Dead Six (73 page)

“Right here, right here!” Valentine said, pointing.

“Hang on!” I’d nearly missed the turnoff. Hitting the brake, I cranked the Explorer to the right, nearly putting it up on two wheels.

“Ow! Damn it!” Valentine snarled as the heavy machine gun slid over and struck him. We sped down a narrow. deserted road. The airport wasn’t far. After a minute or two we shot through an open gate on a rusted chain-link fence and careened onto a wide-open paved area. I smashed the brake, making a tight turn as we crossed a parking area, passed the dilapidated remains of a hanger, and sped onto the tarmac. The airport obviously hadn’t been used in years. The runway and taxiways were cracked and faded, with weeds springing through splits in the pavement. Eddie’s car, now empty, was parked off to the side.

“There!” Valentine shouted, pointing down the runway. At the far end was a speeding Gulfstream jet. Its engines screamed as it built up speed.

Eddie was still going on, screeching like a lunatic. “—you hear me? Nobody crosses Big Eddie!
Nobody
! I’ve got to make an example out of you, Lorenzo. Everyone needs to know the consequences of my displeasure!”

The Explorer skidded to a stop, leaving a trail of rubber. Valentine leapt out, pulling the machine gun with him as the jet jumped into the air. He set the barrel over the junction of the door and frame, crouched down, and squeezed the trigger.

The MG3 roared, sending a stream of tracers down the runway after the climbing jet. He hosed the rest of the belt, at least fifty rounds, at the target. Bullets streamed into the air, but fell short. The jet was just too far away. The MG3’s bolt flew forward on an empty chamber. That was it.

“That’s the best you’ve got, Lorenzo?” Eddie cackled. “Not a scratch on me!” I stuck the phone in the front of my armor.

“Shit!” Valentine shouted. “I’m out! He’s gonna get away!”

“No,” I stated calmly. While he was shooting, I had limped around to the back door. I opened it, ripped the concealing blanket aside, and pulled out the portable surface to air missile that I had stolen from the Chechen border jumpers. “He’s not.”

“What the . . .” Valentine said, observing my weapon in awe.

I set the heavy tube on my shoulder, took one step around the Explorer and looked through the scope. I had read the instructions earlier, and it seemed relatively straightforward. I found the red and green flashing lights of Eddie’s jet, centered them in the circle, and hit the lock button. It took a few seconds for the sensor to read. It made a noise like a microwave oven saying that the hotdogs were done.

I pulled the heavy trigger.

FOOOOOM!

The concussion was horrendous. The initial charge threw the missile straight out. A split second later the rocket engine ignited in a massive gout of flame and soared after the jet with a shrieking noise like some obscene bird of prey. The impact staggered me. I pulled the phone out of my armor with my shaking left hand.

“—should have just given me the scarab. I’ll—”

I cut him off. “Hey, Eddie . . .”

“What is it, Lorenzo?”

“See you in
hell
.”

“What are you . . . evade! Evade!” I could hear him screaming at the pilot while an alarm went off in the background. Eddie was rich enough to afford a missile detection system for his private jet.

Not that it did him any good. A fireball blossomed in the night sky. The entire jet was illuminated for a brief moment as one of the rear engines was engulfed, sparks drifting toward the ground like a demented fireworks display. A wing broke off just as the sound of the first impact reached us. The plane rolled over, trailing smoke, and crumpled into the desert floor in a ball of fire.

I looked down at the phone.

Call Disconnected

Elapsed Time: 4:33

The wreckage continued to burn. It was over. Big Eddie was dead.

My body began to shake, to tremble. All of the pain that I had forced aside came rushing back, staggering me, sending me to my knees. A year of doing the impossible, my loved ones held hostage, my friends in danger, some hurt, some killed, all had come down to this.

It was over.

“We better get out of here before the cops show up,” Valentine said. “I don’t want to try to explain to them where you got a Stinger missile from.”

I was leaning against the SUV, shaking. I couldn’t believe it. I was in shock.

“How about I drive?” Valentine suggested, “Since you’re having, um, a moment?”

I jerkily nodded and climbed into the passenger seat. I closed my eyes. The pillar of fire that had been Eddie’s plane burned onto the inside of my eyelids. “It’s over,” I said.

Valentine put the Explorer in gear. “Sure, whatever.” He thought for a moment. “So. Who was that on the plane?”

I let the pain carry me into the dark.

. . . over . . .

Chapter 30:
What Happens
in Vegas . . .

VALENTINE

Las Vegas, Nevada

June 29

0300

Somehow I ended up back in Las Vegas. It was like I couldn’t escape that place. It had been Bob’s idea. Vegas was the nearest big city, and we needed a place to go. We found a crappy motel in a crappy part of town, the kind of place where call girls hang out in the lobby and they don’t bother asking for ID, and checked in.

Hawk had gone home. As far as I knew, neither Gordon Willis nor any of his surviving men had identified any of us. At least I hoped not. We made a pretty big mess and shot down a private jet. There was bound to be a shit-storm over it, and we decided it was best if we scattered before anyone figured out what happened. If they traced it back to Hawk, or any of us for that matter . . . I didn’t know what would happen, but I knew it would be bad.

Bob insisted that Gordon Willis and his people weren’t part of the legitimate government. As much as they’d use every resource to figure out what happened, they’d try just as hard to keep things quiet. That made sense to me. I knew things about Gordon that Bob didn’t know. I knew what Gordon did. He was a traitor, not only to his country, but to Majestic, the shadowy organization he served. He was probably running just as far and just as fast as we were.

We all had injuries, but with some rudimentary supplies we were able to sort ourselves out. Bob was a medic, and a good one at that. Between the two of us we had gotten the others patched up. Lorenzo had been put down with a significant amount of painkillers. He probably should have been taken to a burn unit for a few spots on his back and legs, but that would’ve attracted attention, so he was going to have to make do.

Reaper was so preoccupied with the tablet PC he’d found that he barely noticed as we closed the hole in his arm. Jill only had nicks and bruises, but mostly she had just needed to crash. She’d had a hell of a day. All things considered, the girl was doing okay. She was tougher than she looked.

I’d been so close to killing Gordon I could taste it, yet he got away. I needed to get some air, and on top of it I was starving. I left our motel room to get some food. Bob Lorenzo insisted on going with me, which was both annoying and suspicious. It was annoying because I was contemplating just ditching those guys and taking off on my own. That was going to be a challenge riding with the hulking FBI agent in his G-ride SUV.

The ride was awkward, for me at least. I didn’t know Bob, and even though we’d just gone through some shit together, I sure as hell didn’t trust him. It was obvious he wanted to talk to me about something, and I wasn’t comfortable with it.

Bob was quiet for a long time as we fought our way through Vegas traffic. “So, who are you really, Mr. Nightcrawler?” he finally asked. He didn’t look at me.

“Are you asking me as a cop, or are you asking me as a guy who just helped me kill a bunch of people?”

Bob didn’t respond for a long time. “Don’t judge what you don’t understand.”

A sardonic grin split my face. “My name is Michael Valentine, and I understand things a lot better than you think.”

“I believe you,” the big man said slowly. “You used to work for Gordon Willis, right?”

I was quiet for a few moments before I answered, trying to choose my words carefully. My gut told me I could trust Bob. Recent experience taught me that I couldn’t trust anyone. “Yes. Until a month ago, anyway.”

“You seem to have some kind of grudge. Were you in Majestic?”

That’s who Colonel Hunter had said he answered to. “You could say that. To answer both your questions, I mean. I wasn’t really aware of who I was working for until recently. I’m not sure what Majestic is. All I can find on it is a bunch of Internet conspiracy-theory crap.”

“It’s just a name. It’s every secret, every abuse of power, every bad thing you can imagine. They used to exist to protect us, but now they just exist to consolidate their power. I’m guessing you were Dead Six, then.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“You fit the profile,” Bob said. “Young, probably former military, and you’re not wearing a wedding ring so I’m guessing you’re single. No family, either, right? Don’t get excited. I’ve been looking into this stuff for a long time. I was waiting for someone involved in that to pop up. It’s my lucky day, I guess.”

He knew too much. He looked over at me and squinted. Was he doing the math? Trying to decide if he could get to his sidearm before I could get to mine? Bob was a Fed; was he in on this?

My face went blank. “You’ve got a forty-cal Sig in a strong-side, thumb-break cop holster that’s stuck behind your seat-belt buckle. You won’t get it out fast enough.”

Bob chuckled before turning back to the road, shaking his head slightly. “Well, I’ll be. You’re quiet. You’re used to people underestimating you, aren’t you? But you turn it on like a light switch when you feel threatened. That’s something else. But listen, I’m no friend of Gordon Willis. Trust me on this one. Let’s just say that keeping up on current events is a hobby of mine. You could go so far as to say that I’m a bit of a conspiracy theorist, or at least my bosses seem to think so. Dead Six was one tiny operation out of many, all of them secret, most of them illegal, and half of them pure evil, all run by men like Willis, and if you get in the way of their power, you die.”

“What do you know about Project Heartbreaker?”

“Officially? Nothing. Unofficially, an old friend of mine was the assistant ambassador in Zubara. We were on the same ODA. He knew that I was . . .
obsessed,
I think, was the word he used, about things like this. When things started to go bad there, he called me up, wondering if I could do some checking for him. I did, and found the stink of Willis and his people all over it. I’ve been doing research into him and the others like him for years. So I did some poking, through sources you wouldn’t understand and I wouldn’t tell you about anyway, and I learned about Dead Six. I told my friend, Jim Fiore, about what I’d found, and he was dead within forty-eight hours. I warned him not to talk, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked.

“Because I want your help,” Bob answered. “Because I
need
your help. You know things. Come with me. There are plenty of us in the government, the
real
government, who would love to see these people stopped. We can protect you. You can help us put a stake through their heart once and for all. There are still ways to work through the system. If we shine the light of day on these cockroaches, they’ll scatter. If you come help me, we can . . .” Bob trailed off as I chuckled at him. “What is it?”

“You think I haven’t heard this line of bullshit before? Come sign up with us, serve your country, fight the bad guys, blah blah
blah
. It’s the same crap every time. Well, you know what? I’m
done.
I’m done signing up. I’m done joining the cause. I’m tired of being somebody else’s damned
pawn
.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Oh, the
hell
it’s not,” I said bitterly. “It’s always the same. I’m just an asset to you. I used to work for a PMC. I know all about being a commodity. At least Vanguard was honest about it and had a good benefits package. What are you offering me besides a bunch of rhetoric and empty promises?

Bob frowned. “I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation. These people are
destroying
this country. What you’ve seen is just the tip of the iceberg. If we—”

I cut him off. “No, y
ou
don’t understand,” I said harshly. “I
don’t care.
”

We were stopped at an intersection, waiting for a light to turn green, which seemed to take an eternity. Bob gave me a hard stare. I could almost see the gears turning behind his eyes. His expression softened a bit. “What the hell happened to you, kid?”

I looked down at my lap and exhaled. “That’s a long story.”

“More importantly,” Bob continued, returning his attention to the road as we started moving again, “what are you going to do now? You can’t hide at your friend’s place forever. If certain people find out you’re alive, they’ll kill you and everyone you know. How long do you think you can stay on the run?”

“Who said anything about running?”

Bob shook his head. “The best defense is a good offense, huh?” he asked sardonically. “I’ve known a lot of guys like you. Most of them were Special Forces.”

“I was in the Air Force.”

Bob laughed, somewhat defusing the tension in the car. “You know it won’t work, right? I mean, you know that, don’t you? Majestic is too big to just take out. You can’t kill the beast by running in and shooting everybody. You have to be smart about it.”

“I’m not interested in killing the beast,” I said. “And there’s only one person I need to shoot.”

“You intend to kill Gordon Willis, don’t you?” Bob asked levelly. I didn’t answer. That in and of itself was answer enough, I suppose. Bob shook his head again. “It’s a suicide mission. Majestic won’t let you touch him, and even if you succeed, you’re a dead man.”

“See, there’s where you’re wrong,” I suggested. “You don’t know everything I know. I don’t think Majestic’s got Gordon’s back anymore.”

“What are you talking about?”