Split Second

by Louis Scott

  She growled again, but less aggressive. “Let's get back to taking care of you. We’ve got a lot more fighting to do.”

  No two ways about it—Voodoo was all in for him, and he loved it. He knew it would soon be time to re-engage the terrorists. They stood in the middle of the micro-hotel, unfazed by the roar of airplanes overhead hitting their take off and landing patterns. It wasn’t an optimum setting, but it seemed right for the moment.

  “You’re so beautiful. I’m glad we’re here together.” He ran his fingers through the long waves of black hair against her temple. He rested his forehead against hers and inhaled.

  “Big boy, look, I love you, but I’m about to doggone explode. I know it ain’t lady like or not much on the romantic side, but if you don’t kiss me like the first time, there’s going to be bloodshed. Navy SEAL or not—this Cajun momma’s hot,” she howled. Lightning crashed in the distance, followed by the roll of thunder.

  Pike’s back arched and shoulders rolled like a boxer entering the ring. Her sassy attitude excited him, and that little tirade had awoken a sleeping giant. Forget about being hurt, Pike groaned as the flood of endorphins blocked his pain.

  “Come here, bayou momma.” He tugged her by the arm. The swatch of hair that taunted him every time he looked at her waved back across her face. She was intoxicating. She stumble-stepped into his chest. His pectoral muscles flexed.

  “Now.”

  He breathed through his nose—head tilted up.

  Voodoo collapsed into his hold.

  Pike’s pain was obvious, but so was his desire. He tried to lift both arms for her, but his face exploded into a twisted wreckage of agony. He gritted a grin and tried to laugh it off.

  “Son of a gun,” his body folded in agony.

  “Baby, please, we can wait.”

  “Don’t patronize me.” He reached out again for her, and she flinched.

  “You scared, baby?” he teased.

  “Yeah. Scared I’m going to kill you.” She smirked.

  “Don’t worry about me, I’m a survivor.”

  He playfully nudged her.

  Her eyes combed the length of his torso until they met his eyes. Her eyelids fluttered and she pursed her lips. He motioned for her to come closer.

  “This ain’t gonna end well—you about to unleash the Creole in me.”

  Pike’s eyes opened wide. Her expression showed he was in the throws of enduring yet another near death experience. But to be honest, he loved the danger.

  Chapter Six

  The small airport hotel’s front lobby was modest, but the effort was sincere. Nestled next to the regional air field, the place had probably seen it’s share of shady characters and high school parties. Alex’s stone-cold look greeted Pike as he hurried off the elevator.

  “Sorry to interrupt your mini-vacation, but we’ve got a problem,” she said.

  “What is it? Is the surgery over, is he okay?”

  “He’s fine. He’s a SEAL isn’t he?” Alex snapped, “It’s about Voodoo.” She minced no words.

  His look soured.

  “Tech Section back at HQ ran their regular security sweeps for bugs, trackers, tracers and everything high-tech I know nothing about. Seems Voodoo has an app on her smartphone for locating friends.”

  “Great, let’s use it to follow Bonny.” Pike smiled.

  “There lies the problem—friends can also track her. Bonny knows our every location.” Alex’s tone became more aggressive.

  “Maybe she forgot, or Bonny disabled it on her end?” Pike said, figuring angles.

  “Nope. Look here. Bonny, or at least Bonny’s phone is north of St. Louis.”

  “Do you really think she’d be that dumb to leave a tracking device on her phone?” Pike countered.

  “I don’t know. You were the one double dating with her and your best friend, Fats. Is she that dumb?” Alex crossed her arms tight against her chest.

  “Back off.” Pike’s anger spiked.

  He kicked at a lobby chair, and stormed out through the automatic doors. The small awning was little use for cover. Lashing winds slanted driving rain across the tops of his loafers. His tattered jeans saturated below the knee, but he stood there—statuesque. And pissed.

  “You realize Fats runs his mouth, don’t you?” Jim eased up behind him. His bare feet drew lines of water over the dry cement.

  “I never said a word to him,” Pike swore.

  “Don’t doubt it, but think she did?” Jim asked.

  “Guess so,” his voice trembled with emotion he rarely displayed.

  “You probably owe Alex an apology.”

  Jim returned inside as silently as he'd come outside.

  Pike's chest tightened—he knew Jim was right, but apologies never came easy or often.

  Pike rushed back into the hotel for their briefing without a word. Alex hadn’t discussed Voodoo’s smartphone app with her, but made it obvious during the briefing she no longer trusted her. Jonas asked Voodoo to surrender her cell for national security reasons. Everyone but her knew what that implied.

  Bonny’s diary not only gave FORCE a glimpse into the Serpent’s master plan, but also hinted Voodoo was aware of it. Although the IT geeks had only revealed the letters “KL” in Bonny’s notes, it was a safe assumption those initials stood for Krystal Laveau, the woman Pike had fallen for. He was disgusted.

  They walked in silence through the musty hallway toward their room.

  “Here’s the room key.” Voodoo said with a smile.

  “Thank you, Krystal.” Pike replied.

  “Thank you, Krystal? What’s that about?” Her smile vanished.

  Pike ignored her question and shouldered the door open. He turned to latch it behind them, but saw her wander away. She looked to be composing her thoughts as her fingers walked across her round jaw. Her mouth opened and closed wordlessly, and her left foot tapped the dingy hallway carpet like a musician keeping time.

  “We gotta move,” Pike said. “Leave anything you can’t wear. FORCE will send a cleaner.”

  “What’s a cleaner?” She poked her tongue into her cheeks.

  “They pick up to make sure nothing’s left or exposed.” He tilted his body toward her—fingers picked at the nails of his other hand. “Cleaner.”

  “Like my phone?” She asked.

  “What about it?” Pike blurted out.

  “I don’t want it left, why’d Jonas take it anyway?”

  “You really don’t know?”

  He went silent, collapsed against the doorway. Air hissed through his teeth as his shoulder met metal. His nose detected the antiseptic, industrial cleaners used by housecleaning from a roller cart in the hall. Mixed with the musk of the well-trafficked hallway, the odor brought flashes of memory. It was the same concoction of odors in bin Laden’s Waziristan Haveli. His stomach rolled.

  “Baby, you okay?” She reached to steady him.

  “That smell messes me up.” His hand slapped against dried lips. “bin Laden’s compound was pretty sterile, guess they tried to keep it clean for his jihad.”

  “I’m so sorry you had to experience that. Lets get in the room and take care of you.” She held the door off of him with her shoe and guided him through. He pulled back as she advanced to kiss him.

  “Still upset about something?” She asked.

  “That smell reminds me of Pakistan, but not about killing bin Laden,” Pike sneered. “It’s about the sacrifices of everyone that made finding him possible. Are you willing to make a sacrifice like that?” His words trembled with emotion.

  Voodoo was stunned.

  His eyes drilled into her.

  “I’m here, ain’t I?” Her head swiveled side-to-side—hand against a jutted hip. Shuffle steps brought him closer. He leaned down with lips pulled so hard against his teeth-they looked faded with white speckles.

  “Then why didn’t you tell us about your cell phone?” His whisper was hard, fat with accusation.

  Her face flushed red. A
sharp tongue darted at arid lips. She cleared her throat but seemed unable to find the words to speak.

  His glare sharpened. Tremors quaked across his face the longer it took her to justify it. He snorted a gust of air, threw his hand up and walked off.

  Mechanical in his quick change, Pike flowed within the small space of his hotel room until he appeared in an olive-drab tactical uniform. His backpack sized go-bag was shoved full of necessary items, and the rest were pushed into a pile. Three extra strength ibuprofen down the hatch, and he stormed out of the room toward the lobby. An LSU Tigers ball cap tugged over his eyes.

  “She coming?” Alex asked.

  “How in the world would I know? I was stupid to trust her, or anyone for that matter. Alex, I owe you an apology for earlier, and for bringing her into FORCE. I let my little head do the thinking, maybe I am the same old Pike.”

  “Thanks for the mea culpa, but you’re not the same guy, “Alex said. “You handled the whole crazy New Orleans fiasco like a champ. And thanks to you, we’ve got your girlfriend’s phone to use for tracking a potential weapon of mass destruction,” she said. Then she looked down and laughed. “The old Pike would’ve never forgotten his boots,”

  Pike winced. “Gotta clear the attic, and get my head back in the game.” He stamped out to the transport van in his sock feet to grab his still wet SWAT boots.

  “Dude,” Jonas placed his hand on Pike’s shoulder, “don’t jump to judgment, nothing's confirmed yet. I know it looks suspicious, but it’s always grey in the shadow ops world.”

  The others sat stunned—they’d never seen this warrior as much as say ouch. Brooding, Pike dropped onto the middle row bench seat without a word.

  “Wait, wait on me.” Voodoo’s petite frame barreled through the hall.

  Her tactical one-piece jumpsuit half unzipped, and an armful of boots, cap, equipment and a Glock 17, 9mm dangled from its holster. Hardly the composed agent who’d dropped two idiots fueled by methamphetamine earlier in the day. Tension was palpable.

  Once Voodoo had taken her place in the van, Alex twisted around from the front seat to make eye contact. Voodoo averted her gaze.

  “We now believe Bonny traveled up river to meet another vessel around St. Louis,” Alex briefed the team. “We can only assume wherever they met, the barrels of bio-chemical weapons were exchanged. I would’ve bet St. Louis was a prime river city target, but no verification she put down in the Gateway Arch area. Source shows north.” The dome lights were disconnected but blasts of lightning illuminated the cargo section. “Not sure how reliable our source is…”

  “Just say it. Come out and say it,” Voodoo challenged. “Your source is the friend tracker app on my phone. Excuse the heck out of me for not being a spy school scholar. I was lucky to get kicked out of high school instead of jailed. She was my roomie and, I thought, my friend. You high and mightys got any idea what it’s like to be a single female in a cesspool like the Big Easy? So excuse me if I felt safe with her knowing where I was on that dumb app.” Voodoo’s voice crumpled beneath the confession.

  Ellie pushed her closed fist out to knuckle-bump her, “Girl power, I feel ya, Voodoo.”

  “Okay, your cell phone it is. If Bonny still has her cell then the vessel has passed St. Louis. We’ve no intel on what might be the next swap site or target location. Choppers are combing the river, but it’s a freaking huge body of water with traffic that’s out of this world.” Alex continued with a less stressed pace.

  Alex slipped a glinted smile toward Voodoo.

  “Once they hit the Great River National Wildlife Refuge around Quincy, Illinois it’ll be impossible to detect,” Jim added. “Alex, you’re the best at big picture projects—any guesses?” Jim pressed back into the cloth seat and ran his thumb and forefinger over his chin.

  “I’ll confess, I’m stumped so far,” Alex huffed. “We’re going to leapfrog them. Assuming they’re where the phone shows and it’s not another teenager playing with a commercial quad-copter.”

  Alex spun around and looked like an eager teenager getting to ride shotgun for the first time. She was focused, and her team took their cue from her.

  “Why can’t we just BOLO every law enforcement agency with jurisdiction along the Mississippi River?” Ellie suggested. Instead of searching for the needle, why not just bust up the hay stack?”

  The way Ellie looked at Jonas didn’t seem like she expected a reply, and he didn’t.

  Drizzle settled into a sprinkle during the personnel and gear exchange. Both pilots were new, but experienced Army vets. Their radar showed another vicious line of storms due west, northwest. Pike encouraged the unit to stow and go if time was to be made up in the air.

  Alex popped her head into the Black Hawk’s cabin with an unsettling smile. The unit hadn’t seen her smile in quite a while. She waited until everyone had grabbed a seat. Pike wanted to interrupt but knew better than to rush Alex Vaughn. He nestled in for the flight, no matter where it took him.

  “Guys, we got that break—HQ messaged. The diary decoding has progressed. The vessel’s heading for the Quad City area. Moline, Illinois to be precise.”

  “Moline? What the crap is in Moline?” Jim looked as surprised as everyone else by his outburst. Though he was right—what the crap was in Moline, Illinois?

  “You sure it’s Moline?” Ellie asked

  Alex didn’t seem amused by the doubt. They all knew the value of FORCE’s Intelligence Section busting their assets back at HQ.

  “Okay smart butts, in addition, the FBI has been monitoring NOPD Detective Alphonse “Fats” Hebert since the Rex parade. That lovesick pup has burned Bonny’s cell off the line with text and voice messages." Alex countered.

  “And?” Jim opened his palms in question.

  Alex sneered at him, “Moline it is.”

  The war machine’s turbine whined and the pilot motioned for Alex to clear the running board area. A series of interior LED lights flashed and converted to an eerie green hue once the matrix of panel switches were activated for lift off.

  “Is her cell still active?” Jim yelled over the intense wash of the wide chord rotor blades.

  “Yep,” Jonas said. “Must be why she hasn’t flipped to using burner phones. She likes Fats. We snatched a communication earlier when she dialed in to check his voice message.” Jonas swayed as the bird rocked and bounced on its wheel landing gear—nothing rattled the guy.

  Pike crunched forward and belched into his hand. His gut burned. Fats had been a trusted friend in the Navy. Both served overseas together and only parted career paths when Pike was accepted into BUD/S School. As much as he hated the thought, Alex’s decision to let Fats walk after the assassination attempt on JW Colt was brilliant. His time would come, friend or no friend.

  “What did his message say?” Pike felt shame in asking.

  “Basic mobster wanna-be bull, but he did say Lawless had recovered,” Jonas replied. “Mentioned something about going after him but knew better. Some junk about the reign of Savage Souls if anyone touched him.”

  The corner of Jonas's mouth curled up like it did when he wanted a suspect to know he either really didn’t believe him, or he didn’t give a care what he said.

  Pike cut his eyes over, watching Voodoo’s reaction to the mention of Lawless. It was an old intel gathering trick—listening to what the speaker said, but watching how others reacted. Her body language morphed rigid, arms folded close to her chest. There was a hint of a sinister grin when Jonas said the words “Savage Souls.”

  Pike wondered what that look was for.

  Chapter Seven

  Rotor wash from the stationary Black Hawk smashed wind toward the ground thirty-five feet below. The weather had turned dangerous, and rain threatened their fast rope insertion. Alex braced herself to the left of the open cabin door. Rope dangled at her feet—she served as the mission’s jump master.

  “Go.” Alex yelled across crashes of thunder, feeding the operatives out one by one.

/>   Voodoo hesitated before reaching for the rope. Pike saw her look back at Alex and then searched for him. She stepped forward anyway as the torrential rains pelted her in the open Black Hawk doorway.

  “Stop, Voodoo.” Alex yelled as Voodoo reached for the rope. “This ain’t my cup of tea either. You come with me on ground support from the LZ.”

  “Let’s move Graham,” Alex admonished Jim as he angled around Voodoo. “The weather’s about to ground us. Go.”

  “Next. Pike, Ready. Go.”

  Pike was next. He reached with his right hand for the thick, hawser-type rope. Pain shot through his shoulder. Hard pain. He almost blacked out. He clawed frantically with his left hand to slow the zip of cord as his body hurled toward the surface.

  Rain lashed beneath his NVG. Slick rope made for fast descends. Thighs squeezed against the two-inch surface to control his speed, but the winds thrashed and he lost sight of where he was until he smashed onto a knee. He rolled against his hip, falling onto his right shoulder.

  Quick shots of air gunned out of his nostrils. He groaned through teeth clenched so tight from pain, he thought they’d snap. The tactical vest was jerked back in position and he glanced to see the braided cord fall into the mud before the Black Hawk quietly disappeared. Pike adjusted his night vision binoculars and spotted his tactical partner, Jonas.

  “Half mile out, let’s move,” Jonas ordered.

  Jonas was team leader on this mission. That meant clockwork precision, watching each others’ 6, and no complaining. Their raid targeted a vessel identified through HQ’s Intel Section and the Port of Moline. The cutter-sized ship had arrived without authorization, but there was no information about cargo or passengers.

  The abandoned section of the port where the vessel was stashed had been left generally in disrepair. The hull had been wedged in between half-submerged derelicts and hulking ships dying a rust-covered death.

  Pike limped to keep pace with his five teammates. Each time he pounded on the good leg, his shoulder throbbed. They were all in as big a hurry to get out of the tsunami. Time to suck it up.