Search and Destroy (22 page)

Bush was kneeling next to a trash bin in a corner of the motel room. He dug around and pulled out several pieces of plastic and metal. The remains of the satellite phone. He turned to Lincoln. “They must have got wise to the signal. That or they’re just damn destructive.”

Lincoln remained in the doorway. The sat-phone was now an official dead end. He was snapped out of his brooding calculations by the vibration of his cell phone. A monotone voice droned through the handset. Lincoln clicked then wound his fingers in a tight circle: they were on the move again.

“Don’t worry Jake; you’ll be rewarded well for this information.” Lincoln ended the call. He spat out another glob of spittle. “We just caught a break. One of the grease monkeys over at Flyways spotted our target boarding a private jet bound for Key West. I guess we’re going to the sunshine state.”

Lincoln hit the speed dial for Topcat. After a brief conversation the flight was authorised. Turning to his team with renewed resolve Lincoln said, “There’ll be a plane ready for us within the hour. Saddle up. We’re heading back to the airport.”

As Washington climbed into the driver’s seat, he asked Lincoln, “How did the guy at Flyways know who our target was?”

“I sent out a message to my contacts when we first landed, along with a photograph. You know I like to cover my bases. Guy says he’d just walked over to the hangar next door to his, a place called Unco Services. He borrows tools from the mechanic he’s friends with there. Some guy called Gerry. He said the woman gave him the stink eye when he smiled at her. When he checked up later, there was no record of her or the two men she was with on the flight manifest.”

“This guy provided information before? You trust him?” asked Washington.

“Yeah. He let me know which plane my ex-wife and her new squeeze had fucked off in.”

“Didn’t your first wife get mugged and beaten up in Acapulco just after she left you for that car salesman?”

“Yeah, funny how things work out. What are the chances? Still, couldn’t have happened to a nicer pair.” Lincoln smiled, an expression more commonly sported by mako sharks.

“Isn’t that the guy who got his balls kicked so bad he ended up losing one?”

The shark smile never wavered. “Could have been worse; he could have lost both.”

The rest of the team had settled in the vehicle, with the exception of Bush, who still straddled the Harley.

“It gives new meaning to ‘loco in Acapulco’,” offered Washington.

Lincoln pointed to the steering wheel. “Thank you, Levi Stubbs. Now when you’re ready, we have a flight to catch.”

Charles Banks paced up and down in his office, his phone clamped to his ear. After ten rings it went to voicemail. He swore and hit redial. On the third ring the call was answered.

“Strathclyde.”

“It’s Banks.”

“Is it done? Have TSI confirmed?”

“No.” Banks rubbed a hand across his forehead. “Things aren’t going as smoothly as we might have hoped. I just got a call…”

“It’s late, Banks. What’s going on?”

“I just got a call from the boss at TSI. He was asking if I knew anything about you.”

There was a pause. Then Strathclyde spoke. “How did he come to hear my name?”

Banks remembered Topcat’s voice, steely with suspicion. “He didn’t give any specifics, just that your name had been flagged in connection with the target. Naturally, I denied all knowledge apart from generalities, confirmed that the operation was government-sanctioned but had nothing to do with you. But I’m concerned that they may go off-brief. Try to interrogate the woman rather than just terminate. And that would be very bad for us.”

“No shit.”

“How shall we proceed?”

Another pause. “Do nothing. I’m going to handle this.”

“How—” The call ended. Banks stared at the phone, then threw it down on his desk. He had no idea how Strathclyde thought he could possibly deal with this situation. Just a pissant minister in a low-profile department.

Fine. Not his problem.

The sun had set by the time the Gunns and Andrea landed in Key West, reducing the horizon to a golden vista. The pilot had come in low, giving them a great view of the coast on their descent, pointing out the hundreds of spectators gathered on the island’s piers and beaches to bear witness to the natural spectacle. Locals stood shoulder-to-shoulder with day visitors from the cruise ships that stopped by the island to or from the Caribbean.

The twin Pratt & Whitney engines of the Hawker 400 slowed to a complete stop as the light jet was guided into its allotted space.

“All ashore that’s coming ashore.” The pilot’s voice echoed through the plane’s sound system.

Danny Gunn paused on the set of steps that had been positioned by the plane. The evening heat and humidity was a stark contrast to the desert climate of Nevada, where the temperature dropped to near freezing at night. Within a minute of leaving the air-conditioned confines of the jet, his clothes were pasted to his body by a layer of perspiration. Large bushes with long dagger-like leaves poked through every available gap in the airport’s chain-link perimeter fence, and there were palm trees in the distance. He had visited Florida several times, and he remembered a taxi driver telling him that the trademark palms were in fact not native, but had been transplanted and carefully cultivated.

Danny pulled his shirt away from his chest and shook it a couple of times, creating a brief but welcome draught. He’d visited Disney World and Miami a few years back but had never ventured down to the Keys. Like most, he had seen the long interconnecting bridges that linked the chain of islands to the mainland but had never traversed them.

Andrea joined him on the steps. “What are you smiling about?”

“Last time I was in Florida I had my picture taken with Donald Duck.”

Opening her eyes wide in mock surprise she asked, “What? The real one?”

“I knew that would impress you.”

“Somehow I can’t imagine you at Disney World.”

Danny crossed his fingers and held them in the air. “Hey, Mickey an’ me are tight.”

Clay appeared behind them. “Looney Tunes are better. More fun, more mischief. Can’t beat Bugs and Daffy.”

“I’ll see your Bugs and Daffy and raise you a Tom and Jerry.”

“Tom and Jerry weren’t Disney.”

“Didn’t say they were. Just more violent than Bugs and Daffy.”

Clay muscled past them down the steps and strode towards a tall black man approaching from the service hangar. The two men shook hands and slapped one another on the back.

Andrea leaned in. “Who’s that?”

“Must be the guy Clay called to get us here. Garnett, I think he said.” By the time Andrea and Danny reached them, Clay and Garnett had finished their elaborate greeting and were laughing at some private joke. Clay made the introductions. Danny noticed that Andrea seemed immediately comfortable in their new acquaintance’s presence.

It was a short walk from the jet to the reception area next to the service hangar. While his guests sweated freely, Garnett seemed immune to the cloying heat. He moved with a relaxed grace, never seeming to exert himself even when striding across the asphalt to the large corrugated-iron building.

Most of the doors were shut along the row of surrounding hangars, and there was only a solitary worker to greet Garnett and his party. He was short and portly; Danny immediately thought of Cheech Marin.

“You still here, Hector?” asked Garnett. He turned to his companions. “One of my mechanics.”

Hector nodded, a rueful expression on his face.

“You fighting with your Señorita again?”

“I can’t do anything right around her lately. She shouts if I try to talk to her and shouts if I leave her to it. I can’t win. So it’s easier to stick around here sometimes. Don’t worry, I’ll lock up when I leave.” He ambled off, shaking his head. Danny and Clay exchanged knowing looks as they followed Garnett into the hangar.

“You know any good hotels that we can crash at?” asked Danny.

Garnett looked back over his shoulder, his eyebrows raised. He dropped into a parody of street slang. “Fuck dat. Y’all be crashin’ at my crib.”

Danny smiled but kept his tone serious. “We don’t want to bring any shit to your door.”

“Not a problem, man. I’ve never been one to sit on the sidelines. There’s a nasty rumour that I’m a legitimate businessman these days. Can’t have too much of that kind of trash talk going around.”

“The kind of guys we’re running from use semi-automatics, not switch-blades.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve dodged bullets.” The humour was gone from Garnett’s voice. He looked Danny full in the face, their eyes locked. A moment of understanding passed between them. Then Garnett turned on his heel and pointed to the office that stood in a corner of the hangar. “I just need to drop off some paperwork, then we’ll be on our way.”

* * *

Andrea watched the exchange, the unspoken words she was sure were there. She took off her backpack and sat on it. Once again the feeling of events spiralling out of her control overtook her. Violence. Murder. She’d just crossed a continent, for God’s sake, with men she hardly knew but had no choice but to trust. When would this be over? She’d often thought of her life—a single woman, struggling to make a decent living in a dying industry—as dull and likely to remain so. Now a large part of her wanted nothing more than to be safe at home. Yet she was also thrilled at the Gunn brothers’ company.
If this had happened in London, who would have helped me? Anyone? Or would I be dead already?

Danny squatted beside her. “You okay?”

“Just catching my breath. I feel tired all of a sudden.”

“We’ll get some proper sleep soon. And we’re safer out here in the Keys. We have time to figure out what we’re doing next.”

“I was thinking on the flight over…” Andrea paused, trying to gather her thoughts. “I know it’s connected to the mainland by bridges, but Key West is an island. Doesn’t that mean we could be trapped here as well? What if they box us in?”

Danny smiled. “A fair point, but you don’t need to worry. No one knows we’re here. Our names weren’t listed on the flight log.
If
—and it’s a big if—Trident tracks us here, roads aren’t our only way out. We’ve got planes, trains and automobiles. And boats.”

“I guess you know more about this than most.”

“Like Clay says—this ain’t my first rodeo.” Danny turned his head at the sound of footsteps. Garnett was walking back towards them.

“Ready to go?”

Danny nodded, then stood and held out his hand to Andrea. She took it and he pulled her to her feet. “Don’t worry, we’re way off the grid. They’ll have to be bloody psychics to follow our trail.”

Clay—who was using the duffle bag of looted weaponry as a makeshift pillow—grunted his agreement, then pulled himself upright and swung the bag and his backpack over his shoulders as if they weighed nothing.

Garnett led them out of the hangar and round the side of the building to a large, dark SUV that sat in a covered parking space. The corrugated roof had kept off the worst of the day’s sun but the vehicle’s interior was still hot enough to toast bread. Andrea slid into one of the rear seats, while Clay took shotgun. Garnett fired up the engine, which growled with a satisfactory rumble.

“What kind of car is this?”

Garnett turned and grinned at her. “Infiniti QX80.”

“Impressive.”

She
was
impressed. She was still getting used to the sheer size of the average American automobile. This one felt bigger than her London flat. And the contours of the seat seemed made to measure. She couldn’t remember when she’d felt so comfortable. Not for a few days, that was for sure.

Danny silently slid next to her. Shadows rippled over his face as he settled into the seat, reminding her of the stripes of a tiger. He turned to face her and the momentary optical illusion was broken.

“You okay there?”

Andrea managed half a smile. “You keep asking me that.”

He shrugged. “I don’t mean to smother you. Anyway…” He looked down at her hand that had crept into his, almost without her realising. He returned her gentle squeeze.

“I know, and I appreciate it. I’m just not used to someone looking out for me twenty-four-seven.”

She moved her hand back into her lap, breaking the moment. Feeling a little self-conscious she added, “I live alone back in London. I don’t have a steady boyfriend and I don’t exactly live the high life on my earnings. The truth is, I spend a lot of time on my own, mostly trying to drum up work from whatever magazines are paying out to freelancers, who are getting fewer and fewer in this economy.”

Danny nodded as if he, too, understood the intricacies of freelance journalism. After a couple of seconds he asked, “Why don’t you work as a regular writer? You know, something permanent?”

“I did at one point, quite a few years back now. I worked for
Time Out
for a while and also a magazine called
Holiday
. Do you remember the TV show?”

“I think so.”

“Well the magazine was a tie-in to the show. It was a sweet deal for a while. Good pay and all expenses were covered. But it didn’t last. Nothing good does.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Danny was silent for a moment, and Andrea wondered if he was thinking about the army. She still didn’t know why he had left.

“Enough about me, tell me a little more about you,” she said.

Danny smiled. “Nice way to change subjects. But I’m not big on talking about myself.”

“I don’t need your inside-leg measurements, just tell me something. Clay said you were a Green Jacket back in your army days. Tell me about that.”

Danny straightened up in his seat, an unconscious action yet it conveyed an obvious pride that she had not seen in him before. “The Green Jackets are one of the best regiments in the world. More Victoria Cross medals than any other British unit. The count was fifty-six when I left.”

“Why did you leave?” she asked but Danny continued as if he’d not heard her question.

“They’re now officially known as ‘the Rifles’ but they’ll always be Green Jackets to anyone who matters.” He rubbed his chin ruefully. “We were shock troops, marauders, rough necks; but better lads you’ll never meet. Mind, some of them could cause trouble in an empty house.”