As Daniels made his way back to the Everglades, phase two would begin, triggered by the instructions decoded by Carlos.
Chapter 48
Billy was dozing on the porch surrounding the wood plank structure that was the main building of Billy's Marina, when the ringing phone jarred him awake. Bobby-Ray was on the line with one simple word of instruction: Go—it's on!
It was too late to go that evening but the next morning, Billy took the 6:30AM United flight from Naples to Reagan International in Washington DC. He packed a small suitcase and a large line of credit. He posed as a Marina owner seeking to set up certain purchases for a well to do client. It took three days to find what he needed, arrange transport, delivery and storage. The afternoon of the fourth day, he boarded a flight back to Naples.
Easiest five thousand bucks he'd ever earned.
* * *
The night Bobby-Ray called with the go signal for Billy was the night Bobby-Ray himself left the Everglades. He couldn't leave like Billy had done, in plain sight. Although he was not being actively searched for like Daniels, Carlos and Kate. Bobby-Ray knew he was tagged as a possible associate of Richard Daniels. Twice already he'd caught surveillance as they trailed him to Fort Worth and inside Everglades City.
Late that night, one of the Seminoles brought Bobby-Ray through a back canal south of Everglades City. He was off at a deserted cement boat launch ramp and walked a hundred or so yards to a small wood frame house owned by his cousin.
Following the arrangements he'd made a few weeks ago at Daniels' instruction, he found the pickup truck and the keys in the attached garage. The truck was perfect. The right size for traveling and a cap for the bed that would house what he needed to carry. It was a few years old, but not too old and not too fancy either. A perfect workingman's truck, the duplicate of hundreds of thousands like it, used daily across America.
He headed North on US75 until he crossed into Georgia. After he passed Valdosta, he left US75 heading southwest and crossed into Alabama—into the hill country where his father's family had come from.
He drove on narrow roads, unpaved backcountry trails with clouds of dry red dust billowing behind him. Vegetation crowded the hills and managed to appear both lush and parched. When he passed the occasional house or country store with porches filled with goods, people stared with the unsmiling dry looks reserved for strangers that had not been born and raised in those parts. This was moonshine, bible-belt country, where poverty ran deep and the feuds violent as Corsican vendettas.
He continued until the road turned into a fork and chose the narrower path that led upward into the forested hills. The road narrowed and the woods grew thicker until small branches rubbed and screeched on the side of the pickup. The road suddenly opened into a clearing where it was blocked by a huge tree trunk that swiveled on a pivot. Two men stood by the log-barrier and Bobby-Ray could see two more on the side of the field. As Bobby-Ray got out of the pickup, the two men walked toward him. They each carried hunting rifles, loose and easy but cocked and locked. They wore starched jeans and camouflage shirts with dark green marine-style caps. Sewn on the upper left sleeve of the shirts was a Confederate flag with a bright green coiled snake in its center. The right upper sleeve bore a patch with the letters "J.B.A.M."
John Brown Alabama Militia.
Bobby-Ray stood easy, his arms down at his side and his hands open.
"Deke Billings around?" asked Bobby-Ray as the men got closer.
The first man spat something dark and slimy on the ground.
"Your name be Bobby-Ray?"
"Yeah."
"Then he's around. He expecting you," said the man.
He nodded for Bobby-Ray to follow as he stepped into a footpath leading off into the woods. They'd barely walked five minutes when they came across a dirt clearing surrounded by several low buildings constructed under trees with roofs covered by vegetation. Bobby-Ray guessed any search aircraft would have a real tough time finding the John Brown Alabama Militia command post from the air.
"Hey Deke," yelled the first man into the open doorway. "Sumbody heer to see you."
A man came out of the doorway and stood for a moment on the rough planks of the structure's porch. He was tall and lanky with the brown-wrinkled skin of someone who spent too much time working under blazing afternoon suns. His mouth opened in a wide smile showing the dark remains of several stubby teeth.
"Well Godamm, Bobby-Ray. Ah ain't seen yo in a shit's spell since you n' mah boy took off to kill you some Ay-rabs with them Special Forces a while back. How y'all been, son?"
"Fine Deke," replied Bobby-Ray, "jus fine'n dandy'n happy you could help me with them materials I need."
"Glad to be of help son. Course ah gots to charge you, cain't be helped."
"I understand," said Bobby-Ray. "Happy to pay like we discussed. Good to know I can get materials from sources I can trust."
"Trust us you can, boy," said Deke. "Hey, y'all need help? I can send some of mah boys with you. Could come in mighty handy."
Bobby-Ray grinned as he tried to imagine the look on Daniels' face if he showed up trailing two tobacco-spitting, armed hillbilly militias.
"Preciate the offer Deke, but I got to do this one alone."
"Suit yourself son," replied Deke as he walked toward some objects covered by a tarpaulin. He pulled back the oilcloth revealing two twenty five gallon drums with Hazardous Materials marking and something in a three foot plastic box marked "Property of Tuscaloosa Fire Department." He unscrewed the top of one of the barrels, stuck two fingers inside and brought them under Bobby-Ray's nose.
"This heer what y'all's lookin for?"
"I expect," said Bobby-Ray as he immediately recognized the unique substance.
As Deke ordered the drums and the box lashed in the closed cap of Bobby-Ray's pickup truck, another man covered the Hazadous Material sign with a larger sign proclaiming the contents to be floor cleaner from the SouthWest Janitorial Supplies Company.
Bobby-Ray took some rolled up banknotes out of his pocket and counted out seven five hundred dollar bills. Deke took the bills and placed them in his pocket without counting them. He reached over and took a small cup from a shelf and poured a few ounces of clear liquid from a plastic water bottle. He took a swig and offered the rest to Bobby-Ray with a dark gap-toothed smile.
"Here son, have yo some shine, guaronteed to take the edge off everythin'"
Bobby-Ray shook his head and replied.
"I'm obliged Deke, don't wanna be inhospitable or nothing, but I can't start down that road with what I gotta do in the next few days."
With his cargo lashed down and secured in the closed space of the pickup rear cap, Bobby-Ray headed east, progressing though a variety of widening roads until he caught a four lane state highway that intersected with I95.
He had one more stop, an additional item on his shopping list. He found it in North Carolina in a mall of outlet stores, at a place called Andy and Able's World of Bicycles. He paid cash and stowed it in the pickup bed, just behind the other items.
He ate and slept in the truck, continuing until he crossed the Virginia state line and entered Washington DC. He followed Daniels' E-mailed directions and arrived at the warehouse late in the afternoon. Bobby Ray used the combination from the E-mail to open the electronic lock that Daniels had installed. He had a Hogden & Derek card that identified him as an employee.
He backed the pickup into the delivery dock and carefully unloaded the cargo. For the next two days, he would live in the warehouse as he completed the final installations and checked and rechecked the wirings and circuits. When he was satisfied with the preparations, he went to the last items.
As Bobby-Ray scouted the grounds surrounding the warehouse, he thought that Daniels couldn't have come up with a better spot.
The warehouse stood on two acres of woodland intersected by a highway several miles away. It was part of a sprawling industrial park that contained small manufacturing enterprises, offices
and warehouses. Each structure was hidden from view by the woods that enveloped it. Located at the very edge of the Capital and six miles from the northern banks of the Potomac, it had been designed as gracefully spaced buildings within a natural surrounding instead of the classic industrial-park look.
Bobby-Ray used a portable SATNAV system to find the exact spot he wanted from the Washington DC civil engineering infrastructure map. He located it on the edge of the electric company trail right-of-way that housed utility poles carrying miles of wires stretching over the horizon.
The service cap sat on top of a concrete tube rising a scant four inches above the surface of the woods. It wasn't part of the sewer system proper. No sewage ever went down those pipes. It was part of a vast drainage system that collected storm water throughout the sprawling capital by means of sumps and drains and emptied at various locations into the Potomac.
Bobby Ray pried open the cap with the small crowbar he carried and rolled it out of the way. The service pipe was about four feet in diameter with metal rungs built into the concrete to allow entry for utilities service crews.
He made two trips into the system, placing the equipment at the right strategic spots and resealing the access cover afterwards.
He returned to the warehouse and slept overnight, rising early next morning and doing a series of final checks on the circuitry and mechanisms. When he was satisfied with the results, he connected the laptop and sent Richard Daniels a short E-mail. He left the warehouse and locked it behind him. From now on he would visit the warehouse daily, checking the circuits each time. He drove the short distance over the I95 Bridge and back over the Virginia state line. He turned off I95 and followed the road that led him to the marina on the Potomac where Billy had transacted his part of the operation. He'd stay at the Marina until Carlos arrived. That arrival was scheduled for the next day. Everything stood ready. Now it was up to Daniels. He would carry the final phase of the operation.
Chapter 49
William Taylor didn't even realize he paced the length of his office on the 45th floor of the new Federal building. He waited for the arrival of his second in command, Conboy and the new bodyguard/enforcer.
Something chewed at Taylor's gut, a sense of foreboding, some missing piece at the edge of his subconscious, nagging and worrying at him. It was that Damned Richard Daniels. Rollie had screwed up big time when he allowed Daniels to live, back in Mexico. It'd cost the big, stupid bastard his life, thought Taylor. He was sure that Daniels had killed Rollie in the Everglades, even if they never found the body. Christ, he thought, you can never find anything in that forsaken swamp. Especially not Richard Daniels and those people he ran with. It was going on two months now and still nothing from all those teams out there, searching.
And now, right out of the blue, as if he was mocking him, this E-mail from Daniels. Taylor looked out over the Capital. Fog had rolled in and the early fall chill settled over Washington DC. The mist obscured the usually magnificent view from his office rendering the outside in shades of gray. Senate confirmation hearings on his new appointment were scheduled to begin in just a little over a week and now he had to deal with Daniels. Taylor smirked with anger as he read the printout of the E-mail. It'd come on the classified access line from Langley bearing his previous code name: PARADOX-CONTROL—communications with that heading were intercepted by people he had in place at the Agency and forwarded directly to him. His attention had been riveted by the name of the sender: TALON—Richard Daniels' old code name.
From: TALON
To: PARADOX CONTROL
In possession of vital sensitive information regarding Bio-Gilbert and other matters. Most confidential and most urgent. Complete turnover of sensitive issue materials to be accomplished at cost of 5Mil + total release. Safeguards in place. Will require face-to-face at my choosing. Reply with secure cell-phone number for details.
Taylor believed he'd properly secured his tracks. He'd been meticulous about that. Daniels had been the only flaw in the otherwise perfect covers and labyrinths of distance he'd placed between himself and the activities of his group. But now, at this time, with tremendous power about to be handed to him, he could not chance that questionable material about him would be presented to some doddering idiot Senator elected solely because of their ability to bring the pork back home. While Taylor had mostly contempt for the legislators, he knew that if the confirmation hearings got bogged down it would probably mean the end of his nomination.
The soft chime of his secretary's intercom announced his visitors had arrived. She ushered them in his office and left, shutting the door behind them with a soft whispering noise.
Taylor turned around and faced the newcomers. He didn't sit nor did he invite them to sit in any of the luxurious leather seats that flanked his desk. Conboy looked as he always did, with restrained energy and sharp features that Taylor knew would remain expressionless even as he ordered a killing.
The new muscle was something else. What the hell was his name again, thought Taylor, Baxter or Dexter, or some such name. There was something strange about him and Taylor realized what bothered him about the new man.
His eyes.
There was no expression in them any time they'd met. The man's eyes were so dead they belonged in a jar somewhere. It always looked as if no one was ever home and all the man's skills operated on automatic like some robotic killer. Two things amazed Taylor about the man. The first was his incredible skills with firearms. He carried a 41 Caliber custom-built Colt automatic. The weapon had an elongated barrel and flared magazine handle that held sixteen rounds. Taylor had seen him draw and aim the weapon so fast that it just seemed to appear in his hand out of thin air. The man fired so rapidly, the spitting explosions of the gun had sounded like a continued loud exhalation. All sixteen rounds had gone in a grouping no wider than a few inches. He had repeated the very same action five times with the same results.
The second thing that was disconcerting was his face. He had the looks of a baby-faced, slightly pudgy and innocent adolescent. You simply could not tell that the soul of a deadly killer resided beneath those blank eyes and dewy cheeks.
Taylor handed the printed E-mail to Conboy who read it slowly.
"Daniels?" asked Conboy, looking up.
Taylor nodded, turned and stared out the window for a moment. No one said anything. Finally he turned back toward Conboy and spoke while tugging at the gold cuff link on his French sleeve.
"Yes, Daniels. He should have been killed with Gilbert in the Everglades. He should have been killed a few years back in Mexico. That idiot Rollie should have killed him. Hell, You should have killed him when he located Gilbert."
"It's not that easy," replied Conboy. "The bastard is good. He keeps landing on his feet. Can't we track this E-mail on reply or something?"
William Taylor chuckled, a dry sound devoid of any humor.
"Oh I'm sure we could," he replied. "We can pretty much pinpoint the origin of the signal. We know it's a satellite uplink to a laptop. And when we do, do you know what we'll find? It originated somewhere in the godamned Everglades. By the time we get there, all you'll find is some bushes, mud and snakes. He won't use his uplink from his camp. That's one area you'll never find. Hell you've had half a dozen teams rotating back and forth on location and you haven't even been able to see his shadow."
William Taylor turned back to the window and stepped behind his desk. He sat heavily in the oak and leather chair and waved the two men to take a seat.
"No. More of the same won't work. We've got to be smarter than Daniels. First thing, I have to know what he knows. Exactly what information does he have? We're going to string him along, agree to his demand, find out what information he's got and kill him one way or the other."
Chapter 50
When Richard Daniels received the reply, he'd already shaved his beard and resumed his normal appearance. He showed up at Billy's Marina in a borrowed airboat and went directly to the storage hangar and drove out in
his Camry. Two separate teams shadowed him, alerted by the miniature transponders they had planted in the automobile chassis. One car preceded him and another followed just out of sight. He headed down US1 and turned south on Highway 4 toward Naples with no attempt to conceal himself. He drove directly to the Naples airport, parked his car in the long-term lot and purchased a ticket on the red-eye to Reagan International. He breezed through security carrying only a cell phone and personal items. It was three thirty AM when he landed at Reagan International, Washington DC.
* * *
A weather front had passed during the night and the morning sun practically glowed through the picture windows in William Taylor's office. It was nine thirty and Conboy was giving Taylor an update on Daniel's movements.
"Daniels showed up the previous night at Billy's Marina in Everglades City. He made no attempt at concealment. We tracked him to Naples Airport where he took a late flight to Washington. One of our men got on the plane with him and I had three teams waiting at Reagan International. As it turned out we didn't need all that manpower. He walked directly to the Hertz counter, rented a car then drove to the Airport Hilton and took a room. He paid for everything with a credit card from an outfit called Hogden & Derek. We're in the process of checking out that connection."
"What's he doing now?" asked Taylor.
"Sleeping."
"Sleeping?"
"Uh, yeah, sleeping. We had one of our people dress as maintenance staff and bug the room—audio in the telephone and visual inside the television, through a peephole in the case. He showered and went to bed. Still sleeping right now. Surveillance will alert me if he so much as coughs."
The Last Operation (The Remnants of War Series, Book 1) Page 21