The Devlin Deception: Book One of The Devlin Quatrology Read online

  The Cardinals and the Pope all spoke over each other, until the military officer spoke up. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, your attention, please.” All eyes in the room turned to him.

  “I will take care of the problem. Do not ask me how; you do not want to know.”

  The room went completely silent, until the Pope nodded and whispered something unintelligible, but which was translated by the two interpreters as “Fruit” or “Suet,” and by the lip reader as “Duet,” at which point the butler left the room and the recording ended.

  -34-

  Five Months Earlier

  Saturday, July 9, 2011

  12:45 p.m.

  The Seafood Shack

  Bonita Springs, FL

  As Jake, Pam, Joe and Angela turned toward the canal, a crowd rushed from the restaurant and clustered on the docks and the patio, all staring at the water.

  Beverly looked at Jake and said, “Well, well, well, Jake; you finally did it.”

  Pam said, “Is that what I think it is, Jake?”

  Jake just nodded and smiled.

  “First one I've seen live.” She stood up and walked to the edge of the patio; Jake got up carefully and followed her.

  Bev went over to one of the docks and turned a faucet on, and a dark brown nose rose from the canal, snarfing up the fresh water running from the hose hanging from the end of the dock. A large brown body floated up to the surface behind the nose and rolled over, the two front flippers sloshing in the brackish canal water.

  “My god, it's huge,” Pam muttered to Jake.

  “Maybe a fourteen-footer,” Jake replied.

  “Fourteen feet? More like fourteen inches.” Pam pointed.

  “Oh, that; yeah, it's a male,” Jake said. “Must be a female somewhere nearby.”

  “He's so ugly, he's kinda cute.”

  “Yup, and they're very gentle, quiet beasts.”

  “Wow. I've got to get some pictures.” Pam went back to the table, rummaged in her bag and pulled out a cell phone. She came back to the edge and took several photos, including a few of the crowd gathered around the docks and patio. Jake noticed that two people, a man and a woman in their mid-forties, turned their faces away from Pam as she aimed the camera in their direction; he took note of their appearance, then went back to the table, sat tenderly, lit a cigarette and wrote in his non-spiral notebook.

  When Pam returned, she was beaming and smiling. “That was SO cool, Jake.”

  “You're welcome,” Jake said, smiling back.

  Pam laughed, pulled a cigarette out of her bag and said, “Five percent?”

  Jake nodded, laughed, lit her cigarette and then said, “I've got another admission, Pam.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I saw him coming from the bay before I told the story.”

  “Ah-ha. I wondered what had caught your eye.”

  “We call him Steve. He shows up for a drink a couple of times a week. They don't drink saltwater, but they can go for a couple weeks before they need --”

  Pam had been laughing as Jake was talking, and she said, “I'm sorry, what was that?”

  “Just that they can go a couple of weeks without fresh – okay, what's so funny?”

  Pam kept laughing, but managed to blurt out, “Steve … every time I hear … that, I … think of … Stevie Bruce.” Her laughter took over and she started snorting, shaking uncontrollably and tearing up. Contagious, that got Jake laughing, too.

  Finally, Pam grabbed a paper towel and wiped her tears away and managed to slow the laughter.

  “Well, looked like Stevie has a big bad Bruce,” Jake managed to spit out between laughs.

  “Oh, god, Jake, he does.” Pam's laughter changed to a mix of cackling and snorting. “Jesus, my stomach hurts.”

  Jake, still laughing, said, “Maybe the pasta?” which got Pam going again. Jake continued, “You know you're supposed to wait at least an hour after eating to laugh. Or is it an hour after swimming to do any eating?”

  “Oh, Jake, stop, please.” Pam's laughter turned into coughing and she held yet another paper towel up in front of her face. Jake immediately quit laughing.

  “Are you okay, Pam?”

  “Excuse me.” She grabbed her bag, got up and headed quickly into the restaurant, holding the towel firmly to her mouth and nose. Jake followed her with his eyes and then noticed the couple that had turned away from Pam's camera getting up from their table and following her.

  “Hey, Angela, can you keep an eye on our table?”

  “Okay.”

  “Joe, can you come with me?”

  “Sure, Jake.”

  Jake got up and headed into the restaurant, with Joe right behind him.

  -35-

  Thursday, December 15, 2011

  9:35 p.m.

  The White House

  Washington, DC

  The four union bosses sat around a table in fairly comfortable chairs in one of the ten cells in the basement, picking at the remnants of the large plate of cold cuts and buns that had been delivered to them three hours earlier, along with a plate of cheese cubes and a cooler of soft drinks, milk and water. A container of hot coffee and a package of tea bags were also in the cell.

  “I still can't believe this shit,” Richard hissed, throwing the two directives on the table. “Personally fuckin' liable? Permits? Fees? For demonstrating? This fuckin' sonofabitch!!”

  “On top of taking all our PAC funds,” Andy snarled.

  Bob added, “And closing out our insurance scams – I mean plans. And fuckin' around with the pension plans.”

  Lee's two cents: “And making the whole country 'right to work.' Shit.”

  Richard said angrily, “But this is the part that pisses me off the most. 'Organizers, inciters, communicators and supporters, direct or indirect, of any activities including, but not limited to, demonstrations or protests, shall be personally jointly and severally liable for any damages inflicted on any property, public or private, by any participant in such activities and for any cleanup and any extra security costs.' And it goes on to say that each and every participant will also be personally liable for those damages and/or costs.”

  Andy hissed, “The sonofabitch.”

  Bob said, “Who cares about the demonstrators? Fuck 'em. But to hold us liable? Bastard.”

  Lee pointed to another paper. “And this one, 127? Strikers may be summarily fired? And any interference with scabs is a felony? What the fuck is that? And more personal liability for us? Shit.”

  At that moment, a heavy door outside their cell door slammed open. All four bosses got up and went to the bars of their cell. They saw two men pulling and pushing a large arched plexiglass object on dollies past the cells. The arch was about five feet tall, ten feet long and four feet wide.

  Richard whispered, “What the fuck is that? A half-wheel for half a giant hamster?”

  The door slammed shut.

  Andy asked the men, “What's that?”

  One of the men answered, “Can't tell you. Classified.”

  Bob piped up, “Are you guys union?”

  The other man laughed. “Are you kidding? If we were, there'd be six guys doing this job.”

  The first man laughed and said, “Maybe a dozen. Have a nice few days, guys.”

  Another heavy door slid open and the men moved the object on through it. The door closed behind them with another slam.

  Lee said, “That's under the Oval Office, right?”

  Richard said, “Yeah, I think so.”

  Bob added, “Yup, it is.”

  Andy said, “Weird.”

  They moved back to their chairs around the table, except for Richard, who paced the room and then said, “So what the fuck do we do now?”

  “Go to bed, guys,” an electronic voice said. The lights went out.

  -36-

  Five Months Earlier

  Saturday, July 9, 2011

  1:05 p.m.

  The Seafood Shack

  Bonita Springs, FL
>
  As Jake and Joe hurried through the restaurant, they saw the guy from the couple that had followed Pam standing by the windows in the front wall opposite the restrooms. Neither Pam nor the woman were anywhere to be seen; Jake assumed, which he rarely allowed himself to do, that they were in the women's restroom.

  When Jake and Joe started to go past the man, heading for the men's room, he backed up against the wall, letting Jake pass by, but when he saw how closely they were looking at him, one on either side of him, he blanched and said, “Oh, God. Did my wife hire you?”

  Jake said, “No, buddy. We just want to talk to you.” Joe blocked the narrow hallway with his muscled body.

  With no warning, the guy reached behind his back, but both Jake and Joe moved quickly, Jake getting a solid hold on the guy's hand and bending the fingers back, while Joe grabbed the semi-automatic pistol lodged in the guy's waistband under his loose shirt, which he handed to Jake.

  “Well, well, well,” said Jake. “That's some pretty heavy weaponry there, buddy. Are you that scared of your wife? No, no, no; quit squirming or I'll break your fingers. Settle down, now.”

  “I got him, Jake,” said Joe, as he put the guy's right arm into a hammerlock.

  Jake knocked on the women's door. “Pam, are you okay?”

  Pam's voice came from the other side of the door. “Yup, I'm fine, Jake. Do you see a guy out there, hanging around?”

  “Yeah. Joe's holding him and I've got his gun.”

  The door opened and Pam looked out. “Yup, that's him. Get him in here, quick.”

  Jake stood back as Joe pushed the guy into the room, still keeping the lock on his arm. Jake followed them in, noticing the woman sitting on the floor with a bloody nose, her arms around the sink drainpipe and flex ties on her wrists. Pam was holding a smaller version of the gun Jake had.

  “Okay, Joe, turn him around.” Joe complied and Pam put flex ties from her bag on his wrists in front of him and pushed him onto the floor next to the woman, saying, “Sit. Stay. No, no, don't say anything.” She pulled some paper towels from the dispenser, gagged them both, then pulled out her cell phone and speed-dialed.

  “This is Pamela Robertson-Brooks, Secret Service, Badge ______. I need a soft pickup in Bonita Springs ASAP. I'm holding two federal fugitives in the women's restroom at the Seafood Shack on Bonita Beach Road, about a mile east of the beach. How soon can you get some marshals and transport here? No, I can NOT hold. Hello? Shit.

  “Jake, get his wallet and ID, would you?” Jake reached behind the man, pulled his wallet from the pocket of his bermuda shorts and gave it to Pam. She opened it and pulled out a driver's license, which she held next to another one, which she'd apparently gotten from the woman, while keeping the couple covered with the small gun.

  “Well, well, well, Nick and Nora Dunn? Geez, if you're going to use aliases, why not go all the way and make it Charles?” She gave the wallet and IDs back to Jake. Jake looked at the IDs closely.

  “Hello? Yes, I'm still here. Oh, Tristan? Yup, it's Pam. Look, I've got the Fischers … yup, Dylan and Emma … no, just happened to see 'em at a restaurant … yup, got 'em flex tied, but I need transport, a soft pickup. How soon can you get some marshals here? I need 'em ASAP … no, no locals … five? Guess that'll have to do … right, in the women's restroom … call me when you're in the parking lot and we'll get 'em out to you … no, I've got some civilian help … no, they're cool … okay.” Pam closed the phone and turned to Jake and Joe.

  “Thank you, guys. Five minutes. How did you know?”

  Jake shrugged. “Just something hinky about them when you were snapping pics, and then they followed you. So I asked Joe to help and we followed them. He's an ex-Marine.”

  Joe shook his head, “Not ex. Once a Marine, always a Marine.”

  “Oh, right; sorry, Joe.

  “Anyhow, when he went for his gun, I grabbed his hand and Joe got his other arm pinned. Then we knocked on the door. That's it.”

  Joe said, “I didn't know you could move that fast, Jake, and that hold you put on him, good one. How'd you know that?”

  “Oh, I learned it from a woman on the beach who teaches martial arts; I thought it might be useful somewhere in the novel. It's got some Japanese name that I don't remember, but I've got it in my notes. Guess it was just a response when he reached behind him.

  “So, Pam, who are these Fischers?”

  “Fugitives, counterfeiters, Number 43 on the Most Wanted List. I thought that was them as soon as I saw 'em out there, so I faked that coughing fit and headed to the restroom. Split 'em up so I could confirm who she was. And it worked. She made a big mistake by pulling this little gun when I wouldn't give her my phone. I was about to come out and get him when you knocked. That's it on my end.”

  Pam glanced down at the two sitting on the floor; Dylan was trying to pull the towels out of his mouth, but Pam shook her head and he stopped, glaring angrily at her. Emma was whimpering. Pam put another paper towel in her hands, which she held to her nose to try to control some of the bleeding, but she, too, glared hatefully at Pam.

  “I think there's a reward for these two, and I can probably work it so you two can split it.”

  Joe's eyes lit up and he said, “Really? Cool.”

  But Jake said, “Oh, none for me. Let Joe have it all, if there is one.”

  Pam looked quizzically at Jake. “Really?”

  Jake nodded. “Really.”

  Joe said, “Jake, are you sure?”

  Jake nodded again. “Absolutely, really.”

  Pam said, “Well, okay. Jake, got your notebook with you?”

  “Of course. And my pen.”

  “Joe, if you would, name, address, email and phone number.”

  Joe asked, “No Social Security?”

  “No need for that now. Once I get it all set up, then we will.”

  “Okay.” Joe wrote in Jake's notebook, ripped out the page and gave it to Pam; she slid it into her bag and looked at her watch.

  “Two minutes.” She pulled a small knife from her bag, slit the flex ties on the woman's wrists, pulled her arms from around the pipe and used new ties to bind her again, hands in front of her body. The old ones and the knife went into her bag.

  “Hey, Pam,” Jake said, “this just gave me an idea.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah; I like the name Dunn that these two used.”

  “Not as good as Charles woulda been. Dunn is okay, but … eh.”

  “But Dunn is a lot better name than what I came up with for the guy that buys the country, O'Hickenfrankenofskiopoulostein.”

  “Yeah, I wondered why you'd picked a name like that.”

  “Well, I think I'm gonna change it to Dunn now. Just run a 'find and replace' function, and that'll work much better, I think. Lots more possibilities with that one, too. Of course, I'll have to take out that multicultural joke that Debbie Jackson made, but that's no big – hey!”

  Pam casually slammed her elbow back into Dylan's face, breaking his nose, just as he was reaching for her bag and the knife she'd used to cut his wife's ties.

  “Now, now, Dylan, Dylan, did you think I'm so easily distracted?” She pointed to the back of her head. “Eyes back here, always. But thanks, Jake. And Emma, don't you get any ideas now. Here, Dylan.” She gave him a paper towel, which he held up to his nose.

  Jake chuckled. “Now they match.”

  Pam held another paper towel out to Jake and said, “Here, Jake. You're bleeding.” She pointed at his shoulder.

  “Damn, I musta pulled the stitches.” He gave Pam the gun and wallet he'd been holding, which she put in her bag, and then pressed the towel against his shoulder under his T-shirt. “Ow. Damn.”

  Dunn, still holding his paper towel to his nose, smirked and chuckled. Pam glared at him, then lightly slapped the side of his head.

  “No Schadenfreude from you, Dylan, you --”

  Pam's phone buzzed and she picked it up.

  “Robertson-Brooks … oh
, good, Tristan. Who? Lydia and Kirk? Great. Send 'em in and we'll be right out.” She slipped her phone back in her bag and pulled out two more flex ties.

  “They're here. On your feet.” As they stood up, held by Joe and Jake, Pam ran the new flex ties between the ones on their wrists, tying the two of them together. She pulled their arms down to waist level, took another paper towel, dampened it and wiped the remaining blood from their faces, but she left the towels in their mouths.

  She picked up her bag, opened the door, looked toward the front, then took the Fischers from Joe and Jake, holding them by the flex ties between them with one hand and carrying the small gun in the other, and moved them out into the hallway just as a youngish couple, clad in beach clothes, came toward them from the front door. Pam walked her prisoners up to them and the five moved quickly out into the parking lot to a silver SUV parked close by the front door. Jake and Joe watched through the windows as Pam spoke briefly with the driver, handed him the two guns, signed a paper on a clipboard, which he also signed and kept, and then nodded as the SUV drove slowly up out of the lot, heading west on Bonita Beach Road.

  -37-

  Friday, December 16, 2011

  9:30 a.m.

  The White House

  Washington, DC

  Donne's chief of staff, Emily, escorted Ex-President Obama and Ex-Vice President Biden into the Oval Office, where Donne was …

  (Author's note: The remainder of this section has been redacted at the request of certain people who wish to remain anonymous. Consideration has been provided by them to the author. Sorry; it was really eye-opening. But it was long; 23 pages. JD)

  * * * * * *

  1:30 p.m.

  Donne's chief of staff, Emily, escorted Ex-President Bush and Ex-Vice President Cheney into the Oval Office, where Donne was …