The Recruiter

by Roger Weston

  Robert leaned back in his chair. How ironic, he thought. In the hospital. “Anything else?”

  “We cross-referenced the new legend with airline records and got a hit. We traced his travel itinerary and found out where he’s headed now.”

  “I want a hit team there to greet him when he gets off the plane.” Robert said.

  “Already in planning. We got our boys to the airport at Minneapolis-St. Paul, where Brandt had a layover. They arrived too late, but they verified that Brandt checked in for his connection to Boise, Idaho.”

  Robert frowned. “When does his flight arrive?”

  “He’ll be there in two hours. Flight 742 from Minneapolis-St. Paul. I’m setting up a welcoming party. I’m already in Boise.”

  “Fine. Give Mr. Brandt a proper Idaho welcome, and since it appears you can’t handle this job yourself, I’ll be sending Ty and his team to assist you.”

  CHAPTER 56

  Boise, Idaho

  Parcher took a sip from his coffee and got into the car. In the driver’s seat, Ty Maloney was frowning. Ty was five-ten and thin with a ring of beard and mustache around his mouth. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and nodded.

  “Let’s do the airport circle,” Parcher said.

  Ty frowned and nodded. He pulled the car away from the curb and accelerated. Parcher wanted to puke. He hadn’t worked with Ty for three years and the last time had been an unnerving experience. Ty was known in the trade as the homeland exterminator, and he was good. His specialty was “domestic problems” and he was proud that he’d never been out of the country, not even across the border into Canada or Mexico. Parcher had asked him about that once. “Bunch of queers up there and a bunch of gang-bangers down there,” Ty had explained. “If I have to deal with them, I’ll do it on American soil, and I’ll let my Lugar do the talking.” Ty meant what he said. He and his hit team were mercenaries and had a good reputation because they had never failed to take down their target.

  It was ironic that Ty talked derogatively of gang-bangers. In fact, he had never done military service and earned his reputation for assassination while part of a white supremacist gang in South Los Angeles. They had played one gang against another by carrying out dozens of assassinations with no surviving witnesses. The result had been a surge of revenge killings that continued till this day with new gangs into it now. “I couldn’t kill them all,” Ty had explained, “so I motivated them to kill each other. America owes me for ridding Los Angeles of a lot of murdering scum.” Parcher was creeped out by this lowlife, but right now Parcher needed results at any cost.

  Robert had told Parcher about how he found out about Ty Malone and his team. Apparently he had heard a rumor about Ty and organized a research committee. They’d compiled a portfolio of fifty-eight “confirmed” hits. A mole in the LAPD had copied case files, and the committee had filled up a mini-storage. Many of the cases were unsolved and none of the files mentioned Ty or his team members, but an insider laid it all out in return for protection and a new life in a foreign country. Robert had been impressed with the committee’s findings. Ty and his hit team were not only real, but they were incredibly professional. They left no witnesses, few clues, and showed no predictable patterns. Some of their crimes were blamed on various gang members—and nine went to prison for them. Even more impressive were the “victims” who died of natural causes or “accidents.” These were open and shut cases.

  RUMAN was the first organization to confirm, not only that Ty’s hit team existed, but the extent to which it had carried out an invisible campaign of extermination. There were few assassins in the world with this level of professionalism and experience. Their main weakness was that they were white supremacists and more narrow-minded than Robert preferred. Nevertheless, they’d take down a white man for the right price. From what Parcher could tell, Ty and his team were kept on retainer.

  “Update me,” Parcher said.

  “Team ready to move into place.” Ty frowned. “This is a bunch of shit. You don’t call me up and tell me I’ve got two hours to set up a job.”

  “No choice. We’ve been playing softball with Brandt and found out he’s a harder target than we expected. We can’t afford another mistake. Like I told you, this has to be clean and quiet.”

  “That’s a lot to ask with two hours notice. We can’t hit him in the airport. That narrows us to if he catches a cab or at the car rental agency, and even that’s dicey. Cleaner to follow him to a better location, but that means we’re now having to set up a surveillance effort and you know how screwed up that can be—particularly when we’re given two hours and one chance.”

  “Nobody said this was easy. That’s why Robert called you in. Supposedly you and your team are the best although I doubt that myself.”

  “Yeah, we are the best, and that’s because we don’t do stupid things like this.”

  Parcher swallowed hard. He pulled out of the airport parking garage and began winding his way down the ramp. “We’ve got our assets in place inside the airport. As soon as they determine what Brandt is going to do, you’ll get the call. Your cabby better be on the ball in case Brandt chooses that option.”

  CHAPTER 57

  After Chuck bought his ticket from Minneapolis-St. Paul to Boise on Northwest under the identity of Todd Simpson, he headed over to another airline and bought a ticket to Los Angeles that left two hours earlier. For this flight he produced another identity—Ben Matheson—an English teacher from a community college in Tampa, Florida.

  He turned to Jeff and thanked him for his help. Handing him a ticket to Costa Rica he said, “See you later, Bro. Be expecting me and Lydia soon.”

  Before boarding his next flight, he went into a stall in the men’s room and took the wig and the sunglasses from his bag and applied makeup. Getting into character, he tried not to touch anything in the stall and unlatched the door with toilet paper to avoid contact with the latch. He compared the identity of the photo with the man in the mirror. Looked pretty decent, though the make-up needed a touch up.

  The layover in L.A. was five hours.

  Blending into the crowds at busy gates, Chuck had time on his hands to work out a plan for when he got to Boise. He was working out the details when an unexpected idea floated into his mind. Here he was in Los Angeles, home of tabloids, and he had time to kill. What was he doing wasting time? He made a few calls and found out that L.A. wasn’t home of the tabloids after all, but they had an affiliate in town and would rush a reporter to the airport after Chuck spooned out a few details to bait the hook.

  The man showed up forty minutes before Chuck’s departure time, looking like a drunk and asking to borrow a pen from Chuck to take notes. Chuck dictated the story and anticipated questions and talked as fast as the slob could write.

  “So this is about a secret intelligence agency and its corrupt leaders.”

  “That’s just the beginning,” Chuck said. “You’ll also learn that if you look beneath the surface of the friendly green energy movement, you’ll find that it has produced the most diabolical and inhumane weapon known to mankind.”

  When he’d told all he could think of, the man followed up with few more questions. Then Chuck rose and picked up his bags.

  “Why are you telling me all this?” the man said. “If all this were true, you’d be signing your own death warrant by breaking the story.”

  “Two reasons,” Chuck said. “First, I’ve already approached the more respectable periodicals, but they felt the need to verify all the facts and that would take too long. By then I’d be dead. You people are willing to go to print without even knowing my name, and you’ll have the story on the stand in two days. I’m counting on you for that because it will shake up the cage and create chaos for the conspirators.”

  .

  CHAPTER 58

  LAX, Los Angeles

  After the reporter left, Chuck sat down on a vinyl airport chair and called up Karla.

  “Hi Chuck,” she said. “I
met with Colonel Green.”

  “How’d it go?”

  “The guy’s a creep. He fed me a story that the SMW program isn’t happening because it’s too expensive. Only problem is I don’t believe him. Not only that, he had some very nice digs in Hawaii. He claimed he was just visiting, but I checked the assessor office and he’s the owner of record. Something is up. He’s living in a multi-million dollar estate that he claims isn’t his. Damn liar.”

  “Thanks, Karla. Jeff’s on his way home. I’ve got some business to take care of in Idaho. But I’ll see you both in Costa Rica when this is all over…and I’ll be bringing Lydia with me.”

  At half past nine Chuck boarded a flight to Boise. After landing, he offloaded with the other passengers and blended into the crowd as he drifted toward luggage pick-up.

  CHAPTER 59

  Boise Airport

  Tony Morillo was reading a Sports Illustrated when he saw a man with blond hair walk by. At first he returned his gaze to the magazine, but then he took a second look at the man. Tony had spent over an hour studying Brandt’s photo, paying particular attention to bone structure and facial features. He also memorized his details including height and weight. It was the man’s facial structure that caught his attention. Seven years working in a funeral home had made Tony an expert on such things. He could remember every detail of a face for years. His mind read like a very thick mug shot book—even if many of the mugs were those of the dead. The man with the curly blond hair shared Brandt’s bone structure and facial features. Even the ears were the same. Tony tossed the Sports Illustrated down and began following the blond man from a comfortable distance. He casually spoke into the microphone under his shirt collar.

  “I’ve got a possible here. I’m on him.”

  Tony was watching when the blond man started walking out of the airport.

  Following at a safe distance now, Tony Morillo dialed a number on his cell.

  “Target confirmed,” Tony said. “Eighty percent probability.”

  “Is it him or not?” Parcher said.

  “I think so.”

  “What the hell do you mean you think so? Do we delete the information or not?”

  “Looks like he’s heading outside. That means no rental car. Send the cabby. Now.”

  Parcher depressed a receiver. “Ty, he’s going for a cab. Pick him up.” He brought the phone back to his ear. “You still on him, Tony? Where is he?”

  “Cancel the cab. He’s heading into the parking garage.”

  “Maloney, forget the cab. He’s going for the rental car.”

  “Confirmed,” Ty seethed then said, “Parcher, this whole set up stinks. I’ll put a tail on him and wait until he gets to a better location. Then I will handle him myself.”

  “You better handle him, or Robert won’t let you forget it.”

  Tony hesitated for a minute. “You better not interfere with my work you screw-up. If I see your face again, you’re dead. Nobody messes up a Ty Maloney job.”

  CHAPTER 60

  The Port of Houston, Galena, Texas

  Curtis drove down Clinton Drive and turned right towards the port. He parked across from the Woodhouse terminal. He sat there for five minutes, waiting for her, the little tramp that sent him into an extremely dangerous situation. If it were anyone else, they’d be dead right now. He watched the car come up behind him and park. She got out and walked to his car in her usual uniform, high heels and a tight mini-skirt. She slid into the seat and was suddenly all over him, hugging and kissing him.

  “Oh, I missed you so much, Curtis. I missed you. I can’t stand that I hardly ever see you. I want to be with you all the time.”

  “What about your career?”

  “Damn the whole thing. I’m ready to walk away from it. We’ve waited long enough.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “It’s all I’ve thought about since I last saw you. What if something would have happened to you? I hate myself for putting you in danger. Oh, God, if anything would have happened to you. I can’t even think about it.”

  “What about Chuck? Won’t you be worried, knowing that he’s out there somewhere—looking for you?”

  She was quiet for a moment. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. We have another chance to take him out.”

  He shook his head. “We already talked about that.”

  She grabbed his arm and clung to it. “Listen to me. You have to do this for me. You have to do it for us.”

  “Not now. It’s too hot.”

  “Please. I love you so much, but I’m afraid of him.” She wiped away wetness from her cheek.

  Curtis was silent for a moment. He was thinking Leslie needed to be handled decisively, but she took the silence as a sign that he was considering her plea.

  “Curtis, he’s in Idaho.” She moved closer to him. “This is our chance. You’ve got to hurry because I won’t be able to track his movements much longer. I know he’s in Boise, but if he leaves Idaho, we’ll never find him.”

  “Why Boise?”

  “I don’t know. I only know his objective—which is you.”

  Curtis looked across the road to a cargo wharf. A long warehouse extended across his view. He looked at the big bay doors. Huge letters on the warehouse read, City Ice Cold Storage. What irony. Here he was, his lover wanting him to put his old friend on ice and him contemplating putting her on ice instead. But Curtis had heard rumors that Idaho was the location of the SMW facility which RUMAN and EREBUS were battling to win control of. This was his objective. This was why he had begun courting Leslie. But up until now, he’d gotten nothing out of her. If he could track Brandt in Idaho, he might just find the location. If he could do that, he could cut the head off of the snake, crippling RUMAN. It would be the most audacious mission of his career.

  Curtis pulled her tight and hugged her. “Okay, my love, I will.” To him she was pathetic. A desperately lonely woman who would cling to anything she could to get out of the flames and recapture all that she’d thrown away when she’d given herself over to the bondage of false hope and pride and everything else in the entire world that was false. She was a poor victim, and she wanted Curtis to rescue her. Poor Leslie. When she married the devil, she should have known it was for keeps. But Curtis would play her a while longer. Leslie would provide the intelligence he needed to take down RUMAN.

  After Leslie fixed her makeup and got a hundred assurances of his undying love and his enduring commitment, he dropped the dragon lady off at her hotel. She promised to get him more specific intelligence on Brandt’s location in Boise. Funny thing was that he had actually looked forward to continuing the charades with her for a while.

  Curtis was driving north when he called Mr. Miller, his second in command, on the encrypted SatFone.

  “Get to Boise, Idaho,” he said. “Check the team into the Motel 6 and wait to hear from me.”

  CHAPTER 61

  Boise, Idaho

  Chuck was driving his rental truck up Broadway Avenue when he pulled into the university Starbucks, just south of downtown Boise.

  Ken Grant was sitting by the window sipping a drink. He was a tall, lean, young guy, late twenties, clean-cut and wearing his game warden’s outfit. He stood, and Chuck introduced himself. Then they sat down and talked about the weather for a minute until the topic played out.

  “So what can I do for you?” Ken said.

  Chuck scanned the parking lot, then shifted his gaze to Ken. “I’m doing some historical research related to Boise County—specifically related to the national forest.”

  “What about it?”

  “I’ve documented evidence of a historical site that was supposed to have been located at a place called Jin Mountain. I figured that nobody alive knows the Boise National Forest better than you do.”

  “Well, it is my territory, but keep in mind, we’re talking about over two million acres. Anyway, it used to be a big mining area, and it sounds like an old mining camp or something.”

>   Chuck sat up straighter. “You’ve heard of it?”

  Ken shrugged. “No, sorry. You might try the historical society.”

  “Already called them. The reference librarian couldn’t find any details. I tried the city library and the Boise State University library as well. No luck.”

  Ken polished off his drink and stood up. “Sorry I couldn’t be more helpful. It’s a big wild area with endless mountains and ridges, and in the 19th and 20th centuries, miners fanned all over the place. If none of the libraries could help you, the place may be lost forever.”

  Chuck felt his face and shoulders begin to sag, but he stood up anyway to shake Ken’s hand.

  Ken reached into his pocket and brought out a card, handing it over. “Anything else I can do to help, give me a call. My number’s on there.”

  “Alright, thanks.”

  Ken started for the door, and Chuck sunk into his seat, squeezing his forehead and rubbing his eyes.

  “I just thought of something.”

  Chuck recognized Ken’s voice and opened his eyes. “What’s that?”

  “There’s one person who knows the Boise national forest better than I do. His name is Ethan Buhl.” Ken hesitated. “He’s a survivalist who used to live up in the forest and hunt illegally. Rangers don’t like him much.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “That’s the problem. He’s in prison.”

  “What for?”

  “He was a fugitive that hid out in the national forest for years, wanted in Nevada for armed robbery and attempted murder. One day two game wardens approached him while he was poaching deer. Ethan opened fire on them. Killed them both. He’s a cantankerous son of a bitch. He’s supposed to come up for parole in a few years, and us game wardens aren’t too happy about it. I doubt if he’d be much help to you, but he knows the forest like no man alive.”