by Dale Mayer
“And keep in mind Kasha has weapons training. Bullard trained her himself,” Merk said. “He wanted to ensure she could handle herself when he was away. I know he was contemplating basing her here, but she didn’t want to come this far out.”
“I heard she was looking to head back to the US again,” Harrison said.
“Have you guys worked with her before?” Brandon asked.
“A couple times. She’s good people.” Merk held up a cell phone. “The GPS is showing the tracker on the missing vehicle.”
“Good. What a world we live in where everything can be reduced to a screenshot on a phone held in our hands.”
“It could be that Bullard was taken and even killed for the vehicle. In this area, that relic of a pickup still runs and is worth gold to them, whether they keep it or intend to sell it,” Harrison noted. “Whoever has the truck may not want to give it up either.”
“I don’t give a shit what they would like,” Brandon said quietly. “That vehicle comes back with us. That’s the only evidence we have that Bullard was here. We can’t take a chance of losing that too.”
“What if Bullard sold it to them?” Harrison asked.
“Then they can take it up with him when he’s back on his feet. In the meantime, we treat them all as if they are against him,” Merk said.
“Well then, we’d better find him. No way will I face his team or ours and tell them we failed,” Brandon added.
Just before they entered town, Brandon could see buildings lining either side of the road. Businesses of some sort. Houses seemed to sit behind the business row but not many. A rise was off to the left. He drove the vehicle to the top, and they hopped out and walked over to the edge to look down on the village. With little to impede their view, it was easy to see Bullard’s vehicle, parked between two houses off the main road. They snuck down the hill on foot and around the back of the houses, then took another couple minutes to work their way around to where the vehicle was.
Brandon had the spare keys in his pocket. What they really wanted was to know what happened to the driver. Merk gave a signal that he was going on ahead with Harrison giving him backup. Brandon snuck around to come up behind the vehicle. He was at the passenger side as he caught sight of a clipboard on the front seat. It had Bull emblazoned on the front. Such a Bullard attitude. Brandon checked underneath and in the back but couldn’t see anything suspicious or noteworthy.
A small adobe hovel was on the right. Crossing over, Brandon sent a short Morse code message via his comm before he slipped inside to find it empty and cold. Nobody had used this place for days if not weeks. Creeping back outside, he crossed to the building on the other side and found the same thing. All the buildings at this end of the village appeared to be deserted. They were in rough condition, but it was interesting that the truck was here. Was the whole village involved or just one or two bad apples? The latter was more likely.
Back outside the other two waited for him. He walked up, motioning to both houses and whispered, “Both clear.”
They nodded, and the three spread out, sticking close, and went on a house-by-house search. Harrison served as a lookout to the rear, while Brandon went inside each one, leaving Merk as the scout going ahead to the next target. There was no sign of anybody for several more houses, but, as they came closer to the main part of town, they could hear English-speaking voices.
“We can’t just keep him here.”
“I say, kill him.”
“You know that’ll just bring more problems down on our heads,” another man snapped. “The others don’t deserve that.”
“It’s Bullard. If we don’t kill him, this won’t end here and now.”
“He’s almost dead anyway. What difference does it make?”
“It matters,” protested the first man. “If we take him back now, he’ll forgive us. I, and some of the others, didn’t know what we were getting into.”
“Well, you’re in the middle of it now.”
“We had nothing to do with his kidnapping.”
Merk, Harrison and Brandon listened, trying to get as much information as they could.
“Bullard won’t believe that.”
Merk motioned with his head, and they quickly surrounded the house and stepped in both doors at the same time, guns at the ready. They faced a table of six men; two were white men, and four were locals, each fully armed but caught unaware. Nobody had time to draw his weapon. The oldest of the white men stood. He lifted his hands and asked, “Are you here for Bullard?”
Merk nodded.
The man pointed behind them to where Bullard lay against the wall, out cold. Brandon holstered his weapon and checked Bullard’s pulse. “He’s alive.”
“Yes, he is, but he’s in bad shape.”
“Why didn’t you get him help?” Merk asked. “Was it your job to kill him?”
The man shook his head rapidly. “No. We happened upon him already unconscious in his truck. We knew what was happening at the walled-in place, but we didn’t realize how bad it would get. We had heard rumors, but we didn’t realize it involved Bullard.”
“How the hell do you know who Bullard is?”
“It’s one of the reasons we’re here. We were hoping to get hired on. We heard he was looking for men.”
“And you expect him to hire you now that we find out you were part of his kidnapping?”
“But we weren’t,” the older man said. “I’m Peter. We don’t know what’s going on.”
“Yet you didn’t contact his local headquarters?”
“We did, but nobody was there,” the younger man said in protest. He also stood with his hands up to make sure everyone could see they were empty. “We would never have done that to him. We’re seriously looking for work. He put the word out that he was looking for good men.”
Brandon looked at him hard. “Military?”
The man nodded. “I’ve been a mercenary for the last six years. It’s not exactly my preferred choice, but I was hoping to work for Bullard. I’ve heard a lot of good things about him,” he admitted.
Brandon didn’t trust any of them. He said, “We’ll be taking Bullard and his vehicle with us.”
“Can we help you carry him?” one of the men asked eagerly.
Merk shook his head. “But we’ll take his belongings that you stole.”
The men looked at Merk in surprise, then looked at each other. The older one said, “That just might be a little harder to do.” His smile indicated he wouldn’t be returning anything.
“No, it won’t be,” Brandon snapped. “You said you’re on Bullard’s side, and you want to work for him. He won’t tolerate anybody who steals from him, regardless if you kidnapped him or not.”
As far as Brandon could see, this group was a mix of ex-military, possibly looking at Bullard for a source of work, and the locals could have seen Bullard as a boon to their economy. But then who the hell had kidnapped him?
Peter waved at the locals and said, “They want something in return for storing his vehicle.”
“The fact they’re not wearing my bullets right now is a sign of my goodwill,” Merk said in a hard voice. “We find you all in possession of the kidnapped man who is injured, and you haven’t done anything to get him medical attention.”
“Just so you know that we had nothing to do with his kidnapping,” Peter snapped, “we found him in his vehicle and didn’t know what to do. A large militant group occupied that holding he bought. I think they were the ones who went after him.”
“And why would they do that?”
Peter shrugged. “I don’t know. They have lived here for the last year off and on. I don’t think they liked the idea of Bullard taking over their base. Then again there were rumors,” he admitted, “that they were involved in illegal activities. So they might want the base back.”
“Well, they won’t be getting it now. Hand over all of Bullard’s belongings, and then we’ll leave.”
One of the group made a move f
or a gun. The single shot fired sent everybody seeking cover except for the man screaming on the floor.
Brandon looked over at Harrison. “Good shot.” While the rest of the villagers were stunned, staring at the guy’s blood that had sprayed everywhere, Brandon stealthily took pictures of them with his cell.
Harrison nodded grimly and spoke to the villagers again. “That was the one and only freebie. I only took out his hand raising the weapon. The next man who raises a weapon against us won’t get the same courtesy.”
Within minutes, they had Bullard loaded up in the middle of the cab of his truck with his weapons, ammo, wallet, cell phone, the elusive belt with the incapacitated GPS and his laptop. Merk held Bullard steady to keep him from rocking too much on the bench seat, while Brandon sat in the driver’s seat, with Harrison riding in the bed. They drove to where they’d parked the Hummer. There Brandon hopped into the second vehicle, Harrison taking over driving the truck, and they all headed back to the holding.
The man they’d shot would need medical attention, but Brandon figured he’d get it faster than they gave Bullard any. Which was a damn shame because Bullard could have employed most of them—but not any longer. He’d never trust any of the men involved in this botched-up kidnapping. The drive back was short and hard. Brandon wasn’t sure they could trust any of the men they’d left behind, so he kept an eye out for anybody following them, keeping the Hummer at least a full minute behind Bullard’s truck.
Brandon could see the geography, open and flat, which gave him visibility for a long way. A militant group living in the empty holding for any length of time wasn’t good news. Although they wouldn’t likely attack the holding now, knowing many more men were there to defend it. Men not afraid to shoot them, if need be. As Brandon and his team had just proven in the village.
But their priority was getting the entire group back to Bullard’s main holding, the mansion Bullard called home.
That would be hours away as it was only noon now. They had to make it through the night before the airplane came to fly them back at eight in the morning. Brandon was damn sure, if they wanted to do a midnight flight, that was possible, but for some reason they’d been left for a whole day to get the job done. He’d figured four hours would have done it, and he was right. But it was a bit of a fluke they’d found Bullard in the first place. The trouble was getting him the medical attention he needed since they were stranded in this unpopulated area in a temporary holding not fully outfitted yet for another twenty hours.
Bullard was the doctor here. Brandon didn’t know if anybody else was qualified to help. All Levi’s men were good at rough-and-ready field medicine, but, if you needed more than that, it wasn’t to be had as Ice was their medic.
Kasha must have been watching the computer monitors as the garage door raised just in time for Levi’s team to drive Bullard’s truck and the Hummer into the downstairs garage. The doors closed quickly behind them.
As he pulled up and parked to the left of Bullard’s old truck, Brandon could see Kasha and Tahlia had already surrounded Bullard. Kasha had brought a gurney on wheels.
The men quickly transferred Bullard onto the gurney and wheeled it into the room adjoining the main computer area. Kasha pushed it farther into the room toward a desk with some medical equipment. Brandon walked up and studied Kasha. “Are you a doctor too?”
She snorted. “No, the doctor is the one lying on the table. I’ve helped him out on a few occasions. But I’m certainly not qualified for anything major. We need to get him back to the main estate for that. That’s where all the real equipment is.”
“Can you send a request for the plane to come now?” Merk asked. “That’s when we need it. Not tomorrow morning.”
She shook her head. “I don’t think they will come. We’ve set up the flight for eight.”
“Bullard needs attention now. Not eight in the morning,” Brandon said flatly. “What kind of an outfit are they that they can’t come and get the boss?”
Kasha shot him a hard glance. “Don’t judge what you don’t know.”
He shrugged. “Loyalty has to mean more than just following orders blindly.” He knew there was bitterness in his tone, but it was hard not to feel that way after what he’d been through. He didn’t talk about it though. One had to make a stand at some point in one’s life. He’d made his. Hence, being private now instead of in the military.
Her gaze searched his, but she never asked the question. She cut away Bullard’s shirt as Stone checked his head. “We’ve definitely got a concussion,” Stone announced. “He’ll need stitches on the side of his skull here too.”
Bullard hadn’t made a sound so far. His body temperature was dropping, and his skin showed signs of a chill.
Brandon looked inside all the cabinets. “Where will I find blankets?” he asked.
Kasha spoke a bit of whatever foreign language the cook spoke, then Kasha told Brandon, “Follow her. She’ll lead you to where the bed linens are.”
He glanced around the room and said, “Nothing’s down here?”
Kasha turned her attention back to Bullard. She continued to cut as she answered Brandon. “No, they’re still all up on the next floor.”
“What’s the cook’s name again?” he asked.
“Tahlia,” Kasha said. “At least that’s the easiest form for you to pronounce.”
He followed the cook, not at all sure he trusted her. But she was a whole lot smaller than he was and at least thirty years older and didn’t appear to carry any weapons. But he’d seen odder scenarios in his life. He stayed back a few steps as Tahlia ambled forward. When she led him to a big double closet in one of the halls, it was indeed full of bedding. On the bottom were blankets. He grabbed three, nodded his thanks and raced back downstairs again.
He waited for Kasha to finish checking Bullard’s chest. “You’re taking his pants off too? He’s already chilled.”
“I already did a full check on the lower half of his body,” Stone said. “I’m not seeing any more injuries.”
“The main injury is his head? How bad?” Kasha asked.
“The main physical trauma is to his head. It doesn’t appear to be that bad.”
Kasha stepped away and glanced at Bullard and then to the monitors. “I’m also worried about drugs.”
Stone shrugged. “It’s not necessarily bad drugs. They may have given him something for the pain, or they may have given him something to sedate him while they figured out what to do with him.”
As soon as they all stepped back, Brandon bundled up Bullard with several blankets. He wrapped one around his feet where his toes already were bluish. “I wonder how long he’s been like this.”
“It’s hard to say,” Stone replied. “At least one full day. He hasn’t been missing that long. His knuckles are scraped up and battered as if he put up a good fight somewhere along the line.”
“They likely smashed him over the head to initially subdue him,” Kasha said. “Still, it’s better than popping him with a couple bullets. I hear you shot somebody in town, Brandon.”
“Not me,” he said cheerfully. “That was Harrison. But I would have. I’ve got no issue with those types of men.”
“What? Honest upright citizens trying to make a living?” she asked in a mocking tone.
He snorted. “Mercs. They all have their uses, and maybe they’ll be good and loyal eventually. But right now they’re slimy. I’d advise Bullard to not hire any of them.”
“Do you have anything other than personal prejudice for that reasoning?”
“Yeah, they didn’t look after their goddamn guns.”
The other men stopped to look down at theirs.
Brandon shrugged. “Did you see them?”
The men shook their heads.
“You can always tell what kind of a man he is by the condition of the weapons he keeps.” He caught the other two staring at each other and glancing over at Kasha. But he ignored them. He reached down and checked Bullard’s p
ulse. It was strong and steady. “Given the sheer laxity and paleness of his skin,” he said, “I’m going with a knockout drug.” He turned to find Kasha bringing out a syringe and staring at it. “Probably gamma-hydroxybutyric acid, or date rape drug and common all over the world. He’ll come out of this without any side effects just fine.”
“I don’t have any of the necessary equipment here, but, as soon as we get home, I can get it tested.”
“If we won’t be home for at least twenty hours, the date rape drug won’t be detectable. It’s already leaving the body at eight hours and completely gone by twelve,” he said gently. “Better to pull the blood when we get there. Except that the drugs may have worked through his system by then too.”
Merk stepped forward. “Kasha, are you sure we can’t get the pilot here sooner?”
She looked up at him steadily and said, “I’m under orders not to call them.”
The men’s eyebrows rose. “Whose orders?”
“Bullard’s.”
Chapter 3
Kasha stared at the men defiantly. She knew they didn’t understand. She wasn’t even sure she understood. Bullard’s instructions had been clear. She was to follow the time schedule as laid out and to not deviate. No matter what happened. She’d protested in the past, saying sometimes things happened on the fly, and plans needed to be adjusted, but Bullard had been adamant. No. Stick to the schedule. Everything will work out.
She stared down at her unconscious boss. “But it’s not fine, dammit.”
“What’s not fine?”
She looked up to see the men staring at her, their gazes hard and clearly not understanding why she wasn’t calling in the emergency ranks. She quickly explained Bullard’s instructions.
Merk crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ve known Bullard a long time. He always has a reason for everything he does.”
She nodded. “He does. But I don’t know if he would consider these current circumstances enough to warrant a change now.”
Merk excused himself to take a lookout position on the rooftop walkway. He took Harrison with him, both of then taking a comm unit with them.