Punching Tickets: Book Five in The Mad Mick Series

by Franklin Horton

  Conor was adamant that the dogs remain outside. While they were well-fed and well-treated, they had a role to play at the compound. They provided security when the humans were inside or off-premises. They were capable of smelling out situations humans couldn't detect. They were one layer of the overall security plan and that plan only worked if they were outside doing their jobs.

  Shannon, for all her good intentions, thought it was cruel to leave the dogs outside on cold nights. Never mind that Conor had built them the warmest of insulated dog houses and they had deep nests of fresh sawdust bedding. She liked treating them to evenings by the fire with snacks and rubs on the belly. Shannon knew Conor didn't approve of this. He'd made his logic clear. The dogs weren't pets. Every moment they were inside was a moment they weren't doing their job. Yet Shannon hadn't quit. She'd only taken to hiding her activities, bringing the dogs in and spoiling them on the evenings when Conor wasn't around.

  It was for that reason that, after a long day of working outside in the presence of the dogs, they gave Shannon a mournful look when she and Ragus headed inside to prepare dinner. That look was more than she could take.

  "Just look at that, Ragus? How am I supposed to stand up to that?"

  "You know the rules. Just tell them."

  "That's ridiculous," Shannon snapped. "Dogs don't understand rules."

  "Apparently some people don't either."

  Shannon gave him a sharp look. "I don't see where it hurts to let them come in for a few hours and warm their tiny little paws. We'll put them out at bedtime so they can do their job."

  Ragus threw his hands up. "That's between you and Conor. My vote is they stay outside. If you let them come in, that's on you."

  "Then let it be on me. I'm fine with it. Dogs, come with me."

  They perked up at her voice, detecting the inviting tone. Ragus was certain he saw them smirking at him as they walked by and strolled through the door Shannon held open for them.

  "I'm not sharing my dinner with them," Ragus said.

  "Be that way. One day if you're trapped beneath a fallen log or a snake bites you, these dogs are going to remember this. You're going to ask them to go bring help and they're going to lay down in the shade and ignore you."

  While Ragus was not pleased to see the dogs stroll into the house, he was outnumbered in that department. The dogs were very happy with the turn of events, as was Shannon.

  23

  Outside of Conor's Compound

  Jewell Ridge, Virginia

  Also happy to see the dogs go into the house that night was Wombat, watching from downwind through the scope of his deer rifle. He only used the scope because it was the best long-distance optic he had. He didn't have any intention of shooting either of those folks yet, but neither did he have any concerns about pointing his loaded rifle in their direction. The lives of the young man and the young woman were immaterial to him. His only interest was the compound.

  With everyone inside, Wombat waited a few moments for the scene to settle down. He wanted to make sure no one suddenly remembered some reason they needed to come back outside. He also needed to make sure that there weren't any more people wandering around the place that he hadn't accounted for. He didn't think there were. He'd seen two headlamps last night after the chopper left and he'd seen two people today. So far everything was consistent. If these were the only two people inside this whole camp, he might have a chance of taking it after all. Hell, he'd killed six with his ax handle in that one house. Two would barely be a challenge.

  When he felt comfortable that the compound was quiet, he moved out of hiding and crept in that direction. He'd positioned himself downwind, which was good even if the dogs were inside. They might still smell him and start barking if they caught his scent. When he was about fifty yards from the compound, he dropped over the low shoulder of the road and paused a moment to scan the compound again. When he didn't detect anything out of the ordinary, he resumed his movement.

  He didn't want to approach the wide rolling gate at the road entrance because they might be able to see him out a window. He was looking for some concealed position where he might hide and watch the camp but there wasn't much available. That was weird to him because there were always evergreen trees, mountain laurel, or downed logs to take cover behind. There were none here though. Not a single piece of cover anywhere he could see.

  That had to be intentional. Were these people that paranoid? Had they meticulously gone around the perimeter and removed everything a person could hide behind?

  It certainly looked that way. Wombat felt fairly safe at the moment, his camouflage doing a good job of concealing him in the terrain, but he couldn't see much from this distance. He needed to get closer. He raised his rifle again and peered through the scope.

  Most of the buildings he saw were the same kind of structures he'd seen on industrial sites before. They had steel-siding and steel roofs, all of it the same pale green color. There were buildings that looked like shops and others that looked like offices. There were several vehicles, but they didn't look like they'd been moved lately. One of the vehicles was a military cargo truck, which could support the idea that this was some kind of military base.

  The two figures he'd seen didn't exactly look military, but it was hard to tell at a distance. They wore some kind of tactical vests over their coats and carried AR-style rifles, but that didn't mean anything. He carried one of those too. Why the hell would there even be a base on this mountain? That made no sense at all. Surely he'd have heard about it before now.

  Sitting there in the leaves and twigs, brow furrowed, Wombat came to a conclusion. Stealth wasn't his thing. He could sit in these woods for a month and not learn anything more than he'd seen already. He needed another approach. He was plainspoken and upfront, a bull in a china shop, indelicate in all senses of the word.

  "Yeah, fuck this." Wombat got to his feet and climbed back onto the road. He confirmed he had a round in the chamber of his rifle then slung it over his back so he wouldn't appear threatening.

  He walked right up to the main gate and stood there for a moment looking around. When no one came to the gate, he took a deep breath and let it out, then began banging on the chain link with his fist, calling, "Hello!"

  When he pounded on the fence, the wire rattled against the pipe frame of the gate with a metallic slapping sound. As he knocked, Wombat looked around to see if there was a place where he could potentially slip through the fence but didn't find one. Whoever had installed this fencing had been meticulous about it. There were no gaps anywhere that he could see.

  Wombat quit pounding for a second and stepped back to assess the bottom of the gate, wondering if he could crawl through on his belly. It was then, his eyes downcast, that he spotted the glowing red dot on his chest. He'd played enough video games and seen enough action movies in his life to know what that dot meant. He froze and slowly raised his hands.

  "What do you want?" came a voice.

  Wombat spotted the young woman hiding behind one of those giant wooden spools like the power company used. The only thing showing was the top of her head and a rifle barrel. Even her elbow was neatly tucked away from sight.

  "I asked what you wanted," Shannon repeated.

  "Easy there," Wombat said. "I don't mean you no trouble. Don't shoot me."

  "I won't be making any promises to that effect. Don't give me a reason to shoot and I won't pull the trigger."

  Wombat nodded. "Fair enough."

  "But if I have to keep repeating myself, I'll kill you out of aggravation."

  Realizing he needed to get to the point or risk a bullet, Wombat got on with it. "I live in this area. Ain't been up this road in a while. Saw this place and wondered what it was. Didn't know if anyone lived here or not."

  "Yeah, someone lives here," another voice announced.

  Wombat whipped his head to the left and found another rifle aimed at him. The gunman was a younger man, and he was hidden behind a section of concrete cu
lvert. Wombat didn't know how he'd gotten in that position without him noticing. These people were practiced. They were good at this and it made them dangerous. There was no way he was talking his way through that gate with people like this on the other side. In fact, he might be lucky to escape with his life.

  "I'm sorry if I bothered you folks," Wombat said. "Didn't mean no harm. Just figured in times like this it was good to know who your neighbors are."

  Wombat knew instantly he'd said exactly the right thing. It was the way the girl hesitated, the way her rifle barrel wavered slightly. He pushed on.

  "I know there's been a lot of trouble here in the community. Mostly I've stuck to myself since this whole thing happened. I figured if I didn't bother anyone, they wouldn't bother me. Lately, I've come to think it might be good to get out and introduce myself. Try to make some friends."

  Shannon lowered her rifle, the red dot dropping off Wombat's chest but still hovering at his feet. She'd dropped her guard a little but could still bring her rifle up and put a round in him if she needed to. "We aren't taking visitors at the moment. Come back in the spring."

  That response puzzled Wombat. "Hell, that's months away. A lot could happen before then. A man might need friends sooner than that."

  "A dead man doesn't need any friends," Ragus offered from behind the culvert.

  Wombat nodded warily. "You got me there, buddy. I get the point. Listen, is there someone else I can talk to? The person in charge, maybe?"

  "I'm in charge," Shannon said. Although she and Ragus hadn't exactly discussed this, it wasn't the time to debate it. He'd just have to accept it for now.

  "A girl?” Wombat chuckled. “Honey, you don't even look old enough to drive."

  That was the wrong thing to say. The red dot at Wombat's feet crept back up his body and stopped on his sternum. "Sorry, didn't mean nothing by that!"

  "You should probably be going," Ragus said. "Hit the road."

  Wombat flipped his raised hands in a conciliatory gesture and began backing away from the gate. "I'll just be leaving now. Sorry I bothered you folks." He backed a good distance from the gate before turning around and walking away. He hated exposing his back to these people, imagining two red dots bouncing around on the back of his camo jacket.

  Wombat knew he wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer. He knew that from school and from his experience in the workplace, but he accepted that about himself. He'd become good at his job because he was strong, tough, and a hard worker. He had qualities that compensated for what was probably below average intelligence.

  Still, he was smart enough to know that he might need to rethink his plan to take this fenced camp. These people were on edge and they knew what they were doing. They were skilled. They hadn't hesitated to put their guns on him and he sensed that any sudden move on his part would have got him killed. It might be smart to give these folks a wide berth. He didn't expect he'd be walking by that gate again anytime soon. If he needed a more secure place to store his plunder, he was probably going to have to keep looking.

  24

  Straits of Gibraltar

  Spain

  The night before the planned operation, the Shandong floated through the Straits of Gibraltar and into the Mediterranean. Conor and Barb spent the day readying themselves for the mission. They held back enough food from their stash to get them through the time they had remaining on the ship and tossed the remainder overboard. They did the same with the excess ammunition and operational gear they wouldn't need. When they were done, they each had a backpack with rations, ammo, and their personal gear. Everything else had been tossed.

  Barb had obtained the insulated water pitchers and Conor had prepared his charges. Once they were built, the rest of the bomb-making materials went overboard as well. They wanted nothing to remain behind that might be used as evidence. The only piece Conor still needed to procure was the steel cable that he'd pack around the charge. He hadn't wanted to cut out a section of railing too early in case the vandalism drew attention.

  He retrieved the satellite phone from his pack and hit the contact for Ricardo. He wanted to let him know the status of the operation and that they'd be calling for pickup once their work was complete. The phone rang several times and Ricardo still hadn't picked up. With each passing ring, Conor became more concerned. After ten rings, he ended the call, his brow furrowed.

  "What is it?" Barb asked.

  "I've worked for Ricardo for a long time. He's never failed to answer a call. He takes his phone with him everywhere, day or night. It's his business and he's obsessed with being connected at all times."

  "There are reasons why a person might not be able to answer the phone,” said Barb. “Give him a few minutes and call back."

  Conor did but the results were no better. Over a thirty minute period he called a half-dozen times and got no answer. By the last call, he was pacing the floor. "This isn't good, Barb. This never happens. I'm thinking about pulling out."

  Barb looked surprised. "We're here. We have a plan and we're hours from putting it into action. You'd really pull out this close to completing the job?"

  "You'll learn, Barb. You have to trust your gut."

  "And your gut is telling you to pull the operation over an unanswered phone call?"

  "My gut is telling me that something isn't right."

  Barb didn't know what to say to that. She was new to this line of work and her dad was an old pro, a battle-worn triggerman who relied on his gut the way she relied on GPS. She was torn. "How about you go get the cable you need and I'll keep trying Ricardo."

  Conor considered the suggestion, then nodded. "I tell you what, I'm going to add Shani's number to this phone."

  "You know Shani's number?"

  "I do. She gave it to me when she came to the compound. It was only right to have the phone number of my baby momma, you know?" He grinned as he said it but Barb was shocked.

  "Baby momma? Dad, I can't believe those words just came out of your mouth."

  Conor finished plugging the number into the phone and handed it over to Barb. "If you can't get Ricardo in the next thirty minutes, you call Shani and tell her what's going on."

  Barb took the phone. "Does the contact say Baby Momma?"

  Conor frowned. "No, but there's only two numbers in there. It's the other one."

  "I'm just teasing, Dad. Please be careful."

  Conor winked. "If I'd been careful, there wouldn't be a baby momma." He chambered a round in his rifle and slipped out into the dark hallway.

  25

  The Shandong

  The Mediterranean

  The crewman watching the security cameras spoke to the captain in Chinese.

  "What did he say?" Congresswoman Shoe asked.

  "He spotted movement on the starboard deck," the captain replied. A native of Hong Kong, his English was perfect.

  The crewman manipulated the security system to enlarge the camera in question.

  "Do we have stored footage we can review?" Shoe asked. "I'd like to know how long this man has been onboard and what he's been up to during that time."

  The captain shook his head. "You personally ordered me to turn off the camera system and recording, Madam. You said there should be no evidence that you all were aboard this ship."

  A scowl crinkled the congresswoman's already sour expression. He was right. She had asked that the cameras be turned off. The last thing she needed was footage like that showing up on American television when things got back to normal. "I was just hoping we might be able to find out something. Where’s he been staying on the ship? Are there more of them? Do they have allies onboard the ship?"

  The captain took offense at that last remark. "I can assure you that my crew is above reproach."

  The congresswoman ignored him. That was exactly what she'd expect him to say. It was what every leader said in that situation, but she'd been in politics long enough to know everyone could be bought for the right price. If politicians could be bought, a membe
r of a ship's crew could certainly be bought.

  "What did your intelligence sources tell you exactly?"

  The question came from Rey Fat, the head of the security detail on the ship. The congresswoman had never been able to get a straight answer about who he worked for. Were his people Chinese military? Were they mercenaries? Some kind of Special Operations force? Whenever she'd asked, the reply was some kind of circular nonsense that took a lot of words but provided no real answers. She knew bullshit when she heard it because she'd built a career spouting it.

  The congresswoman took a sip of her dirty martini, spilling a little out the side of her mouth. She was already two beyond her normal evening intake, but the call from her man in Washington came as an unpleasant surprise that required tempering with alcohol. "Some agency heads in Washington decided to break with the program and try to run an operation against us. People loyal to our side got word that this operation was being set up on the Georgia coast, close to where we were anchored. They managed to put one of our people on the advance team. When he didn't meet his daily check-in, they sent a team in to find him. They couldn’t find his body, but there was a tracking device on his tablet that led them to it. His notes indicated there was a plan to move against the ship, but there wasn't enough detail to be helpful."

  What the congresswoman didn't mention was that her intelligence people had wasted precious days trying to put the pieces together before letting her know she could be in danger. Apparently, the operative's notes were written in Serbian, and it took them some time to find a translator who could make sense of them. Congresswoman Shoe didn't know if the operation had gone on as scheduled or not, but she couldn't take any chances. She knew there could be someone on this ship who wanted to kill her and now the security cameras had just verified it. She'd seen the unidentified man skulking about the deck with her own eyes.