The small team
of Talon operators used the thirty-minute window to grab their mission loadout. No weapons or gear were provided to Hatch. Tracy made it clear she was to be an observer only. Cruise had outfitted Hatch with an insulated jacket rated for long term exposure, as well as gloves, a hat, and thermals. They'd made it to Lindberg Field, San Diego International Airport in just under twenty minutes.
What an hour it had been. Hatch was sitting on a Gulfstream 6700 private jet with a team of contractors from an agency who'd tried to kill her only months before. Now, she was bound for Alaska. Cold day in hell
came to mind.
The Gulfstream was unlike anything Hatch had ever flown in before. It was a functional aerial command center divided into four compartments, not including the cockpit. It was built to house as many as nineteen passengers. Each chair fully reclined, and there were three couches. One of which Hatch and Cruise now shared. It hardly felt like flying.
She ran her hand over the soft leather of the seat. It was smooth, unlike the marred flesh of the hand touching it. Cruise's elbow touched hers. Even though the temperature onboard the aircraft was comfortable, Hatch slipped the jacket on.
"If you want, I can adjust the temp," Cruise offered.
"Not necessary. I'm fine with the jacket." Hatch lied. She was mad at herself for feeling the compulsion to cover her scars when around Cruise.
"Now that we're settled in, I'd like to formally introduce Hatch. As you know, she'll be joining us as an observer on this op with the hopes of piquing her interest enough for her to join this ragtag band of misfit children." Jordan sat across from the rest of the team and pressed a button on a table next to him. A thin forty-inch LG 4K ultra-high-definition flatscreen arose, blocking two of the windows. "Cruise, would you like to do the introductions?"
Cruise gave a bow. "Let's see…why don't we start with the elephant in the room?"
"Funny. I always considered myself more of a rhino," the man seated in the chair to the right of Cruise said with a laugh. "I'm Eric Hertzog. But people call me Miles."
"He'd like to think it's because he's smooth like Miles Davis." The man, right of Hertzog said, laughing at his joke before he finished saying it. "But the reality is, we call him that because he's a damn doppelganger for Michael Clarke Duncan from The Green Mile."
Hertzog laughed along with the ribbing. His dark skin gave way to a bright, toothy smile. He reminded her of Dubaku, the big Kenyan who preferred to be called Duke and the man who, in a selfless act, traded his life for hers.
"You’re just mad because you hate yours. Ginger here has been begging for a new nickname since he came on board. But if the shoe fits." Hertzog mussed the man's bright red hair and gave a playful shove, nearly knocking him out of his seat.
"I'm Brad Taylor." Ginger gave a wave.
Hatch returned their smiles and was happy to see she wasn't the only one who turned fire engine red when embarrassed. "Strange to say, but it feels good to be here. Thanks for the invite."
"With that out of the way, let's get up to speed on things." Tracy tapped a stylus pen to a digital pad and the LG monitor came to life. A moment later, the black-and-white image of a row of cars along a street came into view. She saw a liquor store and pawnshop. There was a third business on the furthest left of the frame. From the neon beer bottle sign in the window, Hatch assumed it was a bar. She also noticed two men sitting in a light gray Ford Taurus.
"This video is from an ATM across the street from this morning's incident. Not the best quality, but you still get a clear view of what happened. You'll see a large man come into view once I hit play. His name is Walter Grizzly. Belongs to a local white supremacist gang known as The Way. He’s accompanied by his scrawny accomplice, Todd Lankowski. These bastards have a reckoning coming, and it’s coming at our hands." The southern drawl had crept in again. Not as much as before. Tracy's face was no longer friendly. He was all business now.
"Grizzly and Lankowski got in a shootout with two Deputy U.S. Marshals assigned to Anchorage's Fugitive Recovery Task Force. One of the marshals, Clyde Hicks, was killed on scene. The other marshal was shot several times. Gunfire ignited the backend of the target's Volkswagen, which subsequently exploded. What at first was believed to be a bomb was later deemed a mobile meth lab. The second deputy, Darren Lawson, was taken hostage by Grizzly and Lankowski. The explosion disoriented responding units. Grizzly and Lankowski escaped in the marshal's Taurus.”
All eyes were trained on the footage.
"The two men in that Taurus are Hicks and Lawson. Hicks is in the driver's seat." Tracy tapped the tip of the stylus against the tablet's screen. The clock at the bottom of the screen began ticking by.
The video had no audio as it replayed the event. It was like watching a silent western. The Taurus was stopped behind a two-tone Volkswagen hatchback. The two marshals exited their Taurus as Grizzly and Lankowski came into view from the left side of the screen. There was a brief standoff. Even without the sound, Hatch felt the intensity of the moment as the lawmen drew down.
Grizzly and Lankowski raised their hands as the two marshals moved in for the takedown.
"Do you see that? The big guy's actually smiling." Hatch stared at the giant on the screen.
"That's what makes the next part worse," Tracy said.
All hell broke loose a moment later. The gunfire initiated with Lankowski, giving Grizzly an opportunity. Grizzly aimed carefully, shooting Hicks while Lankowski fired wildly, drawing return shots from Lawson who took cover between cars.
Hatch watched as one marshal went to rescue his downed partner dragging him to safety before being shot himself.
Tracy paused the video with a tap of his pen. "Best we can tell from the video, Lawson was shot three times. One in the leg. Two in the torso." Tracy hit play and the video continued.
Lawson was lying face down. Hicks, critically wounded, began crawling toward his partner. He fired a quick burst in the direction of the Volkswagen. Grizzly and Lankowski were already working along the sidewalk in a flanking maneuver. A white flash on the screen blotted the image for several seconds before the camera came back into focus. The footage then showed Grizzly and Lankowski dragging the wounded Lawson away and stuffing him in the back seat of the marshal's own vehicle. Two Anchorage PD marked units rolled up on scene, passing the Taurus as it disappeared off camera, leaving the corpse of Clyde Hicks to burn in the street.
"What's the plan?" Hatch asked.
"Working the problem now. I'll have something together in a couple hours." Tracy tapped his pad and the screen went blank. One press of a button later and the monitor retracted. "We've got about six hours until we touch down in Anchorage. Op briefing will be done once we hit the ground. It may be a while until the next time you get to close your eyes. Everybody power down for a few and get some sleep."
"C'mon Dad, but you promised I could watch TV." Hertzog clasped his large hands together.
Tracy chuckled at the big man and then tapped Cruise. "Meet me in the office for a minute. I want to pick your brain on something."
Cruise got up and carried with him the smell of the ocean. It returned like the waves he surfed, as he leaned back in toward Hatch. For a second, she thought he was going in for a kiss. Her thought was dashed the minute he grabbed his notepad he'd left behind on the armrest where they'd been sitting.
Cruise looked at her with those cobalt eyes. No smile to make them shine. Cold as steel. "I'll tell you one thing, Rach. They're going to pay for what they did today."