Black Canyon Conspiracy

by Cindi Myers

  The officious man must have decided she was beneath his notice, because he turned once more and hurried down the hall. She ignored the curious glances from the men they passed. Most of them were older than the recruits she’d seen on the ground, like the smoker Marco had frightened away. Only about half the men in this building wore uniforms, but they all looked grim, even worried.

  Their escort knocked on the door at the end of the corridor. “Who is it?” barked a man on the other side.

  “Captain Peterson, sir.” He glanced at Marco. “I have a special envoy from Mr. Prentice.”

  The door jerked open, almost sending the freckled man stumbling into the stocky figure who now stood before him. In his fifties, with close-cropped gray hair and narrow ice-blue eyes, he stared at Marco. “I’ve never seen you before,” he said.

  “No. I’m one of Mr. Prentice’s South American contacts.”

  Again, Lauren had to suppress a smile. What better way to explain Marco’s obviously Hispanic features to this crowd of white supremacists?

  “You’d better come in.” The commander held the door open wider. He put out a hand to stop Lauren. “Wait in the hall, soldier.”

  “My aide stays with me,” Marco said.

  The two men faced off. Whether intimidated by Marco’s superior height, his youth or the sheer force of his glare, the commander stepped back and ushered them in. Captain Peterson brought up the rear, closing the door behind him.

  Carroll moved behind his desk, the top of which was almost obscured by papers, folders and a large open case, which contained what Lauren thought might be a satellite phone. “Prentice has been promising me new information for days,” he said. “But I was under the impression he was going to contact me in person, not send a third party.”

  “He prefers to keep a certain distance from day-to-day operations,” Marco said.

  Carroll snorted. “Yes, and if things go south, he walks away clean. I’m not a green recruit. I know how these things operate. But I’m fighting for a cause I believe in, and that means I’m willing to take risks and get my hands dirty.”

  “Are you suggesting Mr. Prentice doesn’t believe in the cause?” Marco asked.

  “He believes. And he’s done a lot to sway others to our point of view. He’s shown it’s possible to give the finger to the government and walk away unscathed. That’s good publicity, any way you look at it. I would never question his commitment.”

  “Only his bravery?” Marco asked.

  From his position by the door, Peterson made a choking sound. The commander’s lips whitened as he pressed them together. “What message do you have for me, Hoffman?”

  Lauren held her breath. They hadn’t gotten this far in the plan. What message would allay the commander’s suspicions, yet allow Marco to use the sat phone to call for reinforcements? How would he tell the Rangers where they were located?

  Marco pulled out a chair across from the commander’s desk and sat, one ankle on his knee, a relaxed, insolent posture. “First, I need coffee. It’s been a long night.”

  The commander scowled, but he turned to Peterson. “Go get us some coffee. And have the mess send up some sandwiches, as well.”

  Peterson clearly wasn’t pleased at being sent on this errand, but he didn’t dare argue. Shoulders stiff, he exited the room. Lauren moved farther into the corner, keeping to the shadows as Marco had instructed.

  “I don’t trust that one,” Marco said when Peterson had left. “He’s too self-important.”

  “Peterson is loyal, I’m sure of it,” Carroll said.

  “I never assume anyone’s loyalty,” Marco said. “Neither does Mr. Prentice.”

  Carroll shifted, his chair squeaking in protest. “Say what you came here to say. I don’t have time for chitchat.”

  “Mr. Prentice wants to know what you’ve done to ensure the success of the mission,” Marco said.

  “He knows what I’ve done. Doesn’t he read the reports I send?”

  “People can say anything on paper. He sent me here to see for myself the preparations you’ve made.”

  “The men are trained and ready. We’ve got the manpower and the support in place to hit more than a dozen targets at once. The state will be practically helpless within hours and the rest of the country will take notice. Our success will persuade others of our power.”

  “People will think foreign terrorists are responsible,” Marco said.

  “At first they will, but once we begin our press campaign they’ll see things differently. They’ll realize this isn’t the work of some foreign power, but of their fellow countrymen. True patriots who want to bring the United States back to the righteous roots from which we’ve strayed.”

  As he spoke, the commander’s face flushed and his voice lowered to the sonorous tones of a Gospel preacher. Lauren wondered if the words were his own, or ones he’d heard repeated so often they had become doctrine. And she wondered what would make a person so dissatisfied and disgruntled that they’d subvert patriotism into an excuse for destruction and murder.

  “Are you ready for a strike immediately?” Marco asked.

  “We’ve been ready for more than a week,” Carroll said. “All we need is the go-ahead from Mr. Prentice, and the acknowledgment that he’s laid all the groundwork on his end. Give us the time and date and we’ll make it happen.”

  “I’ll call him and give him my report.” Marco motioned toward the sat phone. “I’ll recommend he give the go-ahead now.”

  Carroll shoved the sat phone toward Marco. “Make the call. I’m ready to get this over with.”

  Marco took the phone, then nodded toward the door. “If you’ll leave us for a moment, Commander.”

  Carroll stared. “You’re asking me to leave my office?”

  “I could step into the corridor if you prefer.”

  He shook his head, but left the room. Lauren breathed a huge sigh of relief, but a warning look from Marco kept her in the corner. He nodded toward the door and she got the message. Just because the commander had stepped into the hall didn’t mean he wasn’t listening, or even watching through a crack in the door.

  He powered up the phone and went to stand by the window, the antennae extended. After a moment, he punched in a series of numbers and waited.

  “I’m here. Yes, the trip was terrible. It took five hours to get here from the ranch house. Excellent location, though. I’d estimate ten miles from the main road and another fifteen from the park. The wash makes good camouflage and Carroll and his men have done a good job of hiding the camp. No one would guess this is a training facility.”

  Lauren covered her mouth to choke back a cry of delight. Marco had found a way to give the Rangers all the information they needed to find them, all while sounding like the bored messenger he’d been portraying for the past half hour.

  “I’m convinced Carroll’s men are trained and ready,” he continued. “He wants to strike as soon as possible. Yes, all the targets—transportation and communication. With the press campaign immediately after to clarify that this is not a foreign terrorist operation, but the work of patriots here in the US.”

  He waited, listening. Lauren strained her ears, but could hear nothing of the response. “Yes, sir. I’ll remain here to assist the commander. Thank you, sir.”

  He hung up the phone and looked at her. “It’s done,” he said, his voice barely audible.

  The door opened and Carroll entered, but there was a new stiffness in his posture, a new hardness in his gaze that put Lauren on edge. She stood up straighter, and put one hand on the Bowie knife at her belt.

  “Very clever, Mr. Hoffman,” Carroll said. “Though I suspect that isn’t your real name.”

  Marco blinked, but kept his arrogant expression in place. “Commander Carroll—” he began.

  “Corporal Cruz, we meet again.”

  Richard Prentice stepped into the room behind the commander. Only instead of his usual business suit, the billionaire wore a crisp khaki uniform,
a field jacket belted tightly about his waist, twin pistols in holsters on his hips. He wore tall black boots polished to a mirror finish, and an officer’s cap set at a jaunty angle on his silver-streaked brown hair. He swept a dismissive gaze over Marco, then shifted his attention to the corner. “Lauren, so nice to see you again,” he said, with a smile that sent a chill through her. “But I must say, that outfit doesn’t become you. We’ll have to see if we can find you something more flattering. It would be a shame for a beauty like you to die dressed as a common private.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Marco carefully set the phone aside, his expression deliberately impassive. He avoided looking at Lauren, though he sensed her fear. Help was on the way, but it would be hours before Graham could marshal his resources and locate the canyon. He and Lauren might not have that much time.

  “Should I kill them now?” Commander Carroll had drawn his handgun and had it trained on Marco. His mouth curved up in a maniacal leer that sent an icy chill up Marco’s spine.

  “Not yet.” Prentice strode into the room. The uniform he wore magnified all his most prominent traits. He’d been arrogant before; now he exuded disdain for all around him. His clipped speech had grown harsher, the words barked out like orders. Even his posture was more haughty, shoulders back, chest up, head tilted to look down his nose at everyone and everything.

  He stopped inches from Marco, so that the younger man could smell onions on his breath and the musky aroma of his aftershave. “Who did you call?” he asked.

  “The FBI.” Marco met Prentice’s gaze with a hard look of his own. “They’ll be here soon to take apart this camp and arrest you and everyone connected to it.”

  “They’ll be too late,” Prentice said. “By the time the players in their giant bureaucracy have analyzed and criticized and compromised and referred the decision up the chain of command until someone finally decides to give the orders to proceed, we will be long gone. But before we go, we’ll take out all our targets. Air traffic, highway traffic, telecommunications, even the public water supply will be completely disrupted.”

  The door opened and they all shifted their attention to Captain Peterson, who entered carrying a tray with a coffeepot and cups. His face reddened. “Sorry I took so long,” he said. “The mess was empty. It looked as if the cook left in the middle of peeling potatoes. I had to make the coffee myself.”

  “Forget the coffee,” Carroll said. “Mr. Prentice has identified these two as impostors trying to infiltrate us.”

  Peterson gaped and set the tray on the desk.

  “Destroying everything won’t win you any friends,” Marco said. “Or any influence. You’ll have everyone in the country hunting you down, eager to kill you.”

  Prentice shook his head. “Maybe for a few days, but in the chaos that follows, people will learn they can’t rely on their broken government system for help. Then we’ll step in to save them. To show them a better way.”

  “Why would they trust the very people who caused the chaos in the first place?” Lauren spoke for the first time since Prentice’s arrival. She looked less pale now, and her voice was strong—defiant. Marco admired her courage, but if he could he would have told her that defiance probably wasn’t the way to lull Prentice into believing she wasn’t a threat. Her best hope for escape was to try to remain as quiet and invisible as possible. That would allow Marco to create a distraction and her to run away.

  Too late for that now, though. Prentice turned on her. “Most people are weak,” he said. “They value their comfort—their electricity, their running water, their luxury cars and high-speed internet and twenty-four-hour streaming movies—much more than they value principles or ideals. If we take those things away from them, within twenty-four hours they’ll be crying and begging and welcoming with open arms anyone who can give them what they want.”

  “You’re wrong,” she said. “People will hate you if you kill their loved ones and destroy their lives.”

  “Some of them,” he conceded. “But the beauty of my plan is that none of them will associate what is going to happen with me. An organization—the True Patriots—will claim credit for the destruction, then I will step in to rescue society. With my money and power and concern for people, and my equal disdain for all political parties, I will be their savior.”

  He struck a statesmanlike pose, head up, one hand with the palm flat over his heart. “After I have stepped in and used my money to restore their creature comforts, most people will be happy to do anything I want. I’ll continue to preach the message I’ve delivered all along of personal property rights, taking power out of the hands of politicians, et cetera. But this time people will listen to me. By the time the True Patriots step forward to support me in the rebuilding efforts, people will see them in a completely new light—not as terrorists, but as reformers—people doing what is needed to get this country back on the right track.”

  “You’re crazy,” Lauren said.

  He arched one eyebrow. “You would know, wouldn’t you?”

  Her face flushed even more, but she made no reply.

  “Let me kill them now,” Carroll said. “They’re going to get in our way.”

  “I have something better in mind for them,” Prentice said. He turned back to Marco. “I hear you’ve gone rogue.”

  “Then, you heard wrong.”

  “No? My sources tell me you resigned your commission in the DEA and stayed behind to do what—become a vigilante?”

  “Disbanding the Rangers didn’t stop us from coming after you,” Marco said.

  Prentice cupped his chin in his hand and continued to study Marco. “Yes, I’d say you are a vigilante. You fell under the sway of a beautiful woman.” He nodded to Lauren. “Her delusions—part of her mental illness—led her to advocate for the overthrow of the government. Disgruntled by your treatment at the hands of your own federal employers, you were happy to join her in her efforts. Together, the two of you masterminded a series of terrorist attacks.”

  “What are you talking about?” Lauren asked. “You’re not making any sense.”

  “I’m making brilliant sense,” Prentice said. “If there was any flaw in my plans to this point, it was that it didn’t leave anyone for people to focus their anger on. They couldn’t be angry at me, the benevolent billionaire who is paying to put their lives back together. Neither can they remain enraged at my allies in the True Patriots. But some people need someone to hate. With the seeds I have already planted in the media about your unstable nature and propensity for making up preposterous scenarios, they’ll be happy to turn their anger on you, and on your deluded consort.”

  Marco and Lauren exchanged glances. Yes, Prentice was crazy; she wouldn’t get anywhere arguing with him.

  “You’re not going to kill them?” Carroll asked, not hiding his disappointment.

  “No, I’m going to leave them alive. In the aftermath of the attacks on the state’s infrastructure, they’ll be found wandering in the wilderness, out of their minds and protesting their innocence.” He addressed Lauren again. “Part of our media campaign following the attacks will be to place the blame for the events on you. We’ll be free to manufacture whatever evidence we like, and we’ll give people plenty of reasons to discount everything you say. Before you know it, you two will be the most hated people in the country.” He reached out and rubbed a lock of Lauren’s hair between his thumb and forefinger. “Given what I know about you, that would be a fate worse than death.”

  “The Rangers won’t believe you,” Marco said.

  Prentice waved his hand dismissively. “The Ranger Brigade is already a defunct task force. Their vendetta against me prevented them from effectively performing the job they were designed to do. Any continued defamation of my character will be dismissed as the whining of poor losers.”

  The man clearly believed everything he said, and expected everyone else to believe it, too. The depth of his delusion was astonishing—but it also made him more dangerous. If be
lieving you would survive increased your chances of making it out of a life-threatening situation, then believing you couldn’t fail also increased your chances of success. And Prentice had already proved he was a master at swaying public opinion in his favor. “You’ve thought of every angle, haven’t you?” Marco said.

  “Of course.”

  Let him believe that, Marco thought. But he doesn’t know me. And he doesn’t know Lauren. Not really. We didn’t come this far to give up.

  “If we’re not going to kill them, what are we going to do with them?” Carroll asked.

  “Lock them up for now,” Prentice said. “We’ll turn them loose right before we leave. With no transportation or way to communicate, it will be hours before anyone finds them, or they find their way to civilization—or what’s left of it.”

  “Where should I lock them up?” Carroll asked.

  Prentice turned to scowl at him. “Don’t you have a brig, or whatever it’s called?”

  “We haven’t needed one. The penalty for most infractions is death.”

  No wonder the soldier who’d been caught smoking outside the kitchen had looked so terrified, Marco thought.

  “There must be some building with a lock on it,” Prentice said.

  “Some of the offices have locks on the doors and windows,” Captain Peterson offered.

  “Then, find one of them to put them in,” Prentice said. “It will only be for a couple of hours.”

  Carroll hesitated.

  “Do it, man!” Prentice barked. “We don’t have time to waste. Start mobilizing the men. Our mission starts now!”

  Carroll shoved the pistol into its holster, then turned to Peterson. “Take them to that empty office down at the end of the hall. Find somebody to guard them. Then report back here immediately.”

  “Yes, sir.” Peterson saluted, then grabbed hold of Lauren’s arm and tugged her toward the door.

  “Oww! You’re hurting me,” she protested.