Coyote's Revenge Read online

  DEFENDING AMERICA SERIES

  BOOK 1

  COYOTE’S

  REVENGE

  VANNETTA CHAPMAN

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  Forty-One

  Forty-Two

  Forty-Three

  Forty-Four

  Forty-Five

  Forty-Six

  Forty-Seven

  Forty-Eight

  Forty-Nine

  Fifty

  Fifty-One

  Fifty-Two

  Fifty-Three

  Fifty-Four

  Fifty-Five

  Fifty-Six

  Fifty-Seven

  Fifty-Eight

  Fifty-Nine

  Sixty

  Sixty-One

  Sixty-Two

  Sixty-Three

  Sixty-Four

  Sixty-Five

  Sixty-Six

  Sixty-Seven

  Sixty-Eight

  Sixty-Nine

  Seventy

  Seventy-One

  Seventy-Two

  Seventy-Three

  Seventy-Four

  Seventy-Five

  Seventy-Six

  Seventy-Seven

  Seventy-Eight

  Seventy-Nine

  Eighty

  Eighty-One

  Eighty-Two

  Eighty-Three

  Eighty-Four

  Eighty-Five

  Eighty-Six

  Eighty-Seven

  Eighty-Eight

  Eighty-Nine

  Ninety

  Ninety-One

  Ninety-Two

  Epilogue

  Other Books by Vannetta Chapman

  Landmarks

  Cover

  Title

  COYOTE’S REVENGE

  Copyright © 2017 by Vannetta Chapman. This title is also available as an e-book and print book. Visit www.vannettachapman.com.

  Requests for information should be addressed to:

  VannettaChapman (at) gmail (dot) com

  Any Internet addresses (websites, blogs, etc.) and telephone numbers in this book are offered as a resource. They are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement by the author, nor does the author vouch for the content of these sites and numbers for the life of this book.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means— electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Cover design: Ken Raney

  Interior design: Caitlin Greer

  Printed in the United States of America First printing, 2017

  ASIN: B076KQQJBY

  For Pam and Carol,

  Who first introduced me to Glacier

  AIDEN LEWIS STARED across the crowded airport waiting area at Gate 14 and considered disobeying a direct order.

  He had an international terrorist in his sight.

  He had a clean shot.

  He had a loaded firearm.

  What he didn’t have was permission to take the shot.

  “Tell me why I’m staring at the number five man on our watch list.” Aiden Lewis kept his voice low and his hands at his sides. “How did he get inside the security barrier?”

  Someone had screwed up. He would find out who.

  “New passport. Coyote’s traveling under the name Sergio Mancini.” Commander Martin’s voice in his earpiece did not ease the knot in Aiden’s gut. “No one dropped the ball this time, Lewis. We’re lucky the Jeremiah facial recognition program caught him. It’s now 93 percent accurate.”

  Aiden grunted. “It’s an operating system, not a person. Who decided to name it after an Old Testament prophet?”

  “Operating systems are named alphabetically—like hurricanes,” Martin said. “Jeremiah replaced Isaac. You’d do well to respect computers with this level of sophistication. He beat Dexter at chess three out of five games last night.”

  “He can have my job and the unit’s chess board if he’ll identify Coyote’s handlers. We end this here tonight, with or without Jeremiah’s help.”

  “We’re cross-referencing passenger lists with previous flight logs from when Coyote traveled as Ramzi Allawi and Taha Haddad,” Martin said.

  “Any handlers would be using different aliases as well.”

  “Jeremiah will scan all identification photos and security tapes. If Coyote is using any of the same people from the last three years, we’ll know it.”

  Aiden had been briefed again on the way to the airport—though he didn’t need it. He was aware what was at risk. US Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS) would apprehend Coyote this night, but they preferred to capture him alive. As third man to Abu Yassin, he had masterminded five bombings in Europe and South America. Taken alive, he could provide information capable of preventing future carnage.

  “He’s standing with a Jane Doe. Sending her picture now.” Aiden touched a button on the earpiece he wore, simultaneously taking and transmitting the photo. Aiden surveyed the scene as he waited further orders. He passed through Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport often. Tonight rain pelted the long row of windows and lightning split the evening sky.

  His heart rate was only slightly accelerated—enough to pump the adrenaline to his extremities should the need arise. He continued to scan the waiting area even as his mind focused completely on the madman standing forty feet across from him.

  Coyote shouldered his backpack, picked up the woman’s carry-on, and motioned her toward seats near the windows.

  “Picture received. Processing now,” Martin said. “Records indicate Coyote used a woman accomplice in two of the last five bombings.”

  “They were both European,” Aiden pointed out. “He prefers tall, black hair, and long legs.”

  Aiden fumed silently and waited for the identification of Jane Doe. She was beautiful, probably in her twenties, with long brown hair, and approximately five and a half feet tall. She looked American. Dressed in casual jeans, a Nike top proclaiming Just Do It, and sneakers that had seen better days, she might have been a college kid at the end of summer break. But college kids didn’t usually sit with international terrorists.

  “Jeremiah has found no matches for previous handlers in the passenger logs,” Martin said.

  “And the girl?” Aiden asked.

  “Jane Doe does not appear in our database.”

  “We’re not losing hi
m again this time,” Aiden swore. He kept both Coyote and the girl in his line of vision as he picked up a copy of the Wall Street Journal, walked to the kiosk’s counter, and purchased it.

  “She might have no connection at all,” Martin reasoned.

  “That’s what we thought in Costa Rica.”

  “No one would have expected a grandmother.”

  “Well I should have. Perimeter teams, keep your distance,” Aiden said. “Let’s make him comfortable. We need him to enter the jetway.”

  “Perimeter teams are at two and eight and holding their position,” Martin confirmed.

  Aiden knew this included Servensky and Jones—both men he had worked with before.

  “We have men stationed at the cockpit door. Lewis, you’ll precede him into the jetway. Dreiser and Jones will follow. We’ll clear everyone from the gate area as soon as we have your signal.”

  “Copy that,” Aiden said.

  The communications device from USCIS looked like any other wireless set. It allowed Aiden to be in contact with every man on his team simultaneously, as well as those providing surveillance information from headquarters. More technologically advanced than anything on the consumer market, he could speak at a whisper and still be heard by his entire team.

  Sensitive electronics weren’t an advantage when you wanted to release a string of oaths at maximum volume. Despite his desire to shoot Coyote earlier, Aiden realized he needed him to enter the jetway, and he did not want him dragging an innocent woman in his wake. Taking the man in the middle of the terminal would be a nightmare.

  Aiden had also been lead man at LAX and Grand Central Station in Manhattan. Both times Coyote had managed to elude them. He would not allow the man to slip away tonight.

  “Stats indicate passenger numbers are down a third,” Martin reported.

  “Thank God for August thunderstorms,” Dreiser said. “We could take him down right here with minimal collateral damage.”

  Dean Dreiser sat at the bar across from Gate 14. The best point man Aiden had worked with, he always remained calm and cool. Aiden had taken to calling him the Falcon because of his eyesight and his speed. He missed nothing and was a crack shot.

  “That will be our backup plan if he balks at the jetway, but I’d rather have him in a confined area,” Aiden said.

  “It’s the jetway or not at all,” Martin said.

  “You said we wouldn’t be overruled by offsite anymore.” Aiden fought to keep the whine out of his voice. “Who made that decision?”

  “The wise men in Washington,” Martin said. “Who else?”

  “The men in Washington are fools.”

  “Nonetheless.”

  “We are not letting this man walk. If he doesn’t enter the jetway, we’ll take him here. I zipped fifty-three bodies into bags in Germany. I will not let him escape again.”

  “You have your orders, Lewis. If you can’t follow them, stand down and we’ll put in a man who can.”

  Complete silence filled the comm unit while Aiden struggled for control. As always in Aiden’s life, control won. “You heard the boss, Dean. Perimeter teams hold your position.” He folded his paper, walked to the gate counter, and offered the airline worker his best smile.

  “Good evening, Mr. Lewis.” The beautiful redhead couldn’t have been over twenty-two. She greeted him by name before looking at the ticket. “I’ll need to see your identification.”

  “You always go by the book, don’t you, Ms. Stephens?”

  “Rules are rules, Mr. Lewis. Even for our first-class Frequent Flyers.”

  “I appreciate that, as does the supervisor watching over your shoulder.” Aiden gave the man standing toward the back a small wave, then winked at Ms. Stephens. “Let me see where I put my identification.”

  Aiden pulled out his wallet, thumbed through several credit cards, found his license and handed it across the counter. “Here it is. Not my best photo though.”

  Ms. Stephens took the license and tapped his information into the computer.

  “Doesn’t look like a full flight,” Aiden said.

  “It’s lighter than usual. Microsoft had a large group connecting through to Salt Lake, but they pulled out because of the weather.” She shook her head, tossing red curls, and handed back his license along with a boarding ticket. “It won’t be a problem though. Our pilots are more than used to these Texas thunderstorms.”

  “If you say it’s good to go, I’m going.” Aiden smiled as he returned his wallet to his pocket. The role of millionaire playboy came naturally to him, probably because it wasn’t much of a role—he’d grown up gnawing on the proverbial silver spoon.

  Ms. Stephens blushed slightly and motioned for the next customer.

  Picking up his single carry-on, Aiden moved to the far corner of Gate 14. He passed so close to Coyote, he could smell the man’s musky aftershave. It took all of Aiden’s strength not to reach out and kill the lunatic on the spot. One blow to his larynx and the world would be a better place, but orders were orders. He’d wait until they were in the jetway.

  MADISON HART STARED at her carry-on suitcase and wondered again why she’d insisted on packing so much.

  “Thank you again for helping me.” She shifted the strap of her backpack to her other shoulder and offered her hand to the European gentleman who had rescued her.

  He was in his fifties and clean-shaven with olive skin, and he had picked up the bag as if it weighed nothing. Carrying a tweed sports coat and backpack over his other arm, he reminded her of an English professor she’d had.

  “It is no problem. It was obvious that you were struggling under its weight.” He shook her hand, but released it quickly.

  Madison looked toward the windows where the rain continued to fall in sheets. She pushed back the memories of that other flight and tried to smile. “Hopefully it isn’t an omen of things to come.”

  “Do you believe in harbingers?” He looked from her to the windows and back again.

  Madison felt his gaze settle on her hand, which continued to shake as she rested it on the top of her suitcase.

  “Perhaps you should sit down,” he said.

  Madison sank into the nearest chair, one where she could keep an eye on the weather.

  “Do not worry about the storm. I can assure you it is perfectly safe to travel, or they would cancel our flight.”

  “The last plane I was on crashed.” The confession surprised her. That flight wasn’t something she normally spoke of. She looked around to see if anyone else had heard, but folks continued about their business at Gateway 14. No stampede. No panic. She managed not to scream run for your lives.

  “My name is Sergio Mancini.” He sat down beside her, placed his backpack on the floor and his jacket over his pack.

  “I’m Madison Hart. I don’t know why I told you that.”

  “It takes courage to fly again after a crash. However, the statistical odds of being on two flights in a row that experience any type of mechanical problem are quite low.”

  “I had travelled to Peru on vacation. There was a storm like this.” The wind rattled against the windows as if to lend credence to her story. “The pilot circled as long as he could, and finally attempted to land on a highway. Thirty-seven people died.”

  Madison closed her eyes and fought the images that threatened to overwhelm her, struggled to remain in the present. After several deep breaths, she opened her eyes and looked at the stranger sitting next to her. “I couldn’t bring myself to fly home. I took a cruise ship back.”

  “And yet you survived.”

  “Yes.” The word was barely a whisper. “My mother always said I was a survivor.”

  “Your mother is a very wise woman.”

  “Was.”

  Sergio didn’t respond to that, and Madison turned her attention to the rain. Around them passengers continued to make their way into the gate area.

  “Did she perish in the plane crash?”

  Madison pulled her gaze from the st
orm, though its intensity called to her. Its dark promises somehow mesmerized her. She shook her head, then snapped her chin up a fraction. “No. Cancer. My mother died of cancer. I believe a crash is a more merciful way to go.”

  Sergio seemed to weigh her words. Finally he inclined his head slightly. “God’s ways are not our ways.”

  “And His love is refining, so Mama said.” Madison checked for the silver necklace. It was there, of course, since she never took it off. It had slipped under the neck of her shirt. Still, rubbing the small angel pendant brought her a measure of peace.

  “I am only connecting at Salt Lake City,” he said. “Is that your final destination?”

  “I’ll travel on to Montana from there. It seems odd to go west and then back east, but that’s the way Delta does it.”

  She looked out the window at the lightning and rain, and she nearly drowned in the old familiar panic. She could not get a break. First her car had been totaled, then her vice principal had called informing her she had to report to work a week early for training. She’d been left with no option but to fly and buy a car once she reached her new home.

  Madison tucked her hair behind her ear, then pulled her book out of her backpack. Sergio reached for his own magazine. As he did, Madison saw him glance at the boarding pass that she had pulled from her book.

  Madison looked down at the pass, let her fingers run over the words and the row number. Forty-two. Her mother’s age. Perhaps it was a sign—her mother’s smile of approval. She still couldn’t believe she was moving to Montana. The insurance money had barely been enough to settle their debts and give her mother a decent burial. She couldn’t afford the house they’d always rented on her teacher’s salary. Then there was the deathbed promise she’d made to look for her father. She didn’t care about finding a man she’d never met, even if he was her only living relative. But she had given her word.

  “I did not have time to pre-print my boarding ticket.” Sergio stood and shouldered his backpack. “It has been a pleasure meeting you. I wish you a safe and prosperous journey to Montana.”

  “And I wish you the same in Salt Lake. Thank you again for helping me with this.” Madison gave the bag a firm kick at the same time thunder shook the windows.

  Sergio bowed slightly, then turned and walked toward the ticket counter.

  Madison stared after him as he walked away. There had been much in the news about profiling Europeans in airports. Sergio was a prime example of the absurdity of such tactics. The man was a perfect gentleman, and if it weren’t for him, she’d still be dragging her overloaded carry-on from the security gate.