Читать книгу Scorpion Strike - John Gilstrap - Страница 13

CHAPTER 7

BACK WHEN SHE WAS A TEENAGER, VENICE ALEXANDER HAD DECIDED in a pique of adolescent self-importance that her name was too boring. Her mother, now known to everyone in Fisherman’s Cove simply as Mama, had been named Florence by her mother, Roma. When she had a daughter of her own, she insisted on perpetuating the generations-old tradition of humiliating children with names drawn from Italian tourist destinations. So, Venice decided to elevate her name with a more exotic pronunciation. From then on, her name was pronounced Ven-EE-chay. Everybody got it wrong on the first try, but that fact made for a great trap to filter out telemarketers.

The single mom of a thirteen-year-old boy—Roman, and yes, he hated his name, too—she’d been a part of Jonathan’s life for as long as she could remember, back to the days when she was a little girl with a crush. She’d grown up in the mansion she now called home, on the grounds of what was now Resurrection House, a charitable home for the children of incarcerated parents. Back then, though, she lived in the basement with Mama, who was the full-time housekeeper for the Gravenow family, whose only child was the boy named Jonathan. Venice was never sure why Jonathan changed his name, but she suspected that it had much to do with the fact that his father was a notorious criminal.

Venice was thrilled that Jonathan and Gail had finally carved out time to be together. Their absence tripled the amount of work she had to balance at Security Solutions, but if it could bring happiness to Jonathan, and restore some of the confidence that had been beaten out of Gail in that terrible attack a while back, then the extra effort would be worth it.

Besides, it never hurt for the boss to feel as if he owed you a favor.

She’d had trouble sleeping tonight, and she couldn’t determine why. The day hadn’t been especially stressful, she’d had ample time to spend with Roman, and even the boy’s adolescent angst seemed to be tamed for the moment.

It didn’t help that JoeDog had chosen Venice’s bed as her own this evening. The black Lab lay sprawled sideways, as she was wont to do, but Venice was something of a coffin sleeper and still had adequate room. She didn’t even mind the dog’s snoring, though the flatulence could be eye watering.

Because she’d been thinking so intently about Jonathan, it did not surprise her when her phone rang and it was him.

“It’s awfully late there, isn’t it?” she asked as she connected the call.

“The island has been invaded,” Jonathan said.

Venice had been expecting a sharp retort, but she didn’t understand the humor in this one. “Which island is being invaded?”

“Ours. The Crystal Sands Resort.”

“‘Is being invaded.’ ” Saying it again did not make it more sensible. “What does that mean?”

“It means that a whole bunch of bad guys have invaded the resort and taken hostages.”

Venice sat up in bed, causing JoeDog to open an eye and then close it again. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“As a heart attack.”

Her head raced nearly as fast as her heart as she tried to make pieces fit. While she hadn’t slept, she realized that she wasn’t fully awake, either. “So, you and Gail are hostages?”

“Not in the active sense,” Jonathan said. She could hear the irritation growing in his tone. He was tired of the warm-up conversation, and wanted to get to something meatier. “Some guys with guns came to our bungalow and tried to take us, but it didn’t go well for them. We got away, but there’s only so far to go when you’re on a friggin’ island.”

“Well . . .” She had nothing. “Did you call the police?”

“It’s an island, Mother Hen. And it’s private. Shit, I don’t even know what its nationality is. That’s why I’m calling you.”

His use of her code name told her that he was in the presence of others. “It’s not just you and Gunslinger, is it?” Code name for code name.

“No, it’s not. We picked up a few strays. Gunslinger and I have guns and we have access to the bad guys’ coms, but these aren’t your average terrorists. They appear to have training. And heart.”

“Islamic?”

“Blond hair,” Jonathan said. “Take from that what you wish. We got everything from the dead guys’ pockets, but we haven’t had a chance to go through it all yet. This whole incident isn’t yet two hours old.”

Venice felt the friction in her brain gears reduce. She was waking up, and a task list was beginning to take shape.

“Are you in a safe place?”

“For now, I think so, but they’re gonna come searching for us. Certainly by daybreak, and it would be nice to have some kind of a plan by then. A shadow of a plan will do.”

“I’ll go to work on it,” Venice said. As she rolled fully out of bed, JoeDog was wide-awake and looked uneasy. She seemed to know that her best friend was in trouble. “How do you want to stay in contact?”

“For now,” Jonathan said, “wait for my calls. I don’t know how long this will go on, and I don’t know how much access we’ll have to power. I’m going to keep the phones off when we’re not talking.”

Venice felt like she needed to say something encouraging, but she didn’t know what that might be.

“I’m hanging up now,” Jonathan said. “I know you won’t let us down. You never do.”

After the click, Venice stared at the phone until the dial tone returned, and for a while longer after she’d disconnected. Jonathan’s voice carried a tone that she’d rarely heard in the past. He didn’t sound scared, exactly, but something close to it. Rattled, maybe. He needed a plan. He needed resources.

He needed help. Quickly. At four in the morning.

She dressed quickly. No shower, no makeup. That could all come later. She had to get to work. JoeDog, for her part, seemed delighted to have something to do, and walked circles around Venice’s legs, threatening to trip her.

“Do you know this is about your friend Jonathan?” she asked. She’d heard that dogs had sixth senses about their masters, and it was rare to see this much agitation out of JoeDog.

Venice pulled on a sweater over her jeans and slipped her bare feet into a pair of black flats. It was an outfit that she’d never wear to the office, but that was exactly where she was going, and this was an emergency.

She opened her bedroom door onto the sitting area of the master suite, padded across the inlaid hardwoods and Persian rug, and opened the massive double doors into the expansive second-floor hallway. Every time she walked these halls, she couldn’t shake a sense of guilt that this was where she and Mama had ended up, given where they’d started. But Jonathan wouldn’t have it any other way. When he’d deeded the family manse to Saint Katherine’s Catholic Church for a dollar, his one condition was that Mama and Venice would always have a home there, and that the structure would be used as the headquarters for Rez House.

Early on, the mansion was the entire school, from classrooms to dormitories. Over the years, it had expanded to separate classroom and dorm buildings, leaving the mansion primarily as an administrative building.

JoeDog led the way down the stairs and across the foyer, drawing the attention of Oscar Thompkins, the head of the nighttime security team. After some violence a while back, a permanent security presence had become a necessity. He had one counterpart patrolling the dormitory building and another patrolling the grounds.

“Evening, Ms. Alexander,” Oscar said. “A little late for a stroll, ain’t it?”

“Something came up,” Venice replied, forcing a smile. “Gotta go into the office.”

“Ain’t you gonna take a jacket or nothin’? It’s cold out there.” A native of the Tennessee mountains, Oscar had a good heart and a drawl so thick it sounded fake.

“It’s only a short walk,” Venice said. She never broke stride as she beelined to the massive panels of the double doors. She was still crossing the porch when she made her first phone call.

A familiar but gravelly voice answered after four rings. “Um . . .” He cleared his throat. “Hello?”

“Good Morning, Father,” Venice said. “Sorry to wake you, but this is important.”

“Venice? What time is it?” Father Dom D’Angelo was one of Jonathan’s closest friends, and had been since they’d been roommates all through college at William & Mary.

“A little after four, but this is an emergency. Digger is in trouble.”

“I thought he’s on vacation.”

“Can you think of anyone more apt to find violence in paradise?” She cringed at the callous sound of her words. “I don’t have time to explain now, but can you please place a call to Wolverine and arrange a meeting between her and me ASAP? Then, come to the office?” Wolverine was the moniker for Irene Rivers, director of the FBI, a longtime friend of the Security Solutions team.

“Of course. Does Boxers know?”

“He’s my next call.”

Dom gave a wry chuckle. “Better you than me,” he said. “I’ll be over as soon as I can.” They hung up.

As Venice let JoeDog lead the way down the stairs from the lawn to the sidewalk, she realized that maybe she could have listened to Oscar. There was a definite bite in the air. She moved a little faster to keep warm during the three-block walk to the end of the street to the converted firehouse that doubled as Jonathan Grave’s home and tripled as the headquarters for Security Solutions, the high-end private investigation firm he ran largely as a means to provide cover to the covert side of the company. It was that very covert side that commanded the bulk of Jonathan’s time and attention.

Her ID card and six-digit PIN gained her access to the outside door to the office—a separate entrance from that which led to Jonathan’s home. As she stepped inside and climbed the stairs to the third floor, she waved at the security cameras. When she came to the interior door to the bull pen—the overt office space where nearly a dozen investigators and support people worked every day—it buzzed and she pulled it open.

She turned left, and approached the interior door that led to the Cave.

“Good evening, Ms. Alexander,” said the guard at this interior security point. “Or, good morning, I guess.”

“Good morning,” she replied. In no mood for small talk, she nonetheless could not bring herself to be rude. She felt bad enough that she couldn’t remember the man’s name. Typically, if she was working at this hour, it would be from the other side of the security door. “Father D’Angelo and Mr. Van de Muelebroecke will be joining me soon.”

She touched her card key to the pad and the guard opened the door for her.

Venice headed directly for the War Room, the rectangular teak conference room that housed every techie gadget that a girl could want. She settled into her seat at the end of the table opposite the massive projection screen. As the systems booted up, she lifted the landline receiver and dialed Boxers’ number from memory.

* * *

“Mother Hen’s on it,” Jonathan said to Gail. “She’s rallying the troops, so maybe we’ll have some useful intel within a couple of hours.”

“Who did you call?” Hunter asked.

Jonathan hadn’t seen him coming, and the voice startled him. “It’s a universally bad decision to sneak up on me.”

“Noted. And nonresponsive. So, what, are you like military or something?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Look, Digger—”

“Don’t call me that,” Jonathan snapped.

“What, then?”

Jonathan knew what would follow, but he answered, anyway. “Call me Scorpion.”

“Bullshit.”

Jonathan settled himself with a deep breath. “Please don’t push me. Truth is, I’m in a line of work where real names are never used. In fact, they’re liabilities. I’d consider it a personal favor if you would forget any other names you’ve heard.”

“If they’re such liabilities, why were you using them in the first place?”

“We didn’t expect to be working on this trip,” Gail said.

“So, do you have a super cool code name, too?”

She clammed up. Gail hated her handle.

“It’s Gunslinger,” Jonathan said.

Hunter recoiled. “Holy crap. That’s a little on the nose, isn’t it?”

“Don’t cross her,” Jonathan said. “Trust me. It’s a handle well-earned.” He chuckled when he said it.

“So, you do security work for the government,” Hunter concluded.

“Just don’t ask me to confirm or deny,” Jonathan said. The guy clearly liked the conclusion he’d drawn for himself, so he let it go. Besides, it was more true than it was false.

“If you’ll excuse us,” Jonathan continued, “we need to do some work here.”

“Go ahead,” Hunter said.

Jonathan wanted privacy. He wanted to roll back the clock and avoid the Edwardses altogether, but he realized he had to resign himself to the fact that neither was more likely to happen than the other. And why not? Everybody was as deeply into whatever this was as everyone else.

“Hey, Jaime,” Jonathan called.

The kid perked up. “Yes, sir?”

Jonathan beckoned him over. “Have a seat with us. Everybody can gather around if you want. Tell me everything you know about what you think might be happening here.”

Jaime gave an exaggerated shrug. “I have no idea. Like I said, I was up here when the shooting started. I don’t even know—”

“What goes on here at the Crystal Sands that might attract the attention of terrorists?” Jonathan asked.

“Many rich people come here,” Jaime said. “That’s a lot of ransom taking, no?”

It was a possibility. Hell, at this point, everything was a possibility.

“Wait a minute,” Jonathan said, snapping his fingers. He looked to Gail. “Whoever these guys are, they had to get here by boat, right?” He turned to Jaime. “There are no airstrips here, correct?”

Jaime nodded. “That is correct. Mr. Sinise does not like the sound of aircraft. Plus, he thinks that the long boat ride calms people.”

“Maybe they came in on helicopters,” Tyler suggested.

“No.” Jaime was emphatic. “We never hear helicopters out here. If there’d been one, I would have known it. I hear everything.”

“By boat, then,” Jonathan said. “Given their numbers, it would have had to have been a big one.”

“And it should still be parked at the dock, right?” Gail said.

“They’ve got to have an exfil plan,” Jonathan said. Back to Jaime: “I’m turned around. Where do the ships come in?”

Jaime pointed to the jungle. “About a mile, mile and a quarter that way.”

“Along this trail?”

“No. Well, for a while, but then this trail joins the main roadway. The one you came up on.”

“I imagine they’ll have left guards,” Jonathan mused aloud.

“What are you thinking of doing?” Lori asked. The dread was heavy in her voice.

“We need to get an idea of what we’re involved in,” Gail said.

“It’s dark,” Hunter said. “I think that’s too dangerous. Why don’t we just hold out until daylight?”

“Because we’re more detectable when we can be seen,” Jonathan said. He delivered the line laden with irony, but it seemed to have missed its target. “Once the sun comes up, we’ll need to go to ground. That’s when the serious hiding starts.”

“Do you think they’re going to come looking for us?” Tyler asked.

“Most definitely,” Jonathan replied. “I killed two of their men and they know we have guns.”

“Then what will we do?” Lori asked.

“Hide until and unless they find us.”

“And after that?” Jaime asked.

Jonathan thought the answer to be so obvious that he just let it hang unanswered. He checked his watch and said to Gail, “It’s zero one-fifteen now. That gives us six hours to explore and gather whatever intel we can.”

He turned to the others. “Tyler, we’re taking your golf cart. Jaime, is it easy to navigate our way to the boat dock?”

“Just follow this old trail till you get to the roadblock. Drive around that and turn left. That road will take you all the way—”

“Wait,” Hunter said. “You’re going to just leave us here?”

“Sure, why not? It’s out of the way and it looks reasonably safe. We’ll be back before daylight.”

“Then leave us with a gun.”

“That’s not happening,” Gail said.

“Suppose they come for us?”

“Hide. And if they find you, hope they play nice with you. If you see a third option, I’d be happy to listen to it.”

“We can go with you,” Tyler suggested.

“No, you can’t,” Jonathan said. “I don’t know what we’re getting into. I don’t know if there’ll be guards, and I don’t know if there’ll be shooting. Gunslinger and I have done this stuff before. I don’t want to have to worry about you if things go south.”

“I promise I’ll give you a full accounting when we get back,” Gail said.

With that, they turned and headed to the big golf cart. Jonathan half expected to have to fight the others from climbing aboard, but was relieved when they decided to stay in place. Gail slid into the driver’s seat and grinned up at him. “You can ride up front with me, if you want,” she said, and she stuck out her tongue.

“Oh, so it’s going to be that way, is it?” He walked to the shotgun seat and they took off.

The path was every bit as rough on the back half as it was on the first half. Jonathan hung on to the roof post to keep from getting bounced out.

“I’m not used to these kinds of bumps,” he said. “Normally, Boxers drives, and his mass smooths it all out.”

He got the laugh he was trolling for. Boxers was Jonathan’s longtime friend and battle buddy from back in the days when they were both in the Army. Nearly seven feet tall and built like a tree, he was the most lethal human being Jonathan had ever known. As much as Big Guy had no place on a romantic retreat to an exotic island, it would have been great to have him on board now.

They drove with the headlights off, but there was enough ambient light to make out important things, like shifts in the road and obstructions. Holes were a little tougher to spot, explaining some of the bigger bumps.

Gail pointed ahead. “Think that’s our roadblock?” The berm appeared as a horizontal black stripe across the path, maybe twenty-five yards ahead.

“It’s clearly man-made,” Jonathan said. He whispered very softly now, his words barely audible. “Stop here and kill the motor.”

They sat in silence in the cacophony of jungle night sounds while Jonathan listened for anything out of the ordinary. Mechanical sounds, battle rattle, voices, anything.

“I think we’re alone,” Gail said.

“I think you’re right. You know, we’ve never done it in a golf cart.” He got the glare he expected. “I’m going to walk up to the berm and make sure things are clear.”

“Find a route for me to get around that thing in this thing,” Gail said.

“Yep.” He slid out of his seat and walked down the path, using deliberate steps, heel-toe, heel-toe, in a fluid rotation that looked odd as hell to those whose survival had never depended on stealth.

The berm was taller than he thought it was going to be, every bit of eight feet. Because this was the goddamn jungle, where if you dropped a seed today you’d have a tree tomorrow, it was thick with vegetation. It was hard to make out detail on this side of the berm because of its moon shadow, but the darkness moved as the flora moved with the breeze. He considered climbing over to peer at his surroundings from the top, but opted to walk around the side, instead. He had to blaze a trail for the cart, anyway.

He followed the base of the berm around to the left. If Tyler and Jaime had passed this way in their carts, you couldn’t tell from the foliage, at least not in the dark. But the plant life near the base was of the fern variety—as opposed to the tree variety, which was the total limit of Jonathan’s spectrum of horticultural knowledge—so with a little momentum, the cart shouldn’t have any trouble navigating around it.

Jonathan brought his rifle to his shoulder as he rounded the berm to the front side. Old habits died hard, and he’d never seen a downside to being ready to shoot, just in case. He moved slowly, as ever aware of his footfalls. Over the centuries, while human eyesight hadn’t adapted its acuity to the dark, it had evolved to sense motion perhaps more readily in darkness than in light. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wandered at night with a rifle, yet without NVGs—night-vision goggles. Without that kind of force multiplier, he was just another guy with ammunition and a bang stick.

The far side of the berm—the front side—looked pretty much like the back, with more crumbling pavement at his feet.

He scanned continuously for targets as he advanced forward, but saw nothing but night. Finally, about twenty yards out, he found the fresh pavement of the main road. It intersected the old path at a right angle. He looked left and then right, but saw nothing worrisome. He closed his eyes and stood unmoving for the better part of a minute, letting his ears earn their keep. Nothing there, either. That was good.

He walked back and summoned Gail to come on through.

Twenty minutes later, the grade of the road shifted steeply downhill, and the darkness ahead brightened. “I remember this from the day we arrived,” Gail said. “The docks are just down at the bottom on the right.”

“Look at the way they’ve got the place lit up,” Jonathan said. “They’re clearly not worried about being spotted or getting caught.”

“Caught doing what?”

“Well, that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Can you find a spot to pull this off the road and behind some bushes? I want to approach on foot.”

The perfect spot lay about thirty yards closer to the light, where a tree had fallen, but never quite made it to the ground because of interference from nearby foliage. The effect was to create a leafy cave that was just about the width and height of the cart. Gail pulled it in until it could go no farther, and they set off down the hill on foot.

They walked on the pavement as close as they could to the edge. If someone approached, they could jump out of sight. That assumed that their opposing forces continued to disregard light and noise discipline.

“Has there been much radio traffic about us?” Gail whispered.

“They know our names—well, the names we gave them—and they’re trying to find likenesses of us. They’re not pleased to be missing rifles and ammunition.”

“And tell me why, exactly, you think it’s important to check out this boat.”

“To gather intel,” Jonathan said. He didn’t know how to state it more clearly, because he didn’t understand how it wasn’t obvious. “As they say at Faber College, knowledge is good.”

“You know there’s only two of us. We can’t possibly fight them all.”

“I don’t see that we have a choice. These people are terrorists. They’ve already killed. If we surrender, we’re sure to die. If we fight, we’ve got a chance.”

“Just remember that I’m not Big Guy.”

Jonathan scowled at her. “Surely, that was not an apology,” he said.

“No, just an observation. I’m not a ‘fight first, ask questions later’ kind of girl.”

“Got it,” Jonathan said. It was a quirk of Gail’s personality that he could not understand. He got that she was a lawyer, and that she’d cut her teeth in law enforcement and not the military, but she had trouble adjusting to the significance of her skills and abilities in the world of door-kickers. They’d talked about this many times before.

If he had his way, they would not talk about it again tonight. They had way too much work to do.