Lucas Holt Series: Books 1-3

by JP Ratto

  He turned on the overhead fluorescent light and stood gazing at his reflection in the mirror on the back of the door. More gray streaked his thinning dark hair. Deep darkened skin under his eyes accentuated the fatigue and stress that plagued him. He didn’t recognize the tired, old man he had become in the last few weeks. Shaking from anxiety and lack of sleep, Vilari dressed in black jeans, sneakers, and a sweater. His standard fare for work on a Saturday.

  Tiptoeing back to his end table, he glanced at Francesca, who was turned away from him on her side. She was also exhausted, and he was glad she slept soundly. He opened the drawer wide and reached to the back where he kept a Smith and Wesson revolver. A pacifist by nature, Vilari hated guns and couldn’t imagine firing at anyone. But after a rash of burglaries, he had decided it was prudent to have a gun in the house. Since the required firearm training, he had stuck it in the drawer and hoped never to use it. It was unloaded, as a precaution, and he inwardly laughed at the absurdity of keeping an unloaded gun for protection. He opened another drawer, removed some bullets, and left the bedroom, softly closing the door.

  Downstairs, he crossed the kitchen to a writing pad on the counter and left Francesca a brief note:

  Today is the first day of the rest of your life.

  Your adoring husband, Robert.

  Vilari left his home and sprinted to his car, aluminum briefcase in hand. Setting the case on the seat beside him, he entered an address into his GPS for directions to Back River Sky Park. Checking the time and the distance to and from his destination, he breathed a momentary sigh of relief.

  Good. I should be at my desk by six a.m.

  ***

  As I returned to the living room, a gasp and abrupt silence made me stop and pull out my .38. Peering down the hallway, I noticed the front door was more than halfway open. It had been shut when I passed on my way to the kitchen. I crept toward the arched doorway on the left and could hear soft whimpering. I inched closer.

  “Put away your gun, Mr. Holt, or I will kill her.”

  Shit.

  I was in a hurry and didn’t need another hostage situation to deal with. I slipped the gun in my pocket and stepped into the room.

  A young man who bore the same facial structure and dark eyes as Ghada held her against his chest with a knife at her throat.

  “Dhakar?” I asked.

  “So you guessed. Very good. No introductions necessary.”

  “Dhakar, let your sister go. Harming her will make things worse for you.”

  Ghada wept and her eyes pleaded with me not to do anything stupid. She clearly believed her brother capable of murdering her.

  “My sister has shamed me by her relationship with an infidel and now she has betrayed me by calling you. Do you mean to suggest she is an innocent?”

  “I didn’t come here to interfere in your personal business, Dhakar. My purpose is to find Brandon Gates.”

  “By the time you find him, he will be dead. He would be dead already, if you hadn’t been involved.”

  “What do you want, Dhakar? Why did you come back?”

  “I came back because I didn’t trust my sister. And I was right not to. What has she told you?”

  “She called me because she feared for Brandon’s life.”

  “And so she should.”

  Dhakar’s eyes shifted, and I turned to see what he was looking at. A small clock radio sat on a table. He was checking the time. Dhakar tightened his hold on Ghada and moved sideways toward a window. He pulled back the curtain and glanced out.

  “Sit down, Mr. Holt. Do it quickly.”

  I did what I was told, taking a seat in the far corner of the room. A car’s headlights flashed. Someone was waiting for him. I knew he planned to escape.

  “Let Ghada go,” I said. “If you harm her, I will not let you leave this house. Your mission will be over.”

  He appeared to weigh his options. Unfortunately, his decision did not bode well for Ghada. He dragged her to the hallway and backed up to the front door. It appeared he would take his sister, but I didn’t believe it; she would slow him down.

  “Taking her with you is a mistake, Dhakar. Leave her here. I won’t follow you.”

  “You’re right, Mr. Holt. You won’t.”

  Dhakar shocked Ghada and me by removing the knife from her throat and plunging it into her side. She screamed as he shoved her to the floor and fled out the door. I ran to Ghada and a few moments later, could hear the screech of tires as the car outside sped away.

  “Ghada!” I turned her over to check the severity of the wound and determined it wasn’t life threatening. Dhakar didn’t want to kill his sister after all. I couldn’t leave her until help arrived. I called 911 and then I called Mac.

  “Holt?” he answered on the first ring.

  “Yeah, I’ve a problem here. Ghada’s brother Dhakar returned and the short story is Ghada has a knife wound in her side, and I’m waiting for an ambulance to arrive.”

  “How the hell…”

  “Can’t give details now, Mac. In any case, Dhakar is undoubtedly on his way to Back River Sky Park. I suspect that’s where Brandon is. He’ll have a head start. As soon as I know Ghada is okay, I’ll get on the road. Has Vilari left the house?”

  “He just came out with the briefcase. He’s dressed in black, like he’s going to pull off a bank heist at night.”

  “Okay, stick with him,” I told Mac. “I bet we end up in the same place. Either way, keep in touch.”

  “Right. Hey, are you biting off more than you can chew? Maybe I should let Vilari go and cover your skinny ass.” I could picture Mac’s grin.

  “I’ll be fine. And stop looking at my ass.” I clicked off.

  ***

  The EMTs arrived within ten minutes of my call and after checking her vitals, took Ghada to the hospital. I spent a few awkward moments explaining my presence in her home to neighbors who came out to see what was happening. By their expressions and responses, I knew Ghada was going to have a tough time when she returned home.

  Taking the interstate north, I made good time, reaching halfway to my destination in fifteen minutes. Once off the highway, I traveled on a two-lane state road and then on one-lane deserted roads through small towns until I was a few miles from the water. My high beams glowed bright on the dark road ahead, allowing me to keep a steady speed.

  I slowed when I spotted fresh skid marks, which I followed to a black SUV that had left the road. Easing past, I saw its demolished front-end bent halfway around an oak tree. Steam rose from the radiator. All signs pointed to the crash occurring a short time before I arrived. Two bodies slumped in the front seat.

  I hated losing time and was torn between stopping to help and moving on to prevent Brandon’s death at the hands of Dhakar Shaheen. Deciding to check for vital signs and then call in the wreck, I pulled over and ran to the driver’s side.

  Shining my flashlight into the car, I was stunned to see FBI agents Dick and Brains. I tugged on the car door and had difficulty opening it as the crushed front had pushed it out of alignment with the frame. Placing my foot on the side for leverage, I yanked it a few times. It finally gave way. The inflated airbag forced Dick’s head back against the seat. I reached in and pressed four fingers to the vein in his neck for ten seconds. He was gone. Running to the passenger side, which suffered far less damage, I found Brain’s head facing his partner and held in place by the air bag. I touched his neck and startled him awake.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. Just get this damn airbag off me.” His speech was labored. “What about Meyers?”

  I glanced over at Richard Meyers, whose eyes were wide open. I shook my head. “I’m sorry…”

  “Grant—James Grant,” Brains said.

  I called in the accident and leaned over Grant. Using the stiletto I kept in the car, I punctured the air bag. Grant’s face was bruised, his right eye swollen, and his nose looked broken.

  “Can you move?” I asked.

  He t
ried moving his arms and legs and they seemed to be working fine. He groaned as he pulled his cellphone from his jacket pocket.

  “I can’t stay,” I told him. “An ambulance is coming. Where were you headed?”

  “Need to know, Holt. And you don’t need to know. Where are you going?”

  “The airport. Brandon Gates may be there.”

  He nodded his head, more to himself than to me and said, “Watch your back.”

  When I left, he was talking to the FBI field office. I still wanted to know why Grant was on this dark road leading to a little-used airstrip at four in the morning. I knew it wasn’t a coincidence.

  Chapter 27

  Driving another few miles, I found an old faded sign for the Back River Sky Park and made a right turn. I drove alongside a chain link fence surrounding a substantial tract of open land. In the distance, I could see three buildings and a hangar large enough for seaplanes and other small aircraft. I grabbed a pair of binoculars from the backseat and scanned the undersized airport. The white vinyl-sided buildings were not open for business, but the hangar had plenty of activity.

  The lights in the hangar dimmed. Two dark-clothed men, carrying rifles, came out and walked in opposite directions. They circled the small-plane shelter and, moments later, returned to the front of the hangar. I heard the muted resonance of a plane’s engine. A single-engine aircraft coasted from inside to the entrance. Damn. The plane was preparing to leave. Was Vilari there already? Where was Mac? It appeared Vilari would deliver the toxin and anti-toxin to a group of terrorists, who planned to escape by air. Somehow, I had to stop them.

  I opened the glove box. Switching out my .38 for my Glock, I checked the clip. It was full. Slipping it inside my pants at the small of my back, I left the car with the binoculars. I found a vantage point where I could search for safe access.

  There was none.

  The full moon was bright against the clear night sky. It wouldn’t be easy to sneak up on them with two guards outside having nothing to do except watch for intruders. One of them spotted my Rover and began walking toward me. I crouched and ran back to the passenger side. Standing, I could see the guard through the car windows, still walking in my direction.

  He held an AK-47 in his two hands.

  Opening the passenger side door, I entered and jumped in the driver’s seat. He wasn’t running, so I guessed the tinted windows kept him from having a clear vision of me entering the car. I keyed the ignition. There were no obstructions between us, and the sound of the engine halted him. I hoped he would decide to tell his cohorts he scared away a lost traveler and return to the hangar. Instead, he rapidly closed the distance between us. With his weapon raised, he shouted something I couldn’t understand.

  I turned the Rover around and headed back the way I came. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, I saw the guard lower his rifle and raise his fist in the air—probably screaming obscenities at me.

  With the plane idling at the hangar entrance and ready to go, time was running against me. I wondered how long Brandon would remain alive, if he wasn’t already dead. I had to find another way in and fast.

  As I rode along the perimeter, I saw no other cars. I expected Vilari to arrive with the toxin, and then the fireworks would begin. There was no time to call in reinforcements.

  Back on the main road, I drove a quarter mile, made another right turn, and circled the airport. Traveling along the fence, I was now behind the hangar, fifty yards away. On that side of the airport, trees and shrubs blocked the view of the three buildings, but the moon cast enough light to see them. The thick wooded area provided cover for my, hopefully, unannounced visit. Wasting no time, I climbed the fence and darted between the trees to reach the hangar.

  The back wall was aluminum with a small multi-paned window dead center and a narrow door to the right. The lock was broken.

  A break for the good guys.

  I walked back three feet into the shadows and peeked through the window. I had a clear view through the cavernous space to the front of the hangar. Someone stood outside the plane’s cockpit talking to the pilot. Two others milled about and then sat to play a game of cards. They were all dressed in similar clothes, but when the one at the plane turned, I recognized Dhakar. The pilot cut the engine, and when I pressed closer to the window, I heard two speaking in English. Dhakar walked out of my field of vision so I changed my angle to see where he was going.

  Brandon slumped on a box crate in a far corner of the hangar, his hands tied behind his back, and his ankles bound. His face wasn’t clear, but he straightened when Dhakar shouted and approached him. My command of the Arabic language was limited, but I could clearly understand Dhakar’s announcement to Brandon.

  “You’re going to die.”

  Chapter 28

  Brandon tried to focus on the figure walking toward him. His head pounded, acid stabbed his empty stomach, and his ankles and wrists burned from the tight binding. A moan rose from within, but he wasn’t sure he’d made a sound. How many days had he been there? Where? Brandon had heard a plane’s engine and the whir of the small propeller. An airport. Were they taking him somewhere?

  He blinked to clear his vision. God, it even hurts to move my eyelids. He knew they were swollen, as were his lips and cheeks. He vaguely remembered the beatings. At first, he’d fought back even though he was outnumbered. They laughed and told him his resistance amused them and made their job more enjoyable. That made him angry, and he’d fought harder. But once they tied his hands and feet, he was helpless to ward off their fists as they pummeled his head, chest, and back. Dhakar. Did he say his friend’s name out loud? Friend? Brandon thought Dhakar might not accept the idea of him marrying Ghada. He expected disapproval but was certain once he realized Brandon’s commitment to Ghada—to Islam—Dhakar would give his blessing.

  He was wrong.

  Dhakar grabbed a shock of Brandon’s hair and yanked his head back. “You are guilty of two charges. You have drawn my sister into an immoral and unacceptable relationship behind my back. You have consorted with the FBI and have brought unwanted attention to my comrades and me.”

  Brandon whispered, “No.”

  “No?”

  “I don’t know anything about the FBI.”

  “Of course you will deny it. Surely, you don’t deny your inappropriate pursuit of Ghada.”

  “I love Ghada.”

  “Liar!” Dhakar whipped his hand across Brandon’s face, causing fresh blood to ooze from his split lips. “You are an infidel. There is no love between a believer and a non-believer.”

  Brandon didn’t have the energy to plead his case. Instead, he caught Dhakar’s eyes, and with as much conviction as he could muster said, “I will marry Ghada, Insha’Allah.”

  Chapter 29

  The snap of dried twigs alerted me someone was behind me. I whipped around as one of the terrorists’ rifle butt came down and caught my shoulder. Twisting away, my Glock fell from my pants. He spotted it and grinned. Leaning his weapon against the window, he smiled as he drew out a curved blade. He’s doing this either for pleasure or to make his bones with the gang.

  I swung my arm in a circle, trying to relieve the ache. Feeling fortunate at his over confidence, I backed up, pretending to be fearful. The guard was my height and fit. He knew to hold the knife by his hip instead of out in front of him where it could be knocked away or I could grab his arm. He stepped closer, and I backed up a step. My Glock was now between us on the ground. He picked it up and examined his trophy, making the mistake of pocketing it so he could continue his fun.

  He jabbed at my stomach; the tip penetrated, and he pulled the knife back. I winced from the sharp pain. Snickering at my reaction, he sent two quick jabs. The third time, I grabbed and held his wrist, rushed in, and poked two fingers in his eyes. To his credit, he didn’t make a sound. I had to end this before someone came to look for him. I brought my elbow up and down, striking the bridge of his nose. Blood gushed, droplets spraying my face and shirt
. He stood stunned, wiping blood from his eyes. His grip on the knife loosened. He was quick and closed his fist tight on the weapon. Still holding his arm, I twisted my body inwards so my back was against his chest. Wrapping my other arm around his at the elbow gave me leverage. As I pushed down, the guard pulled up, rising on his toes, trying to keep me from breaking his elbow. He used his free arm to pound my head and shoulders.

  I was losing this battle.

  Switching hands, I grabbed his wrist with my right hand and rammed my left elbow into his broken nose. He howled in pain and dropped the knife. The guard continued to scream in an attempt to get help. If they heard him, the mission would be over. I’d fail to rescue Brandon, and likely, I would be killed along with him.

  Suddenly quiet, the guard glanced at the knife; we both rushed for it. I grabbed it first and did what circumstances demanded. As he raised his arms to attack me, I powered the blade into his solar plexus and up towards his heart. His eyes popped wide in shock. His face erupted from red to purple as his heart stopped and his veins screamed for oxygen. The guard’s knees buckled and he fell to the ground. I didn’t like taking his life, but I didn’t see an alternative.

  I dragged his body and rifle deep into the trees, took back my Glock, and listened. I wondered why there was no response to the guard’s scream. Then I heard the muffled sound of the plane engine inside the hangar.

  ***

  I darted back to the hangar and peered through the window. Brandon was still alive. It appeared Dhakar was waiting for the order before killing him. They would soon notice one of their own was missing. Time was running out. I dialed Mac.