The Missile Game (The Dr. Scott James Thriller Series Book 1)

by Glenn Shepard

  “You have to help me!” she shouted back.

  She reached into the back seat, grabbed the plans of the hospital, and shoved them in my lap. “Where is he? Where could he go?!”

  Suddenly I got a better look at the Rolex hidden under the long sleeve of her blouse. It had so many diamonds and sapphires you could barely see the numbers on the face. I thought about the watch. Most Rolexes keep perfect time. Hers was five minutes slow.

  We’d been winding our way toward the hospital, and now it came into view. I looked at the big building. What she’d said about me knowing the hospital better than anyone was true. And suddenly I knew where the control center was. It was all very clear. Keyes couldn’t find it because it wasn’t in the hospital. Not exactly. I just couldn’t believe I was going along with all this. It was practically impossible to understand what was going on.

  The newest set of drawings in the roll of hospital plans were diagrams for recent rewiring. A variety of lines representing new electrical cables ran across the page. They now ran all the way down the Sub Basement—all the way to Mariner’s Wood. “It’s in one of the mobile units behind the hospital, near Mariner’s Wood. I’ll bet it’s in one of the Emergency Disaster Units. Waters had one decommissioned about two months ago.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  Jackson City Hospital

  3:00 pm

  THE MOMENT THAT CAME out of my mouth, we heard gunfire. First, a couple of shots, then a short firefight. It was coming from behind the hospital. I told Keyes to park in Mariner’s Wood.

  As we pulled up to the woods behind the hospital, a man with an M-16 jumped out into the road in front of us. Keyes stopped to avoid hitting him and rolled down the window. “Bathar! It’s me, Celena! Don’t shoot!”

  The olive-skinned man, no more than twenty years old, with dreadlocks and facial hair stubble, stepped over to the window with his gun pointed at me. The acrid smell of gunpowder gusted into the car. My heart beat fast. The young man was thin, about five foot eight inches in height, and wore a heavily wrinkled khaki shirt and trousers.

  “Bathar, this is Dr. James. He’s one of us. Tell our men to protect him.”

  He pointed to five men hiding in the shadows of the hospital maintenance building. All were small, thin, bare-headed, and clad in khaki shirts and trousers. “Your soldiers,” Bathar said, nodding at the men. “We were just attacked. Men in blue jumpsuits. Heavily armed.”

  Speaking in Arabic, Keyes gave Bathar instructions. I didn’t know what to do. I just kept my mouth shut.

  A barely audible gunshot came from the direction of the hospital. Bathar suddenly dropped to the ground. Half his head was blown away. We could see men running from the hospital. They were big guys, muscular, like football linemen, each weighing more than 200 pounds, dressed in navy blue cotton coveralls, the uniform of the Jackson City Hospital maintenance workers. “Those are Waters’ men,” I said.

  One of Keyes’ soldiers started firing his M-16.

  In the distance, we heard sirens.

  They’ll never make it in time. I don’t care if I end up looking like a terrorist. I have to stop this.

  Keyes seemed unfazed. She texted a quick message: TARGET IS EMERGENCY DISASTER BUS BEHIND HOSPITAL. ALPHA CHARLIE’S LOCATION UNKNOWN.

  She reached back and pulled out a Ruger .38 from her gym bag. Turning to me, she said, “Take out your gun and cover my back.”

  I snapped a clip in the Browning. I hoped I could handle what was about to happen.

  Keyes and her men ran for the Emergency Disaster Unit. I followed with my pistol.

  Two more of Waters’ men suddenly stepped out from behind the bus. Their loud automatic weapons cut down the first of Keyes’ soldiers. Keyes dropped to one knee and fired the Ruger .38 twice. Both men fell. Keyes didn’t flinch.

  One of Keyes’ men was dragging a four-foot section of heavy pipe with welded handles, filled with fifty pounds of lead. Another soldier came up from behind him, grabbed one of the handles, and together they slammed the battering ram into the door of the bus. The aluminum door collapsed and the ram went sailing into the trailer.

  Keyes and her men ran inside and there was a sharp firefight. Gun smoke drifted out of the RV’s door. Waters’ man inside and the two with the ram were dead.

  Suddenly shots came from the woods.

  As Keyes stepped out the door, a man in a blue jumpsuit popped out of nowhere and pointed his gun at her back. Reflexively, I raised my pistol and shot. The man fell dead.

  It was that easy.

  “You didn’t mention I’d have to kill people,” I said.

  “Musta’ slipped my mind.”

  More shots came from the woods. Machine gun fire strafed the RVs and killed the last two of Keyes’ “soldiers.”

  Then, from the exit behind the hospital, I saw a tall muscular man with a ponytail emerge. He was carrying an M-79 grenade launcher.

  It was Brightman.

  But whose side is he on?

  My question was answered when Brightman launched a series of grenades at the shooters in the woods. There were four carumps as the grenades exploded, and the shooting ceased.

  Brightman barked out, “Got’em, Celena.”

  Brightman ran toward the Emergency Disaster bus. A man in a blue jumpsuit appeared at the far side of the buses and shot. Blood trickled from Brightman’s head. He staggered backward and fell just outside the door. Blood slowly leaked into his blonde hair as he lay motionless.

  Keyes swiftly spread her feet, crouched, and seeing the bulges of a Kevlar bulletproof vest inside the shooter’s jumpsuit, delivered a thunderous shot straight into his neck. The man keeled over.

  I looked at Brightman. “I hope he isn’t the bomber who was supposed to wipe out Waters.”

  “No. When I give the signal from my cell, someone else will come with a car full of explosives.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  Drone Control Center

  3:04 pm

  WATERS SAT IN THE rear of the Emergency Disaster Unit, working his controls. His eyes remained fixed on the three twenty-five-inch screens in front of him. He never looked away.

  Keyes approached slowly, pointing her gun at Waters, who was sitting on the other side of a large pane of glass. I followed. The smell of gunpowder was intense. Waters was so focused on the monitor he barely even noticed her. Suddenly, Keyes raised her pistol and fired six shots at Waters.

  Waters did not fall. Instead, he laughed and pointed at the glass. “State of the art bulletproof glass, my dear. Very thin, but still effective. You’re going to have to do better than that to get me.”

  Keyes reached into her pocket for her phone to alert Quasart and Farok that she’d found Waters and the control center. She had only to press “8” and “Send” to have the ISIS bomber sent.

  Suddenly there was motion to the right. Keyes turned quickly. A trap door in the floor sprang open and a large, muscular man—Jefferson, Waters’ security man—appeared out of nowhere and slapped her gun away. He grabbed her from behind and held her so tightly that she struggled to breathe. She grunted as her phone fell to the floor. I recognized Jefferson and pointed my pistol, but he used Keyes as a shield.

  I could see through the door in the floor that there was a passageway to the Sub-Basement, the secret entrance to the hospital Keyes and the rest had been unable to locate.

  I was shaking and unsure of what to do next. I had my Browning on Jefferson, but didn’t have a shot.

  “Drop it,” Jefferson said, ducking his head behind Keyes’ head.

  I pressed my finger on the trigger, but hesitated. This was a man I’d talked with many times when I’d gone to Waters’ office. He wasn’t just an anonymous enemy. He was a man I knew and had once called my friend.

  “Drop it! Or I’ll kill her!” Jefferson demanded.

 
I kept my finger on the trigger for a moment, but then dropped the gun.

  “Excellent job, Jefferson.” Waters said. “The doctor’s no threat without a gun. He belongs to me. I want him to watch my gaming skills and see how I made my fortune for a few minutes before he dies. Then, after I’m done here, I want the pleasure of pulling the trigger on him.”

  “The authorities are on their way,” I said. “Game over, Alpha Charlie.”

  “Ha! You’re going to be just another part of your own massacre by the time they get here. So glad you could join us here, Dr. James.”

  “I’ve been in contact with Pete Harris.”

  Waters continued his focus on the target screen, but laughed as though I were a naive child. “Scott, this is just like the video games we used to play. Look at the upper-right screen. That’s a video replay of the incident that got me this job.”

  The black-and-white image showed a deuce-and-a-half-ton truck driving in the middle of an American convoy along a road near Kirkuk. Suddenly, a huge explosion completely destroyed the truck.

  “This happened three hours ago. The bomb was an IED planted in the gravel road by ISIS. The American military truck was carrying General Harold Bushey and twelve of his men. Bushey is, or I should say was, the command officer of the Third Infantry Division.”

  Keyes squirmed and kicked in Jefferson’s grasp. She had to press “8” and “Send.”

  Ignoring her, Waters continued. “Today, my Reaper is armed with four Hellfire missiles. A hit gets me a check for $30 million, immediately deposited into a foreign bank, and I’ll never be taxed on a penny.”

  Waters manipulated the hand controls and placed a computer “square” on the bomb factory that had made the IED that killed General Bushey. An X appeared on the screen. Waters moved it to overlap the square on the target. A quick thrust of his thumb, and a Hellfire entered the screen. A couple seconds later, it exploded. As the smoke cleared, I could see the building was totally flattened.

  Waters put his controls on the table and sent an e-mail: Mission complete.

  Waters pushed open a bulletproof glass door and faced me. Smiling, he said, “So, Dr. James, before I kill you, I’d like to know, have you been enjoying my old girlfriend?”

  Refusing to take his bait, I instead shook my head. “What happened to you, Herb?”

  Waters laughed. “The hospital’s just a sideline for me, a front, a triviality. I assume you’ve already figured out that I am selling it.”

  As long as I kept him talking, I could stay alive, so I answered, “Yeah, but it’s such a money-maker for you. Why sell?”

  “It’s chump change compared to what I’m making with my drones. Within a year, I’ll make another couple of hundred million, retire, and play with my drones full time. And—I’ve never really enjoyed hospital work.”

  “Really? Who knew?”

  “I’ve come to see that the rules that apply to most people don’t apply to me.”

  I looked around for a way to escape.

  Waters had his henchmen kill Barnes, Jolly, and probably Dr. Carey and Willie Wilson, too. Keyes and I are his next victims. But I can outsmart him. He wants to brag on himself. I’ll just keep him talking until I find a way to overpower him.

  “Are you delusional or what?” I goaded him.

  “For example, I have an extraordinary libido, and my wife is a true nymphomaniac. We each have a villa in the Mediterranean. We have an agreement that we each take on a new lover every two months. Actually, she takes two or three young guys and generally swaps them after a month or so.”

  “So you got horny and brought Keyes here to seduce her yourself.”

  “I don’t believe in romantic involvement with employees. Besides, I wanted her planted firmly in your office. I didn’t care about her involvement with Farok at that time. I knew having access to an operative like Elizabeth would give me the chance to discredit you. Get rid of all the stories in town about the great, kind Dr. James.”

  “Jefferson, Farok is going to bomb this hospital!” Keyes pleaded. “I need to make a call to stop him!”

  “Tell that story to the chief, sister.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  Drone Control Center

  3:06 pm

  KEYES BROKE FREE FOR a split second and jumped for the phone. Waters saw her trick. He grabbed it from her. “So, my dear, is this phone your detonator for a bomb you’ve planted?”

  Waters looked at the contact numbers on the cell phone. “Ah! And these will be your detonation codes, isn’t that right, Elizabeth? Well, I’ll have to press them all when I leave you people to do my errands. What a pity. ISIS will get all the credit.”

  I suddenly went at Jefferson with the only thing I had, my fist. My shot to his chin was solid, but it didn’t hurt him at all. He slapped my face, nearly knocking me down.

  Then he pointed his gun at my head.

  “Go ahead! Shoot me!”

  He looked like he was about to pull the trigger, but then he said quietly, “Mr. Waters wants you alive. At least for now.”

  Waters held my gun on me while Jefferson tied my hands behind my back with a plastic zip-tie.

  Waters seemed to notice the brilliant, blue-white diamonds in Keyes’ Rolex. He walked over and looked at the watch. “That’s very nice. Which of your boyfriends gave that to you?”

  “A very rich one.”

  “Yes. Omar Farok is almost as rich as I, and I admire his taste in jeweled watches.”

  Waters returned his attention to me. “I should kill you both right now, but I can’t resist giving you one final demonstration.”

  I sighed in relief. I had a few more minutes to whip them. I just needed something sharp to cut the plastic hand restraint.

  Waters opened the bulletproof glass door, and gestured to the controls. “Dr. James knows what these are.”

  “Video games.”

  Waters shook his head. “No. These aren’t games, and I don’t play. This is the operational brain for the deadliest drones the world has ever seen. My control chair operates them all.”

  Jefferson interrupted. “Kill them now, boss! Before the cops get here!”

  “Be patient, Jefferson. It’s entertaining to play with mice before you destroy them.”

  I studied the controls, the joysticks, the animated screen.

  “They’re all mine. The drones. They’re the world’s finest; I paid more than thirty million apiece for them. This hobby is more expensive than the horses I used to own. But unlike the horses, they yield a real return rather than a capital write-off. The CIA marks the targets, and I eliminate them—for a price, of course. In the last six months, I’ve made thirty kills. Today, I have another job, and then I will take care of my unfinished business.”

  A flashing orange light appeared on the board. Waters went to the controls. “Watch how the master does it. Here’s my last target for the day.”

  I watched every move Waters made and the corresponding response on the monitor. It was déjà vu: I saw myself at the video arcade with Herb Waters, flying planes with control panels that looked remarkably like this one. Even the target sights were like those on the fifty-caliber machine guns on the arcade planes. At one time I was better than Waters. But not anymore. I was out of practice and Waters had been honing his skills for years.

  Waters stared at the screen. “Abu Al Baghdadi is hiding there in that truck. He’s third in command in ISIS. The people who pay my bounty made the decision. My job is to carry it out. I kill; I get twenty million bucks.”

  Taking advantage of Waters’ attention on the drone, I began cutting the plastic tie on a jagged corner of aluminum where the wall had been shot up.

  Waters used a mouse pad to move the cameras on the nose cone of the Reaper drone. A dozen still pictures showed on the monitor. One pictured Al Baghdadi.

  Water
s fired a missile. As the smoke cleared, the badly ripped truck appeared on the screen, engulfed in flames.

  “I just made twenty mil taking out Al Baghdadi. And you and your little girlfriend here are next!” he said, shoving my gun in my face, pressing it on my cheek. “I’ve looked forward to this since we were kids. I’m going to make you suffer before I kill you. I want the satisfaction of beating you to a pulp and then putting a bullet in your fucking head.

  “People used to look up to you and paid no attention to me,” he ranted. “But I was the one who opened holes in the line so you could run through. I was the hero of all those games! But the papers never mentioned that; they just lauded the farmer’s kid who ran through my holes in the line.

  “But all that’s changed. The paper, the town, the stockholders—they all adore me now. I’ll shoot you and your whore, the disgraced killer plastic surgeon and his accomplice. First, though, I’ll bash in your face. In self-defense, of course.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

  Drone Control Center

  3:10 pm

  I HAD TO KEEP him talking. I had to. “I have a couple of questions ... ”

  “Fuck you! I don’t have to answer any of your goddamn questions.”

  Waters’ face turned red and he bared his teeth as he shook my pistol in my face.

  “Herb, at least tell me what you think of my Browning.”

  Waters gathered his composure. He paused for a second, realizing he hadn’t actually looked at the gun since picking it up from the floor. He took that opportunity now. “Nice. Very nice. I’ll do you the honor of killing you with this exceptional handgun.”

  He chambered a fresh shell, purely for effect, and put the gun to my head.

  “What about Harris?” I asked, trying to buy time. “He’ll put you in jail for murder, in addition to all your other crimes.”

  Waters lowered the gun and laughed out loud. “You fool. You’re in over your head. Don’t you know Harris is dead? Actually, I sent Jefferson to kill him, but somebody else got him before he had a chance. Jefferson saw them carrying his headless body. Now, without you two to question the hospital sale, I can be rid of this place in a matter of months.”