Take Down (Steel Infidels)

by Dez Burke

  “I’ve already left a message for the dog sitter to keep a close eye on her. She’ll be safe there until this is taken care of.”

  My eyes widen. “What do you mean by taken care of? This is a police and FBI matter, not something the Steel Infidels should be involved in. You’re not planning to do anything, are you? Please tell me that you’re not.”

  Are they crazy?

  I can’t imagine why the Steel Infidels think they’re equipped to take on a terrorist group head on.

  Toby doesn’t answer. Instead he reaches for his gun on the dresser and slides it into the holster on his leg.

  “Nothing for you to worry about,” he says, pulling his jeans leg down over the holster. “We can take care of ourselves. There’s a lot you don’t know about us.”

  “And I suppose you don’t have time to tell me now,” I say with a questioning look.

  He shakes his head reluctantly. “No, I really don’t. Hurry up.”

  Ten minutes later and we’re waiting by Toby’s bike for the return trip. The other Steel Infidels are in front of the lobby building too, hanging around their bikes and downing quick cups of strong coffee. Most of them are extremely hungover and groggy. I hope they’re okay to ride.

  I’m thankful Toby and I cut out early and didn’t party until the middle of the night. I wouldn’t want to be on the back of a bike with someone who was dead drunk five hours before.

  Jesse and Jeb come out the front door of the building together.

  “Sorry you couldn’t stay longer, but I understand,” Jeb says, shaking Jesse’s hand. “You boys be careful on your ride back to Georgia.”

  Jeb walks over to Toby and reaches out to shake his hand too. “Listen here, son. If you find those fucking terrorists, you kick some goddamn ass. We’re counting on you.”

  “Don’t worry,” Toby says. “We plan to.”

  34

  Maggie

  When we arrive back in Georgia, instead of going to their homes, the MC rides straight to the clubhouse. Now that the announcement has come out about the identity and potential location of the terrorists, the number of press around the clubhouse has grown exponentially. I suspect news crews from all across the nation have driven through the night to be here.

  “Look at this mess,” Toby says over his shoulder as we drive up to the clubhouse gates with the rest of the crew.

  If we thought it was a madhouse before, it’s nothing compared to now.

  “I don’t see this going away anytime soon,” I say. “My advice to the Steel Infidels would be to hunker down and be prepared for the media to hang around for a long time.”

  After parking the bikes, we head inside the clubhouse, then go upstairs. The Mason brothers are already gathered around the table where lunch has been laid out for them.

  “Wow! Who did all this?” I ask, glancing around at the big plates of sandwiches, chips, and chocolate chip cookies.

  “The Sweet Butts who didn’t go on the ride,” Toby answers. “Grab yourself a plate. You must be starving.”

  Hmmm…those darn Sweet Butts again.

  “I want a Sweet Butt of my own,” I joke, picking up a potato chip and biting into it. “They come in handy.”

  “Did you tell Maggie about the shooters?” Flint asks.

  Toby nods as he fills up his plate with food. “Maggie checked with her boss at the station to see if he knew anything we didn’t before we left the lodge. There’s nothing new. If the police have any leads, it hasn’t been released yet.”

  “My boss reminded me that there were two guys arrested on Interstate I-75 in Atlanta last year who were carrying explosive materials in their van,” I say. “It could be connected to this group. They’re tracking down every lead they can find.”

  “That makes sense,” Flint says. “It would be easy for a small group to work undetected in North Georgia for years. The locals would never suspect someone from Bardsville of making bombs or doing mass shootings. That’s how Eric Rudolph stayed hidden in plain sight for so long. Nobody suspected him. Even after he’d been identified, people couldn’t believe it. What else did your boss---”

  Toby’s phone interrupts him.

  “It’s Rocco,” Toby says apologetically. “I’d better take this.” He opens his phone and hits the button. “What’s up?” he says. A worried look crosses his face. He quickly gets up and walks over to the window. “Which white van? How long has it been there?”

  He leans over to pick up the binoculars from the table and goes back to the window. “Yeah, I see it now. It’s unmarked. Are you sure it’s been there this whole time? When did the guy show up?” He listens for another minute. “Is he the one wearing a dark jacket and red cap pulled down low over his eyes? Stay put. I’m coming out.” He slides the phone into his front pocket.

  “What is it?” Flint asks.

  “Rocco noticed a suspicious white van that’s been sitting there by itself all of last night and today. There were so many other vehicles around that he didn’t think much about it until now. Nobody has been anywhere around it until a few minutes ago when a man showed up without cameras or a crew. He sat in the driver’s seat for a few minutes then started walking away through the crowd.”

  “You can’t go out there,” Flint says firmly. “It’s just a van. I’m sure it belongs to one of the news stations. We’ve already put together a plan with Maggie about how we’re handling the media. You’re going to blow it all to hell if you step outside the fence and wade right into the middle of them.”

  Toby scratches the stubble on his face and blows out a long breath. “Something doesn’t feel right,” he says. “I don’t like it.” He holds the binoculars back up to the window. “Damn! Now I’ve lost the guy. I can’t see him.”

  Flint pulls out his phone. “I’ll tell Rocco to go check it then,” he says. “If it will make you feel better. I know how you can be about things once you get a bee in your bonnet.”

  Toby reaches over and grabs his arm. “No! Don’t do that. Rocco wouldn’t recognize an explosive if he was sitting on one.”

  “An explosive!” I say in surprise. “Aren’t you overreacting? I realize the media doesn’t have a great reputation. We hardly go around blowing things up just to have something for the six o’clock news.”

  “It’s not the media I’m worried about,” Toby says. “It’s the Hand of God people.”

  “Army of God,” Flint corrects.

  “She’s right,” Sam mumbles with his mouth full of cookie. “You really should calm the fuck down. You’re overreacting and freaking me out. This isn’t Afghanistan. I know the shooting shook you up. No need to get all whacked out about it. It’s just your PTSD acting up again. That’s all. You’re blowing this way out of proportion. It’s an empty van.” He shrugs. “Big fucking deal. Nothing to get your panties in a wad about. Maybe a news crew had to split up and left it behind to pick up later.”

  Toby takes a deep breath and leans his forehead against the cold glass window. “Fuck it!” he says suddenly, slamming his hands down on the windowsill. “I can’t rest until I check it for myself. I’m going out there.” He heads for the door in a rush.

  I jump up and run after him. “Then I’m going too!”

  “Jesus Christ!” Flint says. “We might as well all go then. Sam, you run interference with the media if you can. Charm their pants off and distract them from Toby. This is turning into a colossal clusterfuck.”

  By the time I catch up with Toby, he’s already at the top of the stairs. I’m glad I’m not in high heels because for a big guy, he’s incredibly fast on his feet. Jodi is on her way up the narrow stairwell. Toby almost knocks her over in his hurry and she grabs the banister to keep from falling.

  “You all need to come down and watch the news on the TV,” she yells. “I was just coming up to get you. Come quick. They’re threatening to do it again.”

  “Do what again?” Toby asks as he moves past her.

  “The terrorists!” she says. “They’v
e released a video saying they’re going to do something else. It’s on the news.”

  “Did they say what?”

  “No,” she answers. “They were ranting about being anti-media, getting revenge and some other stupid stuff that didn’t make any sense.”

  “Fuck!” Toby yells.

  He moves past Jodi and runs toward the front door of the clubhouse. He’s almost at the door when he realizes I’m right behind him. He whirls around, causing me to bump straight into his chest.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks. “Stay here, Maggie.”

  “I’m going out there with you.”

  “Hell no, you’re not!” He grabs my shoulders and holds me still. “Stay here in the clubhouse. I’m not asking, I’m telling. I can’t lose you. Please. Do what I say.”

  I open my mouth to argue when I see something in his eyes. He’s worried. For real. A connection passes between us. An unspoken word.

  I nod my head. “Okay,” I say reluctantly. This isn’t the time to butt heads.

  He drops his hands from my shoulders and goes outside. Stepping into the doorway, I watch as he sprints full speed across the parking lot toward the gate.

  “Rocco!” he yells.

  The bearded man at the gate turns to Toby and starts walking toward him. Before they meet, the white van on the other side of the fence explodes.

  35

  Toby

  The massive explosion of a car bomb in the white van throws me face down onto the ground. The car windows of the other vehicles parked nearby blow outward, sending glass and metal pieces flying in every direction. Flames from the van shoot high into the air.

  I try to lift my head and can’t. My ears are ringing in a constant buzzing roar. I draw in a breath and choke on smoke. My hands are raw and burning like a thousand angry wasps are stinging the shit out of me.

  No, it can’t be wasps.

  I force my eyes open. The stinging is from tiny pieces of glass embedded into my exposed skin; my hands, arms, face, and the back of my neck.

  Fuck! I was too late.

  Where is Maggie?

  I lift my head and look back at the clubhouse. Thick black smoke and debris fills the parking lot, and I can’t see the doorway where she was standing thirty seconds before.

  “Maggie!” I try to cry out.

  My voice barely makes a sound and comes out as a hoarse whisper. I need to find her, to make sure she’s okay. I push myself up onto my knees and attempt to stand. I’m dizzy and my ears are still roaring. Shaking my head, I try to clear my vision.

  “Toby!” I hear her screaming frantically from way off in the distance. “Toby! Answer me!” Her voice sounds as if she’s coming closer. “Where are you? I can’t see you! Toby!”

  “Maggie,” I yell louder this time. I manage to stand, though unsteadily. “Maggie! Stay put.”

  I don’t want her coming closer because of the threat of a secondary explosion. There’s almost always a second bomb placed nearby. Suddenly I see her through the smoke, and then she’s beside me with tears running down her terrified face.

  “Are you okay?” she says in a panic. “Oh my god! You’re bleeding all over. You’re injured!”

  “I’m okay,” I manage to say.

  My brain isn’t working quite right yet, and I’m having a hard time forming words or thinking straight. Is this what it feels like to have a traumatic brain injury? To feel as if your insides have been squeezed like toothpaste out of a tube?

  “What the hell just happened?” she asks shakily.

  “Car bomb. The van. Are you hurt?”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Thank God,” I say, trying to see through the smoke. “Where’s Rocco? He was right here.”

  She turns around to look behind us toward the gate. “Rocco!” she yells loudly. “Rocco! Can you hear me?”

  “Over here,” a faint voice calls out. “My leg’s hurt.”

  “Hang on, Rocco,” Flint calls back. “We’re coming to get you, buddy.”

  Flint and Sam appear through the smoke, along with Rocco’s brother, Donny, and several more of the Steel Infidels. Donny and the crew run toward the sound of Rocco’s voice.

  Sam hurries to my side, grabs my arm, and slings it across his shoulder to hold me up. “I’ve got you, buddy,” he says. “You look like shit.”

  “Are you alright?” Flint stops to ask me.

  I nod back at him.

  “There’s no telling how many injured people are outside the gates,” he says. “You’ve had experience with this kind of thing. I haven’t. Tell me what to do.”

  I look at the scene of devastation and tragedy unfolding in front of us.

  The terrorist’s target was the media all along.

  We should have known.

  What better spot to take them out than right here? Where they were all gathered up in one place, prime for the picking. Along with the Steel Infidels, the very men who killed two of their own.

  A perfect evil plan.

  Take out the media and get revenge on the Steel Infidels at the same time.

  I’m angry and ready for vengeance.

  I can’t believe the motherfuckers managed to pull this off right at our front door. My auto-pilot kicks in, clearing the fog from my brain. I no longer feel the pain from the glass shards shredding my skin.

  “Have the crew bring the injured into the clubhouse,” I say. “We’ll need to set up a triage unit until the ambulances get here. The local hospital only has two, so it will be a while before they can transport the injured. We’ll also need to put the word out for any local nurses or anyone with medical experience to get here fast. Maybe even extra vans for medical transport to the bigger hospitals in Atlanta.”

  “I’ll call Kendra,” Flint says. “She can alert her veterinary staff. The girls haven’t made it back to Georgia yet.”

  “The Sweet Butts are going to have to step up and help,” I say. “They’re capable of doing more than we give them credit for. Go inside, Maggie, and tell them to get ready to take care of the injured. Clear a space in the main room and gather up anything we can use for medical supplies.”

  “You should come inside too,” Maggie pleads. She tugs gently at my hand. “Look at your arms and neck. You’re bleeding all over the place. Please. Let me patch you up.”

  “No,” I say firmly. “There’s something I need to do first. That fucker in the red cap hanging around the van seemed familiar, and he’s still out there in the crowd somewhere…dead or alive. Either way, I need to find him and put an end to this madness. Even if all that’s left of him is charred pieces.”

  Flint gives me an incredulous look. “You recognized him? Who do you think it was?”

  “I don’t know for sure. I think it might be the third shooter at the mall. The man on the upper level.”

  “Son of a bitch!” Sam says. “I’ll go with you. Are you sure you’re okay to do this? Because you don’t look so good.”

  I remove his arm that’s holding me up and wipe off the blood that’s streaming down into my eyes with the back of my hands. “As fine as I’ll ever be,” I say. “Come on, Sam. Let’s find this bastard.”

  We make our way toward the direction of where the gate used to be. From the splintered metal pieces crunching under our boots, I suspect the fence surrounding our clubhouse has been blown to bits. It’s hard to see more than a few feet in front of us to know for sure how much damage has been done.

  Now that I have a plan, adrenaline is flooding my body and clearing my mind. I’m focused and calm.

  “Where did you last see him?” Sam asks.

  “When he was walking away from the white van,” I say. “It was parked to the right of the gate. He must’ve set a timer and then took off. He either went into the woods on foot or had someone else pick him up in a car down at the main road.”

  “What’s your best guess? Woods or the road?”

  “My gut tells me the cocksucker is in the woods,” I sa
y. “His plan is probably to stay put and then make his way to a pick-up location when the coast is clear.”

  While others are rushing away from the multiple burning vehicles, we run toward them. If there was any justice in the world, the fucker would have exploded with the car bomb. When we get closer, I realize nobody could have survived the blast if they were anywhere near it. We won’t find his body. I figure he set a five-minute timer and ran like a motherfucker.

  “Go toward the woods,” I tell Sam. “If we can get beyond the smoke, maybe we can spot him.”

  The wooded area to the right of the clubhouse goes straight up a mountainside. To an outsider, it would appear to be no more than a densely-wooded hillside. In reality, the climb up is rough, with big boulders and thick, tangled underbrush to crawl through. Over the years, Sam and I have hiked it so many times we could do it blindfolded.

  Which is basically what we’re going to have to do today through the dense smoke.

  If the shooter is ahead of us, it’s only by a few minutes, and he doesn’t know the area. Visibility is low, like walking through a forest fire. When my throat starts to sting, I tug off my shirt and tie it around the lower part of my face to filter out the smoke. Sam does the same.

  “We’re never going to be able to spot him in this smoke,” he says. “He could be five feet in front of us and we won’t see him.”

  “That’s why we have to get above him. To the top of the mountain. We’ll be able to spot him once we get above the smoke level. And then we’ve got the son of a bitch right where we want him.”

  “Lead the way,” Sam says. “I’m right behind you, as always. Seems like my life is spent looking at your lard ass.”

  We start climbing straight up the steep mountain, using tree saplings to pull ourselves up. As we climb farther, we instinctively follow the worn path our own boots had made many years before.

  The first time Sam and I climbed this mountain, we were in high school. His Dad was beating the shit out of him on a regular basis. Flint had run off to Atlanta to be a big-city attorney. Jesse was taking over as leader of the Steel Infidels. My home life was an unstable mess.