Coyote's Revenge

by Vannetta Chapman

  “Aren’t you worried?”

  “No.” Madison suddenly remembered asking her mother how she knew her father was still alive. Her mother had said her spirit would know if his spirit had left. At the time Madison had thought it was her medication talking, but suddenly she knew exactly what she meant. She not only knew what she meant, she believed it too. “I know he’s all right.”

  “Did he say anything else?”

  “He said he’d given them all he could, and now it was time to focus on his own life.”

  “Them?”

  “Yeah. I have no idea who he was referring to.”

  “And you’re not the least bit curious?”

  “Not really.” Madison shifted her bag to the other arm. “I love him, Sharon. And I trust him. I don’t know where he is or how long he’s going to be gone, but he’ll be back as soon as he can. I believe he’ll keep his promise.”

  Sharon gave her that inquisitive lawyer stare. Madison didn’t look away.

  “You really care for him.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “He’s lucky to have you.”

  “And I’m lucky to have him.”

  Sharon turned and walked toward her car, then stopped and called out.

  “Will you let me know when you hear from him?”

  “Of course.”

  Madison moved off to the little Honda she had finally purchased with her meager funds. Her mood was lighter and happier than since...well since forever.

  She knew Aiden would be back soon. She could feel it in her bones. The uncertainty she’d battled since she’d met him had given away to a deep-seated peace. On some instinctual level she knew this was right for them both.

  Even the fact she hadn’t been able to find her dad didn’t detract from her happiness. She’d come to Montana to find John Gibbs, to find the love of a father. Instead she’d found something she wasn’t even looking for—the love of a soul mate.

  She’d keep looking for her dad, of course. With technology constantly changing, it was amazing the things you could find out about a person—frightening in some ways. But she’d also accepted that perhaps it wasn’t meant to be. Her mother used to say some mysteries needed to remain just that, mysteries.

  Maybe Sonya Hart had known Madison’s destiny was waiting in these mountains, just as hers had been. A very different destiny than either of them could have imagined.

  WHY HANSARD HAD PICKED this particular gambling house was a mystery to Aiden, but as he stared through his night goggles, he confirmed the terrorist’s identity and waited for Johnson’s instructions.

  “Confirming Hansard on the second floor at three o’clock,” Aiden said.

  He wasn’t in charge of the op, but he was point man. It was more than he’d expected after the meltdown he’d had with Martin two days ago. The team was in position, and Aiden was fully in his element. He welcomed the icy calm that settled firmly around every inch of his being.

  Johnson clicked twice indicating they would wait in the Mexican heat.

  It was early yet by Rio Grande time, only one a.m. Within the next few hours some of the remaining caballeros would either stumble away or pass out. As for the men and men working the gambling tables, Aiden could only hope they would stay out of the way.

  “I’ve got a rattler closing in on my position.” Dean was three feet east and clearly not amused. “I suppose blowing him away is out of the question.”

  “Our target looks too occupied to notice, but the cowboy smoking at five o’clock would probably hear.” Aiden never took his eyes off Hansard. “Maybe you should try relocating it.”

  “Relocating a rattler? Not likely.”

  Aiden heard Dean pull the knife from its sheath. Twice the blade slapped the ground, then Dean was beside him breathing heavily. A quick glance told him his friend was clearly enjoying the mission.

  “A souvenir for that girl of yours.” He tossed the snake’s rattlers on the ground between them, picked up his own night goggles and let out a barely audible groan. “He’s a terrible card player. It hurts me to watch this.”

  “That’s why we’re paid the big bucks.”

  “I thought the rattler was why we’re paid the big bucks.”

  The night settled around them while they waited and watched. Located fifteen miles south of the Rio Grande River, Providencia was too small to be considered a village. USCIS had flown in two dozen agents who had taken up positions throughout the desert surrounding the few buildings.

  Locating Hansard had taken twenty-four hours, and penetrating the border quietly another twenty-four. Establishing Hansard’s exact location hadn’t taken ten minutes. Find the only place with women, cards, or liquor. Hansard had a reputation for enjoying all three. Taking him into custody with minimal casualties would be more complicated.

  Aiden allowed himself to sink into the desert, literally become one with the night. It was one of the characteristics that had earned him the nickname Iceman. If one of the Mexicans were to stumble within a foot of Aiden, he’d think the agent was another shadow in the desert.

  Even on the second of September, in the middle of the night, fall had yet to find this portion of the Chihuahuan Desert. Aiden estimated the temperature to be near 85. Lying on his belly in the dirt, dressed in his government issued flak suit, the sweat poured down his face. He made no move to wipe it away.

  His mind was completely on his mission, even while his soul chewed over what had brought him to this place, at this time. He didn’t regret what he’d done over the last seven years, but it wouldn’t bother him to walk away from it.

  Listening to a coyote howl in the brush, having the safety of the best man he knew at his back, knowing he would face death again in the next few hours. It was all part of a job.

  But it was only that. A job. It had ceased to be his passion.

  He’d joined USCIS so he could become a man. To prove to himself he wasn’t a coward, whatever that meant. He was proud of the way he’d served. The missions he’d completed. As proud as you could be of killing other men, of making the world a safer place. Now it was time to move on to other things. Time to move on to Madison. He allowed a part of his mind to linger on her, then pushed the image away. Later. After the mission. After he took care of Hansard.

  Watching the terrorist through his night goggles Aiden knew he had let this one become personal. He’d take care of Hansard, then he’d hang up his badge. For him, this was the last one. This one was for his dad.

  Johnson’s voice pierced his thoughts.

  “Our mission has changed from monitor to apprehend. Repeat we are now on apprehend. Take up your positions. We will enter the building in five. Team one will enter through the front. Team two through the back. Team three remain at close perimeter. Team four stay with the choppers.”

  Then they were moving. Aiden and Dean were set to enter from the front. Johnson and his man from the back—where Hansard was expected to make his escape.

  The few remaining sleepy patrons hit the floor as soon as Aiden and Dean crashed through the front door, hoping the noise would send Hansard down the back. The barkeep didn’t so much as glance at the shotgun on display behind the counter. Dean was moving up the stairs with his back against the wall and Aiden two steps behind him.

  The first sign something was wrong was the closed door of Hansard’s room. It should have been flung open. Hansard should have been racing down the back stairs. By the time Dean reached the doorway, bullets had shattered the wood of Door 231.

  Dean took more than one hit in the leg, rolled out of the way, and signaled for Aiden to move in without him.

  The bullet entered Aiden’s arm in an explosion of pain. The thought registered that it didn’t matter. It wasn’t his shooting arm. It wouldn’t slow him down.

  He crashed through what remained of the door in time to see Hansard dragging a lovely, teen-aged senorita across the bed. With his left arm, he held her in a choke hold and clutched a small remote control. His finger wa
s posed over the button. With his right arm, he pressed the muzzle of a semi-automatic to her temple.

  “You are bleeding,” Hansard said with a smile.

  “Not the first time.”

  “Do not think I will hesitate to blow her head off.”

  “Do not think that will stop me.” Aiden could hear his voice, but it was as if it came from somewhere else.

  “You do not care about the girl. I understand. You do care about your precious American cities though.”

  Aiden’s weapon remained raised. He didn’t move any closer. Didn’t move away. His gaze remained locked with Hansard’s, waiting for the man to blink.

  “This trigger works via satellite. It will detonate explosives set at the base of your Dworshak Dam.”

  The girl sobbed and tried to pull away from the madman in her room. Hansard merely smiled, tightened his hold on her neck, and pushed the muzzle more deeply into her skull.

  “You have been to Idaho, yes? A lovely state.”

  Aiden heard the blood from his left arm dripping on the floor. Johnson and his team were coming up the back stairs. Dean was still down in the hall. He could wait until the cavalry arrived, or he could end this now with a single bullet.

  He had a clear shot. He took it.

  THE MEXICAN GIRL’S screams filled the hotel, but they did nothing to pierce the ice Aiden had encased himself in.

  Aiden holstered his weapon immediately. Waited for Johnson to enter. Waited for the questions that invariably came.

  The girl ran screaming past Johnson as he entered the room.

  “Brewer, we need medics up here. I also want the photographers. No one else is to enter this room.”

  Johnson looked toward Hansard, then looked away. His hand shook as he holstered his own weapon. “Did he touch the detonator?”

  “No.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes. Dean?”

  “Two leg wounds. Both look like clean exits. How bad is the arm?”

  Aiden shrugged. He still hadn’t moved, wouldn’t move until Johnson gave him permission. As agent in charge he would need to clear the site before anyone entered or left the room. Pictures would need to be taken first. Aiden knew the procedure. He’d been in charge often enough.

  He could hear medics in the hall, tending to Dean. Johnson was on the radio, no doubt talking to Martin.

  Aiden allowed his eyes to scan the room, see it as Johnson must see it. The place was a mess. Blood plastered the wall behind the wrought iron bed, and Hassard’s body lay motionless on the floor.

  A photographer bumped into Johnson in his hurry to enter the room, letting out a low whistle.

  “I want the photos done in twenty minutes,” Johnson said. “We need to have this cleaned and be out of here within the hour. Brewer, get in here and take Lewis’s statement now. Aiden, you can at least sit down. Where are the medics?”

  Aiden remained standing. In his experience, sitting conveyed weakness. Made agents think you were second guessing yourself. There was no doubt in Aiden’s mind he’d made the right call. The good folks in northern Idaho were sleeping peacefully as a result. Madison was safe. His family was safe because of the things they did. No regrets.

  All that remained was for him to go home. This mission was the last one. The thought hummed beneath the ice.

  Brewer took his statement as the medic cut away his shirt. The bullet had entered and exited the inside of Aiden’s arm. He’d been lucky—again.

  The medic took out a needle filled with morphine, began tapping it. One look from Aiden had him storing the syringe back in his bag.

  Brewer stopped his recording. “No morphine? I’d be asking for double.”

  “No need for the juice with our medics,” Aiden said lightly. “We have the best tailors in the country.”

  The medic snorted as he sutured both the entry and exit wound. “Agent Lewis has a reputation for turning down our services. You know the routine, Lewis. Keep the wound clean. Report to division when you arrive state-side for X-rays and a more thorough dressing. Don’t use the arm to lift anything over a pound for at least six weeks.”

  They both knew he’d report to division only because he’d have no choice. It was part of debriefing. They also both knew he’d use the arm within the week. Aiden believed it healed faster with use. At least it had before.

  Within twenty minutes the medic was finished and Brewer was done taking Aiden’s statement.

  “Why didn’t he run?” Johnson snapped the phone shut. “We were waiting for him at the back stairs.”

  “I suppose he had his reasons.” Aiden watched the cleaning crew as they began their work. Hansard’s body was moved into a body bag.

  Aiden searched his soul for an ounce of regret for what he’d done, but found none. Instead, he remembered again that Hansard had been willing to sacrifice thousands of innocents for his cause.

  Johnson barked a few more orders, then turned back to Aiden. “Maybe he was too drunk to think straight.”

  “Maybe he was tired of running.”

  Aiden understood that kind of tired. The Iceman was ready to walk away.

  Aiden realized Johnson was staring at him. He turned and looked at the agent. Aiden had always been a fair judge of men, and Johnson was a good one. Young and naïve, but good. What he saw in the man’s eyes wasn’t condemnation, but a certain amount of curiosity.

  Why the ice? That’s what he was wondering.

  Johnson was probably twenty-five. He might have had three years in the field. A man who hadn’t yet seen the things Aiden had. If he was lucky, he never would.

  “Am I free to go?”

  “Of course.”

  Aiden turned and walked away. When he descended the stairs and entered the main room, he wasn’t surprised to see Dean sitting at the bar. As he walked up to a stool, the barkeep slid a glass of whiskey over to him. He waved Aiden off when he made a move to pay and said in near perfect English, “No one here liked the gringo.”

  Aiden nodded, accepted the drink.

  Dean tapped the glass with his own. The whiskey was warm going down. Not warm enough to penetrate the ice. Warm enough to ease the burn in the arm though. Stir the desire for Madison. Aiden pushed the thought away. He couldn’t let his guard down yet. Not until he was back in Edgewood.

  “How’s the leg?”

  Dean shrugged. “They wanted me to ride a medic flight. Can you believe that?”

  Aiden swallowed the rest of the whiskey. “Yeah. I believe it.”

  Dean put money on the counter and signaled for one more.

  “How’s the arm?”

  “I’ll live.”

  They sat that way for a while, neither needing to talk. Liking the fact that neither needed to talk.

  “Kids,” Dean said. “You take a shot, they want to put you on inactive.”

  “I’m not inactive, Dean. I’m out.”

  Aiden had to give Dean credit. He didn’t look surprised.

  “It’s the girl.”

  “Yeah. It is.”

  Dean was a good enough friend that he didn’t try to talk him out of it.

  They finished the second drink, then headed out to the choppers, walking slowly to accommodate Dean’s crutches. As they closed in on the rendezvous point, chopper blades and landing lights filling the night, Dean pulled him back into the shadows.

  “I’ll always have your back, Iceman.”

  “And I’ll have yours.”

  They left it at that. It wasn’t as if they needed to voice their feelings.

  They climbed into the chopper. Lifted out of the Chihuahuan Desert. Left behind the dust and dirt and remnants of Dambusters.

  The net was activated. The other perps from Dambusters were being brought in even as they flew toward headquarters.

  On the outside, Aiden’s face remained completely impassive, but inside he savored the fact that his last mission was over. Rolled it over in his mind like you work a piece of ice around in your mouth.
>
  He hoped his dad had been watching. Hoped he was proud.

  It wasn’t a bear, and it didn’t make up for the shot he didn’t take so many years ago when he was only a boy, but it wasn’t bad.

  AIDEN STOPPED AT THE security counter leading to the east wing of the Pentagon. When the guard nodded for him to do so, he placed his palm against the scanner. The computer verified his prints, and the guard signaled for him to pass through. As Aiden walked toward Martin’s office, he was surprised to realize he wouldn’t miss it.

  “Hello, Agent Lewis.” Carol smiled pleasantly.

  She had always reminded Aiden of his own mother, and he realized with a jolt that he would miss her.

  “Carol.”

  “Would you like some coffee while you wait?”

  “No. Thank you.”

  “How’s the arm?”

  “Good. I expect to be rounding up cattle by the end of the week.”

  “That’s not what the medics recommended.”

  She had the same way of frowning at him like his mother did.

  “I suppose I forgot you transcribe those reports.”

  She gave him the look that said she didn’t approve but adored him anyway, then answered her phone. Setting it back in the cradle, she nodded to him. “Commander Martin will see you now.”

  Aiden stood, straightened his dress uniform, touched his pocket to make sure the envelope was still there. That was stupid, since he’d put it there just twenty minutes ago. Still it wasn’t every day you quit your job. He supposed he could cut himself some slack and allow for a little nervousness.

  “Agent Lewis.” Martin’s grasp was as firm as ever, his eyes clear and blue. There was nothing about the man to indicate his seventy years of age or his near fifty years of service.

  “Thank you for seeing me, sir.”

  “Not a problem. You did a good job out there.”

  “I owe you an apology for my outburst on the phone.”

  “Apology accepted.”

  “And I wanted to thank you for allowing me on the mission.”

  “There’s a commendation in your file for your service in Providencia.”

  “I only did what any other man would have done in my position.”