Don't Order Dog: 1 (Jeri Halston Series)

by C. T. Wente

  “What was the second reason?” he asked.

  “András Vida,” Chip replied.

  Tom looked at him quizzically for a moment until he recalled the name.

  “Wait… you mean the first man killed at the hotel? The Bulgarian?”

  “He was Hungarian, actually,” Chilly replied.

  “I don’t care if he was fucking French Canadian. What did he have to do with any of this?”

  Chilly narrowed his stare on him. “András Vida was a major trafficker of young Eastern European women in the region’s sex trade. I was fortunate enough to have seen the consequences of his work first hand. He was a bad man… and he needed to die.”

  Tom leaned forward and pointed his finger at Chilly. “You knew he was staying at that hotel, didn’t you? That’s why you picked it. Then you used yourself as bait and got the CIA to run in and carry out your personal vendetta, is that it?”

  “That about sums it up,” Chip interjected from his seat at the bar.

  Tom looked over at the older man with disgust.

  “And you authorized that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’re as much of a goddamn terrorist as he is.”

  Chip shrugged. “Well Tom, I suppose that depends on your definition of a terrorist.”

  “How about someone who terrorizes or kills for their own political or personal gain. That’s my definition of a terrorist, you old fuck.” Tom paused and glared at Chip, his face red with anger. “And you’re guilty of both.”

  “Or neither,” Chilly replied flatly. He stood up and walked over to Tom, kneeling down beside him on the floor.

  “What? Are you going to kill me now, asshole?” Tom growled. “I’d love to see you try to–” He didn’t have time to react before Chilly’s left hand swung out and connected with his jaw. Tom immediately fell back, his head once again slamming hard into the floor. In an instant Chilly was on top of him, his right hand holding Tom’s neck. In his left hand was a small syringe, its needle pressed gently against Tom’s jugular vein.

  “Do you have any idea how predictable you are, Tom? Do any of you people? No, of course you don’t. Despite all the evidence against it, you’re still operating under the delusion that you guys – you governmental agency guys – are somehow more competent than anyone else. Even now, you’re failing to realize that we could have destroyed you, or your brother-in-law Alex, or that smug idiot Jack Preston at any time during this assignment. Hell, killing any one of you would have been a vacation next to the work we do.”

  Tom forced his eyes from the syringe and stared up at him.

  “So why didn’t you?”

  Chilly leaned in closer towards Tom and smiled. “Because we’re not terrorists,” he said softly as he pushed the needle into Tom’s neck and slowly pressed the plunger. He then removed the needle and stood up.

  Tom groaned and put his hand over his neck.

  “What the fuck did you just give me?”

  “Don’t worry… it’s not going to kill you. In fact, it might just do the opposite.”

  Tom sat up slowly from the floor, the pounding in his skull suddenly subsiding. He looked up at the man he’d been chasing all this time and shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Of course you don’t. That’s been the problem with you all along, Tom. You and the rest of the idiots you’ve managed to pull into this… all of you scrambling around, trying to insert your egos and authority in a matter that you couldn’t possibly begin to understand. It would be comical if it weren’t so pathetic.”

  “But how can you not consider yourselves terrorists?” Tom asked. Despite his anger, a sudden, calming sensation was now beginning to flow through his body.

  “You said it yourself. A terrorist terrifies or kills for political or personal gain. And yet we’ve never terrified anyone – at least not with those goals in mind. Perhaps we’ve scared the hell out of a few bystanders at times, but that’s just the unfortunate reality of our work. I can also assure you that we have no collective affiliation with any government or political organization. Nor are we religious fanatics.” He paused and shook his head. “Christ, I can’t even tell you the last time I was in a church.”

  “Fine,” Tom replied. “So you’re not terrorists… you’re mercenaries.

  That still makes you just a bunch of hired killers.”

  “You’re half right… we were hired.”

  “So you’re not killers, huh?” Tom asked sarcastically. Chilly shook his head.

  “Then how do you explain five dead Petronus researchers?”

  Chilly looked over at Chip and smiled. “Should I tell him?”

  Chip nodded his head. “Sure, why not. He’s not going to remember any of this anyway.”

  “Tell me what?” Tom demanded. He paused to shake the sudden lightness from his head. “And what do you mean I’m not going to… to remember any of this?”

  “They’re not dead, Tom.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Chilly shrugged. “They’re not dead.”

  “How do you expect me to believe that?”

  “Because you’ve already seen it for yourself. After all, Alex’s men killed me in Amsterdam, and I’m not dead.”

  Tom started to respond when a knock on the door leading to the alley interrupted him. Chilly looked down at him and smiled. “I think this will help clarify everything,” he said, turning and opening the door. The short, pudgy man that had left just minutes earlier shuffled back into the saloon, a large backpack slung over his shoulder. Behind him, Max and Tall Tommy walked in carrying a long, heavy object wrapped in a black plastic bag between them.

  Tom noticed white wisps of smoke-like frost rising from the plastic bag’s surface and realized it must have come from a freezer. He leaned back nervously as they laid it on the floor in front of him.

  “That… that’s a body bag.”

  “Yes it is,” Chilly replied. He raised his hand and his colleague tossed him the backpack. He opened it and pulled out a pair of latex gloves.

  Tom watched with detached curiosity as Chilly slapped on the gloves and then handed a pair to the other men. Whatever had been injected into him was now having its intended effect. Despite what was happening, an overwhelming feeling of euphoria now gripped him. A smile slowly stretched across his face as he glanced at the men standing around him. “So who’s in the bag?” he asked dully.

  “The package.”

  “The package? What does that mean?”

  “Dublin?” Chilly said tersely as he began to unzip the bag. His short, pudgy colleague stepped forward.

  “The package is a twenty-six year-old female from Phoenix,” Dublin said flatly in a thick Irish accent. “Died from a stab wound to the liver by her boyfriend last night. Her family has requested a cremation… and that’s what they’re gonna get.”

  Tom watched as the body bag was opened and suddenly held his breath. The pale thin body of the young woman was eerily calm and serene. She looked even younger than the age the Irishman had stated. He found it difficult to look away from her dark brown eyes as they stared vacantly up at the ceiling. Then he noticed the long, copper-brown hair that framed her beautiful, unblemished face. “She… she looks like Jeri,” he said quietly, watching as Chilly examined her.

  “Precisely.”

  “So what… what are you going to do with her?”

  Chilly gave him a strange smile before glancing at his watch and looking over at Chip. “It’s been two minutes. He’s ready.”

  Tom looked at him with unfocused eyes. “What? What am I ready for?”

  “Our talk, Tom,” Chip said as he rose from his stool, “You see, even by your definition, none of us here are really terrorists.” He walked over and kneeled down in front of him, his blue eyes flashing with intelligence. “Except perhaps for you.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Tom asked slowly, a slight slur now evident

  in his voice.

  “I’ve done a fair
amount of digging into your background, Tom, and there’s something that seems rather peculiar to me.” He sat down in front of Tom and studied him closely. “Not the trivial stuff – your bad relationship with your sister Jane, your failed marriage, your refusal to accept the fact that you suffer from impulse control disorders. None of that really interests me in the least. No, what I’m interested in is an entry in your military records that dates back to your second tour in Afghanistan.”

  Tom listened carefully and nodded his head. His feelings of anger and betrayal towards the man sitting in front from him were now gone, evaporated by the wonderful drug now coursing through his body. “Sure Chip,” he replied. “What would you like to know?”

  The older man leaned in closer, his weathered face easing into a wide, friendly smile. “Tell me about Arghandab, Tom. Tell me about that night on patrol.

  I want to know what really happened.

  I want to know why everyone in your patrol died but you.”

  58.

  Alex stepped off the jet under a clear high-noon sky and paced directly towards the large hanger next to the tarmac. His two SOG agents fell in step behind him, both men warily scanning the area. As expected, a large group of men were already collected in the empty hanger, all watching him with anticipation as their cups of coffee steamed in the wintry Flagstaff air. Once inside, Alex quickly nodded to the four SOG agents that had just arrived from San Diego. He then turned to the other men in uniform.

  “I’m Alex Murstead with the CIA,” he said with an impatient tone of authority. “If I got what I asked for, I’m now speaking to the most experienced Patrolmen and Police Officers ever to serve this fine town. Did I get what I asked for, gentlemen?”

  “Yes sir,” the group of men said collectively, all of them fully aware that the tall, muscular man standing in front of them was now in command.

  “Very good,” Alex replied. “I’ll make this as brief as possible. Please gather around the table.”

  The officers and agents formed a circle around a small folding table as Alex quickly pulled out a Flagstaff street map and slapped it down on the flimsy tabletop.

  “Gentlemen, I have reason to believe a terrorist or group of terrorists is currently in Flagstaff. While I can’t discuss the details of why they’re here, I can say without hesitation that, if this is the case, this person or group represents a threat unlike anything you’ve ever deal with before.”

  The police officers glanced nervously at each other as Alex took a pen and circled a small area on the map.

  “The good news is that we believe we know exactly what they’re targeting and where they’ll be located. My team and I will be handling all activities associated with containing and neutralizing this threat. Your job, gentlemen, is crowd control. I want four plainclothes officers to discreetly empty every business and restaurant within a two-block area around the target area. Tell people there’s a possible gas leak. Tell them there’s a big sale at Wal-Mart. I don’t give a shit what you tell them. Just make sure you don’t cause a panic.”

  “Start with the businesses closest to the target and work your way out, then stay the hell out of my target area. The rest of you will redirect traffic and make sure no one gets in or out of the area without my direct authorization.” He stared at the officers sternly. “You will do this quickly, and you will do this quietly. No sirens, no flashing lights, and nothing that would indicate anything out of the ordinary. If you see something suspicious, contact me immediately. Do not – repeat – do not attempt to engage anyone without consulting with me first. Is that understood?”

  “Yes sir,” the officers replied in unison.

  Alex quickly detailed the target location and the position each of the officers would take around the area. After answering a few questions, he glanced at his watch and slapped his hands impatiently. “Alright, that’s it,” he said. “Our target location is less than five miles from here. I want it empty in thirty minutes.”

  As the local officers shuffled out of the hanger towards their patrol cars, Alex addressed the six SOG team members now standing around him. “You’ve all had time to review the brief, correct?” he asked.

  The men nodded silently.

  “Then you know as much as I do… which means none of us knows what the fuck we’re about to walk into here. Make no mistake, gentlemen – these guys aren’t amateurs. Our primary target managed to outmaneuver six of our colleagues in Amsterdam last week, and I still can’t explain how he did it. But I can tell you this – I will not accept any such fuck-ups here today.” He pointed at the map. “The saloon is located here on Route 66. I want three two-man teams. Teams One and Two will take flanking positions on the street one block from the entrance. Team Three will cover the back alley. I’ll take position across the street in the café on the southwest corner. Got it?”

  “Yes sir,” his men replied.

  Alex paused and looked at his six agents. “There are two ways this could go down today, gentlemen,” he said matter-of-factly. “If our terrorists haven’t arrived yet, we get Halston and everyone else out of that fucking saloon and set up camp for their arrival. But if they are here, you know the protocol. We’ll do everything we can for hostages, but not at the expense of allowing a single one of these motherfuckers to walk out alive. Either way, no one makes any decisions without my say so. Is that understood?”

  The men nodded their heads in unison.

  “Okay then, let’s go.”

  ∞

  Chilly stepped back and took one final look at the body of the young woman in front of him before nodding his head. “The package is ready,” he said casually, shoving his small toolkit into his backpack. He glanced over at Tall Tommy. “You almost ready?”

  “Done,” the Australian replied, throwing his satchel over his shoulder. The two men looked expectantly at Chip.

  “Alright, alright… I’m almost ready,” Chip said with a gruff tone. “God, I’m getting too old for this shit.” He stood up and looked around the room curiously. “Where’s Dublin?”

  “Left a half hour ago,” Tall Tommy said with a slight grin. “What else is new?”

  “That’s fine,” Chip replied as he dialed a number on his cellphone. “As long he isn’t passed out drunk behind the bar.” He walked over to the window and pressed the speaker button on his phone. “Max, are you in position?”

  “In position and ready.”

  “Good. Let me know what’s happening out there.” Chip pocketed the phone and turned back to Chilly and Tall Tommy. “Okay, it’s about that time. Are you two appropriately dressed for the occasion?” he asked wryly. Both men shrugged before taking off their sweaters. Chip examined their shirts with a critical eye. “Those should work just fine,” he said with a slight grin. “You better get into position.”

  Chilly looked at the older man somberly. “Don’t stay too long.”

  Chip nodded. “I’ll be right behind you.” He watched the two men exit through the back alley before rubbing his eyes tiredly. I really am getting too old for this shit he thought somberly. Luckily there was just one last detail to attend to before the show started. He walked over to the front door and sorted through a large bag of items Max had brought in from the van. Satisfied everything was there, he grabbed the bag and walked over to where Tom Coleman was seated on the floor.

  Tom Coleman looked up with a dazed, quizzical stare. “What’s in there?” he asked.

  Chip dropped the bag down in front of Tom and reached inside. “Happy holidays, Tom,” he said as he pulled out a heavy red coat and smiled. “Would you like to take a walk?”

  ∞

  Officer Damien Parker parked his patrol car at the center of the intersection of Humphreys Street and Historic Route 66 and quietly listened to the chatter of the radio. He and the other officers had finished clearing and barricading the area around Joe’s Last Stand Saloon as ordered. Now it was up to the Feds to find out if all this nonsense was really worth the trouble.

 
He glanced in his rearview mirror at the sound of approaching vehicles. The two Suburbans carrying Agent Murstead and his team of SOG agents were heading towards him at high speed. He watched as the shiny black vehicles swerved around his patrol car towards the target zone. As they passed, Murstead’s commanding voice crackled over the radio.

  “This is Agent Murstead. My team and I are now approaching the target location. Any officers within two blocks of the area are ordered to evacuate immediately.”

  Officer Parker picked up his radio handset from the center console and joined the other officers in responding. “Roger that,” he said flatly, clicking off the radio before mumbling the rest of his response. “You arrogant agency asshole.”

  He dropped the handset back onto the console and watched the two oversized vehicles as they sped towards the old saloon four blocks ahead. Well, I guess my work here is done Parker thought as he reached for his thermos and poured a fresh cup of coffee. As he did, he noticed the half-eaten cinnamon bun from earlier that morning still sitting in its wrapper. After a moment of deliberation, he shrugged and picked it up. Why not? he thought defiantly. He could always drop the weight after the holidays. He took a large bite and leaned back contentedly in his seat. He was just about to wash the mouthful of pastry down with a sip of his coffee when he glanced out his side window and paused.

  Two men were walking towards him.

  “What the hell is this?” Officer Parker muttered to himself. He watched as the two men strolled casually down Humphreys Street, both of them noticeably underdressed for the weather. The taller of the two had blonde hair and was clad in jeans and a tightly-fitting black t-shirt. The other man was slightly shorter, with dark hair and a thin, athletic build. As they grew nearer, Parker noticed the second man was also wearing a t-shirt, a large rainbow stitched across the chest. The meaning of the symbol was just beginning to sink in when the man reached over and grabbed his partner’s hand.