Desert Assassin (21 page)

“Anything to make a buck,” interrupted Fowler. “Anybody live there?”

“A few dozen. There’s a store and a restaurant for tourists and a Boot Hill Cemetery.”

“I thought that was in Dodge.”

“There are a bunch around the country.”

“Enough,” laughed Morgan. “Anything in the house?”

Williams described what they saw.

“We’re also tracking him with a drone. Once you get a signal, try to close the gap.”

“You want me to break the law?” asked Fowler.

There was no reply.

A minute later, Mueller passed the tracker to Williams.

“It shouldn’t be too long before we get an idea of what our latest Assassin has in mind,” said Williams.

“Mind or minds,” quipped Fowler. “He has to know we are following him, especially being a marine. Wonder if he has any money on him? Unless he has gear in the trunk, he’s eventually got to stop and either buy or steal what he needs, including gas.”

“Chances are he does. That might be why the key was in the ignition. Quick getaway,” answered Williams.

“Maybe he is heading to someone he knows. Any chance one or more Assassins?” asked Mueller.

“Doubt it,” said Williams, “but that’s what we need to find out. He knows we let him go after cutting down all the rest. If there are others, he must figure that we are trying to get him to lead us to them. I’m betting he’ll try to find a part of the city where he can find some cover, maybe a place he is familiar with, ditch the car and try to lose us.”

“If that’s the case, the RFID’s, if they are working, could be our ace,” said Mueller.

“If Morgan didn’t hit some trees instead.”

From the open cell phone connection came Morgan’s voice, “I didn’t miss, Art. Too bad I didn’t aim a couple at your ass.”

The Pathfinder swerved a little as Fowler broke into laughter.

As the minutes passed, the Covington’s car entered the outskirts of Silver City. Fowler had closed the gap to just under a half-mile. With light traffic on Route 180, Morgan and Cyclo had a clear view of both vehicles.

“He just passed by Route 90 which heads into the main section of the city,” said Morgan.

“So I see,” replied Williams as he focused on the tracker. “I’m surprised . . .”

Morgan cut him off. “Bill, he’s turned into a motel parking lot right off 180. The motel runs perpendicular to highway. He’s heading to the far end. Just parked at the end of it. This is as close as we are going to get. No sense in drawing attention. Let’s see if he heads to a room.”

“Is he still in the car?” asked Williams as Fowler began turning into the motel lot.

“Yes.”

“Can you see him?”

“No.”

“Damn!”

Williams instructed Fowler to pull in about nine spaces away from the sedan in what was an almost empty parking lot.

With field glasses trained on the driver’s side windows, Mueller said, “It looks empty.”

Telling Fowler and Mueller to stay in the Pathfinder, Williams opened the passenger door and walked slowly toward the sedan. The engine had been turned off and there was no sign of Assassin.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-F
IVE

“S
AME PLAYBOOK,” SAID
W
ILLIAMS.

“It sure as hell looks like it,” replied Morgan. “Let’s hope he only helped one to escape.”

“Even if that’s the case, it probably won’t be long until there are two.”

“Now what?”

“Other than finding out who he was, or is, hell if I know,” answered Williams.

“Hell if I know either. We’ll head back to see what has happened back at the house and I’ll call Andy to see about the fingerprints. Call you right back.”

Williams, Fowler and Mueller were driving back toward the Covington’s when Williams received the promised call.

“He what?” asked Williams in reply to what he was told by Morgan.

Morgan explained that ten troops, including an Army doctor and four medics, were in the process of transferring the bodies into two choppers. The FBI agents were an hour away, so McBride decided to cut off both hands of one of the copies of the Marine Assassin. That way, the fingerprints could be taken by the agents as soon as they arrived.

“I hope he was careful not to touch any of the blood.”

“State police, local police. I bet there are a few pissed off cops down there,” said Morgan, describing the scene to Williams.

“Down there” was the road on which the Covington’s house, or at least what had been their house, was located. A solid wall of troops was lined up along the road blocking any entrance to the property.

Morgan was viewing the site through field glasses while sitting in the helicopter. “The bodies are gone.” Turning to Cyclo, he said, “Land about two hundred yards behind the house.”

“Any need for us?” asked Williams.

“No.”

“Then we are heading to the motel.”

“As soon as we make sure that Andy has everything under control, we’ll meet you there.”

It was well after seven in the evening when McBride returned to the motel. “Hope you all have been having a great time,” he said as he joined the other five in the restaurant.

“We all had good late lunches, took naps and just finished up with excellent dinners,” replied Fowler.

“The least one of you could do is buy my dinner and a drink.”

There was a protracted silence before Morgan said he would spring for both. “Now take it from the top.”

“The troops the General sent were good, real good. I pointed to the bodies and immediately an army doctor took over. The medics and a few of the troops, all wearing protective gear, began bagging the bodies getting them ready to throw onto the helicopters. That’s when I told them to hold off on one of the Marine bodies and asked to borrow some of the protective gear. The doctor ordered one of the troops to get me an outfit. I remembered having seen an ax in back of house. I sprinted to it, came back, told everyone to stand back and then gently cut off the two hands at the wrists. Surprisingly, not that much blood spurted out.”

“Gently, my ass,” laughed Morgan.

At that point, the lone waitress brought McBride a bottle of beer. Half the bottle was gone ten seconds later.

“The bodies were airborne before the cops arrived. I had the remaining thirty or so troops seal off the property. The head honcho from the State’s began demanding answers. I walked over, showed my FBI ID and told him the investigation was under federal jurisdiction. ‘That’s horseshit,’ he yelled. ‘What the hell is going on around here? Same goddamn horseshit every time.’”

“Can’t blame him for being pissed,” said Morgan.

“We went back-and-forth for a little bit and then I asked him to walk across the road out of ear shot of the cops and the troops. I told him what I was about to tell him was off the record and went on to tell him that we had some satellite images of unusual objects hovering near the incidents that had been happening. One was spotted near that house. When I got there, the troops were already there and we were waiting for more FBI agents to come and start the investigation.

“He asked what was in the house. I told him there was no one in it and asked who lived there. He told me a couple in their fifties, Jim and Patricia Covington and then asked if there was any sign of violence. I told him there was none that I could see and that everything seemed in place. I finished up by telling him that I was sorry it was off limits to him and his men, but I was just following orders.”

“Great job, Andy,” said Morgan.

“One more thing. He told me that a lot of the people in the area are buying the flying saucer crap, but he didn’t.”

“Maybe we should fly a black triangle over the area,” said Cyclo without showing a trace of emotion.

“You telling us those things are ours?” asked Fowler.

“Ask Morgan.”

Fowler looked at Morgan who said, “It’s classified, Art.”

Fowler smiled, “Wait until I tell this to Killer Two.”

“Anything else?” asked Morgan turning his attention back to McBride.

“When the agents came, they took the prints and then the troops put the hands in a container. At the request of the agents, the troops sanitized the house and then poured gasoline over the area where the bodies had been and torched it. When the agents and the troops left, I decided to check out the area around the house.”

“Find anything?” asked Morgan.

“Only two Morales.”

None of the other five said a word as they stared at McBride. Finally Morgan said, “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” said McBride casually. He was obviously enjoying the moment.

“Alive? Dead?”

“Another beer might help my memory.”

Morgan laughed, “What the hell happened, you catch Fowler’s disease?”

McBride held up his near empty beer bottle. Morgan caught the attention of the waitress and pointed to the bottle.

“I started at the back door and decided to check the wooded area to my left to see if there might be a trail left by someone trying to escape. Early in, I noticed some broken shrubs so I began following them. I knew that what I was seeing couldn’t have been caused by a single person. Sixty feet or so from where I saw the first broken shrub, there were two dead Morales Assassins lying face down buck naked.”

“Holy shit!” blurted Fowler.

“How did they die?” asked Cyclo.

“Judging by bruising around the necks, they were probably strangled, most likely by the Marines.

“Interesting,” noted Cyclo. “This has to be the end of the Morales Assassin line, but the beginning of the Marine Assassin line.”

“Exactly,” responded Williams. “The one which disintegrated itself knew the other two he was with in the house were dead. If he were the only one left, he would have done everything possible to escape.”

“Natural selection, Assassin style,” said Cyclo. “He bought time for however many were away from the house to get a good distance away.”

“I’m fairly certain there was only one who escaped.”

“What makes you think that, Andy?” asked Morgan.

“There were four different sets of footprints around the bodies. I figure two were from Morales Assassins and two from Marine Assassins, but only one set leading away from them and one set heading back to the house. I followed the one leading away, but it disappeared about a quarter mile away in an area thick with trees.

“Andy, that was excellent work. Thank you,” said Williams.

McBride smiled and said, “Aren’t you all forgetting something?”

Four or five seconds went by before Morgan started laughing and said, “The bodies, the goddamn bodies!”

Williams joined in the laughter. “Let me call the General.”

“Maybe the General can send in a flying saucer to beam them up,” said Fowler.

McBride’s meal was served causing the conversation to drift away from the mission. When the meal was finished, Williams said, “I need two volunteers to drive the SUV’s back to my place tonight.”

“Why?” asked Fowler.

“So that the other four of us can fly back. There is no way our hanging around here is going to lead to our finding the new Assassin or Assassins, if he replicates. We’re not dealing with an Assassin limited by Morales’ brain and background. Most likely, he or they are going to get as far away as possible. As soon as Jesse gets an ID from the prints, at least we will have a start. We are going to need intel.”

Fowler and Mueller volunteered to do the driving. The pilot camped out in Westerlind’s barn was ordered by McBride to return back to the camp.

“I’ll settle up our bills here. We’re good with Westerlind,” said Morgan.

Fowler and Mueller were asleep in one of the trailers while the other four headed to Killer Two’s for breakfast. Morgan warned Cyclo about what was off limits in the conversation, including suckering Killer Two into a baseball bet.

As the four entered the diner, Cyclo quickly absorbed everything he could from the memorabilia and added it to his wrestling base of knowledge. As Killer Two emerged from the kitchen to greet the four, Williams said, “Killer, these are two more friends of mine, Andy and Cyclo. Cyclo is Morgan’s son and like Kowalski, he knows everything about everything.”

Killer Two extended his right hand to both of them, “Good to meet both of you.”

“Good to meet you, Killer,” said McBride. “Bill tells me you make the best steak and eggs he’s had anywhere.”

Killer Two turned to Williams and thanked him.

Williams couldn’t resist, “Of course, this is only place I’ve ever had them.”

“Hey!”

Cyclo did a quick survey of the counter and everything in sight behind it, including looking through the opening to the kitchen. Addressing Killer Two, he said, “I see you followed Killer’s advice. Don’t worry, I won’t let the others know your recipe.”

Killer Two was stunned. “How do you know?”

The other three, who had been quickly reduced to bystanders, watched as Killer Two invited Cyclo into his kitchen.

“Very little that Cyclo says ever surprises me,” said McBride, “but this seems a bit too much for even him.”

Once they were out of earshot, Killer Two asked, “Okay, how did you know?”

Cyclo pointed at a shelf at the back of the kitchen which he had been able to see from the other side of the counter. “I read a magazine article several years back in which Kowalski advocated taking cayenne pepper instead of taking aspirin. I also know he was a vegetarian and health conscious. After Bill mentioned how good your steak and eggs are and remembering my dad talking about your steak, when I saw the large jar of cayenne on the shelf next to the whiskey, pineapple juice, salsa and the other ingredients, I knew that had to be for your marinade.”

“You ought to be a detective. Killer was way ahead of his time. He always talked about eating the right food and mentioned cayenne pepper way back in the seventies when I went to his wrestling school.”

“That must have been a great experience.”

“It was. Best time of my life.” Killer Two paused, frowned and said, “Too bad I was no good.”

Before Cyclo could respond, Williams shouted, “Looks like we’ll have to go to the next closest diner to get breakfast.”

Killer Two laughed. “You’d better get going, Bill, the nearest one that’s any good is off of old 66.”

Cyclo returned to the counter and Killer Two began putting together four orders of steak and eggs.

As the breakfast clientele thinned out, Killer Two had several opportunities to come out and talk wrestling. Most of the conversations centered on the matches being shown on the television. “It’s too bad,” lamented Killer Two, “that so few of Killer’s matches were filmed. I’d give anything to see the tag team championship when Killer and Gorilla Monsoon wiped out Bruno Sammartino and Victor Rivera in Madison Square Garden.”

When the four returned to Williams’ property, Fowler and Mueller were still sleeping. Cyclo went into the van and emerged well over two hours later. He flagged down Williams and asked if he could borrow the jeep to go back to the diner. Williams said yes, but indicated that Killer Two would be swamped with lunchtime customers until twenty minutes or so before two. Cyclo then asked if he could use the jeep at that time. Williams said yes without asking why.

The sight of Cyclo entering the diner alone immediately caught Killer Two’s attention. “A little late for steak and eggs,” he said with a wide smile.

“A cup of coffee will do,” responded Cyclo as he sat near the middle of the fourteen empty stools which fronted the counter.

As Killer Two poured the coffee, Cyclo said, “Art tells me that you have an interest in UFOs.”

Taken by surprise, Killer Two stared at Cyclo.

Realizing that he had caught Killer Two off guard with what must have seemed to be an out of the blue statement, Cyclo added, “I’m fascinated by the subject. Can’t read enough about it.”

“With the business here, I don’t have much time for reading, but I get to see a few of the TV shows about them. I’m sure one crashed in Roswell and that the government’s got it. Aliens, too. You think one crashed there?”

“Possibly. While there is some evidence which indicates that something not from this Earth crashed, it’s not a slam dunk that one did.”

Killer Two couldn’t hide a look of disappointment. “If it was just a weather balloon like the government says, why would they take it to Wright Patterson? Plus, why did they first say it was a flying saucer?”