Devlin's Defiance: Book Two of the Devlin Quatrology

by Jake Devlin

  - 87 -

  January 13, 2013

  6:03 p.m. local time

  Fort Myers, Florida

  Still reeling from the news of his father's death in Spain, the SAC only partially saw the news reports, but when he saw Carie's video, he cursed, bolted out of his recliner and turned the TV off, forgetting that he had a remote sitting on the table next to him.

  “George, are you okay?” his wife shouted over the noise of the dishwasher in the kitchen. “What's wrong?”

  “Nothing, Anne.”

  “What? You know I can't hear you when the washer's running.”

  “Nothing, dear,” he shouted, then slumped back into his chair, waiting for the call he knew would be coming shortly.

  - 88 -

  January 13, 2013

  6:03 p.m. local time

  Lehigh Acres, Florida

  “Holy shit, Leon! They got our pictures plastered all over the news. That ain't good.”

  Leon snorted another line and looked up at Charlie.

  “Yeah. I never thought about confiscating all those cell phones. Shit!”

  “So what are we gonna do?”

  “Shut up, Charlie. I gotta think.”

  “We oughta call George.”

  “Nope; he's just gonna hang us out holding the dry bag. Now shut up; I gotta think.”

  “Maybe we should just go in and whack him now.”

  “Shut up! Lemme think.”

  - 89 -

  January 13, 2013

  6:03 p.m. local time

  Bonita Springs, Florida

  “Yesss! That oughta get 'em moving,” Rosemary exclaimed, raising her fists in the air like a high school cheerleader. “Yes!”

  Jill, Carie, Norm, Janet, Dallas, Wayne, Linda, Joel, Rona and Sharon, gathered around the TV in Rosemary's condo, all echoed her cheers.

  “Time for a toast,” Rosemary said, working the cork on a large bottle of champagne until it came out with a loud explosive pop.

  - 90 -

  January 13, 2013

  6:03 p.m. local time

  Vercaud, India

  “Did you hear that, Robin?”

  “Yeah. Sounded like a .22.”

  “Or a .45 with a silencer.”

  “Could be, Kitty. Sounded like it was up by the temple.”

  “I'll check it out. Cover me.”

  “Will do.”

  But as soon as Kitty slithered out from the bushes she'd been camouflaged in, more gunshots sounded, some silenced single shots and some unsilenced automatic rifle fire. She backed up to where she'd been hiding.

  “Whoever that is, they may have met their match.”

  “Hope they're not after our target.”

  “Got that right, Bird.”

  “Now what?”

  “We hunker down and wait.”

  But when bullets started shredding the foliage above them, Kitty and Robin backpedaled further down the hill, taking cover below and behind two of the boulders littering the hillside.

  When the gunfire finally ended, nine or ten minutes later, the women slithered back up the hill to their previous position, covered the area around the temple with binoculars, but saw only several bodies lying over or sitting against the low wall surrounding the temple proper or on the steps leading up to it, none moving.

  “What the hell?” Kitty mumbled.

  “Let's go.”

  They low-crawled up the hill to the wall and started checking pulses. Every body they checked had none.

  “All dead, Bird.”

  “Same here.”

  “Well, at least they all look like believers in reincarnation.”

  “But they're all in body armor. So maybe not true believers.”

  “No markings, so not police or army. What the hell?”

  “Let's see what else we can find.”

  “Or who else. Hope our target is still alive.”

  “We'll see what we see.”

  “When we see it.”

  Positioning herself to one side of the door, Robin pulled out her periscope and looked into the temple, lit dimly by the setting sun and the many candles inside, but brightly by the lamp mounted on her scope.

  “Nothing, no movement.”

  Robin dropped to her belly and low-crawled through the door and across the room, quartering it with her weapon ready.

  “Here's one with no armor, and she looks Caucasian.”

  “Get some pics, Bird. Maybe Amber can get an ID from that.”

  Two white flashes illuminated the area. “Done. And I've got her gun, silencer and two mags.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Nothing – wait one. Something over in the corner.”

  She walked over to the mound she'd seen.

  “Oh, crap; it's our target. And he's – yup, he's dead. One, two, three – uh, five holes in his chest and one in his head.”

  “Aw, shit. Well, I'll take some pics and we'll see what Amber wants to do.”

  “But we better get going. That Salem-Vercaud Ghat Road is treacherous even in the daytime; gonna be a real bitch now.”

  When they were clear and on their way to Mumbai, Kitty and Robin reported to Amber, who told them to consider it their first completed job, in spite of the fact that neither of them had fired a shot. Two days later, finally arriving in Mumbai and settled in a safe house, they celebrated with a bottle of champagne.

  “To the Catbirds' first job.”

  - 91 -

  January 13, 2013

  7:19 p.m. local time

  Lehigh Acres, Florida

  “Hold on, Leon. At least let's hear him out.”

  “Nah, Charlie, I'm just gonna shoot 'im now.”

  “Look, guys, you're in big trouble, but I may have a way to get you out of it, completely out of it.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, put the damned gun down, Leon, and let's listen to him. Can't hurt, can it?”

  “Okay. But you better make a shitload of sense, asshole. Go.”

  “First, this guy George is gonna hang you out to dry, you think, right, Charlie?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And your faces are all over the TV and probably the web by now, right, Leon?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So you two are on your own, with George ready to point the finger at you, and the video will support his position, right, Leon?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So you're screwed, right, Leon?”

  “Yeah, so we got nothing to lose by wasting you right now.”

  “Maybe. But I've got two alternatives for you. Number one, we turn the tables on this George guy. Does he have any credibility with the media or the public, Charlie?”

  “Yeah. He's the SAC.”

  “The what?”

  “Special Agent in Charge.”

  “FBI?”

  “Yeah, top guy in the local office.”

  “Then you're gonna have to kill him. Turning the tables on him won't really work. Or – wait a minute – maybe we CAN make it work.”

  “Yeah? How, asshole?”

  “One more question. Does he know where we are?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So what do you think he would do? What would you do if you were in his shoes?”

  “Uh” –

  “Would he call up anybody, a team or squad or whatever?”

  “No; he can't let anybody know what he's done.”

  “Ah-ha. So there's his vulnerability. One, at least. So what would he do?”

  “Uh, he'd have to kill us both so we wouldn't talk.”

  “Good, Charlie. That's just what I'd do if I were him. Leon, does that make sense to you? Leon?”

  “Quiet, asshole. I'm thinking.”

  “Take your time.”

  “So you want us to kill a fed, a real fed? And an SAC, to boot?”

  “No, not now that we know he's vulnerable.”

  “So what's your idea, asshole?”

  �
��Wait, something doesn't make sense. Why would the SAC have you two kidnap me? What was his motive for that?”

  “I don't know.”

  “Me, either, asshole.”

  “What about those photos? The ones of the senator and that little boy?”

  “He wanted to find out where you got them and what else you had on the senator.”

  “So the senator is pulling his strings?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Why?”

  “The senator is dead.”

  “What? When?”

  “Three days ago. It was on the news.”

  “Well, guys, you haven't exactly let me keep up to date now, have you?”

  “Look, asshole, we”--

  “Let me handle this, Leon. Sit down and shut up.”

  “What? You think you can talk” –

  “Shut up! This guy's onto something. So just shut up and listen.”

  “Don't you dare” –

  “Look, guys, we don't have much time. He may be on his way here right now.”

  “Look, asshole, you – okay, okay. Go on.”

  “Thanks, Leon. Now, maybe whatever the senator had on the SAC to make him get you to do his dirty work isn't – what's your word? – operative anymore. I mean, those photos were disgusting, so I can see why he wouldn't want those to get out, but now that he's dead, no reason anymore, right? Hell, if I were the SAC, I'd be relieved not to be under the guy's thumb anymore. Making sense, Leon?”

  “Go on.”

  “But now I'd be wanting just one thing: to cover my own ass.”

  “By killing off the loose ends.”

  “Right; you guys … and me, of course. And making it look like we – oh, maybe that the three of us killed each other. Not sure how he'd do that, but I think that's what he'd try to do.”

  “That fuckin' sonofabitch; I'll kill him myself.”

  “C'mon, Leon; he's a fed.”

  “I don't give a fuck, Charlie; he's gonna kill us, and with our photos all around, we're dead or in for life anyhow.”

  “Okay, guys. Ready for my idea?”

  “You bet your ass, asshole.”

  “Okay. Leon, call George and tell him you've killed me, but you need help disposing of the body … and now you want twice what he'd told you he'd pay you. How much was that, by the way?”

  “Ten grand.”

  “Each?”

  “No.”

  “You mean you did all this for five grand each? Geez, I woulda given you twice that, each, to forget it all.”

  “Well, asshole, I think I'll hold you to that.”

  “No problem, Leon. But the first thing you need to do is call George. You remember what you need to tell him?”

  “Yeah, I remember. I ain't stupid.”

  “I know. But before you do that, I need to hit the head. Else I'm gonna shit all over this chair. Could you untie me and let me get in there?”

  Charlie and Leon looked at each other, then nodded.

  Charlie got behind Gordy and untied his wrists from the chair. Gordy shook them in front, then rubbed them, then stretched them out in front of himself. Then he tried to stand up, but his legs gave out and he started to topple over.

  As Charlie rushed to help him, Gordy pushed his thumb into Charlie's brachial plexus, grabbed the gun from his holster, clicked the safety off and shot Leon in the chest, then again in the forehead, both shots made before Leon hit the ground, rolling onto his side, his empty eyes staring accusingly at Charlie and Gordy. Then he turned the gun on Charlie.

  “Sorry 'bout that, Charlie. Now I guess it's up to you to make the call.”

  Charlie looked at Gordy, then at Leon's body, then back at Gordy. “What the fuck?”

  Calmly staring back at him, Gordy repeated, “It's your turn to make that call. Take a moment to compose yourself, then dial.”

  Charlie collapsed into the chair Gordy had been tied to, breathing heavily. “I can't believe you just shot him, just like that. Who are you?”

  “I'll tell you all about me after you've made the call. Now catch your breath and dial.” He picked up the phone from a table near the door and kicked it across the floor to Charlie's feet.

  But as Charlie reached down to pick it up, it rang.

  “It's him,” Charlie said.

  “Well, well, timing is everything. Now tell him just what I told Leon to tell him.”

  “Hello? Yeah. You're where? Okay. We're good. No, not yet; we were waiting to hear from you. Okay. One minute. I'll unlock the door. Good.

  “He's outside, coming in.”

  “Good, perfect timing. Now you just stay in that chair.” Gordy moved to where he had a clear view of the door, but was hidden from it.

  A minute later, the door opened and the SAC walked in, his gun in his hand. Gordy shot him in the chest once, twice, thrice, and then a fourth and fifth time, ensuring that the fourth and fifth bullets missed the target, one on each side, embedding themselves in the doorjamb and the wall.

  Then he walked over to Charlie, said, “No, no, Charlie, just stay right there,” put the gun to Charlie's temple and fired. Then, carefully holding the gun away from his own arm, he put it in Charlie's hand and fired it into Leon's stomach, then let Charlie's arm fall, the gun dropping to the floor.

  He walked over to the SAC's body, pulled his arm out and up and pulled the trigger with the SAC's finger, aiming up toward the top of the wall in front of him.

  Then, hearing sirens in the distance, he grabbed the SAC's gun, fired it again, this time grazing Charlie's arm, staggered out the front door and collapsed on the sidewalk, the gun falling a couple of feet from his outstretched arm.

  When the first car screeched to a halt and two deputies got out, weapons drawn, he yelled, “Oh, god, I'm so glad you found me. I was kidnapped. Thank you, thank you,” broke down and cried.

  - 92 -

  January 14, 2013

  11:19 p.m. local time

  Aboard Defiance

  In the Gulf of Aden

  “Oh, that's great news, Amber. Wonderful! Was he hurt? Well, find out, okay? And have you told the teams to stand down? Good. And nobody left to seek any revenge. What a relief. When you talk to him, ask him to give me a buzz when he's clear, okay?

  “Any word from our gal over there? Oh, well; she'll get in touch when there's something to report.

  “Okay. Next? Uh-huh. Yeah. Okay. Already dead? Any ID on the – well, when you get one on her, let me know. Right, it's competition, and we need to keep tabs on the market. No, that's fine; they deserve it all. But tell the client that we'll discount the final payment by half, so just five mill. No, tell him the truth; always be straight with the clients. And if he balks at the half, tell him we'll waive it completely. He's a repeat client, and I always want to under-promise and over-deliver; keep them satisfied and happy.

  “Okay. Anything new from the teams on Pam's guy? Did he make his Sunday trip yesterday? Ah, well, maybe next week. Keep on the rest of it, okay? Put the folks we had on Gordy's stuff on him, too. Good.

  “Anything else? Just two? Good; a quiet week at last. Okay. Say hi to Gisele and the girls, okay? Okay. Yeah, I will. Bye.”

  Five minutes later, in the master suite, he caressed Pam's back as she nuzzled his neck. “Amber said to say hi.”

  “And what might Stevie Bruce have to say?” she murmured, as the opening strains of the Bolero filled the room.

  - 93 -

  January 14, 2013

  11:19 p.m. local time

  Bonita Springs, Florida

  “Oh, God, Gordy, it is so good to hold you again.”

  “And it's good to be held, Ro. Ow. Just be a little careful of the ribs on that side, okay?”

  “Oh, God, I'm sorry.”

  “And my left ear.”

  “Promise. Are your lips okay?”

  “Yup.”

  “Good. Does that hurt?”

  “Mmf. Not a bit. You can keep doing that, if you want.”

  �
�Oh, I do.” And she did.

  “Mmm, you taste good.”

  “So do you. Chocolate?”

  “Mint chocolate chip. Want some?”

  “Maybe later.”

  “And are you okay, uh, down there?”

  “Yup; no problems.”

  “Okay if I check that out for myself?”

  A few minutes later, Gordy said, “Wow! You've been talking with Dallas while I was gone, haven't you?”

  “Only about you; she kept telling me to keep my hopes up. And the rest of the beach folks were doing everything they could to help.”

  “That video really clinched it; those guys went crazy when they saw it. How did you get the media involved?”

  “That was Janet; she knows some people, I guess. Sharon got the signs made, and everybody contributed for that.”

  “Everybody?”

  “Well, not Ron. But Jenny snuck twenty bucks into the pot. Don't let Ron know.”

  Gordy chuckled. “Promise.”

  “Oh, that Sergeant Dooley showed up yesterday, too.”

  “Who?”

  “Sergeant Dooley, the one who broke up that anti-abortion gang a couple months ago.”

  “Oh, right. I'd QH'd him. Damned Quarterheimer's.”

  “He wanted me to tell you he got the book and doesn't have a problem with how you used his name.”

  “Oh, good.”

  “And he said he'd call the FBI, see if he could pry any answers out of 'em. But he didn't sound too hopeful, said the – oh, what was the word?”

  “For what?”

  “For the FBI, some word he used, kind of a derogatory thingie.”

  “Ah, maybe 'feebies' – or 'feebs'?”

  “That might have – yeah, that was it. Anyhow, he said the feebs weren't too friendly to local cops.”

  “Yeah, usually they're not, except when they need the locals for something. And even then, they can be arrogant and bossy. Or so I've heard. But it was really that video that clinched it.” He sighed.

  “I was so afraid that they'd killed you.”