by K D McNiven
Because of the chain-link fences topped with barbwire surrounding the warehouses, Rafiq had no other alternative but to subject himself to being seen, and he would be forced to cross the lot for a short distance in order to reach his vehicle. Aware of the detective and Dax close by, he tried to act nonchalant as he stepped out, ducked under the yellow perimeter tape, and slowly walked out from behind the warehouse.
Detective Brock spotted movement out of his peripheral vision, turning his head, he spotted Rafiq, who was trying to keep his face hidden, or so it appeared to Brock. By the way he carried himself, trying to hide face from being seen, he looked more than a little suspicious. More so, when he had ducked under the yellow tape where he was not allowed to cross. Brock was not one to profile, but under the severity of the situation, he deemed it wise to check the man out. Probably nothing, he concluded. Still…
“Hey!” Brock shouted walking toward Rafiq, his head cocked inquisitively to catch a glimpse of the man’s face.
Rafiq panicked. Without giving it thought, he started to run, spurring Brock to quicken his steps. Dax picked up his gate as well, following close on Brock’s heels as he began to give chase.
Instinctively, Dax’s hand reached for his shoulder holster, withdrawing his Glock 26 handgun. Instantaneously, Rafiq pulled out his pistol, tucked into his waistband, and trained it on them, releasing a round of fire in their direction.
Brock and Dax hit the pavement, crawling behind a long cement seat to steel themselves away from the rain of bullets. Taking aim as Rafiq slipped behind the corner of the warehouse still squeezing off several rounds of ammunition, Dax managed to cap off a few bullets as well, hearing it ping off the metal warehouse. As Rafiq leaned outward, Dax locked eyes for a nano-second with him, taking inventory of one another. Staring into cold, black eyes, an icy chill drove up his spine, the hairs on the back of his neck standing taut.
“Sure as hell hope you have a permit for that gun?” Brock said, his eyes focused on the warehouse.
“You’ll be happy to know I do.”
Brock rolled slightly outward, discharging his gun, and tucked back in just as several more shots sang past them. Immediately following, a moan slipped through Brock’s lips and his hand clenched his upper arm, his face pinched up in pain. When he withdrew his hand, it was smeared with blood.
Dax snatched a handkerchief from his rear pocket and tied it around Brock’s upper arm to clot the bleeding. He scanned the foreground trying to catch sight of the man who had ducked back behind the building. Before long, several shots peppered the cement seat where they were hunkered down, white powder and sediment spraying into their faces.
Dax blinked several times as the grit scratched against his cornea. He coughed a couple of times, passing a glance over his shoulder to inspect Brock. “Doing all right, Detective?”
“Been better,” came his gravelly voice. With fingers sticky with blood, Brock withdrew his cell phone and called for backup. Within minutes, they heard the sound of sirens blaring.
***
Callie and Karina were on their way to the waterfront to catch a ride out to the
Shark Eater when they heard an exchange of gunfire. They hunkered down and hurried toward the stairs. When another shot rang out, Callie pulled her revolver from her holster, holding it close in case she and Karina got caught in the crossfire.
Nearly ready to go down the stairs to the dock, Karina grabbed Callie’s shirt sleeve and gave it a quick yank. Callie’s head turned back. “What?”
“I think that’s Dax!” Karina stared at the two men stretched out behind a nearby bench, both men holding guns. What drew their attention was the sleek, black hair drawn back into a man bun. Dax wore his hair like that most of the time.
“Why don’t you go along to the dock? I’ll work my way that direction in case he needs extra man-power. Or in this case, woman-power,” Callie whispered.
“Not a chance, Callie. I’m going with you!”
Callie thought to squabble with her, only because she wasn’t armed with a gun, when a shot whizzed past them, striking the wooden railing less than a foot away, sending splinters soaring like a shotgun blast, through the humid air. They both dropped onto their stomachs, people screaming, scattering in every direction to avoid getting struck by one of the bullets. They heard the loud wailing of sirens nearly on top of them.
“The cavalry is here,” Callie said. “Let’s stay put and let them take care of this.” She slipped her gun back into her holster. No way did she want to lead the police into thinking she had something to do with the shooting.
Police swarmed around them, guns drawn. The gunfire had ceased, and Callie assumed whoever had been behind the shooting had long since taken off at the sight of reinforcements.
When the area looked clear, the two of them got to their feet and hurried over to where Dax and Brock were, a paramedic already tending to Brock’s arm when they rushed up beside them.
“Callie! Kat!” Dax exclaimed. “What the devil are you doing here?”
“Decker dropped us off. We were heading down to the waterfront to hitch a ride out to the Shark Eater when we heard the gunfire and spotted you. What’s going on?” Callie asked.
“Question of the day,” Dax said in his heavy Australian accent.
Straightaway, the paramedics heaved Brock onto a stretcher and started for the ambulance.
Dax turned from the women to see how Brock was managing. “Hang in there, Detective,” Dax said. “I’ll head up to the hospital to look in on you.”
“Thanks, Dax,” Brock replied. “The gun you discovered…will you see the police chief gets it? It needs to go to forensics ASAP.”
“Got it, mate.”
Once Brock was loaded into the ambulance, Dax stuffed the weapon sealed in plastic into his shirt and motioned for Callie and Kat to follow him. “I’ll see you to the dinghy,” he told them, “but I need to go fill out a report at the station and hand over evidence.”
“Evidence?” Karina repeated.
“I’ll explain it all later,” he told her.
As they made their way down to the docks, they climbed into the side boat. It was when Dax started to untie the ropes to head out, he spied Decker sprinting across the walkway waving his arms to gain his attention.
Decker nearly leaped down the steps and in long strides made his way over to them, his chest heaving. Hands on knees and slightly stooped, he took a second to catch his breath. When he did, he gave Dax a warm hug.
“Wondering if you were ever going to spot me,” Decker huffed. “I’ve been running like an ostrich to catch up to you.”
Dax laughed. “Good to see you again, Hayden. Climb aboard and we’ll catch up.” Dax determined he’d see the evidence got back to the station before the end of the day. Right now, he wanted to spend some time with Decker to find out what brought them to New Orleans.
The rumbling of the boat’s 75 hp engine rumbled in the air as Dax banked a sharp right, and headed back toward the moored ship. The bow bumped upward and dropping with a slap over the brown swells of the Mississippi until they butted up against the dive platform.
They walked and talked about old times while making their way to the lounge, the crew looking surprised to see the three new faces on board, and clamored around to greet them. It felt nostalgic having them back together again, considering the months that had passed. The atmosphere snapped with excitement.
“Now that we’re all here, Decker, why don’t you fill us in on what you found out,” Callie said, wanting to hear all the details.
“Where do I start?”
“The beginning, mate. And how did you meet up with Kat?”
“I’ll try and abbreviate it,” Decker replied. “I’m also curious to hear about what just transpired a moment ago along the docks.” Once they had sat down, Decker took a drink of coffee and shoved in a bite of the crumb cake he’d been served.
Still shaken from the incident earlier when he’d found Paul Cummings
hanging from the ceiling, Decker finally collected his thoughts and began filling in the crew on what they’d discovered in the vicinity of the Bermuda triangle.
“We had to ride out a wicked storm, and came close to breaking the Jade II into smithereens when we were tossed onto some rocks and became disabled,” he said. “The rocks were an over-sized seamount that had broken through the ocean surface, except that instead of being flat across the surface, it had formed into a ridge. Upon further investigating, we discovered scraps of metal and wood had fused in with the lava.”
“Sounds like a sci-fi clip,” Dax puzzled, rubbing his chin and leaning in to hear more. “I can’t even think of what would have caused that kind of peculiar phenomenon.”
“Tell me about it! We got the same reaction when we went to the National Weather Advisory Center, more or less. What we found mind-boggling, was the writing on one of the wings—though it was barely visible, and some of the letters were eaten away, we were still able to make out what it said…United States Air Force! Talk about a jaw-dropping moment,” Callie jumped in.
“Let me get this straight. You’re saying somehow planes and ships were electromagnetically disabled in the triangle and freakishly melded together in lava rock?” Dax stared in disbelief.
Decker shrugged. “It’s baffling, I know. Scientifically I’m stumped.”
“Stumped as well,” Dax admitted.
“Moving on…we managed to get the yacht repaired enough to return to Florida, where I reported what we’d discovered to the NWAC, and spoke with several meteorologists.”
“Did they have any answers?” Dax asked.
“Nothing definite,” Decker replied. “I’m not sure how it ties in, but a day later, I had government people following me and hanging out around our apartment. A couple of days later, I ordered some diving equipment from a dive shop near the wharf. Two items were missing, so I called the owner to let him know. I discussed our Bermuda escapade with him—not in detail, but the gist of it, and he told me to come to the store and he’d take care of the missing items…said he had something concerning the triangle incident he wanted to give to me.” Decker paused to take another sip of coffee, the whole nightmare still vivid in his mind. “When I arrived, I found Derrick dead from a gunshot blast to the chest. Whoever killed Derrick decided to take a few potshots at me. I got out as quick as possible, but someone pistol-whipped me and left me lying there. I ended up being taken to the hospital—thus enters Karina.”
“I’d read about the incident in the morning’s paper and high-tailed it to the hospital,” Karina said. “They were preparing to release him and since he seemed all right, I left shortly after. When I left, two men followed me. I couldn’t seem to lose them. Thankfully, after I made a call to Decker, Callie came sliding up to the curb and I jumped in. After we got to their apartment, we noticed a car posted outside.”
“I sneaked out of our apartment and returned to the warehouse,” Decker said. “I found an envelope with my name scrawled on it and inside was the name Paul Cummings who lived here in New Orleans.”
“Lived?” Callie’s brows arched. “Did he move?”
“Unfortunately, no. When I arrived, the door had been left ajar. I found Mr. Cummings hanging by a rope from the ceiling fan. Someone wanted it to look like suicide, though the chair he would have had to use was off too far across the room. Looked like a prop to make it appear he’d killed himself.”
“That gives me shivers up my spine. What have we walked into, Decker?”
Decker grabbed her slender fingers to reassure her. “I don’t know, Callie. I did a quick search through his study. Interestingly enough, I pulled out a file with the words: Bermuda Conspiracy Report scrawled across the face of it. I’m not a brainchild, but the numbers are starting to add up. When the violent storm occurred, and our boat got disabled, we saw evidence of some unnatural electromagnetic field. Something strange had occurred—but what is anyone’s guess.”
“What would the two murders have in common?” asked Callie.
“No idea. But I intend to find out.”
“Life is never monotonous with you, Hayden,” laughed Dax.
“Could say the same about you, Dax—I heard you were involved in a shooting spree?”
An amused glint flashed in Dax’s eyes. “Another wild story. Seems the tug we brought up had five assassinated men on board and another man yet to be identified.”
Decker’s shook his head. “Unbelievable!”
“The crew discovered a hole had been blown from the inside out from the engine room. The bodies were discovered inside. They had all been shot execution style. It makes your skin crawl.”
“Any leads?”
“Looks like terrorism,” Dax replied. “If the person or persons responsible had succeeded in releasing the thousands of gallons of oil on board, it would have caused an ecological disaster for New Orleans and the surrounding areas. The effects would have been catastrophic.”
“Yes, it would.”
A span of silence followed, each one turning over the events in their heads and wondering how they would resolve the complex issues they were facing.
“Why do you think the culprit would return to the scene so soon and chance being caught? And why shoot at you?”
“Who knows? He acted jittery like he was up to something. That’s when Brock called out to him and he took off like a bird in flight, popping off a few shots at us. At one point, I glimpsed his face and strangely enough, it’s like time stood still. I memorized every line and feature. I will never forget it.”
Decker and Callie had encountered many challenges in their archaeological careers. However, they paled in comparison to this particular chain of events. Decker realized if they’d stumbled onto a governmental conspiracy, the feds would do whatever necessary to silence them. His first order of business would be to keep them safe, all the while, dig up whatever information he could about the Bermuda Conspiracy Report.
Callie caught the expression on Decker’s face as he looked away. Tension blanketed the room, and though he made a grandstand effort to hide his concerns, he couldn’t fool Callie. They had gone through so much together—there was no way he could conceal his inner turmoil from her.
“So, where does that leave all of us?” Karina piped up, looking first to Dax, and then to Decker.
“Wish I knew, Kat,” Dax answered, his face darkening. “First off, I have to take evidence to police headquarters for forensics to examine and see if they can come up with anything.”
“What else is wrong?” Karina urged him perceiving the change in his countenance.
“I can’t stop thinking about Detective Brock. I kind of feel responsible. If I hadn’t started for my gun, maybe the man would have kept going.”
“One positive thing out of all this,” Karina said. “You managed to catch a good look at his face. That alone will be a great help to the police.”
“I listened briefly on the radio regarding the incident,” Callie said. “No one has taken responsibility for it and the shooter has not been apprehended.”
“That’s a shame,” Dax replied.
“I’d like to go to the hospital with you,” said Decker. “In case the shooter is still hanging around the docks. You might need someone to cover your back. Especially if he thinks you might be able to identify him.”
Dax grinned, the boyish dimples in his cheeks deepening. “I think you might need your back covered too, mate, all considered.”
Chapter 9
⁂
Shark Eater was anchored opposite the hospital. Decker and Dax only had to take the dinghy to the docks, hop in the rental car, and drive over the bridge a mere half of a mile to the front entrance. From there, it was only another quarter mile to police headquarters.
A wide smile reflected on Brock’s face when Dax and Decker entered his hospital room. He was propped up by several white pillows, Today’s Crime magazine clutched in his two hands. His eyes brightened. He looked pleased to
have company besides the stream of doctors and nurses. Though he didn’t know Dax well, it was apparent the two of them had connected through the dreadful circumstances they had walked through.
Dax held a container with three warm beignets, dusted with confection sugar in one hand, and chicory coffee in the other. They had stopped off at one of the popular tourist attractions, Café Du Monde Coffee Stand, located in the French Market along the river walk, established in 1862.
He placed the offering on the side table and smiled. “How are you doing, Detective?” He pulled up a chair and swung his leg over the seat. He sat down backward, folding his arms over the back of the seat, and rested his chin on top.
“Seen better days, son. But it’s looking up now that you’ve brought me my favorite morning breakfast. And you?”
“Considering I’m not the one stretched out on a hospital bed, Detective, I think it’s safe to say, I’m doing pretty good,” Dax grinned. “What’s the prognosis?”
“They removed the bullet and had to repair some nerves in my upper arm, but all in all, I think I’m going to live. I’d sure like to high-tail it out of this place. I’m not one for laying around.”
“Don’t blame you,” Dax said. “Um…this is a friend of mine, Decker Hayden.”
“Decker,” Brock acknowledged with the nod of his head.
“I’ve heard a lot about you, Detective,” Decker replied.
“Not much good, I imagine,” he said with a lopsided grin. He pushed himself onto one elbow and grabbed the Styrofoam cup from off the tray. He took a sip of the hot coffee, closing his eyes briefly as if savoring the bitter taste. “Your friend Dax here saved my bacon yesterday. If he hadn’t stopped the bleeding and been in possession of his gun, I might be six feet under.”
Decker slapped his hand on Dax’s shoulder. “Yup. He’s pulled me out of the fire a few times as well.”
“Likewise,” Dax replied, knowing Decker had saved him numerous times on their last venture. “Decker is a genuine kick-boxer, ninja warrior, crusader.”
They could not refrain from laughing at Dax’s exaggerated description of Decker.