Camp Chaos Read online

  Camp Chaos

  Book 1 of The Unit series

  Anne Fox

  CAMP CHAOS

  Book 1 of The Unit Series

  COPYRIGHT © 2019 ANNE FOX

  FIRST EDITION 2019

  Printed in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  ISBN 978-1-950389-02-5

  The Unit series logo by MICHAEL CRITZ

  Cover Design by MOMIR BOROCKI

  Cover Image: SHUTTERSTOCK

  Photo of Agent LeVeille: FBI.gov

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced by any mechanical, photographic, or electronic process other than for “fair use” as defined by law, without the prior written permission of the author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

  Created with Vellum

  This book is dedicated to the memory of Special Agent Paul Andrew LeVeille, 1959-1999, friend and fellow pilot, whose name appears on the FBI’s Wall of Honor, having served our country with the utmost of fidelity, bravery, and integrity. Gone west, but not forgotten. Rest in peace, Paul.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  About the Author

  1

  “That’s her, right there,” whispered Spud. “Watch.”

  Kat Hanko’s small frame could be seen in Turtle’s binoculars, stretched out on the ground, peering through a scope mounted on a Savage 112. One thousand and twenty-five meters away on a steep hillside was a steel target, ten feet wide by six feet high, in the shape of a white buffalo. Mirage seemed to make the target dance and ripple in the New Mexico summer heat as she peered through the scope. Satisfied with the picture in her sights, she gently squeezed the sensitive trigger while her brain whispered, ‘Send it.’ The shot rang out, followed by the sound of the round sizzling through the air and then the clang! of the bullet striking its mark. “Easy,” she mumbled.

  She smoothly extracted the spent case from the chamber, dropping it into a place in the box to her side, and removing another live cartridge from the box, gently chambered a new round. Peering once again through the scope, again her little voice said, ‘Send it.’ The shot rang out, and moments later the target rang its answer. “Too easy,” she mumbled.

  Once again working the bolt of the rifle, she extracted the spent case and chambered another round. Wiggling her hips back into shooting position, she once again took aim and fired. Once again, she heard the answering sound of the 300-grain bullet hitting its mark. “Two damned easy,” she muttered.

  “That thing’s six by ten feet and over 1100 yards away,” Spud whispered. “And she just hit the fucker three times in a row.”

  Kat sprang up onto her feet. “Duck,” Spud whispered. Hunkered down in the grass behind a clump of saplings, they watched as Kat picked up the rifle and took it over to her black SUV. Sliding the drawer open on the bed-mounted gun case, she extracted a lightly-oiled lint-free cloth and wrapped the rifle in it before putting it back in its place in the case. Sliding the case shut and locking it, she picked up a backpack and slung it onto her back, then shut the rear door of the SUV and locked it as well before turning back toward the firing line.

  She felt the prickle on her neck. Ok, where the fuck are you? she thought. She turned and looked toward the clump of trees where Spud and Turtle still concealed themselves.

  “Shit,” Turtle whispered. “She’s gotta have spidie sense.”

  You wanna watch, I’ll give you a good show, she thought, and turned back toward the firing line. But I’m sick of you fuckers tailing me all the time. Time to take a walk.

  “What’s she doing?” Spud whispered after Turtle had caught her in his binoculars.

  “Looks like she’s going forward of the firing line,” Turtle replied. “She’s walking downrange. Got something on her back.”

  He continued to watch as she walked down the range, past the line where steel chicken silhouettes were hung, past where pigs were hung, past where turkeys were hung, and beyond the last line of metallic silhouette targets where rams were hung.

  “Getting hard to keep track of her,” Turtle said aloud, knowing that at her current distance from them there would be no way she could hear him. “She’s walking up through the woods.”

  He continued to watch, periodically picking her out as she proceeded up the hill, until she emerged in the opening where the white buffalo was placed. Then she turned to the right and walked to the edge of the clearing. Slipping the backpack off her shoulders, she took something from it and set it up on the ground, propping it up with rocks and occasionally checking to see how securely it was placed. Turtle strained to see what it was. “Fuck!” he exclaimed. “She’s got an Ivan up there, and it’s camo painted.”

  She grabbed the empty backpack and bounded back down the hill, emerging over the earthen berm at the line of ram targets. Striding back up the silhouette range, she returned to her SUV and retrieved the Savage and her ammunition. Going back to the firing line and lying prone, she peered through the scope, muttering, “Where are you hiding?” Her eyes searched for the slight inconsistency that would tell her she’d found her disguised, human-shaped target. “Ah, there you are, you little terrorist you,” she said to herself. Settling in, she carefully chambered a round, took a deep, deliberate breath, and let the air ooze from her lungs until she felt completely relaxed. ‘Send it,’ her little voice beckoned, and she gently squeezed the trigger. The shot rang out, the bullet seared the air, and a few seconds later she was rewarded with a muted clang! She looked over her rifle at the hillside, smiled, and said, “So much for you.”

  “Holy shit, that was one helluva shot,” Turtle breathed. “I can’t even see the fucking Ivan anymore!” Just as he finished his remark, they heard another shot and a few seconds later another muted clang!

  “Now you see why we need her?” Spud asked. “She’s down there picking off a target the size of a human being’s torso set over 1100 yards away. And trust me, I’ve watched her enough to know that she can stay down there and do that all day. It may have been bad for us that Falcon had to retire, but she’s better than he ever was.”

  Kat twisted her body and, remaining prone, looked in their direction again. As Turtle quickly lowered the binoculars and hunkered back down in the grass, she caught the glint of light reflecting from the binoculars’ lenses. Hope you’re watching, she thought, raising her middle finger into the air. Then she settled back into firing position, put the prickle on the back of her neck aside, slid the spent case out of the rifle’s chamber, and chambered another round.

  2

  “Dearly beloved, we all know why we’re gathered here today,” quipped Voice. “With Falcon no longer among us but instead enjoying the good life of a new identity and a place of his choosing, we are now a man down.” He produced a stack of personnel folders. “Here for your dining pleasure, are our finalists for his replacement.” He passed the files around the table, one to each man on the team.

  “I’ll go ahead with mine,” he continued. “Our first candidate is Konisky, Robert. Twenty-five years of age. Currently United States Army, Special Forces. Likes jumping out of airplanes from high altitudes. Good with knives. Survival expert. Trained as a medic, earned the Expert Field Medical badge. And proceeding around the table, who’ve you got, Cloud?”

  Cloud opened his folder. “Pinneo, Patrick Paul. PPP. We pick him, we’re going to have to call him ‘Cubed.’ Twenty-three years of age. Currently United States Navy. SEAL. Good with knives. Did a fair bit of orienteering in JROTC while in high school. Obviously doesn’t mind getting his head under water. Flies copters.”

  “Guess I’m next,” said Turtle. “Hanko, Katheryn. Twenty-nine years of age. Currently Special Agent, FBI, Albuquerque field office. Graduated fifth in her academy class. Black belt in aikido. Some flight training, no pilot’s license. Spends her spare time up in Raton hitting small objects from big distances. Consistently. Spud?”

  “Plano, John Michael. Twenty-four years of age. Currently DEA. Foreign covert ops. Commercial pilot, turbine-rated. No choppers, though. Decent with the standard weaponry. Lots of work infiltrating bad guy organizations.”

  Crow opened up his file. “Palazzini, Linda Serena. Twenty-seven years of age. Currently Top Hat Security, Inc. Ok with a handgun. Techie to the max. You need it bugged, videoed, photographed, whatever – she can do it.”

  “And last but certainly not least, Edge.”

  “Schooley, Robert John. Twenty-eight years old. Currently United States Marine Corps. Oorah! Big on Krav Maga. Built like a brick shithouse. Spends a lot of time at the gym when he’s not berating new recruits – he’s a dri
ll instructor. Trained as a medic, good with guns, knives or anything else nearby.”

  “Ok. So those are our choices. Now we have to decide what talent we need and which of these candidates can best give us that talent.”

  “Falcon was our best with a gun, and a top-notch sniper. Also good with knives and decent with eavesdropping equipment. But where we really needed him the most was sniping. I say we eliminate anyone who isn’t good with a gun,” Voice said. “We don’t need a good techie. We’ve got me,” he grinned.

  “I agree,” said Spud. “We need someone who can hit their mark.”

  “Everyone agree we need more strength with firearms?” Cloud asked.

  The six team members reached out and all tapped with their knuckles on the table.

  “Ok, so who’ve we got?” asked Crow.

  Each consulted the file in front of them.

  “Plano,” Spud announced.

  “Hanko,” Turtle added.

  “And Schooley,” Edge said.

  “You fucking Marines always want another Marine in the unit,” Spud said, offering some of the usual bullshit that betrayed just how close the team members were.

  “I’ve got to seriously question this gal, Hanko,” Crow said. “My understanding is she’s maybe 115 pounds soaking wet. Your standard bad guy isn’t going to have any trouble putting her in her place.”

  “She’s also got a black belt in aikido,” Spud said. “She can throw your standard bad guy to the ground and have him cuffed before he can say, ‘What the hell?’ Plus, Turtle and I watched her haul a steel Ivan up a hillside up there in Raton without apparently breaking a sweat. She might be 115 pounds soaking wet, but every pound is made of muscle.”

  “Yeah, but is everyone going to think they have to protect her? If she does manage to be compromised, you know what will happen. She won’t just get killed for her efforts,” Voice said.

  “So, you’re saying she shouldn’t be in the unit because we can’t handle the thought of her getting raped?” Edge asked. “Why is it we can handle the thought of any one of us getting our balls cut off, but we can’t handle the thought of a woman being raped?”

  “And we need a sniper,” Turtle said. “She’s a sniper, whether she’s been trained as one or not. We sat out there in Raton and watched her hit that Ivan over and over again. A standard, torso-sized Ivan set over 1100 yards from the firing line. And she had it camo-painted. Hell, I couldn’t even see the damned thing, but I could sure hear her hitting it! And not only that, she was doing it with a stock, off-the-shelf Savage 112. With a really good rifle, I’ll bet she can do a head shot at that distance.”

  “I don’t think a bad guy could get close enough to her to grab her anyway,” Spud added. “She’s got some kind of sixth sense. She knew we were watching her.”

  “What makes you think that?” Edge asked.

  “Might have something to do with her turning and flipping us the bird,” Turtle said, eliciting a laugh from the rest of the team.

  “Ok,” Voice said, “Let’s take a vote. Everyone for Plano?”

  The team members all sat silently.

  “Schooley?”

  Edge reached out and tapped his knuckles on the table. “Figures,” Crow said, getting the others laughing again.

  “And Hanko?”

  The five remaining unit members all reached out and tapped their knuckles on the table. “Ah, fuck it!” Edge said, and tapped as well.

  “It’s decided,” Voice concluded. “We bring Ms. Hanko here to Quantico and see if she’d like a new job.”

  3

  “Hey, Hanko. Boss wants to see you in his office,” one of the other agents told her, poking his head in her cubicle.

  Yeah, shit. Just when I was starting to think I’d get this crap done this morning, she mused. She pulled the access card from her computer terminal and headed to her supervisor’s office. She tapped on the door and leaned over so he could see her through the window, and he beckoned her inside.

  “You wanted to see me, Stan?”

  “Yup.” He took a sheet of paper from where it sat in front of him and put it in front of her. “Seems they want you back in Quantico.”

  “What’d I do?” she asked.

  “It’s not disciplinary, Hanko. Apparently, they want you for some special assignment.”

  “But I’ve still got that interstate porn trafficking thing and the kidnapping to finish up,” she said. “And the bank robbery in Soccoro.”

  “I’m passing your cases over to Robertson and Martinez,” he said. “If you take a look at that order, they don’t want you there next week. You’re to go right now.” He handed her a travel itinerary. “So ‘right now’ that there will be an agency jet waiting at Sunport for you tomorrow morning. Pack your bag, take your sidearm, take this transfer order and your itinerary. Be there by 7 AM.”

  Kat arrived at the General Aviation area of Albuquerque Sunport, bag in hand, dressed like she was meeting the press – something she hated. But this was official travel, so when a Special Agent, do as Special Agents do, she mused.

  A man in the lobby of the FBO put down the coffee he was drinking and rose to meet her. “Special Agent Hanko?” he asked. She pulled her credentials out of her jacket pocket and flashed them. “Right this way, Agent Hanko.”

  She walked out the door onto the ramp and looked around. “This way, Agent Hanko,” the man repeated, directing her to a Gulfstream 550 that stood on the ramp. You’re shitting me, she thought. Who’s on this flight? Me and the Director?

  “I’ll take your bag, Agent Hanko,” said a second man standing at the airstair. He took it from her and indicated she should board the plane.

  “I guess this is some kind of very special assignment,” she quipped to the man who had greeted her.

  “I wouldn’t know that, Agent Hanko. I just fly the plane. But there’s a gentleman in the back who will probably fill you in.”

  The pilot headed for the cockpit while the second man stowed her suitcase. She looked down the interior of the plane. The thing’s cavernous.

  “I’ve got to go help get this thing off the ground,” the second man said. “The guy you’re meeting is mid-deck, and once we’re comfortably in the air the attendant will see that you get something to eat and drink. This is Doug,” he added, indicating yet a third man. “He’ll be taking care of you back here.” Doug smiled and nodded. “Go on back, Agent Hanko,” the co-pilot said, “and make yourself comfortable.”

  Kat made her way to the cabin. As told, she noted the back of a man’s head about midway down and made her way to where he was sitting.

  “Have a seat, Agent Hanko.”

  She sat and buckled herself in, all the while keeping an eye on him. Complete stranger.

  “We haven’t met,” she said as the jet’s engines spooled up.

  “Not directly,” he said. “But you have greeted me in the past.”

  “Oh? When was that?”

  “About two weeks ago up in Raton,” he said, holding up his middle finger.

  “Yeah, well, you need better binoculars. Ones with lens coatings that don’t reflect the light so well.”

  He laughed. “I’ll have to let the other guy know.”

  “You’ve been out there for over a month watching me every time I’d go up.”

  “You do have spidie sense,” he said.

  “I know when someone’s watching me, if that’s what you mean,” she replied.

  “That could come in very useful if you take us up on our offer.”

  She sat back a bit in her seat. “That doesn’t sound like I’m heading for a Bureau assignment.”