by Jim Heskett
Layne could hear the water running in the background. “It’s late, Cam. I didn’t even know you knew how to unlock Mommy’s phone.”
Inessa appeared at the edge of the screen. “I unlocked for her.”
“Why is bath time starting now?”
“You take off suddenly, this is what you get. I have a life too, you know.”
“I know, I know. This is important.”
“It’s always important,” Inessa said, sneering, before she disappeared from the frame.
“Where are you, Daddy?” Cameron asked.
“I’m in the desert.”
“You’re getting dessert? Can I have ice cream? I can stay up if you bring it to me. Please?”
Layne’s heart ached, and he tapped his teeth together a few times. “No, honey, I’m not going to be there tonight. You'll stay with Mommy for a few days. But I’m going to see you really soon, okay? Sooner than you think.”
Cameron pouted, sticking out her lower lip. That was something she had apparently learned recently. The lower lip maneuver. “Why did you go?”
“Daddy’s friend needs help. I had to go on a trip to help him.”
“Is your friend in trouble?”
“Yes, he’s in trouble. I’m the only one who can help him.”
“Oh, okay.” She turned away, then turned back. “Mommy says bath time is ready.”
“Okay, Cam, I love—”
But the call ended, and Layne’s screen locked again, displaying a picture of the mountains from the back porch of his cabin in South Fork. He normally used a pic of Cameron as his phone’s lock screen wallpaper, but not when on an operation. Too dangerous. He wouldn’t bring his personal phone if he didn’t have to be ready to receive calls from Inessa.
His ex-wife knew he still did occasional tasks related to his old line of work, but he told her as little as possible.
Layne cleared his throat and shoved his phone in his pocket. When he stepped out of the car, that cold and dry air gave him a quick shudder. He didn’t normally like to wear jackets, but the air here had a strange quality to it. Crisp.
The front door of the bungalow nearest to the office opened. A man in a stained white shirt stepped out, making venomous eyes back into the room. “I said I’ll get the damn ice.”
“You forgot the bucket, you idiot,” said an annoyed female voice from inside the room.
The man glared, then he stomped back into the room. He returned a moment later with the bucket in tow. With one hand, he offered a middle finger to the woman in the room, then he used the hand holding the bucket to slam the door shut. His slippers shuffled against the sidewalk outside the room as he slinked away.
The guy noticed Layne and tossed a smirk at him. “What are you looking at, asshole?”
Layne shrugged. “Nothing, man.”
“Then why don’t you mind your own business?”
The man took a few steps toward Layne, who hovered in the shadow of the awning of the Inn. Layne also stepped forward, into the light. The guy then got a look at Layne, who had six inches on him.
“It’s not me you’re mad at,” Layne said. “So, I think you should go get the ice and don’t worry about me.”
The guy’s mouth opened for a second as if considering a reply. But, wisely, he opted not to say anything. Layne watched him stomp away.
Once the guy had rounded the corner of the next building, Layne walked in the front door of the Red Rock Inn and paused. It wasn’t just the quality of the air out here. Something didn’t feel right. Like eyes on him.
He spotted the counter. A sleepy-eyed young white girl stood there, in a burgundy uniform. The long lashes on her eyes batted a few times as she waited for Layne to approach.
“Can I help you?” asked the young woman. She tossed a big grin up at him, a little flirty twinkle in her eyes.
“I need a room. Number 14, specifically.”
She gave him an eye for a moment, but then returned to clacking on a mechanical keyboard. “Yes, we have 14 available. How many nights?”
“Three, to start,” he said. If he couldn’t find Harry within three days, then Layne probably would never find him.
“Business, or pleasure?” she asked.
“Just business,” he said. She lingered for a moment, perhaps hoping he would say more. When he didn’t add anything, she resumed typing.
The woman processed his paperwork, and Layne paid with cash. He used the name Laurence Primrose and had all the proper documentation to back up his claim. Within five minutes, he was walking out the door with a couple of keycards in hand.
The guy in the stained t-shirt wandered back along the sidewalk, a bucket of ice in hand. He tossed a sneer at Layne as he opened his door and returned with the ice. Layne could hear them arguing as the door shut behind him.
Once again, the parking lot became quiet. And now, Layne could definitely feel eyes on him, from somewhere in the dark.
INTERLUDE #1
Littlefield, TX | Eight years ago
Layne opens the trunk and removes the last suitcase. This one is heavy. Heavier than the others, and for a good reason. As he sets it on the ground and checks the parking lot, something doesn’t feel right. Maybe it’s the contents of the suitcase, or maybe it’s the flat land allowing him to see for dozens of miles in any direction. Maybe it’s the stifling heat and humidity of this little Texas town, half an hour north of Lubbock. He and Juliana flew into Lubbock this morning. If that had been their destination for this op, Layne would be fine with it. But Littlefield is a tiny cotton-farming town. A place like this, people notice things that aren’t supposed to be here.
Among the grain silos and telephone poles are people. Locals. Watching, noticing. Layne and Juliana don’t dress like the big city folk or anything like that. They won’t walk around with high-brow takeout coffees or drive a car that costs more than the average price of a Littlefield home. But, they’ll still stand out.
Hopefully, this operation will be over within a day. How long can it take to find and recover stolen property in a town of this size?
Recover the property and assassinate the target. Two objectives which should be accomplished within seconds of each other.
Layne puts the suitcase back and closes the trunk. Hands in his pockets, he takes a lazy loop around the parking lot of the Super 8, checking the motel room windows on the first floor. Only a few with lights on, all of them with shades drawn. Not any revealing a wide-open view inside. But, he doesn’t need that. He’s looking for a pair of eyes peeking out of a corner, and he doesn’t see any. Nothing too much out of the ordinary at all, actually. But, it pays to be paranoid.
Sighing, he considers ascending the outdoor stairs to check out the second-floor windows, but that might be a little too obvious. It’s probably fine.
Layne returns to the car and opens the trunk again. He hefts the suitcase and keeps his head swiveling as he crosses the parking lot, toward the room he’s sharing with Juliana. His chest pounds, and he feels short of breath. But that’s not only the mission stress. That’s the lack of cigarettes. Layne hasn’t smoked one in twelve days.
People told him all kinds of things when he set a date to quit and then kept it. They told him after three days, he would be fine. Or, six days, or nine. They told him the second month would be the worst. They told him it would come and go, but would gradually improve after a week. Mornings are the worst, evenings are the worst, after meals are the worst. Layne doesn’t know which of those pieces of advice are true. He only knows the nicotine gum and lozenges don’t remove his desire to strangle anyone who looks at him funny.
Layne opens the door to room 108 to find Juliana arranging the other three suitcases on one of the double beds. He points at the other bed, the one where Juliana has already set her personal suitcase. “I assume that’s where you’re sleeping?”
She nods at him.
“And that bed is for the mission essentials?” When she nods again, he says, “And where do I sleep
?”
Juliana shrugs. “That’s not my problem.”
He sighs, she cackles and then goes back to checking the inventory sheet for the suitcases. It's all here. He drops his on the bed, next to the other three. He takes the paperback of A Dance With Dragons and sets it on the nightstand.
Juliana Dewalt is a solid 5’9”, taut, and amber-headed. About thirty years old, but Layne doesn’t know for sure, and he knows better than to ask. Light brown freckles dot her nose and cheeks.
“That’s your entertainment?” she asks as she eyes the book.
He nods. “George R.R. Martin is one of my favorites. I’ve only read this one once.”
She reaches into a carryon bag and draws out a cluster of tiny liquor bottles, then she tosses them on the bed. “Here’s mine.”
“Did you steal those from the airplane’s beverage cart?”
“Yes,” she says, with a devious giggle. When he frowns at her, Jules pouts. “Oh, come on, Boy Scout. It’s only a little bit of fun.”
“You’re crazy.”
“You’re just mad you didn’t catch me in the act of stealing them.”
“That’s true. I have no idea how you did it without me noticing.”
She holds her hands up and twirls her fingers. “Magic hands. Just be glad I’ve chosen to use them for good. Most of the time, I mean.”
Layne gives her a courtesy chuckle as he drops his wallet and the rental car keys on the dresser. “That’s one point of view.”
Jules tilts her head back and forth as she pops open a tiny bottle of bourbon and sips from it. “One man’s trash,” she says and passes him the bottle.
He waves it off. She does things like this from time to time, and it’s mostly harmless. He knows she’s an excellent shadow. She’s only been back on the team for six months or so after a brief sabbatical. Daphne recruited her from the DEA, and her experience in that realm could come in handy if their intel on this operation is solid.
It’s never solid, but hopefully, it’s good enough to keep them both alive long enough to recover the government’s stolen property. They’ll both need to be at the top of their game since they’re on this operation with no support. None of their operations are ever officially sanctioned by the government, but this one is even a secret to most in Washington.
Juliana opens the first suitcase as she downs the contents of another bottle and takes the inventory sheet. Inside are four Glock G30SF pistols and six boxes of ammo. Layne has opted to leave his favorite tool, a Colt Peacemaker, at home in Colorado. Too much of a hassle to figure out a way to transport it. These suitcases were left for them inside an abandoned barn about five miles outside of town.
The next suitcase contains their ceramic-plated body armor and helmets. The next contains four Mossberg 500 .410 pistol grip shotguns and multiple boxes of shells. Layne doesn’t know how many boxes, but Juliana is comparing them against the inventory list.
The heavy suitcase contains their most precious items, the air-gapped laptops and surveillance gear. The secrecy of this mission means they can’t leave behind any records of accessing satellite feeds.
With everything spread out on the bed, a swell of pride and fear runs through Layne. Pride about what they’re here to do. It’s a good thing, recovering government property and eliminating a dangerous enemy of the United States. And also, fear about what they’re here to do. The fact that Control thinks they need this sort of weaponry means they haven’t been told the whole story.
“What?” Juliana asks.
“It’s a lot.”
She nods. “Yeah.”
“Why are we the only two people here? Why is it even other people on the team don’t know about this op?”
“I was going to ask you those questions.”
“Do you trust Daphne?”
Layne tugs on his lower lip, chest sizzling with the desire for a cigarette. “Most of the time, no.”
“Me neither. But I do believe she knows what she’s doing. She gets results, no matter how many eggs she has to break.”
Layne crosses the room and lifts a complimentary bottled water sitting on the air conditioner below the front window. He opens the curtain and takes a peek outside. Still nothing for a dozen miles in any direction. A water tower looms over the town, ominous and foreboding. “This has to stay small and quiet, apparently. But, I would feel better if we knew where the document was, or even the real name of the person who had it.”
“This is what we do, Boy Scout. This is why Control picked us for this operation.”
“I know,” he says, chest thumping, the yearning to smoke overpowering him. “But, that doesn’t mean we’re going to leave Texas alive.”
8
Layne ate his breakfast burrito at the little restaurant attached to the Red Rock Inn. He stared out the window at the cars cruising up Highway 179, the high desert trees swaying in the breeze. Against a line of orange and white trapezoidal rock spires, a blue sky contained a single cloud, ambling along at a lazy pace.
Layne sipped his coffee and set the burrito down. Too much hot sauce and not enough cheese. As he listened to the sounds of other customers eating breakfast and waitstaff shuffling across the carpet, he tried to plan. He had to do it all in his head. Unlike on the plane where he felt comfortable enough to look at clandestine documents, he did not feel that same level of safety here. He didn’t feel the direct eyes on him this morning as he had last night, but enough of a paranoia hangover lingered that he didn’t want to risk it. He’d spent time studying every single person in this restaurant. None of them seemed like a threat, but no sense in being foolish.
Maybe, though, the best thing to do would be to draw out whoever had eyes on him.
Layne didn’t have many options when it came to next steps. He wasn’t even at square one, more like square zero. Harry’s message had indicated he was here, in Sedona. But Layne didn’t have much to go on aside from years of honed instinct. If Harry were truly in this town, Layne would find him.
His captor would need help, and that meant employees or henchmen. Layne would get to them via local criminals. Gangs, mob, loosely connected organizations. Someone around here knew something, and Layne had to turn over the right rock to lead him to the right place.
When in doubt, you rub mud all over yourself and see what sort of flies appear.
Across the restaurant, a woman sat with her preschooler child. She was staring at her phone while the little boy played with the white, pink, and yellow sweetener packets. He collected them into a pile and then passed them, one by one, over to his mother. Then, he took them all away and repeated his process. The mother never stopped looking at her phone, even when the boy tried to talk to her. Layne knew he was guilty of spending a little too much time not paying attention to his daughter when she was around. But, seeing another person do it gave him a shot in the guilt motivator.
He dropped a twenty dollar bill on the table and nestled an Arizona Cardinals baseball cap onto his head. He popped in a nicotine lozenge, his first of the day. That sweet relief flooded his mouth, making him salivate.
He returned to his room and shut the door behind him. In the stillness, he checked around, trying to think where it could be. His investigation first took him to the most obvious place, underneath the toilet lid, but there was nothing taped there. The emptiness surprised him. He checked below the bathroom sink, but it wasn’t hidden there, either.
“Okay,” he said to the room, “where are you?”
Layne took a small multi-tool from his pocket and set to work removing the little screws at the corners of the air vent. Once all four had popped off, he shined his phone’s light inside, but there was nothing except for a dusty duct.
Next, he checked behind the artwork, but both of the paintings were bolted to the wall. Why was she making this so hard for him?
Nothing behind the dresser or hidden in the light fixture. No joy with searches of both the beds, either. Nothing taped to the frame or under the mattress
es. If it had been sewn into one of them, he didn’t notice any odd stitching, and he wasn’t going to take apart the mattresses just to look.
Standing in the middle of the room, hands on his hips, he turned, eyes sweeping the room. And then, something finally stuck out to him. The wall unit air conditioner underneath the window. He’d dismissed it because it seemed a little too slim. But, his present had to be there.
With his multi-tool, he removed the outside plate. And there, taped to the thin metal was an FN Five-SeveN pistol. He smiled. An excellent choice because of the low recoil and high-capacity magazine. Boxes of ammo lined the bottom of the air conditioner, neatly packed in a little row. It looked like enough rounds to take on a small army which he hoped he would not have to do.
He scooped everything up and then unlocked his phone to place a call to Daphne.
“Good morning,” she said. “Did you find the gift I left for you in room 14?”
“That’s why I’m calling. Yes, I found it. Eventually.”
She chuckled. “I didn’t want to make it too easy. It’s like riding a bike, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need practice from time to time. How is everything so far?”
“Hard to say. I just arrived, but I don’t have any leads. I’m going to try to chase down the criminal element in town.”
“Always a good place to start.”
“I had another question for you. A favor, actually.”
Daphne cooed. “I love it when you’re in my debt. What can I do for you?”
“The satellite photos of the area. Can you check them again? Maybe order some new ones?”
“That might take a few days, but I can try. Why do you ask?”
“Everything feels too clean in what you gave me. Maybe we missed something.”
“I’ll see what I can do. It’s probably best if we don’t talk on the phone while you’re there. Let’s keep our touches minimal, okay?”
“Understood, Control.”