Tropical Safeguard (Men Of The Secret Service) (6 page)

Quietly walking down the long hallway,
Cole passed through the kitchen and noticed a large bowl of fruit perched on
the island.
Breakfast
later
, he thought as he glanced at the clock above the eight-burner gas
stove. 5:20 am, right on schedule. The quiet calm of the mansion was
invigorating, soothing. This was his time, no one else’s.

Punching in the security code, he
disengaged the alarm and exited the side door onto the expansive flagstone
terrace. The ridiculously frigid air-conditioning inside was replaced with
tropical air that engulfed his every pore. A cool breeze blew across his face
and he took a deep, refreshing breath. Closing his eyes, he reached up toward
the sky, shaking off the last traces of slumber. He would run a loop of the
grounds, one loop of the golf course, and then finish off at the beach for some
stretching and a cool down. Solitude. There was nothing like it.

                                   
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The
floral bedspread jarringly juxtaposed the seven submachine guns placed evenly
apart across the bed. Four walkie-talkies and eight pair of handcuffs were
piled neatly beside the row of guns. A stocky man stood taking inventory of the
arsenal until a light knock at the door made him turn and sprint toward it just
as it began to open.

“Housekeeping,” a woman’s voice announced
innocently enough.

“Get out! I don’t need anything,” the man
commanded gruffly and shut the door, locking the deadbolt and sliding the chain
in place. He walked back to the bed and counted everything, meticulously going
over his supply. The guns were cleaned; walkie-talkies turned to the correct
channel; handcuffs and keys accounted for. He couldn’t chance anyone tying him
to this. The last thing he wanted was to go back to prison.

He scanned the room, taking inventory of
the other essentials. A stack of comic books perched on the corner of the
rickety bedside table; boxes of granola bars, bags of chips, and bottles of
water lined up along the top of the dresser that also held a boxy, outdated
television set. The floral drapes were drawn and the overhead light was on
despite the rising brilliance of the Bermuda sun. The atmosphere smelled stale,
the room claustrophobic, but he didn’t care. It was temporary, all temporary.

He walked toward the peach colored
bathroom and stood in front of the vanity. Looking up at his image, he was
struck by how old he appeared. The years seemed to have crept up without
notice. The stubble on his rounded jaw was a couple of days old now. Perhaps he
should shave, but then again, the shadow may help conceal his identity. Running
a calloused hand over the rough hair, he scratched his cheek. He spit in the
sink and stood tall, puffing up his broad chest. Turning to the side, he
flexed, admiring the view. The last few years he’d spent at the prison gym had
paid off. He’d never looked so muscular, so powerful. The bulk underneath his
white tee shirt was covered in tattoos, but he would be conscious to cover them
up despite the tropical heat and humidity. Again, he didn’t want to risk
someone seeing the body art and identifying him later. He would be a stealthy
whisper, gone after the money was transferred securely into the intended bank
account. He would be a ghost. He’d waited so long for this chance.

                                   
<><><>

Katrina
stood in the sand and stretched, letting her muscles flex as she reached toward
the dawning sky. Every new day she spent at the mansion seemed like a new
chance at life. The sun was always rising, so she could count on that. And the
ocean, although at times tumultuous, was a constant. At least some things never
changed.

Looping her towel around her neck, she
took a final deep breath before turning to leave. As she did, she spotted Agent
Nielsen descending the staircase and a smile pulled uncontrollably at the
corners of her mouth. As he drew closer, she saw that he too was smiling and
happy to see her.

“It’s like we never parted!” he said
standing in front of her.

Glancing down, Katrina admired his
muscular calves and then the way his grey tee shirt pulled tautly across his
well-built chest. Sweat marks indicated he’d had a great workout already. “Are
you always up this early?” she asked, wiping sweat from her own brow with a
forearm.

“I had to work off all that crème brule,”
he laughed easily and rubbed his stomach. “Yes, actually, I have a routine I
follow. It helps to start my day.”

“Me too. I hadn’t expected to see anyone
awake at this hour. I’m glad it’s you and not Agent Kensing.”

“Trust me, from what I hear it would take
a crowbar to wake him. He’s been known to be late for shifts, and he already
has me on every morning shift this week.”

“When do you start?”

“The Secretary and the Deputy have a
round of golf this morning at nine. I’ll patrol the grounds first and then join
them. It’s been a while since I played golf.”

“And when was the last time you did
Pilates?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Uh, try never.”

“Maybe tomorrow morning you’d be up for
that instead of your usual run. Just a suggestion.”

“You mean an invitation?”

“Sure, you could call it that.”

“I’ll think about it.”

                                   
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The
golf carts pulled away from the tarmac onto the soft green at the sixth hole
just as Secretary Mitchell’s cell phone rang again.

“Hello, Vivian.” He rolled his eyes at
his son Jimmy who jumped down and grabbed the appropriate club. Cole spotted
Jimmy mimic his father, the act making him chuckle.

“Yes, Vivian, I’ve already signed those
papers. We’re just golfing here. Is there anything else?”

Secretary Mitchell swatted a hand at Deputy
Greenbaum indicating he should go first. The Deputy and Cole hopped down from
the second golf cart and took their places beside Jimmy. The boy’s energy was
contagious. He was keen to begin his hit, eager to learn.

Secretary Mitchell ended his phone call
and joined the others. He leaned on his club casually while watching Deputy
Greenbaum prepare for his shot.

“She doesn’t give you a moment’s peace,
does she,” Cole said, referring to the Secretary’s assistant Vivian.

Secretary Mitchell shook his head. “She
certainly keeps me on a short leash. She’s constantly fine-tuning my itinerary
even while I’m on vacation. It’s a bit much.”

“I suppose it’s better than being
disorganized.”

“Yes, I suppose. But still, give me a
break,” he laughed easily.

“How long has she been with you?” Cole
asked as he watched Deputy Greenbaum’s ball soar through the air. Jimmy then
saddled up to the tee he’d just placed in the grass. All three men watched as
the boy took a practice stroke, taking a huge divot out of the green in the
process. The ball bounced off the tee and Jimmy’s face flushed in
embarrassment.

“Ouch! Good try, kiddo. Let’s set it up
again,” Secretary Mitchell reassured before turning to Cole. “She’s been my
assistant for about two years now. Her skills have made an impact, but she
really keeps to herself. Never gets too personal.”

“I guess that’s par for the course, so to
speak, with her job.”

“Right, good one,” Secretary Mitchell
smiled. “It’s kind of silly, her keeping track of everything even while I’m
away, but she’s always been thorough. I can’t fault her for that.”

“No, it could be much worse. You could be
stuck with someone you don’t agree with.”

“And you speak from experience I’m sure,”
Secretary Mitchell gave him a knowing look. “You have no choice in who you’re
partnered with, do you. I can tell you and Agent Kensing have never worked
together before. There’s a clash in personalities there.”
 

Cole was a little taken aback by the
man’s candid comment. “Is it that obvious? I hope it isn’t interfering with the
atmosphere here. We’re trying to be professional.”

“If anything, it’s entertaining. Don’t
worry, Agent Nielsen. It isn’t affecting anyone in our small group. We’re all
having a lovely time so far.”

“Good.” Cole placed his ball on the tee
and set himself up. “Watch and learn, Jimmy,” he joked as he connected with the
ball. The sound of the hit resonated and they all watched as it effortlessly
soared toward the seventh hole.

“Not bad. Better than your last hole,”
Deputy Greenbaum commented.

Cole took the ribbing in stride. “Please
keep in mind I have my eyes on the surrounding property for your safety too.
I’m distracted,” Cole smiled effortlessly.

“Sure, sure, good excuse.” Secretary
Mitchell smiled as he set up his tee.

Over the course of the next few holes,
Cole couldn’t help but admire the relationship Secretary Mitchell shared with
his son. The dignitary treated Jimmy with care, patting him on the back often
and tussling his hair. The way he spoke to the boy reminded Cole of the way his
father spoke to him – tender yet direct. There was an obvious level of
respect. In turn, Cole noticed Jimmy’s relaxed demeanor, his general joy at
simply being. He seemed interested in the world instead of a video game or pretending
to be too cool for everything. Perhaps Jimmy would be that way in a couple of
years, but for now he appeared carefree and happy.

Watching his son take a shot on the
twelfth hole, Secretary Mitchell remarked on how much he resembled his mother
and how much they both missed her.

“It’s been such a difficult time for us,
but I think Jimmy is finally coming to terms with it all. We had to grieve in a
fairly public way so it was hard to put on a brave face when in reality I
wanted to crawl into bed and not come out. But, for my son, I’ve had to be
strong.”

“It was cancer, wasn’t it?” Cole asked,
but like everyone else in America, he’d heard all about it already.

“Yes, breast cancer.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

“Thank you. It’s such a shame, such a
waste. She was a wonderful person, a fantastic mother. Like I said, we miss
her.”

Cole wasn’t surprised by the man’s
candidness with him. He often found that the people he protected would turn to
him in confidence – perhaps they knew that because of his secretive
profession, he too would be secretive with the personal information they
shared. Knowing the information wouldn’t go far, they seemed to open up to him
freely and without reservation.

“What do you men say we go sport fishing
one of these days?” Deputy Greenbaum suggested.

“We could charter a boat at the end of
the week. That might be something Jimmy would be interested in too, and your
boys, Edward. What do you…”

Secretary Mitchell’s words were cut short
and the men turned in the direction of what sounded like a scream in the
distance.

“Who was that?” Jimmy asked.

They spotted Zachery running in their
direction as quickly as his young legs would carry him. Sensing danger
immediately, Cole turned and ran to meet the teen.

“It’s Noah,” Zachery hollered hoarsely.
“He fell off the cliff.” The older boy turned and pointed toward the distant
drop-off.

“What were you boys doing out there?”
Deputy Greenbaum finally joined them, hearing his son’s frantic words as he
approached.

“Lets go,” Cole raced off toward the
cliff. He sprinted faster than he’d ever run, not sure what he would encounter
once he reached Noah. Had the boy fallen onto the rocks below? Had his brother
exaggerated?

Looking to his left, Cole spied Katrina
sprinting in the sand and then mounting the soft incline that met the golf
course on the far side of the beach. She too had heard the screams and was
looking at something up ahead. Just behind her, Helene Greenbaum was trying to
catch up.

“Noah!” she cried, sensing the worst for
her son.

Cole reached the cliff first, stopping
abruptly and searching frantically. He didn’t see anything but the ocean
stretching out in the distance. “Noah!” he shouted into the tropical breeze.
Inching closer, Cole leaned over the edge expecting the worse. He found himself
gazing down into Noah’s young face. The boy gasped when he saw Cole, his face
contorted as he struggled to hold on an arm’s distance down the cliff face.