by Mike Gomes
“I am looking forward to tomorrow night. Let’s meet at the same place say around seven?”
“Make it eight o’clock. I have some business to attend to.”
Gabriela opened the door, got out, and closed it. Taking several steps toward the door she did not hear the car drive away. She knew that Duke was still watching her. She turned and blew a kiss to him that he acted like he was catching and then he pulled away. Gabriela left herself a mile walk to get back to the hotel to meet up with Tim and Falau and find out what had gone wrong.
Chapter 17
Tristan Duke looked hard at his front door from a distance as he was pulling up his driveway. He could see light pouring out of it in a thin line. As he got closer he could see that the door was ajar about six inches. The light tumbled from it lighting up the entrance steps and onto the front lawn. He searched his mind and remembered he had not left from the front door. He had gone through the garage to get his car. Someone had opened the door. He doubted that they were still there. Anyone who left a door open would normally do it leaving in a rush.
Wyatt Houston was still not due until the morning and he would never be so careless as to give away his location by leaving the door open. More than likely it was the complex security coming in to take care of an alarm that went off. Maybe the night guard had fallen asleep on the job again. Something would have to be done about him and his lack of attention to the job at hand.
The car came to rest at the top of the driveway. Duke thought about if he should just back out and contact the security. He shook his head knowing at worst it was some junkie who came in and looked for cash or jewelry. If they were confronted they would just drop what they had and run. Duke would not run after them. He would just shut the door behind them and set the alarm and all would be square between them.
He climbed out of the car lifting the gull wings of the DeLorean. He was confident but still wished he had his gun that was in the safe upstairs in his bedroom.
Ascending the few steps that lead to the front door he stood to the side and reached out with one hand and pushed the door open. He waited and held his breath anticipating hearing someone moving inside the house but nothing came. No sloppy noises of a burglar in a rush. No patter of feet across a hardwood floor. It was silent, eerily silent.
Duke could wait no longer and he stepped into the opening and then into the house. He looked at the entry way taking everything in and confusion crossed over his face. Things were in disarray but not the likes of a criminal. It looked like a fight. The sheet rock was broken on the far wall and looked like it had a smaller break like a foot had gone through it. Blood was on the floor. It pooled in some places and there were drips all about. A line of blood ran into the dining room. The Picasso on the wall had been damaged. The frame ripped from it and caused a tear in the painting itself across the bottom. The frame from the bottom of the painting laid on the floor cracked and unfixable. Something very bad had happened.
Searching his mind Duke looked for an explanation. Maybe the complex security saw someone breaking into his house and fought the person. Maybe the night guard at the house confronted a burglar and they fought. But if it were one of those things how could nobody still be here or were they still here?
Curiosity started to get the better part of Duke and he looked to the dining room where the droplets of blood ran to. He followed them taking care at the turn into the room. He hugged the wall and peeked around it. He let his hand drift into the room first and flicked on the light. He waited and then looked again and saw nobody in the room. Walking in he could see that the blood spots went across the room and ran into the opening and hit the kitchen floor. The blood spots were still liquid and had not had time to dry. Whatever happened happened a short time ago.
Duke moved to the doorway and repeated the process of peaking in first. As he quickly glanced he saw the feet of someone laying on the ground. Cautiously he slid into the room giving himself a better look at what was there. At first he noticed the jacket as the one all his security guards wore. Standard issue from the company they worked for, Prime Security. He could see it was stained with blood but from his angle he could not see the face. He got closer seeing the man he only knew as his overnight guard. He never took the time to learn his name or have conversations with the man. He was hired help and nothing more.
The man was lying on his back in a pool of his own blood. His head turned to the left and arms out to the side. His chest rose and fell slowly showing he was still alive but his nose was twisted and mangled. There was a large indentation where his cheekbone should have been. The man was severely beaten and Duke’s heart rate quickened. There could only be one explanation; Wyatt Houston came back early. The guard set off the alarm and confronted him. After issuing a beating to the guard, Houston ran before the police or security could get to him. He left the door open. It added up. Who else would break into the house and have a confrontation that spanned over three rooms and had so much of a beating?
He was sure that Houston had to be gone and if he had still been in the house, he would have already shown himself. Duke was sure that Houston had no intention of taking a trip with him for the money not after what had just happened. The next thing Houston would do is kill him and he was sure of that.
Racing to the front of the house he ran up the stairs into his bedroom and went straight to his safe. He dialed in the combination causing the familiar click opening the lock. Pushing the door open the Smith and Wesson 45 caliber revolver was snatched up by his eager hands. The gun was already loaded and by inexperience Duke forgot to grab more bullets before closing the safe.
He ran to his walk-in closet and took a backpack off the high shelf. He loaded it with three pairs of pants, five t-shirts, four pairs of socks and five pairs of underwear. In the closet he opened the next safe he had installed behind a false wall just beside his tie rack. He pulled the lever and stacks of cash were waiting. Over one hundred thousand dollars broken down into equal parts of US dollars, British Pounds, and Euro. He pushed the money into the backpack and zipped it up tightly.
Moving to the opposite side of the room a laptop was on his desk. He opened the laptop and went to the British Airways site. Scrolling through the available flights he saw one was leaving JFK in three hours. He booked a first class ticket and closed the laptop. He scanned the room again trying to think what he could be missing. His mind went blank. All he could think about was getting as far away as possible in the shortest amount of time possible.
As fast as he came up the steps he went down and ran his way onto the front lawn and dashed to his car. The DeLorean was far from inconspicuous but it was there and he wasn’t willing to take any more time than he had to. He pulled the door down and turned the key and started his journey to London and a life on the run.
Chapter 18
Standing in front of the mirror he looked himself up and down. Shirtless he did his best to look at his back in the reflection of the mirror. The light from the room was dim and insufficient for doing a thorough inspection of himself. The maintenance crew had not changed the mirror light above the vanity. Wyatt Houston felt comfortable that he had not suffered anything serious in the way of a wound. The thing that was troubling him was the man in Duke’s house. He was not a common criminal and he was not security. He had never met a breaking and entering guy or basic security guy who could fight the way he did. He was aggressive and smooth. He kept his movements compact and powerful. He had training.
“Was he another collector?” thought Wyatt, but it seemed doubtful. In all his checks into Duke before he went to see him the first time he had no information of him working with any other illegal enterprise. He had only done that when he got desperate and the banks were starting to turn him away. Individual investors were more dangerous and had men like Wyatt Houston on their payroll.
Wyatt turned away from the mirror and felt a general pain in his body. Fighting was fine but the older he got the harder it was to recover even in th
e best of situations. His 40 years had not been the kind of sitting behind a desk. He was special operations in the military and spent a great amount of his time working with intelligence in Israel. He trained with their military and lived the life they lived.
Delta Force from the United States Army had made the exchange with Shayetet 13 of the Israeli military. Both groups worked in a similar fashion. They specialize in hostage rescue and counter terrorism for their respective countries. Wyatt Houston volunteered to go to Israel and learn all he could about how they train and work. He even took part in several top secret missions for Shayetet 13. For all intents and purposes he had become a member of their squad. He had saved the lives of many of the men and they in turn had saved his life. They were his brothers for life.
Wyatt sat down on the edge of the bed and cracked open a lukewarm beer that sat on the night stand. He swung his feet around thinking that he had been in this line of work for ten years. His connections around the word from Delta Team and Shayetet 13 made him have back up no matter where he went. Houses to slip away into. People to supply him with weapons. Men ready to earn a few bucks by helping him with tactical arrangements. The special forces community was tight amongst the members of platoons. The dedication shown to each other was unwavering.
Wyatt let his left hand run over the upper part of his right arm. He felt the raised skin that seemed to ripple in parts from the burns that rested on it. The scars would never leave his arm and he didn’t want them to. They were earned. His time with Delta Force and Shayetet 13 were commemorated on his arm with a brand that had been done by the other members of each unit he fought with. It was considered a honor to get the brand and was not for everyone. It was also something that was never shared or talked about. The symbols were a random collection of lines and numbers and letters. Only others who bore the same brand would understand what it was.
Taking a long sip from the beer Wyatt considered what was going on at the house. He knew that Duke could not have been home. He would have heard the fight that the stranger had with the security guard. He would have heard the fight he had with the stranger. He would run for his life knowing the winner of the fight would be coming after him.
What had become more distressing was that the cardinal rule that Wyatt lived by was also broken. Never let your cover be compromised and if it is kill who knows it. The stranger knew that Wyatt was at the house. He knew that Wyatt had entered in his own way. Now he was out there knowing that Wyatt was looking for Duke and not money or art. He was no criminal. Wyatt knew the same about him. They were two men on the chance to get their hands on Tristan Duke and only one could come home with the prize.
Reaching down next to the bed he pulled up his laptop and opened it. Using a satellite phone he linked his computer into it and bounced his signal around the world just in case anyone was watching. He scrolled through the various programs that he had received for different favors from hackers around the world. Finding the one labeled “searcher15” he clicked on it and saw it start to load encrypting the information for any onlookers making the software look like a video game. The opening screen flashed a simple cursor on the screen and Wyatt entered the social security number, bank numbers, credit card numbers and cell phone number of Tristan Duke.
Laying the laptop on the bed next to him Wyatt flipped through the TV stations and finished off his beer. The computer called out with its familiar ding sound showing the search had been completed.
The software was simple and genius for a man in Wyatt’s kind of work. Putting in any set of numbers and hitting enter would launch the software to run through thousands of data centers with credit card companies, financial institutions, phone services anything that would use a number for identification would come up. Tracking people on the run would get significantly easier and he could track movement each time any of the things were activated.
Wyatt picked the laptop up and a list of all the connections around the world that had a connection to the numbers was sitting right in front of him. After a short time of clearing information off that was clearly not associated with Duke he was left with a list that was more than helpful.
He clicked the row that would separate the list into most recent activity. A charge on a credit card came up from a Starbucks for $4.38 just eight minutes ago. Wyatt’s eyes widened as he moved the line of text that was hidden off the screen. Punching down on the bed he filled with anger seeing the location was JFK airport New York City.
Taking a deep breath he stopped and composed himself and thought out the situation. If Duke had been stupid enough to use his credit card for a coffee he had no idea how simple it would be to track him. Wyatt went back to the start of the list and inspected the step by step movements of Duke. He had used his credit card to pay for a cab. He had made two phone calls to his attorney. But most importantly he had purchased an airline ticket with British Airways about an hour after Wyatt had left the Duke house.
Knowing the system all too well Wyatt went to Duke’s personal email that he had hacked weeks before and just as he expected there was an email receipt sitting in the In Box. Smiling he opened it and saw the flight was leaving from JFK and landing in London Heathrow airport. It was a nonstop flight and leaving in less than two hours.
There was no time to get to the airport and through security to get him before he got on the plane.
Wyatt pulled out of the software and entered onto the standard internet and looked up flights leaving from JFK. In four hours a red eye was going into Heathrow and there were first class tickets still available. Clicking purchase Wyatt smiled and entered in Tristan Duke’s credit card number. Following that he entered the name and information of one of the several aliases he would go by. He was equipped with various denominations of money in several different currencies. He had four passports with other information to match them. He could slide country to country and was untraceable unless he was seen on video and that would be virtually impossible without some kind of a starting reference point.
The transaction was complete and Wyatt closed the laptop and slid it back in its case. Hustling around the room he gathered his things making sure to leave nothing behind that would let anyone know he had been there. The staff at the hotel had no idea he had been there after Wyatt had removed his bag from the room just as soon as he had gotten there. He had been a ghost and never existed in the hotel at all.
Tossing his bag over his shoulder he reached down and took his hat off the table and placed it on his head. He scanned the room one last time from the door then opened it and slipped out on his way to London.
Chapter 19
The night air had turned crisp and Gabriela hated walking back to the hotel in heels. She wasn’t about to steal a car for such a short drive but she was leaving herself vulnerable to Duke seeing her if he drove by. She pondered what to do as she walked. The road was well travelled. There would be no way to just overwhelm him and stuff him in the trunk without being seen. She would have to go with him and come up with an extraordinary lie as to why she was walking the street after saying she had to work. Nothing she thought of made any sense and would surely destroy the relationship she built over the whole night. She had him exactly where she wanted him. He was putty in her hands but that was all gone now.
Ten minutes later she walked across the parking lot of the hotel and drew looks from people milling about in front of their rooms. They must think I am a hooker she thought.
Knocking on the door she whispered her name so she could be heard inside. She stepped back and looked directly at the window that sat a foot away from the door. She could feel the eyes upon her looking out from the inside of the room. Tim and Falau were more than capable of getting a look without having to push the curtain aside. The knob of the door turned and opened a few inches.
“Come on in but stay quiet.” said Tim’s voice without showing himself.
For a moment Gabriela felt herself go on alert. She wondered if Tim was okay or is there another per
son in the room that should not be. She reached into her pocket and felt the small stiletto knife that could do extreme damage when in her hands. More than once she had disposed of an enemy with this small knife that she would insert into her victim and cut long and wide gashes that she would then strike at with furious kicks and punches.
“Come on.” snapped Tim in a hushed voice. He moved to the door and opened it wider exposing himself and showing her that the room was clear.
Gabriela’s instincts were not so quick to be quelled. She instinctively searched the room her eyes passing right over Falau laying in the bed. Only a threat would be something to stop her from finishing her intake. She drew herself into the room and stood next to the door and swung it shut causing a slamming sound she hoped would make any intruder in the room react and expose themself.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” Tim said. “Can’t you see that he is hurt? Keep it down.”
Tim walked to the other side of the bed and checked the wound on Falau’s arm. It was still weeping from the cauterization but it was clean. The burn would be a lifelong reminder of what had happened in New York on this mission. “A badge of courage” is what Tim and his old Navy Seal buddies would have called it. That pain or mark left on your body that you got during battle.
Gabriela stood motionless watching Tim caring for Falau. She worried that she was too on edge. She hated working in a group. She preferred to be solo and call all the shots herself. There was no responsibility for teammates. She just had to take care of herself and get the job done. But now she had to make sure they didn’t get killed as well and from the look of it things were not going well. Her team leader was injured in bed with a gaping wound in his shoulder that would obviously render the arm to being limited at best.