by Ty Patterson
Taggart’s eyes bored into him as the legs around him tightened and began an inexorable squeeze.
‘Major, this is it for you. I have cracked green coconuts with my thighs. Crushing you will be a pleasure.’
Zeb’s legs flailed around, his left useless as it bled. His right couldn’t get purchase.
Taggart’s left arm slipped out from Zeb’s seeking right hand and aimed a punch at Zeb’s throat again.
Zeb turned his head just in time. The attacker’s hand, hard as concrete, hit Zeb’s neck.
Not like this. Not against him.
Zeb head-butted him. His movement was constrained; the blow was weak.
He aimed a strike at the man’s shoulder, felt a searing pain as Taggart found the soft spot behind his right collarbone.
He grappled with Taggart’s free hand, locked it, slipped as the man’s hand, slick with sweat, dislodged his.
He chopped Taggart’s throat, the man grunted, but his thighs didn’t ease.
The grip tightened. Zeb felt it deep in his chest as he struggled to breathe.
He dug his thumb in the man’s eye; his hand missed.
Beads of sweat popped on Taggart’s forehead, his entire being focused on crushing Zeb.
Zeb took huge labored gulps, felt his ribs tighten, felt everything slow. His left leg leaked steadily. He made a tremendous effort and rained blows on the man’s neck.
Some of them connected, but the vise didn’t ease.
A block of concrete struck him, Taggart’s knuckled hand in his ribs. Zeb’s vision went dim.
His hand curled in a fist, landed on the man’s neck. He felt the jolt through the man, felt his breath whoosh; the legs were inexorable.
Another blow in Zeb’s ribs shot white pain through him; he groaned deep.
Strikes drained energy. He had to conserve it. He didn’t have much leeway on top, bent sideways, and he ground his right elbow in Taggart’s sternum.
Not against him.
His body shuddered as another block of concrete struck him in the back. He kept his left arm locked on the man’s gun hand, ground deeper in his sternum.
The inexorable pressure around him told on him; his vision dimmed. Another hammer blow brought fire deep inside as a rib cracked.
Not. Against. Him.
Existence became his elbow grinding down.
Another blow against his cracked rib, and the thighs squeezed even more.
He gritted his teeth but couldn’t control the sound – a half sob, half groan – that came out of his body.
He thrust his whole weight against the prone man’s abdomen, breathing hoarsely through his mouth.
Grind.
Another rib cracked.
Ignore. Grind.
His legs thrashed uselessly against the remorseless grip.
Grind.
A single point of black light filled his mind.
Grind.
Taggart groaned for the first time, his breath stuttered, his gun hand drooped, and the gun slipped out of his hand.
Taggart used all his energy, struck Zeb in the small of his back, gripped Zeb’s hair and pushed him away.
The black light became larger in Zeb’s mind. Dimly he felt the thighs loosen. His left arm fell, he pushed against the floor and fell away from Taggart’s body.
He took deep rasping breaths, filling his body with air. Above the sound of his body, he heard Taggart doing the same.
He heard a hoarse sound, lifted his head, a heavy weight, and looked at Taggart.
The man inched to the fallen gun. ‘You’re done, Major.’ The words came out slow and tortured.
Something. Something beside him.
It swam in the darkness of Zeb’s vision, blurred and then focused.
Stool.
Taggart’s hand scrabbled for the gun. Got a grip. His eyes watched Zeb unblinkingly.
The gun hand lifted, paused as another explosion, closer than any of the previous ones, rocked the house. A few books fell out of shelves from the reverberation.
Zeb’s mind jumped around drunkenly. There had to be some way.
Beth praying came to him. His mind stopped. The praying became louder.
The thing in him reared, slithered, sped.
His hand reached out and made contact with the stool.
The barrel started its arc toward him.
Beth sobbing.
Crash.
The swing hurt his ribs; he couldn’t breathe.
Bud Petersen’s gentle voice filled his mind. The thing moved.
Crash.
His grip loosened. One last time.
Crash.
Chapter 27
One month later.
They were still in Jackson.
The moment Zeb had gone at Taggart, Roger had turned on the remaining couple of shooters. They had their hands full as the sisters attacked them simultaneously.
‘They were too close to the two ladies, too close to use their guns,’ Roger said grimly. He had put the two men out of business and had then dashed out to help Broker.
Broker scoffed. ‘You probably dashed out to see if any more of that Balcones was about. I didn’t need any help.’
Broker had blown up all the cabins and was heading toward the central lodge when the two gunmen outside rounded a corner and pointed at him.
He flung a brick of C4 plastic explosive at them. They dived, not recognizing it. He picked them off with a dead shooter’s rifle.
Bringing down the living room was a ‘piece of C4 cake.’ He grinned broadly.
He saw the thanks in Zeb’s eyes – that explosion had made Taggart hesitate for a split second – and waved it away. Zeb had saved his life more times than he could count. In their world, they didn't keep tabs.
‘Next time don’t take a stool to a gunfight.’
‘Taggart was the Mexican drug cartels’ mole.’
There were ten men in the room and one woman.
Broker, Zeb, Roger, Kelly and Dwight Garrett, Jackson’s Chief of Police, were lined up on one side of a conference room, and the other end was occupied by Peregrine, a representative from the governor’s office, and Paul Liggett, Executive Secretary of the Department of Homeland Security.
Two other people occupied the room a couple of chairs away, FBI Director Murphy and a tall, dark-haired, gray-eyed woman who gave off an ice-cool vibe.
Clare. Zeb’s boss.
No notes of the meeting were taken; no one was to know that it happened.
‘He would’ve been.’ Broker modified his words slightly when he saw the panic flash across Liggett’s face.
‘Jack Foley’s rise was well covered in the media, but Ryan Taggart had an equally stellar career. He was widely tipped to take on the role of Deputy Under Secretary in the DHS’s Intelligence and Analysis division. This would have given the drug lords an insider in the DHS.’
He paused. He didn’t need to elaborate on the implications of that.
He had let loose his computers and his analysts on Taggart the moment they had returned to the town the day of the showdown.
Garrett had controlled the incident so tightly that no media got scent of the shoot-out. The next day the three of them had taken Broker’s findings to Garrett, who had made several calls; in parallel Clare and Director Murphy had conferred, and in a rare instance of cooperation, multiple agencies had pooled their resources and ripped apart Taggart’s life.
Peregrine had resigned immediately once he knew of Taggart’s involvement, pending an internal investigation. Broker commanded his machines and men to look into the entire SWAT team, in fact, the entire Jackson PD, though he was pretty sure Taggart was a lone wolf.
The mole that Broker suspected in the Jackson P.D. turned out to be Peregrine.
Foley, Taggart and Suiter all kept in touch with Peregrine, but it was Taggart who asked more probing questions about the sisters' whereabouts during one of their regular calls. Peregrine, unsuspectingly, told him.
They had sweated George, the
bellboy, but he too was an unwitting pawn. A well-dressed man had approached him and had introduced himself as a friend of the Petersens. He had pointed in the direction of the park and said Meghan had asked him to relay the ‘I’ll be waiting here’ message to Beth.
Kelly’s stock had soared sky high, and he became the go-man for the various agencies.
Two weeks later Kelly organized the interagency meeting.
‘Twelve years back a SWAT raid led by Taggart on a residence in Cheyenne resulted in a significant amount of drugs recovered, and seven men from Zubia’s gang were captured. That’s the first known instance I could find of Taggart coming in contact with Zubia indirectly. Six months later Taggart flew, commercial, to Mexico. I presume that was to discuss an arrangement with the drug lord.’
Broker laid out his findings succinctly; Taggart’s visit to Mexico following the raid, correlations of Zubia’s visits to the U.S. with the cop’s movements, a labyrinth maze of offshore accounts in Taggart’s name, and then the final clinchers. Beth’s snap of the two of them in a limo outside Jackson, and the security camera video from Pete’s café.
‘Zubia would have had enormous clout with the Sinaloa cartel and other drug gangs if Taggart had secured the coveted role. He threw money and resources behind Taggart to help him lobby.’
‘Zubia recognized the twins when Taggart pointed them out at the café. In a freak coincidence, the women he was planning to kidnap turned out to be a threat to his business partner. Taking them to Mexico would feed his trafficking business and remove any danger to Taggart’s ascension.’
‘But why in damnation?’ Garrett finally broke the ensuing silence. He was a gruff, balding man who was a competent Chief of Police. This was clearly out of his depth.
‘We can only surmise,’ Broker told him. ‘Taggart was on a power trip. The two men fed each other. Zubia built his gang’s business in our country and in return gave select information on his rivals to Taggart. Taggart’s successful raids got him noticed, and he earned a rep pretty soon.’
He stole a glance at Director Murphy and got a short nod in return. Broker had helped take down a similar power-hungry maniac in the FBI in a previous mission.
‘What about Taggart Senior?’ Garrett licked his lips and didn’t complete his sentence. If the senior advisor to the Secretary of State was involved, a media and political circus would mushroom, the likes of which the town hadn’t seen before.
‘As you know, he’s already resigned. I’m confident that he’s clean. He didn’t know about his son’s involvement.’
Taggart Senior had been in D.C. when a single call had changed his life. He had promptly resigned, citing health reasons, and had informed Director Murphy that he would cooperate fully in any investigation.
Director Murphy spoke for the first time. ‘We share Broker’s views. Of course, it will be impossible for him to return to a job in politics. We’ll run with this now.’ There was an air of finality to his voice, signaling that the meeting was over.
His eyebrows rose when Garrett lingered in his seat.
The Chief’s eyes went over Zeb, Broker, and Roger and lingered on Clare. He was uneasy. ‘I can vouch for my department.’
Zeb stirred in his seat for the first time during the entire meeting. ‘And I can vouch for us.’
Garrett looked to speak, but Director Murphy cut him off with a gesture.
Steel flashed in his voice. ‘These men hold some of the highest security clearances. I know some in your department are curious about them. Who they are and who they work for is no one’s business. I vouch for them.’
His eyes had grim amusement when Garrett darted a look at Clare; she hadn’t uttered a word.
‘Chief, it’s best you forget you saw her. Let me assure you she’s very much part of our government.’
Kelly interjected before Garrett could dig a deeper hole. ‘Chief, I think we’re done here.’
‘Zeb.’ Clare’s voice halted the three of them as they followed the others out.
He turned back to Clare and the Director. Broker and Roger joined him at a small gesture from her.
‘The sisters?’ she asked.
‘They’ll keep quiet, ma’am,’ he answered her unspoken question.
They came from a cop family and had a maturity about them that belied their age.
Clare searched his face and looked him over. ‘How are you guys doing?’
How are you doing?
The flesh wound in his thigh was healing, though it would leave a permanent scar. The three broken ribs would take time, but the pain had become a dull throb that his mind had compartmentalized. He’d started light training and would be mission-ready in a month’s time.
Director Murphy laughed at his hesitation and lightened the room. ‘It’s perfectly okay to have some recovery time, Zeb. Compared to you, my HRT guys turn soft when they’re injured.’
His eyes softened. ‘Thank you, son.’ The Director had a deep hatred for traitors.
Roger pumped his fist in a silent yeehaa when they were alone outside. Director Murphy was one of the very few in law enforcement they respected. He brought out the Balcones.
The sisters were quieter than their usual selves ever since the showdown at the ranch.
‘We don’t need therapy,’ Meghan snarled at Broker when he suggested it. ‘We just wish we could kill him all over again.’
Zeb knew Taggart’s betrayal had hurt them deeply. He could see it in their eyes and their body language.
Taggart had not been close to them, but he was their father’s partner, and the duplicity cut deep. In the SWAT world, a partner was often closer than a spouse, and he knew that was eating away at them.
That Beth had witnessed the killing haunted them. They had isolated themselves for three days, had refused to meet anyone, and when they re-entered the world on the fourth day, their faces were swollen, their eyes were red.
They handled the real facts of their father’s death better. He was a hero to them, and now he was even more so in their eyes.
‘Do you think it hurt him?’ Meghan asked him once.
They were with Zeb, just the three of them in Pete’s café. Zeb removed his shades and looked into two pairs of green eyes that were wide with hurt. Pete bustled about serving others; the aroma of freshly ground coffee in the room created a universe away from the real world in which just the three of them existed momentarily.
He knew they were asking him about the betrayal, not the shooting.
‘Yes,’ he said simply. He didn’t know what else he could say.
He saw the eyes filling up and tried to think of something else to say, but gave up.
He sat back and watched them. The mind had different ways to cope with memories. Sometimes it created sepia prints of them and brought them out occasionally, and those rare moments were tinged with nostalgia. Sometimes the memories persisted and ate away at people’s lives.
Zeb thought in the sisters’ case, it would be the former. It helped that the shoot-out at the ranch had an unreal, movie-like quality to it that enabled the mind to process it differently.
They sat for a long time in silence, a comfortable silence; they were used to Zeb’s silences by now. Pete didn’t hassle them. The café had got more than its share of fame, and he was content to let them be.
Beth’s eyes went dark. ‘How can we thank you?’
Roger and Broker came in at just that moment.
Zeb stood up, looked at them, and walked away.
You handle this.
‘Did we offend him?’ Meghan asked as they watched his retreating back.
Broker leaned back, stretched his legs, and winked at the girl behind the counter, who promptly blushed. In his khaki trousers and red shirt, he looked like a younger and fitter version of Robert Redford.
‘Zeb? Nah. It takes a lot to offend him. That’s his way of dealing with questions he can’t answer. He leaves it to us.’
Meghan looked at the two of them as they sat s
prawled without a care in the world. Kelly had told the sisters about the meeting after swearing them to silence; they had an idea now of the reach Zeb and his men had.
Zeb could have left them in the care of the cops after the incident at the park. Roger and Broker could’ve chosen not to get involved.
A few seconds the other way and Zeb would’ve been dead.
She repeated Beth’s question.
Roger looked at her searchingly and, at a message in Broker’s eyes, answered, ‘You’ve been to New York?’
They nodded. They loved it.
Roger mentioned a building in Manhattan.
‘We own it. The six of us.’
Meghan’s eyes widened as her mind worked it out. Beth and she had looked into opening an office in Manhattan. They knew what commercial property cost.
She knew what he was saying.
They didn’t do it for the money. Thanks were not required.
The sisters reached out and gripped their hands tightly, and the gesture conveyed all that they felt.
Roger winked at them. ‘Does this mean you’re finding me irresistible?’
Beth laughed through her tears and punched him in the shoulder.
A shadow fell over them.
Mark Feinberg halted in front of them, young and handsome in his uniform.
He nodded a greeting to Roger and Broker, and addressed the women. ‘Ladies, Kelly awaits you. He said he had a lunch date with you.’
His eyes were on Beth.
She met his eyes. ‘We’ll be there.’
He acknowledged with a nod and left, her eyes on his back.
Three pairs of eyes were on her when she looked away.
She balled a napkin and threw it at Roger as she tinged red and followed Mark from the room.
Meghan saw the question in Broker’s and Roger’s eyes.
‘She’s getting better. A couple of days soon after, she couldn’t sleep and would cry for no reason. Now she’s smiling more. I think Mark’s attentions are helping too.’
There was no change to her memory; they had accepted that there would be a permanent blank in her past. Coming back in a flash happened only in movies.
She smiled. ‘A lot of people think I’m the tougher one, but Beth, there’s steel in her.’