The Zimmer Doctrine (Corps Justice Book 11) (15 page)

Chapter 29

Great Sale Cay

The Bahamas

August 29th, 7:04pm

The wind outside the reinforced windows howled. The occasional branch or piece of debris pummeled against the second-story window. Liberty whined at Cal’s side, and he did his best to soothe her with long, calming strokes down her back. She shivered intermittently and stayed glued to his leg while Cal talked with the others.

Their meeting with Baxter had gone well. He’d walked them through his current inventory of yachts and he presented a host of others that could be purchased, if the right price were offered. If that happened, Baxter said he would be happy to broker the deal to ensure Jonas got the best deal he could for his money.

While Jonas took the lead on the money end, Neil quizzed Baxter on the technology and communications side. The billionaire answered without hesitation, a clear indication that he knew the working of sea-going vessels from top to bottom.

Master Sergeant Trent's depth of knowledge had surprised Cal. His knowledge of the yachts was ten times what Cal’s was. He’d asked Baxter about things Cal never would have put together. It was a good thing he was serving in an advisory role on the business end of things. Boats and ships weren’t his thing. That was one of the many reasons he’d become a Marine and not a sailor.

“I don’t know guys. I may just have to buy one,” Jonas was saying.

Trent chuckled and elbowed Gaucho. “I told you.”

Gaucho rolled his eyes. He hated being on the ocean more than the rest of them.

“Jonas, if you buy a yacht, I won’t step foot on the damn thing. I swear.”

The rest of them laughed, even Maya, who’d spent most of the meeting with Baxter listening like Cal. Her cover was that she was a security consultant. It wasn’t a giant leap given what she’d formerly done for a living. After the meeting, they all relaxed. All indications were that Baxter was a brilliant businessman and a superb shipbuilder. Maybe TJG would find itself with a yacht at the end of the trip. If what Baxter said was true, just renting the thing out could be a sound investment for Layton.

“Neil, any luck with comms?” Cal asked. The storm was causing interference with their electronic and communication gear. When they’d asked Baxter about it, he’d confirmed that his internet service and satellites communications were down.

“Not yet,” Neil answered, more frustrated than the others. He handled the lack of internet access as well as a fetus without an umbilical cord.

“So, no word from Brandon,” Cal mused. It had been close to four hours since their last communication with anyone outside of Great Sale Cay. They knew the rest of the TJG team was in Freeport awaiting further orders. Fortunately, it didn't look like they'd be needed because the hurricane was closing in fast now. Taking anything out on the water was asking for trouble.

“No word from anyone,” Neil said. “When do you think we can go home?”

Cal shook his head. “I think it’s best if we hunker down here. Hopefully the CIA has a line on what’s going on. This was all just a hunch anyway.”

No one disagreed with him and the only one who jumped when the lightning flashed outside was Liberty. Then the lights flickered for perhaps the half-dozenth time in the last two hours.

Thunder boomed and Liberty yelped. This time she did jump right out of Cal’s hands and she bolted for the open door.

“Crap,” Cal said, and ran off after her.

“I’ll come with you,” Maya said, and ran after them.

+++

Efraim Perlstein's grin did not diminish after he hung up the phone. Everything was falling into place. His cohorts in Israel were doing as he’d instructed. The prime minister had been led to believe that the Americans were conspiring against the Israelis. Yes, information was such a powerful tool. How he loved to manipulate information to get others to do his bidding.

He’d twisted the truth to turn other prime ministers where he’d needed, but now it was even better. Now the prime minister was playing defense for Perlstein’s plot, and the Americans were once again on their heels.

Perlstein cackled as he handed the phone back to Baxter.

“I take it that everything went well?” Baxter asked. He was holding the only means of communication with the outside world. He’d told Layton and his men the truth. The hurricane was making it difficult to get any work done. It was a good thing he’d told his captains to hold in place.

“He went on television and told the world that the Americans sent spies into Israel.”

Baxter nodded but did not join in Perlstein’s glee. Manipulating politicians was just another day in Baxter’s busy life. He was about to make his own phone call, one that would give them the answer that had started with Zimmer’s proclamation at the United Nations.

He dialed the number from memory and waited. The man on the other end answered on the fourth ring.

“Yes?”

“Do you have the name?”

“I do.”

“What is it?”

The man told him.

“Thank you. The money will be transferred within moments,” Baxter said. He did not bother saying goodbye. Instead, he hung up the phone and stared at it for a long moment.

“Did you get it?” Perlstein asked, excitedly. The information was expected to help the Israeli more than his co-conspirator. It was intended to be an added bonus from a CIA contact who had assisted Baxter in the past. Rudolf Collier had always been accurate with his intelligence and that could not always be said for government employees. And as a result Baxter was only too happy to reward the CIA man accordingly.

But now the information was not what he’d expected. He wasn’t supposed to know the name. Finally, he looked up at Perlstein, his face unreadable to the Israeli.

“What is it? What is wrong?” Perlstein asked.

Baxter glared at him.

“He provided me the name, the name of the traitor who you so longed to find. Oh, yes, he gave it to me.”

“Well, who is it? What is the man’s name?”

“It is not a man, you fool; it is a woman,” Baxter growled.

Perlstein’s face twisted in confusion. “A woman? Who is she?”

Baxter walked over to Perlstein, grabbed him by the shirt and said, “The mole’s name is Krygier, Hannah Krygier.”

+++

Cal could just see the puppy’s rear end as she rounded a corner and descended the stairs. He and Maya bolted past a surprised pair of maids as they tried to catch the pup. At each turn they just missed her as her four legs churned. Liberty whined the entire way. It was only the whining that helped them find her. At times, they stood at crossroads and listened.

She was going down, deeper into the complex than Cal and his friends had been. He estimated that they’d gone down four flights; in the back of his mind he wondered how far down they could go. The walls seemed thicker now and the decor became less lavish and more utilitarian. He barely noticed it as he saw Liberty skid at the end of the hall and half slammed into the wall. She regained her footing and bolted to her right.

“She’s fast,” Maya said. There was a girlish excitement in her voice, like they were chasing fireflies in the night.

Cal chuckled, sprinted around the corner, and exhaled when he saw that it was a dead end. There were two doors at the end of the hall, and Liberty was scratching on one of them.

They made it to the doors and Cal scooped the frightened puppy up in his arms.

“It’s okay, Liberty. It’s okay,” he soothed. She nuzzled his neck and whined softly. At least they couldn’t hear the thunder from where they were.

A moment later, the door Liberty had been scratching on cracked open. Cal was about to apologize when he saw the woman’s face. She was older but still undeniably beautiful.

“I’m sorry, Ma’am, my puppy just got scared from the storm.”

The woman smiled and opened the door further.

“That is alright. May I?” she asked, motioning to take the dog.

Cal nodded and moved closer. When he did he heard Maya inhale sharply behind him. The woman in the doorway shifted her gaze. Her face went blank and then pale.

“Maya,” the woman whispered, backing into the room.

“Aunt Hannah?” Maya asked.

Cal looked back and forth between them. The woman’s face had become a mask of horror and surprise. She was closing the door now but Maya stepped forward and shoved her foot in the opening.

“Please, you must go,” the woman said. Her voice was desperate.

Maya pressed closer. “I don’t understand. What…?”

“Go, Maya. Get off this island if you can. It is not safe.”

“Why? Tell me why? I did everything that you said. Tell me why you are here.”

Maya was halfway into the room when the woman sobbed, “Please, Maya, go.”

Maya stood there for a moment not saying a word. And then she nodded like some silent message had been passed between the two women. She turned and stepped out of the doorway.

“We have to go,” Maya said flatly.

Cal looked to the woman in the doorway and then to Maya, who was already making her way down the hall. What had just happened? And then the name tumbled into place.

“Hannah Krygier?” he asked.

The woman’s complexion changed from white to a dusky gray. Then she grabbed the doorknob, shut the door, and left Cal wondering how the hell they were going to get off the island and, more importantly, how they were going to get word to the president.

Chapter 30

The White House

August 29th, 7:30pm

“There has to be a way to contact them,” Zimmer said.

“They’ve tried everything,” Marge answered, her phone to her ear. They were stuck. The weather in the Bahamas was getting incrementally worse, and now they knew that Chance Baxter was involved in the plot Perlstein and his Israeli counterparts had concocted.

Not knowing who to trust or ask for assistance only added to the feeling of grave unease. Quite literally, they were stuck. The Israelis weren’t answering and if Baxter was involved, there was a very real chance that he’d infiltrated portions of the British intelligence establishment and quite possibly the government itself.

“We’ve got the rest of Cal’s team in Freeport,” Marge said.

“Are we in contact with them?”

Marge nodded.

“Call them and find out the conditions down there. See if there’s anything they can do to reach Cal.”

+++

Freeport, Bahamas

“Yes, Ma’am. We’ll do our best.” Jim Powers hung up the secure line and looked up at his brother. “Things are bad, little brother.”

“How bad?” asked Johnny.

“The guy who owns the island might be the one behind everything.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah.”

The brothers stood there for a moment. As the senior men on station, they’d been put in command of the TJG operators who were just waiting for Cal’s call. It had been a precaution to bring them along, but thank God they had.

“Let’s go talk to the boys and see what they think,” Jim said, the former Marine already marching off to find the team leader.

Ten minutes later, they were still stranded. The seas would swallow up anything they launched and their jet wouldn’t help because jumping from any altitude was suicide.

Jim Powers reluctantly made the call to Marge Haines, who took the news stoically and told him the president would authorize any help they might need. Jim thanked her and hung up the phone.

As he did, Benny Fletcher, the former Army chief warrant officer and TJG’s third pilot walked into the room.

“I think I’ve got something,” he said, joining the Powers brothers at the table.

“What’s up?” Johnny asked. The brothers liked Benny. He was unassuming on the outside, but he was a bad-ass pilot. You had to be if you spent your whole career flying out of Ft. Campbell. Those Night Stalkers were the best of the elite.

“I bumped into a couple Pave Low pilots in the airport lounge. They said they’d been grounded on their way back to Hurlburt. I was thinking we could commandeer one of their birds.”

“Wait, are you saying you want to fly in that stuff?” Johnny pointed out the window where the palm trees were almost bent in half.

“I did some cross-training with the Coast Guard a few years back; I did some hurricane ops. I think we can make it over.”

“Did you mention this to the pilots?” Jim asked.

“I thought I’d run it by you guys first.”

They were quiet for a long moment, only the sound of the wind whipping across the island. Even if they could get the Pave Low, it was a huge gamble. With the capability to carry approximately 38 troops and a rugged time-tested system, the Pave Low could be perfect. But then there was the obvious downside. They’d be putting everyone’s lives at risk.

“Benny, why don’t you go ask the boys what they think. We’ll see who volunteers and then I’ll make the call to the president.”

Benny left the room and was back two minutes later.

“They’re all in,” he said with a grin.

Jim shook his head. “I hope they know what they’re getting into.”

“We do,” Benny answered, the grin stretching wider.

Twenty minutes later, they’d somehow made it across the tarmac to the airport. They burst in the door and received dirty looks from half the room. Benny picked out the group of pilots and headed their way.

“What’s up, Fletch?” one of the pilots said. He didn’t bother to get up from where the four pilots were playing cards on the ground.

“We need your bird,” Benny said.

Every pair of eyes looked up with amusement.

“You’re kidding right?”

Benny shook his head. “I have someone on the phone for you.”

He handed the confused pilot the secure phone which was thankfully still working.

There were a couple respectful “Yes, Ma'am” and “OK” before the pilot returned the phone to Benny, his face stamped with awe and wonder.

Benny gave the phone back to Jim Powers and said, “Can you take us out there?”

The pilot shook his head, like he was waking up from a dream. “Man, you are one crazy son-of-a-bitch, but if you want her, you’ve got her.”

Ten minutes later, after a quick run-through, and after they’d given the MH-53 Pave Low’s crew a chance to snag their gear, Benny shook the pilot’s hand.

“Thanks again.”

The pilot shrugged and said, “You break her, you buy her,” and left to join his fellow pilots.

The TJG operators were ready to go. Eighteen TJG men boarded the Pave Low less than an hour later. They were accompanied by Benny, who would pilot the Pave Low, and the Powers brothers, who would serve as crew members.

Visibility was shit, and the night gloom didn’t help.

After the harnesses were fastened and the systems were checked, what was left of The Jefferson Group lifted off into the edges of the hurricane. No one knew if they’d make it but they all knew they had to try.

+++

The White House

Marge placed the phone in its cradle and let out a long exhale. She’d possibly just signed the death warrants of twenty-one men. Many she’d known at SSI prior to their move over to TJG. They were good men, warriors all, and firmly dedicated to Cal Stokes.

More importantly, they believed that this mission was critical to the safety of the United States of America. They were patriots who didn’t think twice about going into harm’s way, should the need arise. They’d done it countless times. They were the heroes that other veterans whispered about and wished they could be like.

The men of TJG never asked for applause; they never wanted the acclaim. It was one of many reasons Marge would miss her post at SSI. It was a unique opportunity to be among warriors who lived unselfishly and ran to the bugle call without a second thought.

Those thoughts weighed on her as she slumped on the couch and closed her eyes.

“So they’re going?” the president asked, his voice soft with concern.

“They are.”

“What do you think their chances are?”

Marge shook her head. She didn’t want to repeat it aloud but she did.

“Jim Powers said he gave them a thirty percent shot of making it to Great Sale Cay.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s what he said.”

“Well, then I guess we should say a little prayer, don’t you think?”

Marge wasn’t the praying type, but she still found herself begging God to watch over those brave men who she’d just sent to their possible deaths.