Andrew Peterson - First to Kill

“Tell me about this damned tunnel.”

Gifford continued. “Before storming the main building, we fired flash bangs and tear gas, but they were long gone. On the inside west wall of the main building, the concrete had been saw cut, then removed with a jackhammer. We found a small room below the slab reinforced with railroad ties. It connects to nearly a mile of thirty-inch diameter concrete pipe. Must have cost a small fortune. They attached skateboard wheels to the undersides of water skis and used them like toboggans to traverse the tunnel.”

“They didn’t haul four hundred pounds of Semtex through that tunnel yesterday.”

“We think it was moved several days ago, just after Special Agent James Ortega went silent. The tunnel ended in the tree line to the west of the compound nearly a mile away. We followed their footprints another half mile and found camouflaged netting they’d used to cover off-road quad-runners. The tire tracks extended to the west down the valley. We think someone met them on a logging road about fifteen miles away. The quad-runner tracks ended there. They probably loaded them onto a trailer or hauled them into the bed of a truck. We’re checking that angle, asking at every gas station and convenience store in the area if anyone remembers seeing them, but it’s a fairly common sight-quads in trailers, I mean. We’re doing our best to piece together the chain of events.”

“Keep after it.” Stone paused a moment before asking, “Did you see my son during the raid?”

“Yes, he approached our teams after the claymores went off.”

“What did you think of him?”

“I’m… not sure what you’re asking me?” Gifford asked

“What was your impression of him?”

“He was definitely in his environment. He seemed comfortable in a high-stress situation. I’m glad he was on our side, that’s for sure.”

“That sounds like Nathan.”

“He’s an incredible soldier. Was an incredible soldier. He’s given a lot for his country, more than I’ll ever know.”

“That’s true, he has.”

“I offered him another job.”

“Oh?”

“I need someone to talk to the Bridgestones’ cousins living on the outskirts of Sacramento. They’ve been in and out of jail most of their lives. A week before the raid, we put their farmhouse under surveillance. They might know something or the Bridgestones might call them or show up there. It’s a long shot, but it’s worth pursuing.”

“So Nathan’s to talk to them?”

“Yes, a friendly fireside chat.”

“Uh-huh. And I suppose he can talk to these Bridgestone cousins in a way your people can’t? Is that about the long and short of it?” Stone knew Gifford wouldn’t respond, so he continued. “I see. Then this conversation we’re having never took place.”

“I think that would be best, Senator.”

“Nathan’s your man, then. Anything you need, Special Agent Gifford, you talk to Special Agent Watson directly.”

“Thank you, Senator, I will.”

Stone had one last question for Gifford. “Do you believe James Ortega is dead?” He waited through a brief silence.

“I want to believe he’s still alive, but it’s unlikely. The Bridgestones tried to frag my entire SWAT team. If James Ortega was discovered, they would’ve interrogated him and killed him outright. I can’t see any reason they’d keep him alive. My people have searched every building within a five-mile radius of the compound, but he’s nowhere. We’ve also set up roadblocks on every road leading in and out of here. We’re bringing in cadaver dog teams tomorrow in case he’s buried up here. Later today, I’ll have two FBI helicopters searching the area out to a twenty-mile radius coordinating with CDF and Lassen County Sheriffs’ horseback teams on the ground. We’re doing everything possible to find him with the limited resources we have available.”

“I’ll call Sierra Army Depot’s commander, see if he can muster a couple of platoons for you. Maybe a Black Hawk or two.”

“That would really help. The more people we have up here searching, the better chance we have of finding him.”

“If it’s any consolation, Special Agent Gifford, I’m going to nail those Bridgestone brothers to a cross.”

“Thank you, Senator,” said Gifford. “I’ll be there with the hammer.”

It promised to be another long day for Nathan and Harv. Yesterday, after speaking with ASAC Gifford, they’d received some stitches and small field dressings on their legs. Sitting on their wounds hadn’t been especially pleasant during the flight back to San Diego, but other than that, the flight had been uneventful. They’d arrived well after dark. Then, early this morning, they met with the Ortegas at a coffee shop in Mission Valley and given them a complete update on the Freedom’s Echo raid, including their latest phone updates from Gifford. Although disappointment was evident in their voices and body language, they seemed encouraged by the new assignment Nathan and Harv had accepted.

After the Ortegas, they again went their separate ways and agreed to meet back at Montgomery Field at 1800 hours for the return flight to Sacramento. Harv told Nathan he needed to make a brief stop at the office to follow up on some potential contracts before heading home to say happy birthday to his oldest son, Lucas.

Nathan needed sleep. He could barely concentrate. One rule he’d taken to heart while in the Marines: Sleep when you can. He’d had less than six hours of shut-eye in the last two days and he faced another long night of flying. He needed to call Mara and find out if Toby had caused any additional problems. He dialed her cell number from memory.

“Any sign of our problem child?”

“No, nothing at all. I really think he’s gone for good this time. Karen said to say thank-you for the money. A handyman’s there now, fixing the walls and replacing the sliding glass door. Karen said she wants you to upgrade the security system with that new mobile link stuff.”

“That’s a good idea. Tell Karen we’ll hook her up.”

“You’re a gem.”

“Take care, Mara.”

“Bye, Nathan.”

Maybe he’d read Toby right after all. A few miles later, his phone rang. It was Harv. “What’s up?”

“I just had the damnedest conversation with the office.”

“And?”

“Gavin said a big guy came in and applied for a job yesterday. I believe she used the word gorilla . She said his right arm was in a cast, and he looked like he’d gone ten rounds with George Foreman. You know anything about him?”

“I might.”

“You didn’t…”

“I did.” Nathan listened to the sigh on the other end.

“Think he can pass a background check?”

“I have no idea, probably not.”

“You must really hate me.”

“Consider it a personal challenge.”

“I’ll run the check myself. You could’ve told me.”

“Must have slipped my mind.”

“Do me a favor and get some sleep. I don’t want you nodding off at the stick tonight. Waking your ass up is hazardous business, especially in a helicopter.”

“It’s called a cyclic, not a stick.”

“Whatever.”

“How was your son’s birthday party?”

“I missed it. I was tied up with a national security issue up north in Lassen County.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Well, let’s see. You want the long or short version?”

“Short.”

“No surprise there,” Harv muttered. “I spent an hour removing toilet paper from my trees in the front yard. After that, I drained the pool. The water had mysteriously turned pink. But you know what the worst thing was?”

“Do tell.”

“His friends wrote Happy Birthday Lucas with gasoline on the front lawn and lit it on fire. Can you believe that? It wasn’t dangerous, but honestly. Today’s youth.”