Emerging he smiled, “they're gonna owe us big time, we can go, in fact they don't want us here when they show up, spooks, they hate to be seen in daylight, like vampires.”
“Who they're directly descended from,” Jabo added, taking the pistol from Cathy's hand, unscrewing the silencer then he removed the round from the chamber, dropped the magazine. He then made sure there wasn't a round in the chamber, snapped the slide back and let go then pulled the trigger. He handed all the parts to her, “yours, for now, no round in the chamber. Keep it as a backup, you never know.” The sole bullet went in his pocket. Meant for him, it was a lucky talisman, a sign they were just a little better than their opposition – what he'd found was all you ever needed to be.
Jabo called down to the front desk and asked them to not clean the room or disturb them for the next twenty-four hours. He pulled all the phone cords from the walls, covered up the woman after leaving her in the bathroom tub, after they'd drained and emptied out the useless gadgets. Her feet were bound to the sturdy faucets, her hands to some heavy metal towel racks. She stretched out, suspended and helpless – unable to do more than turn over like she was on a barbecue spit if she tried to move. As tough as she was, the cramps in her body made her moan in her gag. None of them cared.
“That should hold her,” he reached down to pick up Cathy's cutting edge iPhone, “it's still working, amazing. Waterproof.” She tried to take it from him but he smashed it on the edge of the tub and tossed the pieces over the naked back of their assassin, who wiggled and mumbled more curses, in Russian. There were all apparently dirty, shit covered cunts – Oh my!
Chapter Twelve
I am the wind I am death
Scott Sigler
Jabo was quiet as Cathy drove the three of them to the small private airport near San Marcos where daddy's private jet would fly Cathy and Albert to El Paso, a little over an hour there and an hour back, at maximum speed. Their flight would consist of a climb, going as high as possible to the halfway point, then a rapid descent. It would burn fuel like crazy, but Jabo wasn't paying, Daddy was, gladly. Her father was happy to contribute to the war effort, never asking about for details – why or what for. Maybe Jabo would start to like him if he kept helping out like this.
After he'd watched the jet fly off to merge into the orange and yellow disk dropping down toward the horizon, he went to Cathy's car and drove it to a oil change business with a lift. He gave the curious owner fifty bucks to run it up and leave him alone so he could poke around, examining the underside and inside the wheel wells, looking for a tracker. Grigor's man, Lance had followed them to their hotel, making it easy to send in his assassin, tracking down their room with a few dollars and his face taken off their security cameras. From now on there'd be no more gimme's. It had confirmed Grigor was in charge of protection and might be the one who'd hired the assassin who killed his Grandparents. That was good enough for Jabo. Now they were going dark, no hacked electronics and...
Jabo found a small black box he was sure wasn't stock, another present from Grigor, stuck on Cathy's Lexus after they'd gone into their server facility, leaving the car in their parking lot, probably attached by the guard at the gate, when he'd ripped into the trunk. Grigor never missed a chance to get an edge on his enemies, raising Jabo's respect for his opponent who was starting to get on his nerves.
A little old lady came up to him and politely asked if her car in the next stall was ready. Without missing a beat Jabo assured her it was. She thanked him, scurrying off to the office to soon find out he'd lied. He reached under her fender and snapped the strong magnet on her frame. Grinning he ran his own car down and drove out.
It was time to recon the data center. Luck provided a well placed Starbucks, high on the hill that overlooked the rows of bland concrete buildings and businesses filling the Rosario business park, what prosperity looked like these days.
The thick gray concrete slabs, tilted up on a flat monolithic foundation, made entry through the windowless walls impossible, but there was always the roof. Conventional warehouse design was predictable which meant there was at least one access hatch on the roof, for maintenance. It offered a way inside, if they could clear any alarms or senors attached to it. That was the current plan, then he'd walk the same hallways he had as a technician, but this time in a different role – heavily armed and ready to play. Albert had resupplied them with new computers and phones after a short stop at an office supply store, linking them up to the cellular carriers, providing them high speed internet and email as they drove. Almost everything they'd discovered and recorded was available, making it easy for Jabo to recover what information he needed, thanks to some place called 'the cloud'.
Lucky for them everything was electronic these days, including the final 'as built' plans of the LazaRuss data center, required by law after construction was complete. Albert had copied it from the easily hacked computer of the building inspections department in the fully computerized San Marcos City Hall. Was nothing sacred or secure? It showed a maze of conduits and wires running to a central control room, with labels showing cameras and access control lines. That's where Grigor would hang out – where he'd emerge from, reacting to the hatch alarm going off.
Jabo's problem was he didn't know what lay under the hatch, if they'd filled its unused stairway with old furniture, or boxes, using it for extra storage. Jabo doubted the rooftop A/C compressors needed much work since the building was only five years old, a fresh blocky mushroom that had popped up on the low hills, like the others near it.
He wanted to go in as quietly as possible but he had to assume the hatch was tied in to their alarm system, making any intrusion alert impossible to avoid. That was the issue he was thinking about as he kept his coffee cup full and munched on a succession of very sugary and rich desserts, getting himself fueled up like he had before he marched or flew off in into the Shit of the Middle East battlefields. This was no different. Grigor was an enemy, with different tactics and weapons, something Jabo was confident he could learn and overcome. Crafty too, enough to track him down with a tracer on Cathy's car, backup of if they'd evaded Lance, or to follow them to new their room at their next hotel. Now it was Jabo's turn, turning the tables by switching his tracker that was moving around town, indicating where gray haired ladies went during the day. Hopefully she lived in an assisted living apartment complex, loaded with seniors like her.
He'd made it easy for Grigor to find him, using standard trade craft, which was exactly what the police did in these situations. Now they'd left one hotel, he could call the other local hotels, describing Jabo and Cathy, to find them again. It was time consuming, but San Marcos was a small town and the lack of good hotels limited the number of places he'd have to call. It was a snap if Grigor made the effort, a certainty now that he was properly motivated by losing both Lance and his female black widow.
The Russian had to be getting rattled, going a little crazy as he tried to close out this new problem, Jabo. No doubt he was hiding this screwup from his superiors, since the Russians rarely brooked failure, few survived more than one major mistake and he was looking at three – the virus he'd inserted in a server combined with the loss of Lance and his backup assassin. Stalin wasn't the first ruler to chop off heads that displeased him and the current leadership under Putin looked like they'd read his operating manual for kicking ass – keeping Siberia populated along with the hidden graveyards for annoying upstarts who didn't get the message. Soon they'd do it to keep the killers employed and at the top of their game.
He took out the burner phone he'd bought on the way to his caffeine fuel stop, overlooking the sky blue warehouse a half mile away. Jabo called a contact in the special forces, temporarily training in Fort Hood, about a hundred miles north of him.
“Sam, hey, yeah, re-upped, stupid right, but hey, call me Colonel Bowie, just like old Jim, yeah, me, must be the first one since the Alamo, no shit, no this request is definitely not official, off the books, can you do that, for me? Yeah, just like t
he old days. Great. What I need is...” and he sent him the address of the Starbucks he was sitting in, knowing he'd get there before the jet returned with the Balls he needed operate Cathy's Bell Helicopter along with the equipment to take down this asshole who was starting to get bothersome.
Maybe he could capture Grigor instead of killing him it might help bring down LazaRuss. The female assassin was long gone by now, locked down in a safe house somewhere in Texas to be gently reminded her kind are not welcome in this country – that going home was not possible, ever. They'd probably like another one, a matched pair, but only after he found out who ran Grigor. A underling like Grigor was small change. Jabo wanted his local boss, the one who'd authorized the killer to take out his grandparents and the Missange family – by wiping out the checkpoint. It was time to balance the books, Texas style.
The company the young Ball had told him about, with the gear he needed for a Halo jump, was up in Austin and an extra hundred dollars off Cathy's credit card got someone driving his way immediately with the special piece of equipment he needed to snap on his parachute harness, along with spare batteries.
“I'll send one of my techs, so he can check you out,” he'd been curious about the rush job, “are you going to jump tonight or something?”
“Yes, why, is there a problem?”
“No, none at all, but you should know night drops, from high altitude, are very dangerous. Have you ever done it before? You could come down in a tree or hit some power lines and turn into a crispy critter. We can arrange a class and some practice jumps at a nearby school if you're interested, get you acclimated to our unit.”
Jabo asked a question that made the man hesitate, “That's a feature on our military model, its classified and on limited distribution, you're not wanting that one are you?”
“No I won't be coordinating with an encrypted ALFOR network to update the DanPass images on my way down. It's just little old me.” His comments made it clear he'd used their military version and was very well acquainted with it and night jumps.
“If you need anything else, just call. My son died over there and I have a special place for jumpers in the service, any branch”. He mentioned a piece of jump equipment, not classified, that Jabo had on his wish list, something he was sure he wouldn't get from El Paso or his friend at Fort Hood.
“Oh that, hell ya, I'll give it to you, my boy's unit, he won't need it again, worked great for him. I hope it serves you well, you're welcome to it.” His voice cracked as Jabo thanked him and then he hung up after once more confirming the address of the Starbucks coffee shop Jabo was sitting in. He sat outside, watching the comings and goings at the data center, getting a feel for the flow of people and cars around the building and the business park.
Over time his team assembled around the table he'd sat at for four hours. The hard bodied men in crisp camos contrasted with the usual crowd of snow flakes and distracted metrosexuals fixated on their laptops. Jabo was happy to see the military gear brought by his friend at Fort Hood, who'd come along with some other troopers in a hummer, men he'd never met but had the same look in their eyes as Jabo, cool and confident, without a bit of nervous humor or worry – frosty.
“This is Sergeant Ball and his son, my Balls,” another, obvious joke, that, said by Jabo failed, so he moved on, “they're driving the bird I'm using to infil, James and Bob are over-watch, on that building, the rest know what you're supposed to do.”
He pointed at another concrete blockhouse, with lights along one side to illuminate the company name, a computer retailer who'd come to Texas to try their luck, hoping a little of Dell's magic and some of its employees would rub off on them. The two who'd drop onto the building from the hovering helicopter would need some leather gloves and a thick rope, for a quick exfil. The same rope would let them drop down the side of the building when they were done. It was a local buy at a building supply on the way to the helicopter.
“Albert, you and Cathy are cleanup and my second backup. You set up near this exit, here, in the front. It's the only one they use, the one in the back is blocked by construction debris, from the new building going up behind them. Hopefully you won't have to do anything except observe and help out in an emergency, since I intend on dealing with Grigor and his crew myself.”
They all looked at him. The soldiers and Albert understood what he meant. Cathy had less lethal visions in her mind.
“We'll move after shift change, about thirty minutes before eight, so shit, shower, shave and eat, in whatever order you think is good and meet back here, say...” he looked at Cathy who knew where the helicopter was sitting, seeing her silently mouth the time she thought they should leave the conveniently placed coffee shop.
“Six thirty, thirty minutes to the helicopter, thirty to load and check equipment, thirty to fly over and drop everyone off.”
“Are we supposed to hover when we're done, or drop down some place close, so you can call us back?” Sgt. Ball asked, responding to Jabo with a sense of pride he'd been asked to play with someone of his ability and family background. It was like fighting the Alamo again, with very high tech weapons, under another Colonel Bowie who had the same fire and ability as the first one.
“No, I think we're done with air support when you drop us off, no need to make this more complicated than necessary, and like Cathy says, we're using someone else's bird. This operation could cause problems for him if its linked to what we're doing tonight. A clean in and out with the helo is what I want, understood?” The Balls nodded but Jabo could see the older one wanted a more active role in the mission, after the shit hit the fan.
“About that,” his friends from Fort Hood asked, looking at the Balls who had the same question, “just what in the hell are we doing here?” Jabo smiled, then went over his plan one more time,explaining the results he hoped to achieve, so everyone knew what he'd come up with.
At the airport all went well. A small problem with the helicopter startup checklist posed no problem to the Balls who stepped through the checklist once more to find it was wrong, showing a switch position that was the opposite it should be.
“Your damned pilot probably never uses the checklist anyway, most pilots just turn it on and fly and never check all the aircraft settings like you're supposed to.” Ball looked at Cathy, assuring her it was how lesser pilots operated. She made a note to get her father's helicopter pilots retrained in proper procedures before they flew his bird again. Her dad's life depended on everything working when it was in the air. Eternally busy, he was always hopping between the cities of Houston, San Antonio, Austin and Dallas/Fort Worth. Ball's easy competence made her consider hiring him and his son for her father, as mechanics if nothing else, to keep this and the other two helicopters in their company running. She smiled to herself, thinking hiring them would give her a pair of Balls, just like Jabo.
They were full and near max weight, with a topped off gas tank. The two Balls sat in the front. In the two rows of passenger seats Jabo, his equipment took up two side by sides. The two Ranger qualified soldiers from Fort Hood and their gear occupied the others behind him. They had a new drop rope they'd woven out of the thickest polyester line they could find, making a hundred foot drop line the younger Ball would unhook after they'd slid down. A quick toss and the same rope would provide a way to shinny down from the warehouse building when they were done.
Showtime.
Jabo pulled at his chute harness the tenth time, making sure everything was cinched up tight. The GPS unit he'd had delivered from the manufacturer in Austin was brand new. Checking the display, their location constantly updated, a blinking dot on the map that glowed on the snap out display, no different from a GPS navigation system in a car or plane. Tough little unit made it simple to confirm where they were going by looking out the side, matching the streets that showed up on the simplified Google map style display on his chest, matching it to the actual grid alive with moving vehicles and street lights down below.
It was strange d
ropping onto a city so well lit and bustling with people and cars. Combat drops were always into the dark or into a sparsely populated area. Lucky for him there weren't any wires on high poles, the electrical power and other wires normally strung on poles were underground in the Rosario business area. The closest high tension lines, miles away, marched up a from a power company about eighty miles North East from San Marcos, feeding power to Austin and the surrounding areas, information that was going to come in handy later.
“Let's go,” he called out over the intercom, ready to make his jump, not an easy one with the extra gear he was taking along, but nothing more than he'd worn on other HALO jumps in combat. This one was complicated only by the darkness, which the chest mounted GPS unit he'd had driven down from Austin, made far easier. State of the art, it had a day/night display that let him orient his drop on the city below him perfectly, providing a landing spot to aim for and specific parachute modulated feedback, keeping him in a drop envelope, not too fast or slow, exactly like landing a plane on an airport runway, giving a dynamic flight path to glide down until he flared and dropped out of the air – Jabo Bowie, Birdman.
When they got to altitude he felt the familiar rush of fear and excitement, completing his mindset. It pushed him into warrior mode. He looked back at the two men who'd volunteered to help him, not asking why only what they were supposed to do. It made his eyes tear up slightly, proud to be part of this team he had cobbled together out of common soldiers, the true backbone of this country. The GPS unit, reading his altitude, knowing the altitude of his drop point, local winds and the performance of his parawing chute counted down to his jump point. GO!
He stepped out, following the heavy go bag the other two had pushed out moments before. It held extra ammo, mostly, and some tools he thought would be useful. The tether to the canvas satchel flew out, then tugged on his leg as he fell. It was all going as planned. Jabo felt the chilled air rushing past his body as he extended his arms and legs, assuming the flat, spread out posture that he'd used so many times before. Any anxiety or worry vanished in the concentration that took over his mind. This was it. Soon he'd get his revenge and find out who'd ordered his Grandparent's murder and visit the same rampage on him and those around him.
Hell To Pay Page 27