THE GIFT

Chapter 12

With grim determination, Matt worked to fulfill his promise to Melanie. He was able to get the linguistics of the formula translated into eight languages other than English. He worked tirelessly to assemble data bombs immune to firewalls, hacking and backtracking, as much as he could, once the launch button was pushed. They were counting on the element of surprise to give them enough time to blast the files around the globe. The files were designed so that anyone with a computer, pad or smart phone could download its entirety. Like the waters of a flood, once released, there was no suppressing it’s impact.

The Force assembled at Avery’s ranch, including the doctor from Houston and the jet owner. It seems the bad guys didn’t have the insight or resources to keep an eye on anyone but Curtis. Obviously, they had not done their due diligence. Everyone in town knew that Avery and Curtis and Matt were best friends.

But just as people tend to accuse others of behaving the way they would behave in a similar situation, Stephens’ contempt for Texas and his arrogance had effectively blinded him from any possibilities other than this being a rookie attempt to keep the formula for themselves. He was thoroughly self-convinced that it was greed and a lust for power that motivated James and his cronies. It is exactly what he would do if he held the golden egg.

Working with mercenaries has disadvantages. Greed being foremost. Arrogance another. Ten mercenaries were checked into the only motel in town. None had thought to camp out of sight. Six had gone into the small town, as a group, to get something to eat, and were easily noticed by the local population. Big city anonymity didn’t extent to rural Texas.

The remaining four stayed, gathered into one room, to tell merc stories and kill off a fifth of Jack Daniels.

“I know what this s**t is about.” The first merc claimed.

“Yea? What’s that?” a second merc asked.

“You know dat “miracle guy”?” the first merc started, his heavy Brooklyn accent coming through. Getting a couple nods, he went on, “Dees guys got ‘im. An’ they’re holdin’ ‘im to sell to da highest biddah. I heard dey don’ even need his body…just his blood.”

“That’s bullshit.” A third merc retorted.

“Really?” challenged the first merc, “Then why is he bein’ protected by da local gun club? I tell yous guys, the town is in on it, too. Do ya see the way dey look at us?” he raved on. “And dis asshole Stephens. What a piece of work. I don’t trust the sonuvabitch.”

“So, what are you sayin’?” the fourth merc asked.

“I been thinkin’…” merc one started, “Dis guy is worth a hundred mill, if he’s worth a frickin’ dime. Why should that go to a bunch of greedy board members…who already got millions? We’re da ones taking da risks. I say we keep da freak and sell him ourselves. f**k Stephens.” He concluded, dehumanizing their target.

Panning his gaze around the room, he saw no objections.

“Hundred mill, huh?” the fourth merc repeated.

“At least.” The first merc declared.

“Well, we gotta get the bastard first.” The second merc reminded.

“True dat,” the first merc replied “What about da rest o’ da crew?”

“f**k ‘em,” the second merc said. “A hundred million four ways is better than a hundred million ten ways. Don’t say anything until we have him. What they don’t know won’t hurt them. We’ll figure something out…and whatever you do, don’t kill him…or let anybody else kill him.”

Working with mercenaries has some advantages. Individual curiosity being one of them. One of the more experienced mercs watching the ranch noticed that Matt was a frequent visitor and wondered if there 73 may be some significance to that. He decided to follow him at a safe distance. It was a short journey, since Matt’s driveway was mere miles from Finally Found It Road. He watched as Matt parked near a Quonset hut…a squat structure that resembled a giant soup can cut lengthwise and laid on its side, with walls on each end, and a concrete stairwell at the near end descended to a heavy steel door. Matt entered his tornado shelter carrying a computer bag and a small box.

Minutes later, he emerged and proceeded to undo several latches that held the hinged lid of an aluminum box two feet wide by two feet tall by twenty feet long, that lay next to the shelter. Raising the lid, he reached into the near end and began to lift a three-legged aluminum antenna mast, hinged to the ground at the far end, to about head height and propped it in place with a short support pole hinged to the mast for that purpose.

He then opened a larger, square box at the far end of the narrow box. He withdrew an intricate assembly of antennae and little black boxes, including a small satellite dish and other specialized arrays and receivers. After attaching the extension onto the mast and fastening all the connections, Matt raised the antenna the rest of the way to its broadcast height, using a cable attached to the mast at midpoint, running to a small crank mounted on a stubby pole at the opposite end. Once he had secured the mast in its upright position, he retreated down into the shelter and shut the door with a solid thud.

You clever bastards. The merc postulated.

He reported what he saw to Stephens, but Stephens brushed it off as less than important. You’re an i***t, the merc thought.

“That would be a remote command center. I should have known.” He lamented. “When I saw the piss-ants surrounding the place, I should have figured they would have something like that. That’s where they’ll launch drones from, probably with night vision. They’ve seen a few war movies. What a bunch of dorks!” he mocked. “Anyway, since you found it, you take care of it. Pick someone and take him out while we take care of the rest of the action figures.” This guy is dumb-to-death, the merc thought.

“Meanwhile let’s “saddle up”, as they say here in Texas…” he mocked, glibly. “We got a payday to make.”

“Okay…four teams of two each,” he barked, as he swept his hand over a paper gas station map of the area spread out on the bed, “Each team comes from a different corner of the house…you two here…you two here…and so on. Wait for my signal, then do a slow approach. Don’t forget…they have cowboys in the woods. That’s what the suppressed pistols are for. No witnesses. There’s a big-ass dog, too, but so far, they’ve kept it indoors.”

“Now here’s the important part…do not kill the target. He’s worth a helluva lot more alive than dead. I will shoot anyone who shoots him…is that clear?” he demanded.

Around the bed, furtive glances were exchanged, some out of arrogant annoyance…the rest for entirely different reasons.

“Okay, kids…let’s go play cowboys and assassins.” Stephens mocked again. What his mercenaries didn’t know, was that he had a plan to cut everyone out and steal the miracle, himself.