Jon was miffed when Nancie Stendahl stomped out of the room because the folks in D.C. cut him free. At least the two young deps who processed him out had the good grace to be impressed he got to keep the M4. They asked if he was a spy.
Jon burst out laughing. Spy. Jesus.
Nancie Stendahl said, “You always laugh at yourself?”
“If you heard the crap in my head, you’d laugh, too.”
Stendahl was leaning against Pike’s Jeep, which had been released along with everything else. The parking lot was near empty, though he saw the big white ATF van on the far side.
Stone was pleased to see her. He sympathized with her personal involvement, and respected the all-in effort she was making to find her kid. Jon was big on all-in effort. He hoped she wouldn’t ruin the moment by lecturing him about the rule of law. If she started with that crap, he was going to recite Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment in the original Russian to freak her out.
She didn’t. She looked beat to hell, strained, and frayed at the edges. He wanted to buy her a cup of coffee, but he had things to do.
“Do you know where my boy is?”
“Nope. Know who has him, though. So does Haddad.”
She perked up.
“Who?”
“Dude named Ghazi al-Diri. Haddad’s boss. You have a pad, something to write with?”
He stowed the M4 in the back seat while she searched herself for paper, and put his pistols, ammo, GPS, and phones on the driver’s seat. When he turned back, she was poised with a pen and a napkin. He rattled off a longitude and latitude, then checked her napkin to make sure she had it right.
“These coordinates bring you to a body dump. You’ll find eleven or twelve people wrapped in plastic. Haddad probably murdered half of them. You’ll find two stiffs who aren’t in plastic. They murdered the rest.”
“Who killed the stiffs?”
Jon ignored her question.
“Don’t be misled by Haddad’s agreeable manner. These are evil fucking people. You wanna walk while we talk? I want to look over this Jeep.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“You want to shut these guys down at the border. The more Haddad gives you on the Syrian, the more intelligence you’ll have on how the cartels do their thing. Good intel is everything. I know that firsthand.”
Stone gave the Jeep a quick walk-around with Stendahl for company. It had picked up a few dings. Pike wouldn’t be happy.
“Ghazi al-Diri is the Syrian?”
“The Mexicans call him the Syrian. For all I know, he’s from Bakersfield. You know what a bajadore is?”
She shook her head.
“He works the border, stealing whatever the cartels send up. Mostly, that’s people trying to sneak in without documents.”
“On the U.S. side?”
“Most of these guys work south, but a few are beginning to work north. It’s easier to dodge the police up here than the cartels down there.”
“Does he live here? Have family?”
“Maybe Haddad can tell you.”
Stone checked the time. He wanted to call Pike.
“Good luck, Stendahl. I gotta go.”
“Ghazi al-Diri has Elvis Cole. He has my nephew. We both want someone he has, so we should work together on this.”
“Uh-uh. Won’t happen your way.”
“Jack is the closest thing I have to a child. He is my only living blood relative. You expect me to kick back, hoping someone else finds him?”
“Work your case. You might find him before us.”
She put herself directly in front of him, and jabbed Stone in the chest.
“He’s my blood. I promised my sister I’d find him. I swore at her grave I’d keep him safe.”
“You’re a sworn officer. It won’t happen your way.”
“Help me find him, goddamnit.”
She jabbed him harder, and Stone stepped away.
“Listen-”
Stone looked at the silver-blue moon, then shook his head.
“When we find these people, if Cole’s dead, they aren’t walking out. There will be no court of law. No judge and jury. You’re an Assistant Deputy Director of the ATF. This will not go down in any way you can live with.”
“You don’t have to do it like that.”
Stone checked his watch. Tempus fugit.
“Gotta go. Wherever Jack is, you want him somewhere else. I have to go.”
She looked like she was going to say something more, and she did, but only the one thing.
“Good luck.”
Jon watched her cross the lot to a midsize sedan, then climbed into the Jeep and started the engine. He booted the sat phone and GPS. It took a moment for the phone to load and lock on a good satellite, but a light flashed green, and Jon was in business.
A message instantly loaded.
Jon hit the playback, and heard Pike’s voice.
“Call.”
Pike answered on the first ring, and Jon reported his status.
“I’m clear. You good?”
“I have Ghazi al-Diri’s sister.”
Stone laughed. He laughed so hard his eyes burned. Pike was a riot. Absolutely the best.
“I love it. That is so perfect, bro. What are you thinking, a head-up trade, the sister for Cole?”
“No trade. We offer a trade, we’ll put al-Diri’s focus on Cole, and he’ll be harder to reach.”
“Does she know where they are?”
“A date farm outside Coachella. I’m looking at it.”
Pike described the farm and the intel he learned from the sister. Al-Diri had pulled three crews and three groups of pollos to a date farm when he learned Haddad and the two turds Stone and Pike dropped in the desert were missing. The farm amounted to a fortress crowded with the Syrian’s soldiers.
“Is Elvis there?”
“Won’t know until we get inside.”
Stone considered the farm as Pike had described it. Delta was all about hostage rescue and snatching bad guys. Jon knew this stuff inside out.
“Fifteen to eighteen gunned-up guards jammed up with a hundred fifty-plus friendlies is asking for collateral damage. It also ups our time on target.”
Time on target meant the time it would take to locate Cole and the kids once they entered the buildings, and get themselves out. The longer the time on target, the greater the risk. If you hung around long enough, you became part of the scenery.
Pike said, “How would you play it, no trade for Cole?”
“Trade for someone else. We have the sister, we use her. Give her to Sang Ki Park.”
“When?”
“Now. Drive the play. Push it so fast this prick doesn’t have time to think.”
“I’m listening.”
Jon Stone wheeled away, loving his plan so much he grinned from ear to ear. He was the best shit-hot troop at this stuff to ever grace the earth; none finer, none more deadly, ever! A man among men.
Nancie Stendahl
Stendahl sat in her rental until Jon Stone drove away, then walked briskly to the SRT van. She entered a world of muted red light through the rear door, and made her way past hanging gear to the electronics bay.
Mo Heedles said, “Hey, boss. Good work. We’re looking good.”
Mo was a large woman with short red hair, who hunched over a laptop computer. The computer was wired to the van’s onboard cell booster to ensure a strong signal.
Stendahl stood behind her to see the laptop’s screen, and watched a flashing black dot move away from the Sheriff’s Station on a street map.
“What’s our range on this?”
“Infinite? We bounce off cell towers. We can follow your boy no matter where he goes.”
Nancie Stendahl took out her cell, and phoned Tony Nakamura in Washington. Late there, but he was used to it.
“Tone, Nancie. I need two SRT teams and a helicopter staged by oh-seven-hundred tomorrow. Anywhere in the Palm Springs-Coachella area.”
“Got it.”
“I’ll advise when and where as I know.”
“Rog.”
Nancie put away her phone and watched the black dot. She didn’t care where it was going; only that she was present when it arrived.