by Joe Nobody
Bishop nodded, pulling out a wad of cash from his pocket. After counting out the bills, he said, “Thanks, Josh. I hope we’ll do business again soon.”
On the way out of the parking lot, Bishop stopped to retrieve his weapons. After checking that each was exactly as he’d left it, the Texan pulled out on his way to Wichita Falls.
“Your mother isn’t dead, Josh,” he whispered to the empty cab. “What are you hiding?”
Chapter 15
The setup was perfect, Nick obviously having a hand in where Diana’s convoy, and more specifically, Terri’s RV were parked.
Before leaving San Antonio, Grim and the boys had been a little overdramatic when adding extra security around Terri’s coach. The placement of the fake cash bags in the RV’s undercarriage storage had been a production worthy of Hollywood. They could only hope the muggers were paying attention.
As per instructions, there had been a second casting of the bait. Terri’s RV had pulled out of the line on the way into Wichita Falls, making a stop at the local newspaper where the campaign manager had placed an ad.
Just like Pete’s business, Diana’s organization really had no choice but to pay cash for daily expenses, and Terri had made quite a show out of taking a fist full of money from one of the bags. Of course, it had been a sleight of hand using real bills instead of the wads of newspaper stuffed into Pug’s fakes. Anyone watching would have sworn Pete’s contribution was stored in Terri’s motorhome.
Now, Diana’s entire convoy was camped for the night in one of the town’s city parks, close to the pickle factory, as well as the other venues on Diana’s agenda.
Terri’s specific coach was conveniently parked, in a spot where it was easy to observe from several different angles. There was even a nice avenue of approach and subsequent quick getaway. “If I were a thief, I’d be licking my lips and lying in wait,” Bishop mumbled, surveying the layout.
Bishop found his wife getting gussied up for the afternoon and evening events. “Diana is the headliner at the ribbon cutting for the pickle factory, meeting with the local officials for dinner, and then conducting a town hall meeting with the voters. We won’t be back until late.”
“Good,” Bishop responded. “This is all falling into place. Now, we must hope our friendly, neighborhood bandits have been watching.”
A short time later, Terri was heading out the door in a swirl of activity. Hunter was tagging along for the festivities. And while the preschooler wouldn’t be expected to sing for his supper, he was scheduled to pay his political dues when Aunt Diana planned to hold him up for the cameras and kiss him. “Candidates,” Bishop mumbled after hearing of the plan.
The exit of Diana and her entourage involved a lot of SUVs, hustling security men, and a significant number of local cops. Bishop and Terri’s protective team all played their part in the theatrics, climbing into the official vehicles and exiting the park in a rush. Only Bailey, Kevin, and a skeleton crew were left behind to guard Terri’s coach.
Five blocks away, Diana’s column of transports entered a side street that afforded little chance of being observed. Bishop and Grim jumped out of Terri’s ride, hustling quickly into a doorway and only causing a short delay before the motorcade was pulling out.
The two men then casually worked their way to a row of buildings bordering one side of the park. Grim, checking the map he’d drawn earlier, pointed and said, “This is the one.”
Snipers, as a part of their trade, always sought the highest ground. Some of them claimed that this trade secret was necessary to have the clearest field of fire and the best angle on the target.
While Bishop had no doubt that was true, he also knew that a marksman’s biggest fear was another sniper. Kevin was death incarnate out to 1200 yards. Nick’s son was also well aware that his ability wasn’t unique by any sense of imagination. If he wasn’t snug in the highest possible point of the surrounding terrain, someone else with his same skills might be, and that could lead to a quick but painful death.
In a way, Bishop didn’t blame the kid. Given the incident at Moss Ridge, it was a safe bet to assume the people they were up against had a long-range shooter on their roster. The Texan had once heard a Navy guy say the best weapon to annihilate a submarine was another submarine. That law of engagement, he knew, applied to snipers as well.
While Grim kept watch to ensure no one was around to observe their movement, Bishop climbed up the ladder. At the top of the three-story building, he noticed Kevin already hidden and ready for what might be a long period of zero movement. It was what the craft required.
SAINT One’s ‘long-distance dialer’ was concealed in a corner, shielded by a piece of tar paper, blended in well with the roof’s surface. Bishop had to look twice, even though he knew Kevin was there.
“Your cover is perfect,” Bishop whispered, keeping low to avoid being observed. “Good luck.”
Bishop then moved down the roofline, picking a good spot to mount one of his game cameras. With its IR strobe and motion detector, the device would be an excellent early warning system – just in case.
There wasn’t anything else the defenders could do until darkness fell. Bishop, using the optic on his carbine, spent the time studying the streets surrounding the park, scanning for any sign that their bait was being scouted or cased. He spied nothing.
Just over 90 minutes passed before the two men determined it was dark enough to proceed with the next phase of their trap. A moment later, they carefully crossed into a tree line bordering the park.
With Grim providing his carbine as a foothold, Bishop scrambled into an centuries-old oak and quickly set up the second camera before fading into the darkness.
“Now we sit tight,” he informed Grim. “How many times have we had to just sit and twiddle our thumbs, waiting for the bad guys?”
“I’m going to catch some shut-eye,” replied the grumpy veteran soldier. “No sense in getting stressed out about a couple of bank robbers.”
They took up a position on the far side of the park, using a former maintenance shed for cover. There, Bishop chanced the first radio transmission of the evening. “Unit one, unit one, this is lead, over.”
“Go lead,” sounded Pug’s distinctive voice.
“Radio check,” Bishop said, hoping anyone was listening in on the frequency wouldn’t be alarmed by the innocent transmission.
“Loud and clear, lead. All is well.”
Bishop smiled at Grim, but the contractor didn’t see it. Rather than snoozing as threatened, SAINT One’s leader was scanning the park with his night vision. “All’s quiet on the western front,” he whispered.
In addition to Bailey and Kevin, Nick had assigned three of his security detail to patrol the grounds. One of the sentries always remained next to Diana’s personal RV to avoid anyone who might plant explosives or sabotage her ride.
The remaining two men guarded with a K-9, making random orbits around the area, sometimes taking a path right through the middle of the RVs and other assorted vehicles that followed the Alliance bigwig everywhere she went.
Bishop had also brought along additional reinforcements. Pug and three of Pete’s more competent security pros were now stationed in two different pickup trucks, one at each end of the park.
All in all, there were 11 competent security men waiting for the team of felons to make its move.
Now confident in everyone’s placement, Bishop pulled out his thermal optic and began inspecting the area around Terri’s RV. If anyone wandered into the area, the game cameras they had just mounted would flash infrared light and not only take a picture, but illuminate the zone with a strobe that could only be seen with a heat sensing device.
Kevin was using a similar optic as Bishop. If anyone approached, both would receive notice via the game camera’s early warning system.
It was 30 minutes later when Kevin’s nervous voice sounded over the airwaves. “Boss, did you send someone up here?”
“No,” Bishop trans
mitted, throwing Grim a questioning look.
“Someone is coming up the ladder.”
“Hang tight, kid. Do not engage unless it’s self-defense.”
Grim understood the ramifications immediately. “Oh shit, the black hats had the same idea that we did. They’re putting a marksman on the roof.”
Before Bishop could make up his mind regarding a course of action, Pug’s voice drifted over the airwaves. “Unit one has movement. Pickup. Grey in color. Camper shell. Rolling along 4th Street. Very slow.”
“Stay frosty,” Bishop ordered. “It’s show time.”
Grim could see Bailey and Nick’s guys changing course, ready to pounce on anyone approaching Terri’s RV.
“Movement,” Pug’s voice announced again. “Second vehicle, panel van, following the pickup. They are barely creeping along.”
Pivoting his optic, Bishop spotted the miniature convoy. Barely a moment had passed when the game camera’s strobe flickered once, then again. The mouse has taken the bait, the Texan thought, raising his hand to key his mic and warn the team. “Move-…” he began, the transmission interrupted mid-word.
The entire earth seemed to shudder from a bone-crushing shock wave exploding just outside the scope’s field of vision, causing Bishop to momentarily lose his focus as well as his footing. A violent blast originating under Diana’s RV, the detonation was so powerful it lifted the coach’s back wheel a few inches off the ground. A brilliant flash of blinding, white light ensued, blanketing the area. The white hats were struggling to maintain their balance when the motorhome’s fuel tanks added to the mayhem, generating an expanding wall of hot, crushing air.
Stunned, Bailey was knocked to the ground, Bishop and Grim both temporarily blinded. Nick’s people, however, had been far enough away to be unaffected by the detonation and were now sprinting toward the blast scene.
One of Nick’s security force went down, falling midstride as if struck by a thunderbolt. “Engaging,” Kevin’s voice declared from the rooftop as several shots rang out from the elevated position.
Bailey crawled to an upright position, trying to shake off the effects of the concussion, but still stumbling.
Grim and Bishop were charging across the park’s grounds, weapons up and ready to engage. All eyes were zeroed on the back of Terri’s coach, focused on where the storage bins and fake bags of cash were located.
Through the raging inferno of Diana’s RV, no one noticed the diesel engine of Terri’s coach rumble to life.
Just as Bishop and Grim darted within range, the motorhome began rolling away. Someone had managed to get inside and was now commandeering the RV.
“Shit!” Bishop barked, not having considered that tactic. “Pug!” he transmitted, “block the road. They’re stealing the whole camper!”
“I’m on it,” the Korean answered, the sound of a revving motor in the background.
Grim stopped running, taking a knee and spraying six quick shots into the back wheels of the camper.
Forward the bus-home zoomed, bouncing as it jumped the curb and accelerated onto the street. Bishop registered Pug’s pickup now moving to intercept, the Ford-150 gaining speed and closing the gap when another pair of headlights appeared out of nowhere.
The white panel van appeared on an intersecting trajectory, its accelerator pinned to the floor as it raced to intercept the truck. Having spotted the menacing work van, Pug matched the acceleration, the Asian committed to outrunning the van while overtaking the motorhome.
Bishop was still watching when failing infrastructure met his man’s valiant determination. Pug’s front passenger-side tire disappeared in an errant pothole, threatening the vehicle’s course. The Ford pitched and swayed, adjusting with the changing ground, losing impetus in the process. The energy bleed-off measured just enough for the panel van to recover the advantage, T-boning the blocking pickup with a brutal collision of shattering glass and protesting sheet metal.
More gunfire erupted as the driver of the van exited with white muzzle flashes spraying Pug and his partner.
All the while, pistol shots sounded from the rooftop, Kevin obviously engaged with his fellow sniper in a battle of secondary weapons. That exchange, however, ended when a loud explosion and white flash of light strobed from the building.
“Fuck! They got the kid up on the roof!” Grim shouted over the bedlam.
“Go! Help him!” Bishop yelled back, turning to sprint toward Pug and his partner.
Before he had covered half the distance, a stillness descended over the park. Other than the low roar of Diana’s scorching coach, an uncomfortable silence covered the grounds.
Bishop rushed to the accident scene, discovering Pug still breathing but cut and bleeding from the ramming impact. His partner, however, hadn’t been so lucky, three bullet holes stitched across the man’s chest, his eyes fixed in a lifeless stare into the night sky.
As Bishop helped his wounded co-worker hobble back toward the park, an orchestra of sirens began sounding in the distance; first responders obviously alerted not only to the gunfire, but the lofty flames shooting skyward from what had been Diana’s traveling home.
Nick’s men had already retrieved a medical kit and were attending to their downed comrade. Bishop, using the RV-bonfire for light, assessed Pug’s wounds and determined he would live.
Just then, Grim appeared at the edge of the fire’s circle of light, Kevin’s armed draped over the old warrior’s shoulder.
As Bishop rushed to help, Grim explained, “The kid had a shootout with the rival sniper. He was holding his own until the other guy pulled out a flashbang grenade and knocked Kevin silly. He’s fine, just had his bell rung is all.”
“And the challenging sniper?” Bishop inquired, still having some small hope that they had at least inflicted some damage.
“Gone,” Grim answered.
Turning to survey the havoc, Bishop’s fists clenched tight as he screamed at the top of his lungs, “Fuck!”
“What’s wrong with Bishop?” the disoriented Kevin asked as Grim helped him down to the grass.
“The boss doesn’t like getting his ass kicked, son. Haven’t you figured that out by now?”
Still not fully comprehending it all, Kevin blinked and asked, “Did we get our asses kicked?”
“Thoroughly,” Grim muttered. “It wasn’t pretty at all.”
The following morning found Nick, Bishop, and Sheriff Watts touring the aftermath of the previous night’s robbery attempt.
Needless to say, everyone was in a foul mood.
As the trio strolled around the still-smoking ruins of Diana’s coach, Watts bent and gingerly picked up a section of iron pipe. Holding it out for his comrades to examine, he said, “Just as we suspected, a pipe bomb. And a pretty impressive one at that.”
“Thank God no one was in that RV at the time,” Bishop mumbled, continuing to tour the damage.
Terri’s RV was discovered less than a mile away, the storage bins pried open, the fake bags of cash the only items missing. Someone had busted out the driver’s side window and climbed inside. That hadn’t been easy. Grim’s attempt to shoot out the tires had pierced the outside rubber, as well as penetrating the diesel engine compartment. The mechanic said it would be a week before repairs could be completed.
“At least we didn’t lose Diana’s campaign funds,” Bishop grumbled, trying to shine a ray of optimism on what had been an otherwise dismal night. They had lost two men, with a third wounded.
“Not exactly,” Nick replied in an odd tone.
Bishop turned to look at his friend, doing a double-take at the expression that covered the big man’s face. As impossible as it might seem, Nick looked sheepish. The Texan had never seen the like.
“We stored the money in Diana’s suitcases. All of the cash was in her RV,” Nick admitted, glancing over at the smoldering heap of burnt rubber and twisted, sizzling junk.
“Oh, that’s just great,” Bishop moaned. “Now, I am in the dog house fo
r sure. Pete’s going to be pissed to high heaven, Terri is officially homeless, and Diana’s wardrobe and cash went up in flames. Somebody just shoot me, and get it over with.”
Nick, placing a friendly hand on Bishop’s shoulder, said, “Everything last night was set up very professionally. I couldn’t have done any better myself. No one is going to blame you.”
“I am,” Grim snapped, stepping up to join the group. “It’s all his fault, boss,” the old contractor teased.
They continued touring the site, Bishop relaying to his former boss that Pug had seen one of the culprits, but couldn’t provide a description. “He was wearing a balaclava mask,” the Korean had reported. “No description other than the guy was kitted up like a Special Forces operator.”