Fault Lines Read online

“So you’re concerned that if somebody’s after you and the colonel, and they can’t find you, they might ask Julio.”

  “It’s probably crazy.”

  “No, no. If they put your place under surveillance and see the kid hanging around, it’s only natural.” She said to Julio, “We’ll work something out.”

  “I knew Charlie’s place was too good to be true.”

  “The place is still yours. Soon as things cool down,” Charlie said.He asked Irma, “You don’t mind me bringing you in?”

  Irma patted Julio’s shoulder. “It’s what friends do, right? We watch each other’s backs.”

  The barrier island that began at the Canaveral Space Center and ended at Sebastian Inlet was connected to the mainland by five causeways. Each causeway was the natural extension of a major east-west highway. Highway 192 was the farthest south and joined the beachfront highway at the Indiatlantic Boardwalk. The juncture was marked by a square containing six shops. Four were aimed at the tourist trade—a Starbucks, a taco hut, a restaurant selling pizza by the slice, and a frozen yogurt shop. Tucked around the back was another coffeehouse, a locals-only establishment and easily missed. As Charlie circled the lot, he worried that Donovan would not think to ask a local, or if he did, the locals might not tell him where Java Surf was located.

  Then he spotted the young man he had last seen on the hospital’s top floor. Charlie rolled down his window. “Brett?”

  Irma said, “I thought you said his name was Donovan.”

  Julio asked, “This dude was a Ranger?”

  Brett was as handsome as ever, only far more worried. He slipped into the rear seat beside Julio and said, “Drive.”

  “I’m waiting for somebody.”

  “Not anymore.” He jerked as Irma swiveled and pulled the pistol from her pocket. “What are you doing?”

  Irma said, “I’m introducing you to my friend, Mr. Beretta.”

  “Put that away.”

  “He’s not the problem, Irma.”

  “You sure? He looks like trouble to me.”

  Charlie drove the Range Rover slowly down the length of the boardwalk. “What are you doing here, Brett?”

  “Delivering this.”

  When his hand went toward his pocket, Irma aimed her gun again. “Hold it right there.”

  “Are you insane?”

  “I’m a cop who’s stayed alive on the job for twenty-five years. Drop your hand.” Irma reached into his jacket and came out with an envelope. “This what you were after?”

  “I’m a scientist.”

  “We’re all just so impressed. Really.”

  “Brett,” Charlie said. “I asked—”

  “Gabriella said to meet you here. She said there would be three of you.” Brett made a swatting motion in the air between him and Irma. “She didn’t say anything about guns.”

  Charlie parked by the curb but kept the motor running. “Put away the weapon, Irma.” He said to Julio, “Keep a tight watch.”

  The kid’s eyes were globular. “No problem, bro.”

  Brett wiped his face with a shaky hand. “This whole thing is nuts.”

  “Where is Gabriella, Brett?”

  “She’s gone.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “First I need to know if you’re with us.”

  This time Charlie did not need to think it over. “Absolutely. I’m in. Now tell me what I’ve signed up for.”

  Brett chewed on his cheek for a second, then said to Irma, “Go ahead. Open the envelope.”

  As she did so, her eyes grew to match Julio’s. “This is a travel agent’s confirmation for three tickets to Zurich, Charlie. No names. They’re good as cash.”

  Julio leaned over. “Zurich, like in Europe?”

  Brett said, “There’s a number at the bottom of the page. When you get to the airport, call it. You’ll be given further instructions.”

  Irma looked from one to the other. “These are for us?”

  “Gabriella said there would be three people traveling. Hazard, you’re not one of them. She said your team must be drawn from outside standard security parameters. Does that make any sense to you?”

  “Yes.” Charlie knew she meant that anyone brought in from the security industry could be compromised. “So one of these tickets isn’t for me?”

  “No, you’re going to meet her in New York.” Brett clearly hated this duty. He asked the pair, “Can I assume you two have passports?”

  “Backpack,” Julio said. “I’ve just moved house.”

  Irma said, “I’ll need to run by my condo.”

  Brett looked at his watch. “We’ve got to hurry. The plane leaves Melbourne in less than three hours.”

  Charlie said to Irma, “I didn’t mean to drag you guys into this. You can turn this down, it’s fine.”

  “I wouldn’t mind knowing a little more about what we’re signing up for here,” she said.

  “I have no idea,” he replied.

  Brett said, “All your questions will have to wait.”

  “Works for me.” To Charlie’s surprise, Irma actually grinned. “I’ve got to tell you, retirement is so totally the pits. I’ve applied for a job answering the phone for the local cops.”

  “All I’ve got on the books is a history exam,” Julio said. “You think maybe I could get a note for my teacher?”

  Charlie rose from the car and opened Irma’s door. “Soon as I see Donovan I’ll meet you at the airport.”

  As Irma slipped behind the wheel, Brett rolled down his window and said, “Gabriella has a very specific message for you.”

  Charlie said, “Looks to me like she’s got you spooked.”

  “A woman I thought I knew tells me to stand in this parking lot, in a specific spot she described down to a stain on the pavement. She tells me you will be driving her Range Rover, and you’d be with two passengers, both of whom are to become part of this.” Brett handed Charlie the third ticket voucher. “This is for your flight to New York. You have precisely forty-one minutes.”

  Along with the ticket was an envelope addressed to him in a woman’s flowery script. “To do what?”

  “How should I know? But Gabriella said to tell you that if you are anywhere you know or are known forty-one minutes from now, you are a dead man.”

  16

  Charlie stood behind a cluster of palms that encircled the beachfront park’s showers and restrooms. He held to the stillness that came naturally after years of training, melding with shadows to where the eyes of any watchers would slip over and continue searching. Or so he hoped.

  Truth be told, he felt giddy. The past two days had held enough surprises to push him miles beyond any realm that had a nodding acquaintance with such mundane things as normality. Or logic. There was no logical way that a woman he did not know could beckon and Charlie Hazard would come running. Not to mention how two acquaintances would sign up for the madness as well, without even knowing why.

  He was so involved in his internal musings he almost missed the grizzled head that poked from the window of an ancient van and spoke to a passerby.

  Charlie sprinted across the lot and wrenched open the passenger door. He heard Donovan say, “That’s all right, ma’am. I’ve got what I need now.” The van pulled away before Charlie had his door shut. Donovan said, “Good to see you, son. You doing okay?”

  “Curious.”

  “Long as you’re not bleeding, we’re ahead of the game.” Donovan pulled up to the stoplight. “Where to?”

  “I need to stop by my house.”

  “Risky.”

  “It’s got to be done. Take a right.” When the van was heading north, Charlie asked, “Where’s your dog?”

  “With a pal. You ever heard the name Vic Reames?”

  “Should I?”

  “He’s an Army major approaching retirement and desperate for a fat payoff from our corporate suppliers. The word is, Vic has become part of what is as close to a cabal as we’ve ever had in the military�
�industrial complex.”

  “Does the cabal have a name?”

  “The Combine. Does that ring a bell?”

  “Sorry, no.”

  “No reason it should. The Combine may be just a myth, but I don’t think so. Too many rumors from too many different sources. We’ve been trying to get a handle on them for years.”

  “Who is ‘we’?”

  Donovan shot him a look. “There’s a good reason we don’t share overall strategy with our frontline warriors, son.”

  “I read you.”

  “About ten years ago we started hearing tales about a group of major companies that had joined together. Most are American, but not all. They share two things in common. First, they are global entities. Second, they are utterly without scruples. Their motto, if they had one, would be ‘Whatever it takes.’ ”

  The van they were in was at least twenty years old. The carpet at Charlie’s feet was worn down to the metal floorboard, and the interior smelled of hot oil. Charlie opened his window and let the salt breeze wash over him. “Is Harbor Petroleum part of this group?”

  “No idea. But given what you told me and what’s happened since, I’d say they are fronting for the Combine.”

  “What about Strang?”

  “So far as I know, Curtis Strang operated below the Combine’s radar until they hit on you yesterday. All I know for certain is, an hour and a half after you left, Vic Reames popped up in my doorway. He was oozing charm, all concerned about me and my retirement and my dog.”

  “And me.”

  “Vic Reames panted like the Combine’s trained pup, and he asked about you. I played the lonely old codger, which bought me enough time to sneak away. But he’s on to me and they’re on to you. Sure you have to go to your house?”

  Charlie glanced at his watch. “I’ve got a few minutes left.”

  “Says who?”

  “A friend. Get in the left lane and turn at the next light.”

  “That woman you told me about, the one who can foretell the future?”

  “Her name is Gabriella. As for reading the future, it’s the only thing that makes any sense.” Charlie described his recent conversation with Brett, then offered Donovan the third ticket voucher.

  Donovan was shaking his head long before Charlie was finished. “I’m not going anywhere, son. I’m too old and I’m not well and I’ve got a dog that won’t eat unless I hold the food to his mouth.”

  “What’s the matter with your health, Colonel?”

  “That’s not the issue at hand. You need to focus if you want to stay alive. This Gabriella lady said you could go by your house?”

  “I’ve got another nine minutes. I need to get a look at whoever’s painted a target on my back. Turn right and pull up.”

  Charlie dropped from the van while it was still rolling. He loped across a yard, leapt over a humming air conditioner, skirted behind a doghouse, and was over the rear fence just as a dog’s chain clinked. He froze, waiting for the dog to settle once more. Another house, another fence, and he walked through the cane growth surrounding his backyard. He passed his fighting pole, a polished tree trunk sprouting two-foot branches at various angles. His feet crunched across the sand of the exercise pit. He fished his keys from his pocket and let himself in.

  “Trace, where are you?”

  “A1A, just passing the Ramada.”

  “Hazard has just entered his house.”

  “I thought you said he was at some café.”

  “That was then. Speed up.” Reese shook her head. The security chief had her talking like Patel. “How long?”

  Over the loudspeaker came the sound of squealing tires. “Ninety seconds.”

  The sound of six men breathing hard filled the Vault. The entire crew gawked at the front screens, which showed the view of cameras fitted to the helmets of Trace and his number two. Reese resisted the urge to snap at her crew, tell them to get back to work. The scene was too powerful. She found herself breathing in time to the men.

  Someone to her left muttered, “Is this amazing or what.”

  The vehicles carrying Trace and his team screeched to a halt. Trace asked, “Target is still contained?”

  Patel said, “The cameras on the front and back of his house are quiet.”

  But Trace could not hear Patel or anyone else. Any time they sent in a team, they worked according to standard combat rules. In-house chatter could distract, and any distraction could be deadly. Contact between intel and ops was held to one person on each end. If the security chief went down, Reese would switch to Trace’s number two. Otherwise, this was as intimate as Reese ever cared to be with the man.

  Reese said, “I confirm, Hazard is still inside the house.”

  Trace said, “Team Two, deploy.”

  “Team Two moving out.”

  The two cameras split and flew.

  “Patel, widen our view.”

  The techie erased the streaming data from all the front screens and blew up the view so that each camera filled half the floor-to-ceiling array. The house appeared to the left and the right. The cameras jounced as the men flew across the lawn. On the back of each midnight uniform were the letters FBI. It was a useful cover for moving in daylight. Hopefully a nosy neighbor would think twice before calling the cops.

  The views crouched lower to the ground. Four sets of black boots thundered past each team leader.

  “Team Two in position.”

  Trace said, “On my mark. Ready, go.”

  The crew watched as the home was assaulted from both sides. Reese felt as much as saw a figure drop into the chair next to hers. She glanced over. Weldon was as fascinated by the action as she was. She turned her attention back to the screen. Not long now.

  “Come in, Center.”

  “Go.”

  “Uh, the house is empty.”

  Patel said, “That is impossible.”

  Reese lifted the mike. “You’re sure?”

  “Roger that.”

  Patel’s voice rose to full whine. “I am constantly monitoring our views of the exterior! The man has not left.”

  Trace obviously heard him over Reese’s mike, because the loudspeakers to either side of the array huffed, “And I’m telling you, squirt, the dude is gone.”

  Weldon jammed his chair against the desk behind him and rose to his feet. “Just gets worse and worse.”

  Trace said, “We have neighbors watching.”

  The right-hand screens drifted through an empty living room. A hand moved forward and swept back the drapes. Through a sun-splashed window they saw a pair of old people standing on the front porch directly across the street. The man held a phone to his ear.

  Reese said, “Stand down, withdraw, await orders.”

  “Roger that. Team leader out.”

  Weldon called to her from the stairwell, “Damage control. My office. Fifteen minutes.”

  17

  Charlie crept from his rooftop aerie, where the dormer windows paralleled the chimney on the house next door. The giant live oak that dominated the view out the garage apartment’s rear window had one limb that extended almost to his bedroom balcony. The limb was so stable he could walk it without using his hands. Firing on this team would have been an invitation to be blown into kitty litter. So Charlie remained crouched behind the chimney until they fully deployed, then used Gabriella’s cell phone, called his neighbors across the street, and asked them to go outside and tell him if his house was on fire. It was all he could think of at the moment.

  He watched as the group of men filed out. Each bore the standard FBI patch on the front and back of their SWAT-style uniforms. One of them tossed the neighbors a quick salute and hustled over. The man exchanged a few words with Charlie’s concerned neighbors, then retreated to the two SUVs and drove away. Just another day in vacation land.

  Charlie eased back through the neighborhood, slipped into the van, and told Donovan, “Two teams in standard Delta deploy. One of them I recognize from my meeting
at Harbor Petroleum.”

  Donovan eased the van into gear. “Back to the airport?”

  “Right. Sure you won’t come with us?”

  “Not a chance. What’s more, you don’t want me.”

  Charlie started to mention how that was the one anomaly to everything Gabriella had said. Then it hit him that the ticket might not have been meant for Donovan at all.

  Donovan was saying, “I’ve got friends who are as worried about these Combine folks as I am. You get into a sticky situation, you get me word, I’ll see what I can do.”

  Charlie asked, “Could you make a side trip before going back home?”

  “Probably. You got a plan, son?”

  “Maybe.”

  Before Charlie finished explaining, the colonel was already nodding. “That could work.”

  “You think he’ll come?”

  The colonel pulled up in front of the airport terminal. “I think he’s been waiting all his life for your phone call.”

  18

  Weldon Hawkins said, “For the past nineteen months, part of our brain trust has been focused on a new issue. Many facets, a multitude of scenarios, but all derived from one base concept. Anticipate the paradigm shift.”

  Five of them were gathered in one of the alcoves off the conference center’s top floor. The ground floor held a half dozen meeting rooms. The middle floor contained the banquet hall and a state-of-the-art spa modeled after ancient Roman baths. The top floor was referred to as the Club. The Club held bars, a cinema, a billiard parlor, a smoking room, a library, and lovely courtesans of both sexes. Its alcoves were framed in oiled paneling and Isfahan carpets and windows sealed behind heavy drapes. They were places meant for secrets and strategy. When the Combine gathered, the entire center was swept daily for bugs.

  Weldon stood by a fireplace acquired from a Medici palace. Reese was seated in a straight-backed chair she had pulled in from the library. The three gentlemen facing them were sprawled on leather settees, their jackets opened, their hands holding cigars and snifters of vintage brandy.

  Weldon continued, “Our brief here at the Reserve is direct enough. We are to follow corporate and economic and political and legal trends. We are to anticipate the moves of national and international governmental bodies. Where possible, we are ordered to turn future trends to our members’ benefit. We are to use whatever means necessary to determine your competitors’ strategies. And we are to use all the powers at our disposal to further your aims.”