Olympus Device 2: The Olympus Device Book Two (27 page)

While he didn’t know all of the facts, it didn’t take genius-level deductive reasoning to associate the violence in Laredo with Weathers.
The cartel was making a serious play to possess the rail gun, and he couldn’t let that happen.

The Latin American drug lords were ruthless men who had little regard for human life. Shultz physically shuddered at the concept of such individuals co
ntrolling the power of Weathers’ device. So far, Durham had been reserved and low-key, no doubt hoping Washington would come to its senses and strike a deal. The men who ran the world’s largest criminal empires wouldn’t operate with that same restraint.

It took another 15 minutes
before he finally reached the director. Already confused by the limited, contradicting reports coming out of Texas, the top FBI man sounded as if he were surrounded by a storm of pandemonium.

“We are already mobilizing everything we can,” the harried man responded. “But it takes time. I’m being informed that we’ll have air assets en route within the hour, ground assets on the way by this evening. We’re sending everything we’ve got to Laredo to repel the invasion.”

“Sir, Laredo is a decoy… a diversion. The real target is Weathers and the Olympus Device.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“I’m certain, sir. There’s no reason for the cartel to take such a huge gamble. They have to know we’ll hunt eve
ry single one of them down. The only logical explanation is the rail gun,” Shultz explained.

The d
irector was skeptical, “Let me consult with the president on this. What you’re saying makes sense, but I need to brief the Commander in Chief before we divert any forces.”

Shultz was desperate, “Sir, that’s not
going to work. This will all be over in the next hour. I’ve got just over 50 men with me, but I fear that’s not going to be enough. We’re a little more than 30 minutes out, and I’m worried we’ll be too late. Sir, we must have military forces mobilized and moving toward Laredo. Please, sir, I beg of you… call the governor, call the president… call the Pentagon,” Shultz pleaded. “I don’t need to tell you what the consequences would be if those desperadoes get their hands on that weapon.”

There was a
long pause before the director responded. “Every Texas highway patrolman is on the way to south Texas, as well as deputies from surrounding counties. Give me a rally point, and I’ll see to it that they are ordered to join your task force.”

Shultz had already pulled up a map of the Boyce farm on his smart phone. He q
uickly scanned the area, recognizing every second was critical. There was only one significant landmark nearby – Tri-Materials.

He quickly provided the d
irector the name and address.

“I’ll have every available resource meet you there. Good luck… and God bless.”

The two men embraced several times, Dusty still reeling from the shock of his younger sibling’s unannounced and unexpected arrival. Mitch was all smiles, absolutely thrilled and gushing with relief after finding his older brother in one piece.

Penny stood by, marveling at the emotional current clearly shared by both men. Dusty had been so stoic and reserved in her presence
, and it was interesting to see this side of the man.

“Okay, so now that we’ve got all the mushy stuff out of the way, tell me what the hell you’re doing here, little brother? And how can you be so sure the
FBI doesn’t know where you are right now?”

“I borrowed a colleague’s car
, and the feds think I’m attending a convention in Corpus. There are about 3,000 eggheads at the event, and I slipped out a back door and made triple sure no one was following me.”

Dusty grunted, both a thousand questions and reprimands flooding his mind
. He wanted to scold his sibling for taking the risk while at the same time was thankful for his presence.

Mitch answered the next question before Dusty could ask. “The sample chicken you sent me – that was very clever, Dusty. I had the tissue analyzed and know what’s killing those birds. Besides seeing you, I wante
d to locate the source of the poison that is causing the carnage.”

“Poisoning?” Penny
sounded from the porch.

Mitch turned and nodded, “Yes, ma’am, your birds are being poisone
d. It is an industrial compound… a complex molecule that basically includes cyanide. This particular variant has been banned in the U.S. for decades. It was used primarily in the process of coating metals.”

The new information distracted Dusty for a moment, taking his mind off the desperate need to flee.
Maybe he could make up for this morning’s disaster at the Lexington – at least indirectly. He looked at Penny and said, “So your husband was right. It is Tri-Mat that is killing your birds.”

Mitch interrupted, “We don’t know that for sure. It could be an old industrial waste site or any number of sources. Before I use the university’s weight and bring down the EPA on anyone, I would like to get a look at the facility. It would take some very special storage tanks to hold this chemical
, and I think I could identify them from a distance.”

“I kind of need to get out of here, Mitch. There are some very bad men who are probably
on their way here right now.”

Scratching his chin, Mitch said, “I tried to see the plant from the road, but couldn’t get a good angle. Can we just take a few minutes and see if I can get a better view from Mrs. Boyce’s property?”

“You can take the ATV,” Penny offered, no doubt hoping to help her husband’s cause.

Dusty glanced around the quiet scenery of the farm and then
up and down the empty road. “Okay,” he conceded, “But let’s make it quick. I have a bad feeling that a ton of trouble is getting ready to fall on my head.”

Tio rose from behind the disabled police car and fired a short burst from his AK, quickly dropping back down behind the minimal cover provided by the rear axle. Bullets zipped past where his head had just been exposed, a few of the stray rounds shattering what little remained of the cruiser’s rear glass.

“This is taking too long,” he shouted to one of his nearby lieutenants. “Take five men and flank them to the south. Do it! Now!”

Knowing better than to show himself in the same location twice, the cartel leader cowered low to the ground and duck-walked to the rear fender. A moment later, he loosed another burst from his weapon, hoping to give his men a little covering fire.

The
U.S. lawmen had learned quickly - a little too quickly for Tio’s liking. Several of the Laredo police had formed up with other responding officers and began a loosely organized fighting retreat.

Tio’s convoy had encountered the first such resistance just outside of the city limits
as they headed east to capture the rail gun. Rather than try to hold their ground, the policemen had ambushed the convoy, an effort clearly designed to slow the intruders’ advance. The officers had jumped in their cars and scampered away before Tio’s forces could dismount and form up to finish them off.

Again, a mile outside of town, they had a
ttempted another delaying tactic, spraying random, haphazard fire at the lead truck and then speeding away before the cartel’s men could engage.

A few miles later, they had used several vehicles to form a roadblock and were making a desperate stand.

There were seven police cars and two government SUVs blocking the two-lane road. Having had one of his precious transports already shot out from underneath him, Tio had ordered the convoy to stop and disembark the troops at a safe distance.

What had ensued was nothing short of a
pitched battle.

But the 14 defenders couldn’t hold off the superior numbers of invading shooters. In a few minutes, Tio’s men had
begun pushing back the stubborn resistance, eventually flushing the Yankees away from their cover and onto open ground. The pavement was now littered with smoldering, shattered law enforcement vehicles, the destruction littered with lifeless bodies from both sides.

Still, the survivors didn’t run or break contact.

Tio watched as two squads of his men scurried across the open prairie bordering the road. One of the men went down as the Americans spotted the maneuver and responded with a barrage of lead. Still, the invaders from the south maintained the pressure.

“Let’s go!” Tio turned and shouted at another group of his forces. Rising up, he waved his arm for them to follow and moved off to envelop the Americans.
This will all be over in a minute
, he thought as he scrambled up and down the ditch and into knee-high grass.

Before they
had moved 100 yards, the sound of an engine reverberated over the next rise. Tio and his followers stopped, watching as a single black SUV raced off, bouncing as it sped away across the field.

“Run
, you son-of-a-bitches! Run away, you cowardly fucks!” he shouted at the retreating truck.

Bringing two fingers to his mouth, he issued a loud whistle and began waving his men back. “We’ve got to get to that poultry farm…
and we’ve got to get there right-fucking-now!” he cursed.

Watching his men hustle back to the trucks, he noticed the road sign for the first time. “Plant Entrance - 2 miles ahead. Beware of slow moving trucks.”

“I’m fully aware of slow moving trucks,” he whispered to the sign.

There w
eren’t any binoculars at the farm, so Dusty grabbed a couple of hunting rifles from the gun room, hoping their scopes would provide adequate magnification. With the ever-present duffle, Mitch and Dusty were soon in the ATV and scattering the chickens as they bounded across the farm.

“There’s high
ground on the back side of this property,” Dusty informed his brother. “I bet we can get a good view of that plant from there.”

The two men
sprang out of the ATV and soon found themselves at the crest of a small rise. The huge smokestacks of the Tri-Materials facilities towered in the distance.

Mitch began scanning with the rifle, slowly sweeping the factory’s grounds with the magnified optic. Dusty was busy as well, keeping an eye out for any security guards that might be patrolling the area. A few moments later, a line of flashing blue and red lights drew his attention.

“Are you sure you were not followed?” he asked Mitch, nodding toward the long line of police vehicles speeding along the plant’s drive.

“Wow,” Mitch replied, changing his focus to the parade of cops. “What the hell is going on?”

They scrutinized the scene as the convoy of law enforcement officials began pouring out of their transports, all of them dashing toward the road rather than the buildings that comprised the plant. “What the hell are they doing?” Dusty asked, not really expecting Mitch to know.

Before his brother could speculate, the thumping sound of a helicopter sounded behind them. Believin
g the authorities had discovered him, Dusty’s heart began to race. He reached for the duffle and pulled out the rail gun.

The blinking lights of the aircraft soon became visible, vectoring in on the Tri-Materials complex from the north. Dusty found the
bird in his riflescope and could make out enough detail to see the emblem of a badge painted on the fuselage.

The gunsmith lowered the ri
fle and reached for the rail gun when a streak of smoke and sparkling flame rose up from the earth beyond, its course vectoring as if it were seeking the helicopter.

A brilliant ball of white flame erupted around the incoming copter, a boiling cloud of red and orange appearing in the sky where there had been a flying machine just a moment before. “Holy shit!” Mitch barked as the
rumbling roar of the explosion rolled across the Texas landscape.

“Somebody just shot down that helo with a missile,” Dusty announced, somehow needing to verify what both men had just seen. “Somebody just knocked a police helicopter out of the sky!”

Before either man could comment, a wave of gunfire erupted below. The two bothers snapped up their long-range optics and began desperately scanning, trying to figure out what was happening.

Dusty spotted several men in FBI jackets, some of the feds running while others took a knee and began firing AR15 rifles. He watched as two of the agents fell, one man w
rithing on the ground in agony. He could make out muzzle flashes in the distance as the sound of more and more firepower joined the firefight.

“Mother of God,” Mitch announced, unable to tear
his eye away from the scope. “I just saw a guy wearing an ATF jacket practically cut in half. Who are they fighting, Dusty?”

The older
Weathers was just about to conjecture when a newly arriving police cruiser exploded in a massive ball of flame. Sweeping the vicinity, he managed to catch a glimpse of a man rising up from the ditch with a huge weapon on his shoulder. Dusty watched in horror as the RPG left its launcher. He followed the smoke trail as the missile slammed into another highway patrol car and detonated.

Like a slow-motion replay, the Texa
n inhaled sharply as he watched the vehicle lift off the ground by the blast. He could discern doors, the hood, and bits of metal flying in all directions. A moment later, there was nothing left but a burning pile of scrap metal and a wounded man thrashing on the ground nearby.

“That’s a damn war down there, Mitch. Someone is fighting the cops
… and they’re winning.”

“What’s this?” Mitch said, pointing toward the Tri-Materials building.

Dusty changed his angle and quickly found what his brother was watching. Men were scrambling around the main structure. A few moments later, four ATVs were racing across the lot, each carrying two security guards.

“Looks like the Tri-Materials guys are joining the fray,” Dusty commented. “They’ve got more balls then I thought.”

He followed the progress of the private force as they raced down the drive. Movement in the field beyond drew Dusty’s attention where he spotted a small group of men setting up a bi-pod mounted weapon. A second later, flashes of white began spitting from the position, the strobe-like cadence signaling someone had begun firing a machine gun.