Day at the Beach Ch 22

Chapter 22

     At 2:30 in the morning the lights of the boardwalk and the rumble of the rides had shut down for the night, The screams and laughter of the people had drifted off into the air as they departed. The festive strip was now a deserted ghost town, the sidewalks claimed by feral cats.
    Just north of the Boardwalk stood the pier - a wide structure that extended into the ocean for hundreds of feet. It had been there as long as anyone alive could remember, probably longer than the old 120 foot cement boat that had grounded in the 1930's and had been breaking up for decades in the storming winter surfs off Rio Del Mar.

    At one time the pier was a structure of wooden planks and was the favorite haunt of fishermen. Now, a slab of cement ran over the top of the planks and sturdy railings surrounded the edge of the pier, with periodic gated openings where ladders extended down to the waters edge for mooring boats.      Along the north side, wooden structures sprouted. They were coated with the same gray as the exposed wood of the pier, the color the sea paints wood too near it's shores. The structures were small seafood restaurants that required reservations, boutiques and bait shops further down the pier, where fishermen still congregated.

    A single street lamp cast a circle of light at it's entrance. The small businesses that lined its extension into the darkness of the bay, closed for the night. There was a second lamp midway down the pier and another one at it's distant end, lakes of ominous darkness between each one.
    As a boy, Brad had fished off this pier many times with his father. He knew the backs of the small buildings, the nooks and crevices, the back doorways that hid in the shadows, the slender spaces between buildings. He had gone to the beach below the structure and explored the rows of thick, wooden columns that rose from the sea and sand, holding the long bridge to nowhere sturdily in place.
    Now, he waited between two buildings in the darkness between the first and second street lamps. A wall at the back of the space blocked any back light. He waited quietly, stealthily, only his eyes moved as they constantly swept the silent street beyond the pier. The sound of surf sizzling on the shore far below where he stood ruled the quiet of the night.
    Brad was anticipating the arrival of an SUV, the typical vehicle of the agencies, but instead, a four door sedan drove slowly up the street passed the Boardwalk, turned into the entrance of the pier and came to a stop. Brad could not see the man inside, but he had no doubt that he was studying the scene, looking for anything that didn't look right.
    The car jerked forward and entered the pier, slowly traveling it's length to the end. Staying behind the shield of buildings, Brad made his way along the back side of the pier unobserved until he was about 100 feet from the pier's end where the car had stopped and the man had gotten out.
    He wore a dress hat reminiscent of the 1940's and 50's. It's brim pulled down on his forehead. He also wore a loose fitting windbreaker, zipped open almost to his belt. 'Easier to pull a gun if he needs to.' Brad thought. Brad could see a small package in the man's left hand. It entered Brad's mind almost as a periphery concept that the package appeared too small to hold the things that Brad had requested.
    The man looked around, obviously waiting for someone. Brad gave Recon the signal to stay. Recon sat down immediately and watched as Brad left the shadows and walked to the end of the pier.
    As the man spotted Brad walking towards him out of the darkness, he subtly reached up and tugged the zipper of his jacket all the way open, and let his hand fall to his side loosely, like an old time gunslinger getting ready for a gun fight. Brad could feel the weight of his own weapon tucked in a shoulder holster beneath his armpit, wishing he could approach this man with it in his hand instead. He had already seen two small red flags before even meeting him. The car was one and the size of the package was the other.
    Brad stopped about eight feet from the man, trying to see his face, but the hat was pulled down, his face hidden in the shadow of its brim.
    “Brad Wilson?” the man inquired. Another red flag went up. The agent was not suppose to know Brad's name.
    Brad tensed. “Yeah.”
    The man raised his left hand, offering the package to Brad. “Here's what you asked for.”
    Brad walked up to the man and took the package, all his senses prepared for quick action of the man made a sudden move.
    “Your agent said this is top secret and I am not to know anything about it's contents. So, I'm going to leave before you open it. If everything you need is not there, call your handler.” Without another word, the man got in his car turned around on the pier and drove away.
    Something wasn't right about all of this. In fact, a number of things wasn't right about it. Brad stared at the package. It was a box rather than a manila envelope. Too small to hold the 8-1/2 x 11 sheets of paper that Brad requested, unless they were folded many times. It was big enough to hold a cell phone, though.
    “Recon!” Brad called. The dog immediately ran to him. “Smell this.” he said holding the package down to his highly sensitive nose. Recon growled and then barked. “That's what I was afraid of.” Brad said. Just then, he heard a phone ringing. On the second ring, he realized it was coming from the package. The ringing confirmed what Recon had already told him. It was a bomb and it had just been detonated to go off in a matter of seconds
    With a twist of his body he flung the package as far as he could off the end of the pier and then dropped to the ground. The package splashed into the sea, a moment later a muffled boom raised a plum of water into the air that spray over Brad and Recon. The pilings of the pier shook with the impact of the shock waves through the sea that lapped against their bases.
    As Brad came came to his feet he looked out into the bay. A hundred feet away a mushroom of phosphorescence bloomed from the dark sea. He turned and looked down the long expanse of the pier, searching for the agent. He heard a distant engine start and fade into the distance. The man must have heard the explosion and was satisfied that the job was complete.
    Brad came to a sudden realization. He had to get back to the hotel right away. As dog and master ran the length of the pier, Brad looked over at the three story hotel that perched on the cliff overlooking the scenic sand and sea. Only one light was on, so nobody heard it or just didn't care. Accept for one person on the second floor. Even from this distance, Brad could see it was Susan. She stood on the veranda, back lit by the lights of their room. He knew she was looking for him. She had heard the explosion and put it all together. She saw him as he quickly passed through the light of entrance lamp post and exited the pier. He turned left at the road and ran up the hill to the hotel, his right leg complaining with each fast stride.
    He entered the room panting, his eyes almost wild with panic.
    “What happened?” Susan asked as he grabbed their packs and started throwing their things into them.
    “We've got to get out of here right now. The hand-off was a set-up. The package was a bomb. If it wasn't for Recon's training in explosives detection, I'd be all over the bay right now.”
    “What?!!” Susan said in shock.
    Brad stopped and looked at Susan, obviously shaken. “That's right. Also, I now know who the mole in the agency is. It's Armando, and he knows where we are. They think I'm dead and will be coming for you.”
    “Armando's your friend.” she said in disbelief.
    “Armando was my friend.” he said, a tone of hurt from betrayal in his voice. “Friends don't try to kill each other.”
    Susan sat in a heap on the edge of the bed, her shoulders sagged with disappointment. “Who can we trust?”
    “Until we can sort the bad guys from the good guys, each other.”
    Their world of the moment stuffed in back packs, they were ready to leave in minutes. As they strapped them on, Susan pulled a semi-automatic from a holster at her rear and checked the magazine. Brad did the same.
    “Okay. Here we go.” Brad said as he held the weapon to his side and cracked the door. He looked both ways down the hall. In the small hours of morning, there was no movement. They slipped out the door. “This way.” Brad said, avoiding the elevator and taking the back stairs.
    As they came out the back of the hotel into the crisp air just before dawn, they stopped and studied their surroundings. Then cautiously moving around the building to the front corner, Brad studied the street, the trees in the darkness, the cars at the curb covered in morning dew. It was quiet. They moved swiftly across the street into the shadows and walked quickly down the road, disappearing into the night.


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.