Compass Call: Survival & Awakening (The Gatekeeper Book 3) (42 page)

“Are you going soft on me, John?”

John snorted and said, “Only because I want you to leave me your cool scarf when you die.”

“I’ve got an extra one if you want it, but it will cost you,” said Pete.

“What? You already drank all Jenna’s coffee,” said John. “Doesn’t that make us even?”

“You’re right, we’ll call it even . . . but only when I die,” finished Pete.

“The water tower’s up ahead,” said John, with a nod to his twelve-o’clock. “Tony’s house is just to the left of it. Are you ready for a little B and E?”

“Breaking and entering? That’s not what you intelligence guys call it,” said Pete.

“You’re right, we would called it a ‘black-bag operation,’ but despite the legal precedent it’s essentially the same thing,” said John. “Personally, I prefer the infantry entry method, a five-man stack with a ram or a breeching charge,” said John.

“That would get everyone’s attention,” said Pete. When they reached the turn in the road, Pete added, “It’s time to go silent.” From that point forward the two men assumed their stealth hunting mode. Communications would commence with hand signals, which was more than enough given their cooperative hunting experience. They could practically read each other’s minds given the amount of time they’d spent together fighting and hunting. Besides, they already had a plan. When they reached the southeast corner of Tony’s lot, the two men quietly split up and walked the perimeter of the house, going in opposite directions, passing each other once, and then meeting up at their start point. Satisfied that nothing looked amiss, they approached the front door.

John remained alert to the surrounding area while Pete readied himself to pick the deadbolt. Pete removed a small, black, leather wallet from his cargo pocket and opened it to reveal a lock pick gun, several snap keys, and a set of tension wrenches. He inserted a tension wrench into the bottom of the deadbolt and removed the tactical scarf from around his neck. After wrapping the scarf around his hand, he quickly pulled the trigger of the lock pick gun several times. Even with the scarf wrapped around his gun hand, the loud clicking noise of the lock picking device pierced the night. John flinched and readied himself for action, but the night remained still as Pete turned the wrench and opened the deadbolt. It had taken then less than a minute to gain access into Tony’s house through the front door.

John quietly entered the house as Pete returned the equipment to his pocket. Once stowed, Pete entered the house, took a knee next to John, and quietly closed the door before wrapping the scarf back around his neck and head. As soon as he squeezed John’s shoulder, the two men stood and made their way into the living room. After clearing all but the master bedroom, they made their way to Tony’s bedroom.

Light snoring met them in the hall before they reached the open bedroom door. There were two forms in the bed, both about the same
size, but they were prepared for the presence of Tony’s wife. The room was nearly pitch black, thanks to the power outage. And with no clock light, or other instrument light to navigate by, Pete turned on his red-lensed flashlight. He took up position next to Tony’s wife while John went to the opposite side of the bed and stood over Tony’s sleeping form. He saw no weapons lying about, so he removed a set of pre-looped zip-ties and tossed them on the bed before drawing his pistol and turning on his white LED head lamp.

Tony opened his eyes and John forcefully clamped a gloved hand over the man’s mouth before he could speak. With his other hand he pressed the barrel of his pistol against Tony’s temple and whispered, “Do exactly as I say and I won’t kill you next to your wife.” Tony nodded vigorously several times, eyes wide in shock and surprise as he looked up at John, then over to Pete, and then back up to John.

John gripped Tony’s jaw to hold his attention firm. “Now here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to zip-tie your hands. Then you’re going to get up and walk into the garage. Do you understand?” Tony nodded. “Now sit up. Nice and easy. If you wake your wife we’ll have to bind her too,” whispered John.

John secured Tony’s hands, none too gently, and grabbed the man by his t-shirt to help him to his feet. Tony glanced at his pillow, just once, very quickly, but John caught it. He reached under Tony’s pillow and removed his Sig. John de-cocked it and slipped it into his waistband, happy at least to be reunited with his favorite pistol. He looked forward to being reunited with the rest of his stolen equipment, but the presence of his pistol was a hopeful sign that the rest of his equipment was also close at hand.

John turned Tony to the door and pushed him along by his shirt collar. When he had him in the hall, Pete followed and closed the bedroom door behind them. They entered the garage through the kitchen, and John unceremoniously planted Tony’s large rear end onto a metal folding chair, similar to the one he sat in when Tony pointed a gun at his face. John sat across from him in Tony’s camp chair, and he
savored the irony. “So, where’s your magnum?” asked John, in a normal tone of voice.

“I gave it back to Steve,” said Tony.

John said, “Steve’s dead, and so are all but a handful of the biker friends,” as he removed his balaclava.

“It’s you!” said Tony with surprise. He seemed to relax a little with the revelation.

Confused, John asked, “Who’d you think I was?”

“I don’t know.”

“I think he thought we were Desperado’s,” said Pete. Tony tried to turn to see who was talking behind him, but Pete smacked his head and said, “Don’t turn around!”

“Are you going to kill me?” asked Tony.

“That depends on what you did with my equipment,” said John.

“It’s all here . . . in my bedroom closet,” said Tony. John looked at Pete, and Pete left the garage without a word.

“That’s all you want . . . your equipment?” asked Tony.

“Oh no, that’s not all,” said John. “You have to answer for your crimes.”

“And what crimes would that be?” demanded Tony, who, for the first time, began to show his normal haughty attitude. “You’re the criminal here, not me.”

“Really? I’m the criminal?”

“That’s right! You’re responsible for killing Darrel. You also killed the DuPont’s,” Tony said with contempt.

“You’re an idiot,” said John, calmly, not wanting to rise to the emotional challenge, but nevertheless interested in gaining a better understanding of Tony’s warped perspective. If Tony thought he killed the DuPont’s, then there was no telling who else in the neighborhood thought the same. “It was a murder suicide. Their boy came to me very distraught. I went to investigate the house and found his father dead . . . his mother had been shot by him and was dying.”

“You were seen taking the woman away, and later you were seen taking stuff from their house. I saw the body wrapped in plastic. You forget to bury one of your victims?” seethed Tony.

“Didn’t you hear what I just said? The man shot his wife, and then shot himself. I took her to the hospital. If you open the plastic you can see that for yourself,” said John, trying to control his agitation for having to defend his honorable actions. “As for the boy, I took him in. He needed those supplies. With the parents dead, everything in the house belonged to him.”

Tony smiled and said, “You see, we all justify our actions with nobility.”

John stood and put a pistol against Tony’s forehead. Tony closed his eyes, but said nothing. Pete walked in as John placed his finger on the trigger. He said, “I see the interrogation is coming to an end.”

John took his finger off the trigger and pulled the pistol away. He nodded and said, “It never started, but you’re right, it’s done. I was hoping to salvage our supposed cooperative relationship, but I can see now that my only choice is to walk away.”

“What,” cried Tony, “you were willing to work with me?”

“Not anymore,” said John, and without taking his eyes of Tony, he turned to Pete and asked, “You find everything? The rifle and my vest?”

“I did. They’re in his master bedroom closet. His wife woke up when I was looking for it, so I had to tie and gag her. She’s not happy, but she’s safe. I left the gear where I found it,” finished Pete.

“Thanks. I’m done talking with this slug,” said John, and he walked into the house to retrieve his gear.

Pete assumed John’s former seat and said, “I’ve been wanting to have a private talk with you since this whole thing began, so let’s get started.” John lost the conversation as soon as the kitchen door closed, but he really didn’t care what Pete said or did to Tony. As far as he was concerned, talking with Tony was a waste of time. The desire to exact revenge was too strong for him to trust himself with Tony. If it wasn’t
for Pete’s timely arrival, he probably would have shot him. At first he meant only to communicate a threat, but when his finger fell on the trigger, he knew he was capable of taking it much farther.

John entered the master bedroom and found it dimly lit with a cheap, plastic, D-cell battery flashlight. The light was point up, standing on the night table on Tony’s side of the bed, and it cast just enough light to see the terror on the woman’s face. “Hello, Mrs. Marino,” said John, as he looked at the zip-ties that secured her hands to the headboard. A single piece of duct tape covered her mouth, and John left her as she was while he went to examine the open bedroom closet. Just as Pete had said, John found his AR-15 and tactical vest standing in the corner behind some hanging clothes.

He grabbed the vest and tossed it on the bed, then inspected the rifle to insure it was intact and operational. After he leaned the rifle against the bedroom door, John sat on the bed to examine his vest. His presence on the bed made the woman moan with fear, and John stifled a laugh. “You’re in no danger from me, lady, so relax,” snorted John, as he continued to inspect the ammo pouches on the vest.

Everything was in place, so he stood and walked to the woman’s side of the bed. John leaned over her and her eyes grew big. He reached down and pulled the strip of tape off her mouth. She wined and said, “That hurt!”

“I’m not sure what you expected, but it was tape,” replied John.

“Tony’s right, you’re a bad man.”

John snorted again and said, “What’s your name?”

“Pam.”

“Well, Pam, how can you be so quick to judge me? You don’t even know me. And I’m willing to bet you don’t even know what your husband . . . what he did to get himself into this predicament,” said John.

“He didn’t do anything!” she replied with open defiance.

“Well . . . first off, he stole my equipment,” said John.

“He didn’t steal it.”

“Is that what he told you?” asked John.

“He said it was confiscated.”

“Confiscated? That’s interesting. And what gave him the right to confiscate my equipment?” asked John.

“That’s a trick question,” said Pam. “I don’t want to get mixed up in Tony’s political affairs.”

“Well,” said John, “it’s a little late for that. You’re very much mixed up in his affairs already.”

“What are you going to do to him?” asked Pam.

“Interesting you should ask. You know he’s not worried about you. He’s only worried about his own skin right now.” John saw her eyes begin to well up with tears and he added, “I don’t plan on hurting you, Pam, but I’m not sure what’s going to happen with your husband. He’ll have to stand accountable for his actions.”

“If you hurt him I won’t have anyone,” moaned Pam, as she tried to wipe her eyes on her nightgown sleeve.

“You know what,” replied John, slightly irritated by her self-pity, “Tony didn’t care about my wife and kids when he held a gun to my face, and then had me tied up so he could hand me over to a biker gang. He might as well have killed me himself for all his part in my abduction. As a matter of fact, he was planning to capitalize on my death. He admitted, in my presence, that he wanted to take my home and supplies after turning my wife and kids out on the street. And that makes me really angry.”

“That’s not true. My Tony would never do something like that,” cried Pam.

“It’s true nonetheless. After hearing from Raul I was finally able to piece together their entire plan,” replied John.

“Who’s Raul?” sobbed Pam.

“He was the biker gang leader, but that’s not important anymore. He’s dead. However, what you fail to understand is that your husband tried to dispose of me because I wouldn’t submit to his absolute authority,” said John. He stared down at Pam for a moment, and asked, “Do you have anything to add?” When she didn’t reply, John put the tape back over her mouth and put on his tactical vest.

She stared blankly up at the ceiling, and moaned softly as John walked to the door to pick up his rifle. He looked back at her and said, “I’m taking him with me to stand accountable for his actions. We’ll be gone in a few minutes, but I promise to release you before we leave.”

John closed the door and joined Pete in the garage. He saw that Tony had a split lip, but it wasn’t from a hard blow. John didn’t want Tony looking mussed up before the meeting, so he was glad Pete was able to control himself. He looked at Pete with a tilted expression and Pete said, “What? He pissed me off . . . he’s got a smart mouth, this guy. And I only hit him once.”

“I’m good, brother. I’m good. Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, let’s get out of here. This place stinks.”

CHAPTER 12