A Viable Threat (A Martin Billings Story Book 4)

by Ed Teja

  Amy sat back, folded her hands, and looked at me, then at Bill. Just as we were still taking the measure of her, she was sizing us up. She nodded. “Agreed. Killing him is the logical fallback step. The loss of data would be tragic, but at least his death keeps the mission from being a total loss.” She licked her lips. “And if I got to his hard drives—”

  Hank rubbed his hands together. “Then we are all on the same page.”

  Amy stood up and took a long breath. “Depends. I think the three of us are.” She looked at Hank. “Are there any other little tidbits of information we should know about, Hank? Is there anything you haven't shared with the three of us? Like maybe we will show up in the villa and have a firefight with an Interpol team after the same thing?”

  “No,” he said, turning to look away as if something had caught his eye.

  “Are you good with our goals?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “And you understand that us actually running a mission depends on what you show us in Exuma?” she asked. “It better match what you've told us.”

  “There's no problem there,” he said.

  “And you agree that we make our own plan and run our own mission?” I asked.

  He nodded again. “Yes.”

  “I think we have taken this as far as possible,” Amy said. She smiled thinly. “Martin, Bill, it's been fun. Now I'm going to leave. I have to walk away before I break someone.”

  “You mean something,” I said.

  “Maybe I do.”

  “Join us for Happy Hour.”

  “I'll pass on this one. I have work to do. An agent's day is never done. I'm going to head back now, but I will see you all in Exuma in the morning. Hank, you better have the intel for us to review. Once we see what is real and what is not, we”—she indicated Bill and I and herself—” can hash out what kind of mission is possible and what we are willing to do.”

  She turned and walked out.

  “Gee, Hank, you hold interesting meetings,” I said.

  Hank dropped his head in his hands. “Shit.”

  “I rather like her,” Bill said. “She showed great restraint in not snapping Hank in half like a dry twig.” Then he refilled our glasses. “You know, if things continue like this, we are going to need another bottle. I will, anyway.”

  “Ask Sally to put it on Hank's tab,” I said.

  9

  “I need some air,” I said, standing as Amy walked out of the restaurant.

  “Me too,” Bill said.

  Hank put up a hand. “Look—”

  “Give us a few minutes to think. Sit here and let us digest all this,” I said. “We will be back.”

  Without waiting for an answer, I walked out onto the patio. Gazele swept by me. “You sure taking a long time to tell that man to go to hell,” she said. “Maybe you need some help doing that little thing.”

  I gave her a smile. “I wish I could. But it's not that easy.”

  “You are making a simple thing hard.”

  “Maybe.”

  She snorted, gave me a disappointed look, and strode off, back toward the bar, leaving me to stare into the fishpond. It had been the swimming pool for an upmarket guest house. When it folded, Gazele took it over and decided the pool would make a nice feature. As it turned out, it was a great home for Larry, her huge barracuda. Once, Larry hadn't had a name and lived in the fish tank behind the bar. He was supposed to become someone's luncheon special, but for whatever reason he stayed there and quickly grew too big to eat. Not that he wouldn't be tasty, but when a barracuda got that big there was a serious danger of ciguatera, a toxin that concentrated in the organs of the larger predator fish. It could make a person violently ill, even kill them. Poisoning tourists was quite low on her to-do list.

  “Having Amy show up was helpful,” Hank said, walking up with a beer in his hand. “It was a good thing she was there to help blow holes in Hank's story and force him to come clean on several points.”

  “Even with that we can't be sure we know what's going on. I feel like I'm being played.”

  “You probably are.”

  I stared out across the yacht basin, but this time it didn't calm me. “We can't even be sure that Amy isn't hiding a secret agenda.”

  “Do you think she is?”

  “Hell, I don't know, but I'm asking myself why a DEA agent would volunteer to go along with an illegal operation?”

  “To bring down bad guys?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You aren't the only person in the world that is willing to do pretty much anything to see justice is done.”

  “I didn't say I thought that.”

  “I know.”

  He was right. It could be that simple. I'd done as much.

  “So, we need to say yay or nay to going to Exuma tomorrow. I'm assuming we are going.”

  “I need to see if it is real.”

  Bill grinned. “I knew you wouldn't be able to resist, even if it isn't your problem.”

  “Not my problem?”

  “Because of the 'ex' that comes in front of 'wife' in the term ex-wife.”

  “That doesn't mean—”

  Bill waved a hand. “So set it up.”

  With Bill following in my wake, I wandered back in and sat across from Hank. “Shouldn't we warn Polly, just in case this Vermeer character has already put things in motion?”

  “What good would that do? There isn't anything she can do and raising this issue with her right now would be a distraction.”

  “She could take extra precautions.”

  He laughed. “Polly? I can hear her laughing now. She would see that as caving in to terrorists. Picture telling her she had to stop making public appearances and only travel in armored vehicles to destinations that had been swept and cleared?”

  He was right. “That wouldn't go down well,” I said. “But maybe if I—”

  “Martin, if you think you there is something you can say to Polly that would convince her to shelter in place, I'll fly you there myself.”

  “That's true. She'd tell me it was none of my concern.”

  “And she'd be right,” Bill said. “Try to imagine someone coming to you out of the blue and telling you that there is a threat to your life, and you are supposed to go hide while they take care of it. How would that go over? I'll tell you how: She'd do the same thing I'd do, tell whoever it was to piss off. There lies your dilemma.”

  I sat there, numb, letting the idea that I was going to run another black ops mission settle on me like a heavy, damp blanket. I'd gotten out of the SEALs because these missions had cost too much. Too many good people had lost their lives. Typically, despite all the glamorous talk and television shows, the missions I'd been on always seemed hurriedly planned and stupidly run. That I'd never know if the damn missions were successful, or even useful or necessary, had been salt rubbed in my angsty wounds. What can I say? I'm a sensitive macho guy.

  Now, as much as I wanted to be able to tell Hank that the entire idea was absurd, illegal, and impractical, the odds were he was dead right about it being the only option. If his bosses wouldn't even consider the evidence, there were few other cards to play. Plus, there was an upside to pulling this off—putting a crimp in the drug trade that the cartels wouldn't recover from quickly.

  “If we do this, we need to get to him fast and hope he hasn't put his plan in motion.”

  Hank licked his lips. “Right.”

  “When we get to Exuma, I'll expect to see all the intel you have. No redactions, no need-to-know bullshit?”

  He nodded. “Everything I have.”

  “And I will plan it the way I want it? You will stay out of it?”

  He laughed. “I have to stay out of it. I've been ordered to.” He grinned. “I doubt things will be as clear with Amy as you two tried to make them sound.”

  “How do you know her?”

  “We provided liaison and support for a couple o
f DEA operations in the northern Caribbean where she was running the task force.” He rolled his eyes. “Watch yourself with her. The woman is cold.”

  “Doesn't seem that way to me,” Bill said.

  “Warm and human is my take,” I said.

  “Until you see her in combat.”

  “So your deal with her is what?”

  “After you grab Vermeer and bring him to my people, her interrogator will get some preliminary information out of him, stuff I want to know. I've already set up a place away from the base. Once I get what I need to know, Amy will pop him on a plane and take him to some Batcave that doesn't exist in Virginia.” He shrugged. “I expect they'll bleed him dry, and he will never be heard of again. That makes me happy because it works out the same as if he is dead.”

  Bill nodded approvingly. “I get a warm and fuzzy feeling, just thinking about it.”

  “I wonder though... since Amy is hell on wheels and all that, once she insisted on taking over the mission, why did you still want to involve me? Seems she could have brought along her own help.”

  The question caught him off guard. “I don't entirely trust her. I hear she has a tendency to go rogue.”

  “What are you worried she might she do? Do you think she might make off with the grand prize all for herself? You said that getting the guy out of circulation was the main priority. So even if that happened you get what you want.”

  He gave me a sly smile that made my skin crawl. “Thing is, the brass in Washington don't know how things go in the field. They haven't been real pleased with my results and my job is already on the line. They won't be thrilled if they get word of this operation and learn that I was involved. But if it goes well and I can hand them hard intelligence that showed my suspicions about Vermeer were right, I can put my career back on track.”

  Bill whooped. “He's looking for a higher return on his gamble.”

  “Why not? Look. I need to keep my wife alive; if I can make things right with the brass at the same time, what's wrong with that?”

  “Not a thing.” I liked hearing this explanation. I could buy into it. It was sufficiently self-serving to be true.

  “So your plan is to have Amy and I do the heavy lifting, with us keeping an eagle eye on each other. Then, after her people extract the information you want, you can go to court and ask the king to promote you from jester to something more becoming to a man of your ego?”

  “I can see you viewing it that way. You don't appreciate the need for the military protocols.”

  “That is true,” I said.

  “But you'll see, I'm making a commitment. I'm prepared to provide everything you need in terms of support. If that comes out, I'm toast. That should convince you that I'm being honest.”

  “Honestly committing to an illegal operation?”

  “We shouldn't talk about that here.”

  Bill liked that. “Because it's secret stuff that can be used against us, unlike everything else we talked about today?”

  “Let's leave the details and further discussion until tomorrow.”

  “Why not?” I said. We wouldn't learn anything new from the man.

  “I can have a plane ready to take us to Exuma in the morning.”

  “What's so special about Exuma, other than you've got a desk there?”

  “I have all the information, and it's near to the island Vermeer is based on. If we are going to act before he makes his move, I doubt there is a lot of time. I can outfit your expedition easily enough, so it makes sense to come to HQ, make the plan and then execute from there.”

  “I still wonder about this, Hank. I'm not comfortable with the idea that you are stepping outside the lines. That isn't like you at all, even under the circumstances. I'm having trouble believing you will risk your career because of a threat.”

  Hank was getting angry. “And you are an arrogant son of a bitch. You aren't the only one who cares about people. I've run a lot of missions without running off when they went bad the way you did. I don't like you and I don't like your attitude. I'm glad you got out of the service. Unfortunately, I don't have a choice,” he said. “You are here and can do the job.”

  “Thanks for the ringing endorsement.”

  “I only brought you into this because I am willing to do whatever it takes to get that bastard in my hands and make Polly safe.”

  There was something lurking behind his expression that bothered me. If it was just a belief that having the information they would squeeze out of the guy would save his career, even get him promoted, that was fine with me. I considered taking down a sleazebag to be one small step for mankind, and if it got Polly a pass this time...

  “All right, tomorrow, then. Bill, we need to set Tim up, give him some training so he can watch the boat.”

  “The kid's got it covered now,” Bill grunted. “Stop being a stage mother already.”

  I nodded at Hank. “Think he's prepared to deal with things, considering the recent increase in piracy attempts?”

  “With his eyes closed.”

  Hank put his hands on the table. “All right. We go tomorrow morning. Can we meet here at 0700? I'll have a boat that can take us straight to the airport at St. Agnes.”

  “Make that 0800,” Bill said. “Breakfast here doesn't start until 0700 and I'm not going anywhere on an empty stomach.”

  “Fine,” Hank said, clearly not happy at all.

  “Let's have one last drink to celebrate our new partnership,” Bill said, waving at Sally. As she came over, he said, “the admiral is buying another bottle.”

  “I'll be back in a minute,” Hank said.

  “Keep a weather eye out,” Bill said as Hank went off to use the toilet. “Old Hank has cards up his sleeve he doesn't want us to know about. I feel a storm brewing on the horizon.”

  “I agree,” I said.

  “I hope you realize that from his twisted perspective, if he can see this mission through, get Vermeer, and then manage to hang Martin Billings out to dry at the same time, he would consider it a roaring success. I suspect that he wouldn't mind screwing Amy over while he was at it.”

  “The question is how he'd do that.”

  “He didn't pick you just because of your sterling stealth attack qualities. It wouldn't surprise me if he had something in mind that we won't like.”

  I'd thought of that angle. “Like putting the blame on me for Vermeer's disappearance?”

  “Could be. But how he does that without implicating himself, I can't figure.”

  “Then we better keep all of our eyes open,” I said.

  “Should we tell Amy about our suspicions?”

  “I need to get to know her better before we bring her on board.”

  Bill smiled. “That's what I like, a mate who volunteers for all the hard, nasty jobs. Getting to know that lady might be more of a challenge than you think.”

  I doubted that. I was already pretty sure it would be difficult, but there was a chance it might also be pleasant. “I guess I'll have to risk it.”

  10

  When Hank came back, he told us he had to head off for important business. I don't know what important things sour admirals do in the afternoon on tropical islands. It is confidential, of course.

  Bill and I moved to a nicer table, one without lingering traces of Hank. I let out a long breath to get the tension out and savored the soft, warm breeze wafting across the open seating of The Barracuda.

  A glance toward the bar showed Sally working at something, ignoring a rather agitated Gazele, who seemed to be giving her shit about not cleaning the glasses right or something. The entire time Sally grinned, knowing it was just Gazele being herself. There wasn't an ounce of real meanness in either of those women.

  Across from me, Bill had those meaty paws he calls hands cradling a glass of rum. I ignored mine. It's difficult but possible to spoil good rum with bad emotions. I needed to let my emotions cool, let off some of the pressure tha
t had built up listening to Hank's machinations. The tension in my stomach provided a not-so-subtle reminder of why I'd bailed on my career.

  Bill pretended all was right with world, just waiting. Biding his time. He knew the pressure would keep building until I acknowledged my need to vent, the way a pressure cooker does to keep from exploding.

  “Rear Admiral Hank Jeffries is such an asshole,” I said.

  “That's a weak opener. But true enough,” Bill said.

  “I left the service because of idiots like him.”

  “So you've said.”

  “And now he's dragging me into one of the same kind of sordid, swampy messes I thought I walked away from.”

  “Apparently,” Bill said, refilling my glass. “Drink.”

  “The man thinks that he can snap his fingers and I'll help save the world.”

  “He did throw in that tiny mention of it being a matter of life or death for Polly.”

  “He thinks I should come to the rescue because the establishment won't let him do what needs doing.”

  “Seems so.”

  “And if I do, if all goes well, he will take all the credit; If things go south, he'll hang it all on me.”

  “Probably. Likely, in fact. Drink your rum. You are falling behind.”

  “What a screwed-up situation.”

  Bill sipped his rum, slowly, calmly.

  “This is where you are supposed to jump in with some clever, insightful and deep, maybe even profound observation,” I said.

  “Oh, did I miss my cue?”

  “You did.”

  He put his glass down. “In that case, I'll say I do agree that this clown has roped you, us, into a situation that requires making a rather weird and awful choice.” He considered his words. “On one hand, here you are, rather futilely, pretending you want to reform yourself into some law-abiding, solid citizen, the kind of guy who views himself as an honorable person, the kind who won't break the law. On the other hand, you are aching to accept his suggestion that, without your help, which seems to entail breaking the laws of several countries, including your own, your ex-wife might die. And, stuck on top, like ice cream on apple pie, is the matter of it being a chance to help a very sexy DEA agent end drug smuggling as it is being practiced throughout most of the Caribbean. Does that sound right?”