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

by C. T. Wente

  Since you already know the outcome of this story, it would be irrelevant to mention that the rebels kept their word. As for me, well, there are few things I can be certain of or clear about, perhaps with one exception – my definition of a terrorist is any individual who kills or terrorizes for personal or political gain.

  And there you have it. By my own definition, and by my own actions, on that May night in Afghanistan I became a terrorist.

  Sincerely,

  Thomas R. Coleman

  “It can’t be,” Alex whispered as he looked again at the covered face of the man in front of him. He reached up and ripped the beard away from his chin.

  “Oh fuck – Tom!”

  Alex cursed again as he grabbed his radio and switched it to the police channel. “This is Agent Murstead… I need the HAZMAT team and an ambulance at the corner of 66 and Leroux immediately! We’ve got a man down and a duffel bag that may contain an explosive device. Make sure all drivers approach from Aspen Avenue – and tell them to keep their sirens off!”

  “Roger that,” came the quick reply.

  Alex leaned over and roughly slapped his brother-in-law’s face. “Tom! Wake up Tom! Can you hear me? Why are you here, Tom?” He pulled off his gloves and gently opened Tom’s eyes. His pupil were dilated and fixed. He cursed and turned to the agent next to him. “Keep pressure on that leg wound and hold your position until the ambulance arrives.” He reached down and angrily tore the note from Tom’s chest, shoving it into his vest. Alex then stood up and pointed at the other SOG agent. “You’re coming with me.”

  “Yes sir.”

  The two men headed quickly back down the street towards the saloon. Halfway there, the radio crackled to life in Alex’s ear.

  “Command, this is Team One. We’re picking up sounds from inside the target location.”

  Alex gestured for the agent next to him to hold position as he kneeled down and aimed his handgun at the front of the saloon. Further down the street, he could see the two agents from Team One crouched low against a parked car, their assault rifles pointed on the saloon’s entrance.

  “This is Command. What are you hearing?”

  “Command, it’s too muffled to be certain, but it sounds like a man’s voice.”

  “Roger that,” Alex replied. “Team Three, are you seeing or hearing anything from your position?” He waited several seconds for a response before asking again. “Team Three, this is Command. Say again… are you seeing anything back there?”

  The radio remained silent.

  A cold chill suddenly ran up Alex’s spine as he looked again at the entrance to the saloon. He knew Team Three’s radio silence couldn’t be a glitch. Like every other piece of equipment, radios were checked and rechecked before each mission. And both men had one. The chance of both radios now failing was practically non-existent, which meant only one thing – the old homeless man Team Three had encountered was someone else entirely. It’s fucking Amsterdam all over again he thought angrily. Only instead of simply being misdirected as they were in Amsterdam, Alex realized his highly trained SOG team was now being quietly picked apart.

  He stared down the street at Team One and spoke into his headset. “Team One, this is Command. Be advised, Team Three may to be down. I am now leading Team Two and approaching your position from the west.”

  “Roger that.”

  Alex switched his radio once again to the police channel. “This is Agent Murstead. Be advised, we may have a target on-foot that’s dressed as a homeless man. Possibly senior-aged or appearing to be older. Anyone that even remotely matches that description needs to be communicated to me immediately.”

  A chorus of affirmatives crackled over the radio. Alex started to switch the channel but paused as another thought came to mind. He glanced over his shoulder in the direction the utility worker had been ordered to drive a few minutes earlier. Neither the service van nor a police unit was in site. He clicked on his radio. “This is Murstead. Can the officer in charge of detaining the service van hear me?”

  “Roger that,” a baritone male voice replied a moment later.

  “What’s your status?” Alex demanded.

  “I’m at the North corner of Humphreys and the 66. The service van is parked in front of my vehicle and I am standing next to the driver’s door with a visual on the subject.”

  “Very good. Now listen, I’m beginning to believe the driver of that van may be involved in this after all. Do not under any circumstances let that man out of his vehicle… is that understood?”

  “Absolutely,” the officer replied calmly. “You can be sure I won’t let him out of my sight, Agent Murstead.”

  “If your detainee attempts to start his vehicle or open the door, shoot him. That’s an order, officer. And make sure you shoot to kill.”

  “That sounds a bit extreme, wouldn’t you agree, sir?” the officer asked.

  “Say again?” Alex replied sharply.

  “My apologies, sir. I guess I’m just not used to dealing with terrorists.”

  “That’s why you leave the goddamn orders to me, officer. Now stand by that fucking van with your gun cocked and make sure that man doesn’t move!”

  “Understood. Like I said, I won’t let him out of my sight.”

  Alex switched channels and shook his head. What kind of local idiots am I working with? he thought as he stood and motioned for his Team Two agent to follow him. The two moved quickly along the row of empty storefronts until they reached the corner of Joe’s Last Stand Saloon. Once there, Alex crouched low and pressed himself against the brick facade beneath the saloon’s arched window. He looked at the two men across from him and whispered into the radio.

  “Team One, this is command. I’ve got the front entrance of the location. Secure the back alley and give me a status on Team Three.”

  “Roger that.”

  Alex watched anxiously as his SOG team abruptly pulled back towards the opposite corner of the building and disappeared into the alley. A moment later, he ripped the earbud for his radio from his ear and cocked his head. Through the window above him, he could just make out the muffled sound his men had heard earlier. He listened for several seconds before shaking his head in bewilderment. There was no mistaking the origin of the sound – it was the low, gravelly voice of a man speaking quietly. He tensed as the earbud for his radio suddenly crackled in his hand.

  “Command, this is Team One. We found Team Three.”

  Alex shoved the earbud back into place. “What’s their status?”

  “Alive but unconscious,” the agent replied. “From the looks of it, I’d guess they were either tasered or drugged. Their weapons are still on them, but there’s no sign of anyone else.”

  “Roger that,” Alex replied flatly. “Anything else?”

  “Negative. We’re not… wait… yes, there’s something else. Command, their radios are missing.”

  Alex cursed under his breath. The terrorists have our radios. They’ve heard every fucking thing we’ve said he thought as he scanned the street around him. He took a deep breath and spoke calmly into his headset. “All teams, this is Command. Switch your radios to the alternate channel immediately.” He then switched his own radio to the alternate channel. “Team One are you there?” he asked flatly.

  “Yes sir.”

  “Hold your position, and make sure you maintain a minimum of three meters between each other.”

  “Roger that.”

  “Agent Pearson, are you still waiting for that ambulance?”

  “Negative, Command. The ambulance is here. They’re taking him now, sir.”

  “Has the HAZMAT unit arrived yet?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Alright, hold your position and tell me exactly what they find in that bag.” Alex checked his watch and rubbed his eyes in frustration. Sixteen minutes. Sixteen minutes since his team had arrived. Sixteen minutes since their well-orchestrated operation had started. Sixteen minutes since everything had begun to complete
ly fucking unravel. He swept the thought from his mind and waited for Agent Pearson to respond.

  “Command, this is Pearson.”

  “What have you got?”

  “HAZMAT checked the duffel bag, sir. No weapons or explosives.”

  “Then what’s in the bag?”

  “Toys, sir.”

  Alex shook his head in confusion. “Say again?”

  “The bag has toys in it, sir. Boxes of some little weird-looking things called Brainy Buddies. They kind of look like stuffed animals.”

  Alex leaned his head against the cold brick exterior of the saloon and took another deep breath. Was this really happening? Was it possible that everything he and his team were doing had somehow, once again, been anticipated? He scanned the stretch of old Route 66 in front of him, looking in the vacant storefronts for the hidden face he was certain was now watching him.

  He spoke flatly into the radio. “Copy that, Pearson. Regroup with Team Two on the southwest corner of the target location.”

  “Roger.”

  Alex turned and reached his hand out to the agent leaning against the wall next to him. “Give me your weapon.” The agent gave him a fleeting look of surprise before silently handing him his assault rifle and pulling out his sidearm. Alex quickly checked the weapon before moving towards the entrance of the saloon.

  “All teams, this is command. It’s safe to assume we’ve lost the element of surprise with this mission… if there ever was any to begin with. Maintain your positions and stay alert. I’m going into the target location.”

  Alex paused outside the door and quickly rechecked his weapon. Christ, how long had it been since he’d actually been in a field mission? Too long he thought as he took a deep breath. He raised his rifle and kicked hard against the heavy wooden door. As the door swung open he took two quick steps inside before dropping low against the wall. From there, he slowly swept the room with his assault rifle as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. Around him, the saloon felt empty and still. Then, as he drew his gun towards the bar, something immediately caught his attention.

  A lone woman sat at the bar.

  Alex leveled his rifle on the woman and slowly stood. “Turn around!” he commanded loudly. The woman didn’t move.

  “Federal agent! I said turn around!”

  Again his demand was ignored. He raised his head from the sights of his assault rifle and looked closer. The woman’s upper body was sprawled forward on top of the counter, her head cradled in her folded arms as if she were sleeping. Even with her back to him, Alex recognized the woman’s slender build and long, copper-brown hair from the photos in his file. He stepped forward cautiously. “Miss Halston?” he asked, his tone less threatening. “Jeri Halston, are you okay?”

  “Good afternoon, Agent Murstead,” the voice he’d heard earlier suddenly echoed cheerfully through the saloon. “I’m glad you could make it.”

  Alex swept the bar with his weapon. “Show yourself!”

  “I can’t,” the voice replied calmly. “I’m not in the room.”

  Alex kept the rifle pinned to his shoulder and moved towards the voice. As he neared the body of Jeri Halston he suddenly paused. Resting on the counter in front of her were an open laptop computer and a small two-way radio. Alex immediately recognized the radio as one of the two that had been taken from his men.

  “My apologies for borrowing this,” the voice crackled from the radio. “But I thought you and I should talk.”

  Alex scanned the area once more before easing his grip on his rifle. “Alright,” he replied. “Let’s talk. Who am I speaking to?”

  “Call me Shepherd,” the voice answered.

  “Shepherd, huh?” Alex replied as he studied the laptop. He had no doubt the man he was speaking to was now watching him through the small video camera mounted to the top of the screen.

  “You know, it’s funny,” he said, taking another step closer. “I was just reading up on another man who went by the name of Shepherd on my way out here. A rather impressive guy from what I can tell. His real name was Robert Shafer. He was a former agent of the National Security Agency… perhaps one of the most gifted cryptographers the NSA has ever seen. But of course, you couldn’t be Robert Shafer.”

  “Why is that?” the voice asked earnestly.

  “Because Robert Shafer died more than thirty years ago,” Alex replied. “He was killed in a car accident. Big fire… body burned badly. So badly, in fact, that the coroner wasn’t even able to determine for certain if it was him.” He paused and stared directly at the small camera. “But then, who else could it have been?”

  “Good question,” the voice answered. “Unfortunately, I haven’t read enough autopsy reports on ex-NSA agents to be of much help.”

  “No, I didn’t think you would be,” Alex responded. He looked again at the woman slumped on a barstool at the bar. “Miss Halston, are you okay?” he asked, taking a step towards her.

  “I’d leave Miss Halston alone for now,” the voice said politely. “She’s not in a position to respond.”

  “Why is that?”

  “She’s been injected with a sleep agent.”

  “And why would she need a sleep agent?” Alex demanded.

  “As a safety precaution,” the voice replied. “I didn’t want her to accidentally detonate the explosives on her chair.”

  Alex turned and looked closely at Jeri’s barstool. Taped to each of the four legs just beneath the seat was a small cylindrical canister. A wire lead ran from each of the canisters to a black box located on the floor.

  “C4 explosive,” the voice continued. “There’s three ounces loaded into each of the four cylindrical housings you see taped to her chair. Do you know what happens to a human body sitting inside a tightly arranged field of explosives, Agent Murstead?”

  “I have a pretty good idea,” Alex said flatly.

  “It’s quite amazing, actually. The compressive energy of the charges turns liquids into gas and bones into powder. In a mere instant the body is reshaped and reconstituted into a perfectly combustible fuel source – like paper waiting for a lighted match. And then, in the next instant, every ounce of that body is consumed… literally vaporized into nothing. By the time it’s over, it’s as if they never existed in the first place.”

  Alex looked again at Jeri Halston’s sleeping figure and nodded his head grimly. “So tell me, Shepherd… what turns a former NSA agent into a rogue terrorist and killer?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” the voice answered. “Perhaps you should direct that question to Richard Connolly.”

  Alex looked at the laptop. “Maybe I should. Of course, Director Connolly already knows he’s about to spend the rest of his short, emphysema-filled life in a minimum-security penitentiary when all this is over.”

  “What a pity,” the voice replied tersely.

  “So I am speaking to Robert Shafer.”

  “Only if dead NSA agents can speak from the grave, Agent Murstead.”

  Alex shook his head irritably. “Okay, fine. You’re not Robert Shafer. So tell me… why are we here?”

  “You’re here because I’d like to ask you for a favor,” the voice answered.

  “What favor is that?”

  “That you suspend your investigation of this matter immediately.”

  Alex grinned at the laptop. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “And why should I do that?” Alex asked.

  “Because as of today, this project is finished,” the voice replied. “We have what we came for, and now we’ll be on our way.”

  “Oh really?” Alex asked, pointing his rifle at Jeri. “And what about her? Did you get what you wanted from her too?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

  “And if I say no to your request?”

  “Then good luck, Agent Murstead. Good luck sifting through the ashes of Jeri Halston. Good luck trying to find me or a single trace of evidence that can save yo
u from the merciless desk of the Deputy Secretary of State.”

  Alex watched as the screen on the laptop suddenly flickered to life. A large stopwatch display appeared, its numbers set at 00:00.

  “You can’t see it,” the voice continued, “but there’s enough C4 in this place to insure that any evidence of our time here today will be permanently erased.” On the laptop screen, the stopwatch display changed to 00:06. “I’m giving you six seconds to make your exit from Joe’s Last Stand Saloon from the moment I say ‘go’. I suggest you run quickly, Agent Murstead. I also suggest not trying to be a hero.”

  Alex glanced anxiously around at the dark interior of the saloon, trying to make sense of what was happening. His eyes paused on the wall where the letters and photos were hung. He stared at them sullenly before shouldering his rifle and pointing it at the laptop.

  “Goddammit Shepherd, I know who you are! You were an agency man once just like me. You know how this shit works… cases like this one don’t end until there’s an arrest or a fucking body!”

  “Then give them a body,” the voice replied flatly.

  “Shepherd, wait! Let’s–”

  “Go!” the radio crackled.

  Alex watched with horror as the stopwatch on the laptop began counting down. He glanced at the lifeless figure of Jeri Halston with a sickening sense of helplessness. There was no way he could disable the charges and grab her before time ran out. He spun and sprinted towards the door, clicking on his radio and screaming into his headset as he ran.

  “All teams evacuate the area immediately! I repeat… evac immediately!”