The Covert Element (34 page)

"Not up early . . . up late. I just about had to do cartwheels to
get anybody to listen. But when they finally did . . . well, hell . . .
now everybody wants in on the bust. We do all the footwork and
findin’ out all this shit, and they want all the credit."

"Gunner. I don’t recall you really having to do much but make
some phone calls."

"Now you, too? Who do ya think had to clean up your mess at
that bloody cabin on the river? We still need to talk about that, by
the way. And who went out to the Elevator and helped get this
whole cartel thing rolling?"

"I think you were actually
against
that at the time, Gunner. But
never mind. Are we set for today?"

"Yeah. We got BCA SWAT, FBI Counter-Terrorism Division,
ICE. Hell, everybody with a badge is out here in some farmer’s shed
waitin’ on a call to close in. You haven’t heard more about the
timing on this thing, have you?"

"Sorry. No."

"You realize that, if this bust doesn’t go down, and go down
right, my ass is gonna be grass?"

"Yeah. I got it. You can blame me all you want if this doesn’t
turn out as expected. At a minimum, there’ll be a big drug bust,
though. I can promise you that. We’ll accomplish that much today,
even if the other stuff doesn’t happen."

"We gotta get something today. That’s for sure. You’re gonna
let me know anything as soon as you know, right?" Gunner had
definitely worked up a lather.

"Absolutely. As soon as I know, I will call. Don’t let your cell
battery go dead."

I could hear Gunner poking at his phone. I had to laugh.

"I’m good on this end. You just call me. Sooner’s better than
later."

"I’ll call when I know, Gunner. Calling sooner isn’t gonna help.
We’ll talk later. Bye."

When I got back to Bull’s cabin, Beth had found some bacon,
eggs, and bread, and was starting to cook breakfast.

I gave Beth a kiss on the cheek and whispered in her ear.

"That smells like a slice of heaven with a side of clogged
artery."

Beth turned and kissed me back.

"You want extra butter? Maybe some more salt to get your
blood pressure up? You need good blood pressure to pump this
sludge through your aging veins."

She sure knew how to hurt an old guy.

Just as Beth finished cooking up breakfast for four, Fuentes
and Bull scuffled out of their rooms.
Nobody
can sleep through the
smell of bacon and fresh coffee.

Conversation was sparse but cordial at the breakfast table.
Neither Fuentes nor Bull gave any indication that today might be
anything other than just another day. I was on edge, but did my best
not to show it.

Just before noon, Fuentes once again asked Bull if he could
borrow his Jeep. And just as before, Bull was happy to share it with
him.

After Fuentes drove away, Beth, Bull, and I all piled into the
Honda and headed off for Bellechester. On the way, I placed a call
to Gunner to let him know that Fuentes was on the move. All three
of us had our side arms. Bull brought his .357 Magnum. I had my
.40 caliber Beretta. Beth carried her Glock 9mm in her purse.

* * *

Half an hour later it was 12:30 in the afternoon and we had
arrived in Bellechester. I parked the Pilot down the street and
around the corner from the Elevator. Any local resident would have
pegged our vehicle as suspicious. After all, we weren’t parked
directly in front of any business establishment, even though spots
were available up and down Main Street. We didn’t care if locals
were curious. We just didn’t want Fuentes to spot us.

Hiding in plain view in a tiny village can be incredibly
challenging. The only public spots where we could tarry
inconspicuously were Coonie’s Bar and the green space that passed
for a park. Unfortunately, neither would suit our needs. Fuentes
might very well stop at Coonie’s to scope out the area prior to
launching his attack. There was no space inside for us to hide if he
did.

And the park was adjacent to Bellechester Organic’s gravel
parking lot. We couldn’t casually lurk behind the park’s two trees
without it being obvious to
everyone
approaching the Elevator that
we were up to something.

I had a plan I hoped would give us a view of Fuentes’ likely
approach route, and still keep us well-hidden from prying eyes.

As we sat inside the Pilot, a white grain truck with a red
wooden box pulled up behind us.

"That’s our ride," I said.

The truck driver was a BCA undercover officer posing as a
grain farmer. He left the truck motor running and walked farther
down the street to the edge of town. He would catch a ride back to
cop-ville from a remote location.

As he was hiking into the distance, the three of us climbed out
of the Pilot and back- pedaled to the truck.

"Okay. Sorry, Beth. You guys are in the back."

Beth gave me a look of disbelief.

"I’m sorry. But you’re too hot and stylish to blend in as the
farmer’s wife. Don’t worry. Bull will make sure you’re comfortable
in the oats."

"Oats?"

"Please help her up the ladder, Bull. We can’t have the hot
chick and big Indian on display if we’re gonna stay incognito."

Beth frowned, but accepted Bull’s assistance. Bull followed her
up and into the grain box. I had asked Gunner to have the box about
half full of oats. That depth would allow them to hide from outside
eyes, while still being able to move around with relative ease. The
cracks between the horizontal side boards were thick enough to see
through. Both passengers would be able to help me watch for
Fuentes.

Once everyone was situated, I climbed into the driver’s seat
and closed the door. As Gunner had promised, waiting for me on
the seat were a green John Deere cap and a dirty, white T-shirt. I
did a quick change, stuffing my own shirt behind the vinyl seat-back. We were ready to commence surveillance.

The gears ground angrily as I horsed the shifter into first.
When I released the clutch, the truck lurched into the street. I
decided first gear would be good enough for downtown
Bellechester. I took my time rolling the grain truck along Main
Street and toward the rear of the Bellechester Organic parking lot.

Upon our arrival, there were already eight or nine trucks in line
for the scales. The queue stretched along one edge of the lot nearly
to the back. I parked my truck so I would have a clear view of
anyone approaching Bellechester Organic from the front. Gunner
and crew were supposed to make sure no one sneaked in the back
way, between the grain bins and storage facilities. Using binoculars,
they would have a clear view of this area from quite a distance. It
was unlikely that Fuentes could escape their detection if he arrived
from that direction.

Now we waited.

I called Bull on my cell. There was no way he would have left
the ringer ‘on.’ "

"Yeah."

"How is it that we know Fuentes isn’t driving one of these other
trucks with a big fertilizer bomb? Could you remind me of that?"

I trusted Bull when he said not to worry. But then, one could
never be too sure of such things.

"He won’t get here until after us."

That was true. There wasn’t time for him to switch vehicles to a
grain truck and still beat us here.

"Also . . . I saw him rig C4 around the buildings. He doesn’t
need a truck."

"Oh. That’s good. Why aren’t we worried about the C4?"

"That’s my job."

"Please humor me. I’m begging here."

"I took his C4 last night when he left. Detonator, too."

I was beginning to relax. Bull really did have this situation
under control.

"Can’t say for sure he won’t have more in his car, though. I’ll
watch."

We had done all we could to derail this bombing scheme, short
of turning Fuentes over to the cops yesterday. And as much as I was
tempted to do that, it would have violated Bull’s trust had I done so.
It would also have been hard to prove an ex-Army Ranger was
trying to blow up a farm elevator. I supposed we had done the right
thing after all. It still didn’t sit well, though.

"What kind of trigger is Fuentes gonna use to set off his bomb .
. . the one that isn’t there anymore?"

"Radio. Close range. Maybe 100 feet."

"Okay, thanks Bull."

Click.

Back to surveillance.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

At five minutes before two o’clock in the afternoon, a gold
Mercedes E Class crawled into the gravel parking lot at Bellechester
Organic. Two men in dark suits, carrying briefcases, got out. They
walked toward the Elevator Office.

Both men were too tall to be Fuentes.

No sooner had the men entered the Office than a tan Jeep
Grand Cherokee pulled into the rear of the lot, coming to a stop
perhaps fifty feet from where we were parked in our farm truck.

I was startled by a loud knock on my passenger side window.
When I looked, it was Bull. He opened the door.

"That’s him. We should get him now."

I held up my hand for Bull to wait. Then I motioned for him to
get in the truck with me.

"Fuentes still hasn’t done anything. When he tries to blow the
building, he will have the radio transmitter in his hand. If the bomb
is disarmed, we don’t have to worry. Right?"

Bull hopped into the cab with me.

"No worries."

I pressed myself back into the seat as far as possible to provide
a minimal profile in case Fuentes should look my way.

Fuentes seemed to be searching for something . . . or someone.
At any rate, he took his time getting out of the tan Jeep. Finally, he
stepped out the driver’s door. Again, he scanned the area.
Apparently satisfied, he walked slowly forward until he was about
seventy-five feet from the Office.

He reached into his shirt pocket and produced a small black
box.

"That’s it, Bull. Let’s go." At the same time I pressed a key on
my phone to signal Gunner.

Bull and I both piled out my side of the grain truck. Fuentes
saw us right away.

"Don’t press that button, Fuentes . . . or Santos . . . or whoever
you are."

In response, Fuentes began pressing on the box, repeatedly.
When nothing happened, he held the box at arm’s length, pointing
it at the Elevator. More pressing. Still nothing. Fuentes looked at us.
His eyes were wild.

We had our guns out and were jogging toward him now. As we
got within about thirty feet, Fuentes broke for the Office door. We
followed, but were unable to reach him before he gained entry. Bull
and I elected to fall back and take cover.

Suddenly, the streets of Bellechester were filled with SWAT
vans, State Trooper Cruisers, unmarked cars with whirling blue
globes, and just about every other mode of cop transport one could
imagine.

"Where’s he at?" It was Gunner. He was running toward us as
though dodging bullets.