By Dog Alone: A Kelton Jager Adventure Book 2

by Charles Wendt

  “Check under the beds and in the closets upstairs. She might be shot and unable to respond,” ordered Kelton.

  Helmut came to the back door and remained dripping on the porch, “Hauptmann Jager, I thought we’d seen the last of you and your dirty mutt putting paw prints all over these young ladies gleaming kitchen floor.” He smiled with his yellow teeth.

  Kelton stayed to business, “Holly might be missing. Her housemates are searching now. No wounded that we know of yet.”

  Kate came down the stairs first, having satisfied herself already of Holly’s absence there, and made toward the sleeping porch facing the hockey field. She whirled about when she saw Helmut and started pleading at him as the others also came back downstairs.

  “They took, Holly. Why did they take, Holly? Please bring back, Holly. Please, please!”

  Elizabeth wrapped up Kate in a hug and looked at Vicky.

  Vicky replied to the unasked question, “Holly’s not upstairs. I’ll go check the porch.”

  Kelton went to the sink to fill his Camelbak. Helmut followed him, a few steps away from the girls.

  “The only local K-9 teams the sheriff has are narcotic dogs. I see them at the hunt’s annual blessing of the animals. For search and rescue, they rely heavily on a civilian roster. They work hard and are certified, but not on alert at the drop of a hat. Even if the state police are mobilizing, no one’s going to get any search underway until dawn.”

  “I figured that, and it will be too late. They’ll get to some road and have someone pick them up by then. I’m going after them.”

  Helmut nodded, “Good luck, my friend. Many thanks. I better check the next house to make sure someone isn’t shot and then help Mrs. Grant with the main building. The hockey coach has the southern houses. It’s going to be a miserable long day tomorrow.”

  Vicky came back from the sleeping porch, just as Helmut stepped through the back door. He paused a moment without turning around to hear her report.

  “She’s not there either.”

  Kate cried again, “It’s all my fought. She always sleeps out there but now that we made friends she was inside with me to be taken.”

  The other girls swarmed about Kate to reassure her.

  Kelton made Azrael lay down, and then uncoiled the long tracking lead and clipped it to the dog’s vest. The rain fell hard now, the girls raising their voices to be heard with the open doorway. He removed his shooting glasses, droplets on the lenses making them useless to see out of, even with his floppy hat.

  He commanded his dog to stay, and then went outside with his flashlight to get a more powerful weapon. There was a time he’d considered carrying one. It was perfectly legal to do so, at least in Virginia. But it was also heavy and he wasn’t at war. Until now. Still laying in the street, gripped by the body of a thug, was an M4 carbine for the taking with its bolt locked back. He stepped on the man’s forearm to yank it away.

  “Hey, get away from there. That’s evidence,” shouted a fireman. They were inspecting the trio of cars to ensure the fire was completely out.

  Kelton found a fresh magazine on the body, replaced the empty in the carbine with it, and slapped the bolt release to chamber a round. He knew the weapon well, having carried it during four years of deployment in Iraq and trained on it all the way back to freshmen year at the academy.

  “I’m taking it,” he stated.

  Kelton watched the fireman look back at the firetruck, and knew that the water cannon would prove a powerful persuader. But they’d used their water on the fire. They might have some left, but probably only enough to make him mad. And he was too well equipped for anyone to risk making him mad. It was a Police, not a Fire problem and they backed away.

  On another body, he found one more full magazine giving him close to sixty shots. It was enough. In the distance he saw blue lights, and if he was going to go, it needed to be soon. He returned to the house.

  “I need a plastic bag, and something of Holly’s for Azrael to get a scent.”

  “No problem. She has lots of smelly hockey stuff in her hamper,” claimed Kate who’d recovered with the reassurance of her friends and quickly bounded up the stairs.

  “I’ll get a sandwich bag. We have some Ziploc’s we use to take snacks to the barn,” offered Elizabeth. She grabbed one from a kitchen cupboard and then dashed for the stairs.

  Kelton called after her, “Turn the bag inside out and use it like a glove to minimize getting your scent on the item. It will make it easier for Azrael to know what to chase down. It’s going to be a tough track in the rain, but they won’t get far. Also pack me some of Holly’s clothes and shoes for her to wear when I find her.”

  He turned toward Abriella, “There’s something I need you to do for me.”

  Back with her friends the redheaded girl had rallied, and nodded her assent.

  “Back when we were in the stairwell. I shot my sidearm three times. That means there are three brass shell casing around there. I bet they landed at the bottom, but they could have landed in the surrounding bushes as its pretty narrow. I don’t want the police to have them.”

  “What difference does it make?” but her eyes narrowed as she considered the list of possibilities.

  He sighed, trying to find the words to explain.

  “I’ve dealt with other bad people before and left evidence behind. If they get the shell casings here, they might link what I’ve done tonight to before.”

  Her bright pretty eyes looked off into space as her lips pursed, “What about the bullets?”

  He looked out the door at the swarm of firemen winding up a hose.

  “We can’t go dig them out of the bodies. They’ll get those. And that will link what happened here to something else like this if they got bullets there. I don’t know if they did or not.

  I’m more worried about the brass because my finger prints will be on them, in addition to the marks the gun makes on it. My finger prints and DNA are on file as a former member of the military. If they get the brass, they can link this to another shootout and figure out that it was Kelton Jager that did it. They can seize my bank accounts and turn off my credit card. Track my phone to locate me. I’ll be hunted.”

  “But you did nothing wrong,” protested Abriella as she closed her slender fingers into fists.

  “I didn’t,” he said firmly, and was glad to see her relax with his affirmation. “But all the money I saved from the war will go to legal fees. Azrael may get put down while I’m in jail. Even if someone is able to foster him, I’ll lose a couple of years with him while the slow wheels of justice turn and dogs don’t live that long. All that is the best possible case. If they want to find something, something like ‘leaving the scene’ as I’m getting ready to do for Holly, they could wind up giving some type of sentence.”

  “I understand,” she nodded. “I’ll go do my best.” And then she rose up on her toes to kiss him full on the lips before going out the door to the sleeping porch to sneak up toward the main building.

  “Yuck,” said Kate softly, and instinctively wiped her own mouth on the bundle of cloths she carried down the stairs. Vicky smirked at Kate’s reaction as Elizabeth followed the younger girl.

  Vicky stepped forward with her phone, “Kelton, you’ve not met Holly so I just wanted to show you a picture of what she looks like in case you need that.”

  “I’ve got to get going,” he said picking up a marker and writing a number down on a torn piece of flip chart paper, “but you can text it to me. That way I’ll have it.”

  Kate kneeled to put Holly’s clothes in his pack’s top compartment. Kelton put on his pack, and then his poncho over it. Then Elizabeth extended her arm to hand him the sealed plastic bag.

  “Oh, my,” Kelton replied as he took it.

  Elizabeth’s face turned so dark a red that she nearly fainted as she tried to explain, “I was in a hurry and that’s what was on top and it fit in the bag. I can go back and get a sock.”

  Out the open
backdoor, blue lights mixed with the firetruck’s red which meant either sheriff deputies or state police were on scene. An armed abduction leaving three men dead with automatic weapons at a prestigious girl’s prep school, with a kidnapping, would make national news. An FBI taskforce would be stood up with Holly missing and the organized crime component.

  The smart play would be to melt away and let them handle it. He’d done his part, and could go save himself and his dog. But Helmut was right. The sooner a pursuit was mounted, the better Holly’s chances were. It would be a couple of hours before resources could be gathered on scene and dawn before any meaningful response was in the field. The fixture was a big place. A lot could happen to a teen girl in that time, stuff that would be with her for the rest of her life. He not only possessed the skills, training, and resources to optimally pursue, he could leave right away.

  “No time,” he said as he put the bagged panties in his hip pocket.

  He picked up the carbine and Azrael’s leash. A state trooper’s gray cruiser pulled up so he took Abriella’s route over the sleeping porch railing on the opposite side of the house. Skirting east toward the barn he cut behind the neighbors as the rain let up for a few minutes. The bend in the road provided a place where he could cross and not be seen by the authorities on scene. Then he kneeled and let Azrael have a scent.

  “Such!” he ordered.

  CHAPTER—26

  Marcelo Armesto slouched in the leather chair by the fireplace, drumming his fingers on the armrest’s brass tacks. After another moment’s reflection he reached for the crystal sniffer and took another long pull of cognac. The lounge of the Hunt Lodge Hotel was deathly quiet this late during the week, the bartender having retired but leaving the dark curved bottle behind. The walnut paneling glowed with Old English furniture polish, and the framed hunt scenes of daring horsemen captured the beauty of the Virginia countryside.

  He was moderately aware of Esteban sitting quietly in the corner. Esteban wasn’t allowed to drink. His driving services could be demanded at any time, and the hours were long. He was legally carrying a concealed firearm as a bodyguard. A drink put those services at risk with no upside to Marcelo. Other upsides didn’t matter to Marcelo Armesto.

  To put it mildly, things had not gone as planned. They’d gone so badly in fact, that he was somewhat at a loss concerning the current state of affairs. Four men were dead, if you counted Bruno from the other night. Three were on the run if you counted that joke of a policeman. Hell, McFife was a joke as an animal control officer and needed to be put down. At final judgement, that would give Marcelo something positive to say for the eternal record. But right now, it was the poor execution of his sins that vexed him. He grabbed the fox shaped silver stopper and poured himself another sniffer full.

  Kenny Martin had gone to Justin Harper’s office under the pretense of scheduling an appointment to discuss Grunfeld’s golf development. It was something an attorney could go do but it was getting hard to maintain that line between attorney-client privilege and participating in a conspiracy. Marcelo was sensitive to that. But there’d been no one else to play that role. Fortunately, that had gone smoothly and Kenny had managed to rent a car and drive back to the district. Marcelo didn’t intend to keep the appointment. Mr. Harper would be dead before it happened, supposedly. It was just a little muddy water for any future defense attorney. The old, “I didn’t kill him because I was going to meet with him later,” defense.

  Learning that Harper had left town put a kink in their timelines. Kenny’s question of when Harper would return had been met with an offer of a meet next Thursday. It was impossible to know how much of that delay was driven by a packed schedule that most officials kept, or from him being out on vacation. They couldn’t lay around town waiting for him to come back because business back home needed to be tended to. The other option would be to run him down and kill him while he was out of town. With all the trouble stirred up in Westburg recently, that actually would have been much preferable. Unfortunately, the Connie woman claimed not to know where he’d gone.

  The sudden strike of lightening and the rattle of the lead crystal window panes flanking the hearth made him drop the stopper. Or maybe it had more to do with his numb fingers. His men would be having quite the time while out in all that. In some ways, his men deserved it.

  If not for them, he would have packed up and returned to the district. Sending Bruno’s replacement to take care of things in a week or so would have been sufficient to meet his favor to Johann. But the boys had gotten amped up about the red hair of Mrs. Harper and her daughter. They’d been excited to do bad things. Things that no woman was normally willing to accept money for, or if they were willing, they were so unrefined and ravished with drugs it took too much away from the experience. Leaving town without a girl would have invited a mutiny of sorts.

  Normally, he’d a good grip on discipline. But with Bruno’s loss and a pair of new recruits, things had gone to hell at a time when they were rebuilding the team. Then McFife had suggested raiding one of the houses at Fox Ridge School. He knew local police were overly relied upon for security there and that the night’s patrol roster would be thin. No adults lived in the houses; there’d be no guns there. And unlike the main school building with its steel commercial doors which could take an industrial battering of punishment before yielding, the houses were simple residential wooden structures built in a gentler era. Finally, best of all McFife said, they could target the same house he’d caught a male trespasser in just a couple of days before. This recent, and plausibly related, event would confuse the subsequent investigation. What could possibly go wrong?

  Everything had, of course. The police had mounted an energetic response for a light patrol night, coming quickly and aggressively. Diego’s text updates kept him abreast.

  “Have girl.”

  “Both vehicles disabled.”

  “Man down.”

  “Shot two cops.”

  “Two more men dead.”

  “Running into woods.”

  It’s like the authorities knew they were coming before Marcelo’s men knew they were coming. Unbelievable.

  Marcelo picked up his phone again to reread the short bulleted text messages from Diego and decided he had the facts right. There were long delays between messages, thunderstorms were playing havoc with the intermittent cellular service in the hunt land. A half hour had gone by. Daybreak was some hours away still, and the storms weren’t breaking up till midday. What to do? Especially with manpower so depleted.

  Part of him just wanted to step into the Lincoln, and sleep his way back home to the district. It’s why he made Esteban drink nothing but coffee. But he also knew, he represented his men’s last hope. They were city boys. They weren’t equipped for Mother Nature when she was in a bad mood. Without some type of quick intervention, they’d soon be in custody. Come dawn, hundreds of deputies and special agents, dog teams, and helicopters would be all over the fixture land. Patrols would be roaring down every country road. Roadblocks of riflemen would be sitting on every intersection. Just a matter of time.

  If they went down, he would go down. Kidnapping, murder of law enforcement officers, maybe sexual assault by now. And that was just tonight. The feds probably had other dossiers concerning extortions, blackmail and money laundering of some degree. They’d be able to leverage all types of federal offenses and sentencing guidelines to make his men turn. They’d have him too. Just a matter of time.

  The only thing going for them was the bad weather combined with marginal rural roads about Westburg. Drones couldn’t fly in these conditions and it was a long drive for the men with the best equipment and training. Those facts created a narrow time window in which he could take action. He’d waited for their call to go pick them up as they reached some rural road bordering the Westburg Hunt’s preserve. The call hadn’t come and as the minutes clicked on, the window to act was closing. The only chance was to drive in there and pluck them out. It was desperatio
n time.

  Marcelo did grow up country. Hell, even urban areas in the parts of Columbia he was from might be considered rural driving by American standards. Which is to say, he was no off-road driving hobbyist, but wasn’t uniformed. He knew the ground would be soft from hours of falling rain. Four-wheel drive was a must. The heavy armored Lincoln was the worst possible vehicle for the task. Quickly replacing it this time of night might be insurmountable. Or was it? The brandy fogged his thinking, but somehow he pulled through. Larry Turner, the builder, had a suitable vehicle. Everything was for sell.

  He stood bolt upright and gestured toward Esteban, “Let’s go!”

  Larry Turner was sleeping inside on account of the weather. The only preparations he’d made for bed was the removal of his keys from his front pants pocket so they wouldn’t dig at his thigh while sleeping on his stomach diagonally across the bed. He never turned the bed down in summer. It was so much easier to just wash the thin comforter than to have to wash and replace sheets, too. As always, the volume of his phone ringer was turned up high to give him a chance to hear it near big diesel engines. And for the second time in a week, a jerk called him in the middle of the night.

  “Turner,” he croaked, his voice muffled by still facing somewhat downward into a musty pillow.

  Then the doorbell rang. He sat up on the bed and threw his feet over the side. The doorbell rang a second time.

  He spoke into the phone, “Hello?”

  “Answer the fucking door.”

  He’d heard that voice before in the middle of the night. Larry staggered toward the front door vibrating under a pounding fist. He pulled it open, and blinked his eyes at the powerfully built olive skinned man holding a briefcase on his stoop.

  “Mr. Turner, so nice to talk with you again and good to see you dressed at this hour.” It was the same flat emotionless voice.

  “Yeah,” he said. He turned toward his phone and saw the “Call Ended” message flashing on the screen. “Uh, come on in,” he continued while stepping backward to make room in the doorway.