by Alex Ander
She pumped a hand his way. “Not just yet. We’re waiting for Senor Noah.”
“Not safe here. I see alligator,” Paco motioned, “upstream.”
Glancing down, Devlin stepped away from the water.
Five minutes of waiting and watching passed.
“Please, Senora Dev—”
Leaves rustled a hundred yards upstream.
Devlin whipped her head toward the source of the noise.
A man burst out from the bushes, “Go! Go!” and ran toward them, “he’s right behind me. I couldn’t shake him.”
Devlin and Paco pushed the raft into the water. She jumped in, grabbed a paddle, and slapped the water. The boy stepped a few paces into the current, gave one last shove, and retreated to the shore.
Fifty yards away, taking high strides, Randall waded twenty feet into the water and dove forward, knifing below the surface.
Thirty yards from shore, in between paddle strokes, Devlin heard another splash, near the area where Randall had disappeared. She heard Paco’s voice in her head: I see alligator...upstream.
Randall surfaced thirty-five yards from the inflatable and swam toward Devlin.
Drawing her Colt and clutching the weapon as she paddled, she scanned the smooth water. Seconds later, she spotted two nostrils and two eyes, ripples trailing behind, closing in on the lone swimmer. Tossing the paddle into the boat, she aimed the gun at the space between the nostrils and the eyes. Shots rang out before she could touch the 1911’s trigger. She flinched. Tiny splashes appeared between her and Randall.
Farther up the river, standing on the bank, the Mexican officer fired his pistol.
Randall dipped under the water.
Devlin redirected her aim and worked her gun’s trigger.
The sandy earth at the officer’s feet splattered his pants. He nosedived for cover behind a shrub.
Devlin located the alligator. The creature had changed course and was heading for her.
Ten yards away, Randall surfaced, gasping for air. He hit the water and pinwheeled his arms.
She fired at the approaching animal. The 1911’s slide locked to the rear.
More projectiles from the shore ricocheted off the river.
She thumbed the magazine release, jammed a fresh eight into the gun, and pressed the slide lock lever.
Randall was five yards away, the alligator five yards beyond him.
After firing a few rounds at the shoreline, Devlin emptied her pistol at where the alligator’s body would be, hoping to kill the thing or, at the very least, scare it away.
Randall clutched the raft.
She grabbed his shirt collar.
He pulled.
She lunged backward.
With one last kick, he propelled himself into the rubber craft, as he saw a set of jaws clamp onto the rear of the vessel, just out of reach of his feet. The boat jerked twice before the teeth disappeared from sight.
Devlin grunted when his full bodyweight came down on her. “Move,” she coughed, “over.”
Rising to a kneeling position, he looked left and right. “Move where? This thing’s barely big enough for one person.” He yanked the paddle from under her shoulders, walked forward on his knees, and took turns swiping at the water on both sides of the boat.
More bullets struck the surrounding water.
His shoulders hunched before he returned the wooden stick to the water. “You have the gun. Use it.”
On her backside, his lower legs straddling her upper arms, Devlin gaped at his dripping groin, a few inches from her nose. She rolled her eyes. This is NOT how I thought my day would go.
Loud bangs came from the shore, and mini water fountains emerged a few feet away.
“Take your time, Devlin. He only has three mags left.”
Staring at the night sky, going by feel, she fed another magazine into the 45 ACP. Running the slide forward, she performed a partial sit-up, pressed her left ear against Randall’s manhood, and rested the Colt on the raft’s port side.
Feeling a tingling sensation in his private area, he glimpsed himself and continued pumping his arms. “I thought you were married.”
“Just shut up and keep paddling. I’ll take care of him.”
Delivering fast and powerful strokes, he let out a quick snigger. “Aye aye, Captain.”
Devlin closed her left eye and pulled the trigger. She got off slow, accurate shots, making sure her aim was only near the human target.
The American side of the river was fifteen yards away. A hissing, gurgling sound drew Randall’s attention. He peeped over his shoulder. The rear of the craft was flooded. His feet were under water. “The gator poked a hole in our boat.” He doubled his pace. “We’re going for a swim.”
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
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Chapter 23
Straight for Alexandria
Randall rolled over the starboard side and splashed into the water. He emerged at the head of the raft and hauled the failing vessel, with Devlin aboard, the last five yards to shore, saving her from getting drenched.
She gathered her empty magazines and the backpack and jumped out of the flattened boat. Aiming her Colt at the Mexican side of the Rio Grande, she retreated up the embankment.
Winded, standing in silt, he bent over and put hands on knees.
Not seeing the officer or hearing incoming rounds, she tugged on Randall’s shirt. “Come on. Let’s get to cover.”
“I Just,” his chest expanding and contracting several times, “need,” he gasped for air, “a moment.”
“You can take a whole minute,” Devlin slung the pack, holstered the 1911, and pulled him by his arm, “when we get to cover.”
Letting her lead him away from the river, Randall staggered toward the short trees ahead. “You know,” after filling his lungs, “some of us,” he exhaled and grabbed more oxygen, “didn’t get an extra hour of sleep.”
She slipped into the shrubbery. “And whose fault was that? I told you to wake me up at two.”
“I was being nice...a gentleman.”
“I didn’t know that was possible.”
He chuckled. “Don’t backslide on me now, Devlin. I thought we were,” he pushed a limb out of his face and swung a finger back and forth between him and the deputy marshal, “starting to get to know each other...starting to bond.”
She appeared from the narrow forest and stopped at a two-lane road. More trees were on the other side. In the distance, she saw the lights of country homes. After glancing up and down the roadway and spying no traffic, she faced him. “You’re right. That was rude of me. Thank you for not waking me...and letting me sleep.”
“You’re welcome. It was my pleasure.” He lifted arms out to his sides. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
A sliver of a smile crossing her lips, she turned away while shaking her head. A beat later, she eyed him again. “So what happened back there with the cop?”
“I made a couple turns, took a back road, and double backed. I thought I had lost him, but,” Randall caught his breath while scanning the area, “he came out of nowhere during the last mile. He must’ve taken a different fork in the road...or a shortcut.” Randall shrugged. “Anyway, here we are, standing at our own little fork in the road. Well,” he dipped his forehead toward the barrenness on the opposite side of the motorway, “minus a couple of the tines that is.”
She peered at him.
He noticed her quizzical expression. “Now that we’re on American soil,” he brought wrists together and presented them to her, “I believe you have a duty to perform.”
Her gaze dropping to his hands, Devlin felt the handcuff case pressing on her lower back. Instinctively, she reached for the manacles. A fraction of an inch later, her arm stopped its motion. Biting her lower lip, she regarded him.
Randall hiked his brows a bit and glimpsed her wiggling fingers.
Her arm reversed course and she slapped his hands apart.
A broad grin c
ascaded over his face.
Devlin retrieved the cell phone from Steele. After eyeing the screen, she stared across the road. “It looks like the airport’s about three miles,” she gestured, “in that direction.” In addition to arranging for Paco to get Devlin and Randall over the border, Steele had contacted a pilot he had used in the past during off-the-books CIA operations.
Randall took the backpack from her.
Her back feeling instant relief, she flashed a smile his way. “Thanks.”
“Thank you...for not arresting me.” He slid the bag over his shoulder. “Are we going to steal a car?”
“No,” she ambled west, following the pavement, “I want to make it back to Alexandria without leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for people to follow. We’ll walk.” She glanced at the cell. “In a mile, we can cut across the countryside and shave some time off our journey.”
Randall let out an exaggerated sigh. “We’ll walk...says the woman with the extra hour of sleep.”
“Are you still on that kick? Drop it already, Randall. The humor has passed.”
He smiled at the back of her head. Randall...first time she’s said my name. He jogged a couple paces to draw even with her. Definitely warming up to me.
*******
an hour later
4:34 a.m.
private airstrip, south of
carrizo springs, texas
Devlin ascended the Beechcraft King Air 200’s retractable stairs and claimed a seat facing the front of the twin turboprop airplane. Randall sat across from her.
The pilot raised and secured the staircase, “We’re cleared for takeoff, so,” before heading toward the cockpit, “buckle your seat belts. We’ll be flying to New Orleans...to drop you off first, Mr. Randall.”
While thanking the man, the passengers did as instructed and connected the two ends of their safety belts.
Randall laid his head on the seat, looked to the ceiling, and shot out a breath of air. “We made it...last leg of the journey.”
Sinking deeper into the chair’s padded leather backrest, Devlin let her shoulders slouch and closed her eyes. This feels good. The walk to the airstrip had taken more energy than she had expected. Her thoughts turned to her husband, her daughter, her father. Glancing at the backpack on the seat next to her, she plucked the mobile phone from an outside pocket and studied the device.
Randall watched her slide a thumb over the cell a few times. “You can’t. They could be monitoring your husband’s phone.”
With a single dip of her chin, she confirmed his assertion, tossed the black rectangle onto the seat, shut her eyes, and drew in a deep breath.
The Beechcraft jerked before rolling toward the runway.
“You just have to trust he’ll take care of your family.”
Devlin observed Randall. “I do trust him.” She looked out the window, as the King Air moved by another small aircraft. “But sometimes you just need to hear a voice...telling you...that everything’s all right.”
“Everything’s all right.”
She flicked her eyes toward him. “No offense, but...yours isn’t the voice I want to hear right now.”
He half smiled.
She went back to staring out the window.
Randall ogled her for a few moments. “You know,” he crossed his legs, “my Pops told me a story when I was a teenager...of what it was like being separated from his new bride—my grandmother—during the Korean War.”
Devlin faced him.
“The two got married the day before he shipped out to go overseas.” Randall shook his head at Devlin’s footwear. “Pops said he was lonely and homesick from day one of his enlistment. He missed his wife. He said he even thought about going AWOL...several times.”
Devlin recognized the term—absent without leave.
“He told me he made it through his deployment on dreams. He said even though he couldn’t see his wife, talk to her, or smell her perfume in the muddy foxholes of Korea...he could at least dream of coming home to those things.”
Devlin crossed her arms and tipped her head to one side.
Inwardly smiling, he regarded her. She’s so impatient. “Anyway, what I’m getting at is even though you can’t be with your family right now,” he held his hands outward, palms up, “because you’re in the muddy foxhole of whatever the hell this is,” he poked a finger at her, “just remember this...dreams are,” Randall pursed his lips and frowned, “dreams make us,” he wavered, “they...keep us...”
Devlin lolled her head to the other side, a faint grin appearing on her face.
He glanced down, “Dreams are,” before looking away, “crap.”
Her shoulders rocking, her chest shuddering, she fought to stifle her amusement. “Dreams are crap? Those are your words of encouragement?”
“No. I forgot where I was going with that.” He scowled. “Son-of-a—” uncrossing his legs, he shot forward in the chair and confronted her, “my point is...”
Arms folded, head down, pinching the bridge of her nose, Devlin laughed.
“...you’re,” seeing her expression, he fought to keep a straight face, “you’re going to find the S.O.B.’s that did this to you, put them in a cage, and be home with your loved ones in no time.”
Her laughter dropped to a chuckle. “Thank you for that. And, for the record, I knew what you were getting at.”
He threw himself against the backrest. “Well, at least one of us did.”
Devlin sniggered and looked out the window. A heartbeat later, she peeked at him, “So,” before gawking at another plane near the runway, “New Orleans, huh?”
Randall nodded twice. “Can’t wait.”
“You’re probably eager to get back to your agency...and get your name cleared of those made-up embezzlement charges.”
“That’s number one on my to-do list.” He joined her in watching the airport activities. “Then, I think I might head to Minnesota...spend a couple days fishing. There’s a cabin there. It’s been in my family for decades...huge pond out back...surrounded by trees...you can’t hear anything, except nature and the beating of your own heart.”
“Sounds nice,” she crossed her legs, leaned heavily on an armrest, and shifted weight to one hip, “restful even.”
“Oh, it will be.”
Ten seconds of them gaping at the world outside elapsed.
“I don’t suppose,” Devlin shifted her eyes toward him, “I could persuade you to postpone your vacation for a couple days, could I?”
Meeting her gaze, Randall turned up a corner of his mouth. “I thought you’d never ask. Okay, technically, you haven’t asked me, yet...but,” he waved a hand, “I won’t quibble.”
She grinned.
“When the plane’s in the air, I’ll inform the pilot we’re heading straight for Alexandria.” He poked his chin at her. “So what’s our first move going to be?”
She glanced at the floor before squinting at him. “The only move we have at this point.”
The Beechcraft lunged forward.
Randall gripped the armrests to keep from listing toward her.
Devlin let her body mold into the seat.
The engines roared.
“We’re,” she raised her voice, “going back to where this all started.”
Moments later, the nose of the plane lifted, and the aircraft left the runway.
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
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Chapter 24
Park
4:56 p.m.
alexandria, virginia
Marshal Thorn reclined on the wooden bench, her golden retriever nestling between her knees to have its fur stroked. She indulged the animal. “Good boy. You’re a good boy, aren’t you?” As her fingers massaged the base of the pet’s ears, the dog cocked its head and groaned. “You like that, don’t you?” Thorn glanced around the area.
Outside of a lone jogger, and an elderly couple making a slow pass on the concrete footpath that circled the park’s perimeter, the ground
s were deserted. Nightfall was a few hours away, but the sun was already low in the sky and shining through a gap in the trees.
Thorn leaned back and closed her eyes. Having spent nine hours in an air-conditioned office, she relished the sun’s warmth. And the relative stillness of the recreation spot helped her concentrate on the day’s problems.
The call to the deputy director of her agency had not gone well. Blake Hawkins was dead, and Jessica Devlin was missing, along with the prisoner she had been sent to recover. Her boss wanted answers. Thorn wanted answers too. The woman sighed. Where are you, Jes—
The retriever barked twice and bolted away from the bench.
Thorn opened her eyes, as the dog leash slipped from her hand. “Buster! Buster, get back here.”
The dog jumped on the approaching jogger.
“Get down, Buster.” Thorn hurried toward the stranger. “I’m so sorry.”
Dressed in a navy blue tracksuit, hair under a baseball cap, the runner bent over and played with the animal.
“He’s not usually like this.”
His tail whipping back and forth, Buster turned ninety degrees, sat, and leaned against the runner’s leg.
The runner patted the panting canine. “Hey there, Buster.” Taking the pooch’s head in her hands, she jostled it. “Have you been a good boy?”
Thorn clapped twice. “Come here, Buster.”
Rising to her full height and sliding her sunglasses down her nose an inch, the woman locked eyes with the marshal.
Thorn stopped. “Jessica...what—” something hard pressed on her ribs, as a voice came from her five o’clock.
“That’s the end of a sound suppressor attached to a twenty-two pistol...”
Stiffening, Thorn felt a hand patting her body before her service pistol was removed from its holster.
“...loaded with subsonic ammunition. Will it make noise? Of course. Will anyone nearby hear it? Not a chance.”
Knowing her boss’s habit of walking the pet at this park, at this time of day, Devlin led Buster to the park bench. “Let’s have a seat, Marissa.” Sitting, she ruffled the dog’s fur.
Thorn sat on Devlin’s right and faced the man with the gun.
