“Hunters, too.” Stromeyer waved him to a motorcycle parked in the parking lot. It was a serviceable Suzuki, big enough to carry two and powerful enough to outrun a fast car if necessary.
“Get on. I’ll take you to Banner.”
A rooster crowed somewhere in the distance, but otherwise the world was quiet. The night sky was beginning to lighten and Stromeyer didn’t need to check her watch to know that soon it would be dawn. She’d been working nights for over six months and was used to the strange hours, but knew she would need to sleep soon.
She swung a leg over the motorcycle and Sumner joined her on the back. She started the engine and winced at the grating roar the cycle gave before putting it into gear and heading out onto the frontage road next to the parking lot, driving on the left, as was the custom in Anguilla. She turned right, swinging wide before going straight. The road ended on a street that circled the entire thirty-five-square-mile island. After a short while she turned onto a gravel road. Palm trees and ferns surrounded them, and the scent of night-blooming jasmine wafted over her.
At the end of the road sat a house made of white stone cut into graceful arches at the entry that curved over the dark wood front door. Bougainvillea curled over the railing of the wide front portico. She pulled up to the front stairs and stopped.
The door opened and Banner stepped onto the porch. He held a cup of coffee in one hand and wore navy sweatpants and a gray cotton polo shirt. Like everyone else on the island, he was barefoot. In his mid-forties, Banner was six-foot-two and had salt-and-pepper hair trimmed close to his head. His blue eyes rarely missed any detail, and his expressive face revealed a sharp mind. His straight posture indicated his former military background, but his exceptional good looks sometimes confused those who met him into thinking he was less than the fighter that he was. Banner liked it that way. He’d once told Stromeyer that the tendency of some to dismiss him was a mistake he could exploit to his own advantage. Many an enemy had come to regret underestimating him. Banner’s expression lightened when he spotted Sumner. He flicked a glance at Stromeyer and smiled.
“Nice mask. Is it Halloween and I missed it?” he said. Stromeyer turned off the cycle and punched down the kickstand.
“I thought it was safer to keep Sumner here out of the loop, concerning who he’s keeping company with.” Sumner strolled up the steps and put a hand out to shake.
“I told Ms. Stromeyer that I’m aware of who she is. The voice is distinctive, and I’ve spoken to her on the phone enough times to recognize it.”
Banner’s smile broadened. “And still she covers her face. Suspicious one, isn’t she?” Sumner nodded. Stromeyer dashed up the steps and waved a hand at them both.
“This suspicious woman is going to sleep. Enjoy your breakfast.” She slipped past Banner and headed to the back of the house and her bedroom.
Banner had rented the three bedroom villa in part because of its secluded location and its comfort. He used one room, Stromeyer the other, when she was not in St. Martin, and the third was converted into a home office where they kept their base of operations while in the Caribbean.
Stromeyer entered her room for the first time in a week. She removed the mask and sighed when the cool air hit her face. She was five-foot-seven and had light brown hair, streaked with blonde, that hit her shoulders. Though a bit younger than Banner, she had also spent time in the military. She knew how to shoot a gun, fight, and fly both airplanes and helicopters. The bulk of her military service, though, was spent at a desk in the appropriations department learning how to requisition, transport, shift, or decommission just about anything in the military system. It was her knowledge of the protocols and paperwork needed for a military contract that prompted Banner to offer her a job. His promise of the occasional field operation in addition was the reason she accepted.
Stromeyer walked to her closet and opened the panels, putting away her shoes, stripping off the dark clothes and dumping them into a hamper. She twisted her hair into a knot as she walked to the adjoining bathroom. After securing it with elastic, she washed her face, brushed her teeth, and threw on a nightgown that hung from a hook on the back of the door.
She shut all the wooden blinds and slipped between the cotton sheets with a sigh. The last image in her mind before she drifted off was of the woman’s body hanging from the tree. She made a silent vow to find her killer.
Chapter 13
Banner looked up from the table when Stromeyer walked into the kitchen. It was late afternoon and he estimated that she’d slept almost nine hours.
“Hungry?” he said. She nodded.
“Starving. Where’s Sumner?”
“He took the motorcycle and headed to a hotel. Said he was exhausted from the night. He’ll come back in the evening for dinner.” Banner stood and pulled out a chair at the table for her. “Sit down. I was just going to make a late lunch. You want some?”
She sat and nodded. Banner thought she appeared pensive. He’d always admired Stromeyer’s ability to work through a problem to its conclusion, even if that meant hours behind a desk coordinating paperwork and reading regulations. He preferred action. He headed to the refrigerator and started removing what he needed.
“Sumner told me about the threat made against him and Caldridge. That it was made against them both narrows the field of possibilities, doesn’t it?” he said.
“Absolutely, but I don’t think it’s related to the cartel from last year,” Stromeyer said.
“I agree. Since the leader’s death, his foot soldiers have disappeared.” He reached for a loaf of bread and removed two small plates from the cabinet. “No, it has to be either from the incident in Somalia or Colombia. Sumner and Caldridge were together during those two missions. It probably emanates from one or the other.”
Stromeyer grimaced.
“I don’t even want to think about Somalia. What a stressful time. Which reminds me to ask: how are we doing? New contracts flowing in? I’ve been out of the loop down here and it makes me nervous not to know.”
In the past two years they’d been recovering from a devastating public relations disaster—an unknown force that seemed bent on portraying Darkview as a dirty player in the world arena. Congressional subpoenas demanding information about their DOD contracts were issued weekly and the IRS had weighed in, auditing their records. Luckily, Stromeyer’s paperwork was impeccable and nothing had come of the probe, but the feeling remained that there was a person or corporation with an interest in destroying Darkview by manipulating matters behind the scenes. Neither Banner nor Stromeyer had ever taken the time to hunt down the perpetrator, instead pouring their efforts into obtaining new contracts and business to keep the doors open and the lights on. They’d survived, and obtained not only this mission but two others, yet Banner remained on the alert. If someone chose to mess with his company again, he would not rest until he’d found out who it was.
“So far so good, but I don’t have to tell you that we need to wrap this one up with an arrest. The Department of Homeland Security has tried and failed, and the CIA has been unable to trace the money. If we crack it, we’ll be heroes. Mayonnaise?” He held up the jar.
She nodded. “Do we know where Caldridge is? She’s never where you’d expect her to be.”
“Sumner said she’s in the Caribbean. Terra Cay. She’s on the search for a miracle seaweed that when put into a jar will make every sign of old age disappear like that.” Banner snapped his fingers and was pleased to hear Stromeyer laugh.
“And make her company millions, no doubt.”
He smiled. “No doubt. I’d like to think she’s safe for the moment, but I asked Sumner to call her and check.” He placed the sandwich in front of Stromeyer.
“Are they still dancing around the personal issue?” she asked.
Like we are? Banner was too savvy to say it out loud. Stromeyer had no idea that his admiration for her ran deeper than on a business level, and he was determined to keep it that way. He’d never thoug
ht it was a wise idea to date one’s colleague. Still, he was always happy when she appeared and sometimes couldn’t help but tip his hand.
“They both seem set on building their careers right now. You know how that goal can overwhelm all others.”
Stromeyer threw him a glance. “Know? I’ve been living it since the investigation. Funny how financial troubles have a way of focusing one’s attention.”
“I can only hope that her company is making it, though. She employs almost one hundred people. She stumbles, and they all do.” Banner joined her at the table and they ate in silence for a while. When they were finished he leaned back and looked at her. Circles around her eyes were evidence of the long nights she was keeping, and he was certain she’d lost some weight. “Tell me about the woman. Do you think it was Kemmer’s work?”
Stromeyer sighed. “No. She’s not one of his girls, and it occurred at the same time that the beach house blew up. At first I thought the events were related to Kemmer, but now I think that they both are pointing to Sumner. He’s angered someone quite dangerous.”
Banner got up and cleared the plates, placing them in the dishwasher. He grabbed the pot of coffee from the maker as well as two mugs by their handles. He put the cups in front of Stromeyer and poured. The black liquid was almost viscous. Stromeyer raised an eyebrow.
“What in the world did you do to make the coffee that thick?”
“Put new grounds over old. What, you don’t like it?”
“Uh, well I don’t know. Let’s see.” She went to the refrigerator and retrieved some cream, poured it in the coffee, turning it from black to espresso brown. She added quite a bit more. The coffee remained dark, but the liquid was hitting the rim so she dumped some into the sink, added more cream and took a hesitant sip. Her eyes lit up. “Wow. That’s really good.” She gave him an astonished look. “I had no idea that you made such amazing coffee.”
He smiled at her. “Did you think I was just good for knocking heads together?”
“And hammering people into the ground and chasing them down and shooting them and—”
He put up a hand. “Okay, I get it.” She smiled back, but then grew serious.
“Something tells me that we’re both going to be tested, and soon. Between the bomb at Kemmer’s house and the dead woman, it feels as though things are accelerating.”
“And we’re no closer to finding the guns, gunpowder, or the money train.”
She shook her head. “Not yet, no.” Banner leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed one leg over the other. He took a sip of coffee.
“I say let’s take the fight to them.”
“Okay. How?”
“We talk to Kemmer. It was his beach house they bombed. Let’s find out why. If he’s clean and it’s Sumner they’re after, then we’ll deal with that next.”
“And Caldridge?”
“Let’s warn her. In the past few years she’s become quite good at protecting herself.” Stromeyer took another sip of the coffee.
“And if it appears necessary, I think we suggest to Sumner that he go to Terra Cay. The two of them together make a formidable force.”
Banner nodded. “Like us,” he said.
Stromeyer held up her coffee cup in a toast. “Like us.”
Chapter 14
Emma returned home in another car from Carrow’s villa. It seemed that his cars were making a circuit between her villa and his. He’d send another driver to pick this one up later. The phone rang the moment she stepped into the foyer. She reached for the credenza and picked up the handset.
“I hope you’re enjoying the lifestyle of the rich and famous,” Sumner said.
Emma smiled at the sound of his voice. An image of him came to mind: about thirty, six-foot-three, with brown hair, rugged face, and a slender physique, he rarely smiled. When Emma had first met him he also had rarely spoken. He’d opened up more with her over the years but was still quite taciturn.
“I’m learning that the rich and famous are a lot more messed up than we actually know.”
“Now there’s a surprise.”
“Yes, shocking, isn’t it? What’s up? I’m surprised that you’re calling me. I thought you were working undercover and incommunicado.”
“I was, but something’s happened that I think you should know.”
He gave her the story. Emma tossed her keys onto the credenza and headed to the kitchen while she listened. He finished by saying, “Keep your wits about you.”
“Not a problem.” She told him about the events of the last eighteen hours, focusing on the crazy man and the priestess.
“They sound like a couple of amateurs.”
Emma felt a rush of gratitude. That Sumner wasn’t buying the zombie and demon stories made her feel like a weight was lifted off her shoulders. She hadn’t realized how tense she was until just that moment.
“They are amateurs, at least the voodoo priestess is. But I’m really concerned about the crazy man and the illness that seems to be making its way through Carrow’s villa. I’ve never seen a man have a seizure as strange as Nalen had.”
“Do you want me to fly down?”
Emma paused. She knew that as a member of the Air Tunnel Denial program Sumner was routinely sent on missions the world over to stop drug trafficking, and she felt bad asking him to put such a lofty goal aside to help her with a couple of crazies and an overindulged rock group.
“Aren’t you working on something in the Netherlands Antilles?”
“I am, but that was before I learned that we have a mutual enemy. My cover is blown, anyhow. I would be happy to put the surveillance aside to watch your back if you need it.”
“I think I’ll be okay for the moment. My immediate mission is to find and collect some minerals from the blue holes.”
“All right. You need me, you just call. It’s a short flight from here to there, and I’ve never had the pleasure of partying on Terra Cay.”
“I’ll let you know.”
Sumner hung up and Emma settled into a kitchen chair with a cup of coffee. She stared out the window at the lush foliage around her and tried to decide which was more dangerous: the strange malady at Carrow’s villa or the strange man who was chasing her. In the end she decided that the man was the most pressing problem. One swipe of his machete and she would be dead. A disease could be addressed in a hospital. She sipped her coffee. After a few minutes she decided to take a run. It was the best way to keep an eye out for the mandrake, and she needed the exercise. She put on her running shoes and headed out.
The late afternoon was cooling just a bit. It remained light through eight in the evening, which gave her plenty of time to scout for the mandrake. She began to run, keeping her pace slow while winding her way down the mountain. The trail cut a more direct path to the hill’s base then the road did, and she leaned back as she ran downward.
The trail flattened at the base and she stretched out, keeping her strides long and picking up the pace a bit. She eyed the plants on either side of the path but saw nothing out of the ordinary. As she ran she felt her muscles warm and her breath settle. The beginning of a run always felt a little strenuous as her body adjusted to the speed and exertion, but after ten minutes she could usually count on her system to settle into a groove. As an ultra runner, for Emma the groove could last at least three to four hours. After that her heart rate would climb, indicating that the exertion was taxing her reserves. While ultra runs could last twenty-four hours, today she only planned on one and a half, at best. She would run up toward the West Hill, back down, and up again to her villa. The uphill portions would provide the workout she required.
She hit the beach twenty minutes into the run. The ocean glistened at her left, and three gazebos, each with their own picnic tables and grills, were on her right. Several people hovered near the far one, cooking food and gathered around the table. As she neared she saw Rory and two others. Rory fixed her with an angry stare. The two others, whom she didn’t know, turned to
watch her run by. One of them smiled and nodded a greeting that she returned. To the left of the gazebo there was a stand of manchineel trees, each marked with a red-painted band around its trunk to indicate acid sap. The tree’s white sap was so caustic that drops on one’s skin could cause burns and even blindness. Columbus nicknamed the green apple fruit that the tree bore “death apples,” a name that Emma thought was perfect in its explanation. Warning signs in several languages cautioned sunbathers not to rest under them. About twenty were planted in the sand and continued along the hill. For her, they were the only thing that marred the beautiful beach.
Running, she reached the next trail, which ran uphill from the sand. The going got steep and she felt a burn starting in her thighs as she pushed herself. Most of the plant life here was unremarkable and indigenous to the island. She hadn’t yet seen anything even remotely resembling mandrake. Turning a corner, she stumbled to a stop.
She was staring at a small clearing filled with marijuana plants, planted in a circle twelve feet in diameter. The plants sparkled full and green and lush. This was a field lovingly tended. She began a circuit around it, looking for mandrake or any additional plants that matched it, and found them in a second, more secluded area.
This clearing was six feet by four feet and hemmed in by a hedge of oleander bushes in full bloom that formed a beautiful and deadly natural fence on two sides. This garden, too, was lovingly tended, with straight rows and plants arranged by category in each. The difference in this field was that every one of the plants was poisonous. Whoever planted the garden knew about nature, plants, and poison. Emma heard a noise and turned to see the woman who claimed to be the voodoo priestess standing at the edge of the garden. Her head was wrapped in a red bandanna but the rest of her outfit consisted of a simple white tee shirt tucked into a long skirt.
Once again she felt the rancid evil that flowed from the woman. Emma shot a quick glance around, searching for the man, but the woman was alone. Emma remained silent, waiting for the woman to speak first.
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