Desert takedown, p.2
Desert Takedown, page 2
“I know how this sounds,” she said. “I’m sure you both think that I’m just acting impatient, that I need to get my fix of being in the action, but that’s not what’s going on.”
Nathan said, “You were attacked, same as us.”
“I mean about the rest of it.”
“We both know how badly you want to get to Russo. I want it, too.”
“Which is exactly why I would never do anything to jeopardize my number one priority. Your Immortal friend Russo —”
“Not my friend.”
“— has hurt my family tremendously. My sister has forever been ruined by him. He will pay. If we can find a way to save her life through him, then I don’t even care if it means killing.”
Robin said, “Killing an Immortal is not easy. That’s why they’re immortal.”
Nathan bristled and tried to hide it with a cough. He wondered how long it would take him to get comfortable hearing Robin and Altman talk about the Immortals. After his few short years of being an Immortal, after spending his time and effort keeping it secret, sharing the inhuman side of him did not come easily.
“So, what happened?”
Altman said, “As I went through my daily routine — exactly as Robin had prescribed — I noticed a Hispanic man. He seemed to be everywhere I went. At first, I thought perhaps my eyes were seeing different men and thinking they were the same — not a lot of Hispanic people live in England. My eyes were not used to discerning between them.”
Robin said, “Are you telling me you’ve never had the all black people look alike routine pulled on you? Is that just an American thing?”
“No, it happens in England, too. It’s happened to me. Which is why I took careful notice of his features — thin mustache that only came down the corners of his mouth, a scar above his right eyebrow, and the mole situated in the left crease of his nose. Sure enough, after several days of observation, I felt certain he was following me.”
Nathan’s mouth tightened. “They’d been watching you for a long time. Which means they knew about us being in Nevada, too. Why wait until now to make their move? What changed?”
“Don’t know. But I could tell today that things were different. He acted twitchy, and he didn’t try to hide as well as before. I figured that all meant one thing — he was going to attack me soon. So, I went down an alley and ambushed him. He went easy. I suppose he didn’t think a proper British woman could be so aggressive. Anyway, that was when I called Stan — my friend at the boneyard.”
When the call ended, Nathan said, “That answers how they found us. They figured out Altman was in Tucson and worked back from there.”
“She may have talked to the wrong person. But that also means the wrong person happened to be in Tucson. Unless this organization we’re suddenly up against is filled with so many thousands of agents that they can stock one in every major city in the country, if not the world, I don’t see how they zeroed in on Tucson.”
Nathan held back his amusements. “You’re the one that taught me nobody escapes some level of digital footprint. You even told me that people who’ve been dead hundreds of years before the Internet are actually on the Internet. Why is it so hard to believe that you and I got made somehow?”
Slamming her laptop closed, Robin said, “Because it’s me. I’m the one who set up most of her digital footprint. I know what I’ve put on the net. She should not have been found. Not by talking to random guys at a bar.”
“She had a life before she met us. In England, after she left the Eternity Agency, all those activities would leave behind something. Not to mention my big fight in Ireland. No matter what lies people swallowed to ignore what they saw that day, those lies were still in the news. You said it yourself — she was there by my side for most of it.”
Resting her chin on her hand and gazing out the window, Robin said, “I suppose. But I don’t have to like it.”
The Pinal Airpark boneyard sat northwest of Marana — a small town itself northwest of Tucson. As they neared, Robin instructed Nathan to get off the highway. Desert surrounded most of the boneyard, although to the south, much of the acreage had been converted into farmland with heavy irrigation and a bright green color unnatural for the Arizona climate.
The boneyard’s main purpose was to house passenger and cargo airliners until they could be stripped down for parts as needed. Several dozen planes had been parked at a slight angle to each other so that their wings took up the least amount of space. Huge jumbo jets and sleek airliners, many from airlines no longer in existence, formed a phalanx that would never move. The overall design of the boneyard looked like a triangle with one side against a runway used for bringing in planes on their final flight. At the corner opposite the runway, a small office building stood.
Had he remained on US-10, Nathan could have exited right onto East Pinal Airpark Rd and rolled along until he ended up at a small guardhouse. But they did not want to be discovered. So, Robin had his truck rumbling off-road over the rugged terrain of the Arizona desert.
When they finally stopped, Nathan cut the lights and handed over the keys. “You got everything you need here?”
She patted her thermos chock full of coffee and her bag stuffed with tortilla chips, cookies, and a package of baby carrots. “Don’t be so long that I go through it all. Especially because I’m not a big fan of coffee. That’s your thing.”
“Pace yourself.”
“Seriously, keep your eyes open. Altman thinks she’s in control here, but you know as well as I do that this isn’t a closed area like an English castle.”
Checking over Maggie, he said, “Altman’s been trained. She knows what she’s doing.”
“She’s also been bored out of her mind. This is the most exciting thing to happen to her since she got to the States. All I’m saying is that she may not be thinking clearly through each step. I once had a pet hamster named Murray, and he would always ignore his food until he was starving and then —”
“Robin.”
“What? It’s a good story and relevant.”
Placing his ear-comm snug, he said, “The moment it’s safe for you, I’ll let you know.”
He exited the truck, and as Robin slid into the driver’s seat, Nathan felt like an astronaut stepping out of his capsule. All around him, the night engulfed the land — dark and cold. If not for the lights of the boneyard cresting over the hill, he could have mistaken the darkness around him for the Darkness — the cold, utter emptiness that reached for him whenever he died. Shucking off those thoughts, he holstered Maggie and jogged toward the boneyard.
He met Altman at the corner furthest from all eyes. Tall fencing with barbed-wire running along the top blocked his way, but Altman had already cut open a small section for him to climb through. She had an athletic build, rich and dark skin, and held herself in a way that betrayed her British roots.
As he crouched through the fence, he said, “This doesn’t seem like a good place to be establishing your new reality.”
Altman smirked. “Robin will just have to do the best she can with what little I give her. This is more important.”
In both of their ears, Robin said, “Just because I’m one of the best doesn’t mean you have to challenge me all the time. I’m doing enough to keep all the security cameras at this place down. I’ve also managed to break into their files and get their work schedules. Sent emails to the next two shifts covering the entire night — nobody will be coming for work this evening.”
“Thank you,” Altman said. “With any luck, we’ll be done long before anybody needs to get in here.”
“What about Stan?”
“Don’t worry about him. I’ll go out on date with him, and he’ll be happy.”
As they walked along the dirt road, passing one massive airliner after another — some with engines missing, some with their noses torn off, some absent select bits of wing or tail — Nathan thought a pall hung over the place. Though commercial airliners were not living beings, the feeling of death surrounded them. Boneyard, indeed.
Altman stopped at a row of 727s, each parked at an angle, their wings close to brushing against each other. She headed for the middle plane, the side painted with green and yellow lines, the airline’s name displayed in a language Nathan did not know. As he followed, he made a mental note to add learning more languages to his list of things he needed to study.
The back emergency stairs beneath the tail had been dropped open, and Altman led the way into the plane. Much of the inside had been gutted. The galley was simply a shell where food carts, microwave ovens, coffee makers, and storage cabinets could be installed. The two restrooms no longer had doors, but since the inside had been formed as a contoured part of the walls, nobody had bothered pulling out the pieces.
Beyond that, all of the seats had been removed. The inside cabin had become a long tunnel with a wooden stool at the far end. A man dressed in jeans and a long-sleeve cowboy shirt — the kind of costume designed to be average and unnoticed — sat on the stool with his hands bound behind him and his ankles tied together.
As they walked toward the man, Nathan said, “Did you work him over?”
“Drugged him. A guy like that — he was bound to be a problem for me eventually.”
In their ear-comms, Robin’s voice said, “Check him for ID.”
Nathan said, “You know he’s not going to have any. Why are you getting so worked up about IDing these people?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that they recently tried to murder us. Having guns going off around my head may have something to do with it. I mean, if I could simply get a name, I could screw their lives over with a few clicks of the mouse. I want payback.”
Nathan squatted near the man. He matched Altman’s description — Hispanic, thin mustache, mole in the left crease of the nose. Nathan added mid-twenties, a few facial scars, and a close-shaved haircut. “Either he’s ex-military or he’s a military wannabe.”
“I checked,” Altman said. “No ID, no papers of any kind. Nothing but a few extra magazines for his weapon.” She nodded to the 5.56mm SCAR standing near the emergency exits for the wings.
Nathan walked over and checked out the weapon — a thick, block of a rifle that could make a good sledgehammer if it no longer fired. He checked the magazine — ten rounds. A full thirty-round magazine sat nearby on the floor. “Good condition. Fairly new, too. These are usually used by Special Forces — various countries — and since it’s a select-fire weapon, they’re illegal for civilians. Whoever these guys are, they’re being funded well, and they might have official backing.”
Robin said, “Could they be Russo’s men? Or Larkin’s?”
Larkin and Russo were the Immortals that operated their own spy agencies for hire. Governments, mobsters, anybody with money could purchase the use of a few Immortals for dangerous work. If they had simply left Nathan alone, he would have left them alone. At least, that was how he felt at first. But now — after encountering Russo’s human trafficking operation and dealing with Larkin’s duplicity, Nathan wanted to see both organizations burn.
Altman said, “This isn’t Russo’s style. He has some way of controlling people. He doesn’t need a paramilitary outfit. He’s far more subtle.”
That described Russo perfectly. Nathan had been taught that Russo was called a puppeteer — an Immortal with some type of mental control over others.
“Have you seen any sign of Larkin?” he asked.
Robin said, “No. If he used any of his old methods, I would know. I also have feelers watching for large purchases like islands or mansions or large land acquisitions. I think he’s still staying underground.”
“I agree.”
Altman said, “So we don’t know who these people are? Brilliant.”
Nathan turned back to the soldier. The fastest way to answers was through this man. He smacked the soldier’s cheek several times like a coach trying to rouse a boxer between rounds. The man’s head lolled to the side as he mumbled. With a sharp sniff, he lifted his eyes and gazed across the cabin — alert yet clearly having difficulty processing his senses.
“Just how much did you dope this guy?” Nathan asked.
Altman shrugged. “I didn’t think I gave him that much.”
Nathan grabbed the man’s jaw and inspected eyes. They looked clear. As the thought hit Nathan — perhaps this guy is faking — the soldier smashed his head forward. He slammed into Nathan’s mouth. Dazed starlight flashed before Nathan’s eyes.
With a thud, Nathan fell onto his back. Blood dribbled down his lips. He glanced up in time to see Altman rushing forward. The soldier had expected the attack. He lifted his legs and thrust out, catching Altman in the gut.
Nathan heard the blade snick out before he saw it. Just a small thing — the kind of emergency weapon a trained spy might have. Or maybe even Special Forces.
With a quick motion, the man cut the ropes binding his wrists, leaned over, and freed his legs as well. By the time Nathan had returned to his feet, the soldier stormed forward. Nathan held his hands at the ready as they squared off.
Lesson one for fighting a man armed with a knife — don’t do it. Knife fights were far too unpredictable. In a regular fight, if Nathan deflected a punch, he might take a blow on the side of the arm or the hip — painful but not important. In a knife fight, even deflecting an attack could result in cutting open parts of the body.
He wanted to reach behind and grab Maggie, but any motion like that would have the soldier lunging forward. Not enough distance to win that race. No matter how fast he could act, this trained soldier would have a knife sticking in Nathan’s chest.
Of course, Nathan could handle dying once. If it came to that, he would do it. But it wasn’t his first choice. Walking around without a second soul left him more vulnerable than he wanted to be. Not only did he feel naked and needy like an addict searching for a fix, but he would still be in a dangerous situation with this soldier. A situation that would not allow him to die a second time.
As the soldier stepped in to close the distance, Nathan had a stray thought marveling at the size of this man. Over six feet tall and the width of a linebacker — not the kind of person Nathan wanted to take a punch from. His eyes darted up and down his opponent, searching for any vulnerability to exploit.
Two sharp cracks echoed throughout the empty tunnel of the cabin. Two dark splotches appeared on the soldier’s chest. Like a boy wondering what he had done wrong, the soldier stared at the blood pulsing out. His face dropped and he went down.
Standing several feet behind, Altman held the SCAR in her hand.
CHAPTER THREE
The loud report of the rifle echoed in Nathan’s ears as he raised an eye toward Altman. He wouldn’t be surprised if he had some hearing loss until the next soul healed his body. Then again, Robin had no trouble being heard through the ear-comm.
“Not sure what you two did,” Robin said as Elvis sang in the background about loving him tender, “but there are four military-looking vehicles heading your way. Maybe Stan wasn’t such a friend after all.”
Altman frowned at the dead soldier. “I checked over him. He didn’t have any tracking on him.”
“Maybe they’re subcutaneous,” Nathan said.
He stepped over the corpse and entered the cockpit. Most of the electronics had been removed — probably the first things to be salvaged — and the pilot’s seat was gone, too. Nathan pressed close to the window and watched the direction they had entered the boneyard from.
In seconds, he saw the headlights of four approaching vehicles. Hurrying back, he snapped his fingers and pointed to the emergency exit for the wing. “Open that,” he said as he grabbed the soldier’s body under the arms.
Altman detached the door and shoved it aside. She got around the man’s legs and helped Nathan carry the dead weight onto the wing. Once outside, Nathan gestured toward the road and gave the body a swinging motion. Then he counted to three, and they tossed the body onto the ground.
“That’ll buy us a few,” he said as he ducked back into the cabin.
On the opposite side, he pulled open the other wing exit. Motioning for Altman to follow, Nathan crouched low and scampered across. They moved fast, not worrying about making noise — the two cars and two trucks rolled over all sounds with their whining brakes, wheels on dirt, and eventually, orders given to soldiers fanning out.
When Nathan hit the end of the wing, he found a small gap to the next airliner — also a 727. That was good luck. If he had been looking at a jumbo jet, the wing would have been too high to reach.
He could hear the distinct song of organized military sizing up the body on the ground — a mixture of tentative silence and urgent resilience. Somebody in charge gave an order, and a handful of soldiers approached. Once they determined the man belonged to them and was not their target, Nathan expected they would storm the plane. Not standard military procedure, but neither was sending an attack squad through Arizona in the middle of the night. These people had money and training, but Nathan did not believe they were with an actual US branch of service.
Gauging the distance, he sprinted ahead and leaped across to the second plane’s wing. He turned around to assist Altman, but she waved him back. Once he got out of the way, she hurdled over and motioned for him to get moving.
They hustled to the body of the plane. The emergency door remained intact. Nathan pressed against the side, glanced into the cabin, and saw that the door on the opposite wing had been removed.
He laced his fingers and gestured upward with his chin. Altman stepped right into his assist, and he lifted. As she scrabbled over the plane, he had to admit he liked working with another field-competent person.
