Andrew Peterson - Forced to Kill

From a prone position, Nathan squinted as the man tumbled across the gravel and smashed against the side of the van. Simultaneously, every window blew outward, spewing glass and flames. The roof seemed to bulge for an instant before releasing from its walls. In a macabre ballet, burning plywood and shingles flew fifty feet into the air.

“Harv?”

“ I’m okay! ”

“Roll left!”

Harv scrambled laterally as a sheet of smoldering plywood landed where he’d just been. He saw Harv pop to his feet and dash into the citrus trees.

Burning debris rained out of the sky, starting satellite fires in the grass field to the north.

Nathan kept his head up as the last fiery chunks descended. In a running crouch, he formed up with Harv.

“Dalton’s girls,” Nathan growled.

“There’s nothing we can do for them.”

“I should’ve shot Julio before he reached the door.”

“Nate, there wasn’t time.”

Screaming came from behind them. Turning, they saw what was left of Julio, blackened and smoldering, wailing in agony as he attempted to crawl away from the van. The orange glow from the inferno revealed all Nathan needed to see. Parts of Julio’s clothing were still burning and the rest had fused with his skin. If he lived until help arrived, he’d go through living hell and probably wouldn’t survive. His entire body had sustained third-degree burns and looked like charred steak.

Nathan toggled his laser, painted the red dot on Julio’s form, and squeezed the trigger. It took three suppressed shots to end the screaming.

A flare of illumination blossomed in his peripheral vision. Across the road, porch lights had snapped on. Nathan figured they had less than thirty seconds to clear the area before every neighbor within a half mile came out to investigate the explosion and fire. Without a doubt, 911 had already been called.

He brushed a smoking shingle from the hood of the Mercedes before climbing into the passenger side. “Let’s beat feet outta here, double pronto.”

“No argument here.”

Gravel shot forward as Harv backed down the driveway. “How’d you know?”

“I smelled propane and put two and two together.”

“Well, thank heaven for your keen sense of smell and your advanced mathematics.”

“That heat wave was intense. I thought I’d caught fire.”

“Yeah, me too. I think our hair took some damage. I can smell it.”

“How are your eyes?”

“I think they’re readjusted now.” Harv backed onto Jonel Road, threw the sedan into drive, and stomped the accelerator. A huge dust cloud fanned out behind them as their Mercedes sped away. He looked over to Nathan. “Where to now?”

“You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Let’s hope we’re not too late.”

Nathan removed his tactical gear and face paint before reloading his Sig. In the unlikely event they got pulled over, they didn’t want to look like cat burglars. He steered from the passenger side as Harv did the same, except Harv didn’t need to reload his weapon. “We’ll start at the beginning of El Camino Real and head north up the hill. Ms. Dalton thought it was past the first stop sign, on the right side of the road. We’re looking for a property with white rail fence, an electric gate, and a big tree stump. There can’t be too many properties with those exact details.”

“Should we update Cantrell?”

“Yeah, probably, but screw finding a payphone. We’re done jumping through hoops.”

“She won’t like it.”

“Too bad.” He pulled his cell, made the call, and put it on speaker.

“Cantrell.”

“It’s echo five and I’m not on a payphone.”

“Say nothing and-”

He cut her off. “No time. Target location self destructed. Threat still loose.”

“Destination?”

“We have an alternate location.”

A long pause. He could almost hear Cantrell’s mind working. “Do not, I repeat, do not proceed to that location.”

“We’re already on our way.”

“Abort, echo five. Abor-”

He ended the call and turned off his phone.

“What the hell was that about?” Harv asked.

“We struck a nerve, that’s what.”

Cantrell heard the call end. She redialed but got thrown into voice mail. What the hell did they think they were doing? She picked up the hard line on her desk and hit a preset button.

Former CIA Director Samuel Kallstrom sounded awake but tired. “It’s oh-three-thirty in the morning, Rebecca.”

“Your boys have gone rogue. They’re on their way to your son’s West Coast house as we speak.”

“And that surprises you?”

“You assured me they were good soldiers. Team players who followed orders. We’re about to lose containment.”

She heard her former boss cough away from the receiver. “You lost containment the moment Montez attacked McBride. You’ve got the crime scene at Bullfrog Bay, the Long Beach warehouse, and several of Montez’s men in custody. That’s a hell of a lot more than you had several days ago. Give them a chance to complete the mission.”

“McBride’s got a personal vendetta against Montez. What if he kills him? You’re still on the hook for Operation Echo if Montez has a sleeper system in place. You testified before Congress.”

“I’ve got lung cancer. What’re they going to do? Throw me in jail? The president would never allow it.”

“So where does this leave us?

“Did you ask McBride not to kill Montez?”

“Yes.”

“Then he won’t.”

She needed to play an ace. The CIA was her agency now, not his. “This is bigger than Nicaragua. The scandal could bring down the president. I have a green light.”

He coughed again and she felt a pang of guilt.

“Rebecca, listen to me very carefully. Under no circumstances are you to do that.”

“With all due respect, I don’t report to you anymore. I report to the DNI.”

“I recommended you for the director’s chair, cashed in every favor I owned.”

She sighed, deliberately softening her voice. She’d lost the high ground. “You don’t need to call in any favors. I already told McBride I wouldn’t do it.”

“Thank you for that. Are any of our people watching Dalton?” he asked.

She looked at her computer clock. “No. He refused, said he didn’t need them. He thought involving us would compromise the operation. For what it’s worth, I agreed with him. He used his own men and assured me they were up to the task, but I haven’t heard from him in more than thirty-six hours. McBride and Fontana are on their way to your son’s house, but I doubt Dalton would go there. Especially if Nichole knew its location, which is likely. Montez would extract that from her easily.”

“If Montez has Dalton, it’s already too late. Dalton’s tough and smart, but he’ll never hold out very long against Montez, especially with his daughters at risk. It’s a good bet Montez knows everything.”

“Will he blow the whistle?”

“He kept Nicaragua a secret. At this point, I don’t know, but it’s a safe bet he’ll want more money. A lot more.”

“I’m not onboard with that.”

“We may have no choice.”

She waited.

“Our best hope of containment is already on the move.”

“They’re rusty at best, sloppy at worst. They’ve already made some serious mistakes. It was their screw-up that led Montez to McBride’s house.”

Kallstrom said nothing.

“Your boys have six more hours, but I’m putting my San Diego team on standby. That’s the best I can do.”

“You won’t regret it.”

“Make a pot of coffee, Sam.” She ended the call and leaned back in her chair.