by Alex Ander
Pence pointed at the boathouse. “It’s probably in there.”
“With the keys?”
Pence nodded.
Hardy got into a crouched position, leaned out from the SUV and surveyed the scenario. He saw the oncoming headlights. Thirty seconds. “Cruz, concentrate your firepower on the men at the boathouse.” He gave Pence his gun and gestured at the armed men on his side of the vehicle. “Keep them busy.”
Cruz’s stomach churned and a shiver went up her spine. “What about you?”
“I’m making a run for the building, and the second speeder. When I get there, I’ll lay down cover fire for you two…we find the keys and get out of here.”
Cruz shook her head. “I don’t like this plan.”
“No time to argue.” He kissed the top of her head. “Try to take them out before I get there. Ready Pence?”
Cruz: “Hardy…”
Pence: “Ready.”
Cruz: “…please don’t—”
“Now!” Hardy took off running down the dock.
“You bullheaded jackass.” Cruz put her shoulder to the vehicle, Sorry Lord, and lined up her rifle. She used Hardy’s trick of aiming for the flashes. Each time one appeared, she squeezed off a controlled shot. A flash…a trigger press. A flash…a trigger press. Behind her, Pence’s nine played a similar tune. After ten shots, Cruz saw only single bursts, and put the XM15’s front sight on the intermittent blinking.
… … … … …
Reaching the end of the dock, Hardy leapt, landed on the ground and sprinted forward. He could make out two figures on the left side of the boathouse door. Success of his flawed plan hinged on Cruz killing at least one of them. He would have to improvise from there. He glanced right. Two Land Rovers had joined the fight. Men were pouring out and shouldering rifles.
He shifted his gaze back to the two, armed men in his path. One was sprawled on the deck. That’s my girl. He pumped his arms and prepared to launch himself at the door, hoping to find a weapon inside. Sand clumps flew up around his feet. The last gunman had turned his weapon on Hardy.
… … … … …
Closing her left eye, Cruz took a breath, let out half and aimed at the last beacon. She eased off five precise shots, but the man was still firing.
Pence: “Two rounds left…that’s all I have left.”
Cruz glanced over the Bushmaster’s sights. Left. “Of course…” Eye closed, breath held, she shifted her point of aim to the left and gently touched the trigger. A second later, the boathouse was dark, except for the faint light coming through the windows. Two seconds…darkness. Three seconds…darkness.
Once the gunman had turned his rifle—and body—toward Hardy, Cruz had to adjust her aim for the shooter, instead of the light source.
… … … … …
With all three targets neutralized, Hardy gathered their weapons and laid down cover fire for Cruz and Pence. After they ran past him, Hardy backed into the boathouse strafing the enemy combatants. He tossed the rifle to Pence, grabbed sets of keys from a rack and jumped into the second speedboat. “Shoot anyone who comes through that door. We’ll get this thing running.”
“Copy that.”
Cruz examined the keys, searching for identifiers. “Try this one.”
Hardy inserted the key, but could not twist it.
She fumbled with the rings.
He jammed another key into the ignition. A twisting motion produced the same fruitless result. “Come on.”
Pence stood at the back of the boat, holding the rifle to his shoulder with one arm. “Let’s go people. I have a feeling we’re about to have company. It’s awfully quiet out there.”
Hardy cursed when another key failed to start the engine. He turned around when the boathouse door opened and a figure appeared. He flicked his eyes toward Pence; the man’s body was tensing. Hardy ran, lowered his upper body and plowed into the man. A single shot fired, and a bullet sailed over the camouflaged person’s head, lodging in the wall above the door.
Hardy and Pence toppled over the back of the boat. Ten seconds passed before they surfaced. Spewing water from his mouth, Pence raised the rifle. He had never let go of the weapon.
“Don’t shoot.” Hardy grabbed the barrel and sent it skyward. “Don’t shoot. She’s one of mine.” The face paint had thrown off his recognition, but the bleached blonde hair sticking out from under the boonie registered immediately. He wrapped an arm around Pence and helped the man find the waiting hands of Dahlia and a Navy Seal, who lifted Pence out of the water.
Taking Cruz’s hand, Hardy dragged himself into the boat before both of them hopped onto the dock. After watching his women finish a hug, he beamed at his rescuer. “Nice makeup. I don’t think you’ll get too many dates wearing that though.”
She eyed his dripping clothes. “I’d hug you, too, but someone decided to go for a swim instead.”
Hardy closed the distance between them.
“Don’t you dare.” Dahlia backed up. “I’m just starting to dry out again. Hardy, I swear—” She bumped into a Seal, and the large body cut off her retreat.
Hardy wrapped his arms around her and hugged and squeezed, making sure she got as wet as possible. “I’m glad to see you…and your friends.” He held her at arm’s length. “So you figured out our hidden message?”
“Eventually.” Dahlia wiped a hand over her face. “We initially thought you were somewhere near the northeast part of Nassau. Then Cherry did some digging and discovered an island fifty miles northeast of Nassau that was purchased by an Isaac Wells. Apparently, he’s on the CIA’s watch list for running guns—”
“And drugs…I know.” Hardy glimpsed Cruz and, “We’ve met the chap,” clenched his fists. “I’ll be seeing him again real soon.”
“We’ll all be seeing him again. Jameson received intel from his counterpart at the CIA. There’s a private contractor down here working to bring down this Isaac Wells. He might be able…” Hardy took her by the elbow, “to…”
Hardy held out an open hand toward the man having his wounds attended to by a Seal. “This is the private contractor.” He looked at Pence and put a hand on her shoulder. “This is Dahlia. As I said, she’s a member of my team. Dahlia, meet Tom Pence. Without his help, Cruz and I might very well be dead right now.”
Dahlia stepped forward and shook the man’s hand. “Last name’s St. James…Dahlia St. James. Thank you. I owe you one.”
Pence nodded. “Consider the debt,” he twirled a finger and glanced at the Seals around him, “already paid.”
Dahlia smiled. “Thank you anyway, sir.” She rocked her head backward toward Hardy and Cruz. “These two mean a great deal to me.”
Hardy grinned from ear to ear. “Be careful, Dahlia. This Tom Pence is a real,” he waited a beat, “heartbreaker, I hear.” Heartbreaker was the hit song that catapulted the rock and roller Tom Pence to stardom three decades ago.
Frowning, Dahlia’s gaze went back and forth between the two men.
After accepting a Seal’s outstretched hand and getting to his feet, Pence shook his head and chuckled. “I feel sorry for you, man. You’ve had all this time, and that’s the best you could come up with?”
Smiling, Hardy tipped his head and shrugged.
“You know what,” Pence put a hand on his male counterpart’s shoulder, “since I like you…but mostly because I feel sorry for you…”
Hardy sniggered.
“…I’m going to give you one more free shot.”
Laughing, Hardy overheard one of the Seals.
“This is Warner. Objectives are secured. We’re moving out.” The Chief Petty Officer spied his watch. “We’ll rendezvous with the sub in…”
Hardy turned around. “Question for you, Cruz…” He took a step toward her. “When I took off running for the boathouse, I could’ve sworn I heard you call me a name.”
“Oh?” said Cruz, arching her eyebrows and cocking her head.
“Yeah,” he scratched the
side of his neck and frowned, “something about a…strong-willed donkey, I believe.”
“Hmm, that doesn’t sound like something I’d say.”
“That’s exactly what I thought too.”
The two stared at each other for a few moments until Warner got their attention. “You four stay behind me.” He motioned. “Zeke, you take point. Charlie, Pops, cover our retreat.” He received confirmation from the men, spun around and twirled a finger in the air. “Let’s move out.”
Falling in behind Dalia, Cruz shrugged and said to Hardy, “Well, you know what they say about battle stress.”
Hardy nodded, “I do.” They both said, “It can make you,” before he ended with “say things,” and she finished with, “hear things.” The couple shared a look and a smile before she leaned closer and pushed him with her shoulder.
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
.
Chapter 23: MacDill
February 16th; 9:00 a.m.
Tampa, Florida
MacDill Air Force Base
Following a four-hour voyage beneath the sea, aboard the USS Minnesota, Hardy and Cruz—hugging each other—were hoisted into a helicopter, hovering above the submarine. A few minutes later, they were joined by Dahlia and Pence. The CH-47 Chinook delivered the foursome to MacDill Air Force Base; nearly three hundred miles away, where everyone showered, ate and got a few hours of sleep. A fresh change of clothes waited for them when they awoke, compliments of Charity, who had made the delivery arrangements.
“I have Isaac Wells on camera in Florida’s Palm Beach International Airport.”
Sitting at a conference table and staring at Charity’s head and shoulders on a laptop’s screen, Hardy leaned closer. “What time was that, Cherry?”
“He took off in a private jet at,” from her OR command center in D.C., she spied the time, “6:58 p.m., roughly fourteen hours ago.”
Cruz leaned left and rubbed shoulders with Hardy to get in the laptop’s camera. “Where was the plane headed?”
“No flight plan was filed.”
“So Wells,” said Dahlia, standing behind Hardy, hands on her head, fingers interlaced, “could be just about anywhere in the world right now.”
“I’m afraid so,” said Charity. “I’ve scoured the Internet and the dark web for anything on Wells…properties, boats, jets…you name it. The guy’s a digital ghost. He must have everything registered under aliases. I can’t find any matches to the photo you sent me.” She paused. “Unless you have some new information, I’m all out of things I can try.”
The conference room door swung inward. Pence appeared, pressing buttons on a cell phone. He closed the door and slid the mobile across the table, toward Hardy. “Thanks for letting me use that.”
Hardy nodded. “And?”
Pence pointed. “That was my handler at the CIA. I’m officially on loan to you and your team for the duration.”
“Glad to have you aboard.” Hardy dipped his head toward the laptop. “We’re getting an update from Cherry—” he shook his head, “excuse me…Charity right now.” He beckoned the new arrival.
Pence stood beside Dahlia and faced the screen.
“Pence, this is Charity Sinclair. She’s our computer expert.” Hardy eyed Charity’s image and pointed at the man over his shoulder. “Cherry, this is Thomas Pence. He’s the one who saved our skin on the island.”
Pence nodded. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
“Likewise, but you’ll have to start calling me Cherry.” She waited a beat. “Only a select few call me that, and ones who save my friend’s lives are definitely on the list.”
“Thank you.”
“So,” Charity gathered her thoughts, “do I call you, Pence…Thomas…?”
Hardy tipped his head back and got an upside down glimpse of the man. “Yeah, Tom Pence,” he grinned, “what’s it going to be, rock star?”
The temporary addition to the team pushed Hardy’s head forward and smiled at the laptop. “Young lady, anything you want is fine with me.” Wiping the smile from his face, he glanced downward. “And you’ve just used up the rest of your goodwill on the ‘rock star’ comment.”
Chuckling, Hardy motioned toward Charity and spoke to his male counterpart. “Cherry’s run into a dead end on Wells. Any ideas on where he might be?”
“What do you have so far?” After the thirty-second briefing, Pence ambled away, arms folded, hand covering his mouth. He wagged his finger on the return trip. “Cherry, can you do a little digging on someone else?”
“All I need’s a name.”
“Johnny DeLucci…two N’s in Johnny.” Pence spelled the last name. “He’s Isaac’s assistant and number two. There’s a good chance he’ll know his boss’s whereabouts.”
“I’m running the name as we speak.”
“Start in Florida. I’m pretty sure I heard him mention he owned a place along the coast, beachfront property if I’m correct.”
Reading Pence’s mind, Hardy beamed and reached for the mobile. “I’ll get transportation lined up for us.”
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
.
Chapter 24: Johnny
11:11 a.m.
Cocoa Beach, Florida
Dahlia pushed a button before using the wrought iron doorknocker. Turning around, she glanced up and down the street of the quiet seaside community. Ocean waves from the back of the house added to the area’s sleepy, relaxed nature.
She cast a look at the black SUV—her teammates inside—parked down the street. Since chances were good Hardy, Cruz and Pence would be recognized by Isaac Well’s assistant, Johnny DeLucci, Dahlia was to make first contact with the man.
Repeating the ringing and knocking process, she spoke softly. “No answer so far, and I can’t tell if anyone’s home. The shades are drawn.” She patted the set of lock picks in the pocket of her lightweight charcoal gray blazer. “Say the word, and I can be in in five seconds.”
Cruz: “You’ll screw up the warrant if you do.”
Dahlia grunted. “You’re worried about that, knowing what could happen if—”
A deadbolt released and the doorknob turned.
Dahlia pressed an elbow against the Walther PPQ M2 on her belt, under the blazer. “I’ve got movement. Stand by.”
The door opened. A man in a black robe filled the doorway. Undone to the waist, the silky garment revealed a thick mane of dark chest hair, which matched the homeowner’s slicked back, parted-on-the-side hairstyle. Above black silk slippers were tanned and skinny legs.
“Johnny DeLucci?” said Dahlia.
The man’s face wrinkled. “Who’s asking?”
She showed a leather bi-fold wallet. “FBI. Are you Johnny DeLucci?”
He studied her credentials. “Yes. What’s this all about?”
“I need to ask you a few questions. May I come inside?”
The man hesitated, glimpsed the SUV with blacked out windows and stepped back, closing the door after his guest had entered. “Okay, you’re inside, Agent St. James. What do you want?”
Dahlia faced him. “Do you have somewhere we could sit down and talk like civilized people?”
DeLucci sighed, “This way,” and led her to the living room around a corner. After offering the sofa, he claimed a recliner and crossed his legs before quickly closing the ends of his robe, a little too late.
Dahlia whipped her head to the left and sat, A little more of you than I wanted to see, Mr. DeLucci. She crossed her legs and gently tugged on the leg opening of her over-the-knee black boot.
The man smoothed the robe. “What can I do for you?”
“I need to know where to find your employer, Isaac Wells.”
“I’m sorry, but I do not know where he is.”
“You’re his assistant, right?”
DeLucci nodded. “Yes.”
“Then you know his comings and goings. I know he came to Florida yesterday and left from Palm Beach Airport. What I don’t know is where he was
going.” Dahlia pointed. “That’s what you can do for me. Where was his plane going?”
“Again, I am sorry. Mr. Wells did not inform me of his travel plans. Despite what you may think my boss does not share every detail of his life with me.” DeLucci held his hands out to the side. “Why would he? I work for him. He doesn’t work for me.”
“Sir, I’m sure you have some way of contacting him. It’s very important that we speak.”
“Is Mr. Wells in trouble?”
Dahlia shook her head. “I can’t tell you that. Now how can I reach him? What’s his cell number?” When the man balked, she struck a tougher tone. “Look Mr. DeLucci, I’m working a case and any interference from you will be treated as obstruction of justice. In case you don’t understand what that means, I’ll spell it out for you. If your boss is found guilty, then you’ll be charged as an accessory.”
“Johnny, are you coming back to—”
Dahlia turned to see a leggy blonde woman wearing a robe matching DeLucci’s; a pair of perky breasts gaped back at the FBI agent.
“Oops,” the woman fumbled with the material, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know we had company.”
DeLucci jumped up, met the woman at the side of the sofa, “She was just leaving, dear,” and escorted the blonde woman back the way she had come. “I’ll be with you in a minute.” He returned and stood in front of Dahlia. “I believe you’ll have to conduct the rest of this conversation through my attorney. I have nothing left to say to you.” He motioned toward the door. “Please leave my home.”
Dahlia stood and passed in front of the man, a voice in her ear.
Hardy: “He’s not rattled, Dahlia. Set the hook deeper. Set it deeper.”
The agent whirled around and squinted at her suspect. “I know about the software program…and the auction that took place on the island.” She saw a flicker of recognition flash across the man’s face. “This is a matter of national security. As such, anyone involved will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.” No response came from DeLucci.
Walking away, her three-inch chunky heels thumping off the hardwood floor, Dahlia cast a glance over her shoulder. “That is if you even make it to a courtroom…and aren’t whisked away to some black site that doesn’t exist.” She twisted and pulled the doorknob, “Have fun with your buxom beauty, while you can still take pleasure in the opposite sex,” before closing the solid oak door behind her.