Unauthorized Deception Read online

  Arthur Monroe was fired on Wednesday from Westwood Preparatory Academy, one week after writing a racially-insensitive message on his Facebook wall. The message has since been removed, but screen shots have been made available by multiple students and concerned parents. Monroe replied only 'no comment', when asked about the message, which contained multiple expletives and racial epithets. One 18 year old student, speaking on condition of anonymity, stated that Monroe hated everyone who wasn’t white and that everyone in the school knew that. Monroe, a history teacher, had been teaching at Westwood Prep for twelve years.

  Happy shouts caught Ryker’s attention. A young girl, about four years old, playing in the yard next to Monroe's. Ryker noticed how close the houses on either side of Monroe’s were. He wondered if Monroe had been paying his mortgage. Or his taxes.

  Ryker stuffed his phone in his pocket, knowing the answer was almost certainly no. Suddenly, the hugeness of the situation loomed over him. This was bigger than him. Bigger even than his mom and his sister. Bigger than Ivy. This had suddenly taken priority. Monroe was planning something more than just blowing up the school. A sniper attack on the state building? Blowing up this house with dynamite? Then probably a bullet in his own brain. How many hundreds of innocent people was he trying to kill? Ryker heard his mom’s soft voice in his mind. You have to help if you can, Ry. You always have to help those who can’t help themselves. It’s the only way to be at peace with who you are as a human being. But could he stop this and still save his mother and sister too? His thoughts went to Ivy. Poor Ivy, caught up in all of this mess that shouldn’t have anything to do with her. Had she talked to Shaw yet? Had Shaw found his mom and sister yet? He didn’t like Shaw, and only just barely trusted him. When Shaw had come to him a week ago and tried to enlist him for undercover work, Ryker had begged off, not wanting to be involved in what seemed like a dead-end investigation. And then Brandon had taken his mom and sister, and removed his choice. He’d gone to Shaw an hour after he received Brandon’s message. Shaw had hastily outfitted him with the phone, but didn’t have any instructions other than report back his plan. We know he’s planning something big, something to do with Fiore Savoy, but we don’t know exactly what. He didn’t dare call Shaw or Ivy right now, or pick up Ivy’s phone calls. Every time she called he ignored it and then deleted the number off the phone as soon as he could. He didn’t want Brandon getting ahold of her number. He didn’t want Brandon even thinking about her or remembering she existed.

  But what now? Should he arrest Monroe right now? Citizens arrest? That didn’t even seem like an option, because of Ma and Roxy, although it was the only way to guarantee that Monroe didn’t get away and carry out at least part of his plan. Call in an anonymous tip to the police department? Maybe, but what if the cops didn’t move fast enough? Or what if Monroe took off so they didn’t get to him in time? If only he knew when Monroe was going to blow up his house or shoot people with the sniper guns. Monday, at the same time as the school was blown up seemed likely, but could Ryker chance waiting that long to do something? Could he live with himself if he left here today and heard that tomorrow one hundred people were dead that he could have saved? No. He had to do something. Today. Tonight. As soon as possible. He had to give Brandon the slip somehow. Call in a tip to the cops, then come back here and watch to make sure they got him. Maybe he should even call Hunter personally. Hunter was the assistant chief now. And he would trust that Ryker was telling the truth. He would take it seriously. But would Hunter let him get back to Brandon before Brandon got suspicious? Would Hunter be suspicious himself and know something more was up? Ryker balled his hands into fists and slammed them into his legs. He had to get ahold of Shaw. He had to find out when Ma and Roxy would be safe. Them being safe would make all of this dead-simple.

  Ryker heard voices behind him. He wiped the emotions of frustration and anger off of his face and waited.

  “OK, see you tomorrow,” Brandon said, climbing into his car. “Ryker, let’s go.”

  Ryker shot Monroe a suspicious look and settled into the passenger seat of Brandon’s car. “What’s tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Tomorrow we plant the C4 at the school. As soon as it gets dark.”

  Ryker nodded, deciding tomorrow would have to be soon enough. It was Sunday, so the school and state building were closed. The earliest he could do much would be the next day. Now the only thing he had to figure out was how to ditch Brandon long enough to get Monroe into a jail cell.

  Chapter 11

  Hawk Kincaid pulled his wife close, brushed back a lock of brown, curly hair, and skimmed her neck with his lips, anticipating how it always made her shiver. “I’ve got to go, babe. I’m sorry. We’ll be back in 12 hours at the most. In time for Sunday morning brunch.”

  “I hate it when you’re not here at night,” Vivian said, her voice soft but resigned.

  Hawk inclined his head and caught her lips with his own. He kissed her until she melted into him, ignoring the way his own body responded. Finally he pulled away. “I know, I hate it too. Go stay with your sister. She’ll be alone too.”

  “Maybe I will,” Vivian breathed, her sapphire-blue eyes looking pleadingly into his. He knew why she was upset. They’d been trying to have a baby for several months now, and so far they’d had no luck. And tonight was a good night for trying again. But sometimes things got in the way. For the third time in a few weeks, he questioned his decision to continue to work for the FBI. Once they had a baby, he didn’t want to be jetting away on dangerous missions at a moment’s notice. He wanted to stay home and be a proper father. They didn't need the income his job provided. Plus, the biggest investigation of his life was almost complete.

  But then he remembered the young woman’s wide, desperate eyes as she pleaded for help for her boyfriend’s mother and sister. And he thought about those two women, kidnapped and taken to Mexico.

  “These women really need our help, Viv.”

  “I know. I’ll just miss you. Be careful?”

  “Always.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you too, Viv. I’ll come and get you at your sister’s as soon as I’m back.”

  Hawk kissed her one last time and strode out to his truck. He and Craig were due in Sacramento in an hour to pick up Sara. And then they were flying straight to Mexico on a government plane.

  ***

  “So what’s the plan?” Craig asked Sara, the small airplane cruising comfortably at 30,000 feet.

  “It should be easy,” Sara said. “The owner of the house is a petty criminal.” She passed a folder over to Hawk across the executive table the three of them were sitting at. He opened it. The first piece of paper inside was a picture of house on a dusty hillside that looked more like a shack. “We’ve had eyes on the place since you called me. No one has been in or out. Infrared at that height is inconclusive so we’ll check again when we get there. All we know right now is at least two people are inside.”

  She tapped the picture. “There’s no windows so no matter where they are in the house, we go in the front door. And what happens after that depends on what we find inside and whether or not he resists.”

  “What level of force are we authorized for?” Hawk asked.

  “Whatever level we need to get the job done.”

  Hawk grunted. That would make things easier. He wanted to get in and out cleanly and get back home quickly. “Do you expect trouble?”

  “None at all. It will be like taking candy from a baby. These guys are amateurs.”

  “Perfect.” He pushed back in his chair and turned it toward the front of the plane. “I’m going to rest then.” He put his seat back and closed his eyes, knowing he only had a little more than two hours until they got there. That would be enough.

  Hawk’s eyes opened as soon as his body detected the plane descending slightly. Craig was across the aisle, still sleeping. Hawk looked backwards. Sara was on the phone, talking quietly. He caught her eye and she gave him a thumbs u
p. He looked out his window and saw city lights spread out beneath them. So far, so good.

  45 minutes later, the three agents drove away from the airport in a full-size, rented 4x4 van. Hawk had never had a mission go so smoothly before. Working directly under the President of the United States has it’s perks, he thought, glad that Sara had agreed to get the mission authorization, and then help them. He’d had a chance to work with her in the Middle East on a hostage rescue mission and had been highly impressed with her skills and ability.

  Craig drove, following the instructions of the feminine voice coming from the GPS. “We’re only twenty minutes out,” he said.

  “Got it,” Hawk replied. He stood up and walked between the two chairs into the back of the van where Sara was pulling guns and ammo out of a canvas bag. He busied himself helping her and taking deep breaths, waiting for the customary coldness to fall over his thoughts. Emotions had no part in a mission like this. Instant assessment and strong reactions were the best offense and a strong offense was the best defense. He slipped on his body armor and strapped on his two guns. He watched as Sara checked all her knives. Sara always had five or six of them, but Hawk only carried one. And he’d never used it.

  “We’re coming up on it. Sara where do you want me to park?” Craig called from the front seat.

  “Drive past and park in front of the next, ah, house.”

  Hawk looked out the window and saw why Sara was hesitant to call these places houses. They had electricity, or at least most of them did, but it looked stolen. Wires hung low to the ground and were only held up by tiny poles less than eight feet tall. Nothing like you would see in the United States. He wondered how many people were electrocuted in this— his mind groped for a word. He certainly couldn’t call this hodgepodge of ramshackle buildings a subdivision. Sara pointed out the house they were after as they drove past. He couldn’t see it well in the light from the headlights, and there were no streetlights, but he got a sense of a one or two room building that seemed to be cobbled together with plywood and metal roofing.

  Craig parked and climbed into the back with them to get on his gear. Sara took out a device that looked like a large cone on a handle and pointed it at the house through the back window of the van.

  Hawk watched the screen on the handle as four bright bodies zoomed into view. Two were laying down and very close to each other. The other two were at the other end of the house, one standing, one sitting.

  Sara tapped the screen over the two bodies that were lying down. “Those are the women. Tied up, no doubt. There’s only one entrance, so we break it down and go in. Catch them by surprise.” She eyed the men critically. “Which one of you is heavier? Better at forced entry?”

  Craig held up a finger. “I’m the fat boy.” Hawk snorted a laugh and saw Sara fail to suppress an amused smile. Craig was no fatter than he was, but he did have a few inches of height and a few pounds of muscle on Hawk, plus he had more experience kicking in doors.

  “OK, Craig, you’re in first. Then me, then Hawk. Craig you hit the kidnappers face on. I’ll circle behind them. Hawk, you play to your instincts. Deadly force is authorized, but of course not desired. Our goal is in and out in 3 minutes, kidnappers handcuffed to each other.” Sara jingled two pairs of handcuffs and leg irons inside a canvas bag. “Any questions?”

  Hawk shook his head. “No,” Craig said. They gathered their weapons and scrambled out of the van into the humid night air, eyes sweeping left and right for possible interference. The mostly-dirt road sat quiet and empty.

  Excellent night for a covert rescue, Hawk thought, his nerve endings all on high alert. Somewhere a TV blared into the quiet night. It sounded like an I Love Lucy rerun.

  They reached the door and Craig aimed a heavy boot directly next to the door handle. Instead of swinging in, the door practically exploded, sending shards of wood cascading into the house. Craig aimed a shoulder into the hole he’d made, and forced his way through, climbing over some bricks that had been barricaded up against the bottom of the door, probably to try to stop this exact thing. Hawk heard Craig’s voice booming back at him, “POLICIA, MANOS ARRIBA!” Sara and Hawk pushed through the mangled door after him.

  Craig had his gun pointed at one man standing across the room, telling him to get down on the ground, and Sara was already covering the other man. Both men wore identical expressions of horror and fear, but both had their hands high and their mouths shut. Hawk scanned the room for weapons and didn’t see any. Hawk grabbed the bag Sara had left just outside the door, slung his weapon, and pulled the handcuffs out. He went to Craig’s prisoner first, noting how the guy looked a lot more American than he did Mexican, then dropped a knee into his back and handcuffed him. Then he handcuffed Sara’s prisoner, who did look Mexican. Probably the owner of the house.

  The two men still weren’t saying anything. Hawk was surprised and not surprised at the same time. If the men thought they were Mexican police they were probably worried anything they said was liable to get their heads blown off. He patted down the man he had just handcuffed and found one ancient revolver. The second man had a contemporary handgun and two pockets full of ammunition. Hawk stripped these down, and tossed them into the bag, counting the seconds in his head. They were almost at two minutes. He caught Sara’s eye and pointed further into the house. She nodded, and started ordering her prisoner to get up and move towards the other man.

  Hawk passed a tiny table and walked through a dimly lit kitchen. A door to his right and a door straight ahead. He chose the door straight ahead and listened outside it. He heard muffled sounds, and knew immediately what they were. He gritted his teeth against the surge of anger that filled him and flung open the door. Two women lay on the floor, handcuffed and gagged. An older woman with dark, short curly hair, her eyes squeezed shut and tear tracks on her face. Maria. And a younger woman, Roxy, with flowing red hair, her pale eyes locked on his, her mouth open, trying to force out words behind her gag.

  Hawk dropped to his knees and took off both gags, then fished in his pockets for a handcuff key.

  “We’re Americans,” Roxy coughed out.

  “I know, Roxy. Ryker sent us. We’re getting you out of here.”

  “Oh thank God,” Roxy said, dropping her head to the floor and letting her eyes close.

  Maria let out a wail, her words barely intelligible. Hawk caught Ryker and boy.

  “Shh, Ma, shh. It’s over. We’re OK,” Roxy said, exhaustion in her voice.

  Hawk pulled the women to their feet. He and Roxy had to help Maria walk out, and they headed for the door. “Three minutes!” Sara called from the other room. Hawk urged the women faster, hoping they weren’t going to meet any Mexican police on the way out.

  In the living room, the men were bound together and Sara was spilling papers, pamphlets, baggies, and their weapons from her bag onto the floor. “What’s that?” Hawk asked.

  “Anti-government and police propaganda, among other things,” she said. Then, to the men on the floor, “Don’t worry guys, you won’t be tied up for long. We’ll call the police as soon as we are on our way.” The mouths of both men finally seemed to start working. Words spilled out in a torrent. Please, it is a mistake. No, we didn’t do it. You don’t understand. Hawk turned his face away and hurried the women out the door.

  Those men were in for a lifetime in a Mexican prison, and they deserved every minute of it.

  Chapter 12

  Brandon Savoy drove aimlessly, not sure where to go. He was hungry, tired, and his mind had started to get twitchy. His eyeballs felt like they were full of lead and like he wanted to scratch each one of them till they bled. He either needed sleep, or more speed. Sleep meant he needed to go to Dawn's house, but he didn't want to take this car full of C4 there. Too many people who might ask questions. But he was scared to take more speed too. He checked the time. Almost midnight. He’d been awake for practically three days straight now. He'd never been awake this long before and his thoughts were starting to s
catter. Like he couldn’t hold on to any one for very long. His mind pulsed with a kind of paranoid anger and horribly fragmented thoughts.

  He glanced at Ryker in the passenger seat and was glad to see him dozing. At least he wouldn't have to deal with Ryker's demands for a while. But then Ryker spoke up.

  "I want to talk to Ma, now."

  Brandon curled his lip in irritation. He'd already tried to call Victor and got no answer. Which shouldn't happen. Even if Victor was sleeping, the other guy was supposed to be awake, watching Mrs. Wells and Roxy, and listening for the phone.

  "Calm the fuck down, you'll get to talk to them."

  Brandon saw a McDonald's up ahead and forced the car jerkily into the parking lot. If he could just think clearly, he could make some decisions. Food might help.

  Ryker opened his eyes to see why they were stopping. As soon as Brandon pulled into a stall, Ryker opened his door. "Bathroom," he muttered, and Brandon saw him pull his phone from his pocket as he went.

  Brandon pulled out his own phone and dialed Victor's number, feeling desperation as he punched the keys. "Pick up, pick up," he hissed at the phone.

  And finally Brandon heard a click, indicating that the line had been picked up. Elation spiked through him, but Victor didn't say hello. "Victor?" He waited a beat. "You there?"

  A voice he didn't recognize spoke up on the other end. A gravelly voice with a thick, Mexican accent. "Who this?"

  Brandon pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it, his disjointed mind reeling. Get a hold of yourself, he told himself, pulling the phone back to his ear. It's just Victor's friend, what was his name? Juan? Jorge? No. Jose! “Jose, it’s Brandon. Where’s Victor?”

  The person on the other end sat silent for a second. Brandon heard noises in the background and struggled to tell what they were. He frowned as he thought he heard a police siren. The man on the phone finally spoke and the words he said chilled Brandon to his core. “Brandon Savoy? You are Savoy, si? Jose has been telling us about Savoy and promises of money from America.”