by Mark Posey
Table of Contents
About A Port In The Storm
Praise for Mark Posey’s Thrillers
A Port In A Storm Title Page
A PORT IN THE STORM
Did you enjoy this book? How to make a big difference!
The next book in the Nun with a Gun series.
About the Author
Other books by Mark Posey
Copyright Information
About A Port In The Storm
Taking refuge turns into a deadly game of cat-and-mouse…
In an attempt to shift the base of power in the church, the Pope’s trusted advisors have convinced him that Sister Jacobine has to go.
On the run from a Vatican hit team, Sister Jacobine seeks a safe haven with the only people she can trust. That trust nearly gets them all killed, when the ruthless killers from Rome finally track her down.
With an army of trained killers closing in, Sister Jacobine is forced to take drastic action to disappear from the church’s radar. Even if the hastily drawn-up plan succeeds, where on earth will she go?
A Nun With A Gun is a series of short stories and novelettes about Sister Jacobine, the Pope’s hitwoman. They are best read in order.
1.0 Feet of Clay
2.0 A Port in the Storm
3.0 Excommunication
4.0 Requiem Mass
5.0 Den of Lions
6.0 The Narrow Gate
Thriller Novelette
Praise for Mark Posey’s Thrillers
Well-fleshed out characters to really care about, and a deep state plot that is very timely given current world affairs.
All in all, an enjoyable page-turner!
A PORT IN THE STORM
Alice Fisher stumbled across the front yard, hands clutched to her stomach. Blood soaked her hands, but she could also feel it healing. The bullet pushed against her fingers, then she heard it clatter onto the walkway as she got close to the front steps.
She left a bloody handprint on the railing when she helped herself up to the front door. Her gaze fell on the numbers mounted on the door frame. This was the correct address.
She stood at the top of the concrete steps, one hand still held over her stomach, and pounded on the door. It was very late. The sodium vapor streetlights illuminated sidewalks, well-manicured lawns and the right half of cars parked at the curb.
Her legs were shaking. She heard movement in the house. Someone rushed down the stairs. Maybe several someones.
“It’s three in the damn morning,” a voice hissed through the door.
The sconce beside the door lit up. No movement yet behind the door. She hoped that when they peeked through the lens, they’d see at least the top of her head. The top of her veil would be visible.
She pounded until the deadbolt turned.
The door was ripped open. Detective Rafferty stood with his service weapon trained on her. The woman peering over his shoulder had to be his wife.
Alice raised her gaze to meet Rafferty’s. “Constable. They almost...got me.” She collapsed forward. A sigh escaped her as she fell.
* * * * *
“Get her on the coffee table,” Alice heard the woman say.
Alice was being carried, probably in Rafferty’s arms. She must have been out for only a few seconds.
The hard surface of the coffee table pressed against her back as she was gently set down.
Alice opened her eyes and saw Rafferty step back. The woman who had been behind him at the door knelt beside the table.
“Mommy, what’s happening? Who is that lady?” a scared young voice said.
The woman looked over her shoulder. “Go get me the first aid kit, Susie. Now!”
Alice couldn’t see the child. The woman’s body blocked her view. She heard the girl run up the stairs, though.
“I am fine,” Alice mumbled. “I will be fine.”
The woman looked up at Rafferty. “Feels like I’m back in the Gulf.”
“Geri, you don’t need to—”
The woman examined at Alice’s bloody jacket. “Bullet hole just under the ribs. Probably stomach or intestines.” She tugged the jacket open and her gaze flitted to the Tanfoglio in its holster on Alice’s right hip. Then she ripped open the shirt underneath. As she spread the halves aside, she jerked back. Shock skittered across her face. “What the...?”
Alice lifted her head and tried to get her elbows under her, as she peered down at her exposed midriff. The clearly defined abdominal muscles rippled as she tried to sit up. “I told you I would be fine.” It came out slurred.
“There’s no wound,” the woman said.
Susie rushed down the stairs, first aid kit thrust out. She stared at Alice’s stomach, her younger sister behind her, clutching her arm.
“What the hell’s going on?” the woman said to Alice.
“Alice, what the hell are you doing here?” Rafferty said.
“Mommy, who is that lady? Why are her clothes all bloody?”
Alice looked from the woman, to Rafferty, and then to Susie as each spoke. The room was spinning. “Just need to rest...” The last word drew out in a long, breathy hiss as the world went black.
* * * * *
The daylight around the edges of the curtains told Alice that time had passed. The room was dark. The surface she was on was considerably softer than a coffee table. She presumed it was a mattress and hoped she hadn’t put Susie out of her bed.
She sat up gingerly, pulled the covers off and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. As usual, her feet did not reach the floor.
She wasn’t wearing her suit. She was in a long t-shirt which covered her to mid-thigh. She examined it. “Wouldn’t want to get the bed clothes all bloody, would you?” she muttered.
Her head throbbed with her heartbeat and her thoughts were still fuzzy. It was a good thing the curtains were drawn. Sunlight would have made the throbbing worse.
She sighed, slumped, and ran the fingers of one hand through her hair. Even her veil had been removed.
Snoring, the likes of which she had rarely heard, reverberated throughout the house. Between the snorts and warbles, whispers and giggles came from downstairs. Alice took a deep breath. “I suppose there is no time like the present.”
She rose, a little unsteady, and smoothed her hair until she hoped it was halfway presentable. Although after the impression she had made last night, messy hair was the least of her concerns.
She stepped to the door and opened it. The hinges creaked and the whispering and giggling stopped.
Alice shuffled into the hallway. Whoever was downstairs was deathly quiet. Listening, she supposed, for their unexpected guest to come down. The only sound still emanating from the lower level of the house was the ungodly snoring. Apparently, she had put someone out of their bed. From the sounds of it, it was the Constable himself.
She gripped onto the bannister with both hands and started down the stairs. She was sore, stiff and exhausted. With every step, the snoring grew louder. When she rounded the living room landing, she saw Rafferty on his back on the couch, head back, mouth open.
“Thought I had left all that behind,” Alice muttered.
The woman from last night appeared at the foot of the stairs. She was wrapped in a housecoat, her auburn hair uncombed. She smiled and held out her hand. “It’s Alice, isn’t it?”
“Quite correct.” Alice reached for the hand. “I am so terribly sorry about all of this.”
The woman continued to smile. “No problem. Just lean on me, you’ll be fine.”
Alice shuffled down the steps from the landing and stopped at the bottom. The hardwood floor was cool on her bare feet. The woman was, of course, taller than Alice. Nearly as tall as Rafferty, actually.
The woman followed her gaze and looked contrite. “Don’t worry about him. Believe it or not, he’s usually louder than that.”
Alice looked at her, aghast.
“I’m Marty’s wife, Geraldine. Geri, if you prefer.”
“Lovely to meet you, Geraldine. Thank you so very much for the loan of your t-shirt.” Alice looked down at the cartoon character on the front.
Geri grinned. “Actually, that’s one of Susie’s nighties. It comes down to her ankles.”
Rafferty snorted and gulped then heaved upon the couch. He settled and the rhythmic, loud snoring continued.
They both glowered at him as he slept.
“His Holiness is like that,” Alice said. “Makes as much noise as a pair of mating oxen. You could set a bomb off next to his bed and it wouldn’t wake him.” She shook her head.
Geri looked down at her. “You mean the Pope? You know him?”
“I thought I did.” Alice groaned as she turned herself around so she could walk into the kitchen.
Geri helped Alice to the table. Two little girls in pajamas, hair still messy from sleep, sat side by side, half-empty cereal bowls in front of them. Both watched Alice warily.
Geri helped Alice into the nearest chair. Alice smiled at the two girls. She guessed their ages to be five and seven. “And who do we have here?” she asked.
Both girls glanced at Geri and then back at Alice.
Alice focused on the older one. “Come now, don’t be shy. My name’s Alice. You must be Susie, yes?”
Susie nodded and watched her cereal bowl.
Alice gazed at the younger girl and smiled. “And what’s your name?”
The girl mimicked her older sister and watched her bowl.
“Oh, child. I don’t bite.”
“Her name’s Christine,” Susie mumbled, still watching her bowl.
“Christine. It is a lovely name, is it not?”
Christine nodded slowly.
Alice jumped as Rafferty snorted and gurgled on the couch. Both girls looked at each other and giggled.
“Can I get you some breakfast?” Geri asked Alice.
“Not right at the moment. I don’t know that I could keep it down, thank you, child. Perhaps a cup of tea?”
Geri blinked. “Did you just call me ‘child’?”
Alice closed her eyes and let out a breath, rubbing her fingers over her forehead. “Forgive me, chi—Geraldine. I am not yet recovered from last night.”
Rafferty snorted and grumbled in the living room.
Alice shook her head. “And I cannot listen to that for one more minute.” She fixed the girls with her gaze and let a conspiratorial smile play across her face. “Would you two like to help me for a moment?”
The girls looked at each other, then to their mother.
Geraldine said, “Go ahead, girls. I think Alice means to wake Dad up.”
“Indeed, I do. Come, girls. We’ll put an end to this cacophony.” Alice eased herself to her feet and held on to the back of the chair to steady herself.
Susie and Christine scrambled off their chairs and stood by Alice.
She bent, still holding the chair, so her eyes were at their level. “Can you say, ‘Good morning, Constable’?”
“Good morning, Constable,” they repeated.
“Very good. Now...” Alice started slowly forward. “When His Holiness is doing that,” she said and took the girls by the hands, “even yelling and shaking him won’t wake him up. Do you know what does?”
Susie and Christine shook their heads.
“Staring at him,” she said as they got close to the couch. “So, we’re going to stare at him until we scare him awake and then, when he does wake up, we’re going to say, ‘Good morning, Constable’ as loud as we can, all right?”
Both girls nodded as they all came to a halt at the couch.
“Right,” Alice whispered, “lean way over and watch him.” The three of them stared at Rafferty, his head tossed back, his mouth slack, the snoring unabated.
Then, the snoring slackened.
“It’s working!” Alice said, sotto voce. “Stare harder.” She leaned farther over Rafferty and furrowed her brow. The girls mimicked her.
Rafferty’s mouth eased closed. The snoring stopped.
“Any moment now,” Alice urged.
Rafferty’s eyes fluttered, then snapped open as he registered the three of them standing over him. “Jesus Christ!” He jerked back.
The girls collapsed in giggles.
“Good morning, Constable,” Alice said. She looked at the girls laughing on the floor. “Say it with me, girls. Good morning, Constable.” She said it slowly so they could follow along.
“Good morning, Constable,” they repeated over and over and giggled.
Rafferty scrunched his eyes shut and let his head sag back to the arm of the sofa. “Oh man, don’t teach them that.” He groaned and heaved himself into a sitting position on the center of the couch.
Alice straightened and walked back to the kitchen table. “At least we can hear ourselves think, now. When you are more alert, we shall have a talk, you and I, about the taking of the Lord’s name in vain.”
The girls climbed over their father, giggling even harder and repeating “Good morning, Constable.”
Alice was nearly to her chair when someone pounded on the front door.
She snapped her head around to stare at the door, then whirled and rushed to the armchair. She went up the armchair as though it was a set of steps. She snatched the Tanfoglio off the top shelf, ripped it out of the holster and leapt to the floor in front of the coffee table. She crouched in a combat stance, gun leveled at the front door.
“What the hell?” Geri said.
“Girls, in the kitchen with your mother. Hurry, now,” Alice said, her gaze riveted on the door.
Susie and Christine ran to their mother, who gathered the frightened girls into her arms.
Rafferty was on his feet in front of the couch, eyes wide and focused on Alice.
“Constable, my apologies for bringing my problems to your front door. This won’t take but a moment.”
Rafferty’s gaze moved to the front door and then back to Alice. The pounding came again, rattling the door in its frame.
“Are you telling me that the guy who shot you is out there?”
“I am.”
“Behind the island,” Rafferty said to Geri. He rushed to the end table beside the armchair and ripped the cupboard open.
Geri paled and scurried behind the island, then crouched with her arms around the girls.
Rafferty punched a four-digit combination into the gun safe keypad inside, yanked the safe open and pulled out a Glock 19. He slammed a magazine home and chambered a round.
He padded to the front door, Glock pointed at the ceiling. He slipped one hand onto the doorknob, pressed his eye to the peephole and sagged with a sigh. “Oh, for Christ sakes. It’s just Mike.”
“Your partner?” Alice said.
“Right.”
“Come on, you guys! I brought donuts!” Mike called through the door.
Rafferty lowered the Glock and hid it behind his back. Alice did the same with the Tanfoglio as Rafferty flipped the deadbolt and pulled the front door open.
Mike stood there with a box of Crispy Cremes in one hand. “You guys were up, weren’t cha?” He pulled his sunglasses off.
“Yeah. We were up.” Rafferty stepped back from the doorway.
Mike moved inside. His gaze found Alice standing in front of the coff
ee table, her hands behind her back, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Oh, I didn’t know you had company, Raf.”
“It’s okay, Mike.”
“Good morning, Constable Fredericks,” Alice said. “So nice to see you, again.”
Mike’s jaw dropped. “Man! With the blond hair and without the expensive suit, I would never have known it was you, Sister.” Then his expression turned sour and he faced Rafferty. “What the fuck is she doing here?”
“Language!” Geri called from the kitchen. She had moved the girls back into their chairs. Tears streaked their faces.
Mike stepped forward and peered into the kitchen. “Sorry, Geri.”
Rafferty shoved the front door closed and locked it. Then he stalked past Mike, making no effort to hide the Glock.
Mike watched him lock the gun in the safe and shut the end table up, his jaw slack. Then he stared as Alice slid the Tanfoglio back into the holster, climbed up on the armchair and set it on the shelf.
“Just what in the fuck is going on here?” he demanded.
“Michael Fredericks!” Geri cried.
Mike jumped and looked apologetically at Susie and Christine. “Sorry, girls.”
“You gotta put money in the swear jar, Uncle Mike,” Susie mumbled, her eyes on her cereal bowl.
“Indeed, he does,” Alice said as she climbed off the armchair and picked up her clothes. She shuffled into the kitchen and sat in her chair, covering her bare legs with the folded clothes.
Mike’s gaze moved to Geri who stood behind the girls with her arms crossed. She glared at him and raised an eyebrow, daring him to argue with Susie.
Mike pressed his lips together and strode into the kitchen, setting the box of donuts on the table. He stepped over to the counter beside the fridge. A large jar with a bright blue lid sat in the corner. It was half full of coins and bills and had obviously been decorated by the girls.
Mike stuffed a five-dollar bill through the opening in the top, leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. He fixed Rafferty with a baleful stare. “Now, will you please tell me what the f—- What’s going on?”