by Tom Fowler
After a quick convenience store stop for coffee and a muffin, Tyler arrived at the new development close to one AM. The Eagle’s Landing promised luxurious single-family homes from the mid $600s. So far, they’d cleared a lot of ground but done little construction. A model home greeted visitors to the community. It showed exterior options like a porch and brick front which would add to the already-steep asking price. At the end of a dirt road sat a mostly-completed house. Another one in a similar state of construction sat on the opposite side of what would eventually be a street. Both were about three hundred yards from the showpiece.
Tyler walked down the hastily-graded avenue to confirm his suspicion: it ran downhill toward the model. Not much, but enough for the two dwellings at the other end to occupy higher ground. Thus, they would make better spots for snipers. Braxton would want to meet near the finished house, and he’d station a man in each of the other two, ready to fire in case things went awry.
Things would definitely go awry.
Tyler noticed a streetlight glinting off something mounted onto the model. He took a wide arc in approaching. It was a camera. Based on its position, it couldn’t see anyone entering the main house, but it had a great view of the rest of the complex, including the two unfinished buildings at the end. Tyler drove away from the model, turning down the next street and leaving his car near the trees.
He approached the two houses from the rear and got to work. The model was a finished, pristine home. Its opposite numbers still contained some construction boxes and supplies. The interior walls required windows and needed to be finished and painted. Tyler busied himself setting everything up. The plastique bricks hid nicely among random supplies. He knew where the snipers would setup. They needed clear lines of sight. At about two-forty-five, he finished everything to his satisfaction. Braxton’s men would be rolling in for recon soon.
They would find nothing amiss. They weren’t smart enough.
Tyler left the development, drove about a mile away, parked the 442, and caught some more rest. It would be go time soon enough.
At five minutes to six, Tyler navigated the 442 into the future Eagle’s Landing. He drove to the model and saw no other cars. No signs of activity. The first rays of sunlight provided faint illumination. No lights on in any of the three houses. He parked near the finished home and got out. Tyler carried an M11 under his jacket and wore a bullet-resistant vest. He knew the men in the houses would have powerful rifles. The distance to the end of the street was about three hundred yards. Any competent sniper could hit someone in the nose from such a distance.
Tyler waited. The small wireless detonator in his hand would activate both blasting caps. Despite its tiny size, it weighed on his palm. He felt eyes on him, even though no one was visible when he turned. Neither of the other houses with cutouts instead of windows showed anyone inside. Braxton sent two capable men ahead. Tyler would expect nothing less. He waited for a minute, and then he heard another vehicle.
Of course, it was a gray SUV. It turned into the development and drove past him without acknowledgement. Tyler stood in place as the Tahoe swung a U-turn past the model and stopped. The driver’s maneuver allowed for a quick exit. Rather than Braxton, Kent Maxwell got out of the front passenger’s door. He stood in front of the building. The driver remained in the vehicle. Tyler saw no one else inside. He scowled at Maxwell. “Where is she?”
“We kept our word. She’s alive.”
“There’s no ‘our’ here, Maxwell. I didn’t talk to you. Your boss and I have an arrangement. Why don’t you have your driver take you away so the grownups can talk?”
“Go to hell, Tyler.” Maxwell took in a deep breath and made a show of surveying his surroundings. Tyler noticed his eyes pause for a beat at each of the other dwellings. “I’m here. You can deal with me.”
“I’ll wait for Leo,” Tyler said. “When you talk to him, tell him to hurry. I know he hates being late.”
“He’s not coming,” Maxwell said. “I gotta hand it to you, though. I didn’t think you’d kill an innocent woman. Not again at least.”
Tyler let the barb pass, but he filed it away in case he saw Maxwell again. “I did what your boss asked. Give me my daughter.”
“You’re not in a position to make demands. Do you think I came here alone?”
Tyler shook his head. “No. I figured you sent a couple guys ahead. The official Leo Braxton recon window is still three hours, right?” Maxwell frowned. “I got here five hours early, and you didn’t bring the sharpest knives in the drawer.” Tyler held up the small device in his hand. Before Maxwell could say anything, Tyler pushed the button.
Two explosions rang out from the other end of the dirt road. Tyler watched the dawning horror in Maxwell’s eyes with satisfaction. He refused to take his gaze from the man, however, as much as he wanted to see the results of his handiwork. “Your reputation precedes you, Kent. You and your boss are predictable.” Tyler shrugged. “You should tell me where Lexi is now.” Free of the detonator, his hand inched toward the M11.
Maxwell reached for a weapon. Tyler pulled his pistol as he spun away from Maxwell and came up in a crouch. A bullet whizzed past him. Tyler returned fire, but Maxwell was already climbing back into the SUV. Bullets thudded into the door and body. The Yukon took off with screeching tires. Maxwell and the driver got as low in their seats as they could. Tyler squeezed the trigger until the slide locked back, but his small moving targets eluded him. “Dammit!” he shouted to the empty development.
Tyler traded a full mag for the empty. After pressing the slide release, he safetied his gun, put it away, and ran back toward his car. It was early on a Sunday morning, but the sounds of two explosions and gunfire would carry. Someone would be up and call 9-1-1. Tyler got in the 442, fired it up, and pulled away from the curb with screeching tires. He drove away from Eagle’s Landing. About a mile down the main road, he passed a police car and a fire engine.
He needed to take this fight to Braxton. Today. Lexi couldn’t wait.
When the emergency vehicles passed, Tyler mashed the accelerator to the floorboard and sped toward Baltimore.
Maxwell stared at his phone. Braxton already called once. He didn’t want the man to call again. Better to get out in front of the situation and own his mistakes. They still held the girl, and Tyler didn’t know where they were. Hexagon enjoyed all the advantages. If Braxton wasn’t smart enough to see it, Maxwell would point it out for him.
He made the call. Braxton answered before the first ring even finished. “Not like you to let it go to voicemail, Kent.” Maxwell frowned at the hard edge in his boss’ voice.
“It didn’t go as planned, sir.”
“I kind of figured it didn’t when you refused to answer.” Braxton paused, and his deep breath hissed in Maxwell’s ear. “What happened?”
“Tyler got there ahead of us. He . . . rigged some explosives and—”
“I warned you not to underestimate him,” Braxton said.
“Yes, sir.”
“You did it anyway.”
“It would appear so,” Maxwell said.
“Anyone besides you survive?”
“Shah is still driving me. The two new men . . . didn’t make it.”
“We can’t afford to keep losing people, Maxwell. It’s one thing if Tyler takes them out. It’s another for you to squander them with some plan I never should’ve approved.”
“Sir, we still have the girl,” Maxwell said. “Tyler doesn’t know where we are. The advantage is ours.”
“You might be right,” Braxton said. “I’m just not sure I can trust your judgment right now. Hurry back.” He broke the connection.
Maxwell spiked his phone into the footwell. Tyler cost Hexagon a bunch of men, and now he’d cost Maxwell the trust of his commander. One more entry on a long list of reasons John Tyler needed to die.
36
Lexi slept sitting in the chair. When she awoke in the morning, her arms were stiff, and she could barely
feel her hands. Some anonymous goon untied her long enough to allow her to use the bathroom, drink some water, and eat a granola bar. He didn’t strike her as military. The hair was too long and the belly a little too big. If he served, he’d let himself go in the time since. When Lexi complained about her arms and hands, he rolled his eyes and lashed her to the chair again.
Whoever he was, this guy couldn’t tie a good knot. His rope work probably would have kept the average person tied down. Lexi used her fingers while the feeling and circulation remained in them. She felt around the knot, learned its shape, and began working on one of the ropes. A shouted curse startled her, and the door opened a moment later. “Your father just cost me two more men.” This man was middle-aged, probably a few years older than her dad, and definitely presented himself like he still put a uniform on every day. “You must be Braxton.”
Instead of answering, he leaned down and got in her face. “Did you hear me?”
“Maybe you should hire better men.”
Braxton’s lip curled, and his hand twitched. Lexi didn’t flinch. “You are definitely your father’s daughter.”
“And my mother’s,” Lexi said. “Maybe you could give her some prison survival tips.”
“You’re here because you’re useful.” Braxton jabbed his finger toward her, stopping it just shy of her nose. Lexi resisted the urge to bite it. “I want your father. He’ll come as long as I have you and as long as I keep you alive. Try remembering it before you mouth off next time.”
“I hope I get to watch my dad kill you.”
A growl escaped Braxton’s sneering lips. He grabbed the upright of the chair and pushed, spilling Lexi onto her side. It hurt, but she didn’t give the asshole the satisfaction of even a small grunt of pain. Her heart raced as Braxton glared down at her. Despite her defiance, Lexi knew how vulnerable she was lying trussed in a building full of men who didn’t care much about her well-being. “I’ll make sure you get a front-row seat when I kill him,” Braxton said. “I’ll do it nice and slow. You can agonize together. Then, you won’t be useful anymore.” He drew his foot back and kicked Lexi in the midsection. She couldn’t suppress a sharp intake of breath at the added show of fury. Her ribs throbbed even as Braxton backed away and left the room.
She allowed herself a minute of relaxing breaths to ease the pain. Then, she went back to work on the knot.
Tyler sat with Sara Morrison in Rollins’ house. They brewed and drank a fresh pot of coffee. Neither attempted any small talk after Tyler told her the reason for his visit. Sara wished him good luck getting Lexi back and waited on the couch while Rollins drove to Baltimore.
A few minutes later, Tyler’s phone buzzed with a video call from Rollins via an encrypted messenger. “How's it look?” Tyler asked.
“It's doable,” Rollins said. “I'm kind of surprised someone like Braxton would use a place like this, honestly. I don't think it's easy to defend.”
“What do you mean?”
“The first thing I noticed was the roads. You have some wide areas in the back for receiving, but it all empties into a narrow avenue. No better out front.” He pointed past the row of buildings. “It's pretty easy to get penned in by a simple roadblock.”
“I don't plan on blocking the street,” Tyler said.
“It would also make it hard for them to bring in reinforcements,” Rollins pointed out.
It was a fair point. Tyler figured all Braxton’s men would be onsite, but what if they weren't? They could get past a roadblock, but delays mattered. “How about the interior? I have a rough idea of the layout.”
“I'm not trying to get inside,” Rollins said. “I brought thermals, though. Might tell you where more men are.”
“Sounds good.”
The video feed showed moving pavement as Rollins walked. He provided quiet narration. “I'm checking the back first.” He went silent. “The roadway back here is really open. Not much cover.”
“Good to know,” Tyler said. A plan blossomed in his head. If Rollins could tell him where more men were located, it would help.
“The rear of this place is a lot bigger than the front. It’s kind of an unusual layout. Looks like this is some kind of warehouse, but the front was a tire center.”
“I’m sure Braxton took what he could find at the time.” Rollins’ conclusion was right, though. Tyler found the structure odd when he looked at the schematics. Such a large area would be difficult to secure. Braxton must have counted on anonymity.
“Putting thermals on,” Rollins said. The screen went black. He must have set the phone down. “All right. It’s not the best for figuring out who’s inside at this distance. Best guess is three guys moving around the interior.”
They must have stood close to the rear wall to be detected. Rollins padded around to the front. “I don't know if you'll pick up anyone,” Tyler told him.
A few minutes later, Rollins confirmed this. “No heat signatures,” he said. “I'm heading back to my truck. You need anything else?”
“I don’t think so. Thanks for helping.”
“You bet.” Rollins hung up.
“You’re going to get her?” Sara Morrison said.
Tyler nodded. “I think Braxton and I have moved past any pretense. We’re down to brute force.”
“You don’t think he . . .”
“No. If he’s going to kill her, he wants to do it in front of me. It’s how he is.”
Sara grabbed Tyler’s hand and squeezed it. “Go get her.”
Tyler looked down at her hand and grinned. “Yes, Madam Undersecretary.”
Tyler wore black. Sweatshirt, pants, shoes, gloves, mask, face paint, even his bullet-resistant vest. If he’d gone with a camouflage color scheme, it would have felt like being in the Army again. He left the 442 about two blocks away in a parking lot off Holabird Avenue. Weapons check time.
Everything was good.
Tyler ducked and walked toward the former tire service center housing the remains of Braxton’s operation. He hated conducting an operation in the afternoon, but every hour Lexi spent here diminished her chances of survival. He reached the far end of the building and turned toward the back. All the windows were dark. No one parked a car in the rear. A lot across the alleyway behind the building held a bunch of old junkers. Tyler crouched among them and surveyed his target. Rollins’ warning proved prescient: other than the rust buckets where Tyler hid, very little back here could provide cover. He also remembered the tip about blocking the road.
Finding a vehicle which looked like it might still work proved a challenge. Tyler discovered an old Subaru whose body was a wreck, but the engine appeared solid. Sure enough, it turned over when he hot-wired it. Tyler pulled the battered car into the roadway. It prevented easy access or escape from the rear. He then returned to his post.
A minute later, a man appeared on patrol.
Tyler sank against the metal carcass of a minivan as best he could. The sentry looked in each direction, his M-16 following his head every time. The guy lit a cigarette. He turned to his right. Tyler made a slow and steady advance. He drew a knife. The sentry sucked in two lungfuls of poison and blew out a white cloud. Tyler crept close behind him and stood. The man gave no indication he knew anyone was on his exposed six. Tyler put his left hand over the sentry’s mouth and drove the knife between two ribs and into his chest. He withdrew the blade. Blood pooled at the guard’s feet as he went limp in Tyler’s grip.
Setting the man down quietly, Tyler searched him for comms devices. He found a small radio on the dead man’s belt and an earpiece in one ear. Tyler put the receiver in his own ear and slipped the radio into the back pocket of his pants. He scampered back to the automobile graveyard and waited for a minute. No activity from the building. If anyone knew the man out back was dead, nothing was done about it. The comms channel remained quiet.
Tyler made his way around to the front of the building. It afforded a little more cover, with leafy bushes adorning the area, which at leas
t offered Tyler something to hide behind. He crouched behind the shrubbery and waited. No one came out of Braxton’s building. All quiet on the earpiece. Tyler moved toward the building when the door opened. He scrabbled back to a bush near the side wall. Whoever walked out glanced in his direction. After a moment, the man muttered, “Damn cats.”
He started off to the left away from Tyler. After walking about fifty steps, he turned around and did the same in the opposite direction. From behind the foliage, Tyler watched the man walk to the far end of the derelict structure next door before pivoting on his heel. His head turned as he glanced from side to side. His position behind the bush made it hard for Tyler to take this sentry out. If he moved too much—and crouching this long grew uncomfortable—the branches and leaves would make enough noise to give him away. This guy wouldn’t attribute random sounds to a cat a second time.
When the guard walked past again, Tyler shifted so he could lean more against the building. The leaves made a little noise. The sentry never broke stride. He walked to the same spot as the first time, performed a sharp pivot, and came back toward Tyler.
Thirty feet. This was the distance from the sidewalk to the building. About twelve strides for someone of the guard’s height. Tyler flattened himself as much as he could. His knees protested. The man drew closer, leading with his pistol. His eyes scanned the bushes. Tyler’s black getup would be effective for blending into the darkness, but not the greenery. If this guy didn’t know something was amiss, he soon would.
The sentry’s gun poked into the foliage. One more step and Tyler could act. The shadows must have made him hard to spot. The guard took the required stride. Tyler gripped the gun in one hand, stood up as fast as he could, and buried the knife under the man’s chin. The blade wasn’t long enough to make it fatal on its own, but it removed his ability to call out for help. Surprise and injury combined to loosen his grip, and Tyler wrested the gun from him.