Closure jack randall 1, p.27
Closure: Jack Randall #1, page 27
Jack took several deep breaths and forced himself to relax. He adjusted his elbows so his bones were in contact with the ground. The scope was already dialed in to accommodate range and elevation. The area around the position had been adjusted to account for the muzzle brake. A quick swipe of the wrist band removed the sweat from his forehead and eyes. His target was now holding agreeably still as he leaned on the table with both arms and discussed something with the other white man.
“One half breath and squeeze,” Sam prompted.
Jack took up the slack on the trigger as he settled his sight picture on the man’s chest. The man’s open shirt flapped slightly in the small breeze, and Jack forced himself to ignore the movement. He took the half breath, as he had been taught by the man beside him, and increased the pressure on the trigger.
The rifle roared as the trigger broke, sending the round across the valley. One thing that had awed Jack when he had first fired the Barrett was that you could actually see the round as it traveled downrange. He regained his sight picture in time to see the round tear into the man’s chest, spinning him around. The sheer kinetic energy of the round tore the right arm off with a shower of blood. The power of the Barrett left no doubt to the fatality of the shot.
Jack’s attention was snapped from the scope by the sound of gunfire. The men around the plane were shooting blindly at the ridge in their general direction. Fortunately, none of them were close, and the range was too great. Jack moved to withdraw, but a hand on his leg stopped him.
“Wait till they’re done,” Sam said.
Jack watched as the men fired magazine after magazine into the jungle. Most of the fire was directed below them where the jungle ended at the edge of the airfield. The men only knew their own weapons. Not the range of the Barrett. To conceive that the shot had come from the top of the far ridge was not in their experience.
“I can get the other guy,” Jack whispered.
“No,” Sam replied in his normal voice. “They’ll see the muzzle flash, next time. You extract, I’ll set the charge.”
“Okay.” Jack frowned but began moving backward in slow motion up the ridge. When he had topped it and was able to turn around he saw the two security men with rucksacks on, ready to go. He quickly doffed his ghillie suit and rolled the mess of burlap up into a cylinder before strapping it on his own ruck. He was soaked in sweat. Not all from the jungle heat, he admitted to himself. Accepting the offered CAR-15, he took up a position facing the ridge top. He was soon rewarded with the sight of Sam’s boots edging over the top. He grabbed a boot and pulled him the last couple of feet. Sam silently did the same dance as Jack had done, doffing the ghillie suit and accepting the CAR-15. He pulled back the slide to ensure a round was in the chamber before asking his first question.
“Extraction?”
“In-bound. LZ-six. About seven hours, give or take. Just after dark,” the man replied.
“Good. That’s got us out on route two. Lead on.”
“Did you get him?” the other man asked.
Sam just pointed to Jack.
“Yeah, we got him.” Jack couldn’t help but return the grin. He felt goofy, but when he looked, they were all sporting the same silly grin.
“Let’s go,” Sam ordered. “We only have fifteen minutes before the charge blows. You lead, you’re behind him and Jack’s behind you. I’m trail.”
They all stood and waited for the lead man to get some distance.
“Oh, one more thing,” Sam added. “Jack?”
“Yeah?”
“Nice shot.”
Jack nodded a thank you before turning to follow the point man. The jungle soon swallowed them.
• • •
Seven hours later Jack sat on the aluminum floor of the Huey helicopter as it flew at treetop level over the jungle. They were soon out over the ocean and heading for the canal. The security team looked asleep despite the noise. Jack was too tired to sleep. He looked up to find Sam watching him. He’d had several hours while they moved through the jungle to think about what he had just done. A lawyer in the States would have said he was guilty of murder. The only thing that separated what he had done from murder was a signature on a piece of paper. The President had decided that the man was a threat to the security of the United States, and had authorized the mission. Jack wondered if he was any different from a Mafia hit man. He reminded himself of the thick file he had seen on the man, the many crimes: murder, drug trafficking, slavery. They had let the snipers see it all. There was no doubt the world was a better place as a result of Jack’s actions today. Over the last couple of hours, he had made peace with what he had done. It was only then that he had noticed he had not taken a turn at point. Sam had placed him in the slack position on purpose, knowing his mind would be occupied. He looked at his friend now and got a grin.
“You okay with all this?” Sam asked.
Jack nodded and grinned back.
“Think you can do it again? I have room on my team for one more, and I’m getting ready to retire.”
Jack looked at the other two men. They were now awake and watching the conversation. He got a nod of approval from one and then the other. It was a small group. He had been accepted.
“Yeah, I’ll stay.”
“Good.” Sam smiled. “Look at it this way, Jack. He went out like we all want to go.”
“How’s that?”
“Standing up!” they all answered.
• • •
“Jack? . . . Jack? You still with us?”
“Huh?” He turned his head to find Sydney and Eric giving him a puzzled look. Evidently he had zoned out for a moment.
“Kinda left us there for a moment, boss. You okay?”
“I’m all right.”
“Do you know this guy?” Sydney asked.
He turned his head back to look out the window with a sigh.
“Yeah . . . Yeah, I do.”
The state of Ohio holds 44,778 inmates in its prisons.
Approximately 30,001 are repeat offenders.
—THIRTY-FIVE—
Jack rubbed his eyes. He’d been staring at the same page for over fifteen minutes now, and still not read a word. The lack of sleep was catching up to him. He was currently on the jet with his crew en route to Kalamazoo, Michigan. The local FBI had been notified, and surveillance had been set up on Sam’s house. So far no activity had been reported, other than someone picking up the mail. It was determined that the man was Sam’s brother-in-law. Surveillance was then set up to watch him. Last report thirty minutes ago revealed nothing new. Jack turned and rested his head on the window. The Midwest snow-covered countryside streamed past thirty thousand feet below. He watched as the checkerboard pattern of farmers’ fields appeared and disappeared. Jack had no idea what he was going to do when he got there. Should he storm the place with a SWAT team? Maybe just walk up and ring the bell? Do I hug him, or just arrest him? He was suddenly pissed at Sam for putting him in this position.
He looked up to see Sydney looking over Eric’s shoulder at the computer screen. Eric was working out well. He was over the initial shock, and worked along with everybody without any problems. Sydney was right, the kid had talent. He shifted his gaze to Larry. He was a mirror image of himself. He looked ready to drop. Jack knew when to stop fighting it. Twenty minutes, he told himself. He repeated it three times as he stretched out in the seat. He took one deep breath and was asleep.
• • •
Paul was tired also. He had been up late into the night monitoring the news networks and websites, waiting for news about Sam. Finally, he had fallen asleep in his chair, and now his neck was stiff as he worked under the truck. He had the old stereo he kept in the garage tuned to the news station, with the volume turned up high to be heard over the sound of the portable heater. He replaced the plug in the oil pan, before carefully pulling the full receptacle out from under the truck with him as he went. Despite being careful, he still sloshed a couple of large drops out onto the concrete. He ignored it while he carried the basin to a large, twenty-gallon drum he kept in the corner for used oil. After dumping it in to drain, he left the basin balanced on its side to allow the last drops to find their own way in. He pulled a few quarts of fresh oil down from the shelf and was halfway through the second quart when he was interrupted.
He never heard them coming.
• • •
Jack had been surprised when they had pulled up behind the two UPS trucks. After stomping his way through the snow he made it to the sidewalk.
“Which one?” he asked.
“Front one. Second one is the real deal,” came the answer.
Jack walked past the confused driver of the second truck, and proceeded to the first. He tapped on the back and it was soon opened. He was met by a few officers in SWAT uniforms, and a few technicians in front of computer screens.
“Mr. Randall? James Lear. SWAT team commander.” He stuck out a gloved hand.
“Good to have you here. What do we have?”
“We have cameras on both houses. Looks like one person in the garage at house one, nobody in house two.”
“How do you confirm that?”
“They’re thermal imaging cameras. Unless they’re in the basement, we can see them. Right now just the guy in the garage is showing. He’s been in the basement once so they could both be in there. What’s he doing, Johnson?”
“Changing his oil, looks like.”
“We have covered approaches from two directions, here . . . and here.” He pointed to an overhead photo on the wall. “I have enough men for a two prong assault. Two dog teams, a helicopter, and EMS are all standing by. All we need is the word from you.”
The group of men and one woman in the truck were now looking at Jack. He thought it through from all angles one more time. He didn’t know if it was Sam or Paul in the garage. Would grabbing Paul now do any good? Was Sam even returning here at the moment, or was he on his way to the next target? Could he afford to wait? Could he afford not to?
“Chief, you have an extra vest? I’m an XL.”
The Chief frowned, but what could he say. It wasn’t his show. He looked around the truck. “Jacobs, go to my car and get my vest out of the trunk. Bring the black bag with the toys in it, too. It’s the heavy one.” He returned his gaze to Jack. “You sure you want to do this?”
“Positive. Show me your plan.”
• • •
A half hour later Jack found himself jogging through the snow in a borrowed vest and pair of boots that were a little on the small side. His breath came in rasps as the cold air burned his lungs. He fell into his place behind the rest of the team up against a neighboring house. It had been emptied earlier with a phone call. He watched as the leader carefully peered around the corner, keeping his head at knee high level. From this point, it was a twenty-yard sprint to the front door. The second man in line, or the stack as they called it, carried a breach. Nothing more than a large, heavy piece of pipe with some handles welded to it. It was used for smashing in doors. At first, Jack had been confused by the overly large handles, but now that he saw them held in the gloved hands of the breach man he understood. Without the gloves his hands might stick to the cold metal. Jack had barely caught his breath when the lead man indicated five seconds. Jack heard a double click of the microphone in his ear. He counted the seconds down in his head. On four, he rose with the others, and a second later was sprinting through the snow again. As his feet hit the shoveled walk, he flicked off his safety, but kept his finger on the trigger guard. They paused until they heard the word “Go” from the team at the back of the house. The breach man put his weight behind the swing and the door burst open with a shower of splintered wood.
• • •
Paul had just thrown the second can in the trash, and was on his way to the shelf for another, when he saw the shadow fall across the window of the back door to his garage. Before he could react, the door burst open with a shower of splinters. He immediately spun and ran for the door to the house. Reaching in his pocket, he felt for the remote. Before his hand could determine which one he needed an explosion of light and sound rendered him both deaf and blind. The pavement suddenly rose up to meet his face as he was tackled to the ground and his arms were yanked violently behind him. He struggled to reach the remote in his pocket as more hands grabbed hold of him and pinned him to the cold concrete. He fought them until he was brought up short by a voice cutting through the ringing in his ears.
“Paul! It’s Jack! Stop it. Stop fighting.”
Paul’s vision returned and he looked up from his position pinned to the floor. He saw the face of Jack Randall staring back at him. Cuffs were snapped around his wrist and he was dragged to his feet. As the team members lifted him and walked him into the house, his eyes never left Jack’s.
“You’re too late,” was all he said. The police quickly searched him and emptied his pockets out onto the counter. Then he was gone. Jack was left looking at a picture of Sam with his wife and daughter on the wall as the police continued to clear the house.
Jack stood in the kitchen and his gaze traveled around the room until he saw the keys on the counter. There was an extra key fob on the ring. Why was Paul trying to get to it so badly? He looked across the kitchen and out into the garage, only one vehicle. His eyes widened as he realized what it was.
“Everybody out of the house! Now! Clear this house! Go! Go!”
• • •
An hour later Jack stood outside the police UPS truck. He watched as the officers and their dogs left the house. The lead man approached the group.
“It’s all clear now, sir. We found a total of five devices, incendiary and explosive, all rigged to destroy the files and computers. It’s safe to go in.”
“Thanks, Tim. I need the barn swept next.” The sergeant turned to Jack. “It’s all yours.”
Jack turned and waved to Sydney and the others waiting in the car, before moving to the front door and entering. Nothing had been discovered on the first floor, so Jack found the stairs and descended to the basement. The carpet was damp and dirty from the police traffic, and things were in disarray from the bomb squad searching the rooms.
“In here, sir.”
Jack followed the voice to the end of the short hallway and entered what looked like a home office. Inside he found a young technician from the bomb squad standing over the desk. He was holding something in his hand under the desk lamp.
“What do you have there?” Jack asked.
“It’s the triggering device, looks like he salvaged the parts at a junkyard. He wired the receiver from a car alarm. I think it’s a GM, but I can’t be sure till I run the number. Anyway, he had it rigged to sealed trays of homemade napalm in the bottom of all the file cabinets. Push and hold for a few seconds and all this is up in flames. It was also linked to the computers. Napalm again in the desktop. More than enough. Some actual Comp-4 in the laptops. I guess he needed more bang for his buck in the small space. All very amateur, but still very well done, and it certainly would have done what it was designed to do. He had no intention of anyone ever seeing this. There was a simple trip switch on the doorframe to the basement, but it wasn’t engaged. I figure that was for when he left the house.”
“Homemade napalm?” Eric asked.
“Yeah, it’s simple. You just mix equal parts gasoline and dish soap and stir till you get a thick, sticky mess. Put it in a glass jar with a lit fuse, and it’ll stick and burn to whatever you throw it at. There are all kinds of cool stuff you can make at home. I once . . .”
“I’m sure there is.” Jack cut him off with a look at Eric. “Can we have the room please?”
“Oh . . . yeah. Sorry about that.” The man dropped the device in an evidence bag and quickly left.
Jack looked around the room, taking it all in. “All right, people, pick a cabinet and start boxing it all up. Pull all the photos off the wall after you get a few pictures yourself. Eric, the computers are yours. Be careful, I’m sure if Paul went to all this trouble, he has a few surprises on them as well. Follow Sydney’s lead, this is her area.”
Sydney jumped in. “Everybody change their gloves regularly, and don’t forget to bag those, too. I’ll be handling the camera, so before you touch or move anything make sure I picture it first. Otherwise just do what I said on the plane. Okay?” Sydney got nods all around. She noticed Larry wearing gloves and booties, yet he still had his tie on. He looked out of place.
“Larry, ditch the tie before you start.”
He looked down as if just remembering it was there.
“Okay.”
Jack stepped back to let them work. Part of him wanted to go to the police station and start questioning Paul, but he knew it was better to let him get processed in and then left to stew for awhile. He looked around the room again as the flash from Sydney’s camera began firing and whining as it recharged. He walked over to the fish bowl. A single goldfish swam in circles. Next to the bowl were a collection of prescription bottles. He looked in Sydney’s direction, but she was busy getting everyone started so he just leaned down and read the labels. They were all for Sam.
“Hey Syd, what are these medications for?”
She walked over and took a shot before picking them up and reading the labels.
“This is a red cell booster. This is for nausea. This one is a serious pain med.”
“So what’s that mean?” Jack asked.
“I’d say your friend has cancer.”
• • •
“I can’t discuss his condition with you. I’m sorry.”
“Dr. Maher. I understand your unwillingness to do this, but I need to know his condition if I have any hope of helping him. His brother is in custody and won’t talk. My guess is Sam hasn’t made it in here lately. He and I served together in the army. He’s a friend. He’s been sending me letters through this whole thing. Now why would he do that if he didn’t want my help? If I can get to him fast, he can return to his treatments. But to do that he needs to stop what he’s doing. I need to know what his mindset is. What drove him to do this?”
