The photos were horrifying. Burned, hacked, faces beaten until the features were obliterated.
"The Black Collar Militia is being coined a white supremacy group; they're actually closer to a homeland terrorist organization." Ian stepped forward at that point. "You have all the information in your files. Black Collar is centralized in Texas, but it's moving swiftly into neighboring states. Rodriguez was only the most public figure they've targeted. Several so-called accidents at plants and manufacturing firms that use legal as well as illegal aliens have occurred. Owners have been kidnapped, tortured, their family members have had a variety of suspicious accidents, some fatal, some not."
"And no one has identified the members?" Travis Caine, formerly British Secret Service, spoke up then, his light blue-gray eyes narrowed as he stared back at Ian, then Jordan. "Isn't that a bit unusual?"
"Each investigation focusing on them has ended in cases abruptly closed, or agents dying. This group has at least one highly placed government informant, perhaps more."
"Public support of immigration laws is growing," Nikolas Steele, formerly Russian Special Forces, said then.
"Nothing's perfect," Jordan breathed out roughly. "But this." He pointed to the image of the dead agents. "Has to stop. Our job is to identify and interrogate the commander of the group located here, in Alpine. All signs lead here."
"We have an Israeli, an Irish immigrant, and a Russian," Noah said. "We should be able to target interest."
"We also have this," Jordan stated, and the screen flipped a satellite view of the garage Rory and Sabella owned.
Noah stared at it silently, aware of the looks directed his way.
"We keep her out of it," he grated out.
"That's not possible, Noah." Jordan sighed. "Her name is already in it, as you know. The garage itself is a target. Profitable, a central point for gossip, and in the past months showing a measure of growth. The last report those field agents sent in was that Malone Service and Repair was a target. Owned by Rory and Sabella Malone. That report stated there were plans to either incorporate Sabella Malone into a marriage with one of the central figures or kill her and Rory. We can't overlook that report, and we can't just keep Sabella Malone out of this."
"Why target a gas station?" the Israeli Mossad, hard-core ice, Micah Sloane, asked the next question. "It's not busting millions. Why not open their own station and use it for whatever they need Malone's for?"
"Malone's is established," Noah answered the question. "Started by Nathan Malone, a man most people in that town either respected or feared. It would be above suspicion for the movement of arms or the laundering of funds."
"Bingo." Ian stared back at him coolly. "Several suspected BCM members have tried establishing relationships with her. The only one to have shown progress is this man."
Duncan Sykes's picture showed up on the screen.
"Duncan Sykes. Owner of a profitable electronics business in town. Never hires aliens, illegal or otherwise. Known to have been a close, personal friend of Nathan Malone's before his death. Sykes as well as Mike Conrad, another friend of Malone's. were mentioned in that final report, which, I should point out, disappeared within days of transmission to the D.C. office, just before the agents' disappearance."
"High level," John Vincent murmured. Code-named Heat Seeker, the Australian Special Forces soldier had pissed off the wrong group in Australia.
"Very high level." Jordan nodded. "Alpine is a central base, we bust it, gather their head generals, and we can backtrack it straight to D.C. and our leaks. That's our mission, gentlemen."
"Nik and I will be in the garage," Noah stated, still staring at the aerial view of the garage. "Initial information is that two of the mechanics are BCM. If Malone's is one of their primary targets, and Sykes is a general, then we'll see how they like being screwed back."
Sykes was gone. Noah would make certain there wasn't a chance in hell that Sabella would continue that little friendship.
"First phase, information only," Jordan ordered them. "We'll meet back here in a week, see what we have and then go from there. Travis will be at the college as a professor of English history. John, you and Micah will cover. You're just drifters out for a good time. Target the bars, the college hangouts where they recruit from, and you'll also be backup."
Micah and John nodded to that. They made damned good shadows. All of them did, but Micah was a master at it.
"Durango team is in place to provide backup as well if we encounter trouble. Other than that, we're on our own," Ian told them. "We have six weeks to complete this mission, because in six weeks, we have this."
The screen changed again. The letter was simple, to the point. Addressed to the owner of a manufacturing firm in Dallas that hired legal aliens from around the world. The message was clear. He had six weeks to ensure his firm hired naturally born Americans only, or he'd pay the price.
"The owner of this firm is who?" Micah asked.
"The owner of this firm just happens to be a financial supporter of Helping Hands, an organization that encourages multinational growth and harmony." Jordan smiled tightly. "Boys, meet one of your employers."
* * *
CHAPTER FIVE
Three days later, Noah forced himself away from the garage as he watched Sabella roll herself beneath another vehicle. One of the vehicles he'd completed. She was going over his work as though he hadn't spent the better part of thirty-five years working on vehicles.
Top to bottom, she was spending the day going over every move he made.
He grimaced as he shoved a wrench in his back pocket, threw another look at her over his shoulder, and pushed into the office.
And stopped.
"Excuse me." He turned to walk right back out.
"Ah, Noah Blake." Grandpop Malone rose up from where he had been sitting next to the desk he'd had Rory blocked in at. "Don't leave so soon, son. I hear we have something in common."
Noah grimaced, gritted his teeth, then turned back and let the door reclose behind him and faced the man who had been the base of his entire life.
Grandpop. He was wrinkled, stooped, his dark face was still imposing, his eyes were still that bright sapphire blue that Noah had opted to have changed.