by Jordan Dane
Earl Taggart, former Texas Ranger, owned a ranch near Eagle Rock and had been a family friend ever since Hank could remember. Earl’s pleas for help replayed in his head.
“I can’t intervene in a police investigation, Earl.”
“I’m not asking you to, Hank, just look into this kid’s disappearance. Somethin’ ain’t right about it, is all. Talk to his best friend, Zach Upton. He’s a good kid. You’ll see.”
Earl told him about a young man, Ichiro Tanaka, who had disappeared from Chaps bar in Helena, Montana. The kid wandered out the door for fresh air and never came back. After the guy’s best friend reported him missing to police, they found evidence of a fight down the block—blood on a railroad memorial.
Although the blood was determined to be human, it would take time for DNA tests to be run to confirm the evidence sample belonged to Tanaka. The first forty-eight hours were critical in an investigation, but it had been days since the kid went missing. The trail would be cold now.
Hank slumped into a wooden rocking chair on his porch and mulled over his situation.
He’d started Brotherhood Protectors to marry up the expertise of highly skilled, former military personnel, with the growing needs of his rich clientele who could use bodyguards or added security know how. He had no intention of branching out into investigative work, but he had a hard time refusing a man he respected and had known his whole life.
That said it all. Hank wouldn’t refuse a friend. He’d made up his mind.
He reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved his cell phone. Only one of his contacts had the skills to pull off a search for a missing person, or know someone who could—Molly Greenbriar, an FBI undercover agent. She’d taken on an ISIS terrorist cell operating in the mountains of Montana and shut them down with the help of his team. Hank wouldn’t trust anyone with Earl’s case who wasn’t top notch.
He looked up her number and made the call. She answered on the second ring.
“Hey, Molly, this is Hank. I have a situation. We need to talk.”
After Hank shared what he knew, Molly expressed her concerns.
“I’m working a case that’s too high-profile for me to hand off to someone else. I wish I could help,” she said. “Let me see if anyone at the federal level is on this.”
Hank heard the sound of Molly keying information into her computer. He paced his porch until he noticed an eagle soaring across the clouds. The supreme solitude of the majestic bird, the symbol of America, made him envious of its freedom and calmed his restlessness, enough for him to stop pacing.
“No one at the federal level is looking into this case. If the kid is Asian, do you think it could be a hate crime?”
“I don’t know, Molly. Good question. What do you suggest?”
She sighed.
“Local LEOs don’t like armchair quarterbacks second-guessing their game plan, but I may have a name for you. This guy is former CIA, a real loner. He quit the life after his family was murdered, his wife and child. The only reason I thought of him is because his name came up recently in a drug cartel investigation in El Paso. I’d like to think he’s working for the good guys, but he could be a mercenary for hire.”
Hank didn’t like the sound of that, but he had faith in Molly.
“His name is Mercer Broderick. I wouldn’t give you his name if I didn’t believe he could help you, Hank. If it’s okay with you, I’ll make the call. If he can take on your missing person case, I’ll have him contact you. Sound fair?”
“Yeah, sure. Thanks, Molly.”
Hank didn’t have a choice. He trusted Molly, but as he ended the call, he squinted into the sky with an uneasy feeling. Like a ghost, the eagle had vanished.
Chapter 2
Laramie Mountains, Wyoming
Zion War Room
Morning
No one spoke and all eyes were on Mercer Broderick in the dimly lit bunker.
His tactical team gathered for a special briefing in the war room, an underground bunker in Zion. The fortified compound situated in the Laramie Mountains had been built by the Alliance, a secret coalition of international benefactors who believed in vigilante justice. The bunker—accessible only by optical scanner—served as a strategy and operations room, as well as a panic room if Zion came under attack. Food, water, a weapons cache, and other provisions were stored in concealed chambers.
“Special Agent Molly Greenbriar asked for our help. We don’t normally take our leads from the FBI, but something interesting has turned up.” Mercer nodded toward Nilah Rolstad, his computer genius and white hat hacker.
“Show them what you’ve found, Nilah.”
She grabbed a remote and stood.
“This started as a missing person case,” she said. “Let’s start there.”
Nilah clicked a control switch and pulled up holographic images of a young Asian man. His face hovered over the high-tech conference room table, in front of Mercer’s team
“Meet Ichiro Tanaka.”
Nilah began with a concise background on Tanaka and ended with the details of his alleged abduction.
“It’s only been a few days. Why are we stepping in this early? What are the locals doing about his disappearance?” Stetson Debenham asked, Mercer’s number two man.
“Those are good questions, but let’s hold off until Nilah is done. You’ll see why.” Mercer nudged his chin to prod Nilah into continuing.
“From what witnesses told police, Tanaka could’ve been the target of a hate crime. At least, that’s what made me search for more cases like his in the region.”
“What did you find out, Nilah?” High-tech security man, Maddix McLeish, sat up in his chair with his arm in a sling, an injury from another mission. Across the table, Ciara Flowers, Mercer’s weapons expert, did the same.
“Hate crimes toward Asians? Shocker.” Bodyguard Keiko Kayakova, a product of her Japanese mother and Russian father, half-rolled her blue eyes and propped her elbows onto the table. “You have my attention.”
Nilah brought up another holographic image of the Montana region.
“This is where Tanaka was last seen,” she said.
The pinpoint of a red laser dot projected onto the map graphic.
“I became curious if there were other cases with similarities to Tanaka’s, possible hate crimes that appeared to target minorities.” Nilah shared her search criteria, giving them a sample victim profile. “This is what I found.”
With another click of her remote, more than a dozen red laser dots joined Tanaka’s marker.
“Damn, girl.” Stetson grimaced. “You turned up a rock. What the hell is going on?”
Even Mercer’s search dog, Karl, a black Tibetan Mastiff, reacted to the lights. The beast whined and yelped as he sat in the chair next to Mercer. Normally the dog’s drooping eyes and calm demeanor made him look as if he had a wise and ancient human spirit dwelling inside, staring out through a glorious mane of dark fur.
Karl looked anxious and ready to do his job.
“Every one of these red dots represents cases eerily similar to Tanaka, right down to the ages of the victims. Plus, most of them are full or part-time young minority students.” Nilah shook her head with a grim expression. “I couldn’t ignore the coincidences. The results are disturbing.”
“How sure are you of your intel?” Mercer asked. “Are these people still missing? Did you check with local hospitals?”
Nilah Rolstad nodded and said, “It’s solid. I accessed police reports, along with news coverage to confirm details. The fourteen victims are still missing. None of them have turned up at area hospitals. I confirmed that with the police over the phone. Tanaka may be only the tip of a mighty big iceberg, Mercer.”
“If these are hate crimes, we could be looking at body recovery, rather than a rescue mission,” Mercer said. “We should be prepared for the worst.”
He flashed on digital images he had seen of a crime years ago, where his beloved wife and child had been brutally ki
lled. Mercer couldn’t block the haunting rush of the carnage. The horror still plagued his restless sleep.
Mercer tensed his jaw as questions spiraled through his mind. Why target innocent kids at this age, with most being students? Who would be organized to do such an operation on a mass scale and under the radar of local and federal law enforcement? To what end?
“Good work, Nilah. I want full details on the others, just like you did for Tanaka.”
“You got it,” she said.
“Pack your gear. I want boots on the ground. Sorry, Maddix. You’re grounded until you’re 100%. Keep Nilah company until you mend.” Ignoring Maddix’s grimace, Mercer fixed his fierce blue eyes on every team member. “We have a new mission.”
***
Helena, Montana
Hours later
After Mercer’s team landed on the tarmac of Helena Regional Airport and pulled the Alliance’s Learjet 60 up to a private hanger, Mercer and his team disembarked and unloaded their gear. Nilah had arranged for two Lincoln Navigators for ground transport and the vehicles were parked in front of the hanger office.
“Keiko and I will head to the local police,” Mercer told his team. “Check us into the motel Nilah arranged. We’ll meet at Chaps bar, where it all started for Tanaka, as soon as we’re done.”
“You got it, jefe.” Stetson claimed one of the Navigators and loaded gear with Ciara helping. “Let’s get to work. We’re squanderin’ daylight.”
“I’ll drive.” Keiko headed for the second SUV, popping the wad of gun she had in her mouth. “Shoot me the address so I can key it into GPS.”
Mercer did as commanded after he climbed into the passenger seat. Within minutes, Keiko had found the police department, located on Breckenridge Street. It gave Mercer enough time to read through the personnel file Nilah had prepared and catch the highlights.
Chief Craig Myerson had been commander in charge of the Criminal Investigations Division in Helena, Montana for over twenty years, a distinguished career in service to his community. He donated his time to coach little league and volunteered at his church.
Mercer and Keiko entered police headquarters and located the man’s office. The pungent stench of burned coffee lingered in the air, from a pot left on a burner too long. Keiko chewed her gum and perused the bulletins and ‘Wanted’ notices on a corkboard down a hallway. She didn’t like sitting.
Chief Myerson had a corner office with a decent view of the mountains. After Mercer checked in with the man’s gate keeper, Belinda Reynolds, she asked him to wait. The older woman smiled and pointed to chairs down a nearby corridor.
Myerson made them wait over forty minutes. If the man wanted to send a message on who would be in charge, message received.
“Come on in, have a seat.” Chief Myerson didn’t offer them coffee and closed his office door to give them privacy. “What can I do for you? You told my secretary that you were here to ask about the Tanaka case?”
“Yes, sir. I wanted to see if there’s been any progress.” Mercer sat in the chair in front of the Chief’s desk.
Keiko stood and wandered toward a display of baseball team photos and award plaques. Chief Myerson’s eyes followed her as she moved.
“What’s your interest?” Myerson asked.
Mercer didn’t hesitate.
“The family asked us to look into it.”
Myerson shifted his gaze toward Mercer and smirked.
“That boy’s family is in Japan. Try again.”
The Chief didn’t waste any time erecting a barrier. Mercer had hoped for cooperation, but had prepared for resistance.
“There’s no need for hostility, Chief. We’re on the same side, looking for answers.”
The man pursed his lips and let silence build an obstacle between them.
“Do you see this as a hate crime?” Mercer had to know where the man stood.
Myerson rendered his practiced glare.
“You want to turn this into a political circus, outsider? I won’t have you people tarnishing my town with your lies.”
“I’m only asking a question, Chief. If this is a hate crime, would you investigate it that way or cover it up?”
“That’s none of your business. My detectives are doing their jobs and that’s all you need to know. I don’t want a slick interloper coming in here to interfere with my men or jeopardize our case for prosecution. Before you make a move, you’ll run everything through me. Is that clear?”
A man conditioned to getting his way, Chief Myerson slouched back in his chair and narrowed his eyes, daring him to contradict his edict.
Mercer only smiled.
“I came here as a courtesy. I’ll keep you informed of our progress as I see fit. Any arrest is yours and it’ll be up to you. We’re here to give the family, and their friends, some peace of mind. We’re here for answers.”
The Chief’s skin flushed red and his jaw tensed. He leaned forward and his chair squeaked from the strain.
“If I catch you sniffing around this investigation, dogging my men for clues, I’ll arrest you for obstruction.”
When Myerson’s eyes shifted to Keiko, she blew a bubble with her gum and popped it with deadpan earnestness. The man grimaced.
“If my people have to ‘dog’ your men for clues, I’ll fire them myself,” Mercer said and he stood. “You won’t catch us obstructing your investigation. I think we have an understanding.”
Keyword, catch. Mercer didn’t see any benefit to more face time with a man dead set on doing things his way. He opened Myerson’s office door and waved Keiko through the threshold. When they got outside police headquarters, Keiko was the first to speak.
“That went well.”
“Yeah, I thought so.”
***
Chaps Beer Parlor
Late afternoon
“I could eat. No lie.” Stetson held the door open as Mercer and his team stepped inside the bar. “El jefe’s buying.”
He winked at Keiko, but she ignored him. The smell of fried food and beer hit her nose before she stepped into the shadowy establishment. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, with punches of neon for atmosphere, Keiko stopped near the entrance.
“Order me a salad…and make sure they don’t fry it,” she said to Ciara.
Keiko backed into the door and shoved through it, squinting in the onslaught of the afternoon sun. Before she headed down the street toward the park where Tanaka had been abducted, Keiko heard Ciara call to her.
“Hey, where are you going?”
Keiko glanced over her shoulder, but she didn’t stop.
“I’m curious about where they found Tanaka’s blood,” she said. “Tell Mercer I’ll be back.”
She turned and fixed her pale blue eyes toward the park with its train memorial. Her long dark hair wafted in the breeze as she picked up her pace.
From the moment Nilah had mentioned Ichiro Tanaka’s name, Keiko felt a deep connection to Tanaka as if she knew him. Had it been something in his name? She did not know. Perhaps it had been that she understood what it meant to be a minority in America.
The day she’d met Mercer, and their lives became woven into an intricate tapestry, had been a most fortuitous circumstance. It changed her life forever, although she did not have a crystal ball to determine if the outcome would ultimately be for the good or bad.
Her instincts demanded she inspect the scene where Tanaka had been taken on her own. She couldn’t explain why.
As she approached the black train engine, situated on a cement pad with its historical plaque, she opened her mind to imagining Tanaka as he drew near the memorial at night, alone. Her fingers traced the handrails into the engine compartment, but before she took the first step up, she spied a dark stain on the cement. It had to be blood. She knelt by the spatter marks and touched it with her fingertips before shutting her eyes tight.
She steadied her breathing and let her mind wander, picturing Tanaka. Keiko stifled her emotion, as her Russian father had
taught her to do in order to remain objective, but when she opened her eyes again—she saw a quick movement in the trees to her right.
A man’s face.
Slowly she stood and reached for her weapon. Holding her Beretta 92FS in a two-handed grip, she shuffled toward a dark tree line and crept into the shadows. A man’s silhouette dashed through the murky gloom until she couldn’t see him. Keiko filled her lungs and let her breath out slow, to calm the steady beat of her heart.
When she heard a strange hiss, she followed the sound.
Up ahead, a heaping pile of cardboard boxes were strung together, positioned under a large Ponderosa Pine. When the flimsy walls moved, Keiko knew the hiss she’d heard before had been the man sliding through his makeshift dwelling. From the looks of it, he hadn’t constructed it overnight. Odds were good that the man had been here when Tanaka had been taken, and as curious as he’d been with her, he might’ve seen something from his hiding spot in the trees.
She inched closer. The body odor and foul smells coming through the opening to his cardboard tent made Keiko’s eyes water.
“I need to talk to you. Come out where I can see you,” she said. “Don’t make me come in there.”
She gripped her Beretta and braced for the man to come at her with a knife or hurl his body from his crude abode with a surprise attack. When she saw him crawl toward the opening and peer from the deepening shadows, she matched his stare and didn’t turn away.
Keiko lowered her gun.
“Are you hungry?”
Chapter 3
Chaps Beer Parlor
Helena, Montana
Late afternoon
The door opened and the late afternoon sun eclipsed the two people who entered the bar from the street, rendering them faceless until they stepped forward. Once the dim light returned, Mercer stared at Keiko and the disheveled old man she had with her.