  “Excellent,” Vance said. “Simultaneously, we will have a plane signal to Bolivar International requesting an emergency landing.”

  “Yes,” Peter Reiff said, jumping right in. “We were able to reroute a cargo liner bound from Miami to Rio. Nothing on board but fruit and assorted produce, the captain has been ordered to claim mechanical problems before buzzing the airport and continuing on his journey.”

  Vance knew it was probably not exactly what Tate had in mind when making the request, but given the circumstances, it was the best they could hope for.

  The show from Farkus was, after all, going to be the bigger of the two. This was nothing more than a bit of sleight of hand at the point of contact.

  “On the ground at the airport?” Vance asked.

  This time, Rowe moved back into the fray. “Agent Ramirez’s contact – Manny, the baggage handler – has agreed to help us. It isn’t yet known exactly what he’ll do, but it has been assured that a scene of some sort will be waiting when Tate arrives.”

  Vance didn’t particularly care for phrases such as isn’t yet known and a scene of some sort, but again, this was all being done on the fly.

  If they had more time, they would have put together a proper operation from the beginning, and none of this would be occurring.

  “Good,” Vance said. “And extraction? How we looking there?”

  “Currently working up the coast as we speak,” Dan Andrews said. As he spoke, the people on the other side of the table scribbled furiously. For many, this was their first time hearing these aspects of the story.

  Which was exactly as Vance intended it to be. If this was going to be the Viking funeral for his career, it was going to happen while working with the people he trusted.

  “Will be in position in exactly one hour,” Andrews added. “Disguised as a fishing boat, it will send two rubber inflatables to shore to ferry people back and forth once they arrive.”

  Of everything, the evacuation was the part that Vance was the least comfortable with. Some of the hostages were no doubt children or far along in years. A few might have even been tortured or physically harmed.

  Getting through thick woods and onto a boat was far from ideal.

  It was also the fastest way to get them to safety.

  Fighting through whoever was holding them at the airport would be a nightmare with so many civilians on hand. As would trying to get them across the Venezuelan countryside.

  A quick hike through the forest would be tough, but the instant they were onboard, the boat would push into international waters.

  He just had to trust that Tate, and to a lesser degree Ramirez, were as good as he hoped.

  “And how about our team?” Vance asked.

  “Care package was picked up fifteen minutes ago,” Rowe finished. “Everybody is moving into position.”

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  More than an hour had passed since the doors were last opened. Over half of that had slid by since the older woman had come over to speak with Grey Rembert, the one-sided conversation ending with nothing more than a nod between the two.

  Not that there wasn’t plenty Rembert would have liked to have said. His mind was packed to capacity with thoughts and concerns, things about their situation that he wanted to get out.

  Since the woman had made the effort to come and speak to him, she was the closest he had in the room to an ally, or even an acquaintance.

  As it stood, though, he was unable to do anything more than some very basic pantomiming. Gestures that suffered the double indignity of not only failing to get across what he wanted, but also opening up his motions to interpretation by everybody in the room.

  Already, most of them had seen him aid Hawk. The fact that they hadn’t already turned on him wasn’t something he could continue to bank on moving forward.

  So in the meantime, he sat as still as possible, the entire lower half of his face throbbing.

  More than once he had fought the urge to touch it. To let his fingers explore the skin tightening and the swelling growing, the combination making his face feel as if it was on fire.

  Of those that had been on the receiving end of the guard’s brutality, his wasn’t the worst, but it was easily in the top three.

  Inside the room with the windows covered and the door shut, the environment had become timeless. The lights overhead kept it in a perpetual state of day, though if he were to guess, he would venture that it was slipping fast into the evening.

  Mercifully, the temperature was dipping just slightly, as sure a sign as any that the relentless sun outside was finally abating.

  However little that might have been, it was still a reprieve.

  Glancing down at the young girl beside him, Rembert saw she was still in the throes of a fitful rest. Every few moments her body would spasm slightly, a small sound escaping her lips.

  Wishing so badly that he had a blanket, or a jacket, or anything to cover her with, he stared down at her a moment, trying in vain to push the image of his granddaughter from his mind.

  Her name was Clementine. Most would assume that the shortened version was Clem, but to them, she had always been Emmy. Now a senior at Georgia Tech, she lived less than ten miles from Rembert and his wife, was planning to pursue a master’s in engineering in the fall.

  He could not be more proud of her.

  Nor could he imagine how he would feel if she was the one now curled onto the floor in a room far from home.

  Or even worse, if he never made it back to see her.

  The thought threatened to bring hot moisture to the underside of his eyes. With it came the involuntary act of slightly gritting his teeth, a move that sent a searing pain through his jaw, drawing the air from his lungs.

  Clamping his eyes down tight, he leaned forward at the waist, lowering his face between his knees. Slowly pulling in air through his nose, he forced it back out again, not yet trusting himself to so much as open his eyes.

  Not until he heard the dreaded sounds of the screws on the door being removed again, signaling that the guards were near, did he so much as move.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  The Jeep was parked in the same spot it had been when I first encountered it earlier in the day. Facing the opposite direction, I was standing closest to the sea, the body of the vehicle between
me and Ela as I tugged on the jeans Farkus had given me.

  In my nostrils I could faintly smell the briny scent of the ocean, the close proximity still just barely penetrating. A few feet away, the engine ticked softly. Humidity was heavy in the air.

  “How they fit?” Ela asked.

  Farkus was at least a couple inches shorter than me, meaning they barely came down to the tops of the ankle socks I was wearing.

  On the plus side, he was a bit heavier, giving me plenty of room.

  “Perfect,” I replied. Cinching my belt into place, I transferred over the knife and sat phone I’d been carrying since leaving the warehouse that morning.

  Having opted against the gun I swiped from Gold Tooth, I now carried the pair of Glock 19’s from the safehouse, one stowed above either haunch. With noise suppressors screwed onto either end, they were a little longer than usual.

  A trade-off I was more than willing to make, given what I was about to embark on.

  “You’re sure you don’t want to go in through the service entrance?” Ela asked. “Manny can have you inside in minutes.”

  Manny was her contact at the airport. How she knew him or what she had promised in exchange for his help, I didn’t know.

  I just knew it was worth it.

  Together, we both moved to the rear of the Jeep. Getting there first, I took down the tailgate and peeled back the tarp, each of us staring down at what Santa Clause had brought us.

  “I can hit him up again,” Ela said. “He can get us into coveralls and have us inside in no time.”

  Of that, I had no doubt. And if only trying to get in was the goal, that wouldn’t be a problem.

  “Can’t,” I said. “Earlier I thought maybe we’d have more people, but with just the two of us, we can’t take the risk.”

  Reaching down, I took up the closest M-24. Sliding my hand along the stock, I fitted my palm into the grip, the base in the crook of my elbow. Pointing the barrel toward the sky, I checked the slide and chamber for the third time, finding it just as smooth as before.

  Where this beauty had come from on a moment’s notice, I would have to make a point of asking Vance later.