Bermuda Conspiracy Read online

  Dax stepped back from Brock, falling in behind Decker. “Are you out of your ever-loving mind?”

  They’d probably both be shot or thrown into jail, Dax reasoned, but he had no intention of letting Decker go it alone. They went around the police vehicles, ran a block down the road, and came in from the backside of the warehouse at the rear entrance. Decker took out a lock pick from his back pocket and inserted it into the lock. He manipulated the metal bar back and forth until it gave way.

  He cracked the door, and when they didn’t see anyone, they entered quietly. Dax went to the left, Decker to the right. Both had drawn their weapons and held them at ready. Inching their way through the dark building, they shielded themselves best they could to keep from being seen. Decker knew they needed as much protection as possible because the powerful semi-automatic weapon Amena held would cut them to ribbons.

  Midway through, they saw the backs of Ismael and Amena. Both were distracted by the events developing outside—still trying to negotiate with Brock over the money. They would have to take careful aim and could not afford to miss. One slip-up and Callie might lose her life, as well as their own.

  Decker went down on one knee and positioned his gun directly at Ismael’s gut, hoping to keep him alive long enough for intelligence officials to garner information from him. He motioned for Dax to center his aim on Amena and held up three fingers to communicate to Dax on the count of three, to fire at will. He raised one finger…two…three. His finger locked onto the trigger and the gun discharged with a sharp report. Ismael dropped to the ground, blood pouring from his chest. He rolled over moaning, his hands clutching the wound.

  Another shot rang out simultaneously from Dax’s gun. The bullet striking Amena in the shoulder. With her face pinched in pain, she swung around and released rapid fire in Dax’s direction. She issued a blood-curdling scream that made the hair on Dax’s neck stand taut as she rushed forward.

  From outside, Brock yanked his revolver from its sheath and with a well-trained eye, he took aim. Thumbing the release, he popped off several rounds into her until she collapsed on the cement, lifeless. Like a whirlwind, officers and S.W.A.T. teams rushed the entrance.

  Decker hurried over to Dax to make sure the spray of bullets hadn’t hit him. He spotted Dax making his way towards him. With his index finger and thumb, he made an OK sign. Relief spread across Decker’s face.

  Once again, they threw their guns out and walked slowly through the entryway of the building, past the two bodies, hands raised. When he reached Callie, Decker dropped to his knees beside her.

  “We’re going to get you out of this, Callie,” he wheezed.

  The bomb squad had already flooded the area. One of the men thrust Decker

  out of the way to inspect the device. They took a long time examining the various colored wires to determine which one to cut without setting off the bomb.

  “Can you disarm it?” Decker said, glancing down at the mechanism.

  “Tricky,” one of them said. “But I believe we can defuse it without detonating it. I know you’re concerned but you need to stand back.”

  Returning his attention back onto the mechanism, he stretched his hand out, and his fingers touched a red wire. He held clippers in his other hand. Cautiously, he took the pliers and slid the sharp edges around the wire. Before he clamped down, one of the men yelled out.

  “Wait!”

  The man in charge of cutting the wire jerked his hand back, his eyes looking up at the other man who was wiping sweat from his eyes. “Sorry…the white wire. That’s the right one.”

  The man looked back at the three wires and grabbed hold of the white one. He prepared the clippers once again, but before cutting, he looked up again at the other man in charge to reaffirm. When he nodded, the man with the clippers held his breath and slipped the cutters around the wire. Pressing down on the handles, he released a sigh when the wire snapped and they were all still in one piece. Bomb neutralized; the other standby sliced the duct tape from Callie’s writs while the other slipped the vest off Callie’s shoulders.

  Free, she ran straight into Decker’s arms, tears gushing down her face. They clung together for a long while until the federal agents surrounded them, insisting she be taken straight away to the hospital to be checked out and for debriefing.

  Decker climbed into the ambulance beside her, holding her hand and kissing her tear-stained face. “I thought I might not ever see you again, Callie. If anything…”

  “We’re going to be all right, Decker,” she whispered through cracked lips, her voice hoarse. She was so tired. Her eyelids closed, her head rolled to the side, and she slipped into a sound sleep.

  Chapter 18

  ⁂

  Brock pulled into his driveway, grabbing a couple of folders off the seat and stepped out of the car, bone-weary. Every muscle in his body rebelled from long hours with no sleep. He would have stayed at the station longer except his fellow officers were ready to throw him out bodily and insisted he leave. Might as well, he thought. He had nothing left to give.

  After parking his Mustang, he shuffled along the sidewalk toward the front steps of his single-story, stucco home. A simple home, like himself. He’d purchased the house ten years ago, soon after his wife filed for a divorce. Couldn’t blame her, he reminisced. His work had consumed him. Nothing had changed since—still a slave to his job and figured it wasn’t going to change anytime soon. Except for his daughter, Kari Striker, and his granddaughter, Niki, Brock had no social life to speak of.

  Slipping the key into the lock, Brock gave it a twist and entered the dim lit room. He flipped on the switch, and a swath of golden light brightened the interior. Tired beyond measure, he walked to the bathroom and sloshed warm water on his face. He glanced into the mirror. Blood-shot eyes stared back at him. He looked frightful. No wonder his partners at the station pushed him out the door.

  The pain in his shoulder had intensified. He stripped off his shirt and the bloodstained bandages. The wound had opened up and looked swollen and red. He rummaged through the medicine cabinet until he found some antibiotic cream and smeared a dab of it over the stitched flesh then reapplied some gauze and tape. Putting on his worn robe, he kicked off his shoes, slipped out of his slacks and lumbered back into the living room. Sheer exhaustion engulfed him and he flopped onto his favorite black leather recliner, flipping on the television. The events over the past two days flashed on the screen, seeming almost surreal now, like a dream.

  His cell phone buzzed, shaking him out of his stupor. When he glanced down, he saw his daughter’s name across the face. Wearily, he picked it up. “Hi Sweet,” he said.

  “Where have you been, Dad? I’ve been calling and calling. Didn’t you see how many times I’ve tried to get hold of you?” A twinge of perturbation dangled in her voice, or more likely worry. Probably a bit of both, he settled. Either way, her tone gave way to the fact she was upset with him.

  “Sorry, Kari,” he apologized. “I’ve been inundated with calls.”

  “I’ve been worried sick something terrible had happened to you,” she told him. “Thankfully, the fellows at the station assured me you were still glued to your desk, so I needn’t worry. The name ‘Bulldog’ they titled you is certainly apropos, Dad.”

  Brock chuckled. “I’m a rat.”

  “No. But you have tunnel-vision. Remember you do have a daughter and a granddaughter to consider.”

  “Forgive me?”

  “You know I do,” she said. “How’s your wound? When I went to the hospital, they told me you had left without officially being released. Wasn’t surprised in the least. But I don’t want to come to the graveyard to visit you, Dad. You have to start taking better care of yourself.”

  “Okay. I’ve been thoroughly chastised,” he laughed softly. “And, you’re right. I need to take better care.”

  “What do you say I bring you dinner tomorrow?” she asked. “Something with some green things in it maybe? I’m sure you haven’
t had a vegetable in a month. How about a grilled chicken salad?”

  “It’s a date. Tomorrow.”

  A span of silence followed, then Kari added, “You will make it home tomorrow, won’t you?”

  “Promise.”

  “Love you, Dad.”

  “You too, Sweet. G’night.”

  Six o’clock. Brock’s watch alarm sounded, though it needn’t have. He’d been lying awake exhausted for the last ten minutes, still slouched on the recliner. He struggled to his feet, still groggy-eyed. Another day back to the grind, he mused. Heading down the hall, he went into his bedroom, shuffled through his closet, and pulled out a freshly laundered shirt and his usual brown tweed suit, of which he had three.

  Coffee would have to wait until he got to the office, realizing he would be a few minutes behind schedule. He refreshed himself in the bathroom, patted down his felt hat, and headed out the door.

  As usual, the precinct buzzed with activity, phones ringing off the hook without end. The events over the past couple of days had created a beehive of paranoia throughout the city. Not that Brock didn’t understand. Even he found himself looking over his shoulder for anything or anyone who looked suspicious.

  One highlight, Ismael had pulled through and was being held under guard at the hospital. Brock mulled over the circumstances and determined Ismael had help from someone. Someone willing to promote Ismael’s and Rafiq’s cause. More than likely, a larger cell working off the grid. One way or the other, with hours of grueling interrogation, he figured they’d soon discover who the responsible parties were and bring them to justice. Amena had already found hers. Brock’s bullet had struck home in the base of her skull.

  No sooner had Brock grabbed a cup of steaming hot coffee and gotten to his

  desk, Detective Brodsky walked up, his brows drawn in a frown, and a solemn expression carved on his face.

  “We discovered a body early this morning.”

  “Fill me in,” Brock said taking a swallow from his mug.

  “Names Paul Cummings. Eighty-five years old. Single,” Brodsky rattled off the list. “At first it appeared to be a suicide—found hanging from a ceiling fan. However, we discovered several things had been rifled through. A couple of drawers opened. Some items tossed on the floor, and…” He stopped short to pull out a plastic bag from his jacket pocket, tossing it onto Brock’s desk. “Uncovered these near the body. Has the initials D.H. We’re running prints as we speak.”

  “Who discovered the body?”

  “Mrs. Iris Gillespie…neighbor of his. Said she hadn’t seen him come or go for a couple of days and grew concerned. She has a key to his house…seems he traveled a lot, and she watered his house plants…fed the cat and such.”

  “She didn’t see anything suspicious? Anyone enter or leave during that time?”

  “Nope,” said Brodsky.

  Another officer, Cash Bailey, rushed out from behind his station with a paper clutched in his hand. “Here’s the report.” He handed the paper off to Brock who scanned it briefly. He looked visibly shaken, arousing Brodsky’s and Cash’s curiosity.

  “I’ll take it from here,” Brock said his face tightening. “Where’s the body?”

  “Taken in for an autopsy to determine the cause of death, though it looks clear cut and dry if you ask me,” Brodsky replied.

  “Let me know when the results are in.”

  “Roger that.”

  ***

  Callie’s eyes flickered open. A wan smile tipped the corners of her mouth. Sometime in the night, Decker had crawled onto the bed with her. His arm draped over her, and he was sound asleep. It wasn’t until the morning nurse came into the room to check on Callie that Decker stirred.

  “Sorry to disturb you,” the nurse grinned. “However, I need to check your wife’s vitals.

  Decker rolled to the side and sat down in the chair beside the bed. He took Callie’s fingers in his. “How are you feeling today?”

  “Like a train drug me down the tracks for a few miles,” she replied softly.

  “I’m so sorry you had to go through all of this, Callie. No one should have to suffer that way,” he said. He gazed into her badly bruised, pale face. Her golden hair, usually shiny and full, tangled and matted to her head. One of her eyes was swollen nearly shut, and her lips were sliced up, blood flecks still dried on her chin. The horrors she had suffered at the hands of the two terrorists were inconceivable.

  Callie surveyed Decker’s stricken face. She reached her hand up to touch his stubbled cheek. “We’ll get by Decker,” she told him. “I just need a few days to rest up.”

  Her enduring spirit and bravery melted his heart. He esteemed her as much as anyone he had ever known. “Glad to have you back with me, Callie,” he said. “I’ve never been so afraid in my life.”

  “I know,” she said, her eyes drooping. Drained from the ordeal, even talking exhausted her. “I’m glad to be back with you too.”

  They had gone through many trying trials. Callie reflected on when both of her parents were killed in a car crash several years back. Though she’d received a sizable inheritance, it could never begin to compensate for the agony of her loss. She thumbed through her memory, remembering when she and Decker had been told they were unable to have children after a couple of years of trying. Again, the pain they had both walked through had been nearly unbearable. But it was going through those hard trials that had shaped them, strengthened them, and Callie had to believe that this too, would make them even more resilient when they came through to the other side. And though she refrained from saying it out loud, she was dangling by a thread.

  The door cracked open and Karina peeked inside. Her eyes were rimmed with tears, and her face bore a sorrowful expression. “Can I come in?” she asked softly.

  “So good to see you, Kat.” Callie managed a weak smile, holding out her hand welcomingly.

  Karina moved to the bedside, accepting Callie’s fingers. “I’m so relieved you’re all right. I haven’t been able to eat or sleep since all of this happened.”

  “I’m also thankful you’re okay,” admitted Callie. “Last I saw, you were unconscious. My heart broke for you.”

  “As you can see, I’m back on my feet and will be released later today. Dax is going to have me stay on board the Shark Eater where I can recover.”

  “With any luck, the hospital will release me,” Callie said. “No broken bones. Some bruises and cuts. Those will all mend in time.”

  “We aren’t going to rush things,” Decker said. “You’ve been through an extreme ordeal. Mentally, this horrific trauma will weigh heavily on you for some time to come.”

  Decker’s cell phone chimed. He searched the area around him, finding it on a tray near the bed. He scooped it from the metal surface. “Decker here.”

  Dax’s voice sounded on the other end. He’d opted to go back to the police station with Brock to fill out paperwork. “How’s Callie?”

  “Good as can be expected.”

  “Brock would like you to head over here before the end of the day and fill out some forms concerning today’s events if you’re up to it. Also says he has something urgent to discuss with you.”

  “Maybe when Callie goes back to sleep I’ll head over.”

  Callie struggled to sit upright. “You go on ahead, Decker. I have a professional team watching over me.”

  The nurse in the room smiled.

  “Besides, you need to go while the details are still fresh in your mind,” Callie insisted.

  “I’ll stay with her as well, Decker,” Karina told him.

  He hesitated but pushed himself to his feet. He didn’t want to leave Callie’s side but knew he needed to go over the particulars with Brock. More than anything, he wanted a strong cup of black coffee to re-energize and clear the fog from his mind.

  “You win,” he said. “I won’t be gone long. Thanks for offering to stay with her, Karina.” He bent forward and kissed Callie on the cheek. “Can I get you anything
?”

  “Go! I’m okay,” Callie insisted.

  Decker called a cab to pick him up in front of the hospital. He slid into the back against the seat, his mind preoccupied.

  “Where to?”

  “Police station near the Riverwalk.”

  The cab driver glanced into the rearview mirror. “Crazy what’s been happening around here,” he said.

  “Yup,” Decker said, not feeling very social.

  “What about that explosion, huh? Can’t believe it. The casino is in a pile of rubble. Saw it early this morning. Man, oh man, what a kick in the teeth for this city. I could feel the ground quake miles from here when that bomb went off.”

  “Yup.”

  “And then to have someone strapped with explosives by the docks,” he continued to jabber. “What’s this world coming to?”

  Decker stared out the car window trying to shut the world out. He noticed many of the roads blocked off with yellow tape and multiple police cars still roaming the perimeters. A time of healing would come…eventually. At the moment, emotions were high, anger raging below the surface like a boiling cauldron ready to spill over. You could practically reach out and grab hold of the anxiety.

  The cabby continued conversing even though Decker remained quiet and aloof. Relief wrapped around him like a warm blanket when the cab pulled up in front of the station. He flipped open his wallet, handed several bills to the driver, nodded, and hurried up the cement steps.

  When he walked in, he found Dax sitting in front of Brock’s desk. Their eyes flickered up to meet his gaze. “Got here as soon as possible.”

  “How’s Callie?” asked Brock.

  “Physically, she’s pretty raked up. She puts on a good front, but she’s been through a living hell. It’ll take time for her to heal.”

  Brock shook his head. “Glad to hear.” His face took on a more serious nature. “I had some news come across my desk this morning.” He broached the subject of the dead man with caution knowing Decker’s fragile state of mind. “You ever heard of a man by the name of Paul Cummings?”