by J. T. Baier
Riker raised an eyebrow, impressed at the man’s ability to accurately portray a drunk. He considered that Donnie had had plenty of practice, but then pushed the uncharitable thought away. Donnie was not only risking his life but also returning to the site of his most profound trauma, the one that had pushed him into the bottle in the first place.
The guard sighed loudly and took a step forward. “Jesus man, you know better than this. Why don’t you go home and sleep it off?”
Donnie stumbled forward a few steps and raised a finger, pointing it at the man’s chest. “I will. I’ll do just that. But there’s something I want first.”
“Yeah? What’s that?” There was a hint of amusement in the guard’s voice now.
“My brother’s watch. It was a—whaddya call it—family heirloom. And it was on his wrist when that psychopath cooked him. I’m not leaving til I get it back!”
“Man, you think we kept that shit hanging around?”
“Well you’d better find it! I’m not leaving til I get it. Otherwise, I’m going on one of the Ghandi things. A hunger strike!”
The guard was slowly growing tenser again. Whatever amusement he’d felt at Donnie’s appearance was quickly fading. “If you want to starve yourself, go right ahead. You just can’t do it here.”
Donnie gave him a defiant glare, then he sank to the ground, sitting cross-legged on the hard dirt.
“Seriously man?” The guard’s hand went to his waist, but not to his gun. It went to the radio clipped to the other side of his belt. He lifted it to his mouth. “Yo, Phil, you there?”
There was a pause and then a crackly voice came through the radio. “Yeah, what’s up?”
“Donnie Wagner just stumbled up here.”
“So? Get rid of him!”
“I tried. The guy’s drunk and he’s not leaving.”
Another long pause. “Alright, I’m on my way.”
Riker waited a few more moments. Donnie was singing now, some old Rolling Stones song, loudly and very off-key. When two more men appeared at the gate, Riker slipped back into the woods.
He moved quickly and quietly through the brush, heading for a spot he’d scoped out twenty minutes earlier--a section of fence far from any of the lights inside the complex. He gave a thought to his teammates as he moved, hoping that Donnie would keep the distraction going a bit longer but not push so hard that he’d end up getting hurt. Donnie had already pulled two men away from the interior of the complex, which would make Riker’s job that much easier. Megan was in the car, waiting for the text that was already typed into Riker’s phone and ready to send. When the text came through, she’d come speeding down the road, doors open and ready for a speedy pickup. Riker had made her keep the pistol over her protests. Though he was going into the belly of the beast, he much preferred that she be armed over him. Besides, in his experience criminal compounds had no shortage of weapons inside. If he was spotted before he was able to successfully acquire a gun, he was likely dead anyway.
As he approached the pre-selected section of the fence, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out the hand-held bolt cutters he’d gotten from Megan’s shed. He paused, listening to the commotion Donnie was still causing near the gate. Then he began to cut. He was through the fence in less than two minutes.
He made his way south across the compound, picturing in his mind the loose structure Donnie had drawn for him. If the drawing had been anywhere close to accurate, the main building should be straight ahead. In addition to the main house, there was a large barn and two grain silos on the property.
Riker didn’t see another person before the building finally came into sight. A couple of pickup trucks with loaded beds stood just to the east of the building. Hoping their contents might provide him some insight, he angled toward the trucks. When he reached them, he saw the items in the beds were barrels. Using the carefully shielded glow of his phone’s screen, Riker inspected the labels. Acetic anhydride. Sodium carbonate. Hydrochloric acid.
Riker grimaced. He’d seen these chemicals in a similar facility once before, but that one had been in Afghanistan. This all seemed unthinkable. Heroin production in rural Iowa? In his hometown? What kind of a cover-up would be necessary to make such a thing possible? And why here?
And yet, the evidence was right there in front of him. This was why Donnie’s brother had been killed. Why Coach had been killed.
Anger rose up in Riker’s chest. He’d never thought he cared that much about his hometown, but seeing what these bastards were doing to it made him truly angry.
He drew a deep breath. There were three men at the gate and an unknown number of men inside. He was unarmed, outnumbered, and crouching in the bed of a truck filled with highly-explosive chemicals. It was time to go to work.
22
The farmhouse was only two hundred yards from the truck. Past the house was the barn. Both structures looked as if they belonged on an old farm in Iowa. They were slightly run down and in need of a fresh coat of paint.
The grain silos that stood at the back of the fenced-in area looked brand new. The metal they were made of glistened in the light from the house. Riker guessed that the silos were fifty feet tall with a base diameter of twenty-five feet. Even though they were tall, the silos looked squatty with the large diameter.
Riker stayed low in the shadows as he moved toward the barn. He had his leg wrapped tight, but the fracture still gave him a painful reminder with each step. The pain fueled him and kept his mind crisp. He reached the side of the barn and saw the two men returning from the front gate. Riker kept his back to the side of the barn around the corner from the door. He could hear the conversation of the approaching men. He stayed low and allowed himself a small glance at the men. Each had an assault rifle slung over his shoulder.
“I can’t believe that guy came back here. He must have a death wish.”
“You’re overthinking it. He was so drunk I doubt that he’ll remember being here in the morning. I’m just glad that he stumbled away on his own. I’d hate to have to make him disappear.” Riker recognized the voice from the radio. They had called him Phi.
“Is there any chance we would actually have to kill some drunk guy?”
Phil stopped walking for a moment. “I know you haven’t been with us long, but you need to understand that we work for serious men. They would absolutely kill anyone who caused a problem. Even if it’s just a small problem. Do you get me?”
“Yeah man, I know who we work for and I know that I’m not going to cause any problems. If they say make some drunk disappear, I’ll make him disappear. It just seems like that would be major overkill.”
The two continued their walk towards the barn. “Just remember to take everything that we do seriously. I’ve seen these guys in action, they don’t joke around.”
They reached the door and Riker could hear the beeps of a code being entered into a keypad. Riker held his ground, readying himself to move quickly.
He heard the door open and the men start to move again. Riker sprang forward from his position and almost stumbled. The pressure on his shin from the run lit up his pain sensors. He forced himself to accept that constant pain would be a part of this mission and continued moving towards the door. He reached it before it swung shut and slid inside just behind the two men.
Both men turned towards the unexpected presence of an unknown party.
“What the …” Phil started to say, but Riker grabbed the back of his head with both hands. He pulled down and brought his right knee up. Phil’s chin snapped hard and Riker heard the crushing sound of a tooth crumbling in his freshly broken jaw.
For a moment the other man just stared in shock. Then he tried to get his rifle into position. It was hanging loosely around his shoulder. Riker was only a foot from him and the man fumbled to turn the weapon towards him. At the close proximity he never stood a chance at effectively using the rifle.
Riker saw his opportunity while the man had both hands on the rifle. He
shot out a hard jab into the center of the man’s neck. The loud slapping sound of the fist on the skin of his neck was followed by a harsh sucking sound as the man grabbed his throat and struggled to get air into the collapsed trachea.
Once again Riker brought his knee up and the head of the man down. The impact caused him to collapse next to Phil.
Riker picked up one of the assault rifles and grabbed the clip from the other. He stood in the entrance of a normal looking barn. Tools lined the walls and a tractor was parked in the back of the room. At first glance it was just a normal barn.
Riker looked closer at the double doors. They were lined with diamond plating and had two large bolts securing their position. Every wall was lined with diamond plating. The structure was much more secure than a normal barn. He looked at the concrete floor and could see a dusty path that led to a steel plate in the back corner of the room.
Riker tried to lift the handle of the plate, but it didn’t budge. On the wall next to the access panel was another keypad. Apparently he needed another code to access whatever was beneath the floor.
He glanced back at Phil and his friend. Neither of them would be able to give out information any time soon. He would need to get someone to open the hatch from the inside.
Riker moved both of the unconscious men to the corner of the room and tossed a tarp over them. Then he took Phil’s radio and crouched down behind the old metal tractor. It gave him perfect cover behind old American steel.
Once he was in position he screamed into the radio. “We are under attack at the front gate! I need everyone up here now!”
A response came from the handset. “What’s the situation?”
“Get you asses out here now! I mean everyone!”
A moment later Riker heard the latch under the hatch click. The panel rose and five men came up from a ladder underneath and hustled toward the door. Each man had an assault rifle at the ready. Riker steadied his weapon at the center of their backs.
“Drop your weapons! I have you dead to rights.”
All five men stopped and turned towards the voice. A large man with a dark beard pointed his rifle in Riker’s direction and took aim. The other men leveled their weapons towards the tractor.
Riker squeezed the trigger of his weapon. He aimed at center mass of the bearded man and moved in a steady line across the five men. He squeezed the trigger controlling the pace of fire putting one round into the chest of each man. Three of them had fallen before the first of them got off a round. The shooter was panicked and missed Riker by three feet. Riker’s shots were true and the next two men fell to the ground. The last man sprayed bullets in the general direction of Riker as he ran towards the door.
Riker fired once hitting the man in the elbow of the arm that held the rifle. He screamed and the rifle fell to the floor. Riker sent a second bullet into the shoulder of the other arm. The man screamed and collapsed to the floor. He continued to cry out and pushed himself backward with his feet, away from Riker.
Riker held his position and watched the other men on the ground for movement. He also waited to see if anyone else would come up from the hatch. After a minute he moved over to the man he had shot.
He leveled his weapon pointing it directly between the man’s eyes. “If you don’t want to end up like your friends you need to listen to me.”
The man looked up at Riker. Both arms were lying limply at his sides and blood flowed from his wounds. His face was pale, but he had stopped screaming and Riker was surprised to see that there was no fear in his eyes.
“You have no idea what you just did, do you?”
“I’m actually still in the process of doing. Are there any more men down that hatch?”
“No, but that doesn’t change anything. You are already a dead man. The men you are stealing from will make the remainder of your short life very painful.”
“I’d worry a little more about your life and a little less about mine. Are you sure there isn’t anyone else in the basement?”
The man gave a cold smile. “No men down there, but a lot of women.”
“What?”
The man’s eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped to the side. It appeared that the shock from multiple gunshot wounds had gotten the better of him.
Riker approached the open hatch cautiously. He looked down and saw a ladder in a shaft that was twenty-feet deep.
He yelled down the opening. “If you want to live, lay down your weapons and come out one at a time.”
A woman’s voice responded in Spanish. “Estamos desarmados. Por favor, déjanos ir.” We are unarmed. Please let us go.
Riker responded. “Estás a salvo ahora. Necesito que todos salgan.” You are safe now. I need everyone to come out.
One by one, the women came out from the hatch. There were twenty of them in total, and all were Latin American. He guessed Colombian by the accent. All of them were around thirty years old. They stood in a group staring at Riker. “Espera aqui.” Wait here.
Riker climbed down the ladder and entered a large room. It was sixty feet long and thirty feet wide. The ceilings were ten-feet high and everything was stainless steel. Large vats of liquid were in some kind of machines lining the walls. The tables held large deep bins filled with powder. Air flowed through the room and Riker could hear the soft hum of a ventilation system.
There was a door in the back of the room. Riker approached it with his rifle at the ready. He opened the door to find a room with a dozen pallets. Each pallet had a five-foot stack of bricks of heroin on them.
The size of the operation shocked Riker. It rivaled production facilities of South American drug lords. This was no local shop. The size of the operation sickened him. He wanted to find out who was behind it and to make sure they were stopped. He knew the best way to meet the boss was to mess up the operation.
There were two large barrels of chemicals in the main room with a flammable symbol on the side. Riker took a deep breath and opened the lid. Then he tipped the barrels over. He climbed up the ladder as the contents spread across the floor.
Riker emerged and found the room empty. Apparently the women who worked in production didn’t want to wait around and find out if he was dangerous. Riker looked out the door to the barn and saw the women running towards the house. Several armed men were exiting the building and yelling at the women in Spanish. He saw some of the women looking back towards the barn and pointing. It seemed they were not entirely grateful for their release.
He ducked back inside the barn and saw a can of gas next to the tractor. He grabbed it along with an old rag that hung on the wall. Riker shoved the cloth in the cap of the can and pulled a lighter from his pocket. He thought of Donnie’s brother and felt a sense of justice as he lit the rag. Riker tossed the can across the room and into the open hatch.
The moment he let go of the can he raced out the door of the barn. From one hundred yards away someone yelled, “Stop right there!”
Riker didn’t slow down. Instead he raced into the darkness away from the barn. He took the phone from his pocket as he ran and hit the send message button.
From behind him he heard the report of gunfire. Riker hoped the darkness and the distance would protect him, but he kept as low as he could and moved quickly.
The night turned to day for a brief moment before the force of a concussion wave hit Riker. He was knocked off his feet and tumbled in the grass. He looked back to see a flaming wreckage that had been the barn only a moment before. The fire must have reached whatever chemicals were inside the tanks.
Flaming boards rained down around the yard. A shaft of flames shot up into the night sky like a Roman candle. Riker’s ears rang and he heard faint muffled shouts. He glanced back to see other men stumbling to their feet. With the light of the flame, he knew that he would be an easier target. He needed to move.
Once he was back on his feet, he sprinted towards the opening he had made in the fence. Pain shot through his leg. He worried that any step could fin
ish off the fracture in his leg and he would feel the bone snap. If that happened, he’d fall to the ground and have no choice but to wait for his enemies to find him. It was a chance that he had to take. He hoped the bone would hold and Megan would be at the pick-up point when he got there.
23
Eighteen years earlier
Matt Riker knocked on the door to Coach Kane’s office and waited for the gruff voice calling for him to enter. When it finally came, he walked inside. Though he had been in this office dozens of times over the past three years, somehow it felt different this time. In the two weeks since the Iowa state wrestling tournament and the official end of the season, Matt hadn’t set foot in this office. Now he felt a little like a stranger trespassing on territory where he no longer truly belonged.
But he had no choice but to be here this afternoon. He had an appointment to keep.
Coach Kane gestured to the chair across from his desk. “Have a seat. Might as well get settled in. Guys like Zalesky keep their own schedule. Three o’clock appointment or not, we might be waiting for a bit.”
Matt did as asked, setting his backpack down on the linoleum floor and sinking into the seat across from the coach.
The older man gave him an appraising look. “You nervous?”
Matt shrugged. He was terrified, but he wasn’t about to say that. “Maybe a little.”
“Good,” Coach said with a smile. “You’d be an idiot if you weren’t. Your entire future is going to be affected by what happens on this phone call.”
Matt shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Thanks a lot, Coach. You really know how to make a guy feel better.”
“Just shooting you straight.” He raised his index finger. “But there’s one more thing you need to remember. Coach Zalesky doesn’t personally make telephone calls to guys he’s not trying to recruit. You impressed him in your recruitment interview. And no doubt he’s seen the tape of your performance at State. He wants you for his team. The only question is what he’s willing to offer to get you there.”