by Jack Hardin
Nico opened the hatch, climbed up the ladder, and breathed in a huge gulp of clean Florida air. He didn’t even notice the briny edge to the air. He had been in that steel stomach for three days, breathing in smells he would do just fine without for the rest of his life.
He went back down and got his bags and then waited for Pavel to exit the submarine before leaving it behind and climbing awkwardly through a mangrove. He met Pavel on a soft bank of mud. Nico used a red lens flashlight to locate a large painted rock. It was right where his cousin said it would be. He pushed it to the side and picked up the plastic bag underneath. Inside, there were only small items. Nico removed handed the new SIM card and the associated tool to Pavel.
Pavel thanked him with a grunt and pocketed the items. They walked through the marsh for a mile before arriving at an old, unused stretch of road. Weeds grew freely through cracks in the asphalt. They crossed and moved back into the cover provided by seagrapes and saw palmetto.
“My ride will be here soon,” Nico said. “Are you sure you can make it okay from here?”
“Yes,” Pavel said. “You did very good getting me here. You are a smart young man.”
“Thank you.” Far down the road, the headlights of an approaching vehicle appeared, two tiny pinpricks of light set against the dark curtain of night. “I think that is my ride,” Nico said.
“When will you go back to Mexico?” Pavel asked.
“I am not returning. I will stay here in America and work for my cousin. He is from Juárez. He says I can be a help to him.”
“A cousin? What’s his name? Perhaps I have heard of him.”
“No,” Nico said. “You have not. He and his crew, they keep a low profile.”
“Try me.”
“Andrés. Andrés Salamanca.”
Pavel shrugged. “I suppose not. Is he the boss?”
“No. The boss is a man named Chewy.”
“Chewy?”
It was Nico’s turn to shrug. “I don’t know.”
The headlights grew brighter, finally touching on the outlying branches of their hiding position. It slowed as it passed them and finally crept to a stop.
Nico extended a hand to the Russian. “I wish you good luck with your dealings here in America.”
Pavel gave him a firm shake. “And you as well.”
Nico pushed through the tight-knit branches and worked his way out of the thick foliage.
Pavel watched as the young man approached the car.
A slender Mexican-looking man stepped out of the black Chevy Malibu. He had a high protruding forehead and a sharp nose. His head was shaved down to the scalp on both sides and the long hair on top was slicked back and shiny. Pavel watched him extend his arms, embrace Nico, and kiss the top of his head. They released each other, and the man Pavel took to be Andrés pointed toward Pavel’s hidden position. Nico shook his head and said something to him that Pavel couldn’t hear. Then the men got into the Malibu and shut the doors. Small pebbles and rocks popped as the tires ground into them as the car turned and moved back up the road. The red glow from the taillights slowly faded, finally disappearing altogether and leaving Pavel alone in a new country.
He stepped from cover and crossed the road. He knew from the plan he had made that it was another three miles to the industrial district. A car would be parked there for him. From there it was just over a half-hour drive to his destination.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Peter paced the bare pine floor.
He was getting nervous. His father was supposed to have been here yesterday. The entire plan had been bold from the start. There was much that could have gone wrong. And now, Peter was starting to think that it had.
For the first time since his father had called him nine months ago and told him his idea, Peter had never really stopped to consider what he would do if he were left alone. That idea caused a fearful shiver to run through him. He was about to find some comfort by going back to look at his finished bomb when a knock at the door startled him.
He rebounded quickly. That wasn’t just any knock. It was the knock he had been so familiar with as a young boy. He stood tall and checked himself, flattening out his shirt with his hands and tapping gently on his hair as though he were about to meet his prom date. The expectation of the last seven lonely years was now quite literally on his threshold.
Peter set his right hand on the doorknob and turned the deadbolt with his left. He opened the door.
“Father,” he said and started to reach for the big bearded man in front of him when Pavel sidestepped him and pushed his way inside.
Pavel dropped his bag on the floor and looked around the one room cabin. He turned to Peter and assessed him. He smirked. “Hey, boy.”
Peter shut the door and stood in place looking rather nonplussed. He looked like he had been slapped. “Vodka,” Pavel said. “You have vodka?”
“No.”
Pavel waved him off and plopped down on the couch. He rubbed hard at his face. “God, I am tired. At that stinking submarine. I should have paid for an upgraded model with a bathroom.” He chuckled at that and closed his eyes, leaned his head back.
“Where is Anatoly?” Peter asked. “I thought he was coming with you.”
“Anatoly? No, he left me back in Africa.”
Before Peter could put a stop to the words, they were floating on the air toward his father. “It’s been a long time. Did you miss me?”
Pavel opened his eyes and turned slowly to his son. “What?” he scowled. “What are you, a girl? You want to come sit on my lap and I can read you a bedtime story?”
“No. I just—just nevermind.”
“I can’t believe it,” Pavel said. “The plan worked. I’m here. Soon I’ll be going to Haiti to start my business up again. Felix won’t be looking for me because the Americans will have him extradited in the next week.
“Haiti?” Peter said. “I thought we were going back home to Russia?”
“Russia? No. I can’t go back there. I’m going to Haiti. You can go to Russia if you want.” Pavel closed his eyes again.
At that moment, a fountain of shame opened up within Peter as a fresh revelation dawned over him. His father did not want him. He had never wanted him. And somehow Peter had missed all the signs.
“You don’t want me to go with you?”
“You do what you want. I do not care.” Pavel settled further into the couch. “I’m tired. Turns the lights off.”
Peter did as he was told, and as he sat there in the pitch black of the little cabin, listening to his father snore loudly, he tried to convince himself that he was dreaming, that his father really had not arrived yet and that he would wake up soon and everything would be as it should.
Deep inside him, something darker began to stir.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Pavel did not wake the next day until the sun was high overhead. The day had dawned clear and bright, and he opened his eyes to see Peter sitting at the table, staring at a large canvas bag sitting in front of him.
He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up. “Where’s the toilet?” he said.
Peter nodded silently to the only other door in the cabin, on the other side of the room. Pavel stood and looked quizzically at the bag as he walked past it. He relieved himself and then returned to his place on the couch.
“I am hungry,” he said. “What is there to eat?”
“I built a surprise for you,” Peter said quietly. He was staring at the table.
“A surprise?”
“I thought you called me because you missed me. I thought we shared a common hatred for this overindulgent country. I thought because the Americans ran us out of Russia that you wanted us, together, to get revenge.”
Pavel looked confused. “What? I just needed you to help me get out of Mexico. Why is that a bad thing?”
Peter unzipped the top of the bag in front of him. He pulled down on the side facing his father. The smooth metal gleamed out at him. “I
made another bomb.”
Pavel’s eyes widened. “What?” He shot to his feet and went to the table. He looked down into the bag. “Peter. Another bomb? Are you stupid, boy?”
Peter blinked.
“This is going to ruin everything I have planned. You are the one they are looking for. They have no evidence that I had anything to do with what you did in Tampa. But this? Peter, why would you want to do another one?”
“Because I thought you would be proud.”
What came out of Pavel next was something Peter had never personally witnessed in his life. A deep and rolling gale of laughter that had his father doubled over and slapping his knee. By the time it waned, the older man had tears running down his face. Pavel gathered himself, looked toward Peter, and then burst out in laughter all over again. Peter could feel the hot shame creep up his neck and into his face. He turned away. Pavel wiped his face dry and looked, astonished, at his son. “You really think I wanted you to bomb that bus because I wanted revenge on the Americans?”
Peter stared at the floor.
For the first time, it occurred to Pavel to ask why Peter had bothered to do it. When he called him nine months ago and told him of his plan, his son never wavered, just simply obeyed. Now, he asked, “Why did you do it?”
Peter’s chest was rising and falling with greater intensity now, as though he were working to suppress a wave of newfound anger. “Because you asked me to.”
“That is all? I asked you to and you do it blindly? And you think it’s because I hate the Americans?” He received no answer. He went back to the couch and sat back down. “Why would you even hate America so much? You’re not even fully Russian. You’re a half-breed.”
Oddly enough, Pavel heard the crack before he registered its effects. The gunshot rippled through his midsection, and the big man grunted loudly. His hands went to his stomach and came up stained with his own blood. He looked up wide-eyed and astonished at his son.
Peter set the gun on the table. “I thought we could go to the July 4th celebrations in Miami next week and leave this present at a parade there. I stupidly thought that we could find unity in our hatred for America.”
On the couch, Pavel could feel his internal clockwork winding down. It was as if the gears and sprockets that maintained his life force had suddenly decided to quit with no advanced warning.
“But since I see now that you care for none of that, that you care nothing for me, then it is I who have no need for you. So I spent the evening making a list of other possibilities. Since I am no longer tied to any schedule of yours, I am free to do as I please. I’m getting rid of this today, and then I will disappear and return to Russia.”
“Peter…” Pavel said. “I—”
“You should not talk. Or I will shoot you again. As it is, you probably have ten or fifteen minutes left.”
Pavel grabbed the armrest and grimaced hard as he tried to pull himself up. He tilted loosely forward, gave up, and rolled haphazardly off the couch. He fell to the floor and lay still.
Peter smiled at him and then stood up.
In a drawer beneath the kitchen counter was a bag containing the accoutrements of a full disguise: colored contact lenses, a mustache, a wig that would transform his current hairstyle.
Peter opened the drawer, removed the bag, and got to work.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Pavel Petronovich’s eyes flicked open, as though he had just come back from the dead. He lay face down on the floor, and he turned so he could take in the room. His eyes crept slowly over the floor as if he were running on tired batteries instead of a power cord.
Why was he here, on the floor and in so much pain?
Then he remembered.
Peter.
Peter had shot him.
The bomb.
Pavel’s lungs still had air flowing through them. Not much, but it was there, and he lay dying on the floor with a growing determination that his son would not have the last word.
He grit his teeth and yelled as he clawed his way across the floor. He could smell the dirt and old pine mingling with the harsh unnerving scent of own blood. He reached his bag and passed out for several minutes before coming to again. He worked his fingers along the side zipper and managed to take out his phone. The device sent a newfound surge of resolve through him, and it propelled him onto his elbows. He crawled his way to the table, and his guts felt like they were running out of him as he reached up a bloody hand and flopped it across the tabletop.
His fingers touched it, and he managed a smile. It felt like he just scored the winning shot in a hockey tournament. Pavel slid the paper off the table and turned it over so he could see what Peter had scribbled.
“So,” he grunted. “That’s where you’re going.”
He held his phone in front of his face and dialed.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Snapper Rod and Tackle was closing for the night, so Ellie took her purchases to the counter and paid. She felt the same way in a tackle shop the way some do in a bookstore. She could pick around it for hours, and every time she didn’t really want to leave. She walked out with a new reel and a handful of lures and took them back to her truck. She was just pulling onto Veterans Parkway when her phone rang. She turned the radio down and picked it up. “Hey, Phil.”
“Ellie. We’ve got him.”
“What? Who, Peter?”
“No. Pavel.”
She relaxed into her seat a little. “That’s great. How?”
“Well, it’s not great. It was weird, actually. He called 911 and gave them his location. Sounds like he and Peter had an argument. Peter shot his father and left him to die in a cabin out in Hendry County. Ellie, Pavel said that Peter left with another bomb.”
She bit down hard on her lip. “Did he say where?”
“Peter left a list of three potential locations. Where are you?”
“Cape Coral.”
“I need you to go to the River District. That was on his list.”
Ellie cut over into the left lane and swung a U-turn at the nearest break in the median. She pinned her accelerator and put on her flashers.
“How do we know this isn’t a trap?” she asked.
“We don’t. But he stayed on long enough for us to track his call and unless he’s rerouting it, that’s where he is. The FBI has agents and a bomb squad on the way to the cabin and to all three of these locations. But we need every available fed scouting these areas until the FBI’s teams can get in place.”
“Have you called Hailey? She lives down there.”
“Parnell tried a few times. She’s not answering.”
“Okay.”
“Ellie. Be careful.”
Ellie swerved around a Buick driving ten miles under the speed limit and scanned the next intersection before running a red light. Two minutes later, she was racing across Midpoint Memorial Bridge, taking it over the Caloosahatchee River and into West Fort Myers. Along the way, she tried calling Hailey multiple times with no success. She came off the bridge and sped north on McGregor Boulevard. Reaching the River District, she turned onto Altamont Avenue and then onto West First Street. It was just after seven o’clock, and the trendiest street in Fort Myers was alive with hundreds of patrons who had come for the art, the food, and the view.
Her stomach cringed, and she pushed a sudden flashback of the bus in Tampa from her mind. She pulled into an empty parking space along the curb and jumped out, slamming her door and hurrying down the sidewalk along the brick-paved road.
She was in jean shorts, a cotton blouse, and tennis shoes. If Peter were here, and if he happened to see her, he wouldn't see a federal agent. As it was, following protocol meant that uniformed officers would not be sent down here. If Peter noticed a sudden surge of law enforcement in the area, it could prompt him to spring into action prematurely. Still, her sidearm was in its holster underneath her blouse.
Ellie scanned people and purses, backpacks and benches for anything that resembled Pete
r or a bomb. She tried to think like Peter might and ran through possible locations where, should he bring the bomb down here, he would want to place it.
Nothing stood out.
She worked her way north and then, coming to Hailey’s stairwell, she flung open the glass door and shot up the stairs to the third floor. She started banging on Hailey’s door. “It’s Ellie,” she called out.
No answer.
“Come on,” she muttered and banged again. “It’s Ellie!”
She felt a measure of relief when she heard the door latch click. Hailey appeared in the doorway wrapped in a bathrobe, her hair wet.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“We’ve been trying to call. They know where Peter is.”
“Really? Whew. Sorry, I got out of the bath—”
“Get dressed,” Ellie said. She pushed past her and quickly updated her on the conversation she’d had with Phil.
“Oh, no,” Hailey said.
They were out the door in ninety seconds and back into the street ten seconds after that.
They stood on the edge of the street, scanning up and down. All around them, people were laughing with friends, walking beside lovers, and pushing children in strollers.
“How do you want to do this?” Hailey asked. “Each take an end and work our way to the middle?”
“Yeah.”
She didn’t hesitate. “Okay. I’ll go south.” She moved off the curb and crossed the street.
