Dead Ringer Page 11

  The old Scot waved him over with his good hand.

  “Whoever the man was,” the pilot said, helping Fergus into a chair. ”He’s gone, now. I found spent cartridges in the sand. Looked like he used an M24, fitted with a silencer, like you figured. That’s why we didn’t hear the shots. I sent two of the men to follow his tracks. If he’s on the island, we’ll find him.”

  Mercy scrambled from behind the urn, her scraped knees and hands stung. She looked down at Daniel. “Are you all right?”

  He nodded without speaking.

  She squeezed his shoulder and then hurried to Fergus’s side. “You’re hurt.”

  “It’s just a flesh wound,” he said, shaking his head. “But it smarts a wee bit.” He looked down at the wound. “This what you had in mind, lass, when you said we needed a clinic?”

  Mercy pressed a white beach towel against the wound to stanch the blood flow. “I think a bullet wound requires a doctor. How did you know someone was shooting at us?”

  “He used a laser sight. I saw the red dot on the back of yer head. Another second and ye’d have been playing the harp in a heavenly band.”

  Her hand shook as she added more pressure to the old Scot’s wound. She turned to the pilot. “How fast can you get the plane ready?”

  14

  Izmir Hospital, Izmir, Turkey

  Saturday, June 3

  Mercy, Nanna, and Daniel waited in the emergency room lobby as hospital personnel attended to Fergus’s injury. He hadn’t wanted them to come, but Mercy insisted.

  Black-and-white photos of what she assumed were local attractions hung on the pristine white walls. The waiting room furniture was worn, but clean. Other people scattered around the room waited, their faces anxious, speaking in a language she didn’t understand.

  Fergus had taken a bullet for her. No doubt, as Traci’s stand-in, she’d been the shooter’s target. Someone wanted Traci dead. Ricco Rossellini? No evidence supported Mercy’s supposition. Apparently, his desire for her death outweighed his need for whatever he thought Traci had.

  Visions of escaping back to her old life tracked through her mind. Just her presence on the island put everyone else in danger. What if the bullet had hit Daniel? Or killed Fergus?

  She studied Daniel as he stood at the second-floor window, watching the traffic below. A blond lock of hair hung over the boy’s brow, above his astonishing blue eyes. What an amazingly beautiful child he was, and so sweet. And the reason she couldn’t leave.

  She made the decision to ride this out, to let Thomas prove himself wrong. A very vulnerable child stood in the center of this monumental mess. She wouldn’t be responsible for causing him more pain. And somehow, she had to protect him from whoever had her in their sights.

  These were good people. Thomas was overbearing, but not evil. He had good reasons for his actions, misguided though they were. After he’d gathered proof of her real identity, perhaps together they could work out a plan that wouldn’t hurt Daniel.

  She glanced at her watch. “Nanna, would you like to take Daniel to the cafeteria for tea and sandwiches? I’ll wait here for Fergus. It shouldn’t be too long since the wound didn’t require surgery.”

  “That sounds like a fine idea, doesn’t it, Daniel?” Nanna reached for his hand. “We might even find some nice scones to go with our tea.” Nanna took the boy’s hand and headed to the elevators.

  “You can see him now.” A nurse came out and motioned for Mercy to follow.

  Heavy white bandages covered Fergus’s left arm. He sat up in bed, fully awake, his usual feisty self. “I’m ready to leave this place, lass.” He held up a sheaf of papers in his right hand. “The lady just handed me my walking papers.”

  “Sure you’re up to it? A gunshot wound is not to be taken lightly. Especially at your age.”

  “Aye. Never more sure of anything in my life. I’ve had worse than this playing football as a lad.” He cocked a shaggy eyebrow. “Are ye trying to say I’m old, lass?”

  She held up both hands. “I’m only pointing out that you’re not a lad, anymore.”

  His face tightened, and he mumbled under his breath. “Just hand me my boots.”

  Too late, she realized she’d challenged his manhood. “Fine, but let me get Nanna and Daniel before you go storming out. I’ll call Frank and have him bring the car to the front entrance. I’ll come back for you.”

  Ten minutes later, Frank picked up the small group and headed to the airport. They hit the afternoon rush-hour traffic.

  A store on the corner at a traffic light caught Mercy’s attention. “Frank, pull over, please.”

  “What’s up, lass?” Fergus turned in the seat and looked at her.

  “The pet store. I want to let Daniel pick out a puppy.”

  Speechless and wide-eyed, Daniel gazed at her. “Really, Mummy? I can have a puppy?” He clapped his hands and bounced on the car seat.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Good idea. After what happened, a guard dog makes sense.”

  “This is a pet for Daniel. He gets to choose.”

  Fergus didn’t look pleased. Nevertheless, he got out and followed them inside the pet shop.

  Spreading her arms wide, Mercy looked down at the boy. “Go find your pet, Danny.”

  Thomas might kill her, but every boy needed a dog.

  A few minutes later, Daniel pointed out a sad-eyed little beagle who watched from the corner of a cage.

  Mercy turned to the clerk. “Looks like we’ll take that one. Oh, and we’ll need a carrier, puppy pads and food.” Realization suddenly struck her. Embarrassed, she turned to Fergus. “I don’t have any money. Can you...until Thomas returns?”

  He pulled out his wallet and scowled at her. “Where are yer credit cards?”

  “In the bungalow in Bermuda, with the rest of my things.” A thought suddenly occurred to her. “By the way, what happened to my property?”

  “Thomas had your things in Bermuda stored. Would ye like me to have them shipped to the island?”

  “Just leave them there. For now.” She didn’t have much, but it was all that really belonged to her. Bringing her possessions to the island would be pointless. She’d just have to pack and move them again when she left.

  

  Fergus took his seat in the plane’s cabin, running details of today’s shooting through his mind, planning ways to tighten security on the island.

  Daniel and the puppy he named Pal played in the bedroom.

  Mercy and Nanna settled across the aisle from him for the trip home.

  They’d only been in the air thirty minutes when the satellite phone rang. Fergus pushed the call button and moved to the back of the cabin.

  “Fergus, it’s Thomas. I’m almost finished with training camp. Then I leave for London, and then on to Saudi Arabia. Is everything all right?”

  “Aye. Everything’s fine, lad. Ye surviving the re-indoctrination?”

  “No problem. Is Daniel around?”

  “No, he’s down for a nap. By the way, we have a new member of the family.” He winced at his lie.

  “Did I hear you correctly?”

  “Aye. His name is Pal, and he’s a six-week old beagle.”

  “Whose idea was that?’

  “Ye know me well enough to know it wasn’t mine.”

  Hearty laughter sounded through the connection. “I won’t ask. Is Traci behaving herself? Is she treating Daniel well?”

  “Aye. The two get along like the best of friends. I never thought ye would hear me say this, but I think she’s good for the boy.”

  “Great. That takes a load off my mind. I’ll check back later if I get a chance.”

  Fergus snapped off the connection. Deliberately lying to Thomas was something Fergus had never done. It wasn’t an outright lie, but it certainly was a lie of omission. If he’d spoken to the boy, Daniel would have mentioned the shooting.

  Thomas would take off his Scottish hide if anything happened to Daniel or Traci. Especial
ly when he discovered Fergus deliberately kept the shooting from him. The lad had enough on his plate. He’d need to keep his wits about him on this assignment. And he couldn’t do that and worry about his family.

  Despite Thomas’s assurance this was a routine mission, Fergus had played the game long enough to know better. Nothing in the Middle East was routine.

  Daniel bounced out of the stateroom. “Fergus, look what Pal found under the bed. What is it?”

  Fergus took the small torn package with Thomas’s name on the outside. “Looks like something your dad left behind.”

  Mercy rose from her seat and took Daniel’s hand. “Come, we’ll put this in the work station. Pal was very smart to find it. It could be important.”

  Fergus gazed out the porthole. A fine mist obscured the gray sky.

  The aircraft’s intercom buzzed, and Frank’s voice sounded. “Fergus, you folks need to fasten your seat belts. We’re headed into a storm. I’ll try to climb above it.”

  Fergus didn’t worry. Frank was one of the best.

  On the way to the hospital and back home, Fergus had a lot of time to process the shots at the pool. The island men had searched every square inch of sand. The shooter had disappeared. Probably had a speedboat waiting, headed who-knows-where.

  While Traci was in the bedroom with Daniel, Fergus sat beside Nanna. “I’m bringing in some of my friends from my old unit. There’s none better to have around for security. At least, until we find out who set up a duck shoot on the island, and why.”

  She gave him a wise nod. “Thomas has always trusted you to handle such things. Do what you think is needed.”

  “Aye, the lad knows I’ll care for his family while he’s away. Frank will fly to Edinburgh and pick up the men after he drops us off, weather permitting.”

  

  Wallace Island, the Aegean Sea

  The jet landed on the runway in the midst of a full-blown gale and taxied to a stop near the hanger.

  Fergus decided to wait a few minutes before allowing the women and child out in the elements. They would be drenched getting to the villa, and the storm might move on quickly.

  Mercy joined him. “Was that Thomas who called earlier?”

  “Aye.”

  “Did you tell him what happened?”

  Fergus shook his head.

  “Good. We can handle this. He doesn’t need the worry right now. And we’re all OK.”

  Fergus scanned her face for signs of irony, but found none. He no longer knew this woman. She had been the worst spoiled brat he’d ever encountered. Since coming home from Bermuda, he had watched her every move—her gentleness with the boy, her kindness to Nanna, and even her attitude towards him, which had always been hostile.

  Something happened to Traci while she was away, something that brought about a major change in her attitude.

  The assassin was playing for keeps. She must have gotten herself into a mess of trouble and made a very dangerous enemy.

  

  CIA Training Camp, North Carolina

  Tuesday, June 13

  The next ten days were do-overs of the first one. Too tired to think, Thomas pushed his family to the recesses of his brain. Making it through each day became his singular focus. His head hit the pillow at day’s end, and he crashed. Thomas stayed in the middle of the pack, behind Reid, keeping distance between Cory and his tormentor.

  The DIs added the obstacle course and the shooting range to the daily workout. Thomas lost control of his place in line, when the instructor sent him out on the course first. It had been a while since he’d scaled a fifteen-foot wall, navigated moving logs, and crawled under barbed wire. Surprisingly, it all came back.

  The DI held the group at the end until everyone made it through the course.

  Finally, all but one of the twelve-man unit finished. Everyone, except Cory.

  Thomas moved next to the man who came in last, Michael Redwing. “What happened to Cory?”

  Redwing cast a dark look at Brad Reid and uttered a few choice words. “I didn’t see what happened, but just before Cory started his initial run at the course, I think Reid gave the kid a kidney punch. I’d asked the instructor a question, and when we turned around, Cory was on his knees moaning. I’m not sure, but I think the jerk had a rock in his fist. I saw him toss something into the brush. The DI pulled Cory out of the line. Not sure where they took him from there. It was my turn to hit the wall.”

  “The instructors didn’t pull Reid?”

  “Couldn’t. No witnesses. Just suppositions. And Cory wouldn’t tell what happened.”

  Reid stood about six feet away, a smirk on his face. He moved closer to Thomas and spoke loud enough for Thomas to hear, but too low to catch the instructor’s attention. “Too bad you weren’t there to protect your little boy, old man.”

  Thomas moved into Reid’s personal space. “I’m going to pretend what you did to Cory wasn’t personal—it was just a practical joke gone wrong.”

  “What makes you think it wasn’t personal, gramps? Ever hear of something called the survival of the fittest?”

  “That kid posed no threat to you. This is supposed to be team building, not a contest. You may need these guys someday, and if you keep this up, they’ll pull back and leave your sorry tail behind.”

  “Everything’s a contest, grandpa. When the training is over, I intend to be top dog.”

  “A word of warning, Reid. Don’t let it happen again.”

  The unit double-timed it back to the compound for lunch, the mood somber. Thick pines along the trail blocked the sun, offering some relief from the heat. For once, the torturous terrain and fatigue didn’t dominate Thomas’s mind—his body was on autopilot.

  Unless someone stopped him, Reid would move on to the next victim.

  Reid was first in line in the mess hall. He filled his plate and sat at the end of the table, a pariah to his teammates. Peer pressure wouldn’t change a man like him.

  Thomas couldn’t talk sense into the man, he’d tried.

  Redwing sat his tray down beside Thomas and nodded at Reid. “The man doesn’t belong in this unit. He’s a sadistic misfit.”

  “Makes you wonder how he made it past the psych tests. Either he had connections, or the analysts were asleep at the wheel.”

  “Right the first time,” Redwing said. “He’s a junior, as in, the son of U. S. Congressman Bradford Reid.”

  After he’d finished, Thomas patted Redwing’s shoulder. “Watch your back.”

  The recruit nodded.

  Thomas would have to wait until the end of the course for a shot at Reid in hand-to-hand combat, one on one. He would never work with these men again. He’d move out soon. The Company didn’t need a ticking time bomb like Reid in the field.

  Another round of body-numbing calisthenics followed lunch and then they moved on to the shooting range. Push-button flexible cables sent and pulled in targets.

  Shooting was a gift that came naturally to Thomas. He could hit the kill zones, head and heart, empty his clip and leave only a small circle in the target. He avoided first place. Finish this assignment, and then he was out of the black ops business and back home. Medals and ribbons wouldn’t impress the enemy.

  15

  CIA Training Camp, North Carolina

  Saturday, June 17

  The last day at camp arrived, and Thomas wasn’t unhappy to see it end.

  Clint Monroe hadn’t approached Thomas since that first day. He caught an occasional glimpse of the camp’s head honcho watching from the cabin balcony that overlooked the campsite, his gaze seeming to focus on Thomas.

  Something about Monroe bothered Thomas, and it didn’t wholly have to do with their volatile first meeting. Six years in the field had honed his ability to appraise men. In the CIA, like organizations everywhere, the cream didn’t always rise to the top. Observation told him Monroe most likely made it by tenure rather than leadership skills. A good camp commander would have washed Reid out long ago.<
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  Thomas learned from the DI that Cory had suffered a ruptured kidney. The young recruit was out of the program until he recovered—if he recovered well enough for action in the field.

  As anticipated, Reid picked someone else to bully, the next weakest member of the team. Leaving nothing to chance, Thomas stayed between Reid and his new victim.

  After breakfast that morning, individual combat lessons were in progress, and Reid stood across the mat, breathing hard. Reid wasn’t all talk. He had defeated five men previously, and did it without dirty tricks.

  Today’s contest consisted of elimination rounds. Each time a trainee defeated an opponent, he moved on to the next man. The last man standing—was the winner.

  Through the process of elimination, it had come down to the final two, him and Reid.

  Hand-to-hand combat had only one rule. You could take down your opponent using boxing, mixed martial arts, whatever it took, but mortal blows to injure a teammate were forbidden. Any man who wanted to end a bout had only to tap out.

  For the past few days, this contest had dominated Thomas’s thoughts. He didn’t want to kill or maim this kid. He just wanted to teach him a lesson. Trouble was, he didn’t know how to accomplish the task, because he didn’t know what to expect from Reid.

  Pride and overconfidence were Reid’s biggest handicaps. He would do everything possible to keep from losing to “the old man.”

  Thomas’s knowledge of men of Reid’s caliber warned him not to expect a tap-out. Reid’s ego wouldn’t allow it.

  Reid took a position across from Thomas. “Hey, grandpa. I’m coming after you. Gonna teach you to respect your betters.”

  They circled each other for a few seconds.

  Reid dove for Thomas’s feet, exactly what he expected after watching Reid’s other bouts.

  Thomas stepped aside easily, and delivered a stunning chop between the kid’s shoulders as he sailed by.

  Reid recovered quickly, anger flushing his face. His hot temper made him more vulnerable. Rather than planning his next move, he reacted. He made another rush at Thomas, who once again stepped aside and then landed a haymaker to the side of Reid’s head.