Target Omega

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Few who knew Michael Garin could imagine him as a vulnerable young boy, but from infancy through adolescence, he had been undersize and frail, a favorite target of the larger boys, and even some of the older girls, in school.

Garin had been born nearly three months premature with respiratory problems requiring him to remain in the hospital’s intensive care unit for several weeks. Even after he was discharged, his parents rushed him to the emergency room for any number of ailments, and for the first nine months of his life he seemed perpetually attached to IVs and breathing tubes.

His parents rarely permitted him to venture outdoors. When, by age four, his illnesses became less frequent, Garin begged his parents to let him go outside to play with the other children in the neighborhood. The spindly boy was eager to make friends, and he did so fairly easily. Unfortunately, he attracted antagonists as well. His quick wit allowed him to parry taunts from bullies, his responses often making them look foolish.

The physical abuse, however, was something he couldn’t handle alone. So, after his third or fourth bloody nose, it was up to Katy — recognized as the most fearsome kid, male or female, in the neighborhood — to protect him. No one challenged Katy Garin, and anyone who hurt her little brother in any way suffered swift and painful retribution.

Mikey, of course, was properly mortified to be under the protection of his older sibling, a girl, no less. He gradually withdrew to the confines of his room rather than face the looks of derision from his peers. There, he spent his days reading everything from his parents’ outdated Collier’s Encyclopedia set to the old Great Books series his mother had won in an academic competition as a teen.

Garin had an affinity for history, but his real aptitude was in science and math. He spent hours gazing through a microscope Katy bought him for his ninth birthday and rigging crude chemistry experiments, usually in attempts to create small explosions.

He was, undeniably, a geek. When the boys in his sixth-grade class began playing organized football, Mikey, too small to join, spent his time preparing exhibits for the middle school science fair. When the others attended dances in the school gym, Mikey busied himself with algebra problems.

By the time he reached high school, a growth spurt negated any further need for Katy’s protection. Indeed, by tenth grade he was already a second-team all-conference running back and far and away the fastest, strongest, and most respected athlete in his school. As Katy put it, from geek to freak in just over two years.

But it was at this very point when Garin would need Katy most. She’d come home from college to attend a postseason awards banquet with Garin and their parents. Returning home from the event, their car was struck head-on by a driver under the influence. Garin’s parents were killed instantly. Garin suffered a concussion, several broken ribs, and numerous cuts and contusions. Katy walked away from the collision practically unscathed.

By chance — with an assist from advances in technology — the emergency room visit revealed something the countless NICU exams hadn’t: Garin had a congenital heart defect. It was likely he’d never see his fortieth birthday, maybe not even his thirty-fifth. Katy was with him when he got the news. It was the first and last time he’d ever seen her cry.

But just for a minute. Then she gathered herself, asked the cardiologist where she could find the chapel, and followed him out of the examination room. After he deposited Garin’s chart at the unattended nurse’s station, she deftly retrieved the exam results from the file, stuffed them in her purse, and checked the desktop computer, verifying that the results hadn’t yet been entered into the system. Thanks to Katy, they never would.

Katy dropped out of college to look after Mikey until their grandfather arrived from Europe nearly a year later. By then, Garin was an all-state running back and excelled at most everything he tried. Katy had drilled into him that he needed to treat the heart anomaly as an opportunity, a blessing. Everyone else, she insisted, was so occupied with evading death, prolonging life, that they missed living. They put things off, didn’t take risks, thinking they’d always have another chance, a better opportunity down the road.

Mikey, on the other hand, could concentrate purely on living every second as if it were his last. Taking risks he otherwise wouldn’t. Keeping absolutely nothing in reserve. He couldn’t afford to procrastinate, to say “maybe later” or “someday.” Everything took on greater urgency. People, places, and events became more vivid, more intense, more consequential. He needed to pack all of his life into half the time he’d thought he had.

Katy was right. As the grief of their parents’ death gradually receded with time, Garin had found the knowledge of his limited life span… liberating. He could take the brakes off. After all, he had almost literally nothing to lose. He was never irresponsible, but he had an indomitable quality bordering on recklessness. He had far fewer guardrails than his peers. Ironically, it made him feel almost indestructible, invincible.

After their paternal grandfather — Pop — arrived, Katy had planned on reenrolling in college, but their parents’ death benefits were meager, so she helped Pop get settled, took an administrative job at a local hospital, advanced quickly, and never looked back. She and Pop were the only ones who knew of Garin’s condition, Katy’s theft having apparently erased any record of it. Katy, protecting Mikey’s interests well into adulthood. Now, on a hot July night two decades later, it was Garin’s turn to play protector.

It took Garin nearly six hours to drive from Dale City to the Cleveland suburb where Katy lived. As he approached the intersection of her street, he could see that it had taken someone less time than that to station surveillance outside her home. Two Ford Tauruses were parked on opposite ends of Katy’s block, the light from the streetlamps outlining the heads and shoulders of two men sitting in each.

Garin drove past Katy’s street to the block behind her backyard, about fifty yards from the house itself. He turned left and parked across from the tall wooden fence that stretched across the end line of her property.

Garin sat in the car for a moment, surveying the surroundings. There were no other vehicles on the street.

The two cars on Katy’s street couldn’t be FBI. At this point, the bureau likely was still looking for Tom Lofton of Dale City, Virginia, who had absolutely no connection to Katy Burns of Brecksville, Ohio.

Garin had no idea who the sentinels out front were. He thought it unlikely they were somehow connected to his two assailants from yesterday afternoon. No one could coordinate and move that fast. Whoever they were, if any harm had come to Katy and her family, Garin would know whom to kill first.

Garin switched off the dome light. He got out of the car, closed the door gently, and scaled the back fence. Dropping to the other side, he quietly made his way past the swimming pool toward the sliding screen door at the rear of the house. A low, soft light was on in the living room. As Garin neared the screen door he could hear the sound of a television. He pulled his SIG from his pocket holster and paused at the door, listening for signs of any intruders inside the house. From where he stood he could see down the hallway leading to the front door, next to which was the security alarm panel. The light was green, signaling that the system wasn’t armed.

He expected the sliding screen door to be locked and was concerned when it slid open. He crept slowly into the sunroom and then into the kitchen. The living room was to the immediate left. His brother-in-law was seated on the couch facing the TV, his back to Garin. Joe was watching an old black-and-white movie and didn’t appear to be under duress. Garin felt a mild sense of relief, though he had already surmised that his sister’s family was safe, at least for the moment. Unless they were spectacularly incompetent, the sentinels wouldn’t have parked out front if they had caused harm inside. And if they had any involvement in the elimination of Garin’s team, they clearly weren’t unskilled.

But neither were they perfect. Maybe they had only a limited number of men, but their failure to cover the street behind Katy’s house might allow Garin to get Katy’s family to safety. First, however, he had to approach Joe without causing cardiac arrest. Katy and the kids were probably asleep upstairs. Garin decided to turn on the kitchen faucet, leading Joe to think someone had come downstairs for a drink of water.

Hearing the sound of running water, Joe asked, “Katy?” Getting no reply, he turned around and saw Garin standing next to the sink. Joe’s reaction was ideal: He was dumbstruck.

Garin raised his hand to signify that Joe should remain silent. “Joe,” Garin said quietly, “sorry to startle you. Take a second to reorient yourself and I’ll explain.”

Joe looked as if he was trying to blink away the confusion. He stood as Garin came into the living room. “Mike, what’s going on? You scared the hell out of me.” Joe looked at the pistol Garin held at his side and with greater urgency asked, “What the hell is going on?”

Garin got right to it. “Joe, I know this is going to sound bizarre, but I want you, Katy, and the kids to be prepared to leave the house in five minutes. Here’s the situation: Less than twelve hours ago, two men tried to kill me and I’m certain whoever sent them intends to finish the job. Several people close to me have also been killed in the last day. Right now, there are at least four men parked in the street outside your house who I suspect are shooters.” He paused for a moment to allow Joe to process what he had just said. “I don’t think they’re after you or your family. They’re hoping to get me. But I can’t take any chances, so I need to get you out of here.”

As a former command sergeant major who had served three tours in Iraq, Joe knew that at some point Garin had had some type of involvement with special operations. His wife’s brother would frequently disappear for varying periods of time and upon his return respond evasively to any questions about his trip. Joe had long since stopped asking questions and had told the kids Uncle Mike was some kind of big-game or treasure hunter. For her part, Katy had no illusions about what her brother did. She knew him better than anyone in the world and she was sure that in one way or another he was going after some very bad men.

Joe began to move to the staircase down the hall to get his family. As he did so, he turned partially toward Garin. “Mike, why not just call the cops?”

“Can’t do it, Joe. I wish I could tell you more, but I can’t. I know it’s tough, but please trust my judgment on this.”

“Can’t you at least tell me where we’re going?” Joe asked.

“To a safe place not far from here.”

As Joe went up the stairs he bent down and, peering between the rail posts, nodded at Garin’s weapon. “Mike.” Garin understood and put the SIG in his pocket.

“Don’t turn on any lights,” Garin cautioned. “And bring your sleeping bags and some extra clothes.”

Garin moved to the side of the front door and kept an eye on the sentinels. Within seconds after Joe had disappeared up the stairs, Garin heard the squeak of a box-spring mattress and muffled voices. The only word he could distinguish was “When?” uttered by Katy. She sounded more curious than alarmed. A few seconds later, he heard several feet padding about and the faint rustle of clothing.

As Garin peeked out the window he saw the passenger-side door of the vehicle to the right of the house open. The dome light didn’t come on. Garin’s hand gripped the pistol in his pocket as he watched a man in a dark polo shirt and trousers walk across the street to a head-high row of hedges, probably to relieve himself. He appeared about five foot ten and 175 pounds. As the man disappeared between two hedges, Garin looked for any activity from the other sentinels. A few moments later, the man reemerged, his face turned toward the house. There wasn’t enough light to identify any features other than two large jug ears.

Seconds after the man got back into the car, Garin heard the muffled pounding of several feet coming down carpeted stairs. The three kids, each clutching a sleeping bag, descended. Four-year-old Kimmy came down first, followed by Nicholas, six, and Alex, eight. It was clear that they were excited to see their uncle Mike and believed they were embarking on some grand adventure. Despite having been awakened only minutes earlier, each was alert and grinning like it was Christmas morning. They gathered around Garin at the foot of the stairs. Smiling, he knelt and gave them each a hug.

Katy followed a few steps behind, carrying a large duffel bag. Her expression was one of concern, but she smiled fleetingly as Garin rose to give her a hug. Behind her, Joe was carrying a matching duffel bag.

“Guys,” Garin said to the kids, “go wait in the living room for a second.” They shuffled off obediently.

Garin turned to Katy and Joe standing in the hallway. “Katy, I’m sorry,” Garin said. She frowned as if offended that Garin thought it necessary to apologize. The tall brunette was smart, mentally tough, and utterly devoted to her little brother. Garin liked to tease her that she was at least partially responsible for making him the son of a bitch he was. “Joe fill you in?” Garin asked her.

Katy nodded.

“We need to move quickly. I’m pretty sure they’re only after me, but for all I know, those guys outside are just waiting for backup before they move in. My car’s on Elmwood, behind the house. I’ll lead us out the back, take up a position next to the pool, and provide cover until you and the kids get to the back fence. Wait for me there. Don’t go over the fence until I catch up and make sure it’s clear.”

“Do you need me to cover too?” Joe asked.

“What are we talking?”

“Shotgun. I’ve got a Benelli Nova Pump in the basement.”

“We’ll scare the kids if we come out heavy.”

“No, they’ll love that,” Katy countered. “We’ll say we’re hunting for bears or something.” Katy Burns, thought Garin, suburban mother of three and part-time commando.

“All right,” Garin said. “I’ll still lead us out, but instead, Joe, you cover the rear. Car’s a Crown Vic. It’ll be tight, but it should fit all six of us. We go in thirty seconds.”

Katy went into the living room to tell the kids they were going camping and to keep an eye out for bears and coyotes. Joe retrieved the Benelli from the basement. Garin checked on the sentinels one last time. They appeared to be in their cars.

Garin looked back down the hall toward the sliding screen door, where Katy’s family was gathered, and felt nervous. Once they went out that door, they would be exposed. If the sentinels spotted them, their assignment could turn from surveillance to execution. Garin regularly placed the lives of highly trained warriors in danger, but placing the lives of family members in jeopardy was far more difficult.

Garin stepped out the sliding screen door and scanned the perimeter of the yard before waving Katy and the kids forward. Joe came out last, duffel bag strapped over his left shoulder, shotgun cradled across his chest and right arm, and closed the door behind him.

Garin heard a soft thump that came from somewhere up front, possibly the closing of a car door. He held his arm up, motioning for everyone to stop, the kids hoping that some mythical creature might be nearby. Looking at Joe, Garin jerked his head to the left, indicating that Joe should look around the side of the house to see what was going on out front.

Joe glanced quickly to the front yard. Seeing no change there, he turned around, shook his head, and motioned for Garin to proceed.

Once everyone was over the fence, they crossed the street to the Crown Victoria. Garin popped the trunk and they placed the bags inside. Then they piled into the car, Joe literally riding shotgun, with Katy and the kids in the back.

“When I say ‘go,’ everyone close your doors, gently, at the same time,” Garin instructed. “Go.” The doors closed in unison, one soft thump.

“Everyone in back put your heads down so the bears don’t know how many of us are in the car,” Garin directed. It didn’t make sense, but neither did hunting for bears in the middle of the night in suburban Cleveland.

Garin started the car, drove to the next intersection, and turned right — away from where the sentinels were parked. After driving for a minute, checking the rearview mirror for any signs of a tail, he gave everyone permission to sit up, which the kids also took as permission to speak. A fusillade of questions was fired, most of which dealt with why Uncle Mike was taking them bear hunting in the middle of the night. Since Katy had proposed the story, Garin decided to let her handle the questions. As she did, he turned to Joe and said, “I’ll tell you as much as I can when we’re outside the kids’ earshot.”

“Mike, where are we going?”

“A place no one else in the world knows about,” Garin replied. “If they’re capable of finding us there, we never had a chance to begin with.”