Homeland Security - Softcover

Hunt, Alexa

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0765350106 ISBN 13: 9780765350107

Verlag: Forge, 2008

Inhaltsangabe

Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist Elliott Delgado is reunited with former assassin Leah Berglund as they pursue two suitcase-sized nuclear bombs that are somewhere within the United States, as well as the murderous, unknown enemy plotting a devastating attack on the country. By the author of Corrupts Absolutely. Reprint.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Alexa Hunt is a former journalist. She lives in Missouri with her husband.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter One

 

8 P.M. MST, MONDAY, OCTOBER 27

 

SAN CARLOS, OUTSIDE GUAYMAS, MEXICO

 

ChiChi Bernal always beat the odds. That’s why he’d lived this long. But right now things weren’t looking too good. He felt the pull of two innocuous suitcases, one gripped in each meaty fist. They were heavy mothers, but he held them easily. He was a stocky man whose squat, round body hid hard muscle beneath a genial layer of belly flab.

 

He was late but dared not rush, running the risk of unwelcome attention. San Carlos was a quiet seaside resort that attracted tourists like yellow drew bees. They moved with the languid ease of the balmy weather, gawking at the sky, sipping umbrella-topped alcoholic drinks, and fending off persistent vendors who offered everything from handwoven blankets to plaster statuettes of the Virgin.

 

A soft hum of conversation surrounded Bernal, English and Spanish blended with German and Japanese. Being a seasoned traveler, he understood snatches of it as he moved through the crowds with watchful eyes.

 

The aquamarine bay glimmered in evening sunlight, hinting that the tropics extended to northern Mexico. ChiChi walked through the maze of dissecting piers that comprised the big marina, hard black eyes searching out the longest one—his rendezvous site was at the end of it. A maze of sailing masts and power antennae jutted against the orange-gold of the sky as hundreds of yachts bobbed on the incoming tide, obscuring his view. He cursed silently and kept walking.

 

He’d dressed like a tourist, in a floral print shirt and linen slacks, but his casual jacket concealed the .25-caliber pistol strapped beneath his arm. If anyone wondered why a heavyset man perspired in a linen coat, Bernal saw no evidence of it. He’d made a life’s work of blending in. As he neared his destination, the sun sank slowly into the bay, gilding the jagged twin spikes of old Tetakawi, the highest landmark in the coastal range.

 

From halfway down the pier, Bernal could at last see the opening from the bay to the ocean beyond. “No boat coming in,” he muttered to himself. His gut clenched.

 

Cabril’s man, Felix Ortiz, had spotted him in Ciudad Obregon that afternoon and smelled a rat. ChiChi was supposed to be in Culiacán, two hundred kilometers to the south. Had Felix intended to cut himself in on Bernal’s action, or had he reported Bernal’s whereabouts to Cabril? He’d had no time to find out.

 

Ortiz and two of his men lay dead near a rest stop forty kilometers south on Highway 15. That had added an hour to this leg of Bernal’s trip. It took time to dispose of the bodies, wash away the blood, and change clothes. If Ortiz had told Cabril ChiChi’s destination before he died, ChiChi was screwed. He set one case down on the dock and looked around, feeling the weight of the Colt under his jacket. In spite of the cool breeze off the ocean he was now sweating profusely.

 

Cabril must be the reason the damn boat wasn’t here. Bernal looked around the marina crowded with pleasure crafts. Maybe he could steal one, but even after serving three years in the U.S. Navy and seven in its Mexican counterpart, he’d never learned to operate so much as a dingy. He was a cook by trade, not a boatswain mate. His only option would be to kidnap an owner and force him to head out to sea. Bernal didn’t like the odds on that. Cabril’s outfit had spy planes patrolling the coast regularly.

 

Scanning the crowd of tourists and vendors, he saw no one suspicious until two big, blond Anglo types approached him, splitting up casually as they drew nearer. The hair on the back of his thick neck prickled. Like him, they wore jackets on this warm night when most men dressed in short-sleeved shirts.

 

Shit! He picked up the cases and walked as fast as his short legs would carry him, heading to the end of the crowded pier. He knew without looking that the gringos were closing the distance between them. Still no sign of his contact entering the narrow neck of the harbor.

 

Much as he disliked using some frightened hostage as a pilot, he might not have another choice. The pier he was on ran parallel to three others, all crowded with boats of various sizes. He glanced into each cabin as he walked past, looking for one that was occupied, but quickly abandoned the idea. It would take far too long to ease a boat from its berth.

 

Decision time.

 

Bernal went with his gut and jumped onto the small Sea Ray directly beside him. He landed with surprising agility for a stocky man carrying such a heavy load. He could hear his pursuers’ footsteps break into a run as he regained his footing on the rocking deck and flattened himself behind the cover of the cabin. The soft ping of a silenced bullet ricocheted off the metal rail to his right as he moved to the stern of the boat. He held his breath and threw the cases onto the bow of a large Bayliner moored beside it.

 

The next shot missed his head by an inch. One of the men fired from the stability of the pier while the other jumped onto the boat, causing it to rock violently under his weight. A tall man with a high center of gravity, he lost his balance and pitched forward. When he seized hold of the rail, ChiChi fired a single shot. The gringo tumbled over the edge and dropped with a loud splash into the water.

 

Down the pier a woman screamed. Bernal swore as he sighted in on the second man who dived behind the gate of the Bayliner. He fired when the blond head appeared over the edge of the stern, then jumped to the bow of the Bayliner, flattening himself at another popping sound. It was a standoff now. Both men were pinned down on the same boat, but Bernal once more held the suitcases.

 

At the opposite end of the pier a crowd gathered for the impromptu entertainment. He could hear the sound of angry voices and women’s hysteria. Soon the police would arrive. In a rich tourist area like this they were uncharacteristically prompt. ChiChi looked at the alloy metal cases and went with his gut again.

 

Using them as a shield was his only option. Would his enemy fire and risk hitting one? He had no time to consider because the man he’d sent into the drink surfaced, bloody but decidedly alive. And still armed. He climbed over the bow of the Sea Ray with the business end of a Browning pointed directly at Bernal.

 

ChiChi could see his finger, glistening with water, tighten on the trigger. “Son of a bitch, die!” He raised the suitcase to his chest and fired his Colt at the same time. The gringo’s slug hit the metal case and knocked the air from his lungs. His ears rang. He shook his head, rolling with the case clutched to his chest, ready to fire again, but his target went down, this time falling across the narrow bow of the Sea Ray.

 

The big man didn’t move but his companion did. Bernal could hear him climbing around the far side of the cabin. He could also hear the clump of police boots running down the wooden pier. Lots of them. He shoved the Colt into his belt and seized both cases, then jumped to the next boat, a two-story yacht bigger than the house in Detroit where he’d grown up. It provided him enough cover to clear another craft before Blondie followed.

 

Now they were playing the same game. Elude the cops first, then...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Forge
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2008
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0765350106
• ISBN 13: 9780765350107
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 370
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar