Chapter 19 Something I Understand

Chapter 19

Something I Understand

“What are you smiling about?” Skipper asked after closing the connection on the secure line.

“I’m smiling because this thing just became a war, and war is something I understand.”

She spun a monitor so I could see it clearly. “It’s about time. Let’s do some of that black ops stuff.”

I rolled forward and focused on the screen. “What’s this?”

“This, my favorite spy, is the home and gentleman’s ranch of one Sidney Barbour. It’s just outside Hockley, Texas, northwest of Houston.”

I asked, “Who’s Sidney Barbour? And why do I care?”

She zoomed in on an overhead view of a palatial estate on the outskirts of Houston. “Sidney Barbour is the CEO of Flambeau Exploration North America.”

I grinned, and she rolled a few feet away. “Don’t do it.”

“Don’t do what?” I asked.

She waggled a finger in the air between us. “You were about to hug me, kiss me on the forehead a thousand times, and tell me I’m a genius. You’re welcome to proceed with the genius part, but let’s skip the rest of it.”

“You know way too much about me.”

She pulled off her glasses. “I know everything about you, and I can prove it.”

“You think so?”

She spun the monitor away and typed furiously for several seconds before saying, “Okay, let’s hear it. Who are you taking on the raid?”

“What raid?”

She planted her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t pretend you’re not already planning to hit Sidney Barbour’s house. Now, tell me who you’re taking with you.”

I extended a finger for each teammate. “I’ll take Kodiak, Shawn, and Gator inside the house.”

“Keep talking.”

“Singer will stand overwatch, Disco will drive, and Mongo and Anya will travel with us as alternates and quick reaction force in case one of us gets hurt or it turns unnecessarily ugly.”

She spun the monitor back toward me, and the exact list of operators and their assignments I’d created on the spot appeared in the center of the screen.

She crossed her arms. “I told you.”

“Okay, I concede. You know everything about me. I’d love to see a—”

She cut me off and struck a key. “Floor plan and security system schematic, including cameras and motion detecting sensors?”

Before she could escape, I had her in my grasp, and I planted half a dozen wet, sloppy kisses directly on her forehead.

She squirmed and jerked until I finally let her escape.

“Stop doing that! You know I hate it, and it’s unwanted affection in the workplace. There’s a law against that, you know.”

I lowered my head in mock shame. “Go ahead. Turn me in to HR. Maybe they’ll fire me this time.”

She wiped her forehead. “When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow morning. Line us up a pair of Suburbans at the closest small airport and overnight lodging for us and the airplanes.”

“Consider it done. Plan for Houston Executive Airport.”

“You’re the best,” I said. “Now, where did Anya take Gator?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not a Russian zookeeper. Stop asking me where she is.”

I leaned in for another forehead kiss, but she stuck her pen beneath my chin. “It may not be a knife, but it’s still going to hurt.”

I surrendered and went in search of the honeytrap training class.

I found the professor and her student in Gator’s cabin. “Don’t you two look cozy?”

Gator jumped, pulling away from Anya, but the Russian didn’t flinch.

I said, “I didn’t mean to interrupt whatever that was.”

Anya looked up at me with those eyes. “I am teaching to him art of touch. You remember, yes?”

Oh, I remembered, and something down deep in my body felt the tiniest twinge of jealousy. I forced it down and tried to laugh it off at Gator’s expense. “If you have to be in a training class, this one isn’t so bad, is it?”

He stammered, and Anya came to his rescue. “I think he definitely likes girls.”

“I’ll get out of here and let you get back to…that. But I need both of you ready to go at zero four hundred.”

Anya asked, “Where are we going so early?”

“We’re going to a place called Hockley, Texas, to visit a guy named Sidney Barbour.”

Gator scowled. “Should that name mean something to me?”

“Not yet,” I said. “But it will soon. He’s the CEO of Flambeau Exploration’s North American division. I’m sure his perfectly manicured hands are clean, but I’m convinced that somebody working for him burned Kenneth LePine’s house. We’re going to pay him a little unscheduled visit tomorrow night and see if we can’t shake a few answers out of him.”

Anya got that look she only gets when it’s time to put her perfectly honed skill set to use. “This sounds like very much fun.”

“Calm down,” I said. “You’re backup and QRF with Mongo in case it goes sideways. I’m not ready to unleash you on these guys yet.”

Her shoulders dropped. “I told to you I will do whatever you need, but is waste of skill to leave me outside.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll get your time at bat, and who knows? Maybe we’ll get wrapped up in Barbour’s house and you’ll have to pull us out.”

Her eyes lit up again, and I stepped back through the door. “Continue your little lovey-dovey session, but hit the sack early…and alone.”

I called the rest of the team together in the CIC and gave them the full briefing.

When I finished, Mongo said, “You’re leaving me outside with Anya?”

“That’s right. Somebody has to control her, and you’re our best shot at that.”

He nodded. “Roger that.”

* * *

The ship’s cooks had breakfast waiting at three thirty the next morning, and the whole team ate as if they’d never have another meal. The typical pre-mission banter didn’t happen, and I wrote that off to the early hour.

The Huey had no trouble handling our weight and size, and Disco pulled her off the helipad and into the dark, humid morning air. Flames burning atop the vent stacks on oil rigs in every direction dotted the landscape as we soared over the black bayou. We’d done more than our share of scaring the life out of wealthy executives all over the world, but something about the day’s mission left me questioning our readiness to kick down Sidney Barbour’s front door.

My hesitance vanished in an instant the second I stepped from the Huey and saw our formerly beautiful Cessna Caravan sitting on her floats with all four tires slashed, just like the fire trucks a mile from Kenneth’s house. But the damage didn’t stop at the tires. Most of the windows were broken, and the bracing cables between the pontoons had all been cut.

I closed my eyes and focused on just breathing until Mongo laid a massive hand on my shoulder. “It’ll be all right, boss. We’ll make them pay.”

I turned to Anya. “It looks like we’re in need of a ride to Texas. Do you happen to know anybody who’s got a Citation jet we could borrow?”

On the short flight to Houston Executive Airport in Anya’s plane, I called Skipper. “They got to the Caravan. It’ll need all four tires, new glass, and a ferry permit to get it back to the factory in Wichita.”

“These guys aren’t messing around,” she said. “I’ll get Cotton on his way and a security team in place. You must be in Anya’s plane.”

“We are. Well, most of us are. Gator and Disco are bringing the Huey. We’ll beat them there by at least ninety minutes, but I couldn’t leave the chopper on the ground. God only knows what they would’ve done to it.”

“Anything else?” she asked.

“Not yet. Are the Suburbans…”

“Do you really think you have to ask if the Suburbans and lodging have been arranged? Who’s your girl Friday?”

“You’re my girl every day.”

She said, “No, that was a Robinson Crusoe reference.”

“Yes, I know. I was just messing with you. I’ll let you know when we’re safe on deck in Houston.”

“No need,” she said. “I’m tracking you. But Chase…”

“What is it?”

“Just be careful, okay? I know you’re mad about the fire and now your airplane, but keep your head on straight.”

“It’s not my airplane. It’s ours , and I promise to keep my focus.”

Houston Executive was busier than I expected, but just as promised, our matching pair of black Suburbans waited beneath the portico at Henriksen Jet Center. The gentleman behind the desk allowed us to drive one of the rented SUVs onto the parking apron to unload what he called “bags” from the Citation.

Some of our gear was in bags, but I was thankful we could park close enough to the jet to mask our movement of enough tactical gear to support an infantry platoon.

Our first stop was the rented house Skipper arranged, and once again, she hit a grand slam. The house was perfect, with an oversized garage for the Suburbans and enough privacy to avoid attracting unwanted attention.

By the time we had our gear arranged in the vehicles and we finished arguing over who got the master bedroom, it was time for Gator and Disco to show up. They landed two hundred feet from the house, and no one seemed to notice. I was beginning to believe that Texas may soon change its nickname from the Lone Star State to Mind Your Own Business, and I liked it.

We pulled up beside the Huey, and Disco stuck his head in the window. “Your boy got all the helo flying he wanted and then some. The autopilot wet the bed about ten minutes into the flight, so we had to hand-fly the thing all the way out here.”

“I guess that means you don’t feel like driving, huh?”

He huffed and replaced Mongo behind the wheel.

Finding Sidney Barbour’s “gentleman’s ranch,” as Skipper called it, wasn’t a challenge. The white painted fence around the property probably cost more than our beat-up Caravan back at Houma.

“That’s quite a place,” Kodiak said.

I surveyed the property. “It sure is. Tell me what you see.”

Kodiak said, “I see a man who doesn’t know squat about personal security. The gate on the main drive is a joke. I could push it open with a tricycle, but he does have a couple of decent cameras mounted up high.”

“I wasn’t planning on using the driveway. Keep looking.”

We circled the property twice and memorized every detail. We even stopped at the two service entrances and picked the locks holding the simple metal gates closed. That would save us a little time and avoid the necessity of picking locks in the dark.

Shawn asked, “Can Skipper get us some satellite photos? It would be nice to see the place from God’s perspective.”

I gave him a grin. “We don’t need no stinking satellites. We’ve got a helicopter.”

We piled ourselves back aboard the Huey and flew three passes over the target property.

“This is going to be a piece of cake,” Gator said, and the whole team groaned.

Mongo planted a size sixteen boot against Gator’s hip and threatened to kick him out the door. “Now you’ve doomed us. You never say stuff like that, rookie.”

Shawn leaned toward Gator. “Don’t listen to those superstitious jokers. When you’ve got mad skills like you and me, who’s got time for that business?”

Gator said, “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

Shawn’s cordial expression and tone turned ominous, and he grabbed Gator by the shoulders. “I was just playing. If you ever start a mission with a phrase like that again, I’ll throw you out of the bird myself.”