Wings of Steele 3: Revenge and Retribution

by Jeffrey Burger

  Mercedes Huang continued, “Lou found the info on Chicago, they weren't our people, they were contractors...”

  Doug looked somewhat relieved, “Thank God. But what the hell were they doing there? Were they rogue?”

  “Looks like the Agency put a price on Steele's head...”

  “What?” Mooreland looked like he was about to go apoplectic. “Who issued that bit of insanity?”

  “Deputy Director. Three million,” she replied coolly.

  Doug was grinding his teeth, “ Fucking two-faced son of a bitch...”

  “And you know the kind of money and resources some of these contractor companies have, Doug. In some cases their equipment is as good as ours. They intercepted a call from Steele's parents' old residence...”

  “What do you mean old residence..?”

  “Records show the family vacated the house several months ago and the house was sold by an independent realtor on their behalf. The realtor had power of attorney to complete the transaction. The family moving in assumed the old phone number, something about it being a condition of the sale...”

  Doug stared at her blankly, further stunned by this revolution. “How long has the Agency been aware of this?”

  Mercedes tilted her head in sympathy, “Looks like the Chicago team knew fairly early on. They weren't exactly sitting on the house but the maneuver was rather quick and took them by surprise. Not surprising, is they make no assumption of the current location of the Steeles.”

  Doug was holding his head like he was trying to keep it from exploding. “This is fucking nuts...” His eyes narrowed, “Did the Deputy Director know?”

  “There's no indication of that.”

  Doug rubbed his brow line to release the sudden tension threatening to blow his eyeballs out of his head, “Who gives a realtor power of attorney? That doesn't make any sense... signing your financial rights away to someone you don't know? Who can you possibly trust like that?”

  Mercedes chewed on her lower lip, “CIA? FBI maybe? Witness protection program? Didn't I read in one of the files, Steele's old man had friends in the FBI?”

  “Black Two to Black One...”

  Doug spun around in his seat and snatched up the mic, “Go ahead Lou.”

  “Doug, we just got a sensor hit on Chase Holt's place.”

  Moorland took a quick glance around, realizing they had just come down off the interstate, heading toward the beach. “Lou, we're going to Holt's. You're with me. Black Three, continue on to Steele's house...”

  ■ ■ ■

  When Steele saw the yellow crime tape on not only Chase Holt's house, but the house right before it, his heart sank. He could vaguely remember the faces of two girls who lived there but for the life of him couldn't remember their names. He idled the Cobra past Holt's and backed it into a neighbor's driveway, leaving it mostly obscured by an Oleander hedge with vibrant pink flowers. He hoped the homeowners had already left for work.

  The same IRS notice was plastered on Holt's front door as at his own house, raising his ire, but he resisted the urge to tear it down. He left the tape and notice intact, making his way around the back of the house. While planning a device for entry through the back of the house he made note that the two Jet Skis were missing from the dock... and there were bullet holes in the dock posts. He swept the open yards around him and saw a number of strikes on the far seawall and surrounding pilings. His heart quickened.

  Expecting heavy resistance, Steele quickly realized the sliding glass doors were unsecured. Stepping quietly into the kitchen he drew the hybrid 1911 from its shoulder holster, holding it at low ready as he eased cautiously through the house. The place was a shambles of wanton senseless destruction. It hadn't been robbed, it had been assaulted.

  In the bedroom he opened the AC vent and reached inside, punching in the code on the hidden keypad, to check Chase's zombie closet, reviewing the inventory before resealing it. Chase departed in a hurry with two, go bags. But he'd left long guns and ammo behind. Since the entire money stash was missing, Jack assumed his friend expected an extended absence. Dirty old shoes and clothes lay at the foot of the bed indicating a possible quick change.

  In the garage sat a severely disabled pickup truck... which might explain the fight out back if he used the Jet Skis for a quick exit. Skis... plural. He walked out to the living room, his eyes scanning the destruction there, a burn mark on the carpet. Smoke? Flash bang? At least he hadn't found any blood. He walked to the side window and looked across at the other house with the yellow tape, that was the other half of the story over there. Maybe he'd find something...

  The nose of a black SUV appeared, barely visible, parked at the curb about four or five houses past the one he was looking at. Steele pulled back into the shadows as he watched and waited. No sense in panicking if it was just a neighbor with a black... Shit. OK, time to panic...

  “Jack..?” TESS' holo-screen appeared above his wrist at the same time as the inquiry in his ear, making him jump. He watched the men in black gear, fan out.

  “What?!”

  ■ ■ ■

  Lisa's heart almost jumped into her mouth when she saw the man in the black tactical gear with FBI across his back stroll out past the corner of the house into view, looking at the Gulf Of Mexico as she stared out the living room window at the very same thing. If he continued around the house toward the deck he would walk into the nose of the Reaper sitting there with the ARC system active. Another man walked up next to him and they both turned in the opposite direction heading back toward the front door. She bolted down the hall to the zombie room, activating the command module. “All dogs go to heaven...”

  “Hello Lisa Steele, command code accepted.”

  A clank in the back wall started the process of the door opening, at the same time she realized the laptop was sitting on the floor next to the couch in the living room where Jack had left it. And her leather flight jacket was on the kitchen counter. “Shit,” she hissed, sprinting back out into the house.

  She scooped up the laptop like a football and as she passed the entry foyer the doorknob rotated, a flash of heat rushing across her body. She slammed into the counter with a wince as she yanked her leather off its marble surface, hustling back up the corridor, closing the office door behind her. She latched it and jumped though the zombie room door, palming the closing mechanism button on the wall. The room was empty now, cleaned out by the shuttle's moving crew, leaving nothing of value behind. She really wanted a bottle of water. “TESS get me Jack.”

  “Yes, Lisa. Connected.”

  “Jack..?”

  “What?”

  “I've got a little problem here! FBI... they're coming in!”

  “Get in the Reaper and take off, I've got a bit of a problem myself...”

  “I'm trapped in this fucking zombie room again!”

  “Oh for the love of... Do you have the laptop?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hook it up to the camera system, everything should still have solar power. Wait for them to move out then get your ass out of there.”

  “OK, got it.”

  “But take the laptop with you... I gotta go!”

  ■ ■ ■

  They were coming through the front and going around the back, leaving Steele one exit, the side door of the garage. He jammed a wooden spoon between the sliding glass doors and headed for the garage, quickly understanding why they hadn't covered it; it was deadbolted without a key. “Dammit Chase,” he breathed. He didn't have time to kick or force it, they would converge on it before he could get it open. It had to be an instant open. Stepping back he drew the 1911 and pumped two quick rounds into the door handle and deadbolt, an entire section of the door disappearing in a shower of sparks and splinters, the door swinging open freely. Ears ringing, Steele tucked the 1911 away and sprinted for the Oleander hedge toward the front of the neighbor's house without looking back, diving over the shoulder height hedgerow, a flurry of pink petals drifting through the air.
He rolled, scrambled to his feet and jumped over the door into the Cobra, sliding down into the seat behind the wheel and cranking the key, the 427 rumbling to life.

  He managed to get the lap belt on as a pair of arms appeared through the bushes grabbing him by the arm and shoulder, attempting to drag him out of the seat. Startled he popped the clutch and the engine coughed to a stall, half dragging the agent with the FBI patch through the bushes. The arm wrapping around Steele's neck, pinned him back against the rollbar and he strained to reach the key in the dash. He managed to turn it with his fingertips and the engine whined once then twice, the agent doing his best to choke him out. Cmon baby... he pleaded silently. The third try succeeding in starting the big power plant, roaring to life with a wicked snarl. As his vision started to gray, another body in black tactical gear appeared around the hedgerow. Steele popped the clutch again, this time mashing the accelerator, producing a roar and smoke as the meaty rear tires spun on the driveway pavers, the rear end swinging as he steered it into the street, the tires chattering on the change of pavement as he feathered the clutch to let them bite. The Cobra dragged the agent through the hedges, bouncing the other off the front fender before snapping back, flinging the agent off over the trunk like a ragdoll.

  The little blue and white monster screamed down the street, tires smoking, breathing fire from the sidepipes.

  ■ ■ ■

  Everyone else was in a full out run for the SUVs but the best Lou could do was hobble at a quick pace, having barely survived his stint as a slingshot projectile.

  The SUV slid to a stop next to him, a door flinging open, hands reaching out and dragging him into the back seat. “Go! Go! Go!” The driver stomped on the accelerator, the door slamming shut of its own weight, as he wheeled the heavy SUV around, over the sidewalk and grass, the big tires tearing up the lawn before dropping back down over the curb, back on the street.

  “I almost had him...” groaned Lou.

  “You weren't even close.” Doug picked up the mic, “Black Three, Black Three!”

  “Black Three, go ahead...”

  “This is Black One, We're on Steele! Lock on to our transponder, we're in pursuit...”

  “On our way, Black One.”

  Doug had to brace himself for the turn, the SUV's tires howling. “Get us some air support!”

  ■ ■ ■

  Steele wasn't sure what was worse, weaving through a dogfight, or weaving through traffic. The neighborhood was tight and full of dead end streets. One bad choice and he was screwed. Street signs and houses whipped past in a blur and he didn't recognize the main thoroughfare, Coronado Parkway, until he was crossing it, slamming on the brakes, smoke pouring off all four tires as he skidded to a stop. Dropping the Cobra in reverse the wheels hopped as he powered backwards into the intersection, the two black SUVs growing rapidly in his rear view mirror. He yanked and released the handbrake swinging the nose around with a snap of the wheel, popping it back into first gear, the car fishtailing up the street toward Cape Coral Parkway where he could take a bridge over the Caloosahatchee River. Having to weave through residential traffic the SUVs caught up swiftly. He was faster but he didn't have the option to jump curbs or obstacles, his car was too low, built for racing not off-roading. One of the SUVs jumped the landscaped median, weaving between palm trees to reach the unused oncoming lanes in an attempt to outpace him and cut him off. Ahead the traffic came to a stop.

  TESS chirped in his ear, “Admiral, I have tapped into the global positioning satellite system; turn right at the next street.” Steele pulled hard, breaking and downshifting, sliding the Cobra around the corner, the tires screaming and smoking, swinging wide to avoid cars pulling in and out of a corner mini mart, drifting up the street sideways before the car snapped straight again, the engine snarling, the sidepipes popping as he shifted.

  In the rearview mirror he watched the first truck jump the curb and run the sidewalk before dropping into the street again. He was too busy weaving past slower cars to see more, the speedometer sweeping up toward 100 mph. Catching air over an intersecting street the Cobra landed squarely, a shower of sparks fanning out behind it as it flashed between crossing cars, threading the needle.

  “Turn left,” chirped TESS, “it will take you to the Parkway to cross the bridge...” Downshifting and standing on the brakes he slid into the next intersection sideways, breaking to the left, popping the clutch to power up the street, the rearview momentarily free of big black SUVs.

  He jumped into traffic on Cape Coral Parkway near the bridge heading over the river and breathed a little easier though he didn't completely let up, maintaining a speed considerably greater than the traffic, making his way through easily but more cautiously, continually checking his mirrors. It appeared he'd succeeded in losing them, whoever they were... Maybe they were FBI, maybe they weren't, he wasn't going to stop and ask for IDs.

  “Jack?” TESS' hologram appeared above his wrist but he didn't so much as glance away from the traffic or the road, constantly moving and jogging around slower traffic.

  “Lisa?”

  “I'm clear, I'm airborne. I don't know what you did but they left here in a hurry You OK?”

  “I'm good. You got the laptop?”

  “Yep. My TESS has your position, where do you want to meet? You probably don't want to come back here...”

  “Right. I'm almost across the river now, let me think about that for a minute...” He checked his mirrors and slowed for traffic ahead. “Ooh, I know, there's a little airfield off Route 41... Where Stephen Miles used to keep his...”

  The Cobra's hood and left fender erupted in dust and debris as shreds and strands of fiberglass blew over the windshield, a string of jagged holes appearing in front of him, the windshield spidering as bullets blew through it on an angle across the passenger side, punching holes through the seat next to him. Time slowed down as the left tire exploded, shredding, chunks of rubber tearing through the fender, flying up over the hood and windshield, yanking on the car and pulling it toward the center divider. Steele fought with the Cobra as it swung hard left, correcting stiffly, careening off the center concrete wall with a spray of disintegrating fiberglass and sparks, the image of two armed men in black and a black SUV parked on the other side of the wall flashing past, watching him go by.

  Steele yanked on the wheel, steering away from the wall and downshifting, stomped on the accelerator, the fender tearing away with an agonizing crackle, the engine working hard to produce power, spewing its life's oil across the pavement, fuel spraying across the engine block and running through the holes in the torn hood, spattering what was left of the windshield.

  There was a flash as it all ignited at once, angry red and orange flames reaching up around the body on the left, licking up through the right fender and through the holes in the shredded hood. She was done. His baby was gone. He let the wheel go and she drifted back to the wall, grinding along the concrete, leaving pieces of herself behind before she came to rest. Feeling the heat through the aluminum racing tub, the floor carpet began to smoke as he unbuckled, flinging the straps clear. Black smoke billowed up from underneath as the tires caught and the oil burned, the sickening sweetness of the flaming fiberglass, painfully gagging. He climbed over the passenger door, nuggets of glass spilling across the pavement like diamonds glittering on the asphalt. He ignored the voices calling for him to stop, and staggered, running across the roadway, a little wobbly at first as he gained his legs back and the adrenalin flooding his body pushed him forward.

  ■ ■ ■

  Lisa saw it all, reflected in her brothers face on her TESS's screen even though he never looked at his unit, the video and audio feed displaying the chaos, unabated. Amidst the fury he didn't or couldn't respond to her calls.

  The two TESS units synched, she was tracking his movements, accurate to within five feet as she doubled back from the airport, covering the ten mile span in the blink of an eye.

  Thunder exploded in the crystal clear
blue sky with a flash of lightning as the Reaper arrived above the scene at little more than treetop level, the ARC system shutdown revealing the angry black Reaper screaming over, overshooting, swinging flatly around in level flight, sliding sideways in an arc, front turret sweeping the chaos below.

  The news helicopter arriving on the scene nearly dropped into the trees from the turbulence created when the black ship appeared, recovering over the golf course, keeping its distance from the alien craft.

  Lisa swept in low over the golf course where Jack was headed, never turning her back on the chaos. The roof of the black SUV on the other side of the bridge popped open, two halves of a circle splitting down the middle, a minigun turret appearing between the protective halves, her threat screen instantly alerting her of it presence. She tapped the right rudder pedal, the maneuvering jets swinging the nose to bring her nose turret to bear, the gun pipper settling over the target. “Don't you do it asshole...”

  The operator with the minigun spun the barrels up and a stream of fire lanced up at her, the shields absorbing the rather small rounds, the sound not unlike rain on the roof of a car. She flipped the safety clear and blipped the trigger, the Cryo Gauss Guns firing three rounds, the turret's chain feed clacking quickly as the concrete wall exploded around the truck, cratering it with holes the size of garbage can lids, the third passing through the truck, blowing it apart, splitting it in half, adding to the flaming wreckage on the bridge.

  Having lost sight of her brother she coasted the Reaper backwards, watching the remaining operators dashing across the road and down the gentle grass slope towards the golf course. Blue and red lights converged on the insanity below from all directions, but it was the chirping of the markers on the threat screen that caught her attention. One low and slow appearing well inside her range, helicopter, and four high and fast... Dammit, fighters. She needed Jack up and out as fast as possible. Two black SUVs were pushing their way through traffic across the bridge from her left and the helicopter was coming in low on her right, over the strip mall south of the golf course.