The Twelve Stones (19 page)

“The lab’s twenty minutes away at this time of night
,
” Scott said
,
heading for the bedroom to put on some pants. “Get dressed and ready, ‘cause we’re gonna find out just what the hell that stone is.”

Chapter Sixteen

The private security squad that Geoffrey had asked Kline for landed only a few minutes before Geoffrey arrived at the airport. Their C-130 had been delayed by weather as it crossed the Atlantic, returning them to American shores. The team had spent the last month traipsing through Afghanistan, securing industry supplies as
they
crisscrossed the hostile country. The team was tired, but they were trained to ignore such human discomforts. The men were even encouraged even to take performance
-
enhancing drugs to increase their stamina and strength during battle.

Light drug use was tolerated. Harsh penalties, ones that did not involve the local authorities, were used for the men who became addicted to the harsher drugs like heroin or crystal meth. For the most part, the men who worked for Kline were not interested in illegal drugs anyway. For the most part, they wanted what could be prescribed, to assist them to stay up for days at a time, and thanks to a well
-
paid doctor in Los Angeles, the entire team had been diagnosed with attention
deficit
disorders. At any given moment before a mission, you could watch as the men on the team swallowed something, Ritalin, Adderall, or perhaps some other magic pill that the good doctor had prescribed them. The medicine did wonders for their concentration, awareness and stamina during a mission.

The men were on the tarmac
,
stretching and excising their bodies as they recovered from the long Atlantic flight. One of the men stood alone and aloof, inspecting the equipment for their new mission for the third time. He was the leader of this particular team, and his name was Omar Rodriguez.

At thirty
-
seven, he found himself making more money in one year than his entire family did in their combined lifetimes growing up in the poorest parts of Mexico.
Becoming a mercenary had let him pay for a comfortable life
;
nothing too extravagant, lest he forgo his eventual retirement. The house he owned was nice, located on the outskirts of the high desert. The work was something that he didn’t enjoy, but did for a lack of better options. It provided for a future and a place where he could someday settle down with his
novia
–
whoever she was
–
and have a few children. Not to mention
that
he was extraordinarily good at his job.

At the age of ten, he crossed the border from Mexico into the US in a refrigerator truck. It took three days in
100-
degree heat in a crowded tin can. The truck broke down in the middle of the blazing desert deep in the badlands of the Texas panhandle and the driver abandoned it,
le
av
ing
thirty of his fellow travelers to roast, locked in to die as they were.

It was nearly two days after breaking down in the desert that Omar heard the screeching of the metal door opening. Sunlight beamed in as Omar’s eyes struggled to adjust to the sudden brightness. He licked his cracked lips and struggled to cry out, his body too weak to move. A man with a large
-
brimmed hat jumped into the trailer
, shouting strange words at him.
Omar tried to understand, but couldn’t. His mind had become mush. He whimpered, too weak to move his neck when the man struggled to give the boy water.

Horrified at what he found, the deputy took Omar in, treating him as his own son. For the next
seven years, Omar lived a good
but hard life out in the middle of the Texas hardpan. Fun was limited to
f
ootball
in the fall, and hiding from
t
ornadoes
in the spring. Joining the Army straight out of high school, Omar swore he would never look back.

There, Omar found he was a quick study to the work of a soldier. His marksmanship and aptitude scores were off the charts, embarrassing more than one of his instructors. He was recommended by several of his CO’s to be transferred to West Point to study and become an officer.

That is, before his adopted
father
died
,
and the truth of his birth came out in a military hearing on his admission to West Point. As an official illegal alien, Omar was no longer allowed to continue to serve the United States and was summarily discharged.

Shocked and left with only a few hundred dollars to his name, Omar left Camp Pendleton in Southern California to try and find his way through the world on his own. That’s when, while drinking down his last dollar at a dive bar in Tijuana, a man had come and offered a suitcase of money to become a part of
a
shiny new
and private
army
unconcerned with legalities like birth certificates
. The choice seemed easy and profitable at the time. Now, Omar thought, after all these years, he wasn’t so sure.

The door to the hangar opened. Omar sighed and stood at attention quickly.
No rest for the wicked.

A black Suburban glided its way into the hangar, pulling up next to Omar and his team
,
who had taken position near the floor. Stepping out of the passenger side, Geoffrey Tate walked over to the men.

“
Commander,” Tate said
,
extending his hand.

Omar’s only response was the coolness of his hard gray eyes.
Kline paid him well, but there was nothing in the contract that said he had to be pleasant about it.

After an awkward moment, Geoffrey removed his hand and nodded to the equipment on the table. “I trust everything there is in order. We kept everything to your specifications; everything there is completely brand new and tested for readiness.”

Omar tilted his head, “Until a man fires a weapon, it is not his own.”

Geoffrey nodded in agreement, careful not to show his irritation with the Commander’s attitude. He was a professional too, but in his specialty, subtl
et
y was rewarded, while for the Government Issued Joes he routinely dealt with, it was all discipline and brute force. While useful at times, Geoffrey never liked the lack of flexibility in their thinking. When you have perhaps a half second at most to think while under fire, the ability to adapt
on the fly
was Geoffrey’s strongest asset
,
and had been responsible for saving his ass
on
several different
occasions
. This commander seemed to be issued with a stick up his ass
,
and Geoffrey only hoped it wouldn’t get in the way.

“
Indeed
.
” Geoffrey dusted his jacket lightly, motioning with his hand towards the two
idling Suburbans.
“Shall we…?”

“
Round up!” Omar barked, turning to his men. They looked over at him, each quickly finishing the examination of their new equipment. Geoffrey was impressed with their quickness and efficiency.

The commander glanced at the trucks parked in front of them,
frowning in disdain
.

“
The trucks are clean
,
I trust?”

“
Of course,” Geoffrey replied, the impatience beginning to show in his voice. He turned his back
on
the mercenaries
, moved
back into the car he arrived in
,
and
shut the door firmly.

Geoffrey breathed deeply, controlling his temper. He hated being taken for an amateur. Because of his advice, Kline had leased a fleet of vehicles through a dummy corporation completely divested of any link to his companies.
For an operation like this, c
lean
vehicles with good papers were just as important as the weapons Geoffrey used. Kline knew his people needed the best to accomplish the tasks he gave them
,
and
Kline was not the type to stand in his own way.

The men hurriedly loaded up their gear in another waiting Suburban behind him
.
T
hey both pulled out, the tires screeching as they left the gates of the small commuter airport, finding the freeway on-ramp only a few blocks away.

Geoffrey flipped his PDA open and stared at the materials on the small screen in front of him. His hasty background check on the man from the desert had provided much on Ted McCray. Records, public and private, were
open to anyone with the know-how to find them
in this digital era. Kline kept a well
-
paid staff of people ready to check and run down any information Geoffrey or his staff may need.

“
INFORMATION!” Kline often thundered
to his scattering subordinates.
“That is the key to all business!”

With the information and materials in front of him, Ted McCray did not seem to be much of a threat. The other man
,
however
,
was a different story
;
there wasn’t much Geoffrey knew about him yet. Fortunately, the
McCray
house
was
only a few minutes away
, and Geoffrey hoped for answers inside
.

The ride was spent in silence with the newly arrived mercenaries
.
I
t didn’t take long before the driver slowed as they approached the Jeep owner’s address. Geoffrey waved to his driver, pointing to a cul-de-sac just next to the old man’s street. He nodded in response and pulled over quickly, the two vehicles bouncing on the suburban
road
s
.

The mercenaries exited their vehicles quickly, pushing aside their weapons cradled by a strap hanging from their shoulder. Popping open the rear door of the truck, Omar and his men quickly extracted some digital gear as Geoffrey watched the run
-
down house standing in front of him.

At one time, it had probably been a beautiful and well
-
cared
-
for home. These days, the trim looked pathetic, with paint peeling everywhere from the sides of the house
.
A
large pile of firewood
was
stacked haphazardly on the side lawn.

After double
-
checking their equipment, each man lined up against the wall of the neighboring house
, which they immediately put to use
as a temporary base of operations. Geoffrey whistled slightly and waved to Omar to proceed with the home invasion.

Omar checked his scopes one final time for any infra-red signatures inside
.
Satisfied
th
ey were alone
,
he waved his fingers forward,
giving
the order to brea
ch the house.

Four men lightly ran up the front steps, their heavy boots surprisingly making no noise over the wooden deck. The first to reach the front door withdrew a tiny lockpick set and began working on the door. The three other sentinels stood behind him
,
watching his back, the infrared cameras around their eyes brightening the neighborhood around them. It was a pitch
-
black night, but the equipment Kline bought was the best, and for the men wearing their NVG's (Night Vision Goggles), it might as well have been noon.

Geoffrey shifted his weight uncomfortably. What was taking them so long?

As if they had overheard his thoughts, the door to Alex’s childhood home opened, and the four mercenaries entered, intent on killing anyone that might be inside. They crept through the house, searching thoroughly through each room, until each man had cleared his area. After a few moments, it was clear that no one was home
,
and the Commander waved Geoffrey in.

Geoffrey peered inside, watching the team remove their night vision goggles and turn on lights. He began to wander aimlessly at first through the house, fingering random family photos, inspecting the furniture. He walked to the refrigerator, opened it
,
and after seeing nothing interesting inside, closed it.

He walked back into the living room. “Commander, I want you and your men to set up a perimeter
.
B
e prepared for anyone that might be coming.”

Omar nodded and began issuing orders into his throat microphone. Geoffrey turned and walked upstairs to the master bedroom
,
where he began to toss through the papers located on the large hideaway desk in the corner.