Line of Fire

by R. J. Patterson

  “What about your enochlophobia? Won’t that party be filled with people, too?”

  “No, no. It’s a small gathering. I can handle it. I’m bringing my medication, too.”

  “I think there are other factors involved as to why he wanted you to stay here.”

  “To keep me safe? To keep me from having another embarrassing breakdown? I’ve gotta live my life. And tonight, I’d like to surprise Gary.”

  “Okay, fine,” he said. “In that case, we’re going to escort you to the Kennedy Center by following you in one of our cars.”

  “I’m not going to the Kennedy Center,” she said. “It’s an after party, and it’s not on site.”

  “Whatever. We’re still following you.”

  She chuckled. “Well, see if you can keep up.”

  With that, she stomped on the gas, tearing out of the driveway.

  “That was smart,” Vogle said. “Just make sure they don’t catch you.”

  “Not a problem,” she said before turning hard to the right and slamming Vogle against the door.

  “Watch it,” he said.

  “If you think this is going to be a Sunday drive, you’re sorely mistaken.”

  Tires screeched as she rounded corner after corner.

  “Can you see them in your rearview mirror?” Vogle asked.

  “Not at the moment. I appear to have lost them.”

  “Pull over,” Vogle said.

  “What?”

  “You heard me. I said pull over.”

  She skidded to a stop. “What now?”

  “Put the car in park and slowly get out of the vehicle,” Vogle said as he sat upright. He tossed the blanket aside and eased out into the street, his gun trained on Natalie.

  “They’re going to come flying by here any minute now,” she said. “And they’re going to see you.”

  “You better hope they don’t, which is why you better hurry.”

  Vogle ushered her into the backseat and used a couple zip ties to secure Natalie’s wrists to the interior door handle. Then he jumped into the driver’s seat and took off. Less than a half-minute later, he found out that Natalie was telling the truth. The Mercedes that had been parked in the street next to the Newton’s house was rapidly gaining on them.

  Vogle cut down one street abruptly, increasing his lead again. Knowing where he was going helped him put more distance between the pursuing vehicle as they struggled to keep up.

  “You’re going to destroy my car,” she said.

  Vogle sideswiped a row of garbage cans, sending trash spewing into the air. He smiled as he glanced at the scene behind him, especially when a large garbage bag flew upward and landed on the hood of the guard’s car.

  “What are you doing?” Natalie screamed. “You’re going to get us both killed.”

  “It wouldn’t be any fun if I wasn’t at least trying,” he said before breaking into a hearty laugh. “This . . . is . . . awesome!”

  Vogle had kept his derealization disorder quiet when he joined the CIA years ago. The thrill of encountering grave danger is what kept him feeling alive. He managed it by taking incredible risks when he was on assignment. It’s also how he developed into one of the CIA’s better assets overseas. Whenever there was high risk involved, he volunteered, if only for selfish reasons. He didn’t care if he died because he figured that would feel real too.

  And when Vogle met Wilson Wellington overseas, everything changed. Wellington helped Vogle get his disorder under control through other measures, some by medical means, others through mental exercises. Over the years, Wellington had mentored Vogle in other ways. Wellington had become like a father, and Vogle would do anything asked of him, even if it meant risking everything to do it. In fact, Vogle preferred it that way.

  “Hold on,” Vogle shouted as he approached a busy intersection. Instead of slowing for the red light, he sped up, threading cross traffic by the slimmest of margins.

  He watched the guard hit the brakes at the light before skidding too far into the other lane. A pickup truck slammed into the nose of his car, spinning it two full rotations before stopping by colliding with a nearby parked vehicle.

  “That takes care of that,” Vogle said.

  “Oh, my god,” Natalie shouted. “You’re truly mad.”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “No, not at all. This is the most fun I’ve had in years.”

  He turned down another side street before navigating to the interstate. Upon heading south, he dialed a cell number and waited for Tony Acworth to answer.

  “Tony, Tony,” Vogle said. “How the hell are ya, pal? Did you make it out without any problems?”

  “None that I’m aware of. I’m heading to the rendezvous point right now. Did you get everything you needed?”

  “Yeah, man. Thanks so much. It was like a dream it was so easy. It would’ve been more fun if we invited the FBI to at least attempt to catch us. You know how I love a good challenge.”

  “But you would’ve failed without a doubt.”

  “I know, I know. But a man can dream, right?”

  “Whatever, man,” Acworth said. “So, all we have left to do is get the information to the prince?”

  “That’s right. Once he receives it and verifies it, all that we’ll have to do is watch our bank accounts explode.”

  “Good,” Acworth said. “I want to get back to the kind of jobs I like instead of the ones where I’m welding things together and struggling to breathe in that ridiculous helmet.”

  “It’s always good to have a trade to fall back on. I’m not sure what I’d do.”

  “You’d be a stunt driver,” Natalie piped up from the back, “the kind with a death wish.”

  “Whose voice was that?” Acworth asked.

  “Oh, it’s just my favorite fitness model, Natalie Newton.”

  “I thought you were going to tie her up and leave her at the house.”

  “I was,” Vogle said. “But bringing her along makes this operation that much more fun.”

  “Look, I know you have a disorder, but this decision of yours better not cost us this mission. I’m counting on this succeeding so I don’t have to weld anymore.”

  “Relax,” Vogle said. “I’ve got everything under control. The prince is scheduled to land in a half-hour, and I plan to be there when he does.”

  “Okay, don’t screw this up,” Acworth said. “I’ll see you in a minute.”

  Vogle hung up and turned his focus back on the road. He regretted not seeing any law enforcement vehicles in pursuit.

  You’d be proud of me, Wilson.

  CHAPTER 30

  BLACK ROARED SOUTH on Maryland State Highway 210. The navigational app on his phone said he was only five minutes away from the Potomac Airfield. He gripped the steering wheel tighter and set his jaw. He’d never worked with the DEA, but he could only imagine the untold damage that would be done to the country’s federal law enforcement agency if Vogle transferred that information to Prince Alsheri.

  While Black was driving out of the city, Blunt explained about Wellington’s connection to Alsheri.

  “While stationed in Afghanistan, Wellington’s network of illegal drugs extended into surrounding countries in the Middle East,” Blunt explained. “One of the worst kept secrets in the region was Saudi Arabia’s thirst for heroin along with any other illegal substances. Apparently, Wellington connected with Alsheri years ago when he was a party addict. Alsheri had been seen in public completely high on something and embarrassed his father. After the third incident, Alsheri’s father banned his son from the family’s fortune, ostracizing him from the rest of Saudi Arabia’s high society. The result was a well-connected young man with ambition and the motivation to establish his own empire without his father’s help. Wellington, being the opportunist that he was, saw a chance to forge a partnership with a man who would have connections to the underbelly of well-established terrorist cells throughout the Middle East.”

  “So, what happened?” Black
asked. “Why would Wellington sell out his country posthumously?”

  “That’s a question I wish I could’ve asked him had I known this at the time we saw him last,” Blunt continued. “But I suspect it had something to do with a rash of seized shipments from Alsheri’s boats. Some of his ships were confiscated, while billions of dollars’ worth of product were destroyed, costing Alsheri dearly.”

  “I can see why Alsheri would be so upset,” Black said. “But Wellington?”

  “After this pattern of arrests continued, Wellington’s reputation suffered to the point that he had to leave the region. Alsheri claimed he was selling him out and threatened to assassinate Wellington’s entire family. Cooler heads prevailed, but likely because Wellington promised to let Alsheri get revenge on the FBI for all their joint raids with different port authorities. At least that’s the theory I’m working on now. The agency was bracing for an all-out assault by Alsheri’s guys on Wellington. But that never materialized.”

  “Now, Wellington was a smart man,” Black said. “But it seems to me that there would be far more efficient ways to handle this situation than how it was.”

  “And therein lies Wellington’s genius,” Blunt said. “He liked to handle situations with precision, refusing to waste a second of his own time or those he was commanding. That’s one of the things his men loved about him. Wellington’s no-nonsense approach was his trademark, whether he was in the U.S. Senate, the Air Force, or moonlighting for the CIA.”

  “So, you’re saying he applied that approach to this situation as well?”

  “Absolutely,” Blunt said. “He held grudges against half this city. So, for him to get revenge from the grave, he would’ve needed to do it in a way that engaged his most trusted friends. They would’ve needed convincing that the mission was worth all the risk they were going to take—or they’d just have to find someone who loved to take risks.”

  “And that’s where Preston Vogle comes in. Have we figured out their connection yet other than being stationed in the same country during the same number of years?”

  “That’s still a mystery we haven’t solved yet, but it’s obvious they’re connected—and deeply so. Why else would Vogle show up at Wellington’s mountain home?”

  “Vogle seems to be fiercely loyal.”

  “He’s dangerous,” Blunt said. “Just be careful.”

  Black followed the instructions on his GPS app and pulled onto the road leading up to the airfield. He cut his lights as he drew closer. Once he parked, he got out and surveyed the area. The last rays of sunlight had vanished as the only thing illuminating the tarmac were landing lights along with a series of security lights on the building structures nearby.

  At the far end of the runway, Black noticed a car parked with its door open and interior lights still on. Just beyond it was an executive jet. Black struggled to make out how many men were there, but he was certain he could see the silhouettes of at least five men. As he drew closer to the small gathering, he noticed another car.

  “Got a quick question for you, Shields,” Black said over his coms.

  “Fire away,” Shields said.

  “Didn’t you say that Acworth was driving a white Honda Accord?”

  “Yep. Is he there?”

  “I haven’t been able to positively identify anyone yet because it’s so dark out here, but I can see a white Honda Accord along with two other vehicles just off the runway.”

  “Can you read the license plate number?”

  “No, but this has to be him.”

  “It’s too strong of a coincidence for it not to be,” she said. “I lost him on the satellites after they dropped on me while he was headed south toward the airfield. But I couldn’t find him after that.”

  “Looks like I did. And you were right about him.”

  “Well, five on one doesn’t sound all that fair of a fight to me,” she said. “Should I send backup?”

  “I don’t want to do anything that would jeopardize Natalie Newton’s life. We don’t know where she is or what they plan to do with her. If we do anything to make them think we’re coming after them, I’m not sure how they’ll—”

  Black didn’t finish his thought as he noticed movement in the backseat of another car.

  “What is it, Black?”

  “I think I see someone tied up in the back of one of the other vehicles. I need to go take a closer look, but if that’s Natalie, I might have you call for help once I get her to safety. Just standby.”

  “Roger that,” she said. “Be careful out there.”

  Black crept closer to the car where he’d seen movement in the backseat. He stayed low to the ground as he worked his way along a series of buildings until he neared the open hangar near the end of the runway. The car was closed, so Black eased up to the driver’s side backdoor and gave it a powerful tug. A woman groaned as he pulled before stopping almost as quickly as he started.

  “What the hell, man?” a woman said.

  Black immediately recognized her from her television appearances. “Natalie, I’m here to take you home.”

  “Who are you?” she said with a snarl.

  “I’m working with the CIA to rescue you and stop these men. I know what they did to you and why they’re doing this,” Black said as he knelt along the side of the car.

  “Is my husband okay?”

  Black nodded as he whipped out his knife and cut her free. “He was unharmed but was unable to do anything for fear that you might be harmed.”

  Natalie rubbed her wrists and winced. “This guy who took me is crazy.” She slithered out of the car and crouched low next to Black.

  “I’m well aware of what kind of man he is.”

  “He downloaded a bunch of information from my husband’s computer onto a flash drive,” she said.

  “Thank you for telling me that. It’s very valuable information. Now, can you do something for me?”

  “Depends on what it is?”

  “I’m gonna need you to be very brave.”

  “I don’t like the sound of this.”

  “It’s okay,” Black said. “I just want you to take my keys here and go to my car. And then drive like a bat out of hell back to your home. And if you can lay on the horn when you leave, even better.”

  “This is your plan?” she asked, eyeing him closely.

  He glanced down at his weapon. “They won’t get far if they try to pursue you, but they’ll be pre-occupied with me.”

  “Fine,” she said. “You better not let them catch me.”

  “You have my word,” Black said. “Now, go. And don’t forget to make a ruckus.”

  Black leaned against the car and attempted to hear what was being said between the men standing in the group about fifty meters away on the dim tarmac. He couldn’t make out much, but he kept an eye on them, glancing back only occasionally to monitor Natalie’s progress. When she finally darted around the corner, Black eased into position and waited for her to signal that she was out of there.

  Seconds later, the horn went off along with her screaming a slew of obscenities in the direction of the men.

  “Shields, send in the cavalry,” Black said over his coms. “Natalie Newton is no longer in danger.”

  “Roger that,” Shields said.

  Panic swept across the faces of the men once it dawned on them what was happening. They darted toward the Infiniti. Black, who was lying prone underneath the car, started picking them off.

  The first man to drop was Acworth. Black hit the recently released prisoner in the leg and then in the head.

  One of the prince’s bodyguards froze when he saw Acworth go down. He wheeled his machine gun in the direction of the car, but it was too late as Black peppered him with two bullets, one in the chest and the other in the head.

  The three remaining hostiles—Vogle and Alsheri among them—raced toward another vehicle for cover. Black took out one guard before hustling over to the other one to steal his abandoned weapon. Armed with a machi
ne gun, Black returned to the Infiniti and put it in neutral. He turned the vehicle’s steering wheel, directing it straight toward the white Honda Accord.

  Bullets whizzed past him, some ricocheting off the hood, while others pierced the glass. Utilizing the driver’s side door as a shield, Black was able to move closer as he maneuvered the car between the other two men and the plane.

  Alsheri and Vogle presented a formidable challenge as one of them fired low and the other high. Black shifted his position to get behind the car entirely, shooting as he nudged the vehicle forward. A few more bullets pinged near him as he continued moving.

  In the distance, sirens wailed. The sounds triggered something in Vogle as he suddenly took off running toward Alsheri’s plane. The prince expressed his extreme displeasure by shouting at Vogle before training his weapon on him. But Vogle didn’t stop.

  The fissure between the two assailants gave Black an opportunity to even the odds. And he seized it. One head shot was all he needed to put down Alsheri, who instantly fell face first. Vogle raced inside the jet and started the engines, leaving the door open.

  Black hustled over to Alsheri. While Vogle needed to be apprehended, the most important thing Black needed to do was secure the flash drive with the information about the DEA agents’ identities. He checked Alsheri’s body, searching through the pockets in his pants and blazer.

  Nothing.

  Black turned and looked toward the prince’s plane. It had just started to roll down the runway, but the door remained open. Vogle stood in the opening and tried to secure the cabin. But Black fired a shot, sending Vogle scurrying back into the jet.

  The plane picked up speed. And so did Black.

  He raced toward the jet and reached it in time to climb aboard.

  CHAPTER 31

  Washington, D.C.

  PRESIDENT MICHAELS BASKED in the warm applause he received from the crowd at the Kennedy Center as he strode out onto the stage an hour into the program. He gave a brief history of the Medal of Honor, the award given to members of the military for courage and bravery in the line of duty. When he finished, a short video describing Gary Newton’s heroics played on the screens flanking Michaels. When the lights came back up, Newton’s face was red, and Michaels couldn’t help but comment on it.