Once More to Die

by Jim Johnson

  They emerged in a great room with the entire dockside wall made of one giant plate glass window. Eduardo urged her toward the door. “I was just getting ready to go out.”

  She saw white-dressed crewmen swarming over the boat, preparing to cast off. “I need to talk to you, Eduardo.” They went through the door where two more crewmen waited.

  “I would like to show you my new toy,” he told her. They walked down a sidewalk toward the cabin cruiser. “CUBAN BEAUTY?” asked María Elena.

  Eduardo nodded. “I named it after your mother?”

  Something struck María Elena as odd. “Okay. Why?”

  He took her arm. “Come for a ride with me, my dear.”

  “I can’t, Eduardo.” She stopped and he tugged her arm. “I need to know some things.”

  “But I don’t have time,” Eduardo said. He nodded at the two crewmen behind them and they stepped forward.

  María Elena had developed a sixth sense in the last couple of months. She dodged aside, but it was too late. One grabbed her by the arms; the other slapped a strip of duct tape across her mouth. As she struggled, he wrapped duct tape around her arms and torso pinning her arms. The two men lifted her by the arms and carried her toward the boat.

  She screamed fruitlessly into the tape and kicked out. She connected to one knee and the man went down. The other ignored him and dragged her across the dock and up the gangplank. The second man limped after them.

  Eduard Quinones was already on board. “Cast off.”

  The limping man jumped aboard and disconnected the gangplank. Another crewman cast off the last line from the cleat on the dock and jumped aboard.

  The engine was already idling.

  “Go,” Eduardo commanded. “Get her out of sight.”

  They dragged her kicking down into the salon and sat her on a couch. Beneath her, the boat surged ahead. One of them searched her roughly and, while he found her hideout gun, he surprised her by not feeling her up any at all. So she cooperated a little instead of fighting against her bonds and her captors.

  Her thoughts were bitter. Was there no end to treachery and treason? The one person in the whole world whom she’d counted on.

  In a minute, there came a shout from above and glass shattered. Immediately thereafter, she heard the sound of a gunshot.

  Tommy!

  Quinones tumbled down the stairs into the cabin.

  Another shot, then a series of three. CUBAN BEAUTY zigzagged. Quinones cursed.

  “That must be the man I’ve been hearing about.” He shot her a piercing gaze. “Well, it matters not, for he’ll be dead in a few minutes.”

  María Elena mumbled into the tape.

  Eduardo made his way over and gently pried the tape loose. “What did you want to say?”

  “I was trying to say you’ve just signed your own death warrant.”

  He laughed. “You do not sound like my old Alejandrina. Now, you are so much more like your mother.”

  She spat at him. “Diego bought you off. You are a traitor to my family and to Cuba.”

  “Such is not the case,” Eduardo said.

  More gunshots, now father away and yet María Elena heard the plunk of rounds striking expensive wood. “He will hunt you down and kill you.”

  Eduardo shrugged. “It’s not me, my dear. It’s your husband he must negotiate.”

  “All those years, all those people counting on you.”

  Eduardo went to a sideboard. “It is not of my concern.”

  She had an epiphany. “You. You’re the one who introduced Diego García to Papá. You brought him in.”

  Eduardo smiled. “I did that. Yes, my dear. It was my pleasure.” His smile went away and his voice hardened. “He was to be my puppet. But this puppet master lost his touch. The puppet took control.” He pulled a bottle out of a slot and poured himself a glass of vodka. “I learned to drink this from the Russians.” He held up the glass to her. “Cheers.” He drank. “Yes, my protégé took the reins and took control. But I had other business; I was into politics and power and it was okay since García’s goals were close to mine.” He paused. “Now we are uneasy partners. But I do make an embarrassing amount of money.”

  “Why? For God’s sake, Eduardo, why? It was always you and Papá against the world and against Castro and his minions. Why?”

  He walked to her. He cupped her chin and she tried to pull back.

  “Because of you.”

  “Me? I don’t understand.” He’d never shown anything but a grandfatherly interest in her, a favorite uncle.

  “The name of this fine piece of boat? CUBAN BEAUTY.” He sighed and sat next to her. She fidgeted away from him. “Your mother. You. The whole point is that you could have been mine—my child. Your father stole her from me. It was the three of us in Cuba. Those were exciting times.” He stopped and seemed to be remembering.

  The boat had straightened out and was powering along in the bay. Tommy had failed.

  “I don’t know what your game is, Eduardo, but you need to know something.”

  He looked the question at her and drank some vodka.

  “To keep you or even Diego from a horrible death, you should know Tommy will hunt you down and kill you slowly—if I’m harmed. The only chance you have is to keep me alive and whole and trade me for your life.”

  Pain was in his eyes. “Brave words, but I care not.” He shrugged. “I have died slowly a thousand times. And sometimes I regret what I have done, for I should roast in hell.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Your mother. I held such resentment against her choosing your father over me. I had someone turn her in to the Revolutionary authorities on one of her trips to Cuba. They took her into that prison and misused her and put her against the wall and killed her.”

  “No.” Her mind spun. “It can’t be.”

  “Do you not think I have lived in hell ever since? The only thing I have done is prolong my worthless life to atone.” He sighed once more. “But I am weak and I have become accustomed to this life, the money and the power. I do not wish to give it up.”

  María Elena sank back. Her entire world had just collapsed. She could not even think about what her mother had gone through. And Eduardo was responsible for Diego García. In turn, Eduardo was responsible for her father’s murder. He was responsible for the demise of 13 de enero and the rise of something hideous in its place.

  María Elena didn’t know what to think; she didn’t know what to do. All she wanted to do was get away from this craziness.

  Another and worse thought struck her: Tommy. Tommy Atkins would find her. Nothing would stop him, of that she was certain. But he would be arrayed against unknown forces, thugs, military, and gang members. He’d rush in and become a sitting duck. All of her bluster: she should have said nothing; she should not have warned them Tommy would come for her no matter what. Damn. Why hadn’t she thought it all through?

  She understood that now Tommy had become her steel; she relied on him being there for her. She was thankful she had known him and loved him. It was all she had left.

  And she had just committed him to die violently.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: HIM

  He was timing it so they’d reach the entrance before him. One had a key card out. As he neared, he saw through the glass alongside the double doors that in the lobby and off to the side was a security guard behind a counter. He had a couple of computer monitors on his desk, obviously for review of security cameras. Great, just fucking great. Tommy did note that the rent-a-cop had the same uniform as Elmer down in Miami. That private security company was making a lot of money.

  One of the women was scanning a card and the door unlocked just as Tommy arrived. The other woman stubbed out a cigarette in the courtesy stand. He extended his arm for the two and held the door. They barely paid any attention to him. Unusual, since often he rated a speculative look. Tommy followed them through the doors and toward the elevators. The guard nodded at the women
and his eyes questioned Tommy.

  “Hey,” Tommy said, “Elmer says hello.”

  The guy shook his head and then recognized what Tommy was saying. “That old goat?”

  “He’s got an outside job, you got air conditioning.” Tommy sped up toward the elevators. Apparently, that held the guard and precluded a challenge.

  Three elevators, three towers he realized. He was looking for 502. A sign regarding all three guided him. All the 01’s were the first tower and the left elevator, the 02’s the center tower and center elevator, and the 03’s the right tower.

  The women were standing at the center elevator and Tommy went that way. One of them was holding a little white dog in her arms. Tommy thought idly that dogs in a condo were not an easy thing logistically speaking. You had to walk them or something. Not his problem.

  The door opened and he dallied so he could take an elevator alone. The tall, super attractive brunette held the door open for him expectantly. He realized it would be very awkward if he stayed standing around in the lobby; so he hurried onto the elevator and turned around, his back to the wall.

  The blonde with short hair and white dog said, “What floor?”

  “Five,” he decided. When in doubt, go in fast and go in strong. Surprise is your best weapon.

  The brunette pushed five for him and then six for them.

  The little white dog eyed him coldly.

  The tall brunette adjusted her striking sun dress, showing plenty of cleavage. Even as his mind was occupied with whatever was coming next, he realized she was one hell of a good-looking woman. She smelled faintly of smoke.

  Upon further scrutiny, the blonde was highly attractive, too. She had an ass to die for. She scratched the dog’s head and he absorbed the attention haughtily. “Nice dog, Fluffy. You’re so cute,” the blonde crooned. She was dressed in a traditional women’s business gray pantsuit.

  Tommy’s eyes couldn’t help but scan back to the brunette’s cleavage. Her dress seemed even lower than when he’d first looked at her. He tried to not appear to be looking down her dress, though doubtless she was used to it.

  The elevator passed three.

  It was a sun-yellow south Florida sun dress and did little to conceal her shapely hips.

  She caught him looking and gave him a speculative glance.

  He colored slightly, caught like a teenager.

  The blonde was still cooing to the dog, nuzzling into its neck.

  The elevator chimed at five, and Tommy waited as the doors opened.

  Back on task, he scanned the landing before he walked out. Fancy. Only one door and that was directly opposite the elevator. Nobody was on the landing. It was a damn fine condo unit, your own floor in the center tower.

  “Have a nice day,” the blonde said.

  Tommy glanced at the brunette once more, letting his eyes flow up her body past her jutting breasts to her finely sculpted face. She smiled knowingly at him. Was there an invitation hidden in her glance?

  He shook his head, more to get back in focus than to ignore her.

  “Thanks,” he mumbled and stepped to the door of the elevator.

  As his foot went over onto the fifth floor landing, the brunette’s arm moved aside and her purse struck the wall of the elevator with a definitive thunk.

  It took Tommy a split second to come to realization. “Oh, shit,” he said aloud and turned toward her. He’d heard that kind of noise before. A gun in her purse striking the fake wooden wall.

  The brunette had a sly smile on her face.

  The door pinged angrily at him to move so it could close automatically and go up to six.

  Tommy reached for his gun.

  “Ahem,” said the blonde.

  Tommy glanced at her as his arm streaked inside his leather jacket.

  The muzzle of an automatic gaped at him from beneath the damn dog Fluffy.

  Tommy’s shoulders slumped. By the time he looked back at the brunette she had her gun out from somewhere.

  He shook his head at the trap. “Jeez. You’re the best. I’ve never been had like that before.” Clever they were; and they must have co-opted the security guard.

  The blonde smiled amiably. “Step off the elevator, Mr. Atkins.”

  Two automatics tracked him. The blonde had her weapon arm through the elevator door to stall the auto-close mechanism. They stepped out behind him, neither gun wavering from its target.

  In seconds they were standing on the fifth floor landing.

  “What now?” asked Tommy. He eyed the brunette. Usually he was immune to hot babes, but this one—If I wasn’t smitten with someone else, I’d chase you around the office, he thought to himself.

  “Me, too, maybe,” the brunette said, interpreting his look. “Hands behind your head, you know the position.”

  He clasped his hands behind his head while she removed his weapons. The blonde kept her gun at his head.

  Tommy was scanning through his mental files and they fit no profile involved in this. Could they be part of Don Diego’s cabal? No, there was something about them, something—“Feds,” he accused.

  “Guilty,” said the blonde. “I’m CIA and she’s FBI.”

  And there could only be one kind of fed associated with this whole mess. “JTF 13?” If so, they were on Don Diego García’s side as far as he could extrapolate.

  The blonde looked under attractive eyebrows at him. “You know us?”

  He shook his head. “I wish.”

  “I’m the Good Fairy and I’m granting your wish,” she said.

  The brunette laughed, the sound intriguing and one you want to hear in the bedroom.

  “I am Susan Quantrell and she is Linda Landover.”

  “Doubtless it’s Suzie Q and Linda L,” Tommy said. He castigated himself for being too garrulous; you don’t learn anything when you’re talking. And if nothing else, you certainly don’t want an opponent to know how smart or how stupid you are.

  “Inside,” Suzie Q motioned with her handgun.

  Tommy went that way, biding his time. Would García be here? He surely hoped so. But he did admit grudgingly that the newfound Linda L would be a dangerous adversary and he’d have to plan his move carefully. Her eyes did not telegraph; most times people’s eyes telegraph when they are holding weapons on you. Not hers. But they followed him unblinkingly, and he could tell she was plotting each step he took as if she were doing that thing. So she’d no doubt identify anything he could use against them just as or before he did.

  The blonde opened the unlocked door and nodded for him to precede them. He walked into a short entry hall past a very roomy kitchen into a large open family room. Dark wood paneling. Expensive furniture obviously done by a professional decorator. Several large sliding glass doors opened onto a wide patio overlooking the Atlantic. Tommy saw the requisite sailboats and small boats all the way to the horizon. He felt pangs when he saw a similar cabin cruiser to CUBAN BEAUTY. He wondered where that boat had gone. The condo was empty around him; his sixth sense told him no one else was here. He was surprised that the place looked tossed. If García was allied with JTF 13, then they weren’t treating him well. There was more going on around here than he was aware of. The hell with that, he decided, that’s their problem. His problem, his focus was María Elena and her safe return.

  The brunette set his weapons down on a sideboard next to a laptop computer. The evidence was telling him they’d already been here, obviously looking for something, maybe even Diego García.

  He looked around for a weapon he could stand close to and perhaps use it when the time came.

  Fluffy trotted over to him and sniffed his Nikes.

  Two automatics were still trained on him. Linda dropped a set of handcuffs on an end table. “Put them on, please.”

  He considered not doing so, but one look and he knew she’d kneecap him or something similar. He hurried to seemingly comply, because he wanted to cuff his arms in front, not behind. He put them on and clicked them onto the first
détente.

  “More,” directed Landover.

  Two more clicks.

  This time she shrugged. She’d seen his hands and knew he wouldn’t be able to escape. “Sit down, please.”

  Tommy moved quickly to a hard chair next to a window overlooking another condominium next door. He could get up easier and even if the sun was setting now the window would provide a background glare which might give him a slight edge. He placed his feet directly under him for a quick launch.

  But they stayed far enough away to negate an escape attempt with any chance of success.

  They stood in front of him, neither weapon straying.

  “Mr. Atkins,” said Suzie Q. “We’ve got you making your first kill at sixteen in Tampa.”

  They were going to try to intimidate him with their knowledge. He could tell from Quantrell’s eyes and demeanor that she was the boss here.

  “He deserved it,” Tommy said.

  “You were described as a thug”

  “I prefer ‘roughneck.’ Ah, the folly of youth.”

  “Granted,” she continued. “Your name at the time was Longboat. Admittedly, we don’t know what all went down back then. After that you volunteered and enlisted in the Marines. Based in Lebanon mainly. I got into some super secret CIA archives about your unit and their operations in the Middle East, and those missions were way, way off the books.”

  She must be CIA for sure, then.

  “Yes ma’am. That President Reagan and Director Casey were pretty cagey. Nobody ever knew.”

  “We do not know what your participation amounted to.”

  Tommy said nothing.

  “Interpol knows of you; we have reports to that effect. I have a contact in the Direction du Renseignment Militaire.” The French Directorate of Military Intelligence. CIA’s French was better than his. “Quite illegally my contact accessed personnel records of the Légion étrangére. You enlisted under the name Alexander Dumas. Quite literary, I might add.”

  Tommy shrugged.

  “Conservatively, they have you killing maybe a couple of hundred Cubans and MPLA guerillas.”

  “I was a soldier; I did what I was ordered to do. MPLA, UNITA, FNLA, they were all crazy guerillas more interested in rape, torture, murder and looting than political affiliations. The Cubans were Soviet surrogates and fighting for money that Castro needed badly.”