FATAL eMPULSE (12 page)

He decided to play along. “Hey, mistakes happen, Officer. You are just doing your job.” He studied the area, looking for anything that might give him a clue as to what had just happened. The cops must know the similarity between them and the suspects in the shooting a few blocks over. And yet, they were being released.

Gerrit and Alena returned to the cab and got inside. As they drove away, Gerrit pulled out his weapon and looked around for any threat. Nothing. He gave the cabbie directions. Looking back, he saw the police milling around.

Gerrit tried to figure out why they’d been released. Even if they were not tied to the shootings, he and Alena did not have any identification that would justify their carrying weapons. But yet the officers had freed them and handed back their weapons without comment.

This was beyond bizarre.

February 24
Fort Lauderdale, Florida

G
errit rose from the chair and pulled the curtains back, peering out at the Atlantic Ocean just beyond a highway and a white sandy beach in front of their hotel. Shafts of light spread across the ocean as dawn began to awaken the day.

He looked back toward the bed and saw a mound of blankets. Alena lay sleeping somewhere under all that bedding. Gerrit kept his cell phone on all night, but Willy never called. He must pick up a cord to recharge his cell phone, estimating he had three hours and twenty-three minutes of life left on the battery.

After checking in at the hotel last night, they walked a short distance away to a nice Italian restaurant. No one seemed to have followed, and he really enjoyed spending a quiet dinner with Alena. They talked about the evening’s events but did not come up with any answers. Instead, they talked a lot about their past, and a little about what the future might hold. Each of them knew how uncertain the world might be at any moment, and they appreciated this brief escape from the struggle. Gerrit almost relaxed.

And now another day had begun. He started to wake her and then changed his mind. Let her rest. No telling what might lie ahead once Willie called. He wrote her a note and left it near the bedside before leaving.

Alena listened as Gerrit quietly closed the door behind him. She had been pretending to be asleep as he moved around the room. Stretching out in the bed, she turned and curled up, facing the window. She saw him cross the highway, heading for the beach.

Gallantly, he slept in the chair last night even after she offered him a part of the bed. “Just stay on your side and I won’t have to hurt you,” she told him, playfully. For some reason, she felt uneasy, her feelings for Gerrit making this moment of indecision awkward.

Gerrit threw his hands up. “That settles it. I’m sleeping in the chair. Don’t want a Mossad agent beating me to death because I rolled over in my sleep.” His decision had deeply touched her and, in a way, had made sleeping in the same room bearable. She was still trying to figure out her own feelings about their relationship, and having him in proximity—like
that
—added a level of temptation she would find hard to resist.

At times, Gerrit was a hard man to understand. Moody. Quiet. Focused. But other times, it was like they shared the same thoughts, the same feelings, like at dinner last night. In those moments, he seemed very close. Intimate. And then that moment faded and a barrier rose. Gerrit closed himself off, creating a buffer between them. During those moments, they grew testy and irritated with each other. She became upset that he had withdrawn once again. He seemed to bristle as if he felt she could not understand.

This morning, she snuggled under the covers, waiting for him to return. She just wanted to enjoy this brief respite from the war. If Gerrit was half as smart as she knew he was, soon he would be coming through that door with a freshly brewed cup of coffee. For the moment, everything seemed perfect.

After crossing the highway, Gerrit walked on the white sand beyond the sidewalk. Seagulls squawked from the shoreline, fighting over dinner that had washed up on shore. Two runners—a man and woman—made their way along the edge of the water, using the hardened wet sand to gain traction on their run.

He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with ocean air, and looked for some place to buy coffee. He saw a vendor close to the highway and returned to the sidewalk to make better time. He almost reached the stand when his cell phone rang.

“Yeah?”

“Beck Malloy here. How you guys doing?”

“Still kicking, but we need a set of wheels and new identification papers. We’re walking around here like a couple of illegals.”

Beck chuckled. “Maybe I ought to drop a dime to ICE to have you picked up. Save me a lot of headaches.”

“Ouch. That hurts.”

“I heard what happened last night at your hotel. But by the time the cops got there, everyone cleared out—including the two dead guys.”

“That’s not all, Beck. The girl we spoke to yesterday afternoon at the hotel where Devon stayed…someone killed her. They’re saying it was a robbery. But—”

“You think Devon or one of his people did it?”

“That’s my guess. I think she was a loose end he took care of. She probably called Devon after we talked to her. Signed her death warrant with that call.”

“I need to get you guys out of there.”

“Oh, thanks for getting us out of that jam last night.”

“What jam?”

“The traffic stop when we— Wait a minute. You didn’t bail us out of the traffic stop?”

“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, Gerrit. What happened?”

He gave Beck a replay of the stop. “If you didn’t—?”

“You and Alena need to get out of there. Quick. I don’t like the sound of this.”

Gerrit heard a click on the line. “Hey, I got another call coming in. Can you hold?” He transferred to the second caller.

“Mr. G., I’ve been up all night working on your problem. That Devon is sloppy. Not only did he use that credit card at the hotel, he’s been dropping bar tabs all over Key West going back forever. I can tell you exactly which bar he likes the best, which restaurants are his favorites, and which outcall service he likes to use.”

“He charges escort services on a company card? What an idiot.”

Willy chuckled. “Not only that, but I hacked into the escort service and got the address where Devon had girls show up. Oh, by the way, Joe flew out last night and should be arriving any time with a set of identity papers for both of you, including credit cards and cash.”

“Let me give you our hotel here in Fort Lauderdale—”

“Forget it, Mr. G. Already have all that information.”

“How’d you…my cell phone.”

“Uh-huh. Not only can I tell which hotel you stayed in, but what room number. I’m so good, I know you were quite the gentleman last night—slept in the chair and gave Alena the bed.”

“You know, Willy, sometimes I’d like to think I have a little privacy—even from you.”

“Hey, someday my electronic eyes may save your life.”

“I got Beck on the other line. Just get word to Joe that we’ll meet him here at the hotel. Ship me everything you have on Devon. I may have a plan to track this jerk down.” He transferred back to Beck. “You still there?”

“Where would I go, Gerrit?”

“You talk with Willy about the latest on Devon?”

“No. What did our little geek turn up?”

Gerrit passed on the information. “My guess, this guy pulled out of Miami and returned to his old stomping grounds until further notice. He probably has his crew searching Miami for us right now.”

“And feeding the two guys you shot to the alligators.”

“Look, I’m going to need a few tools. Once Joe gets here, Alena and I are going big-game fishing in the Key West area. Can you get me some supplies?” He gave Beck his shopping list.

“You know, the local FBI office must be kept in the dark. I had them on standby until I received further information about yesterday. But this Key West thing, they’d have to report to someone up the chain before they give you what you need. Let’s take a different approach for this op. I have a Cuban contact, a friend, who lives in Little Havana. He and I worked together in the past, and he can get his hands on what you need.”

“I hope the cards Joe brings have unlimited credit.”

“Ouch. It sounds expensive.”

Gerrit laughed. “We’re going with one of the fastest boats money can rent.”

“Just watch your back, O’Rourke. Someone is out there trying to put you out of business. I’ll see what I can find out. Until then, keep your eyes wide open.”

“Later, Beck.” He terminated the call and turned back toward the hotel. Forget the coffee. They needed to move fast as soon as Joe arrived.

The man lowered his newspaper and watched Joe approach the ticket counter. He raised his sleeve and spoke into a mike. “O’Rourke is leaving Miami. I missed him when he flew in, but I’ve got him in my sights now.” He waited for Devon McAllister to give final instructions. They missed an opportunity to find out who O’Rourke met here—probably that couple who shot up the crew at the hotel last night.

“You lost him inbound? How did that happen? He was to lead us to the others.”

“Sorry, boss. I’ve got him now. You want me to let him go or…?”

There was a pause on the end of the line. “This doesn’t change anything. We have our orders. Move in and do what you have to do. When it’s done, call me. This time—no screwups.”

McAllister hung up on him. The boss had spoken.

He carefully folded up his newspaper and began following O’Rourke. The old man checked in at the counter and left his baggage to be loaded by the airlines.

He pulled out a federal ID that would allow him to wander anywhere in the airport’s secured area. The ID looked real, but it was as phony as a TV evangelist selling miracles. This was going to be too easy.

He reached into his pocket with a gloved hand and pulled out a sealed envelope as he followed O’Rourke’s luggage on the conveyor belt. Looking around, he saw no one watching. He grabbed the old man’s bag, unzipped it, and slipped the envelope inside. After zipping it up, he let the bag continue on its way, then he made his way out of the airport.

Now, to hunt down all the others, one by one if that was what it took. Someone put a million-dollar bounty on each of their heads. It was time to make some real money.

February 24
White House, Washington, D.C.

“T
he call went through, sir.” The White House aide thrust his chin toward the phone on the president’s desk. “Staff alerted him that you called.”

Stephen picked up the receiver. He swiveled in his chair, staring out at the south lawn, his elbow resting on the Resolute desk. “Mr. Prime Minister, this is President Chambers about our meeting coming up in three weeks. Looking forward to revisiting your country, sir.”

“Mr. President, my country is looking forward to your visit with great anticipation. It means so much during these difficult times. To show the world that we stand together.”

“It is an honor. Friends and allies need to demonstrate their commitment to each other.” Stephen knew the prime minister didn’t need to spell out what he meant by “difficult times.”

Prime Minister Idan Shalev received a copy of the latest DIA intelligence reports Stephen couriered to Israel a few days ago. DIA, along with collaborative intelligence from NSA and other agencies, picked up unusual flight patterns between Iran and Syria, warplanes deployed by both nations and billed as a joint military exercise program.

Iraq weakly acquiesced to use of their airspace to facilitate this exercise. Ever since Iran did their saber rattling in the Strait of Hormuz, flexing their power to shut down traffic through that area, they’d let it be known who wielded the most power in that corner of the world. At least in Iran’s eyes.

Iran’s neighboring countries looked on uneasily, not wanting to intentionally antagonize that country and looking to the U.S to see what reaction might be forthcoming. Israel placed their military on high alert.

Stephen needed to assert his country’s commitment to its allies, particularly Israel, after the damage perpetrated by his predecessor. The man who formerly sat in the Oval Office foolishly expressed a spirit of conciliation among this country’s sworn enemies—even rogue nations like Iran and North Korea—while turning his back on Israel. As a newly elected president, Stephen wanted to quickly and strongly show his commitment to the Israeli government in no uncertain terms. And to make it clear to the world that the United States would never back down from terrorism—ever.

There would be no ambiguity in his administration.

“My staff will continue to work with your people to make sure everything goes well. I think we picked an appropriate time to publically stand together.”

Idan let out a long breath. “I believe the message will be very clear to Iran.”

“I hope so. Their current military actions are provocative—and they know it. We must make it clear that their aggressive actions will not be tolerated.”

“I pray for both our countries that Iran stands down. I will not allow them to threaten or harm my people, Mr. President.”

“Nor will I,” Stephen said, a promise he knew Idan would hold him to.

“Excellent, I look forward to your visit.”

Stephen thanked Idan before hanging up. He pressed a button. “Tell Stan I need to see him.”

A few minutes later the door sprang open, and Stan Goodfellow, chief of staff, briskly entered. His charcoal-gray suit and red tie gave him the air of an executive on the move. His receding hairline only gave his thinning brown hair a distinguished look, not a strand out of place. For a man in his forties, Stan kept himself in good shape in spite of the horrific hours he kept.

Stan approached the desk, his green eyes studying the boss. “How did the call go, Mr. President?”

“Good. Shalev has been reassured there will be no ambiguity about our commitment to his country when we meet.” He rose from the desk and stared out the window, his hands clasped behind him. “We agreed to keep this visit on a need-to-know until I arrive. Are we clear?”