Hard Man to Kill (Dark Horse Guardian Series Book 4) (4 page)

After forty minutes of practice, Monique was talking to herself.  She definitely had some moves to memorize.  Once in the women’s locker room alone, she looked at Lara in the mirror.  “Holy shit, you put that guy down in there.”

“Yes, and he didn’t expect it.” Lara smiled, “That was the best part.” 

“How long before you think I can do that?” Monique asked wide-eyed.

“Maybe a year if you stick to it and come at least twice a week,” Lara said, “I’ll come with you.” 

“I want to be able to do that.” Monique said smiling.  “I
really
do.” 

Both women showered, dried their hair and made themselves presentable.  As Lara and Monique strolled down the hallway to see Don Henderson, Aaron and Tim were taking on new victims in the private lesson room.  Don’s office door was ajar and Lara tapped on it. 

“Hey, girls – how was it?  Did these guys do okay?  I watched for a while in the two-way mirror.”  Don waved for them to sit down.  “I kept an eye on you in there.  Lara, you're a little out of practice but you bounced back.  I hope to see you girls here more often.”

“Aaron and Tim did a great job.” Lara said. 

Monique added, “I had fun.  I’ll be back.  Where do I sign?” 

Don put the forms in front of Monique and turned to Lara.  “How’s Ben?  Haven’t seen him for a while.” 

Lara smiled, “He’s on a trip, but it’s not a long one.  Hey, how about you and Olivia coming over for dinner tonight?  I can make lobster.” 

Don seemed delighted.  He called Olivia and she was enthusiastic.  “Great what time do you want us there?” 

Lara thought for a moment.  “How about 6:00 PM, is that too early?” 

“No, that’s great.” Don waved goodbye as they left.  Lara was thrilled to be having Don and Olivia over for dinner.  Monique would enjoy their company, that’s if she could convince her to stay.  Plus, dinner would be one more distraction.   Lara was thinking of lunch and an after-Christmas shopping trip for the next few hours. 

Outside in the parking lot, Monique elbowed Lara, “Hey, isn’t that the car you called Bettencourt about?”  The Mustang was there, covered with flat black paint, and low profile racing tires.  Lara jotted down the plate number and stopped by the police station on the way home. 

Paul Simpson, a tall blonde officer who looked like he was right out of the police academy, smiled, “How can I help you ladies?”

“I’m Randall Bettencourt’s fiancée,” Monique started.  She gave Bettencourt's old badge number, and one or two of his former colleagues in order to confirm who she was, and who Bettencourt was.

“We need to know who owns this vehicle, it’s been following us for several days.” Lara said flatly, handing him the piece of paper.  “Bettencourt said you could help.”

Simpson moved the women to a side room and closed the door.  “Let me see that.”  He smiled and said he’d be right back.  Lara glanced at Monique nervously.  The two sat in the small interrogation room silently, not moving but mentally twitching. 

Simpson was back in a flash.  “It’s registered to an Aaron Brown.”  Monique and Lara exchanged the same look, one of surprise followed by alarm.

“Damn, it’s the guy I just threw down at the dojo,” Lara exhaled.  “Can you give me his address and whatever information you have?  I’ll take it from there.” 

Lara noticed Simpson's eyes narrowed.  She guessed what he was thinking:  Bettencourt's fiancée came in with her friend, asking about a car, and the friend says that she would handle it?  That was a Hell and a No.  “May I ask what this is about?”

“No thanks, we've got this.” She pulled Monique by the sleeve and thanked Officer Simpson, “We’ve got to go.”

In the parking lot, Lara started her Mercedes and simultaneously tapped her phone.  Rusty’s voice boomed over the speaker in the car.  “Hey, Lara, what are you up to?”

“I need to see you. It’s business.” Lara said tersely. 

“Yup, come up to the range.  I’m here this afternoon.” Rusty seemed to know something was up.  “I’ll see you when you get here.”  The phone call blipped off.

“One more little detail.” Lara was talking to herself and Monique was listening.  Lara took a device out of the console that looked like a magnet and made a U-turn to return to the dojo parking lot.  The Mustang was parked and no one was around as Lara slipped out of her vehicle.  She bent down with the pretense of picking up her glove from the ground, as she tucked the magnetic device to the underside of the black car.

“I don’t dare to ask you what that was all about.” Monique said as they pulled out of the parking lot into traffic. 

Lara tapped her phone and found the app she was looking for.  She handed the phone to Monique.  “It’s a tracking device.  I want to know where these guys are at all times. But more than that, I want to know
who the hell they are
and why they’ve been following us.  Rusty will get to the bottom of it.”

The Mercedes raced through city traffic and was soon on the outskirts moving in the general direction toward Panther Pond.  Rusty’s domicile was really a compound on nine acres, combination shooting range, secret bunker, and Lara’s home away from home.  As Lara stepped out of the Mercedes after a forty-five minute drive, she inhaled the fresh clean air and her eyes soaked in the raw beauty of the frozen pond.  A January thaw was beginning.  For a moment the stillness was complete, only interrupted by the occasional twitter of birds.  Unlike the seaside home she lived in, Rusty’s place on the pond was incredibly quiet.  No rolling waves here.  Dead silence.

It was Monique’s first time on the pond.  “Wow, this place is awesome.”

“I think you’ll like it.” Lara smiled as they trudged toward the cabin on the edge of the pond.  “It’s rustic but charming, and there’s always a crackling fire going.”

Rusty met them at the door with a smile, his hair tousled but the familiar Red Sox baseball cap covered most of it.  His thick soft chamois shirt was frayed, but Lara loved the feel of it when she hugged him.  Rusty was her go-to guy, her step-father, but more importantly he had a network of spies, ex-FBI spooks, who could gather information on just about anyone on the face of the earth.  He would come in handy today.

“What brings you girls out here?” He drew them inside and bolted the door. 

“We're being followed.”

Israel

~ Ben ~

Mock-ups were performed during the day and the team was fully loaded.  While in Israel, they worked in a protected alley and simulated the hits they practiced on the computer game.  Then took a brief break for lunch and a nap.  The nighttime mock-up was critical.  It closely resembled what would really take place if all went according to plan. 

“Old man, you are keeping up well,” Moshe slapped Ben’s back laughing. 

Ben gave him a smile, “I’m preserving some of my energy for tonight.  It will be a long one.”

“Wisdom trumps youth every time, my friend.” Moshe said with a somber tone.  “Use it -- your wisdom.  You are the best frogman I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen quite a few in my time.” Ben stared into Moshe’s black eyes, they reminded him of black olives.  He reached around Moshe’s narrow back and tousled his thick black hair, knowing it was a source of irritation for his lanky friend.  Moshe growled good-naturedly, then punched Ben’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, I know, I’m great.” Ben taunted Moshe. The two entered the dining facility jousting, but the conversation turned serious.  “I’m concerned about this coming intelligence leak the community has been talking about.  It may jeopardize this mission.” Ben whispered to Moshe.

“I’m watching for it, bro.” Moshe’s eyes met his.  “There's an entire wing of computer nerds back at the office looking for the leak, when and if it hits. It’s my biggest concern, too.  I have full faith this team can take out the targets, but it will be much more difficult if the targets are tipped off beforehand, or if our human intelligence working on the ground are exposed.  Leaking this information could change everything.  Why are Americans allowing this to happen?  Tell me this.  Make me understand why they want to commit suicide, using us as the pawns?”

“I wish I could explain it.” Ben began, “But the only reason it is being done is greed, ego, power, revenge.  These are the passions driving American politics now, and it’s putting the United States in grave danger.  Those in power have lost sight that without the protection and survival of America,
nothing else matters
.” Ben said with a heavy sigh.  “I wish I could change that, but it’s why I left the Navy.  I have to do things on my terms or not at all.  I couldn’t deal with the politically correct bullshit any longer.  The sensitivity training, calling Islam a religion, when it’s Nazi ideology plain and simple.  The state department won’t even go into Islamic compounds because they haven’t declared radical Islamists as terror groups.  Hell, those at the top won’t even use the words
Islamic terrorists
.  Political correctness will be the end of us all. Either that, or we end them first.”

Immersed in a wave of anger, Ben continued, “Terrorists have figured out how to use the freedoms in America to their favor.  They are using immigration loopholes to their advantage, and enjoy the protection that comes with being an American citizen.  Hell, they even use our court system with tax-funded lawyers to defend them.  Hard working American people pay to defend jihadists.  Veterans returning from fighting these bastards in wars are paying for their rights. The State Department gives religious protection to radical terrorists trying to kill us.  It’s high level insanity.”

Exhaling, Ben knew Moshe had heard this rant before.  But he believed every word of it.  He wasn’t just blowing off steam.  He feared his own country was going into an unstoppable decline, and it was his duty to try to stop it, in any way that he could.

After dinner, the nighttime mock-up began and lasted well into the morning hours.  Exhausted and hungry, the men ate and crawled into their beds.  Beneath the ground in the bunker, there was no sound except for the soft whir of the ductwork purifying the air.  It was soothing and quiet in his room once the men had fallen asleep.  So quiet he could hear his heart beating.  He recognized his insomnia was worse than ever on this mission.  It was the inability to control what might happen that kept him awake. 
Those who hired him seemed to be the ones who might become his undoing
.  Ego was always at the center of all evil.  It wasn’t about the techniques used or who was spying on whom. 
The bottom line was survival of the fittest
. 
When the hell would these stupid politicians get it?
  There were no rules in battle.  This was a brave new world, and the political hacks were living in a bubble, making arguments that were moot upon the battlefield.

After days of practice and communication with human intel on the ground, Moshe ordered the C-130J stocked and ready for take-off.  The team was in good spirits and Ben found it difficult to be his usual jovial self.  Although he smiled and grabbed arms and slapped backs as always, he did not share the worries lurking in the back of his mind.  It would be a night flight, and the men were happy to have the chance to sleep for the fifteen hour trip. 

They were wheels-up by 9:00 PM and landed in Soto Cano Air Base, Honduras at noon the following day.   Soto Cano was the location of the U.S. Southern Command.  A  Joint Task Force-Bravo operated forward, USSOCOM’s area of responsibility encompassed thirty-one countries and ten territories, thus covering close to one-sixth of the landmass of the earth.

The humidity hit him like a wall the moment Ben stepped off the plane.  It would take a day or two for his body to acclimate, and the men had filled up on water enhanced with electrolytes in preparation for what lie ahead.  A convoy of heavily armored vehicles swept the team to their temporary housing in a bunker beneath the base.  There, they were brought into a room and fitted with the newest forward-deployed TALOS exoskeleton suits, a thin liquid body-armor for protection, and unique goggles that not only allowed night vision, but acted as an undetectable communication device, simply known as G’s.  The goggles were a full-color, 3D heads-up display that provided rapid, real-time battlefield knowledge.  With a high-resolution transparent display, the eyeglasses overlaid a data and a video stream giving the men full view of the battle around them.  Aside from enhancing night vision, the G’s provided waypoints, routing information, and the ability to identify hostile and friendly forces, track personnel and assets, and coordinate small unit actions. 

Piling into the war room, Moshe ran the team through the first strike.  The Dark Horse war game was up on the screen and each man participated in some way, utilizing their unique skills.    Getting ready for these targets was the biggest challenge.  Ben’s worry was:  There were just too many variables.  The Latin American police state was not friendly and there was a strong narco-terrorist element that would surround them.  The one thing he hated more than anything else was uncertainty and now he would be immersed in it. 

Before the game ended, Moshe made an announcement that caused Ben even more anxiety. 

“Sorry to say, guys, that two of the bastards that were on our radar, have managed to slip away in Guatemala.  There were five of them in one location and two have just been reported missing.  Our HUMINT on the ground are trying to locate them without being obvious.  Chief, it will be up to you to find them, and we will stand-by to provide you with every technological or personnel need possible.  Now hit the sack.  Tomorrow is going to be a long hot day.”