by Zack Klika
The relations between military police and local police was a delicate one. General Youngblood planned on holding a press conference in three days’ time, in conjunction with Tennessee and Montgomery County officials, to let the citizens of Clarksville know that a massive munitions theft had taken place and was being investigated by the most skilled men and women in the world. He would leave out the fact the theft took place over two years ago.
Sanchez had petitioned to get the ATF and FBI involved after Andrew came forward about Colonel Wright, but General Youngblood wanted to handle the investigation internally, shutting down Sanchez’s ideas. Sanchez kept his mouth shut. That’s what a soldier had to do to survive in the Army. After Jennifer was killed, plans changed. Sanchez wanted justice. He had resigned himself to the fact he might never get it, though. Colonel Wright was slippery and well liked by a number of higher-ups at different bases around the world. Their influence probably could have kept him out of jail even if Sanchez had a bulletproof case. Sadly, he did not.
He balled up his fist and slammed it on the sturdy center console, the sound of change rattling filling the car. He felt so pissed off that he just wanted to— He stopped himself. It’s just a thought, he told himself. So why hide it? Was there anything wrong with thinking about killing someone who deserved to die?
There were two types of people in the world: people who had, at one time or another, thought about killing someone and people who had, at one time or another, actually killed someone. Aligning his views more with the former, he let himself off the hook.
He pulled into an open spot that was close to the entrance. Maybe it was his lucky day.
Conn was going over some documents, her head propped up on her fist, when Sanchez saw her from the front of the room, probably twenty feet away. He walked over and sat in the armchair in front of her desk, but she didn’t notice he was there. He cleared his throat. Nothing. Her head was tilted forward so he couldn’t see her eyes. After what felt like an awkward moment to him, he leaned down towards the desk and looked up at her face. She was sleeping.
He just shook his head. She probably hadn’t slept much in the past forty-eight hours. Who would? Someone threatens your child’s life, you keep watch. Simple as that. He and his wife would never face that kind of fear. They didn’t want kids. Hard enough squeezing fun out of life without throwing kids into the mix. Even dogs were needy, in Sanchez’s opinion.
“Detective Conn,” he said softly and shook her shoulder.
Her head snapped up and her hand clenched into a fist, crumbling the paper she was holding. She looked around frantically, then stopped on Sanchez, who was feigning a smile.
“Good morning,” he said.
She rubbed her eyes with one hand. “I’m sorry, I—” she was saying.
“No need for apologies.”
“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” She yawned.
“You probably wouldn’t have, but I know you were looking into Andrew Brown’s case file.”
Conn remained silent.
“You’re not in any kind of trouble. That’s not what this visit is for. I’m stopping by as a friendly reminder that any and all information pertaining to the case we worked together, and any information you have about Andrew, is classified and should remain so.”
“I see.”
“Perfect then.”
Sanchez was about to leave, but Conn stopped him.
“Will I ever be able to stop looking over my shoulder?” she asked.
That was the worst of it to him. The fact someone had brought her son into it. He wanted to reassure her, but he knew that wouldn’t help give her peace of mind.
“I’m working on it,” was the best he could offer her.
Chapter 55
It was clear as day.
Riley showed the two photos to Lee. He shook his head.
“I don’t see it,” said Lee, rubbing his chin with thumb and index finger like he was thinking harder than usual.
“Okay,” Riley said and pointed to the first photo. “That’s Andrew in the five-ton after leaving the bunker, coming down a main road in the back forty that CCTV covered.” Riley pointed to the other photo. “That’s the same five-ton leaving the base almost two hours later.”
Lee nodded. “I see.”
“You do?”
He shook his. “No. I just mean, ya know, I see what you mean.”
Riley sighed. “Look at the tarp over the truck in this photo.” She held up the photo of the five-ton coming down a road in the back forty. “You see that outline that looks like the corner of a crate?” She pointed to a spot on the photo that showed what did look like a box pushing against the tarp.
Lee looked back and forth at both photos. And then he leaned in close.
“Holy shit. It’s not in the other photo.”
Riley dropped herself on the couch more than pleased with herself.
“Correct. If it isn’t in the photo of the truck leaving base, that means the weapons and ammo never left the base. And Jennifer found out where Colonel Wright was keeping it.”
Lee cut in. “The Birdcage, right?”
“Exactly.”
“So she confronted Colonel Wright. And he was so mad she betrayed him that he tried to beat her to death.”
“Something like that,” Riley said.
“So what do we do now? Turn him in?”
Riley shook her head. “I need to catch him red-handed.”
Even if Riley told Sanchez about the bunker, he would still have to connect it to Colonel Wright, and without any evidence Colonel Wright was there, the case would fall apart.
“Have you heard from Thomas?” Lee asked.
“No,” she said. “I tried calling him, but if he’s in the back forty he won’t have any cell reception.” An idea popped into Riley’s head. “Do you have your gear with you?”
“Yeah,” said Lee.
Chapter 56
Even though he was a large man, Colonel Wright eased quietly through the woods, carefully sidestepping branches that would make noise, instead stepping lightly on clear patches of dirt.
Tracking a wounded man was like tracking a wounded animal. Although at least an animal didn’t beg for its life the way most men did. It never ceased to amaze him just how cowardly some men were brought up to be. Jennifer didn’t beg. She fought admirably. He still couldn’t believe that she had lived through the beating he gave her.
She deserved every bit of what she got, though. Calling him out in front of Buck and Danny like that. Lying about knowing where the weapons were in the back forty. How could she know? Lying or not, she should have known better. He couldn’t take the risk of anyone finding out where his stockpile was hidden.
Up until their altercation, he had never laid a hand on another woman, even in a friendly way. He had only ever touched his wife of thirty-six years.
No one understood the need to be prepared more than him. The world had been changing all around him, and now it was changing in his Army. All combat occupations were open to women now. Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell had been repealed. What’s next? he thought.
If females in infantry units wasn’t crazy enough, now top brass wanted to open up the Special Forces to them as well. Another awful idea. He played nice, though. He handpicked Jennifer, not because he thought she would actually get through the Special Forces course, but because she was so well qualified. He would enjoy watching her fail the most.
He misstepped, crunching a leaf beneath his boot. Such a careless mistake. Everything went silent for a few seconds. He looked around, checking to see if he had rattled out of hiding the man he had shot moments before. No luck. He continued on.
He was always looking to expand his group of liberators, as he liked to call them, really a group of like-minded individuals he handpicked from the units he’d commanded over his last eight years at Fort Campbell. Jennifer would have been a perfect addition, if she weren’t a woman.
He flushed red with anger
at the thought of Jennifer figuring out his secret. To top it off she had hidden the fact she was Andrew Brown’s fiancée. Colonel Wright had a few of his liberators feel out Andrew before he had him help steal the weapons. Make sure he was okay with stealing the weapons and ammo and getting paid for it. How did they miss her? Andrew seemed perfectly fine with it all. Money solves more problems than anything else in the world. A truth Colonel Wright had learned long ago.
Killing Andrew wasn’t personal. He had to. No one else could know where the weapons were being hidden. And Andrew was the perfect fall guy. An ammo squad soldier on his way to a training exercise with weapons and ammunition who went rogue and sold them to someone off base.
What had really happened that night was that Colonel Wright went to check out weapons and ammunition from Andrew for a fabricated training exercise, and when everything was loaded on the truck, he and Andrew made their way to the bunker to store everything. It was all very straightforward. Andrew had agreed to sign out the weapons to someone with a different name so they couldn’t be traced to Colonel Wright.
After everything was stored in the bunker, Colonel Wright pulled a gun on Andrew and made him drive off base. He had the perfect spot to kill Andrew and dispose of his body. And then the rollover happened. With his back against the wall, Andrew rolled the truck on purpose to try and escape. But the plan backfired and Andrew went through the windshield, the hard asphalt road killing him on impact. Now that Colonel Wright thought about, Andrew didn’t beg for his life either.
Realizing his liberators would need some funds set aside in the event of martial law, he found Buck and started piecing out his stockpile for cash. Not enough to dent the bulk of it, just enough to be able to pay his men for a few months once a revolution or civil war broke out. And break out it would. He was sure of it.
The final straw took place behind closed doors when he was told that command of the 22nd Special Forces Group, which he’d thought he would be getting after eighteen years of dedicated service, was going to someone else and he would instead be leading the SFAS course on base. “Minority numbers are low amongst officers,” was the chief reason and all Colonel Wright needed to hear. Of course, he thought. Losing command because of the color of his skin.
It didn’t matter that he had a more extensive combat record than the Hispanic man they were bringing in from Fort Bragg, North Carolina. No, none of it mattered. He and his soldiers would be ready when the tides turned.
He leaned against a tree to catch his breath, disgusted with his current state of physical fitness. He pushed off the tree. There was a job to do and he needed to finish it. How did Thomas know where to look? Jennifer must have had photos. He knew she didn’t tell Sanchez about the Birdcage. Otherwise a convoy of military police vehicles would have shown up that night Jennifer called him out at Buck’s warehouse.
Continuing on through the woods, he wondered how Thomas wasn’t dead. After the shot pierced the windshield, Thomas had seen him advancing and tried to speed off in the opposite direction. He ended up stuck in a ditch and had made his way into the woods on foot. But how was he still alive? Colonel Wright had aimed for the heart, and he couldn’t remember a time he had missed his mark. Was he getting too old to even aim properly? Self-doubt plagued his mind. Of course they didn’t give you command of the unit, he thought. You can’t even fire a weapon properly.
A branch cracked behind him. He spun and surveyed the area. Most of the trees were wide enough to conceal a body behind them. He had been tracking Thomas for almost forty-five minutes now.
Colonel Wright picked up his pace and stopped avoiding the branches and leaves littering the yellow and red canvas beneath his feet.
“Just come out,” Colonel Wright said. “Don’t be a coward.”
No response.
“That’s what’s wrong with soldiers like you. You want all the glory without any of the work it requires.”
Still nothing.
“Do you really think I didn’t know what you and Sanchez were up to?”
He didn’t at first, but eventually he noticed Sanchez and Thomas tailing him. One of them was always close by, no matter where he went. After digging a bit, he found out they were both with CID. Andrew must have gone to CID from the get-go and told Sanchez about the plan to steal the weapons. But Andrew wasn’t expecting him the night he showed up.
Kneeling down, Wright noticed drops of blood that had yet to dry on a few leaves. That meant he was close. Only a few more minutes now and he would be free of one more person who knew his secret.
The bunkers were still close enough that their silhouettes were recognizable against the pale fall sky. If there weren’t so many trees, the search would have lasted only a few minutes. Colonel Wright grew excited as he followed his new trail. It was like a game to him. Then he heard the last thing he wanted to hear at that moment. He squinted, trying to spot it. Sure enough, another car was heading towards the bunkers, but this one was coming from the other road that lead to the Birdcage. Whoever was in the car would see Thomas’s truck once they passed around the bend just beyond the hill.
He watched for what seemed like an hour but was only a few seconds. Something about the vehicle looked familiar. Where had he seen it before? He thought hard with the few precious seconds he had left until the car disappeared behind the hill. Then he remembered. The sedan belonged to the only other person he needed to kill that day.
Chapter 57
Riley parked the car near the first bunker entrance, spotting cut-down chain-link fence posts outlining the hill. She could tell from her car that the padlock on the steel door was new. It had a shine that anything left in the back forty for longer than a few years quickly lost to the elements. Even the buildings that were maintained meticulously on base ended up looking like something out of a post-apocalyptic movie over time.
A gust of wind gave her a push as she stepped out from behind the steering wheel. She pulled the hood of her jacket on. It was getting colder every day now. Riley loved it. Nothing worse than your clothes sticking to you like papier-mâché in the middle of a humid and bug-infested Tennessee summer.
The area looked like the kind of place where someone would hide a third of the United States nuclear arsenal. She tried to imagine the poor schmucks who had to stand guard. Who the hell would have ever come out this far to search for warheads, Riley wondered.
She walked to her trunk and popped it open with the push of a button from her key fob. It flipped open, revealing a large bolt cutter with red steel handles. She picked it up and slammed the trunk shut. Bringing it was a good call on Lee’s part. She hadn’t thought about the locks. Luckily Jarvis had a few tools at his place.
The lock split more easily than she expected. Riley pulled out the heavy piece of metal from the two parallel latches that held the doors together. The deadbolt took a bit more muscle to maneuver than the bolt cutter had. The steel doors looked like the front of a shipping container. She managed to pop one side’s latch loose and pulled the door open. It creaked and moaned and squealed the entire way.
Riley pulled a flashlight from her jacket pocket. Another one of Lee’s ideas. It came to life and illuminated the interior of the bunker. All Riley could do was shake her head. The entire cylindrical cement structure was jam-packed with munitions: M4s, rocket launchers, sniper rifles, heavy machine guns, tripods for the heavy machine guns, different sizes of ammo all marked on the outside of their canisters, anti-tank missiles, grenades, flash bang grenades . . . There was so much of it. How long had Colonel Wright been stockpiling? Until that moment, Riley hadn’t been 100 percent sure she knew what she was talking about. Now she was positive. Everything paid off in the end.
She went back to her trunk and pulled out a hard plastic case. Inside was some surveillance-camera gear. Lee had explained how to set it up. She took the small tube-shaped camera from its foam encasing and flipped the on switch. Lee had said the adhesive on the back would stick to just about anything. Riley looked at the
four entrances to the bunkers and then across the street at the woods. The perfect shot. She walked into the woods a few feet and stuck the camera to a tree and positioned it so that it had a full view of the bunker entrance. It was probably forty feet between the two.
By now they should be monitoring the camera, Riley thought. She shut the door to the bunker and placed the broken lock back on it so that it looked like nothing was wrong with it. There wasn’t much else to do now but call Colonel Wright and tell him she knew where the weapons were and that she wanted to meet to discuss her fee for keeping quiet.
She was about to head back to her car and leave, but she felt like someone was watching her. She looked around, facing the bunkers, but didn’t see anything. Before she could look forward again, a massive pair of hands wrapped their fingers around her throat from the side and squeezed. If her hood had been down she would have seen who was trying to choke the life out of her. She punched and kicked, trying to fight off the unseen foe. It was no use. Whoever was choking her had lifted her clean off the ground in the process. They were abnormally strong.
Whenever someone described being choked out, they always said they saw white lights or white stars or something white. Riley could never put an image to the description. Until now. The white lights were popping up left and right in front of her, covering the trees and sky she fought so hard to focus on, like a white-out pen being dabbed by someone with the shakes.
A mixture of final thoughts shot through her mind like a bullet train, too fast to comprehend. She tried to concentrate on one, just a single happy thought before she died.
The sound of something cracking reverberated in her left eardrum. And then she fell to the ground. She gasped for air, trying to fill her brain with enough oxygen to formulate an exit plan and her lungs with enough oxygen to carry out that plan. Breathing came hard at first, then easier after the fourth gasp.