Once Quiet (Jack Widow Book 5) Page 20
“Then what?”
“Then he will die, I guess.”
Widow asked, “You okay to watch that?”
“Like you said, my husband has been dead for ten years.”
“I’m sorry for all this. It sounds like you’ve got a hard thing to do.”
She said nothing to that.
Instead, she said, “Let’s head back. They’re probably done with the cake.”
Widow said, “Oh man, are you going to unplug Liam on Carson’s birthday?”
“No. Of course not. I’ll do it this weekend. Still, it won’t mean much to Carson. He’s never met his father. He’s not even allowed in the room. Neither of them is. You know that’s why Casey ran away. I told him about what I was going to do.”
Widow nodded and said, “Poor kid.”
“He’s a good kid. He’s strong. He’ll get over it. That’s one reason why I want to do it quick. And Carson’s birthday is a good time. He and Casey will be in good spirits. I’m not going to tell either of them when I do it. Miranda has already agreed to help keep them occupied.”
Widow nodded.
Crispin said, “Let’s go back. The cake must be ready by now.”
They got up and started the walk back to the bakery.
CHAPTER 45
HOGAN DROVE ALONG an old industrial road where the blacktop had faded away and cracked and weeds had grown out to full length. The sun had set, but this was the beginning of a long shift for him. The woman from the NCIS had called him again and told him to stay alert.
He had cooperated with her, fully. He had thought. She wouldn’t tell him what was so important about Widow, only that their office would appreciate it if he would pick Widow up at the gas station in the early morning hours and make sure he found his way to the Sossaman ranch.
Which he had done. He had practically forced him to get involved with the Sossamans.
Hogan liked his Friday night routines because the twenty-five minutes that he spent on the abandoned road was peaceful and serene.
It gave Hogan time to do one of his favorite things—smoke a single cigarette.
He parked his police cruiser near the town’s original water tower, which now acted as a backup. And he stepped out of the car.
He pulled out his cigarette pack and pulled one out, lit it, and smoked it.
He leaned back against the cruiser’s front fender and stared off over the country of big sky. It was still majestic to him, even after all these years.
He smoked until he was halfway done and then he heard a noise in the distance, down the way ahead of him. He tilted his head and saw dust and grit smoking up from the road ahead.
It looked like a car was fast approaching.
Hogan waited and then he heard a loud engine noise. A loud muffler roared and exhaust steamed out up into the tree line.
Hogan dropped the lit cigarette and stepped out in front of the cruiser. He stayed in the middle of the street.
A guy he had never seen before came barreling down on a motorcycle.
He reached back and unsnapped the button on his holster and rested his hand on his Glock, as he always did.
The motorcycle bounced and steamrolled ahead until the driver slowed at the last minute and came to a stop in front of Hogan.
The engine noise on the bike was loud. It echoed through the trees and the sky and the base of the water tower.
It was so loud that he almost didn’t hear the truck engine until the driver was already parked and out behind him.
He turned to see an assault rifle pointed at him. He didn’t know what kind. Not at first.
The rifle was a Bushmaster ACR, which stood for Adaptive Combat Rifle. It was one of the most recent generic designs that emerged from the Iraq and Afghanistan wars. It was a practical, battle-ready weapon that fired 5.56 ammunition. Nothing special, but a fine choice for most any combat situation, which this was not.
It wasn’t a combat situation because there was no combat, just the guy who drove the truck with the Missouri plates and the ACR.
The guy stared Hogan down. His truck parked behind him. The driver’s side door wide open. The engine idled. And the guy still wore his aviators.
He pointed the ACR at Hogan and said, “Officer Hogan. I see that you got to enjoy your last cigarette.”
“What the hell is this?”
Judd got off the bike and the seat bounced up to its default position from the relief of his weight. He kicked the stand down and left it.
He stepped over to the police cruiser and started rifling through it.
“You can’t do that!”
“Shut up!”
Hogan shut up and slowly, put his hands up.
Qatal said, “Find anything?”
Judd came out with an old-style nightstick and waved it around.
“That’ll work. Looks like fun.”
Hogan asked, “Fun for what?”
Judd stepped closer to Hogan, nightstick down in his hand by his side and a Glock in the other hand.
He pointed the Glock at Hogan.
Qatal lowered the ACR and held out his hand.
He said, “Give me that.”
Judd tossed the nightstick over to him. The he stepped forward and bent at a knee and jerked Hogan’s weapon out of the holster, tossed it into the distance. He stepped back.
Hogan repeated his question.
“Fun for what?”
Qatal didn’t answer. Instead, he left the ACR on the hood of his truck and stepped closer to Hogan.
He said, “Lower your hands. Down by your sides.”
Hogan did as he was told.
In a fast and breakneck action, Qatal beat Hogan across the forehead with the nightstick.
Hogan was tougher than he looked. He stayed standing for two brutal hits. But then his knees buckled and he collapsed down like a house of cards.
Qatal moved over him and continued to beat Hogan to death until his arm throbbed.
After Hogan was no longer clinging to life, Qatal dropped the bloody nightstick and picked the cigarette pack up off the body. He pulled out a cigarette and put it in his mouth. He searched his pockets and found no lighter, which was more of a gesture to Judd. He knew in the back of his mind that he wasn’t carrying a lighter.
Judd tossed him one and said, “Here, boss.”
“Thanks,” Qatal said. He lit the cigarette and smoked it.
CHAPTER 46
THE NIGHT HAD TURNED A COLD DARK OUTSIDE.
The ranch was solemn. Which reflected everyone’s mood except Crispin’s. She seemed to wear a cheerful face for her kids, but Widow could see sadness in her eyes. The kind of sadness of a woman who had made a hard choice.
When they pulled back to the ranch, Widow asked if she wanted him to distract the boys so she could sneak the birthday cake into the house, but Crispin had declined his offer. She said that they already knew about it.
“You can’t hide anything from them,” she said. A moment afterward, her face turned a little troubled. Widow supposed it was the thought of unplugging their father and hiding it from Carson that did that. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what it was like for her.
They got the cake into the kitchen and packed into the fridge.
She said, “Thanks, Widow.”
He looked at her and said, “You’re a great mother.”
She smiled and said, “Thank you.”
Crispin said, “I’m going to go shower before King and Casey come back. Let’s get Miranda to cook us a big dinner. We’re gonna celebrate Carson’s birthday and you’re staying with us.”
“I’m staying?”
“Yes. You can’t go anywhere. Not now.”
“Why not?
“I don’t want you too.”
Widow said nothing.
Crispin said, “Will you stay?”
“I will.”
She smiled at this. It seemed to cheer her up. Widow watched her eyes lighten up and the sadness melt away.
&n
bsp; Which made him feel pretty good.
Crispin turned and sauntered away, down the hall and out of sight.
Widow looked at the coffee maker. He walked over to it and pulled out the filter. It was full of used grinds. He replaced it with a new one, dumped the old one into the trash and started a fresh pot of coffee.
After a minute, he watched it drip and poured himself a mug. He sat at the bar and started to drink it when Miranda walked in.
“Mr. Widow. Did you and Mrs. Sossaman have a nice time?”
“We did.”
Widow stayed quiet.
“You are a good man too.”
“Thank you.”
“Maybe you need a good woman in your life,” she said and stared at him.
He took a pull from his coffee, said nothing, but thought that she had a good point.
Miranda said, “My oh my, I’ve got a lot to do. I need a kitchen crew.”
“Anything I can help you with?”
“I need to start dinner and I still have to check on Mr. Sossaman.”
Widow said, “I don’t know the first thing about the kitchen.”
“Nothing? You made coffee?”
“I know coffee. I know microwaves. But other than that, I’m not much behind the stove.”
Miranda asked, “I thought you were a Navy man? Aren’t all you guys proficient at everything?”
“We know how to tie knots and we’re pretty good swimmers. Other than that we’re not trained much in the culinary arts.”
“How did you survive at sea? Did you eat nothing but sushi?”
Widow smiled and said, “No, ma’am. We always had a cook around.”
“Were these cooks any good?”
“They were the best in business.”
Miranda stepped to the stove, opened the cabinets and started pulling out various pots and pans and cooking utensils.
Widow thought for a moment, said, “I can help you with Mr. Sossaman.”
Miranda turned back to him and said, “I guess that would be okay. I don’t need you to change his bedpan or nothing. Just check to make sure the machines are all working and his vitals are good. Can you do that?”
“Sure. I’ve worked in military hospitals before,” he lied.
Miranda lifted her arm and pointed down the hall, back toward the living room.
She said, “Head that way, past the family room. Mrs. Sossaman’s room is all the way to the end and Mr. Sossaman is the first door on the right.”
Then she reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a key on a chain. She reached it out to Widow, said, “This unlocks the door.”
Widow took the key and nodded.
He took a giant pull from his mug and drained the coffee. He put the mug on the counter and said, “Okay. Be right back.”
Widow stepped away and made the walk down the hall, through the family room, and to the first door.
He saw Liam’s door was locked with a simple door lock. He guessed to keep the boys out.
Widow stopped at the door and heard the sound of a hot shower pulsating and whipping. For a brief moment, he imagined Crispin.
He shook it off and unlocked the door, put the key in his pocket, and stepped in.
That’s when Jack Widow came face to face with the evidence that Cameron had told him about. He saw why he had been wrangled to the Sossaman ranch. He saw why she had gone to all the trouble of taking the money from his account.
His first instincts analyzed the information. And he immediately knew, not suspected, but knew that Cameron had not only transferred the money out of his account, but also she had probably had Hogan pick him up on purpose. She had probably even had the six guys back in Wikieup try to beat him up.
He remembered the one guy, checking his phone at the sports bar. He had been texting with someone. Then he had been listening to someone giving him orders. And the guys didn’t really make any sense. They looked like bodybuilders and college preps and a little too rough to be either.
Cameron had engineered the whole thing. It was a test.
She had led him to this place to see the face of Liam Sossaman.
She had done all that because Widow knew him. He hadn’t remembered the name, because he was never told the name, but he remembered the face.
Liam had been a guy that he had last seen in handcuffs, ten years ago.
CHAPTER 47
TEN YEARS AGO, Widow was still in uniform. He was a SEAL and an undercover NCIS agent.
Widow was stationed in Bahrain when he had met Liam Sossaman for the first time. Only he didn’t actually meet him. They were never introduced and Liam didn’t speak the entire flight.
Which was fine with Widow. He was assigned to a simple prisoner transfer. He didn’t know what the guy did and he didn’t care. It wasn’t his case or the case of the NCIS.
He didn’t want to be the guy’s friend. In general, he made it a practice not to make friends with prisoners that he was told to transfer over to the FBI.
Typically, these sorts of transfers involved prisoners who were declared enemies of the state, which meant that they had pending charges of treason. The FBI usually took these cases. Not necessarily always, but most times, there were plea bargains and terrorist information to be gained and the FBI had precedent in law enforcement over the homeland.
It all depended. In this case, the prisoner was to be transferred to the FBI. In his dossier, there was information indicating that he was a high-profile witness. Something about a company that he was involved in that was suspected of selling to foreign enemies of the US. Widow didn’t know if it was weapons or what, but he knew the guy was in plenty of trouble.
He’d been told to fly with the guy from Bahrain to Naples, Italy. There he was to handoff the prisoner to an FBI team. He was their problem.
Widow was excited about the transfer because of one of the FBI agents.
The Naval base in Naples was a compound made up of white buildings. It was a good place to be stationed.
The hotel was the same one that they had seen each other in six months earlier.
Widow lay in bed, the sun rising over the city, the skyline vivified by the orange and red sunrise.
He lay with one hand behind his head, over a stack of white pillows. And the other arm was draped over a beautiful woman.
She was an American, not Italian.
He asked, “You awake?”
“I never sleep,” the American woman said.
“I know.”
“What time is it?”
Widow glanced at the sunlight peering in through the open window and said, “It’s sunrise.”
She laughed and turned in his arms.
She pulled herself up to kiss him. Then she said, “No shit.”
The kissed a long, passionate kiss. Her tongue was wet. He felt the proximity of her teeth, but they didn’t collide with his. He closed his eyes and felt the same spark that he had felt every time they met.
She pulled back and laid her chin on his chest. She said, “I can hear your heart beating. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“What is it?”
He said, “You ever think about more?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean do you ever think that we should be more?”
She said, “Widow, you’re in the NCIS. You are always someplace different. I work for the FBI. I’m always someplace different. How would we ever work out?”
He stayed quiet.
“Don’t you like this? I thought guys liked having sex with beautiful women and having zero commitment?”
She smiled at him.
He smirked and said, “Not all guys.”
“In a different life. You know?”
He nodded.
She reached up and kissed him. She said, “Come on, let’s get dressed. We can grab coffee downstairs before I have to get back.”
He kissed her back and smiled.
TWO HOURS LATER, Widow was dressed in his
dress uniform and standing with Liam Sossaman in handcuffs outside the Naples Naval Station. He waited by the gates with one hand on the handcuff around Liam Sossaman and one hand down by his side.
He watched as FBI Agent Lucy Escobar and her partner, a guy who he had never met before, stepped out of a black SUV with Italian plates. They walked over to the gate.
Escobar and Widow had been seeing each other for about two years, but he had only seen her enough times in person to make up maybe two weeks.
They had originally met sharing an arrest that he couldn’t even remember.
Escobar smiled at him and said, “Lieutenant, thanks for holding onto our prisoner for us.”
Back then, Widow had been a Lieutenant Junior grade, but he didn’t correct her. It was close enough.
Escobar had red hair, he remembered. That day it was pulled up in a bun. Which she knew he hated because she had had such long, beautiful hair. He liked it down.
He remembered it long and wet in the shower only a couple of hours before they met in the street for the prisoner transfer.
He remembered fighting the smile off his face when he had last seen her.
“We’ll take him from here,” she had said.
He nodded to her, said nothing.
Her partner reached out and took possession of Liam Sossaman, who looked at Widow one last time. He almost spoke but didn’t. Widow remembered that.
The partner walked Sossaman over to the SUV and ducked him into the back.
Escobar walked over to Widow and held her hand out, offering a handshake. One official US law enforcement agency to another.
Widow stared into her eyes. He could count the number of times that he had seen her before on two hands and he could count nearly an equal number of times that he had seen her naked.
He smiled and took her hand and shook it.
She said, “Thanks for your cooperation in this matter.”
He nodded.
She said, “I hope to see you again.”
He said, “Me too.”
She let go of his hand, slow like she never wanted to let go.
She smiled a big smile and said, “Maybe in another life.”
Widow nodded and said, “In another life.”