by Jan Coffey
She looked at the back of Ray’s head. He appeared to be lost in his thoughts. There was so much that she didn’t understand about what had happened between them—what was happening now. They’d never fought before, and Alanna wondered if her admission of not trusting him had pushed their relationship to the point of no return. She cared for him. She loved him. She hurt inside about what she’d said. At the same time, she knew she had spoken what was in her heart and what she thought was the truth. She was certain there were things he wasn’t telling her.
The small caravan turned left onto a main road that ran along the water. As they turned, Alanna looked at a rundown boat yard on the right filled with weathered hulks of sea vessels. The sea was a magical blend of aquas and darker blues.
“How long before we get there?” Leah’s question forced Alanna out of her gloom. She found herself smiling at the eight-year-old, who didn’t even wait for an answer. Instead, Leah was already turned in her seat and making soft noises to the baby.
“Almost there, miss,” the driver replied. “We just had to drive the long way around the airport. Some of the roads in West End were washed out by the storms and haven’t been fixed as yet.”
Alanna knew from looking out the windows of the plane that they were at the western end of Grand Bahama Island. From the air, the white ribbon of concrete that constituted the airport looked to be a stone’s throw from what looked like a resort with a marina on a spit of land surrounded by the sea.
“Is it a boy or a girl?” Leah was asking.
“He’s a boy,” the young woman answered.
“What’s his name?”
“William Harsha Alexei.”
“That’s cool,” Leah responded. “What does Harsha mean?”
“It means joy or delight,” the young mother told her. “It’s an Indian name.”
“I never had an Indian friend before,” Leah told her. “Can I call him Harsha instead of William? I like that name a lot.”
The young woman nodded. “We like the name, too. But when he gets to be your age, his friends probably call him William or Will.”
“Or Bill,” Leah added. “But we’ll call him Harsha, okay?”
Alanna was amazed by Leah’s ability to draw people out of their shells. Everyone in the van seemed much more relaxed because of her. Everyone but Ray, Alanna corrected herself. He was paying no attention. She looked out the window, trying to focus on the beauty that surrounded them.
Living and working in California, Alanna’s only trips east had been for professional conferences set in major cities like New York, Boston, and Atlanta. She had never in her life been to any islands like the Bahamas. In fact, she’d never been to Florida before today.
The van slowed down as the driver drove through a gate where the main road ended. Palm trees lined both sides of the divided driveway and flowers flamed colorfully in the center median. She looked out at a beach and the open Atlantic.
Everything seemed so civilized here. This was far from what Alanna had imagined. There was no compound behind high, chain-link fences. No armed guards with Dobermans to thwart any chance of escape.
The driver slowed down and stopped at a bend in the road. Just beyond was a gated entrance, though there still was no fence anywhere. A guard came out. Alanna decided he had to be about ninety years old. Dressed in a short-sleeve tan polo shirt, black shorts, and a baseball cap, he smiled and waved at them as he lifted a wooden bar.
The place was absolutely beautiful. The view of manicured grounds, small cottages, and white beaches beyond was breath taking.
“Are you sure this is work?” the young man sitting in front of her asked his wife.
Alanna wondered if her request to fly out of here the next morning had been premature. The van pulled to a stop in front of a sprawling, one-story building that was situated beside a protected marina. Two huge cabin cruisers and half a dozen sailboats were parked alongside a number of smaller boats at the docks. Three men dressed in the same colors as the gate keeper came out to help them.
Doors were opened and luggage pulled out. Leah had a hundred and one questions for everyone helping them. Alanna sat patiently in the van until the others had gotten out. She watched Ray ask something of one of the men outside before disappearing into the building.
No matter how she looked at it, Alanna felt uncomfortable about her situation. She and Ray were in the middle of a disagreement. She didn’t know if he would want to stay with her now, even if she changed her mind. If she didn’t fulfill her part in this project, she honestly didn’t know if Ray’s life would be at risk. At the same time, how could she feel comfortable, not knowing who her employer was and what she was expected to do here? It was more than a notion; she just didn’t believe Ray was speaking the truth.
“Dr. Mendes?”
She realized that one of their greeters was talking to her. She was the only one left in the vehicle.
“I can show you to your cottage, if you’d like to follow me,” the man told her.
She worked her way out of the van. The breeze was stronger at this part of the island, but it was warm, and the salt air smelled so nice.
“Actually…” She turned around 360 degrees. She could see guides leading the others across the manicured grounds to their cottages, which spread out like fingers around the main building. “Actually, I’d like to meet with our host first.”
The man nodded as if her response was totally expected. “Absolutely, please follow me.”
She’d seen no sign, as yet, of the two men she and Ray had met with out in the Sonoma wine country. Rather than talk to Lyons and Diarte, though, Alanna hoped this time to speak with the actual person who had requested her services. She left her luggage in the care of the attendants who were loading the bags onto carts.
Alanna followed the young man in through the same door that Ray had used. Inside, she entered an open reception area decorated with a couple of comfortable sofas and alcoves with chairs. Although the place was obviously privately owned, it had been designed to handle groups of guests. Alanna recalled that none of the references she’d spoken with had talked about being brought to Grand Bahama Island to work. She wondered why they had been brought here, specifically.
“This way, please.” The man motioned her through another set of doors and into an enclosed walkway that separated the reception area from another section of the building. As she walked along, Alanna looked out the large plate-glass windows at the sun beginning to descend in afternoon sky. Once again, she felt a sense of awe at the beauty of the place.
At the end of the walkway, she entered what had to be a man’s residence. Even in the entrance hall, masculine tastes had dictated the choice of colors and furnishings. She was led into a wood-paneled library and asked to wait.
She couldn’t force herself to sit down and relax while she was waiting. She had no name, no face, no information whatsoever about this person. To her left, there was a long table that looked as if it had been taken out of a university library somewhere. A carved mahogany desk sat at one end of the room. Floor to ceiling shelves of books covered two walls. On the desk, a couple of picture frames faced away from where she stood. Alanna thought it would be intrusive to check them.
She moved to the bookcases instead. The collection of books was diverse and not organized in any particular order. There was a mishmash of fiction and nonfiction. Self-help books sat next to classics. Old leather-bound volumes next to paperbacks. Mystery and romance, English and Russian literature, volumes of poetry. She touched the frayed spine of a paperback copy of One Hundred Years of Solitude and an equally worn copy of something called The Thistle and the Rose.
In a way, the collection was endearing. It wasn’t a set of volumes professionally selected and arranged by a decorator with aesthetic appeal in mind. Rather, it showed an individual with diverse interests.
“My wife was an avid reader,” someone said behind her.
Alanna hadn’t heard anyone come in. She turned
around, then stopped abruptly. She wasn’t much into following the ‘People’ section of the news. This face, though, she had no trouble recognizing.
“Dr. Mendes,” he said pleasantly, taking a step toward her. “Welcome to West Bay. I’m Steven Galvin.”
CHAPTER 40
Gocek, Turkey
Finn always tried to keep business separate from pleasure. He made a point of never taking his family to the location of a job he’d done. Of course, there were exceptions to the rule. Some major cities couldn’t be avoided. Ireland was home. Still, the last thing he imagined was to come to this small town of three thousand and immediately start planning a trip with his family for next year.
Set on the southwest coast of Turkey and at the deepest point of the Gulf of Fethiye, Gocek was a gorgeous Mediterranean village. Nestled at the foot of pine-covered mountains, the town overlooked a number of small islands, scattered about the bay like jewels in a blue satin box. In short, the place was brilliant.
Finn could already see himself fishing with Mick and the twins while Kelly wandered in and out of the shops in the center. The place had plenty of good places to eat, and fine places to stay. This was exactly the vacation they needed as a family, some time away from the everyday drudgery.
This was truly what Mick needed, Finn thought. The lad needed time away from the bloody lowlifes he called his mates.
And after this contract, he was done with it all. Then, he and Kelly could use a little bit of celebrating.
The sight of the slick powerboat cruising along the sparkling waters from the marina jarred Finn out of his retirement planning mode. He glanced at his watch and opened the folder in his laptop case. His target’s picture was right on top.
As quaint as the village of Gocek could be for vacationing tourists, it wasn’t the ideal location for a hit. No hustle and bustle of the city. No crowds that would make one go unnoticed. No skyscrapers. Finn had to change some of the details. He had to shadow the target for days before picking the time and place.
Utku Ahmet was vacationing in the affluent waterfront town with his wife and infant daughter. They were staying in a private property on a hill overlooking the marina. The villa offered no clear range area where Finn could make his shot.
After a few days in Gocek, though, Finn was familiar enough with Ahmet’s routines. There was one thing that the young Turk enjoyed every evening. Making the most of the unseasonably warm January weather, each night Ahmet would take his wife and daughter out into the harbor to watch the sunset.
Finn knew it was his best opportunity, but the shot itself presented a few difficulties. First, he had to set up on a hill above the harbor. At almost 1200 meters, the distance was greater than he preferred. The wind variable would be a factor, as well, but luckily, the strong breeze was coming directly at him over the water tonight.
The problem was really how to get clear after the shot. To get out without a problem, Finn knew he had to make it a clean shot, in spite of the distance, while the Turk was offshore. With any luck, Ahmet’s wife would be so unsettled that she would take some time getting the boat to shore…long enough for Finn to dispose of his weapon and get down to his car.
It was not an ideal situation, considering all the variables. Despite the negatives, though, Finn was glad he’d taken the job. This would be one hell of a place to come on holiday with the lads and Kelly.
The sun was dropping quickly now. As Finn watched, Ahmet throttled down the boat in almost exactly the same spot he’d stopped the previous two evenings. Finn moved two paces to the right and placed the rifle’s bipod stand on the soft, needle-covered earth. Lying on his stomach, he set himself up, looking through his scope past branches of pine trees below him on the hillside.
Finn could see Ahmet holding the daughter in one arm. The baby was patting the father on the face. Little fists moved in the way. Finn lowered the crosshairs to the man’s heart. The baby’s arse would take the bullet.
“Give the lass to your wife,” Finn directed under his breath.
No one was listening to him. He rechecked his distance. 1187 meters. Wind, ten kilometers per hour straight in. He could do this. The sun was sinking deeper, dipping into the western sea. In a minute, it would be too dark to do the job.
“Come on, woman,” Finn ordered Ahmet’s wife. “Take your baby from him.”
The young woman was as much a nuisance as the baby. She’d moved into the path of the bullet.
The sun was nearly gone. The golden colors on the water were growing darker by the second. Finn knew that this was the time if he was to finish the job. The boat was steady. He did a quick recalculation.
“Give up the bloody baby, man.”
As Finn said the words, Ahmet stood up and handed the child to his wife. Taking a camera from her, he raised it to his eye to take a picture of the horizon. The wife moved beside him and pointed the baby’s hand at the sun.
That was all the Irishman needed. He squeezed the trigger.
A second later, the Turk’s body jerked forward toward the sunset before dropping over the side out of sight.
CHAPTER 41
“I have your ex-wife on the phone,” Susan told him through the old-fashioned intercom on his desk.
Paul Hersey paused only long enough to press the speaker button on his phone before going back to signing the documents that were piled up on his desk.
“June, thank you so much for taking my call,” he said in his charming tone. “How are things?”
“They’re fine, Paul,” she said shortly. “What do you want?”
Despite the passage of more than a decade, to say things were not smooth between them was an understatement. They remained civil for the sake of Amber and the media, but Paul knew very well how she felt about him. Their occasional personal contact was brief and to the point.
“I heard your VCA bill is going on the ballot in Pennsylvania this fall again. I’m so glad,” Paul commented, retaining his friendliest tone.
June had always been one to pick a cause and spend the following umpteen months dedicating her every waking hour to it. This one was particularly annoying. Voters Choice Act bills made it much easier for independents and renegade politicians outside of the two parties to run at election time. He was, of course, dead set against the idea. But June didn’t have to know that.
“What’s the forecast for getting it passed this time?” he asked.
She started rattling off their latest polls and stats. Luckily for Paul, when it came to politics, June still trusted him, for some reason. She had no clue that he’d been working behind the scenes to undermine efforts to have the VCA on the ballot this coming November.
His secretary, Susan, tapped lightly on his door and poked her head in. She had another armful of files for him to go over. He motioned for her to come in.
“Remember, I’m here for you.” He pushed the letters that he’d already signed toward Susan. “In case you need some arm twisting in Washington.”
“Thanks.” Pause. “So what’s this call about?”
Paul figured it was time to get to the point. “Pretty awesome about Amber and all the publicity her publisher has decided to do on her book, don’t you think?”
“Definitely. I think it’s absolutely wonderful.”
“She tells me you’re thinking about going on her European signing tour together,” he said. “That’s great.”
“She asked me to go.”
“So you are going.”
“Is there a problem?”
He paused a couple of seconds and held up his hand for his secretary to wait. There was a problem with the letter he was about to sign.
“Well, that explains the call I received,” he said soberly.
“What call?”
“She’s trying to find a way around the suggestions the Secret Service has made regarding her security.” He leaned back in his chair. “The bottom line is that Amber is ignoring her safety.”
“What’s going on, Paul?” s
he asked, her voice taking on a note of urgency. “Has there been a threat made on Amber’s life?”
Her response was quicker than he’d expected. She’d already taken the hook. “She’s the daughter of a frontrunner in the run for the White House, June. That puts her in a different kind of spotlight. Anytime you’re in a situation like this, you have to become…well, cautious.”
“The Secret Service is against her going on this book tour. Is that it?”
“Well, no...and yes.” He paused again for effect. “You see, when it comes to providing security for Amber, we’re in limbo because it’s still early in the campaign. If we were closer to the convention or already nominated or elected, there would be no question—she’d be escorted everywhere she went. But we’re not quite there, yet.”
“But the Secret Service is concerned,” she said, clearly worried.
“Not exactly. It’s just that their hands are tied right now.”
“Then untie them, Paul,” she replied. “Use your connections. There must be a way to get that protection for her.”
“I’ve already contacted some people. And called in a few favors.” He tapped his pen on the paper a couple of times. “But let me tell you the way it was put to me. If Amber were going on this tour alone, then they’d have no trouble assigning a couple of agents to accompany her. But with you on the trip with her…”
“I won’t go,” she offered immediately.
“I’ve already spoken to Amber about this. She’ll be pretty angry with me for suggesting it to you,” he said.
“She won’t know. I’ll find another excuse. I can take care of it,” she said quickly. “Paul, you and I have had our differences over the years. But we both know that Amber’s safety is the one thing at the top of both of our priority lists.”
“Of course.”
“Well, I’m not going. I’ve already thought of an excuse. Get the Secret Service to send a team.”
He could have pushed the issue further, but he decided there was no point in belaboring it.
