Travis Starnes
patreon
Extraction (John Taylor #8) - Chapter 6
🕑 Added 2021-11-10 14:00:04 +0000 UTCCamp Lemonnier, Djibouti
Stone was standing outside the hanger, waiting for Taylor when the MPs escorted him back, looking equal parts annoyed and angry.
“Where the hell did you go,” he demanded when Taylor was walking back into the hanger.
“I have an old friend serving here. I’d called ahead before I left and got clearance to leave the confined area and go see him. That’s it.”
“I know you’re used to people kissing your ass because you’re friends with big important people, but on my mission, that shit don’t fly. If you wander off again, we will leave your ass here, I don’t care what deals were made. This isn’t some chicken shit FBI operation. We’re going into hostile territory and I don’t need a tourist fucking up my mission. Get with the program or stay here. Is that clear?”
“I’ve got it,” Taylor said, non-committal.
He’d considered for a moment pointing out his group had a history of screwing up jobs all on their own, often with very high body counts, or that he’d seen considerably more field time while he was in the service than Stone ever had. Taylor knew that wouldn’t do any good and it would only serve to make it harder to get Wayne out of the compound when the time came, so he just shut his mouth and let the tirade roll over him.
Stone was trying to do his best drill sergeant glare, and falling far short of the goal. Taylor had been chewed out by the best and he could take a piker like Stone without batting an eye.
Stone clearly didn’t believe Taylor’s story, but there was no way to disprove it, so he had to just let it drop, which was fine by Taylor.
They spent the next several hours packing weapons and packs for the march that they’d have to make as soon as they hit land and ensuring everything was watertight, just in case it went over. They’d be taking three inflatable boats to the shore from the ship they’d chartered. It was all but impossible to keep all of the sea spray and damp out of equipment. While that might be fine for clothes and the like, electronics and firearms did not respond well to the salty ocean water, which meant greasing and sealing everything that couldn’t be packed away to protect their mechanisms from the sea salt.
He went through all the equipment that Lopez had packed him and made sure he had enough ammunition and equipment, ultimately adding a few more magazines into his pack from the extras that Lopez had brought along, just in case. After hearing the briefing, Taylor was almost positive this thing would fall apart as soon as they hit enemy contact. Short of calling for a pickup and scrubbing the whole mission, they wouldn’t be getting any more supplies any time soon.
He couldn’t help but notice that none of the other men seemed to be taking similar precautions. For a group that touted itself as being made up of former service members, they were all taking a very lackadaisical approach to the entire mission. O’Brien, who was one of the men carrying squad assault weapons, didn’t even pack the standard load dictated by the army. The way those things chewed through ammunition, if they did get into a firefight, he’d run dry in under ten minutes, and that was if he maintained fire discipline. If he went all Rambo, he’d be out a lot faster than that.
They still had a few hours until the boat arrived, so Taylor took the opportunity to find a corner and lean back on his rucksack to catch a few minutes’ sleep. A couple of the guys who’d seen actual service were doing the same thing, since they knew that once they were in the field, it might be a while before they got any real rest again. Especially if things went sideways.
Thankfully, Taylor was a light sleeper and was up when the team started to load up their stuff to head to the boat. He couldn’t help but notice none of the men had come to actually get him and let him know they were leaving. If anything, they were quieter around him than would have been normal, which was probably Stone’s doing. It was a safe bet that the former SEAL would have loved nothing more than to ‘accidentally’ leave Taylor behind.
Taylor grabbed his rucksack and weapon and started towards the boat when a beefy hand gripped his shoulder and turned him around. The hand alone had been enough that Taylor knew it was O’Brien before he turned around.
“You think your shit don’t stink just because you rub elbows with all the fancy-ass people, don’t you? Pulled strings to get out of lockdown and go eat with your fancy-ass friends instead of us. Too good to drink or hang with us last night. You need to remember you ain’t shit. Out here, we’re the top dogs and you’re a fucking nobody.”
Taylor knew O’Brien’s type. He didn’t care that Taylor hadn’t eaten with him and he didn’t care that Taylor hadn’t wanted to get drunk with the rest of them. All he wanted to do was show everyone else that he was still number two in the pecking order and put them outside in his place. Taylor also knew this wasn’t the kind of person you deescalated with. He was the type of guy that only respected aggression and saw anything less as a weakness to be exploited.
“I am too good for you O’Brien, and if you put your hand on me again, I’m going to smash in your ugly as shit face,” Taylor said, dropping his rucksack and setting his rifle against it.
“You little …” O’Brien started to say, reaching his hand out to thump Taylor in the shoulder as a sign of dominance.
Taylor didn’t wait for him to make contact. He’d learned a long time ago that the best move was to strike first, since the person that got in the first blows was also usually the one who walked away. He’d also been training steadily with Loretta for the last year and a half trying to make up for his lack of hand-to-hand skills. He’d always been more of a weapons guy and hadn’t gone in for all the kung fu shit other special operations soldiers like SEALS and Delta seemed to love.
While that’d worked for him in the service, where most of the hostiles he ran into were shooting at him from a distance, law enforcement was a lot more hands-on and he’d ended up on his ass more than once because of his lack of training beyond the beginner stuff he learned in basic training what seemed like a lifetime ago.
O’Brien was taller than Taylor, but only by four or six inches, putting Taylor’s nose about even with the man’s chin. Even as O’Brien’s hand was coming up Taylor lunged forward, pushing up on his toes as he slammed his head forward, smashing the hard front plate of his skull square into the tip of O’Brien’s nose. Taylor could feel the cartilage give way and a spray of warm liquid spray across his head as blood erupted from the large man’s face.
Taylor didn’t stop there, since O’Brien wasn’t the type of guy to let a little thing like a broken nose slow him down. Grabbing the extending right wrist with his left, Taylor hooked a foot around O’Brien’s ankle and pulled, sending the larger man, who was already stunned slightly from the head-butt, twisting to the ground. Taylor pulled back on his wrist as he fell, turning and causing the front of his body to smash into the ground. O’Brien, who hadn’t had a chance to brace himself before the crash, yelped in pain as his bloody and bruised face bounced off the tarmac. The yelp was suddenly cut off as Taylor fell knee first into the center of his back, pushing the air out of his lungs. Pulling the man’s wrist behind him, Taylor twisted until it was up behind his back at an uncomfortable angle, the shoulder and elbow hyper-extended, causing the right side of the man’s body to explode in pain.
“See,” Taylor said, leaning forward to whisper menacingly in his ear. “When I say I’m going to do something, I do it. Touch me again, and I’ll make sure you never use this arm again. Got it?”
Before Taylor could say anything else, he heard the click of a hammer being drawn back behind him. Not something really necessary in most modern guns, but some guys liked to use it as a method of intimidation when they wanted to get the point across. Taylor would have thought just pointing a gun at someone would have the same effect, but some guys liked the sensory experience, he guessed.
“Get off him,” Stone said from behind Taylor.
Taylor had made his point so he did as instructed, letting go of O’Brien’s wrist and pushing himself up, making sure the shifting weight put a little more pressure on the larger man’s back as he did so.
Turning around, Taylor ignored the extended firearm and looked steadily into Stone’s eyes.
“Make sure he keeps his hands off me, and we won’t have any more problems.”
“There won’t be any more problems if I do you here and now, either.”
“Look around you,” Taylor said.
Stone had shown how terrible his situational awareness was by how focused he’d been on Taylor. While they were loading up on a civilian boat, they were still on a US Navy dock and the extra security the base commander had ordered around Stone and his men was still in effect. Stone paused, maybe considering if Taylor was tricking him, before deciding to take a brief glance to the left and right, finally seeing the raised rifles of the MPs that had been stationed to ensure no one wandered off.
Stone clicked the hammer back into place and thumbed on the safety before sliding the weapon back into its holster.
“You need to learn some respect. You’re not part of my team and here by invitation only.”
“Like I said, make sure he keeps his hands off me and we won’t have any more problems. I’m here to get a job done, Stone. I’m not going to rock the boat as long as you keep your guys in check.”
“What if I just leave you here?”
“Go ahead. Although I’m betting whoever told you that you had to bring me in the first place might be upset.”
Stone was the kind of guy who’d get into a fight every single time rather than losing face. He was all about how he looked to other people and wouldn’t ever back down, even if it was in his own best self-interest, for fear of looking weak. Taylor didn’t need to be in a pissing match if he could help it. He’d shown O’Brien that he wasn’t someone to push around, and O’Brien would probably keep his distance, at least long enough to get the mission done. Taylor decided that with Stone, the best way to keep everything on track was the more diplomatic approach that wouldn’t have worked on O’Brien.
“Look, you know Angelo. I’m betting he gets in this kind of thing with every new guy on your team, trying to see who’s boss. We had our little moment and hopefully, this is where it ends. Let’s just get this thing done so you can be rid of me. I’ll promise to play nice if they do.”
Stone gave Taylor a hard look, evaluating him, before saying, “Fine. If they get out of line next time, come see me before busting their face.”
“Fine,” Taylor said, reaching down and picking up his weapon and his ruck. “See you on the boat.”
Taylor walked around Stone towards the boat, not looking back. Taylor was positive the truce wouldn’t hold, but he’d hoped it would last at least until they hit the beach. Once on mission, most of these guys were semi-professional enough to focus on that, rather than on these petty games.
Washington D.C.
Instead of going home after leaving Robles’ office, Kara had gone to Taylor and Whitaker’s house. Although she needed time to think of a new plan, she also needed information. Taylor had a pretty wide network of friends; some, like Robles, in positions where they could possibly do something. The hard part was finding someone who would do something, especially for her. They might stick their necks out for Taylor, and technically that’s what she was asking them to do now, but some of them would see this as a secondhand kind of favor, which would kill the deal. Some of his contacts, like David Bryant, were more mercenary than that, and wouldn’t do something just to help Taylor, and would want a more specified gain out of it. Or at least that’s how Taylor’d made him sound when he talked about the man.
Kara went through his computer, looking at the people Taylor had corresponded with over the last few years, trying to find the right fit. She knew a lot of kids wouldn’t have the kind of access to their parents’, especially adoptive parents’, records the way that Taylor and Whitaker had opened up everything to her, and she felt a little guilty about taking advantage of it now.
They’d done it on the advice of her first psychologist, who’d suggested that, after so many years of being controlled by someone else, it would help Kara feel a sense of control over her own life. They’d always made sure that no doors were locked to her but treated her personal spaces as sacrosanct, never going into her room unless they asked her. She appreciated how far out of the way the two had gone to help make her feel safe, and she had to admit that the psychologist had been right. The combination of having her own private space while nothing else around her was closed off to her did make her feel a sense of control. Of course, it was a little annoying how easily something like that was able to affect how she felt, but she’d also taken a lesson from it. Everyone could be manipulated, often even if they knew it was happening. You just had to know the right triggers to work with.
Kara pushed away the twinge of guilt and kept digging. Although he’d always made sure she knew the passwords to everything but the secured FBI databases, which they weren’t legally allowed to share, Kara had never snooped in his computer before. Maybe just knowing the option was there was enough to make her feel better. She hadn’t realized how often Taylor talked to his old friends. Even with her and Whitaker, the two people he was most open to, he still didn’t talk a lot. Reserved was probably the best way to describe him. He didn’t babble or try to fill dead air with nonsense and only spoke when he thought something needed to be said. It’s one of the things she liked about him, since it meant that if he said something, he wasn’t just talking to hear his own voice. He meant it.
That’s what made his regular correspondence so unexpected. She’d thought she’d find one-word replies to emails from his old friends, but instead, she found ongoing conversations. Back and forth discussions on all kinds of things, some of which Taylor himself had initiated. Just when she thought she’d figured the man out, he kept bringing surprises. This one just happened to work out in her favor, since it gave her a lot more data to work with. She spent hours reading, even though she’d picked out her target early on. She loved Taylor. He was the father she’d been denied growing up and she knew that he loved her unconditionally, which is why she couldn’t help but snoop through this part of him she hadn’t realized was there.
Thankfully, she’d set an alarm for herself to know when Whitaker was probably coming home. Her adoptive mother wouldn’t have cared that she was on their computer, but Kara had a feeling this might go places they wouldn’t like. Whitaker was observant. If things did take a turn and anything at all pointed back towards Kara, Whitaker would remember finding her on the computer and start making connections.
By the time the alarm went off, Kara had read through each of the emails from the last few months, trying to gauge which one of Taylors’ friends would be the most likely to help, and which one she might have known. Unfortunately, the ones who she had met didn’t seem to be in regular contact with Taylor, and those that were didn’t feel like they had the kind of connection with him that would lead to their helping Kara. She ended up writing down three names, finding their contact information, which she included in her notes. That done, she shut everything down, making sure the desk was back the way she found it, and was on the couch when Whitaker came home.
Kara had decided she would wait until she got home to start making calls. She didn’t think Whitaker would dig through their phone bill to see who was being called, but if she did, there was no way her adoptive mother wouldn’t notice that calls were being placed to Taylor’s old friends from their house while he was halfway around the world.
“Hey, I didn’t know you were going to be here,” Whitaker said, seeing Kara watching TV.
“I had some free time and wanted to go to the national portrait gallery,” Kara said, which was a lie, but a believable one, since she really did enjoy going there. “I didn’t feel like taking the bus back and I thought maybe you could give me a ride home, if you didn’t mind.”
“Do you want to spend the night? I could order some pizza if you want?”
“I’d love to, but I made plans with Mary Jane. She had something going with her mother this afternoon, but we’re supposed to hang out tonight. I haven’t seen much of her since her mother got elected, ’cause they always need her for events and stuff. I can call and get her to pick me up if you’re busy though.”
“Don’t be silly. Of course I’ll drive you. We just don’t get to spend a lot of time together just you and me though, so I thought it would be nice.”
She was right, of course. Kara loved Whitaker, despite how much they’d clashed when she’d lived with them, before she got into the private school in Georgetown and moved in with Mary Jane to be in walking distance. Kara knew she had a closer relationship with Taylor, talking to him almost every day when he was in town and always finding time to be with him. While she also talked to Whitaker frequently, it was usually because she’d come to see Taylor and Whitaker was there.
Despite how Whitaker had put it, Kara could see she was disappointed when Kara had said she couldn’t stay. While Kara had the situation with Taylor and Packer at the forefront of her mind, she also felt bad that she’d maybe ignored Whitaker more than she should have.
“If you want, I can come over tomorrow night. Maybe we could pick up food and watch a movie here?” she asked.
Whitaker gave her a warm, loving smile and Kara could see just how happy the older woman was at hearing the suggestion.
“It’s a date. Just us girls. Did you want to invite Mary Jane too?”
“No. I think it’d be nice to just hang out, the two of us.”
Whitaker put an arm around Kara, pulling her into a one-armed hug.
“I think that’d be nice, too. Okay, get your stuff and I’ll drive you home.”
They made small talk the rest of the way and Kara hoped she’d managed not to sound distracted, since Whitaker would have picked up on it. The house was empty when she got home, since the secret service detail would have been out with Mary Jane. They really did have plans that evening, although later than Kara had made it sound when she’d told Whitaker about them.
As soon as Whitaker had left, Kara went to the phone and dialed the person she’d marked down as the most likely one to help.
“Franklin’s Auto Shop, Albert speakin’,” a gravelly voice said over the phone when someone picked up.
“Albert Franklin?”
“Yep, the one and only.”
“Mr. Franklin, you don’t know me but you know my father, John Taylor. Do you have a moment to talk?”
“It’s Kara, right?” Albert asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Yeah, John’s mentioned you several times. Is everything alright?”
That was the obvious question when the daughter of a friend who you’d never spoken to suddenly calls you out of the blue.
“Maybe. I need some help, or rather Taylor needs help, I think, and I’m not sure what to do with it. I know you’ve helped him with some things in the past and you two are friends, and I was hoping maybe you could help me.”
“Uhh,” he said, clearly taken aback by the request. “Sure, I guess. Why don’t you go to Whitaker about this, though?”
“I think maybe it will make more sense if I explain what’s going on first,” Kara said.
“Okay, so what is going on?”
Kara broke down everything for him, explaining the background about Packer, some of which he’d heard from Taylor, who’d complained about the interference shortly after the events of the election. She then explained about what Taylor was doing now, or as much as she knew about it and Packer’s involvement.
“Whitaker was there when he told us about seeing Packer, and didn’t seem bothered about it, even though Taylor was. I talked to her about it and she said that he knew what he was doing, and he was able to handle himself, but I still would feel better if someone would look into what was actually happening. Claire meant well and I know she needed help for her husband, but I don’t think she knew everything either. I’m worried he’s going into this without all of the information, and it’s going to put him in danger. I’m also worried that Packer’s up to something and it will end up coming back on Taylor. If he was here, I wouldn’t say anything, because she’s right, he does know how to handle himself. But he’s over there and having to concentrate on these ex-military guys he’s going with and the people holding Claire’s husband hostage. That’s a lot to pay attention to, and he might not have the time to keep an eye on what Packer’s doing at the same time.”
“So you want someone to look into this guy Packer, is that what I’m hearing?”
“Yes, sir. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
“I have no doubt. Taylor has told me repeatedly how clever and self-reliant you are, so the fact that you’re calling me says volumes. I’m not sure there’s much I can do here, and intelligence isn’t really my game, but I know a guy up there who might be able to help. He used to live down here and we met at the VA during one of the recovery programs. He’s an all-right guy and I know he’s set up shop as a PI. I’ll give him a call and see if he can take a look into this Packer fella.”
“Thank you so much … uhh, I don’t have a lot of money and I’m not sure what a private investigator charges, but I could …”
“Don’t worry about it. I owe Taylor more than I can ever repay, and I’d never forgive myself if I let down his girl. Is this a good number he can call you at?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay. He’ll be in touch. You take care of yourself and if you’re ever in trouble, you can always call old Albert, all right?”
“I will. Thanks, Albert.”
She hung up. This wasn’t a done deal, but at least he’d listened to her, unlike Whitaker and Robles. She realized it was probably nothing and they were both right, but Kara knew herself. She wouldn’t be able to let it go until she got some kind of confirmation that everything was all right.
