London Carter Boxed Set: Books 4 - 6

by BJ Bourg

  I quickly scanned the background, searching for anything that might clue me in to her exact location in the building. It looked like she was in a living room. She was seated in a wooden rocking chair and there was a window behind her head. To the right was a flat-screen television and there seemed to be a sofa close to the camera and off to the left.

  I turned my attention back to Dawn. Tears began streaming down her face as the camera zoomed in on her. I hadn’t felt the urge to cry since I was a kid, but my jaw was burning as I watched the woman I loved fighting to control her emotions. Her chin shook, but she bit down and then mouthed the words, “Please don’t do it.”

  I sucked in a mouthful of air as my own emotions threatened to surface. In the face of certain death, she was willing to lay down her own life to save someone else—a stranger. She was a true hero.

  CHAPTER 44

  Long after the video had ended, I sat there staring at the blank screen. I wasn’t sure that killing the vice president would save Dawn’s life, but I found myself wondering if it was worth the shot. As I sat there, I tried to visualize myself putting her in my crosshairs and pulling the trigger, but I couldn’t go through with it in my mind. I could see her head quartered in my sights plain as day, but I just couldn’t imagine myself shooting an innocent person. I knew enough to know if I couldn’t pull the trigger mentally, there was no way I could do it physically.

  I finally stood and walked to my truck, dialing Patrick’s number as I entered and fired up the engine. Like before, it went straight to voicemail. Tossing my phone down, I drove to the detective bureau and parked at the far end of the lot.

  Every member of my sniper team—Jerry Allemand, Ray Sevin, Rachael Bowler, and Andrew Hacker—were huddled in the shade under the overhang by the side door. They were all talking, but stopped and looked up as I approached them.

  I forced a smile. “How’s it going?”

  “We need to talk, boss,” Jerry said. “We know something’s going on and we want to help.”

  I stared from one to the next until I’d covered each of them, stopping to rest on Rachael. She frowned when our eyes locked, and I knew she had said something.

  “I’m sorry, London,” she said, “but I can tell something’s wrong and I had to tell them.”

  I sighed and took a seat on the curb next to them. While the food had improved my energy somewhat, it did nothing for the exhaustion I was feeling due to lack of sleep. After staring off into the distance for a while, I asked them if they trusted me.

  “Yes,” they all said in unison.

  “Then y’all are going to have to believe me when I say I can’t talk about it.”

  “Is it Dawn?” Rachael asked. “Did you two break up?”

  I laughed at the unexpected comment, and then quickly shook my head. “No, nothing like that.”

  “Oh, thank God,” she said, putting a hand to her chest in relief.

  “To be honest,” I began, standing and dusting off the seat of my pants, “I wish that’s all it was.”

  All of their faces twisted in confusion and concern.

  “Why can’t you tell us what’s going on?” Jerry asked. “We’re a family. You can trust us with anything.”

  “It’s not a matter of trust,” I explained. “There are times when you keep secrets from those you love because you want to protect them. This is one of those times.”

  They looked even more confused.

  “Protect us from what?” Jerry pressed.

  I was about to tell him I couldn’t say anything more when tires screamed on the highway behind us. We all turned and watched as four dark SUVs whipped into the parking lot and parked near my truck. Doors flew open and two agents jumped out of each vehicle, all of them dressed in BDUs. I immediately recognized Spider (Agent Ross Buckner from the Secret Service) as one of the drivers.

  I cocked my head toward my snipers. “I’ll let y’all know what’s going on tomorrow night, but, for now, I need each of you to put your game faces on. We need this operation to go off as planned and we can’t afford any distractions.”

  Each of Spider’s team members (five men and three women) snatched large duffel bags from the back seats of their vehicles and slung them over a shoulder. They then walked toward us and Spider extended his hand when they reached us.

  “Damn good to be working with you and your team again,” Spider said to me. He turned to Rachael. “I never had the opportunity to tell you this in person, but that was some fine shooting you did last week.”

  Rachael nodded her head and thanked him. Although she was new to the team, she performed like a veteran. She also worked harder than most snipers I’d ever met and she was extremely humble for such an amazing shot.

  After we’d been introduced all around, Spider turned to me and asked if we could set up somewhere and work on the ops plan for the next day.

  As I led him to the conference room, which was finally clear of people, I asked about the investigation into the first assassination attempt. “Do you have any leads?”

  “The FBI’s handling it and they’re being tight-lipped, but I was told they’ve hit a wall. They know we’re dealing with three men in a white truck, but that’s about it. They’re like ghosts.”

  “Any idea why they targeted the VP?”

  Spider shook his head. “No one’s claiming responsibility, but it makes sense, because the mission failed. No one wants to be known for a failed attempt at something.”

  “Any leads on the white truck?”

  “Turns out there’re dozens of white trucks with bumper stickers of a dog peeing on an image of the White House, and we’ve found every one of them—except the one we’re looking for.”

  “It’s strange to think they’ve got no ideas who these men could be,” I said slowly. “I mean, don’t they have any clues at all?”

  “There’re a lot of theories, but no solid leads.” Spider grunted. “There are so many people who hate her that it’s difficult to focus on any one group more than the next. We’ve got our resources spread thin trying to shake down all of the different groups that oppose her agenda.”

  I was thoughtful as I pulled out a diagram of the Bailey Oil Company property. It didn’t seem plausible that three men alone could pull off an operation of this scope, and I said as much to Spider.

  “I know what you’re saying, but we’ve got nothing.”

  “There’s got to be someone on the inside helping out,” I said. “How else would they know how to access Trace Mullin’s laptop, and how would they know so much about him?”

  “We’ve checked everyone in our camp. Run them all on the box. They’re clean—every last one of them.” He shook his head. “No, this is an outside job and they won’t stop until they accomplish their mission, which is why we must identify them as quickly as possible and take them out. We’ve shut down their blackmail scheme, so they’ll have to come at us in a different way. Whatever it is, we’ll be ready.”

  You’ve got no idea, I thought as I began marking positions for my snipers on the map. No idea at all.

  CHAPTER 45

  400 Yards East of the Chism Home, Western Arkansas Wilderness

  The sun was just dipping below the ridge behind the cabin when Patrick took the last sip of his water. If that snake comes back, he thought, grunting with amusement, I’ll milk it and drink its venom.

  He continued peering through his scope, hoping tonight would be the night when he’d get the chance to take out Dawn’s captors. Other than his right hand and his head, he hadn’t moved a muscle since first getting here, and most of his body had fallen asleep. He kept flexing his hand so it would be ready when he needed it, and he hoped he wouldn’t have to change positions in a hurry, because there was no way his body would respond.

  The rattlesnake had finally slithered out from under his ghillie suit around noon, but they were creatures of habit and he was afraid it might return once night fell. Maybe it’ll find a warm road to crawl up on and get hit by a car,
he thought. And leave me the hell alone.

  Something moved in the doorway and he adjusted his position slightly to hone in on the movement. It was Asshole Three coming out to smoke again. Patrick frowned. At first, he would smoke every hour, or so, but as the day drew on, he began coming outside more frequently and he became more fidgety. Whatever was going to happen, it was drawing nearer, and Patrick knew he was running out of time.

  After a few minutes, Asshole One joined Three on the porch and they spoke briefly.

  “Come on, Asshole Two,” Patrick said softly. “Join your comrades out on the porch so I can introduce you guys to the devil and his demons.”

  He waited and hoped, but Two never materialized. The last time he had seen Two was earlier in the day when he had led Dawn to the rocking chair in the living room and plopped her down in it. It was hard to see inside the cabin in the daytime, but it looked like they pinned a note to her torso and filmed her with one of their phones. They were never together at any one time, and Patrick wondered if they knew he was out there. But as soon as the thought entered his mind, he dismissed it. Had they known he was there, they would never show their heads.

  The sun slowly disappeared and the forest was once again draped in darkness. The lights were on in the cabin and each of the assholes appeared at one time or another during the evening. At what was obviously dinner time, Dawn and an older man—Patrick guessed it was her father—were led to the table in the kitchen and given something to eat. As Patrick watched them eagerly shove bite after bite down their throats, his own stomach began to grumble. When he was certain they were occupied for at least a few seconds, he inched his right hand into the front of his ghillie suit and grabbed what was left of the beef jerky. He took his time chewing it and allowed the flavor to linger, knowing it would be the last bite of food he would have for quite a while.

  As he munched on the beef jerky, he realized he hadn’t seen the Abel character again, so he was certain it was his body that was currently stinking up the ravine across the valley. He didn’t know the circumstances of his killing, but it appeared Dawn and her dad weren’t any worse for wear.

  Suddenly, cicadas began singing their death songs and the forest awakened with sounds of the Arkansas night life. All around Patrick dry leaves rustled lightly as tiny critters went about their nightly duties. To the untrained eye, this was just another regular night in the peaceful mountain wilderness.

  The temperature dropped and the wind picked up, caressing Patrick’s face with its cool fingers. He sighed and his eyelids drooped slightly, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It was then that he realized he was happier than he’d been in a while. He felt alive as he lay there on the side of that mountain hunting the three men below. There was no place he’d rather be right at that moment. I just hope I can save that poor girl, he thought, refocusing his attention on the front porch of the cabin, where Asshole Three was smoking yet again.

  Patrick glanced through the dining room window and could see Dawn’s face. Her head was down, but her eyes were shifting from side to side and it appeared she was making some calculations—most likely a plan of escape. He remained poised, ready to assist her if she made a move. He could see the very front of Asshole One’s face, but Two was completely obscured from view. Several minutes later, Asshole Three tossed his cigarette butt onto the ground—nearly drawing a shot from Patrick for littering—and then went back inside the cabin.

  A thought suddenly occurred to Patrick. Why don’t I sneak into the cabin and cut their throats while they’re sleeping?

  The more he considered it, the more he liked the idea. He began to wriggle his toes in an attempt to get some blood flowing in his legs. I’ve probably got bed sores by now, he thought, grunting in appreciation as the sensation of a million tiny needles began stabbing at his legs. He also started moving his left arm, but froze when he felt motion beside him. He stole a cautious glance in that direction and cursed under his breath. While it was too dark to see it clearly, he could tell it was the rattlesnake from the previous night and it was slithering forward like it knew exactly where it wanted to go.

  Patrick thought about trying to dissuade it from approaching him, but he couldn’t do it without risking a bite, so he simply lay still and hoped it would pass him by.

  There was no such luck. The snake took its time crossing over his arms and the stock of his rifle. It suddenly stopped momentarily, turning its head to lick the burlap dangling in front of his face with its forked tongue. Patrick’s eyes began to water as he tried not to blink. The flutter of his eyelids would be enough to spook the rattlesnake into striking, and he did not want venomous fangs buried into the side of his face. After a long and tense moment, the snake lost interest in the burlap and slid across his right arm and under his ghillie suit, where it coiled up for the night.

  Patrick peered through his scope. All was quiet and dark in the cabin, and it seemed they had turned in for the night. It would be the perfect time to sneak down there and attempt a nighttime massacre, but, thanks to the damn rattlesnake, he was pinned down until the snake decided to move on. He was already hungry, dehydrated, and tired, so he couldn’t afford to risk getting sick from a snake bite.

  CHAPTER 46

  Wednesday, June 4

  The sky over the mountains was starting to brighten when Patrick saw light coming through the front window of the cabin. Careful not to disturb the rattlesnake, he honed in on the window and saw that the light emitted from the living room. There was movement from the left of the room and Dawn suddenly appeared, being shoved forward by Asshole One. He sat her in the same rocking chair as yesterday and pinned another paper to her chest.

  Once Asshole One had moved, Patrick could see that the paper had a note containing the date and the words, Fried Chicken. As One began filming Dawn with his phone, Patrick saw her mouth the words, “Don’t go through with it.”

  Asshole One suddenly lifted his head and strode forward, slapping Dawn right across the face. He grabbed her shirt collar and screamed at her, which brought Asshole Three running into the room. There was an exchange of words between the two men. As they argued, Patrick noticed some slight movement from Dawn’s hands. He focused on that area and let out a low whistle. A handcuff key was sticking out of one of the holes in the cuffs and she was trying to conceal it with her palm.

  Good job! He didn’t know how she’d obtained the handcuff key, but was glad she was being resourceful. Once the shooting started, she might need to be free to defend herself.

  Asshole One seemed to calm down after Three talked to him for a bit, and he backed away and began filming Dawn again. After he was satisfied Dawn hadn’t mouthed any secret messages, he messed with his phone for a minute, or so, and then shot a thumb toward the hallway. Asshole Three helped Dawn up and they disappeared behind the wall.

  Of the three men, Patrick would not feel as good about killing Asshole Three. He didn’t seem to be as bad as the others, but the mere fact that he was present and on the wrong side of Patrick’s rifle meant he had to die.

  I might kill you first out of mercy, he thought, so you won’t even know what’s going on.

  Although the surrounding underbrush and tree trunks were in full view now, there was a dark shadow over the entire area. Patrick shifted his eyes skyward and saw thick clouds gathering overhead. He grunted. Rain was all he needed to add to the degree of difficulty. Thunder rumbled from somewhere in the distance and the snake stirred beside him. With minimal effort, its head appeared from under the burlap and it slithered over Patrick’s right elbow and onto the stock of his rifle.

  Just then, Asshole One entered the living room and turned on the television in the corner. He flipped it to a news channel and took a seat on the sofa. Within seconds, Asshole Two joined him and sat on the rocking chair. Patrick’s heart began to pound. It was the first time he’d had such a clear shot at the two men at once.

  There was more movement from the back of the room, but the snake slithered ac
ross the stock of the rifle and into Patrick’s eye relief (Eye relief is the distance between a shooter’s eye and the ocular lens of a scope.), blocking his view of the cabin.

  His right hand trembling just a little, Patrick slowly raised it up under the snake’s belly until he could see through the scope again. The snake didn’t seem bothered by the movement and Patrick groaned as he felt its cold belly gliding across the back of his hand. Experiencing a fear he’d never felt before and feeling as though he were playing with unbridled explosives, Patrick held his breath and lowered the belly of the snake onto the top of the scope.

  He didn’t dare allow himself to breathe a sigh of relief. Still holding his breath, he peered through the scope just in time to see Asshole Three plop onto the sofa beside Asshole One.

  This was it—the moment he’d been waiting for! The rattlesnake was still slithering across his rifle, so he waited, not daring to move just yet. It took all of his energy to focus on his scope and not on the snake’s progress. Moving millimeters at a time, he shifted his crosshairs until they were centered on Asshole Two’s ear canal. As soon as the snake was gone, he was going to—

  What the hell? Asshole Two abruptly stood and turned toward the hallway. There was a look of shock on his face, as though he’d heard something unexpected in the back room. It had to be Dawn making her escape.

  Patrick knew Asshole Two would be gone in a split second and his window of opportunity would be shut forever. Without a moment’s hesitation, he led Two slightly and then pulled the trigger. The explosion was so unexpected that dozens of birds shot skyward, screaming their objection.

  As Patrick immediately bolted a fresh cartridge into the chamber, he caught a glimpse of Asshole Two collapsing straight to the ground. There was a whipping motion to his left and he felt a burning sensation as the rattlesnake dug its fangs deep into his left bicep. Without flinching, Patrick turned his crosshairs to a startled Asshole One, who was clawing for his pistol and turning toward the broken dining room window. Before he could even wrap his hand around the pistol grip, Patrick’s second bullet had ripped through his teeth. He was dead before he hit the ground.