Punching Tickets: Book Five in The Mad Mick Series

by Franklin Horton

  "What's he saying?" Conor asked.

  Sydner grinned. "He says we stink."

  "He's right."

  The stoic Sandy only nodded. He didn't have much to say in general, but monitored the world around him with an alert, assessing eye.

  Conor sat up to where he could watch their progress through the windshield. He'd spent time in this city before, it being the location of his ill-fated tryst with Shani. The entire region was unusual-looking by the standards of other parts of the world. It was a spacious city with buildings interspersed through vast, empty spaces. There were elaborate structures and paved walkways that seemed ill-placed, as if part of an elaborate construction plan that had yet to reach fruition. Trash littered the median and both sides of the highway, as if throwing trash onto the roadsides was an accepted method of disposing of refuse.

  Outside a construction site, the driver pulled over and killed the engine. He pointed through the windshield and spoke in Arabic, then paused for Sydner to translate.

  "He says the resort is about two miles in that direction. We can see the lights from here, but he can't drive there because the road onto the property is guarded."

  "Then let's move," said Conor.

  Sydner handed out the Maadi AKs and tossed the empty sack to the side. Sandy opened the door and held it while the team piled out. He slammed the door shut and the driver restarted the van, pulling back onto the empty highway. The team headed off toward the distant resort, using what little ambient light there was to guide their steps. The land between where they'd been dropped off and the resort was flat, vacant desert, littered with rocks and trash. They passed a few empty cars, although it wasn't apparent if they were broken down, abandoned, or just randomly parked in the desert.

  "It's beautiful, isn't it?" Conor asked Barb. "The sea breeze, the warm night, the exotic city."

  "It is," Barb agreed. "I'd love to see it again under different circumstances."

  "If we ever get to travel again I'll bring you back. I've killed people in some of the most beautiful cities the world has to offer." Conor knew that sounded messed up, but that was the truth of it. He'd seen parts of the world he'd never have experienced if he hadn't been there to put an end to someone.

  At a rapid walk, they closed in on the resort in less than an hour. As they neared the illuminated area, Sydner pulled everyone together near a boulder for a quick conference. "We got you here, Conor. It's your ballgame now. You tell us what you want to do."

  "On the Shandong, Barb was able to move about freely while dressed as one of the staff. I'd like to use the same technique here. If we can get her in a staff uniform, or whatever the hell they wear at this joint, maybe she can locate Abbas for us. You down for that, Barb?"

  "Absolutely."

  Sydner gestured toward the resort. "The property has a masonry wall with iron bars on top of it. The fences are intended to send a message more than keep people out. We can scale them easily. While it's safe to assume there will be guards, this isn't a military installation. Abbas may only have his private detachment of security with him." Sydner pulled some paper maps of the resort from his pocket and handed one to Conor.

  Sydner shined a red-lensed light onto the map and indicated where they were on the perimeter. "I say we breach the fence near the beach. It's the least-illuminated part of the resort. From there, we can move along the landscaping to approach the resort."

  "How about Barb and I head toward the staff entrance," Conor suggested, pointing it out on the map. "One of you guys should investigate the dining area, the other the pool area. Report back on your radios and let me know what you find. Once I've got Barb in a uniform, we'll meet up somewhere."

  "It's a plan," said Sydner. "I know you guys are aware of this, but despite the open spaces, we're on the outskirts of a city. Gunfire will bring the cavalry. If anyone has to shoot, we're going to assume the op is blown and we need to get the hell out of there. If everything goes to hell, we meet at the jet skis on the beach and exfil immediately. Got it?"

  There were solemn nods around the circle, then everyone headed toward the beach. It was time to break into a resort. They scaled the fence easily, moving one at a time and passing their rifles through the bars. Once they were through, they paused to see if their movement had been detected.

  "Any cameras?" Conor asked, scanning light poles and buildings.

  "Probably not," Sydner replied. "Some of the guests might be engaged in activities that the Imam wouldn't approve of—wearing bathing suits or perhaps even drinking. They wouldn't want any record of them committing acts the Koran forbids."

  "Excellent," Conor mumbled. "Saved by the sinners. Follow me, Barb."

  The two of them moved along the perimeter wall, hidden mostly by the dramatic shadows produced by the underlit vegetation. Several hundred yards later they reached an employee entrance with a parking lot. At the far end, a guard controlled the entrance. Conor assumed there was a similar guard station on the public entrance to the property.

  "That must be the employee entrance," Barb said, pointing to a steel door into the building, a single light mounted on the wall beside it.

  "You're going to need to get in there and find a uniform. I wish I could go with you, but I'd stick out like a broken toe. You can take your radio, but you're going to have to leave the rifle with me."

  Barb had her doubts. "I have no idea what's inside that door, Dad. It could be anything. Are you sure about this?"

  "I've been in this situation many times, Barb. You have to go in like you belong there."

  "Which would be easier if I wasn't dressed as a man."

  "I see the point," Conor said, realizing she was right. "You stay here."

  Conor slipped out of the landscaping and into the maze of cars. Like the rest of the Arab world, the people who parked here at the resort didn’t appear to believe in parking spaces. They parked in whatever erratic manner the car came to rest when they killed the engine. Conor cupped his eyes, peering inside car after car until he found what he was looking for. He tried the door and it was unlocked. He wasn't surprised. After all, this was a guarded parking lot. It should be safe.

  He ducked into the car and came out with a long garment on a coat hanger. He rolled it up as not to drag it on the ground, then sprinted back into the bushes. He held the hanger out to Barb and grinned. "Problem solved."

  "What the hell is it?"

  Conor shrugged. "I don't know. Something different than that fisherman's getup you're wearing. Has to be an improvement, right?"

  Barb took the hanger and removed the garment. She held it up to herself, looking doubtful.

  "It's perfect," Conor said. "It's an abaya. You'll be able to hide your face and blend right in."

  Barb removed the men's work clothing and Conor hid it in the greenery. She stepped into the abaya and was fully-dressed when Conor returned.

  "This isn't bad. I don't have the shoes for it, though. I'm wearing boots."

  "Maybe you should go barefoot," Conor suggested.

  She stripped off her boots but kept on the socks, hoping they might pass as slippers if someone only got a brief glimpse of them.

  "Do you still have your knife?" Conor asked.

  "I do."

  "And your radio?"

  "There's an inside pocket. I tucked it in there."

  "Insert the earpiece and run the mic beneath the hijab and veil. Put it on voice-activated and let me know what you're seeing as you move around." Conor gave her a quick hug. "Now get moving and be safe."

  47

  Ragus's Home

  Jewell Ridge, Virginia

  The night spent in the pump house was cold and sleepless. While the fact that the structure was partially buried in the ground kept it a little warmer than the outside air, it was still barely above freezing. Ragus and Shannon huddled together for most of the night, trying to avert hypothermia. Sometimes they sat, but the cold floor instantly wicked heat from their bodies. When that became too much, they'd stand
, leaning against the wall until their legs began to buckle from exhaustion. They alternated all night, sitting and standing, a weary cycle of back and forth, up and down.

  Though they were still miserable, morning brought light to their dark world. When the sun rose and its rays penetrated the cracks around the substantial door, they were able to make out the shapes of objects in the room with them. With this increase in visibility came an increase in determination. They were going to get out of there today. They had to.

  "Let's unload these shelves," Ragus said. "Maybe we can use some of the lumber to beat on the door."

  They worked together, the labor warming their chilled bodies and loosening stiff muscles. The shelves were made of a 2x4 frame overlaid with thinner shelving boards. When the shelves were empty, Ragus worked the shelves back and forth, racking the unit until he gradually loosened the nails that held it together. A few stomps from his heavy boots finished the last of the demolition.

  Ragus picked up a 2x4 about six feet long and hefted it in his hands. "Maybe this will do something."

  "That door flexed some when you kicked it," Shannon told him. "Maybe we can wedge something into the top and pry it open."

  "You take one of those thinner shelf boards," Ragus directed. "Shove it into the top corner and keep pressure on it. If I can hit the door hard enough, maybe your board will slip into the gap and we can use it as a lever."

  They tried that for nearly fifteen minutes, getting close but never succeeding in opening the gap wide enough for the shelf board to slip into it. Finally, Ragus threw down the 2x4 in frustration. The cold, the hunger, and the exhaustion were crushing. "My arms are giving out. I can't do this all damn day."

  Shannon wasn't ready to give up yet. "You rest a second. Let me work on it." She found a section of shelving board that had splintered when Ragus tore the structure apart, leaving a wedge-shaped piece about sixteen inches long. A little more tugging and pulling yielded a length of 2x4 cross bracing about two feet long.

  "What are you doing?" Ragus asked, sagged against the wall and catching his breath. He looked beaten, and not just in the physical sense.

  "I'm going to use the 2x4 as a hammer and try to drive this wedge into the gap at the top of the door."

  "Go for it. I hope you have better luck than I did."

  Shannon wanted to chastise Ragus for his negative attitude, but she didn't have the energy to waste on him. She held the wedge in place at the top corner of the door, on the latch side, where the door flexed the most. Every time Ragus had pounded on the door, that was where she saw the most daylight. She began driving the wedge, pleased when it immediately locked into the gap, spreading wider with each blow of the short 2x4.

  She glanced at Ragus, anxious to share her progress, but he wasn't even looking. His arms were folded across his knees and his head rested on them.

  "I think it's working, Ragus."

  He raised his head, ready to dismiss her efforts, but was pleasantly surprised. The top corner of the door was bowing outward a little. It was the most progress they'd made yet.

  "I'm hitting as hard as I can and it's not budging any more. Can you try it?"

  Ragus got to his feet and took up the long 2x4 he'd been using like a battering ram earlier. This time he concentrated his blows on the wedge. The greater energy produced by his strength and the heavier board gained them even more ground.

  Shannon couldn't control her grin. "It's working!"

  "Get me one of those shelves!"

  Shannon picked up one of the wide shelving boards. Ragus lined it up with the gap and this time it fit through the opening they'd created. He used all his weight to pry downward and there was a crack along the hinge side of the door, the rewarding sound of a jamb beginning to split. After the cracking sound, the gap at the top of the door was even wider. Ragus adjusted the shelf board closer to the hinge side and pried downward again. Although there was more cracking this time the door still didn't yield.

  Ragus yanked the shelving board free and tossed it to the side. He was done with mechanical approaches. It was time for brute force. "Get back!"

  Shannon stepped to the side, uncertain of what Ragus was going to do. The boy launched himself across the small room, throwing his entire bodyweight against the door. There was a louder crack this time.

  "You're doing it!" Shannon cried. "You're almost there!"

  Again, Ragus backed the short distance to the far wall and launched himself forward. This time the jamb split and the hinge side of the door sprung free. The boy's momentum carried him on out the opening, and he tripped over the partially-detached door, sending him sprawling onto the cold ground.

  Shannon started clapping and cheering, overjoyed at their escape. She climbed over the fallen door, anxious to make sure Ragus was okay. The scene she found outside nearly staggered her.

  "Oh God," she groaned.

  The hulking man who'd locked them in the pump house stood over Ragus, a rifle pointed in the boy's face. Shannon noticed he wore an ax handle tucked into his belt like some kind of sword. It must have been what he'd subdued them with yesterday. It was only now that she realized this was the same man who'd appeared at their gate the other day. The one they'd driven off at gunpoint.

  "That's pretty fucking impressive," the man growled. "I was on my way back to ask you a few questions when I heard you thumping around in there. I could tell you were going to escape so I didn't want to deprive you of the satisfaction. Of course I'm going to have to pee on your parade now. Despite all that hard work, I can't let you go."

  "You better not hurt us," Shannon warned. "Our people are serious. They'll track you down and make you regret it."

  "The people in that camp up on the mountain?"

  “Yes,” Shannon snapped.

  Wombat sneered and narrowed his eyes. "You're lying. There isn't anyone up there."

  "You don't know that," Ragus said.

  "I do know that," Wombat replied. "I spent the night there. I watched a stupid movie on your couch. I ate your food and drank your liquor. That's why I'm back. I have a few questions about the place."

  "You're lying!" Ragus said, venom in his voice. "We have guard dogs. They wouldn't let you inside."

  Wombat laughed. "You mean those guard dogs over there?" He gestured with his head.

  It was then Ragus noticed Conor's dogs sitting in the grass by his mobile home. They were ignoring what was taking place by the pump house. It wasn't their problem.

  Wombat snickered. "They like jerky."

  Ragus cut Shannon a look. He didn't have to say a word. She caught the glance and the accusation it held. She was the one who'd softened the dogs. She was the one who'd made them crave treats. It didn't matter now. After all they'd been through, the battle was lost.

  "What do you want to know?" Shannon asked, not ready to give up yet. Maybe there was room to bargain with the man.

  "That's a pretty impressive setup you got there. Makes me wonder what's in that part of the building that's locked off with that fancy electronic lock."

  "We can't get in there," Ragus said. "That part of the building belongs to the owner."

  Wombat lashed out with his boot, striking Ragus in the shoulder. The blow jarred his already aching head and for a moment Ragus was certain he was going to spew onto the big man's boots. If he'd had anything in his stomach he probably would have.

  "You're lying," Wombat growled. "I don't believe for a second you can't get in there."

  "Believe what you want," Ragus groaned.

  Wombat turned his attention back to Shannon. "Is he telling the truth?"

  Shannon weighed her response carefully. If this man thought they were of no use to him, what would prevent him from killing them on the spot? Absolutely nothing. She had to give him a reason to keep them alive a little longer. Every minute that passed could bring new opportunities to turn the tables. "It's complicated."

  "It looks like it reads handprints," Wombat said. "Should I just cut the hands off bot
h of you? I could take them back and try them."

  Shannon shook her head quickly. "That wouldn't work. The machine reads body temperature."

  "I could heat them up in that microwave of yours when I get back there."

  Shannon wondered if he was really capable of that or if he was just trying to scare them. She got the impression he was of below average intelligence, but he was clearly willing to use violence. That was a dangerous combination and she'd best not press her luck. "There might be a key."

  Wombat waved a finger at her. "Now we're talking, sweetheart. I saw there was a keyhole for a bypass or manual override or something. Tell me about that."

  Flat on his stomach, head swimming, Ragus watched Shannon from the corner of his eye. He knew what she was doing, trying to string their attacker along and keep him talking so he wouldn't kill them. He flicked his eyes upward and saw the big man was fully engaged with Shannon now, his attention focused on her.

  Acting from instinct alone, Ragus shot out his arms, wrapping them around Wombat's ankles and latching on. He wrenched his body to the side, trying to throw the man to the ground. It wasn't enough to take Wombat down but it threw him off balance. He waved his arms, trying to regain his equilibrium. Unable to get a shot off under these circumstances, he drew his rifle back, ready to bash Ragus in the head with it.

  "No!" Shannon screamed, closing the distance between her and their attacker. She launched her body into the air, hitting him in the chest. Her tackle prevented him from bringing his rifle down on Ragus and knocked him from his feet. He fell backward and hit the ground hard, his breath forced from his body by the impact. He lost his grip on the rifle and it flew from his grasp, landing in the thick weeds.

  "Run!" Ragus screamed, holding tight onto Wombat's legs.

  Shannon was torn for a moment. Not ready to give up on the fight, not willing to leave Ragus behind.

  "Run, dammit!" Ragus repeated, throwing a punch upward and striking the big man in the groin.