True Honor (27 page)

The mom got up to take her son to the fountain to toss in a coin; the teenagers headed toward the music store.

The elderly lady patted the bench beside her. “Sit down, Gabriel. You’ve been walking a long time.”

Sam narrowed his eyes at the gesture and the words.

Gabe took two steps over and laughed. “Why don’t you just sit there eavesdropping, Darcy.”

She lowered her head, reached up to her face, and a thin film no thicker than a piece of paper floated into the air. Darcy reappeared. “Like I said, Sam. You wouldn’t recognize me.”

Twenty-One

* * *

JUNE 24

Monday, 7:30 p.m.

Fairmont, Florida

Darcy sat in a chair in the hotel room suite, watching Sam throw his gear into his duffel bag. He had given her a cold, arms-crossed look when she reappeared at the mall and then walked away. His reaction hadn’t improved much since then. “Have you forgiven me yet?” They had the suite to themselves. The others had left with the last of the surveillance equipment, and Gabriel was down at the office handling the bill.

“What do
you
think?”

She’d put her job ahead of staying safe, and he’d taken her actions personally. She didn’t know how to deal with his reaction. “You’re angry.”

“Give the lady two stars.”

The sarcasm hurt.

Sam paused in his packing to glare at her. “What do you want me to forgive? Your recklessness? Your total disregard for your team?”

“I didn’t mean to scare you like that,” she said. “I’m an intelligence officer. This is my job. The situation unfolded fast and I did my job.” She didn’t know what else to say. She didn’t want to defend herself; she just wanted him to understand.

“You totally miss the point. You were part of a team, Darcy, and you rashly decided to abandon that. You went out there on a quest of your own.”

“Yes, I slipped your coverage to meet with Sergey. Your training and experience teaches you to stay with the team at all costs. Mine is the opposite. I’m trained to be flexible and keep focused on the information I’m there to obtain. It was worth the risk. I’m not impartial in this fight. I want Luther. And I want it more than I do staying in your good graces or Gabriel’s, for that matter.”

“You let Sergey walk away in exchange for some information. We could have had him, Darcy, and his information.”

“Sergey gives me something; I give him something. It’s better that he stay free and out there because people will talk to him who would never talk to us. It’s smart business not to wrap up an intelligence source that is providing useful information when you know you need more than you have. And frankly if Sergey gets to Luther first, I’d consider it a blessing because then it won’t be you or another Special Forces soldier sent in to try and apprehend him.”

“There were choices, Darcy. You had over an hour to tell us of the change in plans. You know Gabe would have accepted your recommendation to let Sergey leave. You were showing off.”

She got to her feet, getting angry herself, and walked over to the window. It was the illusion of peacetime outside—the streets busy, shoppers going to the mall. “I wasn’t showing off. It was tradecraft, Sam. I met Sergey on his terms. I know him. It’s the only way he would have shared what he did.”

“You scare me, woman.”

“There are times when it’s mutual.” She turned to stare at him. “Do you think I like knowing you were sneaking into Lebanon?”

“At least I had a partner with me. If this situation happened again, you’d do the same thing.”

She reluctantly nodded, her emotions draining away. The idea hurt him and she wished she could give him what he sought but she couldn’t. “I’d probably do the same thing. But I
am
sorry my actions today hurt you.”

“I don’t like being left out of your life, and that’s what you did today. You left me out when I was there to protect you.” He crossed to where she stood and settled his powerful hands on her shoulders. He sighed. “You’re special to me because of who you are, but I’d like you coming back at the end of a workday rather than have Gabriel call me with bad news.”

She leaned against him, hugging him. “Sam, it’s mutual. It isn’t easy knowing what you do for a living—SEALs get shot at.”

“Only if the enemy can spot me.”

“Are we okay?”

He rested his chin against her hair. “No, but I’ll give us time to sort it out. You need to remember you’re part of a relationship now and that decisions you make affect both of us, not just yourself.”

She understood the trust he expected. This man was leading their relationship toward something permanent and putting boundaries in place so it could stand a chance. “I’ll remember; I promise.”

He tipped up her chin. “You’d better.”

JUNE 26

Wednesday, 11:30 a.m.

Fort Walton Beach, Florida

Darcy followed Sam down the steps from the Parker & Son Boats office to the marina. White rock formed the steep banks to the water, and a wooden pier with segments resting on flotation barrels stretched out into the Gulf, providing walkway access to over a hundred boat slips, most in use. These expensive boats were used for multiday jaunts at sea and designed for deep-sea fishing.

Their planned day of sailing had turned into an exploration of boats instead. Her knowledge was minimal, but she was getting a crash course from an expert teacher. This was the sixth boat dealer they had visited. They walked through so many models her notebook was filled, and she carried fact sheets on thirty personal luxury craft models.

Sam stepped onto the deck of the show model and offered his hand to help her across. Darcy looked at the reference sheet they had picked up. “Four cabins, three baths, an onboard grill, and teak furnishings.”

“Good horsepower in the engine, a live well for the fish, and the best in sonar technology,” Sam added.

She flipped through the photos Sergey had given her, comparing them to this craft. “This is pretty close to the boat Sergey was on.”

Sam opened the live well. “My guess, you’re looking for a forty-five or forty-six footer, and from the style of the trimmings in those photos, probably a late ’90s model.”

Darcy walked down into the cabin. She was learning the differences between models: the cabinets, the placement of the sink, the type of table and bench seats, and the storage areas for gear. Some had coffeemakers and communication and navigation equipment in the galley area, others had it in a side captain’s area. She took photos of the boat interior for her reference book and then climbed back to the deck. “I’m on information overload. What’s next on the day’s agenda?”

“Two more boat dealers and then a trip to the marina where Sergey said he met Vladimir and the boat the night of September 9.”

“Let’s skip the boat dealers and retrace Sergey’s steps that night. I want to talk with the FBI guys now investigating Bluebird Charter.” The CIA had suspected that was the charter service used from their own investigation of September 9. There was a slim possibility that they already knew the charter service Luther had bought and not realized the importance of the lead they had.

“Fine with me.” Sam offered her a hand to step from the boat to the pier. “I find it interesting that Vladimir was the one piloting the boat that night. A Russian captain of an expensive fishing boat—it might be a fact a harbormaster would remember in parts of the world where they don’t get many guests from Russia.”

Darcy jotted herself a note. “Good suggestion.”

“You’ll find this boat.”

It had been months since Sergey had been on that boat. He wouldn’t be asking her to locate it if it was out in the open somewhere and easy to trace. “I wish I had your confidence.”

Twenty-Two

* * *

JULY 22

Monday, 10:18 a.m.

Central Intelligence Agency

Darcy tossed wadded up pages of a report at the boat photos tacked to her bulletin board. Sergey had given her copies of fifteen of the most illustrative pictures from the interior and exterior of the craft. She was sick of boats and islands and leads that went nowhere. If she had to read one more harbormaster report on boats docked overnight, she would pull her hair out. Bluebird Charters was one of many cold leads.

Lord, this is making me crazy. Just one boat. Why is this so hard?

Gabe appeared in the doorway, and she hit him in the chest with a paper ball. “Do you know how many forty-six-foot cruisers are registered in this world?”

“So we’re looking for a needle in the haystack.”

“It’s July and I’m stuck inside. I want my summer back.”

Gabe hit a bank shot off her calendar to land the paper ball in the recycling bin. “What do you have from the maintenance shops?”

She tossed a wadded-up page at the map of the British Virgin Islands, just one set of islands in the huge string of them around the Caribbean. “I’m spending your money to buy copies of repair manifests, parts orders, insurance claims . . . You name it, we’re getting it. Data is raining in.” There wasn’t a boat in use in the world that didn’t need occasional repair and maintenance work. Luther probably had his boat stored in dry dock somewhere.

Even knowing whom they wanted to find, where he might have his safe haven, and one of the boats he might own, they still couldn’t find Luther. She had put every Caribbean land transfer for the last year into the possibility list and was eliminating them one by one. But beyond finding a few rich men trying to hide a land transfer to avoid paying taxes, she was hitting dead ends.

“Search islands around Ireland and Greece next. Luther didn’t have to go to warm weather.”

She made a face at Gabe for the suggestion. “One part of the globe at a time is enough.”

“Sam didn’t call?”

“I’m not sure if he’s back at Little Creek yet. His last message had a Georgia area code. He’s spending his summer climbing mountains, jumping out of planes, and working at sea; I’m behind a desk. What is wrong with this picture?”

Gabriel laughed. “Join the Navy.”

“Don’t think it hasn’t crossed my mind. Fieldwork is where the fun is, not this analysis stuff. I never thought I’d say I missed the cold war, but slipping across the Black Sea stowed away in the cargo hold of a smelly fishing trawler is beginning to sound like something fun to do again.”

“You find a lead on Luther, and I’ll buy the plane tickets so we can check it out,” Gabriel said.

“Luther buys himself a nice island and settles back to watch the world. I need his shopping list, what magazines he subscribes to, what papers he reads, what his habits are. Something that will stand out as an unusual item for that part of the world. Russian vodka was a good lead on Dansky. I need something I can hook Luther to, and so far our bios on him have given next to nothing useful.”

She had seven weeks until the anniversary of September 11. The days were being crossed off her calendar in big bold red marks. She wanted at least one significant success to look back on before she faced that day of memories. Darcy tossed the report in her lap back onto the desk where it joined a mountain of paper. “If I have to get new reading glasses, Gabriel, I’m going to submit a bill to the Agency. This paperwork is blinding me.”

“You’ve needed them for months, dahlin’. You keep moving the documents around to find the right distance to read the type.” Gabe knocked the rolled-up file in his hand against the doorpost. “I came down with some news, but I don’t know if you can stand the excitement.”

“You mean something interesting is happening in this world and you haven’t told me? What do you have?”

“You know Ramon Santigo’s family who paid out all that money on the rumor of your death?”

“They found out the truth . . . They’re here . . . I’m back to watching my back?”

Gabe held up his hand. “They’re dead. They got into a fight with the national army of Paraguay over a piece of property, and the army literally decimated their compound during the assault. You’re in the clear at least on that front, Dar. The threat is gone.”

Darcy blinked. “Gone.” It had lingered over her head for so long, she didn’t know what to feel. “Oh my.”

He held out the report. “It’s classified, but you’re welcome to read it if you like.”

She shook her head. “I’d rather not.”

“The good guys won this round.”

Darcy took a deep breath and relaxed. “Okay, thanks. This is good.”

Her computer played “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” Darcy leaned over to grab the phone, relieved to have work to divert her attention. She pushed Ramon Santigo to a corner to think about later. “There’s my buddy.”

“Halfway around the world and he’s more prompt than my mother in her weekly check-up calls,” Gabe commented.

“You’re just jealous that my network of snitches is deeper than yours.”

“Tag me if you get something.”

She nodded and he closed the door to give her privacy for the call.

There was no better contact for the inside scoop on boats than the warranty officer at the factory headquarters for the most prestigious line of personal pleasure craft out there. Someone filed paperwork on a claim, transferred ownership, and she knew all about the owner and the boat the same day. All she needed to find was one link to a name, an address, or an account on her watch list, and she would have a lead she could work. All it cost her was a hundred bucks per call. She loved this part of the hunt when it worked out and was incredibly frustrated when it didn’t. She started taking notes about the boats he had seen paperwork on recently.

Her computer played her school’s fight song and a red flash traffic warning flag appeared in the corner of the screen. Darcy reached over and opened the code word area. An oil refinery in Mobile, Alabama, just exploded.

JULY 22

Monday, 10:45 a.m.

Norfolk Naval Air Base

The noise was deafening as another transport plane took off, straining to get enough lift to climb into the sky. Soon this plane would be taking off. Sam heaved the case of swim gear to the back of the pallet being loaded aboard the transport aircraft. SEAL Team Nine was deploying to join up with the amphibious task group now refueling in Puerto Rico, their team replacing SEAL Team Five doing ship interdiction missions.