by Lori Wilde
“Let me set the political stage as well. At the time, Chet Delaney was in charge of the entire Desert Storm fleet.”
“I remember.”
“His position allowed him to campaign for the Navy’s acquisition of the Mohawk missiles manufactured by Herkle Industries. What I didn’t know at the time, but discovered long after the fact, was that through his Jordanian-born wife’s relatives, Delaney had purchased stocks in Herkle and had hidden his underhanded dealings in a Swiss bank account.”
“Chet Delaney didn’t buy the Mohawks because they were the best missiles to use in Desert Storm,” Penelope said, repeating it back to him so she could get the facts straight in her mind. “But because he would end up making a fortune off a government contract with Herkle.”
“That’s right. But what Delaney didn’t know was that there was a glitch in the computer software and about ten percent of the Mohawks were defective.” Daniel grimaced. “The USS Gilcrest found out the hard way.”
“I remember when you called me, distressed over something that had happened in the Gulf, but you couldn’t talk about it.”
“I couldn’t afford to tell you, Pen. The less you knew, the better. The Gilcrest was the first ship to be outfitted with the Mohawks. One night we were fired upon by Iraqi patrol boats and Gus ordered me to launch two of the Mohawks. One hit its target, but the other missile misfired and exploded inside the launcher rather than being propelled outward like the other missile. One of my sailors was killed and another was badly injured.”
Daniel detailed what had happened on board the Gilcrest in a way that sickened Penelope’s stomach and tugged her anguish through the minute filter of his isolation. The empty timbre of his voice spoke louder than his words. He had to distance himself from what he was saying or he’d be unable to utter a single syllable.
She looked at him, tears on her face. He reached over and gently flicked the tears away with his thumbs. “Don’t cry for me, Pen, or for yourself. We both did what we had to do to survive.”
“So much time wasted. So much of our life together gone.”
“We’re here together now,” he said softly. “That’s all that matters.”
She swallowed back her tears. She had to hear the rest of this, had to understand. “What happened after the missile misfired? There was never any public mention of damage to the Gilcrest. No word that we’d destroyed Iraqi patrol boats.”
“Gus received orders from Chet Delaney to keep the incident hush-hush, citing matters of national security. We were to report the dead seaman AWOL and the injured man had suffered a brain injury and couldn’t remember what happened. He was given a medical discharge and put on seizure medications that suppressed his recall.” Daniel paused. A faraway expression came over his face. “The other members of the crew were given a cover story.”
After a moment, he continued. “Gus obeyed Delaney’s orders without questioning, but I couldn’t live with that. I was determined to find out what had happened, why the missile had malfunctioned, why my man had died, and why Chet Delaney was so damn eager to cover up an accident. I started researching the Mohawks and Herkle Industries but kept coming up against brick walls. The paper trails had been destroyed. People had been bought off or hushed up with threats. The less I found, the more determined I became.”
“You always were stubborn.” Penelope couldn’t hide her admiration. No matter what the personal consequences had been for their family, she could not fault her husband for doing the right thing.
“One night during shore leave, I was attacked on a side street. A man beat me within an inch of my life with a metal pipe.” Daniel touched the scar on the side of his face. “He told me to stop investigating the misfiring missiles or next time I’d lose more than my looks.”
Penelope hissed in air through clenched teeth, her mind conjuring up the horrible circumstances in which her husband had found himself. He was an honorable man and she respected his decision, even if it had torn their lives asunder. She loved him for who he was. No matter the cost. She felt badly that she couldn’t have been there, that he’d had no comfort so far from home.
“But still you couldn’t let it go.”
“No. I went to Gus. I tried to convince him to stick with me, that together the two of us could make a difference. We could blow the whistle on the Delaney-Herkle connection. Delaney was getting rich off the purchase of the Mohawks. He wasn’t about to pull the plug on the contract.”
“You wouldn’t let it go,” Penelope interjected. “And Delaney wouldn’t give up.”
“And Gus wouldn’t step up to the plate.”
“He’s always been a coward,” Penelope muttered. “He couldn’t even stand up to Deirdre for joint custody of J. J.; how could you expect him to stand up for you?”
“Gus helped me the best he could. I can’t blame him for taking the easy way out. I’ve paid a very high price for my integrity.” Daniel lightly grazed her cheek with a knuckle. “And unfortunately, so did you and Marlie. Forgive me. I can never make up for my flaws.”
“Gus is the one I can’t forgive. He condemned you to a half-life in this hole.” She waved her hand at his underground home.
“Don’t be bitter, Pen. You’re above that. I was stupid. I started telling everyone who would listen what Delaney was up to. I had no concrete proof to back up my allegations, but I was going public anyway. I called a press conference, but never got a chance to tell my side of the story. I was young and hotheaded and so certain that I would be vindicated simply because I was right and Delaney was wrong. Lord, how dumb I was. When Delaney realized he wasn’t going to shut me up with beatings and threats, he upped the ante.”
“Accusing you of treason.”
“Yes. Delaney and Herkle devised a way to detect the defective missiles. They found them, separated them from the rest of the lot, and then shipped them to Iraq. They put my name on the requisition sheet and then staged a robbery of the supply ship. They manufactured more false evidence against me, even found an Iraqi soldier to swear that he’d seen me meeting with one of Saddam Hussein’s top-ranking military leaders. Because they were so good at framing me and buying people off, their case against me was airtight; and if that wasn’t enough, Herkle visited me in the brig.”
“Why?”
“To threaten me into silence. He said someone was watching you, and if I ever breathed a word about what happened on board the Gilcrest, he’d have you and Marlie killed.”
“What a horrible position they put you in.” Penelope pressed a hand to her mouth.
“I was trapped. No way out. Not only was I going to be hung for high treason, but if I dared to mount a defense, the two people I loved most in the world would die. I was doomed.”
Penelope pulled him close, cradling his head against her shoulder. “Shh, you don’t have to say any more. Stop reliving it. It’s in the past. Gone forever.”
“No.” He pulled back. “I have to tell you everything. At least once. It’s important to me that you hear the entire story.”
“Okay, whatever you need.”
Penelope swallowed, bracing herself.
“Gus was both my salvation and my damnation. He came to see me in the hold on the night before they were to transfer me to the ship that would deliver me to the U.S. He came up with the plan to fake my death and he knew the perfect place where I could hide for a lifetime. In this old Navy bunker.”
“What have you been doing down here for fifteen years?”
“Missing you,” he said, and Penelope spied a misting of tears behind his eyes.
She kissed him gently. “What about the law books?”
“I’ve been studying. Trying to find a way to bring Delaney to justice through the court system without letting him know I’m still alive and putting you and Marlie at risk.”
“Where do you get your supplies?”
“Gus makes sure I’m taken care of. He’s got Ronald, the man who was injured on the Gilcrest, keeping up his condo on Mustan
g Island and looking in on me from time to time.”
“Ronald is the man who lost his memory?”
Daniel nodded.
“But Gus has never been here to see you himself?”
“No. But we pass messages back and forth through Ronald, and Gus pays for everything I need.”
Penelope sniffed. She had an exceptionally low opinion of Gus Hunter. “What made you call me? Why did you come out of hiding? Why now, Daniel, and not eight or ten or twelve years ago?”
Her husband leaned across her, his bare chest grazing her upper arm, opened the drawer on the nightstand beside the bed, and pulled out a copy of Angelina Avenger’s latest adventure.
“This,” he said and handed her the comic book. “Our daughter outted me.”
Before Penelope could comment, they heard something in the distance, something or someone moving through the tunnel outside their sanctuary.
Immediately Daniel sprang from the bed, scrambling for their clothes. He thrust Penelope’s slacks and blouse at her and then tugged on his pants.
Hands trembling, she got dressed as the noises grew louder.
Footsteps. The sound was definitely footsteps. Someone was coming.
Daniel placed a finger to his lips, urging her to stay silent. She followed him, determined never to leave his side again. As he crept to the nightstand and retrieved his gun from where he’d left it, Penelope went with him, staying right behind his tall, broad back.
Closer and closer the footsteps came. They could hear someone’s raspy, labored breathing. The intruder was almost upon them.
Daniel cocked his gun, jerked the door open, and shoved the weapon into the face of the panting man standing there clutching his chest.
“Daniel, don’t shoot; it’s me. We’ve got big trouble,” Gus Hunter gasped, just before he collapsed on the floor at their feet.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Are you trying to say you think my father is going to detonate your father’s missiles?”
“Pretty much.”
“Crap.” Joel shoved a hand through his hair. “But why?”
Treeni shook her head. “We don’t know, but Cosmo thinks he can create a command override that will block the detonation code. The code is on the warhead that’s been attached to all the missiles so they can be detonated at once. The problem is that it’s going to take time.”
“And,” Cosmo said, “we have no idea how much time we have.”
“I’ll call Gus and get the scoop from the horse’s mouth,” Joel said to Treeni and Cosmo.
“Good luck with that,” Treeni said. “We’ve already been to his office at the Pentagon and his house. No Gus, and no one is admitting to knowing where he is.”
“What about his executive assistant, Abel Johnson?”
“He’d called in sick and when we went to Johnson’s apartment, he wasn’t home either.”
“Did you try calling Gus’s private cell?”
“We didn’t have the number.”
Joel whipped his cell phone from his pocket and punched in Gus’s number. After three rings, his father’s voice mail picked up. The automated voice asked him to either leave a message at the tone or to contact Abel Johnson if he needed further assistance and then provided the alternate phone number.
Joel called Abel.
“Chief Petty Officer Johnson,” Abel answered.
“Abel? This is Joel Hunter, Gus’s son.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you know where my father is?”
Johnson didn’t answer immediately. Joel heard the hesitancy in his silence, knew something was afoot, and pushed. “Tell me the truth; is he missing?”
“Not exactly, sir.”
“What exactly?”
“I don’t know where he is, but I have been in contact with him.”
“And?”
Abel hesitated again.
“He’s in big trouble, Johnson.”
“I know.”
“Tell me about it so I can help.” Joel wanted to jump through the phone and wring the words from the kid’s throat. He flicked a glance over at Treeni and Cosmo, who were hanging, wide-eyed, on his every word.
“Your father called me two nights ago and told me to go over to his house and retrieve top secret documents from his safe.”
“What kind of documents?”
“They’re sealed. I haven’t opened them, but they’ve got something to do with Desert Storm.”
“Yeah?”
“Gus told me that if I hadn’t heard from him in forty-eight hours, I should release the documents to the news media. That’s eight hours from now. I wasn’t sure he really meant it, so I called in sick to work and caught the first flight to Corpus this morning.”
“You’re here now?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you come to Corpus?”
“When he was talking to me, I heard the sound of the ocean in the background. I know he has a condo on the beach at Mustang Island, so I did some checking and found out he bought a ticket to Corpus on Continental Airlines on Wednesday afternoon.”
“I have to see those documents.” Briefly, Joel thought about asking Abel to come to the warehouse but dismissed the idea. This was the closest thing they had to a safe house. He couldn’t risk compromising it or putting Treeni and Cosmo in jeopardy. “Where can I meet you?”
“The documents are top secret.”
“I know that, but this is my father we’re talking about, and a lot of lives are at stake, Johnson. You want that hanging over your head?”
“No, sir, but . . .”
“I’ll take full responsibility for the consequences. Meet me on Padre Island at the pier just south of the new drawbridge in half an hour,” Joel commanded. “And make sure to have the documents with you.”
“Yes, sir.”
Joel hung up.
“Well?” Treeni arched an eyebrow.
Joel relayed the conversation. “I’m going to find Gus. You two stay here and get cracking on blocking that code.”
Cosmo was already at work, squinting seriously at the computer screen, typing furiously.
“Be careful,” Treeni said. “This could get very ugly.”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t see a car outside. I’m assuming your bondage babe absconded with it after she left you tied up. Here, take my rental.” Treeni tossed him the keys to her car.
“Thanks.” Joel caught them with one hand.
He left the warehouse, grateful Marlie wasn’t involved in any of this. He regretted that she hadn’t let him explain himself, but he was glad she was out of harm’s way. He drove to the rendezvous spot and parked on the shoulder of the road behind a tan Toyota minivan.
A man stood at the far end of the pier. Had Johnson beaten him here? Or was this merely a tourist taking in the view of the Gulf? Joel had never met Abel in person. He had no idea what the guy looked like.
It took Joel several minutes to walk the length of the pier. The man remained gazing out at the ocean, never once turning around to see who was approaching.
“Abel Johnson?” Joel asked as soon as he was close enough so that the wind didn’t snatch away his words.
The man turned.
And Joel found himself staring into the glacial blue-eyed glare of the man from the black Camaro.
Marlie had spent the morning driving aimlessly around the city, not sure where to go or what to do. Without Joel, she felt rudderless, adrift. Plus, she kept getting teary-eyed thinking about Mom. She was afraid to go home, certain that NCIS still had her house under surveillance.
My heart is shattered, she thought, like a block of salt hit by an anvil, and there’s nothing to do but sweep it up.
Resolutely, she pushed away her melancholy thoughts. She found herself drawn to Padre Island and the burned-out remains of the bungalow. Perhaps she could find some clue the investigators had missed. Something to take her mind off Joel and help her find her mother.
She drove over t
he drawbridge, remembering the car chase with the black Camaro and how she’d almost driven off into the ocean in hot pursuit. Recalling how Joel had kissed her, hotly, passionately, ignoring his injury because he’d wanted her so much.
Her lips tingled at the memory. She ached for Joel and what they might have had. Mourned for what they’d lost before it ever really started.
Blinking, she turned her head and stared out the passenger-side window at the pier near the drawbridge. She spotted a tall man dressed all in black striding down the length of the pier. Her heart leaped into her throat.
Joel?
Come on, Angelina scoffed. It can’t be Joel. You left him handcuffed to the bed in the warehouse.
“He’s pretty wily. He could have gotten loose.”
What are the odds you’d drive right by and see him?
“Corpus isn’t that big of a town, and if he was looking for me, Mom’s cottage would be a logical place to start.”
He’s not at your mother’s cottage. He’s on a pier. Meeting someone.
“I’d recognize that walk anywhere,” she said resolutely. “It’s him.”
Angelina sighed. Whatever.
“I’m going back. I have to find out who he’s meeting and why.” Marlie trod the brakes. The Impala fishtailed. She guided it off the road, bumping over the sand, looking for a place to hide it in the dunes in case it really was Joel and he recognized Mel’s car. She found a lovers-lane spot off the beach road, stopped, and got out.
As quickly as she could, she navigated the dunes, heading in the direction of the pier and praying Joel and his cohort wouldn’t have already left by the time she arrived. She crested a large sand dune. The pier was on her right.
Except Joel and the other man had turned and were walking swiftly toward two vehicles parked on the shoulder of the road near the drawbridge. No doubt about it. The controlled way he held himself, the military square to his shoulders, the walk that yanked at her heart; it was Joel.
Marlie squinted, trying to identify the other man but she couldn’t. Dammit, why did she have to be so nearsighted?