Requiem

by J. B. Turner

  Black smiled. “I love that you still care so much, Catherine.”

  “Sir, my analysis shows the returns are vastly outweighed by the risks. Look at the resources the Commission is expending to kill one of their own. This isn’t furthering America’s interests; it’s distracting from them. We have to shut it down.”

  Black took a moment before he answered. “I hear what you’re saying. It’s good to care about our work. That’s such an admirable trait. By the time you get to be my age, cynicism and paranoia are the order of the day. With you? I see optimism. Hope. I really like that about you. Which makes me wonder why you’re proposing ending the Commission.”

  “Events have overtaken us. I think it’s plain to see that. We should have pulled the plug after Stone went rogue in Scotland.”

  “He killed the target first—Senator Crichton. That was the plan, right?”

  “Perhaps, but that should have been a warning. I couldn’t understand for the life of me why Clayton Wilson, who’d had such an illustrious career at the Agency, would allow Stone to be hired for a second job after that.”

  “Hindsight’s a lovely thing. The kidnapping of Stone’s sister should have worked.”

  “The operative word being should. The fact of the matter is that Stone should never have been allowed that second opportunity. It was a flawed assessment. And the rest is history. Something I’ll have to live with. Clayton Wilson did not understand the full extent of the threat he unleashed by bringing Stone back into the fold.”

  Black shifted in his seat. “You’re casting aspersions on late Director Wilson, one of our most esteemed intelligence experts since the Second World War.”

  “I know, sir. And his loss is a tragedy. But how many more are we willing to lose? How public are we willing to let these embarrassing mistakes become? The failure to neutralize Nathan Stone in Miami is unforgivable, and every hour he’s on the loose brings a greater chance that taking him out will involve public attention we won’t be able to cover up.”

  Black was silent for a few moments, reflecting on what she’d said. “What’s the latest intel on Stone and the girl?”

  “They’re somewhere in the Everglades, perhaps in or around Florida Bay.”

  “Can’t they call in the coast guard?”

  “They could. But they don’t think that’s a wise containment strategy. Neither do I.”

  “I believe we have a new operations director.”

  “De Boer.”

  “Which one?”

  “Kevin.”

  “I know Kevin well. He’s very thorough. Methodical almost. He’ll find him.”

  “Sir, I believe there comes a time to consider cutting our losses. I believe that time has now come.”

  “Catherine, you know how many plausible-deniability operations I’ve been involved in?”

  Hudson shrugged. “Quite a few, I’d imagine.”

  “That’s right. And there wasn’t one that didn’t involve some previously unforeseen shit hitting the fan at one time or another. The key is not to throw out the brilliant idea but to persevere. It’s important to press on.”

  “But sir, with respect, what if this isn’t closed down, Nathan Stone is not neutralized, and this all gets out? What about the Agency’s reputation?”

  Black grinned. “If it gets out? Nothing to do with us. It’s just some retired, right-wing CIA crazies.”

  “Sir, I’m not sure that will hold up to intense scrutiny.”

  Black shrugged. “Maybe . . . Catherine, only Mark Mahoney was sniffing around all this. He was eventually taken care of. All the documentation on encrypted files was bleached.”

  “There will be others. Nathan Stone knows so much it’s worrying. There’s another matter I’d like to raise with you.”

  “Sure. What’s the problem?”

  “Out of the blue, an old college friend of mine has gotten in touch. I haven’t heard from her for at least twenty years.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Becky McFarlane.”

  “Name doesn’t ring a bell. What’s the problem?”

  “Sir, I sense that she was making an approach with ulterior motives. She used to work at the State Department. Now she works out of the embassy in London.”

  Black allowed a silence to stretch between them. “You think this Becky is fishing for information or intel?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t like it.”

  “I’ll check it out. Fingers crossed it’s nothing. Just an old friend wanting to say hello.”

  “Maybe. My main priority, though, is Stone and this goddamn actress. It’s a grave situation. But I remain convinced that we need to shut down the Commission, from top to bottom.”

  “Look, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I hear what you’re saying. But I think we can make a decision after Stone and this woman are dealt with.”

  “What if they’re not?”

  Black smiled benevolently. “That’s your job, Catherine. To ensure they don’t make it out of the Everglades alive.”

  Twenty-Seven

  Stone felt himself drifting on a sea of darkness. Floating on the tide. Darkness all around. Then the sound of a faraway explosion. Bright-red fireworks.

  He felt cold metal pressed to his head and bolted upright, wide awake.

  Beatrice was staring down at him, gun pressed to his forehead. The sky was lit up by a red flare, burning brightly.

  “What the hell?” he said.

  Beatrice took a step back. “I want the keys.”

  Stone stared at the sky, which had illuminated everything for miles around. He got to his feet. “Are you fucking insane?”

  “Gimme the keys to the boat!”

  Stone stared at her in disbelief. “Do you know what you’ve done? Do you have any idea what you are doing?”

  “I’m getting out of here. Now! Gimme the fucking keys!”

  “You have just alerted them and the coast guard and every boat in and around Florida Bay that there is an emergency. It means they know where we are. They will find us. Do you realize that?”

  “I want someone to rescue me!”

  “Really? I thought I explained the situation.”

  “That’s your situation. Your reality. Things have changed. I want out. Right fucking now.”

  “You’re not thinking straight.”

  “Why? Because I’m a woman? Is that it?”

  “That’s not it. You’re not thinking straight because you’re scared.”

  “I’ve got a right to be scared. I’m fucking petrified.”

  “I understand that. But this is not how we get out of this situation.” Stone got to his feet. “Gimme the gun.”

  “Not a fucking move, psycho.”

  Stone looked at the sky all around him. It was just a matter of time before they’d be found. “We need to get out of here. They could be here any minute.”

  “I’m going. Without you. Hand over the keys or you’re going to be sorry.”

  Stone took a step forward and shook his head. “I can help you get out of here. To safety. But we need to move right now.”

  “I’m at the end of my rope. I’m finished. You’re shooting people. That survivalist tried to rape me. Enough! Anything has got to be better than this!”

  “I thought you trusted me.”

  “So did I.”

  “I can get us out of here.”

  “I’m going alone.”

  “I can’t allow that.”

  “What do you mean, you can’t allow that? What does that mean?”

  Stone slammed his fist against one of the shelter’s poles. “What you did was insane! You let your emotions override your critical-thinking faculties. And now you’ve endangered both of us.”

  Beatrice gritted her teeth, tears in her eyes. “I want to live! I don’t trust you!”

  “I haven’t harmed you. Not once! I will not harm you. Didn’t I say I would protect you and get us to safety?”

  Beatrice said nothing, gun tra
ined on his face.

  “I will not break my promise to you. I will guide us to safety. You need to trust me.”

  “Why the hell should I trust you?”

  Stone sighed impatiently. He grabbed her wrist and sharply twisted her arm, prying the gun out of her hand. He pressed the gun to her head. “See how easy it is to lose that advantage?”

  “You bastard!”

  “Grab our bags and get in the airboat right fucking now!”

  “You’re a bastard. A cold, unfeeling bastard.”

  “Get the bags and get in the fucking boat.”

  Beatrice snatched up the bags of food and water. “You son of a bitch.”

  Stone grabbed the backpack containing handguns and knives. He herded her through the mangroves back to the airboat. Once the boat was on the water, he climbed in. “I can’t believe you did that. Crazy bitch.”

  “I can’t stand this anymore! Don’t you get it?”

  Stone sighed.

  Beatrice looked at him, tears in her eyes. “Look, I’m sorry. I panicked. I don’t know. I’m freaking out. I’m human.”

  “Let’s focus. And let’s get out of here. How does that sound?”

  “Do you forgive me?”

  “Don’t let it happen again. Lie down so you’re out of sight.”

  Beatrice complied. “Where are we going?”

  “Change of plan.” Stone turned the key in the ignition. The engine spluttered but didn’t start. He tried it again and again. Nothing. “Are you kidding me?”

  Stone waited a minute before he tried it again. The engine creaked and clicked. But still it didn’t come to life.

  “Tell me it’s not broken.”

  “Quiet!”

  Stone tried three more times. The engine didn’t even make a sound.

  “It’s dead?” she said. “The goddamn engine is dead?”

  “And we will be too if we don’t get this into gear.” He tried the engine once more. This time it spluttered and groaned and fired up. “Thank you!”

  “Thank you, Lord!” she said, looking up at the crimson sky.

  Stone flicked on the GPS. He scanned the six-inch plastic monitor showing his position and the best route to take. “Yeah, so we’re going with plan B.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean my original plan will have to be shelved, at least for now.”

  “What the hell?”

  “If we’re going to the mainland, we won’t be able to outrun them in this thing, not after that flare lit up the sky.”

  “So what are we going to do?”

  Stone edged the airboat away from the shore and pointed it southwest. “You’ll see.”

  Twenty-Eight

  De Boer was in the lead boat snaking through Florida Bay toward the position of the flare, approximately eight miles away. He radioed Bakker. “You got any further details?”

  “Latitude 25.0304 degrees north. Longitude 80.8645 degrees west.”

  De Boer checked a map with his flashlight. “Cluett Key. ETA four minutes. Let’s approach from the northeast.”

  The sky was a dark red, caused by the illumination from the flare. He wondered what had happened. He knew Stone wouldn’t have set off the flare. Which meant—if it was indeed them—that the woman was responsible. Maybe Stone had abandoned her. Maybe she’d seen her chance to escape. Maybe it was an accident.

  “Let’s do this right, people,” de Boer said to the three others in the boat. “I don’t want us running aground. I don’t want us chasing shadows. Let’s focus. We find them. And we kill them.”

  Bakker called in. “ETA two minutes, thirty seconds.”

  De Boer pulled back the slide of his gun. Closer and closer the boats advanced toward the island. “Now listen, we don’t know who sent up the flare,” de Boer said. “It might be a kayaker. Might be a frat boy partying with some friends. Might be a coast guard exercise. So let’s be wary.”

  “You know as well as I do this is them,” Bakker said, the excitement in his voice unmistakable even over the radio. “Of that I have no doubt. This is Stone and that fucking actress.”

  “I agree,” de Boer said. “But let’s keep switched on. Let’s not get complacent.”

  “We’ve been focused. And we’re going to finally put this bastard to bed for a long sleep.”

  De Boer cleared his throat. “It might be a fucking trap.”

  “Wouldn’t put it past Stone. He’s dangerous.”

  De Boer stared at the island as the boats skimmed the water. “ETA?”

  “One minute and fifteen seconds,” Bakker said.

  “Copy that,” de Boer said. “First things first. The woman. Be nice. Get her out of there if she’s alone. Persuade her to get onto the boat.”

  “Then?”

  “Then kill her.”

  “What about Stone?”

  “Kill him and bury him on the island. This ends now.”

  Twenty-Nine

  Stone hit the gas on the airboat as it skimmed across the grasses and shallow water. The salty spray stung his burnt face and arms. “You okay down there?” he shouted to Beatrice.

  “I’m fine. No . . . I’m not fucking fine. I’m an idiot. Shit, I’m sorry.”

  “Let’s deal with the situation we’re in now and not dwell on the past. We need to put some water between us and those guys.”

  “How do you know they’ll be following us?”

  “As sure as night follows days. Trust me. I know these people. I know their next move.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I try to imagine what they would do. And as soon as that goddamn flare went up, they were alerted.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “I know they’re nearby. You need to assume they’re on your tail and you’ll soon be dead. You need to have that edge.”

  “Don’t say that. You’re scaring me. There’s no evidence the people who want to kill you are following us.”

  “I don’t need evidence. What I know about them indicates that they will be nearby. Very nearby. Far closer than we imagine. And that’s why I’m taking such precautions. That flare likely brought them right to us.”

  “Don’t say that. I’m frightened as it is.”

  Stone peered out into the darkness ahead, then glanced at the GPS. He turned around but didn’t see anything apart from the pale-red glow still lingering from the flare that had gone off a few minutes earlier.

  “Are we going to go to the mainland? Please tell me we’re going straight to the mainland.”

  “No can do. Not just now.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Because if I know the people looking for us, they will be very well equipped, with fast boats and God knows what else. They’ll catch us easily and kill us. We need to be smart.”

  “How the hell do we do that?”

  Stone said, “Just keep your head down.” He took his foot off the gas. The airboat began to slow. He checked the GPS, then negotiated some low-lying sandbanks.

  “What the hell is going on?”

  “I need to make sure we don’t run aground.”

  Stone edged through a narrow stretch of shallow water until he got back in the direction he needed to be going. He opened up the gas, and they sped off through the River of Grass, the pale moon casting its ghostly glow over the dark waters. Up ahead was the silhouette of an island.

  The GPS indicated they had reached Dead Terrapin Key, south of Whipray Basin. He jumped out and sank into the muddy silt. He had to haul himself out of it. Then he pulled the airboat up through mangroves and onto a sandy beach. Beatrice jumped out once they were on the beach, carrying the backpack, the bag with guns and ammo, and the plastic bags.

  Stone dragged the airboat higher on the shore. He looked around, establishing a line of sight and getting his bearings.

  “Why are we stopping here?” she said. “This doesn’t make any sense!”

  Stone motioned for her to lie down beside the line of m
angroves that ringed the island. “Flat down!”

  “What is it?”

  Stone peered into the distance. “Fuck.”

  “What is it? Tell me!”

  “They’ve spotted us.”

  Far out on the wetlands, maybe a couple of miles in the distance, he saw what looked like two boats. And they were headed straight for them.

  Thirty

  Berenger was pacing the control room in the underground facility in Sarasota. He was beginning to feel the pressure gnawing away at him. His stomach ulcer was burning. He popped a couple of Zantac. A few minutes later the symptoms subsided, and he glugged a can of Coke. The huge screens on the wall displayed real-time footage as the two boats approached a small island on Florida Bay. The thermal imaging picked out the ghostly white figures of de Boer’s men, crouched in the boat, as they got closer to the dark island.

  He crossed the room, transfixed by the events on the screens. De Boer was wearing a Bluetooth headset, on the lead boat communicating with Sarasota and the second boat.

  Berenger watched with a sense of trepidation. He knew what Stone was capable of. And what he might do when cornered. The thought chilled him to the bone. But now it seemed like time was finally running out for Stone and the down-on-her-luck actress.

  He sensed they were nearing the endgame.

  The boats were around twenty yards or so from the shoreline. Berenger stared up at the screens. On the periphery of the scene, he thought he saw something: two ghostly figures running into the mangroves and out of sight.

  The voice of de Boer. “We got a visual.”

  Berenger’s heart began to race faster.

  De Boer said, “Nice and easy, people. My team will approach from the northwest. Boat two, go ashore where you are. Let’s squeeze those fuckers.”

  “Copy that.”

  The footage showed one boat edging closer to the beach.

  Berenger closed his eyes and smiled.

  Thirty-One

  Stone crouched low as he smeared mud all over his face, arms, and neck and did the same to Beatrice.