He pulled the old Bronco into an empty car wash and dug through the glove compartment; he found the receipt he was looking for. Encoded in the receipt itself were contact numbers for people he trusted. People he swore he’d never call on again. Ever.
He stared at the faded slip of paper and sighed heavily. The old cell phone suddenly felt very heavy in his hand as he punched the first number in. He stared at the green call button for a long moment before he allowed his finger to press it.
“I hope I don’t regret this.” Bridger clenched his jaw as he listened to the phone ring. He could feel his pulse quicken with each buzz and was about to end the call when he heard the other line pick up.
“Gibbons.”
Bobby cleared his throat and stared out the windshield. “I need to call in a marker.”
“Jeezus. Did Hell freeze over?” Bobby heard the rustle of the phone shifting and he prayed that Steve didn’t say his name out loud.
“Possibly. I think I’m in a pickle. I need to get the band back together. Tell me you know how to reach the others.” Bobby let his breath out slowly and continued to pray.
“Brother, the band still is together. You were the one who left.”
Bobby felt a huge weight leave his shoulders and he could breathe slightly easier. “What’s your twenty?”
“We’re based in Dallas. I have no idea how far out you are, but I can send you the coordinates. We’re at a—”
“Negative,” Bobby interrupted. “Not over an unsecured line.”
Both men listened to the silence a moment before Gibbons asked, “That bad?”
“I think so.”
“Okay. Gather what intel you can and bring it with you. We’ve got pretty good security. Let me know when you get close and I’ll escort you in.”
“Thanks buddy.” Bobby clicked the end call button and turned off the phone. He leaned back in his seat and sipped the cooling coffee. He hated the idea of dragging his old friends into this mess, but he had a sinking feeling that he was in over his head and he needed the best in his corner if he had any chance of coming out of this alive.
Dallas, TX
STEVE GIBBONS LAID his phone on the steel desk and turned to the others in his group. “You’ll never guess who that was.”
“Judging by your ‘Hell freezing over’ comment, it was either your ex-wife declaring her undying affection for you, or you won the lottery.” Gregg Soares finished pinning markers on the global map and stood back to admire his handiwork. “And since you didn’t tell the rest of us to go pound sand, I’m assuming you didn’t win the lotto.”
“Funny, dumbass. No. Care to try again?” Steve leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on the corner of the desk. The sound echoed through the old airplane hangar and Deric Bundy threw a dart into the sole of his combat boot.
“Feet off the furniture, Steve-O. Didn’t your momma teach you any better than that?”
Steve groaned as he leaned forward to pull the dart from the rubber sole then threw it back at Deric, sticking the hardened steel point into the wall next to man’s head. “Don’t ruin my good boots D.” He leaned forward and eyed the others. “Come on you worthless cusses. Guess.”
Jim MacDougall entered the open collection of desks and practically fell into the chair across from him. “Spill it, Steve. You’re too excited for it to be a bill collector.”
Steve sat back and shook his head at the others. “You ladies are no fun. I swear.” He crossed his hands behind the back of his head and leaned back. “That was none other than Bobby Badass Bridger.”
“Bullshit.” Jay Wolf suddenly perked up from under the hood of the armored Humvee he was working on. “You can’t convince me that anything short of a nuclear war would get Bridger to call on us again.”
“Hand on a Bible.” Steve stood up and held a hand in the air. “Said he was in a pickle.”
Jay looked to the others and hiked a brow. “He must be in some serious shit if he’s dialing your number.”
Steve nodded. “Said he was calling in his marker.”
Deric eyed Gregg, who whistled low. “Seriously?”
Jay stiffened and wiped his hands on the shop rag. “Okay boys. I’ve no idea what Bobby stepped in but let’s see if we can get ahead of the game here.” He hopped down off the short platform he was standing on and entered the circle of desks. He flipped the switch that brought all of the lights on at BYI Incorporated and kicked open the ancient fridge that sat next to his work station. He pulled out a beer and twisted the top off. “Fire up the computers and let’s get a jump on this. Deric, call your contacts at State and see if Bobby has been working for anybody that we should know about. Mac, skype Sharon at Interpol and see if he’s caught up in anything overseas. Gregg, put those hacking skills to work and dig up everything you can. I mean every fucking thing you can on Bobby and all of the aliases that we know of.”
Gregg shot him a dirty smile. “Want me to check the aliases we don’t know about, too?”
“Everything. If it has anything to do with Bobby Bridger, I want it. Steve, pull Bridger’s files from when we worked together. Go through it with a fine tooth comb. Anything that anybody can use against him, I want to know about it.”
Karachi, Pakistan
“MAMOON!” SAMEER CALLED from above. “Something is not right.”
Balil stood outside Mamoon’s office and groaned. “Something is not right with your head,” he grumbled as he walked to the open stairwell. “Mamoon left. What is not right with you?”
Sameer moaned and pointed behind him. “Something is strange. Either the fabric is different or the paint is wrong.”
Balil gave
