Chapter Twenty #3
The helicopters set down on the side of the mountain away from the entrances.
Sid Baily had given them the location of the secret escape route he’d ensured would be there in the caves for smuggling.
They’d never disclosed that back entrance to those running the human trafficking operation.
To his knowledge, neither had their vice president.
It made sense that he would want an escape route for himself if needed.
The tunnel was extremely narrow. Keys had broad shoulders, but some of the others, Destroyer, Savage, Reaper and Master, would have to turn sideways going through.
The air was oppressive, and he was very aware of the tons of rock over his head.
He had never experienced claustrophobia and didn’t now, but he could see how others might.
The trip through the mountain was long and winding.
There were places where the ceiling was shored up with two-by-fours.
Being a builder, Keys recognized that the long passageway was unsafe.
A small quake would bring the mountain down on top of them.
He was grateful when they reached the end of the narrow tunnel and came up on what appeared to be solid rock with no way to go farther.
This was the most dangerous moment. When they moved that wall, they expected to find prisoners. With prisoners would be guards. Once inside, Player could cast an illusion and keep anyone from seeing them. Absinthe could use his voice to compel the women to stay down and cover their eyes.
Mechanic took up first position, with Keys directly behind him.
“Rock’s too thick for me to get much of a reading,” Mechanic reported.
“If I guessed, I’d say six females. All are to the left as we enter.
All appear to be sitting on the ground. Again, vague impression of at least three men standing.
One straight ahead, a distance across from this door, and two to the right, standing approximately six feet apart, facing the women. Seriously, Keys, it is a guess only.”
The two entering first would be most at risk. They weren’t wearing colors, and they wore the faces of older men. Both wore short salt-and-pepper hair. If the women were to describe them later, they would sound like no one in the Torpedo Ink club.
“Going in,” Mechanic said.
Keys never tensed up during a mission. If anything, he became calmer and much more relaxed.
This was the shit he knew best. He focused completely on his work, and his job was to kill.
The women wouldn’t be his problem; that was for Absinthe to deal with.
Player would mask the other members of Torpedo Ink.
Keys’ job was to kill the guards as quickly as possible.
He would only have seconds to confirm identities and dispose of the threat to the prisoners and his team.
As always, he built the moves in his mind, going over and over them carefully.
Mechanic had done his best to give him an approximation of where his targets would be.
Mechanic was rarely wrong. He hit the sequence of code that swung the heavy door open.
He stepped through and to the side, giving Keys a clear path to the two guards on his right.
They filled his vision, six feet apart, more like seven, but he had them.
He threw his weighted knives with deadly accuracy, a one-two throw that took both men in the throat even as he was in motion, running forward toward them.
He saw Mechanic’s man go down as he finished off both of his guards. Absinthe and Player were already inside, calming the women, casting the necessary illusions needed so the women would have no idea who rescued them.
He continued through the open archway into the wide tunnel that led to the entrance of the cave.
Mechanic, Savage, Destroyer and Preacher raced with him.
Their job was to take out the rest of the guards and drag them into the cave without leaving evidence of who killed them.
They had only minutes to accomplish their part of the mission and get back to the waiting helicopters.
The others collected the knives used, blindfolded the women and loaded them into the helicopters. Steele would assess their condition, and they would be taken to waiting vans. From there, they would go to a medical facility.
There were six men dressed like the other militiamen had been, lounging around, smoking, drinking, two playing cards, all of them bored.
They had a small lounge set up just inside the entrance of the cave where they could stay cool and shelter from any weather but still have a good view of anything coming at them from the trails.
None of them expected the attack to come from inside the cave. Torpedo Ink preferred to use knives or break necks rather than use guns that might be traced back to them. The club had a gun range and a weapons repair shop, and they taught gun safety.
The men they were targeting weren’t the assassins from Russia; these were the men working with them to set up trafficking rings. Keys found it easy to kill them. They should have been better trained and more aware.
Sean Stark was in his seventies. A retired army ranger, he’d had an impeccable career.
The man had served his country with honor, and when he retired, he had more medals than most, and deservedly so.
He was highly respected in the military community.
Everything Code learned about him—and he was able to hack into records few could—showed that Sean Stark deserved the respect and admiration given to him.
He was married to his childhood sweetheart, Dawn, a woman who stood by him all the years he was in the service. The two had three sons, Archie, Charles and Bryson. They also had one daughter, Janelle. It appeared they had a happy marriage.
When he retired, Stark did so without fanfare.
He retreated to a farm in Vermont. He lived quietly for five years.
In that time, several of his men contacted him when they were in trouble.
At some point, he took those men into the mountains and established homes far away from others.
He led them, working with them in the hopes that he could help to integrate them back into society.
When it became clear that wasn’t going to happen, he started a self-sufficient community, where they grew their own vegetables and had small farms for goats, sheep, cattle and horses.
The community grew in size, but they didn’t cause problems. There was no hint of illegal activities such as drug running or selling arms. To allow his men to do that seemed against everything Stark stood for. It made no sense that he had gotten his men involved in human trafficking.
According to Sid Baily, Headed for Hell’s president, the militia community had never caused problems until a few months earlier.
They’d always been cordial when they were in town.
The last few months, there had been several men, just like a few of Sid’s newer prospects, who treated the townspeople with disrespect.
Stark was a puzzle that Czar had tried to solve. Code had presented the evidence to all of the Torpedo Ink members in their meeting, and no one could think what would prompt Stark to suddenly get into a criminal activity as vile as human trafficking.
In the back of his mind, as he approached Stark’s house with Czar, Savage and Reaper, Keys continued to try to put the pieces together.
Money? That was a big one, and most people succumbed to the temptation of money.
But the militia lived simply. They needed money for stockpiling weapons, but for the most part, they were woodworkers and sold other popular items online.
He didn’t think Stark would turn his soldiers into traffickers over the lure of big money.
Power? Stark had no interest in power. He’d shown that over and over throughout his long career in the army.
He’d been approached more than once to run for office and had turned the offer down each time.
So it wasn’t power. Blackmail? Sex? Sex wasn’t likely.
Code would have discovered it if Stark had a penchant for cheating on his wife.
Czar, is it possible the owners of the casinos somehow got to Stark and forced him to comply with their orders? It would make sense.
Maybe. I considered that, but not one of his sons was in those caves with those women.
There was a quiet fury in Czar. He wasn’t a man to flare up with temper.
He didn’t posture. He was a thoughtful man and a careful one.
He was also the most ruthless man Keys had ever known.
There was no backing off in Czar. Once he was on your trail, you were as good as dead.
If you needed finding, and Czar was looking, you got found.
They surrounded the house just before nine.
Stark and Dawn had their feet up on the low railing of the porch, both drinking their morning coffee.
Stark slid his hand down the side of the chair when the four of them converged on them from different directions.
Keys had gone through the house, making certain the couple was alone.
Now, he stood directly behind Stark, in striking distance, easily able to kill him.
He couldn’t discount Dawn. The women in Torpedo Ink were lethal.
Right now, Lana was covering them with a sniper rifle.
Stark and his wife could see the four Torpedo Ink members who had revealed themselves, but they couldn’t see those surrounding the cabin.
They were smoke. Air. They blended into the terrain.
“You touch that gun and you’re a dead man,” Czar said. He sat on the railing directly in front of Stark, almost daring him to shoot. “Not only you, but your wife.”
“You’ll be just as dead,” Stark said.
Czar shrugged. “I don’t think so. My man is fast. All of them are. We trained for this shit from the time we were little kids. Doesn’t negate your training, but it does give us an edge.”