Steel Wheels: A John Tyler Action Thriller (John Tyler Action Thrillers Book 10), page 1
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
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
More by Tom Fowler
About the Author
STEEL WHEELS
John Tyler Action Thrillers
Book 10
TOM FOWLER
To Lisa and Isabel, who give the ride all the meaning in the world.
Copyright © 2026 Tom Fowler
This edition 2026 published by Vinci Books
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product 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.
Chapter One
“I can’t believe you’re bailing on pizza night, Dad.”
As he drove down the highway, John Tyler listened to his daughter through the external Bluetooth device he’d added to his car. “I told you about it a while ago,” he said.
“I know,” Lexi Tyler said. “I just don’t have anything else planned.”
“Come on. You’re a pretty girl in a college town. You have two roommates. There must be better options than pizza with your father.”
“Kim’s headed out with her boyfriend. Emily is . . . out somewhere. I don’t know.”
Tyler frowned. Lexi was outgoing enough to make friends and pretty enough to attract the attention of many young men in College Park—another reason for Tyler to be armed everywhere he went. “You all right?”
“I’m good.”
“You can tell me if you’re not,” Tyler said. He rolled his eyes at a slow-moving car ahead of him. The accelerator in his 1972 Oldsmobile 442 was as responsive as ever, and the big V8 propelled the muscle car around the pokey compact.
“I’m all right. Really.”
She sounded sincere, so Tyler didn’t press the issue. Lexi was in her third year at the University of Maryland, and her first semester since declaring her major as criminal justice. She’d lived in an off-campus apartment with two of her longtime friends for a year and a half. Thoughts like these made Tyler feel old.
When he didn’t say anything, Lexi picked up the slack in the conversation. “Where are you headed, anyway?”
“I’m house-sitting for Charlie tonight,” Tyler said. “Watching the dog more than anything.”
His daughter snorted. “You?”
“What? I like dogs.”
“He couldn’t just pay a college kid to do it?”
“You haven’t met Charlie,” Tyler said. His friend from the Army now worked as a defense contractor. More importantly, he’d offered Tyler a place to stay when the fallout of reporting his former commander for war crimes chased him out of the service earlier than expected. It had been eleven years, but Tyler still remembered the gesture.
“He’s the contractor, right?” Lexi asked.
“He is.”
“What exactly does he do?”
“No idea. I know enough not to ask, and he doesn’t tell me.”
“Sounds like most male friendships.”
“I always knew you were smart.” Tyler got into the right lane. His exit was coming up in less than a mile. Charlie and his wife lived in an upscale neighborhood in Upper Marlboro. The location offered an easy commute into DC. Sitting southeast of the nation’s capital, Tyler always struggled to think of the place as being “Upper.”
“Enjoy your dog watching, Dad,” Lexi said. “I hope you don’t have to clean up too much pee.”
“It’ll be fine. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I’ll probably look for something on Netflix.”
“Me, too,” Tyler said. “Text me some good suggestions. The more bullets, the better.” They said their goodbyes. Tyler followed his phone’s GPS to Charlie’s neighborhood. It looked very ritzy and swanky. Despite being in late autumn, not a single fallen leaf marred the grass and wood chips of the playground. Each property measured at least an acre, and some were more than two. The houses were brick, all two or three stories, and some featured columns on either side of the front door in the unlikely event a guest failed to notice the opulence of the area. “Jesus,” Tyler muttered to his empty car. These mid-sized mansions must have gone for well north of a million dollars each when built and would command even more now.
Tyler found Charlie’s house. It looked much like the others. When all the exteriors were brick, the only differentiators became exterior style and things like the roof color. Tyler didn’t care enough about houses to know one shape from the other. To him, these were places where rich people lived. Good for Charlie. He deserved it.
A large black fence ringed the house, including the driveway. Tyler stopped at the gate, which opened slowly. Smart. It gave Charlie and his wife plenty of time to prepare for unexpected company. Lights flared to life as Tyler navigated the long stretch of smooth asphalt. He’d driven over many rougher roads. The contracting life must have paid well, but considering Charlie’s suite of defenses, it also carried significant risk.
The command center buzzed with the electronic hum of computers and monitors.
A camera feed mounted to the chest of one strike team member showed the inside of the large SUV. The driver sat beside him. Two more were on the back seat. All wore black from their masks down to their boots. A four-man team to deal with one pesky problem. A GPS tracker in the Suburban showed its location on one of the four large monitors.
“Update?” a voice in Brick’s ear demanded.
“They’re about an hour away.”
“They have their orders?”
“Of course,” Brick said, unable to keep the annoyance out of his tone. “This isn’t the first rodeo for any of us.”
“Every rodeo has a clown,” the boss said. “Just make sure it’s not you.” A quiet click indicated the other man disconnected. Good. Brick didn’t want to deal with the CEO anyway. He’d always chafed at authority and being micromanaged—which is probably how he ended up in his current situation. No one else would have him until the company who prioritized results over personality issues accepted him.
The four men in the car were all contractors. Two layers of separation existed between their company and Vanguard Earth Industries. Brick didn’t really understand shell companies and contracts, but VEI used people who did, and those attorneys made sure the company was untouchable. The comms channel tonight was encrypted and designed to be untraceable. If anyone attributed a single action from tonight, they were very smart and had way too much free time. They would also make themselves an enormous target. “Base to alpha team,” Brick said.
“This is alpha team,” the front-seat passenger said.
“The boss just reminded me about your orders.”
“We have them.”
“Roger,” Brick said, “but to cover my own ass, I’m going to give them to you again. Capture the target . . .alive if possible. Kill anyone else there.”
“We’ve gotten reports they have a dog.”
“Kill the goddamn dog, too, then.” Brick broke the connection. He dropped to the floor and started a set of a hundred push-ups.
The team knew what to do, and they were being paid well to carry out the operation. In a little more than an hour, this particular nuisance would be resolved, and VEI could get back to business. Back to profits. No one would get in their way. Brick could almost see the stacks of cash he’d soon get to spend.
Chapter Two
Tyler left the 442 in front of the third garage.
Beside it, a double-wide door allowed two cars in and out. It was far more likely Charlie and his wife would keep their ride in there. He headed up the walkway toward the front door. Trees with a few le aves still hanging on for dear life stood all around the house and formed an impressive wooded area behind the neighborhood. Manicured bushes lined the paved stone path. They were neat enough to suggest someone had trimmed them recently.
A video doorbell was mounted onto the brick near the entrance. Tyler pushed the button, and a classical chime played inside the house. Between the brushed nickel of the unit itself and the song it played, this, too, conveyed wealth and expense. In the interests of security, Tyler installed a similar model at his house a while ago, but it was basic black and offered a simple ding-dong on the rare occasions someone came to the door.
Charlie opened up a moment later. A smile spread over his face. When they served together, Charlie had been tall and athletic. Tyler remembered thinking the man had the build to be a baseball player—probably an outfielder who could sock 25 homers and still be a threat on the basepaths. Ever since an IED incident, however, Charlie had used a wheelchair. “I’m not confined to it,” Tyler remembered him saying. “It’s not a goddamn prison.” The manual one he received from the Army was a distant memory, however. This one was a powered model. Charlie’s face was a little rounder and his brown hair a little thinner than the last time Tyler saw him. “Tippy!”
“How are you Charlie?” Tyler walked in, and the two shook hands. From elsewhere in the house, heels clattered over the hardwood. Tyler kicked the door shut with his boot.
“I’m good. How have you been? You opened a shop, right?”
“Yeah. I fix classic cars. Mechanic was my first MOS. I’m still pretty good at it.”
“What about the other things you’re good at?” Charlie wondered, lowering his voice. “Any more abusive neighbors?”
Tyler grinned. “I manage to get involved in the occasional extracurricular activity.” Almost twelve years ago, when he left the Army for good, Tyler stayed in Charlie’s old apartment while his friend was overseas. The guy across the hall turned out to be a jerk who beat his girlfriend, treated her son like crap, and resented Tyler for existing nearby. Their inevitable confrontation didn’t end well for the neighbor.
“I figured. Men like us . . . we never really retire.”
“Some of us manage to earn more than others,” Tyler said, spreading his hands and taking in the opulence. He figured the foyer to be marble. The rest of the floors he could see were dark hardwood. The first level featured vaulted ceilings in the entryway and living room. On the right, a staircase went up, and an elevator stood nearby. Tyler knew the house would be configured for Charlie to have everything he needed on the main level. The upstairs must have been mostly for his wife, who walked down the hall as if she knew Tyler thought about her.
He didn’t know her name, but Charlie’s wife was a striking woman. She was probably five-five, though her heels added enough height for her to be almost as tall as Tyler’s five-ten. Wavy black hair hung to her shoulders. She wore a dark blue dress which fit her well and matched the tie of Charlie’s black suit. Tyler thought of his ex-girlfriend Sara Morrison. “I do all right,” Charlie said. “You know there’s always plenty of work for a guy with your skills.”
Tyler waved a hand. “I’m too old to fly halfway around the world to shoot people. Plenty of assholes around here need to be shot.”
Charlie laughed, his wife smiled, and she used the pause in the conversation to approach Tyler. “My husband sucks at introductions. I’m Adrienne.” She held out a delicate hand.
Tyler shook it. Now he remembered—Adrienne Whitmore Prescott. Charlie’s wife worked in the Maryland legislature for the three months it was in session annually. “I figured you had a name besides Missus Charlie. Adrienne is a lot better.”
“I tend to like it.” She backed off a couple steps, and Charlie reversed his wheelchair to match. They tried to have a quiet conversation, but the shape of the room allowed Tyler to hear what they were saying.
“We don’t want to be late,” Adrienne told her husband.
“You check your sugar?”
“I’m good. I’ll be fine.”
“All right,” Charlie said.
“Isn’t there a dog I’m supposed to watch?” Tyler wanted to know.
“He’s in his crate right now,” Adrienne said. “I’ll let him out if you’re okay with it.”
“If I weren’t, I wouldn’t have come.”
She bobbed her head and walked out of the room. Her heels grew quieter until they became difficult to hear. A moment later, the sound of canine paws approached rapidly. A black Labrador retriever bounded into the room, all feet, tail, and tongue. The dog jumped up at Tyler, who steered it back to the floor and offered copious pets. These did nothing to diminish the animal’s enthusiasm at meeting a new person. The dog’s wagging tail alone could power a generator for a few hours.
“Jupiter, down,” Charlie said. Jupiter ignored him, hopping around the new arrival as if Tyler carried beef jerky in his pocket.
“Good thing you’re not going to a banquet for dog training,” Tyler said.
“You sure he won’t be any trouble?” Adrienne asked as she rejoined them.
“We’ll be all right.” Jupiter finally sat, but this seemed to be so Tyler could rub his head and scratch behind his ears. “How old is he?”
Charlie shrugged. “About ten months or so. He’s a rescue, so we’re not certain.”
“He’s still got some growing to do,” Adrienne added.
Jupiter was already pretty big. His larger paws indicated Adrienne’s assessment was right. Even now, the dog was about sixty pounds of solid muscle, endless energy, and extreme silliness. By the time he reached full maturity, he’d probably tip the scales at eighty pounds or more.
“We should probably get going,” Charlie said, and his wife nodded. “Tippy, I probably won’t be reachable for a while. Can’t have phones in the building. You know how it is.” Tyler did, though cell phones had become far more powerful and common since the last time he needed to lock one outside a secure facility. “Still, if you text, we’ll answer when we can.”
“I think Jupiter and I will be fine,” Tyler said.
“He probably eats more than you do.”
“Maybe we’ll test your theory later.”
“I don’t want my dog turning into a porker,” Adrienne said. They got their coats on, confirmed Tyler’s car wasn’t blocking anything where he parked it, and headed for the garage door. A ramp led to a minivan converted for wheelchair use and a BMW sedan.
“See you later, Tippy,” Charlie said. “Don’t get in trouble.”
Tyler spread his hands. “What the hell am I going to get up to here?”
From the passenger’s seat of the Suburban, Romeo watched the big SUV lap up the miles.
The center screen showed their location. Twenty minutes and closing. He didn’t know who the target was nor why they ended up on the radar. Tonight was about doing a job. He only had one qualm. “I’m not shooting a dog,” he announced to the other three on the team.
Quebec, the driver, snorted. From the backseat, Whiskey said, “Why not? You’re prepared to shoot people, aren’t you.”
“Sure. It’s . . .it’s a dog, man. Would you shoot a child?”
Tango shrugged. “Would and have. Kids, dogs, whatever. I don’t care. If the check clears, I’ll put a couple rounds in anything.” Romeo shook his head. “Don’t go soft.”
“I ain’t. I’m just saying I’m not shooting the dog.”
“Jesus.” Tango added a mocking falsetto to his voice. “I’m Romeo. I’m a big softy who loves dogs and long walks on the beach.”
“Piss off.”
“You’re the one who took a sissy handle.”
“If you could pick any letter,” Romeo said, “why would you not pick the one I did?”
“It’s gay,” Tango said.
Before Romeo could answer the juvenile barb, Quebec broke in. “Both of you shut up. For chrissakes. We’re going live in fifteen minutes, and the two of you are bickering over dogs and call signs. Christ Almighty.”
The other rear passenger, Whiskey, said, “Good time for a weapons check.” They all picked up their MP5s, ejected the magazines, inspected everything, and found all in order. In addition to the automatic weapons, each man carried a Glock 17 and a Ka-Bar knife. The pistols also passed muster. “We’ll do a comms check once we’re onsite. You know where you’re going, Quebec?”
