by S. L. Menear
Mom and I accepted Glock 19 pistols with extra magazines.
I inhaled, switched to pilot mode, suppressed my emotions, and focused on Ross. “Where do you want me?”
“The weapons are just a precaution, lass. Chances are Nicolai had someone else deliver that package. He’s nowhere near here.”
“Yeah, well, it sure feels like he’s nearby.” I glanced around the great hall.
“I warned you, Nicolai’s keen for revenge. You bested him, lass. He won’t let that stand.”
“So why didn’t he come after me the past month at your castle?”
“Scotland Yard, MI5, MI6, Interpol, and the FBI are hunting him, and he may need time for his wound to heal. He’s probably hiding out.” Ross wrapped his arm around my shoulders.
It wasn’t long before a helicopter circled and landed on the lawn. Ross jogged outside and conferred with his men. They spread out with their weapons drawn and searched the castle grounds.
Ross entered and nodded at Duncan. “The area’s secure. Sam and Loren will fly home tonight as planned, but the Lynx pilot will take them to Edinburgh Airport, instead of you driving them.”
Ross turned to me, his eyes filled with concern. “I’ll accompany you to the airport now and have one of my men drive my car to the base. Keep a sharp lookout for Nicolai when you get home.”
“The psychotic giant from Hell hasn’t forgotten you, either.” I raised an eyebrow for emphasis.
Duncan consoled Mom, holding her close. Fear widened her moist eyes.
“Loren, as much as I’ll miss you, it’s best you and Sam leave Scotland and take care when you arrive home. I want to hear from you every day.” Duncan kissed her and escorted her to the Super Lynx helicopter.
I said my good-byes to the butler and cook as my luggage was loaded. Ross and I boarded the helicopter.
Mom was already seated. As we flew off, I gazed down at MacLeod Castle, and memories of my Highlands adventure flashed through my mind.
A half hour later, I stood by the corporate jet and kissed Ross goodbye. “I’ll fly back and see you next month, and in the meantime, I’ll be careful. You do the same. Boyfriends like you are impossible to replace.”
“Call me when you land.” Ross gave me a passionate farewell kiss.
Mom and I boarded the Starr Corporation’s G650 and took off for Palm Beach, Florida.
Dundee, Scotland
When Ross arrived back at the 23SAS outstation in Dundee, his mobile phone rang, and caller ID indicated it was Sam’s brother, Mike.
“Hello, Mike, your mother and sister are on their way. Did you get the watch?”
“DARPA was happy to help protect our famous heroine. The public loves her on both sides of the pond.” Mike sounded pleased.
“DARPA?”
“Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency. SEALs are usually first to try out their new military weaponry and gear. DARPA saves our butts. Good thing they got permission to make the watch for Sam.”
“Aye, I think our governments decided it would be better to protect her than to deal with the bad PR if they let her get killed.”
“The device looks like her DOXA diver’s watch with all the same features plus a GPS locator that broadcasts her location and an emergency signal button. Let’s hope she won’t ever need it.”
“Nicolai sent her a gift today—a jar with a human eyeball inside.”
“That sick sonofabitch! Did you see him?”
“No, someone else must’ve delivered it. Best give Sam the watch as soon as she lands in Florida, and don’t tell her we’re tracking her. Let her think the signal only activates if she presses the emergency button.” Outside the hangar, Ross gazed at the boat traffic as a brisk wind churned white caps on the Firth of Tay.
“You know my sister well. I gave the watch to my brother. He’ll meet her plane. I have to leave for a mission. Matt will send you the GPS tracking code on your secure email. We’ll keep Sam safe.”
“Aye, your SEAL teams and our Special Forces are deployed in enough places worldwide to cover most of her destinations. I’m counting on our military intelligence networks to locate Nicolai so we can nail the bastard before he gets to Sam.” Ross tried to conceal the worry in his voice.
“Has MI5 found evidence linking Nicolai to Lord Sweetwater?”
“No, the phone call Sam overheard after the ceremony at Buckingham Palace came from a burner phone. Sweetwater claimed the call was from an undercover informant who sold him info on arms deals. He said what she actually heard was, ‘Nico lied,’ not Nicolai. It’s her word against his. No proof.”
“My sister isn’t likely to forget the sound of that psycho’s voice. If she said it was Nicolai, I believe her.”
“MI5 is keeping a close watch on Sweetwater. No sign of Nicolai so far.”
“He’ll stay off the grid until the international effort to capture him loses steam. Every chance we get Matt and I will warn Sam not to let her guard down.”
“Good, she needs to remember Nicolai’s a formidable opponent.”
“Yep, a psychopath with the skills of a professional assassin is about as bad as it gets. Stay in touch, Ross.”
Two
Lord Edgar Sweetwater, a billionaire arms dealer with a penchant for vengeance, paced in front of the massive marble fireplace in the mahogany-paneled study of his country manor near London. The aroma of burning wood blended with the subtle scent of leather-bound books.
Sweetwater held a mobile phone to his ear. “A sunken temple in the Aegean Sea between Crete and Santorini? Did you find a gold statue of Poseidon?…Good.”
“We found scrolls that describe a powerful weapon invented by scientists in Atlantis who metaphorically named it Poseidon’s Sword. It’s supposed to be inside an obsidian pyramid approximately one hundred feet high. Our archaeology expert thinks it’s a weapon of mass destruction.”
“I’ll fund whatever you need for the search. Find that weapon.” He stopped pacing and ended the call when his bodyguard entered the room.
“Lord Sweetwater, Nicolai has arrived,” the muscular man in black said. “Should I bring him in?”
“See to it your pistol’s ready before he comes in. He’s six-eight, all muscle, and his wounds are healed. The man’s a professional assassin and former Spetsnaz. Ever since that blond Yank and the Scottish boy nearly killed him, he’s been on edge, barely controlling his rage.”
Sweetwater walked around his desk. “And send some men in with him.”
“You can count on me, sir.” The bodyguard thumbed off the safety and pulled back the slide on his semi-automatic pistol, chambering a round with a loud click. He slid his weapon into the shoulder holster and spoke into a tiny radio microphone attached to his left sleeve. “Bring Nicolai to the study with four guards.”
Sweetwater sat behind an imposing hand-carved mahogany desk that dwarfed his short portly body. The Russian assassin wouldn’t want to abide by his new plan. If Nicolai’s rage took over, the situation could become deadly. His bodyguard positioned himself six feet behind the guest chair opposite Sweetwater’s desk.
The Russian giant entered with Sweetwater’s security team. Despite his size, Nicolai moved with cat-like grace. He sat opposite his host as the security escorts formed a semi-circle behind him.
“I hope you kept out of sight. MI5 suspects you’re working for me, but they have no proof.”
Nicolai focused his sinister, almost-black eyes on Sweetwater and absently rubbed his left index finger against the jagged scar on his cheek.
“Da, no one saw me enter. I am healed and ready to fulfill contract. I will kill blond American sooka and her SAS lover first, slowly and with much pain. Their left eyes will add new colors to my collection, aqua and deep blue.”
Sweetwater fidgeted with the Montblanc pen on his desk. “Uh, about that, no one wants to see them dead more than I. Samantha Starr ruined a perfect storm of vengeance that I had planned for fifteen years. I’ll never have an opportunity li
ke that again.”
“Yesterday, I sent her gift. She will fear me and know I am coming for her.”
Sweetwater straightened. “What did you give her?”
“Eyeball in jar filled with alcohol.” Nicolai smiled and sat back.
Sweetwater sucked in his breath. “Who delivered it? Can he be traced back to us?”
“Man from small village in northern England delivered package to Highlander Inn and then met me in Aberdeen. I killed him, dropped him in North Sea. No loose ends.”
“Good. I want revenge, not a prison sentence.” Sweetwater relaxed.
“I understand. Which body parts would you like? I am skilled with knife.”
“I want her to suffer the emotional distress of feeling like helpless prey as she’s hunted the next few months, always looking over her shoulder and wondering when and where. No peace of mind. My men will inflict non-lethal wounds to keep her in constant pain.”
Sweetwater allowed himself a smug smile. “When she’s with the Scottish brats in Orlando in December, you’ll capture them and bring them to my secluded island in the North Sea. Then our real fun will begin.”
Nicolai inhaled and clenched his ham fists. “I will kill her family and SAS soldiers from base in Dundee now. I must act before Loren Starr and her sons leave Scotland.”
“Let’s have a drink first. I have your vodka.” Sweetwater rang for a servant. “Zyr for my guest and Glenglassaugh for me.”
When the drinks were served, Nicolai drained his glass in one gulp. “I must go. Arrange for helicopter to drop me near MacLeod Castle. I will eliminate Starr family and Laird MacLeod tonight.”
Sweetwater drank half the whisky in his glass. “No, Nicolai, I can’t risk MI5 connecting me to that.” He hesitated. “Samantha and her mother and brothers have left Scotland.”
“When?” Nicolai’s face reddened, emphasizing the long purple scar on his left cheek.
Sweetwater steadied his voice as he glanced at the security team. “Her brothers left the day after the ceremony. She and her mother left last night.”
He pressed on. “Listen, we need to keep a low profile and let the aftermath fade before we make a move. I’m not willing to risk my future for instant gratification. Be patient, Nicolai. I promise we’ll have our just revenge in good time.”
Nicolai crushed the empty tumbler in his hand. Shattered glass and drops of blood fell to the polished oak floor. The loud clicks of slides racking on pistols commanded his attention. He sat still as his eyes filled with rage.
The scent of whisky, blood, and fear permeated the silent room.
Sweetwater spoke softly, “Two million dollars if you wait three months.”
“I must avenge my team. I am Spetsnaz!” Nicolai roared.
“Every law enforcement agency is hunting you. I own an island in the Caribbean. You can hide there. I’ll supply you with young women, vodka, anything. My jet’s ready.” He spread his hands on the desk, ready to signal the guards.
The seething Russian towered over the desk and bored his dark eyes into Sweetwater. “Five and we have deal.”
“Five. The limo will take you to the airport where you’ll board the jet in the hangar. Make a list of everything you want on the island and give it to the pilot. Remember, you’re a professional. We’re in this for the long game.”
“Da.” Nicolai walked out with the security team.
Sweetwater’s bodyguard holstered his weapon. “Sir, if you don’t mind my asking, why not hire someone else and eliminate the unstable Russian?”
“A professional assassin driven by a lust for vengeance is a powerful weapon, damn near unstoppable. He’ll succeed where men motivated by money alone might fail.”
Sweetwater sipped his whisky and smiled.
Palm Beach
It had been a week since I left Scotland. I spent my free time practicing with my Glock 26 at the shooting range, sparring with tae kwon do black belts at a martial arts center, and catching up on stuff at my Palm Beach condo while I waited for the FAA to approve the medical paperwork to return me to flight status. The feds assured me I’d be cleared by the end of the week.
I called my mother. “Hey, Mom, how’re you doing? Seen a big scar-faced guy?”
“I’m fine, no sightings of Nicolai and no visions. What about you?”
“No Nicolai and no important visions. Just small stuff, like seeing a raw egg full of blood before I cracked it so it wouldn’t ruin my cookie batch—nothing like the first vision about the boys in the cave.”
I withheld last night’s vision about men in a black SUV firing at me. That would worry her. “When are you leaving for Scotland?”
“In about twenty minutes. I can’t wait to see Duncan again. I think I really love that man.” She sounded wistful.
“Duncan’s a great guy, and his castle is fabulous. Give my colt lots of hugs. I miss my cute little Zeus. I hope he grows up to be like Argus.”
“Duncan says he’s getting bigger every day. I’ll give him lots of loving and hug Ross too.”
“Thanks, Mom. Have a safe trip and remember Nicolai’s still out there somewhere.”
I climbed aboard my red Ducati Diavel motorcycle and adjusted the mirrors. Ross and my twin brothers had warned me to remain vigilant, but perhaps Nicolai had decided not to pursue me in America.
Nothing unpleasant had happened since my return, except for unwanted attention from another turn in the fame barrel.
In case I was wrong about Nicolai, I racked the slide on my Glock 26, slipped it into the holster in the small of my back, and thanked God for Florida’s License to Carry and Stand Your Ground laws.
I rode my Ducati over a bridge connecting Palm Beach to West Palm Beach and headed west through the city toward Interstate-95. When I glanced in my mirrors, I saw a black SUV with tinted windows pull behind me.
It looked like the one in my dream, but it wouldn’t be able to keep up with my nimble bike darting around cars and cutting through spaces too narrow for four-wheeled vehicles.
As I weaved through traffic, checking my mirrors for the SUV and hoping a cop wouldn’t catch me, the black monster drove on a sidewalk to bypass traffic.
It was coming for me.
My heart raced as I considered my options. If I could make it to the expressway, I could lose them with my bike’s superior speed and handling. That seemed better than trying to ditch them in heavy traffic and stop lights.
A mile before the on-ramp, a freight train approaching the intersection threatened my escape. The traffic gates were down, and only three vehicles separated me from the hunters.
Sunlight reflected off the SUV’s tinted windshield and obscured whoever was chasing me.
I cut around the railroad gate and felt the road vibrate from the freight cars as I shot across the tracks and accelerated to the interstate entrance. The SUV swerved around the vehicles in front, crashed through the gate, and cleared the tracks a second before the train crossed the intersection.
A bullet pinged into the pavement next to me as I turned for the on-ramp. My heart rate skyrocketed. I hugged my bike and leaned into the curve as I raced for the ten-lane super highway.
In seconds, I accelerated to 140 mph as I zipped around traffic. The Ducati felt smooth and stable.
My brain shifted into overdrive as I increased my distance from the SUV. Did they have a way to track me, or had they spotted me during surveillance?
I stopped behind a large sign on an overpass beside an exit ramp and waited. Squealing tires alerted me to their approach as the driver slammed on the brakes for the late turn to the exit.
In case they had tracked my cell phone, I dropped it on the road below the overpass and pulled out my Glock. When the SUV passed my hiding place, I shot a hole in the right front tire. The driver lost control, and the vehicle flipped onto its back and skidded off the curving exit road.
I holstered my Glock and raced south on I-95. When I exited on Lantana Road, I didn’t spot anyone following me.<
br />
Lantana Airport was a few miles west of the interstate. I pulled around to the flight-line side of the building and parked near the small flight school and pilot shop.
The roar of airplanes coming and going was comforting as I removed my helmet, took a deep calming breath, and unwrapped a piece of chocolate. Trembling, I accidentally dropped the wrapper as I popped the candy into my mouth and had to chase the paper across the ramp.
The chocolate melted on my tongue and soothed me. I returned to my bike, pulled out the emergency burner cell I kept in the tail bag, and called my brother, Matt. He was scheduled to leave NAS Jacksonville in a few hours on a Navy transport bound for Naples, Italy, where he would catch a flight to the aircraft carrier USS Lawrence Lee.
“Hey, Sis, how’s it going? Do you like your new DARPA watch?”
“I almost pushed the emergency button about twenty minutes ago. Thought I’d better talk to you and decide what to do next.” I tried to sound calmer than I felt.
“Are you okay? What happened?” Matt’s tone was all business.
I briefed him about the black SUV. “I’m at the airport in Lantana now. I’m supposed to give a lesson.”
“Take the student. They can’t find you while you’re airborne. I’ll make some calls and arrange for armed men to meet you when you return. They’re former SEALs Mike knows who own a local high-end security company. They may bring the FBI into the loop. You’ll know them by the code words, Danger Magnet.”
“Nice code. Is that your idea of humor?”
“You know me, anything to cut the tension. Be careful, Sis, and say hello to Bart for me.”
“Thanks for the help, Rodeo.” I liked using Matt’s fighter-pilot call sign. “I hope they nail Nicolai and end this. I’m tired of being a target. I had my fill of that in the Highlands. Stay safe.”
When I entered the flight school, a stocky average-height man in his sixties looked up from behind the counter. His Texas drawl distinguished him from the northeasterners living in Southern Florida.