Don't Order Dog (48 page)

“Team One, this is command. I’ve got the front entrance of the location. Secure the back alley and give me a status on Team Three.”

“Roger that.”

Alex watched anxiously as his SOG team abruptly pulled back towards the opposite corner of the building and disappeared into the alley. A mom
ent later, he ripped the earbud for his radio from his ear and cocked his head. Through the window above him, he could just make out the muffled sound his men had heard earlier. He listened for several seconds before shaking his head in bewilderment. There was no mistaking the origin of the sound – it was the low, gravelly voice of a man speaking quietly. He tensed as the earbud for his radio suddenly crackled in his hand.

“Command, this is Team One. We found Team Three.”

Alex shoved the earbud back into place. “What’s their status?”

“Alive but unconscious,” the agent replied. “From the looks of it
, I’d guess they were either tasered or drugged. Their weapons are still on them, but there’s no sign of anyone else.”

“Roger that,” Alex replied flatly. “Anything else?”

“Negative. We’re not… wait… yes, there’s something else. Command, their radios are missing.”

Alex cursed under his breath.
The terrorists have our radios.
They’ve heard every fucking thing we’ve said
he thought as he scanned the street around him. He took a deep breath and spoke calmly into his headset. “All teams, this is Command. Switch your radios to the alternate channel immediately.” He then switched his own radio to the alternate channel. “Team One are you there?” he asked flatly.

“Yes sir.”

“Hold your position, and make sure you maintain a minimum of three meters between each other.”

“Roger that.”

“Agent Pearson, are you still waiting for that ambulance?”

“Negative
, Command. The ambulance is here. They’re taking him now, sir.”

“Has the HAZMAT unit arrived yet?”

“Affirmative.”

“Alright, hold your position and tell me exactly what they find in that bag.”
Alex checked his watch and rubbed his eyes in frustration.
Sixteen minutes
. Sixteen minutes since his team had arrived. Sixteen minutes since their well-orchestrated operation had started.
Sixteen minutes since everything had begun to completely fucking unravel
. He swept the thought from his mind and waited for Agent Pearson to respond.

“Command, this is Pearson.”

“What have you got?”

“HAZMAT checked the
duffel bag, sir. No weapons or explosives.”

“Then what’s
in the bag?”

“T
oys, sir.”

Alex shook his head in confusion. “Say again?”

“The bag has toys in it, sir. Boxes of some little weird-looking things called
Brainy Buddies
. They kind of look like stuffed animals.”

Alex leaned his head against the cold brick
exterior of the saloon and took another deep breath.
Was this really happening?
Was it possible that everything he and his team were doing had somehow, once again, been anticipated? He scanned the stretch of old Route 66 in front of him, looking in the vacant storefronts for the hidden face he was certain was now watching him.

He spoke flatly into the radio.
“Copy that, Pearson. Regroup with Team Two on the southwest corner of the target location.”

“Roger.”

Alex turned and reached his hand out to the agent leaning against the wall next to him. “Give me your weapon.” The agent gave him a fleeting look of surprise before silently handing him his assault rifle and pulling out his sidearm. Alex quickly checked the weapon before moving towards the entrance of the saloon.

“All teams, this is command. It’s safe to assume we’ve lost the element of surprise with this mission… if there ever was any to begin with. Maintain your positions and stay alert. I’m going into the target location.”

Alex paused outside the door and quickly rechecked his weapon. Christ, how long had it been since he’d actually been in a field mission?
Too long
he thought as he took a deep breath. He raised his rifle and kicked hard against the heavy wooden door. As the door swung open he took two quick steps inside before dropping low against the wall. From there, he slowly swept the room with his assault rifle as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. Around him, the saloon felt empty and still. Then, as he drew his gun towards the bar, something immediately caught his attention.

A lone woman sat at the bar.

Alex leveled his rifle on the woman and slowly stood. “Turn around!” he commanded loudly. The woman didn’t move.

“Federal agent! I said turn around!”

Again his demand was ignored. He raised his head from the sights of his assault rifle and looked closer. The woman’s upper body was sprawled forward on top of the counter, her head cradled in her folded arms as if she were sleeping. Even with her back to him, Alex recognized the woman’s slender build and long, copper-brown hair from the photos in his file. He stepped forward cautiously. “Miss Halston?” he asked, his tone less threatening. “Jeri Halston, are you okay?”

“Good afternoon, Agent Murstead,” the voice he’d heard earlier
suddenly echoed cheerfully through the saloon. “I’m glad you could make it.”

Alex swept the bar with his weapon. “Show yourself!”

“I can’t,” the voice replied calmly. “I’m not in the room.”

Alex kept the rifle pinned to his shoulder and moved towards the voice. As he neared the body of Jeri Halston he suddenly paused. Resting on the counter in front of her were an open laptop computer and a small two-way radio. Alex immediately recognized the radio
as one of the two that had been taken from his men.

“My apologies for borrowing this,” the voice crackled from the radio
. “But I thought you and I should talk.”

Alex scanned the area once more before easing his grip on h
is rifle. “Alright,” he replied. “Let’s talk. Who am I speaking to?”

“Call me Shepherd,” the voice answered.

“Shepherd, huh?” Alex replied as he studied the laptop. He had no doubt the man he was speaking to was now watching him through the small video camera mounted to the top of the screen.

“You know, it’s funny,” he said, taking another step closer. “I was just reading up on another man who went by the name of Shepherd on my way out here. A rather impressive guy from what I can tell. His real name was Robert Shafer. He was a former agent of the National Security Agency
… perhaps one of the most gifted cryptographers the NSA has ever seen. But of course, you couldn’t be Robert Shafer.”

“Why is that?” the voice asked earnestly.

“Because Robert Shafer died more than thirty years ago,” Alex replied. “He was killed in a car accident. Big fire… body burned badly. So badly, in fact, that the coroner wasn’t even able to determine for certain if it was him.” He paused and stared directly at the small camera. “But then, who else could it have been?”

“Good question,” the voice answered. “Unfortunately, I haven’t read enough autopsy reports on ex-NSA agents to be of much help.”

“No, I didn’t think you would be,” Alex responded. He looked again at the woman slumped on a barstool at the bar. “Miss Halston, are you okay?” he asked, taking a step towards her.

“I’d leave Miss Halston alone for now,” the voice said politely. “She’s not in a position to respond.”

“Why is that?”

“She’s been injected with a sleep agent.”

“And why would she need a sleep agent?” Alex demanded.

“As a safety precaution
,” the voice replied. “I didn’t want her to accidentally detonate the explosives on her chair.”

Alex turned and looked closely at Jeri’s barstool. Taped to each of the four legs just beneath the seat was a small cylindrical canister. A wire lead ran from each of the canisters to a black box located on the floor.

“C4 explosive,” the voice continued. “There’s three ounces loaded into each of the four cylindrical housings you see taped to her chair. Do you know what happens to a human body sitting inside a tightly arranged field of explosives, Agent Murstead?”

“I have a pretty good idea
,” Alex said flatly. 

“It’s quite amazing, actually. The compressive energy of the charges turns liquids into gas and bones into powder. In a mere instant the body is reshaped and reconstituted into a perfectly combustible fuel source
– like paper waiting for a lighted match. And then, in the next instant, every ounce of that body is consumed… literally
vaporized
into nothing. By the time it’s over, it’s as if they never existed in the first place.”

Alex looked again at Jeri Halston’s sleeping figure and nodded his head grimly. “So tell me, Shepherd… what turns a former NSA agent into a rogue terrorist and killer?”

“I wouldn’t know,” the voice answered. “Perhaps you should direct that question to Richard Connolly.”

Alex looked at the laptop. “Maybe I should. Of course, Director Connolly already knows he’s about to spend the rest of his short, emphysema-filled life in a minimum-security penitentiary when all this is over.”

“What a pity,” the voice replied tersely.

“So I
am
speaking to Robert Shafer.”

“Only if dead NSA agents can speak from the grave, Agent Murstead.”

Alex shook his head irritably. “Okay, fine. You’re not Robert Shafer. So tell me… why are we here?”

“You’re here because I’d like to ask you for a favor,” the voice answered.

“What favor is that?”

“That you suspend your investigation of this matter immediately.”

Alex grinned at the laptop. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“No, I’m not.”

“And why should I do that?” Alex asked.

“Because as of today, this project is finished
,” the voice replied. “We have what we came for, and now we’ll be on our way.”

“Oh really?” Alex asked, pointing his rifle at Jeri. “And what about her? Did you get what you wanted from her too?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“And if I say no to your request?”

“Then good luck, Agent Murstead. Good luck sifting through the ashes of Jeri Halston. Good luck trying to find me or a single trace of evidence that can save you from the merciless desk of the Deputy Secretary of State.”

Alex watched as the screen on the laptop suddenly flickered to life. A large stopwatch display appeared, its numbers set at 00:00.

“You can’t see it,” the voice continued, “but there’s enough C4 in this place to insure that any evidence of our time here today will be permanently erased.” On the laptop screen, the stopwatch display changed to 00:06. “I’m giving you six seconds to make your exit from Joe’s Last Stand Saloon from the moment I say ‘go’. I suggest you run quickly, Agent Murstead. I also suggest not trying to be a hero.”

Alex glanced anxiously around at the dark interior of the saloon, trying to make sense of what was happening. His eyes paused on the wall where the letters and p
hotos were hung. He stared at them sullenly before shouldering his rifle and pointing it at the laptop.

“Goddammit Shepherd, I know who you are! You were an agency man once just like me. You know how this shit works… cases like this
one don’t end until there’s an arrest or a fucking body!”

“Then give them a body
,” the voice replied flatly.

“Shepherd, wait! Let’s–”

“Go!” the radio crackled.

Alex watched with horror as the stopwatch on the laptop began counting down. He glanced at the lifeless figure of Jeri Halston with a sickening sense of helplessness. There was no way he could disable the charges and grab her before time ran out. He spun and sprinted towards the door, clicking on his radio and screaming into his headset as he ran.

“All teams evacuate the area immediately! I repeat… evac immediately!”

Alex threw open the entry door as a wave of pressure suddenly lifted him from the ground and launched him like a projectile onto the street. He landed hard on his side as a massive ball of flames passed just inches over him, the intense heat scalding his shoulder. A pelting rain of debris fell upon him as he then rolled onto his stomach and slowly inched his way across the cold black pavement of
old Route 66. When he finally reached the opposite side of the street, Alex dragged himself up onto the sidewalk and collapsed. He laid there exhaustedly for several minutes before rolling onto his back. He then sat up slowly and assessed the damage.

“Oh fuck,” he muttered, awe-struck by the scene in front of him.

It was clear the explosives had been expertly placed. Upon detonation, every load-bearing column and beam inside the old building had been instantly obliterated, forcing the ceiling and brick exterior to buckle and collapse under its own weight. Every element of the old building was destroyed. And yet, despite the power of the blast, none of the surrounding buildings appeared to have been touched. As he sat on the sidewalk staring at the burned and shattered remains, Alex shook his head at the simple, horrible truth.