Punching Tickets: Book Five in The Mad Mick Series

by Franklin Horton

  "What do you want us to do?" Rey Fat asked, looking between the captain and the congresswoman. "I have all my men awake and armed. They're ready to move on your word."

  "Take him alive," the congresswoman said. "I need to question him. We need to know if there are others with him on this ship."

  Rey Fat looked doubtful. "We can try but—"

  "You better fucking try hard," she spat. "If he dies, you die. Is that clear?"

  Rey Fat looked at the congresswoman with utter calm, his face betraying nothing. His eyes, though. The congresswoman knew that look. Had it just been the two of them in that room, he might have killed her. He was not a man who took threats lightly.

  "We will take him alive then," he replied.

  26

  Conor's Compound

  Jewell Ridge, Virginia

  Shannon and Ragus cooked dinner that night, both of them enjoying working in the kitchen together, spending time absent the scrutiny of Conor and Doc Marty. The solar power was sufficient to run the microwave, but Conor preferred they not run the kitchen range off it since it drew a lot of power. If they wanted to cook something in a pot or pan, they cooked atop the surface of the woodstove or used one of the Coleman camping stoves that ran off white gas.

  Shannon surprised Ragus by retrieving one of the bottles of mead from the pantry while he was searing the venison cutlets in the frying pan. He was certain she had to feel his wide eyes burning into her but she ignored him, not even meeting his look as she poured two glasses.

  "I'm assuming one of those is for me?" Ragus asked.

  "No, I made one for each hand," she teased. "Of course one of them is for you."

  Conor had let them sample the mead the night Ricardo brought it so it wasn't like they hadn't tried it before, but drinking was not a recreational activity at the compound. Every once in a while Doc Marty or Conor would get sentimental and propose a toast to someone or some ideal, but no one ever got drunk. It was more about tradition than anything else, old guys raising their glasses out of a sense of honor or respect.

  Although Ragus had seen many drunk men in his life, he'd never seen Conor in that state. One drink, two at the most, but never to excess. Conor lived in a heightened state of alert. He wanted to be mission-ready, locked and loaded at all times. A drunk man was a dead man in his world. A man with his history, with such a long list of enemies, always had to be ready to fight.

  Perhaps sensing Ragus's hesitation, Shannon became defensive. "It's no big deal, Ragus. When we lived in Dubai I had wine with my dinner lots of times. Dad never cared. It's common in much of the world." She slid a glass of the mead across the counter to him.

  "I don't think it's common in apocalyptic Appalachia," Ragus said, taking a sip of the mead. "And growing up around here, I don't think the idea of children having wine with dinner was all that common either."

  "Whatever," she said, dismissing his comments and taking a much longer drink from her own glass.

  He fully expected her to make comments about backward rural people and their lack of refinement, but she bit her tongue. Ragus let it go. Despite his reservations, the mead was good. He'd always enjoyed the mild buzz he experienced with alcohol, but he'd never had many opportunities to drink. By the time he got old enough that some of his peers were starting to hold drinking parties in the woods, his mother was too sick for him to want to imbibe. It seemed wrong to be out there having a good time when she was suffering at home alone. He needed to be there for her. Those were dark times he didn't enjoy revisiting.

  "I'd love to get drunk," Shannon announced. "It's been a long time."

  Ragus’ mouth tightened. He’d had a feeling this was where she was headed. She'd had that vibe about her all day, acting like she wanted to kick loose now that they were finally out from beneath the wings of the watchful adults. Ragus didn't have that same carefree attitude. He felt the burden of responsibility, of making sure they kept Conor's home safe and secure in his absence. He'd promised to do so and wouldn't break his promise to the man who'd taken him in when he had nowhere to go.

  "I don't know that getting drunk is a very good idea," he finally said. "Especially after that visitor we had today.”

  Shannon rolled her eyes and sighed as if she'd expected his reaction. "I don't think we have to worry about that guy. I think we put a scare into him. Besides, the dogs have things covered. They're watching the place."

  "They'll guard the place as long as you leave them out there," he retorted. "They know your weakness now. They throw you one sad look and you crumble like a dog biscuit. Then they're inside snoozing by the fire and the perimeter is left unprotected."

  "Geez, I'll leave them outside," Shannon said, holding her hand up like she was making a pledge. "Scout’s honor."

  "What if they alert on something? What if they start going crazy and we're laying in here drunk? How are we going to function if we need to go on the offensive and engage with someone?"

  Shannon heaved another dramatic sigh. "Geez, you sound like Conor. Okay, fun sponge. I'll limit myself to two drinks, not counting this one. Happy now?"

  "I guess so." However, Ragus sounded anything but happy. He didn't know what had gotten into her. She was normally more responsible than this.

  Despite his attitude, Shannon wasn't going to let him ruin her good time. She'd been inconvenienced enough by this whole American collapse. She didn't know why she and her father hadn't stayed in Dubai and sat the whole thing out in luxury. She understood it had something to do with his operation coming to an end, but she didn't know all the details. Either way, it felt unfair.

  Some days she was fine with her life here in the remote compound, but other days she wasn't. Today was a mix. She was enjoying the freedom she had, but it certainly wasn't anything to brag about. She was free to enjoy herself as long as she did her chores, stayed sober, and didn't leave the property. Where was the freedom in that?

  Shannon took another sip of her mead, watching Ragus tend to his pan. He was acting nervous and uncomfortable. She knew that was her doing and understood that the last thing she needed to do was alienate the one friend she had in her new life. "So, have you ever been back to your old home?"

  Ragus was surprised by the question. He shot a glance at Shannon before he replied, wondering what brought that on. "A time or two."

  That they'd both lost their mothers was one of the things they shared. Their lives up until this point were so disparate that it was indeed one of the few things they had in common. She'd lived a very posh, international lifestyle up until this point. Ragus had lived a very isolated life marked by poverty and periods of desperation. If not for this very odd turn of events, chances were that the two of them would never have crossed paths.

  "I'd like to see it. The place where you grew up." She was sitting on a kitchen stool now, her clear glass of mead cupped in two hands.

  To Ragus, she looked sweet, vulnerable, and impossible to refuse. "Why would you want to see that old place? It's nothing to look at. The way people are around here, it's probably been looted and burned to the ground by now."

  "We could visit your mother's grave. You could introduce me."

  That was a weird thought to Ragus, the idea of introducing this girl to his deceased mother. It also sounded like something that had a high probability of emotionally derailing him. Ragus wasn't interested in being so vulnerable in front of Shannon. He wasn't even certain that he was interested in letting those emotions ever see the light of day again. It seemed a pointless act that would only cause him suffering.

  "I'm sorry if the idea bothers you," Shannon said, sensing his uncertainty. "I just thought it would be something cool we could do together."

  Then Ragus felt bad. Maybe he was being a stick in the mud, shooting down everything she wanted to do. Ever since his mother's death he'd been serious. He'd been changed by the ordeal, hardened from a boy into a very private and emotionally-guarded young man. Perhaps he needed to loosen up some. Certainly, if he wanted his r
elationship with Shannon to continue progressing he needed to be more fun to be around. Why would she continue to be interested in him if he was boring? He might be the only boy in her life right now, but that wasn't going to be a certainty forever. At some point she'd have other options. If he wanted her to come back to him, he had to give her a reason to do so.

  "I guess we could," he finally said. "Still, Conor was serious about us not leaving the compound. He didn't want us being exposed to danger or leaving the compound unprotected."

  "How far is it?" Shannon asked, undeterred.

  "Not far. Maybe an hour of walking. Between here and town."

  "So we'd be gone three hours total if we spent an hour there? That's not too long. We could leave early in the morning and be back by lunchtime. That would give us the rest of the day to finish our chores and no one would ever know."

  Ragus knew she was right, but he had a hard time putting aside Conor's warning to not leave the compound unless there was an emergency. "Remember that Johnny Jacks is supposed to show up sometime this week. If we go, we have to keep our mouths shut about it. He can't know we left the compound or he'll tell Conor."

  Shannon frowned at him. "I'm not an idiot. I've been sneaky longer than you have, Ragus. Plus, I'm a girl. Don't you worry about me."

  Ragus laughed at the way she chided him. Sometimes she was like Barb in the way she came at him. Yet she had a softer side to her that Barb just didn't have. Barb had been his first crush, then Shannon had replaced her. If she wanted to break the rules, he'd break them with her. If she wanted to venture out of the compound and go see the place where he'd grown up, he supposed he could do that too. What could go wrong in three hours?

  27

  The Shandong

  The Mediterranean

  Conor located the section of cable railing he wanted to cut, where the taut braided wire was thin enough that his folding bolt cutters could snip it with no problem. He pulled the cutters from a cargo pocket and slung his rifle over his back so he could work. He raised the bolt cutters into position, hoping the stretched cable didn't retract with enough force to make noise when he snipped it. He'd just started to close the bolt cutters on the cable when he heard the scuff of a shoe on the deck behind him.

  He spun, raising the bolt cutters over his shoulder like a bat. He found one of the security team just feet away, bringing his weapon to bear. Conor stepped forward, trapping the compact weapon beneath his left armpit while bringing the bolt cutters down with all his force. They caught the guard above his ear, scrambling his circuits, and dropping him to the ground.

  More guards flowed in from all directions. Conor grabbed the pistol grip of the Chinese Type 06 submachine gun and swept the assaulters. The 9mm weapon was unsuppressed and the fire was deafening as it rang off the steel surfaces of the ship. Three of the guards dropped while others scrambled for cover. The mag ran dry and Conor tossed the weapon.

  He ducked behind a steel bulkhead, swinging his rifle to the front of his body, and flicking the selector to the full-auto position, marked God Wills It on the receiver. A man in the distance broke cover, sprinting for a closer position. Conor sent a burst in his direction, his suppressed .300 fire creating a spitting sound barely audible above the ocean.

  Then it hit Conor that for all the guns these men were carrying, he was the only one firing. He took that to mean they wanted him alive. That was fine. He had a good position and he was a patient man. If they wanted him, they'd have to expose themselves and he'd drop them one at a time. However, he hadn't counted on the stun grenades.

  The first bounced into his position with startling accuracy. Had it been closer, he'd have been able to kick it overboard but there was no time. Conor launched himself into the air, attempting to dive clear of the concussive blast.

  Although the powerful explosion left Conor's ears ringing, he was still in the fight. He scrambled to his feet, already planning to bolt down the corridor and make them pursue him. In the narrow hallway, there'd be nowhere to hide and he could easily pick them off if they refused to fire at him. Then the second stun grenade went off just feet behind him and this one left him addled. He staggered against the wall, trying to get his bearings.

  Before he could reorient himself, he was tackled from behind and landed face-first on the deck. He went for his knife, figuring to slice a chunk out of the nearest attacker, but more men were on him now. His arms were pinned, then his legs. He screamed like a wild man, but couldn't even hear his own shouts over the ringing in his ears. He tried to kick and fight his way loose, but there were too many hands on him. He got his teeth into one of them, trying his best to bite loose the chunk of flesh trapped in his mouth. From nowhere, the butt of a rifle smashed into the back of his head and Conor slumped to the deck unconscious.

  Rey Fat got to his feet, grimacing as he slung blood from his injured hand. He raised his radio and keyed the mic. "We got him."

  "Excellent," came the captain's voice. "The congresswoman asks that you bring him to the briefing room immediately."

  "Acknowledged." Rey pocketed the radio and stepped away from the pile on the floor. He gestured at them impatiently. "Get him up. Take him to the briefing room."

  28

  The Shandong

  The Mediterranean

  Barb wasn't patient enough to continue calling Ricardo's number for thirty more minutes. When she failed to reach him after ten she dialed Shani's number.

  "Hello?" the voice answered, both sleepy and hesitant, not recognizing the number.

  "Shani! It's Barb Maguire. I'm sorry to bother you." She could hear movement in the background, Shani perhaps relocating to another room where she could speak freely.

  "No, Barb, it's fine. What's going on? Is something wrong?"

  "I don't even know where to start. Dad and I are on an operation. We're on a cruise ship in the Mediterranean. The op was supposed to take place in American waters, but they're underway to Saudi Arabia now. We're getting ready to launch the op tomorrow but we can't get ahold of Ricardo."

  "That's...unusual," Shani said. "I've worked with Ricardo for years and never known him to miss a phone call. The man is obsessive about it."

  "That's what Dad said."

  "So what can I do to help?"

  "All I know is we went through the Straits of Gibraltar tonight. We're about to launch an op that will be very messy. We'll have to leave the ship immediately afterward but we can't arrange our escape because we can't reach Ricardo."

  "No problem, Barb. I got this. I'll find you guys and then we'll worry about Ricardo. Can I call you back at this number?"

  Before Barb could answer, there was a knocking at the door, light but insistent. "Hold on, Shani. There's someone at the door. We have an asset on the ship."

  "Stay on the line!" Shani demanded.

  "I will." Barb looked out the peephole and confirmed that it was Dana. She tried opening the door gently to minimize noise but Dana shoved through the door.

  "We have to go now!" Dana said.

  "What's wrong?" Barb asked. At the same time as she was asking the question, Shani was in her ear asking the same question.

  "They've got Conor. I just saw him dragged off. They'll be interrogating him and then they'll search the entire ship. I need to get you somewhere else before they start the search."

  "What is it?" Shani repeated.

  "Something went wrong. They have Dad. I'll have to call you back. Please get us some help." Barb ended the call and shoved the phone in her pants pocket. "What do I need to do?"

  "I can hide you in my room if we get there before they start searching, but we have to move now. Get your stuff."

  Barb threw on her pack, which was now considerably lighter since they'd purged their loadout. She took up Conor's pack and hung it around her neck, then charged her rifle, allowing the bolt to smack closed with a firm schwack. "I'm ready. Let's go."

  Dana opened the door and swiveled her head to check both directions. When she was certain it was
clear, she waved Barb to join her. "We'll take the stairs. Most people avoid them."

  Barb's only reaction was a nod. They stepped into the stairwell and listened for a moment. Not hearing anything, Dana began charging up the steps. Barb overtook her and laid a hand on her arm.

  "Your shoes. They're too loud. Someone will hear them."

  Dana kicked off her sandals and resumed her pace with bare feet. They climbed over a dozen flights before Dana gestured at a hatch door. Before opening it, she collapsed against the wall and fought to get her breathing under control. "Can't...go out...like this."

  Barb’s heartrate had barely climbed and she'd not even broken a sweat.

  Dana leaned forward and put a hand on each of Barb's shoulders. Still breathing hard, she spoke in a low voice. "I'll go out first and get my door open. Give me a second, then take a look down the hall to your left. If it's clear, I'll wave you on. Run straight into my room."

  "Got it."

  Dana took a couple of quick breaths, calmed herself, and stepped into the hallway. Barb stayed behind but kept the door cracked. Unlike the deck she and Conor had been staying on, this one was fully illuminated. She wished she taken the time to change into her hospitality uniform, but she hadn't. She'd folded it into her pack, assuming she wouldn’t need it again.

  She poked her head out the door and saw Dana holding her access card up to the door. Barb heard the click even from this distance, then watched Dana open the door. Dana swept her head to see if anyone was watching. Finding the coast clear, she waved Barb on.

  Despite her gear, Barb loped smoothly to the open door and ducked inside. Dana followed her and shut the door, then heaved a big sigh, trying to calm her nerves. "I'm not cut out for this cloak-and-dagger shit."