Devlin's Defiance: Book Two of the Devlin Quatrology Read online

  By 11:30, with twenty first-drafty pages, a third of an Angus burger and a glass of white zinfandel under his belt, he turned off the PC, stashed the power cord in a sideboard in his living room and headed upstairs to bed, where he was serenaded into a long, deep, dream-free sleep by the gentle surf lapping at the sandy beach beyond his sliding glass balcony doors.

  - 24 -

  November 12, 2012

  3:45 p.m. local time

  On the A22 southbound, about 30 km south of Innsbruck, Austria

  “I've almost caught up to him, Sharon, half a kilometer ahead of me, going about 100 kph. Video recording.”

  “Good going, Glenda; you're doing great. Let me know when he gets about a kilometer from the top and I'll activate the remote.”

  “Copy that. Getting close … closer … now!”

  “Remote activated. I've got control.”

  “No oncoming traffic. Speed him up.”

  “Copy that. 120 … 130 … 140” –

  Inside the luxurious Italian sports car, the driver was surprised by the sudden increase in speed and stepped on the brake pedal, to no avail. He stepped harder, then stomped on the pedal; still the car kept speeding up. He tried turning the wheel ever so slightly, but that also was unresponsive.

  “What the fu- – oh, shit!” he cried, realizing that his own invention was now being turned into a weapon against him. “Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit!”

  He turned the ignition key to OFF, but even that had no effect. The car kept speeding up.

  – ”160 … 180 … 200” –

  “Hard right … now!”

  “Hard right; copy, done.”

  “Whoooahhh, there he goes! Great timing, Sharon! Right through and over the guardrail and off into the great blue beyond. I'm pulling over now to get some more video.”

  “Okay. Deactivating remote.”

  Inside the car, the driver saw a mountainside perhaps a kilometer away, then the valley below him and finally, as he fully realized his fate was now sealed, the boulders and ground coming at his windshield at high speed. Then he saw nothing.

  “Yup, it's bouncing and rolling … and now it's exploded! Fire bursting out from the gas tank. Yup, he's gone; no way he survived that.”

  “Got it. Remote deactivated.”

  “No trace?”

  “None.”

  “Great. So do you want to report to Amber or should I?”

  “I'll take care of it, Glenda. You're gonna head back to Innsbruck?”

  “Yup; got my hotel and lift ticket for tomorrow all set.”

  “Still think you've got a shot at the Olympics?”

  “Gonna give it my best.”

  “Good luck, and great working with you; welcome aboard. Out.”

  - 25 -

  November 12, 2012

  5:34 p.m. local time

  Aboard Defiance

  On the Red Sea

  Jake finished his hourlong study of the reports of the previous week's activities, made several notes, then began digging into the financials, spending nearly another hour directing the flow of his and his company's and foundation's funds into multiple investments, always keeping an eye on where the money would be welcomed and treated the best. Little to none of that money was invested in the United States, other than anonymous donations to two micro-loan programs, one in New Mexico and one in the Appalachians.

  At 6:30, Pam knocked on the study door and said, “Jake, are you gonna be at that all evening? JJ's all packed and ready for tomorrow, and Jean-Claude has prepared a special farewell dinner.”

  “Give me five minutes, love, and I'll be right up.”

  “Okay.”

  Six minutes later, Jake opened the door to the dining salon and was greeted by an elegantly set, candlelit table, dim lighting and the sight of Pam and JJ in gossamer, diaphanous gowns, neither wearing a stitch underneath beyond the tiniest of G-strings, gold on Pam, red on JJ, leaving almost nothing to Jake's imagination (in JJ's case; in Pam's, to his memory). He gasped and they smiled.

  “Well, Pam, Mitzy and Bitsy are looking particularly perky,” he said.

  JJ pulled her shoulders back and cooed, “How about Roxy and Moxie?”

  Jake looked over at her and said, “Very nice, very nice indeed, JJ.” And then, glancing at the tropical shirt, jeans and boat shoes he was wearing, “It seems that I'm a bit overdressed for the occasion.”

  “Don't you worry, Jake,” JJ said, smiling. “We'll take care of that in short order.”

  “But first we dine,” Pam said.

  - 26 -

  November 13, 2012

  3:16 a.m. local time

  80 feet above the Aegean Sea

  “Did you hear that, Cam?”

  “Hear what?”

  “Snap out of it.”

  “What?”

  “You were thinking about Armando again, huh?”

  “How could you tell?”

  “You were moaning.”

  “Oh, geez. Out loud?”

  “Yup.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Well, focus.”

  “Roger that. Okay; focused, compartmentalized.”

  “Thought I heard a gunshot.”

  “Where?”

  “Not sure. Maybe back where the desk is.”

  “Let's go.”

  They moved cautiously away from the crates they'd opened and examined and back toward the archway. But as they got within about four feet of it, they heard a scraping sound and a voice crying out.

  “Help! Help! Help me! I am hurt and unarmed! Help me!”

  They stopped in their tracks and moved up to the wall beside the archway, their backs to it.

  Cam took a quick peek around the archway and saw the desk and wall rising to reveal a figure lying on its side at the top of a set of stairs, empty hands stretched out in front, its face covered in blood. A dim glow emanated from behind and below the figure, which overpowered Cam's night vision goggles; pulling back, she dialed them back to low intensity. Becky did the same.

  “Help me! Help! I'm hurt and unarmed. Help me!”

  “Identify yourself,” Cam shouted.

  “Oh, thank god, you're here.”

  “Identify yourself,” Cam repeated.

  “Dr. Frenchensteiner. I've been kidnapped.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “Yes. I killed the man who was guarding me. Oh, god, oh, god. Help me! I'm hurt and unarmed. Help me, please!”

  “Cover me, Becks.”

  “Roger.”

  Cam ducked around the corner, Becky behind her, both with weapons pointed at the figure on the floor.

  “Don't move.”

  “I will not. I cannot.”

  Cam ran to and past him, while Becky stayed back by the corner, keeping her eyes on the doctor. At the top of the stairs, Cam stopped and looked down the steps as carefully as she could through her goggles, searching for any hint of movement. Seeing nothing, she headed slowly and carefully down. At the bottom, she quartered the room, noticing the body of a man several feet away, his head bloody and partially absent. She walked over and took a closer look.

  “One dead guard, shot in the back of the head; otherwise clear.”

  Becky went over to the doctor, flex-tied his wrists in front of him, pulled out her medical pack and began to treat his facial wounds.

  “How did this happen?”

  “The guard hit me with his pistol to keep me quiet when I – ow!”

  “Sorry. Looks like that bone is broken. Can't do much about your nose. I'll give you a local and a painkiller.”

  She pulled out a syringe and administered a shot near the broken cheekbone, then cleaned up and bandaged the rest of his face. Then she shook a couple of pills from a container into his hand, and gave him a small bottle of water.

  “Thank you,” he said and swallowed the pills.

  “Can you stand?”

  “I am not – I, I think so.”

  “Let me help you, over here to
the wall. Good. Now sit down.”

  “Thank you. Oh, god.”

  “What you got down there, Cam?”

  “Lots of equipment, PCs and one big weird contraption,” Cam shouted back up.

  “That is a 3D printer,” the doctor said. “They were forcing me to adapt it.”

  “Fiona, do you copy? Fiona? Rescue One to Fiona. Fiona? Cam, I've got no signal in here. Come up and watch this guy.”

  “On my way.”

  When Cam got up the stairs, Becky ran outside and tried again.

  “Fiona, do you copy?”

  “I copy, Becks, five by five.”

  “We're done here, all clear, target rescued, no friendly casualties. Ready for the helo.”

  “Copy that. On its way. ETA, ten minutes.”

  “Copy that; ten minutes. The target has minor injuries, we've got nearly twenty dead bodies and lots of equipment to evacuate.”

  “Copy that.”

  When the helicopter arrived and landed in the courtyard, Cam and Becky turned the doctor over, showed the crew the bodies and equipment, taking a few minutes to examine the dead guard in the basement, and then headed back to their jet packs, strapped into them and fired them up.

  “Oh, shit,” Cam said as she saw water streaming out of three bullet holes in the hose on hers. “That's not gonna fly. Now what?”

  “How good are you at high diving?”

  “Not funny, Becks.”

  “Tell ya what, Cam. We'll unlatch the hose and let it drop, then you take the pack to the helo and go back with them. I'll fly down and tow your jet ski back to the big boat.”

  “Sounds good. But I'll miss the vibration.”

  “Well, hate to have you unsatisfied. We can do it the other way; I'll take yours to the helo and go with them, you fly and tow with mine.”

  “Better idea; thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  As they finished detaching the hose and let it drop, Cam spoke up. “Hey, Becks, just thinking. How did a wimp like that doctor get the pistol away from the guard while he was hitting him with it? That guy was big. Something hinky there. ”

  Becky thought for a moment, then said, “You're right. We'll have to let the debriefer know, and I'll tell the pilot. Actually, I was thinking more about what he said about adapting that printer. Wonder what that was about.”

  “What? I didn't hear that.”

  “You were still downstairs. He said 'they' were forcing him to adapt that 3D printer. Weird.”

  “Adapt? To what? 4D? 5D? Double D?”

  They both laughed.

  “Want some help carrying that over to the helo?”

  “Nah, Cam, I got it. But thanks. See ya later.”

  “See ya.”

  As Becky picked up the jet pack and headed around the corner of the monastery, Cam fired the other one up and flew off the ledge and down.

  - 27 -

  November 12, 2012

  7:26 p.m. local time

  Aboard Defiance

  On the Red Sea

  Jake leaned back in his chair, patted his belly and said, “Wow! Jean-Claude certainly outdid himself on this one. Delicious! But way too many oysters. I don't think I have any room left for dessert.”

  “We'll hold off on dessert until later, okay?” Pam said.

  “We'll need some time to work off this meal,” JJ added, smiling at Jake, “and maybe a little bit of exercise.”

  “Mm-hmm,” Pam murmured, “but not too strenuous.”

  “Oh, please,” JJ said, “maybe a wee bit strenuous. What do you think, Jake?”

  “Oh,” he said, “a little exercise can't hurt.”

  “Oh, goody,” JJ said, clapping her hands. “Ready, Pam?”

  “Ready, JJ.”

  The girls slithered out of their chairs and over to Jake, JJ behind him, Pam to one side. JJ began gently massaging Jake's neck, while Pam ran one hand in circles slowly across and down his chest, and with the other undid his shirt's top button.

  “Time for a change of venue,” she whispered in his ear, “okay?”

  “Mm-hmm. Ahhhhhhh.”

  “Okay; here we go.”

  JJ slid her hands under Jake's arms and gently lifted, as Pam's hand continued circling on his chest, sliding down to his stomach as he rose from the chair.

  JJ pressed herself against him and nuzzled his neck as he rose, whispering, “Oh, Jake, this is gonna be so much fun. I'm already getting a T-H-O.”

  “Mmmm; I can tell.”

  When they reached the door, Pam looked through the peephole, said, “All clear,” and opened the door. They walked silently down the empty passageway and entered the master suite.

  “Wow,” Jake said as he took in the transfiguration of the room. A dozen electric candles created a dim glow that revealed several life-sized photographs, some of JJ, some of Pam, and one of both of them, hanging about the suite.

  In all but one, they were in their birthday suits, provocatively yet artistically posed, lying down, sitting or reclining on velvet couches, mussed-up beds and in two cases, in the surf on a boulder-strewn beach. In the one photo of the two, they were scantily dressed in leather strap outfits, Pam with a whip, JJ with a riding crop. Jake noted that the bullet scar on Pam's shoulder was absent.

  The king-size bed's brown comforter had been replaced with a puffy red satin coverlet, and the small refrigerator/freezer had been moved from the far corner of the suite to the right side of the bed, with a small CD player on top and speakers on each side of the bed. A red vase with several huge feathers stood next to the left side.

  A scent that Jake couldn't identify, but which was a combination of jasmine, musk oil, lavender and roses, with a tiny hint of vanilla, filled the room.

  “You like?” JJ asked.

  “Marvelous,” Jake said, slowly turning to take it all in. “Wow!”

  “Most of it was JJ's idea,” Pam said as she stepped in front of Jake and finished unbuttoning his shirt.

  “Amazing,” Jake said.

  “Thank you,” JJ said quietly, pulling Jake's shirt down over his arms and dropping it on the floor, then nuzzling his back between the shoulder blades, sliding her lips up to and around his neck and gently nibbling his ear.

  Pam knelt in front of Jake, undid his belt, button and zipper, then slowly pulled his jeans and underwear down around his ankles.

  “Well, it looks like Stevie Bruce is ready for some playtime,” she said as she stood up and let her gown slide to the floor. JJ moved around next to Pam and did the same, then looked down and licked her lips.

  “Mmm,” she murmured.

  Jake stepped out of his shoes and jeans, all the while looking them up and down as they unsnapped their G-strings and tossed them aside.

  “Truly amazing,” he mumbled.

  JJ twirled around, slowly and seductively, keeping her eyes on Jake's face, while Pam gently took Jake's arm and guided him toward her as she backed up, pulling him down next to and partially on her when her knees touched the bed and she lay back on it.

  JJ lay down next to Jake, pressing her body against his side and partially on his back, and said, “Oh, definitely a T-H-O.”

  “Ready, JJ?”

  “Ready, Pam.”

  “Jake?”

  “Ready as I'll ever be,” he said.

  - 28 -

  November 13, 2012

  6:56 a.m. local time

  Bonita Beach, Florida

  Gordy awoke refreshed and ready to take on whatever the world might throw at him.

  After his 30-minute high-intensity workout, his pulse rate got up to 115, and as he headed for the shower, he recited his morning set of eleven self-reminders, starting with “There's no going back” and “Respect the Grump,” ending with “Life intrudes.”

  After his shower, he went downstairs, took a sausage-and-cheese muffin from his refrigerator, took the top part of the muffin off, broke the remainder in half, wrapped one half of that back up and put it in a sandwich bag. While the
other half was nuking, he spread a thin layer of peanut butter on the top part of the muffin, wrapped that up and put it in the sandwich bag, which went into his beach cooler. Then he slowly ate the heated part, along with a glass of orange juice and a multivitamin, while checking the morning's news and his email, finding nothing that couldn't wait till the evening.

  He packed the rest of his cooler, took it down to his car and got fully set up at the beach by about 8:15. The early-morning sun caressed his back, making the 71-degree temp feel much warmer. A light easterly breeze rippled the calm water of the Gulf under a bright blue sky, free of clouds.

  He lit one of his small cigars with his magnifying glass, then sent VRs (Vicarious Rays; had he been religious, they might have been called prayers) to friends and friends of friends around the world. If they had any real effect, he had no idea, but it made him feel good.

  He gave a few “good mornings” to some of the people who came walking by and got smiles, nods, waves or “good mornings” in return from most of them.

  When he finished smoking, he put a tablespoon of ice cream in his mouth, slowly swallowed it and rinsed with some water from his cooler. Then he applied sunscreen to his forehead and nose and some SPF 45 lip balm to his lips and a scab that he'd discovered on his left ear, pulled a small spiral notebook and pen from his bag, lay back on his lounge and began jotting some notes. One read “Mix in the banal with the bizarre,” and another was “Maybe change POV for new ideas/twists?” And then “Too much violence? Hmm.”

  About 9:30, Louise, an art professor at a local university, showed up, accompanied by two men, one tall, lanky and bearded, the other short, portly and clean-shaven. She set down her bag, flipped open a beach chair about 15 feet from Gordy's lounge and draped a towel across it. Then she came over with her companions.

  “Hi, Gordy.”

  “Hey, Doc. How ya doin' on this fine morning?”

  “Great, thanks. Gordy, these are two colleagues of mine, Dr. Steven Spectrochianski, chairman of the political science department, and Dr. Bruce Patrikopoulos, chairman of the economics department. I gave them your book and they've read it, wanted to meet you. Okay if they stay and talk with you while I run?”