Slave to Hunter
Approximately 140 miles north of Newton, NJ 0650 hours, 25th of June, 2008 Carlos had good hearing. He had most of what he needed to excel at most things he wished to do. That was, perhaps, one of the reasons Kihn had chosen him. Irrelevant, he told himself, even as he dreamed. And yet, the hearing came back to him. It seemed, now, that he could hear things going on miles away, Kihn muttering to himself in Blackfoot, gun shots, blanks, he knew, shouting drill sergeants, an accusing panel of judges, and the beating of the incoming blackhawk's rotors. Blackhawk; it would be a tight and uncomfortable fit, especially with the dogs. Trapped, as it went down. Had to throw himself free! Now lying on the wet ground, in his own blood? It wasn't as hot as it should be, if the chopper just crashed and was burning. No, the chopper was still in the air, and some distance away, which would mean the wetness of the ground was from the rain that had been falling for the last few hours. A blackhawk would give them a ride after Kihn. The one muttering. The one they had to catch. The blackhawk was coming, now! He snapped awake a moment before his ear piece activated. “Ziklag leader, transport. Incoming your position, from south, 100 feet, ETA 2 minutes. Please hold your fire.” “Transport, Ziklag leader. Copy your approach, you'll be all right.” “Roger that Ziklag. Thanks. We'll try to make the trip as quick and painless as possible.” Communications protocol didn't always make sense. You had the need to be precise, well understood. But the military routine got old, and most of the Section operatives were anything but military, at least when they started out. So you got the mix of personalization and regimentation, and somehow it usually worked. When it didn't, people died. The others awoke quickly by stages before the hollow black cylinder with rotors and tail seemed to rise out of the hilltop to the south, dropping to an abrupt landing on the road below them. They were all aboard with their gear and animals in under two minutes, and it was, indeed, a tight fit. They sat in the webbing chairs along the walls of the fuselage, packs beneath their bottoms or their feet, dogs sprawled wherever they could fit. Standard spec. ops. issue; never mind the comforts. The ride was spent in silent contemplation, the engines and rotor noise canceling out the chance for natural communications. The ear pieces would have carried the spoken word, but there really was no need, and they were all still rather tired. -------------------------------- Bob's Used Cars 4 Less dealership outside Newton, NJ 0740 hours They came in low over the trees, most of them holding down bile from the terrain hugging ride. If the government didn't have a problem with secret agencies with minimal oversight flying military operatives into areas of civilian population, there were plenty of extremists with radar who would. God forbid the media ever spotted them. You could only put down so many interested reporters, newscasters, commentators . . . So every mission in these populated domestic areas was treated as a black project. In and out, and no one the wiser left alive. Otherwise you had to establish a good cover, and there simply hadn't been time. The trail was already growing cold. They almost missed the small clearing established for the used car lot, pulled up just before hitting trees on the other side, banked hard right, the operatives holding on for their lives, and made one orbit of the area. It appeared devoid of human and mechanical activity, and they nearly dropped the last 20 feet to the pavement. The exit from the chopper was quick, as three of the operatives rushed for the perimeter of the parking area to vomit. All of them had upset stomachs after that trip, but some held it better than others. Carlos, for his part, managed, and immediately moved up to the cockpit. The engine still ran, the blades still spun, and he had to yell to make himself heard, just in case the comms equipment were down. "Stay here and wait for us. We'll need you as soon as we find out what to look for next." "Sorry, not my orders. I'm to drop you off and head back in." "**** Your orders you **** pansy. You'd better stay right the **** there, now, or I'll make sure you stay there permanently. Understood?!" The pilot laughed, out loud, and kicked the throttle up. "You think you scare me more than the big guy? **** you too. Have a nice day!" The wind from the rotors, now almost fully back up to speed, drove sand and gravel into Carlos, forcing him backward. He drew his sub-machine gun while trying to shield his face, and aimed across the helo's bow. The others had taken up flanking positions, their own weapons trained on the cockpit and tail boom as they awaited his orders. As it lifted off, Carlos fired a warning shot just over its nose. The others picked up the cue, also firing around the chopper, but not to damage it. The pilot, it seemed, didn't take the hint, and kept going, but he did go for gained altitude much more quickly than he might have otherwise. "Hold your fire! Hold your fire. We'll find another way. Let's clear this place." Here was the sort of work the operatives had been trained in, and they each attacked their tasks with the fervor and skill that had been denied them in the woods. They had 20 minutes before the proprietor would show up if he was the sort to come in an hour before opening time. They just didn't have enough intel to know, so they'd have to move quickly, prepared for the worst. All they found was some cash in the register, an electronic record of an "other" transaction with a time stamp of six and a half hours ago, and a typed note: "The money is for the vehicle. Recommend you destroy this note as well as any record of the transaction, or of the vehicle, that you may have. There are those who would use you and your records in their pursuit of me, without regard for your welfare. Recommend you tell them what they want to know, quickly." Well. That was surprisingly revelatory. "Ziklag!" The others turned their attention quickly to Carlos, whether visually or via their comms. "He's come and gone, taken a vehicle, unknown type. Look for an inventory. You have five minutes." The search intensified. files, papers, receipts, and old inventories scanned, and everything seemed to add up to business as usual. No Kihn, no stolen, or nearly stolen vehicle, no evidence of what he'd taken where. "Five minutes to clean up and get out. We'll interview the owner under our covers." Soon they waited outside in the brush along the road. An old truck pulled up, the driver getting out without looking around, and walking directly to the door. The owner, Bob. He paused, noticing something amiss, and Carlos' mind raced to remember what they'd left. Not that it would matter. The small time business man moved over to the dog run, searching it in puzzlement. The dog run. Why hadn't he made more of a note of that? Bob expected a dog to be there, and clearly it was not, which meant it had disappeared over night. Which meant Kihn had taken it. Which could present a problem for the team's dogs. Bob scratched his head, trying to remember, shrugged, and keyed in the front door. They'd give him ten minutes so it wouldn't look like they'd been waiting for him. Let him find the note, get a little nervous. ---------------------- Carlos rapped forcefully on the door. "Sorry, we don't open till 9:00!" He knocked again. "Who is it? I said, we don't open till 9:00 AM, all right?" "Carlos Ramirez, U.S. Marshal's Service!" He shouted back. "We'd just like to ask you a few questions." After a moment, the man slowly opened the door, looking around. The ID shoved in his face looked legit, and the others stood by, relaxed, just waiting on their superior. They were dressed for combat, looked like they'd been crawling through a swamp for the last week, but it didn't appear he was their target. And if he was, why were they knocking and standing around waiting for him to answer? This wasn't quite what he'd expected the morning to deliver. "C'mon in. But make it quick. We don't take too kindly to no government agents snooping around here, if you know what I mean, no offense to present company. At least you ain't no FBI, or ATF or nuthin." "None taken. We're pursuing a fugitive we believe just passed through this area. Have you seen this man lately?" He didn't recognize the photo. "You're pursuing him, eh, but I don't see any vehicle out there that you might have come in. And here you are asking me if he's been here? You think he took one of mine or something?" Ooh, this man was good, had a keener mind than he let on by his appearance. Here he was, trying to take the focus off of him, asking questions about them and the fugitive. Carlos would not fall prey to such tactics. Instead, he often found it best to redirect the subject's attention to more productive pursuits. "Sir, would you have a record of any vehicles that might have come into your lot and been removed in the last week?" The last inventory sheet they'd found was half a week old. He couldn't help the flick of his eyes toward the cash register, where he'd just read the note. "Nah, nuthin's come in, in the last month. Those'd be in the inventory. We just finished it. Ya wanna see?" Impression confirmed. He was suddenly far to eager to please, trying to distract Carlos and his men, who were now flanking him at a comfortable distance. Trying to use Carlos' methods against him. Not going to happen. "Bob, can I call you Bob? I would like to help you. This fugitive we're chasing is very important to certain people. If you don't give us what we want, they will come for you. I promise you, they will give you the worst days of your life, and you will give them what they want before you die." He turned a little toward the door, as if to leave. "I leave the choice with you. Us, or them. If you don't work with us, we'll find another way. Our man WILL be captured." "All right, all right, there's a note over there in the cash register. But honest! I don't have any recollection of what it's talking about. It must have been a vehicle come in yesterday, when the help was here, and he didn't process it right. Leastwase, I don't find any record of it, and I swear I never saw nuthin myself! Honest!" Carlos stared him in the eye, as though looking into his soul. The man was frightened, and thus, would be telling the truth. He didn't know anything, and couldn't help them. If Section got him, they'd just torture another ignorant third party to death, and get no more in days of work than Carlos had gotten in five minutes. There was hope for him, however, Section had seen fit to let Carlos deal with the witnesses, so far, and as long as they were satisfied with his work, it would remain so. He hoped. "All right. I believe you. . . " "What about your dog?" "My dog? What dog? What about him? He didn't maul nobody, did he? Why that son of a . . . I'll whup his . . ." "No sir. Not as far as we know. I was asking if you knew where he was. It seems he is not in his enclosure.” “Ah no, I don't have a clue. Musta broken out somehow. I haven't seen 'im since, musta been three days ago, last time I was here. Help was supposed to feed 'im, y'see.” “Right. What sort of animal is he?” "Oh, right. Well, I got him sort of on impulse, for my daughter's birthday. She's six, and still rather naive, and I can't always be around her. And, well, you know, there's dangerous people out there. So I figure I'll get her this guard dog, y'know. And what the ****, he was cute too. But after a while, somethin went wrong. I dunno what, he just seemed to snap, and . . ." "Yes sir. What kind of dog was he?" "OH! What kind? You mean, like what breed? Like, with a pedigree and whatnot? I dunno if he ever had one. Uhm. sort of a big, hairy, wolf looking kind of thing he was. Big snout on him though. I seen pictures of wolves, they never had snouts this big. Looked like he could chomp a cow's thigh bone in two with them jaws, and nearly took my arm off once, he did. That was right before I started taking a club to him. You got to do what you got to do, you know?" Carlos was begining to wonder if he'd feel so badly about Section interrogating this man, after all. "Hm. Do you have a picture we could take with us?" It took some scrounging, but Bob finally found one. It was a large dog 150 lbs, definitely Akita with some sort of mastiff mix. He had been trained, more or less, to guard, abused, and had now been taken in by the beast-man himself. Just wonderful. Carlos hoped he wouldn't have to kill it. But then, he killed enough people as it was. He wished he could limit the casualties to just the terrorists, but that wasn't always possible. As long as he was hunting them, he figured, he might as well kill a dog along the way. Better that than loosing half the counter-terrorism community to a former operative turned Red Cell. "Thank you for your help, sir. If you think of anything else, feel free to call me any time." He slapped down the business card. It was a cover number, the person on the other end, a cut out on Carlos' payroll. He would forward any calls to an automated voice mail checked by Carlos periodically, but he'd never met or spoken with Carlos himself. "Oh, and sir, . . ." "What?" He'd just started to relax, hoping they were gone, and now they wanted something else. "You were right in your observation that we don't have a vehicle out here. Our transports are tied up at the moment, but we have a generous expense account. Do you have anything fast we could take?" It had been a very exciting day, so far, for Bob, owner of Bob's Used Cars For Less, and one that had just made him quite a bit richer. The money might just make up for the stress induced by the fugitive's note and the invasion of the Feds, IF they didn't come back for more. ---------------------------- 94 South West 0815 hours, 25th of June, 2008 Carlos and team peeled out of the parking lot, heading south at 80mph in an overloaded Subaru outback. Not the sexiest of sports cars, but it had to hold six people and six dogs, and still handle well on the roads. So far, so good. Carlos had an idea. He pulled out his cell phone, and placed another call. "Domino's Pizza. May I take your order?" It was Pizza Hut last time. What was it with this operational security? They could at least get a little more creative. "This is Carlos, Level 4. Give me Birkoff. Now, no questions, no objections." "But sir . . ." "If you don't connect me now, you'll have not one, but a team of rogue ops, and leaks beyond your worst nightmares, you hear me? And you'd better delete any logs and recordings of this call." A series of clicks, buzzes, and beeps later, and the familiar uptight voice came on the other end of the line. "What is it? You know it could be my rear for this, if he finds out." "Forget it. You're too valuable, and you lasted the purge. I need to know what's happening about Kihn." "You're hunting him, remember?" "Right. What's the second layer?" "Uhm. That's a tall order. Give me a moment." "You have it." Birkoff knew everything that was going on. What would he need time for? But he was the one with the information, and Carlos was the one who needed it, so he would wait. Still he drove south, maintaining control and speed through puddles that would have sent lesser cars and drivers hydroplaning off the road. Finally Birkoff's voice came back on. "A mission just went out after the driver of the moving truck. They're bringing him in for questioning." Just as Carlos had thought. And if they got to him first, the man was dead, and probably for as little or less than the car dealer could have given. It was off profile, and tangential to his mission, but something was telling Carlos to move on it. "I need the location and mode. And Birkoff, if you warn them and my people die, I'm holding you personally responsible. I don't care about them. They'll kill him for nothing. We're the good guys. You come through for us, we'll stand by you against him. You with me?” "All right, all right. Black snatch and grab. They'll be waiting for him when he gets home in about an hour." He gave him the address, quickly memorized. "Thanks birkoff, I owe you." "You already owe me. You all owe me, big time." "What about Columbia? That was your life, techy. We're were even, until now." "Fine, whatever. Try to keep it from getting too messy, will ya?" "Agreed. Carlos out." The other operatives could determine a fair deal from what they heard of Carlos' end of the conversation. They knew they were doing something off profile, and that Carlos had to cajole Birkoff into helping them. Carlos gazed at each of them in the rear view mirror for a moment, gaging their reactions. In the past day he'd taken them through what amounted to one of the most challenging 24 hours they'd ever spent, at least without getting shot at. He'd proven his skill, and earned their respect. If he could plan and execute urban operations with anything approaching the competency he'd shown them in the woods, they could trust him, and would follow him. At least for now. “All right people. Here's the deal.” Return