Logan glanced at the widescreen TV mounted on top of the wall above the rows of liquor bottles. A soccer match played out on one of the Fox Sports channels broadcast to the island from Miami. He looked to his right and was greeted by a handsome man with short brown hair and a light-skinned complexion he couldn’t place.
The man spoke in an accent to the bartender, a resident of the island who’d been watching the game quietly from the other end of the bar. “Just a rum and cola, please.”
“You got it, sir,” the bartender replied, and the man turned to face Logan.
“Honestly,” Logan finally answered, “I’m not sure. I was just watching the sharks while waiting for a friend.”
The man nodded. “They are impressive, no? My daughter told me that they like to swim in schools during the day, and then turn into solitary predators at night.”
Like a lot of creatures, Logan thought, although I always prefer a pack.
“How old is your daughter?” Logan asked, sensing a sincerity to the man, who appeared to be in his midthirties and fit, at least from what Logan could tell through the man’s light-blue poplin button-down short-sleeve shirt and khaki bathing suit.
“Nine,” the man said. “This vacation is for her. Her mother passed away two years ago. Cancer. She’s handling it as well as can be expected, but who can really know what’s in her head?”
Or anyone’s, for that matter, Logan thought.
The man briefly looked at Logan before quickly turning away. “I’m sorry. It’s probably more than you needed to know. I’ll leave you to wait for your friend,” he said, and started to slide down a seat to the only other empty spot at the bar. The bartender placed a glass of dark liquid in front of him, as if luring him back to his seat.
Before Logan could catch himself, he said, “It’s okay. Feel free to stay, at least until my buddy gets here.”
The man considered for a moment, and then stuck out his hand. “I’m Alejandro. Thanks. If you don’t mind, I will.”
Logan shook the man’s hand and said, “Logan. Nice to meet you.”
It must be the fact that Sarah’s pregnant. I normally wouldn’t introduce myself to some stranger, his mind cautioned him. Then again, he’s where you could be someday, and he’s already been where you’re going. Cut him some slack.
“No problem at all,” Logan replied. “My buddy, Carl, and I just came down for the weekend to check out the resort, enjoy the casino, and maybe do some deep-sea fishing. This place is breathtaking, and I realized while sitting here that I could spend weeks and not discover everything it has to offer,” he said, sweeping his right hand in a semicircular motion to emphasize the point.
“It’s a modern masterpiece. I agree. And my daughter loves it, especially the Dig,” Alejandro said, referring to the world’s largest open-air aquarium, set at the base of the east Royal Tower and casino. Underground passageways adorned with exhibits and artifacts wound along the base of the aquarium through ruins intended to replicate the lost city of Atlantis.
“It is,” Logan said. “I walked through it earlier this morning. So how long are you here?”
“Another few days, and then back home,” Alejandro replied.
“Which is?” Logan asked nonchalantly.
“Colombia,” Alejandro replied.
“Really? I’ve never been, but it seems like a beautiful place,” Logan said.
“It is, but we’re still recovering from the damage the drug cartels did to the country. It’s better than it was under the Medellín and Cali cartels, but when you create a void, something always steps in to fill it,” Alejandro said.
“I’ll drink to that,” was all Logan said, knowing that Colombia was still the world’s largest producer of cocaine. But there’s no need to insult the man. “If I may ask, what do you do?”
“I’m a police officer,” Alejandro said.
Really? Now that’s interesting, the former Marine thought. It was no surprise that many law enforcement officers—local, state, and federal—in the US were former Marines. Many Marines who left the Corps often replaced one lifestyle of discipline and honor for another. Marines are Marines, no matter what uniform they wear. “Is it dangerous?”
“I’m in a small town outside of Bogotá. So it could be a lot worse, but honestly, I’m happy with it, since my daughter is all that matters.”
Logan hoped that soon he’d feel the same way, although how he was going to square the circle that was his professional life with a baby eluded him at the moment.
“I just found out before this vacation that my wife is pregnant,” Logan replied.
Alejandro looked genuinely surprised but then smiled and clapped a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “Congratulations! That’s excellent news, my friend. Trust me when I tell you, your life will change, and absolutely for the better. When you have a child, it’s like you step through a door to a different reality, and then you realize something.”
“What’s that?” Logan asked, genuinely interested.
“That there are only two kinds of people in this world—those with kids, and everyone else,” Alejandro replied sincerely. “And those without, they’ll never, ever understand what it’s like to be a parent, no matter what they say or do. It’s just a fact. It’s not their fault. It just is.” Alejandro smiled at Logan. “You’ll see.”
Logan nodded and turned back to the soccer match. “I actually never wanted kids, but now that life has somewhat stabilized for me and my wife, I can’t think of anything else in the world that could brighten our lives more.”
Alejandro was quiet, and Logan sensed a subtle shift, as if his new friend were contemplating something significant. Something touched a nerve, but don’t be your typical self and press him, Logan heard his wife say inside his head.
Alejandro’s phone vibrated, and he lifted it from the marble-patterned bar, spoke something in Spanish, and ended the call moments later. “Well, Logan, my daughter is up, and she’s eager to hit the water park,” Alejandro said, pointing across the enormous Paradise Lagoon to the west side of the resort where several slides emerged from a large facsimile of ancient ruins.
“Sounds like you have your work cut out for you. It was a pleasure, and enjoy the rest of your vacation,” Logan said, and raised the Diet Coke from the bar.
Alejandro clinked his drink to Logan’s, downed the rest, and said, “Congratulations once again on joining the club. No matter what, you won’t regret it. Having said that, enjoy your time here. Once your baby comes, you won’t have it anymore.” He smiled mischievously. “It’s part of the package. Take care, and God bless.”
“You too,” Logan said, and watched his new friend disappear down the circular set of stairs in the middle of the restaurant that led to the underwater viewing area and a tunnel that wound along the bottom and through the lagoon in a glass-enclosed viewing tube.
Logan captured the server’s attention, and moments later he placed an order in anticipation of Cole Matthews’s arrival.
How am I going to bring a child into this world? Logan thought. Everything he’d told Alejandro was true, but he was still terrified. I just hope I can be the kind of father I know I should be.
“You daydreaming again, killer?” Cole Matthews suddenly said from beside him.
Logan smirked at his friend and fellow member of Task Force Ares. Tanned, with chiseled features and black hair swept back but trimmed neatly on the sides, Cole turned nearly as many female heads as Logan. Nearly, Logan thought, acutely aware of his own looks, as well as his ego.
“Definitely. Just not of you, D-boy,” Logan shot back, referring to Cole’s past with the world-renowned Unit, more commonly referred to as Delta Force in movies and on television.
“Ha,” Cole said, and sat down on the barstool Alejandro had vacated moments earlier. “Did you order?”
“As a matter of fact, I did,” Logan replied.
“I knew I could count on you for something,” Cole said drily, aware of the irony, as Logan Wes
t had saved his life in Sudan six months previously in a hellhole black-site prison. Actually, that was a team effort.
“By the way, tough guy, you’re five minutes late,” Logan said. “Even by my standards.”
“Cute, but now that I’m here, let’s get down to business,” Cole said seriously and quietly. “We have a problem.”
Logan turned, looked at his friend, saw concern in his brown eyes, and said, “Don’t we always.”
CHAPTER 3
Coral Towers, 3rd Floor
Saturday, 2000 Local Time
Santiago Rojas was in a position with which he was not familiar—indecision. After his first encounter with Logan West, he’d spent the day contemplating his next move.
At first, he’d been hesitant to execute the “coincidental encounter” with West, even under the cover of an alias, as he knew that West would likely detect even the slightest hint of subterfuge. It was why he’d kept the conversation on a topic for which he could not feign insincerity, even if he tried—his daughter. And when the conversation had ended, he was certain he’d made the right choice, especially after West had disclosed the fact that his wife was pregnant. There was no way he was lying about that. I could tell it in his voice, as a father.
The sun was in the final moments of setting to the west directly out the window of his lagoon-side room, which provided a view of the entire north side of the resort, as well as the Caribbean waters to his right.
You don’t have much more time. The director of SEBIN had informed him earlier in the day that the meeting Logan West was here for was now scheduled to occur tomorrow morning at Mosaic, a casual fine-dining restaurant in the Cove Beach section of the resort on the other side of the Royal Towers. And that was the crux of the issue—to let Logan West and his partner take the meeting, or intervene beforehand. The risks were high with either option. If he chose to act, it would have to be tonight.
He averted his gaze from the sunset and walked over to the powerful HP ZBook 17 G3 laptop that sat on a small, round glass table near the patio sliding door. He sat in the oversized cream-colored chair—one without arms, which he thought was odd—and swiped his finger across the sensor built into the screen. A password field appeared, he typed in the code, and a moment later, he stared at a live-camera video feed of a grand suite on the fifth floor of the east wing of the towers. The room was still empty. Where had they gone?
Two days ago, he’d handsomely paid a young local named Freeman who worked the concierge desk after the SEBIN had provided a quick background on the man, his family, and the fact that he was barely making ends meet on the hotel’s salary. Freeman had agreed to the proposition, and he’d provided an additional electronic room card to Santiago. More importantly, Freeman had notified him when housekeeping had confirmed that West’s suite was vacant. Santiago had then taken that opportunity to enter the room and place a very powerful wireless, battery-powered miniature camera that used the resort’s wireless internet to send an encrypted feed to his ZBook. He’d placed the camera in the far corner of the room at the end of a curtain rod on the back side so that unless one stood directly in front of it, it was nearly invisible.
Santiago rewound the live feed until he found what he was looking for—West and his partner leaving the room fifteen minutes ago. Where are you and your friend?
A sudden knocking on his door broke his train of thought. This isn’t good.
He quietly approached the door, a large kitchen knife held blade down and away in his right hand. He’d been unable to smuggle his FN HP 9mm sidearm into the country, but then again, he hadn’t thought he’d need it.
Santiago looked through the peephole, studied the scene outside his room, and slowly exhaled. His decision had been made for him.
“Hold on a second,” he said through the door, and pushed down on the levered handle.
* * *
As soon as the door cracked open, Logan West hit it with his right shoulder, the suppressed Glock 19 9mm pistol he held in both hands aimed at the floor. The door swung swiftly inward, and Logan felt it strike a soft target, slowing the heavy door’s momentum.
He pushed through the widening gap, and Cole Matthews followed him into the room, his own suppressed Glock 19 raised and pointed into the interior.
Once he’d cleared the door, Logan stopped and looked down at the sitting figure of the man who’d joined him at the Lagoon Bar & Grill briefly before lunch. The handsome South American sat still, his forearms resting on his elbows, even as Logan pointed the Glock 19 at his face. An expression of slight amusement met Logan’s gaze, which was hostile and aggressive.
Cole pushed past Logan, his Glock 19 searching for targets.
“The only question I have is this—how did you two get weapons onto the island? Your embassy?” Santiago asked curiously.
What the hell? This guy’s got a gun pointed at his head, and all he asks about is my Glock? “That’s not your concern,” Logan replied calmly. “What should concern you is that we’re here, we’ve got guns, which you apparently don’t, and unless you tell me who you really are, we’re likely going to use them.”
Santiago stared at Logan and ignored the threat.
“It’s all clear,” Cole said, reappearing from the bathroom and moving to close the blinds. “We’re alone,” he said as he shut the taupe-colored drapes. “Get him up and over to the couch.”
“You heard the man,” Logan said. “Up and at ’em.”
He transferred the Glock to his left hand and shut the door with his right, using his right leg to close it completely without turning away from Santiago.
“You know you can put those away,” Santiago said as he rose. “I’m not armed. Unlike you Americans, Venezuela—not Colombia; that’s where I’m really from—doesn’t have an embassy I can use to smuggle weapons.”
“Well, that answers the first question,” Logan said, the Glock 19 following Santiago. “But if you think we’re putting these away, you’re out of your mind.”
“Do as you want, but why don’t you ask some more questions so we can get right to the point and bypass all of this nonsense?” Santiago said, facing Logan and Cole from the middle of the maroon couch.
Nonsense? This guy is way too calm for this situation, Logan thought.
“Something feels off here,” Cole said. “Not we’re-all-about-to-die kind of off, but off nonetheless.”
“I know,” Logan replied curtly.
“Well, if you want to play twenty questions, then let’s get started,” Logan said to their captive. “And we’re going to do this rapid-fire. So try to keep up.”
“Fire away,” Santiago said, “although not literally, please.”
Cole couldn’t help himself, and he laughed. “Great. Another jokester. John would probably love this guy and try to recruit him.”
Logan ignored his friend. “First question—are you a member of the Organization?”
Without hesitation, Santiago replied, “I have no idea what that is, but I’m pretty sure the people who sent me here do.”
Goddamnit. He’s telling the truth, Logan’s gut told him.
Ignoring the response, Logan said, “Next question—what’s your real name and what do you really do?”
“Santiago Rojas, and I’m a chief inspector in Venezuela with the SEBIN.”
No signs of deception. Just straight answers, which raised the hair on Logan’s arms. This is way too easy. Try this curveball, asshole.
“Shouldn’t you be killing protestors or oppressing your citizens?” Logan replied with aggressive condescension, referring to the current chaos, protests, political violence, and economic collapse underway in Venezuela.
“That’s not who I am, although I’m not going to deny what’s been going on in my country,” Santiago said.
He’s not even trying to deceive us. “Did your wife really die of cancer two years ago?” Logan asked quickly.
A flash of pain swept across Santiago’s face and disappeared just as quickly. “Y
es, and here’s some more harsh reality for you: my daughter, the one I told you about, she’s dying of cancer as well.”
Logan was silent.
“This is the easiest interrogation we’ve ever had,” Cole said quietly. “No drowning, no removing fingers. I’m not sure how I feel about this.” Cole spoke directly to Santiago. “You sure you don’t want to try and resist? Do something? We’re just not used to the easy way.”
Santiago ignored the sarcasm. “Ask your questions. We’re running out of time.”
“Time for what?” Logan asked.
“Why you’re here,” Santiago said.
“Which is?” Cole asked, curious as to what the answer might be.
“To try and find the vice president of the United States,” Santiago said matter-of-factly.
Good God. He knows everything. Logan paused. “More importantly, why are you here?” Logan asked, suddenly quiet, suspecting the answer that had been unspoken.
“Now we’re getting somewhere, gentlemen,” Santiago said, and smiled genuinely. “I’m here for you.”
CHAPTER 4
“Me?” Logan asked, although he’d already begun to suspect that was the case, and lowered the Glock 19 involuntarily several inches. “Why?”
“Because we have mutual interests,” Santiago responded.
“I find that hard to believe,” Cole injected. “Like my friend here just said, you work for a tyrannical dictatorship that’s currently oppressing its people, which is pretty much the opposite of everything we hold dear in our country.”
Irritation flashed across Santiago’s face. “Don’t lecture me about democracy. Your politicians, while self-righteous and sanctimonious, are just as corrupt. They just hide it better. Otherwise, you wouldn’t even be here looking for your lost vice president.”
No one spoke. The words lingered in the air like ominous accusations.
“Damn, Logan. You kind of can’t argue with that,” Cole said.
Logan stared at Santiago, green eyes assessing the man before him. Sonofabitch is telling the truth. Anyone with a grade-school understanding of politics knew how hypocritical and corrupt politicians in America had become. “No. You can’t. But I still can’t wait to hear what kind of ‘mutual interests’ two agents of the United States and an agent of a South American socialist dictatorship have in common.”
Rules of War Page 2
