AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Tex slowed his approach. They were almost to the perimeter fence that surrounded the compound grounds. Tex hopped the black iron and he and Flash followed suit. Going down to one knee again, Tex said over the comm, “Ready, TOC. Lights out.”
Whatever IT genius they had at the White House’s situation room had the ability to shut down any grid anywhere. In less than a second everything went dark. To be safe and not arouse any suspicions, they blacked out all of Port-au-Prince and several other small towns. Tex was up and moving, this time at a fast clip. The white walls of the palace rose up, and the three of them shifted to the left to the back of the building. Low and tucked they ran to the side of the structure, foliage catching on his boots. He rushed to the only door on this side. It was pitch dark as Flash knelt in front of the door into the basement.
The three of them could easily see the guard, but he was fumbling around for a light. Before Twister took three breaths, Flash had the door unlocked. “I worry about your skills, Flash,” Tex said low and amused.
“I only use my powers for good, sir,” Flash replied in the same whispered tone. He carefully turned the handle, and the three of them slipped inside. Twister kept his eyes on the guard. As he walked toward the back door, oblivious to the obstacle in front of him, Twister slipped up behind him and drove him face-first into the wall. The guy crumbled.
“Guard down,” Twister said. He felt a brief shaking, realizing it was an earthquake.
Flash was off toward the basement stairs, disappearing from sight.
Twister moved to the locked door and threw the bolt open, then went inside. He’d already memorized the room from Maddy’s shots and turned immediately to his left. There was the table and the body. The room was as cold as Maddy said it was. He could see his breath mist in the air.
He walked over to the body and unwrapped the sheet from the still form. Looking down, he confirmed that it was President Baptiste. Feeling regret for the man’s untimely death, he started to go over the body from his head down to his toes. He found no wounds, but his wrists had bruises on them, the imprint of hands and fingers. Someone had held him down. He then checked between every finger and every toe. Nothing.
There was another brief tremor, but he focused on what he was doing.
Frowning with grim determination, he pried the man’s mouth open, then moved his tongue around, finally looking under it.
There it was…an injection site. He keyed his comm. “Looks like we have a presidential assassination on our hands.”
“Copy that,” Tex said. “Flash, get back down here.” The one man who could unify the country was out of the picture. That wasn’t going to bode well for the stabilization of the country as the State Department had hoped. But at least they now could confirm that the government of Haiti had sanctioned his death. Twister took several photos, then wrapped the man carefully like he found him and left the room.
He threw the bolt just as Flash appeared at the bottom of the stairs, the burn bag now bulging. He grinned.
They met at the door to the basement, opening it and closing it behind them. Then hightailed it across the compound. The moment Tex hopped the fence, and they were all safely on the other side, heading back toward the embassy, Tex said, “Let there be light,” and the palace and the city before them lit up once again. “We have jackpot,” Tex said.
* * *
Corporal Noah Cassidy rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. His eyes burned from watching his screen from inside the embassy’s security booth. He was exhausted from his double shift as he was ordered to fill in for his ill coworker. Now relieved, he left the embassy and headed toward the barracks, ready for some shut-eye.
He wondered when his life turned into little more than work, sleep, eat. He couldn’t recall the last time he had leave, or a conversation that didn’t revolve around security. And forget about sex. Not even some wild, no-commitment fun sex. Not even with that sexy blonde staffer who already gave him a big grin when she went through security. He couldn’t help admiring one of the hottest bodies in embassy service. He deserved a smack in the head for imagining her in less clothing. But, hey, he was a red-blooded American male, in his early twenties. Go figure it would be on his mind. The image of her in his mind left him irritated and resigned as he breathed in the tropical air, the scent of salt always present.
As he approached the barracks, the lights suddenly went out. He peered into the darkness, sure he was almost to the wide doors. Then he heard a rustling in the area to his right, a weakened voice cried out. “Help…me.”
He turned and headed in the direction of the voice. When he reached the area, he found a man on the ground. He reached down to help him up, but a hard blow to the back of his head made him black out.
The next thing he knew, he was riding in the trunk of a car, dizzy and fuzzy, his head throbbing, especially where he’d received the blow. He reached back and felt a wet stickiness, and his fingers reeked with the metallic scent of blood. Unnerved by this sudden, puzzling attack, he racked his brain for some kind of answer.
He felt the vehicle stop, heard the voice of one of his fellow Marines, then the car lurched forward, and they were moving again. He realized he had just been driven out of the embassy. Fuck. What the hell? They drove for about ten minutes, then the car stopped again. The sound of a set of gates opening was faint, but he could hear the squeaking.
The car started moving again, then it stopped. He braced himself, reaching for his sidearm, but his holster was empty. He swore softly when the trunk lid opened, and he was told in heavily accented English to get out and keep his hands in the air. There was a grim set to his face as he stared at Noah. His eyes were like ice, the muscles in his jaw twitching, he gestured with the gun. “Move,” he ordered. He followed the man’s directions and was soon surrounded by two others. He recognized them as Haitian police officers. Worse yet, he recognized the white walls of the palace. What the hell was he doing here?
“What is this about?” he asked, noticing the lights were back on. The man’s features pulled tight. He got no response, except for one of the men to push him. He tried to push back the sudden rush of panic. He took a deep, calming breath. He stumbled but headed to a door at the back of the palace. When they opened the door and shoved him inside, a guard was standing at a locked door. In a small area next to the room was a chair.
They marched him to the chair, tied him hand and foot, and gagged him when he tried to ask another question.
His heart in his throat, the man pointed the gun at him and said, “Try to escape, and you will be shot.” His voice was quiet, controlled and laced with threat.
A horrible sense of foreboding washed through him, and he stared at the door. He swallowed hard. He was on his own here. No one knew he was missing, and he had no idea why he’d been kidnapped. His only shred of hope was that someone saw what happened. He was going to be AWOL in the morning.
12
Midnight cast long shadows through the open balcony door. In the distance, he could hear the sound of crashing waves. It was a soothing sound that he enjoyed and it reminded him of home—the only real home he’d ever known. His townhouse was near the beach, a renovated old bank building where he lived next to Dagger, Brawler, and Twister, who had moved out of the loft he’d shared with Flash to take the townhouse Easy had vacated when he married Astraea, and they had moved to her modern rustic barn on the property of her orchid farm.
Shark glanced down at the woman asleep beside him, a disquieting feeling settling in his gut. She was lying with her head on his shoulder and her arm around his chest, the rhythm of her breathing indicating a very deep and heavy sleep. As if it was the first decent sleep she’d had in a very long time. Disturbed by that thought, he tightened his arm around her to keep her warm, then stared somberly out the big window, the glow from the distant Port-au-Prince muting the shine of the stars.
Never in his wildest dreams had he expected something like this to happen. Not now. Not after so many years alone. He was consumed with thinking about missed opportunities in his past to connect with people, and he had chosen not to do so. He thought that he would settle down, and the future would be better. He often moved away from enjoying and embracing the now by continually beating himself up about his past and finding something lacking in himself.
