Prepper Jack

by Diane Capri

  Kim reached over and turned off the van’s ignition. She grabbed the keys and dropped them into her pocket.

  “See if you can wake him up and learn anything useful,” she said.

  “What are you going to do?” Flint replied.

  “I want to check on that guy in the pit. And then I’ll make a call to get us some help out here,” she said.

  “This will help.” He handed her a big mag light.

  “Thanks.” She switched it on and followed the powerful beam outside. The lights from the helo were strong enough to guide her for a while.

  She jogged along the road until she saw the van’s tire tracks leading to the rocky outcropping and veered toward it. The mag light beam cast the rough ground in shadows along its periphery. She slowed her pace.

  When she reached the last of the tire tracks, she aimed the mag light straight ahead and located the pit. She swept the beam across the area. She noticed two mounds of dirt near the pit which, she guessed, were probably recent graves.

  She walked carefully across the rocky ground.

  At the pit’s edge, she directed the light into the dark hole. The mag light’s brilliant beam showed the unmistakable grisly picture of the dead man. He was twisted at the waist and most of his body lay on its back.

  His heart had long ago stopped beating, which meant the blood had stopped pumping then, too. Black, sticky pools of blood were congealing over and around him.

  She needed to be sure. She held her breath and flashed the light on his face.

  The man was not Lawton.

  Her pent up anxiety whooshed out with the breath she’d been holding in her lungs. Her legs went wobbly and she stepped back from the pit to avoid losing her footing and ending up down there along with him.

  Relief flooded her system as the truth sunk into her body.

  She struggled for professional detachment from feelings for Lawton that she hadn’t anticipated.

  She stood aside for a minute or two to be sure she was steady on her feet. Then she moved back toward the pit and shone the mag light beam inside again. She swept the beam over the pit from top to bottom.

  She pulled out her cell phone and snapped a few photos of the scene. Taking the photos with one hand while holding the heavy mag light’s beam steady with the other was akin to juggling, but she managed.

  She noticed what looked like a cell phone on the ground near the corpse’s feet. She couldn’t reach it without jumping into the pit with him.

  Out of habit, she briefly considered leaving the phone for the crime scene techs to process. A moment later, she’d taken a few photos and then jumped down into the hole to pick up the phone.

  When she’d climbed out again, she checked the phone’s recent calls log. Surprisingly, the phone connected to a cell tower with a fairly strong signal. They must be closer to civilization out here than she’d assumed.

  She scrolled through the log. The most recent was a three minute call from Elena Ochoa about an hour ago. Which was impossible. Elena Ochoa had been killed at the balloon landing site, probably shot by the woman driving the gray Toyota sedan.

  Which meant this three-minute call didn’t come from the dead woman. Someone else had used her phone.

  Elena’s phone should have been collected by the crime scene techs who processed the scene at the landing site. Who took the phone and who made this call?

  Perhaps more importantly, what did the caller say to the dead man lying at the bottom of this pit?

  Mason O’Hare should know the answers to these and a thousand other questions.

  She glanced around again. Nothing more she could do here at the moment.

  On her way back to the van, she called Finlay and brought him up to speed.

  “You don’t know who the dead guy is?” he asked.

  “I can send you the photos. He’s been severely beaten about the face and neck by the shovel. DNA or fingerprints will be needed for a positive ID,” she replied. “I’ll ask O’Hare for an ID when we get him awake.”

  A long pause ensued before Finlay said, “No sign of Reacher?”

  “Not unless he’s buried in one of those other two graves,” she replied.

  After an even longer pause, he said, “I’ll take care of cleaning up the crime scene. We’ll make sure your activities are excluded from the mix.”

  “You’ll want to get them out here before daylight if you want this guy before the vultures get him,” she said.

  “Right,” he replied, but she could tell he was distracted by something else.

  “And you’ll let me know if you find Reacher,” she said.

  He said nothing more as he disconnected the call.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Friday, April 15

  3:00 a.m.

  Chihuahuan Desert, New Mexico

  When she returned to the van, it was unoccupied. O’Hare was no longer slumped over the steering wheel. And Flint wasn’t there, either.

  She looked toward the helo. She couldn’t see into the cabin with its bright lights shining directly on the van, but the two of them were probably inside.

  She took a couple of minutes to flash the mag light beam around inside the van. The cargo area was padded with heavy blankets attached with grommets to the side walls. The floor was uncovered. The mag light beam revealed large dark splotches that looked like dried blood.

  Canvas bags large enough to hold a human head were tossed into a corner. Plastic cable ties were strewn about. Some were flat, unused. Others were fastened into partial circles, as if they’d been used to bind wrists and feet, and then cut to release their hostages. The circles were too large for a woman’s wrists.

  She saw no contraband in plain sight. No guns, drugs, or anything else to suggest the van had been employed by the Vigo cartel to traffic in illegal activities. Which didn’t mean much. When the forensics team finished with it, trace evidence would tell the whole story. Simply based on what she could see and what she knew, Kim figured they’d find plenty of evidence here.

  She opened the passenger door and then the glove box. Inside, she found a couple of small plastic bags containing several unmarked white tablets that could have been something as harmless as aspirin or as lethal as fentanyl.

  On the floor in front of the passenger seat, she noticed several large syringes, all empty.

  She snapped a few photographs of the van and its contents with her phone and left everything in place for the techs to handle. The van was most likely stolen. But she captured the VIN, the license plate, and four outside views before she dropped the phone into her pocket and headed toward the helo.

  When she reached the open door, she climbed inside. Flint was already sitting in the pilot seat. O’Hare was conscious and belted into the back. Flint had used two of the plastic ties from the van to bind his wrists and ankles.

  She turned to O’Hare. “Who’s the dead man in that grave back there?”

  He cleared his throat and forced his words out. “Hector Ochoa.”

  “Why did you kill him?” Flint asked.

  “Because he was planning to kill me and bury me in that grave he was digging,” O’Hare replied.

  “You know this how?” Kim asked.

  “He told me so. That’s why we were there.”

  “Why did he want to kill you?” Flint asked.

  O’Hare shrugged. “Hector does what he’s told.”

  “Who told him to kill you? Pinto Vigo?” Kim asked.

  O’Hare’s eyes fairly bugged out of his head. His nostrils flared and his breathing shortened like a frightened racehorse.

  Flint nodded. “We’ll take that as a yes.”

  “You have to help me. Please,” O’Hare said, desperation galvanizing his entire body. “I have to get home. Right away.”

  “You’re unclear on the situation here, O’Hare,” Flint replied. “You killed a man. You’re not going home tonight and maybe never again.”

  All the fight drained out of him. Tears sprung to his e
yes and he hung his head briefly to gather his composure. He wiped his nose with his sleeve. “I have to get my girlfriend and her boy out of there. Then you can take me to jail if you want.”

  “You have to get them out of where?” Kim asked.

  “Glen Haven. It was a sanctuary for all of us before. But now, Vigo’s there. It’s not safe.”

  “What about John Lawton?”

  O’Hare’s eyes widened. “How do you know about him?”

  “Is he at Glen Haven now?”

  O’Hare nodded. “He was there a few hours ago. Vigo’s holding him in one of the barracks buildings. If you help me get my girlfriend out of there, I can show you where he is.”

  Kim cocked her head and studied him for a moment. “Tell you what. We’ll get you some medical attention first. Then, you show us where Lawton is and help us get him out of there. After that, we’ll help you with your girlfriend and her son.”

  “Forget the doctors. I’m fine for now.” O’Hare nodded furiously. “But to the rest, absolutely yes. Quickly. We need to hurry.”

  “Why? What’s the rush?” Flint asked.

  “Vigo’s waiting for a big shipment. I heard him say it will arrive early today. He’s ruthless. I think after he gets whatever he’s waiting for, he’ll destroy Glen Haven and everyone in it.” O’Hare’s words tumbled over themselves rushing to get out of his mouth.

  “What’s your girlfriend’s name?” Kim asked.

  “Cheryl Ray. Her son is Micah,” O’Hare said.

  “I met them both today, but I didn’t know their last names,” Kim replied. “Cheryl Ray. Is that Gavin and Bruce Ray’s sister?”

  “No.” O’Hare shook his head miserably. He took a deep breath for fortification. “Cheryl is Bruce’s wife. Micah is his son. But Bruce is a horrible husband and father. Cheryl loves me. We’re planning to marry. Just as soon as she can leave him.”

  “What’s holding her back?” Kim cocked her head. Wives frequently threatened to leave their husbands for another man. In Kim’s experience, very few actually followed through on those threats.

  O’Hare shook his head as if the answer was beyond his ability to convey.

  Flint looked directly at Kim and she nodded. He spooled up the helo as she settled into the copilot’s seat and fastened her harness. She donned her headset.

  “Good to go?” Flint asked.

  “If we go out there now, Vigo will hear the helo coming a mile away. He’ll bug out before we can get him. We need stealth,” she said.

  “Stealth? Hell, we need heavy backup and a boatload of luck if we’re going to pull this off,” Flint said.

  “So let’s pick up the SUV and then we’ll head out there,” she replied. “I’ll make a few calls and get some back up.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” He lifted the helo off the ground and altered course.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Friday, April 15

  4:00 a.m.

  Glen Haven, New Mexico

  They had set the helo down at a pre-arranged private air strip and transferred to the dark SUV Finlay had provided. Kim felt the pressure of the approaching dawn, even as the moonless night sky would remain dark for another hour or so.

  The SUV was well equipped. Finlay had included appropriate clothing, night vision, infrared, and flashlights as well as plenty of weapons and ammunition. He’d tossed in food and beverages for good measure.

  After she’d changed her clothes, Kim found a quiet spot to call Finlay for further intel. She gave him the name of O’Hare’s victim, but he already had it.

  Finlay began with basic stats on Hector and Elena Ochoa. Both were wanted members of Vigo’s cartel.

  “You’re better off now that they’re gone. As long as one of them was alive, they were a threat to you,” Finlay said.

  That was all Kim needed to know at the moment. She’d find out more about Elena and Hector when the need arose, if it ever did.

  She nodded and then realized he couldn’t see her. “Right. What else?”

  “Local law enforcement agencies have been busy,” Finlay said. “The woman Agent Ross killed at the Last Chance Saloon was also a member of Pinto Vigo’s inner circle. Her name was Sela Juarez. Called her Big Sela. She was close to Vigo’s sister, Maria. Who was also, by the way, the driver of that Toyota sedan.”

  “What else?” Kim digested his report without comment, watching the sky as if she could actually see the time evaporate, taking her window of opportunity along with it.

  “The bullet that killed Elena Ochoa has not been recovered. It passed through her body and landed somewhere out in the field,” he paused. “Which means no ballistics match to the rifle in the Toyota’s trunk.”

  All Kim needed to know was that Maria was the killer. “Okay. What else?”

  “The FBI’s operating assumption is that the rifle was the murder weapon and Maria Vigo was the shooter. But they are no closer to proving either assumption.”

  He didn’t need to tell her that without the ballistics, the case against Maria Vigo was weak. But making the case wasn’t Kim’s problem. One of the law enforcement agencies was responsible for that.

  “What about Maria Vigo?” she asked.

  “No joy there, either, I’m afraid. We’re still working on it. But watch your back,” Finlay replied. “How about Reacher?”

  “No evidence that he’s anywhere around here. And that’s too bad, because I could use his help. We’re seriously outnumbered,” she replied sourly, again second-guessing her decision to operate here without help from the Boss. She fished a couple of antacids out of her pocket and popped them in her mouth.

  When Kim hung up the call, she relayed the intel to Flint, away from O’Hare’s listening ears.

  Flint shook his head and swiped a hand through his hair. “Your boy Lawton has landed in a mell of a hess, as my foster mom used to say. Pinto Vigo’s reputation says he’s hot-headed. Likes to take his revenge first and make sure he’s got the right victim later.”

  Kim nodded. Flint didn’t need to bring her up to speed on Pinto Vigo. The FBI had been hunting Vigo for years. His methods were well known. “He’s got to be feeling cornered. If he’s still at Glen Haven, he’s armed and ready to fight. So watch yourself.”

  Flint gave her a side-eye. “He’s got an arsenal out there. Soldiers, too. And he’s probably as mad as a hornet. I’d say now’s the time to call in the cavalry.”

  “Long past time,” Kim agreed.

  She’d already called Jake Reacher, and he’d struck out with his Uncle Jack. Gaspar had sent Flint, which was all the resources he had available.

  The only other call she could make was to the Boss, and she wasn’t that desperate. At least, not yet.

  Presumably fueled by the mole feeding them intel, Finlay had said the FBI and local law enforcement had been rounding up known members of Vigo’s cartel all night. Low level operatives, mostly. Small amounts of contraband. Mostly drugs, but a few illegal guns and other weapons.

  It was enough to support the FBI’s request for a warrant. They had the warrant in hand and would be rolling out soon. Estimated to arrive at Glen Haven just after dawn with plenty of fire power. Local law enforcement agencies were standing by, too.

  She was expecting a full scale war when the FBI team arrived. She didn’t want to be caught in the middle of that. In fact, she wanted to be long gone before they approached.

  Which was why she intended to get Lawton out and then get out of the way. If she’d wanted to be a soldier, she’d have joined the army.

  “Let’s go do this. Get in, get out,” she said as they joined O’Hare in the SUV.

  Flint took the driver’s seat. He started the vehicle and rolled out. “O’Hare, you’ll have to guide us into Glen Haven through the back way. How close can we park to the barracks where they’re holding Lawton?”

  “There’s a parking lot right there. But Vigo and his crew will see you if you park there. Really, if you park anywhere near Glen Haven, someon
e is going to see you unless we get there before they wake up.”

  “What time does everybody rise and shine?” Flint asked.

  “Well before dawn. About five in the morning, usually. Except the kids. Everyone else needs to get ready for work.”

  Kim asked, “How many of them will work on the morning balloon ride?”

  “About the same as yesterday. It’s a holiday, so the kids will be off school. They’ll be out there. Cheryl’s usually the pilot for the morning ride. About six in the crew all together. But they’ll have prepped everything last night.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “The gondola, the envelope, the fuel. All that will be out there, set up, ready to go. The only time they don’t set up the night before is when a storm is predicted. But the weather’s pretty clear this time of year,” O’Hare said.

  They rode awhile in silence, each gathering their own thoughts.

  Flint glanced toward Kim and said, “O’Hare, what kind of shape was Lawton in last time you saw him? Better than you?”

  O’Hare replied, “I guess. I mean, he and Hector got into it a few times. Vigo, too. But Lawton is bigger and stronger than Vigo. Lawton was shackled to a chair last time I saw him.”

  Kim cleared her throat. “How many people in the barracks where they’re holding him?”

  “Just Hector, Freddy, and Vigo most of the time. Sometimes Louis and Manny, I guess,” O’Hare replied.

  Flint asked, “How many weapons do they have?”

  O’Hare’s silence lasted awhile. Finally he said, “I guess I don’t really know much about guns. They all had guns. I saw some lying around in both barracks. So maybe twenty? More or less?”

  Kim took a breath to steady her stomach. “And how many members of Vigo’s crew stay in the barracks?”

  “They seemed to come and go at all hours. It was one of the things that caught my attention first. I’m sort of a night owl. I noticed they’d be driving in and out long after Glen Haven residents had bedded down for the night,” O’Hare replied. “Made me suspicious, you know?”