The Fall (49 page)

Davis decided to be thorough, to do this by the book, securing the perimeter first before tightening the noose.

The place was secluded, accessible only by a narrow road that wound its way to the northwest corner of the Everglades National Park.

There were no neighbors for miles. No witnesses.

Just the group who'd made a fool of Davis and his men two days ago.

But not today,
he thought, each of his four team leads confirming their positions, getting a visual on the motorcycles parked outside, as well as the satellite antenna providing the Internet access that the general's IT staff, assisted by none other than the NSA, had used to track a series of hack attacks to this location.

Davis inspected the one-story structure once more with suspicion. The farmhouse looked quiet, peaceful.

Almost too good.

But Hastings had been clear: raid the place and hand over its occupants to the men waiting on the access road just beyond the edge of the woods in a pair of white vans parked behind his team's SUVs.

The general's Hispanic friends,
he thought with a frown and a heavy sigh. The ones he had summoned after Davis had failed to raid that FBI safe house fast enough, allowing them to escape.

“Move in,” he spoke, leading the assault team himself, stepping out of the woods and rushing across the grassy meadow followed by three of his men, single file with a ten-foot separation, reaching the front in thirty seconds, glancing at the bikes, before motioning to one of his men to break down the door.

*   *   *

The figure, dressed in black and wielding a silenced Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine gun, collapsed the moment Jack chopped him behind the neck.

He eased him down next to his fallen comrades—all three of them making up one of four teams converging on the farmhouse.

Jack inspected them briefly, deciding that they were guilty by association with the men in the white vans he had followed here from Dago's place. But it was the Harleys parked in front of the farmhouse that had justified his attack on these strangers.

Is Angie hiding there?

Grabbing the silenced MP5, he scrambled through the woods, approaching the next team, four more men standing by the edge of the woods looking toward the meadow—as they were ordered. But a better trained team leader would have posted at least one of his men facing the woods, their six o'clock, to prevent precisely what Jack did next.

From a distance of just ten feet, he fired, aiming for the back of their heads, where their fancy Kevlar vests wouldn't protect them. Only the last man managed to turn around and return fire, which Jack was glad to see was from a silenced MP5 just like the one he held.

But it was a futile attempt.

Jack placed his final two shots on the side of his head, and he collapsed next to his team.

Dropping the empty MP5 and stealing one with a full magazine from one of his victims, Jack continued his hunt, rushing to the third team a couple hundred feet away, also under orders to watch the house, cover the exits, and keep its occupants from escaping.

Amateurs.

Slowly, Jack got ready to disable the last lookout team.

*   *   *

Davis reached the living room first, a sinking feeling descending on him when he found it empty. His men quickly separated, covering the bedrooms, the garage, the dining area, even going up into the attic.

But as had been the case less than forty-eight hours ago, the place was empty.

“Damn it,” he hissed, staring at the sofas facing a large fireplace and an even larger flat-screen television hanging on the wall. “How is this
possible
?”

The hackers had managed to elude him again, and Hastings would
not
be pleased.

Putting down his weapon and reaching for his mobile phone, he pressed a button on his speed dial. Hastings picked it up on the first ring.

“You've got them?”

“Negative, sir. The place is empty.”

Silence, followed by, “But I thought you said there were bikes parked in front.”

“There are, sir. At least someone's bikes. But they're not here. No one is.”

There was a heavy sigh and Davis closed his eyes, not relishing being the deliverer of bad news, especially when Hastings had a reputation for shooting the messenger. But fortunately for Davis, the general was back at his compound in West Virginia, where he had decided to weather the storm.

“Regroup with Javier and wait for my orders,” Hastings said, hanging up.

Davis stared at his phone and slowly shook his head before switching to his radio.

“All right, people, the package isn't here. Repeat, the package is
not
here. Back to base.”

He frowned when no one responded.

“Damn it,” he hissed, clicking the radio off and back on. But he still got no response.

And that's when he saw Jack, standing in the foyer, one of his men's MP5s in his hands.

“I … I thought you were dead,” Davis said.

*   *   *

Jack motioned the team leader, whom his men called Davis, to his knees, hands behind his head, before sitting across from him with the MP5 pointed at his head.

“Where's my team?”

“Some dead, some knocked out.”

Davis didn't reply.

Jack tilted his head at him. “I remember you. The night before the jump. You were there with that other asshole … Riggs.”

Davis slowly nodded. “He turned out to be FBI.”

“
Really?
” Jack said, leaning forward. “Well, he had me fooled.”

“He had us all fooled.”

“Good for him.”

“Not really,” Davis said. “The general caught him, along with your friend Pete Flaherty.”

Jack didn't like that. “And?”

“Last I heard, Riggs got the double-T.”

“The
what
?”

“Traitor treatment. He got to watch his family get … brutalized, murdered before they gouged out his eyes and castrated him.”

In spite of all the horrors he had witnessed in his life, Jack blinked. “You …
saw
this?”

“No. But Hastings has a thing for videotaping those … Hallmark moments and showing us clips for … motivation.”

Jack exhaled, then asked, “What about Pete?”

“Don't know,” he said. “And that's the truth.”

“Where's Hastings now?”

“Look, they have my family, man,” Davis said. “Please understand I have no choice.”

“Everyone has a choice,” Jack replied. “And my choice right now is to kill the son of a bitch. So, where is he?”

Davis considered that for a moment before he said, “Would you please make it look like I fought back? That's the only way to protect them.”

Jack considered that for a moment and said, “You got it.”

Davis slowly nodded. “All right. Apparently, your wife and some hacker and biker friends of hers have created a financial mess for the general, stealing bank accounts, freezing assets, disturbing factories, his operations, injecting his networks with viruses. If it can be done with a computer, they've sure as hell done it.”

Jack tried not to beam with pride. “Continue.”

“Anyway, we got a tip that the latest hack attacks had originated from this location. But it was just like the last time.”

“The last time?”

Davis looked down, apparently embarrassed. “Yeah. We got a tip to raid another place—an FBI safe house. And same thing. Missed them by a mile. And not only that, but the bastards watched us through Webcams they'd left behind.”

Jack was trying to process all of this. “So where's Hastings now?” he finally asked, before checking his watch, deciding that it was time to move out. Although he had disabled fifteen soldiers in thirty minutes, there was always the chance of anyone he hadn't killed waking up and bursting in here guns blazing. Or perhaps Davis had backup standing by in the vicinity, like those four guys in the white vans waiting up the road.

“He has a compound in West Virginia, off of IH-68, by Cheat Lake. Been there a couple of times. The place is off the reservation … so to speak. Can only get to it by boat, sea plane, or helicopter,” Davis said, giving him the actual directions.

“Anything I need to be aware of?”

“He's got lots of cameras covering every angle in the place, plus a lot of guards,” Davis said, taking another minute to give him the details of the compound's defenses that he recalled seeing.

Jack took it all in before asking, “What about the men in the white vans parked by your SUVs?”

Davis shrugged. “Some associates of the general. We were supposed to hand over anyone we captured in here. But my guess is that they're gone after I reported to Hastings that the place was empty.”

“Anything else?”

Davis slowly shook his head. “Please make it look good.”

Jack got up and walked behind him.

Everyone has a choice.

He pressed the muzzle against the back of his head and was about to pull the trigger, when he said, “There's another way.”

Davis looked back at Jack. There were tears in the man's face as he mumbled, “How?”

“By helping me kill the bastard.”

“I … can't take that chance. Others have tried, and they all ended up in the same place as Riggs.”

“I won't fail,” Jack said. “Your best chance is with me.”

“I … can't. I've seen what he's done to their families. I … just can't.”

Jack took a deep breath, hating to put down someone who looked like a good soldier caught in an unfortunate situation.

“And please don't just knock me out,” Davis said. “This makes my second time disappointing the general. He's probably going to kill me anyway. That's the risk I took by accepting his offer.”

“All right. Get up. Turn around,” Jack said.

Davis did, facing Jack, who took a few steps back before leveling the gun at his face.

“Thanks,” the veteran soldier said, a tear rolling down his camouflaged cheek. “I hope you stop him.”

Jack clenched his jaw, hating having to do this, but failing to see any other way. He had given Davis every chance he could think of, but it was clear that the general's fear campaign was working as designed.

“Look, man,” Jack said, trying to give him a final chance. “Join me. We can beat Hastings.”

“I … I can't risk it. Do it for my wife … for my kids.”

Jack frowned and took a deep breath.

“Please. I'm begging you. It's the only way to be sure.”

Well aware that he would hate himself for doing this, Jack finally squeezed the trigger. The silenced round hit Davis in between the eyes, killing him instantly.

Slowly, he knelt by the body and put a gun in his hands, firing it a couple of times into the ceiling to make him look like he went down fighting like the soldier he was.

Jack stood there a moment, trying to find the right words, angered at himself for having killed him, for failing to convince him to join forces, to take a stand.

Everyone has a choice.

And Davis had certainly made his, for better or for worse.

And so had Jack, who would now have to live with—

A strange noise behind him made him swing his weapon in its direction while dropping to the ground.

But there was no one there.

Confused, he got up to one knee and surveyed the living room, spotting a camera, which turned in his direction.

Standing and facing it, he understood.

And waving at it he said, “Honey … I'm home.”

 

18

TAKE ME HOME, COUNTRY ROADS

Victory at all costs, victory in spite of all terror, victory however long and hard the road may be; for without victory there is no survival.

—Winston Churchill

He went to the address he had written on a piece of paper and shown to the camera in case they couldn't hear him.

It was an old watering hole in South Miami by the name of El Habanero, and ironically not far from where Dago had met him and Angela after stealing that Tiara yacht in another world.

Jack drove one of the Harleys he found parked outside the farmhouse since the police were probably already looking for the convertible he had stolen earlier.

He continued down the picturesque Tahiti Beach Island road, the wind in his face, the sun in his eyes as he steered the bike past opulent mansions, manicured lawns, and beautiful parks, all backdropped by the Atlantic Ocean.

The oceanfront bar, one of Dago's favorites from the old days, had two floors of decks overlooking the water plus a large parking area that ran along both ends of the establishment as well as on the street side, where Jack steered the bike into a corner spot facing the exit, ready for a quick getaway should anything go south.

El Habanero glowed with neon lights in every pastel color imaginable, even in the middle of the afternoon.

He walked toward the glowing structure slowly, with caution, searching for—

“Jack! Over here!”

He turned to his right and saw her a couple hundred feet away, down a row of parked cars, waving her arms frantically.

Behind her was Dago and a short and slightly overweight guy with an unkempt beard.

Angela took off, running toward him.

Jack found it hard to breathe, unable to believe he had actually made it back to her, back to his wife, and he owed it all to the Angela he had left behind, the one who had sacrificed everything to get him back here, to this moment, as “his” Angela ran toward him.

But a white van pulled up behind her, tires skidding on the pavement as it came to an abrupt stop just as the side door slid open and two large men jumped out and grabbed her from behind.

No! This can't be happening!