Hired to Kill (The Nathan McBride Series Book 7)

by Andrew Peterson

  He put a finger to his lips, turned up the TV’s volume, and leaned in close. “Big Brother could be listening,” he whispered.

  She looked around. “People are listening to us? Seriously?”

  “Shh . . . Keep your voice in a whisper. Probably not, but it doesn’t hurt to be cautious.”

  “Okay. It’s kinda exciting, huh?”

  He smiled. “The reason I know your mom’s okay is because she has issues with trusting people.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She wouldn’t talk to the authorities until she talked to me first.” He lowered his voice even more for effect. “Last night Harv, Holly, and I were at the White House.”

  “No way!”

  He cringed and motioned for her to tone it down.

  “Sorry . . . No way.”

  “We didn’t go inside, but we met with someone really important. Your mom wanted to know if she could trust the person I was with.”

  “Was it the president? I remember when you told me you could talk to him about secret stuff.”

  This girl had an amazing memory. What he’d said was he still had a security clearance high enough to allow him to sit in on presidential briefings. So yeah, she was right.

  “No, we didn’t meet with the president. Your mom needed to know she could trust the person I was with.”

  “Was it Senator Kemper?”

  “No.”

  “I guess I don’t need to know.”

  “What’s odd is your mom didn’t say anything about getting shot last night. I’m worried about her.” He now knew why Jin had sounded stressed.

  “You mean like getting an infection?”

  “Yes. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He looked at the IV hooked into her arm and winked. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  She rolled her eyes again. “That’s so not funny.”

  “Then why are you smiling?”

  He found Harv and his mom holding hands in the waiting area.

  “Mom, may I have a moment with Harv? I’m pretty sure Lauren misses you already.” It was one of those little white lies he could live with.

  After his mom left, he lowered his voice a little. “Lauren told me Jin made contact with her late last night.”

  “I’m really glad to hear that,” Harv said. “For a lot of reasons.”

  He conveyed what Lauren told him.

  Nathan’s phone rang and now wasn’t one of those times to ignore it. “It’s Rebecca . . . Good morning, Director Cantrell.”

  “I only have a minute.”

  “Okay . . .”

  “Be down at the corner of Twenty-Third and First in six minutes.”

  She knows where I am. Dumb thought. Of course she knows. “What’s going on?”

  “This time the motorcade’s coming to you.”

  “Rebecca . . .”

  “Five minutes, fifty-five seconds.”

  “Okay, okay. We’re on our way.”

  “We need you standing at the curb when we arrive. We’ll be coming from Washington Circle. When you see the limos approach, walk out to the curb. We’ll be stopping right next to the Foggy Bottom Metro station sign. Get into the third vehicle when its door opens. We’ll only be stationary for a few seconds.”

  “We’ll be ready.”

  “Say your goodbyes quickly.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Reagan.”

  “We haven’t even checked out of the Willard. What about our clothes?”

  “We’re taking care of it.”

  “Okay. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

  “Not over the phone. Five minutes, twenty seconds.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Their rendezvous went as planned. Rebecca’s motorcade pulled in behind a waiting taxi. Less than five seconds later, the convoy was rolling again.

  Seated inside, Rebecca Cantrell had her legs crossed with two files on her lap. The man seated next to her spoke four words into his phone: “We’re on the way.”

  Rebecca introduced him as her personal aide. He looked familiar, and Nathan was pretty sure they’d met before.

  “You certainly know how to make an entrance,” Nathan said. “Why all the cloak-and-dagger? We could’ve come up to Langley.”

  She didn’t smile, and it became clear something heavy was happening when she said, “We go back a ways, the three of us.”

  Neither of them said anything.

  “That’s what I like about you guys: you’re good listeners. You’ll need to be because what I’m about to tell you is complex and detailed. Before we start, DNI Benson wants you to see something. It’s a three-minute video. We’re ninety-nine percent sure it’s from the Jong Doo underground research facility northeast of Pyongyang.”

  Her aide pulled a laptop from a soft case, opened it, and handed it across to them.

  Four gaunt Asian prisoners were shackled to a metal table. The white room looked clean, too clean. It didn’t take long to realize something bad was about to happen.

  “Rebecca, I don’t want to see North Koreans being—”

  “It’s not that,” she interrupted.

  “We’re not watching this until you tell us what it is,” said Harv.

  “It’s a chemical weapon demo.”

  “Shit, Rebecca.”

  “It’s important. Benson wants you to know what’s at stake. We all do.”

  Using the touch pad, Nathan tapped the Play arrow.

  Rebecca said, “The sound is muted. There’s no need to hear it.”

  One minute into the video, it became clear why the guards had removed the prisoners’ handcuffs. At the two-minute mark, Nathan felt sick to his stomach and hoped it would end soon.

  A few seconds later, it finally did.

  Neither of them spoke.

  There were times in Nathan’s life when he found his faith in humanity tested—when the human race seemed doomed to extinction. This was one of those times.

  “So now you know,” she said.

  “I’m sure there’s a good reason for showing this to us,” Nathan said, not softening the edge in his voice. He could’ve lived ten lifetimes without seeing this crap.

  “There’s a very good reason,” she said.

  It took most of the drive to the airport for Rebecca to explain what her people had learned from his sister’s interrogation and their own follow-up questioning. “Our guest caved at the two-hour mark. Jin had already worked him over pretty hard. We didn’t have to do much. We traded him pain relief coupled with quiet sleep time for some additional details. We now have a pretty good picture of what’s going on. Speaking of, how much sleep did you guys get last night?”

  “Not much, a couple of hours.”

  “Take a look at the inside flap of your files.”

  They did. Light blue in color, a small oval pill was scotch-taped to the flap.

  “Triazolam, twenty-five milligrams,” she said. “I want you guys to take them right away. You’ll be sleepy within thirty to forty-five minutes. It should keep you asleep for the entire flight out to Santa Fe.”

  Harv looked skeptical, but Nathan knew all about this drug. It worked well and had no groggy aftereffects.

  “I’ve used it before, Harv. All it does is help you fall asleep; it doesn’t keep you asleep like surgical anesthetics. It’s totally safe in this dosage.” As proof, Nathan popped it into his mouth and swallowed it.

  Harv did the same.

  “You’ll be on a company plane. One of our G280s.”

  Normally Harv would’ve said something like nice, but the mood in their armored limo had turned dark.

  “Your pilots are operations officers, just like you guys used to be. They’ll be accompanying you all the way to the BSI’s academy and training ground. Needless to say, those files will not leave your possession or be duplicated. A BSI helicopter will be waiting for you at the aviation center at Santa Fe. You’ll be flying directly to BSI’s academy, where you’ll receive a comprehensive mission-op br
iefing. You’ll be reviewing topo maps, aerial photos, and a 1:500 scale mock-up of the ranch compound and the ranch house. We don’t have anything on the interiors of the buildings, but BSI’s people have made cardboard representations of the buildings and their relationships to one another.

  “Once El Lobo’s name surfaced during your sister’s interrogation of her captive, a special agent from our San Diego field division spoke to Denise Tabor and showed her one of the few photographs we have of the man. The same photo’s in your file. She couldn’t identify him as either of her two assailants, but she did see something that’s not in your file. Several months ago, a female US Border Patrol agent was brutally assaulted over a two-day period. She described El Lobo in great detail, including a scorpion tattoo on the back of his right hand. Ms. Tabor described the exact same tattoo on the back of her attacker’s hand. From Ms. Tabor’s description, it’s clear El Lobo was wearing a disguise. He wore dark glasses and had a mustache and goatee.

  “From the physical description she gave of the other man, we think he’s El Lobo’s lieutenant, Quattro. We have very little information on him, but a facial sketch of him is also in your file.”

  “How is Denise Tabor doing?”

  “She’s going to need plastic surgery on her face, but she’s expected to make a full recovery.”

  “Physically,” Nathan said.

  “That’s what I meant.”

  “I’m sorry, Rebecca. I didn’t mean to sound cold.” He shook his head. “I seem to be apologizing a lot lately.”

  “He’s not the only one,” Harv said.

  “Look, you don’t need to apologize. We’re all on edge. If one of those grenades gets released into a crowded space, there could be hundreds of casualties. Maybe more. The insidious aspect is the pretoxin effect of making people go berserk. We can only speculate on how it works. Many secondary injuries and deaths will likely occur to people who weren’t even exposed to the compound.”

  “So how do Nathan and I fit in?” asked Harv.

  “You’re on one of the fire teams, assuming you want to go.”

  Harv exchanged a glance with him, then said, “Absolutely. Are we going in with SEALs or recons?”

  “Neither.”

  Nathan started to say something, but she held up a hand.

  “President Trump has already authorized direct military intervention, but he doesn’t want the US military used.”

  They both understood at the same time.

  “He wants to use BSI private military contractors,” Harv said.

  “Because . . . ?” she asked.

  “Because the op’s on the Mexican side of the fence.”

  “And . . . ?”

  “It gives the United States credible deniability. If the op fails miserably and it’s leaked to the public, it could be seen as a purely retaliatory strike by a man furious about the murder of his son and attempted murder of his wife.”

  “Isn’t it a little harsh to let BSI take the fall?” Harv asked.

  “Vincent Beaumont volunteered knowing his company could take a PR hit. We assured him his contracts with the US government aren’t in jeopardy.”

  “Aren’t the stakes a little high to entrust this entirely to BSI?” asked Nathan.

  “Actually no. BSI’s operatives are some of the most highly trained combat and special-op veterans in the world. Few people know how big a role BSI played in the Iraq and Afghan wars. You guys do, but it’s not common knowledge. When the CIA needed prisoners to interrogate, BSI teams often went out and got them. You both need to be clear on something. The operation against the Rio Grande cell is going to be under BSI’s command. Vince will be leading the teams. Understood?”

  “Fully,” Nathan said.

  “To answer one thing you might be wondering—yes, Vince approved your inclusion. It was part of the . . . negotiation. He said he wouldn’t agree to the op without you guys. We could’ve approached a different military contractor, but based on the advice from his cabinet, the president decided to go with BSI.”

  Nathan raised his eyebrows.

  “Yes, this situation rises to the presidential decision level. Think about what we’re doing. We’re conducting a military operation on the south side of the fence without support from the Mexican government. Although President Menendez knows about the raid, and he’s on board with it, it’s purely a BSI mission.”

  When Nathan started to speak, she held up a hand.

  “Contrary to the way the mainstream media portray things, President Trump’s relationship with Menendez is strong. They personally spoke on the phone a few hours ago.”

  “Then the need-to-know circle on this op is small?”

  “Extremely small. A few of Menendez’s cabinet secretaries only. Look, we’d never do this without his permission. Trust me, he doesn’t want it leaked that terrorist cells are operating inside his country with impunity.”

  Nathan didn’t say anything.

  “One more thing. As a fail-safe backup plan in the event BSI’s raid isn’t successful, three B-2 Spirits will be in a holding pattern just north of the border. On the president’s command, they will accidentally stray a few miles south and drop sixty tons of general purpose bombs. We’re going to obliterate every building on the property and anyone who’s inside of them.”

  “Including us,” Harv said.

  Nathan locked eyes with her. “I should’ve given my mom a longer hug.”

  CHAPTER 27

  After being dropped off at Reagan’s jet center, Nathan yawned and realized the pill had begun to work its magic. “You feeling the effect yet?” he asked Harv.

  “Yeah, it’s like I’ve only had two hours of sleep in the last two days.”

  His friend’s sarcasm wasn’t lost on him. “We’ve gone longer.”

  They didn’t say anything for a spell.

  “Harv?”

  “Yeah, Nate?”

  “If we get exposed to that toxic crap, will you . . . you know, do whatever it takes?”

  “Only if you’ll do the same for me. Chances are we’ll be together anyway.”

  “I hate the thought of hurting you, Harv.”

  Harv smiled. “What makes you think you’ll get the upper hand? I might be the one whooping ass on you.”

  “That video . . . It has to be the most disturbing thing we’ve ever seen. And we’ve seen a lot.”

  “Maybe the B-2s will spare us,” Harv said.

  “Yeah, that would be quick, all right. Those people looked out of their minds. I wonder if they knew what they were doing but just couldn’t help themselves.”

  Harv nodded. “I think I know why it’s bothering you so much in particular. You’re worried about unleashing what’s inside you.”

  “Yeah, I am. It’s already crazy enough. It doesn’t need any help.”

  “Try not to think about it.”

  “Are you going to call Candace?”

  “You mean like a goodbye kinda call?” Harv asked.

  He shrugged.

  “Absolutely not. She once told me if I ever made that kind of call and I survived, she’d kill me when I got home.”

  “She really said that?”

  “Yep.”

  “Yeah, that sounds like Candace, all right. Can’t say I blame her, though. ‘Good night, honey, and oh, I forgot to mention that we may never see each other again. Sleep well.’ Yeah, that’s a crappy call to get.”

  “Besides, we’ve already said our goodbyes. Did I ever tell you we did that a long time ago? Said our goodbyes?”

  “No.”

  “We were having a discussion, kinda like this one, and we both agreed we’d say goodbye right then and there and never, ever do it again. And we’ve honored that agreement ever since.”

  “I guess I need to do that with Holly.”

  “You absolutely should.”

  “Hey, aren’t we supposed to be retired?”

  “You remember what Rebecca said.”

  Nathan nodded. It was ha
rd to forget: “You’re never retired.”

  Harv offered a closed fist, and they touched knuckles. “For king and country.”

  “For king and country.”

  Rebecca had called it. Nathan awoke when the Gulfstream’s wheels touched down.

  He looked across the aisle at Harv, who stretched his arms. “How’re you feeling? Hungover from the pill?”

  “Not at all.”

  Their G280 taxied over to Santa Fe’s small aviation center where several private jets, a couple of twin-engine turbo props, and one beautiful BSI helicopter were parked.

  Local time was just after 10:30 a.m.

  They both made head calls before being escorted off the jet by its first officer. Soft cases in hand, they waited while a man wearing sunglasses came out of the aviation center and walked toward them. He introduced himself as one of BSI’s pilots. The jet’s first officer said they’d need a few more minutes to shut down and secure the craft.

  BSI’s pilot asked if they wanted to wait inside the jet center, but Nathan preferred to remain on his feet. Harv agreed.

  Fifteen minutes later, the five of them were flying north along the base of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. He didn’t know how the mountain range had gotten its name, but he understood the translation: Blood of Christ.

  The next twelve hours seemed to blur into a single event without shape or definition. After landing at BSI’s academy, several miles from the town of Nambé, they were escorted to their quarters across what looked like an oversized summer camp. All told, BSI’s academy and training facility encompassed just over four square miles. Nathan thought it must’ve cost a small fortune getting this place set up. Someday when they weren’t pressed for time, he’d like to take a tour with Harv. A security fence—topped with dozens of cameras—surrounded the entire twenty-seven-hundred-acre facility. Clearly, Vincent Beaumont took the safety of his cadets and PMCs seriously.

  Vince arrived about an hour later and met up with them at the cafeteria. The two CIA operations officers introduced themselves, and the five of them settled down at a quiet table in the corner of the room. The boss’s arrival turned heads, but everyone respected Vince’s privacy and didn’t approach. A few waved in a subdued way, and Vince waved back. Everyone here knew his family had been attacked. The news was hard to miss.