The next building contained at least three rooms along the back wall, probably more in the front. From a light in the hallway beyond the darkened rooms, Jesse could make out desks, chairs, filing cabinets, and other office equipment. The last office was lit with a desk lamp. A man was sitting in an ancient rolling desk chair. Dressed in worn khaki, a white wife beater, and a garish yellow, green, and red Hawaiian shirt, unbuttoned, he was leaning back in his chair, hands tucked behind his head, his feet up on the desk. A lit cigarette dangled from his lips. Jesse permitted himself a tight smile. Solo and his goddamn Hawaiian shirts. He’d probably wear one to a funeral.
At the sudden light tapping on the window, three short and two long, the man smiled. Stubbing the cigarette out in an ashtray overflowing with butts, he got up and went over to the window, unlocking it and sliding it up to admit Jesse’s head and broad shoulders, followed by the rest of his body as he climbed up through the narrow opening. As Jesse snatched off his balaclava, the two men threw their arms around each other in a joyous hug.
“Jesus, Solo, you stink of cigarettes.”
“Hello, Ranger, go fuck yourself.” He lifted his wrist to glance at his watch. “I see you’re right on time.”
They pulled apart, looking at each other the way old friends do when they haven’t seen each other for a long time. In Ted and Jesse’s case, it had been over a year. The two men were nearly the same height, but Ted, in spite of his well-honed muscles, was rail thin and had always reminded Jesse of a laconic scarecrow who’d just stepped down from his pole.
“How’d you get here?”
“Across the lake, through the woods.” To Grandmother’s house we go. His mind filled in the rest of the inane lyric.
“See anybody on your way in?”
“Not a soul.” Jesse folded his balaclava over his belt. “Which tells me these fuckers feel pretty safe out here. I thought you quit smokin’,” he added accusingly, studying his friend’s pale face, cool green eyes, and disarming smile. A lot of very bad people had allowed that deceptively lazy smile to sucker them into lowering their guard. They were now dead.
“I did.” Ted inclined his head and lifted his hand to tunnel his fingers through his thick, curly brown hair. A bad habit that left his hair looking perpetually like a pile of straw. “But these guys all smoke like chimneys, so I have to, too. Otherwise, I’d stick out like a sore thumb. Damnedest thing getting used to them again. I don’t remember them tasting so goddamn awful. But what’re you doing here, man? Aren’t you retired?”
“Wildfire sent me to check up on you.” Jesse grinned. “You know how worried Daddy gets when his children don’t phone home.”
“Sorry about that. Motherfuckers confiscated all our cell phones. And we’re under lockdown. Nobody’s allowed to leave.” Ted grinned back. “They’re even running bed checks. Good thing us SEALs always have a plan B.”
Jesse’s grin widened. “And I’m it. So what’s goin’ on, here Ted? Somethin’ big by the looks of it.”
“No shit, Sherlock. What gave it away? The two dozen Night Hawks hanging around out there, armed to the teeth? They arrived this afternoon. They’re here to guard the three thousand assault rifles stashed out in one of the hangars—mostly Bushmasters and Vektors from South Africa. Meanwhile, we’re also awaiting the arrival of three thousand more rifles—AKs, stolen from a Ukrainian Army depot last month—all courtesy of the Russian mob.”
“Three thousand!” Jesse whistled.
“Yeah,” Ted said grimly, “They’re on board an Albanian freighter that left Odessa three weeks ago. That’s six thousand rifles in all, along with fifty thousand clips, give or take. But the real news here is the cocaine. Three tons of uncut shit, straight from Colombia.” He reached up with both hands and grabbed his hair. “Christ, this is so much bigger than I originally told Wildfire. He’ll shit a brick when you tell him. Six thousand assault rifles being exchanged for three tons of pure cocaine—enough to start a fuckin’ war and turn millions of people into addicts.”
“Jesus!”
“The cocaine is going to the Russian mob, in exchange for the rifles. After the Army of Righteousness takes its cut, of course.”
“Of course.”
“Fifteen percent for brokering the deal and providing a safe location for the exchange to take place. If all goes well, they plan on making this a permanent operation—letting gangs of really bad people exchange guns for drugs, while they sit around with their thumbs up their asses, collecting fifteen fucking percent. Those trucks out there aren’t just delivering building supplies. They all have false bottoms. After the exchange is made, they’ll be used to haul AR’s share of the rifles and cocaine out to their regional camps, where the drugs’ll be cut and dumped all over the country.” Ted’s voice was low, and the urgency in it strummed every nerve in Jesse’s body. His mind was reeling. He was certain Homeland Security had no idea of the magnitude of this little operation. It sure as hell was going to take more than one six-man Alpha team to bring this group down. He needed to brief Admiral Harper immediately. Like yesterday.
“And it’s all going down Friday at midnight.”
“Friday!” Jesse gasped. “That’s only a week away!”
“Tell me about it. If you hadn’t shown up tonight, I was going to have to come up with some way to get out of here without anyone finding out and sounding the alarm. Alpha has no idea just how enormous this whole operation is.”
“You’re right, they have no idea!”
“And they’re the only agency who can take these guys down without turning it into a clusterfuck, but they’re going to need every Alpha team that’s not currently out on assignment. There’s a small army inside this fence, armed to the teeth and prepared to defend this operation to the death.”
“Who else can they get to help?” Jesse asked.
“Not sure, but definitely not ATF. They’re compromised all to hell and back. Tell Wildfire to get Raven out of there. Now. On the night of the exchange, their mole is going to send them straight into another ambush. This time there’ll be no survivors. Don’t use local or state boys, either, unless you know them personally and can vouch for them. I’m not sure about DEA, but I don’t want to take a chance. Frankly, the only other guys I trust are Team Fury.” At Jesse’s look, he held up his hand.
“I know. I know. Admiral Harper‘s going to have to pull some mighty big strings to get that approved, but I don’t see any alternative. If those drugs and guns get out of this compound, we’re screwed. But we’re dealing with an extremely small window of opportunity, here—a couple hours max—however long it takes to unload the coke and load the rifles. With all those little helpers out there, it won’t take long. If we move before the drugs arrive, they’ll just be diverted and sold to some other nasty group, and all we’ll have to hold these guys on is arms dealing. If we move too late…” Ted let his voice trail off, letting the horrors of that scenario sink in.
Jesse grunted.
“Bottom line, whichever team is picked for this assignment, they can’t be hanging around in DC waiting for word, or they’ll never get here in time. They’re going to have to practically camp out in the woods around here, which could get a bit tricky if these fuckers decide they need to expand their sentry perimeter.”
Ted lifted his hand to cup the nape of his neck as he arched his back stiffly. Both men were silent as the enormity of what they were facing bore in on them. Jesus Christ! Jesse thought grimly. This is a goat fuck waiting to happen.
“I’ve been in a lot of bad situations in my time, Ranger,” Ted resumed. “I’ve faced Taliban snipers, I’ve had more than one gun held to my head—Christ, I’ve even had a fucking suicide bomber threaten to blow me up, along with a busload of Israeli civilians. But these fuckers scare the shit outta me. They have no idea who they’re dealing with—the Russian Mob and the Medellin drug cartel, for chrissakes! It makes my blood run cold just thinking about it.”
A door slammed in the distance, and
both Ted and Jesse stiffened, instantly alert. “Hey, Baker, you in here?” a male voice shouted followed by heavy footsteps getting closer and louder.
“Frank Baker,” Ted whispered, grinning at Jesse. “My ignorant redneck name.” He turned his head and raised his voice. “Yeah, Conway, whaddaya want?” he shouted back, heading for the door of his office while Jesse went to stand behind it. He didn‘t bother to pull a weapon, knowing that if this Conway fucker gave them any trouble, Ted would lead him into the office, positioning him so Jesse could step up silently behind him and break his neck.
“One of the trucks broke down out on the road, some kinda engine trouble, I think.” Conway entered the hallway just as Ted stepped out to keep him from continuing on into the office. “Driver’s not sure where he’s at, exactly, but says he’s not about to walk here in the fuckin’ dark. Besides, he can’t leave all that contraband out there. Somebody might steal it. Reston sent me in here to ask you to send one of your mechanics out there.”
Ted snorted. “Tell Reston to go fuck himself. If it’s too dark for the driver to walk, it’s too fuckin’ dark for anyone to fix the goddamn truck, now, isn’t it?
“Wel-l-l, guess he never thought of that.” Conway sounded confused. “So whaddaya want me to tell Reston?”
Jesse could think of a few things.
“Jesus, Conway, do I have to do all your thinkin’ for ya?” Jesse had to hand it to Ted. His southern drawl was impeccable. “Tell him to send one of the empties out there with a crew, transfer the cargo into the empty, and bring it back.”
“Okay, but what about the truck. We can’t just leave it out there, can we? What if somebody steals it?”
“So…lemme get this straight.” Pure sarcasm dripped from Ted’s voice. “You think somebody’s lurkin’ out there in the middle of nowhere, in the dark, just waitin’ for the odd truck to come along so they can steal it?” Jesse heard the click of the cigarette lighter, smelled the acrid scent of smoke. “It don’t run, Conway,” Ted pointed out with sighing impatience as he blew out a lungful of smoke. “Who’s gonna steal a truck that don’t run?” When there was no answer, Ted finished with, “Just tell Reston I’ll send a mechanic out in the mornin’.”
“Uh, okay. Thanks, man.” Conway left. Neither Ted nor Jesse moved until the receding footsteps were followed by a door opening, then closing, leaving nothing behind but silence.
“Did I mention they’re also stupid?” Ted asked wryly, coming back into the office and closing the door silently behind him. “And, actually, that’s the scariest thing about them. It makes them trigger-happy and unpredictable and truly dangerous.” He headed for his desk, where he pulled out the center drawer and turned it upside down. A large sheet of paper was taped to the bottom. “Here, I’ve made a map of the compound, showing where everything and everyone is positioned and where the rifles are being stashed until the cocaine gets here and everything’s shipped out.”
While Ted was talking, Jesse unholstered his cell phone and took several photos of the map. As soon as he was finished, Ted ripped it off the drawer and ran it through the industrial-sized cross-cut shredder sitting beside the desk. Jesse grimaced. Obviously, Chester Andrews was taking no chances with information getting into the wrong hands.
Jesse took a folded piece of paper out of one of the pockets on his utility vest and handed it to Ted. “Seen this guy around?”
Ted unfolded the paper. “Yeah. Ryder Malone. Real fucktard, covered with prison tats. Thinks his shit don’t stink. Been living here for the last three weeks or so.” He handed the photo back to Jesse. “He’s bulked up since that was taken, a real exercise freak. He converted one of the old mail sorting sheds into a weight room so he can work out. Ripped the sleeves off all his shirts so he can show off his muscles.” Ted snorted. “Fucker has a room to himself, so he thinks he runs the place. I’ve indicated it on the map.” Ted looked at Jesse. “You want him?”
“He’s tryin’ to hurt Sarah,” Jesse said simply, giving Ted a look before holding out his hand and dropping the photo into the razor-sharp teeth of the shredder.
“Oh, goody.” Ted rubbed his hands together, his face creasing in a gleeful smile. “Finally, something to look forward to.”
Jesse took a throw-away cell out of one of the pockets in his utility vest and handed it to Ted. “This is from Bill.” He watched as Ted tucked it into his boot. Then he unbuckled his waistband holster with his Heckler & Koch 47, and pulled his Makarov from his boot. “No need to tell you what they’ll do to you if any of this shit’s discovered,” he said as he handed the weapons to Ted. “I’ll want these back. I’ll brief Bill as soon as I get back to my car. He’ll let Admiral Harper know exactly what’s goin’ on here. You got a place to hole up when this goes down so you don’t get killed by mistake?”
“Yeah. I’ve indicated it on the map. Bring me some toys so I can play, too. How will I know when the fun starts?”
“Because, in the words of the immortal Bard, ‘all hell will break loose.’”
Ted smirked. “The immortal Bard, eh? Which play was that in again? The Merchant of Venice?”
Jesse shook his head. “Not Shakespeare. Schwarzenegger.” He pulled the black knit balaclava back down over his head, preparing to leave. He slid the window up and lifted his long legs over the sill before turning around and lowering them, holding himself up by his forearms. “Any message for Daddy?” he asked with a grin.
But Theodore “Solo” Solomon wasn’t grinning. “Yeah,” he said, dead serious. “Tell him to get me the fuck outta here.”
Jesse gave him a thumbs-up and dropped noiselessly to the ground. Retracing his steps, he slipped back through the fence, re-attaching it to the post with gray flex ties so the damage wouldn’t be immediately apparent in case these bottom-feeders were smart enough to run a perimeter check. At this point, he wouldn’t put anything past them.
He jogged back around the airstrip and headed back through the forest, relieved when he got to the lake and found that his boat and paddle were still there under the pine boughs. When he reached the opposite shore, he only partially deflated it before throwing it, dripping wet, into the back of the Hummer. Whipping open the driver’s side door, he called Bill “Wildfire” Payton on the sat phone, briefly recapping everything Ted had just told him as he downloaded the map photos and pressed Send.
“Thanks, Jesse. I’ll call Admiral Harper right now.” Bill hung up.
Then Jesse called Adam. “Ted’s fine, Wildfire’s been updated and I’m on my way home.”
Adam snickered. “Good news. You want me to stay on the line in case you get lost and need help?”
“Go fuck yourself,” Jesse said good-naturedly. “Where’s Sarah?”
“She’s asleep, right here with her head in my lap. Jesus, she’s so beautiful, I can’t stop looking at her.”
“Yeah, I know the feelin’,” Jesse agreed, wishing he was looking at her right now. He glanced at his watch. Ten thirty. With any luck, he’d be home in a little over an hour. Maybe they’d still have time for a brief session in the Play Room before turning in. Lord knew he could use it. He was wired, as he always was after a successful op, and making love to Sarah would be the perfect way to decompress. His cock was straining so hard against his pants, and he shifted his hips in a futile attempt to ease the strain. It was going to be a very uncomfortable ride home.
Chapter Six
From his hiding place in the woods across the street, he watched through the trees as the black Humvee crawled down the driveway like a shiny black bug in its approach to the slowly opening gate. Through his binoculars, he could just make out Sarah Marshall in the front passenger seat, that fuckin’ Breed, Colter, next to her, driving. The other guy, the blond dude, was in the back seat. Jeez, what’s up with that? She’s living with two men? Are they both fuckin’ her? The very thought had him salivating. Maybe, when I finally have her at the compound, I’ll share her with somebody. He smiled. Yeah. Reston, maybe. Or Baker—no, n
ot Baker, guy’s a turd. I’ll think of someone.
He kept watching as the big SUV exited through the wrought iron gate, turned left, and drove off down the road. Lowering the binoculars, he chewed on the inside of his cheek as he watched the heavy double gates close. Okay, what now? Sure, nobody was home, but the place was like a fortress! From this vantage point alone, he could make out at least five closed-circuit video cameras housed in boxes made out of bulletproof Plexiglass, panning back and forth, covering every square inch of space along the eight-foot-high brick wall and up the curving, graveled driveway. There were bound to be lots more in the woods and closer to the house. Fucker was rich. He could afford them. Breaching the perimeter would surely set off all kinds of alarms.
He continued worrying his cheek. So. Breaking into the house while they’re not home is out of the question. I’m gonna have to get to her some other way. But how? She’s never alone. Even at work she’s surrounded by strapping bodyguards. And that blond fucker always follows her home. Damn it! There has to be a way! There just has to. I been plannin’ this for eight fuckin’ years. I just wasn’t expectin’ a goddamn fortress, for chrissakes! What I need is a diversion.
The taste of blood flooding his mouth jolted him out of his reverie. Damn it all to Hell! While he’d been absently chewing his cheek, the sharp edge of a broken molar had sliced the flesh to ribbons. Soothing the pain with his tongue, he returned to his last thought. A diversion. Yeah. That’s exactly what I need. Maybe I should talk to Uncle Harold. He’ll help me. He’d do anything to get back at Madame Prosecutor. His mouth split into a grin. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. And while those fuckers are occupied with Uncle Harold, I can sneak into the house and hide until it’s time to make my move. He let out a cackling laugh. Those fuckers’ll never know what hit ‘em.
Owning Sarah [Sequel to Loving Sarah] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 14