He opened the laptop’s Gmail account and saw the new message. It was from prdlvr5280@gmail.com-Hicks’s account. The message was addressed to hrslvr5280@gmail.com with a CC to hrslvr5281@gmail.com, Mustang team Toughbooks 1 and 2. Toughbook 2 was Posada’s; Scott had Toughbook 1 in the other vehicle.
Hicks had decided early on to keep off the usual communication networks to eliminate any risk of being monitored by friend or foe. He was determined to keep these black ops very black. Sometimes it was easiest to hide out in the open, so most of their communicating was done by innocuous messages sent over free e-mail accounts.
Posada opened the e-maiclass="underline"
Hey guys,
Fishing’s been great here! Caught two big old bass (one smallmouth and one bigmouth) without losing a single fly.:-) Been talking to some of the locals, and they said that fishing hole you were going to try is a great one. You might even find the “mother of all fish” there! LOL!! Well, gonna go drop my line a little more and see what bites. Good luck to you, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.;-)
Clem
Scott read the e-mail to everyone in the car. “‘Clem’-nice touch,” he laughed.
“Yeah,” Khadi added, “but I have a hard time picturing Jim typing little smiley faces into his e-mails. He must have gotten another team member to do that.”
Scott laughed. “Sounds like Jim thinks we’re headed in the right direction. What do you think, Riley?”
Riley only grunted and nodded from the front seat. He could feel Khadi looking at the back of his head, waiting for more of a response. Finally she went back to discussing the e-mail with Scott.
Riley had spent the better part of the last couple of hours beating himself up for even looking at Khadi as a female. She was a team member. She should be treated no differently than any other. Yeah, but those eyes… It was insanity to let any personal feelings surface on a team like this. Feelings like that got people killed. Yeah, but that laugh-small when appropriate but not afraid to let it go when the situation is right.
Besides, she was a Muslim. That was a deal breaker right there. Riley was well aware of what the Bible had to say about marrying someone outside your faith-doing so was asking for tons of trouble. Yeah, but she loves guns! A girl who loves guns! This was stupid. What next? Send a little note that read I like you. Do you like me? Check Yes or No?
He had to stop this. He was being an idiot. Yeah, but those eyes. Those deep, brown, lose-yourself-for-a-week-in, rich…
Okay, bonehead, either get into the game or get out of the game. It’s a nonstarter, and that’s all there is to it.
Riley forced his thoughts to the e-mail. Mother of all fish-that meant Hicks had gotten a lead on Hakeem, and Mustang team was heading in the right direction. Riley wondered what he would do when he found the man who was responsible for so much pain in his life and in the lives of so many others. What would happen if it were just one-on-one-no one else watching? Would he bring Hakeem in to face justice, or would he carry out justice on the spot?
A sentence from one of Pastor Tim’s sermons popped into his mind: “Justice comes from God and from those government structures that He puts in authority.” Well, he was working for the government now, wasn’t he? Yeah, but it’s been a while since I’ve been working for God.
Riley thought back through the events of the past couple of weeks. He knew the circumstances that had put him there were too unusual to write off to chance. God’s got me here for a reason. I’m just not sure I like being confined to His rules.
They were passing through Campomarino, which put them only two hours away from their destination. From here the team would cut inland a bit before heading back to the coast to Barletta.
The plan was simple. First they would drive through the town, surveilling all their key locations-particularly the al-Arqam mosque. Then they would travel another hour south to the much larger city of Bari, where they would set themselves up in a safe house and plan their next steps.
Things were going to get very busy once they got to Barletta, so Riley decided to try to get a little rest. As he closed his eyes, his mind again drifted over the past few weeks. It was almost surreal, the direction his life had gone. One day his whole focus had been on playing a game, trying to get one team into the play-offs, and a couple of weeks later his whole focus was on trying not to get another team killed.
Part of him missed the old life-carefree, living the PFL dream. But another part of him felt that his existence had taken on a much greater significance.
He thought back to the reaction of the fans and local news media when the PFL team owners had decided to declare the Mustangs-Predators game a tie, thereby eliminating both teams from the play-offs. “Unfair,” people had screamed. “A travesty! We were in the lead! It’s a slap in the face to those who died!”
Who did the fans think was going to play the game? Two Mustangs were dead, ten were injured, and at least half were emotionally incapable of setting foot on the field again without hours of counseling. The Predators had lost just as many, including their offensive coordinator. Sports fans tended to forget that players were people, not circus animals trained to give them entertainment no matter the circumstances.
No, it wouldn’t be hard to leave that world.
As he continued to drift, the face of Alessandra Ricci appeared in the darkness of his mind. Poor, sweet girl. She’ll know only from stories what a stand-up guy her father was. I know she’ll always hear that from her mom, but I need to make sure she hears it from me, too. Megan’s dad is a good man; they’ll be taken care of. But that sweet little girl, growing up without her dad…
Alessandra’s face lingering behind his eyes became too much for him, so he sat up and called to the backseat, “Hey, Scott, what else do I need to know about this little hamlet we’re going to?”
“Ninety thousand people, very busy port, patron saint is Ruggero of Canne, got a real pretty castle.”
“Fascinating,” said an underwhelmed Riley.
“Okay, here’s something, Mr. Fact-Critic. Think back to military history at your illustrious academy. Do you remember the Battle of Cannae?”
“Yeah… it was Hannibal and Carthage against Rome; First Punic War.”
“Second Punic War, O great poster child for public education; the first was Hannibal’s dad, Hamilcar.”
“Continue,” Riley said undaunted. He was used to these history lessons from Scott and actually enjoyed them with their lighthearted mocking tone.
Scott closed the lid of his Toughbook, stretched out in the roomy backseat, and locked his hands behind his head. “The Battle of Cannae took place in August of 216 BC, right around where our little town of Barletta would later be founded. Rome marches in with around ninety thousand troops to try to take care of Hannibal once and for all. Lucius and Gaius set up with standard straight line formations, but Hannibal sets up his fifty thousand in a crescent. When the Romans come, the Carthaginians let their center fall back. Rome pursues, Carthage brings the sides around, and-bam!-the mighty Roman army is surrounded. Rome has sixty thousand killed-including Gaius-and ten thousand captured. Carthage only loses about seventeen thousand. One of the worst routs and costliest battles in military history.”
“Lessons?”
“Always check your periphery, because things aren’t always what they seem. Don’t let yourself fall into a trap. Word will have gotten here about Jim and the operation in France. They may be waiting for us. Our intel has to be perfect, and we need to run out every possible contingency.”
Riley nodded, mentally filing that away for when they laid out their plan of attack. There was no doubt-Scott was good.