by Jim Johnson
Sliding to a stop, he peeked around the corner. One sentry, his rifle at his shoulder, scanning all approaches. Tommy shot him before the man could register his presence.
He scrambled up the back steps and slammed through the screen door there. One more soldier ran out into the hallway from a side room and Tommy put him down.
The PA system squelched again. “Atkins, thirty seconds and she dies.”
Tommy was beginning to hate that voice.
He said nothing, hoping that they’d not know if the attacker was in fact him. That possibility might give García pause.
A mosquito sank her nose into his throat and he absently smashed it.
Tommy ran down the long corridor. It looked like it might go all the way through the building to the front end he’d just evacuated.
Then some bright son of a bitch tossed a metal folding chair into the hallway and he tripped over it and went sprawling. He tried a paratrooper shoulder roll, but the corridor was too narrow and he slammed against a wall. He regained his feet and shot into the room from whence came the chair. Then he stopped as María Elena might be in there. He was stymied. He didn’t have time to check every room.
“Out of time, Atkins,” the grating voice said over the PA. “If you shoot now, you will kill her.”
María Elena stumbled out between a set of doors down the hall on the left. Immediately following her came another, seemingly attached to her. He tripped and almost dragged María Elena down with him.
It finally registered on Tommy that the two were handcuffed together.
Tommy raised his weapon to kill the next man to come out of that same room.
No longer on the PA system, the same voice said, “Atkins, surrender now or I will kill them.”
María Elena smiled at him wistfully. Frantically she looked around for somewhere to run to.
“Kill him, Tommy!” she shouted.
“Too late, Atkins,” the voice yelled.
Tommy started toward the two in the hallway and the man was on his knees now and a shot reverberated in the close confines and half of his head exploded. María Elena stared in horror.
She turned to him. “Run, Tommy,” she said matter-of-factly, telling him to save himself.
He grinned at her. “Hell no, Pocahontas. I wouldn’t leave you for the world.” He dropped his handgun. “García? I threw down my gun.”
García stepped out into the corridor. He was immaculate, freshly showered, dark hair still wet and slick, goatee dark and ominous. He aimed his automatic at Tommy. “Yet I’ll wager you are still armed.”
“Of course.”
“I guess it won’t matter in a few seconds.”
“I guess not,” Tommy replied. “I have no choice, but I do expect you to keep your unspoken agreement.”
“You’ll never know,” said García.
“Diego, no!” begged María Elena.
“No?” García asked.
“I beg you. If I ever meant anything to you.”
“Pocahontas? Do not beg, he’s going to kill me anyway. Save your breath.”
“I’d do anything for you, Tommy. Even to this fucking pig.”
García spoke to her. “Your friend is correct, my dear. He knows I am going to kill him. He’s asking man to man for me to not kill you, too. It was his bargain for surrendering to me.”
“I know that. Do you still think I am a stupid young girl?”
“I never thought so,” García said sadly. “Why, did you think I was never in love with you? I was older and could not express myself in your terms. And look what you’ve done to me.” He spat. “And you never gave me an heir.” He paused. “A boy.”
María Elena froze and was staring at him. She ignored the fact she was handcuffed to the body of Eduardo Quinones. Tommy recognized the man, what was left of his face, from the quick view he’d caught at the mansion on the bay.
“What do you mean what I’ve done to you?” María Elena demanded.
García lifted his shoulders and wagged his handgun at Tommy. “We remain husband and wife. You have cuckolded me.”
She stood still, staring at him.
“Let me say it differently, María Elena. You are fucking a man who is not your husband.”
She continued to stare at him.
“It is not that you fuck so very well at any rate, my dear. Yet you are doing it to him.”
“No, Diego, I…”
“Do not deny it. It is intuitively obvious, my good wife. Look at Atkins, he is not denying it. Think you he’d go through this if it were not for love?”
“It doesn’t matter,” María Elena said.
Tommy was inching his hand toward the pocket with the silenced handgun in it.
Diego was watching him. “Don’t. Well, Mr. Atkins, I certainly hope she has treated you better than she treated me. If she does it well these days, do not forget I taught her how to fuck.” His voice turned vicious, angry. “I used to think it was great to deflower a virgin, but she was the exception to the rule.” He was hammering Tommy to get at María Elena. “Look at that mouth on her, Mr. Atkins. A beautiful thing, no? Made to give a man a blow job. Perfect lips. Any man’s dream. Could I persuade her to do a little oral sex? No, sir. I never even found out if she would swallow or not. I hope you had better luck.” García was working himself up now, more angry after each word. “When she finally left me, I refused to give her a divorce, for I became vindictive. I had her watched. If she had a man friend, my associates would discourage his attentions.” He grinned at his own machinations.
It occurred to Tommy that García had really been in love with María Elena and was bitter that his affection was not returned. Tommy absently scratched at the mosquito bite, but García was watching him closely. Tommy regretted wearing the leather jacket for it prevented him from making a quick draw. And most of his weapons were underneath in the vest or in his waistband. Or down his back.
“He’s a nasty son of a bitch, isn’t he?” Tommy asked María Elena.
“Now he is,” she nodded. “At one time that was not the case.”
“And is she not the most beautiful creature you have ever seen?” García continued.
“She is,” said Tommy. “But you wanted a trophy, arm candy, a woman to enhance your reputation, a free ticket to run 13 de enero.” Tommy was thinking to make him angry enough that he’d make a mistake. Tommy could see the same thought on María Elena’s face. If he could distract García enough, maybe María Elena could incapacitate him long enough for Tommy to get over there.
“I wanted her to suck me off like mine was the last dick on Earth,” García continued.
“It pleases me greatly I never fulfilled your wishes,” said María Elena.”
“At first, I was thinking love conquers all,” García said. “Soon you disabused me of that quaint notion.” He laughed. He nodded at Tommy. “That is why I gave her to my men. Somebody sure needed to enjoy that thing. I did not, not for very long anyway. Soon she became just a warm place to jack off in. Did you not find it so also, Mr. Atkins?”
“María Elena?”
“Yes, Tommy?”
“We need to change your last name as soon as possible.”
“Yes, Tommy.” Her eyes grew wide. “Yes, Tommy!”
García stared. “Well, that’s not going to happen. She’s crazy and cold, Atkins. You want nothing to do with her.” He shook his head as if trying to remove memories. “I wanted her; I married her, because she was so beautiful—if young. And it took marriage to get into her pants.”
“Frankly, García, I found her to be someone to love and cherish. That’s all it takes. Not someone to use. Look, I understand you’re trying to hurt me, us, because of perceived wrongs. Can we stop making like teenagers?”
“So it is that you wish me to kill you right now instead of putting it off for a few minutes?”
“No. You need to escape. You’ve fucked this all up pretty much. I know some things you need to know to escape. My barga
in is that you keep us alive, and I will tell you what you need to know to get out of this alive.”
“You bargain with no chips, Atkins.” He shook his head and waved his automatic at Tommy.
“I will put them on the table. You need to know what the feds know, where they are, and their intentions.”
García thought for a moment, stroking his goatee. “And you know this information how?”
“Yesterday late, early evening, I spent some quality time with JTF 13 and we had a very fruitful discussion.”
“Your proof?”
“Nothing in black and white and you know it, García. The names Susan Quantrell and Linda Landover. How’s that?”
“Not bad, what else have you got?”
Tommy shrugged his shoulders and scratched the mosquito bite on his throat again. “I am betting our lives on it.”
García thought for a moment. “Very good, Mr. Atkins. Shall we talk?”
The sound of a jet engine throttling down came into the quiet building.
Tommy had no clue. Perhaps García had gotten an aircraft for his escape. But then the look on García’s face told him otherwise.
Tommy took advantage of the situation. “I’m not going to talk like this. Release María Elena from that dead man first.”
García was distracted as they all heard the aircraft land and the engines die. He spoke into the room, quick Spanish that Tommy didn’t understand. Two men came out and dragged Quinones’ body into the room, effectively pulling María Elena behind him.
García kept Tommy covered. “Inside the room, too.”
Tommy appeared to accept his fate and walked quickly toward García. But the man was a pro and stepped far aside, motioning Tommy into the room.
Tommy smiled professionally at the man and turned into the lounge. His anger was cold and deadly. He knew that the words García had spoken meant little, but the man had said those words to hurt María Elena and Tommy.
Two camo clad soldiers were affixing another set of handcuffs to the one strung between María Elena and the late Eduardo Quinones. Then they wrapped the chain around a PVC pipe and clipped the other cuff to the chain. She was chained to the PVC while remaining cuffed to Quinones. The men stepped back and under García’s direction, came over to Tommy and stripped the jacket and vest off of him. They searched him well and removed all his weapons, including his knife and the short shotgun down his back. Finished, they stepped away.
“Cuff him,” said García.
“In a minute,” Tommy said with determination. He walked toward María Elena.
“Atkins, stop or I’ll kill you.”
“Go ahead, García. You’ll never find out what I know.” He kept walking. “She’s bleeding and I want to check it out.” He massaged the mosquito bite again angrily.
María Elena had been forced to sit on the floor alongside Quinones. The blood Tommy referred to was most likely from the attorney.
He bent over her rubbing his throat.
Her eyes went to García and did not react as if the man was lining up a shot at Tommy.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his eyes flickering downward to his chest as his fingers went from rubbing his throat to dragging out his crucifix.
“I…I don’t know,” she said, picking up on the gambit and playing for time.
“You have to learn to not pay attention to what an angry husband spews; it is all anger and no sense.”
The chain swung free and the crucifix hung right in front of her face.
“Well, he never talked like that when we got married,” she responded and reached up with her lovely mouth and bit through two links in the chain. The chain snaked loose and landed on her lap. She jiggled a leg and the chain slid to the floor.
He stared into her eyes and saw an age-old understanding.
He smiled encouragement. She nodded agreeably like everything was going to be okay. She leaned her forehead against his and closed her eyes for a moment.
Tommy didn’t look at García or his goons; they either saw the exchange or his body sufficiently concealed the exchange. “I think that’s not your blood,” he said, standing upright. “Too bad for Quinones.”
She nodded at him, the crucifix lodged successfully in her mouth, tucked behind her teeth into the left cheek.
Tommy turned to García. “If you’d treated her right, she’d have made you a good wife.”
García was on his cell phone. “What do they want?” He listened. “For Christ’s sake, don’t bring them here. I have the situation under control, but we need to clean up bodies and blood and evidence of a massive gun battle.” García’s voice indicated strain, but his eyes were watchful. He motioned with his automatic.
One of the men came over and handcuffed Tommy with plastic tri-fold disposable restraints. He ratcheted the plastic on tightly. “Sit against the wall,” the man directed. Tommy saw a bored indifference on his face.
Diego García snapped his cell phone closed. “It seems as if we have visitors. And they do not appear hostile. Perhaps, Atkins, you lose your bargaining chip.”
“Who is it?” Tommy was curious.
“That is none of your affair.” García motioned to two men. “Guard them well. If they make any noise, kill them. If they try to escape, kill them.”
“Aye, Commandante.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: THEM
They sat on patio lounge chairs on Diego García’s patio. The evening was late. Suzie Quantrell was still wearing her slacks and blouse; Linda Landover wore a very short beach robe, courtesy of Diego García’s closet. Apparently, he kept extra clothing for female guests. Linda’s clothes were currently spinning in García’s dryer back in his laundry room after having been washed twice to get the chlorine and vegetable oil out of her sun dress.
Suzie sipped her martini, thankful for García’s good liquor selection. Her eyes went from Linda’s long, exposed legs to the magnificent view of the Atlantic. Lights flowed across the horizon, mostly south to north as ships used the Gulfstream to assist their transport.
Linda raised her martini glass and took a sip. “This is the life. How is it the bad guys get all the bennies in life?”
“Maybe they’re simply lucky,” said Suzie.
“I don’t believe that, and if it’s true, it ain’t right.” Linda took another small drink. “I could get to like this, but I don’t want to have many more if García will walk in that door any minute.”
“He’s not, Linda. The place feels abandoned. While we’ve found personal items, they’re not necessary. No papers, no money, no jewelry, nothing of consequence. Nothing on the computer. He’s a goner.”
“Our hotel does not compare to this place. If we rack out here tonight, we can wait for him to show, if he does.”
“We will, hon. Listen, it’s time we went pro-active.”
“Pro-active didn’t work so well with Atkins.”
“For you, maybe,” grinned Suzie. “For us? Time will tell.”
Linda stuck her tongue out at Suzie. “Thus your info dump into his brain about the 13 training grounds. You aimed him like a torpedo. It appears you were thinking the whole time of releasing him.”
“That was part of a possible scenario; it would work both ways. Look, Linda, we have a major problem. Our, your and my asset, JTF’s asset, one 13 de enero, one Don Diego García has gone rogue on us. Here we are holding the proverbial bag.”
Linda poured another martini. “This ain’t bad right now.”
“It will be if we don’t turn a miracle trick.”
“And what would that be?”
“I do not know yet. But it’s outcome based. The outcome is that García needs to be dead, methinks. That way we can blame the girl’s father for poor judgment in management hiring. Then we claim credit for discovering the problems and crimes. Just doing our job, we’ll say. Congress cut funding and thus limited our oversight ability; implied will be that the powers above us failed to fight harder to maintain our funding and therefore kee
p us on our mission. That leads to them sharing some guilt and therefore they won’t push it too hard in order to keep their own asses clean. We’ll look good by taking corrective action.”
Linda patted Suzie’s leg. “You’re brilliant.”
“I prefer ‘results oriented,’ if you please.”
“How about Machiavellian?”
“Whatever.” She shook her head. “I still strongly believe that when we drop the economic boycott on Cuba, that bone yard economy will be just ripe for us. We have to stay in the game.”
Fluffy wandered out onto the patio, sniffed around and wandered back inside.
“I can jump to conclusions.” Linda rested her head on the back of the lounge. “It means to me that we must personally be on the spot when some of this goes down, so we can manage, or make that ‘perform damage control’ as you always put it.”
“Yep.” Suzie stood and walked to the railing. “We need to invite ourselves to the after party party.” The pool below was lighted by underwater spotlights. “You really dove from here?”
“Feet first, it was safer. And please, don’t remind me?”
Suzie turned and smiled at Linda. “My bet is that you would like to go another round with our Mr. Atkins.”
Linda shrugged self consciously. “It’s at the top of my bucket list.”
“Maybe we can arrange that thing sooner rather than later.”
“Suze, I can see formulae and possibilities and schemes scrolling through your wonderful eyes. I can see where you’ve aimed Atkins in a direction you wanted him to go and it well could be that he is performing the task of softening up the enemy for us.”
“Yes, dear. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Atkins isn’t wreaking havoc out there in the boondocks pretty soon.”
A muted ring emanated from Suzie’s pocket. She removed her cell and clicked it on speaker. “Go ahead, Sandy. You’re on speaker and Linda’s listening.”
“Just as you suspected, Ms. Quantrell. I’d be grinning if we were on Skype or something.”
“At what?” Suzie sat down on Linda’s lounge and pushed her shapely legs aside to make room. She set the phone on Linda’s lap.
