Sins of the Fatherland (Scott Jarvis Investigations Book 6)

by Scott Cook

  “Three Marines,” Santino said, tapping his chest, “You can take the man out of the Corps, but never the Corps out of the man.”

  I paced back and forth and grumbled dark things that I hope they didn’t hear.

  “Come on, skipper,” Clay prodded, “What’s the plan?”

  I threw up my hands, “For cryin’… okay, fine! But if you get hurt or killed, Clay… Missy will have my ass…”

  “What’re you afraid of her?” Clay jibed, “she’s like half your size.”

  I scoffed, “she’s a mom. They have powers. By the way, Clay Delaney, this is Gregorio Santino.”

  The two men shook hands and Clay grinned, “I’ve read a bit about you.”

  “It’s all lies,” Santino said, “Except the true parts.

  Conklin laughed and popped his trunk and began rummaging through a large gym bag, “We all get the same weapon. A sig Sauer 9mm. Same weapon, same ammo so it makes us easily interchangeable.”

  “See?” Clay poked me, “not half bad having some military guys around, huh?”

  I only growled.

  “Now… each weapon is equipped with a sound suppressor and thermal scope,” Conklin said, passing the pistols out, “there’s a mag already loaded and I’ll give each of us two extras. Should be plenty.”

  “Christ,” I said, “should be enough to storm Omaha Beach.”

  “What can you tell us, Gregorio?” Conklin asked when all the gear was distributed.

  Santino pulled a slip of paper from his pocket, “Four men. Names are Roberts, Billings, yashim and Bin-Kazar.”

  “Hmm…” Clay said, “Sounds like that terrorist connection you mentioned might be confirmed, Chuck.”

  “There are about a dozen buildings,” Santino said, waving a hand at the property across the street, “A main entrance back toward the main road, which is overseen by a guard shack. This one here across from us is exit only. Once inside, we go to the right. They’re in building twelve, also called Warwick.”

  I chuckled. I’m from Warwick, Rhode Island.

  “Good,” Conklin said, “Now here’s—“

  ”I’ll be calling the shots, thank you so very deeply,” I said firmly.

  “See, he’s the skipper,” Clay said.

  “Pretty uppity about it,” Conklin added.

  “Somebody’s got to be the captain,” Santino added, “Might as well be the guy who likes to rush in where angels fear to tread.”

  “Yeah,” Clay said, “Guess that means we gotta start making lots of wise cracks like our fearless leader, too.”

  “And snuggling up to hot chicks,” Conklin pointed out with a raised finger.

  “Sounds nice,” Santino said.

  “Hey I’ve met your wife,” Conklin told Santino and then turned to Clay, “And yours… you guys are fine in that department.”

  “We’re all gonna fuckin’ die…” I grumped.

  They laughed.

  “Two teams,” I said, “Clay and me, Charles and Gregorio. We go in and split up so as to evade any security. Make our way to Warwick—“

  “Isn’t there an R in Warwick?” Clay needled.

  “You’re on report, Corporal,” I cranked, “Anyway… we make our way to building twelve and we go together to room…”

  “Six oh-four,” Santino said, wracking the slide on his weapon, “Top floor.”

  “Okay,” I said, “Let’s move.”

  “Who goes first?” Clay asked in a slightly louder than conversational tone.

  “Jesus!” I hissed, “We’re trying to be all stealthy and stuff.”

  “Oh!” he said loudly.

  I could hear Conklin and Santino chuckling as they moved ahead of us.

  “It’s gonna be a long night…”I muttered.

  The exit only access was no problem for the four of us. It was designed to keep vehicles from entering after all. It was simple for us to walk across the spike plate and under the barrier arm. Once inside, Conklin and Santino went left and Clay and I went right, arcing away from one another and making our way through the crowded parking lot.

  I marveled at how full the parking lots were. There didn’t seem to be one open space in the entire complex. Sure, it was just after three a.m., but still… of course, it made for plenty of hiding places, which came in handy not two minutes after we’d crossed the exit.

  “Victor Charlie!” Clay hissed, pointing to our left.

  A golf cart was heading toward us on the main pathway through the lots. We quickly ducked down behind a minivan and peered at the occupant. The driver passed near a parking light and we saw a heavy set balding man at the wheel of the cart. The cherry of a cigarette glowed from beneath a classic seventies porn mustache.

  “Victor Charlie?” I poked.

  Clay shrugged, “Seen it in a movie one time. What would you call him?”

  “A tango,” I stated, “Ain’t that what you army guys say?”

  Clay chuffed and punched me lightly in the arm for daring to call a Marine an Army guy, “I got your Army guy, dangling low, buddy.”

  “Your mom’s an Army guy…” I needled.

  We both tittered under our breaths as best we could. The juvenile banter was a long standing tradition in combat scenarios. It gave the warriors a way to ease their tensions and create unit cohesion through good-natured ribbing.

  “Okay… as soon as Barney Fife passes,” I whispered to Clay, “We cross the street and move up the main sidewalk. Looks like plenty of cars parked along it for cover.”

  “Why don’t we just walk in plain sight?” Clay asked as we waited, “Sure it’s late, but people do stay out late in Orlando.”

  “Its better not to draw attention to ourselves,” I explained, “Why risk a confrontation if we don’t have to. Kinda figured you’d know that already, Rambo.”

  He grinned at me, “I do. Just testin’ ya’.”

  “Turd.”

  The vigilant security guard drove past on his merry way and we low-ran across the lot and up onto the main walk. We then fast walked along the curving sidewalk toward the end of the row of buildings and didn’t see the guard again.

  The residential buildings of the resort were six stories tall and shaped into a U. The U formed a small courtyard onto which all the open walkways looked. At the center of the U was a small tower-like structure that housed the elevator and fire stairs. Santino and Conklin were waiting at the elevator for us.

  “What took you guys?” Conklin asked playfully.

  “We almost got nailed by the golf cart Gestapo,” Clay offered.

  “A real nail biter,” I said, “I think I peed a little.”

  Santino shook his head and pressed for the elevator. We rode up in silence, using the confinement to clear our weapons and ready them. At the sixth floor, we stepped out and turned left.

  Six oh four was situated at the end of the main walkway and into an alcove. This was a lucky break, as it meant that four men huddled together outside one of the rooms would be less noticeable by any prying eyes.

  “Here you go, Scott,” Conklin said, handing me a small drawstring pouch.

  “What’s this?” I asked, opening it.

  “You’re supposed to be good at this sort of thing,” Conklin said, “Y’know… breaking into locked places and such.”

  “Seems a strange skill for a good guy,” Clay teased, “Guy who’s not supposed to lie or cheat or steal.”

  “Only steals from baddies,” Conklin pointed out.

  Santino sighed, “My mother warned me that this would happen.”

  “Really?” Clay asked, “Your mom warned you that one day you’d be breaking into a hotel room with two other Marines and a private investigating novelist?”

  “Exactly,” Santino said, “Who’d have thought she’d hit the nail so square on this one.”

  I was just about to slide the two thin pieces of metal into the lock. I turned back to rib them when I saw that all signs of mirth had vanished. My three companions all had hard e
xpressions on their faces. Their weapons were all at the ready as well. Weapon hand at the shoulder and barrels pointed to the ceiling.

  I nodded in approval, “Get ready…”

  I got the lock pins all suppressed and the tumblers clicked into place. The bolt turned and the way was open to us.

  Chapter 23

  They were waiting for us.

  Or at least they were waiting for something. I don’t know how and I don’t know who tipped them off, but our four pigeons were not tucked neatly into their nests.

  I knew something was wrong the second the door was shoved in. There was light on inside the apartment and that just shouldn’t be.

  Conklin and I were crouched low, shoulder to shoulder with Clay behind me and Santino behind Charles. Santino had briefed us on the layout of the place, which helped.

  The unit went straight through from the front to the back windows in one large room. The only break was the partial wrap around kitchen countertop that segregated the kitchen from the dining and living area. To the left of the kitchen was the bathroom and to the left of the living room was the bedroom. The bedroom and the bath also joined together through a small separate alcove with a garden tub. Apparently you could open an adjoining door to the studio unit next to this one bedroom to create a larger two bed setup, which is exactly what our targets had done.

  Four men sat around the kitchen table playing cards. At the sound of the door banging open, they broke apart like leaves scattering in a sudden autumn wind.

  And that’s when the bullet started flying.

  Luckily the shooting angle from the table wasn’t great on the door. Charles and I dove headlong inside, he rolling into the small laundry area that was part of the head and me into the kitchen. I heard yelling and the impact of rounds shattering wood, drywall and chipping granite.

  “Down!” I hollered at Clay and Gregorio.

  Probably unnecessary, but I had to warn them regardless. I raised my gun hand over the counter and squeezed off four shots at random, trying to scatter the men and keep them from coming for us.

  Their weapons were silenced too, because there were no reports, only the sounds of impacts. These included bullets pinging off the stainless steel refrigerator behind me.

  I heard some rapid fire guttural words shouted in Arabic or Farsi or something. I couldn’t tell, except that it wasn’t the two Americans. That’s when two things happened at once that further complicated our lives.

  Moving like a panther with admirable speed, Santino dived through the door and rolled into the kitchen beside me. He leapt up and over me, his weapon in both hands and came up firing, straddling me as he lurched to his right toward the stove.

  A man screamed in pain and something metallic clattered to the tile ahead of me.

  Clay was right behind him, except that he made his way into the bathroom behind Charles.

  “Clear!” Charles shouted from my left.

  “Clear!” Gregorio shouted above me.

  I leapt to my feet and took in the scene before me. The dining room table and all four chairs had been upset and a man lay half across the pile and half on the area rug in front of the sofa. Conklin stepped out from the bedroom and gazed around and I saw his eyes lock onto the adjoining door, which was hanging open.

  “Shit!” he barked almost at the same time as me, “There’s one in here, Scott… we’re missing two!”

  “Fuck!” I growled, check that next room, I’ll check the walkway.

  I stepped back through the door and had one leg outside the doorway when four quick somethings spattered against the concrete outside and to my right making quick sparks.

  “Outside!” I shouted.

  I thought about firing blindly down the walkway but dismissed that idea immediately. I didn’t know who or what was out there and the thought that one of my shots might hit an innocent guest who just happened to poke their head out of their door made my stomach churn.

  Sometimes it wasn’t easy being the good guys.

  I heard the distant ding of the arriving elevator and crouched low to take a quick peek outside. I just had time to see a man lunge sideways into the open elevator door.

  “Be careful,” I ordered, “We’re missing maybe one. I’m going after number four!”

  As I rounded the doorframe and bolted toward the elevator, I heard a cry of pain coming from the open door to the next room. That’d be the final man. At least we’d gotten three of them. Of course, they could all be dead and this fourth guy was getting away. I couldn’t allow that.

  I tore the stairwell door open and plunged inside, my flight down the steps less a headlong rush than a controlled fall. The only thing that kept me from tripping over my own feet or slamming bodily into the wall at the bottom of each landing was my death grip on the railing.

  Fifth floor… fourth floor… third… second…

  I heard the ding just as I was rounding the halfway landing between the second floor and the ground floor. My quarry had beaten me. Not by much, though. I slammed into the push bar and the fireproof door banged outward. I didn’t go with it, though, managing to check my momentum on the wall beside the frame.

  A good thing too, because two bullets whined off the heavy steel door before I heard rapid footsteps retreating down the concrete walk.

  There were two walkways that merged on the outside of the elevator structure. My target had taken the one to the right so I took the left. I bolted out and around the corner, moving fast but quietly.

  I saw a shadowy figure running toward the parking lot only fifty feet ahead and I took off after him. The man was of middle height and lean and swift, too. I had to pour it on just to keep pace with him as he angled right and continued to run toward the center of the complex. He got a little ahead when he turned to the right and threw a quick shot from a side run in my general direction. I saw it coming and dove to my left, rolling partially on the grass before using my momentum to roll back onto my feet and continue the chase.

  I had no idea where the bullet had gone. It hadn’t lodged into my flesh, so that was something.

  Again, I knew that I couldn’t risk tossing a shot off like that. At a dead run, aiming was difficult, even at a target directly ahead of you. One false move and your bullet would sail wide and maybe hit a car or pass through a window and strike an innocent person. There was no way I could risk that.

  And I wanted him alive. Whoever this guy was, he had information I needed and I was intent on taking him breathing. At least for a time.

  He was maybe twenty-five yards ahead of me now, barreling down the sidewalk that curved slowly past the residential units. I felt like if I really gave it my all, I could catch up but I knew that’d take too much out of me and I’d have no breath left when I caught him.

  As it was, I was already having to consciously control my breathing. It was one thing to run four or five miles at a steady pace. It was another to sprint at top speed while weaving and bobbing around obstacles and curves. If this guy was a sprinter or a better runner than me, then he could get clean away. It was now a contest of stamina and willpower. Which one of us was the fitter. Which one had the better lungs. And which one more desperate.

  He reached the big circle that indicated the main public area of the resort. My man angled right again, evidently heading for the lobby or the pool area. I wasn’t sure if anything was open at this hour. Maybe the lobby. If so, what would he do?

  There was no choice. I reached down deep and dredged up that little extra boost. That final little nitro that I used to draw on to head for the end zone when I was receiving or in those moments when I was quarterbacking for Warwick Vets and got a chance to run the ball in myself.

  I was glad to see the little reserve was still there, now that I was a doddering old man of thirty-one.

  I was only twenty-five feet behind him when he rounded under the clubhouse portico and the automatic doors obediently slid open for him. I was close enough so that they hadn’t even begun to slide closed
when I reached them.

  And I’ll be damned if people weren’t milling about! Not many, it being four o’clock in the morning, but a few folks standing at the long reception desk to the right or leaning against one of the four big pillars with a pile of luggage at their feet.

  Sucked to have an early flight nowadays…

  There were bleats of surprise as the two of us blew past. A woman shrieked and called out a name. Maybe a son, maybe a husband, I had no idea. At least my man didn’t stop and try and capitalize on this development. He crashed into one of the rear doorways that led out onto the raised patio that overlooked the pool. I was right behind him, expecting the man to leap down the stairs and try to lose me in the confusion of lounge chairs, tables and cabanas eight feet below.

  As I burst through the door, which was still wide open from his passage, I was momentarily surprised to see… or not to see… my quarry. Where could he have gone in that second or two?

  My oxygen starved brain suddenly lit up with the answer and almost too late. I dove forward, tucking myself in so as not to kill myself when I struck the concrete ground. My pursuee had now become the pursuer. He landed on top of me and the two of us began a frantic rolling, jerking wrestling match that was more chaos than anything else.

  My opponent tried to wriggle on top of me, tried to sit on my back and grip me with his thighs while he aimed savage blows at my head. He got in one or two ineffective shots that probably hurt his hands more than me, but one good one did land on my ear. White light exploded behind my eyes and I roared in frustration.

  I got a knee and elbow under me and heaved, bucking him off and rolling to my right. We both came up at the same time, both of us on our knees and three feet apart. In the lights around the outdoor recreation area, I could see a man of about my age with thick curly black hair, heavy black brows that nearly met and a beard to match. His skin was dusky and he looked Middle Eastern. His eyes blazed as he came at me, a bloody grimace on his face.

  He obviously hadn’t faired all that well from our collision either.