Captive-in-Chief (41 page)

Santa Cruz, CA

The flash in the night sky signified a hit. The RIM-161 missile had done its job as planned, a perfect hit. Hubble 2 was gone. It was the only part of the plan that had gone without a hitch.

“We have another problem,” Gray’s radio chirped.

The client had made it clear, they didn’t want problems.

“What?” he barked angrily.

“The professor had company.”

“And?”

“They took out Blue.”

“Took out?”

“Killed, and very professionally.”

Gray banged his fist against the steering wheel in frustration. It had been, on paper at least, a simple job - take out the new telescope, Hubble 2. Unfortunately, the reality was somewhat different. He had had to wait two years to complete the assignment. All attempts on the ground had proved futile. The security surrounding the Hubble 2 telescope was unlike anything Gray had ever witnessed. His team took on the jobs that others deemed impossible. For him, that simply meant he could charge more. However, Hubble 2 had looked as though it was going to be his first failure, until he had gotten his hands on a RIM-161 missile. The client hadn’t liked it, they hadn’t wanted Hubble 2 to see the light of day. There was something they didn’t want it to see, something only it could see was to be kept from prying eyes.

Allowing it to be launched had come with caveats. Anyone with any access to Hubble 2’s feeds was to be watched and eliminated should they see anything before its destruction. Fortunately, that list had proved short and easily accessible. Professor Charles Harris and his deputy were the only two people who were to have access to the feeds prior to Hubble 2’s destruction, twelve hours after its launch.

Gray, thanks in part to his own name, and thanks to
Reservoir Dogs,
had named his operatives by color. Blue had been with Brown at the professor’s home, while Red and Green had been watching the deputy who had taken a late night trip to the observatory and not waited until the morning, as had been hoped.

The destruction of Hubble 2 would have been put down to an unfortunate and exceedingly costly space collision. However, owing to the deputy’s curiosity, Gray was now in the midst of instigating a major cover-up. Destroying the observatory and killing Professor Harris was going to unleash a massive investigation into the incident, an investigation that he had to ensure did not implicate his client in any way. Not an easy prospect, given he had no idea who his client was.

Dead men didn’t talk. He pressed the transmit button. “Make sure there’s nobody left who can talk, I’m sending some local help.”

Three affirmatives came back to him as he walked across the road to the drug den, home to the Surenos’ gang.

Defense Initiative Services

New York

The DIS offices were at the top of one of New York’s most illustrious skyscrapers, with views that stretched across Central Park and the upper half of Manhattan. They were offices designed to impress but were also shrouded in secrecy. Few would ever know what the ‘DIS’ plaque stood for, and even fewer knew what they did.

It was a question that Mike Yates often asked himself:
What does DIS do?
He had been head of the organization for almost four years and he was still trying to figure out what they did. However, the simple answer given to him on recruitment was ‘whatever needs to be done’. As head of the CIA Clandestine Services, tipped for further advancement, it was a job offer he should instantly have walked away from. However, when those recruiting you were two of the more Senior Senators who sat on the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence, you read between the lines. Staffed exclusively by CIA and DIA veterans, it wasn’t a giant reach to understand that DIS did the jobs the US Government agencies and their allies wanted to but couldn’t.

Although amply remunerated, it had come at a cost. Jobs no longer had meaning or understanding, they were simply to be undertaken without question. The bigger picture was no longer Mike’s concern. He was out of that loop. DIS did not worry itself with the
why
something had to be done, it merely delivered, and under Mike Yates’ expert leadership, it always did.

Mike had recruited many of the men and women he had worked with over the years as they retired or sought more lucrative work, ensuring his pool of resource was amongst the best and most experienced operatives in the world.

Deniability was the key word. Everything DIS did for its clients had to be deniable by whoever the client was. The simplest way for that to happen was complete and total anonymity. Mike Yates had no idea who ordered each individual DIS operation. He could have tried to guess but over the years, he hadn’t even bothered with that. In the beginning, he had struggled to understand how some of their activities could possibly benefit US interests. However, he had to assume that whoever was pulling his strings knew what they were doing. After a while, he became desensitized. The money, travel and perks certainly helped numb any latent intrigue. He had a job to do and the best people in the world with which to deliver.

He looked down at his latest operation, one that had troubled him from the outset and for the first time in years piqued his intrigue. Never before had he been ordered to employ an outside team. Everything had always been handled within their own team. However, the instructions were explicit, even down to the selection of the team to hire. The team was to be headed by a man Mike had known in his CIA days. He was an excellent choice but the update from Gray was extremely disappointing. Gray was a man who was known for his ability to complete difficult and complex missions that few other teams in the mercenary business would even contemplate accepting. Mike read the message again:

Deputy at observatory spotted something and had to be terminated but not before he had alerted Professor Harris. We have destroyed observatory and any data that may have been captured and as a precaution, given the transcript below, have eliminated the professor.

“You said I was right?”

“Yes I did. And you are!”

“I am what?”

“You are right!”

“About what?”

“Everything…”

Call terminated at this point. In the process of covering tracks but want to ensure we cover any that lead to client?

Mike read the brief again. It was certainly explicit. No knowledge or information was to be garnered by Hubble 2 before its destruction. Any suggestion of data having been collected was to be dealt with extreme prejudice to ensure any and all trace of the information collected was destroyed, which included any persons who may have gained that same knowledge. Their simple operation, to destroy an unguarded telescope in space, had just became a nightmare.

Mike had no option but to alert the client. His instructions given the scenario were explicit. He picked up the burner smart phone that had only one number; a new burner was used for each operation and client. Mike copied the text of the message from Gray and waited for a response.

***

It wasn’t possible, unless, pondered the client…unless they had known exactly where to look.

He turned to his laptop, and pulled up recent stories for the Professor. There was something he had seen, something that may make sense. He scanned through the results of the search. The first few pages all referred to Hubble 2. Page five was what he was looking for - a front page story,
‘Astronomer Turns Archaeologist’,
with a picture of the Professor at a dig at Tiwanaku, Bolivia. The article detailed a number of digs the Professor had been involved in over the previous few years. They were all sites of significance from thousands of years earlier.
He couldn’t have
, he thought. But the evidence said otherwise, they had known exactly where to look.

He typed a reply to Mike Yates. They had planned for this eventuality and it was going to be messy but necessary.

No tracks lead to me but all of the professor’s research must be found and destroyed as a matter of urgency. Additional resources will be made available to you as a last resort. Click
here
for link to control screen. Plan B should also be implemented. I will arrange for package to be delivered to your operatives for delivery on completion of Plan B.

***

Mike received the reply and forwarded on the relevant portion to Gray. Plan B was most definitely not for Gray’s eyes, although he would be fully aware of it in the not too distant future.

“Cancel my breakfast meeting,” Mike instructed his P.A. “And get me Steve in Santa Cruz on the phone.”

Santa Cruz, CA

The flash in the night sky blinded them all momentarily.

“…was that?” finished Cash as the brightness above them died and the blackness returned.

“Do you think it’s all linked?” asked Cash, reflecting on his father, the observatory and the flash in the night sky directly above them.

“Certainly all very coincidental,” pondered the Chief.

The officer escorting Rigs to the police car paused. “You still want him back at the station, Chief?”

“Yes, of course I do!”

“C’mon, Chief. There are things going on here that don’t make any sense and they certainly don’t involve Rigs,” argued Cash.

“And that’s exactly why he’s going to the station. I have absolutely no idea what’s going on and until I do, I’m not taking any chances.”

“You’re welcome to come with him,” offered the Chief, walking back to this car.

Cash looked back at his childhood home and his father’s body that lay in the hallway. Fifteen hours was all they had had. After fifteen years of silence, those last fifteen hours would comfort him for the rest of his life. The thought that this could have happened without reconciling at least in some way would have been devastating. However, there was little more he could do there. His friend needed him.

“Chief, hold up!” shouted Cash. “I’m coming!”

Rigs shook his head wildly, as he was being directed into the back seat of the other police car. He didn’t want Cash to come. Cash knew he wanted him to stay with his father. After fifteen years, Rigs seldom needed to speak for Cash to understand what he was thinking.

“He’s gone and you’re all the family I have left,” replied Cash abruptly, taking a seat in the Chief’s car.

“Keep the scene secure for the Crime Scene Team,” the Chief said to the third officer.

“Yes, Chief,” replied the officer, turning back to the house with a roll of police tape to secure the scene.

“Are you sure you’d not rather stay here?” asked the Chief as he turned the ignition key.

Cash nodded halfheartedly. He wasn’t sure of anything.

“Fair enough,” he said, waving for his officer to follow behind in the second car where Rigs was secured as their suspect.

“So when did you get back?” asked the Chief.

“Yesterday about lunch time,” replied Cash.

“Staying long?”

“Supposed to be leaving later tonight, right after the opening ceremony. It was meant to be a flying visit.”

“Figures,” replied the Chief, barely restraining the anger in his voice.

“What figures?” asked Cash, taken aback at the Chief’s tone.

“Nothing, I’m not getting involved.”

“Involved in what?”

“Your irresponsibility!”

“My what?”

“I suppose I shouldn’t expect anything more. Look at you with your own father, what is it, fifteen years since you’ve been here?!”

Cash was stunned. “A father I’ve just watched being murdered in front of me!”

“I’m sorry,” said the Chief. “It’s hard, being a father myself.”

“Is there something I’m missing? Has something happened to Sophie?” asked Cash.

The Chief shook his head.

Had things worked out differently, Cash would have been sharing the ride with his father-in-law. Sophie was the Chief’s only child and Cash’s former fiancée. They had been childhood friends, sweethearts and had been inseparable.

“Sophie’s great,” said the Chief with a fatherly smile. “She was looking forward to the opening ceremony.”

“She’s here?” asked Cash. “I thought she lived in England?”

“She does but she’s been heavily involved in the new telescope project and was invited to the opening.”

“Cool,” said Cash, not sure what else to say. The thought of her being a few miles away didn’t sit well with him. The thought that he might actually bump into her was not something he had had to consider for the previous fifteen years. What would he even say to her?

“She’s got Kyle with her,” the Chief said.

Cash nodded. He didn’t want to think about her with anyone else. She had been ‘it’ for him, she had been ‘the one’. He’d never find another Sophie and he wasn’t sure his heart could take it even if he did.

Silence fell between the two men who had known each other, loved and trusted each other many years earlier.

The Chief fidgeted in his seat, the silence not sitting well with him.

“Jesus Christ, Cash!!!” he exploded. “Fifteen fucking years! Not even so much as a birthday card!”

“I didn’t know you cared that much, Chief,” smiled Cash, trying to lighten the outburst.

“Not me, you idiot!”

“What happened with Sophie and I is none of your business, Chief. It’s best left in the past.”

“You are one cold son of a bitch, son,” blurted the Chief, shaking his head.

Cash remembered why he had left fifteen years ago, severing all ties with his past. He turned and looked out into the blackness of the woods that surrounding them, his eye catching a sudden movement in the side mirror.

“Chief, floor it!” he said grabbing the radio mic. “What’s the name of the officer behind us?” he demanded urgently.

“Fletcher,” said the Chief, his eye catching what Cash had already seen.

“Officer Fletcher, take evasive action, bogies on your tail coming in fast!”

“We’re on it!”

“Duck!” screamed Cash when the tirade of bullets ate into the two vehicles. The six motorcycles easily outpaced the two police cars and tore past them as their riders unleashed their weapons.

“What the…?” The Chief, threw the wheel into the path of the three motorcycles that had attempted to overtake them, clipping the third bike and taking out its rider in spectacular fashion.

Officer Fletcher had attempted a similar maneuver with the bikes on the outside but with more road to play with, the motorcyclists had easily avoided his swerve. His actions had, however, opened him up to a full onslaught and left Rigs desperately trying to control the vehicle from the back seat with handcuffs and a dead Officer Fletcher blocking the controls. His only option was to try and stop.

“Fletcher’s stopping!” shouted the Chief as the motorcyclists turned around and prepared for another pass.

Cash removed the pump action shotgun from its mount and instructed the Chief to stop as well.

“Fletcher?” he said into the mic as they ground to a halt.

No response.

The motorcycles were already heading back. Cash didn’t wait any longer. He opened the door and threw himself out and onto the ground, spinning to the far verge. Bullets from the onrushing motorcyclists pinged wildly across the tarmac. Cash stopped rolling and let loose with the shotgun. He caught the front motorcyclist’s wheel, sending it careening into a tree; its rider didn’t stand a chance. His second shot caught a rider full in the chest and seemed to stop him dead, while his bike continued on riderless.

After two shots, he had no option but to throw himself down the small embankment that straddled the roadside. The other three riders unloaded everything they had at their only threat up until that point. The boom of the Chief’s Magnum .44 proved them wrong and another of the riders fell to the ground.
Four down, two to go
, thought Cash, as the last two flew past at speed.

Cash ran for the second car and found Rigs with his head in the driver’s foot well covered in blood.

“Get me out of here,” mumbled Rigs.

Cash pulled him free. “I thought you were dead!”

“The blood’s Fletcher’s and all I had to stop the car was my head,” he motioned with his hands cuffed behind his back.

“Chief?” shouted Cash, pointing to Rigs’ handcuffs.

The Chief tossed keys to him. “They’re circling back!” he warned, coughing painfully.

“Are you okay?” asked Cash.

“Fine,” nodded the Chief, steadying himself against the car. “I’m not as young as I used to be!”

Cash wasn’t convinced. As he uncuffed Rigs, his eyes were drawn to the two bikers who were circling back. “Are they crazy?!” asked Cash. “We’ve taken out four of them!”

Rigs wrung his wrists before grabbing a handgun from the dead officer’s belt.

“They’re mine!” he instructed, taking off at a sprint towards the onrushing motorbikes.

“Is he out of his mind?!” shouted the Chief, raising his pistol unsteadily and getting ready to shoot.

“Certifiably,” replied Cash. “And he’ll be even more so if you shoot one of them, or, by the look of your aim, him!”

“I’m helping him!”

Cash shrugged. Rigs stopped running, kneeled down and let off two shots. The two bikes kept coming, Rigs stood up as they rushed towards him.

“Shoot!” shouted the Chief, his voice rasping.

Rigs turned around, putting his back to the two bikes and their riders. The two bikes screamed past, keeping their course, their riders lifeless, both shot cleanly through the forehead. A hundred yards further down the road, the two bikes crashed off into the undergrowth.

Danger over, Rigs rejoined Cash and the Chief.

The Chief was already trying to radio back to the professor’s house. Nobody was answering.