Читать книгу Choke Point - Don Pendleton - Страница 11

CHAPTER FIVE

Daytona Beach, Florida

Although the light breeze blew across the sweat that furrowed Carl Lyons’s brow, it didn’t do much to cool him off.

July was one of the hottest and most humid months of the year in Florida, and even being from Los Angeles hadn’t given Lyons any more reason to like the humidity. Blancanales, on the other hand, loved this kind of weather.

“Miserable and muggy,” Lyons muttered as they stepped out of the air-conditioned airport and waited at the curb for their vehicle.

“I love it,” Blancanales replied.

“Did either of you guys consider the fact we were here just a few weeks ago?” Schwarz asked.

“That’s right,” Blancanales said. “I’d completely forgotten.”

“I’m still trying to forget,” Lyons said.

None of the three men had completely shaken off their experiences in Tehran. Lyons had gone on record to say he’d thought their mission in the heart of Iran’s capital had been one of the toughest Able Team had ever undertaken. The Islamic Republican Guard Corps, in concert with Muslim clerics of the Pasdaran, had attempted to overthrow members within their own government while secretly planning to launch attacks against American soil using a Hezbollah unit they were training in the jungles of South America. While Phoenix Force had been occupied trying to find the Hezbollah-IRGC contingent training camp where hostages of the U.S. Peace Corps were being held, Stony Man had elected, been forced really, to send Able Team to Tehran to extract an Iranian intelligence asset claiming to have information about the plot. It had turned into nothing short of a nightmare, resulting in the deaths of two CIA agents and a twenty-four-hour nightmare for Able Team as IRGC and police units hounded their every step.

Lyons shook it away just thinking about how close they’d really come on that one and said, “Let’s leave that behind and talk about the current operation.”

His two friends agreed with solemn nods just as their vehicle, a late-model SUV rental, rolled up.

As Schwarz tossed their shoulder bags into the rear compartment, Blancanales climbed behind the wheel with Lyons on shotgun. This tended to be their modus operandi on most missions, born more from habit than much else.

“I miss Black Betty,” Blancanales said as he put the SUV in gear and eased from the curb.

“Me, too,” Schwarz said.

“Well, unfortunately there wasn’t enough time so we’re just going to have to make do,” Lyons said.

Their remembrance of Able Team’s customized van, a vehicle out of which they normally operated, left each man nostalgic for that home away from home. Painted midnight-black with tinted bullet-resistant windows, Black Betty was an armored tactical and communications center that boasted a comprehensive armory and the latest in surveillance-countersurveillance equipment. Unfortunately, it wasn’t practical to ship to every location within the U.S. Able Team might operate, and Stony Man therefore reserved it only for unique occasions or at the team’s specific request.

“Where to first?” Blancanales asked.

“I’m guessing we need to start with Mrs. Acres,” Lyons said. “She’s going to be our first, best source of information.”

The other two men agreed, reliant on the expertise of Lyons’s former law-enforcement experience as an LAPD tactical sergeant. It was his position as a cop that had first brought Carl Lyons together with Mack Bolan, aka the Executioner, although at that time they had technically been on opposite sides of the law. Bolan’s war against la Cosa Nostra had just begun and Lyons had been just one of the many cops with mixed feelings about the game. On one hand, he’d secretly enjoyed watching Bolan mix it up with the criminal empire of Julian DiGeorge and the Giordano family; on the other, he’d sworn an oath to uphold the law against anyone choosing to break it.

Only because of Bolan’s first taking action to save the life of Lyons’s family, and later opting to give Lyons his life back when he could well have snuffed it out in a moment of pitched battle, did Carl Lyons gain a high respect for the man called Mack Bolan. When he’d been offered a permanent position with Able Team as an urban commando against crime and terrorism on the streets of America, Lyons jumped at the opportunity to do something effective, where he could operate outside the official restrictions on law enforcement. Able Team worked because they could operate outside those restrictions while ensuring they didn’t risk the safety of good, law-abiding American citizens.

In fact, they were there to protect the American way of life, and they had become legendary in that regard.

Mrs. Annette Acres lived in a two-story brownstone just off the coastline. While it had a very traditional, almost Georgetown look to it, the decorative side of the heavy metal plates designed to protect the home from hurricanes and the inclement weather of Florida coastal living wasn’t wholly indiscreet. Reinforced plating lined the waist-high walls topped with wrought iron and decorative lighting that ran the length of the property line.

Lyons could feel the additional plating beneath the wood steps ascending the massive front porch with vast columns that supported a second-floor balcony, which probably branched off the master bedroom. The death of Thomas Acres had been kept quiet through the vast connections of Stony Man, so the arrival of the trio at their home—carrying forged credentials identifying them as agents with the FBI—signaled not only their initial interrogation, but also the gruesome duty of making a death notification.

Lyons had done it before; hell, they all had at one time or another. That didn’t make it any easier and he’d never really become used to it. Frankly, he’d never understood how those in the military could do such a job, their whole existence predicated on traveling around specific regions in the country to deliver the news to some family that their beloved soldier had been killed in action. Now that job would suck.

Lyons pressed the doorbell and the singsong chimes echoed from within.

Nearly a minute passed before a short Hispanic woman in a pastel dress with an apron answered. “May I help you?”

Lyons nodded as all three men produced their credentials, immediately getting into their respective roles. They had donned suits before leaving the airport and now stood there with stony expressions behind sunglasses.

“Yes, ma’am,” Lyons said. “Agent Irons, Federal Bureau of Investigation. We’d like to speak with Annette Acres.”

The young lady looked immediately distressed. “Um, well, of course...is she expecting you?”

“No.”

“So you don’t have an appointment,” she said.

“I just said that,” Lyons replied.

Blancanales stepped in at that point, reliably assured his friend’s patience wouldn’t hold out if the conversation took a worse turn. “Ma’am, we do need to speak with Mrs. Acres on an urgent matter and it’s not one we’d like to discuss out in the open. Please let us in.”

Blancanales offered a smile that most found utterly irresistible, and the maid returned the smile as she stepped aside to admit them. She closed the door and then led them to a broad, comfortable sitting room decorated in light woods and expensive works of metal. She waved them toward some chairs in the middle of the room and then went to retrieve the mistress of the house, but none of them helped themselves to a seat. They wouldn’t be here long.

Annette Acres entered the room with all of the elegance and grace one might have expected of a congressman’s wife. She had long blond hair and a petite figure. Her eyes were crystal-blue and while most might have called her expression “pinched,” she possessed an obvious cultured beauty within the high cheekbones and thin lips that bore just a hint of lipstick. A pair of tight slacks and an elegant white blouse completed the ensemble.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” she said as she entered, and all three Able Team men inclined their heads in recognition. “Please have a seat.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Lyons said as he gestured toward a love seat. “But please, after you.”

Mrs. Acres nodded and took a seat, and then Lyons dropped into a wingback chair catercorner to her. Blancanales and Schwarz stood close by, hovering above Lyons like a pair of gargoyles over the entrance to a medieval church.

“Mrs. Acres, my name is Special Agent Irons,” Lyons began. “These are agents Rose and Black. We’re with the FBI.”

For the first time since coming into the room, Annette Acres lost her composure a bit and worry immediately etched the otherwise flawless lines of that pretty face. “Oh, dear...this is about Tom, isn’t it?”

Blancanales quietly asked, “What makes you think that?”

“What’s happened to him?” she asked Lyons, ignoring Blancanales’s question.

“Mrs. Acres, there’s...well, there’s no easy way to say it so I’ll just say it. I’m very sorry to inform you that your husband is dead.”

Her eyes crinkled at the corners at first and then abruptly she burst into tears and began to wail. The maid came running into the room and immediately put her arms around the grieving widow, attempting to shush her while gripping her shoulders in as comforting an embrace as her tiny arms could manage.

Lyons’s heart lurched within him at first, but he stayed rock-steady, pressing his lips together. He wished he could say something more but what the hell would it be?

The men of Able Team fought their impatience and frustration as they waited for Annette Acres to get the majority of the initial shock out of her system. Once she’d calmed, the maid went and retrieved a handkerchief from the drawer of a nearby table and brought it to her mistress. She then nodded as Mrs. Acres told her to bring some tea for them and the number to John Jay’s school.

“And John Jay is...” Lyons began.

“Our son.”

Lyons nodded although he’d already known that. It had been somewhat of a test, a desire to see how much she actually knew about what had been happening. They had decided not to go into this with any assumptions, especially in believing that Annette Acres might not have had something to do with what was happening. By virtue of the fact she’d wanted to get in touch with her son at his Catholic school it was now apparent she had nothing to do with what had happened.

There was a remote chance she might have been playing it very clever, but Lyons’s gut told him no. She hadn’t been complicit in his kidnapping.

“Mrs. Acres, you should prepare yourself that your son will not likely be at school,” Blancanales said. “In fact, he’s been reported missing and his disappearance is related to Congressman Acres’s death.”

Lyons then went on to tell her the full story, excluding their direct involvement on the scene or anything related to the Red Brood and Abbas el Khalidi’s involvement in human trafficking. There wasn’t any reason in their minds to reveal more than absolutely necessary on the off chance someone close to the family was involved with the events of the past twenty-four hours. This was basically their only lead and they had agreed the wisest course of action would be to play things as close to the vest as possible until they had a more solid lead.

Frankly, this kind of thing didn’t bode well with Lyons or his teammates. They were troubleshooters, after all, not investigators. They preferred to let Stony Man gather the intelligence and then take action on whatever the Farm had found. This time, however, they had to play the game with the hand they’d been dealt. Hell, it wasn’t the first time they’d been called upon to improvise and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“What are you saying?” the widow asked after Lyons had finished. “That my son, my only child, has been kidnapped?”

“Mrs. Acres, please understand we’re doing everything we can to find your boy,” Schwarz said. “We think the kidnappers killed your husband only with the intent of stealing the money.”

“Is there anything you can tell us that could help us find him? Had your husband received any threats like this before? Anybody within his staff here locally, or any situations that come to mind that might clue us in to who’s involved in this?”

For the next ten minutes they questioned Annette Acres as gently as possible, getting clarification wherever they needed it. Eventually, the trio silently agreed by an exchange of glances between each other that the most likely suspect was Acres’s personal assistant, Genseric Biinadaz.

“I’m ashamed to admit it,” Acres confessed. “Tom had hired Genseric about two years ago to show he wasn’t prejudiced against Muslims or the Islamic faith. I was hesitant at first, but...I decided early on in our marriage that I would fully support Tom’s political career and not attempt to unduly influence his decisions. He was always an excellent congressman. He really cared about his...about our country.”

The talk brought back memories too difficult to ignore and the woman broke into a fresh wave of grief. When a few minutes passed, she sniffed and asked, “But you don’t think Genseric has anything to do with this. Right?”

“We can’t rule out anyone,” Lyons said.

“We’ll look into it,” Blancanales added.

“Can you provide me with any information?” Mrs. Acres inquired.

“At present, that’s all we really know,” Lyons said. He stood as a signal to his teammates it was time to leave. “Someone will be in touch shortly to arrange the transport of your husband’s body back to Florida.”

Acres didn’t rise but her eyes followed Lyons’s movements. “Am I in danger, too, Mr. Irons? Please be honest.”

“I don’t believe so,” Lyons said. “You have personal security?”

Acres shrugged. “Usually only when I go out. After Gabrielle Giffords was shot, Tom insisted on it.”

“Perhaps it would be best to have them around the house for the next few days,” Blancanales suggested. He tried to express as much comfort as he could. “Just to be safe.”

“And, Mrs. Acres, I’m going to have to ask that you not discuss any of the details of this case with anyone for now,” Lyons said.

“What? Not even our family?”

“Not anyone.”

“Please understand, ma’am,” Schwarz added. “It could compromise our investigation and potentially pose a danger to your son. If he’s still alive, and we believe he is, the kidnappers may kill him if they feel threatened. As tough as it might be not to want to get involved, it’s best to let us handle this for right now.”

“And if you’re contacted by the kidnappers,” Lyons said, passing a card to her, “you should call that number immediately. Don’t agree to anything, don’t ask any questions and for God’s sake don’t tell them we’ve contacted you.”

Annette Acres looked at first like she might argue but then finally tendered a slow, deliberate nod as she took the card, tossed it on the end table and then folded one hand over the other in her lap.

She clutched the handkerchief tighter. “I understand. Gentlemen, you will have my full cooperation. But please...please bring my John Jay back safely to me. I don’t think I could stand to lose him, as well.”

“We won’t make promises we don’t know we can keep, Mrs. Acres,” Blancanales replied easily. “But I assure you we’ll do everything in our power to find and return him safely.”

Acres managed a smile. “Thank you, Agent Rose.”

“We’ll show ourselves out,” Lyons said.

After expressing their condolences one last time, Able Team beat a hasty retreat from the house and returned to their SUV.

Lyons placed an immediate call to Stony Man as they made their way for Acres’s downtown office.

“What do you need?” Price asked.

“Everything you can tell us about one Genseric Biinadaz,” Lyons replied.

“You’ll have it within twenty minutes,” she said after a short pause, the clack of computer keys evident in the background. She was obviously messaging Kurtzman to get on it as they spoke. “What about Mrs. Acres? Anything there?”

“Nothing that spoke to us,” Lyons said. “We agree she probably doesn’t have anything to do with this. She cooperated fully with us and wasn’t evasive at all during questioning. We also decided not to reveal more than we absolutely had to in case she lets something slip to the wrong people.”

“What about others in the family who might be involved?”

“The maid is the only other one with regular access to them,” Lyons said. “You might want to check on her legal status, just in case, but she seems to be very protective of the family. I have serious doubts she’s got anything to do with it.”

“Tell them about the personal security,” Schwarz reminded him.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Lyons said with a nod. “Apparently after Congresswoman Giffords was shot in Arizona, Acres decided the family needed to have a personal security team assigned to them whenever they were in public.”

“I’m not sure what you’re driving at,” Price said.

“Well, we’re kind of curious to know where that personal security was when John Jay Acres got snatched,” Lyons said. “And how come there wasn’t someone with Acres at all times in Washington. Seems to me that they’d have a better handle on what was going on if they were a professional team.”

“Unless there’s something to your theory about Biinadaz being on the Red Brood’s payroll,” Price replied. “It’s not unlikely Acres might have turned selection of the security team over to his personal assistant.”

“And so instead of selecting a legit outfit, Biinadaz saw an opportunity to get some of Khalidi’s human traffickers inside for this job,” Lyons said. “That’s a very sharp observation, Barb.”

“That’s why they pay her the big bucks,” Schwarz said close to Lyons’s ear.

The Able Team leader feinted swatting his friend. “Would you knock it off?”

“What?” Price said.

“Nothing,” Lyons replied. “Just Gadgets up to his usual antics.”

“Ah, of course. We’ll get the information to you shortly. You boys be careful.”

“Yes, mother. Out here.” Lyons broke the connection and said, “Okay. Let’s go have a cozy little chat with Biinadaz.”