Firestorm, page 10
Lacey stood there in the bank lobby in silence, having forgotten again why she was there in the first place. It dawned on her in the moment that Victoria had not given her a card or told her how she could be reached. She wasn’t sure of it but her old friend’s mention of lunch was possibly an unvitation—something people say to minimize the awkwardness. There’d been plenty of that after the divorce.
It was sometimes easier just to pretend nothing was wrong. And the reality was that Lacey no longer belonged in Victoria’s inner sanctum. But what bothered Lacey had nothing to do with society and everything to do with helping Garrett.
Victoria may not have anything more to say, but Lacey certainly did. If there was a chance that she could leverage her friendship to save the Kohl Ranch, she was going to take it, even if it meant losing what little pride she had left.
20
Garrett had just driven past Kate’s ranch headquarters when he saw the dozers, graders, and dragline excavators belching black exhaust as they bit and tore into the earth behind his home. With the crust peeled back, the pounding sun zapped what moisture remained, leaving a hovering mirage on the horizon as far as the eye could see. What was once fertile acreage for grazing and growing his alfalfa hay was nothing but a wasteland of exposed soil.
They say that before you die, your life flashes before your eyes, but Garrett had lived his life with one foot in the grave and never had that experience. Watching his land be destroyed, however, in the dusty wake of the yellow machines brought the passing of time to a painful crawl. He relived every long walk, Sunday picnic, and trail ride across those once bountiful plains.
Recounting all the arrowheads he’d ever discovered, Garrett couldn’t help but dwell on the ones still hidden, the ones Asadi would never find. They were scooped into iron buckets, dumped into semi-trailers, and hauled off to God only knows where.
Garrett prided himself as a man who never went off half-cocked, but the surge of bile could not be capped. Whoever had crushed the grove of trees where his mother was buried was in for the ass kicking of a lifetime.
Jamming his boot on the gas, Garrett gritted his teeth and jerked the wheel right, careening off the caliche road across the pasture. Laser-focused on the mammoth Caterpillar D10 bulldozer desecrating the Kohl family plot, he brought his GMC to up over fifty, nearly bouncing to the ceiling with every dip, dive, and chughole. Within fifty yards, Garrett was flanked by two white pickups, no doubt Talon security guards who’d been watching his approach.
Mashing the accelerator to the floor, Garrett left them in his dust and arrived just in time to reach the dozer which was heading for his mother’s headstone. He swerved into its path and jammed on the brakes, skidding to a halt within feet of the grave. Garrett jumped out, fortunately with the wherewithal to yank the Nighthawk from his belt and toss it in the passenger seat, lest he lose what little self-control he had left and do something he’d regret.
With the passing seconds, Garrett worked to cool his temper and put the matter in perspective. He sprinted forward, grabbed the handrail to the dozer’s cab and pulled himself up onto the first step. His back foot had just lifted when Garrett felt the tug that ripped him from the railing and slammed him to the ground.
Garrett scrambled to his feet and turned in a circle to find two beefy guards in tan tactical pants and black polos, with the Talon logo. They owned him collectively by a good fifty pounds. Both men had shaved heads and powerlifter physiques. The only distinction between the two was the one on the right sported a close-shorn Fu Manchu mustache. But both wore a smug look—the one that says I dare you.
Not one to disappoint, Garrett unleashed a left hook on the guy that grabbed him, followed by a right fist to Fu Manchu’s solar plexus. Both hits landed with force but were easily absorbed—like punching a side of beef.
Garrett shuffled right to get from in between them and the dozer as the one massaging his jaw pivoted and tried to follow. He rushed Garrett on wobbly legs, but the clumsy blitz was easily dodged. As the guard’s weight carried him forward, he tripped on a dirt furrow that sent him headfirst into the tilled soil.
Fu wasn’t as reckless, nor as off kilter. He’d swapped his I dare you for an I’m glad you did, throwing out his arms before raising his fists. There’s a look guys have who really know how to fight, and this guy wore it like Conor McGregor. It’s not just technique, it was his swagger. It was more than evident by his ease that this dude was a real scrapper.
As Fu advanced, Garrett raised his fists but was a bit too sluggish to block the first jab. Fortunately, he’d dipped enough to make it only a glancing blow. A little dazed, Garrett backed to regroup as a fury of punches came flying in. He ducked one, blocked another, but took a solid left to the cheek that sent him backpedaling, off balance, and landing on his butt.
Fu’s partner moved in from behind, but Garrett scrabbled to his feet and spun out of grasp, keeping a keen eye on the boxer, who kept a steady advance. With words of Joe Bob Dawson, always close to the heart, Garrett remembered his favorite philosophy on fisticuff fairness. He said to the guy who’s getting his ass kicked, there’s no such thing as a fair fight.
With two against one turning out poorly, Garrett remembered his only weapon, the Twisted X steel toes. Fu had just launched another onslaught when Garrett let loose a low kick to his attacker’s leg, landing the steel tip of his boot on the kneecap. Mountain or not, the big man crumbled into a heap and grabbed his leg as he moaned in pain.
Garrett had just turned in search of the other when tackled from behind, landing in the dirt with his attacker beside him. Grappling in a plume of dust, he came out on top, cocked a fist, and smashed the guard’s nose. Only feet away from his mother’s sullied grave, the crunch of bone and cartilage beneath his knuckles felt good and it felt justified.
Raising his fist for another blow, Garrett felt his arm catch, body lifted in a state of weightlessness, as he was dragged backward and dropped to the ground about ten feet away. Spinning out of reach, he looked for Fu but found Holloway instead. The Talon landman was flanked by another guard, who was as big and pissed off looking as his friends. Garrett was about to rise when a guard unholstered his pistol and aimed it at him.
Hurt and enraged but smart enough to know when to stop, Garrett raised his hands, conceding it was time for a ceasefire. “Alright, Holloway. I know my limits.”
Holloway smiled, seemingly amused, and offered Garret his hand. “Something tells me you don’t.”
Although winded from the tussle, Garrett turned down the help and struggled to his feet on his own. He dusted himself off, fighting to lower his temper before launching into Holloway. The standing bodyguard stepped toward Garrett, but their boss waved them off.
“No need for that.” Holloway looked Garrett in the eye. “Right, Mr. Kohl?”
“So long as you get that dozer away from my mother’s grave. Otherwise, you’d better call up every man you got.”
Holloway turned to the grove of trees and studied the small headstone at the base of one of the cottonwoods. He turned back looking a bit contrite. “I didn’t know that was there.”
“Well, you would’ve if you’d asked. I thought we were in the negotiation process.”
“We were in the process.” The female voice that interrupted Holloway seemed to come out of nowhere. “Time to move on.”
Garrett had been so blind with rage that he hadn’t even noticed Vicky Kaiser in Holloway’s passenger seat. Marching up, she wore that same smug look he remembered from high school. She’d been the quintessential mean girl snob, who’d lived to make everyone’s life a living hell.
Before Garrett could reply, Vicky continued. “Surface damage payments were agreed upon years ago by our grandfathers. Market rate. Bridger should’ve told you already.”
“And what about what you did here?” Garrett pointed at the bulldozed trees and his mother’s desecrated gravesite. “What’s the market rate for this?”
Vicky swallowed hard. “That wasn’t—”
“Bridger didn’t tell me anything about this happening today because I’m guessing he didn’t know. Have to think that was intentional on your part.”
Vicky shook off the suggestion. “Only thing intentional here is maximizing profit. Every second this equipment sits idle, we’re losing money.”
“Well, at least you’re honest about it, Vicky. I’ll give you that.”
“You’re no fool.” Vicky stared him down. “A hothead maybe, like your father, but you’ve figured this thing out, haven’t you?”
Garrett wasn’t sure what Vicky was driving at, but assumed the whole nicey-nice, friend of the community garbage that Talon had been selling was all a crock. Kaisers cared about one thing and one thing only. Always had. “So, it is about the money?”
Vicky didn’t miss a beat. “When isn’t it?”
Garrett pointed to his mother’s grave. “When it’s about that.”
Holloway, who’d been quiet for some time, broke into the conversation. “Look, fair enough, Mr. Kohl. We hear and understand your concerns, and this clearly wasn’t our intent. But this is an active mining site. I can’t have you making trouble for us out here.”
Garrett gave a nod. “Then at least let me point out some of the places that are off limits.”
Holloway studied the gravesite a moment before turning back to Garrett. “We’ll fence this place off and clean up the damage we’ve done. But unless you’ve got an environmental or regulatory objection with where we’re operating, nothing’s off limits. I’m sorry about that.”
Garrett couldn’t believe it, but with the sudden appearance of Vicky Kaiser, he actually didn’t mind Holloway quite as much. At least he was just doing his job, whereas she was doing it out of spite—a vendetta that had gone on for generations. Garrett was just about to turn his ire back on Vicky when a sheriff’s deputy’s Tahoe pulled up. There was a glare on the windshield but a shift by the driver revealed his best friend, Tony Sanchez, behind the wheel.
Garrett looked to Vicky and shook his head. “That really necessary?”
She eyed the two guards who were still on the ground nursing their injuries. They seemed to make an extra effort to look like victims. “I’m sorry to do this but Talon is going to have to file a temporary restraining order on you as well.”
“You know why I did this, Vicky. You telling me you wouldn’t have done the same if it was your father’s grave?” Garrett knew she’d always been a daddy’s girl. If she cared about nothing else, maybe that would hit home. When she didn’t answer, he tried his luck with Holloway. “What about you?”
Holloway broke eye contact and looked off into the distance. “It’s not up to her or me anymore. Went up the chain to Chicago. I’d do something if I could but I’m just the—”
“Landman.” Garrett assumed Holloway was going to say messenger but as long as all their cards were on the table, he wanted the guy to admit that Talon Corporation was no different from any other oil and gas company in the world.
“That’s right, Mr. Kohl. I’m just the landman.”
Garrett couldn’t believe it, but he actually detected a little remorse. He never imagined he’d have preferred dealing with Holloway, but with a witch like Vicky Kaiser as the alternative it made for an easy call. At least his role in this fiasco wasn’t personal. With Vicky, on the other hand, everything was personal, particularly when it comes to family.
Sanchez called out as he marched up from behind. “What’s going on here, Garrett?”
Garrett didn’t turn. He kept his eyes locked onto Holloway. “Oh, we’re just having a little meeting of the minds, that’s all.”
Sanchez surveyed the damage around the gravesite then eyed the busted-up guards, who were still nursing their wounds. It wasn’t hard to figure out what happened. Garrett knew his friend was in a tough position and he didn’t want to make it any harder for him.
Sanchez had always been there for Garrett, as much of a brother to him as Bridger. When Tony’s father died and Butch was drinking and distant, they’d had each other. Preferring the ranch to prom and hunting season to football season, Garrett and Tony had the ranch. It was an alternate universe where they lived in a perpetual state of Old West purgatory, somewhere between the time of cowboys and Indians and the modern world.
“Yeah, Tony, it seems that Mr. Holloway and I have come to an understanding now. I was just about to leave.”
Sanchez looked to Holloway. “Sounds like matters are resolved then.”
Holloway nodded. “There’ll be some paperwork I’ll need to sign.”
Garrett knew that had to do with the TRO, keeping him off his own property. He’d have put up a fight. But not with Sanchez there. His friend had no choice in the matter. And given the condition of the Talon guards, he was lucky to be leaving without handcuffs. Turning to his mother’s gravesite that was nearly destroyed, Garrett looked to the one responsible, the dozer driver who’d done the damage was standing slack-jawed at the top of the steps.
All Garrett could do was shake his head. Ray Smitty was like a bad penny. No matter how far you chucked him, he always turned back up.
21
Of all the things that should’ve occupied Garrett’s mind leaving the ranch, it was the guard’s pistol that had him stymied. He was packing a GSh-18, a Russian-made nine-millimeter that few Americans or Europeans used as their go-to sidearm. Every gunslinger has a preference, but most operators lived by the philosophy that you dance with the girl who brung ya.
Garrett, however, was the exception, opting for his Nighthawk over the Beretta M9A1 he carried in Army Special Forces or the Glock 17 he used with the DEA. Still, the GSh-18 was an odd choice for anyone other than former Spetsnaz, Russia’s special operations forces. Those pistols weren’t commercially available, making them nearly impossible to find.
Garrett let out a sigh when he felt the buzz of the cell phone in his front pocket and saw on his dash that the call coming in was from Kim. Last thing he needed was another problem. So as not to worry her, he mustered up a greeting that was all sunshine and roses. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
There was a pause on the other end, which Garrett immediately took as a bad sign. He braced for impact as Kim launched right in.
“Got a little news on our situation.”
A little news. That wasn’t what he wanted to hear. She’d have said good news if it was anything other than bad. “Okay, lay it on me, I guess.”
“On the positive side,” she began, “it looks like we have more time than we thought until Asadi has to go back.”
“More time is good,” Garrett agreed. “But what does that really mean for a permanent fix?”
“Means I’ve got more time to work on that. To try and convince the deputy NSC director who’s pushing this thing that there has to be another option. Got a meeting with him next week to see what I can work out.”
“What’s the bad news?”
“Bad news is I’m meeting some resistance here. Not a lot of support from my boss, which means he’s getting pushback from upstairs.”
Garrett knew that her boss was talking directly to the CIA director. There’d be no talking him into anything no matter how hard Kim tried. Getting an asset on board like Omar Zadran was a nice feather in his cap and a huge win for the Agency, which meant the chance of keeping Asadi in Texas was as good as gone.
“Look, Kim, I know why they want this to happen and I don’t blame them. But Asadi’s just a kid. He’s already lost one family. I can’t let him lose another.”
“I know, Garrett. I know. Like I said, I’m working on it.”
Garrett went silent. He was well aware of what the outcome would be. The CIA wasn’t any different from the DEA in some regards. When leadership made a decision there was no going back. Bureaucratic wheels turn slow, but once in motion they were nearly impossible to stop.
Kim filled the dead air. “You okay?”
So as not to give away his plan to flee with Asadi, Garrett changed the subject. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just have some big problems going on around here.”
“Asadi okay?” Kim sounded alarmed.
“No, he’s great. Just something to do with the ranch.”
“Anything I can help with?”
Remembering the Russian handgun and Ike’s mysterious tale of trouble in Africa, Garrett launched a little salvo of misdirection to get her off his scent. “Ever hear of an energy company called Talon Corporation?”
There was a pause on her end. “Doesn’t ring a bell. Why?”
“They’ve got a heavy hand, that’s all. Ike mentioned he’d crossed paths with them in Angola and they weren’t exactly the sort that plays nice in the sandbox, if you know what I mean.”
“Few in Africa do.” Kim chuckled. “They’re drilling on the ranch now?”
“I wish. They’re digging.”
“Digging?” Kim sounded genuinely thrown off. “Digging for what?”
“Rare earth minerals.”
There was an even longer pause on her end this time. “Talon, you said?”
Garrett could tell she was no longer making friendly conversation. Kim’s intel ears were perked for a reason. But he doubted she’d tell him why. “Something jog your memory?”
“Had a few cables come across my queue on rare earth minerals lately. Becoming somewhat of a security topic given the fact that Beijing controls the bulk of the world’s supply. The Chinese are even digging in Afghanistan now. Using the Taliban as security. Can you believe that?”
Garrett knew he was grasping at straws but had to ask. Maybe they could tie the company destroying his land to a terrorist organization. “Do the Chinese have any connection to Talon Corporation?”
