Hunting Savage Page 22

  He advanced his machine, seeking the best path to maintain a respectable speed. The engine noise was constantly increasing and decreasing in both pitch and intensity as he shifted gears and throttled up and down. On the flat stretches he was able to open up the engine, and then when he had to traverse a steep climb or negotiate a fallen tree or other obstacle, he would ease back.

  Vashal had just reduced his speed to a crawl to navigate around some large rocks, when he heard a sonic crack and recognized he was very close to whoever was shooting. He turned off the ignition and stood on the foot pegs, looking for the shooter. He couldn’t see anyone.

  More gunfire, both near and far. No doubt there were multiple shooters. He dismounted and removed the Glock from his hip holster. Holding his service weapon in both hands, he stalked forward.

  The crunch from his boots on the pumice gravel seemed loud, and he tried to soften his footfalls. He was crouched, maintaining a low profile and meandering around the stunted vegetation.

  The gunfire wasn’t constant, and Vashal didn’t know if that meant anything or not. He still hadn’t seen or been able to contact McGregor, and the reports he was hearing sounded like rifle shots, not from a pistol.

  Ahead was a small island of green, and he moved quickly for it. He jumped as the gunfire renewed, and dropped to a kneeling position among a group of manzanita bushes and fir trees. Glancing through the greenery, he could see ahead, across a clearing, and into another patch of trees.

  There, he saw movement and recognized men dressed in military uniforms. With their camouflage, they blended in well, explaining why he hadn’t seen them sooner.

  He observed the two men for a long minute. Their attention was focused farther up the slope. As Vashal watched, points of light erupted—like a dozen flashbulbs going off—and punctuated the sparse foliage. The sonic crack immediately followed and he realized there were other men shooting at the two figures before him.

  He advanced quickly, sprinting across the open land. Bullets struck the dirt in front and to his side so he zigged and zagged. He dove behind the closest cover, a modest chunk of igneous rock. Pushing his shoulder against it, trying to meld with the stone, he called out.

  “Sheriff! Cease fire!”

  Boss Man and Homer turned. The voice was close, but they didn’t see the man.

  He called again. “Cease fire! Put your weapons down!”

  Vashal rose and placed his handgun on the boulder, sighting in the direction the shots had come from, although he still didn’t have a specific target in his sights. He squeezed off two shots.

  “There,” Boss Man pointed. “Deputy! You have two U.S. military 20 meters in front of you. We are friendlies. Do not shoot!”

  Boss Man and Homer were concealed from the Guardians except when they rose to fire. Right now, they were hunkered down, looking toward the Sheriff Deputy.

  Jim faced Homer. “We’re gonna give him some cover fire, get him up to our position. Ready?”

  They turned and popped up, firing at the Guardians, enough volume to cause the assailants to keep their heads down. The deputy jumped up and dashed forward, tumbling into Jim.

  They stopped shooting and slid down behind their cover.

  “Who are you?” Vashal asked.

  “U.S. military.” Jim pointed to the American flag patch on his shoulder. It was in olive green and black so as not to pop out in bright color and spoil the camouflage.

  Vashal noticed there was no nametag above the breast pocket of either man’s uniform. “Yeah? And what are Uncle Sam’s finest doing here in a firefight?”

  “That’s a very long story,” Jim answered. “And I promise to tell you. But right now we have a problem.”

  Jim made a snap decision not to tell the deputy that Peter Savage was pinned down on the ridge. It would take far too long to calm the deputy down and convince him that Peter was not a cop killer. Instead, he stuck with the training exercise cover story.

  “And how do those bad guys fit into your training?”

  “They don’t. Just our bad luck, I guess,” Jim said.

  Vashal looked at Boss Man and then Homer. He looked right into their eyes, studied their faces, the way they held his stare. He didn’t know what to think, other than he was glad to have their rifles on his side.

  “Tell me something? When did you guys start training with live ammo on public National Forest land?”

  Before Jim could venture a reply, the air reverberated with a deep whump, whump: rotor blades. A helicopter.

  And it was approaching fast.

  Chapter 36

  Sacramento, California

  April 22

  Lacey was beginning to feel like a conspirator in a low-budget Hollywood film. She was spending so much time in private conference with Stephens that she was certain rumors were spreading amongst her colleagues. As much as she wanted to, she was not to engage any SGIT personnel other than Stephens—Commander Nicolaou had made his orders unambiguous. The mission was classified “Need to Know,” and that applied to her colleagues as well as outsiders.

  “That’s one down. We have positive ID on Jana Cooke,” Lacey said as she and Stephens reviewed the personnel records displayed on the monitor. The two had taken over one of the secure conference rooms. With no windows and a high measure of soundproofing, they were free to carry on their discussion without being overheard.

  She continued reading key portions of the file. “Former Army. One of the first women to qualify for combat positions. Discharged after seven years, eight months.”

  “Why?” Stephens asked. It seemed that Jana Cooke had everything going for her. She was at the leading edge of a major new transition in the U.S. military—allowing women into combat roles was a huge advancement in the bureaucratic thinking.

  She scrolled further down, and then stopped. “Looks like Jana Cooke became a trouble maker when the Army failed to actually post her into combat positions.”

  “Can you blame her?” Stephens said. “Another example of sexism leading to discrimination. The Pentagon says what the politicians and public want to hear, but nothing really changes.”

  “Regardless, she left the military quietly, but not on favorable terms.”

  “What else did MOTHER find? Where did Cooke go after her discharge?”

  “Let’s see…” Lacey opened other files with reports from other government agencies—the Veterans Administration, Internal Revenue Service, U.S. Postal Service listings of address changes and postal boxes, Social Security, FBI—MOTHER even searched the databases used for background checks of a purchaser of firearms.

  There were many false hits—the name matched but other essential facts such as age, race, and physical description did not. After removing those, the number of matches in the databases was very small.

  “Looks like the last tax return she filed was the same year she was discharged. She listed a Seattle address.” Lacey shook her head. “Nothing else. She dropped off the network.”

  “Well,” Stephens said, “at least we know who she was.”

  “Yeah, a trained killing machine. There is a strong market for individuals with that skill set.”

  “Okay, what about this supposed FBI man—Agent Barnes?”

  “From the fingerprints lifted from the Mk-9 gun he carried, MOTHER found his Department of Defense personnel file. Like Cooke, he’s ex-military.”

  “Interesting.” Stephens said. She cocked her head to the side in thought.

  “It gets better. Look at this…” Lacey pointed to the name at the top of the personnel file.

  Stephens read it aloud. “Richard Nyden.”

  “So we know that Peter was right. Agent Barnes is not who he appears to be.”

  Stephens read down the file. “He was discharged from the Marine Corps after 17 years. Why?”

  Lacey scrolled down. “Wow. That’s quite the file. Accused of murdering Afghan civilians. Not enough evidence to convict on those charges, but the Corps ran him out anyway.” />
  “Well, if he’s not an FBI man, then who does he work for?”

  “Let’s see what his tax return says.” Lacey opened the search results. “Huh. Just like Cooke, no return filed after the year he was discharged.”

  “We have two individuals with a lot in common tied to this case. Both ex-military. Both left the service under less than honorable circumstances. Both fall off the network following their discharge. What are the odds of that?”

  Lacey considered the implications for a long moment before answering. “Neither Nyden nor Cooke received government support. Neither has filed a tax return in years. Neither has had any interaction with the VA. No post office box, no dealings with Social Security, no police records. For all practical purposes, neither person exists.”

  “Except they do. Jana Cooke’s body is at the morgue in Bend, and Richard Nyden is still out there, somewhere.” Mona Stephens knitted her brow. “What about medical records?”

  “MOTHER only has limited access due to privacy concerns.”

  Stephens raised her eyebrows. “You mean it’s okay for us to access IRS databases but not medical records?”

  Lacey shrugged. “Hey, I don’t make the rules.”

  “Maybe Mr. Porter can search for medical billing histories? It might yield an address.”

  “Maybe. But understand we never had this conversation. And if you talk to Mr. Porter, don’t share it with me.”

  Stephens smiled. “Plausible deniability.”

  “Two of the most powerful words in the intelligence community.”

  “Got it. Never happened.”

  “Back to Cooke and Nyden, and the lack of records. Other than the two not being gainfully employed, what do you make of it?”

  Stephens folded her arms, her mouth scrunched in a frown. “Well, like you said. There are a lot of private security firms out there. But if it was a legit company, they’d have a presence. Tax returns at the very least. So, maybe they were both hired by an illegitimate security firm. Maybe they were, you know, mercenaries.”

  “There’s no work domestically for mercs. But the first part of what you said, that rings true.”

  “So what now?” Stephens asked.

  “Now we have something to share with Detective Colson. Maybe the information will help break open their investigation. We’re not getting anywhere with it.”

  “Yes ma’am. I’ll phone her and get a copy of the DoD personnel files and IRS returns to the detective. I think she’ll be surprised to learn that Barnes really is an alias.”

  Unexpectedly, Detective Colson picked up on the second ring. “Colson,” she said.

  “Detective, it’s Mona Stephens with SGIT. I have some news for you.”

  This wasn’t Colson’s first rodeo, and she immediately suspected a setup. “Yeah? And what do you want from me?”

  Stephens was taken aback by the response. She’d imagined the detective would be ecstatic that this obscure defense intelligence agency was offering to share information. “I’m not asking for anything. Simply delivering on a promise I made to you.”

  “Okay, I’ll play along. What do you have?”

  “IDs and some background information. The deceased female from the Pinnacle store murder, her name is Jana Cooke. She’s former Army. And Agent Barnes is an imposter.”

  Colson nearly shot out of her chair. “What?”

  “That’s right. His real name is Richard Nyden. He was run out of the Marine Corps after 17 years. Accused of murdering Afghan civilians, but they couldn’t prove it.”

  “Unbelievable. I didn’t see that coming. And you will email the personnel files to me?”

  “Of course. Oh, you may also be interested to know that neither Cooke nor Nyden filed a tax return since they were busted out of the military.”

  “Really. And what do you suppose that means?”

  “Pretty simple, we think. They are both trained to kill—experienced and accomplished at their craft. After leaving the military, Jana Cooke and Richard Nyden were recruited and hired for off-the-books operations.”

  “Hired killers…” Colson’s voice trailed off as if she was formulating an important idea.

  “Yeah.”

  “Thank you. This is helpful. Please email those records right away. Also the latest tax returns.”

  “I’m on it.” Stephens was about to hang up when Colson stopped her.

  “You aren’t going to ask about the manhunt for Peter Savage?”

  “Should I? Is there a new development to report?”

  Detective Colson sighed. “No, nothing yet. Maybe later today. But this information about Barnes is important. I’ll make sure the word gets out to the search party. Also, I need to have an urgent conversation with the FBI. They’ve got a serious problem at their Portland office. I’ll let you know when I have something to share.”

  “Thank you, Detective.”

  “Oh, one more thing,” Colson added, almost as an afterthought. “We found some charred papers in the fireplace. Apparently Mr. Savage attempted to destroy a large stack of documents. Except they didn’t all burn to ashes.”

  This news certainly had Stephen’s attention. She listened for the detective to get to the point.

  “The top portion of several sheets was only partially burned. Although the full documents were too far gone to get the subject matter, Detective Nakano and I can make out government seals.”

  “Seals?”

  “Yeah, you know. Emblems.”

  “Yes, I understand. What are they? What departments or agencies?”

  “Oh, you’ll love this. The White House and the Department of the Navy.”

  Stephens was still thinking about her conversation with the detective when her phone buzzed. It was Lieutenant Lacey.

  Chapter 37

  Eastern Drainage of Broken Top

  April 22

  Homer was looking skyward, searching for the bird. As the sound grew louder, it became more difficult to pinpoint a direction due to the growing echo.

  “Does that radio work?” Jim asked, his voice anxious.

  “Sure,” Vashal said.

  “Call your commander and tell him we have a terrorist action underway. Ground troops and aircraft. Automatic weapons. Give him these coordinates.”

  “Wait a minute, you said this was a training exercise.”

  “Just do it!”

  Vashal keyed the radio and reported in.

  At the same time, Jim was on the sat phone to Lieutenant Lacey. He had just established communication when the Battlehawk passed overhead. The missiles and 20mm gun slung underneath the cockpit left no doubt about its intended use.

  “Lieutenant!” Jim shouted to be heard above the din of the turbine engines and rotors. “The situation has deteriorated. We have located Peter, but we can’t reach him. Presently engaged with approximately four, possibly more, hostiles.”

  “Copy that,” Lacey replied. “What’s that noise?”

  “Attack helicopter, presumed hostile unless you’re going to tell me it’s ours.”

  “No sir. Colonel Pierson does not know of your action. Per your orders he has not been briefed.”

  The Battlehawk circled low while the pilot and copilot got their bearings, located the two groups of “friendlies” by the smoke, and identified the large rock feature where the primary target was located. As the bird came over Boss Man and Homer a second time, Homer opened up, stitching a line of bullets across the armored belly of the craft.

  The pilot did what he was trained to do and twisted the collective control at the same time he ran up the engine throttle. The helicopter swiftly rose and accelerated away. He addressed his copilot and quickly ran his eyes across his instruments. All gauges and indicator lights were good, no damage was sustained. “Did you get the shooters?”

  “Negative. I think they are to the east of the south squad, but I did not get a visual.”

  The pilot swung the Battlehawk around: it had traveled far beyond the Tam McArthur Ri
m. As he turned, he maintained a low elevation. To an inexperienced aviator, it looked like he might fly into the sheer cliff, but he cleared it by 20 feet. As they crossed the Rim, the land fell off and within a second Homer and Boss Man were shooting again at the attack helicopter.

  This time the pilot and copilot saw the muzzle flashes. The pilot had just enough time to squeeze off a short burst from the 20mm gun.

  The bullets impacted to the side of Jim’s position. Any doubt Vashal had about the seriousness of the situation had just evaporated.

  Lacey had a complete auditory record since Jim had not disconnected the call. He picked up the phone as the bird passed overhead. “We need air support now!” he shouted.

  “I’m on it. Keep the line open; I’ll be right back.”

  Jim set the phone by his side to grip his rifle with both hands. The change in pitch of the sound from the engine and rotor blades indicated the helicopter was turning to make another run. When he estimated it was within range he began shooting. Homer joined him, and a second later Deputy Vashal was discharging his Glock at the aircraft.

  The Battlehawk was designed for combat, and as such, it’s armored underside and front of the cockpit could take repeated hits from small-caliber arms. If they had a .50 caliber Barrett, or shoulder-fired missiles, they could bring the aircraft down. But they had neither.

  Before Lacey dialed Colonel Pierson, she buzzed Stephens’ office. “Stephens. I need you here now.” Lacey didn’t wait for a reply as she redialed.

  On the second ring Colonel Pierson answered. How he managed to always be near a phone was a mystery to Lacey, but she was grateful nonetheless. After the perfunctory greetings, she got right to the point.

  “Sir, Boss Man and Homer are on a mission in Oregon, mountains to the west of Bend—”

  “Mission? I didn’t authorize any mission to Oregon or elsewhere. And need I remind you of the delicacy surrounding military actions on domestic soil?”