Mike's Place: An Action Thriller (A Bulletproof Novel Book 1)

by TR Kohler

  “There was something about the General Motors blast pattern that felt familiar. Something I couldn’t quite place until I found this.” Extending it toward Tania, he waits until she accepts it before adding, “Dug it out of the wall near one of the smaller satellite devices.”

  Even with the bag in hand, Tania keeps her focus on him. A moment of scrutiny, a line apparent between her brows, before muttering, “Matthew 6:14.”

  The study of him continues another couple of seconds before she says, “Apology accepted,” her gaze moving to the item in hand. Pulling it close, she turns it backward and forward. “What am I looking at?”

  “Blasting cap,” Mike says. “A very specific style, at that. One we used to call the Firash Special.”

  “Like a signature?” Tania asks, her eyebrows rising slightly.

  “Like a combination calling card and middle finger.”

  Flipping it back around, Tania’s study continues another moment. Intense examination with it held just a couple of inches from her face before offering it back to Mike.

  “You’re absolutely certain about this?”

  Taking the baggie, Mike stares at it himself a moment before replying, “I was part of the task force charged with taking him down. Two months of tracking him across Southeast Asia before we finally caught up with him.

  “I was there the day that building went down on him.”

  Pulling the blasting cap away, having already stared at it enough to have it imbedded in his mind, he stuffs it back into the front pocket of his jeans.

  “There is no way this was designed without Firash’s direct input. Most likely, his own hand, and if not, someone he trained personally.”

  Remembering the conversation he had not long before with Kari Ma, he adds, “And I can’t imagine that someone just waiting three years to go live.”

  Nodding slightly, Tania returns to her standard pose. The position she strikes when contemplating new information.

  One arm over her torso. Opposite elbow propped on it, hand clasping the bottom of her gold cross.

  “You realize this changes things,” she eventually says.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  Standing rooted in place, she flicks her gaze to meet his. “I need to make some calls.”

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  “Best guess, what are the odds this is Firash?”

  The question comes flying in less than a second after the door swings open. Drawing Mike’s attention away from the one-way glass lining the wall, he abandons staring at the young man on the other side. Even gives up the handful of thoughts he was having a moment before.

  Seizing on what Tania Lynch just asked, he replies, “One hundred percent. One thousand. One million.”

  Leaving the door standing open behind her, she strides into the space. Stopping just a couple of steps short of him, she waits with hands on either hip, one leg extended at an angle beneath her.

  Never does her attention so much as stray toward the glass beside them. Not the slightest interest in the young man propped back upright or if anything has changed in the time she’s been away.

  Total focus on Mike as she asks, “How?”

  A question that evokes a handful of his own within Mike. His lips parting to respond, he pulls up, taking in everything about Lynch, before firing back, “What happened?”

  Ready to bounce back with another question, she pauses. Seeming to realize the tone and posture she has assumed, she unfurls from her expectant stance.

  An immediate shift back to her favored pose.

  “Let’s just say, never have I gotten exactly who I wanted on the phone that fast before.”

  Nodding slightly, Mike recalls his earlier conversation with Kari Ma. The way she too had instantly seized on the name, the man something between a legend and a scare story. Somebody that anyone having worked in the various alphabet agencies, or with explosives, or even in this part of the world, is familiar with.

  A name that all but the most ardent of zealots was glad to be rid of three years before.

  “Let me guess,” Mike says, “the second they heard Firash’s name?”

  “Mhm,” Tania replies. “Didn’t even bother saying they’d call me back. Told me to hang on, were back on the line less than a minute later.”

  “And?”

  “And, after having me walk them through everything you found, they made it quite clear that my assistance has now become unofficial official.”

  Having worked with various Delta groups during his time in the military, the classification is one Mike has heard many times before. An offhanded way of saying that she is now assigned directly to the project with the understanding that if things go sideways, her employer will plead ignorance.

  A way for them to exert influence in the matter while still maintaining some semblance of their professed hands-off status. The kind of bureaucratic sleight of hand Mike hasn’t missed in the least over the last few years.

  The sort of thing the Agency is known for, right down to the fact that not yet has she even uttered the name of the organization she works for.

  “Believe me,” Mike replies, “there isn’t a person alive with more working knowledge of this guy than me.”

  Whether that is some cruel cosmic trick or merely karma coming back to make amends, he has not a clue. Would rather not debate such a topic right now with a woman clutching the cross hanging from her neck.

  “Also believe me when I say, this isn’t some sort of personal obsession. Up until a few hours ago, I thought he was long gone. A fact I wish was still the case.”

  Seeming to grasp what he is getting at, Tania nods. For the first time, her gaze flicks to the glass beside them. A quick study of the man sitting upright and the new stripes of dried blood on his face and t-shirt.

  Someone that looks quite a bit different than he did upon arrival, the newest blow and the ongoing time without sustenance beginning to have an effect.

  “What do you need?” she asks.

  Jutting his chin toward the glass, Mike says, “We need to get this guy talking.”

  “Yeah, well, my cooperation or not, this still isn’t Guantanamo,” Tania replies.

  Having heard from Ma and Tania both about the Agency’s policy in Indonesia, Mike was already aware there wasn’t one of the famed black sites tucked away somewhere nearby. A spot where they could have a conversation with the young man sitting opposite them that would likely involve a lot more than just a few punches.

  “Not what I meant,” Mike says. Sliding his gaze over to Tania, he adds, “Before you arrived, I was sitting here thinking about the scene in the street earlier. How I almost tracked down the girl before he threw himself into me.

  “Basically, sacrificed himself to protect her.”

  Nodding slightly, Tania picks up the train of thought. “Meaning if we can find her...”

  “We can play them off one another.”

  Gaze locked on nothing in particular, Tania contemplates that for a moment. A few quick seconds of consideration before nodding slightly.

  “That could work. What did you have in mind?”

  “I’m guessing unofficial official status still means running prints or facial recognition is out?” Mike asks.

  Making a face, Tania answers, “Maybe not completely, but I wouldn’t call it a first choice.”

  “Okay,” Mike says, having expected such a response. “What about traffic cameras? ATMs? Security footage? Anything in the area where we might be able to pick them up? Maybe see where she went? What car she’s driving?”

  “That I can do,” Tania concedes. “Just remember, this isn’t exactly Santa Monica. It’s not like there’s a camera on every corner or a database somewhere storing everything. It’s going to be spotty at best.”

  Now that they have at least some idea of what they’re looking for, spotty is something Mike will take.

  Anything being better than what they’ve been doing the last couple of days.

  “It’s a
start,” he replies.

  “What about you?” she asks.

  “I’m going back to the files. Now that I know who we’re up against, what we’re looking for, there’s got to be something in there that we missed.”

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  The first three targets were almost insulting in their simplicity. Hulking monstrosities with mailing addresses in Jakarta, though in reality they were positioned far from the major hubs of the city. Places where a few overhead lights or a simple chain link fence was all that was believed to be necessary for security.

  Tasks that Arief Wardoyo gladly accepted, though now that the stakes have changed, he can’t begin to hide the growing excitement within.

  Both at the chance to make right the earlier error by Eka and Intan - people that he wouldn’t call his team but were definitely left under his lead - and to aid Firash against an enemy they didn’t even know existed. A chance to make right an injury inflicted years before. The man responsible for the physical condition Firash currently finds himself in.

  All of which makes the sight before Arief almost tantalizing to behold.

  A target with a difficulty score far surpassing any of the others. Possibly, even more than all three combined.

  A challenge that will not only assuage any lingering animosity from Firash, but become a calling card for Arief himself moving forward. An event that will come to be known by a single name. Something talked about in hushed whispers.

  Mentioned specifically when the next Henry Rawit comes along, looking for aid.

  The first pass in what will be many such runs through the area, Arief is well beyond the perimeter for the next target. More than two blocks away, his plan is to slowly encircle the place. Make a complete revolution before starting to work his way inward.

  A gradual winnowing in which he will catalogue every camera and overhead light in the area. Mental notations that will be jotted down every so often. Quick runs by the van to scribble observations and make clothing changes.

  About the only bit of camouflaging needed in a part of the city as busy as where he now finds himself. A place where he is virtually invisible, one of thousands of people bearing a similar look and build all milling about.

  A spot where nothing more than a ballcap and a set of headphones serve to completely blend him in with the surrounding masses.

  Tucked into the port district, the facility is one of the more recent structures in the area. A chunk of land that was cobbled together in the nineties when the region was in a significant downturn, back when it was still trying to make a go as nothing more than a port.

  Private fishing boats and aging canneries trying to keep going in a city that was progressing far beyond them.

  One business after another falling under the increasing costs of operating and a decrease in demand that had prices plummeting. Two things happening in concert that saw property values fall.

  Allowed outside investors like the company Arief is now scouting to swoop in. Purchase up swaths of land and raze whatever was on them.

  No thoughts to existing traditions or job markets. No other considerations beyond geography and manpower. Being located right along the water, giving them easy access to shipping and transportation. Having access to a cheap workforce that was just recently put out of employment.

  A model matching the previous three targets, exacerbated many times over.

  One more form of motivation that permeates Arief as he finishes his first complete revolution. Another bit of agitation, increasing tremendously since seeing the printout Firash had on hand earlier.

  A name and face to attach to what he is doing. A clear and visible target, so much easier to focus on than some of the more ethereal ideas that were shared by Rawit.

  Offering a nod and half smile of greeting to a pair of older women shuffling by, Arief steps off the sidewalk. Hopping down from the curb, he waits for a cargo truck to rumble past before jogging to the far side of the street.

  Tugging the earphones free, he slides into the front seat and turns over the ignition. Jacking the air conditioner up high, he allows the cool air to touch the veneer of sweat coating him.

  Blessed relief he enjoys for a full minute before turning it off. Forcing complete silence inside the vehicle as he reaches to the middle console and grabs up the prepaid burner tucked away there.

  Entering the number from memory, he places a call, waiting through only a single ring before it is answered.

  Or, rather, picked up, not a single sound there to acknowledge him.

  “On the ground now,” he whispers. “Have made one loop, about to move the van and go again. How am I looking on timeframe?”

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Perry Walker’s voice sounds even more breathless than usual. Coming across like an Olympic sprinter that just crossed the finish line, every word sounds pained.

  To the point Kari Ma can’t help but wonder how President Wilson Pruitt puts up with the man, no matter how intelligent he might be.

  “Firash?” he shoves out, the first word after quickly introducing himself. “Have you heard this? Firash?”

  Even having expected the phone call since hanging up with Mike earlier, Kari is a bit surprised at the execution. Not necessarily the speed with which it arrived, but the intensity that is being transmitted over the line.

  Walker’s usual breathless self, amplified to ten. A change driven by some combination of fear and shock and whatever else.

  A state that Kari used to refer to as analysis paralysis when she was still working in the nation’s capital. A form she often saw career bureaucrats succumb to. People that had never been in the field before and weren’t used to things changing on the fly. Had never seen plans turned upside down almost instantly, forced to act on instincts alone.

  People that required vast sums of information before moving, even when said data often prevented them from being able to do just that.

  Flicking her gaze from the phone to Doc sitting in a visitor chair across from her, Kari replies, “I have. Our guy called and informed me right after making the discovery.”

  Ignoring the sharp intake of air that sounds out over the line, she adds, “I’m guessing that’s not where you heard it, though?”

  “Uh, no,” Walker deadpans, dropping the hysteria in his tone for only an instant before launching forth again. “We were informed from the Agency, who are absolutely having kittens right now over all this.”

  Gaze still locked on Doc across from her, Kari watches as a corner of his mouth creases backward. An involuntary reaction at mention of the Agency and how they are reacting, something they’ve both seen many times before.

  One of a few key reasons they were both adamant about relaunching the program from their current location in the desert.

  And doing so without crossover or oversight.

  Choosing not to respond, to let whatever bit of emotion on display from Walker finish playing out, Kari waits. Long enough for the crease along the side of Doc’s mouth to recede back into position. For both of them to fix their gaze on the phone, wondering if there is more the man called to say.

  Or if he really just wanted to sit and breathe heavily in their ear.

  Waiting nearly a full minute before saying another word, Walker eventually breaks the silence by saying, “Let me preface what I am about to ask by saying this office is well aware both of the promises we made and the solid you did for us a few months ago.”

  Having heard similar lead-ins before, Kari feels her core contract. Braces herself for something she isn’t likely to enjoy. Flicks her gaze up to see Doc taking a similar stance opposite her, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

  Fingers laced, he glowers at the phone, as if he might spring forward at the next words uttered.

  A move she has seen him make on more than one occasion before.

  “This guy of yours,” Walker says, “the one in the field now, how good is he?”

  On the lower end of the q
uestions Kari was expecting, she shifts her gaze up to Doc.

  “When it comes to Firash?” she asks. “None better.”

  Barely do the words fade from the air before Walker asks, “You’re sure?”

  Watching as the frown Doc wears deepens, Kari replies, “He was the one that found him the first time.”

  Leaving any additional details at that, knowing that the man has access to every classified document imaginable if the office needs further validation, she pushes back with, “Why?”

  Sighing heavily, Walker responds, “Because the Agency wants to take over. Almost insisted upon it, even.”

  Driving Doc up out of his seat, the man begins to pace before her. Heavy, lumbering steps causing the hardwood floor to creak. Sounds interspersed with mutterings, no doubt voicing every thought and concern they’d had when restarting the program.

  “And?” Kari prompts.

  “And we told them it is your case for at least the next twenty-four hours. After that, we would circle back with them to reassess.”

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  There was never supposed to be a fourth factory attack so soon. The original deal that Firash had worked out was that there would be three initial explosions. A trio of hits in a short period of time sufficient to spike terror in the region and to make a pointed statement against American business interests throughout Jakarta. Knock out their production long enough that the workforce scattered in search of renewed employment.

  A quick ascent letting terror peak before eventually tailing off.

  Only then would they drop their final crescendo. One last target that would emphatically punctuate things before they all disappeared, letting things fall as they may.

  A plan Firash was originally okay with. Just glad to be brought off the sideline, to have figured out a way to work around whatever physical limitations he might have, he had readily agreed to the parameters.