Beachcomber Trouble

by Stephanie Queen

  “I hope to hell these guys didn’t call their friends.”

  “Nah. They weren’t sure it was you. I could see them looking,” David said.

  “Nice shooting,” Shana said. “In a moving Jeep.”

  “Where are we going now?” O’Keefe said.

  “Up north,” Acer said. “We have a place there near where we stashed the helicopter.”

  “We’re not out of the woods yet,” Dane said. He’d spotted a black SUV at a light at an intersection followed by one of the other vehicles they’d seen from the roof. “Take it easy. Don’t speed. Shana, get down on the floor.”

  “I see them at nine o’clock,” Acer said. “We’re getting on the highway in twenty seconds. If they don’t notice us.”

  “Now what?” Shana asked. She was thirsty. And hungry. She should have eaten back at the house before the raid when she had the chance.

  “Now we make contact with Floyd and play his game. Force his hand,” Dane said. She watched him pace around like a restless tiger. The place Acer had found them was an old airplane hanger that had running water, electricity, a few pallets and little else. That was all she could see, but she hadn’t explored it completely.

  “What about Oscar? We missed the call from the kidnappers,” O’Keefe said.

  “There are no kidnappers.” Dane stopped pacing on the cement floor and spun around. “We just got blown away by your CIA man who is lying to us when he’s not trying to kill us.”

  “We still don’t know if they have Oscar—for insurance.”

  David said more quietly, “He has a point.” Dane listened. He swiped his hand through his hair.

  “We need to take Floyd down. We can’t let him get away with this,” Shana added.

  “We have one last meeting set up. Floyd isn’t expecting me, but I think he’ll show.”

  “Why? If he thinks we’re all dead—”

  “You call him. Tell him you were meeting me at the meeting place from another location—you were meeting with a local contact. You can’t get me on the phone but you’re on your way.”

  “You think he’ll buy it?”

  “I think you’re very convincing when you want to be,” Dane said.

  She didn’t flinch, but if his mind-reading talents were any good, he’d say she wanted to slap him. She made the call and convinced Floyd.

  Chapter 11

  The glass walls of the ground floor cafeteria of the government office building allowed Dane to watch Floyd approach. When he’d pushed through the revolving door, Dane took off his wide-brim hat and waved him over.

  Floyd covered his surprise at seeing Dane by acting angry as a wild hog. And looked like one. Some of the anger was real—Floyd had to be upset with his men for not getting the job done—for not eliminating Dane.

  Floyd had gone downhill. He’d never been so fat and had never been a drinker back in the day—not that he was ever a healthy man. But this made Dane think about what other vices and bad habits Floyd had picked up over the years. Dane had seen what a relaxation of self-discipline could do to a man on the job. And even though Floyd wasn’t in the field, strictly speaking, he was operating in a remote office further afield than Dane had ever seen him.

  Maybe they’d changed Floyd’s position to field operations, or maybe they’d given him more slack to handle Oscar, or maybe—and this was Dane’s top guess at the moment—maybe Floyd was off the reservation and someone was covering for him. Or he was somehow covering himself with the office.

  No matter how he cut it, Dane had to watch out for Floyd Parker every second. He had to assume the man was their enemy. Possibly he was Dane’s enemy and everyone else was collateral. That thought weighed on him, both for its ring of truth and for the implication that Dane was endangering his friends.

  Damn. He wished he could get rid of them all, send them back to the States. But he knew that for them to go two things had to happen. They needed to find Oscar, and Dane had to go with them. They’d never let him stay to fight Floyd on his own.

  That wasn’t even counting the fight with the Tavares organization. He needed more intel on them. He hoped David had some.

  “You left the location—you goddamned idiot. You could have got everyone killed.”

  “The place was bugged,” Dane said. He didn’t bother getting up. He held onto his Glock under his jacket with one hand.

  Floyd stood, looked around the cafeteria, and decided not to draw any more attention. He pulled out a plastic chair from the table and sat.

  “Where is Oscar?” Dane asked.

  “You missed the kidnapper’s call. They’re pissed now. I don’t know—”

  “You’re full of shit. They don’t have Oscar.”

  Dane noted the flicker of surprise in the slight dilation of Floyd’s pupils, otherwise there was no reaction. The man was cool, Dane would give him that. But Dane would out-cool him. No question about it.

  “I’ve set up another call,” Floyd said. “Where are you staying?”

  “We’ll do the call at a neutral location. Like right here.”

  Floyd nodded, not taking his eyes off Dane, giving him one of those intense I’m looking right through to your filthy soul stares.

  “Right now,” Dane said. Floyd laughed. Half Dane’s back muscles released from the knot they’d been bunched into. The rest of the tension in his muscles, he knew, would last forever—or for as long as he was with Shana George.

  “You want a call like that we need privacy. Let’s go to your new place.”

  “Oh that place. Can’t go there now. It got all shot up. Funny, you’re the only one who had the address.”

  Floyd laughed. Dane saw a tic in his eyelid. The man was slipping.

  “What are you babbling about? Someone took a shot at you? Again?”

  “Yes. The men you sent.”

  “You’re as paranoid as the rest of us, you know that? I’m not your enemy but you have plenty of those here.”

  “None that knew where to find me.”

  “You’re kidding, right? They followed you. You and that damn girl of yours stand out like trees in a lake.”

  Dane shook his head. “I think we both know I wasn’t followed. I’m good at not getting followed. One of the best, when I put my mind to it. You sent—”

  Floyd stood abruptly then and tipped the table on top of Dane—or tried to. Dane was still quick enough to see it coming and stopped it from knocking him over. He jumped up and Floyd turned to run, pulling a gun from under his shirt. He was at the door when Dane caught up to him. People yelled. They stared. Dane’s gun was out too. He flashed a silver badge-like object at him. Something he’d borrowed from David along the way. It might have been David’s Scotland Yard creds, but David wouldn’t mind under the circumstances.

  Dane pushed out the door and spotted Floyd running for a cab. He gave chase and caught up with him again before the cab pulled away, yanked the door open and shoved the gun in Floyd’s face. Floyd, not to be outdone, shoved his gun in Dane’s gut.

  “I guess we have a standoff,” Floyd said.

  Chapter 12

  Dane smiled as he watched sweat trickle down the older man’s temples. They both knew Dane had the advantage. The cab hadn’t moved and the driver stared at them from the rearview mirror. The man whispered something Dane thought sounded like a prayer.

  “Take us to the U.S. Embassy,” he told the driver.

  Floyd said something in Portuguese real fast—another set of directions. With a threat at the end. The driver shoved the car into gear. Dane knew he had to make a move and not underestimate Floyd’s mean streak even if Dane could outmaneuver him. The man would take a wild shot if just for spite.

  The cab headed out of town, probably in the direction of the Tavares compound and most definitely not in the direction of the U.S. Embassy. Floyd looked hot and unstable. Dane held his hand steady with the gun aimed dead center between his eyes. He needed to make his move now and risk a shot to the gut. There was a slight
chance he could be fast enough to make this work. And there was only one way to find out.

  With his left hand, injured thumb and all, Dane shoved Floyd’s gun barrel off to the right and at the same time he cracked Floyd on the head with his gun in the other hand. The motion was swift enough to make Floyd miss when he inevitably pulled the trigger, putting a hole through the front passenger seat. The cabby screeched to a stop.

  Unfortunately, Dane’s knock to Floyd’s head wasn’t hard enough to put him out and they struggled against each other while the cabbie shrieked in Portuguese. Dane had Floyd by the wrist but the man punched with his other hand and grabbed hold of Dane’s bad wrist. He was a damn filthy fighter, going after Dane’s weak spot. Naturally. He heard the car door open and Dane knew they needed to get out of there. He could play dirty, too. He whistled as loudly as he could, startling Floyd, and took that flash of time to slam his Glock against Floyd’s temple. This time the man was dazed enough for Dane to grab Floyd’s gun and jump out of the car before anyone arrived at the scene. He stepped onto the walk and disappeared into a building three doors down where they hadn’t seen the commotion—which happened to be a bank. He made his way to the restroom with the two guns stowed in his waistband under his shirt. Catching his breath, Dane stopped and leaned over the sink. He splashed water on his face, wincing at the sharp pain in his thumb and wrist and now his face, too. After his heartbeat returned to almost normal and the adrenaline rush had passed, he walked out to the lobby.

  Dane asked to use a phone and called Acer for a ride.

  “Time to get out of this jungle.”

  “What about Oscar?” David asked.

  “They don’t have him. I don’t know what this is all about. But I do know two things. Floyd is in hip deep—maybe over his head—and two, he wants us down here bad. That’s enough reason to leave before we run into trouble again.” Dane flicked a gaze at Shana. She stood like a blond Wonder Woman. He felt an uptick in his heartbeat, closely followed by a roll in his gut. He kept it to himself. Barely.

  “Floyd had you—,” Shana said. Her tone was too flat. He knew she was trying to cover her worry. He supposed his bruised-up hand and the new cut on his lip didn’t help.

  “The Tavares family had us three days ago. And they did nothing with us. And when we escaped who did we run into?”

  “Floyd.”

  “Very coincidental that he knew where to find us.”

  “But if he’s the one who wants you, then why did he let you go?”

  “He didn’t let me go—I had to fight my way out. We told him about you all being here. He needs to find out what we’re all up to. He needs to get the picture of our rescue operation—or get rid of us all and blame it on Tavares. He figured it would be easy as long as we weren’t onto him. He was setting us up and having Tavares do the dirty work.”

  “The Tavares clan is angry about us killing their brother so they’re happy to do it. There is definitely a revenge motive,” Shana said.

  “Yes, but the Tavares people are not necessarily calling the shots. That’s why they put us in the dungeon—a keeper cell until their partner—maybe their boss—arrived.”

  “Are you saying that Floyd is in charge of the operation?”

  Dane nodded. “He pulled a gun on me. He’s either in charge or he’s partnering with Tavares.”

  “What’s his end game? Why does he want to take you out all of a sudden? And what about Oscar? Where is he? Why did the CIA tell the governor he didn’t check in and is considered missing?”

  “Because that’s what Floyd told them. I decided it would be wise to check back channels. I’ve placed a call. A mutual friend of Oscar’s and mine down in Haiti. One of the Doctors Without Borders—outside our community but reliable and in touch with Oscar. Oscar’s emergency contact.”

  “Why didn’t you call him before?” David asked.

  “I did. Got no response. I’ll call again today. I set up an appointment to chat on a secure line in”—Dane looked at his watch and hoped the communications gadget told time accurately—“five minutes.”

  “But what’s Floyd’s end game? What does he want with you all of a sudden?” David pressed.

  “I don’t know for sure. If you believe him, he says Tavares wants to trade us for some high value assets. But I’m becoming convinced Floyd has another agenda. What I do know for sure is that Floyd wants us here and he wants us dead. That’s enough to tell me we should get out of this hellhole jungle ASAP.”

  Dane wanted most of all to get Shana out of there. In the meantime, he wasn’t going to let her out of his sight.

  “You think Floyd is crazy?” Shana asked. Her hands were off her hips and she stood perilously close to Dane now, not touching, but within heat-radiating distance, and within aroma distance. Close enough for Dane to get drugged on her scent if he didn’t concentrate. They were almost home. He almost had her on the way home safe and sound.

  The house phone rang. Dane snatched it up.

  “Dr. Randy. How the hell are you? More importantly, getting to the point—how the hell is Oscar?”

  Dane listened. Shana leaned in. He put the call on speakerphone.

  “Oscar isn’t here. I thought you were calling in to tell me—”

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “Thirty-six hours ago. When he found out Shana George had been kidnapped he—”

  “He found out—who told him?” Dane’s gut rolled into a dense round cannonball.

  “Floyd Parker—his handler told him—I thought you—”

  “Shit.” Dane felt O’Keefe stir and withdraw from the huddle around the phone. He glanced at Shana. Her face was blank if pale.

  She said into the phone, “Don’t tell me he took off to Rio to rescue me—”

  “You’re Shana—Jesus.” The doctor paused and let the import of the situation sink in. “You need to contact him. He left a number with me. When I heard from him last he was outside of Rio—gathering assets he said.”

  “Exactly what time did Floyd call Oscar?”

  “The exact time? I’m not sure—like I said—about thirty-six hours ago—”

  “Give me the number. If he calls you again tell him to abort the mission and tell him Dane Blaise ordered it. Shana is safe. Tell him to meet us at the extra safe house outside of Rio. He’ll know.” Dane got the number and ended the call and turned to the group.

  “You were wrong about Floyd,” O’Keefe said before anyone had a chance to finish digesting the call.

  “The hell I was—he knew Oscar wasn’t in trouble—he lied to us.”

  “You don’t know that—he called Oscar’s phone but that doesn’t mean he knew he wasn’t in trouble.

  Dane decided not to bother with the chief or his bad attitude at that moment. He said, “We need to get to Oscar.”

  “I’ll call him now,” David had the smart phone in his hand and pressed in the numbers. They all listened while the call went to an anonymous voicemail message.

  “He’ll call back,” Dane said. “No one ever answers a call from the field without assessing it first. I’m assuming he’ll ID your number.”

  David nodded.

  Dane turned to Shana. There was no way in hell he was letting her go back into the mouth of the lion. But he had no idea how he was going to stop her. That was problem number one.

  Problem number two was getting Oscar out of where ever he was and with them to leave for the states. And problem number three was to figure out what the hell was going on with Floyd Parker.

  Dane was convinced he was dirty, that he was behind it all. But it was getting harder to prove instead of easier. He had nothing solid on the man—not enough for the CIA and not enough for the U.S. courts. The CIA practically presumed their people would look bad in the due course of their jobs, working with the enemy and their targets. They would think nothing of any of the circumstances or actions that Dane had to report thus far. They couldn’t give a shit if Floyd punched him out and th
reatened him.

  They would need proof positive that he was working with Henrique Tavares himself and that it was not under duress and that whatever he did was not part of a grand plan to bring Tavares down. In short, they would need a confession from Floyd Parker himself.

  “I’m going with you,” Shana said. “Unless you want to try knocking me unconscious.” She stood, hands on hips, and lifted her chin in a less than subtle dare.

  “I’ve tried this before and it didn’t work out so well—”

  “Nonsense,” David said. “You managed to extract Shana and live to talk about it. I’d say that worked out very well.”

  “That was only because they wanted to keep us alive then.” He left hanging the implication that they’d likely be shot on sight this time around. Henrique Tavares was no fool.

  “Floyd Parker will help—” O’Keefe began.

  “Don’t count on Floyd for shit.” Dane fisted his hands at his sides. He knew it wouldn’t go unnoticed. He needed to keep O’Keefe under wraps but the man was belligerent and out of practice and biased. Dane didn’t know why, but he promised himself he’d find out. Later.

  David said, “First thing we need to do is find out where Oscar is and—”

  O’Keefe had his phone out and pressed in a number. The phone was to his ear before anyone had a chance to stop him.

  “Who the hell are you calling?” He knew it was Floyd Parker. Dane lunged for the phone. David stopped him by stepping in between Dane and O’Keefe and O’Keefe jerked away and started talking.

  “Floyd Parker? Chief O’Keefe, Boston, here. We need your help. Oscar is on his way to the Tavares compound because he thinks Shana George is still in there—”

  Dane couldn’t hear what Floyd was saying, but from the tone it sounded like something salty. The man had a soft spot for Oscar. This development probably wasn’t in his plans. But Dane knew he’d quickly make adjustments and use the circumstances to his advantage.

  They’d be walking into a trap once again because goddamn Chief O-stinking-Keefe tipped off the enemy.