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

by C. T. Wente

“Oh Jesus… you’ve got to be kidding me,” Parker whispered to himself. So much for fucking terrorists he thought as he rested his coffee mug on the center console and lowered his window. He irritably waved the two men over as they reached the intersection.

  “Hellooo officer,” the tall blonde man said flirtatiously as they walked up to the patrol car.

  Officer Parker gave him a stern look. “You two need to evacuate this area immediately,” he said coldly, pointing back towards the edge of the barricade area a few blocks west.

  “Oh my god, what’s going on?” the dark-haired man asked dramatically, flashing an anxious frown as he stepped closer.

  “Nothing you need to worry about,” Parker replied, again pointing his hand. “Just keep walking that direction and go about your business.”

  The dark-haired man suddenly sprang forward and pressed something hard and cold firmly against his shoulder. Before Parker knew what was happening, a paralyzing charge of electricity immediately coursed through his limbs, twisting his overweight body into a contorted arc. Within seconds it was over. The dark-haired man released the trigger and quickly checked his pulse as Parker slumped forward against the steering wheel of the patrol car. A long string of drool slowly fell from his mouth.

  The blonde-haired man walked around the patrol car and quickly slipped into the passenger seat. As he did, his partner leaned forward and whispered softly into Parker’s ear.

  “I’m sorry officer, but this is our business.”

  ∞

  “What the fuck is that man doing up there?”

  Alex leaned over the dash of the Suburban and looked up at the utility pole that stood less than ten yards away from the entrance of Joe’s Last Stand Saloon. Thirty feet up, a serviceman was hanging from a harness, apparently oblivious to his surroundings as he worked on the large transformer suspended above him.

  “Goddammit!” Alex hissed. He clicked on his radio and spoke angrily into the small headset attached to his ear. “This is Agent Murstead. Can anyone tell me why there’s a man hanging from the utility pole in front of the target location?”

  “Yes sir,” the radio crackled in response. “This is Lieutenant Mason. We couldn’t get his attention, sir. He must be wearing earplugs or something. I tried waving to get his attention, but he didn’t seem to notice. We did call the power company, sir, and they confirmed that they sent someone to that location. So I think he’s alright. I mean, I don’t think he’s up to something, sir.”

  Alex shook his head in disbelief before responding. “Thank you, lieutenant. Would anyone else like to communicate some important information to me regarding the target area before my team and I begin?”

  The radio remained silent.

  “That’s what I thought,” Alex mumbled as he clicked off his radio and stopped the Suburban a block from of the target location. The second vehicle stopped behind him. He quickly scanned the area before focusing on the narrow front façade of Joe’s. From the outside, the saloon appeared lifeless. The neon ‘open’ sign that hung at the top of the window was off and its wooden blinds turned down to conceal any view. As Alex expected, the entrance door was closed. He studied the building a moment longer before lowering his binoculars.

  “Okay guys, let’s go.”

  The men quickly stepped from the vehicles and rechecked their weapons. Alex cocked his sidearm and holstered it before addressing his three two-man teams.

  “Team One has the west position one block from target location. Team Three has the back alley. Team Two, you’ll take the east position one block from target, but first, you’re going to help me get that idiot down from the utility pole.”

  “Yes sir.”

  As the two other teams moved into position, Alex and his two SOG agents crossed over to the north end of the street and jogged towards the utility pole. A half-block further, Alex paused and turned to one of his men.

  “Get his attention.”

  The agent nodded and raised his assault rifle, painting the shimmering red dot of the gun’s laser site on the suspended utility worker’s arm. Thirty feet above them, the man glanced curiously at his arm before looking around. He visibly recoiled in surprise at the sight of the three armed, plainly-clothed men beneath him. Alex gestured for the man to come down.

  “Keep your gun on him,” Alex said to his agent as the utility worker quickly descended in front of them. It wasn’t until the man stepped from the utility pole onto the sidewalk that Alex got a true sense of the worker’s size. The man was enormous, standing at least a few inches taller than Alex. Even though he was wearing heavy coveralls, it was clear his broad frame was well-fitted with muscle. As he stepped forward, the two men exchanged tense looks and briefly sized each other up before Alex flashed his CIA credentials.

  “Can I help you gentlemen?” the worker asked guardedly.

  Alex reached out and removed the ID badge that was clipped to the man’s coveralls. “Your name is George Bissinger?” he asked, reading the ID badge.

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t notice much around you when you’re working, do you George?” Alex asked matter-of-factly, watching the man’s expression closely. “Like the policemen that were clearing this area about twenty minutes ago.”

  The worker glanced nervously at the agent holding the assault rifle and shook his head. “No sir, I guess I don’t. There’s enough high voltage in those lines up there to kill a man a couple of hundred times over. I tend to stay focused when I’m working on ‘em.”

  Alex held his stare for a moment before glancing up at the power lines.

  “What seems to be the problem?”

  The large man removed his hard hat and scratched at his short blonde hair.

  “Pretty odd actually. Looks like someone tampered with the line and killed the power in this area. A bunch of lines were torn out of the transformer.”

  “Kind of hard to do something like that without the right tools, wouldn’t you agree?” Alex asked suspiciously.

  “Nah, not really. You’d be surprised. People screw with this stuff all the time. Mostly teenagers. Luckily, most of the time they don’t kill themselves in the process.”

  “Is it fixed?”

  “Almost,” the man replied. “I was just about to repair the last line when you guys pointed your guns at me.”

  Alex nodded his head slowly. Despite the man’s enormous size, his instincts told him to believe the thick-headed utility worker standing in front of him. And yet something about the situation made him uneasy. He glanced over at the service van parked next to them. The back door of the van was open.

  Alex gestured to the other SOG agent as he spoke.

  “Mr. Bissinger, my agent is going to briefly search you and your vehicle as a precaution. Would you mind placing your hands on top of your head?”

  The man shrugged and complied with Alex’s request as the agent quickly patted him down. A moment later the agent looked up and gave Alex a passing nod.

  “Is there anything dangerous or illegal in the van that we need to know about before we begin our search?” Alex asked impatiently.

  “No sir.”

  “Very well.” Alex walked over to the vehicle with his agent while their colleague kept his assault rifle trained on the man. He clicked on his radio and spoke quietly into his headset. “This is Murstead. Lieutenant Mason, I have a question for you.”

  “Yes sir,” the lieutenant replied earnestly.

  “You said you called to confirm that a serviceman had been sent to this location.”

  “Affirmative sir.”

  “Did you get the serviceman’s name?”

  “I…uh, no sir.”

  “Lieutenant, you have exactly one minute to get me a name and physical description of the man who was sent down here,” Alex hissed. “Do you understand me?”

  “Yes sir,” the lieutenant replied sharply. “Right away, sir.”

  Alex walked over to the service van and poked his head inside. A narrow channel of o
pen space ran through the center of the cramped interior, flanked on both sides by spools of wire and large toolboxes. His agent was crouched inside, carefully opening one of the toolboxes.

  “Anything?” Alex asked.

  “No sir,” the agent replied. “But with all this equipment and wiring, he could have ten bombs in here and I might miss them.”

  Alex nodded his head. He glanced at the floor of the van and noticed a long compartment that ran the length of the back. He was just about to ask the agent if he’d checked it when his radio crackled to life.

  “Agent Murstead, this is Lieutenant Mason.”

  “What did you find out?” Alex asked as he stepped around the van and stared at the massive man standing on the sidewalk, his hands still resting on his head. The man stared back at him nervously.

  “His name should be George Bissinger, sir. He should be a large man, approximately six-foot seven inches tall, with hazel eyes and short, blonde hair.”

  “Very good. Thank you lieutenant.” Alex ordered his agent to exit the van and the two walked back over to the detained utility worker.

  “Sorry to take your time, Mr. Bissinger,” Alex replied as he handed back the man’s ID. “My men and I have some other business to attend to here. For your safety, I’m going to need you to get into your vehicle and drive to the police officer parked just a few blocks west of here. He’ll have further instructions for you.”

  The large man clipped his ID back onto his chest and picked up his bag of tools. He gave Alex a brief nod before silently getting into the van. As the vehicle pulled away, Alex clicked on his radio. “Attention, all units, this is Agent Murstead. I’m routing a utility van west on the 66 from the target location. I want the first officer this vehicle arrives at to detain the driver until he’s been officially cleared. Is that understood?”

  A baritone voice responded. “Agent Murstead, this is Officer Parker. Subject is heading towards me now. I’ll take care of him, sir.”

  Alex nodded and looked up at his Team Two agents. “Okay guys, you know what to do.” As his men moved into position, Alex turned and paced a half block west before making his way across the street. A minute later, positioned inside the empty café opposite the saloon, he sat and watched patiently.

  ∞

  The officer stepped out of his patrol car and raised his hand commandingly at the approaching service vehicle. He leveled his stare on the driver as the van slowed and stopped just inches from where he stood. The officer then moved cautiously towards the driver’s door, his hand resting noticeably on the handle of his holstered weapon. A few feet from the driver’s door, he stopped and gestured for the large man to lower his window.

  The two men stared silently at each other for a moment before the officer’s stern expression slowly eased into a smile.

  “How’d it go, Max?”

  The driver smiled back at him. “Just fine, Officer Chilly.”

  “Are our new friends in a pleasant mood today?”

  “As pleasant as I expected.”

  “Good,” Chilly replied. He glanced down the empty stretch of old Route 66 that led to the saloon before leaning towards the van with a mischievous grin. “Now let’s see how they like act two.”

  59.

  Alex broke his stare on the front entrance of Joe’s Last Stand Saloon and anxiously glanced at his watch. It was 2:23pm. He and his men had been in position around the target area for nearly fifteen minutes, quietly waiting for activity. So far, nothing around them had moved.

  He looked again at Teams Two and Three positioned on the empty street in front of him before clicking on the radio. “Team three, are you seeing anything back there?”

  From their position in the alley behind the saloon, Team Three radioed in. “Not really sir.”

  Alex furrowed his brow. “Say again?”

  “No activity, sir,” the team leader answered. “All we’ve got is an old homeless guy passed out in the alley.”

  “How old?” Alex asked.

  “Hard to say, sir. Subject’s probably in his mid-sixties.”

  Alex thought for a moment before responding. “Okay… Team Three, pull him out and question him.”

  “Command, would you repeat?” The team leader asked.

  “You heard me,” Alex replied. “Pull him out and question him. And report in when you’re done.” He’d barely finished speaking when the radio crackled to life.

  “Command, this is Team Two. Be advised, we have movement at the front door.”

  Alex immediately raised his binoculars and focused on the front door of the saloon. As he watched, the dark wooden door slowly eased open. “Team Two, this is Command,” he said firmly. “Hold position and do not engage until subject has been identified.”

  “Roger that.”

  The front door of the bar was half open when a stout, white-bearded man suddenly stepped out into view. Alex zoomed in on the unknown subject and groaned. “Jesus Christ… are you fucking kidding me?” he mumbled to himself, watching the subject through his binoculars. The man stood stiffly in the entryway of the saloon, seemingly oblivious to the two SOG teams in position nearby. Alex watched him for a few more seconds before speaking into his headset.

  “All teams, be advised, we have a lone unidentified subject exiting through the front door of the target location. Subject is wearing sunglasses and a white beard.” He paused for a moment, dismayed by what he was about to say next. “Subject is also dressed in a Santa costume.”

  “Command, be advised,” Team Two replied. “Subject’s also carrying a large duffel bag. Possibly an explosive device.”

  The man suddenly stepped out onto the sidewalk and began walking west towards Alex in a slow, uneven gate.

  “Command, subject is on the move,” the Team Two leader announced.

  “Copy that,” Alex replied as he studied the man intently through his binoculars. Despite his ridiculous disguise, there was something strangely familiar about the man. Nevertheless, there was protocol to follow. Alex followed the subject’s movements for a few more seconds before acknowledging what he had to do next.

  “Team Two, on my command, I want a non-lethal drop of the subject,” he said firmly into the radio. “I repeat– a non-lethal drop of the subject. Team One, hold your current position on the northwest corner until the subject is down.”

  “Roger that.”

  The man slowly continued west towards the intersection where the Team One SOG agents were concealed. When he finally reached the corner, Alex took a quick breath and spoke calmly into his headset.

  “Okay, drop him.”

  A moment later, Alex watched anxiously through his binoculars as the muted report of an assault rifle echoed down the street. At the same instant, their unidentified subject cried out in pain and fell forward onto the sidewalk, dropping the duffel bag that was slung over his shoulder.

  “Team One, take him!”

  As ordered, Alex’s Team One agents immediately rushed forward and pressed the wounded man hard against the concrete, securing his wrists in handcuffs before rolling him onto his back. They then grabbed his arms and quickly dragged him around the corner and out of view of the saloon. Through his headset, Alex could hear the man’s loud moans as he lay sprawled out on the sidewalk.

  “Team One, report in,” he said impatiently.

  “Command, subject is secured,” Team One replied.

  “Weapons?”

  “Negative, Command… no weapons on him. Be advised, we have not checked the bag the subject was carrying.”

  “Roger that. Do not touch the bag,” Alex replied, his stare shifting from the saloon to the nearby corner where his team had the unknown man secured. “Any identification on the subject?”

  “Negative, no formal identification,” the agent responded. “But there’s a note pinned to his chest under his coat.”

  Alex furrowed his brow as he spoke into the radio. “What does it say?”

  A long pause followed before the a
gent replied. “It appears to be a confession, sir.”

  Alex glanced curiously at the entrance to the saloon. What the fuck are you up to? he wondered as he clicked on his microphone. “Alright. All teams, hold positions. Team Two, I’m coming to you.”

  Alex holstered his gun and jogged quickly down the sidewalk towards Team Two. When he arrived at the corner, he moved cautiously around the large duffel bag still lying on the sidewalk before shaking his head at the strangeness of the scene. Kneeling next to their wounded Santa-masked subject, both agents looked up and gave him a brief nod.

  “He’s unconscious,” the nearest agent said as Alex kneeled down beside him. “Probably passed out from the pain.”

  Alex knelt down and quickly inspected the man’s leg. A steady of blood was oozing from the bullet’s exit wound a few inches above the knee, but nothing appeared immediately serious or life-threatening. He glanced at the man’s face. Even though he could barely see any features past the thick white beard and sunglasses, there was something oddly familiar about him.

  “Where’s the note?” he demanded.

  The agent next to him reached over and opened the red, fur-lined Santa jacket. Alex immediately recognized the blue Joe’s Last Stand Saloon t-shirt underneath. A small piece of stationary was pinned to the center. He leaned closer and read the shakily scribbled handwriting.

  To whom it may concern –

  Allow me to introduce myself. I am a terrorist. I say this with complete candor because of the incident that occurred on the clear night of May 21 during my second tour of duty in Afghanistan. It was on that night that I led eight men including myself on a night patrol through the poppy fields of the Arghandab river valley. Normally this would have been a routine patrol. But on this particular night, my patrol and I were attacked by a group of Taliban rebels of superior numbers and firepower. Within less than an hour, my patrol was reduced to just three men – myself and two fellow marines, PFC Grant Matthison and Michael Callahan.

  Surrounded and exhausted of ammunition, I told my men that we would have to accept the possibility of capture. Within minutes, that possibility became a reality. Unfortunately, our captors were not kind, and they quickly made it clear that the three of us would be killed if we failed to comply with their demands. After realizing I was the acting commander of the patrol, the rebels singled me out and handed me a loaded handgun. I was then given two options – I could use the handgun kill myself, or I could use it to kill my two fellow marines. Of course, there was a catch. If I killed myself, the rebels would immediately kill the other two soldiers. But if I chose to kill the other two soldiers, I would be set free.