Scorpion Strike

by John Gilstrap

  Jonathan pointed. “Look.” What appeared to be a body lay in the middle of the fairway, maybe a hundred yards in the distance.

  Gail gave a little gasp. “The blue T-shirt,” she said. “Isn’t that what—”

  “Jaime was wearing,” Jonathan finished. “Shit. Stay here.”

  Gail protested, “But I—”

  “Stay here!” Jonathan didn’t wait for an answer. This was why the kids were better in the tunnels and then hiding in plain sight among the hostages. This was why the adults with the guns and the training were supposed to be in a position to use them. He’d let Gail talk him into changing the order of things, and now Jaime was dead. He knew that it was unreasonable of him to lay his death on her, and he needed this time, this walk across green grass in bright sunlight, to clear his head of the terrible thoughts.

  Jaime was most definitely dead, a hole blown through his face. From the level of damage, Jonathan figured they’d shot him with a rifle and at close range.

  “That means they have Tyler, doesn’t it?” Gail asked from very close by.

  “I thought I asked you to stay,” Jonathan said.

  “No, you ordered me to stay. But this is my doing, and I won’t hide from it.”

  Jonathan looked to her.

  “I know you were right,” she said. There was no defensiveness in her tone. “And I know I was wrong, and that makes me responsible for Jaime’s death.”

  “Bullshit,” Jonathan said. “You didn’t pull the trigger.”

  “And you know that doesn’t matter,” she said. “What do we do with the body?”

  “Nothing,” Jonathan said. “Not yet, anyway.”

  “We can’t just let him roast in the sun.”

  “I imagine there’ll be a lot of bodies to take care of before tomorrow morning. We don’t need to telegraph to these assholes that we’ve been here.”

  “What are we going to do about Tyler?”

  “We’re going to hope that they keep him alive long enough for us to rescue him later.”

  “You know they’re going to kill him,” Gail said.

  “All I know is that’s what they’ve promised to do. There’s a difference.”

  “But we can’t just—”

  “Jesus, Gail, what would you have me do? I think it would be great to go storming over to the pool with guns a-blazin’ and yank him away, but we can’t do that, can we? Not and survive. We don’t even know where the hell he is.”

  Gail looked wounded by his words. She recoiled. And he didn’t care.

  “We’ve all got one job here, and that’s to survive,” he went on. “No make that two, to survive and to gather whatever intel we can find that will make tonight be something other than a shit show. Big Guy is going to come onto the island, and he’s not going to want to take any punishment to the bad guys beyond what it takes to get you and me out of here. In his mind, we’re the precious cargo. If we don’t have some kind of an action plan to present to him and whoever else he’s bringing, then our shit is going to be pretty stinkin’ weak. He’s going to toss us onto his boat and drive home.” Jonathan didn’t know where this well of anger came from, but he’d tapped into something big that didn’t want to stop.

  “So, that’s what we’re going to do,” he said. “We’re going to gather as much intel, and do as much damage as we can, so that when the cavalry arrives, we’ll be ready to go.” He started walking toward the jungle on the other side of the fairway. “Just like everybody else, Tyler’s going to have to fend for himself for a while.”

  This was new territory for both of them. Being in need of rescue was a whole different animal than being the guy in charge of the rescue. The sense of helplessness—of victimhood, for lack of a better word—unnerved him. He didn’t like being in a position of having to wait for others in order to stay alive, but the reality of his situation was that he had no cards left to play. Until darkness fell and reinforcements arrived, he was in the business of keeping hidden and staying alive.

  “So, where are we going first?” Gail asked as they crossed from the open into the jungle.

  “Let’s take a look at their power plant,” he said.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out and answered, “Joe’s Pizza.”

  “Where have you been?” Venice was nearly yelling. “I’ve been trying to get hold of you for over an hour.”

  Jonathan scowled. “Whoa, what’s up?”

  “What’s up,” she said, “is a delivery of VX agent to your island tonight.”

  CHAPTER 26

  “WHAT’S GOING ON HERE, BAKER?” TYLER ASKED. “WHY IS THIS happening?”

  They’d determined when Tyler was first planted in the same room with Baker that it would be best to say nothing for fear of being overheard. For their captors to know that they were related would tilt the balance of power in a way that couldn’t help either one of them. But after more than a half hour of silence, Tyler couldn’t take it anymore.

  “It’s a very long story,” Baker said.

  “Does it have anything to do with the storage caves on the back side of the island?”

  Baker looked stunned.

  “Yeah, I know about them,” Tyler said.

  “Then you know everything,” Baker said. “The Crystal Sands is an expensive facility to run. It won’t work without the extra revenue.”

  “Revenue from what?”

  “I really don’t want to go into all that.”

  “Baker, when that Alpha asshole comes back in here, he’s going to bust me to bits with a hammer. I think I have a right to know why.”

  “What do they think you know?” Baker’s demeanor changed in an instant. His face was a mask of concern.

  “They don’t believe anything I’ve told them.”

  “Should they?”

  Tyler gave him a look. “I don’t know what to do. I know that as soon as they start smashing my teeth—”

  “Oh, my God.”

  “—I’m going to give them everything they want. But if I cave outright, I’ll never be able to live with myself.”

  “But you’ll be able to live,” Baker said. “What secrets do you have to hide?”

  Until this day, Tyler had regarded his stepfather as one of the noblest men in the world. But that was before he learned stories of illicit arms sales and activities that could inspire the kind of violence that Alpha and his army brought with him.

  “You first,” Tyler said. “What do these terrorists want?”

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “I’m brighter than you think.”

  “That’s not how I meant it.”

  “Baker, don’t you get what’s happening here? People are dying because of whatever secret you’ve kept. You’ve already admitted that it has everything to do with selling arms to people who shouldn’t have them.”

  “Wait,” Baker snapped. “Who’s to judge who should and shouldn’t—”

  “No. Don’t. Don’t even try. The guys who kill tourists to get weapons are the ones who shouldn’t have them. I mean, come on. That’s not even debatable.” Tyler watched Baker’s eyes, and as the subject drilled in on weapons, his stepfather couldn’t bear to look at anything but the floor.

  “It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Baker said. “It was supposed to be nothing like this. You know, bad people do bad things, with or without the involvement of good people. If group A wants rocket launchers, they’re going to get them, one way or another. Or rifles or hand grenades, or whatever. That exchange is going to take place.” When he looked to his stepson, he seemed to be searching for approval. Understanding, maybe.

  Tyler tried to give it to him, but wasn’t sure that he pulled it off.

  “But those kinds of transactions are dangerous when they happen on the street or in the jungle,” Baker went on. “When someone from the CIA wants to pass a load of Sidewinders or AMRAAMs to a group of insurgents with an air fleet that they barely know how to fly, that can’t just happen in the
middle of an alley, you know? The Crystal Sands provides a safe point of transfer. We’re a service.”

  “I get that,” Tyler said. “How long have you been providing this . . . service?”

  Baker keyed in on the hesitation. “You’re judging me,” he said. “Don’t you dare do that. The money that this place has generated—through the front door and the back—has provided you with a lifestyle that other young men would sell their souls for.”

  Except for this part, right here, Tyler thought. “I don’t mean to offend, Baker. Hell, I don’t know what I mean to do anymore. I’m sorry.”

  Baker said, “The arms business predates the hospitality business by probably six, seven years. It’s the reason I bought the island.”

  “Is it legal?”

  “Under whose law?” Baker asked. “That’s the beauty of the place. There’s probably a subparagraph of some international law that we’re breaking, but who’s going to enforce it? And even if they wanted to, how are they going to enforce it here? We’re essentially an island without a country. At least, not one that matters. Our business works because all sides of every conflict know that we are a safe haven.”

  Despite his pain and his fear, Baker’s words broke through and Tyler recoiled from what he was pretty sure he’d just heard. “What does ‘all sides’ mean? You do business with our enemies?”

  “I don’t have enemies,” Baker said. “I have clients. Not all of my clients get along with each other, but that is not my problem.”

  Tyler considered that for a few seconds. “So, you’re like a living Switzerland? Neutrality all around?”

  “Exactly. Exactly.”

  “So, what happened here?”

  “I’m not sure,” Baker said. “There’s a shipment coming in tonight that Alpha and his team do not approve of.”

  “From where?” Tyler asked.

  The door slammed open and Alpha stormed in with two other soldiers. One was X-ray, Tyler’s nemesis from the golf course. Alpha held a wallet and a phone in his hand. Tyler recognized both of them. It’s entirely possible that he stopped breathing.

  “Tyler Stratton,” Alpha said. “Does that name ring a bell with you?”

  Tyler said nothing. What was there to say?

  “Swollen as you are, I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I knew you looked familiar to me. Then one of my colleagues gave me exactly one wallet and one phone that had not been claimed.” He held one in each hand at shoulder height and width. “Do these look familiar to you?”

  Again, there was nothing to say. Now he was going to die.

  “Tyler Stratton, you are going to tell me everything you know about the animals who are roaming this island killing my men. I know you know, so don’t bother trying to deny it.”

  “I know that they are here,” Tyler said, trying hard to hedge his bets. “I know that they have guns and that they are shooting your people. But I don’t know anything about them.” Most of that actually felt like the truth.

  Alpha smiled without humor. Smiled with menace. “Well, liars lie, don’t they?” he said. “I have no way of knowing the actual truth, do I? Not without a trial by pain.” He turned to X-ray, who, Tyler just now noticed, was holding the hammer. “Start with the teeth,” Alpha said.

  “Stop!” Baker boomed, startling everyone in the room. “Don’t touch that boy.”

  Alpha stared at him for a few seconds, then threw his head back and laughed. “Or what?”

  “Or you fail,” Baker said.

  Tyler thought he saw a crack in Alpha’s badassery. “Bold talk for a man who’s tied to a table,” he said.

  “Do your research,” Baker said. “Tyler Stratton is my son. Okay, my stepson, but as a practical matter, there is no distinction. If you touch him—if you so much as muss his hair—you’re on your own. I won’t give you anything you’re looking for. That shipment will arrive off the shore, hear nothing, and then sail away again.”

  “If that happens, you die,” Alpha said.

  “I won’t let you hurt my son. Hard stop.”

  Tyler watched the exchange through blurring vision. Was Baker really willing to die for him?

  X-ray seemed most disappointed of all, like a child who’d been told he couldn’t play his favorite game. He focused his gaze on Alpha, who dismissed him with a subtle flick of his head.

  Alpha leveled a finger at Tyler. “This isn’t over,” he said. “If one more of my men is killed at the hands of whoever is wandering out there, it won’t matter what your stepfather does or does not give to us. I will burn out your eyes personally.”

  The intensity of Alpha’s glare was such that Tyler didn’t doubt that his threat was not an idle one.

  Then Alpha turned to Baker. “And your time is coming sooner than you think. Do yourself a favor, and do not overplay your hand. If you don’t give me what I want, I will lay waste to everything and everyone on this island. It will be a bloodbath.”

  Baker listened stoically. He glanced to Tyler, and then looked squarely at Alpha. “I’m not going to let you hurt my son,” he said.

  * * *

  Jonathan found a deadfall to use as a seat, and Gail sat down next to him. He put the call on speaker, and dialed the volume down till it was barely audible. “You’re sure it’s the CIA making the delivery,” he prompted.

  “That’s what my sources tell me,” Venice said.

  “Who are your sources?” Jonathan asked.

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Whichever you’re most comfortable with.”

  Jonathan looked to Gail for ideas. Got nothing in response. “How confident are you that your sources are correct?”

  “Very.”

  “How can you be?” Gail asked. “That’s a pretty big secret just to stumble onto.”

  “Let’s talk about the last time I got something this big wrong,” Venice said. She hated it when she had to justify her conclusions to Jonathan or anyone else.

  Jonathan said, “Okay, you got me.”

  “Thank you,” Venice said. “Now let’s talk about why they’re bringing the nerve gas to you.”

  “I’ve only got so much battery power,” Jonathan said. “Please don’t make me guess.”

  “The CIA plans to give it to the Ukrainians.”

  Jonathan felt a chill. “To use against the Russians,” he said.

  “That’s what I’m told,” Venice confirmed.

  “So, that explains everything,” Gail said. Her eyes were huge. “The Russians are here to nab the shipment.”

  “And that begs the question of what they’re going to do with it after they get their hands on it,” Venice said.

  “Well, we know they don’t plan on destroying it,” Jonathan said. “Else they wouldn’t have brought that big ship.”

  “But why the attack?” Venice asked. “Why take everybody hostage?”

  “I can only guess,” Jonathan said. “But I think I’ve got a good one. Whoever’s running this for the Company is using Baker Sinise as a broker for a reason. I’m guessing it’s the deniability factor, but the motivation matters less than the fact of it. If the Russians battle it out with the Agency pukes, there’ll be a lot of official paperwork to fill out, if only to cover for all the undercover shit. So, the Russians want the spooks to think that everything is working the way it’s supposed to.”

  “You mean business as usual,” Gail said.

  “Exactly,” Jonathan said. “But I’m guessing this’ll be the end of his gunrunning business. That’s a small world, and small worlds have wicked rumor mills.”

  Venice concluded, “By taking hostages, they’ll have the leverage they need to force Sinise to commit financial suicide.”

  “Exactly,” Jonathan said. “If not actual suicide. I’ve dealt with a few gunrunners in my day, and they are not a forgiving lot. Whoever was slotted to make the run for the Ukrainians was due for a hunk of cash, I’m sure, and they’re gonna be perturbed when they fi
nd out that their payload has gone bye-bye.”

  “Do you want me to call Wolverine and find out what she wants us to do with the shipment if we can get our hands on it?” Venice asked.

  “Whoa, wait,” Gail said. “We don’t know anything about how to handle nerve agent.”

  “What’s this we shit, kemosabe?” Jonathan said with a grin. “I know plenty about it. And the most important takeaway has always been to stay the hell away from it.”

  “Thank you,” Gail said.

  “Except in this case, we can’t do that.”

  Her jaw dropped.

  “It’s friggin’ nerve agent,” Jonathan explained. “There’s a reason why that shit’s been declared illegal. If I get a chance to keep the Russians—in particular—from getting their hands on it, I’m going to take it.”

  “Don’t they already have a lot of it on their own?” Venice asked. From her voice alone, Jonathan could tell that she did not approve of whatever plan was blooming in his mind.

  “Not officially, but of course they do. We don’t officially have any of it, either, but I could name the facility in New Jersey where we store shit tons of it. And we don’t need it getting in the hands of Ukrainian terrorists, either.”

  “I thought the Ukrainians were freedom fighters,” Gail said.

  It took a couple of seconds for Jonathan to realize that she wasn’t joking. “Sure, they’re freedom fighters now, but wait till they get their hands on some WMDs. Labels like terrorist and freedom fighter are heavily dependent on which end of the missile you’re looking at.”

  “So, why don’t I call Wolverine and ask for her input?” Venice said.

  Jonathan rolled his eyes. “The short answer is because I already know what I intend to do,” he said. “The longer answer is that if it is the policy of President Tony Darmond to solve our problems with Russia by arming their enemies with nerve agent, the FBI director will have nothing to do with it. The whole operation will be beyond her purview, so she won’t have a vote.”

  “So, now you’re making policy for the United States government?” Gail asked.