The Sheriff smiled back at Collins, “Son, I think that I have heard all of Mitchell’s stories, either firsthand, or through the rumor mill. That’s fine; just remember he is a member of our community. I expect him to be treated with respect.”
Greg Doliver answered back, “Sheriff, we try to treat everyone with respect. When you told us that Mitchell served during Vietnam, he climbed about ten levels of respect in our books. I promise you that we will treat him as one of our own; because that is what he is.”
Heading back to the Black Hawk, Collins slapped Doliver on the back, “Homeland Security?”
Doliver smiled, “Who the hell would ever believe we are CIA. He would have laughed us out of the office. Not even sure if we are even allowed to tell people we are spooks?”
Collins replied, “Beats me,” and motioned for the chopper pilots to light it up. As the engines started their high pitched whine, the people in town began moving away from the beast of a machine.
Waits and Peters pulled their army duffels off the helicopter just as the bird was about to lift off. They waved the pilots off, and apart from four new visitors to their tourist town, Virginia City, Nevada was once again back to normal.
-----
Sitting in his car, half a block south of the hotel, Gabriel opened a piece of gum and carefully began shaping the shiny aluminum inner wrapper. He bent it into precise folds until it could no longer fold over itself. He studied the finished product and questioned his choice for the initial fold. Back in his room he would spend hours to come up with a better method. Just to achieve one more fold.
Even though spring was in full bloom in Washington, it was a cool night in Georgetown. Gabriel had kept the windows of his rental car raised the entire evening trying to insulate his self from the cold. He wouldn’t run the engine because he didn’t want to bring unwanted attention. If anyone were looking, his was just one in the line of empty cars lining the street. He blew though the fingers of his gloves to try to keep his hands warm and nimble for the mission ahead. He would need all available dexterity in his fingers to control the flight software on his IPAD. It had been three days since he had stepped off the plane in Washington.
As he expected, the cloned cell phone, Luke had supplied, did the trick. Over the last twenty four hours he had been plugged into all of Congressman’s Sam Whiting’s phone data. It was on one of these calls he learned the Congressman was dining at the Four Seasons Hotel that evening. Whiting had arrived at the hotel around seven p.m. and Gabriel had already waited two hours for him to resurface.
This was Gabriel’s second trip to the hotel in the last eighteen hours. At two-thirty that morning he had driven to the hotel and waited until the doorman left his post for a few moments. He quickly opened the door to his car and launched the AR drone. He had flown the drone above the main entrance and positioned it on top of the dark green canvas roof.
When he returned to the hotel that evening, he turned on his IPAD to find the signal between it and the drone was still active. Later that morning, he had uncharacteristically searched deeper into the background of Sam Whiting. What Gabriel learned, surprised him.
Every article he read about the freshman congressman had been positive. Colleagues from both sides of the aisle said Sam was an up-and-coming force in politics. At lunch Gabriel had listened in on a cell conversation between the politician and his father. He listened as both men spoke on the subject of integrity; of his son making a difference.
He began trying to shake off feelings he hadn’t encountered in years. The call reminded him of past conversations with his own grandfather. He cursed himself for digging deeper into this target. Again, it wasn’t his job to pick the targets; it is his job to carry out the assignments.
Gabriel sat in the car and again checked the connectivity between the small drone and the controller. They were both ready to take the small craft to flight. Surely there was a good reason for Luke to want the Congressman killed. The door to the hotel opened and a man and woman exited. Now wondering just how long he would have to wait for Whiting the door opened for the second time.
He watched as Congressman Whiting exited with another man. Gabriel rolled down his window, making sure that he had a clear signal. He was too far to be able to hear the craft as the four electric motors started their high-speed revolutions. He saw that both men must have heard the craft because they looked up towards it.
Gabriel lifted the drone nearly four feet above the canvas, tilted the blades for forward flight, and steered toward Whiting. Not knowing what it was they were seeing, both men stood motionless watching the craft as it approached.
Reaching for the programmed detonation key on the IPAD, the craft suddenly pitched toward the right, away from the men. Gabriel saw the flash and heard the explosion as the detonator reacted to the signal. All around him parked cars began to sound their alarms; as horns honked and lights flashed.
Once the dust around the blast sight settled, Gabriel could see both men lying motionless on the concrete. Seconds later he saw Whiting roll over and try to lift his self off the pavement. A bellman from the hotel came out and helped the man to his feet. Gabriel could see that Whiting was bleeding from various points on his body; but his wounds didn’t appear to be life threatening.
It was apparent the Congressman’s companion had taken more of the blast. Although the man was conscious, Gabriel knew that long term medical care was in this man’s future.
He cranked the car and slowly pulled from his parking space. As he headed back toward Arlington he realized that he would have to answer for this failure. This being his first botched mission, he would fall on his sword and take the hit for not removing his target.
The cool night air could have affected the flight characteristics. He could say that wind might have played a factor. Gabriel would come up with an acceptable excuse. He would never be able to explain that he purposely veered the craft from the kill zone at the last second.
He sat on his bed and practiced folding the gum wrapper. He would need to come up with an acceptable explanation as to why he failed. But he wasn’t going to be the only who would have to do some explaining before this was all over.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Ron called Pat the next morning, after seeing the national news report about the attempt on the Congressman’s life. Pat shared that FBI had taken lead, and so far they had no clue to motive, or perpetrator.
Collins asked Pat if he thought the attempt on the Congressman could be related to their mission. Pat told him it was too early to tell, but he didn’t anticipate a connection. Ron then brought him up to date on their planned meeting with the conspiracy theorist, Mitchell Fields. They discussed the conversation with the Sheriff, and the Sheriff’s belief that Fields would not be willing to speak with them.
Collins asked he be allowed some latitude in how he handled the situation. When he told Pat what he had in mind, he heard Pat let out a heavy breath. After a few seconds of silence, Pat asked what he needed to do on his end to make it happen. Ron told him plausible deniability was the Deputy Director’s best bet. Agent Watts would aid them in putting the plan in motion.
Ron was in the dining room of the Silverland Hotel, enjoying his second cup of coffee, when the rest of his team headed toward the table. He joked with them about their sleeping in, and Doliver told Collins that he, Waits, and Peters, had been up since five. Chance chimed in that they jogged four miles, returned to their rooms to shower, and been down twice to see if their boss was up.
Ron seemed embarrassed for bringing it up, when he caught a half-smile in the corner of Kenny’s mouth. The waitress waited a moment while they shared a good laugh about the quickly made up lie.
While they ate, Ron told them how he planned on handling the Fields interview. Doliver was the only one who spoke about the plan; and the expletives he used caused several people in the hotel dining room to stare in disbelief.
Afterwards, Ron was back and forth on the phone with Emily for a g
ood deal of the morning. At eleven thirty, Sheriff Bottoms called Ron and told him that Mitchell Fields was at the bank. If he stayed on his routine, and he would, his next stop would be the diner for lunch.
The Sheriff said to expect the two of them at the Silver Mine Exhibit building at a little after one. Ron assured the Sheriff again, that no harm would come to Mr. Fields. At twelve thirty the team made their way to the exhibit building. Only used during the summer season, the areas around the exhibits were void of people. Collins made one more call to assure the plan was solid.
At eleven minutes after one, Sheriff Bottoms entered the Silver Mine exhibit with Mitchell. Hiding behind a large wooden crate, Ron saw that Mitchell wasn’t a large man; maybe five-four, a hundred and forty pounds. He had graying hair, and from first appearance, the man looked fit for his age.
Surprise isn’t a strong enough word to describe the look on both Fields, and the Sheriff’s faces, when four men advanced with automatic weapons drawn. While the other three members of his team were busy taking Mitchell down, Ron made his way to the Sheriff. He took the lawman’s 45 Colt from his holster, looked the Sheriff in the eyes, and winked.
Outside the building, there was a sound that none of the six men had heard before. It reminded Ron of an aircraft engine; but at a much quieter pitch. With Sheriff Bottoms and Fields, immobilized with plastic straps, the team headed the two out the exhibit doors.
Once outside, the entire team stopped dead in their tracks. The large black craft landing vaguely resembled a helicopter; just not anything they had encountered in all their years with the military.
They had trained on a stealth helicopters in the past. Often modified Blackhawk’s designed to move men in and out of combat zones quickly, and quietly. But this craft was no souped-up Blackhawk. Coal black in color, it reminded Chance of one of the props they used in the latest Batman movie. At the rear of the craft, where the tail rotor belonged, there were no blades. The tail section was fatter, and much shorter than any craft they had seen.
In the place of tail rotor blades, there was what looked to be some type of jet engine that tilted to provide opposite reaction to the main rotor blades. The helicopter carried absolutely no markings.
Mitchell was staring at the strange bird, when Doliver pulled a black mask from his bag, and placed it over the man’s head. He then motioned for Waits and Peters to take their target to the helicopter. Once they had Mitchell aboard the craft, the helicopter immediately climbed out the area.
Collins pulled a knife from his combat suit, and cut the straps off the Sheriff’s hands. He waited a second to see if the Sheriff was going to swing at him, before he handed back his weapon.
“Sheriff, I know that you are probably a little pissed at me, but please hear me out.”
The Sheriff wasn’t used to being roughed up, “What in the hell did you just pull here? You scared the holy crap out of me, and I knew you were going to be there. I can only imagine what is going through Mitchell’s mind right now.”
“I made you a promise, and I am going to stick by it; Mitchell will not be harmed. You said yourself that he wasn’t going to speak with us. The only chance I have is to take him out of his comfort zone.”
The sheriff seeming more relaxed, “Again, what could Mitchell know that would be so darn important to the government?”
Ron Collins replied, “Sheriff, he might not know squat, but it's important to national security to find out either way. What Agent Doliver told you yesterday still holds true; we have nothing but respect for Mitchell. I promise we will get him back here safely. And when he returns, he will have stories that will take him the rest of his life to tell.”
As Agent Collins was speaking, a second helicopter, the one that had transported them to town the day before, came into view. The Sheriff looked toward the approaching chopper. “I guess that’s your ride. Before you go, answer a couple of things for me. And don’t give me any of that bullshit about not being able to tell me. You owe me!”
Ron replied, “Alright, I’ll give you that; shoot.”
The Sheriff leaned over toward Collins as the sound of the approaching craft grew louder. “I know a thing or two about helicopters, and that one was scary as all get-out. That was one of those spook aircrafts I’ve heard tell about; am I right?”
Ron paused for a moment, and answered, “Yes Sir, I called it in because I needed Mr. Fields to believe we were more than a run-of-the-mill military unit. It is a Central Intelligence Agency bird; last question.”
The sheriff followed as Agent Collins made his way to the helicopter, “Where are you taking Mitchell?” Ron Collins waited until he climbed aboard, put on his David Clark headset, and told the pilots to take off. He pulled the earmuff from his left ear, leaned out the open door toward the Sheriff, “Area 51.” The large helicopter climbed and was soon out of sight.
-----
Before Gabriel went to sleep that evening, he called Chloe to make sure that all was fine on the home front. He told his wife that his trip might take a couple of extra days because of a last minute meeting with a client. After they ended the call he felt a small twinge of fear rise within him, as he considered the possible outcomes of botching the hit on the Congressman.
Failure is always possible; so there is always a plan B to fall back on if needed. Gabriel’s plan went off the rails; and he was the engine that caused it.
Chloe had no clue to her husband’s real profession, and Gabriel wasn’t about to let her find out. He had thought long and hard about beginning a relationship with anyone, but he fell hard for her after their first date. Looking back, it was selfish of him to bring Chloe into his den of lies.
He knew there might come a day when he would have to come clean with Chloe. Early on he thought that he might be able to just leave her if his lies ever caught up with him. As time went on he came to the hard realization that without him to protect her, she could never be safe. He had little doubt the people he worked for wouldn’t hesitate to use Chloe’s safety as a bargaining tool if it served their purpose.
This came into full focus after he had learned of Matthew’s death. The American government had tied his arrest, and obvious suicide, to the attempted murders of the Morgan family by Hector Fuentes. Gabriel was not so sure that was the case.
Neither John, nor Luke, had been forthcoming about Matthew. Especially since Matthew was supposed to be one of their closest allies. This meant the two men were hiding something from him. There was more about the final chapter of Matthew than was shared on the six o’clock news. And the silence from his mentors caused Gabriel to reconsider his position.
That day might come when he had to tell Chloe the truth and he had a plan if that day ever dawned. Over the last five years, he had learned the true identities of several of the disciples. Gabriel knew that with knowledge, came power. Unlike Matthew, Gabriel was not one of the chosen few. He had no illusions that he was anything more to them than a hired gun.
He and his wife, if she chose to go him, might one day need to disappear. If so, Gabriel would first level the playing field. From his childhood as Kevin Sands, to the man he was today, Gabriel never emotionally felt what most would consider as fear. When he thought of the Disciples, and their powers, the word respect had better defined them in his mind. But it was a guarded respect.
Gabriel picked up the phone to call Luke. He suddenly became aware of the clock ticking on the wall across from the bed. Tick-Toc goes the clock, he said to his self.
-----
Once clearance was given by the Groom Lake tower for their final approach, Greg Doliver removed the mask from Fields. Mitchell looked directly into Greg’s eyes; and if eyes could kill. Greg lifted a single finger as if to silence the man, although Fields had not attempted to speak the entire trip.
As Greg had directed the pilots earlier, the helicopter made their approach from the South, allowing a glimpse of the Groom Lake hangars, and out buildings, as the copter prepared to land.
T
he team saw a slight facial change come over Mitchell, as he realized where he was about to land. They would later discuss just how calm, and collected, Fields seemed through the entire ordeal. So collected, that Chance Peters admitted that he had been a little intimidated around him.
Once off the craft, they waited for a military escort vehicle to take them to their HQ. Instead of a single vehicle, the flight line quickly filled with Military Police Humvees. They kept the team in place, as though they were waiting on someone. They didn’t have to wait long.
An Air Force blue Chrysler 300 approached, supporting a front license plate with a single star attached. The Brigadier General stepped out, and walked straight to the team. “Who the hell is in charge here?” General Lloyd Moss asked.
It took everything the team had not to jump to attention, and salute the approaching General. They refrained, as now CIA Agent Doliver spoke, “You are, Sir.”
“Damn Right” the General said. “You CIA bunch are using my buildings, my aircraft, eating my food, and...Is this the prisoner?” the general pointing at Mitchell Fields.
“Yes Sir,” Greg replied rather sheepishly.
“Boy, what the hell is wrong with you people? Put a mask over his face. For God’s sake, go, just get out of my sight before I have all of you thrown in the brig” the General said fully exasperated.
Once they reached their headquarters, Waits escorted the prisoner to the rest room; and then put him into an interrogation room. A few minutes later, Kenny returned with bottled water, a sandwich, and bag of chips. He put them on the table in front of Mitchell, and quickly exited the room. Not a word had been spoken to Fields since his abduction. Nor had Mitchell spoken since that time.
When Kenny returned to the team’s conference room, Ron had already returned to base on the second copter. He was on the phone thanking General Moss for his fine acting job at the landing zone. The general told Agent Collins that most of it wasn’t an act. He thought that they were stupid for bringing a civilian to Groom Lake.
The Iscariot Factor (Half Staff Book 2) Page 11