In the days after she’d seen the newspaper headline, thousands of phantom e-mail letters in support of the bill went out to recalcitrant congressmen. The names of some senders came off lists of Civil War veterans. The modified bill was approved. Not perfect, but it was something. She felt like the token retired gunslinger who comes out of retirement to shoot up a town full of bad guys. As soon as she got home from the museum, she powered up her computer to download photos she had taken near Mt. Bachelor. She saw that she had an e-mail from Matt Hawkins. It was the same message he sent every couple of months.
HI MOLLY. R U OK?
She sent the same answer she always did.
YUP. THX.
Matt was the closest thing she had to a friend. They’d both been abandoned by their commanding officers. Matt’s wounds were mostly physical; hers, mental, but the hurt was the same. But in trusting Matt, she believed there might be a chance to one day trust others. Molly had a long way to go before she was at that point. Maybe she’d never be there. Right now, all she could handle were her birds.
Matt usually ended the conversation by saying he was glad to hear she was okay. But this time the message was different.
NEED UR HELP MOLLY.
Her finger hesitated for a moment above the keyboard. She stared at the blinking cursor. Then she typed:
?
SOMEONE TRIED TO KILL ME.
?
??
The double question marks meant he didn’t know the answer.
TALKED TO CALVIN?
HE’S ON BOARD.
If Calvin Hayes had joined Hawkins, it must be serious.
ABBY?
HOPE SO. R U 2?
Molly’s mind raced. She was enjoying her new life taking photos and talking about raptors. The last time she helped him, she’s lost her house and her art, but she didn’t want to disappoint Matt. She typed: NOTHING OPERATIONAL. JUST INTEL.
OK. NEED INFO ON SPIKE MISSILES. SELLERS? BUYERS IN THE LAST SIX MONTHS.
The answer was quick in coming.
WILL GET TO IT DIRECTLY.
Hawkins thanked Molly, sent her a summary of the events leading up to his request for help and promised to keep her in the loop with daily reports. He leaned back in his chair and stared at the computer screen.
Sutherland had the ability to mess up things and people she didn’t like, and that was a long list. The gods must have had a big laugh when they stoked the emotion of smoldering anger, mixed it with the potential for creating havoc, and poured the brew into a pudgy young woman with the meekness of a lamb. He needed her if he wanted to find out who sent the salvage boat and submersible to the bottom, but he was aware of a simple fact: Sutherland couldn’t be any more controlled than a bolt of lightning.
The cell phone rang. It was Captain Santiago. “I’ll meet you at the hotel in half an hour. I have found us a boat.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Leonidas had called Isabel as soon as he returned the boat to the lease company. They celebrated his impending payday with dinner at an expensive restaurant, followed by hours of bar hopping before they returned to the hotel for a wild night of drug-powered sex. At least, he thought that’s what happened, but wasn’t sure. They had gotten so blasted that he remembered little after they stepped into the hotel room.
When they woke up well into the next day, Isabel said he had asked her to marry him, which may have been true. He said they’d discuss it after a few more hours of sleep. His brain felt slightly less like scrambled eggs when he awoke the second time. Isabel was snoring beside him. He still had on the clothes from the night before and surmised that they had been too stoned-out to have sex. Just as well. The romp might have triggered the sock pistol tied to his ankle.
He stared at the clock with blurry vision. It was late afternoon. He got up and went into the kitchenette. His mouth felt like the Mohave Desert. After he re-hydrated by guzzling a gallon of ice water he felt better. He was thinking that life with a reformed prostitute might not be all that bad — it would certainly never be dull — when Salazar called and rained on his parade.
There were no preliminaries. He simply said, “You lied to me.”
“Huh—?”
“You said you sank the boat.”
“No lie there, Mr. Salazar. I saw it sink.”
“Then consider this. I have learned from my government informant that the Coast Guard rescued Hawkins and the Greek woman. The captain and his son also escaped. The deal called for no boat and no witnesses.”
“Damn, Mr. Salazar. Okay, I screwed up,” Leonidas said. “I’ll make it good. Hawkins and the others will be dead by this time tomorrow.”
“Plans have changed. I’ll deal with this problem in another way.”
“Sorry about this, Mr. Salazar. I don’t blame you for firing me.”
“On the contrary, I’m not firing you,” Salazar said, chuckling, his mellow voice warming slightly. “You’ve always come through for me before, so I’d like to keep you on retainer. It’s helpful to be able to call on someone with no ties to me. Since you didn’t accomplish your assignment, I won’t be paying you the second half of your retainer. But I understand that you had certain expenses, such as the missiles, so I’ll allow the first half. Does that seem fair?”
“More than fair, Mr. Salazar. I’m still available if you need me to take care of Hawkins.”
“Forget Hawkins for now. That situation will soon be resolved.”
“Whatever you say, Mr. Salazar. Thanks for being so understanding.”
“Of course. Then you’ll understand that with this situation being slightly more delicate than before, it might not be safe to put your payment in your Swiss account, with the potential for traceability.”
“Whatever you say, Mr. Salazar.”
“I don’t like to drag things out. I’ll send someone over to deliver the cash, if that’s all right with you.”
Even better, Leonidas thought. “Thanks, Mr. Salazar. I’ll be waiting.”
The phone went dead. The smile Leonidas had pasted on his lips disappeared. He threw the phone across the room. He had only himself to blame. He cursed himself for getting so stoned on the job that he’d imagined he was shooting ducks in a gallery.
He liberated a bottle of single malt whiskey from the liquor cabinet and poured himself a stiff shot. The smooth liquid fire trickling down his throat washed away his mental cobwebs. He picked up his cell phone and Googled Matt Hawkins. At least a dozen articles popped up having to do with Hawkins’s robotics work at Woods Hole.
He learned that the man’s first name was Matinicus. He was born in Maine and named after Matinicus Island. His father was a lobster fisherman and his mother an ornithologist who worked for the state. He read deeper into the biography and discovered that Hawkins was not an ordinary ocean engineer.
Hawkins had been a Navy SEAL. That explained his resilience. Like Leonidas, Hawkins had been injured by an IED. There was a big difference, however. The photos showed that Hawkins still had his handsome features.
Leonidas heard someone stirring. A moment later, Isabel appeared in the living room. She was wearing his Malibu T-shirt. Her long hair was straggling over her face. She stared at the glass in his hand, and croaked, “I need a drink.”
Yessiree, Leonidas thought. Life with Isabel would never be dull.
He poured her half a glass of whiskey, and said, “I stink like a monkey. Want to take a shower with me?”
She sipped her whiskey and gave him a lazy smile. “You go ahead. I’ll come in after I finish my breakfast.”