by Roland Smith
This was great news. If she thought Boone had placed the tracking device on their car at Wal-Mart, then she didn’t know about John Masters.
“Boone is our parents’ driver,” Angela said shakily. And it was pretty convincing. “He’s also in charge of tour security. He’s been acting kind of strange lately. Paranoid. He was supposed to be driving us to our parents’ concert date in San Antonio. On the way there, he said the guys driving the equipment truck were in an accident. We stopped by the hospital to see if they were okay, then Boone showed up in this car and drove us out this way. When we asked him why, he said that he had uncovered a plot to kidnap us. I guess he knew you were after us.”
A look of confusion crossed T3’s face. I tried to hide my own confusion. Where was Angela going with this?
“Why did you tell me that Tyrone was your grandfather?”
“It just slipped out. I didn’t know who you were. We still don’t know!”
That was pretty lame, but T3 let it go.
“What about the tracking device?” she asked.
“I don’t know anything about it,” the petrified Angela said, talking fast like you would if you were scared to death. “I don’t even know what it is. Boone stopped at a Wal-Mart … well, about a block away from a Wal-Mart. He told us he had to do something, and for us to wait in the car. We talked about getting away from him, but we didn’t know where we were, or where to go. He wasn’t gone for more than ten minutes.”
“Was he looking at a GPS?”
“He was looking at his phone, but he’s always looking at his phone, even when he drives. It could be a GPS.”
“What about your motor coach?” T3 asked. “What about the stolen car?”
Oops. She obviously knew a lot more about us and the situation than she was saying. There had to be someone else feeding her information, because they hadn’t been anywhere near the hospital when Boone had jacked the car. The only explanation could be that they had a countersurveillance team out there that we didn’t know about. It was lucky they hadn’t spotted John Masters. And it could be that the reason they didn’t spot him was that they were watching us.
“Boone said the coach had broken down,” Angela said in a rush. “He said he had borrowed the car from someone at the hospital. We didn’t know it was stolen until your driver pointed it out!” She literally shrieked this last part out, which I thought was a nice touch.
T3 wasn’t nearly as fond of the screech as I was. She lunged forward and hit me in the face. It was shocking and it hurt, but the pain was lessened by my automatic reflex to defend myself. My hands were still behind my back, but they were free of the flex-cuff.
“Keep you voice down,” T3 said.
“I didn’t say anything,” I said. I felt warm blood running out my nose.
“Here’s how it works,” T3 said. “If one does something to annoy me, the other gets punished.”
She backed out and slammed the door.
“Are you okay?” Angela asked.
“Next time I’ll do the talking and you take the punishment,” I said, then wiped my nose.
“Your hands!” Angela said.
“Pretty cool, huh?”
“Don’t let them see.”
I’d been watching them the whole time. They were talking to each other outside the Tahoe, paying absolutely no attention to us.
“Keep an eye on them.” I tilted my head back and pinched my nostrils closed.
“Can you free my hands?”
I slipped my left hand behind her back. There was absolutely no play in her flex-cuff.
“Have you been trying to get yourself free?” I asked, which probably sounded pretty weird with my nose pinched shut.
“Yes,” Angela answered.
“Well, stop,” I said, releasing my nose. The pinch seemed to have done the trick. “Your wrists are swollen. You’re making it worse. Any chance you can do tae kwon do with your hands tied behind your back?”
Angela shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
We looked out the window. The terrorists had turned toward us and were lit up by the headlights of the Tahoe. That’s when I saw Croc appear. He materialized three feet behind them right next to the SUV. One of the terrorists must have heard something. He turned his head, but by the time his eyes got there, Croc was gone.
“Poof,” Angela said.
“You saw it?”
“I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t. Do you think Boone is with him?”
“I didn’t see him.”
“Where do you think they go when they vanish?”
“I’m not sure they vanish,” I said.
“What do you mean? We just saw Croc vanish.”
“I’m not exactly sure what we saw,” I said. “I know a lot about tricks and illusions. Smoke and mirror stuff. But this is way beyond me. I think if you disappear, you have to appear someplace else. I don’t think they vanish. I think they move from one place to another faster than we can see.”
“And you know this how?”
“I don’t really know it. I’m guessing. The terrorist that turned felt something. Or maybe he smelled something. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Croc has some personal hygiene issues.”
“He stinks,” Angela said.
“Exactly, but I wouldn’t say that in front of him. It might hurt his feelings. He can’t communicate with us beyond barking, growling, belching, and farting, but I think he understands everything we say.”
“I’ve said some terrible things in front of him.”
“Me too,” I said. “I think Croc not only moves fast, he can see fast. I bet this applies to Boone as well, otherwise people would have been onto him years ago. It’s like the old Superman comics where Clark Kent goes into a phone booth to put on his blue Spandex and cape faster than the eye can see. Croc’s probably been off in the shadows watching for a while. He must have waited for them to turn and look in our direction before he made his final move.”
“But we saw Boone disappear, or move, on the highway.”
“We saw him move because he wanted us to see him move. He showed us what he was capable of so when we saw it down the road we wouldn’t completely freak out.”
“I’m pretty freaked out,” Angela said.
“Me too, but I’m getting used to the idea.”
“Croc showed himself so we’d know he was here,” Angela said.
I was hoping that when this was all over, Boone could show me how to move like this. If a dog could do it, why couldn’t I? But I didn’t mention this to Angela.
“I think that’s exactly what Croc did,” I said.
T3 got into the Tahoe with two of the other men. The fourth terrorist walked over to the Audi. I put my hands behind my back, hoping that he wasn’t going to shoot us in the backseat. It would be just my luck to be murdered before I got a chance to talk to Boone about his and Croc’s unusual abilities. It was the same guy that had driven us here. He opened the driver’s door and slid in.
“I don’t want to hear a word out of either one of you,” he said without looking at us, and started the engine.
I wasn’t interested in talking to him anyway. He pulled in behind the Tahoe and headed north on back roads. The sky was lightening. Angela and I kept our eyes glued to our windows. Croc appeared twice on my side and three times on Angela’s side. It was good to know he was with us.
Kitty Hawk
The sun was coming up. It looked like it was going to be a clear day on the Outer Banks.
Boone watched the dashboard computer in John’s SUV. Another signal had appeared on the GPS a few minutes earlier. It had been a little hard to explain to John how this had happened, so Boone had simply told him the truth, or a version of the truth.
“Croc put the tracking devise back on the Tahoe.”
“Your dog?”
“Yep.”
“Wow. That’s a good dog,” John had said, and dropped the subject.
It was then that Boone kn
ew he and John were going to get along well.
The Tahoe and the Audi were driving parallel to them about a half a mile inland along Bay Drive. Eben and Ziv were barreling south on 158 and were about a half an hour out. Felix was just crossing the bridge to Roanoke Island.
“Turn signal,” John said.
Boone looked through the windshield. The truck was turning left onto Kitty Hawk Boulevard.
“Back off,” Boone said. “Give them plenty of room.” He pointed to the GPS. “The Tahoe and the other vehicle are going to intersect with the truck a half a mile down.”
Boone called the president.
“Looks like it’s going down in Kitty Hawk,” J.R. said.
“Maybe,” Boone said. “Might be time to move your team in a little closer just in case.”
“I already have,” J.R. said.
Boone wasn’t surprised. “Where are they?”
“South of you. First Flight Airport. Kill Devil Hills. They landed about twenty minutes ago.”
“How many?”
“Eight operators. Half a platoon.”
Boone thought for a minute before responding. “Do you think there’d be any objection to Masters taking the lead on this?”
“I’m the commander in chief,” J.R. said. “The SEAL team will do what I order them to do.”
“Putting that aside,” Boone said.
“I don’t think there will be any objection. These boys would be thrilled to take orders from John Masters.”
“Let them know,” Boone said. “He’ll be down at Kill Devil Hills soon. This needs to look like an Israeli Mossad operation. No American involvement.”
“Understood,” J.R. said.
“This is my last call until this is over.”
“Get her back, Boone,” J.R. said, and ended the call.
Boone called Eben and Ziv next. Ziv answered. “Go to the First Flight Airport in Kill Devil Hills and suit up. Make certain you’re wearing vests. Your lives will depend on it. The Mossad is going to do an illegal favor for the president of the United States.”
“I have great admiration for your Culpepper president,” Ziv said. “It will be my pleasure to do a favor for him.”
The last call Boone made was to Felix.
“How are you holding up?”
“Tired,” Felix said. “Sore.”
“You can take your time getting here. I think we have enough people. We’ll need you to pick us up later this morning.”
“I’ll get breakfast,” Felix said. “There’s an outlet mall up ahead. Big and Tall shop. I need new clothes.”
“I’m not sure where we’ll resurface,” Boone said. “I’ll give you a call when I know.”
Boone turned to John. “Stop the car.”
“The truck’s getting quite a ways in front of us,” John said.
“Pull over.”
John pulled into a gas station.
“I’m getting out here,” Boone said.
“Why?”
“End game,” Boone answered. “You probably caught some of the conversation, but there’s a SEAL team waiting for you at the First Flight Airport. You’ll be in command. It’s strictly black op. Way off the books. I’ll give you more instructions when you get there.”
“The Tahoe and Audi are now heading south on Elijah Baum Road. The truck’s probably with them. They’re a mile away. How are you going to get there?”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll catch up with them. Get going. You’ll need to be in place soon.”
“Are you sure about this?”
“Yep.”
John pulled his pistol out of the holder and offered it to him. Boone smiled and shook his head. “Weapons are your deal,” he said, getting out. “I won’t need it.”
He watched John pull a U-turn. As soon as John was out of sight, he turned his cell phone off.
Then he blinked.
Dead Kids Tell No Tales
It seemed like they had been in the truck for weeks. Malak looked at her watch. 6:53. They had been in the truck for less than four hours. She switched on the flashlight she had found in the boat and shined it at Bethany. Other than looking a little rumpled and tired, the president’s daughter appeared to be in remarkably good shape. She even managed to give Malak a slight smile.
“So this is it,” Bethany said.
“I suspect so. Are we clear on everything?”
“My part’s pretty simple,” Bethany said. “Play dead.”
“Unconscious,” Malak corrected. “There’s a stretcher in the boat.”
“I sometimes get a little queasy on boats. Do you know how far we’re going?”
There had been a nautical map in the boat with a course plotted to a small island in Kitty Hawk Bay.
“It’s not far,” Malak said.
She handed Bethany the hood. “Sorry.”
“That’s all right,” Bethany said. She slipped it on, lay down, and began her deep yoga breathing.
The truck came to a stop.
Malak went into a state the polar opposite of Bethany’s. Every nerve in her body was on high alert. She pulled out her pistol, chambered a round, and pointed it at the door. To protect Bethany, and to protect herself, she needed to bound from the truck like a leopard ready to hunt. She needed to be completely in charge.
The locking mechanism screeched. A moment later the doors swung open. Light poured in. The Leopard did not shade her eyes. They were parked in the middle of a cemetery. The white Tahoe was backed up to the rear of the semi-trailer. Exhaust billowed out of the mufflers in the cool morning, past the tombstones. Three men surrounded it, facing out, assault rifles ready. Scuff Boots started pulling out the ramp. A woman stood to the side of the open door. She was tall, with long black hair pulled back into a severe ponytail. Malak knew her as Ariel, aka the Lion of God. She had a cell phone to her ear with one hand, and an assault rifle in the other.
Malak lowered her pistol, but kept it in her hand. She had worked with Ariel several times before. She and her team’s specialty was security and assassinations.
“The hostage is alive?” Ariel asked.
Malak nodded, wondering if Ariel knew who the hostage was. There was a good chance she didn’t. She was high up in the cell, but several notches beneath Anmar the Leopard. She got down from the truck.
“Alive,” Ariel said into the phone, then handed the phone to Malak. “For you.”
“Congratulations,” a man said. “You are now officially one of the Five.”
It was the same man who had questioned her in Virginia, but she only knew his voice. He hadn’t allowed her to see his face. Hopefully that would now change. He had told her that if she succeeded in kidnapping Bethany Culpepper, she would become a member of the inner circle. If she failed, he would have her killed. She glanced at Ariel. There was no doubt in her mind who her assassin would have been. She had not heard of the Five before. The name implied there was more than one person in charge of the ghost cell. This was the worst possible news she could have received. It meant that her journey would not end today.
“Bethany is well?” the man asked.
“She’s still unconscious, but stable,” Malak said. “She was overdosed.”
“She will wake soon. There is a map in the boat. Bring her to me. Ariel will set up a security perimeter around us. The only people allowed inside will be you, Bethany, and the other two. We try to keep our identities secret. I will tell Ariel that you are in charge of the operation, but I will not tell her that you are one of the Five.”
“The other two?” Malak asked, thinking they must be members of the Five she hadn’t seen yet.
“The children,” the man said. “Angela Tucker and Quest Munoz.”
It was all Malak could do to stop her knees from buckling. “They’re here? Why?”
“It was voted upon,” the man said. “I will explain how the Five works when we get a chance. You’ll find it interesting. Put Ariel on the phone. I’m looking forward to finally meet
ing you face-to-face.”
Malak handed Ariel the phone, keeping her face completely neutral although she wanted to scream. Ariel listened, then handed the phone back. Her face was neutral as well, but Malak was certain she wasn’t happy to hear that the Leopard was in charge of the Lion.
“I assume Tyrone Boone was with the children,” Malak said.
“He was driving,” Ariel said. “But he wasn’t there when we made the snatch. We didn’t take him.”
“He couldn’t have been too far away. Why didn’t you wait for him to come back?”
“We were led to believe he wasn’t an important asset. Our primary mission was to make sure the truck arrived here without any interference. The children were a target of opportunity. We were told to take whoever we could and not to harm them. There was no time to search the highway for the old man. There was a traffic jam. Many people were out of their cars. Too many witnesses.”
Ariel had made a huge mistake in not apprehending Boone, but Malak didn’t ask any more questions. To do so would tip her hand. Ariel could not know the Leopard was in the dark.
“Where are the children?” Malak asked.
“Around the corner in a car.”
“I’ll go speak with them.”
“I already questioned them,” Ariel said. “The girl lies badly.”
“I’ll see if I can get some truth out of her,” Malak said. “I want you to supervise the loading of our cargo. Use the stretcher from the boat. Handle her gently. I don’t want her woken until we are ready for her. And this is not the place. I assume the truck will haul the cars away from here?”
Ariel nodded. “We leave no trails.”
Malak nodded. Another one of the ghost cell mottos.
“See to it. I’ll get the children out of the other car so you can move it. I’ll bring them over when the boat is loaded and ready to leave. It’s best they see and hear as little as possible.”
Ariel smiled and shrugged. “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Dead kids tell no tales.”
Malak returned the smile, but she was sick with dread.
Dead terrorists tell no tales either.