by Jon Land
In seconds he was sprinting through the woods away from the farmer’s land. His car, parked on Tumblefig’s private road, was useless to him now. Replacing it wouldn’t be a problem, but leaving it, unfortunately, posed an unavoidable one. The road atlas he had marked was hidden beneath the front seat and the men from the shelter would be in possession of it before long. The enemy would then be made aware that he was on to at least a portion of their plan. Other sites like this one would be altered. People would be warned to expect him.
The other distribution points were stored in his memory. Another road atlas in his hand and he’d resume his search for the pattern he knew existed, albeit with much new to consider. Thirty locations scattered across the country from coast to coast. Wayman cringed at the thought that each held an underground shelter like the one he had just left. Who would be taking refuge in them? And, more importantly, what would they be taking refuge from?
The answers, perhaps, would be at his next stop. Bullets still marking him from the rear, the Timber Wolf churned his legs faster through the woods.
Chapter 23
“IN PREPARATION FOR OUR landing in Miami, please extinguish all smoking materials and make sure all seatbacks and tray tables are in their upright, locked positions… .”
The view of the night lights surrounding Miami International created a brief surge of security through Drew. He had made it this far. Yet, it meant nothing, for there was still so far to go if the killers of his grandmother were to be brought to justice.
He stowed the small airline bag under the seat before him reluctantly after clutching it close through the duration of the flight, never letting it leave his lap. Inside was the bag of white powder he’d extracted from the apartment in downtown Nassau.
The final minutes prior to landing brought it all back to him, everything since his leap off Paradise Island Bridge had led to a chilling swim to Cable Beach. He reached the sand cold and uncomfortable, shivering from fear as much as the night waters. First, the natives had tried to kill him, then the giant with the hook for a hand. In both cases he had narrowly escaped death. Having time to consider that reality made the fear even worse. He had walked down Cable Beach toward his hotel, longing only for a hot shower and relief from the deep scratches along his back and chest inflicted by the hook. Then reason broke in, the practical considerations of the situation at once before him.
On Potters Cay the yellow-eyed leader had told him that a bag of the white powder was located in the kitchen of his apartment under a set of false floorboards. By tomorrow the apartment would certainly be under watch. He had to act now while the opposition was in disarray if he wanted to obtain the mysterious powder. And the powder had to be the key, he saw that now, the key to everything both he and Trelana were after. There was more than drugs involved here; there had been all along.
Steeling himself to the task, he returned to the run down section of Nassau where the apartment was located. His memory eluded him for a time, but it came back well before panic set in. He located the small shop that formed the apartment front, but waited several minutes before entering, worried that more of the local men, like the bald-headed big one, might be inside. At last he entered with his breath held to find the apartment deserted. It took only a few moments to locate the false floorboards and the bag of powder beneath them.
Of course, the problem then became one of getting off the island. The enemy knew him and where he was staying. They would be watching for him, waiting for him to leave an opening in his strategy they could seize. He needed a plan, a means of safe flight.
The answer came to him with surprising ease. The enemy’s only means of picking him up again was waiting for his return to the hotel so, quite simply, he wouldn’t go back. He found an all-night shop in downtown Nassau where he purchased a change of shirt, a pair of sandals to replace the shoes useless to him since he’d lost one, bandages and antiseptic for his wounds, and a tote bag to store his white powder. From there he checked into the smallest motel he had passed and left a call for seven A.M.
He called Trelana’s contact number before retiring to report that he would be coming in the next day. His instructions were to call again upon arriving in Miami. Plans would be detailed to help him reach safety. The white powder, whatever it was, was not mentioned.
Drew similarly figured that the airports would be under close watch, so he ruled out planes as a means of exit—at least planes that departed from Nassau. Freeport was another matter. The next morning a taxi deposited him at the main Nassau pier where boats were chartered. By eight-thirty A.M. he was settled beneath the hot sun on a pleasure yacht with nine other people bound for Freeport.
It was a long trip but a safe one, and Drew reached Freeport only to make straight for the airport and the next available flight to Miami. It took off just before eight P.M. Finally, he was on his way, his suitcases abandoned at the Cable Beach Hotel since there was no way to safely retrieve them or have them forwarded. He was running short of the cash Trelana had provided him and he hoped that wouldn’t begin causing problems as well.
He would be arriving at Miami Airport at a busy enough time to have plenty of other travelers to use for camouflage. In any case there was no way the enemy could watch every flight from every terminal. The first pay phone he saw would be used to reach Trelana’s people and then he would be home free.
The flight had proved to be a difficult one. Even though he was physically exhausted, sleep eluded him. He should have felt happy, triumphant. Instead, all he could think of was his grandmother taking a similar flight dozens of times, believing on each of them that her suitcase was full of cocaine when in reality it had been something else that in the end had cost her life. Also haunting him was the fact that he had killed again in Nassau, pumped four bullets into one of the men on Potters Cay. The problem was that it didn’t bother him this time, and he felt that it should have. There had been no question of remorse after he killed the man in Too-Jay’s; that man had been trying to kill him. The same had been true in Nassau, except that Drew felt nothing for yet another man dead by his hand. Something was changing in him. He could feel it, but he couldn’t quite identify it.
Drew passed into the terminal building using the crowd of other passengers to shield him. Many broke off to head for those who had come to greet them and, smiling, Drew pretended to do the same. He never looked back as he followed the arrows directing him toward the baggage claim area and ground transportation. There was a bank of phones up ahead. All the way, he kept his gaze down, afraid to meet the stares of anyone he passed for fear of what their eyes might tell him.
At last he reached the phones. He slid the coins into the proper slots with his flight bag still clutched tight.
“Hello,” said a male voice. He wasn’t sure if it was the same one he had spoken to from the motel last night or not. The connection then had been poor.
“It’s Jordan.”
“We’ve been waiting for your call. Everything’s all set. We’ll meet you in one hour. Greynolds Park in North Miami. Do you know it?”
“No.”
“Then listen. As you enter there’s a pond to the right and a straight road leading down to a building. Walk halfway down the road. Across the way, beyond a median and another road, there are woods. We’ll have a car parked just within them. It will flash its lights twice. Got that?”
“Sure.”
“That’s the signal that it’s safe to approach. If the lights don’t flash, stay away. That’s key.”
“What about Mr. Trelana? I’d like to speak with him.”
The speaker hesitated. “You’ll be talking to him from a phone in the car in an hour. It’s the best we can do.”
Let’s hope it’s enough, Drew almost said.
The ride to Greynolds Park by cab took longer than expected, at least ten minutes over the alloted hour, with those final minutes nagging at Drew to the point of desperation. What if Trelana’s people left the park when he was late? How could he
know what to expect from them?
With that question in mind, he had left his flight bag containing the white powder in a locker at Miami International. If all went well, it would be no problem to retrieve it. If all didn’t go well …
He had the cab leave him at the entrance and strolled past the park name plate inside. The park was built on a downhill grade and Drew was immediately conscious of his shoes making too much noise atop the road, so he moved out onto the center grade of grass. The park was lit by only a few sporadically placed lamps, but the full moon more than made up for that. He could see the stone fence off to his right, which looked out over the pond. To his left beyond another road and large plane of grass lay the woods where Trelana’s people, he hoped, still lay in wait. Drew kept walking.
Footsteps somewhere around him made him dive and hug the ground, stilling even his breathing. A figure dressed in dark clothes, features indistinguishable, was walking across the median, head swinging from side to side, obviously looking for something or somebody. Drew stayed as he was, frozen, unsure of what his next move could or should be if the figure spotted him. He could jump up now and signal for help from the car. If they could get to him before the figure—No, that was too risky. Better to bide his time silently.
The figure had reached the other side of the median strip now, halfway between Drew and the expected location of Trelana’s car. Damn! But wait. One of the few lights caught the figure’s face. It was a boy, late teens probably, in the park for who knew what reason. He was looking for someone, yes, but obviously not Drew. And he was no professional, or he wouldn’t have given himself away so easily. Drew relaxed, raised himself into a crouch en route to regaining his feet.
The boy was still walking, across the parallel road into the grass plane fronting the woods. Drew was walking again now, too.
A pair of headlights flashed twice, drawing Drew’s attention. The boy saw them and turned toward them, shielding his eyes from their sudden brightness. Still approaching, Drew heard the whine of car doors opening. They think he’s me, he realized, and picked up his pace.
Then the gunfire began, a pair of staccato bursts accompanied by a series of loud individual reports. Drew froze in his steps. Before him, the boy’s body was pitched backward as bullets slammed into him again and again. The body spasmed, jerked.
Drew started to back away as, high beams still on, a limousine came forward out of the trees flanked by gun-toting men on either side. Their handiwork needed to be checked. The muscles in Drew’s stomach knotted. One look at the corpse and they would know they had shot the wrong person.
Shot? These were Trelana’s men. They were supposed to be on his side. What had gone wrong?
Don’t run. Get low and move slow!
Drew turned and obeyed his own command. The limo’s high beams found him at the same moment that the gun-wielding men realized their error. There was a shout and the gunfire started up again, this time aimed at him.
Drew turned and ran, all thoughts of a concealed escape vanquished. Car doors slammed and the limo screeched forward with high beams locking on him and guns clacking continuously.
Drew’s eyes focused on the stone fence that lay up a grade of turf before him. Beyond it lay the pond and potential safety. No other chance he could see. At least this way the limo couldn’t follow him even if the bullets of the men within it could.
The big car was breathing down his neck when he hit the upward grade. The sudden narrowing of the gap must have thrown the shooters’ aim off because their bullets came no closer even at this distance. The stone fence was almost within reach.
I’m going to make it, Drew thought.
Then his feet slipped out from under him. He went down and started to slide, the limo roaring closer, just over him, an angry beast ready to pounce.
Drew found his feet, reached up to grab the stone fence, and threw his legs forward in the same instant. The limo’s engine shook his ears, revving high and sprewing gas fumes, lunging for him at the last as it raced up the final stretch of the grade.
Drew was airborne an instant before its grill smacked into the stone fence, compressing its front end and sending its passengers hurling about the inside. Pieces of rock spewed outward, plopping into the water even before Drew landed with a splash. The water was shallow, but he managed to avoid injury upon impact with the bottom, more shaken than anything but still possessing enough control to begin a quiet swim toward the other side, doing his best to stay underwater and fighting against the temptation to gaze back.
If any of the gunmen from the limo saw him, he was dead. No sense, then, in considering anything but the warm, murky water before him.
Drew kept swimming.
Chapter 24
ELLIANA AWOKE SLOWLY to the throbbing of her head. Her mind lagged and she struggled for control over her thoughts and memories.
Men had been chasing her. She’d been shot, had plunged down a deep gulley, and come face to face with her pursuers.
I must be dead, she thought.
But then her eyes cleared and she found a figure robed in black and white standing before the bed in which she rested.
“We were starting to worry about you,” said the female figure in Spanish.
“Where am I?”
“Nuestra Senora de Queralt,” the figure told her. “Our Lady of Queralt Chapel.”
Ellie gazed around her. The walls of the small room were barren. A single table holding a lamp and water dish rested near the bed. A crucifix lay suspended over the heavy oak door. The woman at the foot of the bed was a nun.
“In the woods,” Ellie started, forcing the words through her parched mouth. “I remember. I fell and when I looked up, I saw you.”
“Not me,” the sister corrected. “Three others from our order. I am Sister Catrina. Who are you?”
“Trust me when I say it’s better you don’t know. You’ve already endangered yourselves by helping me. That’s enough.”
“God is with us, child. Our walls serve as sanctuary. Everyone is safe here.”
“No, you don’t understand. No one is safe, not anywhere. Not from them.”
Sister Catrina moved to the night table and began squeezing water from a cold compress. “You’ve had a terrible experience. You’ve lost blood and you’ve suffered a slight concussion. Rest. Relax.” And she settled the compress across Ellie’s forehead.
“How did the others find me?”
“They were out walking when they heard the shots.”
“And they didn’t run immediately back here to the chapel?”
“Someone might have been in need, child. Helping those in trouble is the essence of our order.”
“Well,” said Elliana, “I certainly fit there. What about my wounds?”
“We have all had training as nurses. A bullet passed straight through your shoulder. We’ve packed and bandaged it. The loss of blood worried us and you’re still very pale. Besides numerous cuts and lacerations and bruises, the worst of your injuries was to your ankle—a sprain, we think. We’ve kept it packed in ice.”
“Wait a minute, how long have I been here?”
“Since Thursday night. Today is Saturday.”
Ellie sat up quickly and the compress slid down to her chest. “My God, I’ve lost a whole day. I’ve got to get out of here.”
Sister Catrina restrained her at the shoulders. “Easy, child. You’re in no condition to travel.”
“They’ll know I’m here by now. They could attack any time.”
“Attack? Here? Child, what are you saying?”
“You’re all in grave danger because of me. You’ve got to get me out of here and erase any evidence of my presence. Please trust me, Sister.”
“This is a chapel. Our walls are holy, sacred.”
“And soon to be splattered with blood if I’m not out of here quickly. Just get me some clothes. And my gun if you were able to find it.”
Sister Catrina seemed unmoved. “If these men are as stron
g as you say, what chance would you stand against them?”
“I’ve gotten this far.”
“With two good legs and two firm shoulders.” Then, “Who are these men?”
“An order, Sister, based in evil instead of holiness. The only deity they worship is power and they won’t stop until all of it belongs to them.”
Sister Catrina looked at her. “You can’t make it alone.”
“You’ve done enough for me already. I can’t endanger you further.”
“We’ve worked too hard keeping you alive to let you foolishly sacrifice yourself. You must let us help you.”
“I suppose you’ve got a plan worked out as well.”
Sister Catrina smiled for the first time. “As a matter of fact, I might.”
The scrambled transatlantic phone line could not hide the displeasure in the voice of the leader of the Council of Ten or prevent Corbano from being chilled by its intent.
“Mistakes are not tolerated by us, Mr. Corbano, and you have made far too many.”
“Things have happened I couldn’t have foreseen.”
“None of which could have anything to do with your failure to dispose of Jordan in the park last night.”
“I explained that. My men mistook another figure for him. He ran, escaped. But his routes are limited and we are watching them.”
“Perhaps that is the same reason you failed to report Jordan’s presence in Nassau to us.”
“I had no idea he would make contact with your men there. Matters were under control.”
“Apparently not. Not then, and not now. I find myself growing tired of your assurances. Meanwhile, Jordan has caught on to the truth of the powder as a result. We believe he is now in possession of a sample of it.”