Chapter 21
No fog rolled in from the sea this night. Brad had dropped Susan and Recon off near the hotel on the cliff. The sea, now just a lazy sound of weak, tired waves lapping on the darkened sand. Any other time she would have enjoyed the sound, almost internalized it with appreciation, but on this night it hardly registered in her mind. The night had taken everything out of her and she was exhausted. As she went up to their suite, the drama and danger of the evening overwhelmed her. She could feel tears welling in her eyes and her hand shook so bad when she tried to unlock the door that she had to use two hands to get it open. Recon licked her hand sympathetically. She patted him on the head, wondering if the night was as traumatic for him as it was for her. He wagged his tail as she opened the door as if all was well and perfect with the world. All she wanted was a shower and sleep.
Brad parked the Land Rover at a 24 hour parking lot near the Greyhound bus station. If the Rover was discovered, it would look as if they abandoned it and took a bus to get out of town. He walked the mile from the parking lot to the hotel, taking his time. He was also exhausted and his face hurt like hell. His cheek throbbed with each beat of his heart. As he left the bright lights of downtown and veered off on a side street that paralleled the busy boardwalk, he looked up at the stars as he walked, glad to see them. No more than an hour earlier men were more than prepared to kill him, willing to make sure he never saw stars again. 'This is a real mess.' he thought as he went over the information he had accumulated since this had all started. It went from helping a young lady avoid a possible stalker to a problem with worldwide implications. Susan, now he and Susan, were in an incredibly dangerous situation.
It was pure luck for her that she had stopped when she saw Brad on the side of the road mending a fence. Maybe it was fate. He wasn't really sure if he believed in fate, but as wrong as everything was, their meeting seemed very right. It seemed they were destined to find each other. Now, if they could only live long enough to actually get to know each other. He needed to contact Armando.
Brad had bought another throw away phone at a pharmacy on the edge of the village before going down to the beach road next to the boardwalk. He walked passed the Santa Cruz's famous roller coaster, the long pier that extended out into the bay, and just before the hotel, he exited the sidewalk onto the expanse of darkened, deserted beach. The soft sand sucked at his boots as he walked towards the luminescent foam that climbed feebly up the shore, giving up in it's less than determined conquering of the beach and rolling back to sea, leaving it's footprint of packed, wet sand. He was totally alone here. No people or listening devices close enough to hear him. Brad stopped at the water's edge and punched in Armando's home phone number on the phone.
“Hi Janet.” Brad said to the sound of a female voice answering.
“Hi Brad.” She said cheerfully. “How's the ranching life treating you?”
“Much better than Afghanistan.”, he replied. “Is Armando still awake?”
“Yes.” She pulled the phone away from her mouth and called out, “Armando! Brad's on the phone!”
Armando was on the line in seconds. Anxiously, he asked, “Where in the hell have you been? Wait a minute.” Brad listened, picturing from the sounds he heard, Armando going through the kitchen and out the back door.
“I didn't want Janet or the kids to overhear our conversation.” Armando said as he went into his patio. “Okay, give me an update.”
Brad relayed all that had happened since the last time they had spoken.
“Joseph Eichmann, huh?” Armando said as Brad finished. “I remember him as a dedicated agent in the field. It sounds like he shared selective information with the office. He retired right after the Jenkins situation. By then he must have known what the memory stick contained and also it's value.
“Where are you now?” Armando asked. Brad told him. “Tell me what you need. All agency accesses are at your disposal.”
“Really?” Brad said, surprised. “For a civilian?”
“You're no longer a civilian, Brad. You have been recalled to duty and assigned as an agent to the task force.”
“Why would you do that to me, Armando?”
“I didn't. The Director did.”
“The Director.” Brad repeated. “Isn't the Director Ted Warner?”
“That's right. His orders are that you work directly with me. Only he and I are to know what you are doing and where you are.” He paused. “What do you need, Brad?”
“I need cash, so that we can move around without being electronically spotted. Also an encrypted cell phone to call you on. I also need all information you have on De La Cruz and his cohorts, and also Joseph Eichmann and any of his current associates that you are aware of. I need it in paper form rather than electronic so it cannot be traced to a laptop.”
“It will be hand delivered to you by an agent. He won't know who you are. It will be a simple hand over.”
“Good. How soon can I expect it?”
“Quickly. I already have data access open to immediate request for this operation. I'll have it put together and delivered from the Monterey office, and I'll get it moving as soon as we hang up. Let's say, three hours.”
“Good.” Brad responded. “Have your man meet me at the end of the Santa Cruz pier at 0230 hours.”
“Roger, Agent Wilson.”
“Don't call me that.” Brad said.
“It is what you are, Major. Your ass, once again, belongs to the United States Government. So, don't kill anybody unless you have to, and report in for debriefing daily.”
“Yes sir.” Brad responded.
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Brad opened the door to his and Susan's suite quietly. Recon met him at the door, tail wagging his entire rear, tongue lulling from a happy face. Susan was just exiting a steaming bathroom, wrapped in a large white towel as she dried her hair with another towel.
“Hi, Good looking.” she said cheerfully, then stopped rubbing her wet head as she stared at him. “You look like hell, Brad. Why don't you take a shower and then let me clean up those cuts on your face.”
“I thought you just said I was good looking.” he said teasingly.
“Yeah. Well, at the moment your good looks are beyond skin deep. Those guys beat you up pretty badly.”
“You think so?” he said. “I figure it's all a matter of perspective. The way I look at it, I beat their fists up with my face. They're the ones on the way to a hospital.”
“Very funny.” she said with a grin.
The shower against his face stung as the water cascaded over his body, washing away the sweat and fear that clung to him, the lingering scent that comes with anticipated death. But, Brad knew fear. Many times he had looked into death's empty, hollow eyes, and each time his body dressed itself in a layer of fear. It was not a friend, but, if anything, it was familiar, and had probably given him the caution needed to stay alive more than a few times.
Brad came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped at his waist. While he sat on the edge of the bed Susan doctored him. As she gently applied antiseptics to his cuts, he told her about his conversation with Armando.
She watched him wince as she touched his cheek bone. “Sorry.” she said softly. “Show me where it hurts.” He pointed to a swell on his cheek. She reached over and gently kissed him on the spot he pointed at. “Does that help at all?” she asked.
“Yeah.” he nodded. He then pointed at the other cheek. “That hurts too.” She kissed him on that cheek.
“Anywhere else.” she asked, drawing back slightly, her face close to his. He nodded and pointed at his lips. Their gentle kiss filled with passion as their towels dropped to the floor.
“What about your pain?” she asked as they wrapped themselves around each other, their breath quickening in unison.
“What pain?” he replied.
All content - poems, posts & images - are ©2010 by John Evans. No permission is given to post, share, copy, print, e-mail, reproduce, distribute or link to. All Rights Reserved. Please contact John Evans at JohnEvansPoet.Com for licensing inquiries.
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