Chapter 41
forty-one
LOGAN
Between Max’s planning and Myles’ execution, the op runs smoother than many I ran in the Navy.
I can only admire how meticulous and methodical the two of them are.
Their time in England, as much as Max bitched about it, made them a team.
They anticipate what the other is going to do; they finish each other’s sentences.
By the time we land in Bangor around one in the morning, Ten still hasn’t responded to Max’s text.
Max unrolls a couple of sleeping bags and stretches out on the floor of the plane.
Having napped through an hour of the drive and nearly the whole of the flight, I’m not sleepy.
Myles paces around outside, probably wired from the two hundred cups of coffee he’s had.
When I see him unpacking an unusual-looking gun through the open door of the plane, I climb out of my seat and join him.
He sets up a small target on the gray wall of the hanger, paces back to me and moves the steel case back a few feet. “Ever used one of these?” he asks me.
“Not sure I’ve ever seen one of these. What is it?”
He picks up the gun, which has a normal looking grip and then two very strange, long, skinny barrels. Beneath the two barrels is a tube that looks like a scope except it’s on the bottom of the gun. No way to look through it.
“Dart gun,” Myles tells me. “Hundred-foot range. Quiet and effective. Fires a thirteen-millimeter dart.”
He shows me how to load the dart, which is a needle and syringe with a pink fluff on the end.
When he fires it, there’s a puff of vapor. The dart sticks to the middle of the target; the pink fluff quivers. We both chuckle, watching it.
“What’s in the syringe?”
“Your drug of choice. Ketamine.”
“My—?” It takes me a moment to connect the dots to the drug that poisoned the punch at Rick’s party. “Yeah.”
“It’s a veterinary dose. Used to take down horses. I don’t expect him to survive it. You’re clear on that, right?”
I nod.
“Okay, give it a try.”
He hands me the strange gun. I take a minute to hold it and get used to the weight. I aim several times before trying to fire. The length of the barrel takes getting used to. Finally, I fire at the target.
I hit the second ring and watch the pink fluff quiver.
“Good enough,” Myles say. “Go for center mass. Chest or back, anywhere is fine. Gun and dart are made to punch through animal skin. It’ll penetrate clothes.
If you hit on the first shot but the dart falls off, reload and hit him again.
The objective here is to take him down quickly and quietly.
I don’t give a fuck how much of a dose he gets. ”
“Got it.”
Myles packs the gun away, plucks the darts out of the bullseye and sticks them in a yellow sharps box in the gun’s case.
“I’ve got two guns. C says you’re a better shot than he is. You can carry one or you can just be my backup—”
“I’ll carry one,” I say. “I’m not asking you to do anything I wouldn’t.”
Myles nods. “Appreciate that. I decided the outcome of this as soon as I got my boy’s text. If you’d told me I was on my own, I’d still be here. Experienced eyes and hands are always welcome but I don’t want to stumble over you.”
He won’t.
“Whatever you need me to do, just tell me. I’m not proud. I know when I’m out of my league. This is your op. Tell me what to do.”
Myles snaps the gun case shut and hands it to me. When I take it, he lays a hand on my shoulder.
“Not many people have seen me work,” he says, meeting my eyes.
“I won’t pretend what I do is pretty but I try to keep it clean and clinical.
I don’t extract information. I don’t torture.
Elimination and disposal. That’s what we’re doing.
C got used to following my lead in England.
If you can do the same, once we find the target, this will be fast. I can’t promise easy but I don’t ever draw shite out. That’s how ops go bad.”
“Okay, I understand. I’ll follow your lead. I won’t get in your way.”
“I appreciate the faith. You should try to get some rest. Tomorrow’s likely to be a long day.”
“Do you sleep during ops?” I ask.
He shakes his head. His gaze drifts down to the gun case. “Not much. I’m used to it. Don’t worry about my focus.”
I take him at his word. He’s the expert and I saw how good he is at his job when he and Max had their adventure in England.
With a nod, I take the gun case back into the plane, stow it with my bag, and climb into the nest of sleeping bags Max has made on the floor.
Neither of us are used to sleeping alone anymore and I figure if my morning rocket ends up pressing into him, or his into me, Max won’t punch me.
When I wake, groggy from the broken sleep, stiff and disoriented, Max and Myles are close to the front of the plane, huddled over a phone, speaking quietly.
I crawl over and prop myself against one of the seats, rubbing my bad leg.
“D is awake,” Myles says into the phone.
Ten’s voice responds. “Welcome to the party, D.”
“Good morning, A. What’d I miss?”
“Target acquired,” Ten says. “I’ve given B and C the coordinates. Small complication in that the target’s not alone. I’m hopeful the girls will leave soon, though. I think they’re the kind of company you pay by the hour.”
“Other than the paid companions, anyone in the house?” Myles asks.
“Not that I’ve seen but there’s a visible security system,” Ten responds.
“Disable or lure out?” Myles asks, lifting his eyes to Max.
“I’ll evaluate it on site. If it’s linked to the local police, disabling it might set off an alarm. If it’s hard-wired, luring him out’s the better option.”
Myles nods. “Car’s just pulling up. We’ll give the delivery boy ten minutes to clear off. We’re twenty minutes away. See you in thirty.”
Ten grunts. “What’re you planning to do when you get here?”
“First we’re going to evaluate the physical security and decide on the approach. Once we have the target isolated, we’re going to tag him and bag him.”
“We’re not taking him back to the fucking, uh, authority where we came from,” Ten growls.
“No, we’re not,” Myles agrees. “We’re the garbage men.”
There’s a short silence while Ten processes what Myles has said.
“Yeah, okay,” Ten says. “I’m on board with that. Bring lunch when you come. There’s nothing around here. Fucking suburbs.”
With chuckles that sound strained to my ears, we sign off.
“Stay low and out of sight of the cabin windows,” Myles tells me. “A couple of prospects are dropping off a car since I don’t want a rental car paper trail. I don’t care if the prospects see my plane number since we drove to Jersey but I don’t want them seeing our faces.”
I nod and slide down to sit near them on the carpeted floor. I spread my legs and ease into some of the stretches Hendry taught me.
“While you’ve been sleeping, I’ve set up a backup evac plan,” Myles tells me as Max slides down on the floor in front of me, spreads his legs, and offers me his hands for a deep stretch. I let him pull me forward slowly and groan as the tension in my back and hips releases.
“I’m listening,” I assure Myles between groans.
“If we get separated, I’ve set up a rendezvous point away from the air strip.
There’s cash, food, and water there. GPS has been sent to your burner.
If any of us go for more than two hours without contact from any of the others, we stop what we’re doing and head to the rendezvous point.
If that means leaving the target behind, even after he’s down, that’s what we do. Clear?”
I nod. “Clear.”
“We wait at the rendezvous point for six hours. Once any one of us arrives at the rendezvous point, the GPS in our burners will trigger a count-down that’s sent to all of the burners so everyone can see how long we’ve got to rendezvous.
If you cannot reach the rendezvous point before the end of the countdown, go to ground.
If you’re injured, seek medical help. If you’re not, best bet is to hitchhike back to New York.
We’re clear to be back in New York in seventy-six hours.
The hunting license will have expired and that’s enough time for C’s injury to be treated. ”
“Okay,” I say, panting a little as Max and I turn around until we’re back-to-back, lock elbows and start twisting side-to-side. Tension releases down my bad leg in a series of pops.
“I’ve primed my guy on the back end,” Myles continues.
“We’re calling him F. He knows we’re coming in for disposal.
He’s been paid. We hand off the target in a body bag.
F won’t open it. F’s club has the controlling interest in a crematorium.
The target will be run through the crematorium’s oven and ash grinder and the ashes buried in the crematorium’s rose garden. ”
Max grunts. “That the same club who have a cozy bunker somewhere in Ohio?”
“One and the same,” Myles confirms.
I gather this is the same motorcycle club that provided a safe room for Max when he hacked two animal research labs to expose the weakness in WEDGE, a defense-department security program.
I don’t ask for names. Max was clear when he told me, Mac, and Manny about it that the bikers were cool and professional but also armed and unflinching when they saw Max’s teacher-turned-nemesis in a gimp hood and zip-ties.
They do the jobs they’re paid to do; they’re not people you mess with.
“Since you’re the only one of us who can fly,” I say. “If this goes south, you’re out of the equation, and one of us needs to drive the, uh, target to the club, how do we find them?”
“I have an idea for that,” Myles responds. “But I need to see what car they bring.”
I don’t understand why the plan would depend on the car but I trust Myles so I nod.
We go silent as the thrumming of a car motor and the crunching of tires on gravel sound through the plane’s cabin. I continue to stretch, wanting to be as limber as possible before we meet Ten. I’ve been on plenty of stake-outs. Stiffness and greasy food are the order of the day.