Stephen Coonts - Jake Grafton 2 - Final Flight

by Final Flight (lit)

  "In here." Ali's head popped through the door. "A car has driven slowly by the access road twice. Four men. They were looking." "Put four men on the rooftops, out of sight." Ali disappeared back down the steps. Qazi wrapped the diode in toilet paper and dropped it in the water. It swirled away as the oil gurgled.

  Ali was pointing out the rooftop positions to four men armed with assault rifles as Qazi approached the terrace. "No shooting until you see their weapons," he told them. One man climbed a tree to get on top of the parking garage. Two more went through the villa to the attic exit to the roof. The fourth used a ladder to reach the top of the guesthouse directly across from the villa, then Ali took the ladder away.

  Colonel Qazi sat on the terrace and Noora brought him a pistol, a silencer, and a glass of iced tea, then went back inside. Her station was withJarvis. The rest of the men were still sleeping with their weapons beside them.

  Qazi pushed the button and the magazine slipped from the grip of the Browning Hi-Power. It was full.

  He screwed the silencer to the barrel and replaced the magazine, then chambered a round. After lowering the hammer, he tucked the weapon into his belt behind him.

  Then he adjusted the volume on his two-way radio and laid it on the table. The guards and Ali also had radios and would use them in an emergency.

  It is pleasant here in the dappled shade of the giant trees, Qazi reflected, with the short lawn grass stirring ever so gently to the breeze.

  The air smelled of flowers, which were still blooming in the beds around the house and walks. He filled his lungs and exhaled slowly. Very pleasant.

  Even the pervasive traffic sounds were absent in this pastoral setting.

  All he could hear were leaves rustling under the wind's caress.

  A large yellow-and-black butterfly settled on the toe of his shoe and gently stirred its wings.

  A shaft of sunlight fell upon the shoe, making the insect's wings appear luminous, almost transparent.

  Such a place the Prophet must have envisioned when he described paradise-"a garden beneath which a river flows." And his listeners in their tents under the merciless sun, amid the sand and rock, had known the truth of his message. Yes, paradise will be green and flowering, with pools of clear water and abundant grass and majestic trees that reach deep into the earth and drink of Allah's bounty. And the believers shall spread their rugs on the grass in the shade of the trees and make their prayers to Allah, the all-merciful, all-compassionate.

  Truly, man loves best what he has not.

  0 0 0 The stars had begun to fade one by one. Time dragged on slowly. Then he ealized he could distinguish the outline of the top of the escarpment from the lighter black of the sky. Even as he watched, the relief became bolder and the ky beyond began to gray.

  He left the camel and crawled toward the edge.

  The wadi below was still nshrouded in darkness. Behind him he heard the camel rise, then urinate, oaning against the rag around its muzzle.

  He stared expectantly into the wadi, trying to distinguish features as the astern sky changed from gray to a pale, thin blue. He listened intently, rying to hear something, anything, but all he could hear was the pounding of his heart. Finally the top of the sun flamed the stones around him. The All was still impenetrably dark.

  He saw the flash in the wadi and heard the bullet s1ap the stone near him precisely the same instant. Then he heard the shot, a flat crack that oomed off the rock and died leaving a del silence. He couldn "fire back because he might hit the camebled. He backed away from the edge and felt his ringing cheek. A piece of stone or shard of lead had caused it to bleed. So this how it feels!

  He changed positions, surprised at how alive and vigorous he felt. He would not die.

  Even if he did, he was vibrantly alive now, aware of very thing, a part of the universe.

  When he looked again over the lip of the rock, he could see the hobbled amel in the sandy bed of the wadi, which was lined with boulders larger than a tent. There were four camels. He gently eased the rifle forward and umbed off the safety.

  He saw a head searching again for him. He lined up the Enfield and tried quell his rapid breathing.

  The rifle fired before he was ready. The weapon s1ammed back against his shoulder. He crawled backward way from the barrel of the heavy rifle dragging against the rock.

  "You are surrounded."" His uncle was shouting.

  "Lay down your rifles and step out and you will live.

  Aliah is mercifiil" "We have the water." The voice was high pitched a boy @. voice.

  "Surrender or die."" "You will kill us anyway." "I swear by the Prophet. If you surrender, you live." Qazi crawled back to the edge and looked down. "As Al1ah wil4 it, "the boy said barely audible. He and his companion eppedfrom behind the rocks. Only one of them had a rifle. He tossed it on ground before them.

  0 0 0 "I don't think anyone is coming, Colonel," Ali said. "Perhaps later, Relieve the men on the roofs when you relieve the perimeter guards." This was done every two hours.

  "Who could it have been?" "Anybody," Qazi shrugged. "Even curious neighbors." He glanced at his watch. It was three-thirty. He stood and picked up the radio on the table. "I am going upstairs to sleep.

  Wake me at five o'clock. Put only men who are not going with us on guard duty. All the others should meet in the dining room at five for a briefing.

  Jake threw the telephone receiver onto its cradle with a bang. "The whole damned afternoon wasted, all because of him!" "Now, Jake," Callie said, "don't be nasty. It's not Toad's fault." They had ridden the same ferry back from Capri that they had ridden over, and Jake had stopped by fleet landing and talked to the ship by radio. He had spoken to the XO, Ray Reynolds, and told him of Callie's suspicions about Judith Farrell, Lieutenant Tarkington's new flame. He had left word that Toad was to personally call Captain Grafton at his hotel.

  And Jake had asked to be telephoned when Lieutenant Tarkington was located.

  In the lobby the Graftons had telephoned Judith Farrell's room, but no one answered.

  They had even gone to the fourth floor and knocked on the door. All to no avail.

  "They say he isn't aboard. They've just figured out that he had liberty all day and cycled through the ready room at ten o'clock, on his way ashore again. No one knows where he is." "How about the Shore Patrol?" "Reynolds has already alerted them. If they run across him, they're to secure his liberty and send him back to the ship immediately, after he calls me." "Surely you don't think Judith is behind the disappearance of those petty officers?" "I don't know what to think. Goddammit, I don't have enough facts to do any thinking with. Sailors are over the hill. Sailors go over the hill all the time when the ship is in port. The captain has a big mast when we get underway and kicks a lot of kids" butts for overstaying liberty.

  But petty officers rarely do that. And Judith has a funny accent-a faint, funny accent that only a linguist can hear. She's not what she says she is and she's not in her room and she was aboard the ship in Tangiers. And Toad can't be immediately located.

  So what does it all add up to?" "Nothing." "Maybe. Or it may mean Judith has been a part of a ring kidnapping American sailors.

  Maybe she's a terrorist. Toad could be her next victim. Maybe she just has a speech impediment. Or that pussy-hound Tarkington may have her flat on her back this very minute and be fucking her silly. Goddamn if I know." He threw himself into a chair.

  "So what do we do next?" "I'm all out of ideas. What do you suggest?" Callie stood and examined herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door. She tucked in a stray lock of hair. "Well, let's go have a drink someplace and contemplate where we'll go for dinner." "Leave Toad to his horrible fate, huh?" "You've done all you can. But at heart Judith is a very nice young woman and Toad is a nice young man. I'm sure it'll all work out." "Aaaahg! Women! Why don't you panic like you're supposed to?" She grinned at him. "How men ever managed to keep women from running the world, I'll never know." Jake grabbed the room k
ey from the desk.

  "Com'on, I'm tired of sitting around the hotel." As he stabbed the button for the elevator, Jake muttered, "The whole afternoon down the tube. By God, I hope that horny bastard catches the clap." "Jacob Lee Grafton! You do not! Now calm down and stop that cussing!" TOAD TARKINGTON sat at the bar of the Vittorio and watched the desk in the lobby reflected in the mirror. He had sipped his way through two slow beers and now a third beer sat untouched on the table before him.

  He was hungry and tired and discouraged. Maybe she would never come.

  But why hadn't she checked out of her room?

  Sooner or later she had to come to that desk and ask for messages or check out.

  Behind him a crowd was gathering. It looked like a wedding reception.

  Men in formal dress and women in sharp fashions gathered around a table of hors d'oeuvres against the back wall. The bartender passed drinks across the counter to the lively crowd. The volume was rising. Toad didn't understand a word of it.

  Couples entering the lounge kept obscuring his view, but he kept his eyes on the mirror anyway.

  When he could stand it no longer, he used the house phone on the end of the bar and dialed her room. Perhaps she had come in the back way, avoiding the lobby.

  He let it ring ten times before he hung up and returned to the bar.

  And then she was there, against the lobby counter, looking at the key boxes behind the desk and glancing at the clerk. Toad stood quickly, then eased back into his seat.

  Let her read the letter first, he decided. He had spent two hours this afternoon writing and rewriting the two pages, two long hours devoted to the most important letter of his life. The letter said the things that he had never been able to say-had never before wanted to say-to any woman. She should read it first, he concluded, trying to quell his feeling of unease.

  She spoke to the clerk and he handed her the envelope. She looked at both sides of the envelope carefully, glanced around the lobby-her gaze even passed over the people going into the bar before she opened it with a thumbnail.

  Her hair was piled carelessly on top of her head. Even at this distance Toad could see stray locks. She was wearing a nondescript dark jersey, a modest skirt, and flat shoes. A large purse hung on a strap over one shoulder.

  He watched her face expectantly as she read. Her expression never changed. Her eyes swept the crowd again and returned to the letter. As she finished the first page her attention was back on the crowd. She scanned the second page. Now she was folding the pages and replacing them in the envelope, now looking at the envelope, now tapping it against her hand as she searched the faces of the wedding guests.

  He stepped into the doorway and she saw him.

  Toad started toward her only to hear the barman's shout. He fumbled in his pocket and found some bills. He threw a wad on the bar and crossed the lobby toward her.

  "Judith, I.

  "Hello, Robert." Her features softened.

  "I'll keep this," she said and tucked the envelope into her purse. "Hey, uh...," He couldn't think of anything to say and yet he new he should be saying the most important things he had ever said. "Listen..

  But she was looking away, her eyes tense and expectant. Toad followed her gaze. A lean man with stringy blond hair and carryng a backpack was standing in the door that led to the rear courtyard and looking at her.

  "I have to go, Robert. You are very, very kind." "At least give me your phone number, your address. I'll.. "Not now, Robert. Later." She was moving toward the courtyard door and he was moving with her. She put a hand on his chest. "No, Robert. Please," she said firmly. He stopped dead. She bussed his cheek and disappeared through the door.

  He stood stock still, unsure of what had happened. She had read the letter. She knew he loved her. He looked around the lobby, at the starkly modern designer furniture, the second-floor balcony, the artsy chandeliers, the bright green drapes, the anonymous dressed-up people coming and going". Of course she didn't love him, but she had to give it a chance. Then he knew. There was another man-a husband or a lover.

  Oh Christ, he had never even considered that possibility.

  He turned and walked down the hall toward the rear courtyard, hurrying.

  There was someone lying in the courtyard. Toad froze in the doorway.

  Judith and the man with the backpack stood over the prone figure. And there was another man, one wearing a workman's shirt and cap, with a tool case at his feet. He had something cradled in his hands. In the semidarkness it was hard to see. The workman used his foot to turn the body over.

  "That isn't him," Judith said softly, her voice carrying very well within this enclosure.

  "Uh-uh." "Well, who is it?" Her voice was tense.

  "It's Sakol," the workman said in a flat, American Midwest voice.

  "We've been after him for a long time. I had to do it." "You fool," she said fiercely. She took an object from her purse and spoke into it. "Everyone inside. Hit the door. Now." She dashed toward the entrance to the other wing of rooms. As she went under the dim entryway bulb, Toad saw that she was carrying a pistol. The two men were right behind her. Now Toad could see what it was that the workman carried at high port-a submachine gun.

  Toad crossed the courtyard and stared at the man lying on the stones.

  He was on his back now, eyes and mouth open, a wicked bruise on his cheekbone. Little circles of blood stained his shirt around five holes in his chest. The holes were neat and precise, stitched evenly from armpit to armpit.

  God Damn! Holy Mother of Christ!

  He heard muffled, stuttering coughs and the sounds of shattering glass and splintering wood.

  A distant shout: "He's on the roof." Pounding footsteps clattered on the stairway that Judith had gone up.

  She came flying out, followed by the man with the backpack. He had a submachine gun in his hands and the fat barrel pointed straight at Toad as he moved.

  She ran toward the corridor to the lobby. "Get out of here," she hissed at him and the man with her gestured unmistakably with his weapon.

  Someone three or four stories up, inside the hotel, was shouting in Italian. Cursing, probably.

  Toad looked again at the dead man at his feet.

  This was the first body he had ever seen that wasn't in a casket. He found himself being drawn toward the lobby inexorably, almost against his will.

  The lobby was full of people. A young woman in a white formal gown was wending her way toward the bar, acknowledging the applause and handshakes. Her new husband, wearing a tux, followed at her elbow, shaking hands with the men and kissing the women.

  The blond man was bending over near a large potted fern. His backpack lay on the floor near him, by his right hand. Toad looked for Judith.

  She was behind a group near the elevators, watching the floor indicators above the stainless-steel doors.

  The workman faced the elevators, his submachine gun pressed against his leg.

  For the love of" "Look out!" Toad roared. "He's got a gun!" Startled faces turned toward him.

  Toad pointed. " 'He @. got a gun!" Women screamed and the crowd surged away from the gunman.

  The elevator door opened.

  The blond man had the butt of the weapon braced against his hip, spent cartridges flying out. The sound of shattering glass from the elevator was audible, and a low ripping noise and the screams and shouts of the panicked crowd, some of whom were on the floor and some of whom were trying to flee, shoving and pushing and sprawling over those lying on the carpet. The gunman fired one more burst, picked up his backpack, and ran for the courtyard corridor.

  Something hard was pressed against Toad's back.

  "Follow him," Judith ordered, and pushed him toward the archway. Over his shoulder Toad could see a bloody body lying half-in, half-out of the elevator. The bride stood horrified in the middle of the lobby, staring at the body being crushed by the closing doors of the elevator. A woman somewhere was screaming.

  "Quickly," Judith ur
ged.

  They were in the corridor. She pushed him hard.

  "Run." She had a pistol in her hand. It had a long, black silencer on the barrel as big as a sausage. Even in the dim light Toad could see the hole in the end pointed at him. He ran.

  At the street entrance to the courtyard, men carrying weapons were racing toward them, at least four of them. A van careened around a corner and screeched to a stop.

  As the men piled in the back Judith shouted, "Him, too." Someone grabbed Toad and hurled him toward the van. He was thrust face down onto the floor and a heavy foot planted itself on the back of his neck.