by A Rosendale
“There’s a man here. I think he followed you. He knows you’re hurt.”
The words broke through the haze of pain and disorientation and his eyes snapped open. “You didn’t let him in?”
“No,” Alma answered as she helped him stand up. “He’s outside the front door.”
Once in the entryway, Dirk propped himself against the door jam. “Who are you?”
Alma frowned at his unusually dull voice and the way his knees quaked unsteadily. She hurried to the kitchen and returned with a hard, wooden chair.
“You can consider me a friend. I know what happened last night.”
Dirk fell into the chair with a quick glance of thanks. “And what’s that?”
“You were compromised, Mr. Travers.”
“By you?” Dirk shot back.
The man’s sharp, mirthless laugh cut through the solid oak door. “No. If it were me, I wouldn’t have stopped to chat with your wife. We’d be having quite a different discussion right now.”
“Then you know who it was?”
“No. That’s the reason I’m here. I’ve had your target and his circle of supporters under surveillance for a long time. The mole isn’t on my side of the coin. I think it’s on yours.”
“You’re saying my own people betrayed me?” Dirk scoffed. “I don’t buy it.”
“Maybe not your own people, but someone you’ve run across. I’m telling you, no one here in Oregon blew the whistle on you.”
Dirk absorbed the idea with a deep frown.
“I just wanted to pass that along, for whatever it’s worth. I do you hope you recover quickly. Looked like quite the close call. And Mrs. Travers? I recommend you get this…paint cleaned up before someone else calls at your door.”
They heard footsteps on the cement, then a car door closed before tires squealed on the driveway and sped away. Dirk leaned back in the chair, his face the tint of paper and brows knit together in consternation. After a few moments, he used the doorjamb to stand. Alma offered him her shoulder, but he said, “I’ve got it.” While she returned the chair to the kitchen, he shuffled down the hall, using the wall as a tool to stay upright. He sat on the bed. Goosebumps speckled his bare chest and arms.
“What did he mean?” Alma asked, scooting onto the bedspread next to him.
Dirk shook his head slowly. “I’m not sure.”
“What happened?” She motioned to the bandage.
He touched it with his fingertips and winced. “I was ordered to bring in a domestic terrorist from Portland. I thought I had the job in the bag when he turned on me, declared he knew who I was. He and his pals pinned me.” In reality, they’d gotten a few joyful hits in while disarming him and pinning him to the brick wall of an alley in downtown Portland. He touched his neck tenderly where Alma could distinctly make out finger-shaped bruises. Although his vision had blurred and all but the fight for oxygen had faded from his mind while they strangled him, he could still feel the cold metal of his own gun barrel pressed to the center of his forehead. With inhuman will drawn from a longing to see his wife and child again, he’d jerked sideways just as the gun discharged. The bullet had sliced down the side of his skull and ricocheted off a metal pipe running the length of the building, scaring his target-turned-assassin. The man and his cronies had seen the flow of blood, assumed their victim was dead, or at least walking a fine line, and fled.
“You still don’t know how you got home?”
His head throbbed painfully now, just as it had last night when he blindly navigated back to his Jeep. Driving through the city streets was a blur and he couldn’t be certain the vehicle remained unscathed. From the point he pulled into the driveway to when he woke up this morning on the couch remained a black mystery.
Alma could see the pain creasing the corners of his eyes and ceased her questioning. “Just get some rest. Hopefully, you’ll feel better later and can sort through all this.”
He nodded vaguely and fell sideways to the pillows.
* * *
Dirk didn’t wake again until after dark. He came to with the distinct feeling he was being watched. With effort, he sat up and scooted so his back was against the headboard, forced his eyes to focus in the gloom, and finally sighted his four-year-old son gazing at him uncertainly from Alma’s side of the bed. The hallway light played on his young face.
“Hey, Coop,” he greeted groggily.
The frown on Cooper’s lips reminded Dirk of Alma’s expression of concern.
“What’s wrong?”
The boy didn’t reply, but it didn’t take a father’s intuition to figure it out.
“Come here, bud.” He patted the pillow to his right and Cooper scooted up beside him. “I’m okay.” He smiled gently as he ruffled Cooper’s hair. “See. I’m okay.”
The boy looked as if he wanted to believe him, but still had evidence to the contrary. “What’s that?” He touched the gauze across Dirk’s forehead.
“Just a band aid. I got hit on the head.”
He still looked suspicious, but was scared to explain why.
“What? You can say it.”
“You wouldn’t wake up,” he finally mumbled.
Dirk raised a brow in confusion.
“I tried to wake you up to play, but you wouldn’t wake up. I was scared. I thought…”
Dirk felt his heart plummet and he closed his eyes regretfully. With a sigh, he reopened them and encouraged his son to finish.
“I thought you went to Heaven with Grandpa.” Tears welled and he sniffled.
“Oh, Cooper.” He gathered the boy in his arms and pulled him onto his lap to cradle against him. “I’m so sorry I scared you. I’m okay, though. I promise.”
“Do you promise to never leave me?”
“Of course I’ll never leave you!” he insisted.
“But,” he paused to sniffle again. “But you and Grandpa were friends. You won’t leave me to go live with Grandpa in Heaven?”
Pain that was completely unrelated to any physical injury filled Dirk’s chest and he swallowed the tears that filled his throat, struggling with a response. Everything comforting seemed a blatant lie. Whereas most fathers could promise to drive careful and avoid any foreseeable dangers, Dirk regularly walked boldly into situations that he could never promise to return from.
“Someday everyone goes to Heaven, Cooper. It might not be for a long time, but sooner or later, we’ll all get to see Grandpa.”
“You promise you won’t go to see him soon?”
This was the most difficult conversation he’d ever had. Compared to this, convincing Alma to marry him seemed a breeze. “I’m going to try my hardest not to go to Heaven soon, Coop. That’s what I can promise, is to do my darnedest to stay here with you. Is that okay?”
After a moment, the little head bobbed against his chest.
“I love you, Cooper,” he whispered, squeezing the child as tight as he dared. “I never want to leave you.”
Chapter 45
“Christian!” Dirk answered with a smile.
“Dirk, I need backup,” came the unexpected reply.
Dirk frowned and looked through the home office door to where Alma was typing a report for work. Reading glasses were daintily perched on her nose while the keys clicked rhythmically at her fingertips. Cooper played on the carpet at Dirk’s feet, racing toy cars across the rug and humming dramatic sound effects.
“Where?” he finally replied.
“Fly into Versailles. I’ll pick you up at the airport.” The line clicked dead.
He sighed and stood to cross to the office, ruffling Cooper’s hair in passing. He leaned against the doorframe, hands stuffed in his jeans pockets and ankles crossed. “I have to go,” he announced quietly.
Alma finished a sentence before swiveling the chair to look at him. She twirled her glasses while appreciating the view. The stance brought back fond memories of the years. She doubted that even after all this time he realized the effect that particular posture ha
d. Standing, she crossed to him and pecked his lips, then brushed her fingers across his jaw. The lines crossing his skin were craggier than ever before and a touch of gray was starting to gather at his temples, but those blue-green eyes were as sharp and brilliant as ever.
She gently touched the scar above his ear. “Be careful.”
His lips parted in a smile. “Always.”
* * *
“Man, is it good to see you!” Christian greeted with a bear hug embrace.
“It’s been too long,” Dirk replied. They rounded the baggage claim and stepped into a bright and sunny afternoon in northern France.
“How’s Alma? And the little tyke?”
In response, Dirk extracted his personal cell and handed it to his friend to flip through pictures. Christian smiled. Dirk’s enthusiasm towards his family hadn’t faded an ounce. Every man in their business knew that women could come and go; sometimes even families flitted in and out of an agent’s life. It didn’t take an imagination to recall that Dirk had once been among the ranks of similar agents, taking solace from and giving comfort to a girl in every port. Christian not only admired his former mentor’s newfound loyalty, he found himself envying it. Those ardent emotions never surfaced while in the arms of any number of women he entertained. But it was in the dark morning hours when he was all alone, knowing there was no one pining for him that he considered Dirk and Alma. He’d never wanted children and knew that Dirk felt the same, but he could practically see the energy and love Dirk emitted in regard to his son.
“He’s a cute kid,” he said and passed the phone back. He motioned to a beige Mercedes. Dirk tossed his bag in the backseat and folded his tall frame into the small European vehicle.
“Well?” he asked as they pulled out of the parking lot.
A proud smile lit Christian’s face. “I have Number One.”
Dirk’s brow furrowed in disbelief. “No.”
He nodded emphatically. “Yes! He’s here in Versailles to finalize a business deal with a Frenchman. I managed to get the drop on the Frenchman and we’re going to crash Aram al Bari’s party tomorrow. The Frenchman, Agarde, is in custody at the U.S. Embassy. We’ll have the venue, Agarde’s mansion, to ourselves. The rendezvous is tomorrow afternoon.”
“What’s the plan?”
“I’ll play butler and greet al Bari’s car. I’ll take out the driver, who is also his trusty bodyguard. They go everywhere together. Meanwhile, you’ll draw a bead on al Bari from the front porch. I’ll cuff him while you cover me.”
“Sounds just simple enough to work.”
“I learned from the best,” Christian quipped. “K-I-S-S.”
Dirk grinned. “Keep it simple, stupid!”
They laughed together. “I’ve missed you, man,” Christian said.
* * *
At precisely four o’clock p.m., a black Renault Sedan rolled down the driveway. The windows were tinted solid black. It was visible through the immaculately trimmed hedges as it wove toward the mansion. Dirk was concealed behind the solid stone railing of the front porch while Christian descended twelve steps to ground level. He was dressed in a butler’s tuxedo, his sidearm hidden in the folds of the black jacket. Another, smaller gun was strapped to his ankle under a pant leg.
“Bonjour,” he greeted through the driver’s open window. He opened the man’s door politely. As the dark-skinned man stepped from the vehicle, Christian shoved the gun between his ribs and pulled the trigger twice. The big man crumbled to the gravel. Before he hit the ground, Christian was already yanking open the back door. But the door was thrust abruptly into him, knocking him off balance and the gun clattered to the driveway.
Dirk watched helplessly as an even larger man, darker than the first, stepped smoothly from the vehicle, wrapped a muscular arm around Christian. Before the younger agent could recover, the point of a large knife was pressed to the side of his neck, hovering uncomfortably near the carotid artery. The man twisted so Christian was between himself and the mansion. Behind them, a smaller tan man unfolded from the backseat and gazed over his second bodyguard’s shoulder.
“Please show yourself,” he ordered in eloquent French.
Dirk was startled and angered by the turn of events. Christian was taut as a bowstring at the large man’s mercy.
“I am no fool,” al Bari continued. “Show yourself and I will spare your companion.”
“How did you know?” Christian asked in a strangled voice. The knife tickled his neck uncomfortably.
Al Bari laughed mirthlessly. “You think Monsieur Agarde was working alone? No. His house staff contacted me instantly upon his arrest and informed me of the sudden vacancy of the property. I’m no fool,” he repeated. He motioned to the porch again. “Now, show yourself.”
Dirk had a firm grasp of the French language, among others. His jaw set, he rose to full height, gun still aimed at the tight-knit trio. It was impossible to take a clear shot at either the terrorist or his bodyguard without sacrificing Christian; the scenario would end either by shooting Christian or by the captor running the knife through his neck.
“Put the gun down,” al Bari demanded.
When Dirk hesitated, the knife pricked Christian’s neck. He flinched and blood trickled to his shoulder.
“Don’t!” Christian shouted.
Memories of the man as a young agent assigned to Dirk for training flooded him. He thought of him as a younger brother. The thought of him dying at his refusal was staggering. Wondering if his heart was softening in his old age, Dirk lowered the weapon and set it carefully on the stone platform.
“Kick it down the stairs,” al Bari ordered.
He did as instructed and the gun clattered down the steps.
“Good.” A fleeting smile passed the Arab’s lips.
Without warning, the bodyguard violently shoved the knife blade through Christian’s neck. The eruption of blood was sudden and volcanic. Dirk was still staring in absolute horror when the killer extracted a gun and aimed at the porch. Christian’s body had hardly hit the dirt when Dirk found himself vaulting over the railing. His story-tall leap would have ended in a smooth landing had not shards of marble and granite burst around him, slicing his skin with minute cuts and interrupting a flawless landing. He hit the cobbled walkway below hard, stumbling and wrenching his knee. With no time to assess the damage, he gained his feet and sprinted for the cover of the garden. Bullets dug divots in the grass at his heels.
“Kill him!” al Bari shouted.
Dirk stumbled through carefully tended foliage and into the dense cover of the surrounding forest. The heavy footfalls of the bodyguard thundered behind him, dulled only by trimmed turf.
Panting, Dirk ducked behind a thick juniper. His knee throbbed angrily and Christian’s dramatic death hovered in his psyche, making it difficult to focus. The loud pursuit of the Arab drew his attention and he forced his turbulent mind to settle.
Where Christian was known for keeping a spare sidearm strapped to his ankle, Dirk preferred a dive knife. He silently reached for that knife now, drawing it with only a whisper of sound. Then he stood, shifting weight to his uninjured left leg. With effort, he stilled his pounding heart and focused all attention to the approaching assassin.
The man drew level with the concealing juniper. He noted the lack of disturbed dirt and needles and stopped to take stock. He was no amateur, Dirk observed. Dirk didn’t allow him the time to consider his victim was nearby. He circled the trunk, came up behind the Arab, and lunged forward, burying his knife in the man’s left armpit, aimed directly at his heart. The struggle between injury and death was violent but brief. Dirk found himself sprawled on top of the massive body, his hand still firmly gripping the blood-soaked knife. He jerked the blade free and gained his feet, leaning on the tree to relieve the pain in his knee.
‘Al Bari is alone, now,’ he thought as his breathing steadied. A vision of Christian’s startled expression, followed almost instantly by fear, then a void of death flashed
in Dirk’s memory. Suddenly none of the soft-heartedness he’d questioned earlier remained, just a cold, dark urge for vengeance. With a single mindset, he turned back to the estate.
Christian’s eyes were still open, fixed blankly at the cloudless sky above. Dirk tried in vain to avoid glancing at the gaping gash in his neck. Filled with a mixture of grief and pure anger, he gently closed his friend’s eyes. The brief moment of regret was overwhelmed by a wave of rage. He yanked the .25 caliber semi-automatic from Christian’s ankle holster and used the bumper of the Renault to stand.
Instead of mounting the painful looking front steps, he rounded the mansion to enter through servants’ quarters in the kitchen. From there, it was only four steps up to the main level of the mansion. Al Bari was seated in the front room nursing a snifter of cognac. He seemed quite comfortable, confident in the abilities of his bodyguard. His back was to the kitchen stairs. He hadn’t turned on any lights and the old building was casting dark shadows in the room.
Dirk begged the aging wooden floor not to creak under his feet and crept from the kitchen, through the shadows, to the back of the armchair al Bari occupied. He didn’t even know Dirk was there until cold metal kissed his temple. He flinched.
“Thank you for giving me an excuse to kill you outright,” Dirk said in French. He pulled the trigger without an ounce of regret.
In the stillness that followed, he stepped around the morbid chair and poured himself a cognac.
Chapter 46
“Daddy? Why are we here?” Cooper asked in a small voice. His little hand was entwined with Dirk’s while they walked through a silent graveyard; his smaller strides kept easy pace with Dirk’s limp.
“One of my best friends passed away,” Dirk answered quietly.
“Oh,” Cooper replied. “I’m really sorry, Daddy.”
Emotions welled in Dirk’s throat and he could only squeeze his son’s hand.
Alma followed the conversation from a few steps behind. She noted the dark suited gentleman silhouetted against the top of the gentle slope. She wasn’t surprised to see Vasquez.
