“Okay. That’s cool, but no, we didn’t have any trouble until we ran into your buddy, Ibarra,” he answered.
She rolled her eyes. “You didn’t kill him, did you?”
“Not yet,” Roy muttered by way of a less than enthusiastic introduction. “Nice to meet you, Agent Dancer. What’s up with the bed on wheels?”
“Welcome to home sweet home.” She grinned as she unlocked the door of the vehicle and tossed him a set of keys. “From now on, you’re just a couple guys on vacation. The rig’s your cover while you’re working with us.”
Connor shot Roy a teasing look, totally understanding his senior agent’s hesitation. Most undercover vehicles were non-descript. Despite its olive drab color, the RV seemed to shout, Lookee here.
“You’re kidding, right?” Roy shot Connor a dark look, apparently not much in the mood to be teased.
“It’s okay. I like it.” Connor smiled, trying to keep one step ahead of Roy’s less than enthusiastic welcome before he offended Agent Dancer. “I’m good with living high on the hog while I’m working. Beats sleeping on the sand like we did in Iraq.”
Disapproval knit Roy’s brows. He stared at the extravagant vehicle, his hands on his hips. “Nothing about this thing says covert.”
“Isn’t that the point?” Agent Dancer waved them into their new digs. “Who’d think this was a federal rig? You’ll be surprised how easy you’ll blend in with the other campers. Come on in. Climb up.”
Connor followed Roy. While it said luxury on the outside, inside of the RV was a world of utility and high-tech surveillance. Four racks lined the aft wall. Sleeping quarters led forward to the head, which sported a glassed-in shower stall, a nice touch instead of the stark open-wide gym-like accommodations of Navy ships. The galley came next, complete with a full-sized refrigerator already stocked, a range, a built-in table and benches.
And that’s where the niceties ended. Where a couch and chair might have been in normal RV’s, an ammo storage locker and a worktable loaded with computer equipment declared this was no vacation home on wheels. A big screen television dominated the area over the driver’s seat, no doubt where Connor and Roy would be included in TEAM business back East.
Agent Dancer provided a quick tour. “You’ve also got four outside storage compartments. You’ll find canned food supplies out there, an inflatable raft, fishing and hiking gear, plus other things to make your stay look authentic. Use what you need. The river’s across the road. Do some fishing while you’re working. It might get you inside the cartel’s camp if you work it right.”
But Roy was already at the computer checking in with the office back in Virginia. Agent Dancer shrugged at his lack of interest and stepped outside. Connor followed.
“So what happened with Ibarra?” she asked.
“Tongans got a new boss this morning,” Connor muttered. “Paxton looked a little green the last time I saw him.”
“What’d Ibarra do? Kill our island boy?”
Connor rubbed a quick hand over his chin, not sure how much more he should share. “Actually, yes. Shot him point blank. Then he told Paxton to make an example of the body. You wouldn’t happen to know what he meant, would you?”
Her nose crinkled into the most adorable scowl. She had tiny brown freckles sprinkled over that cute nose, another point in her favor. “Not sure. Ibarra likes to intimidate the new illegals in town. Poor people are trying to stay under the radar, but he targets them to handle drug distribution for the SC. It’s worse if they’ve entered the country legally and own a business. He uses the Tongan gang to scare the hell out of one of them. The poor illegals end up working for him whether they want to or not.”
“He’s leveraging the lives of their families back in Mexico to force them to work for him,” Connor muttered.
She nodded. “He’s a twisted piece of work. How’d you guys happen to run across him so soon?”
“Got lucky. Instead of driving in, we thought we’d pass ourselves off as a couple tourists and hike the trails. Left the car in a parking lot at the mouth of the canyon. Sure wasn’t expecting an execution.”
“You took the north side?” She nodded toward the canyon wall behind them.
“Yes. You know the loose shale above Mossy Creek? Perfect cover as long as you don’t lose your footing.”
“Damn. That’s close to a lot of campers. Too close.”
Roy scrambled out the door with his backpack slung over his shoulder. Tossing the RV keys to Agent Dancer, he said, “Thanks, but no thanks. We’ll be in touch.”
“Excuse me?” The delicate arch of her brows lifted in surprise as she caught the keys single-handedly. “Where are you guys going to sleep then?”
“In our rental. Won’t take long to hike back to it at the end of everyday. It will do,” Roy shot back at her. “Come on, Connor. Let’s move.”
Connor froze, caught between his suddenly unreasonable agent in charge and a pretty gal. He was all about making friends with the DEA, at least this particular agent.
“And here we thought we were doing you guys a favor.” She fast-pitched the keys back at Roy. “Sleep in your car then, or use the tent in the basement. Rough it for all I care.”
Roy nearly missed the throw.
“The basement?” Connor asked as he followed her.
“The basement is the RV’s outside storage compartment,” she muttered over her shoulder as she opened her truck door and slammed it behind her. When the engine roared to life, she shoved the gearshift into drive.
“Wait.” He gripped the open window, not quite ready for her to leave. “Not so fast.”
“Why not?” A teasing smile glimmered on her mouth. She was ticked, but not at him. Good deal. The cutest dimple punctuated her left cheek. Long lashes blinked up at him like maybe she was taking a second look and liked what she saw, too. He sure did.
“It’s just that the RV is not what we’re used to,” he explained. “We like to keep a low profile when we’re undercover.”
“Listen, Agent Maher. This is Utah. It can get up to one hundred degrees by nine in the morning, sometimes sooner. You’ll be damned glad you’ve got air conditioning on those days. A car turns into a sweatbox pretty damned quick, even in the dead of night. You won’t get any sleep in that kind of heat. You’ll see.”
“So where’s your rig?” he asked, needing to diffuse her aggravation with Roy. “Are you working out of an RV, too?” He hoped.
A family with a tent-trailer was camped across the road from what would have been his RV. The sounds of children laughing and squealing rent the air, although none were in sight. The whole place smelled pleasantly of campfire smoke and pine. If he was right, the satellite dish sticking above the trees might be attached to the RV that housed the DEA team. Agent Dancer might be his neighbor. Sweet.
“We’re in the next campground two miles east, Agent Maher.” Tiny gold slivers glinted in Agent Dancer’s coffee brown eyes when she pointed up the canyon. The baseball cap perched on her head added to her sporty look.
“Call me Connor.” He offered a truce. His eyes inadvertently drifted down the unbuttoned front of her shirt. Two buttons made a lot of difference. The glimpse of a black bra peeked up at him, along with a tiny black satin ribbon with a white pearl bead tucked between two very lovely breasts.
She squinted up at him, holding her hand to her forehead to block the sun. He jerked his gaze back to her face hoping she hadn’t caught his less than gentlemanly infraction. Next door neighbor nothing. He wanted to be friends. Maybe best friends.
“Our post is not as nice as yours, but I doubt you’ll have trouble spotting it.” She extended her hand again. “My friends call me Cassidy.”
“Take care of yourself, Cassidy,” he said, her tiny hand snug in his. A guy could get used to his. Her eyes warmed along with her smile. Withdrawing her fingers from his, she stepped on the accelerator and drove away, leaving a cloud of dust behind her. Connor watched until her truck pulled onto the canyon hi
ghway and headed east. He would’ve waved if she’d looked back. Just to be friendly.
“I’m not staying here,” Roy murmured grumpily behind him.
By the looks of it, he’d already decided to play the part of a fisherman on vacation. He’d retrieved a fishing vest all decked out with lures and a valid Utah State fishing license pinned to it. The green booney hat on his head sported the usual flies and paraphernalia to make him look the part. He held Connor’s now refilled Camelbak at arm’s length, the message clear. Roy was moving out. If he’d only stop frowning, he might actually look like a guy on vacation.
“But we just got here. Don’t you want to rest for a minute?” Connor stalled. Were a few minutes of downtime too much to ask? “Maybe take a shower?”
“Go ahead.” Roy glared at his reluctant junior agent. “I’ll be back in a couple days. Join me when you’re good and ready.”
That’s all it took. Connor grabbed the fishing pole Roy had thoughtfully leaned against the side of the rig and hightailed it after his agent in charge. What choice did he have? They crossed the road and headed into the brush on the south side of the canyon.
Connor knew the drill. Walk until you drop. Set Tattle Tales as necessary. Once the minute listening devices were activated, Mother, The TEAM’s genius techie back in Virginia, would analyze the video and audio feeds. Standard procedure. Work, work, work.
Roy pointed to a line of stones placed across the river. “How about we cross here?”
With spring run-off from the high mountain peaks done for the year, the current flowed slow, shallow and lazy. Rocks aplenty lined the water’s edge as well as the riverbed. Maybe twenty feet at its widest, the only treachery lay in the slippery rocks underfoot. Connor and Roy sloshed across to the south side of the creek without any trouble, still heading east.
Connor had to give it to Alex Stewart. The man didn’t follow the federal government’s policy of lowest bidder. He only supplied his team with the best gear, boots and socks included. Connor’s feet were dry and comfy despite the trek through the river.
“First grow-site is one mile east and up. You ready to do some climbing?” Roy asked, like there was any choice. Connor answered with an abrupt right turn onto a deer trail that meandered up the south wall. Thick with scrub oak and pine, both men traversed the wayward path etched along the canyon wall by centuries of migrating deer and elk herds. They passed several waterfalls, unexpected small pleasures spilling off the arid mountainside where cactus and sagebrush mingled with pine.
Before long, they were looking down into a marijuana garden similar to the one Alex had shown during his briefing. Pulling his rangefinder up and out of his backpack, Connor adjusted the focus until the scenery came into a high-resolution view. Unbelievable.
“The cartel’s been busy,” Roy said. “It looks like a well kept nursery down there.”
Hidden within the trees, Connor spotted carefully cultivated rows of tall, broad-leafed plants, bags of fertilizer, coiled snakes of black plastic tubing between the plants, and a gas-powered water pump. He took deliberate care to scan for any sign of the armed guards who were known to disappear into the scraggly pines as quickly as the wildlife.
“I’m not seeing anyone, but someone’s been down there recently. The dirt around the plant roots looks damp.”
“They probably irrigate at night to avoid rapid evaporation,” Roy murmured.
“I could use some rapid evaporation about now.” Connor wiped his brow. Turning the collar up on his shirt helped keep the sun off his neck, but sitting in the shade was still plenty hot.
“They’re down there somewhere.” Roy’s binoculars scanned back and forth.
“Wish me luck.” Connor dropped through the dusty oak brush and down to the clandestine garden below. This was what he did best. Penetrate enemy lines. Plant Tattle Tales. And never be seen while he did it.
Always light on his feet, he hadn’t realized this particular skill until it came time to complete phase two of USMC scout sniper training. Stalking. He was a natural at it, got closer to the observation post than the regulation two hundred yards it took to qualify, and he did it without detection. Better yet, the walker, another instructor in the training course, damn near stepped on him and never saw him. Connor aced phase two with the highly desirable score of one hundred percent for shooter never found.
But dropping into enemy territory was no test. Adrenaline heightened his senses, providing feedback from every sight and sound. It didn’t take long for him to place one Tattle Tale in a quakie to the east and another in the most westerly location. As quickly as he went into the grow-site, he was out of there. When the cartel guards returned, they’d never be the wiser. The miniscule listening and video devices were camouflaged and would transmit long after an operation was complete, or until Mother deactivated them.
He rejoined his senior agent on the mountainside in short order.
“Good job,” Roy whispered.
Connor took a deep breath and broached what had become a sensitive subject. “You’re not going back to the RV tonight, are you?”
“Only to pick up the tent, and it better be a small one.” Roy turned, irritation plain on his face. “Don’t you get it? They set us up.”
“Who? The DEA?”
“Yes, the DEA. Open your eyes. They don’t want us interfering with their business, which is exactly what Alex and Governor Baxter sent us here to do. It’s called passive resistance. It looks like they’re doing us a big ole favor putting us in that RV, but they’re not. The only way I’m going back to that monstrosity is under cover of night, and only if I need something. Which I don’t plan to.”
Connor shrugged. He wasn’t going to argue. “Agent Dancer seemed neighborly.”
“Neighborly, my ass.” Roy got right to the point. “I thought you had a steady girl?”
“Who? Brenda?”
“Heck, I don’t remember all their names. Was it Brenda this time?” Roy smirked. “You’ve only been with The TEAM for a few months, but I can’t keep up. Stopped trying a long time ago.”
“Brenda likes her girlfriend,” Connor muttered, trying to project disinterest as he stood and stretched.
“Really? That cute blond likes other gals? Man, that’s just wrong.” Roy chuckled. Of course he’d think it was funny. “Bet that was a shock to your ego.”
“Yeah, well, did you know you can’t get a beer with dinner in this state?” Connor changed the subject. The less said about Brenda the better.
Their breakup had nothing to do with his ego. She’d set him up just to prove a point to her live-in girlfriend; another secret Brenda had kept from him. She’d led him on to prove she could get a guy anytime she wanted. The sad truth was she could. He was a sucker for good-looking women, and he’d fallen for her. Hard. Until he understood what a conniving person she was.
Yeah, she could swing both ways. Point made, only Connor didn’t swing. One way was sufficient. He might chase, but only the opposite gender. He was straight, single, and frustrated as all get out. Women these days wanted the security of a steady man friend, but they also wanted latitude to pick and choose. They might expect him to hold the door for them one second, but gripe when he did. They were as much a mystery as that one woman in Iraq who—
He squelched the trip down memory lane before it got off the ground. No way was he going there again.
“What you talking about, no beer with dinner?”
“It’s Utah, land of the Mormons, remember? Can’t buy liquor in grocery stores like back home.”
Roy scowled. “I’m going to have to check into that.”
“Check all you want. This state’s biggest claim to fame was the 2002 Olympics. It’s the perfect state for outdoor enthusiasts, rock climbing and polygamists. Not much else.”
“Won’t matter. We’ll be out of here before you know it.” Roy stowed his binoculars and headed east and upward again.
Connor followed suit. Damn it anyway. Why’d Roy have to get
all high and mighty over sleeping in comfort instead of on the rocky ground? They tramped for a mile or two before they stopped at another grow-site to plant more bugs. By then, the sun was high and terrifically hot. Roy kept up a stiff pace, but Connor could tell. The dry heat and high altitude was getting to him, too.
After mapping as much of the south canyon wall as they could, Connor was beat, but silent. Soldiers don’t complain. They just keep on keeping on. Besides, Roy held the winning hand as agent in charge. It was up to him to decide if they kept working, and also if they camped outdoors tonight. He was right. The RV was over-the-top. It made for a damned big target. Might as well have a bulls-eye painted on the side.
The good news was they’d located quite a few marijuana grow-sites, some guarded, some not. Connor kept a digital record on his tablet, marking GPS coordinates for future need, and assessing collateral damage if push ever came to shove. Because he was often the man out in front of everyone else, he’d often been the eyes on the ground back in Iraq, the guy who recommended armament to fit the target, then sat tight until a Predator Drone or an F-16 completed the air strike.
Connor wiped the sweat out of his eyes, blinking the stinging sensation away. The dry Utah heat had a helluva lot in common with Iraq.
“It’s damned hot,” Roy muttered as he sank beneath the shade of pinion pine and leaned his back into the tree.
Connor joined him, thankful for the break and the life-saving water supply strapped to his back. Lukewarm, cool, or hot, hydration was the only thing keeping him going. He leaned against the same tree, facing due west in the opposite direction. From his elevation, he could see clear to the Great Salt Lake. It should make for a picturesque sunset come evening, but it looked sweltering now. Everything did.
His mind pinged to Cassidy. Would she be interested in watching the sunset with him? He had a satellite phone. His mood brightened at the prospect. Tired or not, there was a pretty woman in the neighborhood and that always made him smile.
Pulling out a small bag of trail mix improved with his favorites—M&Ms, jellybeans, and Reese’s pieces—he offered it to Roy. “You hungry?”
Connor (In the Company of Snipers Book 5) Page 3