by Alex Ander
He led her to the other side of the room. “Seeing Wells again brought back memories from the island.” Hands on hips, he frowned. Or should I say voices? “When we were separated…and I was alone in that room, I—” He looked up at the ceiling and drew in a breath. After washing a hand down his face, he scratched his head and massaged the back of his neck. “I—” he winced, and let out a quick burst of air.
Cruz stepped closer and put a hand on his waist. “Hey, what is it? What’s going on?”
He squinted at her, and his second hand went back to his hip. “I don’t know how to tell you this. Well, I’m not sure I should tell you this. You might think I’m crazy.”
“That ship has sailed, Mr. Hardy.”
Meeting her gaze and seeing the wry grin on her face, he chuckled.
She glimpsed Dahlia and saw the woman had her back to them. Cruz added her other hand to his waist. “You can tell me anything.”
After exhaling another long chest heave, he nodded and swallowed. “Okay, here goes.” Hardy relayed his story of the voice he had heard when he was tied to the chair on the island. “What do you think? Am I nuts? Was I just hearing things? I kid you not, Cruz. That voice was as real as hearing you talk. I—” he shook his head. Perspiration beads had formed on his brow. “I—”
Cruz moved both hands to his chest and tipped her head back. “First of all, I don’t think you’re insane.”
“How can you be so sure? I mean you weren’t there. You don’t know how—”
She patted his pectoral muscle twice. “I know because I’ve had the same experience.”
His upper body leaned away and his eyebrows furled downward.
“It was a year ago,” she paused recalling the story, “and I was working this case, chasing a serial killer all over the country.”
“Wait a minute. Is this the one involving that whack job who had a thing for—”
Cruz nodded. “Yes, it’s the same case.”
“You told me about this one already.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t tell you everything that happened.”
Hardy’s eyebrows went up.
“Remember when I said we had the killer surrounded?”
“Uh huh. You took him down. You shot him.”
“Right. Well,” Cruz turned away, “just before I pressed the trigger…” Her mind was rolling over the video footage. She faced Hardy. “Just before I shot him, I heard a voice.”
Hardy’s eyes bulged. “You never mentioned that.”
“I know.” She poked his chest. “And now you know why. This isn’t something that comes up in everyday conversation.” She bobbed her head and held up a hand. “Hey, how’s it going? By the way, I hear voices.”
Hardy let out a short laugh, grateful for the levity. “What did you hear?”
“Three words…I heard three words.” Cruz glanced away again. “Vengeance is mine.” She spotted his wrinkled brow out of the corner of her eye. “I wanted to kill that guy for all the bad things he had done. I didn’t want justice for the victims. I wanted blood, his blood.”
“So you think it was your subconscious, telling you not to do it?”
She tipped her head left and right. “Maybe.”
Hardy squinted at her. “You don’t think that’s what it was, do you?”
Cruz peered back at him. “No, I don’t.”
Hardy waited. Don’t push. She’ll tell you when she’s ready.
A full minute passed. Cruz mimicked Hardy, taking deep breaths before blurting out, “I think God was speaking to me directly.”
I knew she was going to say that.
“I talked with Father McMurray about it, and…well…I’ve come to the conclusion that that’s what happened.”
Getting the feeling that this conversation was as much of a confession for her as it was for him, Hardy wanted to hug and squeeze her uneasiness away and bring her peace. Dahlia’s presence, however, meant the public display of affection—unprofessional in the workplace—would have to wait. He brought the weight of the topic back to himself. “Do you believe that’s what I heard…God’s voice?” He dipped his head and caught a glimpse of the gold crucifix under her shirt, peeking out from between two buttons. Certainly a hell of a—heck of a lot better than thinking I’m losing my mind.
“To be honest, I’m not sure either one of us will ever know the truth,” she paused, “at least not in this life. And that’s okay, because what matters most,” she tapped his heart with her middle finger, “is what you believe in here.” She smiled. “I can’t think of a better thing to believe than the One who created the universe, the world and us…chose to speak to you.”
“But…why me? I don’t under—”
She patted his chest again. “Don’t overthink it. It’s not for us to ask why.”
“But do and die?”
Cruz snickered. “That’s not exactly where I was going with that. No, God is so far above our thought processes that—”
“We don’t,” Hardy nodded, “have the brain power, mental capacity to understand his reasons…or question Him. I get it.” He stepped back, hands still on hips, and stared at the floor. “Thanks, Cruz.” He paused. “That really helps.”
“My pleasure.” She waited a beat. “I love you.”
He ogled her out of one eye. “Love you too, Cruz.” Twisting a wrist, he read the time on his watch. “Pence’s got a few minutes left. I need to see what he’s been able to get from Mr. Wells.”
Cruz dug out her mobile. “I need to follow up with Cherry to make sure our plane is ready.”
Hardy half-turned and stopped. “Hey.”
She faced him.
He winked.
She returned the gesture, smiled and pointed with her forehead. “Go. You’ve got work to do.”
Hardy gave a quick salute, “Yes ma’am,” spun on his heels and marched toward Dahlia.
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
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Chapter 35: Loose Ends
10: 10 p.m.
“Wells turned over Trebuchet to a Jared Weston earlier today.” His back to the bedroom door, Pence nodded at Dahlia, standing across from him. “That was before you had even run into him on the slopes.”
She had attempted to take over the interrogation, but Pence turned her away, claiming he was close to breaking his prisoner. Ten minutes later, he exited the bedroom, wiping blood from his knuckles with a white towel.
“This Weston guy,” Pence continued, “is a broker of sorts. He has no allegiance to any one man or nation. He’s simply out to connect buyers with sellers, taking a healthy cut in return.”
Hardy crossed his arms. He and his team stood in a circle in the hallway, Cruz facing him, Dahlia on his left. “If he’s the middleman, then who’s the buyer?”
Pence ran the towel over his sweaty face and neck. “Wells wasn’t sure.”
Hardy started for the door. “Maybe I can jog his—”
Pence grabbed Hardy’s arm. “He’s out of it. I worked him over pretty good. I was able to get a couple geographic locations out of him. He thinks the buyer might be from Chechnya or Southeast Asia.”
“That’s a wide expanse of territory.”
Pence nodded. “True. But there’s a lot of terrorist activity taking place in those regions.”
“Much of it,” interjected Cruz, “is financial, so it makes sense someone would want to get a hold of something as powerful as this Trebuchet…wreak havoc on the markets.”
Pence swiped the towel over his head before eyeing Hardy. “So what’s the play, boss?”
Hardy waved a hand. “Regardless of motive or who the buyer is, we need to act on the intel we have…Jared Weston. We find him before he turns over the software and,” Hardy slashed fingers across his throat, “we put an end to this threat.” Digging out keys from a pocket, he tossed them into the air. “Bring the SUV around. We’re moving out.”
Pence caught the key ring and slipped between the women.
Acknow
ledging Dahlia, Hardy gestured toward the main living area. To Cruz: “How are we coming with that clean-up crew?”
Following her man down the hallway, the woman noted the time on her phone. “They’ll be here in less than ten minutes.”
“And the jet?”
“Gassed up and ready to go, waiting for us on the tarmac.”
“Good.” He glimpsed her and Dahlia. “I want you two to work with Pence. Get all the information he was able to extract from Wells to Cherry. Tell her to drop everything and find Jared Weston.” He looked around the spacious room before glancing back at the bedroom door. “I’m going to take care of a few things here and meet you in the courtyard.”
The women left, and he was alone. Hardy headed for the bedroom, throwing open the door and standing in the archway. He stared at the naked and bound Isaac Wells for a full minute. “Do you remember what I said to you…back on the island…when I was,” he pointed, “in the exact same position you’re in now?”
Wells rolled his head to see the dark figure silhouetted in the doorway.
Hardy withdrew a Ka-Bar from the leather sheath strapped to his upper arm. “I said, ‘You don’t know it yet,’” he held the twelve-inch knife—seven inches of which was the blade—loosely at his side, “‘but you’re already dead.’”
Wells blew out a short breath before coughing and hacking. He spit a glob of blood onto the floor. “I seem to recall some profanity thrown in there somewhere too.”
Hardy approached, rolling the Ka-Bar’s leather-washer handle in his hand. “That wasn’t a threat.” He scoffed. “That wasn’t even a promise. I was merely making a statement of fact.” Grabbing a handful of Wells’ hair and wrenching the man’s head backward, Hardy put the blade to the exposed throat. The contact alone drew blood, a red line running down Wells’ Adam’s apple.
“So,” the man swallowed, and another line appeared, “what’s stopping you?”
Hardy squeezed the handle, leaned closer and flexed his bicep. He half-closed his eyes, preparing for the spray. His mind envisioned the skin separating, and the life leaving the man. Gripping the knife tighter, he stared into the eyes of his adversary, his prey.
… … … … …
Dahlia flicked her wrist, and the blade on her knife opened. She knelt, and the bound woman recoiled as much as she could. “Relax. I’m not here to hurt you.” She cut the restraints of the man and woman she had subdued earlier, and pushed two bottles of water in front of them. “Listen to me. Stay in this room for at least an hour.” She poked the knife at the man’s wristwatch. “Check the time.” He did. “No less than one hour, you hear me?” He nodded, while picking at the strip of tape near his cheek.
The woman peeled the tape from her mouth and stretched her lips. “Please,” she swallowed, “please don’t kill us.”
Dahlia stood, stowed the knife and jammed fingers into her front pockets. “Men will soon be here,” she motioned with her shoulders, “to clean up a mess out there. They have a job to do. When it’s done, they’ll leave. If they see you, you’ll become part of the mess. Got it?” The couple nodded. “Good.” She walked away. “Remember…one hour.” Opening the door, she pivoted and spied the two young people, back-to-back. “At no time was I ever going to kill either of you. I’m sorry, but sometimes the threat of violence is necessary to get people to comply, for their own sake.” She squinted at the woman. “What’s your name?”
The woman licked her lips. “Gretchen.”
Dahlia jutted her chin at the man. “And you?”
“Albert.”
“Albert,” she pointed, “Gretchen’s not a sex toy. If you truly care for her, treat her with respect.”
Gretchen put an elbow to Albert’s rib cage. “Yeah.”
The man rubbed his side, his gaze going back and forth between the women. “Um…okay, ma’am. I—I will.”
Dahlia curled up one side of her mouth and left the room. Over her shoulder: “One hour.”
… … … … …
From the back seat, Cruz watched Dahlia get in beside her and slam the SUV’s door. “Where’s Hardy?”
Dahlia shook her head. “He should be here by now. Whatever loose ends he had shouldn’t have taken this long.”
Cruz’s eyes bulged, Loose ends, while her fingers scrambled for the door release.
“What is it?” Dahlia observed her partner bail out of the vehicle and sprint for the castle. She lifted an arm and smelled herself before leaning and glimpsing Pence’s reflection in the mirror. “Was it something I said?”
… … … … …
Staring into black eyes, Hardy saw his adversary, his prey. He saw himself. So what’s stopping you? Hardy loosened his grip on the knife and Wells’ hair. Cruz…her opinion of me? My humanity? He paused. God? Not really sure.
Cruz barged into the room and stopped a foot inside the doorway. “Don’t,” she bent over, breathing heavily, “don’t do it.”
Hardy spun his head toward her. “Wait in the car, Cruz.”
She eyed the knife and the blood streaks on Wells’ chest. “I’m not making it that easy for you?”
He went back to Wells. “What he did to you…what he would have done to you…”
“He should pay. I agree.” Rising to her full height, she took a deep breath and let it out. “But, not like this,” she shook her head, “not like this, Aaron. This is murder.”
“We’re soldiers, Cruz. Murder is our business. We kill people like—”
“Soldiers don’t murder,” she screamed. “Their actions end conflicts, save lives. Killing him won’t end a battle. Killing him won’t save a single human being.” After a few moments of silence, Cruz lowered her voice. “I shared my story with you for two reasons; one, so you wouldn’t think you’re crazy. And two, so you wouldn’t do something like this.”
Hardy turned back to her, peering into her eyes out of the corner of one of his. Vengeance is mine. I will repay. He had not read much of the Bible, but he had read that passage. He lowered his gaze. Her hands were folded in front of her chest. A scene from the motel where they had stopped, shortly after escaping from Colonel Ludlum’s house last July, came to him:
With her hands folded in front of her chest, she appeared to be praying he would listen to her…“If you go through with this, there’s no way I’ll be able to protect you. Your name will be added to the FBI’s most wanted list and every agent in the country will be looking for you.”
Hardy had not listened to her, and that decision nearly cost him his life. He looked at Wells. This time I may end up risking something more than my life…my soul. He stood straight, let go of Wells and withdrew the Ka-Bar. After sliding the knife into its sheath and affixing the snap, he pointed at the man. “You’re one lucky S.O.B. you know that?” He gestured toward Cruz, “She just saved your life,” before turning away.
Wells rotated his head, stretching his neck muscles. “Piss off.”
Hardy whirled around and slammed a fist into the man’s head. “That’s not something you say in the company of a lady.” Massaging his knuckles, he faced Cruz.
Frowning, she put hands on hips and shifted her weight to one foot.
Shrugging, he showed her his palms. “Come on. I had plans to kill the guy.” He stretched out open hands toward Wells’ still form and eyed Cruz. “You at least have to give me some satisfaction.”
She squinted at her man. Having saved a life, she relaxed. The butterflies in her stomach were gone. Slowly shaking her head, she gave him half a grin, the actions of her former FBI partner flashing across her mind:
Ashford had advanced and driven his foot into the back of Peterson’s knee, dropping him and cutting him off in mid-sentence. Ashford followed with a blow to the back of Peterson’s head, propelling the disgraced border guard forward, until he was sprawled on the ground, face-first in a spread-eagle position. “That’s no way to talk to a lady, Stevie.”
Cruz completed the grin. “You remind me of someone, you know that
?”
Hardy walked toward her. “Oh yeah, who?”
“Curtis Ashford, my old partner. Like you, he always had to hit something…someone.” Cruz left the room, Hardy in tow.
“You’ll have to introduce us sometime.” Hardy wiped the sweat from his brow and ran the moist hand across his pants. “Sounds like we’d really hit it off.”
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
.
Chapter 36: Poor Thing
February 18th; 12:49 a.m.
The Gulfstream V leveled off and assumed its cruising speed of five hundred and sixty miles per hour. Dahlia unbuckled her seatbelt and went to the back of the plane. “Mind if I join you?”
Alone in a darkened area of the cabin, staring out the window at a black sky, Pence faced her and smiled.
“You look deep in thought. Am I interrupting?”
“No, I was just thinking about the day.” He gestured at the seat. “I would love the company.”
Dahlia sat, crossed her legs and placed folded hands on her knee. “It’s been a wild eighteen hours, hasn’t it?”
He looked up and lifted a finger toward the front of the aircraft. “You folks run at this breakneck speed all the time?”
She shot out a puff of air. “This is nothing. So far, we’ve only been to two countries. I think,” she cocked her head and closed an eye, “we touched down in five over a forty-eight hour period on our last mission. Maybe it was four.” She made a face and shrugged. “They all run together after a while.”
Pence chuckled.
“Back in Florida you said ‘crap happens’ and ‘sometimes you find yourself in a place you never thought you’d be.’ That sounded rather grim.”
Puckering his lips and turning away, he nodded. “Yes, it’s a grim tale.” He came back to her and flashed a grin before frowning. “It’s a long story that doesn’t have a happy ending. I wouldn’t want to dump on you.”
“Suit yourself,” Dahlia glanced at a nonexistent watch on her wrist, “but I believe we have plenty of time.”
Pence leaned away and studied the woman, who had changed her attire, now wearing a black tight knit sweater, blue jeans and black knee boots. Her bleached blonde hair was in a high ponytail, which curved around her neck and stopped at her breast. Striking…and deadly, all in the same breath. Maybe it’s her ferocity that makes her so attractive.
