The Mechanic

by Tom Fowler

  Breaching the rear entrance would be easier. Tyler pondered how long to wait for Rust as he walked back to his car. What if the man was out all day? Maybe he could use the Patriot laptop to keep tabs on him. As Tyler considered the gaps in his understanding of technology, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

  Sara Morrison.

  Sara Morrison enjoyed working from home. She got to do it more in recent months but didn’t expect this perk to last long-term. Not being in the office limited her to unclassified work only, but plenty still heaped her plate. Just catching up on email and routine tasks would make her next day in the office smoother.

  It had been a productive morning. Were she in the office, Sara would have gone to lunch by now, but since she was already home, she kept working. There were always contracts and proposals to look over, not to dwell on ever-shifting rules and regulations to remain on top of. None of the work could be called exciting, but Sara spent years cultivating expertise. She could draft a scathing rebuke of a proposal before most people finished reviewing the particulars.

  A major in the next office talked to Sara about working from home in trying times. He mentioned a gun, which she owned, and proficiency in using it, which she possessed from concealed carry classes and live fire. The tradeoff was not having the safety measures built in to working at the Pentagon. Getting past the gates would prove a challenge for most people. Gaining access to the building was almost impossible without the required ID and documentation. Moving around meant someone would encounter security frequently. Plenty of ways to stop a bad actor.

  At home, Sara counted on a security system and a gun.

  It would need to be enough. She’d practiced the scenarios since Braxton’s initial contact and implied threat. Her office featured a metal door and industrial locks which would be a challenge to breach. She knew how to activate them quickly. The exterior wall of the second-story room was brick, and she brought in a contractor to reinforce the floor under her. The window represented a vulnerability, but Sara installed a metal cage behind it to help until she could upgrade it. She considered making more coffee when her system showed a dark gray SUV pulling up near her house. She used the camera and zoomed in as much as it would allow. Two figures sat inside. They looked large and male.

  She’d never seen a vehicle like this sitting in the neighborhood before. It couldn’t be good. Braxton must have decided to take more aggressive action. Sara grabbed her phone. The police would take time to get here, and they might not recognize the threat even with her explanation. Anyone she knew in security at the Pentagon was too far away. Down on options, Sara dialed John Tyler and hoped for the best. “I think some men are here for me,” she said when he picked up.

  “How many?”

  “Two so far.”

  “I’m in my car,” he said. She heard a throaty engine fire up in the background. “Tell me what they’re doing.”

  “Sitting there for now. I can’t make out much more. They could be waiting for someone else.”

  “All right. Stay on the line for now. I’m heading your way.”

  “Please hurry, Mister Tyler,” Sara said.

  24

  Tyler stomped on the accelerator, and the 442 surged around yet another Prius. Montgomery County was lousy with them for some reason. In his younger days, he would have relished snapping off a quick downshift. Now, he appreciated the automatic doing it for him. He didn’t know if he’d ever come to like it, but he could live with it.

  “I’m five minutes out,” he said to Sara Morrison. “What’s going on?”

  “Another SUV pulled up,” she said. “One of them just got out.” Her voice trembled a bit. “He’s big.”

  “Braxton attracts that type. If they can’t make it in football, they’ll find other ways to push people around.”

  “I’m securing my office door,” Sara said. Tyler heard a slam, then a series of locks engaging. “It’s solid. If they get past it, it won’t be quickly. I had it specially added to the house.”

  “You anticipated an asshole former colonel would send a couple goons to shoot you?” Tyler said. “With your foresight, they should make you SECDEF.”

  Sara let out a light chuckle. Under different circumstances, Tyler would have liked the sound of it. “If I survive this, maybe I’ll have a chance.” She paused. “Shit. Two others got out, too. They’re headed toward the house.”

  “How long will your door hold them out?”

  “It’s designed to stop people breaking it down . . . small arms fire, those sorts of things. It should buy me a few minutes. It’s supposed to keep me safe until the cops come.”

  “Have you called them?”

  “Should I?” Sara said.

  “It can’t hurt. I think I’m pretty damn good, but you might want a plan B . . . especially if they have one.”

  “OK. I’ll call them now. Hurry, Mister Tyler.”

  “I’m on it.” He hung up and let Sara call the police. Three minutes remained, according to his GPS. It would take the two guys a minute to get into the house. Tyler knew from Google Sara’s house was a two-story model. It would take them at least another minute to clear the first floor, presuming they were competent. It didn’t leave them much time to try and breach the door.

  A good security door could hold out for a minute.

  Tyler got off the highway. He hit the ramp and sped down the road. Maybe two minutes. He needed to make a right in four blocks. Two lights stood in the way. The first flashed to red as he approached. Tyler saw only one car waiting to go on the cross street. He didn’t slow down, and once the car passed, he blasted the 442 through the intersection. The next light remained green. It changed to yellow as Tyler approached. He was ready to go through it.

  The minivan in front of him, however, hit its brakes.

  Tyler jerked the wheel to the right. The 442’s rear danced out, but he kept it in line and got around the van while the light still showed yellow. Two blocks later, he swung a hard right, working with the oversteer and getting back on the gas to pull out of the turn. Sara lived on a narrower street, and parked cars dotted both sides of it, so Tyler tempered his speed.

  He saw two gray SUVs as he approached. Braxton must have gotten a volume discount on the damn things. The GPS’s pseudo-friendly mechanical voice told Tyler he arrived. Three guys. Braxton was old-school enough and sexist enough to figure a trio of lummoxes could take out a woman. The residential neighborhood posed another problem. Tyler didn’t bring heavy hardware for fear of collateral damage. Sara’s single-family home was about thirty feet from her neighbors on either side. A stray round from a large-caliber rifle could take out someone next door.

  Tyler slid his car into a spot across the street. He brought his trusty M11 with two spare magazines for offense and wore a bullet-resistant vest for defense. He could go in the front door. More direct. Also more likely to be heard or seen. Going in the back would increase his chances of being undetected. The tradeoff was time. It would take longer to get to the rear of the house, and then still longer to move throughout the house.

  Sara may not have an abundance of time.

  In the final analysis, it was familiar territory. In Afghanistan, Tyler kicked down lots of front doors and faced more than three assholes. He ducked and sprinted across the street, then up Sara’s walkway. He put his back to the door and looked to the right. A large window. He peered into it and saw Sara’s living room. Furniture but no people. Tyler tried the door—locked. He popped it with the snap gun and went inside.

  Voices came from somewhere above. “Open up, bitch!”

  “Eloquent,” Tyler muttered to himself. Stairs leading to the second story were immediately inside the front door. Tyler turned to the side, led with his pistol, and climbed one carpeted step at a time. Braxton’s goons yelled more curses and threats at Sara. They pounded the door but made no progress. Tyler reached the top of the stairs and walked onto the landing. A bathroom sat dead ahead, and 180-degree right led to the hall. From
there, Sara’s office was down another carpeted corridor to the left.

  Tyler peeked around the junction. Three men stood outside the door. The largest tried kicking it to no avail. Another pulled a gun and fired a shot into the lock. They all covered their ears at the noise. Tyler took the opportunity to shoot the closest one twice in the back. His body slumped forward into the door and slid to the floor. The other two ducked into a crouch right away. Smart. As he turned, though, Tyler had ample opportunity to shoot one in the head right away. His body fell beside his teammate’s.

  The third scampered through a nearby door on the right before Tyler could draw a bead on him. He needed to end this quickly. No calls for reinforcements. Tyler put his back against the right-hand wall and moved down. He reached the door and popped his hand in the opening before retracting it. Sure enough, the guy inside opened fire. Tyler dropped to a crouch, spun into the doorway, and took the surprised gunman with two bullets in the chest. In case the man wore a vest, Tyler entered the room and finished him off with a round to the head.

  With all three men down, Tyler knocked on the office door. “It’s Tyler,” he said. “The men here are dead.” A moment later, locks disengaged from inside the room. Sara Morrison flashed a nervous smile. She was tall, probably five-eight in tennis shoes, and a full head of auburn hair framed her pretty face. Based on her position with the department, she must have been around her mid-forties but looked about a decade younger.

  “Thanks for coming,” she said.

  “We shouldn’t stick around,” said Tyler. “Braxton might send more men. You should go somewhere.”

  Sara crossed her arms under her breasts, emphasizing them. “I am not going into hiding, Mister Tyler. An asshole like Leo Braxton won’t hold that kind of sway over me.”

  “I admire your spirit, Miss Morrison, but I want to keep you alive.”

  “Why?”

  “Leo Braxton wants you dead,” Tyler said, “and I hate him. For now, it’s reason enough.”

  “I appreciate your honesty,” she said.

  “I can probably find someone to stay with you. How quickly can you pack a few things?”

  “Already did just in case. I’ll get it.” While she did, Tyler collected phones from the three corpses. A moment later, Sara followed him downstairs with a leather overnighter slung over her left shoulder. “You have a gun in there?” Tyler said.

  “Of course.”

  “Good. I hope you won’t need it.” One of the cell phones rang in Tyler’s pocket. “We should go,” he said.

  25

  Another cell phone rang as they walked to the car. Tyler let it go to voicemail. He and Sara got into the 442. “Nice car,” she said while buckling her seatbelt.

  “Thanks,” Tyler said. “I put a lot of work into it.” The engine rumbled as he pulled away from the curb. “You’re sure you won’t opt to get out of town for a while?”

  “Absolutely not,” Sara said. “Would you let Braxton drive you away?”

  “Of course not. But I’m—”

  “A man?”

  Tyler smirked. “I was going to go with an experienced special forces operative. Seems more relevant than my sex.” He took out his phone once they were on a wider street. “Man or woman, I don’t think you should stay anywhere by yourself right now. I need to call someone who can help you.”

  “A babysitter?”

  “Call it what you want, but you need one after tonight.”

  Sara nodded and took a deep breath. For a woman who recently hosted three uninvited killers in her house—and heard them shot outside her office door—Tyler thought she was holding up well. “You’re right,” she said after a moment. “I hate feeling like I’m being looked after, but you’re right. Who are you calling?”

  “Think you might know him?”

  “I have read your file, Mister Tyler.”

  “I’m sure you did. His name is Rollins.” Tyler dialed the number. The sound of ringing from the speakers filled the car.

  “I’m guessing your Bluetooth setup isn’t an Oldsmobile original,” said Sara.

  “The car’s fifty years old,” Tyler said. “I didn’t see the need to keep it stock.”

  “Hello?” came through the audio systems.

  “Rollins, it’s Tyler.”

  Silence served as the only reply for a few seconds. Then, Rollins said, “What do you need?”

  “Why do you assume I need something?”

  “You’re not the type to make social calls.”

  It was certainly a fair point. “Fine. I have someone I’d like you to look after.”

  “Look after?”

  “Three men just came to her house to kill her,” Tyler said. “I know who’s responsible, but I can’t go after them and see her safe.”

  “Who is she?” Rollins asked.

  “Sara Morrison. She’s—”

  “She’s tired of being talked about like she’s not in the car,” Sara broke in. “Hello, Mister Rollins. I work for the Department of Defense. My exact title isn’t important, but apparently, a certain former colonel doesn’t care for my investigation into his private military company.”

  The speakers gave Rollins’ sigh a bigger hiss than it may have otherwise enjoyed. “I’m gonna guess we’re talking about Braxton.”

  “We are,” Tyler said.

  “Shit. His company . . . did he get out of jail?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. Many years too soon. Can you help us?”

  “Sure,” Rollins said. “Where are you?”

  “Just leaving Columbia. I’m headed your way.”

  “Meet me on Fort Meade. The USO building.”

  “Done. Thanks.” Tyler hung up.

  They’d already left the area, so Tyler took the next ramp and got the car back on I-95, this time heading south. The exit he needed was six miles away, and the Fort wasn’t far from there. Fifteen minutes, tops. He would have preferred to make the trip in silence, but Sara had other plans. “When did you become a knight-errant?” she said.

  “I’ll need to remember the title,” Tyler said. “They always ask you when you file your taxes.”

  “I’m serious. You spent almost twenty-five years in the army. Then, you went on to some kind of executive protection thing.”

  “I did more than simply protect rich assholes.”

  “You did?”

  “Sure,” Tyler said. “I protected plenty of middle-class assholes, too.”

  Sara chuckled. It was good to see her retain a sense of humor after the day’s events. “You left as a Warrant Three.”

  “Yep. Didn’t try for four, and no one makes Warrant Five.”

  “True. But I’m guessing you left over the Braxton incident.” Tyler remained silent. “Is that it?”

  “You’re oversimplifying it,” he said after several seconds.

  “Then, complicate it for me.”

  Tyler fought a grin. He liked Sara Morrison. She’d survived and thrived in a workplace dominated by men. A trio of murderous goons couldn’t quell her spirit. “I’ve always felt I should’ve known the orders he gave me were fake.”

  “You needn’t blame yourself,” Sara said. “Braxton made sure everything looked legit.”

  “I know. Some part of me gets it. But I watched their house for a couple hours before. . . . None of the signs were there. We knew who a lot of people trafficking IEDs were. I didn’t see any of them. Didn’t hear from any on the comms. No signs of equipment.” Tyler shook his head. “In the end, I thought maybe they were keeping things on the down-low, figuring we were onto them or something.”

  “It’s a reasonable conclusion.”

  “Maybe it is.” Tyler took his right hand off the wheel and waved it. “Anyway, I’m not trying to recount my tale of woe. Braxton ended up going down for it.”

  “So you moved on because it left you disillusioned,” said Sara. “That’s understandable.”

  “It wasn’t just what Braxton did,” Tyler said after a few seconds.
“It was the support he got. The son of a bitch raped a teenaged girl and ordered her family killed to cover it up. Any rational person would want to shoot him or toss him into a hole and fill it with napalm. But a bunch of people came out in support for him. Other colonels. Flag officers. It was disgusting. Braxton delivered a lot of dead terrorists, and it was all they cared about. They were willing to paper over the rest if he could keep bringing in results.”

  Sara let out a long, slow breath. “Jesus. The good ol’ boys really stand up for one another, don’t they?” She shrugged. “Truth is, a lot of women are taking pages from the same sad playbook.”

  “The army still seems to prefer the male kind. You know a lot of them are still around, right? Some of the older ones retired or died, but the colonels and one-stars back then have two or three stars now. And they’re the ones who want to see companies like Braxton’s given free rein to shoot as many people as possible.”

  “You’ll take him down,” Sara said. “I’ll give you what help I can.”

  Before Tyler could say anything else, one of the stolen phones rang again.

  A feeling of dread clawing at Leo Braxton’s gut told him things went south. It should have been an easy mission. Three operatives against one middle-aged woman. How could it go off the rails? After another call went to voicemail, Braxton slammed his phone down. Sara Morrison worked around enough military men. She probably slept with some. Maybe one of them taught her to shoot. Her odds of taking out all three enforcers were nonexistent, however.

  Braxton picked up his phone again and tried the first number. Finally, someone answered. “Sitrep.”

  “Hi, Leo,” said a voice Braxton couldn’t place at first. “I don’t know if this is asshole one, two, or three’s phone. I didn’t have much time to assign them numbers. Whoever it is can’t talk right now, though. Want to know why?”

  He recognized the voice. “Tyler,” Braxton said through clenched teeth.

  “It’s me. You didn’t answer my question, though. Want to guess why your goons can’t answer their phones?”