by Luke Murphy
He had time to kill, so Calvin grabbed a coffee and a sandwich and sat down at one of the airport’s dining areas. He picked up a newspaper, studying the crowd while he ate, watching for anyone who might be paying too much attention to him.
He didn’t notice anyone in particular, but he knew that Baxter wouldn’t stick around long enough to be recognized. The hitman would continue to move, never staying in one place for too long. That’s what made him dangerous. Baxter knew how to hunt. And knew when to strike. He was a marine, skilled in tactics, and an expert in pursuit, surveillance and evasion.
Calvin drained the rest of his coffee and grabbed his duffel bag. He bought a bottled water and did some window shopping, wandering in and out of the little shops, looking for something to buy Rachel to make things right with her.
After thirty minutes of walking and shopping, with nothing for Rachel, Calvin used the rest of his water to take a couple of pain killers, and headed for the restroom. It would be a long flight, his large bulky frame squeezed into the economy-class seat, and his knee would suffer because of it.
He entered to the smell of freshly sanitized tile, set his duffel bag on the granite countertop by the sink, and went to the urinal.
He had emptied his bladder and stood washing his hands when an old man rolled his wheelchair in. He wheeled past Calvin and directed himself to one of the large, handicapped-assigned stalls, awkwardly trying to enter. Calvin watched in the mirror, and after three unsuccessful attempts, decided to help.
“Let me get that for you, sir.”
The man smiled. “Thank you, son.”
Calvin opened the stall door and pulled the wheelchair inside.
“Thank you, Calvin.”
Calvin froze, the words raising the hairs on the back of his neck. How did the old guy know his name? When he looked up, the man had a gun pointed at his throat, a silencer attached to the end of the barrel.
Calvin looked into his eyes and immediately recognized who hid behind the fake wrinkles, loose skin and lined face. A shiver sizzled down his spine.
“Baxter,” he whispered.
“Hello, Mr. Watters. I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”
“Then why don’t you just do it? Finish it now.”
Baxter smiled and shook his head of white hair and matching whiskers. He wore a French wool cap and dark-rimmed, thick-lensed glasses, which he didn’t need. An impressive disguise and impossible to detect.
“You’re not getting off that easy. You see what you did to me?” Baxter lifted his pant leg to expose a prosthetic limb. “Amazing what technology can do these days.”
“What do you want?”
“You mean you don’t know?” Baxter stared at him, and Calvin could see just how crazy he was. “I want you to feel pain. I want you to suffer like you’ve never suffered before.”
Calvin tried to steady his breath.
“You know”—Baxter smiled—“fear is a wonderfully natural human emotion. A chain reaction in the brain that starts with a stressful stimulus and ends with the release of chemicals that cause a racing heart, fast breathing and energized muscles. When I’m done with you, I think I’ll pay your little girlfriend a visit and see just how much fear I can put into her, too.”
The mention of Rachel tightened Calvin’s muscles.
“We’re going for a walk. Even though I want to put you through the greatest amount of agony you’ve ever suffered, I won’t think twice about putting a bullet in your head if you try to run. I won’t lose any sleep over it.”
“You won’t shoot me in a crowd,” Calvin said through clenched teeth.
Baxter laughed, a low, sinister chuckle. “You’re funny. The military will never let anything happen to me. I’m their golden boy. Just like last time, once the cops have me in custody, the colonel will swoop in and save me.”
He slammed the barrel of the gun against Calvin’s bad knee. Calvin dropped to the floor.
“Is that knee still giving you problems?” Baxter chuckled.
Pain jolted through Calvin’s body. “Fuck you.”
“Let’s go, get up. Move!”
Calvin rose gingerly, flexed his knee and stood all the way up. He exited the stall. Baxter followed behind him, the gun extended in Calvin’s back.
They moved towards the door. Calvin noticed his duffel bag still on the counter.
As they passed in front of the sinks, he checked the mirror out of the corner of his eye, looking at Baxter behind him, estimating the exact height that Baxter held the gun. He realized that if he followed the rules, obeyed Baxter’s orders, there’d be no chance of survival.
Calvin also didn’t want to risk the safety of the general public, innocent bystanders traveling in the airport today. Once they exited the bathroom, Calvin put all of those people at risk. If something was to happen, he had to do it now, here in this bathroom.
They continued to creep towards the door. Calvin kept his head positioned as if looking directly in front but he never once took his eyes off the mirror, Baxter, or the gun in Baxter’s hand. But Baxter couldn’t tell Calvin watched him.
Just then, the bathroom door opened and a man walked in. Calvin saw Baxter’s head and eyes change direction, look at the man for just seconds. Calvin used that lapse to turn his body, grabbing his duffel bag off the sink in one fluid motion, the momentum of his arm in full swing turning. The bag made direct contact with the gun.
The impact of the blow sent the wheelchair on edge, up on two wheels. But just as fast, Baxter pulled a second gun with his left hand and aimed at Calvin. As Baxter’s wheelchair toppled over, he pulled the trigger.
But Calvin was already moving. He dove head first through the opened bathroom door, shoulder blocking and taking the stranger with him. The shot from Baxter’s gun hit the wall, the bullet shattering tiles.
Even though the pistol had a silencer, the low muffled puff and the ceramic tiles exploding, as well as two grown men sprawling through the air out the bathroom door, drew attention from the surrounding crowd.
The man Calvin had struck stood up, pointed into the bathroom and yelled, “Gun!”
That single word erupted chaos. Panic ensued, screams of terror filled the airport walkways and people ran in all directions.
Calvin used the disruption to sprint into the crowd, weaving in and out of crazed, scared citizens. He didn’t look back, but moved as quickly as he could to distance himself as far from Baxter as possible. He didn’t hear any gunshots.
Once he felt he was far enough away, and his pulse started to slow, Calvin stopped and shielded himself around a corner. He poked his head out multiple times, for only seconds. The commotion continued, but he didn’t see any sign of Baxter.
He pulled out his phone.
“Dale, it’s Calvin. We’ve got trouble at the airport.” He told Dale about his run-in with Baxter.
“I’m just hearing it now on the scanner. We’re sending a team over. Jimmy and I are coming with them.”
“Don’t bother,” Calvin said. “Baxter will be long gone. I have another job for you.”
“Rachel?”
“Yes, Rachel.”
“I’ll send a uniform over there right now and I’ll check up on her every morning and every night.”
“No, you’ll go get her yourself and take her to your place. She’s staying with you until I get back. I want constant surveillance on her.”
“What?”
“This is a deal-breaker. Either she stays with you, or I stay in Vegas. What’s it gonna be?”
“I’m on my way to get her.”
Book Two: The Tourist
Chapter 9
Calvin could hear his special military satellite phone ringing from his duffel bag in the overhead compartment. He slipped the package of papers he’d been studying into the pouch on the back of the seat in front of him.
Normally, his six-foot-five, two hundred-plus frame was an advantage, but not when stuck in the window seat of an economy class fli
ght, trying to squeeze through to the aisle. The woman he almost trampled didn’t look impressed as he half-fell into the open aisle.
He reached his phone after four rings.
“Hello?” he lowered his voice to a whisper.
“It’s Mike. Where are you?”
“In the air, somewhere over Mexico.”
“Good, that means the phone is working. I heard about the shootout at the OK Corral. It’s all over the news. You okay?”
“Yeah, it was close, but I made it out of there. The whole incident backed-up the take-off time for my flight, but no big deal.” He smiled. “The McCarran International Airport will never be the same again. Any updates?”
“They sealed the exits and cleared the airport. They didn’t find Baxter. He must have hightailed it out of there when the mayhem ensued.”
“I didn’t expect they would. What about Sanders?”
“His body hasn’t shown up either. I’ve had my ear to the ground and some of my trusted contacts have been looking around on your behalf. The Russians have sent a team of four men. Also, from what I’ve heard, the Brazilians and Colombians are looking for Sanders, too. They caught wind that he’s a rich American, so they smell a ransom.”
“What about Rachel?”
“She’s with Dale.”
“Good, that’s one less thing I need to worry about. Were you able to get all the stuff I asked for?”
“Yes, and I also threw in a few things you might need for your hike through the rainforest.”
Mike gave him the location where Calvin could pick up his items and who to ask for.
“I’ll stay alert. If I have any more news, I’ll be in touch. Good luck, man.”
Calvin hung up. He really was on his own.
♣
“Welcome to Marine Corps Recruit Depot San Diego, gentlemen.” Marine Colonel John Hughes extended his hand, and Dale and Jimmy shook it in turn.
The last time Dale had seen Hughes was the previous year when the Marine Colonel chose to interfere with Dale’s investigation by stealing Derek Baxter, Dale’s number one suspect and witness. He’d shown up at the hospital before Dale had an opportunity to question Baxter on the murder of one of Dale’s men.
Hughes hadn’t changed much. He had a few more wrinkles and less hair, but still held that same cocky, marine swagger that had gotten on Dale’s nerves during their first meeting. He now wore glasses.
After a tight, intense security check, the detectives had been given clearance credentials and directed to a tiny, secluded room in the basement of the MCRD Command Museum. The room was loaded with electronics: screens, monitors, radars, satellites and heavy surveillance equipment. The only other person in the room was a young, pimple-faced, camo-clad man, seated in front of a radar screen. He had peach fuzz on his chin and neck, and a bored look on his face.
“Only two of you?” Dale asked. “I was expecting a whole team, since you keep telling us how good Baxter is.”
“The military is compartmentalizing information. There’s only a small group of us who even acknowledge that Baxter still exists. Now that word has gotten out he’s escaped, the higher powers have been keeping a closer eye on our group. But we’ve kept our lips sealed that we still have anything to do with Baxter.” The colonel looked around and then looked back at the detectives. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I have to make a call but will be with you in a minute. Take a look around.” Hughes left.
“He seems happier than the last time we saw him,” Jimmy said. “And he’s willing to work with us.”
“I still think he’s an asshole.”
The kid on surveillance turned around and looked at them.
Jimmy smiled. “What did the sergeant say about us putting the Sanders’ case on hold?”
“Pissed.”
“How’d we get out of it?”
“I told him we’d buy him a hooker when we got back.”
“I bet he loved that.”
Hughes re-entered, followed by a group of young men who looked serious and determined. They followed single file, in perfect military coordination.
“Gentlemen, I’d like to introduce you to the military elite team who will bring down Derek Baxter. This is a unit of soldiers handpicked by me for their competence and specialties. For this mission, they will not require titles.”
The men stood straight, in a single file, emotionless, varying ages, heights, and skin color, but that’s where the differences ended. They all were in their late twenties or early thirties and solidly built. No doubt in Dale’s mind that they were all the very best in their field of expertise, and one hundred percent committed to the mission.
They did not look at Dale and Jimmy as the colonel introduced them one by one.
“Mitchell Simpson, Army Rangers. Jacob Lewis, Navy SEALs. Luke Pilon, Marine Corps Force Recon. Alex Hartwig, Air Force Para rescue. Bert Scobey, Army Special Forces. Paul Cormier, Green Berets. Samson Greenberg, Delta Force.”
“Only seven of them?” Dale’s sarcasm was marginally restrained.
“I hope it’s enough,” the colonel answered seriously.
“Baxter is only one man, with one leg,” Jimmy said.
The colonel turned towards his elite team and said, “That is all. I’ll meet with you later.”
The men saluted and exited in single file.
When they had left, Hughes looked at Dale and Jimmy. “Baxter might be only one man, but he’s like no other man alive.”
“Even with one leg?” Dale asked.
The colonel went to a monitor and turned it on. He brought up some detailed, gridded engineering images on the computer screen.
“Derek Baxter no longer has one leg.”
Dale looked at Jimmy, then at the colonel. “What?”
“Upon his authorization, we removed his second leg and he wasn’t given regular artificial limbs.”
Dale and Jimmy moved closer to the terminal.
“DARPA, the Pentagon’s research division, and our own special group of military scientists and engineers, have been working on a new, special limb device to aid in the participation of training activities. The government has been funding this project for years and, even though it is still in early stages and under clinical trials, Baxter is trying out the prototype. Of course, they don’t know that Baxter is using it.”
“You turned him into a science experiment?” Jimmy asked.
“He volunteered.”
“Colonel,” Dale rubbed his chin. “Why would you give a cold-blooded killer a test part?”
Hughes stared at Dale. The detective knew that the colonel thought about as much of Dale as the detective did of Hughes. Finally, the colonel said, “We thought that if we gave him a reason to be here, a mission of sorts, then we could control him, to a point anyway.”
“What exactly are we talking about, Colonel?” Dale felt sick to his stomach.
“Advanced prostheses to replace body parts with artificial mechanisms and systems to improve function.”
“Are we talking Oscar Pistorius?” Jimmy asked, referring to the South African sprint runner who became the first amputee to win an able-bodied world track medal. He was known as the “blade runner”.
“Sort of. Baxter’s transtibial, carbon-fiber prosthesis legs use twenty-five percent less energy than others. The limbs have shown to lift more than one hundred-thousand times their own weight, and generate eighty-five times more mechanical power than natural muscle. Scientists have taken all sorts of considerations into account: performance, fit, energy storage, energy absorption, ground compliance, rotation, weight, suspension.”
“Are you saying that Baxter is a robot now?”
“These legs were designed so that they can take signals from the brain and translate those signals into motion. Only Baxter’s legs are stronger, lighter and faster than the legs of a normal human.”
Dale and Jimmy looked at each other.
The colonel continued, “So, a robot? No. A superhero? Maybe.”
The colonel looked grim. “Coming up with a plan to catch Derek Baxter was a challenge. Baxter has extensive combat experience, and he’s skilled at disguises. There are many reasons why someone would join the military: family trade, need a job, American patriots. But I believe Baxter just wanted to kill. He’s a cold-blooded, deranged killer, who loves messy scenes.”
“So, he’s insane?”
“At sniper school, Derek was taught shooting, marksmanship, camouflage and concealment, survival, evasion and escape.” The colonel’s chest swelled with pride.
“Well, this time, if you get him back, I hope you guys can hang on to him.”
The colonel looked hard at Dale. “We don’t plan to bring him back.”
“Really?” Jimmy looked surprised.
“The Derek Baxter I knew and trained is long gone. He now suffers from severe battle fatigue. While here, he woke up every night thinking he was still in the war. He garroted his military-appointed psychiatrist. He’s a dangerous weapon, and a threat to anyone who crosses his path.”
“Well, since you put it that way,” Dale exhaled loudly. “Do you think those seven mercenaries can handle him?”
“You just met them, do you think they can handle him?” His tone was absolutely confident. “Our biggest concern was flushing Baxter out of hiding. But his hatred for your Calvin Watters is so intense that it’s created an advantage and opportunity for us to run with.”
“All right. So, what’s the plan?”
The colonel led them to the far side of the room where multiple, giant, electronic, cinema-styled screens were mounted to the wall. The projectors connected to computers showed an enlarged photograph of a piece of land surrounded by water. The land was sectioned off in numerous colors and various coordinates moved continuously in real time.
Computer maps and radar scopes lit the room, along with ground-level images and real-time feeds of the entire island, including the surrounding areas. They also had infrared radar aerial-view images on each corner of the island. The colonel threw a batch of radar photographed pictures on the table.