Dead Asleep (8 page)

It wasn't long before he returned with the mandrake powder in a small bowl. He held it in one hand, a glass of water in the other. Warner, who followed him into the room, held a set of measuring spoons.

“How much?” Carrow asked Emma. Layton wailed again, this time with an earsplitting shriek.

“Hurry!” Warner said. “He's getting worse.”

“One tablespoon in the glass.” Emma was guessing. Mandrake was so rare and so rarely used that the amounts needed to induce somnolence would be outside the normal dosing information available to her. She doubted even a Google search would produce any credible dosing instructions.

Carrow held the bowl out to Warner, who measured the amount and dumped it into the water. He swirled the liquid to mix it, handed Warner the bowl, and approached the jerking man on the bed. He waited until Nalen was once again between seizures and then put the glass to his lips.

“Drink,” he said. Nalen's eyes didn't move but he must have understood because he drank. Carrow held the glass and tipped it slowly, making sure that Nalen had time to swallow it all. Nalen jumped again, but this time the wailing didn't come.

Emma watched him and kept note of the time. After three minutes he stopped jumping. In five his muscles' violent twitching seemed to ease. After ten minutes his eyes began to droop and his arms collapsed. Carrow helped move him into a resting position on the bed. Five minutes later Nalen fell asleep.

The room was quiet. Warner quietly cried and Rory frowned. Carrow moved over to the bathroom and gazed at the pentagram, then returned to stand at the side of the bed.

“What fools we are,” he said.

Chapter 12

C
arol Stromeyer piloted the boat across the water toward the small island of Anguilla. A slice of moon threw a glow onto the waves, and the air was warm as it blew across the skin on her arms. She still wore the balaclava over her face, even though Sumner had correctly guessed her identity earlier. She kept her focus on the GPS display for the boat and did her best not to dwell on the man she had just killed. Stromeyer was former military and had killed before, but that was a while ago and in battle. This was the first time since then, and she was doing her best to remind herself that he would have surely killed Sumner had she not shot first. She turned her mind to the problem of who had paid the two men to attack Sumner. Between the bombing and the shooting, it appeared that he was a target. She glanced his way. He wasn't looking at her, and she took advantage of that fact to take his measure.

Stromeyer had spoken to Sumner many times on the telephone, but had never met him in person. The first thing that struck her about him was his height. He stood over six feet two inches and had a straight but relaxed posture. She knew that he was a reticent man, and he lived up to that reputation now. He sat on a bench against the port side and remained quiet while staring out at the ocean. In fact he hadn't said much since the revelation at the dock, and she left him alone with his thoughts.

Stromeyer had been handling a volatile assignment in St. Martin for several months now, and felt no closer to her goal. The lack of progress had been frustrating until tonight. When she'd heard the man claim that he was paid to take out Sumner and Caldridge, a big piece of the puzzle fell into place. There had been rumors for over a year that large shipments of both guns and a new, highly dangerous weapon was soon to pass from South America through the Caribbean and on to the U.S. mainland. If someone wanted both Caldridge and Sumner dead, it was likely that the players in the sale would be from some past event where both were involved. Sumner had met Caldridge in the jungles of Colombia when an organization was arranging an arms trade, and again in Somalia when another group tried to steal a pharmaceutical drug that could be used as a weapon. Stromeyer would review both events again in search of a link between those scenarios and the present shipment.

Darkview had been hired by the Department of Defense to discover whether the rumors were true, and to stop the transfer. Edward Banner, her business partner and the president of Darkview, had accepted a contract with the understanding that the DOD wanted not only to halt the flow of weapons, but to obtain solid evidence of the money laundering and offshore transactions funding the sales. As a private company, Darkview was not subject to the same restrictions as the U.S. military operating in a foreign arena. Where a military action would be seen as a breach of international law, even an act of war against the island nations, a private company could act in any way it saw fit. But cracking the local banks and their money gathering operations was a lot tougher than it appeared. Several of the small nations in which the weapons were to pass refused to provide any assistance to Darkview's investigation.

“I thought we were going to St. Barths, but it's there,” Sumner pointed to starboard, “and we're headed straight. What's your actual destination?”

“Anguilla,” Stromeyer said. “British West Indies. It's less populated than St. Barths, and someone you know is there.”

“Who?” Sumner asked.

“Edward Banner.” Stromeyer saw the flash of Sumner's white teeth as he smiled.

“Your business partner.”

“I don't know what you mean,” Stromeyer said. She heard Sumner snort.

“Okay,” he said.

Stromeyer navigated the boat past the tip of the island, where the island's only yacht club sat. In all the days that she'd been on assignment in the Caribbean, she'd never seen an actual yacht docked at the club. For that reason, it was the perfect place to both dock the boat and be left alone. Darkview had paid well to ensure that any employees would turn a blind eye to their comings and goings. At night it was deserted.

“Help me moor it?” she said.

Sumner got up and tossed the bumpers over the boat's wall. He gripped a rope that had been coiled on deck and when they were close enough leapt lightly onto the dock. Stromeyer reversed and drove forward in small movements until the boat was properly positioned. Sumner tied it down, wrapping the rope around the metal cleat on the dock, then did the same with a second rope at the stern.

“You've done that before,” Stromeyer said after he was finished.

Sumner nodded. “I grew up in Minnesota and my family had a cottage on one of the lakes where I would go fishing and hunting.”

“Were they hunters, too?” she asked. Sumner was a skilled sharpshooter. His talent seemed both natural and born of years of familiarity with guns. He smiled and nodded.

“Hunters, too.” Stromeyer waved him to a motorcycle parked in the parking lot. It was a serviceable Suzuki, big enough to carry two and powerful enough to outrun a fast car if necessary.

“Get on. I'll take you to Banner.”

A rooster crowed somewhere in the distance, but otherwise the world was quiet. The night sky was beginning to lighten and Stromeyer didn't need to check her watch to know that soon it would be dawn. She'd been working nights for over six months and was used to the strange hours, but knew she would need to sleep soon.

She swung a leg over the motorcycle and Sumner joined her on the back. She started the engine and winced at the grating roar the cycle gave before putting it into gear and heading out onto the frontage road next to the parking lot, driving on the left, as was the custom in Anguilla. She turned right, swinging wide before going straight. The road ended on a street that circled the entire thirty-five-square-mile island. After a short while she turned onto a gravel road. Palm trees and ferns surrounded them, and the scent of night-blooming jasmine wafted over her.

At the end of the road sat a house made of white stone cut into graceful arches at the entry that curved over the dark wood front door. Bougainvillea curled over the railing of the wide front portico. She pulled up to the front stairs and stopped.

The door opened and Banner stepped onto the porch. He held a cup of coffee in one hand and wore navy sweatpants and a gray cotton polo shirt. Like everyone else on the island, he was barefoot. In his mid-forties, Banner was six-foot-two and had salt-and-pepper hair trimmed close to his head. His blue eyes rarely missed any detail, and his expressive face revealed a sharp mind. His straight posture indicated his former military background, but his exceptional good looks sometimes confused those who met him into thinking he was less than the fighter that he was. Banner liked it that way. He'd once told Stromeyer that the tendency of some to dismiss him was a mistake he could exploit to his own advantage. Many an enemy had come to regret underestimating him. Banner's expression lightened when he spotted Sumner. He flicked a glance at Stromeyer and smiled.

“Nice mask. Is it Halloween and I missed it?” he said. Stromeyer turned off the cycle and punched down the kickstand.

“I thought it was safer to keep Sumner here out of the loop, concerning who he's keeping company with.” Sumner strolled up the steps and put a hand out to shake.

“I told Ms. Stromeyer that I'm aware of who she is. The voice is distinctive, and I've spoken to her on the phone enough times to recognize it.”

Banner's smile broadened. “And still she covers her face. Suspicious one, isn't she?” Sumner nodded. Stromeyer dashed up the steps and waved a hand at them both.

“This suspicious woman is going to sleep. Enjoy your breakfast.” She slipped past Banner and headed to the back of the house and her bedroom.

Banner had rented the three bedroom villa in part because of its secluded location and its comfort. He used one room, Stromeyer the other, when she was not in St. Martin, and the third was converted into a home office where they kept their base of operations while in the Caribbean.

Stromeyer entered her room for the first time in a week. She removed the mask and sighed when the cool air hit her face. She was five-foot-seven and had light brown hair, streaked with blonde, that hit her shoulders. Though a bit younger than Banner, she had also spent time in the military. She knew how to shoot a gun, fight, and fly both airplanes and helicopters. The bulk of her military service, though, was spent at a desk in the appropriations department learning how to requisition, transport, shift, or decommission just about anything in the military system. It was her knowledge of the protocols and paperwork needed for a military contract that prompted Banner to offer her a job. His promise of the occasional field operation in addition was the reason she accepted.

Stromeyer walked to her closet and opened the panels, putting away her shoes, stripping off the dark clothes and dumping them into a hamper. She twisted her hair into a knot as she walked to the adjoining bathroom. After securing it with elastic, she washed her face, brushed her teeth, and threw on a nightgown that hung from a hook on the back of the door.

She shut all the wooden blinds and slipped between the cotton sheets with a sigh. The last image in her mind before she drifted off was of the woman's body hanging from the tree. She made a silent vow to find her killer.

Chapter 13

B
anner looked up from the table when Stromeyer walked into the kitchen. It was late afternoon and he estimated that she'd slept almost nine hours.

“Hungry?” he said. She nodded.

“Starving. Where's Sumner?”

“He took the motorcycle and headed to a hotel. Said he was exhausted from the night. He'll come back in the evening for dinner.” Banner stood and pulled out a chair at the table for her. “Sit down. I was just going to make a late lunch. You want some?”

She sat and nodded. Banner thought she appeared pensive. He'd always admired Stromeyer's ability to work through a problem to its conclusion, even if that meant hours behind a desk coordinating paperwork and reading regulations. He preferred action. He headed to the refrigerator and started removing what he needed.

“Sumner told me about the threat made against him and Caldridge. That it was made against them both narrows the field of possibilities, doesn't it?” he said.

“Absolutely, but I don't think it's related to the cartel from last year,” Stromeyer said.

“I agree. Since the leader's death, his foot soldiers have disappeared.” He reached for a loaf of bread and removed two small plates from the cabinet. “No, it has to be either from the incident in Somalia or Colombia. Sumner and Caldridge were together during those two missions. It probably emanates from one or the other.”

Stromeyer grimaced.

“I don't even want to think about Somalia. What a stressful time. Which reminds me to ask: how are we doing? New contracts flowing in? I've been out of the loop down here and it makes me nervous not to know.”

In the past two years they'd been recovering from a devastating public relations disaster—an unknown force that seemed bent on portraying Darkview as a dirty player in the world arena. Congressional subpoenas demanding information about their DOD contracts were issued weekly and the IRS had weighed in, auditing their records. Luckily, Stromeyer's paperwork was impeccable and nothing had come of the probe, but the feeling remained that there was a person or corporation with an interest in destroying Darkview by manipulating matters behind the scenes. Neither Banner nor Stromeyer had ever taken the time to hunt down the perpetrator, instead pouring their efforts into obtaining new contracts and business to keep the doors open and the lights on. They'd survived, and obtained not only this mission but two others, yet Banner remained on the alert. If someone chose to mess with his company again, he would not rest until he'd found out who it was.

“So far so good, but I don't have to tell you that we need to wrap this one up with an arrest. The Department of Homeland Security has tried and failed, and the CIA has been unable to trace the money. If we crack it, we'll be heroes. Mayonnaise?” He held up the jar.

She nodded. “Do we know where Caldridge is? She's never where you'd expect her to be.”

“Sumner said she's in the Caribbean. Terra Cay. She's on the search for a miracle seaweed that when put into a jar will make every sign of old age disappear like that.” Banner snapped his fingers and was pleased to hear Stromeyer laugh.

“And make her company millions, no doubt.”

He smiled. “No doubt. I'd like to think she's safe for the moment, but I asked Sumner to call her and check.” He placed the sandwich in front of Stromeyer.

“Are they still dancing around the personal issue?” she asked.

Like we are? Banner was too savvy to say it out loud. Stromeyer had no idea that his admiration for her ran deeper than on a business level, and he was determined to keep it that way. He'd never thought it was a wise idea to date one's colleague. Still, he was always happy when she appeared and sometimes couldn't help but tip his hand.

“They both seem set on building their careers right now. You know how that goal can overwhelm all others.”

Stromeyer threw him a glance. “Know? I've been living it since the investigation. Funny how financial troubles have a way of focusing one's attention.”

“I can only hope that her company is making it, though. She employs almost one hundred people. She stumbles, and they all do.” Banner joined her at the table and they ate in silence for a while. When they were finished he leaned back and looked at her. Circles around her eyes were evidence of the long nights she was keeping, and he was certain she'd lost some weight. “Tell me about the woman. Do you think it was Kemmer's work?”

Stromeyer sighed. “No. She's not one of his girls, and it occurred at the same time that the beach house blew up. At first I thought the events were related to Kemmer, but now I think that they both are pointing to Sumner. He's angered someone quite dangerous.”

Banner got up and cleared the plates, placing them in the dishwasher. He grabbed the pot of coffee from the maker as well as two mugs by their handles. He put the cups in front of Stromeyer and poured. The black liquid was almost viscous. Stromeyer raised an eyebrow.

“What in the world did you do to make the coffee that thick?”

“Put new grounds over old. What, you don't like it?”

“Uh, well I don't know. Let's see.” She went to the refrigerator and retrieved some cream, poured it in the coffee, turning it from black to espresso brown. She added quite a bit more. The coffee remained dark, but the liquid was hitting the rim so she dumped some into the sink, added more cream and took a hesitant sip. Her eyes lit up. “Wow. That's really good.” She gave him an astonished look. “I had no idea that you made such amazing coffee.”

He smiled at her. “Did you think I was just good for knocking heads together?”

“And hammering people into the ground and chasing them down and shooting them and—”

He put up a hand. “Okay, I get it.” She smiled back, but then grew serious.

“Something tells me that we're both going to be tested, and soon. Between the bomb at Kemmer's house and the dead woman, it feels as though things are accelerating.”

“And we're no closer to finding the guns, gunpowder, or the money train.”

She shook her head. “Not yet, no.” Banner leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed one leg over the other. He took a sip of coffee.

“I say let's take the fight to them.”

“Okay. How?”

“We talk to Kemmer. It was his beach house they bombed. Let's find out why. If he's clean and it's Sumner they're after, then we'll deal with that next.”

“And Caldridge?”

“Let's warn her. In the past few years she's become quite good at protecting herself.” Stromeyer took another sip of the coffee.

“And if it appears necessary, I think we suggest to Sumner that he go to Terra Cay. The two of them together make a formidable force.”

Banner nodded. “Like us,” he said.

Stromeyer held up her coffee cup in a toast. “Like us.”