by Matt Lincoln
“We’ll see. Thanks, Tomás,” I called.
“Good luck. Forde out.”
Holm put Three Waves Beach on my GPS and then dialed Ramsey.
“What is happening that I don’t want to know about?” Diane barked. “Because you’d only be calling if you’re in trouble.”
“I’m not in trouble,” I protested. “I’m getting out of trouble.”
“Dammit, Ethan! What do you need?”
“Have Cyber wipe our car rentals so they can’t trace us—oof!” I rounded a rough corner and hit a curb. “Both cars.”
“What did you do?”
“We didn’t do anything,” I told her. “Someone shot at the other car, and a couple of little old ladies ratted me out.”
“I suppose you need everyone’s prints to mysteriously not be in the database?” she continued.
“Yes, ma’am. Please,” Holm hollered. “Luci and Emily, too. They’re in the other car with Muñoz and Birn.”
“And then I get to play nice with the Royal Police Commissioner?”
“I owe you, Diane. You’re the best!” I signaled Holm to end the call before she could ream me out.
Three Wave Beach was close yet a pain to get to. We went through a neighborhood with houses built almost on top of each other. People sat on front stoops and watched the world pass. Some stared at us as we rolled down the street, not too fast, not too slow. Other cars passed through, but our black Land Rover stood out like, well, a Land Rover among Corollas.
“They’re noticing,” Holm grumbled. “When the cops come by, they’ll point the way.”
I pulled over and waved the nearest folks over and pulled out my wallet. Holm groaned and followed suit. It was part of the job, and it was MBLIS’s money, but it still hurt. We did have a budget.
“Here’s a hundred dollars US if you promise to tell the police you didn’t see us,” I told them. “Have a block party on me?”
“How do I know you’re not criminals?” An older woman crossed her arms. “We have a neighborhood watch against de baddies.”
“We’re doing some good things here, and the police will only help the bad guys if they catch us.” I pulled some cash from Holm’s fist. “A hundred fifty. I promise we’re trying to save some innocent people.”
She glared at me and turned to discuss with neighbors.
“Hell of a chance you’re taking,” Holm muttered. “All it takes is one person to tell.”
“She’d find out,” I told him. “Every neighborhood has a grapevine. Anyone turns on us, they’ll have her to deal with.”
She returned, flanked by a pair of tough-looking teens. They walked around the Land Rover, kicked the tires, and signaled for me to pop the hood. I waited.
“Two hundred,” she informed me. “Two hundred, and we’ll send dat rich-person car to de chop shop.” She grinned. “Not that I know about such t’ings.” She looked back at the boys and leaned in close. “Mr. Wright has a deal wit’ us to help his friends. He call ten minutes ago.”
“That’s why we were sent this direction.” I grinned and looked at Holm. “Guess our Land Rover disappeared when we left the keys in it.”
He shook his head. “Rolling with the tide, my friend. Rolling with the tide.”
33
Emily kneeled on the front seat and leaned through the opening between the driver and passenger seats to help Luci tug at Lamarr’s arm. The Corolla bounced over bumps in the road, and he grunted each time. He tried twisting with no success. When that didn’t work, Emily pulled back and sat back into her seat. She found the lever under the seat and tried to scoot forward only to find that it was jammed.
Sylvia’s phone buzzed, and Emily put it on speaker.
“This is Inspector Forde. I must speak with the driver.”
“That’s me,” Sylvia yelled. “We don’t have pursuers, but there are a lot of people looking at us funny.”
“There is a farm where you can hide.” Forde’s voice was tinny and barely audible. “I’ll send coordinates to your phone. There is a barn. Park inside and someone will be by within an hour or two. This is the best I can do.”
“It’s the only offer we got,” Sylvia answered. “We’ll take it. Have them bring a medical kit. Birn is hurt.”
“I will do my best.”
“Thank you, Inspector.”
The directions popped up on the phone. Emily called them out to Sylvia until they were on a rural road with little traffic. A dip in the road turned out to be at the end of a driveway, which led behind a row of trees. Sylvia eased the little car over bumps and around holes as best as she could, but poor Lamarr took the brunt of it anyway.
They pulled up to what looked more like a large shed than a barn. It was enough, though, and Emily hopped out to slide the door open. Luci got out of the car, but Emily gave another tug that got it going on its rollers. They ran in to check the space.
“Do you see any light switches?” Emily asked Luci as Sylvia crept the car towards them. “We need to close that door as soon as she’s in.”
Luci checked the walls opposite of where Emily searched and found a string-pull bulb in the small loft at the taller end of the structure. Sylvia turned the headlights on, and Emily still didn’t find other sources of light.
“Leave the headlamps on,” she called to Sylvia as she ran back to the entrance. “There aren’t other lights.”
Sylvia killed the motor but left the lights on. She went to check on Lamarr, and Luci ran back to Emily to help slide that door closed. By the time they closed out the rest of the daylight, Sylvia’s phone started ringing. She checked the caller ID, put it on speaker, and handed it to Emily.
“It’s us,” Sylvia answered. “Where are you, Marston?”
“I’ll explain in a minute. What’s your status?”
“Your friend sent us to a barn,” Sylvia told him. “Just a sec, Marston. Em, turn the phone’s flashlight on and shine it here.”
“How’s Birn?” he demanded.
Marston’s remote voice penetrated the stillness Emily felt in the barn’s dusty air. She got the phone’s light in as close as she could while allowing Sylvia room to help Lamarr.
“I’ll be fine,” he groaned. “Just get me out of this damned car. My legs are cramping up.”
Lamarr’s hunched-over form hurt to look at. Emily bit her lip as she looked for a way to unstick their gentle giant.
He never should have gotten into the backseat of the small car. His right knee was caught in the door frame, his left knee was lodged in the back of the front passenger seat, and his right shoulder was wedged against the rear of the frame. Emily reasoned that if the cushion below him gave a couple more inches, it would take the pressure off his shoulder.
“Do you have a knife?” she asked the agents. “I think I can cut him loose.”
Sylvia frowned. “I have Marston’s SEAL knife in the trunk…”
“Yes, you do,” Ethan said. Emily had forgotten about him for a moment. “The Ka-Bar will cut through anything. I mean anything, Emily. Be damned sure you know where to cut.”
Sylvia popped the trunk and retrieved the weapon. Emily slid the knife from its sheath. Its black blade was smooth-edged two-thirds of the way back, until the serration before the equally black hilt and handle. A shiver went through her body. This was the first time she really thought about what it meant to know Ethan had been a SEAL, not to mention his current job.
“Where are you?” Sylvia asked.
“We got help from Alvin Wright, of all people,” Ethan reported. “We’re getting transport back to the hotel. As far as we can tell, nobody’s identified us. Our cover’s still in place.”
“Okay, I’m glad,” Emily blurted. “Sylvia, can we end that call now? I have to concentrate so I don’t cut Lamarr.” She took a breath. “Ethan, we’ll let you know when we have a plan. ‘kay, thanks, bye.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Ethan sounded part confused and part amused. “Do that. We’ll be waiting. If we don’
t hear soon, we’re going to go get you.”
“Copy that,” Sylvia said and ended the call.
Emily knelt next to Lamarr and took a couple of deep breaths. The idea was simple, but holding that particular knife was nerve-racking. She couldn’t help wondering how much blood it had drawn. Well, she wasn’t going to let it draw blood while she used it.
“Do you want me to do it?” Sylvia offered.
“It’s okay. I’m making sure I don’t cut Lamarr.”
“I appreciate that,” he rumbled.
All she had to do was cut enough material and stuffing to give the poor guy a couple of inches to move, but there were only two to three inches of the seat open beneath his thigh. She pushed the tip through the fabric and felt little resistance. Carefully tracing the line of Lamarr’s thigh, she sliced sideways. Sylvia reached in and ripped the fabric back so Emily could get to the high-density foam.
Emily sliced through as much as she could without endangering Lamarr. She blew foam bits off of Ethan’s knife and resheathed it. She set it in the trunk with the other gear and went back to the issue at hand.
“The springs are still pushing him up,” Emily pointed out. She stood and looked around the barn. “Are there any boards laying around? We could use one to push the springs over.”
“You gonna MacGyver this?” Sylvia grinned as Emily rolled her eyes. “I mean, I like the way you’re thinking. We gotta make this quick, though.”
Luci ran behind the car and into a dark room. Emily had lost track of what she’d been doing, and she turned to find Luci returning with a two-by-four. Emily felt like they were finally seeing the real, industrious Luci, and that helped lift her mood.
“I saw it before the barn door closed,” Luci told them. “There are old tools in there, too.”
The board was a good six feet long. Each of the women got a grip on it and shoved it into the seat. Lamarr braced his body to keep from pinning the board as the first row of springs gave way.
“I feel them moving,” he said. “Just a bit more, and I think that’ll do it.”
Emily felt the springs give. The trick was to keep them from snapping back into place, but it seemed to not be a problem, as Lamarr eased down.
“Pull the board,” he ordered.
They slid the board out, and Lamarr sank lower than he started. Emily watched with something approaching glee as his shoulder worked free into the car. He leaned back inside, which freed his right leg. His left leg followed out of the car. Lamarr grabbed the top of the door frame and pulled. He emerged from the Corolla and landed on his butt while panting. Sylvia knelt next to him.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted. “If I hadn’t made you sit in the back, this wouldn’t have happened. I knew it was too small.”
“It’s okay. I had it coming.” He picked at his shirt around the gunshot wound. “The getting stuck part. Not this part.”
With Sylvia’s help, Lamarr lifted his shirt above the hole in his side.
“Barely a graze.” Sylvia breathed out a heavy sigh. “You scared me, Birn.”
Emily had never seen a fresh gunshot wound. She felt a little guilty about being a voyeur, but Birn flashed a big smile.
“Most people don’t want to look,” he told her. “And yeah, it burns like hell. But look, it’s only oozing. No big arteries, no organs. Like Sylvia said, I got lucky this time.”
There wasn’t much to see. Two holes, one more like a long burn, and some swelling between. Sylvia fetched an orange first aid duffle from the trunk.
“I’ll patch him up while we wait.” She began to work on him as Luci wandered away and looked around the barn. “I don’t want to stay too long. We need to get back without being seen, though.”
Emily held the phone flashlight for Sylvia’s repair work until the battery notification popped up. Sylvia finished up her work and slapped on a bandage. Lamarr winced but held tight.
“That’s for making me worry,” Sylvia’s brow wrinkled as she scolded him. “It’s also for what you did earlier.”
His jaw dropped. “You apologized for punishing me in the car. Now you’re mad again?”
“Okay, spill,” Emily demanded. “What is this thing you two are going on about? You’re driving me crazy with it.”
Sylvia glowered at him. “He tricked me into eating starfruit.”
Emily blinked. “What?”
“It was kind of funny,” Lamarr said. He cleared his throat and looked away from Sylvia and Emily. “But it was wrong.”
“Are you allergic to it?” Emily couldn’t imagine Lamarr doing something stupid like that. “Are you okay?”
Sylvia waved a hand. “Nah, I just hate it, and he knows it. That and coconut. Two nasty flavors. He cut it up and mixed it with the fruit salad that we took outside.” She glared hard at her partner. “Special Agent Mud Birn distracted me by pointing out the different fruit trees. And I ate that shit.”
“Dude.” Emily shook her head at Birn.
It would’ve gone on, except the phone rang.
“Charger!” Sylvia cried. “Find a charger.”
Luci dug through the car’s console and glove boxes while Emily checked the trunk. Meanwhile, Sylvia spoke on the phone in a quiet voice… and then she wasn’t quiet.
“Dammit,” she swore. “The phone died. Forde is coming to get us himself. Said he’s driving a black Nissan Patrol. No idea what time, but it’s something, at least.”
Twenty minutes later, someone knocked at the barn’s door. Sylvia and Lamarr drew their guns and pointed at the opening. Using his good arm, Lamarr shifted the door open a hair, enough to see Forde’s smiling face. Lamarr holstered his gun and allowed the inspector inside. Sylvia did a perimeter check before rejoining them in the barn.
“It is so good to see everyone,” Forde announced once Sylvia returned. “Agent Birn, I hear you were injured, and yet, you are up and about. I trust the injury was minor?”
“Flesh wound. I’ve had worse.” He peered outside at Forde’s Nissan. “Hey, y’all, I am calling shotgun this time.” A wry grin spread cheek to cheek. “Pun intended. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Forde stripped the car’s plates, and Sylvia and Emily moved the MBLIS gear and pirate diary page to the Nissan. In the end, Emily hesitated as she lowered the Ka-Bar into the rear storage area. She felt an urge to stay connected to it, which was ridiculous. She and Luci had three law enforcement types to protect them.
And yet, Emily didn’t feel safe at all.
34
The folks who helped us hide the Land Rover didn’t share their names, not that I blamed them. They were like a neighborhood watch, only they were risking their asses to help a couple of guys who were running from the police.
In the unnamed neighborhood with unnamed friends of Alvin Wright, we waited out the reports of police scouring the area for two nondescript white men in a black Land Rover.
The woman who brought us in only said to call her “Nan.” She monitored police frequencies from a stuffy room upstairs. There were laptops and other pieces of equipment around the room. They also had a walk-in closet with clothing in different styles and sizes. We ended up changing into more casual wear and leaving what we’d worn that day in exchange. On a whim, I added a Panama hat similar to the one Wright seemed to favor.
“Do you work with Wright a lot?” I asked her when we were shown up to her space.
“He can answer dat himself,” she answered. “Just you know this: We are de good guys. Wright says you are good, and dat is enough.”
The danger seemed to pass after about forty-five minutes. She sent a young woman to fetch a driver and car to take us to the hotel.
“Dey won’t take you straight back,” Nan explained. “The people we work against, they watch t’ings like dey hawks.”
“What do you fight against?” Holm asked. He wandered around the room and managed not to touch anything sensitive, like the three-ring binders I was dying to check. “Anything specific? We have resourc
es…”
Nan’s smile was both generous and forbidding. I never saw a person before or since who managed that.
“Dat is our business, sonny.” She patted his upper arm. “You have a big heart, but we have our roles, and you have yours.”
I couldn’t resist a bit of a nudge. “She’s saying keep your nose out so you don’t learn anything a law officer shouldn’t know.”
Holm gave a dramatic sigh and broke into a laugh. “I saw nothing, and I couldn’t tell you a thing about what happens to vanished cars on this island.”
“Dat’s a good man,” Nan announced. She pointed to the stairs. “And that’s a good boy, almost a man. He’s our best driver. Call him ‘Zippy’ if you like. Make sure he doesn’t get a scratch on dat car, yeah?”
Holm looked at me and burst into laughter. That guy laughed entirely too much. Oh well, I signed up for this.
“What’s so funny?” Zippy asked from the stairs. “I’m not gon’ hurt that car. Haven’t yet. I worked too hard on it, yeah.”
“Nan sounded like our boss,” Holm said, “only she warned this guy against scratching her new toy instead of yours.”
“I haven’t had a chance to scratch it,” I insisted.
Zippy took us down to the street, where a tangerine, tricked-out Mitsubishi Lancer JDM with heavily tinted windows waited. I’d vaguely noticed the colorful car culture, but this was the first enthusiast’s car we’d been close to.
“Dis is ma baby.” He spread his arms out in pride. “Nan tells me not a scratch, but it is mine. If I scratch de car, I fix it.”
“I wish I had time to check out the car scene,” Holm admitted. The wistful sigh reminded me of more than a few off-base road excursions that could’ve gotten us thrown in the brig… if we’d been caught. “I had a Lancer Evo back in high school.”
Zippy brightened as he unlocked the car. “Yeah? What year was it?”