The Fixer, Season 1

by Rex Carpenter

  The old warrior was exactly right. All the people in the compound seemed to be converging on the battle. Men. Women. Children. There were far more small white blobs than Kowalski had initially expected. Reports had said there were at most five children in the compound and they were in their teens. By the size of the people moving now, there looked to be about ten or twelve children under the age of seven. It looked like some were being carried by older people, likely their mothers.

  But they weren’t converging on the battle, Kowalski realized. They were going into the main hall. Either JC and his team were under heavy fire or they didn’t see the group in the night because they kept firing. The guards had come away from the main gate and were now protecting the main hall. The problem of the main hall Kowalski mentioned earlier still remained: thermal imaging cameras could not penetrate it. It was the only building in the compound that showed as a white square. Perhaps it was a refrigeration unit, perhaps it had thermal shielding. Whatever the reason, the interior of the building was hiding who or what was going on inside.

  The who was easy to answer: all the people in the compound had now entered the building. The only ones who had not were the four guards battling it out with JC and his crew as well as the one guard Joan had killed earlier. His body had cooled enough so it appeared as a dark grey outline. Just part of the landscape. The four guards moved around to the front of the main hall, then disappeared inside.

  JC, Duke, Joan and Theo started moving toward the building. Kowalski couldn’t tell what was really going on. Were they firing? Were they walking into a trap? He tried calling JC on his phone, then Joan, then Duke, but got no answer.

  “What the hell are they doing, agent?” The General asked.

  Kowalski had no reply. Only a sickening feeling in his gut.

  The white outline that was the main hall suddenly got much larger. JC and his team started moving backwards. Then turned and ran. The whiteness got bigger. And bigger.

  “Is that thing on fire?” The General asked.

  Kowalski looked at him. Tried to keep the panic off of his face. Could tell by The General’s reaction he didn’t do a good enough job. Turned back to the screen. Saw JC and his team dive forward behind what looked like a rock formation just as the main hall exploded in whiteness. Covering the entire monitor in white.

  Then it went dark. Black. The image was completely gone.

  “Sir, it looks like we’ve lost the feed,” the junior agent said.

  “No shit, son,” The General said.

  “Get it back. Now,” Kowalski said quietly. Tried calling JC or anyone on his team. No answer.

  Kowalski’s radio squawked. Lead agent of the team waiting to the west of the main gate, waiting to swoop in and arrest anyone they could find.

  “SAIC Kowalski, are you seeing what we’re seeing?”

  “Report, Agent O’Donnell.”

  “Sir, we’re seeing what appears to be a large explosion in the compound. There was a large fire, and then a giant ball of flame rose up from the area of the main hall. We heard an enormous boom. We’re waiting on your command.”

  Kowalski was frozen.

  “Sir?” Agent O’Donnell said again.

  Kowalski’s phone rang. JC.

  “Thank God you’re okay, JC. What the hell happened?”

  There was movement over the phone. JC was breathing hard.

  “You sonofabitch.”

  Kowalski froze again.

  “You sonofabitch!” JC yelled. “Your intel was all wrong. There were dozens of women and children here. Now they’re dead.”

  Kowalski looked at The General. Hard eyes returned his gaze.

  “Did you hear me, Kowalski? They’re dead. They’re all dead!” JC bellowed.

  Chapter 31

  Franklin Adams

  “Did you hear me, Kowalski? They’re dead. They’re all dead!” JC bellowed.

  “What did you do?” Kowalski managed to croak out.

  “Us?” JC yelled. “Us? We did nothing. We were being fired upon. We saw all the women and kids running into the main hall so we ceased fire. Once they were all inside they must have triggered something because the whole thing blew.”

  JC looked at his teammates. Waited for Kowalski to respond.

  Nothing.

  “This is on your head, man,” he continued, “your head. There are about fifty dead bodies, or pieces of bodies, here that you’re going to have to explain to someone. I swear to you, man, if anyone comes asking questions, they’re gonna get an earful from me.”

  Kowalski was silent.

  “Oh, God, the stench. They’re burning, Guy, they’re all burning. Women, kids, just burning up.”

  JC hung up.

  Joan smiled. Theo and Duke burst out laughing.

  “Dude, that was a little too far, wasn’t it?” Theo said as his laughter slowed.

  “‘Oh, God, the stench,’” Duke repeated and started laughing again.

  “Serves him right. Trying to screw us like this,” JC said. “Pre-dawn raid just to get a .50 caliber sniper rifle.”

  “Yeah, but he’s gonna have nightmares for weeks. Or until he finds out,” Duke said.

  JC shrugged. Joan’s smile disappeared.

  “The senator’s a decent woman,” she said. “He doesn’t have the nutsack to explain to her what a .50 cal will do to a human head, so he makes us come in and do this?” She shook her head. Irritated. “It’s on him.”

  “The lady makes a good point,” Theo said. Then started laughing again.

  “Kowalski wanted a show. He got one. Just not the one he was looking for,” JC said.

  The main hall was still burning. Body parts, burned and unburned, were littered around the area. JC looked up in the air. He couldn’t see the drone, but he knew they didn’t have much time. Duke said the virus he managed to upload remotely would give them at most ten minutes before it failed and the drone would be back online.

  “Hey! Franklin!” JC yelled. “Stop lying around. We got to get moving if we’re going to pull this off.”

  The guard Joan had shot stood up. Brushed himself off.

  “Holy crap, JC. You guys sure do know how to blow things up,” Franklin said.

  JC slung the M4 assault rifle over his shoulder. Hooked his gloved hand into the sling. Walked over. Clapped the man on his shoulder. “You okay, buddy?”

  “I swear, man, I didn’t believe you when you called me from the airplane yesterday. Thought you were full of crap when you showed up a few hours ago with all those cadavers and body parts. Figured you were straight loony when you laid out your plan.” Franklin looked at the main hall in flames. “But this, my friend, this takes the cake.”

  JC nodded his head. “That it does, man. That it does.” He picked up the man’s rifle for him. “Come on. The drone will only be offline for a few more minutes. We need to get out of here. Get your group out of those tunnels and into some nicer accommodations. What do you say?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  JC guided him over towards the main gate of the camp. Squatted down behind a tree and the rock standing next to it. He fished a pair of night-vision binoculars from his pack, gave them to Franklin and pointed him in the direction of Kowalski’s cleanup crew. While Agent O’Donnell and his boys weren’t standing out in the open, they weren’t exactly trying to hide much, either.

  “Those’re the guys who were planning on coming in here?” Franklin asked, still watching them.

  “Yup. They were the cleanup crew. Cart off any of you guys that were still alive.” JC paused. “Although I’m pretty sure they would have taken out anyone who resisted.”

  Adams put down the glasses. “Got half a mind to go down there right now and start something.”

  JC’s smile was grim. “Wouldn’t do any good. Just get yourself killed. Besides, they aren’t the bad guys here. The one giving the orders is.” JC waved his arm back at the burning building. “And all this would be a waste.”

  “Then why
are you showing me the guys who wanted to kill me and my group?”

  “Because when the time comes, I don’t want you to have any doubts. Don’t want you to have to outright lie. Stretch the truth a bit, but not exactly lie.”

  Franklin smiled. “I appreciate that.” Stood. Handed the binoculars to JC. “Can’t say I understand all that happened here tonight. But I do understand you stuck your neck out when you didn’t have to. And that saved my life. And the lives of my family and friends.” Franklin extended his hand. “Anything you need. Whenever you need it. All right? You, your team. And that lawyer friend of yours as well, Meier. Good fella.”

  JC shook his hand. “Let’s get your family and friends taken care of now.”

  Franklin nodded. Took off jogging towards the eastern end of the camp. JC called after him.

  “Hey, you got that one sniper rifle I was asking about?”

  Franklin stopped. “The .50 cal we brought up from Mexico? Yeah, it’s over in the guard shack.”

  JC directed Duke to retrieve the rifle. Stood there for a second. Surveying the damage. Smiling. Pleased that everything had worked out. So far.

  Duke jogged past. A rifle with an enormously long barrel slung over his shoulder.

  “I need a cigar,” he said.

  “What? What the hell for?” JC said.

  “I love it when a plan comes together,” he growled, squinting his eyes.

  JC smiled. Pulled out his phone. Called Kowalski.

  *****

  It took JC about ten minutes of searching the internet to find out the name of the leader of the Sons of Liberty. Another minute or so to find his phone number. Fifteen minutes on the web browser of his phone, sitting in first class on the flight from LAX to Boston the previous day and he was speaking to the man Kowalski wanted him to set up for the assassination of the senator. While JC was honest, he didn’t tell Franklin Adams everything. Told him a government agency was keeping surveillance on him. That he was suspected of trafficking arms from Mexico. Drug running. Engaging in human slavery. Buying and selling girls from Vietnam and China. Little boys from Mexico.

  Franklin’ response had been simple: “What kind of sick bastard dreamt up that pantload of crap?”

  Franklin’s wife was born in Vietnam but had been raised in Oxnard. He and his wife ran an English summer camp for rich kids from Asia. His number two lieutenant, Hector Lopez, was born in Hermosillo, Mexico but raised in Henderson, Nevada. He convinced Franklin of the humanitarian crisis that illegal immigrants faced as they crossed the desert. The compound did not provide shelter, but they did provide water and safe passage for anyone who needed it. Not many came through this far north of the border, but some did. Drug mules and human smugglers were turned away.

  Due to the location and the dual nature of their camp, firearms were kept on site. Franklin liked guns and made no apologies about it. They were kept locked up. The sniper rifles they purchased recently were for hunting, protection and good, clean all-American fun. Franklin’s words. Bought in Arizona, not Mexico.

  The drug running? Franklin was diagnosed with lung cancer before he moved out to his family’s property twenty years ago. Cancer free for fifteen years, the medicine he required was simply cheaper across the border in Mexico. As was the testosterone replacement therapy his doctor recommended. The tunnels? Cheaper in the long term to dig a tunnel for storage than to pay the electric company for refrigeration or install more solar panels. Plus it was easier and cooler to get around in the Nevada summer heat that way. And fun for the kids.

  The terrorist connections Kowalski mentioned? JC didn’t even bother to ask at that point. Everything Kowalski had told him had been a lie. Taken from a grain of truth but twisted so far out of balance the resulting mess was a flat-out lie.

  Franklin was a fairly animated person. Two minutes on the phone with him and JC liked him. Five minutes and he loved him. Ten minutes and he was pissed that Kowalski ever imagined putting an honest, big-hearted man such as Adams in danger.

  Still, JC needed to be sure. He had called Duke to have him do some more thorough checking. Told him to report his findings to Jacob Meier. Called Meier. Asked him to drive out to Henderson and have a talk with the man. If there ever was a human BS detector, Meier would qualify.

  Meier said he was glad to go. Told JC he had nothing else to do; his assistant was planning Daniel’s funeral, his mind was too preoccupied to work and he didn’t want to be in his house. Thinking about his son. About finding the man who killed him. The assignment was a needed distraction. He called JC back to report that his instincts were spot-on; Adams was on the up-an-up. Complete opposite with what Kowalski had led them to believe.

  After dealing with Ziccardi, the biggest piece of the puzzle had fallen into place: how to make Kowalski think everyone was dead. His friend at the coroner’s office in Camden, Massachusetts owed JC. Big. This last favor would even out the balance. Likely put her out of a job. And JC in her debt for a very long time.

  Over the course of four hours, she had pulled every string and called in every favor with other coroners and medical departments in the area. She had borrowed as many scientific cadavers and unclaimed bodies in morgues across the greater Boston area as she could. JC had rented a van and together they had driven around collecting the two dozen bodies and body parts.

  JC knew it was grisly. Revolting. Jamie, his coroner friend, thought he was a bit twisted. But like he explained to her, if it saved even one person from getting killed, it was worth it. JC also knew that twenty-five bodies and parts of bodies wouldn’t ever look like fifty people. A detailed forensic investigation would reveal the trick.

  It didn’t matter.

  He needed to convince Kowalski that all the people in the compound had died. Some judiciously placed propane canisters, some canisters of gasoline and a little bit of C4 would produce an amazing explosion and fire. Adding some dead bodies both in and around the building in question would do the trick. If the fire burned hot and fast enough, then many of the bodies would be turned to ash. As long as there were a fair number to be found that had not turned to ash, the subterfuge would hold.

  Long enough to kill the senator.

  But not like Kowalski had planned.

  Chapter 32

  She Wants to Fly

  JC still had two problems to work out: How to get all the bodies to Nevada in a very short window of time and how to get the members of Adams’ group out safe and sound while a drone with thermal imaging cameras was flying high above, watching everything.

  Kowalski’s words, and Duke’s confirmation, about the thermal imaging cameras being able to track the footprints on the ground worried him. If the cameras could do that, they could certainly track any vehicles transporting people. Trucks. Vans. Fifty people is a lot of people. It would pretty much take a bus to carry them all. And a bus driving along deserted roads at four a.m. in that part of the world would likely raise questions. Questions that JC didn’t want to answer.

  Compartmentalization. Fix the first problem first. Twenty five dead bodies. From Boston to Nevada in a few hours. Airplane. Had to be. Driving would take days. Needed a plane big enough to drive the van into because there’s no way he was going to be able to load up an airplane with dead bodies and not get arrested. Chartering a plane might work, but one crew member trying to sneak a peek into the cargo van and they were done for. Who did he know that could help?

  “Son of a bitch,” JC said out loud. Too loud, scaring Jamie sleeping next to him in the van.

  Robert Gail Hughes. Bobby Hughes. Sometimes called himself Bobby G. Or Bobby H. Or any of a dozen various combinations of his name. Never Gail. He was a pilot for The Mexican when JC had gone down to Bolivia. Bobby learned how to fly when he was thirteen. Joined the Air Force but got kicked out after a few years. Turned out Bobby liked to take planes up for unscheduled aerial acrobatic moves. Nearly crashed a C-130 cargo plane trying to make it do barrel rolls. Bobby had quit working for The Mexican soon before JC
did. He’d heard once that Hughes had touched down somewhere in the New England area.

  JC made Jamie drive so he could track his old friend down. Took him less time on his phone to find Hughes than it did to get a hold of Franklin Adams.

  “Bannister? Whoa, man. I was, like, totally thinking of you a few days ago. And here you are, calling me up? Whoa.” Duke may have been a surfer, but Hughes actually talked like one. Well, a surfer crossed with a hippie and mixed through a bad movie blender. “What are you doing, man?”

  “Need a favor. You still fly?”

  “Well, hell yes I fly. Watcha need, buddy?”

  “C130. Boston. Now.”

  Hughes chuckled. “That ain’t much, now is it, friend?”

  JC waited. Hoping. Actually crossed his fingers.

  “Well, lemme take a look out the ole’ window here.” Heard Hughes walk across the room. “Clear skies. Bit of a breeze. I can be down there in, oh, an hour. Maybe two if Little Bear is acting up.”

  “Little Bear?” JC asked.

  “Yeah. My C-130. That’s why you’re calling, right?”

  “You have a C-130? Named Little Bear?”

  “You been smokin’ too much of something, buddy? Yeah I got a C-130.”

  JC could barely contain his excitement. “Where should we meet? Logan?”

  “Aww, hell no, JC. There’s a nice long stretch of road outside Sudbury. Near this little farmhouse I heard about. Meet you there in an hour?”

  JC looked over at Jamie. Confused. She had no idea about the conversation.

  “Bobby, are you talking about my place?”

  “Hell, yeah, I’m talking about your place. Looks like I keep a bit better tabs on my old friends than you do. Am I right?” Laughed. More of a giggle, but JC would never tell him that.

  JC was quiet. He didn’t like the idea of someone outside his group of friends knowing details of his life. But Hughes had been a friend and a voice of reason when JC had needed both. A stand-up guy. Wouldn’t have called him if he wasn’t. JC had little choice at this point.