War Hawk: A Tucker Wayne Novel (32 page)

So they were on their own for now.

As the jet began its final descent toward the airport, Kane responded to the change of pressure by lifting his head from where he lay curled at the bulkhead and growled softly, plainly irritated. The shepherd was not a fan of small planes and tolerated such hops as necessary.

Tucker rubbed under Kane’s muzzle. “It’s okay, buddy. We’ll be back on the ground soon.”

Kane harrumphed and settled back down.

Frank continued monitoring their flight from across the cabin. “A lot of jungle down there.” He glanced toward Tucker, the implication easy to read on his face.

While the island was only the size of Rhode Island, vast areas were sparsely populated and remote. It would be easy for Tangent to hide a drone fleet down there.

Nora spoke up. “Was that Tobago I saw when we circled around?”

“I think so,” Tucker answered.

Trinidad was part of a republic that included the island of Tobago to the northeast. Dozens of smaller isles—some inhabited, others deserted—also shared the surrounding seas. The location and climate made this tiny island republic an important area for tourism, but due to large reserves of oil and gas, its main industry was petrochemical. This vast natural resource made this nation the third wealthiest in the Americas, after the United States and Canada.

Is that one of the reasons Tangent had targeted this place?

He had no idea. Any answers waited for them below.

After another minute, the Citation’s tires touched down at the Piarco International Airport outside of Port of Spain. Tucker held his breath as they passed through customs, but Ruth’s papers held up to scrutiny. Even the plastic crate that housed Rex was only given a cursory glance, the outside emblazoned with NOAA emblems. Ruth’s cover story had the group posing as climate scientists associated with the National Oceanographic and Atmospheric Administration. If there were any deeper inquires, Frank and Nora had been scripted with enough technobabble about the weather to further support their cover.

In short order, the group cleared the airport and hailed a taxi. The day was already hot, the humid air smelling heavily of salt. Low-hanging puffy clouds filled the skies. The forecast was for afternoon showers, but the night would be clear, the perfect flying weather for Rex.

As they loaded into a yellow taxi van, Tucker studied an anomaly: several British FV432 armored personnel carriers were parked along the airport’s perimeter fence.

Jane noted his attention and whispered to him. “Did you see all the Trinidadian soldiers patrolling the airfield’s tarmac?”

He nodded. The soldiers all had assault rifles slung at the ready across their chests.

“Something’s definitely up,” he muttered.

“Maybe tonight Rex can find out what that’s all about.”

Tucker had a more immediate source for that information. After they all piled into the back of the van, he leaned toward the driver. “What’s going on with all the military in the area? Is there something wrong?”

The young black man spoke with a Jamaican accent. “No trouble, mon. Nothing you need worry about. It’s paradise here.”

Still, Tucker caught the man’s eyes in the rearview mirror.

Guy’s nervous, plainly putting on a happy face for the tourists
.

Tucker pressed the cabbie. “Listen, we got work on the other side of the island. I’m this team’s security. If there’s anything I should know about . . .” He reached forward and held out a folded hundred-dollar bill. “I’d appreciate the heads-up.”

The bill vanished, and the driver squinted at Tucker in the rearview mirror before finally confiding to him. “We got an election comin’ up in a couple days. Lots of tension, mon. No one likes President D’Abreo.” Even the name drew a scowl from the cabbie. “His government . . . be corrupt as they come. Some say there could be rioting if he be reelected. So maybe you keep an extra eye on your peoples.”

Tucker nodded to the man. “Thanks for the warning.”

“But like I said, mostly just talk.” The man offered a wide grin of reassurance. “Troubles come and go in Trinidad like the rains. You be fine.”

Tucker hoped he was right.

As he sat back, Jane leaned closer. “Sounds like a powder keg is brewing.”

One that wouldn’t take much of a match to ignite
.

Tucker sat back for the remainder of the ride. They passed two more APCs on their way to the city. The cab even had to go through an armed checkpoint before entering the capital.

Nora shifted forward from the van’s third row. “Guy’s right about the tension here.” She lifted up the iPad she had been working on. “The government has been trying to downplay it, to keep it out of the media.”

“Don’t want to scare away the tourists,” Frank guessed.

Nora nodded. “The main competitor for the current administration is a grassroots political party. Something called the TPP, the Trinidadian People’s Party. They’ve been threatening violence if the upcoming presidential election doesn’t go their way. They claim the current administration is crooked, including his entire cabinet ministry. The TPP is talking revolution.”

Tucker eyed yet another armored carrier parked alongside the road. “Looks like D’Abreo is taking that threat seriously.”

Frank’s face had gone a touch paler. “We need to get Rex in the air. Find out what’s really brewing here.”

As they continued into the city, Tucker took stock of his surroundings. They had left behind the palm-lined highways and lush hills for a sprawling metropolis. Port of Spain spread for eighteen miles along the coast of the Gulf of Paria and was home to more than a hundred thousand people.

Tucker couldn’t help but wonder what Tangent had in store for them.

What is the enemy’s interest in this tiny Caribbean republic?

The taxi finally swept off the main drag and up a lilac-strewn driveway. They circled a central fountain and stopped before the lobby of the Hyatt Regency. A pair of valet attendants in starched white shirts hurried forward, opening doors and ushering them out with warm greetings. The only hiccup in their well-researched routine was when seventy pounds of Belgian shepherd hopped out of the backseat.

One of the attendants stumbled back, but the older of the two held his ground, firming his faltering smile. “Oh my . . . what a beautiful dog.”

Without missing a beat, the man waved for the bellhops to come collect their luggage, then led them all into a marble-floored lobby. Faint calypso music played in the background. To the left, floor-to-ceiling windows looked across palm trees, white sand beaches, and the flat blue waters of the Caribbean.

Walking alongside him, Jane took Tucker’s hand. “You take me to the nicest places.”

“Let’s hope it stays
nice
.”

Within a few minutes, they were checked into a two-bedroom penthouse suite on the twentieth floor with a wraparound balcony that offered generous views of both the city and the gulf.

“Wow,” Frank murmured, exploring the carpeted space. “This sure beats Motel 6.”

More focused on the task at hand, Nora rolled the case holding the Wasp drone over to the main living area. She looked anxious to check on Rex after the long flight, to make sure there wasn’t any damage. Her intensity drew Frank away from the view.

As she unbuckled the drone’s case, Kane began his own duty, which involved thoroughly sniffing every corner of the room.

Jane had to sidestep the industrious dog to reach the bar. Someone had fully stocked it for them, leaving behind a gift basket of fruits and cheeses. Jane read the note aloud.
“Play nice . . . and don’t forget the sunscreen. R. H
. ”

Tucker shook his head. Ruth Harper was certainly thorough.

Jane tossed the card aside and stepped behind the bar. “Anyone else want a drink?”

Tucker was tempted to follow her example, but he wanted to make sure one other detail had been properly arranged for them by their diligent benefactor. He moved to the closet. Inside, he found the hotel minisafe was already locked. He dialed in the code that Ruth had given him, got the green light, and opened the small door.

Three pistols lay inside: all SIG Sauer P225s. There were also matching shoulder holsters, extra magazines, and four boxes of 9 mm ammunition.

From behind the bar, Jane watched him remove the weapons. “Okay, those friends of yours . . . they’re getting to be a little scary.”

But they certainly have their uses
.

He carried everything over to the sofa, inspected the pistols, and began loading the magazines. Steps away, Nora and Frank had Rex already hooked to a laptop, preparing the drone for tonight’s sojourn.

Jane returned with two gin and tonics and settled onto the sofa next to him.

“Those both for you?” he asked.

She passed him one. “I think you’re gonna need this.”

She swirled her glass, tinkling the ice, and took a sip, as if gathering the courage to speak—but then the phone rang, echoing from various locations around the suite.

Tucker crinkled his brow and reached to the handset on the end table. He expected it to be a courtesy call from reception, making sure the accommodations met their expectations.

“Sir, this is Santiago from the front desk,” a crisp voice responded as he answered. “We have a gentleman here who is inquiring if he could speak to you, but he didn’t know your name—only showed me a picture of you.”

A picture?

“So I thought it prudent that I confirm with you first before connecting the call.”

Tucker felt warning bells going off in his head.

Did someone follow us from the airport?

Before responding, he palmed the receiver and spoke to Jane. “Get everything packed up again and ready to move.” He returned to the receptionist on the phone. “Thank you, Santiago. You can put the gentleman through, but I’d appreciate if you didn’t share our room number until I know who this is.”

“Of course, sir. I’ll put him on one of our lobby phones. Just a moment.”

Tucker listened to a shuffle, a click, then a voice answered with a prominent French accent. “It’s high time we had a chat,
mon ami
, don’t you think?”

Tucker immediately recognized that harsh accent, picturing the scarred face of the soldier who had accompanied Karl Webster to the swamp.

Before Tucker could respond, the caller continued. “Let’s say fifteen minutes in the lobby lounge. Just you and me.”

The man hung up.

Jane stared wide-eyed at Tucker as he lowered the handset. “Who was that?”

“Trouble.”

25

October 25, 11:45
A
.
M
. AST

Port of Spain, Trinidad and Tobago

As the elevator doors opened, Tucker tugged at the edges of his cardigan sweater. He kept his hands away from the SIG Sauer holstered at his armpit. He had left Jane and Frank equally armed up at the suite, stationing Kane with them as extra security. He didn’t expect the French soldier would be so bold as to attack him amid the midday bustle of the hotel lobby, but he wasn’t going to this meeting unarmed.

Tucker exited the elevator and scanned the lobby, trying to spot anyone who looked his way. The caller had said he had come alone, but Tucker wouldn’t put it past the man to bring backup. Tucker especially kept an eye out for the bulky form of Karl Webster.

Failing to identify anyone suspicious, Tucker followed a placard to the lobby lounge. It was an intimate space of red-cushioned chairs positioned around small coffee tables. A number of hotel patrons occupied various tables, but on the far side near the windows, a lone hand raised into the air.

Tucker’s heart quickened at the familiar sight of his nemesis. The French soldier had shed his commando gear for loose linen trousers and a black silk shirt. If the man was armed, he hid it well. Still, Tucker approached cautiously. The man appeared to be in his midthirties, squat and heavily muscled, with a sun-weathered face and a shaven head.

As Tucker joined him, the man stood up and held out a calloused hand. “Good morning.”

Tucker refrained from taking that hand, picturing Takashi’s head exploding from a sniper round. Here was the young man’s killer.

Seemingly not offended, the soldier lowered his arm and took his seat. “Thank you for taking this meeting.”

Again Tucker noted how the man had not yet referred to him by name. He imagined part of the purpose of this sit-down was to unnerve him. Using Tucker’s name would have had that effect.

Means the guy doesn’t know who I am . . . at least not yet
.

Tucker sank down to his own chair. “And who am I taking this meeting with?”

“Name’s Rafael. Let’s leave it at that.”

Tucker had no way of knowing if this was the truth, but he didn’t question it. He had ways of double-checking this information later. For now, he wanted to find out what this meeting was all about.

“You’re a good tail,” Tucker said. “I never spotted you at the airport.”

Rafael shrugged at the compliment. “You did not make it easy to find you.” The man reached to a pocket and pulled out a photograph, which he slid across the table. “And neither did Ms. Sabatello.”

Tucker held back a flinch at the mention of Jane’s name. Instead, he studied the photo. It showed his profile and Jane’s face behind the windshield of the stolen Expedition. It must have been taken when they had stopped at the Stallion Gate at White Sands.

Rafael explained, “The day after our operations at White Sands we learned of a robbery report by a pair of Sirocco Power employees, which included the theft of their company SUV, a vehicle which miraculously turned up at White Sands bearing a pair of new Sirocco surveyors. You are resourceful,
mon ami
.”

But apparently not resourceful enough
.

Tucker inwardly winced. He clearly hadn’t covered his tracks as thoroughly as he had hoped back in New Mexico. Still, he kept his voice nonchalant. “I’m surprised it took you a full day to realize that your security at White Sands had been breached. It seems like we caught Karl Webster sleeping at his post.”