by Tom Haase
He turned toward the window and didn’t respond. At his house, he prepared for his friends’ arrival. He made sure there was beer in the fridge. That would have to be it for now. He stripped off his shirt when the Indian doctor arrived to treat his shoulder.
“You need to take it easy on using your arm for a few days. It will heal in a week,” he said as he gave Chuck a tetanus shot. “I can’t help you with the gallon of river water you drank,” the doctor said with a smile. “Take these for the pain that is coming in an hour or so.” He handed Chuck the pills.
Chuck thanked him and escorted him to the door while handing the doctor two hundred dollars.
Over the next three hours, they relaxed and told lies to one another in a good-hearted manner. The pills did kick in and Chuck felt only a small amount of pain in his shoulder. Everyone remembered different aspects of what happened at the dock. As usual, eyewitnesses don't agree on most things.
Emma suggested they all needed to get going at two hours after midnight.
“I’ll call you in the morning,” she said as they all headed for the door. “We need to visit with the captain and you need rest.”
“Oh, joy,” Chuck said.
55
The captain greeted Emma and Chuck before leading them into his office. He allowed them time to take a seat. He began the conversation, which he seemed intent on starting.
“Chuck, I want to thank you for what you did in capturing that man, Kareem. Your actions took courage to grab a speeding boat, get on it, and take him down. It’s something I have come to expect from you. However, you are a loose cannon on deck when it comes to dealing with your old police department.”
Chuck didn’t want to nod in agreement, which seemed to annoy the captain.
“For your information, we intercepted the truck delivering the drugs before it reached Thunderbolt. The information given by your friend and my former lieutenant on the location of the dealers proved to be spot-on. We arrested every one at the place she, and I believe you mentioned a she, offered. You have some powerful friend.”
Emma said, “The local hospitals are going to experience a deluge of patients suffering from withdrawal symptoms. With both Ramon and the Nassau gangs destroyed in such short order the supply here in Savannah will be critically short. I suggest you let the medical people know they'll have to prepare for it.”
“I agree, but the reason I asked Chuck here is to ask him a favor. I want you to work with us in the future,” the captain said. “I am convinced there will be another time and another event that will require your unique skills. Your ability to work off-book, as they say, is an invaluable asset and I hope you'll offer us your services for future use. I don't want you to become a sworn officer again, only a citizen willing to help the police. What say you?”
“Before you answer,” Emma interrupted. “I have something that might interest you both and might influence how you respond to the captain’s question. I have a good appreciation for what Chuck’s initial response might be.”
“What’s that?” the captain said.
“I had a conversation with an old roommate from college. She is the asset Chuck and his people have used for I.T. and their ability to, shall we say, hack into certain information has proven vital in his operations. She’s willing to help him, provided we keep her at a distance.”
“Sounds like a clandestine spooky person,” the captain said. “I understand she has something to do with the NSA and I endorse the idea she might be willing to aid us down the road.”
“She's a real asset, and we have to keep her, and everything about her, a secret from everyone not in this room. We couldn't have brought down the human traffickers or the drug gangs without her abilities. She is part of my team,” Chuck said.
“Do I get to meet his person?” the captain asked.
They both responded at the same moment, “No.”
“What about the rest of this team?”
Again, he received a spontaneous, “No.”
“Emma, what is it you wanted to tell me?” Chuck queried.
“Our lady informed me today there’s increased traffic referencing a weapons delivery to some group or groups in the Savannah area. These messages are generally associated with a terrorist organization that supports homegrown radical organizations. I'm proposing we get ready for an influx of weapons designed to go to radicalized citizens or a fanatical political groups.”
“You’re kidding,” said Captain Kennedy.
“No. This is the real thing, and I propose we let Chuck and his men snoop around. This time I want him to be reporting on a scheduled basis and not when he feels like it.”
“Wait a minute,” Chuck said. “I didn’t agree to that.”
“I’m sure you didn’t,” said the captain, “but it’s a condition you must agree to, or it’s time for you to get out of town by sundown. You get my meaning?”
The reference to the marshals of the Old West and their power to control who stayed in their town registered with Chuck. The captain could make life unbearably difficult if he decided to carry out his spoken threat. Chuck thought it was an exaggeration, but one he didn’t plan to test. He now lived a comfortable existence in his hometown and had gathered a group of friends with whom he had common bonds and similar backgrounds. He had no wish to start over somewhere else. Besides, he and his friends had done remarkable things over the last month. It felt good, and he wanted to continue in the same mode. Consequently, he would cave and comply with Emma and the captain's wishes to continue to work on things that interested him.
The latest news Emma had delivered fit that category. He hated terrorists in any form or under any guise. Killing them in the far off battlefield had only increased his intense dislike for all their cruelty, and the inhuman conditions they forced on the people, and the suicide bombers they fielded were the worst. If they came to America, he planned to treat them the same way he handled them on the battlefield. No mercy, only extermination. Terrorists were not criminals, they were enemy combatants, animals, not deserving of the protections afforded to U.S. citizens.
“Okay, captain, you have my word–I’ll keep you informed and not go off on my own.” He wondered if the fact he crossed his fingers applied. He thought his promise was vague enough for wide interpretation.
The captain rose and came over to where Chuck sat. As he approached, Chuck stood and accepted the man’s hand.
Outside the station, Emma turned and planted herself in front of him.
“We didn’t get every drug dealer in Savannah, but we gave them a bloody nose. Something I didn’t mention inside, Qing told me the traffic she revealed originated in Jamaica. The messages announcing an alleged arms delivery to Savannah had gone to many locations along the eastern seaboard.”
“I guess we have our work cut out for us.”
“Remember, you are a private citizen, and I’m the channel to law enforcement. Got that?”
“Yeah. Let’s go to lunch.”
“Can’t right now, have to go to the courthouse to file documents on what you did last night. We have to prosecute those men, and that takes time.”
“How about dinner?”
“Okay, I’m still treating. Vic’s on the river at seven.”
She didn’t wait for an answer before turning and heading along the street.
56
Chuck returned to his home, the warehouse, and tended to his pets. When he and Murphy returned from their two-mile walk, he noticed the dog gave off a smell he didn’t like. He didn’t know what it was, but he didn’t like the odor. He decided the time to bathe the Schipperke for the first time had arrived. The utility sink in the boat dock would be the perfect place.
Once he had the water to a mildly warm temperature, he picked the dog up and lowered it into the soapy bath water. He used the soap purchased at the pet store. On contact with the warm water Murphy lost it. He wiggled, barked, yapped, and tried to bite Chuck's hand. He made a nuisance of himself. With an effo
rt, he finally got the dog all the way into the sink and held him there while he washed him. At last, Murphy calmed a bit and realized he wasn't being deliberately drowned, but he regarded Chuck with what appeared to be real hatred in his eyes. The dog wasn’t a bath person for sure Chuck realized. Water dog, yes, bath dog, no.
When he picked the dog out of the water, he learned another lesson. He became soaked in a matter of seconds as the animal shook all the excess water in every direction. Murphy looked at Chuck with a “gotcha” all over his muzzle. Chuck laughed and hugged his little friend, and all was forgiven when Murphy gave him a tongue lick on the side of his face.
Merlin flew around the house trying to examine the wet bundle Chuck tried to dry off with large white towels. It appeared that once he saw Murphy was okay following all the commotion, he returned to his cage for a snack.
Chuck cleaned himself off in his shower after the wetting down Murphy gave him and put on clean clothes.
He focused for a few minutes on his plan for the future. He wanted to get established in Savannah. He had returned from war to look for a peaceful living. He thought Savannah would offer him what he wanted. So far it had, but with to much Rambo or vigilante action. That had to cease because he wanted to get reacquainted with his grandmother when she returned from Italy. He looked forward to that with a sense of joy.
On the other hand, this Tsarina Eddie had informed him about could become a big problem, but not his at this time. He decided to look into her out of curiosity and only to get information about her. If she became a problem for him then he would know something more about her than what Eddie had told him.
He put on tan slacks with an open-collared blue-checkered shirt and loafers without socks. He arrived downtown five minutes before seven and put his car in a parking garage as street parking in the area was impossible to find. The restaurant buzzed with conversations at all the tables when Chuck entered at seven.
He saw Emma situated at a two-person table across from the map painted on the wall which many attributed to Union soldiers who used the building as a staff headquarters during what the locals called that “recent unpleasantness” otherwise known as the American Civil War.
They ordered drinks and enjoyed the ambiance of the place. The last few days, and the hectic pace, gradually faded in the warmth of the bottles.
“You are amazing,” she said.
“Why? I don’t think so.”
“You accomplish what I consider super human things and act normal. Most men would shrivel up and retreat at the challenges you faced in the water last night, but you charged ahead into the belly of the beast. Without doubt, I believe you participated in the attack on the human traffickers’ place and last night you brought down the drug gang leader by boarding a speeding boat. That’s not normal.” She smiled at him.
Chuck had lowered his head as she dumped this praise on him. He slowly rotated to view around inside the room while she continued. In his sweep over the other people at the restaurant, his eye caught one man staring at them. He looked briefly at him and continued round to face Emma again.
“I’m enjoying this. Don’t stop. I need more,” he laughed.
She raised her glass, and they clicked. “To a magnificently completed operation.”
“I have a request,” he said.
“Shoot,” she replied.
“I need you to find out about a person in Miami name of Tsarina. No other name. Here is the phone number I got from Eddie and he told me she is the boss of the whole organization as far as he could determine. The phone has likely been changed after he disappeared, but maybe you could see what you might find out for me about her? Remember, it’s a two-way street.”
“I’ll look into it for you. A special favor, you understand?”
“It could turn out to be important in the whole drug, guns, human trafficking arena.”
After dinner, they walked out and stopped over the small bridge spanning Founder’s Walk. In the old days, when Savannah was the cotton capital of the world, the bidders would stand where they stood and observe the wagons full of cotton pass under the bridge for them to make bids on the loads.
“Truly a historic city,” Emma said.
“It had come a long way since its founding in 1733,” Chuck added.
Emma’s phone interrupted their discourse. She answered it and after a minute ended the call.
“We’re getting a picture on my phone in a minute. Qing says traffic has dramatically increased in the last few hours concerning the weapons shipment. They now know Savannah is the destination for the goods.”
“I hate those guys. Anyone who supports terrorist activity needs eliminating.”
“You want to kill them all?” she asked.
“Which word didn’t you understand?”
Her phone pinged. She looked at the screen and then turned it so Chuck could see. “She said this was the man in charge of the operation in Savannah. He’s the one to receive the weapons. She’s trying to get us a name.”
Chuck took one glance at the phone and then took a second look. He swirled back toward the restaurant and sprinted for the entrance.
“Where are you going?” Emma shouted after him.
Chuck continued and rushed into the restaurant. He pushed his way past the receptionist station. When he entered the main dining area, he hurried to the table where the man who had stared at them and who was also the one in the photo on Emma’s phone had sat a few minutes ago.
The table had no occupant. The man wasn’t there. Chuck looked in every direction and moved swiftly back to the front door.
“Did anyone come out?” he asked Emma when he exited.
“No one.”
The man had disappeared.
BOOK 3: Chuck McGregor returns in Betrayed Friend, available Winter 2018—only on Amazon.
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About the Author
TOM HAASE is the author of the Donavan Adventure series and Chuck McGregor Coastal Adventure series.
Tom had a thrilling experience when he jumped out of an airplane for the first time as an Army paratrooper in the 82nd Airborne Division. During his distinguished 28 year military career, Tom lived in Korea, Nepal, Ireland, Greece, England, and Cyprus. He had the honor of commanding a firing battery in combat in Viet Nam and representing the Department of Defense as a United States diplomat and Defense Attaché in four embassies. After retiring from the U.S. Army as a Lieutenant Colonel, he flew as a commercial pilot for a regional airline, and was rated to fly the Boeing 737.
Now, instead of flying airplanes or jumping out of them, he writes complex, fast-paced adventure novels to thrill readers.
He lives in Savannah, Georgia with his wife, Kate.
To learn more about his latest books, please visit tomhaase.com.