by Fiona Quinn
Christen took two steps toward the image of Lynx on the screen. “A Russian poison like plutonium 210 that killed that FSB guy?”
“More like the sea wasp box jellyfish Taro was talking about.” Lynx said.
“If this tape was made a while ago. It just uploaded to the satellite. Karl is heading there now. I’ve got to get to him. I’ve got to protect my dad.” She was heading out the door when Johnna grabbed her.
“Don’t be rash.” Johnna grabbed her arm. “You don’t go without a plan. And proper clothing. Christen you’re not even dressed. How are you going to convince someone to take you to the island looking like that? You need to stop and be tactical.”
Christen turned and glared around the room. “Alright. Let’s make a plan. But it spools up now.”
Chapter Forty
Gator
Monday, A helicopter over international waters west of Sumatra
There were some major problems with this mission. No one had any authority on a private island in international waters. No rules at all. Every decision would be based on a moral compass rather than fear of repercussions. Though, repercussions meant more than just putting oneself in legal jeopardy.
Of course, he had a contract through Iniquus to protect Davidson and his family, which included D-day, in his role as part of the Davidson security team. He also had some cover in that the CIA had contracted with Iniquus and his duties there included Red and White’s protection as well as the protection of their asset, Christen Davidson. An asset, he reminded himself. Not his heart and soul. He could never think of her that way, for her safety. Though suppressing his feelings for Christen was beyond his strength, at the very least he could try to reframe his thoughts. She was D-day, not Christen.
He had to get her through this and get her safely away from him. Never to see her again. Those thoughts wrapped him in a dense cloak of despair. I’ll willingly wear this, he projected his thoughts out, just keep her safe.
Keeping her safe on a lawless island when her brother thought he had committed sororicide, and was on his way to commit patricide felt too unstable. If he were really doing his duty, he would have hog-tied D-day and kept her on Singapore soil.
Instead, he was sitting next to her in the Davidson helicopter that she flew with ease.
Fortunately, or not, the host at the CIA safehouse had known they were coming in. Both he and D-day were all fitted out in tactical wear that would pass for sportswear. They even had the right sized boots. And they were armed.
Johnna White, AKA Lula LaRoe was the reason Red offered the CIA Station Chief for flying out to Davidson Realm. With permission to rescue Lula from the island, they’d set off. Getting Lula off the island was imperative. If they could get Davidson off the island too? That would be the sauce, not the substance as far as the CIA was concerned.
D-day flew the helicopter under the grey canopy of clouds.
One step, then another. Get Lula and Davidson, get D-day back to her unit safe and sound, then he’d deal with what came next. He spent the flight time building a wall, as high and dense as he could make it, working to keep his emotions at bay. Emotions clouded judgement, slowed reaction time. He needed to get this mission wrapped up, D-day back to her FOB, and him on to his next mission. He beat that drum: step one, step two, step three. He’d have a lifetime to mourn his loss, to patch his broken heart. Right now, those thoughts were cowardly and selfish as far as he was concerned.
D-day came first. Her safety. Her happiness.
On this mission Red could protect herself, and she could protect White and D-day. She couldn’t arrest Karl. Someone would, eventually. As soon as Karl stepped foot on US soil, he and that asswipe Daniel would be cuffed and thrown in prison. Between the video taken with D-day’s contact lens and that taken by his own. The computer was able to fill in and brighten up the images until very clearly, they saw both men’s faces as they scooped D-day up and threw her over the rail. It was important though that those two didn’t know they’d been caught on tape. If Karl and Daniel thought they’d gotten off scot free, they wouldn’t know the perils of returning to the States.
If Karl and D-day got into a spitting match, she might throw that information in the men’s faces. The CIA absolutely didn’t want anyone in the helium club to know their plan had been discovered. It gave the government time to think and plot their course of action, to counter the unfolding world crisis without riling up the already tenuous international balance.
The plan was to try to make it to Davidson Realm in advance of Karl. Swoop in, gather up William Davidson and Lula LaRoe and head on out so that when Karl got there, there was no one for Karl to poison.
Things didn’t work out that way, though.
His satellite phone buzzed. “Gator here.”
“Nutsbe here. Dude our last satellite image shows the boat’s at the harbor. You’re too late for Plan A.”
“Roger that, we’ll have to move on to Plan B then.”
“What does that look like?” Nutsbe asked.
“I’ll have to get back to you.”
The island was ahead. They were still a fleck of black in the sky to anyone on the ground. The harbor was on the opposite side of the island. Gator spotted the boat through his binoculars, gliding slowly toward the dock.
D-day lowered the bird to mere feet off the choppy water. They were well below the hilly topography, no one would know they were flying in.
“I’m going to set down on the putting green instead of on the heli pad. We’ll have a thick tree line to shield us. It could be, if they’re not paying attention, that we’ll be missed entirely.”
D-day didn’t have clue one about the security precautions on this place. After conferring, they decided to wing it. They’d try to sneak in and find Lula and get a read from her on the ground situation. Until that happened, they just didn’t know what they’d be facing. And now, even their satellite phone didn’t function. They were on the island alone with no hope of any kind of help.
Chapter Forty-One
Christen
Monday, Davidson Realm
The good thing, she told the others was that they weren’t the enemy in her dad’s eyes. The bad thing was she didn’t know if security was on her dad’s side or the security, like Daniel, was on the bad guy’s side. Bad guy here meant her half-brother Karl. She knew that comms didn’t work on the island, so there would have been no heads up from Karl to those on the island about where things stood in his coup attempt. If, somehow, they did get a message through, according to Karl, she was dead.
They had landed just beside the tree line. The blades slowly circled, losing power with each rotation. They popped off their seat harnesses and checked their weapons.
As Christen pushed open the door, she glanced at the clock. Karl and whoever came with him would be getting off the boat now. They’d be in the little golf karts that they would use to drive up to the house. They’d be getting out and taking the stairs to the front door, she thought as they lowered their bodies and squat-ran forward.
Clear of the blades, they sprinted, well that wasn’t quite what she was doing. Her body was still angry and pained from her fight for life. She moved forward. She didn’t give up. Okay, that much she could agree with. The other thing she agreed with herself about was that she had to get the mission wrapped. Now.
As the break in the trees showed through the foliage, she slowed to a walk. She slowed her breath. She calmed her heartrate. She was about to confront her brother over his attempt at killing both her and their dad. No amount of fly-time and crazy missions anesthetized her system against this level of adrenaline and anger. But at least not pelting out of the tree line like a bat out of hell, would mean fewer guns trained her way.
“Smile,” she said as the moved through the trees. A guard had his rifle at the ready. She raised her hand. “Hey there!”
He approached.
“I’m Christen Davidson, William’s daughter. We had some trouble with the weather and
the yacht,” she walked progressively forward. “Whew, am I glad to finally get my feet solidly on the ground. We had to fly over in the heli. Is Dad in the house?” she asked reaching out to point.
The guard turned his head in the direction of her finger and in the blink of an eye, she had not only gotten control of the rifle, but the guy lay on the ground at her feet looking up the barrel.
Gator trained his Glock on the guard’s center mass. He was in warrior mode. Remote. Hard. Stoic.
Christen blinked at him; his behavior was… confusing. They were going to have to have a serious conversation before this was said and done. But now? Eyes on the gauges, steady hand on the stick.
While Christen covered, Gator flipped the guy over and dragged him into the tree line where he used the cuffs on guard’s belt to secure him to a tree. Christen could hear the guard hollering, but honestly the wind was whipping over the island and if you didn’t know what that sound was, it would be lost on you. She wasn’t concerned. About that. She still wanted to get to her dad before anyone else did.
“I think we need to take the direct approach, head right into the house. Maybe we can get hold of a few more rifles along the way, in case we need them.” They were all geared with tactical knives and small arms, but for precision at a distance, a rifle was what she wanted.
Christen knew Gator was itching to have the rifle in his own hands, but he said nothing to her about it as they moved forward at an angle that would make seeing them from a window all but impossible.
They followed Christen on silent feet as she made her way to the second floor, where they began a room to room search. The third room found Lula lying on her back, feet on the wall reading a book. “Get up,” Christen hissed into the room, then sent a glance up and down the hall, moved over and glanced over the railing. All was quiet.
“Get dressed,” Johnna said and Christen could hear Lula shuffling around the room.
“Christen’s locked and loaded.” There was a question mark in Lula’s tone.
“Amen to that,” Gator said.
“Where’s my dad?” Christen asked as Lula rounded the door into the hallway.
“I have no idea. I was waiting for word that the boat had come in. My god, you guys look awful.”
“I take it you didn’t get a typhoon here?”
“What? No. Some rain,” her voice trailed off.
There was a bang of the door and yelling.
“They all speak Slovak…I think,” Lula said. “I don’t understand a word.”
Gator was at the opposite window. “They found our boy in the trees. One is in the woods getting him loose the other is running. Not the best tactics, but hey.”
“How many security guards are there?” Johnna asked.
“I’ve counted eight,” Lula said, “including the ones that came in with us. There’s a chef, a sous chef, a couple of maids and a grounds keeper. Fourteen total staff that I’ve actually seen.”
“And how are the guards armed?” Christen asked.
“Side arms on the interior, rifles on the exterior. Unlike the Daniel guy that was playing Davidson’s shadow, these guys are all military trained.”
“No killing,” Christen said. “Seriously, these guys are here doing a job. All we need to do is grab my dad and get him in the copter and get out of Dodge.”
“They’re here,” William Davison called, his voice echoing up the cathedral ceiling and carrying throughout the house. “The boat has arrived.”
Christen flew down the stairs, and grabbed his hand. “Move it, Dad, run.”
Her father didn’t move, he planted himself. “What are you doing? How did you get here? Why is that boat not my yacht?”
Christen looked up the stairs as Gator hustled toward them. “Throw him over your shoulder and run. I’ll cover you,” she ordered.
As Gator hot footed it down the stairs, she could see him calculating, working on a different strategy but when there was a rattle at the door behind them, he scooped her dad over his shoulder and started down the hall. She stayed on his heels sighting right then left as they moved. Her dad was yelling, asking for an explanation. Christen wondered if being upside down like that would make things worse on his tumor. She was sorry. But she also knew her dad could be a mule. And he looked like he was in that kind of mood.
A guard popped around the corner and Christen brought the butt of her rifle squarely up under his chin making him fly backward. She aimed her rifle at him while Lula ran in, cuffed him, and took his sidearm.
Christen lifted her chin to Lula. “Take point,” she whispered, and Lula complied.
“What in Sam Hill are you doing?” William Davidson yelled.
“Saving your life,” Christen hissed back. “Shut up for once, Dad.” She couldn’t believe she’d just said that, but then again, maybe it would be such a shock that she spoke to him that way that he might just comply.
“Let me the hell down from here, I can run on my own two feet.”
Gator looked at Christen for affirmation before he set her father down. Then Gator grabbed the back of his shirt in his fist, exactly like she’d seen Nitro maneuver John Grey. Gator propelled her dad forward faster than she’d ever seen her dad move before.
A bullet whizzed by her dad’s ear, and she watched her dad try to swat it away like he would a mosquito. Gator bent in two and ran toward the tree line, hauling his precious cargo along. Lula still had point. Johnna sprinted after. Christen turned to see where the shot had come from. The crack had been close. Three more bullets followed.
There he was. Karl. Rifle in handed, sighting on the group as they moved into the safety of the trees, he racked the gun and fired. Missed.
Then he turned the scope on her. Christen took off running tripped, rolled, watched the ground lift in a puff beside her hand as the bullet dug its way into the soil. The night she was drugged and wrapped in her sheet Karl had come and untied her from the bed. Had pulled off her life vest. She remembered that now.
She flipped to her back and sighted between her knees.
How did the life vest get back on, was she hallucinating?
Bang, another bullet flew toward her, another miss.
Christen was so confused. This was all so surreal, she was so exhausted. For all she knew she was dreaming. Get off the X. Get into the trees.
Gator was there by her side, hefting her to her feet. With his hand jammed under her arm, she stood, frozen, staring at Karl.
Karl, waved his arms, screaming at the guards to “Get them! Don’t let them leave.”
“Don’t let them leave,” those were the words that worked their way into the cotton folds of her brain and without any thought at all to the outcome, Christen dragged the rifle to her shoulder and pulled the trigger. She saw a spray of blood. There was a momentary howl that cut off in the middle, leaving only the wind’s whistle in its wake.
“Christen!” her name echoed out past the wind. It was Gator. He’d never said her name before. It was magic. It gave her wings and with his hand on her arm, she flew to the safety of the trees where the others huddled and waited for her.
“I shot someone,” Christen moaned, he hands on her knees, unable to breathe.
“That was Karl,” Johnna said. “You shot him in the leg.”
Christen realized how disappointing that was. The leg. He’d probably survive that.
“You shot Karl in the leg?” her father’s voice boomed out, angry, volatile.
Gator had a grip on his shirt. “She saved your life. Karl came to kill you.”
“The hell you say. My son? Kill me? Never.”
Johnna stepped in. “When we get you back to Singapore, we’ll show you the tape of his collusion. For now, we need to go.” She pointed in the direction of the heli.
“Hell no. Not without Karl. He needs to get to the hospital asap, my daughter lost her cotton-pickin’ mind and shot him. For Christ sake. You,” he pointed at Gator. “Get back there and get my son. He needs medical attentio
n. I’m not taking step one until he’s here with me.”
“Yes, sir,” Gator said, reaching down and dragging the man over his shoulder. He took off at a jog.
The women followed.
Christen’s father was apoplectic as they took him to Singapore. The CIA provided a doctor to medicate him. Singapore’s hospital wasn’t safe. Nowhere would be safe until her dad changed his will and made that fact publicly known. For now, Christen had seen him boarded and woozy on the private CIA jet headed for the US. What would happen to the others?
Good question.
Part of need to know.
Christen didn’t need to know. She was curious, but that didn’t count. She was used to that being in the military. The CIA was an intelligence gathering entity not an enforcement branch. Johnna and Lula didn’t need to know and probably never would know the outcome. But someone was following through. Someone was shutting this helium crap down. Maybe. Hopefully.
As far as she was concerned, it was over. She was heading home to her cot behind the striped sheet at the FOB in Iraq. Back to Smitty, and Prominator, and Nick of Time. She’d get to hear their story. And she’d be in her element. In control. Hands on the stick, eyes on the gauges.
First though, she needed a heart to heart with one Jean-Marie Rochambeau.
***
Christen emerged from the hot shower in her Singapore hotel room, feeling about a thousand times more human. The mission was over. Lula and Johnna wanted her gone before Karl had a chance to find her. She’d “done well.” She could be “proud of her service to the country.”
Christen thought the whole darn thing was a great big nightmare. The only bright side was she and Gator had met. Now, she could get on with her life. She hadn’t realized that she’d been in a holding pattern waiting for him to emerge from her imagination into her reality. This was the guy she’d been waiting for.
