Wrong Town: A Mark Landry Novel (35 page)
Read Wrong Town: A Mark Landry Novel Online
Authors: Randall H Miller
“So what do you want to do?” asked Kenny.
“I want to pay him a visit, see what information I can get out of him, and then pass him off after I’m long gone. But that is much easier said than …”
Kenny jumped in before Mark could finish his sentence. “Okay, I’m in. How can I help?”
“I’m not surprised at your willingness, Kenny. But you may want to slow down and think things through a bit more. A lot of what you said to me before was true, so I’m not going to lecture you. But you could already be in a world of shit for some of the things you’ve done. And that was before you jacked a drone.” Mark closed the curtains and turned to face his neighbor.
“I know all that, Mark. But stopping this guy before he kills someone else’s children is a lot more important. I can live with the things I’ve done, but I couldn’t live with myself if this guy strikes again when I might have been able to help stop him and didn’t even try. So I’m in. When do we leave?”
“Really?” asked Mark. “What are you going to do, Kenny? Drive up there and bust into the cabin with a knife clenched in your teeth? Then what? This guy is a professional. You’d just get yourself killed.”
“Don’t mock me because I have different skills from yours, Landry,” he said, pointing his finger in Mark’s face and then at the images on the big screen. “And let’s not forget who found the bastard in the first place. Whether you’ll admit to it or not, you need me. So drop the sarcasm and tell me how I can help.”
Amir finished reassembling the last of the rifles and laid it on the floor next to the others. The stuffy air inside the cabin was laced heavily with the odor of gun cleaner and lubricant. Satisfied that he had not been followed and encouraged by news reports indicating only three shooters, he opened several windows to let in the cool evening breeze.
Somewhere near Washington, D.C., an Islamic State facilitator was wondering why Amir had not shown up for their meeting. He had arrived at the coffee shop near Georgetown University precisely at 11:00 a.m. At noon he left. In accordance with protocol, he would return to the meeting place 48 hours later for one final attempt before aborting the entire mission. Amir, meanwhile, was committed to doing whatever it would take to be there.
He had realized after the explosion on Founders Field that he had not packed enough military grade C4 explosive material into the bomb, and he had put even less inside the backpack bomb. The girl had successfully detonated the device, but the damage was far less extensive than he had expected. Looking down at the remaining C4, he promised himself that he would not make the same mistake again.
After quickly showering and changing his clothes, Amir sat in the soft leather armchair and turned up the volume on the television. Aside from the occasional update, the news media had already moved on from his debut attack on U.S. soil. Instead, they covered breaking news on the other shootings and targeted attacks that were peppering the national landscape almost daily.
Amir had risked much by altering the plan, and so far the reaction to the attack had been less than he had anticipated. He seethed at the short burst of attention and closed his eyes to rest.
Be patient. In Washington you will make history.
Mark went next door to change his clothes and pack his gear. Minutes later he exited the side door and jogged to his vehicle, which was still parked in Kenny’s driveway. He placed his backpack on the passenger’s seat and accelerated quickly up the hill. Kenny had given him an encrypted phone to enable them to communicate with each other, suggesting that Mark leave his own phone behind so that it couldn’t be used to track him. Prior to leaving the house, Mark made one last call to the officer on duty at Luci’s hospital room.
“Anything new? How is she?” he asked.
“She’s been sleeping, sir. But she did wake up about half an hour ago. She’s still pretty weak but managed to sit up and eat something, which made the nurses happy. She asked about you. I said you got called away for work but that I could call you if she wanted. She said no and went back to sleep.”
“Okay. Listen, I’m going to give you a different number to call if you need me. Ask for Kenny. He can get messages to me.”
Mark accelerated up the on-ramp and sped north on I-93. There would be few cars on the road at 2:00 a.m., so he could make good time. If he were pulled over the federal law enforcement credentials Doc had acquired for him would keep anyone from snooping into the backpack. The phone in his pocket vibrated. It was Kenny.
“I’m on my way,” Mark reported. “Barring any unforeseen circumstances, I should be there in less than an hour. Do you still have eyes on the objective?”
“Yes,” Kenny answered. “For now at least. I have no reason to think we’ve been compromised, but that can’t go on forever. Eventually, either the true owners of the drone will discover they’ve lost control of it or it’ll run out of gas. I’d prefer to give it back before either of those things happens.”
“That makes two of us. As soon as I get close to the cabin, you can send it home. Have you seen anything new?”
“Not really. There’s some light spilling out of a few of the windows that wasn’t there before, but I don’t know if that tells us much.” Kenny stated.
Mark drifted from the center of the three-lane highway to the far left to pass the only car within sight of him. “It might. If he thought he might have been followed or was being watched, he would keep the place buttoned up tight. If he just opened the windows, that might mean he’s less worried so he’s getting comfortable. If that’s the case, let’s hope it continues. In this game, the line between comfortable and sloppy is very thin. And you only have to be sloppy once to get killed. Keep watching and take a quick look at the surrounding area if you can. I’d prefer not to bump into anybody during my approach.”
“Will do.”
Mark took a deep breath and continued. “Listen, I appreciate everything you’ve done so far, Kenny. I’m impressed. You’re a pro. But even if we do everything right, there’s always a chance that this thing goes south and we both end up with a lot to answer for. My boss has already had to save my ass once this week. I’m not so sure even he could do it a second time.”
“It’s a little late for either of us to back out, Mark. Are you saying you’re screwed if we get caught? Join the crowd! My only friends are virtual and anonymous. And I doubt the authorities would be nice enough to provide me with an encrypted Internet connection to contact them for help anyway. I don’t have any real friends. I’m just doing this because if we don’t stop this guy, innocent people will die. What’s his next target? A school? A mall? A day care center? No way can we let that happen. Essentially we’re both doing the wrong things for the right reasons, if that makes any sense.”
“It does. And it pretty accurately describes much of my career the last few years,” answered Mark. “Listen closely for a minute, okay? If things do go to shit and you end up in somebody’s custody, I have one piece of advice: don’t say anything. Not a word, okay?”
“Go on,” said Kenny.
“Don’t tell them anything. Don’t answer any questions. I won’t let you hang out to dry, but you have to trust me to take care of it. They’ll try to trick you. They’ll lie to you. They’ll rough you up just enough to scare the shit out of you and maybe more. They’ll make horrifying threats and offer bullshit deals to get you to talk. Don’t do it. Just keep your mouth shut and stay strong. I will not abandon you. Understand?”
“Yeah, I understand.” Kenny answered. “But how the hell are you going to help me when you just said you don’t think you can count on your boss to save you? That doesn’t make any sense, Mark.”
“Because there’s someone else I might be able to count on. Let’s just call it a higher power. It’s not necessarily a ‘get out of jail free’ card, but it could be. Regardless, it’s the only play I have left if things get hot. Let me worry about that if the time comes, okay?”
“Sure,” Kenny answered.
“One more question on an unrelated topic. You mentioned something yesterday about a big-time government data breach. If you wanted to, do you think you could determine who was behind it?” Mark asked.
“It depends. With the tools I have, it would be tough but not impossible. But if I had access to the right tools—yeah, I don’t see why not.”
“Good. That’s good to know. Keep an eye out and call me if anything changes.”
The plan was simple. Ghassan Massoud’s cabin was located on a wooded hilltop on the outskirts of his sparsely populated New Hampshire town. A serpentine gravel driveway stretched nearly a quarter-mile from the main road to the front porch. The rest of the property was heavily wooded with no visible trails. Mark would park near a public camping and fishing area half a mile north of the cabin and make his final approach from there on foot. Dressed in civilian hiking gear with an innocuous-looking backpack, he would easily blend in and not attract attention from anyone he might encounter along the way.
Mark pulled into the campground entrance and followed the dirt road to the very end. Vehicles and tents dotted the scenery along the way. While most people slept, a dedicated few guzzled beers and passed bottles of whiskey around the orange glow of their campfires. At the end of the main road, he turned left and parked.
Mark rolled down the window and took several minutes to acclimate to the sights and sounds of the area. Satisfied that there were no nosey campers nearby, he locked the car, tightened the backpack around his shoulders, and walked due south into the woods. One hundred meters into his walk, his cargo pocket vibrated. It was Kenny.
“Mark, nothing has changed, but I don’t know how much longer I can hold onto this drone. My guy is freaking out. So far I’ve been able to threaten and coax him into keeping it in the air, but I don’t know how much longer I can do that for you. I see where you are, but how long do you think it’ll take to get into position so I can cut this thing loose?”
“Not long. Just a few more minutes once I gear up. If things get too hot, send the drone home. Just be sure to continue monitoring local authorities and any other chatter you think is important. Do you see anything in the woods between me and the objective? If I know it’s clear, I can move a lot faster.”
“A couple of dogs or coyotes when you get closer to the cabin, but other than that I don’t see anything.”
“Okay, then. I’ll get there as fast as I can.”
Mark ended the call and slipped the phone back into his cargo pocket. He pulled the backpack from his shoulders and knelt on the forest floor. After securing the four-eyed panoramic night-vision goggles to his head, he reached into the bag for the Colt M4A1 carbine and quickly twisted the suppressor onto the muzzle. Once the holographic sights were switched on and glowing, he loaded a thirty-round magazine, strapped the backpack on, and sprinted due south.
The imminent loss of his eye in the sky driving his sense of urgency, Mark traveled through the forest with extraordinary speed. The terrain had been just as he expected—flat for the first half of the journey and then a slow, steady incline. He traveled straight ahead, cutting through several open areas that he would normally have skirted around to avoid exposing himself if there was more time. Ghassan’s home sat atop one of only two hills in the area, so he didn’t have to constantly check his compass heading. As a result, he closed the distance between his car and the cabin remarkably fast.
Mark paused and took a knee approximately one hundred yards from the objective to make final preparations. Sweat poured down his head and back. He pulled a bottle of water from a cargo pocket and guzzled it. The phone in his pocket vibrated. A text from Kenny.
MESSAGE: DRONE IS GONE.
It doesn’t matter. I have my own.
Mark made a final check of his equipment and headed toward the cabin at a deliberate pace.
Two vehicles: a Toyota sedan in the middle of the driveway and a Chevy truck pushed approximately twenty feet into the tree line. Likely a third vehicle under a tarp next to the truck. Mark approached the Chevy and glanced inside: empty. Crouching low, he moved around to the other side and slowly lifted the tarp, finding a police cruiser with the dashboard electronics ripped out. He scanned the area and quietly approached the Toyota in the middle of the driveway. Empty. Keys in the ignition.
Mark retreated behind the two vehicles in the tree line and pulled a small black plastic box from his backpack. He opened it and removed a tiny gray pouch and a handheld device slightly larger than an iPhone. Once the device had booted up and indicated a ready status, he grabbed the gray pouch and dumped the black, four-propeller mini-drone into the palm of his hand. Seconds later it silently lifted off and hovered above his position. Live thermal images appeared on the control screen as Landry sent the drone high above the cabin.
Let’s get the bird’s eye view first.
After scanning the perimeter for movement from above, Mark had the drone hover about fifty feet from one of the open windows—far enough away that no one inside the cabin would see or hear it. From there he inched it closer until he had a good view of the building’s interior.
Besides a small light above the kitchen sink, the only other light in the home came from the television, tuned to Fox News. Mark maneuvered the drone from side to side to observe as much of the interior as possible. On the floor at the far side of the room were a half-dozen or more rifles and an assortment of magazines, ammunition, and several tactical bags. On the table were several knives, a sharpening stone, and a case of military-style MREs.
Mark flew the drone to the next window for a better look at the television area. The quality of the lighting depended on the ever-changing banners and other graphics coming from the broadcast, but he could clearly make out the figure of a man sleeping in a large armchair. Landry nudged the drone slightly closer to the window to improve the camera angle as a commercial brightened the room.
There you are.
The fourth shooter was asleep in the armchair. A pistol sat atop a small table within arm’s reach, and a rifle rested against the armchair between his legs, the muzzle pointed at the ceiling. He was fully dressed and still had unlaced work boots on his feet.
Landry flew the drone up and over the house to peer through a window on the opposite side next to the front door. A trail of blood led from the fireplace to what looked to be the door to a basement. He scanned the interior of the cabin and committed the floor plan to memory. Satisfied that he knew what to expect once inside, he brought the drone back to his position.
Crouched low with his carbine at the ready, Mark tiptoed up the front steps of the cabin and quietly sidestepped down the farmer’s porch until he was in front of the screenless window he had chosen. After quickly peeking to ensure that the target was still in the chair, he retrieved the flash-bang device from his cargo pocket. He took a deep breath, pulled the pin, and lofted the device through the window toward the television.
Landry bolted for the front door and paused momentarily. The device landed on the hardwood floor with a thump. A fraction of a second later a blinding flash of light burst through the windows, followed by a nearly two-hundred-decibel bang that shook the cabin. Landry lunged forward and kicked with everything he had. The door flew open and he rushed into the building with his carbine held high.