Hellfire: A Suspense Thriller (A Hawk Tate Novel Book 4)
Page 28
Taking up the receiver, he blew out a sigh before pressing the single flashing red button.
“Edgar Belmonte.”
“Mr. Belmonte, this is President Mitchell Underall calling from Washington D.C.”
Feeling his chest draw tight, Belmonte snapped his gaze up to the door. Through the blinds covering its glass, he could see Ruiz and Ramon standing shoulder-to-shoulder.
Both seemed to be wearing the same shock he now felt gripping his system tight.
Adjusting himself in his seat, Belmonte cleared his throat. “Mr. President, to what do I owe this unexpected surprise?”
A slight bit of static crept through the line, passing as quickly as it had arrived.
“Well, I wanted to talk to about that campaign you’re involved with down there,” Underall said. “I’m pretty sure if you’re willing to go easy on us, we can make sure you end up on the right side of things come this fall.”
Epilogue
The Curacao International Airport was even smaller than Bolivar had been. Containing just two terminals, one was set aside for shorter flights to Aruba, Caracas, and Bogota. The other was where I now sat with the other passengers from LATAM Airlines, the space set aside for international departures.
If the board on the wall above me was to be believed, those consisted of no more than a couple of dozen flights a day. Amsterdam, a couple of places in South and Central America, and not much else.
The only trip arriving or departing on a regular basis from America was coming in and out of Miami, which was where the folks all jammed tight into the small stretch of the terminal were soon bound for.
Eager to get home – or to at least put as much space as possible between themselves and Venezuela – many were already lined up tight to the windows. Still more than an hour from departure, the looks they wore made it abundantly clear that they wanted to be away as fast as possible.
Whether any of them ever flew internationally again, or even at all for that matter, was something only time would bear out.
Though I wouldn’t bet heavily on the notion.
“You sure you’re not going with them?” Ela Ramirez asked. Sliding into the seat next to me, she looked to be every bit as exhausted as I was.
Fortunately for her, the return leg of her journey would be much shorter.
“Yeah,” I replied.
“Looking to stick around? Maybe catch some sun?” she asked.
The boat ride from the coast of Caracas to the island of Curacao was just over one hundred and eighty miles. Taking most of the night, it had allowed for medical personnel to see to any injuries that were scattered throughout the group.
And it had given Ramirez and I ample time to debrief with Joon and Vance.
What would come of any of it, I didn’t have the slightest idea.
All I knew for certain was I likely wouldn’t hear about it, that sort of thing rare to ever make the papers.
Forcing a half-smile at the question, I shook my head. “Called in a favor. Getting my own ride home.”
The last twenty-four hours had included more association with the CIA than I ever wanted to endure again. My last call on the sat phone was to Kaylan, having her arrange me passage from Curacao back to Montana as fast as possible.
I didn’t even care that it went through Cancun and then Los Angeles before getting me home.
One of the points that Joon had made in the course of our discussions was that the Agency would be sure to be on hand in Miami when the plane arrived. He had couched it to sound like they would be there to lend assistance and offer a hand in the wake of what had happened, but I knew better.
Those people had seen and experienced far too much to be trusted back out on the street without proper vetting and debriefing. The full litany of what that would entail, I didn’t yet know.
I just hoped they were gentle.
These people had been through enough already.
“How about you?” I asked. “Back to Venezuela?”
Flicking a glance my direction, Ramirez returned her attention to the crowd around us. “I think it’s pretty safe to say my cover there is burned.”
Nodding slightly, I couldn’t argue with her. Her time in country was over. Farkus’s too, if they were smart.
“Back stateside. Congratulations.”
“Thanks,” Ramirez replied. Running her hands down the front of her thighs, she added, “Thank you for everything else, too.”
Pausing, she held her mouth open for a moment, appearing like there was more to be added, before thinking better of it.
Instead, she gestured in the opposite direction, using her chin as a pointer. Following her motion, I turned to see Rembert inching closer. Carrying a soda with a straw in either hand, he was moving slow, as if the events of the last day had aged him in dog years.
“Looks like I’m not the only one wanting to say goodbye,” Ramirez added.
Shifting to look back at her, I extended a hand. “Thank you for your help as well. Whether these people here ever realize it, you saved their life.”
A flush rose to her cheeks as she accepted my grip. “You’re welcome.”
Pushing herself to her feet, she again made to say something before thinking better of it and moving on, swallowed up by the crowd.
In her wake, Rembert slid down into the seat she’d just occupied, his bulk spilling over, pressing against my shoulder. Extending one of the sodas my way, he flicked the top of his head toward Ramirez before shrugging his eyebrows slightly.
I picked up the hint immediately. “Naw, she was just asking about my new international fishing expeditions. Said she heard they’re quite an experience.”
Unable to respond, or even open his mouth, Rembert did his best to stifle laughter, his entire body quivering, small puffs of air escaping through his nose.
In all the time I’d been around the man, it was the first time I’d ever known him to keep a thought inside. Just thinking on that was enough to force me to chuckle as well.
The last day had been a long, long way from what was intended, but that didn’t make his original projection while sitting in the Atlanta any less true.
As it were, we really were just two guys sitting in the middle of nowhere, enjoying the moment. After everything that had happened, I couldn’t imagine anything better.
Hellfire.
Thank You For Reading!
Aloha all!
As always, I am here to address you all directly by first saying thank you. If this is your first time reading my work, I appreciate you taking a chance on it. If this is a return trip for you, I am indebted for your continued support and willingness to continue.
For those of you that fall into the latter category, I’m willing to guess this isn’t your first encounter with Hawk Tate. Arriving before Reed & Billie, this was a series that originally started from a very simple premise that came to me while visiting one of my favorite places in the world – Yellowstone Park.
One of the things that I love so much about it is the ruggedness that is presented in equal parts beauty and savagery. While never have I left without at least a few moments of having my breath ripped away, never is a visitor too far away from what could be a major tragedy.
A combination that would create an individual armed with both a honed set of skills and a mindset that might differ from the common person.
For this particular work, I wanted to get Hawk outside of his usual setting. While he has had some passing acquaintance with Venezuela, by and large this is a much different place than he is used to working in. Coupled with some of the real world events transpiring there today, and…well…
To wrap this up, if possible, I would like to ask one small favor from you. If you would be so kind as to leave a review, I would greatly appreciate it, and do take all feedback very seriously. That very thing is what led to the creation of this, the fourth Hawk Tate novel.
In thanks, please accept as a token of appreciation for your reading and review
s a free download of my novel 21 Hours, available HERE.
Best,
Dustin Stevens
About the Author
Dustin Stevens is the author of more than 30 novels, 24 of them having become #1 Amazon bestsellers, including the Reed & Billie and Hawk Tate series. The Boat Man, the first release in the best-selling Reed & Billie series, was named the 2016 Indie Award winner for E-Book fiction. The freestanding work The Debt was named an Independent Author Network action/adventure novel of the year for 2017.
He also writes thrillers and assorted other stories under the pseudonym T.R. Kohler, including The Ring, Shoot to Wound, and Peeping Thoms.
A member of the Mystery Writers of America and Thriller Writers International, he resides in Honolulu, Hawaii.