Jack Del Rio: Complete Trilogy: Reservations, Betrayals, Endgames

by Richard Paolinelli

  “Some,” Hansen answered as he took a seat in one of the heavily cushioned chairs in front of Brandengarter’s desk. “We’ve located a few pieces of the puzzle you will need to proceed, including the actual location of Jack Del Rio.”

  “Del Rio?” Brandengarter interrupted. “So he really is still alive?”

  “Alive and living on the Navajo Reservation under an assumed name in near anonymity. At least until recently.”

  “Oh? What happened to change that?”

  “It seems his death wasn’t the well-kept secret our President was hoping it would be,” Hansen reported, taking a slim cigarette from a silver case and lighting it. “Someone found out and has been sharing it with certain groups less inclined to be happy to hear he’s still around.”

  “I imagine that might be a long list,” Brandengarter mused. “Any idea who the leaker is yet?”

  “We’re still working on it, but I wouldn’t be surprised to discover your old friend Soors has her claws in this somehow.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised at all. Georgina’s web has quite the reach and I hear she quickly fell out of favor with the man she helped land in the White House. It would be nice to know why.”

  “Unfortunately,” Hansen said. “That is something we still haven’t ferreted out yet. Nor have we discovered why she seems to want Del Rio dead since that would be the logical outcome of him being found.”

  “Redouble your efforts,” Brandengarter commanded. “I want to know what her game is. It could impact my plans. Speaking of which…”

  “All is proceeding as planned,” Hansen assured. “All federal, state and local authorities are distracted by the current outcropping of violent encounters between the Antifa and White Supremacists related groups. In other area where those situations aren’t running hot, their attention is on the more visible, more extreme militia groups.

  “None of the forces we are putting together,” Hansen continued, “have been infiltrated and none of them appear to be on any agency’s radar. Our contacts within the military signal their readiness to move at the appointed time and their contact with your organization remains undetected. When you are ready to move, nothing will stand in your way.”

  “With the possible exception of Jack Del Rio,” Brandengarter corrected.

  “He is just one man after all,” Hansen protested. “Nor does it appear he is even aware of anything happening beyond the border of the reservation he’s hiding out on.”

  “Need I remind you that this ‘one man’ you appear to be so ready to dismiss out of hand apparently, and quite singlehandedly, stopped a decades-old plot to overthrow the government of this country?”

  “No, sir, you don’t.”

  “Good,” Brandengarter replied, returning his attention to the report. “Because, seeing as how we are not so far away from attempting to do the very same thing, I would feel a lot better knowing Del Rio won’t be in a position to repeat history.”

  “Now that we have his location pinpointed,” Hansen asked as he got out of the chair to leave. “Do you want him eliminated?”

  “No,” Brandengarter answered. “An attempt on his life could fail and bring him down upon us. Besides, I have a better idea on how to proceed with our rogue FBI agent.”

  “And that is?”

  “I was thinking of recruiting him,” Brandengarter said without looking up. “He has proven he’s capable of pulling the trigger when the moment requires and we might have need of one such as that.”

  * * * * *

  The Falkland Islands had seen their share of bloodshed over the centuries and the last had been in 1983 when Argentina tried, and failed, to take the archipelago back by force from the British. It had been relatively peaceful since.

  Callum hoped to bring one last night of bloodshed to the island, on a much smaller scale of course, in order to buy some time and space in his search for a safe haven for Cassidy and her daughter. After loading them aboard the jet and getting into the air, he’d sent a message that their intended destination was the airport in Stanley, on the eastern tip of the island.

  After that message had been sent, in a way to ensure whoever the source of their security leak was would intercept it, he’d instructed the pilots to alter their destination slightly. They would land some thirty miles to the west, at RAF Mount Pleasant, where they would change planes and fly to the United States.

  The plane they were currently in would then fly over to Stanley and land there. Callum hoped that Cassidy’s pursuers would be there, waiting for the plane to land and attack it, only to be greeted by soldiers of the British Special Forces, who would be waiting in an ambush of their own. To give their pursuers time to catch up, they’d landed in absolute secrecy in Bermuda and waited for a full day before resuming their journey south.

  They were on the ground for less than ten minutes at Mount Pleasant and flying over Chile when the call from Stanley came in for Callum.

  “Callum, go.”

  “Major Larksbury, sir,” the voice crackled over the headset. “The Colonel asked me to relay a status update. They were waiting for the plane at Stanley as you expected, eight men in total. They waited for the plane to land and the hatch to open before making their move. We caught them out in the open and they never knew what hit them.”

  “All eight dead?”

  “As doornails, sir.”

  “Any injuries on our side, Major?”

  “A few scratches, nothing serious.”

  “Excellent news, Major,” Callum said, relieved. “Please relay my thanks to the Colonel. You’ve bought us a lot of much needed time. I owe you one.”

  “We’ll try not to collect on it too soon, sir. Good luck.”

  “Thank you, Major. Callum out.”

  Castleton had sat nearby and could make out the other end of the conversation from his boss’ comments.

  “It worked?”

  “It did. As soon as we land in Mexico City to refuel, make the arrangements to get us to Arizona as fast, and as off the books, as you can.”

  “Will do. You think we can pull this off?”

  “If we can make it to Jack’s place? Yes, then I think we can pull it off, Then we find out who’s behind this and end it once and for all.”

  * * * * *

  Georgina Soors was often called the richest woman in the country, possibly even the entire world, and had offices in nearly every country to validate the rumors of her vast wealth. But for most part she split her time between D.C. and the office she was currently working in, New York City.

  “Seems the Brits are getting clever,” her head of security, Bernard Sanderson, reported. “They staged an ambush at the Falklands, wiped out everyone our friends had sent down there after them.”

  “So it was a feint then,” Soors stated.

  “Yes.”

  “And where are they now?”

  “We lost track of them temporarily, but picked them back up in Mexico City. Our contact says they are still heading for Arizona.”

  “Have we located Del Rio’s hideout yet?”

  “Not yet. It seems our contact is going to have to provide that information to us after all. But when he does, our friends will be ready to move in. They’re already sending another strike team to join the advance team in Arizona.

  “What we still don’t know,” Sanderson continued. “Is if Arizona is the final destination or if there is one more jump that Callum has in mind.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Soors said. “Once we confirm they are with Del Rio and where he is I want them all taken out. Relay to our friends I will be very displeased if they fail in Arizona and they will not like facing my displeasure.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Soors waited until Sanderson had left the office, then spoke her thoughts aloud softly.

  “Once that damned Del Rio is gone,” she vowed. “Then I deal with Arthur and take what is rightfully mine.”

  NINE

  “You’re up early this morning,”
Del Rio greeted Sanders as she walked up to the corral.

  “You have a unique alarm clock,” Sanders replied. “It’s hard to ignore.”

  One of the unique features of the canyon wall he’d built his home into was a quirk of nature. Time, wind and water had carved out a tube that allowed sunlight to pour into the bedroom area as soon as the sun topped the far canyon wall, usually a half hour after the rest of the area had experienced sunrise. Del Rio usually awoke before sunrise but, for someone not used to it, the sudden transition was capable of raising the dead. Even on an overcast day, which this day was not, enough light got in.

  This was her second morning at the Fortress, she’d slept almost until noon after her harrowing experience of the previous two days. By the time she had woke up, commandeering one of Del Rio’s t-shirts before walking out of the room, he had woke up from his bed on the couch, breakfasted, taken care of the horses and was just starting in on making lunch.

  “You don’t use a tub and a rock?’ she’d joked as she tossed her clothes into the small washing machine.

  “I may live in a glorified cave,” he responded in mock indignation. “But I prefer a hi-tech one.”

  They’d spent the rest of the day talking, mostly her talking out the terror she’d endured and Del Rio listening without comment. Occasionally, Del Rio’s own story would be discussed. Before either of them realized it, the sun had already set.

  “I could drive you back to Flagstaff,” Del Rio offered, surprised at how reluctant he was for her to leave and discovering just how lonely he’d been the last four years. “But you’re welcome to stay here as long as you like.”

  “I’d like that, Jack.”

  “So would I.”

  Del Rio hadn’t spent last night on his couch. Neither had she.

  “So, have you eaten yet?” Del Rio asked, putting down the brush he’d been using on the horses and exiting the corral area.

  “Not yet, I was hoping we could walk around a little first and talk.”

  “Sure,” Del Rio agreed, following her as she walked off toward the far canyon wall away from the fortress and the area fenced off for the horses.

  “You haven’t asked me what I’m going to do with everything I know about you,” she said as they walked. “Or were you hoping last night might have made me forget all of that?”

  She’d added that last question playfully and Del Rio took it as being teased.

  “Well,” he said in a matching tone. “I know I’m good, but not that good…”

  They both laughed, for Sanders the first time since her ordeal had begun.

  “The way I see it,” Del Rio said when the laughing died down. “After the stunt I pulled at the bank, no matter how hard Terry spins it to the FBI, enough of the wrong people are going to figure out it was me.

  “I suppose it was going to happen eventually,” he continued. “Maybe four years of anonymity was more than I should have hoped for. So whether or not you run the story on me now doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “I guess me saying I’m sorry for ruining it doesn’t help much, does it?”

  “Nothing for you to be sorry for. You were doing your job. Besides, from what I’ve heard you aren’t the only person nosing around the Res looking for me. All you’re guilty of is being the first one to actually find me.”

  “So what are you going to do now?” she asked, stopping suddenly directly in his path.

  “Two options,” he answered looking into her eyes and realizing for the first time just how blue they were. “Run and try to find another hole to disappear in or make my stand right here and slug it out with whoever comes looking for me.”

  “And which option will it be?”

  “I’m tired of hiding.”

  “That’s what I thought you’d say.”

  “So what are you going to do now?” he asked.

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On if you think we can get my stuff in Flagstaff and get back here before anyone else figures out where you are.”

  * * * * *

  “Agent Archer, the President will see you now.”

  Archer all but walked right through the unopened door of the Oval Office in his impatience to get inside. He’d been trying to meet with the President ever since Callum’s call from across the Atlantic with news that Archer’s good friend was not actually in the grave that he’d visited countless times over the past four years. He barely registered the presence of Doyle as the only other person in the room as he stepped up to the desk and addressed Arthur.

  “Mr. President, I…” Archer began heatedly before Arthur stopped him cold.

  “Agent Archer, to spare us all a lot of time,” Arthur said calmly. “The answer to all of your questions is: Yes. We knew Del Rio was alive, we knew he was in Arizona and we knew it would cause many of his friends a lot of grief if the truth ever came out.

  “The simple fact is,” Arthur continued. “It was deemed necessary for reasons you really don’t need to know. I received a request an hour ago from Her Majesty’s government regarding Mr. Callum’s request, which you received directly from him as well.”

  “Yes, sir,” Archer said, his tone indicating he was unhappy with the explanation, such as it was.

  “We’ve approved the request,” Arthur said, letting the agent’s anger go. “I want you to fly out to Winslow, Arizona. That’s where Callum’s jet will land later this evening. You will then escort Callum and his party out onto the Navajo Reservation to Jack’s place. Director Doyle has the directions to get you there. Jack will no doubt fill you in on what he’s been doing as will Callum. You will remain there until Callum is ready to move on and offer every assistance to him. Any questions?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Good, then get going, your plane leaves in an hour,” Arthur said. “And, Agent Archer, one more thing.”

  “Sir?” Archer replied, stopping in mid-turn for the door.

  “Tell Jack I said hello.”

  * * * * *

  Sanders travelled light when she worked in Flagstaff so it didn’t take long to check out of the hotel and drive her car back with Del Rio leading the way in his truck. When they arrived back at the fortress, he helped bring in her bags and get settled in.

  “So what is your employer going to think of your lack of stories?” Del Rio asked as he set the last bag down.

  “They aren’t going to say a word,” she replied coyly. “I e-mailed them my resignation before we left Flagstaff. My roommate is going to pack up my stuff in Phoenix until I come for it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if I stayed at the Independent they’d eventually ask for a story on you,” she explained. “And I don’t want to give it to them. Ever.”

  “So what will you do now?” Del Rio asked.

  “I’ve always wanted to freelance, to be my own boss and pick my own stories to write. There is much to write about life here on the Res, what better place to do that from than here?

  “Besides,” she added. “If you are right about the others hunting you, you could use all the help you can get and I’d like to be here to see how this story ends.”

  Del Rio considered what had been spoken, and the unspoken question as well. After four long years perhaps the time had finally come for him to stop walking the path alone.

  “I think I’d like that too,” Del Rio said. “Besides, I’ve been thinking of redesigning the place a little anyway and it might be a little small for two as it is now.”

  Sanders’ smile lit up the room and for the first time in a long time, even with the unknown hunters lurking in the shadows, Del Rio finally began to feel at peace with the world. They had just finished eating a late dinner after getting Sanders unpacked and settled in when a rumble of thunder echoed through the canyon and they could hear the rain starting to fall outside.

  “That reminds me,” Sanders remarked after the thunder faded. “With all of the openings in the walls, what happens in here whe
n it rains?”

  “Stays high and dry. Of course it took a couple of weeks to find out where the water would run through and re-route it back outside, which made for some interesting times. But short of a biblical-level flood, we’re fine.”

  “That’s good to know, especially with all of the electronics you’ve got in place. You definitely went Flintstones meet the Jetsons when you laid this out.”

  “This was a piece of cake,” Del Rio replied. “You should have seen my place in D.C.”

  “I read about it in one of the stories about you back when you…”

  “Died?”

  “Disappeared,” she corrected quickly. “You should try to live in a plain ordinary house just once, Jack.”

  “Now where’s the fun in that?” he cracked, just as a sharp, double-buzz sounded overhead.

  “What was that?” Sanders asked in alarm.

  “Someone’s at the front gate,” Del Rio answered, feeling some alarm himself as he rose from the table. “In this weather…”

  His first inclination was to get a weapon, but he doubted someone looking to cause that kind trouble would announce their presence this way. Checking the security monitor he was surprised by the face of the man standing at the closed gate, a face he easily recognized.

  Dave Archer.

  Three very standard issue government vehicles were lined up in front of the gate behind Archer. The headlights lighting up the steadily increasing rain as it fell to earth.

  “Yes,” Del Rio said, thumbing the intercom.

  “C’mon, Jack,” Archer replied without preamble. “Let me in, I’m getting soaked out here.”

  “There’s no room in one of those cars for you?”

  “We’re not here for you, Jack,” Archer said, understanding how it must look to his friend. “We’re here to ask you for help. The President says hello, by the way.”

  “Does he now?” Del Rio said, still debating what to do. “What kind of help do you think I can give you?”

  “The kind only you can give, Jack. Look, I’d love to explain it in full but I’d rather do it out of sight, and before I catch pneumonia, you hear me?”