Olympus Device 2: The Olympus Device Book Two (20 page)

Again,
Dusty glanced at the rail gun. “Perhaps I’m thinking on too small a level,” he whispered. “Maybe I should pack up and head to Washington. Maybe my little invention can intimidate some sense into our elected officials.”

As he cleaned the breach of
a Remington 700 hunting rifle, Dusty let his mind fill with fantasy; daydreaming of a trip to the nation’s capital. He would have to do something spectacular to get everyone’s attention and enjoyed the mental process of selecting a target.

The White House? No, too much fine art and wonderful historical pieces were there. The same could be said of the Smithsonian
and its endless halls of artifacts.

The capital b
uilding? A possibility.

The Pentagon? “Ah hah!” he declare
d, finally making a decision as he selected a revolver from the cabinet. “I’ll call it in like a bomb scare and give them all 10 minutes to get out,” he said to the empty barn. He’d give anything to see the faces of senators, members of Congress, and other politicians, as they gazed upon the smoldering ruins of the nation’s premier icon of American military might.

“That would get their attention,” he decided.
“That would force them to listen.”

A malfunction
ing trigger interrupted his mental conquest of the world’s only superpower, the complex device requiring his full attention. After ten minutes, he had the old Smith and Wesson revolver fixed and returned to his campaign to right the wrongs of his country.

“What would yo
u say to them?” he wondered aloud. “What would you demand they change?”

He paused after a few moments, surprised that he couldn’t think up any quick fixes or immediate cures. Every concept that entered his mind seemed questionable or easily circumvented
by political spin.

Glancing again at the rail gun, he mumbled, “If power corrupts, you’re not doing a very good job. I’m supposed to believe my slightest whim should be the law of the land. About now I should be thinking my ideas are irreproachable and damn near god-like.”

The rail gun didn’t respond to the criticism.

After returning the weapons to their safe-closet, Dusty picked up his invention and grunted, “Still, it might not do any harm to rattle Washington’s cage.”

The spell was broken by Penny’s voice announcing that supper was ready. Dusty folded his invention’s stock and stuffed it back inside the duffle before heading into the house. 

Mr. Vega found the manager at the
pawnshop very helpful. The broker remembered the guy who had cost him one sweet deal because of his big mouth and encyclopedic-like knowledge of the Colt pistols.
That would make sense for a gunsmith
, Vega thought.

The store’s security cameras verified the target’s identity beyond any doubt, with the parking lot footage providing the next clue. Weathers had gotten a ride with the woman trying to pawn the pistol.

“She lives on a poultry farm outside of town,” explained the shop’s manager. “That’s about all I know.”

Less than 30 minutes later, Vega had an address via the truck’s license plate.

He drove past the Boyce homestead twice, taking his time while plotting the next move. He needed to find out where the woman had dropped off her passenger from a few days ago.
Follow the breadcrumbs
, he mused.

On the second pass, he decided a direct approach
was best.

He pulled one the many business cards from the console, his role of managing investments for the cartel providing the benefit of numerous professional associations. Next, he pulled a picture of Weathers from the file and
turned into the farm’s drive.

Dusty and Penny reacted differently to the knock
at the front door.

Wiping her face with
a napkin from her lap, Penny glanced up and said, “Who could that be at this hour,” and scooted her chair back to answer the call.

Dusty immediately reached for the ever-present duffle bag.

Penny glanced through the glass and saw a nicely dressed stranger holding a business card. The car in the driveway was a newer model import. “Who is it?” she called.

“My name is Carmine Vega,” came the response. “I’m an insurance adjuster for Rio Grande Holdings Limited and would like to speak to you for just a moment, please.”

Penny opened the door, the latched chain-lock providing just enough space to peek out. “Yes?”

Vega smiled broadly, holding up a picture of Durham Weathers. “Ma’am, my company is trying to locate this man. It has come to my attention that he was seen with you in Laredo just a few days ago
, and it is very important that I speak with him.”

For once, Dusty’s cover story paid off. Penny’s immediate thought was that Vega wa
s one of the ex-wife’s attorneys looking for the wayward husband. “Yes… yes I gave that man a ride a few days ago. I don’t know anything about him though,” she lied.

But Penny wasn’t good
at deception. Vega sensed her dishonesty, barely managing to keep his expression neutral. “Ma’am, could you tell me where you dropped him off? He is the beneficiary of a policy that could potentially pay a significant amount of money, and it’s my job to find him.”

That’s the oldest scam in the book
, Penny thought, almost disappointed that the man on the other side of the threshold considered her so stupid. “I dropped him off in downtown Laredo… at the bus station.”

He’s here
, Vega knew instantly.
She’s protecting him for some reason
.

“Very well. Thank you for your time,” he replied
.

Penny watched the visitor walk off the porch and then shut the door. She double-checked the lock.

Dusty watched the stranger walk back to his car, returning the pistol to the unzipped duffle bag lying beside him on the ground. As soon as the visitor’s taillights had disappeared in the distance, he stepped out of the bushes beside the front porch and returned to the dinner table.

“Did you hear all of that?” Penny asked calmly.

“Yes… and thank you,” he responded. “I’m sorry my past is catching up with me.”

“He wasn’t a very good liar,” she said. “I could see through that cockamamie story right away.”

Dusty nodded with a grimace. “Clearly one of my ex-wife’s lawyers, or at least one of their henchmen,” he played along while his mind was screaming over the danger presented by the visitor.
Who was that guy? How did he find me? Was he FBI? A Tri-Materials goon?

No longer possessing an appetite, Dusty toyed with his plate for a few minutes and then rose to excuse himself. “Thank you for the fine meal, Penny,” he announced calmly. “I’m going to turn in early. Nite.”

In reality, he was expecting law enforcement SWAT teams to descend on the ranch at any moment. Heading back to the barn, he couldn’t help but scan left and right, looking for men in uniform or worse, yet, the muzzle flash of a sniper rifle.

T
he rough plank walls of the apartment provided some relief, especially after he verified the structure unoccupied. His mind raced with possibilities and paranoia.

He had hurt the authorities badly during their last two attempts to arrest him. Were they finally wising up and
being cautious? As his mind replayed the recent visit by their “guest,” he didn’t sense that the man on the front porch was law enforcement.

He had to be someone from Tri-Materials scouting for information
, Dusty decided. “The FBI would know better than to give me warning,” he whispered to the rail gun, now unfolded, powered up, and resting on his lap.

Vega managed the outskirts of Laredo and found a hotel.

After checking in, he absentmindedly washed his face and hands, trying to plot the chess moves that would dictate the path of his future. If he didn’t play a masterful game, Tio would insure that his life came to a premature, excruciating checkmate.

He had to inform the boss of his discovery, at least the confirmation that Weathers had been in Laredo. Vega didn’t normally work on such projects and had no idea how in-depth Tio’s contacts penetrated the organization. For all Vega knew, the
pawnshop manager was Tio’s cousin and on the phone with the cartel leader even now.

Setting up his laptop, Vega entered the appropriate codes and passwords. A
few minutes later, an innocent-looking message was on its way across the internet. Encrypted in the text was a phone number.

It was 20 minutes later that
his clean cell phone rang. He didn’t need to guess who it was.

“Good evening, sir,” Vega answered, trying to keep his tone calm and neutral.

There was music playing in the background, the sound of a crowd making it difficult to hear Tio clearly. “What have you got for me?”

Clearing his throat, Vega answered
, “The target was indeed in Laredo. I have managed to account for his whereabouts as of two days ago. I’m still following up on some possibilities.”

“Good. Do you need help?”

Vega had anticipated the question. If he weren’t planning to abscond with the device, he would have normally welcomed the help. He had to play the role of the dutiful employee for a while longer.

“Yes, sir. I would like two or three good heads who will follow instructions. I don’t need
any
vaqueros… but men who will do only as I ask. I feel like we should continue to pursue this man while maintaining a low profile.”

For the few moments it took Tio to respond, Vega thought he’
d made some mistake. “I’m not so sure I like this approach,” the cartel boss began. “It seems like you are being very shy about finding that man.”

I’m not planning any subterfuge
, Vega repeated in his mind.
I’m not doing anything underhanded. How would I react to Tio’s statement?
Finally, he offered, “I’m open to suggestions, sir. Would you prefer I take a different course?”

That seemed to cause the boss additional pause.
His eventual answer was a relief. “No… no I suppose not. I will have three men drive down from Houston and join you. Their faces shouldn’t be known to anyone in Laredo.”

Vega thanked his boss after providing the hotel’s name and address. Disconnecting the call, he noticed
that his hands were shaking. “If I’m that scared of Tio before he controls the rail gun, what will it be like after the man wields that sort of power?”