by Eric Dabbs
Alex wondered why he had been spared and why his parents had lost their lives onboard the plane that crashed into the Pentagon.
But maybe, just maybe, he was spared for moments like this.
62
LONDON, U.K.
After Alex's check-up with a doctor who'd been flown into Nanortalik Island from the U.S.S. Bataan, the flight back to London involved the same single engine plane that dropped Wilson, Reed, and himself over what was formerly known as Mid-Junction Air Force Base. This time around, the tiny aircraft transported Alex back to Iceland where he caught a commercial flight to Heathrow. Randall Grant, the action-craving British agent, was at the airport to pick him up in his four door BMW. Then it was back to MI5 headquarters for a final briefing with Sir Helmsley.
All was well for a change. The British had their top secret stealth bomber, Scepter One, back in their possession, although, it wasn't much of a secret anymore, at least to the Americans. Sir Helmsley raved about Alex's mid-air feat and went on and on about Samantha's help during their investigation. In a sting operation, she’d distracted Parliament member Henry Pennington as Baxter and Grant apprehended him. Now, Pennington and Air Marshal Miles Winslow were behind bars, as well as Flight Lieutenant James Hollingsworth. With the British side of things wrapped up, Alex rose from his guest chair in Sir Helmsley's office, followed by Samantha.
"With all sincerity, Mr. Banks and Ms. Peterson," Helmsley said with a grateful smile, "it has been a privilege to work with the likes of you two." He stood up behind his desk. "It is splendid to know we have allies in the west who are on our side in the battle against evil, whether it be terrorism or some other threat. Whatever shall arise, two are always better than one."
"Believe me," Alex replied, "we were just doing our duty as citizens of the United States and the world."
Samantha added, "He's right. All we want is freedom and justice."
"For all." Helmsley's brow arched and the corners of his lips curled up. "It appears our job is done for now. Nevertheless, we know the fight is far from over."
"But we'll be ready," Alex said.
"Yes, we will."
They said their goodbyes to Helmsley and Agent Baxter, and then Alex trailed Samantha out of the director's office, down the stairway to the first floor where they met up for a goodbye with Agent Grant.
"I have, one hundred percent, enjoyed working with you chaps." Grant patted Alex on the shoulder.
"I hear you put the lockdown on Sir Pennington the other night?"
"The ruse worked to perfection. The old joker never saw it coming. Of course, Samantha was the star of the show."
"You're gonna make me blush," Samantha said, drawing a curious eye from Alex. With a slight grin, he beheld her and Grant for a moment, pondering if anything might have happened between the two of them while he was having the living daylights kicked out of him by Hakem Raziz.
No, surely not.
"It's been a pleasure, but we should be going," Alex said, sticking his hand out to Grant who took him up on a hearty handshake. They walked as far as the main entrance, about to leave. "Sir Helmsley arranged us a cab to the airport. I suppose he has other plans for you."
"Ah, yes," Grant replied. "Afraid I'll be chained to my desk for the foreseeable future. Paperwork related to the bust on Pennington."
"Grant," Helmsley hollered from the top of the staircase. "I need you back to work for heaven's sake."
"Straightaway, Sir Helmsley." He turned back to Alex as he hurried in the opposite direction. "Off I go, cheerio."
With that, Grant disappeared around the corner. Helmsley gave Alex a wink and a wave goodbye, then Samantha led the way to the cab waiting at the corner.
"So, what about that fishing trip?" Alex said.
"Well...about that. I need to visit my Dad first in the States, but I could catch up with you later."
"That shouldn’t be a problem, I'll have plenty of free time on my hands." He gestured to his side. The doc had to set one of his broken ribs—which brought tears to his eyes—and ordered him off duty for six to eight weeks.
At the cab, Alex opened the door for Samantha. She got in the car and scooted across the seat to the other side.
"I still have my Dad's old boat." Alex shut the door, closing them both inside the cab. "But while you’re in the States, I have some unfinished business to take care of in Marbella."
63
MARBELLA, SPAIN
The silver Porsche 911 rounded a sharp curve. Alex relished in the moment, able to get the car from Wes for one more outing. It was one piece of government equipment he'd like to take home with him. He downshifted to fourth and the engine revved up as he neared Alfred Coraco's estate.
Call it a hunch, but something told him that Coraco would be bold enough and foolish enough to return to his well-fortified mountain top mansion. Besides, what man would tuck tail and run without first returning for his future bride?
Alex slowed the car and pulled over on the side of the road. This was more of a business visit to wrap up loose ends. Dressed in black slacks and a dinner jacket, minus the tie, he hustled through the dense wooded area surrounding Coraco's property. He was armed with his trusty Glock 21 handgun that was strapped to his body over a white dress shirt. With a fresh shave, and his dark hair gelled into a wave over his forehead, Alex stopped at the edge of the forest, withdrew the Glock and screwed on the suppressor. He wanted to stir as little dust as possible. He was here for one person and one person only.
The mansion seemed on low alert. Almost unguarded. And for that matter, the surrounding landscape appeared desolate of Coraco's men as well. Alex took advantage of the rarity and trotted over to the far side of the house where a small balcony gave access to a set of French doors. It was the same balcony where he met Carmen Sanchez at the party last Friday night. He bounded up the steps, drew close to the doors and peeked through the window pane.
"You're coming with me whether you like it or not," a man shouted. Alex heard his voice through the door with ease. Just the man he was looking for...Alfred Coraco. He attempted to lead Carmen by the arm.
"I've decided I want out of this relationship."
"Out...you want out? Well, there's only one way out."
"Let go of my arm. You're hurting me."
Coraco drew back, about to backhand her.
Alex had witnessed enough. Gun ready, he waylaid the French doors with the sole of his dress shoe. The doors burst open and banged off the wall inside.
Coraco's jaw dropped and he lowered the hand he was about strike Carmen with. She ripped free and rushed away from him up the winding staircase to the second story of the mansion. Alex's gaze followed her until she disappeared from sight. When he whipped his head back around, Coraco had darted through the swinging door that led into the kitchen. The door rocked on its hinges, and before it settled to a stop, Alex bolted through it after Coraco.
The real estate tycoon was nowhere to be found, but a back door was standing wide open.
Alex darted outside.
A brick wall shielded the exit. He traced the wall's path until it ended, opening up into the backyard pool area. That's where he spotted Coraco racing past the pool house...toward the edge of the cliff overlooking the Mediterranean. He made a turn toward the front of the property, but Alex cut him off, forcing him back to the cliff.
"You're out of real estate," Alex yelled, slashing a fast trail across the yard to the mountainside.
Coraco halted at the precipice, back turned, hands in the air. "So we meet again, Mr. Preston."
"Turn around...slowly. I have an itchy trigger finger today."
"As you wish," Coraco replied, facing Alex with truck engines grumbling in the distance.
Alex assumed Coraco had his men packing up his belongings down at the warehouse facility. Apparently, he thought he could make a clean getaway. He was insulated by the Spanish government as a result of his lucrative campaign donations to politicians. But Coraco probably determin
ed they'd eventually cave in to pressure from the United States and the United Kingdom. That likely sealed his decision to flee the country.
"I'm taking you in, Coraco. It's time for you to spend some quality time behind prison bars, preferably for the rest of your natural life."
"You think you have me, don't you, Mr. Preston?"
"You're going down." Alex grinned.
"And what makes you think you're any better than me? We're two of a kind, the same, only opposite sides of the coin."
"I'm nothing like you. I believe in freedom, equality, and justice for all."
"That's your weakness."
"No. I'm your weakness." The red dot from the Glock's laser sight highlighted the breast pocket of Coraco's white suit.
"What? Will you kill me?" Coraco's hand inched toward the inside of his jacket. He took a step back, his heel resting on the edge of the cliff. Debris broke off and plummeted to the sea below.
"With pleasure," Alex replied. "Go ahead. Do something stupid. Make me kill you, I'd love nothing better than to finish you off."
Coraco's face started with a grin, then transformed into a condescending smirk, and finally faded to a nasty snarl. Then his hand whipped inside his jacket for an apparent weapon. Alex didn't hesitate. In a blur, he squeezed the trigger. The suppressor chirped out a round that nailed Coraco high on the chest, inches above his heart. The impact of the forty-five caliber bullet slammed into him with the force of a battering ram, propelling his body over the edge of the cliff.
Alex stood, hunkered down, his right foot in front of his left, the pistol aimed straight ahead. Smoke wafted through the air, drifting from the end of the gun.
He straightened, holstered the Glock. Then with a casualness that came standard with his new line of work, Alex approached the precipice and peered down at the sea below.
Coraco floated on his back, crimson staining his white suit. His blood flowed into the water, forming a cloud around his motionless body, turning the deep blue of the Mediterranean to red. Alex watched for an undetermined amount of time with a satisfying feeling of closure as Coraco’s last moments of life seeped into the sea.
To Alex's left, a white speedboat left the dock and roared toward the fallen billionaire, Carlos Diego at the helm.
Then to Alex's right, something else demanded his attention...the dorsal fin of a large shark. The girth and length suggested it was a great white. The fifteen foot predator sliced through a cresting wave, triggered by the smell of blood in the water.
Diego wouldn’t make it in time.
Coraco finally came to, his arms flailing to stay afloat.
Moments before the boat arrived on the scene, the great white opened its gaping jaws, bit down with a savage chomp into Coraco's torso, and with ease, pulled him under the water never to be seen alive again.
"Fitting end for such a wonderful person," Alex said and turned away from the cliff with a mind to check on Carmen Sanchez.
EPILOGUE
ELEUTHERA ISLAND, THE BAHAMAS
A hundred yards offshore, the turquoise water rippled under a light breeze, revealing sugar white sand on the ocean floor. The forty-foot fishing boat swayed in the mild current not far from Alex's beach house. Clouds drifted through a bright blue sky like weightless puffs of cotton. It was a perfect start to his six week vacation, at home. He'd spend most of it aboard his Dad's old boat, appropriately named after his mother, the Anna Gale.
Alex's father left the boat to him in his will. It was one of the requests he'd made before accepting the position of lone American agent. The boat was the one thing he wanted to carry with him from his life as Alex Parker to his new life as Alex Preston.
Of course, there was one other thing.
But no matter what people called him, he'd always be a farm boy from Savannah, Georgia.
From the lower cabin—she marched up the steps—came a slender female figure wearing a black one-piece swimsuit and a wide brimmed straw hat to protect from the sun. Protruding from underneath the hat, her hair fluttered in the breeze as she handed Alex a bottle of water. On the stern deck, she took her place in a lawn chair next to him. She put her bottle in the cup holder on the arm of the chair and kicked her feet up on the gunwale.
Alex took a sip and screwed the top back into place, and set his bottle on the deck of the boat. Facing a coconut tree-lined beach, he grabbed his fishing pole and cast the line into the water.
A familiar musical tune with a beach vibe broke his concentration. It was his ring tone, the sound riding along with the island breeze.
His iPhone continued to ring. He'd left his laptop at home. He was on vacation. Alex glanced over at his woman friend, who smiled as he grimaced. Reluctantly, he rose, put his pole in the rod holder on the rear of the boat, then reached over, snatched the singing phone and plopped down in his chair as it hit the final stanza of the song.
Alex fingered a wireless earpiece into place and took the call.
Washington's bronzed scalp greeted him.
"How's your vacay, Alex?" The chief's voice sounded crisp and clear in his right ear.
"Pleasantly well, until you interrupted it."
The remark didn't faze Washington. "I have a few things to go over with you. You can consider this the final briefing on this particular terror threat."
"I'm all ears."
"Well, as you know, with the second Raziz brother now deceased, the terror organization known as The Crescent Moon is in utter disarray."
"That's nice to know." Alex took a swig of water from his bottle.
"Agent Reed will stand trial for treason, and will likely face life imprisonment. By the way, we're working on finding you a replacement for Reed. Maybe a young agent by the name of Jaxson Brady, the guy you throat punched back at your farmhouse."
"I'm sure he can't wait to rejoin the fray."
"Of course, Ms. Peterson will continue to be a valuable member of the team as well. I guess you figured out our plan for her?"
"Kind of."
"Anyway, we dismantled the bomb. It was one of our designs, as you suspected. We believe it’s linked to one of our nuclear engineers gone bad, a guy by the name of Bill Jacobs. He was found murdered ten months ago in his Lincoln Towncar inside an underground parking deck on the outskirts of Manhattan. It's believed he was selling secrets to a North Korean spy by the name of Zjing Lee. The bank statements you found suggest that Coraco paid Lee for the classified secrets, and in turn, a handful of rogue Russian scientists constructed the bomb for him."
Alex squinted against the glare of the sun. "I remember seeing Lee at the party."
"And with Alfred Coraco dead, Spanish authorities have seized his estate and assets."
"It's good to see everyone brought to justice."
"Everyone? Are you forgetting about Carlos Diego and Zjing Lee? They're still on the loose." Washington paused like he was contemplating something. "Maybe in a few weeks you can get a bead on Mr. Lee?"
"The doc says I need at least six weeks to recuperate." Alex held his side and grimaced like he was pain.
"So, who's your guest?"
"How did you know I wasn't alone?"
"You keep glancing over that way and smiling."
"Just a female friend, Chief. Listen...I gotta run. We'll talk later, okay, I've got a line in the water." Alex ended the call with his thumb, knowing Washington was grumbling back in the States.
"What was it you said to me this morning before we got on the boat?" the woman said, lowering a pair of Costa Del Mar sunglasses.
"I believe it had something to do with the magnificent view."
"The sunrise was beautiful."
"I wasn't talking about that, I was talking about you."
Alex winked at Samantha and leaned in toward her for a passionate kiss that warmed him from head to toe. As he pulled back, he let his gaze drift out over the shimmering water sparkling under a mid-day sun. It was in that perfect moment that a fish began to tug on his line.
THE
END
Leave a review...
If you enjoyed The American Agent, please visit Amazon.com and Goodreads, and leave a review! Reviews help other readers decide if they want to purchase my book! Thank you so much for reading my story...
Books By This Author
GOLD RIVER
A retired treasure hunter with gold in his veins.
A museum curator's daughter held for ransom.
A jungle trail with danger at every turn.
Determined to walk away from his old path, Tom Logan chooses a quiet existence on a Texas ranch. But everything changes when he wakes up in mid-air plummeting toward the Amazon Rainforest. In the jungle, he discovers his lost love, Kate Lockhart, faces the same predicament and challenge as he does, find the famed gold room of the last Inca emperor, or suffer a loss neither can bear.
Book 1 in the Tom Logan & Kate Lockhart Adventure Series.
GOLD CANYON
A woman's grandfather murdered in cold blood.
A treasure map and a stolen journal.
A city hidden beneath the Grand Canyon.
When Tom Logan and Kate Lockhart stumble upon a man with a knife lodged in his back, their honeymoon vacation becomes a journey into the world beneath the Grand Canyon and a search for a hidden city of untold riches. The man's granddaughter, who is in possession of a journal stolen from the Smithsonian Institute that dates back to the 1850's, finds a missing page in her grandfather's attic that leads her to the Grand Canyon. With a mysterious treasure hunter from the Australian Outback hunting them down, Tom and Kate must help the woman find the legendary city that's rumored to be filled with Aztec gold.
Book 2 in the Tom Logan & Kate Lockhart Adventure Series.
About The Author
ERIC DABBS
Eric Dabbs is an ocean lover and stargazer who loves to snorkel and read. He considers himself a beach bum as well as a writer. He is an action-adventure and science-fiction author. He's also a Wattpad Star with several Paid and Free Stories on Wattpad.com. He lives with his wife and two sons, and a mini schnauzer named Daisy.