Beachcomber Trouble

by Stephanie Queen

  “What is it? What’s their end game?” O’Keefe asked.

  “Wish I knew. I’m still working on that.”

  “We’ll have the governor work on it too—see what we can find out from our contact in Interpol and I.C.E.,” David said.

  “As long as Peter is quiet about it. We especially don’t want to raise any suspicions with the CIA.”

  “You’re thinking the CIA is involved in this—I mean on the wrong side?” David said.

  “Strong possibility,” Dane said.

  “I tend to share your concern,” David said.

  Dane twitched one side of his mouth. If he were in a better mood—under different circumstances—he would have laughed. David took the Bad Martha beer Cap handed him, checked the label, gave his signature urbane eyebrow raise, and then took a pull.

  “I don’t like it,” O’Keefe said. He took a pull of beer, but he looked distracted. The furrow between his brows rivaled the Mariana Trench.

  “What’s the problem?” Dane asked.

  “We have to assume Oscar is in trouble. He’s missing and we still need to find him. We need to work with Floyd.”

  “We will work with Floyd. But we should assume we can’t trust him,” Dane said. He got the feeling that he was the one O’Keefe didn’t trust rather than Floyd Parker. Dane pushed the potential problem aside for now.

  The police chief wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, “So what you’re saying is, we should assume we’re all walking into a trap.”

  “No—I’m walking into a trap,” Dane said. He held the man’s eyes. A grim smile curved the chief’s mouth and he shook his head.

  “Hell no—we’re all going. You’re a damned fool if you think I’m waiting around here doing nothing. Besides, I trust Floyd. Oscar has worked with him a long time.”

  David said, “You aren’t going to Rio on your own. They have an army of people. You’ll need backup.”

  Dane said, “I’ll have people. I can make some calls. I’ll be calling guys who are used to doing business in South America, who aren’t law enforcement professionals with jobs. And who don’t have wives back home.”

  “Guess I qualify,” Cap said. He snorted a grin. “All I need to do to join Dane’s Devils is to quit my day job, right?”

  “It’s no joke. None of you has experience in places like—”

  “You forget I served with the governor,” Cap said. He shifted on his feet, straightening his back and coming up to his full six-foot-three height. He was two inches taller than Dane and liked to occasionally use this perceived advantage with him. Dane snorted.

  “Ancient history. And you don’t speak Portuguese.”

  Dane took another swig. He honestly didn’t expect to talk these men out of coming with him. Deep down he knew they would—unless he played dirty.

  Dane said, “Okay then. What’s the plan?” He looked around at them for a beat and David was about to speak, but he cut the man off. Even if the older man had the right, Dane wasn’t letting him take charge.

  “We’ll fly to Rio de Janeiro. Tomorrow. But not all of us. Someone needs to stay behind to take care of logistics and be the communications hub.” Dane looked at Chief O’Keefe. But the man glared back.

  “No way in hell I stay behind when the man that saved my sorry neck is in trouble.” The chief folded his arms across his barrel chest. “Don’t you worry about me. I’m good with a gun and I’m licensed to carry. Internationally.”

  “You know I’m going,” David said as if he were recounting the day’s stock tally.

  When Dane turned to Cap, the man shook his head.

  “Then it’s you, Cap. I know you’d rather go, but we need you here.” Dane paused a beat, staring into the man’s grim face, then added. “I’ll call the governor if I have to.” The governor was technically Cap’s boss and would order him to stay if Dane pressed the matter.

  Cap moved his weight from one foot to the other and swore under his breath. His glare at Dane sharpened, but he finally nodded.

  “Who can arrange for transportation?” Dane said.

  “I’ll take care of that.” David tapped some numbers into his cell phone.

  “Don’t use that phone,” Dane spoke automatically. “Use my secure line.” He looked around for the old-fashioned clunky phone and receiver and pushed it toward him. Dane knew it would take David some time to arrange things.

  “What do we do when we get to Brazil? If we can’t contact the CIA, who do we touch base with?” Dan O’Keefe asked. It was a good question.

  “We don’t use local help. Cap has a location on the Tavares family compound and offices. We should have no trouble finding them. We do some reconnaissance on their locations to figure the most likely place they’d keep a victim. We might even pose as an interested customer—request a woman. That’s where you can play a role, O’Keefe. They won’t know you. You got any fake passports for an alias?”

  O’Keefe squinted his eyes as if accusing Dane of gaming him. Then he crooked his mouth so that one dimple showed as he shook his head. “My only contact to provide that kind of thing is Oscar.” He spoke his friend’s name quietly and reverently.

  “David will take care of that—with the governor’s help.” Dane had no idea if they could carry it off without the governor’s CIA contacts. He was betting that they couldn’t.

  On the other hand, he had an ace in the hole by the name of Jeremiah Acerman. He wasn’t going to mention Acer and hoped to hell that David wouldn’t think of him. Peter would. But Peter John Douglas was the governor and he couldn’t afford to get involved in their unofficial mission—not too deeply. It had to stay unofficial.

  Dane tried to calculate the likelihood of Acer getting involved and how long it would take. Acer would probably need forty-eight hours. But he’d have to make do with twenty-four, thirty-six hours tops.

  Cap said, “Shana will help any way she can—maybe leave a crumb trail. We’ll need to look out for it.”

  Dane shot Cap a look. The thought of Shana in captivity was the last thing he needed messing him up. His chest tightened until he felt like he had a two-ton cement block weighing on it. Thinking of her being taken by some Brazilian thugs didn’t help the sharp stabbing pain of tension through his shoulder blades. He wiped her from his mind.

  Dane stood, knocking back his chair, and strode to the refrigerator. He pulled open the freezer door and yanked the half empty bottle of tequila from the icy depths. Beer hadn’t cut it—not even Bad Martha beer. None of the men in the room said a word as he unscrewed the top of the bottle and tossed it in the sink. Cap, bless his unholy soul, opened the magic cabinet door containing the glassware and grabbed four short glasses, clinking them together between his fingers in both hands. He put them on the peninsula countertop, forcing David and O’Keefe to scrape their chairs back and stand with Dane and Cap to have a drink.

  It didn’t look like they minded. They looked grim. Serious furrows crossed their brows. He’d never seen David’s face so lined with concern. He was the first to pick up a glass as Dane splashed tequila into all four of them.

  “I promise you I’ll find Oscar,” he said. “And Shana. And I’ll bring them back.”

  “We all will. We’re a team on this,” David said. Dane didn’t respond except to knock back half his tequila. Cap did the same.

  “We know who we’re dealing with,” Cap said. “That’s a good start.”

  Dane didn’t say what he was thinking. But David did.

  “It’s extraordinarily unfortunate that the Tavares family is counting on that. And waiting for us.”

  “We’ll have to surprise them then—with someone they’re not expecting,” O’Keefe said. He raised his glass high and winked before taking a large gulp.

  David made some calls and they all talked about who they might know. As Dane feared, Acer’s name was brought up—by Cap. David asked Dane to call him. He couldn’t come up with a reason why not. Dane went to his front room that passed for
his office and placed the call. In his message to Acer he made it clear that he wanted a delayed response.

  “Acer will get back to us tomorrow,” Dane said when he returned. “He’ll help for sure and probably knows people. He’ll have good false credentials and transportation or a way to get it.”

  Cap printed out a Google maps picture of the Tavares compound and they studied it. It had been a long time since Dane had been to Rio de Janeiro, but he remembered it clearly. He didn’t bother sharing his previous experience in the city with anyone in the room.

  “You’re quiet,” Cap said as he refilled Dane’s glass. The tequila bottle was close to empty, but Dane had been nursing his glass, getting ready for his departure.

  “I’m a thinker, not a talker.”

  Cap grunted. He knew something was up. Dane felt a twinge of conscience, but he had to do this his way.

  Acer called him. He’d been one of the governor’s men back when the governor, Peter John Douglas, served as a special operations unit leader. Dane and Cap had been part of the governor’s unit at different times. They both knew Acer, who’d been the telecommunications guru at the time and since then his tech skills had only become more massive. His wealth had gained in massiveness as well, but you’d never know it by the way Acer lived. Which was mostly out of sight.

  “Acer,” Dane answered the secure phone and kept it close to his ear. He needed to play this right. He needed to appear to gain Acer’s assistance. But then he’d need to talk to Acer later to let him know of the real plan. He was certain his old friend would do it his way. Acer owed him since he’d saved the man’s head from a sniper not long ago.

  David, Chief O’Keefe and Cap immediately jumped and surrounded him in the tight space of the dining area. He backed into his living room office.

  “I have a mission for you. A friend of ours is in trouble in Rio de Janeiro. We’ll need false IDs and transportation by tomorrow for Cap, David Young and Boston Police Chief Dan O’Keefe.” He moved the phone from his ear so that all could hear the loud whistle and cursing.

  “How soon can you do it?” Dane hadn’t mentioned who the friend was. If Acer knew Shana was in trouble, he’d be there on the island within an hour and move a volcano to get some creds doctored up. Dane finished his brief discussion and hung up the phone.

  Cap said, “You’re not waiting until tomorrow night to go.”

  Dane said nothing. They all looked at him, their faces skeptical, combined with some accusation. But that was probably his conscience perking up again.

  It was damned hard trying to pull a fast one on your friends, good men all.

  But there was no goddamned way he was letting them go to Rio de Janeiro to walk into a certain trap set by the notorious Tavares family and without any official backup or resources, or even creds. And in O’Keefe’s case, not even a background in special ops or any relevant training. He would not let them go on what would amount to a suicide mission.

  He’d end up having to rescue them all on top of rescuing Oscar. And Shana.

  The sharp pain stabbed through his shoulders again, this time reaching to his chest where it clenched tight around his heart, nearly suffocating him.

  He unclenched his jaw and forced himself to say, “I’m not an asshole.” It cost him, but he looked directly in Cap’s eyes. “Call the governor and see if he can get some intel in a hurry on the Tavares compound and anything else on the family members,” Dane finished.

  Then he pushed through his friends and headed out the back door for some breathing room. For the salty ocean air of the harbor to free him of the paralyzing, heart-stopping fear. Every minute he needed to wait weighed on him like an anvil of death on his chest. Tavares had Shana.

  As Dane rounded the corner to go back inside, he was in time to see Cap get in his car with David and Chief O’Keefe in tow. Cap gave him a salute.

  “We’ll be back at 6 a.m. Have the coffee waiting.”

  Dane nodded and saluted back. He also wondered why the hell Cap was making it so easy for him and whether it was purposeful. Either way, their departure was timely because his secure line rang less than a minute later.

  “Acer.”

  Chapter 5

  “Can you get me down to Rio before sunrise?” Dane didn’t bother with preamble.

  “What the hell?”

  Dane said nothing. That was more than enough indication of his seriousness. Acer said, “I’ll meet you at the airport. I’ll be in a corporate jet.”

  “I owe you.”

  “What’s this all about?”

  “I got a CIA Trouble call.”

  “Who called?

  “Oscar—rather his good-for-nothing handler. Floyd Parker.”

  “Oscar’s caught up in Rio?”

  “Yes.” Dane was reluctant to tell him, reluctant to even talk about it, as if talking about it made it more real. “But that’s not all.”

  “Don’t tell me—”

  “Shana’s gone. Someone took her and I think it was either the Tavares family organization or—”

  “Or who?”

  “Worse.”

  “Who’s worse?”

  “A rogue CIA man.”

  “Floyd Parker? Gone rogue?” Acer blew out a whistling breath. “I’ll be at the airport and I’ll bring some things.”

  “I’ll be in disguise.”

  “That all you got? You’re rusty, man.”

  “No—I’ll be bringing a pile of money.”

  “That’s more like it. Out.”

  Dane ended the call and went to work on his disguise. He’d be long gone—arriving in Rio or somewhere close by in Brazil—by the time his friends made it back over to the shack in the morning.

  Dane got to work dying his hair black. He put in brown contact lenses and applied a skin bronzer. Next, he applied a tattoo on his neck. That was the easy stuff. He took out his piercer and pierced his nose and put in a gold stud. Holding ice on his nose, he added the gold tooth cap. He went to the safe and took out as many hundreds as he could pack in his backpack, along with some twenties. Now all he needed was a Brazilian passport and ID. Luckily, this wasn’t his first rodeo in Brazil. He shuffled through the many passports and found the one he needed. The one where he had dark hair and brown eyes.

  Wasting no time, he left the beach shack in a hurry without a twinge and jumped into his Jeep. He parked outside the General Aviation Apron on the street. Martha’s Vineyard Airport was located in Vineyard Haven on Airport Road. It took longer for him to jog to the terminal building from his Jeep than it had to drive there. He skirted around the outside of the General Aviation and then walked toward the corporate hangars to wait for Acer. He was an hour early, but there was no way he’d sit around the beach shack pacing the time away. Better to be at the dark quiet airport. He’d blend in with the night crew if anyone noticed him. There was no need to take any chances on bringing weapons. Acer would have them on board in a compartment. That’s the way he always traveled.

  Once Acer arrived, it took forty minutes to fuel up and then they were airborne.

  “Nice ride,” Dane said. He sat in the copilot seat of the Cesna Citation, guessing from the smell of the cockpit that it hadn’t left the factory more than two months ago.

  “It’s the Bryant Enterprises company jet. Fred Bryant fell on himself to accommodate me once I told him I needed to give you a ride. He was goddamn piss-pants excited to help and went off on asking all about the mission. I made some shit up for him. He gets off on the James Bond crap. I told him we hardly ever wear a tuxedo. He thought that was funny.”

  “You didn’t tell him where we were going—”

  “No. But he’ll eventually find out from the plane’s flight logs.”

  “Some day—you’ll hide them for now,” Dane said. They didn’t need any more trouble than they already had.

  Dane and Acer landed in Brazil before the posse back on Martha’s Vineyard woke up.

  “I can’t stay in country,” Acer said as
the jet came to rest near a private hangar on the runway. They’d landed at Santos Dumont Airport, a smaller airport located in downtown Rio. “I have to return the jet. Park it stateside. I’ll be back with a bird.”

  “How long?” Dane asked.

  “Twenty-four hours,” Acer said. Dane whistled. There were no words to explain how much it meant to be able to count on his friend. The man was dropping everything—including sleep, apparently—and doing whatever it took to help Dane. No questions asked.

  “Will you be ready?”

  “Not sure,” Dane admitted. Acer raised is a brow.

  “Man. That doesn’t sound like Dane the damn legend Blaise talking.”

  Dane gave him the finger, stood and stepped outside the cockpit into the small area at the plane’s doorway. Acer laughed. But they both knew it was no laughing matter.

  “I have a few goodies for you. I’ve been working on them.” Acer followed him out to the doorway and opened a metal locker door, pulled out a bag and unzipped it. He handed Dane a pair of sneakers, a watch and another gadget he wasn’t sure about.

  “Cool.” Dane eyed the gadgets while Acer explained them.

  “And here’s a burner phone.”

  “I already have one.” Dane met Acer’s skeptical look. “Shana has the number,” he said.

  Acer nodded. “Call me.” He was smart enough not to push it.

  Dane had left his regular phone at home—the one that the rest of the crew had the number for. After they arrived at the beach shack, they would call him to find out where the hell he was. They’d be pissed when they called and heard his phone ringing from his bedroom where he’d tossed it on his bed—where he hadn’t slept. They’d follow the ring and discover his desertion. The full picture of his deceit would crystallize. He was damn glad he’d be out of shooting range at that moment.

  Then they would see the note. He’d left it pinned under the phone. He felt stupid now having written it. They were his friends. The note was an attempt to convince them he hadn’t betrayed them. It was an attempt at convincing them to let him do the legwork, to give him twenty-four hours.