War Hawk: A Tucker Wayne Novel

by James Rollins

  Jane stared wide-eyed at Tucker as he lowered the handset. “Who was that?”

  “Trouble.”

  25

  October 25, 11:45 A.M. AST

  Port of Spain, Trinidad and Tobago

  As the elevator doors opened, Tucker tugged at the edges of his cardigan sweater. He kept his hands away from the SIG Sauer holstered at his armpit. He had left Jane and Frank equally armed up at the suite, stationing Kane with them as extra security. He didn’t expect the French soldier would be so bold as to attack him amid the midday bustle of the hotel lobby, but he wasn’t going to this meeting unarmed.

  Tucker exited the elevator and scanned the lobby, trying to spot anyone who looked his way. The caller had said he had come alone, but Tucker wouldn’t put it past the man to bring backup. Tucker especially kept an eye out for the bulky form of Karl Webster.

  Failing to identify anyone suspicious, Tucker followed a placard to the lobby lounge. It was an intimate space of red-cushioned chairs positioned around small coffee tables. A number of hotel patrons occupied various tables, but on the far side near the windows, a lone hand raised into the air.

  Tucker’s heart quickened at the familiar sight of his nemesis. The French soldier had shed his commando gear for loose linen trousers and a black silk shirt. If the man was armed, he hid it well. Still, Tucker approached cautiously. The man appeared to be in his midthirties, squat and heavily muscled, with a sun-weathered face and a shaven head.

  As Tucker joined him, the man stood up and held out a calloused hand. “Good morning.”

  Tucker refrained from taking that hand, picturing Takashi’s head exploding from a sniper round. Here was the young man’s killer.

  Seemingly not offended, the soldier lowered his arm and took his seat. “Thank you for taking this meeting.”

  Again Tucker noted how the man had not yet referred to him by name. He imagined part of the purpose of this sit-down was to unnerve him. Using Tucker’s name would have had that effect.

  Means the guy doesn’t know who I am . . . at least not yet.

  Tucker sank down to his own chair. “And who am I taking this meeting with?”

  “Name’s Rafael. Let’s leave it at that.”

  Tucker had no way of knowing if this was the truth, but he didn’t question it. He had ways of double-checking this information later. For now, he wanted to find out what this meeting was all about.

  “You’re a good tail,” Tucker said. “I never spotted you at the airport.”

  Rafael shrugged at the compliment. “You did not make it easy to find you.” The man reached to a pocket and pulled out a photograph, which he slid across the table. “And neither did Ms. Sabatello.”

  Tucker held back a flinch at the mention of Jane’s name. Instead, he studied the photo. It showed his profile and Jane’s face behind the windshield of the stolen Expedition. It must have been taken when they had stopped at the Stallion Gate at White Sands.

  Rafael explained, “The day after our operations at White Sands we learned of a robbery report by a pair of Sirocco Power employees, which included the theft of their company SUV, a vehicle which miraculously turned up at White Sands bearing a pair of new Sirocco surveyors. You are resourceful, mon ami.”

  But apparently not resourceful enough.

  Tucker inwardly winced. He clearly hadn’t covered his tracks as thoroughly as he had hoped back in New Mexico. Still, he kept his voice nonchalant. “I’m surprised it took you a full day to realize that your security at White Sands had been breached. It seems like we caught Karl Webster sleeping at his post.”

  Rafael’s lips tightened before responding. Clearly Tucker had touched a nerve. “It is unfortunate—a lapse that will be dealt with once Webster shows his face again.”

  Interesting.

  The head of Tangent security must have fled, knowing his days were numbered. Webster’s failures had been mounting: first Jane had escaped his purge of Project 623, then Tucker had raided his encampment at Redstone, and finally Tucker and Jane had slipped through the cordon he had placed around White Sands.

  No wonder Webster vanished.

  Rafael collected the photo from the table. “I had no way of knowing what you two might have learned concerning our operations here in Trinidad, and unlike Karl Webster, I am not one to leave loose ends. So as a precaution, I placed the airport under surveillance, to watch for anyone matching your descriptions.”

  “Smart. So you found us. What next?”

  “I’ve simply come with a proposal, a way to put this matter to rest.”

  “If it’s along the lines of leave the island or we’ll kill you, let’s skip ahead.”

  Rafael smiled. In contrast to his tan face, his white teeth shone. “I know you don’t frighten easily. Besides, why use violence when reason might work?”

  “Then lucky for you, I’m a very reasonable man.”

  Rafael clearly recognized the sarcasm but chose to ignore it. “We have no quarrel with you. Yes, you’ve caused a lot of problems for Tangent, but my employer is willing to put it in the past.”

  “That’s very generous of him, but just who is your employer?”

  Rafael raised an eyebrow.

  Tucker shrugged. “Worth a try.”

  From the man’s choice of words, it sounded as if Rafael’s employer was someone outside of Tangent, maybe the person behind all of this.

  “Like I was saying,” Rafael continued, “he is willing to put this in the past if you’ll back off and return to your own lives.”

  “That’s a lot to ask. Aside from getting to remain breathing and aboveground, what’s in it for us?”

  “Name a figure and I’ll present it to my employer.”

  “Five million dollars.”

  Rafael didn’t miss a beat. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

  “And with that, you’d let us all go?”

  “My employer is a man of his word.”

  Though Rafael betrayed nothing, Tucker knew this was a lie. He also learned one other thing from this exchange. The man had not mentioned anything about the drone that Tucker’s group had stolen, indicating the enemy must still believe Rex was somewhere buried in the mud of the Tennessee River. Rafael had also given no indication that he knew about Sandy’s research or about the thumb drive that Tucker had obtained from the dead woman’s mother.

  If these bastards knew about the tech in our possession, it would have been part of these negotiations.

  “So do we have a deal?” Rafael asked and held out his hand again.

  This time, Tucker took it. “We do.”

  It was a lie, but Tucker suspected Rafael knew as much. The soldier was no fool. This entire exchange was nothing more than a fishing expedition by the enemy, one meant to acquire information about Tucker and the others, while intimidating them at the same time.

  And it seemed that fishing expedition wasn’t quite finished.

  “You never did tell me your name,” Rafael said, his iron fingers still clamped on Tucker’s hand.

  Tucker squeezed harder. “I’ll be going down to Starbucks tomorrow morning. You can always have me followed and see what name the barista writes on my cup.”

  Rafael chuckled and let his hand go. “You know, I like you.”

  “So it would be a shame if you had to kill me.”

  “Indeed.”

  “But it wouldn’t stop you.”

  “Not for a second. And you?”

  “Not for a half second.” Tucker grinned. “And for your boss, even less than that.”

  Rafael accepted that threat with grace. “Then it’s good we’re all friends now.”

  “The very best of friends.”

  Rafael gave a slight bow of his head and departed. Tucker waited until the man left the hotel before returning to the elevator. Once inside, he kept his hands away from the hidden pistol, but his fingers adjusted the tiny camera lens hidden next to the middle button of his cardigan. He had stripped the surveillance gear from K
ane’s tactical vest and donned it before taking this meeting.

  Rafael hadn’t been the only one fishing.

  Let’s see if Ruth and her resources at Sigma can help identify this guy.

  1:23 P.M.

  An hour later, Jane continued her nervous pacing of the penthouse. A curious Kane sat on the sofa, his head tracking her path as if watching a tennis match. She moved like a caged lioness, all energy with no way to expend it.

  After returning from his talk with Rafael, Tucker had kept them all locked down in their suite. He had pulled the balcony curtains closed after inspecting the sight lines to their rooms. While there were no buildings taller than the Hyatt nearby from which a sniper could take a shot at them, Tangent clearly had drones that could buzz past the building at any time.

  Tucker also did not trust the Hyatt’s privacy policy. A rich enough bribe to the right bellhop could reveal their room number. Tucker knew only one thing for certain about their accommodations.

  We’re trapped here.

  Nora stirred from where she hunched over a computer, stretching a kink from her neck. She and Frank had been working on Rex, checking and double-checking everything, waiting for sunset. The pair—along with Jane’s help—had also been trying to get the lay of the land.

  Nora motioned for Tucker and Jane to join her. “Frank and I have been doing a little spitballing,” she said. “Whatever Tangent is up to here, it has to be tied to that list of codes we pulled from White Sands. That list encompasses the entire digital infrastructure for these islands.”

  Tucker remembered the pages of country calling codes, radio stations, Internet protocols, and air traffic control frequencies—both civilian and military. He remembered Frank mentioning it was all anyone would need to wage a cyber attack and shut this tiny nation down.

  Nora continued. “We began wondering what Tangent could gain by launching a cyber strike. There must be a significant payoff, something that would be worth trying to start a war between the current government and those TPP revolutionaries the cabbie described.”

  “What did you find?” Tucker asked.

  She handed him an iPad. On the screen was a Wall Street Journal story dated four months earlier. “Read this.”

  Tucker scanned the piece. “This is all about the discovery of a new oil field,” he mumbled, and looked up.

  Frank nodded. “A deepwater deposit just off the northeastern tip of the island, someplace called Salybia Bay. Geologically speaking, it’s a mother lode. The government is still debating how to proceed. Right now, it’s a football that’s still in the air.”

  “A very valuable football,” Nora added.

  Tucker tried to follow the thread of their premise. “You’re thinking that Tangent—or whoever is truly behind all of this—is planning to destabilize the country, to turn Trinidad on its head, all in order to go after that oil field.”

  Jane started pacing again. Her eyes took on that familiar faraway look whenever she was concentrating hard. “Whoever backs the winner in this political conflict could be handed a fortune in paybacks afterward. They could auction off infrastructure contracts, direct kickbacks to the right parties, plus maybe collect a piece of the downstream oil output.”

  Tucker’s stomach churned queasily. “What you’re talking about is orchestrating a coup. That’s classic spook stuff, the kind of operations the CIA ran in Guatemala and Chile.”

  Jane faced him. “Only instead of a government intelligence service pulling this off, it’s a private company.”

  Tucker swallowed.

  How can we even think of stopping this?

  A phone rang sharply—but it wasn’t the hotel line this time. Tucker crossed to his satellite phone sitting on the bar and answered it.

  “Ruth, tell me you have something?” he said.

  “Do I ever let you down, honey?” Ruth’s southern drawl was always laid on extra thick whenever she was joking with him.

  “What did you find out?”

  “First, that the gentleman you met earlier is no gentleman.” Ruth’s voice sharpened, going serious. “His name is Rafael Lyon, and he’s bad business. Former French Special Forces, outfitted with the BFST—Brigade des Forces Spéciales Terre.”

  Tucker closed his eyes. Back in Afghanistan, he had witnessed BFST’s prowess firsthand. They fielded some of the finest shooters and toughest soldiers out there.

  “Six years ago, Lyon ran into some trouble in Chad,” Ruth continued. “Killed some villagers and got himself brought up on war-crime charges—that is, until those charges suddenly evaporated. After that, Lyon dropped off the map. Even his financials are run through a series of tax havens and Swiss accounts. He’s definitely shady. I’ll need more than an hour to discover who he truly is and who he works for.”

  “Are you thinking he’s a mercenary for hire?”

  “Maybe, but I don’t believe a megacorporation like Tangent Aerospace would have hired a former war criminal, exonerated or not. Instead, I think you were right that there must be another player in all of this, an unknown puppet master who employs Lyon for his dirty work.” Ruth sighed, plainly exasperated. “Anyway, that’s all I could dig up over the past hour, but I have additional feelers out and hopefully I’ll know more soon.”

  Tucker gave a small shake of his head.

  “Except for one other bit of intel,” Ruth added. Tucker could picture her wry smile. “Lyon used a credit card under his name three days ago to hire a car. I was able to contact the rental agency and get the VIN, which allowed me to access its GPS.”

  “You know where his car is?”

  “Parked at West Bay Boats. He rented a runabout twenty minutes ago. I called the company office and was able to sweet-talk my way into finding out what he listed as his destination.”

  “Which was what?”

  “Patos Island. It’s a little blip about nine miles from Trinidad’s westernmost tip. It lies just across the country’s maritime border with Venezuela.”

  “How little of a blip are we talking about?”

  “It’s an islet that’s a mile long and a quarter mile wide. All jungle, not a single human resident.”

  Which would offer someone plenty of privacy and cover to hide a drone fleet.

  “Of course, he might have falsified that form,” Ruth warned. “That might not have been his real destination.”

  That was certainly true, but there was only one way to find out.

  He said his good-byes to Ruth, while getting assurances from her that she would still look into Rafael Lyon’s true allegiances.

  He then faced Kane. “Hey, buddy, you feel like playing pirate?”

  2:34 P.M. EDT

  Smith Island, Maryland

  Seated behind his office desk, Pruitt Kellerman clutched the phone harder to his ear. On the other end of the connection, the noise of an outboard engine ate up the caller’s words.

  He checked his watch. He was due to meet with his daughter, Laura, to discuss a contractual dispute that arose following the telecommunications conference in Athens—then Rafael Lyon had called with an update from Trinidad. Pruitt wanted this latest matter dealt with as expeditiously as possible before Laura grew suspicious of all these urgent calls from Horizon’s head of security. His daughter was no fool, and before long questions would arise, questions he would have a hard time satisfactorily answering without involving her—which must not happen.

  “Say again,” Pruitt yelled, irritated and angry. “You met this mystery man. Who is he?”

  “Don’t know,” Lyon answered. “He’s definitely an American citizen. Former Special Forces, if I had to wager. But he gave nothing away in our discussion. I couldn’t even get a rise out of him when I mentioned Jane Sabatello.”

  “But you said he had a price. Five million.”

  Lyon snorted. “He has no intention of honoring that bargain. There’s been too much blood spilled. Likewise, he knew we would never stick to our end of the deal.”

  “Then we put the sc
rews to him. Every man has vulnerabilities . . . someone close to him, someone we can reach. We find that, and we’ve got him.”

  “But first we have to know who he is,” Lyon reminded Pruitt. “His group is traveling under fake passports. Good ones. Papers like that take either lots of money or powerful connections to forge.”

  Pruitt swung his chair to look out across Chesapeake Bay toward the silhouette of DC. If Lyon was correct, this could be a troublesome development. Pruitt had made plenty of enemies, in both the political and private sector.

  So who’s pulling this guy’s strings?

  Lyon interrupted this thought. “Sir, it’ll be hard to pin this man down. Let me handle him in my own way.”

  Pruitt quashed the urge to reprimand Lyon. Just as one doesn’t tell a doctor how to remove an appendix, he was reluctant to tell a man with Lyon’s experience how to deal with such matters.

  At least not yet.

  “Very well,” Pruitt said. “What’s your plan?”

  Lyon shouted to be heard as the outboard motor whined louder in the background. “I left a trail of bread crumbs for our target to follow. If he’s as good as I think he is, he’ll pick up that trail, and I’ll be waiting for him.”

  “Just get it done. I won’t tolerate any more mistakes, not after all the security lapses by that incompetent bastard Webster.”

  “Don’t worry,” Lyon said. “By nightfall, it will be over—for all of them.”

  26

  October 25, 7:18 P.M. AST

  Port of Spain, Trinidad and Tobago

  “How’s it going?” Tucker asked Frank.

  The man stalked around the drone sitting atop the coffee table, doing a final inspection. “Rex is not picking up any scents,” Frank said. “We should be good to go.”

  Frank looked to Nora, who was seated at her laptop with wires trailing from the computer to the drone. She gave a nod of agreement.

  It was a couple of hours after sunset and full night had fallen over the capital city. They had activated Rex’s suite of sensors and had been monitoring for any telltale electronic signatures of Tangent’s drones in the area. Apparently all remained quiet.