THE GIFT

Chapter 10

Stephens was in the throes of a tantrum that would embarrass the most spoiled child. Everything that could be smashed…had been smashed. His clothing lay strewn around the motel room where he ripped it from the closet and flung it with rage. The remnants of the cheap motel lamps littered the room, bed linen was wadded and cast aside. His hard, rolling suitcase had a large dent in it and was jammed under the sink.

“GODDAMMIT…MOTHER FU…” he raged “SONUVABITCH!” Those idiots. I said follow. FOLLOW…not ambush. Jesus frickin’ Christ. Fuckin’ morons!

“I’m betting it was Chad who shot first…fuckin’ idiot.” He ranted at the other men in the room. “Now all my planning is s**t, and I’m down two men.”

“Speaking of s**t…” he mumbled, as he looked out the curtained window and saw the Sheriff’s car pull up outside the motel office. “Go to your rooms and act stupid, don’t say shit.” He barked.

The men slipped out the door, glad to be away from the raging lunatic.

Minutes later, Stephens answered the knock on the door. A giant of a man stood at the door, a gold badge on his pearl-buttoned denim shirt and an enormous .44 Magnum revolver in a western style holster clearly identified him as the Sheriff. The grim set of his jaw and the anonymity of his black aviator sunglasses under a white cowboy hat caused a shudder of dread to course through Stephens, surprising him and throwing him off his game, slightly.

“May I help you, officer?” he asked, his sarcasm tinged with alarm. Damn you’re big. He thought.

“It’s Sheriff, and yes you can help by answering a few questions.” Avery replied in a threatening tone.

“Don’t know if I can help you. I’ve been here all day watching the sorry excuse for T.V. you folks have around here.”

“What makes you think I’m asking about something that happened today?”

“Okay…whatever.” Stephens evaded. “What do you want to know?”

“Let’s start with…who the hell are you?” Avery growled, pressing his imposing frame further into the room and causing Stephens to take an involuntary step back. “What is your business in Panther Pass?”

“Well, my business is my own. This is still America, isn’t it?” Stephens asked the wrong question.

Avery grabbed Stephens by the collar with both huge hands and slammed him against the wall, lifting him nearly a foot off the floor.

“A woman was murdered today. By strangers. If I find that you had anything to do with it…I will bury you…stranger!” he growled through gritted teeth.

A sneer formed on Stephens’ lip as he was cobbling some tough guy response in his head…until he heard the white-hot fire in Avery’s words. He could only imagine the rage behind the glasses. It was then that he realized the Sheriff wasn’t being figurative when he said “bury”. He meant it literally. The sneer disappeared. He could feel his face melting into fear.

“We’re going to talk some more. Don’t try to leave town. I’ll know if you do.” Avery warned, releasing him. A quick tactical survey of the room told him that someone had thrown one helluva fit. “Make damn sure you pay for all this.” He demanded, panning his hand toward the trashed room. “This is my uncle’s place.”

Kiss my ass hillbilly! Stephens seethed, once he was safely behind the closed door. No cowboy sheriff is going to scare me. Through parted curtains, he watched the Sheriff’s pickup spit angry gravel as it left the motel parking lot.

“Hoo-wee…looks like Bubba’s a mite upset.” He said out loud to nobody in a mocking Texas accent. He picked up his phone and pressed the speed dial number of choice. After a few seconds, he said “You sent me rookies. Are you kidding?” he demanded rudely, then explained what had happened. “How serious are you about this s**t?” After a moment of silence, he said “Well, I hope what your sending is better than the clowns I have left.” A few seconds later, he barked out a cynical laugh. “Say what you want, but they were idiots. They were told to FOLLOW…not engage. I needed the woman alive, you moron. Your bozos just made my job harder…and a lot more dangerous…now that they know where we’re coming from. Any help from the feds?”

“What do you mean “they can’t get involved”. Why not? This is as much they’re concern as ours. They stand to lose more than we do.” He ranted. “What do you mean “no they don’t”? What? That sunuva…”

Avery had officially called for assistance from the FBI with a “terroristrelated” case involving two men of unknown origins who ambushed two civilians with automatic weapons on a rural road, killing one. His invoking federal aid placed any assistance, real or perceived, off the table. Not every FBI agent was dirty…just the ones at the top.

“So…no satellite feed?” he asked, hopefully. “What do you mean they’re investigating it? Illegal access? What the fu…that sunuvabitch.” He growled lowly.

“Really? Sheriff Haystack said he believed the ambush was satellite directed because the dead b***h had a worldwide presence on the Internet?” he repeated incredulously. “…because of her connection to the formula? And they bought it? That’s just wrong.” He ranted. There was no satellite involved, just stupidity, but if this backwater Sheriff had that kind of pull? What did it mean?

He knew the FBI would be checking into illicit satellite usage, commercial and official. His bosses had refrained from getting the government involved until they had the formula. They couldn’t control their Congressional lackeys until they held the cards to do so. Official involvement in the hunt would take that away and allow Uncle Sam to 64 claim the prize. Their board members would lose billions. That was not an option. Mercenaries were relatively cheap…and disposable.

Avery felt safe enough to invite the FBI because of the battlefield relationship he had with one of their agents. Brothers in arms are brothers forever. The groups reach was long and strong. Once he gave the rundown to his Delta Force-turned FBI friend, he was assured that an investigation would begin…quietly, because these kinds of sins are usually committed from the top down. He thanked Avery for the chance to take down some big game and promised to keep him in the loop.

For two years, they had hunted down Taliban fighters, violent warlords and drug runners in the rugged mountains of Afghanistan. Now…it seems they would be hunting white-collar vermin in the precipitously corrupt boardrooms of corporate manipulation and political malice. Terrorism comes in many forms…and this was the most insidious of all…the boiling frog type, with We the People as the frog, and the politicians, corporations and media heads controlling the heat.