One Minute to Midnight (Black Ops: Automatik) (6 page)

They tried. They bled. Be careful out there. Town’s all tripwires.

The words faded. The release from her concerns about his immediate safety lifted. He’d made it through the fight. But they were both still in danger.

She wrote back,
Glad
you’re
still
operational
.
At
the
yard
.
Rendezvous
soon
.

Looking forward to it. Over.

Was he talking strictly about the mission? The kiss that had started for show continued to shake her. Did she want more? Could he give more?
Over
and
out
.

Back to her intelligence gathering. Though debriefing Ben later might take on a very non-military bearing.

Beat-up blinds in a window of the closest building shifted. She was already being watched. But they’d only see the real estate developer, a bit out of her element but ready to make deals. She walked along the steel porch in front of the building and opened the front door without knocking.

Stale cigarettes and stale coffee had soaked into the mottled beige carpeting long ago. Three men worked in this long, open space, with more doors along the back wall. One tall and wide man stood. His chair swiveled, revealing where it had scraped bare the wood paneling on the wall.

He squinted, refocusing from his computer screen, and held up a hand as if in warning. They didn’t appreciate new business. But he paused before speaking, almost mesmerized. He smelled the air and his hand lowered slightly.

Perfume didn’t have to be expensive to be effective. The fresh smell of clean roses transformed the musty offices. The pistol in her purse wasn’t her only weapon.

“Hi, I’m Mary Long with Strathmore Development. I was told to talk to Kit Daily out here.”

The large man’s face fell slightly with disappointment. The other two men sagged in their seats, surrounded by a technological timeline from the ‘80s to present day. No one had bothered to clean out the fax machines, dot matrix printers and carbon paper as these offices had progressed. Their current computers were top of the line, though, and jarringly sleek among the old tan tube monitors piled on the ground.

“Kit’s not here.” The standing man’s accent had a slight rural twang. He rasped, too, like he yelled a lot. She guessed he wasn’t a shouting stock trader by the lines of grease that had worn into his fingers. He was a foreman.

She pulled a card and extended it toward the man. “Any idea where I could find him?”

He took the card, scanned it, squinting harder. “Not right now.”

Not in the era of cell phones and instant messages? She let it go, maintaining her genial smile. “Maybe you can help me...” Her voice rose at the end, prompting him.

“Len.” This man had no butter for public relations. “And I don’t know when Kit’s coming back today.”

“Let’s forget about Kit for a second.” Len and the other two men seemed shocked. Evidently, Kit wasn’t the kind of man to be forgotten or passed over. “You’ve got to tell me about these beautiful brick buildings...” She left the offices out the front door, hoping Len would follow.

He did, seeming a bit put out to be on his feet that long and back in the cold. He trailed after her on the steel porch and adjusted his canvas coat, revealing a glimpse of an automatic pistol in a shoulder holster. A jolt of adrenaline sharpened her. She remembered what Ben had said about this town being all tripwires. The cops had already prompted the truckers to make a play for him. What would it take for her to bring out Len’s aggressive side? She made sure never to completely turn her back on him.

“These...are these warehouses?” She reached the end of the building, stepped down into the gravel and pointed at the large structures on the other side of the tracks and waiting train cars.

“They are,” Len answered grudgingly and ran a hand through his black, greasy hair.

“See, this is the perfect kind of thing for our clients.” She continued walking, stepping over tracks and winding around a set of empty cargo cars. “The brick is like an instant yes for them.”

“Ma’am, please don’t go that way.” Len skipped to keep up.

“It’s Mary, Len. You’ve got my card and my number.” She ducked under a thick chain meant to separate areas of the yard. “So when you realize what kind of goldmine you guys are sitting on, you’ll call me.”

“A lot of this is in use.” He made it to her side and matched her pace.

“Mixed use,” she corrected him. “Businesses on the bottom, loft studio apartments on top.”

He made it around her and stood to block her path, about a hundred yards from the warehouses. She suppressed her anger at being corralled. The foreman was clearly annoyed, but did manage to not overtly threaten her. “I can almost guarantee Kit won’t be interested in this.”

“Industrial chic.” She leaned to peer around him at the three-story structures. A few high windows were broken out, but the loading doors below were well maintained, and new lighting had been recently secured to the bricks. She picked up a heavy shard of rusted metal, about the size of a thick marking pen, with threads cut into one end. “You probably have old, unused machinery and equipment lying around here that you could sell for thousands of dollars to the interior designers.” She tapped the metal on her palm, reassured by the improvised iron weapon. “A goldmine, I tell you.”

Len spread his arms out, a living roadblock. His coat opened to give her a better view of the .40 pistol in a tactical nylon harness. He had two spare mags on the other side of the rig. If trouble came Len’s way, he was very ready. She was, too. It would be faster to take his gun than reach for hers, if it came down to it. Len was almost out of patience. “This is a working train yard, ma’am. It’s not safe for you out here, and we’re not looking to convert anything into trendy loft condominiums.” He swung one of his thick arms back toward the parking area. “Now please...” His eyes hardened. A five o’clock shadow framed the serious line of his mouth.

This was his limit. She wanted to test him. Ever since she’d had to leave Ben in the parking lot she’d been itching for payback. But it would have to come down the road, when the strike was planned and ready. Though her fist remained tight around the iron shard.

A chill wind shouldered past the warehouses and brought very specific smells to Mary. She knew Ben would recognize them as well. Gun oil. Packing grease. Military-grade transportation materials. Every airfield and base she’d been on had that smell in at least one building. That was usually where she’d slept, close to the ordnance so she’d be ready. It had been a few years since she’d been so surrounded by it, but it was hard to scrape the thoughts of her different Delta deployments to Iraq and Afghanistan from her mind.

Though she yearned to charge past Len and investigate the warehouses, Mary turned and started walking back with the same pace she’d probed into the yard. “Now, the fact that it’s working could actually be a selling point. I wouldn’t be surprised if those Chicago hipsters would want to move down here just so they could live next to all this heavy industry.”

Len scattered gravel with his large feet as he kept up. “They’d hate it here.”

She fished another card from her purse. “They like hating things.” The iron shard remained in her other hand. She didn’t think she’d let it go until she was completely extricated from Morris Flats.

Of course Len knew which car to herd her toward. A small town kept track of strangers. A small town with a secret would kill those strangers if they found things they weren’t supposed to.

She handed him the card. “Now you have two. One for you, one for Kit. I’d love to talk to him when he’s available. And you...” Her keys jingled loudly, indicating she wasn’t planning on staying too long. “Think about what we talked about. Keep an eye out for any equipment or carts you could liquidate. Good money in that.”

He glanced at his custom truck. Len already made good money. “Yeah, I’ll think about it.” He still stood to block her view of the warehouses. “And we’ll call if anything comes up.”

“Excellent.” She opened the car door and slid in. “Thanks, Len.” She tossed her purse and iron fragment on the passenger seat and started the car. Len closed her door and stood by until she put it in gear and drove off.

She’d played it right and should’ve only left him with a business card in his hand, the annoyance of a city girl talking at him and the fading scent of roses. He wouldn’t know about her ability to field strip and reassemble his automatic blindfolded. Or how her readiness alert for the operation ticked up two levels. The guns were there, making her awareness buzz. She and Ben were one step closer. One step into a minefield.

Chapter Six

Money flowed uphill in Morris Flats. After driving around the public park a couple of times to see the mud-tracked baseball diamond and basketball hoops with no nets or chains at all, Ben parked at the high school. While still in his car, he discreetly removed his ankle holster. After squaring it away under the floor mat, he walked onto the campus in search of the gym. He passed cars of various ages. Hand-me-downs and brand-new rides. If the kids of the gunrunners went here, there must not be a private school in town. The cars in the faculty section weren’t as nice as many of the student cars.

Like the rest of the town, most of the school buildings seemed to be from the postwar boom. But the tile had cracked, and water stains spread like rusty clouds on the drop ceilings. Slot windows in the classroom doors revealed crowded rooms and the usual assortment of kids of different races being talked at by a teacher. They still used chalkboards—no whiteboards or computer projectors at Lincoln High, home of the Plainsmen.

At least there was a security officer looking after the place. The Latino man in his midthirties approached Ben with his thumb hitched in his belt, close to the can of pepper spray. He also wore a collapsible baton, with the end brassed from his palm resting on it, but the holster was tight, so he didn’t use it much, if ever.

“Can I help you, sir?” The guard’s eyes were wary, hard. He took his job seriously. And he spent time in the weight room, maybe punching on a heavy bag.

“Ben Louis.” He handed him a card. “Circulatron Sports Equipment. I’d love a couple of minutes to talk to some of your coaches.”

The guard didn’t look at the card. His eyes scanned Ben, taking in the scrapes on his knuckles and jaw.

Ben rubbed at the bruise on his face. “Yeah, I didn’t order dessert, but a few truckers at the diner brought me a slice anyway.”

“Sonny’s Diner?” A hint of compassion crept into the guard’s voice.

“That’s the one.”

“Stay away from that place.” The guard motioned Ben to follow him. “Go to the Imperial instead.”

“I wish you’d told me that an hour and a half ago.” Though he’d been able to walk away from the fight, and it helped define which side of the line those town players were on.

The two of them walked to the administration offices, where Ben laid out his pitch about getting quality sports advancements into the hands of real athletes. He’d gone over it so many times it was a struggle not to rush. Especially when a mission clock ticked hard in his head. Mary was at the train yard. He hadn’t heard back from her yet. A visitor badge was created by a school administrator, and the guard escorted him back into the main hallway.

Classroom noise created a constant chorus as they walked to the far end of the building.

“I’ll hit the Imperial.” Ben shifted his phone from his front jeans pocket to the inside of his coat, where he’d definitely feel any notifications. Especially from Mary. “But if I wanted to take a lady out to a nice meal, maybe candles, where’s a spot for that?”

The guard didn’t hesitate. “El Pantano. In Dansville.”

Ben knew the Spanish translation. “The swamp?” He lowered his voice so it didn’t echo through the hall. “I already threw down with asshole truckers at a diner. What’s going to happen at the swamp?”

An easy chuckle lifted out of the guard. “It’s not that bad. It’s good. Sit down. With candles.”

“I got to trust you on this one, man.” Ben put out a fist, and the guard bumped it with his hard knuckles. “Ben.”

“Oscar.”

They exited the main building, crossed concrete patios with basic tables and benches, and approached the tall, wide gym. Plaster peeled at the corners to reveal the cinderblock structure. The roof sagged in places. A tenth of the money that had been put into the police rec league could bring the exterior of the school gym to top shape.

The interior was just as bad. Oscar held the door open for Ben, then the two of them proceeded onto the water-stained court. Half of the folding bleachers had been pulled out. The old scoreboard still burned with a home loss.

“Romero.” Oscar’s voice reverberated throughout the gym, all the way to the office doors on the far end. He turned to Ben. “Hopefully he’s here. Either this or the math room.”

A tall Latino man in his forties exited the offices, a wary look on his face. He walked like an athlete across the floor, a little stiff in one knee and his lower back. But the man Oscar called Romero was still in good shape and had a full head of black hair slicked back.

“What’s up, Oscar? Who’s this?” Romero still didn’t smile.

“No trouble today,” Oscar replied.

This town was used to trouble. Ben imagined that if someone was on the outside of the illegal business, they were always on edge.

“Ben Louis.” He extended a hand, and Romero shook it.

Oscar angled toward the door but asked Ben, “You good?”

“All good. Thanks for your help.”

“You got it.” Oscar gave him a small salute before exiting the gym.

Romero’s caution remained. “What can I do for you, Mr. Louis?”

“It’s more about what I can do for you.” Once again, Ben fell into his sales pitch. He produced a bracelet and gave it to Romero, explaining all the benefits. And how coaches and student athletes were really the ones who deserved this kind of leg up. And he kept thinking about Mary. Was she pitching the same BS as him? Or was she taking cover in an alley and picking off bad guys with only five shots in her .38?

“And you’re not asking any compensation?” Romero put the bracelet on and stretched his back a little.

“Not at all,” Ben reassured.

“And we’re not required to be in any ads if we don’t want to be?” The coach walked to a worn basketball and dribbled a little as a test. His skills were sharp.

“Only if you get in touch with us.” Ben’s phone buzzed. He had to slow himself down instead of tearing it from his coat. “I’m sorry, I’ve been waiting to hear a piece of news from back home and I have to get this.” He removed the phone and let out a long breath when he saw the message was from Mary.

In and out of the train yard clean. Warehouses smell like CLP. We have to recon further.

Romero dribbled and shot the ball with good form. It swished through the basket. “Good news?”

“Yeah.” CLP was military-grade gun oil. He knew the smell and how it felt on his fingers as he cleaned his weapons. Good news, they had a location. But it didn’t make anything easier. He texted back, Received. At high school. Let’s go out tonight. Wear black.

It’s
a
date
. Her message blinked on, then faded out. If only it was going to be an evening out. Drinks, conversation, exploration. She’d look fine in a little black dress, but he knew her darkest clothes were tactical gear. Business first.

The class bell rang through the school, almost immediately followed by the boisterous chatter of teenagers.

Ben caught the ball as it bounced through the hoop again and passed it back to Romero. “Feels better already, right?”

“Maybe.” The man posted up an invisible defender and shot again, making it.

“Sweet.” Ben chased the ball down and skipped it over to Romero. “I saw you had a train yard in town. Was thinking about getting some of these on the guys down there.”

“I wouldn’t.” Romero held the ball, face dead serious. “Kit Daily’s not interested in new ideas.”

“I want to give these to the working men, not the pencil pushers.”

“Sean Harris is a good guy at the yard.” Romero watched the doors as the voices grew louder. “Girls’ basketball team’s training in a minute.”

The first person into the gym was an African-American woman around the same age as Romero, but a little shorter than him. Her wary gaze mirrored his as she looked over Ben. “I heard we had a visitor.” There was chalk on the sleeves of her blouse. She wore athletic shoes with her jeans.

Romero introduced them. “Sue, this is Mr. Louis.” They shook hands. “She’s my co-head coach.”

Her wedding band was identical to Romero’s.

“Call me Ben. Please.” He secured his briefcase as the kids started pouring in and spoke in a private voice to Romero and Sue. “Our company deals with other sporting goods entities. I’m going to make a couple of calls and see what we can do about getting new equipment in here. No strings. Seriously.” And Romero and Sue would never know that it was really money that Automatik had seized from drug runners and human traffickers that paid for any upgrades Ben could secure for them.

Sue’s eyes softened. “Any help is appreciated.”

He handed both of them cards. “You’ll hear from me. Or be in touch if there’s anything I can do for you.” He swam upstream through the incoming girls’ basketball team, exited the gym and walked back through the outdoor patios.

Groups of kids lingered out there in the growing cold. They chatted with each other or worked over their phones, which ranged from run-of-the-mill to top-of-the-line. The teens with the more expensive phones wore pricey shoes, both the boys and the girls. Blood money kept them in fashion. Some of them would be the next generation of gunrunners, while there was a good chance one or more of their classmates would be the victim of gun violence.

Ben stopped when he recognized a face in the crowd. The black kid he’d seen on the curb at the gas station the night before stood with friends, a solemn expression on his face. His eyes were red, still raw from the pepper spray. The kid caught Ben staring and glared back at him a second before awareness dawned on his face. Ben tipped his head back to ask if the kid was alright. The teen shrugged, nodded. Ben understood there was a lot that wasn’t alright. He couldn’t fix all of it but he was furious to find and crush the biggest problem that plagued this town. The kid turned back to his friends, and Ben left the patio.

Most of the students were back in rooms by the time the second bell rang. Ben gave Oscar a salute on the way out of the main building and found himself back in the parking lot. Fucking complicated town. A twisted mission. Sitting in a ditch with a finger on his trigger was so much simpler than collecting intel from people who either didn’t trust anyone or had a lot to hide.

It had already come to blows. A knife had come out. What was next? Drawn blood? How long until someone started shooting to protect their killing business?

He drove back to the hotel to regroup and rest. It was going to be a long night. But the complications wouldn’t end. Operating with Mary was no problem. He trusted her skills to be top-shelf. But he couldn’t quite trust himself with the quiet moments between them. Not after that kiss. Not after it had reached deeper than he’d ever expected and had taken up residence like a truth he wasn’t ready to admit.

* * *

Two o’clock in the morning. She could finally be herself. Mary drove the last three blocks to the prearranged rendezvous point with no headlights. She was dressed all in black and the car was black. She slowed in the black void at the edge of a highway on-ramp. Ben emerged from the shadows and hurried toward the car.

Being active on an op always carried a charge. All her senses had to be sharp and muscles ready. But seeing Ben kitted out in his black fatigues, knit cap and gloves gave her blood an extra kick of speed. He was a good-looking man in jeans and a T-shirt. Dressed as an operator, he was downright sexy.

He swung into the car as she glided past. His door closed. She picked up speed. Light from the town bounced off low clouds in a dim, yellow haze, allowing her to continue navigating without the headlights.

“Company car?” Ben thumped the dash of the American-made sedan with his fist.

“I stole it.” The rendezvous had been walking distance from the hotel, but they’d both taken long routes and zigzagged to cover their tracks.

“I don’t know, Ms. Long—” Ben feigned innocence, “—I thought we were just going out for a milkshake. Things are getting a little too wild for me.”

“Too late to turn back, Mr. Louis.” Those identities had no place in this car, at this hour. “You and me, we’re going to get wild down at the train yard.”

Ben grunted something carnal. “I do like the sound of that.”

She did, too. A quick heat that had no place on the battlefield wrapped around her hips and breasts. The kiss had proven some kind of connection. What would they be like if they took it further?

“But maybe an alternate plan.” Ben pulled out his phone and brought up an app. “I got an interesting ping from the bracelet I gave Chief Pulaski.” He showed her the screen. A map displayed a fifty-mile radius around them. Several circles dotted the area. Each bracelet Ben had handed out was a tracker, tied to local cell towers, which triangulated their movement. One of the circles moved in an open space to the northeast. Ben shook his head. “What kind of business does a police chief have at this hour in a state park?”

“New plan works for me.” She redirected the car in a more northern route. “The warehouse can wait. If the chief is live, we need to be there.”

Ben placed the phone on his thigh and moved his awareness out the windows as he spoke from memory. “State park is approximately one thousand square kilometers, forest, rocky canyons, with a highest elevation around three hundred meters.”

“We’ll get the car close, but not too close. Cover the rest on foot.” No time to study a map. They were going in cold.

“NVGs?” Ben patted a pocket on his tactical vest.

“Got ‘em.” They were both equipped with night vision goggles. “Load out?”

“Have a .40 on my hip, another on my chest and a 9mm on my ankle. Couple of knives and some really good insults I’ve been saving up.” He shifted in his seat to watch a passing car. It paid them no attention. “Don’t like traveling this light.”

“I feel that.” Usually she could only find comfort with a rifle in her arms. “Sidearm, backup and a single-shot, break-barrel pistol chambered for 7.62mm on my back.”

“Damn fine.” He growled again. “Truth be told, I’d much rather be out late with ‘Bolt Action’ Mary than Mary Long.”

Words. They didn’t cost him anything. But did he understand what they meant to her? Did he know how they reached past all the hard years she’d spent fighting and gave her something she’d forgotten? Hope. The flash of pleasure. Enjoyment in the unknown.