Page 26 of Triple Threat

Second to last was a .223 AR-15. I had no love for the weapon, but it was so readily available that I could leave them like empty beer cans behind me, and even if law enforcement got their hands on it, it wouldn’t matter.

And finally, the last gun in the case was Roan’s addition to my arsenal, his personal touch – a Colt Python .357 magnum. It was a stunning weapon, gorgeous, heavy, expensive, and as far as pistols went, it was a revolver, so after the cylinder was empty, it pretty much became a very pricey bludgeon, but Roan loved his large-frame American revolvers.

* * *

Once night came,I took the drone out to the veranda and Roan grabbed it and flew off with it. I watched the screen while he zoomed toward the compound. He had a full setup in the Bat Cave – three monitors, a console, hell even a control column like a flight simulator. He flew the black drone around the Final Prophecy Center, sweeping it with cameras, thermal and low light. As he did his thing, his program was stitching together a picture of the place, like a massive panoramic shot. The thermal showed where people were, or had been, and how long it had been since their civvy helicopter had been in the air. The turbine was cold, so it had been days since it flew.

There was a main approach, the road leading from the highway up the hill toward the compound. It was covered from two different towers, and there was a guard shack and road barricade that made that easily covered. Basic prepper nonsense.

There was a barely noticeable service road leading to the back of the compound, only visible in its temperature difference in the infrared. There was a large truck, likely a military-style vehicle, the heat from its tires and engine glowing like cherries on the screen. If we had some of this back when I was running across the scrub along the Pakistan border, the damage we could have done.

As the drone made its sweep, I found what I wanted; a covered approach to the compound. The eastern side of the compound was a broad downslope that had been planted with an orchard, maybe a vineyard. It mostly looked dead, but there was enough that it would provide the cover I needed.

There was a certain pleasure that came from prep – the zip and song of nylon straps, the crackle of Velcro, the soft metallic sounds the guns made as I checked them. The almost sensual insertion of the tactical knife into its sheath gave me a little thrill. My hostess gave me a smile and a nod as I departed for the evening, but I looked nothing but debonair and handsome in my custom-fit leather coat and sport gloves. The ensemble looked better with an Aston Martin or a McLaren. It seemed strange with a Ford truck, but I wasn’t going to drive up to the center. I was going to walk.

A block from the bed-and-breakfast the main strip of Oasis, Texas opened up running more or less east to west. It was a small town so the attractions were limited to a few fast-food establishments, a weathered gentleman’s club, and small-town Main Street businesses that were only around because Oasis wasn’t large enough to attract a big box store. I slipped between a gold and jewelry store and a hardware store, into a narrow alley that opened out into a dusty courtyard littered with cigarette butts and discarded food and drink containers.Must be where the employees came for their breaks.

I kept walking, circling counterclockwise around the perimeter of the hill. I kept different buildings and fences between me and the compound. The only problems I had involved dogs barking when they noticed me. Dogs were the worst, they couldn’t be spoofed, bribed, or intimidated. They had to be avoided or killed and I hated hurting animals. Guard and attack dogs were easier to rationalize, but people’s pets? No. That wasn’t okay. I cleared a few fences, Roan whispering through my earpiece about what was ahead of me.

He guided me to a low spot in the fence where a derelict vehicle was decaying into the desert hardpan. I mounted the hood, then the top, and then hauled myself up over the chain-link. I hit the ground on the other side and took a knee. It was time to get serious. I had the shadow of the failed orchard covering me while I took the pieces of the rifle out of the lining of my coat and fitted them all together, slipping the magazine into place.

“Now, forward fifteen meters, then down,” Roan said. I advanced and found where some tractor had been parked and left, taking shelter behind it. “Thirty seconds, one target.”

The man stopped, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lipped one. He flicked his lighter, but when he went to draw on the smoke, his breath bubbled and he managed a gasp. The blade slipped between his ribs and found the sweet spot. I eased him to the ground and took his rifle from his shoulder. He looked up at me, shaking as his life pulsed from the knife wound in his back. I had nicked the aorta to get a flow like that. “Just business,” I whispered as I disassembled his weapon and tossed the pieces in different directions. No one would be able to pick up his AR-15 and use it against me. I put the lone magazine he had in my back pocket, that might be useful.

“Thirty-five meters to the base of the wall, three… two… one,” Roan said. When he said one, I was gone, covering the distance as quickly as I could. The rifle bumped against my hip as I slid to the wall. I held my breath while a man in the tower waved a flashlight across the night-darkened landscape.

“What was that?” the tower guard asked insistently.

“Nothing, you gotta calm down,” his partner for the evening said dismissively.

“I swear toGodman…” The first man sounded like he was wound tighter than a Timex.

There were at least two in the tower, one of them obviously the nervous type. They were talking, and I could see part of the tower light up inside with a soft blue-white glow. They were amateurs. No professional would do something as dumb as using a smartphone while on guard. It ruined night vision, gave away your position, and took your attention off of what you were supposed to be watching. For a moment, I wished silencers worked like they did in the movies,fwip fwip, and these two idiots would be taking dirt naps.But that was Hollywood, and this was real life, so the quietest way to deal with patrols was by blade or submission holds and broken necks.

At the base of their wall, the men in the tower couldn’t see me, so I started back toward the front of the compound. Roan whispered in my ear where the door was, and what the guards were doing. I moved like a ghost between them. I paused next to a small door in the wall, banded and reinforced metal, likely a concrete core. I would need explosives to get through it, or some good luck.

Or a bit of good luck by way of some sloppy security.

When I kneeled near the door, there was a small pebble wedged at the base, keeping the latch from engaging.Super sloppy.The men on foot probably used this as an access door, which meant that either a bathroom or break area was close to it. I opened it and slipped in, dislodging the pebble. The rest of the men outside wouldn’t be using this door. I smiled as I lowered a locking bar into place. Even if one of them had a key, it wouldn’t move the iron bar.

Total OSHA violation having a lock like that,I thought smugly.

Bathroom on the right, breakroom past that, both were empty for now.

“You still with me?” I whispered.

“Still here, signal is good,” Roan said. “I’m bringing up the building’s blueprints. You’re in the east access corridor. According to this, you should have bathrooms and a photography lab on your right.”

“Bathrooms, yes, photo lab is now a breakroom,” I said.

“There will probably be some changes. End of the corridor there is a flight of stairs to your left, sports center double doors to your right, and if you go straight ahead, it should be some sort of central reception area.”

“Looks like a mess area,” I said.

“The offices and private quarters are upstairs,” Roan said.

“What does it look like outside?”

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