“Our teams have searched the immediate neighborhood by vehicle and drones, covering nearly a half-square-mile area. Most houses do not have a garage, so they were able to do a reasonably thorough job, but we still have several dozen garages that we can’t access without risking more problems than we already have. It’s a heavily gang-infested area. Our stakeout cars have been harassed all day.”
“Couldn’t they have driven out of there and avoided the camera network?” said Franklin.
“Yes. That’s entirely possible. But the camera at Slauson caught something unusual,” said Quinn, briefly explaining the pickup truck that had lured away the LAPD Interceptor. “We’re looking into the possibility that the Sinaloa Cartel helped them disappear. Organized Crime Drug Enforcement Task Force intelligence reporting suggests a strong cartel presence in Los Angeles, and the traffic camera jamming trick is one of their signature moves.”
“The last thing we need is a confrontation with the cartel that draws the LAPD’s attention. As you can imagine, they’re on full alert after today’s events,” said Dalton.
“The last thing we need is Ryan Decker and his people running around!” said Allan Kline. “You need to double or triple the resources allocated to this and quit worrying about breaking a few more eggs. You already cracked a carton this morning.”
Kline was an Institute plank owner like herself, Vernon Franklin, and Abbott, but he was far from a coequal—mostly owing to a lack of spine when it came to making hard decisions or taking ownership of major Institute projects. Unless you counted deciding which million-dollar property to own next.
Quinn jumped in. Not to save her hide, but because he had the most experience when it came to Ryan Decker. In addition to shepherding EMERALD CITY—the billion-dollar-a-year marijuana-growing operation in Northern California that Decker had single-handedly destroyed last year—SOUTHERN CROSS had also been his idea. Fortunately for him, the board had insisted unanimously to sell SOUTHERN CROSS—a bold plan to destabilize the Sinaloan drug cartel and replace it with a more “business friendly” border cartel—to Harcourt for a percentage of the operation’s projected earnings.
The plan had an insanely lucrative upside, but the potential for political backlash if exposed was too high to be handled directly by APEX. It didn’t ultimately count against Quinn as a failure, because APEX had no immediate hand in the operation. SOUTHERN CROSS had failed because Harcourt had once again underestimated the damage Decker could inflict with Senator Steele’s backing—a mistake the Institute couldn’t afford to repeat.
“We could crack enough eggs to start an omelet buffet, and we’d still never find Decker,” said Quinn. “He’s gone. And so is his crew. They’ve honed this skill to perfection.”
“And now Steele is gone,” said Kline.
“Steele is a United States senator. She can’t stay away for long,” said Abbott. “She’s lying low, thinking this will all blow over, and she can come back to the bargaining table.”
“Can’t she?” said Dalton. “What’s the downside? SKYSTORM is intact, and now she knows for certain that we’re not messing around. We bring her back to the bargaining table and tell her that the bargain is we own her.”
“If any aspect of the Decker mission had succeeded, I’d say we could consider proceeding in that direction,” said Vernon Franklin, his palms pressed together under his jowly chin, as though he was about to add namaste to his statement. “But we’ve tipped our hand and come up short. We’re in no position to bargain. Quite the opposite, actually. Decker is a loaded weapon now, and we need to keep Steele’s finger off the trigger.”
“Steele doesn’t need Decker. Her mercenary crew is just as crafty and lethal,” said Quinn. “They ripped through some of our best people at Dalton’s town house.”
“Decker and his people tore the LA team apart in close combat,” said Franklin. “Don’t underestimate Decker. Especially now. You tried to kill his daughter.”
“Kidnap,” said Quinn. “For leverage.”
“I guarantee there’s no difference in his mind,” said Franklin.
Kline shook his head. “What exactly went wrong this morning? I thought the two of you had this under control!”
Typical Allan. Easily shakable in the face of—pretty much anything. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d offered the board anything more than his timid armchair quarterback skills or his twenty-twenty-hindsight vision. Maybe he’d always been this way, and they put up with it because of the money he’d invested in the Institute during its foundational years. She’d have to keep a close eye on Kline moving forward.
“We scrapped the original plan this morning, after shooting down the hostile surveillance aircraft,” said Quinn.
She couldn’t let Quinn fall on his own sword, even though she was pretty sure he planned to dodge the blade at the last moment.
“In retrospect, I jumped the gun this morning,” said Dalton. “We should have waited to see how Steele would react. Instead, I assumed that the downing of the surveillance aircraft would scare Decker into hiding. To your point, Allan, I was very aware that he’s the wild card in all of this. I thought our plan in Los Angeles was infallible, even when we pulled the trigger early.”
“It should have been,” said Quinn. “We drew a wild card.”
“Don’t we plan for wild cards anymore?” asked Kline.
“Two wild cards,” said Quinn. “The bodyguard assigned to Riley Decker proved exceptionally skilled. One woman held off three carloads of mercenaries until LAPD arrived.”
“One woman?” said Dalton.
“You know what I mean,” said Quinn. “Former Israeli commando. We knew she was good, but not that good.”
“What happened with Decker?” asked Sloane Pruitt. “Another woman?”
Quinn rolled his eyes. “No. One of Decker’s mercenary buddies showed up unexpectedly—at the absolute worst time.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t a coincidence,” said Pruitt.
“Maybe not. But he killed seven men in the span of thirty seconds. That came as a surprise to the on-scene leader,” said Quinn.
Dalton tried not to smile. Pruitt had a tendency to get under Quinn’s skin. This had the potential to get ugly fast.
“We didn’t use our own people, right?” said Pruitt.
“It wouldn’t have mattered,” said Quinn.
“Who did you use?” asked Donovan Mayhew.
Donovan was another second-guesser—second only to Kline.
“I sourced a team from an Athena Corp offshoot,” said Quinn. “In case it went sideways.”
“The leftovers from EMERALD CITY,” said Pruitt.
“Tier Two operators,” said Quinn.
“Enough. We can play the blame game all night. Time to fix the problem,” said Abbott. “I share Vernon’s opinion that we get rid of Senator Steele now and deal with Decker later. With Steele gone, we might even be able to negotiate a truce with Decker, so he can keep his daughter alive.”
“Maybe we could throw in college tuition to sweeten the deal,” said Franklin. “Listen to me closely. Please. Steele lied to us once. She’ll lie to us again. Simple as that. And Decker? He’s smart enough to know there’s only one way out of this for him—and his daughter. This is a two-headed snake. We have to cut off both heads the moment the opportunity arises.”
“Good point. I agree,” said Abbott. “I say we move on Steele and Decker at the first opportunity, in whatever order they appear.”
“I second that,” said Kline.
“I agree,” said Mayhew.
And on down the line until it came to Dalton, who had no intention of rocking this tippy boat.
“We’ll get it done,” said Dalton. “Until then, I strongly suggest we increase our security posture. Personal details should be augmented. Asset security enhanced. Steele’s new friends are gloves off, nasty. And we all know what Decker is capable of.”
“I’ll take care of those arrangements,” said Kline.
“Last order of business for tonight,” said Abbott. “SKYSTORM. Where do we stand?”
“The surveillance aircraft didn’t get close enough to the site to capture imagery,” said Quinn. “But in light of the extreme and necessary measures taken, we have to assume that another attempt will be made—sooner than later. I recommend packing up and shipping the entire operation to site B.”
“Which should have been site A from the start,” said Kline. “I knew this would come back to bite us. SKYSTORM is the apex—pun intended—of illegality.”
“We’ve been through this already,” said Quinn. “Starting from the ground up in Bulgaria would have been a logistical nightmare on every level. We’re far enough along to shift production with minimal hiccups.”
Kline started to say something, but Abbott cut him off.
“How long will it take to clear the site?”
“A week, maybe five days, if we work nonstop,” said Quinn. “Another week to load it on the ship in Houston.”
“Start immediately,” said Abbott. “I want that site clean when Senator Steele’s cowboys ride in. SKYSTORM could bring the roof down on our heads.”
Abbott wasn’t kidding. Not only did SKYSTORM’s heavily armed, civilian-converted aircraft violate just about every international and US State Department arms-trafficking law imaginable, the project’s end user, the Russian Federation, planned to use the aircraft against Ukrainian forces in the Donbass region. If exposed, SKYSTORM could land them in front of a federal firing squad—for treason.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Decker reclined in a folding camp chair at the edge of a sparse tree line, taking in the pristine mountain air while casually scanning the farthest visible traces of the dirt road that weaved through the vast bush-strewn valley. The hard-packed jeep trail, which had been more than sufficient to convey their RVs, connected with Dyerville Loop Road about a mile away, just out of sight beyond a flattened rise.
Sheriff Long’s contact, who wore a bandanna and sunglasses to conceal his identity, despite having driven up to meet them sans costume, had come through with a solid location that met most of their requirements. Decker would have preferred something a little more sheltered by the mountain, but “Cush” had convinced him otherwise.
He pointed out that the only route that could support the RVs took them straight through the middle of town before branching off and following the Eel River. Cush was afraid people “would talk,” which was all Decker needed to hear. He knew their presence wouldn’t be a secret, but he could sense a real apprehension about taking them “straight down Main Street,” even if Alderpoint’s Main Street consisted of a general store no bigger than a 7-Eleven, a bi-level converted into a church, and a dozen or so homes with more NO TRESPASSING signs than windows.
Instead, Cush took them around the western side of the mountain, along “the loop,” where he sold them on a less insulated but infinitely more private property along Steelhead Creek. He’d stopped their convoy after turning off the paved road, gesturing all around them, repeating “nobody” every time he changed direction. Decker still wasn’t sure, especially with a wide-open road so close, but his opinion shifted toward approval the moment they entered these trees. A half mile later, when they reached a compact, protected meadow adjacent to a lively, rock-strewn creek, he was entirely sold.
Tucked out of sight, the field gave them plenty of room to spread out. Security was manageable with a single lookout and a radio. Even in the dead of night, they should be able to spot a vehicle running with its lights out from a quarter mile away. Far enough away to warn the camp and run the spike strip across the road, buying everyone more than enough time to slip across the creek and melt into the woods. Sheriff Long had graciously provided them with the spike strip.
He felt as secure as possible under the circumstances. Only a scoped, semiautomatic long rifle would make him feel safer, and a few of those would arrive tomorrow morning with the Pierce family. They’d decided against bringing the Pierces into the camp at night, not wanting to draw attention to their location with headlights. Brad and his family were tucked away at a motel that would take cash, somewhere in Red Bluff, about three hours away.
A faint, out-of-place sound told Decker to look over his shoulder. His dad trudged down the dirt road, carrying a backpack over his shoulder and a folded camp chair in one of his hands. He checked the time. Even if Steven had swapped duty with Pam, Decker still had another fifteen minutes to go. He nodded at his dad, happy to have the company.
“Senior citizens are exempt from sentry duty,” he said, when Steven got close enough.
“Fine,” he said, taking the backpack off his shoulder. “I’ll just take these beers with me back to camp.”
“I’m happy to make an exception,” said Decker. “Just this one time.”
“You’re damn right,” said Steven, before setting up his chair next to Decker’s.
His dad removed two perspiring cans of some kind of California-brewed IPA, and they cracked them open at the same time.
“Cheers,” said Steven, clinking his can.
“Cheers.”
The beverage went down smoothly, leaving him with half a can before he lowered it. His dad finished a similarly long drink.
“That hit the spot.”
“Dangerous,” said Decker. “I could drink three of these without thinking.”
“That’s why I only brought out two for each of us. Pam said they were good. She was right.”
“Did you take Pam’s spot on the watch rotation?” asked Decker. “I’ll keep you company if you did. It’s starting to get dark.”
“You think your old man is afraid of the dark?”
“Yep. That and your eyesight,” said Decker. “Mom said you’re nearly blind as a bat and still won’t get checked out.”
“I don’t need glasses. I can see perfectly fine. Day or night.”
“Uh-huh,” said Decker, before taking another sip.
He already felt a little light-headed from the beer.
“Either way, I’ll stick around,” said Decker. “Might be a bear or two wandering around. Better two of us than one.”
“Pam’s still coming. I just wanted to talk to you about something without the audience,” said Steven, finishing the rest of his beer.
“Yeah. I think I know what’s on your mind,” he said, crumpling his can. “Round two?”
“Pam won’t be happy to find two half-drunk Marines out here.”
“Pam won’t be happy no matter what I do,” said Decker.
“How about we save round two for the walk back.”
“Wise decision. This is going straight to my head,” said Decker, pausing. “I know this isn’t fair to Riley, or to you and Mom.”
“It’s not exactly what we had in mind for retirement,” said his dad. “Riley is an amazing young woman. We’ve cherished this time with her, despite the tragic circumstances, but we want a real life for her. I mean, her life will never be entirely normal.”
“Don’t say that,” said Decker, tears welling up.
“It is what it is. Was what it was. Whatever. Nothing can change what happened or bring back what was taken away from her,” he said. “But this whole situation is entirely different. We were leery of bringing her to Los Angeles but thought it was the right thing to do. Now? I’m glad we came, or frankly, we’d probably be dead, but I don’t see a future for Riley in an environment where the only thing standing between her and a bullet is an Israeli commando.”
“I know. That’s not the future I want for her, either,” said Decker. “I’ll have to see this one through to the end. I don’t see any other way.”
Steven Decker, a decorated Marine and veteran of the later years of the Vietnam War, looked uncharacteristically distraught by his pronouncement. He hadn’t broadcast it across his face. That wasn’t his style. The small tells were what betrayed the we
athered Marine’s face.
“You don’t have to embark on a suicide mission. But you can’t have it both ways.”
“What do you mean?”
“Which part?” said his dad.
“The ‘both ways’ part,” said Decker, though he was pretty sure he understood.
“You certainly can’t live in the open with an organization like APEX breathing down your neck,” said Steven. “What happened yesterday was inevitable. I kick myself for not seeing it. I mean, I did. But I was in denial. Same with your mother. We wanted things to be normal for you and your daughter. I just don’t see how that will ever be possible with this monkey on our backs.”
“That’s why I have to end this, one way or the other.”
“Or we vanish. I’m not very big on retreating, but even if we couldn’t stay hidden forever, it would show APEX that we’re no longer a threat,” said his dad. “A retired Ryan Decker should ease their concerns.”
“I tried that. They had absolutely no tactical or strategic reason to go after us the way they did,” said Decker. “Steele purposely kept me in the dark about her latest investigation. Right or wrong.”
“I’d say it was wrong.”
Decker shrugged. “I can’t say I disagree. Knowing that she was still poking that hornet’s nest would have changed things. Either way, APEX went after us because they had a score to settle, and Steele gave them a convenient excuse. It doesn’t matter where we go or how high we fly the white flag. All they have to do is keep the twenty-million-dollar bounty on my head active, and we have the same problem. We’ll be sleeping with one eye open. They could drop it to one million with the same result.”
“We have to protect Riley. And your mother. I hate to say this, but we might have to go our separate ways until you straighten this out.”
“That’s my only mission right now. To straighten this out,” said Decker.
“What about Harlow?”
“The same. I got all of you into this—it’s my job to get you out.”
Skystorm (Ryan Decker) Page 14