by Jack Mars
Richmond nodded. “Good.”
“We believe he took Charlotte to an island off the coast of Honduras.”
Richmond’s shoulders slumped. “Honduras?”
“Yes. It’s outside United States jurisdiction, obviously. He’s far beyond the reach of law enforcement, and he has protection from the Honduran military.”
“I will pay anything,” Richmond said.
Don raised a hand. “I have men that are willing to go there and attempt a rescue. It would be on the company dime. But you have to understand a few things. One is we don’t know for a fact that he has her. It could be a mistake, so you shouldn’t get your hopes up. Two, if we go there and he does have her, it’s going to be a dangerous operation to get her back. She could be hurt during it. She could be killed. You need to know that before we do anything at all.”
Richmond stared at Don in the rearview. His eyes were red, but he had stopped crying. That was good. Don got the sense that Richmond was trying to be strong.
“All right,” he said. “I can accept that.”
“There’s one more thing,” Don said. “I need to speak with my superiors. I’m going to feel them out. I may not get a green light from them, but if I don’t, my instinct is to do this anyway. That means this will not be a sanctioned hostage rescue. It will not be a police action. It will be a clandestine special operation. It will be completely secret. If my agency is revealed to be behind it, or the covers of my men are blown, I’m going to be in deep doo-doo. I will need the help of influential people who can…”
“Consider it done,” Richmond said. “If you can do this for me, whether it succeeds or fails, I will owe you my life. I will move heaven and earth for you and your people, now and in the future. With Bill Ryan, and God, as my witnesses, I promise you that.”
Bill nodded. “I agree with Miles. I’m with you, Don. You will always have my protection and help, such as it is. I consider you a great friend, one of my best, but more than just a friend. I think of you as my ally.”
Now Don nodded. Bill was prone to sappy emotional talk like this. That was fine. He had always been a loyal friend. Don had no reason to doubt him. Richmond was the weak link in this chain.
“Miles,” he said. “Know that I’m going to go forward, based on this conversation. We may not talk again. This is me, telling you that I am moving on this.”
“Good,” Richmond said. “I want you to. I’m ready. I understand the risks.”
“You need to keep quiet about it. You cannot tell a soul.”
Richmond nodded. “Of course. Of course.”
“Do not tell your wife. Do not tell your mistress. Do not tell anyone.”
“Yes.”
“And know that I might come calling on you one day. Maybe about this, maybe about something else.”
“I welcome that, Don.”
“Good,” Don said.
“And Don?”
“Yes.”
“When your guys find Darwin, if it’s at all possible, ask them to kill him. For me.”
Don’s eyes and Richmond’s eyes were locked together in the mirror. Don could feel Bill Ryan’s eyes on both of them. This was one of the risks of associating with people outside the circle. They talked too much, and they said the wrong things.
Anyone with a tape of this conversation could easily cut it to make it sound like a murder for hire. But Richmond didn’t even seem to notice his error.
“Okay?” he said.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
5:45 a.m. Central Standard Time (6:45 a.m. Eastern Standard Time)
La Sierra de San Simon (St. Simon’s Saw)
Near Honduras
The Caribbean Sea
“Go away.”
The seabirds were screeching and calling, letting him know that somewhere out there, the early sun was peeking over the horizon.
Here it was still dark.
And the bedside phone was ringing. Darwin King reached one hand to the table and picked it up. His first instinct was to immediately hang it up again. But that was the wrong instinct. If a call came this early, and it made it to his bedside, then someone thought it was important. He didn’t get where he was by avoiding important calls.
He put the phone to his ear.
“What?”
“Sir, I’m very sorry to bother you at this—”
“Save it. What’s going on?”
“There’s a call from the United States.”
“Okay. Put it through.”
A pause came while the man put the call through. This far from civilization, the phones worked like they had in the past, when this place was still a hotel. There was a switchboard downstairs, in a room near the kitchen, and a person plugged lines into the switchboard, just like in movies from the 1950s and 1960s.
Darwin reached a hand behind him and touched the warm flesh of a young thing. The girl made the groan of someone who was comfortably asleep. It was nice. It was reassuring. There was something nostalgic and romantic about it.
There were two other girls besides this one in the bed with him. That’s where the romance ended—three young girls in a gigantic bed.
He sat up at the side of the bed. He extended the antenna of the cordless phone, stood up, and padded nude to the balcony. He passed through the doors to the outside.
It was a different world out here. Cool but humid, white mists hanging across the dense trees as they descended down the side of the mountain. It was still dark, but light was entering the sky, as if someone was very slowly turning up a dimmer device. The fog was so thick, he couldn’t see the ocean from here.
“Darwin?” a voice said. It was a man’s voice.
“Yeah.”
“I was told to call you.”
Darwin nodded. “Okay.”
“It’s happening. The thing you were warned about.”
This was what people like Bill Ryan didn’t understand. Ryan was so self-centered, he somehow thought that he was the only one who had access to information, or that his access was the best, or was exclusive in some way. It wasn’t.
The hint Ryan had given him was enough. Darwin King had his own ways of finding out more.
“When is it happening?”
“We don’t know. We are on top of it, though, and we will find out.”
“Do you know what form it will take?”
“Well, we don’t expect a hundred vice cops to pull up at your house, if you get what I’m saying. Given the people involved, we can only guess it will be some kind of undercover thing. Like a black op. More than that, we don’t know at this time.”
Darwin didn’t like that. It conjured to mind images of ninjas in black pajamas, moving unseen, creeping down darkened hallways with knives between their teeth.
“Is it about number 21?” he said.
“Yes.”
Darwin ran a hand through his hair. He had a moment of weakness then. Nothing had happened yet. She had pledged herself to him, but he hadn’t consummated their relationship. She was still downstairs in the Tombs, softening up, getting ready, ripening, as he liked to put it.
She was probably ready now, but he liked them all the way ready, completely malleable, no resistance at all. He liked to remake them, and their images of themselves, according to his vision. He was like a master painter in that way.
Give her back.
Maybe he had overstepped after all. Maybe he had underestimated Miles Richmond. It was just one girl. She was not harmed, other than a little bit of psychological shock and physical discomfort. She would get over that. He could give her back. If he did, this problem would go away, and these people would leave him alone.
But that wasn’t him, was it?
He shook his head and smiled. No.
You didn’t become Darwin King by backing down.
“What else?”
“As I understand it, there was some talk of terminating your lease.”
“Terminating… my… lease.”
“Yes. If y
ou understand me.”
Darwin nodded. “I do.”
That settled it. People didn’t talk about terminating Darwin King’s lease. It didn’t happen. They weren’t going to kill him. They weren’t even going to come close. It was a joke. He would increase security here on the island, as a precaution, and he would derail their efforts at the source. He would keep the girl and do anything and everything he wanted with her.
“Can we stop it?” he said. “Crush it, like an insect? Make them sorry they even considered it?”
“Yes, of course,” the voice said. “We have someone very close to it already. But derailing it is one thing. Crushing it will cost extra.”
Darwin wanted to be completely clear. “I’m talking about a total loss for them, and total victory for us. Completely one-sided. Devastating impact. Such that no one ever tries anything like this again.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“Good,” Darwin said. “In that case, money is no concern at all. Spend whatever it takes. And keep me in the loop.”
“Okay. We will.”
Darwin hung up. He went inside the bedroom and looked at the enormous bed in the gathering light of dawn. The sheets were tangled and twisted. Live bodies were strewn this way and that, heads buried in masses of blond and brunette hair. It looked like some kind of abstract art piece. If he were an artist, he would put a canvas on an easel right now and paint it.
“Total victory,” he whispered to himself.
That’s what he would call it. That’s what his life was. That’s what his art would be. That’s what every single painting he ever made would be called.
He decided he was in no hurry to start his day. He was in no mood to worry about black operators, spy versus spy. That would all take care of itself. And if past was prologue, it would take care of itself in his favor. Meanwhile, he had better things to do with his time.
He smiled and slid back into bed.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
8:25 a.m. Eastern Standard Time
Marriott Extended Stay Suites
Fort Lauderdale–Hollywood International Airport
Fort Lauderdale, Florida
“I could get used to this,” Special Agent Henry Bowles said.
Luke looked at Ed. Ed shook his head.
The man wore blue jeans, and a plain black long sleeve T-shirt that hugged the muscles of his upper body. Bowles was jacked. He had a pair of leather sandals on his big feet. He wore a black baseball cap that said Spy Kids in white across the front. His face had the same three-day growth of beard it had the day before.
He looked like a male model. Specifically, he looked like a model doing a travel magazine shoot where he played a happy, healthy, prosperous dad on a Florida vacation with the family.
Bowles had a blue tray and was in line at the free breakfast buffet in the lobby of Ed and Luke’s hotel. He had already put eggs, sausage, toast, and a glass of orange juice on his tray. He was about to pour himself some coffee.
“What are you doing here, Bowles?”
Bowles shrugged. “I came to talk, that’s all.”
“So talk.”
He gestured at a round, empty table. “I came to talk over breakfast.”
Hordes of tourists dressed in bright colors milled around the buffet. Three television sets were mounted on different walls, showing a morning talk show. A line of people were at the reception desk. Piles of luggage were near the front door. Every now and then, a small mass of people went out that door to catch the shuttle bus to the airport, which was roughly half a mile from here.
There was a steady buzz of conversation, TV chatter, phones ringing, and a low, pleasant tone sounding every time the front door slid open. It was a busy place, and not at all quiet. It was a good place to talk. They had a 9 a.m. call with SRT headquarters coming up. Maybe this little chat could inform that one in some way.
They sat at the table. Luke dug into his eggs.
“Let me ask you a question,” Ed said to Bowles.
Bowles smiled. “Ask away.”
“When you shave each morning, how far away do you stand from the razor? I mean, is the razor in the bathroom, and you’re in the kitchen? Is the razor out on the front stoop, and you’re in the backyard? I’m just trying to work this out in my head.”
Luke laughed. He was in a good mood today, better than yesterday. He had slept like the dead last night. The bed was king-sized, and he had just spread out and sunk into it. He didn’t even remember falling asleep. Now he felt refreshed, and a little lighter. He was seeing things with new eyes. Maybe having Bowles turn up again wasn’t the worst thing in the world.
Bowles nodded. “Very funny. Very original. I hadn’t heard that one before.”
“Because it works better the closer you stand to it,” Ed said.
They ate in silence for a long moment. Luke reflected that Bowles was the only person he’d ever seen pile his plate as high as Ed.
“How can we help you, Bowles?” Luke said.
Bowles didn’t look up from his food. “I want in.”
“In?” Ed said. “In to what?”
Bowles shrugged. “Whatever you guys are doing, or are about to do.”
“What makes you think we’re doing anything? We don’t even know what we’re doing. For all we know, we’re about to get a call telling us to come home.”
Bowles looked up now, and eyed them both.
“I don’t believe that for one minute.”
“What do you think we’re doing?”
Bowles shoveled food into his mouth. He glanced around, as if he was checking when the next shuttle was leaving, or maybe whether his wife had come downstairs yet.
“Here’s what I know. You guys have a reputation that precedes you. They didn’t assign me to you because you color inside the lines. There is no doubt in my mind that you’ve figured out who the subject is in this case.”
He looked from Ed, to Luke, and back to Ed. Then back to Luke again.
Luke shrugged. “Okay. If you like.”
“And that means you know he’s not here anymore.”
Luke said nothing to this.
Bowles’s eyes suddenly became fierce. He spoke quietly, but with an intensity he hadn’t shown before. “Listen, do you think I like it? Do you think I like dirtbags like this guy, who think they’re above the law, who think they can act with impunity? Do you think I like it that they’re right most of the time?”
He shook his head and answered his own question. “I don’t like it. Of course I don’t. But what can I do? I’m one man, and I wasn’t fortunate enough to join a mysterious rogue agency within an agency. We play it by the book around here, partner. And that means bad guys with clout walk away free.”
He raised a finger. “But this one time, it doesn’t have to be that way. I’m actually assigned to you guys. I have wide latitude to interpret what that means. And I know where the guy is. I know where he is right this minute.”
“So do we,” Ed said.
Bowles raised his hands. “So you guys went cowboy. I was along for the ride. What did I know? I got caught up in it, had to go with the flow. But then it worked out, a very bad guy went down, and all is forgiven. The people protecting him? There’s nothing they can do. By the time they realize what’s happening, it’s too late. And they scurry away like mice. A few eggs were cracked, but a very nice omelet was made.”
He dug into his food again.
“The guy is radioactive. If we get out ahead and take him down, no one will lift a finger. They can’t. No one will even admit to knowing him. I’m very confident of that.”
“This is how you really feel?” Luke said.
Bowles stared right at him.
“Yes. This is how I really feel. If you’re planning something, I want in.”
Ed shook his head. “Then what was that whole act last night at the headquarters?”
Bowles shrugged. “It was exactly what you say it was. An act. I had to do that. The walls have
ears. We had all the information we needed from that kid. I figured at that point, you guys were going to move forward, regardless of anything more he might say. Things are sensitive. This case has been killed from on high again and again. Everyone witnessing that interview—and believe me, people were witnessing it—needed to think I shut it down. I did my job. The investigation hit a wall. It’s over. Go home.”
“Were you assigned to us to kill the investigation?” Luke said.
Bowles smiled and shook his head. “Why do you think? To help move the case along? I’ve been down here a long time. Things work a certain way. I wouldn’t call it corrupt, but I wouldn’t call it anything else, either.”
“Do you have any experience with this kind of thing?” Ed said.
“I don’t know what you know about me,” Bowles said.
“Why don’t you tell us?”
“I was 1st Special Forces, you probably know that. This was back in the nineties, before the Middle East wars started. I did covert missions, on loan to the DEA, breaking up cartel traffic. Mexico, El Salvador, Guatemala, Colombia. Night jumps, surveillance.” He looked at them with meaning. “Interdiction.”
Luke looked at Ed. Was Ed convinced? It was hard to say.
“More than that, I can’t really tell you. But yes. Rest assured, I have experience. I can hold my own out there, and then some.”
Luke glanced at his watch. They had five minutes before the phone call. There was a lot to talk about.
“We’ll let you know,” he said.
* * *
“Jeff Zorn is dead,” Don Morris said.
His voice came out of Ed’s telephone, sitting on the generic kitchen counter of his extended stay suite. The counter was also covered in papers. The papers came out of a leather briefcase. Downstairs, a man in lime green slacks and a yellow golf shirt had walked up to Luke near the elevators and said, “Sir, I think you forgot your case.”
Luke had smacked himself in the forehead. “Oh yes, that’s mine. Thank you. Wouldn’t want to lose that thing. My whole life is in there.”
Now, he and Ed stood over the counter, sipping coffee and staring down at the various pages.
