Venice said. She never broke stride as she beelined to the massive panels of the double doors. She was still crossing the porch when she made her first phone call.
A familiar but gravelly voice answered after four rings. “Um . . .” He cleared his throat. “Hello?”
“Good Morning, Father,” Venice said. “Sorry to wake you, but this is important.”
“Venice? What time is it?” Father Dom D’Angelo was one of Jonathan’s closest friends, and had been since they’d been roommates all through college at William & Mary.
“A little after four, but this is an emergency. Digger is in trouble.”
“I thought he’s on vacation.”
“Can you think of anyone more apt to find violence in paradise?” She cringed at the callous sound of her words. “I don’t have time to explain now, but can you please place a call to Wolverine and arrange a meeting between her and me ASAP? Then, come to the office?” Wolverine was the moniker for Irene Rivers, director of the FBI, a longtime friend of the Security Solutions team.
“Of course. Does Boxers know?”
“He’s my next call.”
Dom gave a wry chuckle. “Better you than me,” he said. “I’ll be over as soon as I can.” They hung up.
As Venice let JoeDog lead the way down the stairs from the lawn to the sidewalk, she realized that maybe she could have listened to Oscar. There was a definite bite in the air. She moved a little faster to keep warm during the three-block walk to the end of the street to the converted firehouse that doubled as Jonathan Grave’s home and tripled as the headquarters for Security Solutions, the high-end private investigation firm he ran largely as a means to provide cover to the covert side of the company. It was that very covert side that commanded the bulk of Jonathan’s time and attention.
Her ID card and six-digit PIN gained her access to the outside door to the office—a separate entrance from that which led to Jonathan’s home. As she stepped inside and climbed the stairs to the third floor, she waved at the security cameras. When she came to the interior door to the bull pen—the overt office space where nearly a dozen investigators and support people worked every day—it buzzed and she pulled it open.
She turned left, and approached the interior door that led to the Cave.
“Good evening, Ms. Alexander,” said the guard at this interior security point. “Or, good morning, I guess.”
“Good morning,” she replied. In no mood for small talk, she nonetheless could not bring herself to be rude. She felt bad enough that she couldn’t remember the man’s name. Typically, if she was working at this hour, it would be from the other side of the security door. “Father D’Angelo and Mr. Van de Muelebroecke will be joining me soon.”
She touched her card key to the pad and the guard opened the door for her.
Venice headed directly for the War Room, the rectangular teak conference room that housed every techie gadget that a girl could want. She settled into her seat at the end of the table opposite the massive projection screen. As the systems booted up, she lifted the landline receiver and dialed Boxers’ number from memory.
* * *
“Mother Hen’s on it,” Jonathan said to Gail. “She’s rallying the troops, so maybe we’ll have some useful intel within a couple of hours.”
“Who did you call?” Hunter asked.
Jonathan hadn’t seen him coming, and the voice startled him. “It’s a universally bad decision to sneak up on me.”
“Noted. And nonresponsive. So, what, are you like military or something?”
“Something like that, yeah.”
“Look, Digger—”
“Don’t call me that,” Jonathan snapped.
“What, then?”
Jonathan knew what would follow, but he answered, anyway. “Call me Scorpion.”
“Bullshit.”
Jonathan settled himself with a deep breath. “Please don’t push me. Truth is, I’m in a line of work where real names are never used. In fact, they’re liabilities. I’d consider it a personal favor if you would forget any other names you’ve heard.”
“If they’re such liabilities, why were you using them in the first place?”
“We didn’t expect to be working on this trip,” Gail said.
“So, do you have a super cool code name, too?”
She clammed up. Gail hated her handle.
“It’s Gunslinger,” Jonathan said.
Hunter recoiled. “Holy crap. That’s a little on the nose, isn’t it?”
“Don’t cross her,” Jonathan said. “Trust me. It’s a handle well-earned.” He chuckled when he said it.
“So, you do security work for the government,” Hunter concluded.
“Just don’t ask me to confirm or deny,” Jonathan said. The guy clearly liked the conclusion he’d drawn for himself, so he let it go. Besides, it was more true than it was false.
“If you’ll excuse us,” Jonathan continued, “we need to do some work here.”
“Go ahead,” Hunter said.
Jonathan wanted privacy. He wanted to roll back the clock and avoid the Edwardses altogether, but he realized he had to resign himself to the fact that neither was more likely to happen than the other. And why not? Everybody was as deeply into whatever this was as everyone else.
“Hey, Jaime,” Jonathan called.
The kid perked up. “Yes, sir?”
Jonathan beckoned him over. “Have a seat with us. Everybody can gather around if you want. Tell me everything you know about what you think might be happening here.”
Jaime gave an exaggerated shrug. “I have no idea. Like I said, I was up here when the shooting started. I don’t even know—”
“What goes on here at the Crystal Sands that might attract the attention of terrorists?” Jonathan asked.
“Many rich people come here,” Jaime said. “That’s a lot of ransom taking, no?”
It was a possibility. Hell, at this point, everything was a possibility.
“Wait a minute,” Jonathan said, snapping his fingers. He looked to Gail. “Whoever these guys are, they had to get here by boat, right?” He turned to Jaime. “There are no airstrips here, correct?”
Jaime nodded. “That is correct. Mr. Sinise does not like the sound of aircraft. Plus, he thinks that the long boat ride calms people.”
“Maybe they came in on helicopters,” Tyler suggested.
“No.” Jaime was emphatic. “We never hear helicopters out here. If there’d been one, I would have known it. I hear everything.”
“By boat, then,” Jonathan said. “Given their numbers, it would have had to have been a big one.”
“And it should still be parked at the dock, right?” Gail said.
“They’ve got to have an exfil plan,” Jonathan said. Back to Jaime: “I’m turned around. Where do the ships come in?”
Jaime pointed to the jungle. “About a mile, mile and a quarter that way.”
“Along this trail?”
“No. Well, for a while, but then this trail joins the main roadway. The one you came up on.”
“I imagine they’ll have left guards,”