Of Patriots and Tyrants

by Alex Ander

  “Well,” Dahlia put both feet on the floor and leaned forward, “if you don’t want to talk, that’s—”

  Pence touched her forearm. “I lost—I lost my son…many years ago.”

  For a person who loved children, the man’s words were a kick in the stomach. She sat back and leaned closer. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “He was five. He had a heart condition…from birth. Joey and I,” Pence faced the window, wringing his hands before rubbing his knuckles, “we were lucky to have those years. The doctors told us he wouldn’t live to see his first birthday.”

  “Is Joey your wife?”

  “Ex.” Pence regarded Dahlia. “We divorced shortly after Peter died.”

  Dahlia pursed her lips and stuck out her chin, pushing the lump in her throat further down. Poor thing…lose your son and your wife at the same time. Life sure can suck.

  “Looking back, I think our marriage had ended long before then. She—” Pence wiped his face with both hands. “What am I doing? I’m sorry. I never should have brought this up.”

  Dahlia put a hand on the grieving man’s forearm. “It’s okay.”

  “No,” he pushed himself into the seat, “I don’t like talking about this.” He paused. “I have never talked about this. Sharing feelings is not my strong suit.” He pivoted his shoulders. “So tell me about you. What’s an attractive woman like you,” he glimpsed his surroundings, “doing on a plane like this.” He heard his words. “Not that you’re not good enough to be on a plane like this. I just meant—”

  Dahlia sliced fingers across her neck. “Better stop before you bury yourself.”

  He chuckled. “Seriously, what’s your story? I mean you can’t be more than twenty-nine, or thirty, right?”

  The thirty-two-year-old lifted the corner of her mouth and nodded once. Yeah, let’s go with that.

  “Anyway, the first time I met you, you were with a team of Navy Seals. Then you gain Wells’ confidence in a matter of hours before neutralizing—your words, not mine—seven men all by yourself. I know the FBI is good at training their people, but you didn’t get those skills from them.” Pence tipped his head back and ogled her.

  Her mind recalling her days as an assassin, a paid killer working for the mafia, Dahlia glanced at her hands and fiddled with her fingernails. Don’t want to go down that road. She smiled at Pence. “Let’s just say I’m not at liberty to discuss that.”

  The man recoiled slightly, eyebrows coming together. “So I bare my soul, and you get to plead the fifth? Kind of a double standard, don’t you think?”

  Pursing her lips, Dahlia looked away and came back to him, nodding. “One hundred percent. And I’m okay with that.”

  Pence laughed aloud. “Wow. You’re not going to give me anything, are you?”

  Spying Hardy coming down the aisle, Dahlia poked a thumb at her chest and gave Pence a mischievous grin. “This girl’s defenses are pretty tough to breach.”

  Pence came closer and put a hand on the shaft of her boot. “I’ll take that as a challenge, Dahlia.” He removed the hand when Hardy took the seat across the aisle from them.

  “Cherry struck pay dirt on Jared Weston.” Hardy spotted the retracting hand before noticing a little redness in Dahlia’s cheeks. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

  Dahlia fidgeted and crossed her legs to face Hardy. “What did she find out?”

  Hardy hesitated, going back and forth between Pence and Dahlia before settling on his female teammate, a tiny smile spreading over his lips. It would seem someone has a little crush on our Mr. Pence.

  Dahlia half closed an eye, shooting daggers at her team leader. Don’t you dare say a single word. I swear I’ll...

  Hardy’s face went deadpan. “Mr. Weston has a place in Stockholm. I’ve spoken with the pilot, and we’re diverting there now. We’ll be on the ground in ninety minutes. Jameson is making contact with the local police to coordinate a raid. Once Weston’s in custody,” Hardy ran a finger between him and Dahlia, “we’ll be leading the questioning.”

  Dahlia leaned left and eyed a sliver of Cruz’s body. “What about Cruz? Shouldn’t she hear this too?”

  “She’s sleeping. I don’t want to wake her. She’s still not used to this hopping from country to country yet. I’ll bring her up to speed before we land.” Hardy leaned forward to stand.

  Dahlia smiled. “I’m thirty-two and can handle this better than a woman two years young—” she shot a look at Pence, Oops, and eyed Hardy. “Sounds good. I’ll be ready to go.”

  “Now that you mention it,” Pence stroked his chin, “I seem to recall Wells saying something about Stockholm during the interrogation.”

  Hardy sat again. “What was it?”

  Pence drew in a breath, shaking his head. “He was in and out of it at the time, so I didn’t think much about it. He said,” Pence paused, his eyes rolling toward the ceiling, “he said something about a restaurant if I remember correctly.”

  “What restaurant?”

  “The Pala…” Pence winced and looked away before facing the other man, “I don’t remember.” He dug out his mobile. “I’ll search for restaurants in Stockholm and see if any of them ring a bell.”

  “Did Wells happen to say what was at this restaurant? Why it might be important?”

  Pence shook his head. “As I said, he was not very lucid at the time, so it might not be anything.”

  “Still, we should check it out.” Hardy pointed at Pence’s phone. “Let me know what you come up with.” Hardy left the two alone.

  “Will do.” Pence thumbed his cell. “So I guess I was a tad south, huh?”

  Dahlia frowned at him.

  He glimpsed her out of one eye, while tapping letters on the mobile phone. “Your age.”

  Smiling and nodding, she used his knee for an armrest while standing, squeezing gently. “Is that a problem?”

  Her touch sent tingles up his leg. He looked up at her. “No, not at all.” He paused. “I like older women.”

  Dahlia smiled and wagged a finger. “Be careful. You’re burying yourself again.” She left him, hearing a snicker behind her.

  ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

  .

  Chapter 37: C.O.

  2:03 a.m.

  Stockholm, Sweden

  Bromma Airport

  “I’ll check out The Paladin,” said Pence taking the keys to the second SUV—another black Chevrolet Tahoe—“while the rest of you press Weston for answers.” Pence had found the name of the restaurant Wells had mentioned during questioning. The Paladin was a hotel and café in downtown Stockholm.

  “Not going to happen, my man.” Hardy stowed the last bag in the back of his SUV and slammed the door. “If we can help it, we don’t send people out alone. Dahlia will go with you, while,” he motioned toward Cruz in the passenger seat, “we deal with Weston.”

  Upon landing at Bromma Airport, Hardy learned the Stockholm police had apprehended Weston at his home and were holding him for Hardy’s team.

  Pence protested. “This will probably turn out to be a dead end anyway. Better to have all your team members with you in case you need to roll out again.”

  Hardy opened the SUV’s door and climbed behind the wheel. “You’re a part of this team too. We’re not going anywhere without you.” Shutting the door and rolling down the window, he stuck an elbow out. “Don’t worry, Pence.” Glimpsing Dahlia and thinking of her and the man’s exchange on the Gulfstream, Hardy gave her a mischievous grin and a wink before eyeing her crush. “I hear she doesn’t bite.” He waited a beat. “Too hard that is.”

  Dahlia took a step toward the SUV’s driver.

  Raising a hand, Hardy peeled away in the vehicle. “Call us if you find something.”

  Pence sighed, long and hard.

  Dahlia turned toward the sound. “You sound disappointed you’re stuck with me.”

  Flashing an awkward smile, he grunted at her, “Let’s go,” and headed for the second SUV.

  Sh
e squinted at the back of Pence’s head. Where’s the playful man from the plane?

  … … … … …

  2:32 a.m.

  Bromma Borough (western part of Stockholm)

  The living room of the small Abrahamsberg yellow flat was tastefully decorated in a minimalist style; a few pictures on the walls and family photos on a coffee table accompanied a sofa, chair and flat-screen television. Jared Weston sat on the sofa, handcuffed.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve never met this Isaac Wells. What is going on here? One minute I’m sound asleep, and the next I’m on the floor with guns pointed at my head.”

  “So you don’t know anything about Trebuchet? You don’t have a buyer lined up from Chechnya or Southeast Asia?”

  Weston screwed up his face and went from Hardy to Cruz and back again. “Chechnya? Trebuchet? I—I don’t know what either of those things has to do with me.”

  “Come off it, Jared,” Hardy boomed, his patience with the fifteen-minute conversation dwindling. “We know you’re a go-between for lowlife criminals. This Trebuchet transaction may be just another business deal to you, but we take terrorism seriously. If you don’t start giving me some answers, so help me God…”

  Cruz made a slow walk around the living room, glancing at knickknacks, pictures and photos. Hardy’s interrogation of Weston grew more heated by the minute. She picked up a small frame on the coffee table and brought the image closer.

  “That’s it, Weston. I’m done playing games.” Hardy jabbed a finger at the man’s face. “I’m going to have you thrown—” he faced Cruz when she grabbed his arm. “What is it?” he barked.

  Cruz held up the frame and pointed.

  Hardy seized the object and squinted. “What the…” He showed Weston the photo and tapped the glass. “How do you know this man?”

  Weston followed his captor’s finger. “He was my C.O.,” —Commanding Officer— “back when I was in the Army. He hired me for a few security gigs after I was discharged.”

  “When was the last time you spoke with him?”

  “I haven’t seen him in over a year. Is that what this is about?”

  Hardy tossed the frame onto the sofa and ran for the door, reaching for his mobile. “Call Dahlia—”

  On his heels, Cruz bolted out the front door. “Already dialing her.”

  He reached the stairs and took them two and three at a time. Grabbing the handrail, he swung his legs and hit the second flight. “It’s Hardy. I need you to get a lock on Dahlia’s phone and send the coordinates to mine.” He leapt from the third step and came down hard on the next landing. “Damn it, just do what I say, Cherry. And dig deeper into Tom Pence’s background. He’s not who he says he is.”

  … … … … …

  2:33 a.m.

  Norrmalm (business district in Stockholm)

  Pence and Dahlia glanced around the lobby of The Paladin Hotel and Café. He gestured toward the counter and snapped his fingers. “Wells mentioned a number.” Pence tapped his mouth with his fist. “What was…202. He said two zero two when I questioned him about the hotel.”

  “Kan jag hjälpa dig? — Can I help you?” said the man behind the counter.

  Dahlia put fingertips to her chest. “American…you speak English?”

  “Some.”

  “We need—”

  Pence cut her off. “We need the key to room 202.”

  “Sorry. Can’t give—”

  Pence pointed a gun at the man’s nose and held out a hand. “202…now.”

  Dahlia scowled. “What are you doing?”

  After fumbling with several keycards, the night manager produced the one for room 202.

  Pence snatched the card from the man, holstered his weapon and took off for the stairs.

  Dahlia caught up to him on the second flight. “What do you think you’re doing? You can’t shove guns in people’s faces.”

  His head going back and forth, he read the room numbers on the door. “Really? There’s a computer program out there that could start a world war, and you’re lecturing me about something I’m sure you’ve done many times yourself?” He slid the card into the slot on the door. “I guess you really do have double standards.”

  “Playful flirting is a far cry from scaring to death an innocent man.” Following Pence into the room, Dahlia retrieved her vibrating cell. “What is it, Cruz?”

  “Dahlia, listen to me. Pence’s not the person we think he is.”

  While Cruz divulged what she knew, Dahlia glimpsed Pence and saw a look she had seen staring back at her in mirrors on many occasions, the hardened, soulless eyes of a killer. Dahlia spun around. “Okay, got it. We’ll meet up with you when we’re—”

  Pence put his gun to the back of her head, reached around her body and grabbed the phone.

  Cruz (through the speaker): “Dahlia? Dahlia, are you there?”

  He ended the call. “Before you try anything, know that I will press this trigger if you move even a fraction of an inch.”

  … … … … …

  Hardy pulled the gear selector down and waited. Cruz slammed her door, and he jammed his foot down. The SUV squealed its tires, fishtailed, recovered and accelerated.

  “I had her, Hardy.” Cruz locked her seatbelt and shook her phone. “I had her, and then the line went dead.”

  Hardy ran a red light, glancing left and right, inwardly bracing for a collision. A honking horn was all that came. “Don’t worry. She’s tough. She’s smart. If anyone can take care of herself, it’s Dahlia.”

  Cruz put an elbow on the door and a hand to her mouth. A second later, she made the sign of the cross and lowered her head.

  Hardy’s foot went closer to the floor. He jerked the wheel left and swerved around a car, his mind racing with bits and pieces of information. I never interrogated Wells myself. I based everything on what Pence told me. Damn it!

  At the next traffic light, Hardy had to hit the brakes to avoid a ‘T-bone’ with another car. He stepped on the gas pedal, and the tires left rubber on the pavement. Was this whole thing a setup from the beginning? He saved Cruz and me. Why? He had an end game, and we played a part. Pawns. He hit the steering wheel with his palm.

  Cruz pivoted her head. “What’s wrong?”

  “Everything’s wrong. We were used, Cruz. Pence played us all, and now Dahlia’s…” He shot a look at Cruz and drove his hand into the wheel three more times.

  “You said so yourself. She’s tough. She’ll fight back and she’ll win.”

  … … … … …

  With her ponytail wrapped around his hand, Pence pushed Dahlia’s face into the mattress. A knee on either side of her body, he sat on her butt and wrenched her arms behind her back, tying them with curtain drawstrings. A minute later, he had her boots crossed at the ankles and fastened to her wrists; hogtied. Jumping off the bed, he holstered his pistol and eyed his work. “I guess you’re right. Those things do make good rope in a pinch. Thanks for the tip.”

  Dahlia dragged her face across the blanket to see him. “No problem. I got a couple more for you.”

  Waiting for a witty remark that never came, Pence noticed her bound fists; both middle fingers were up. He turned away, laughing. “Oh, I wish things could have been different between us.” He motioned. “You and I are the same, Dahlia.”

  “Please,” feeling her body being rotated, Dahlia spun her head and saw him shoving the bed away from the wall, “you and I are nothing alike.” She paused. “Was that story even true? You probably don’t even have a wife…or a dead kid.”

  Pence stopped, put a knee on the bed and yanked her head backward. “Yes, I had a son. Yes, he’s dead. And if you know what’s best for you, you’ll leave him out of this.” He pushed her head into the mattress and went back to work.

  Dahlia spat pieces of fuzz out of her mouth. “Well,” she wet her lips and spat again, “it surprises me that a woman would get that close to a pig like you.”

  Pence curled his
fingers around the headboard secured to the wall. He pulled, and a corner of the wood separated. “You were ready to get that close to me.” He put more muscle to the task, and the headboard creaked and cracked before falling into his arms. Leaning the furniture against the bed, he took a knee and felt along the wall. “What does that say about you?”

  That says, wiggling and scooting her knees and shoulders, my judgment in men, she turned her body toward him, has gone down the crapper. “What are you doing, anyway? I doubt you came here to make renovations.”

  Standing and smiling, Pence rested forearms on the headboard and held up a blue flash drive. Studying the drive, he wiped his brow with the back of a hand. “Trebuchet. The answer to all my problems.”

  “I hate to break it to you, but your problems,” she pointed her chin at the drive, “can’t be solved with that.” She stretched her neck to loosen muscles. “You’ll need many sessions of therapy to fix what’s wrong with you.”

  Pence let out a snigger. God, I do love her attitude. He glimpsed his watch and came back to her; tied, helpless, unable to resist him. I wish we had a little more time. You and I could’ve had some fun. Well…I know I would’ve had fun. “In twenty-four hours, I’ll have enough money to retire to my own small island.” He tossed the blue rectangle a short ways into the air and caught it. “That’s all the therapy I need.”

  Pence walked around the bed, sat on his haunches and held her face in his hands. He heard her gathering something at the back of her throat, and clamped a hand around her mouth. “Please, darling, don’t ruin the moment with something disgusting.” One hand on her head, the other holding back her spitball, he kissed her forehead. “Goodbye, Agent St. James. Have a nice life. I know I will.”

  ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

  .

  Chapter 38: God…

  Hardy pushed the brake pedal to the floor, leaving more rubber on the street. He grabbed his mobile and spoke into the device. “Cherry, we’re here, but there’s no sign of the SUV.”