Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods--Chapter 18

A split second before the wall exploded Pike grabbed Elizabeth’s wrist and pulled her into the hallway.

He’d instantly recognized the signature flash of a helicopter-launched missile. This was a military attack, or an assault by someone with access to military weapons.

His ears rang from the explosion, and the back of his neck stung from some kind of shrapnel. There was no time to check it now. He towed the petite archeologist through the hall. Behind them, there was another explosion. Several framed photographs fell from the walls. Plaster dust from the ceiling coated their heads like snow.

“Nugget won’t be happy about this,” he said. His voice sounded like it was coming from under water.

“What?” Elizabeth said.

Whoever was attacking them intended to bring down the whole house. Pike would have to take his chances outside.

They made their way to the mansion’s foyer. Explosions shook the entire structure. Next to the front door one of Jiminez’s men lay unconscious or dead. A large metal shield, like something out of a Roman gladiator movie, had fallen from the wall onto his head.

Pike knelt to check his pulse. The man was gone. Reaching under the dead man’s jacket, Pike removed a gun. It was a Sig Sauer P220 Combat model with a 10-round magazine. It wasn’t much against missile-firing helicopters but it would have to do.

Pike threw open the door. The sun’s harsh glare was in sharp contrast to the rumbling explosions behind the house and the cacophonous thumping of the chopper blades. He pulled Elizabeth out of the house.

“We can’t stay here,” he said.

“What?”

He spoke louder. “We have to go. We’re going to run to the jungle, okay?”

She nodded.

With the enemy choppers concentrating on the back of the house, they would have to take an indirect route to cover. Pike would head for the road, then enter the jungle slightly north of where he and Drake had first stumbled onto Jiminez’s property.

“Let’s go.” He released Elizabeth’s hand and they ran.

They had covered less than 40 yards when one of the choppers sailed over the house. The road was at least two hundred yards away. Pike stuck out an arm to stop Elizabeth. He turned and fired at the chopper. One shot cracked the cowling in front of the pilot before the man nosed the craft up. Pike’s other shots bounced harmlessly off the undercarriage.

“Come on,” he said.

They ran toward a long detached carport. The sides were open to the air, but the roof was metal and might offer some protection.

Unless the chopper launched a Hellfire missile at them.

There were only two vehicles parked under the carport: a Mercedes SUV and a Bentley Continental Supersports convertible. Jiminez’s other transportation must have been stored somewhere else. If they were behind the house, they were probably already gone.

“Notice anything about that helicopter?”

“It was white,” Elizabeth said. “Do you think it’s the Brotherhood of the First?”

Pike nodded. “I think whoever killed Swift called in the air strike.”

“Your friend?”

“For the last time, Drake is not my friend,” Pike said. “Let’s get behind the SUV. Try to keep it between you and the chopper.”

They heard the Brotherhood’s helicopter hovering overhead. Then came the chattering of automatic gunfire. Bullets pierced the carport’s roof and shredded the top of the small convertible.

“Slide under the truck,” Pike ordered.

They both crawled under the SUV. Elizabeth fit easily. The space was cramped for Pike’s large frame, but he made it.

Once again, gunfire rained down on the carport. He heard the metal tearing into the roof of the SUV.

“What are we going to do?” Elizabeth said.

Pike wasn’t sure. He only knew that if was going to die it wouldn’t be on his back, hiding under a drug lord’s Mercedes.

When the gunfire ceased, he said, “Stay here.”

He pulled himself out from under the truck and climbed to his feet. He checked the magazine of the Sig Sauer. Six shots remained. If he chose his targets carefully, he might be able to do some damage. He stepped out of the carport’s cover just as the sound of the chopper blades doubled.

Both Brotherhood choppers were hovering over his position. They looked like Russian KA-52s, the attack helicopter of the air force there. Both were painted white. Pike couldn’t see any more missiles. Maybe all of the heavy stuff had been used on the house.

One of the KA-52s came closer to the ground. The cowling in front of the pilot was unmarked. So this was the second craft. Pike waved a hand in greeting and smiled. Two men were in the craft. One pilot and one weapons man, he guessed.

“Hey! How’s it going?” Pike shouted.

Then he raised the Sig Sauer P220 and emptied it into the pilot’s cabin. The cowling starred, then shattered. The gunner slumped in the seat. Pike saw blood spread across the chest of his white jumpsuit.

The pilot yanked the stick, and the chopper rose into the sky.

Pike tossed the empty gun away as the other helicopter opened fire again.

But the gunfire instantly stopped.

Pike heard the roar of an engine and felt the vibrations of another helicopter rotor. He shielded his eyes with his hand and looked to the north.

The new arrival was a black AgustaWestland Apache, the British version of the U.S. Army’s AH-64. The Apache fired a missile. The Brotherhood chopper vanished in a ball of flames.

Pike stepped back under the flimsy protection of the carport as metal and flaming fuel and body parts fell to earth.

He heard the distinctive sound of the other KA-52 growing fainter. The other Brotherhood pilot was fleeing.

The black Apache landed lightly on the expansive front lawn. When the rotors stopped turning, the pilot’s door opened.

The man was short, but built like a fireplug. An unlit cigar was clenched between his teeth.

He removed the stogie and smiled at Pike.

Pug Benson said, “Boss, is this a good time to ask for a raise?”


To Be Continued

© Mark Justice 2011

Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods--Chapter 17

Pike touched Swift’s shoulder. The shirt had the texture of rough stone.

Pike, a man who spent his life in perpetual motion, was stumped. This was beyond anything in his experience.

Seconds earlier, Swift had been alive and providing useful information. What happened in the brief time Pike was out of the room?

Drake stepped through the open doorway, adjusting the sling on his wounded arm.

“What’s the hell is this?”

Pike turned to face him. “Where were you? I told you to watch him?”

“Just a minute. You told me not to let him leave. I had to take a leak, so I cuffed him to the table.”

Pike ran a hand over his short, black hair. He heard commotion from another part of the house. Footsteps were headed his way.

Drake moved closer to the thing that had once been Swift. He leaned forward and studied the texture of the remains. “Looks like stone.”

“Thanks,” Pike said. “Big help. Really.”

Drake ignored him. “What could do this to a man?”

That was the question that gnawed at Pike. “You didn’t run into a woman with snakes for hair?”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.”

Someone had done this to Jimmy Swift. Someone in this house. But how had it been done? Was it a disease? Another futuristic weapon?

“I am tired of this damn Brotherhood,” Pike said.

Two men stepped into the room. Once was a bodyguard Pike had never seen. He was nearly seven feet tall. The other was Jiminez.

“What have you done?” Jiminez said.

“I didn’t do that,” Pike said, poiting a thumb in the direction of Swift’s granite-like corpse.

When he saw the shock of Jiminez’s face, Pike realized Nugget had not been talking about Swift.

“Madre de Dios.”

“I saw who did it.”

They all turned to the voice in the hallway. Elizabeth Crassberg stepped forward. Her skin was pale and her eyes were wide with fear. She pointed a trembling finger at Drake.

“He did it.”

Drake’s left eyebrow raised a quarter inch, but he otherwise did not react.

“He did what?” Pike said.

“He killed him. The man who saved me.” A sob broke from Elizabeth’s throat, and she covered her face with her hands.

Pike stared at Drake. “Well?”

“She’s wrong. She’s making it up or she mistook someone else for me.”

“You’ve always been a dick,” Pike said, “but a traitor...”

Drake made a noise that might have been a chuckle. It sounded like a rusted hasp on a ancient door. “If you’re worried that someone here works for the Brotherhood, then why not take a look at the gal that, you know, actually works for the Brotherhood?”

Jiminez cleared his throat. “This is very heart-warming, amigos, but I have a bigger problem.”

Pike heard the unmistakable thump of rotors. Choppers. At least two, maybe more.

“Who is that?”

“You tell me,” Jiminez said. “Your friend uses my phone and we have incoming. Is it your people? DEA? My competition?”

“He’s not my friend,” Pike said.

The choppers moved fast. The vibration from the rotors could be felt in Pike’s chest.

Outside the window of the football room he saw a flash like the lighting of a very bright flare. He instantly knew it was far more dangerous than simple illumination.

“Move!” he shouted.

The window and surrounding wall collapsed with a thunderous roar.

To Be Continued

© Mark Justice 2011

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Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods--Chapter 16

In less than an hour, they were back at Jiminez’s compound, in the big room with the football memorabilia.

Jimmy Swift sat in one of the leather chairs, drinking from a mug of hot coffee. He winced with every sip.

“Got a cut on the inside of my lip,” he said.

“I’ll cry myself to sleep,” Pike said. He sat on the couch across from Swift.

The house was quiet. Elizabeth was nearly hysterical. Jiminez had given her some kind of pill and she was lying down in one of the many bedrooms in the massive house. Somewhere else in the mansion, Smith was being treated by Nugget’s personal physician–quite against his wishes. His boss had insisted.

Drake was in another room, using the satellite phone to make travel arrangements with the Ravenscroft people. When they got a line on Gemma, Pike wanted to be free to take off as soon as possible.

“Where is she?”

“I already told you I don’t know,” Swift said.

“I don’t believe you, Jimmy.”

“Christ, Pike. I’m not lying.”

“Smith wants to kill you. You get that, right?”

“The guy I shot?” Swift smiled.

“I might be able to talk him out of it. Or talk his boss out of it. Jiminez owes me.”

“Whatever. He wants to kill me. You want to kill me. The Brotherhood will definitely kill me when they found out I brought the chick to you. What difference does it make?”

“I don’t get you, Jimmy. You told me you were getting out.”

Smith shrugged. “I was, but something came up. It included a nice bonus and I, ah, owe some money to a certain pushy guy.”

“What was the job?” Pike said.

“Muscle, like always. The Brotherhood has a warehouse on Isla Mujeres, right off the coast. I was supposed to guard the place. I waited around by myself for a day or so, then all these choppers landed, with a couple of prisoners.”

“Gemma?”

“I guess,” Swift said, “but I didn’t see her. The guy in charge was a real asshole named Gustav.”

“We’ve met,” Pike said.

Swift nodded. “So you know. That’s why I keep my distance. They put somebody in a little room at the back of the warehouse. I know one of the chopper pilots. He filled me in on what happened. That’s how I knew about you. In less than an hour, the choppers took off again, leaving me alone. I busted the lock on the room and took a look around. That’s when I found the other broad.”

“Elizabeth.”

“Whatever. I was bringing her back to you, buddy. Maybe she overheard something that will help.”

“You did it out of the goodness of your heart, huh?”

“Hey, I’m tired of all the secrets and weird shit. It’s like being in a cult or something. I thought if I helped out, you could put a good word in for me with Ravenscroft and maybe I could get my old job back.”

Pike stared at Swift for a moment before he replied.

“Back in Florida you mentioned some kind of weapon the Brotherhood had. Was it the black light gizmo?”

Swift grinned. “You saw that?”

“Twice,” Pike said.

“Ain’t that crazy? Like some kinda Martian ray gun.”

“So that was the secret weapon?”

“No way, man. That’s like a tinker toy compared to some of the other stuff they have.”

Icy tendrils seemed to crawl over Pike’s scalp. “Like what?”

“Nope.” Jimmy Swift crossed his arms over his chest. “I can’t give you everything, man. Then you’ll just let that Smith dude shoot me.”

“I won’t let him shoot you, Jimmy.”

“You won’t?”

“No,” Pike said. “I think he wants to beat you to death.”

“Nice. So that’s it?”

“Maybe not, if you get me to this warehouse.”

Swift shook his head. “Waste of time, man. The Brotherhood won’t be there. They’ve got, like, a million of those places. And they’re the most paranoid bunch I’ve ever seen. They’re always moving around, sending out coded instructions, secret passwords, the whole deal.”

“How?” Pike said.

“How what?”

“The coded instruction. How do they get them to you?”

Swift nodded to coffee table. His pockets had been cleaned out. The only thing he had carried was a couple of hundred dollars in a money clip and a Blackberry. Both were on the table.

“Text message.”

Drake came through the door, his usual smirk plastered across his face. “Talked to Florida.”

“The state?” Pike said. “Did you tell them I said hi?”

Drake ignored him. “A jet will be at Cancun in four hours.”

Pike considered that. It would be good to have a destination in mind. He turned to Swift.

“Last chance, Jimmy. I need a location. Someplace to get a line on the Brotherhood.”

Swift shook his head. “I don’t know, man. I hear stuff. There’s supposed to be a lab in the Rockies somewhere. And the head dude has a castle or something in Europe.”

“What about the London headquarters?”

“That place? It’s for the tourists. They hand out brochures and stuff. Other than the place in Florida, I’m not sure–”

Pike stopped him. “What place?”

“It’s a lab, where they work out the bugs in the stuff they find. Two big buildings. The other is a barracks and training facility for their foot soldiers.”

“Where is it?”

“On Sanibel Island.”

One of Jiminez’s men opened the door and gestured to Pike. “Senor, you have a call. Someone named Pug. He said it was muy importante .”

“Drake, don’t let him leave.” Pike pointed at Swift.

He followed the Mexican down the hall, to a small alcove with an old fashioned rotary phone. Why the hell wouldn’t Pug call him on the satellite phone? He lifted the receiver.

“Yeah?”

He heard only a hum and the crackle of static.

“Pug?”

When there was no answer, he hung up and turned around. Jiminez’s man was gone. Pike headed back to what he thought of as the football room.

“Okay, Jimmy, you’re going with us.”

He paused. Drake was gone. Swift’s wrist was handcuffed to the leg of a heavy table next to the leather chair. But whoever handcuffed him needn’t have bothered. Swift wasn’t going anywhere.

Jimmy Swift gazed sightlessly in Pike’s direction. His skin had the look and consistency of gray stone. He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t breathing.

Jimmy Swift was a statue.

To Be Continued

© Mark Justice 2011

Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods--Chapter 15

From the van, the man dressed in white swung the cylinder at them swiftly, pouring forth the destructive black beam. There was no way to outrun the light.

“Down,” Pike said. “Hug the ground.”

Pike planted himself as flat as he could against the earth. The thick, black dirt smelled of jungle, which the area had been a couple of decades earlier. The right side of his faces pressed into the shells that surrounded the shrubbery. With his left eye, he followed the progress of the black beam.

It passed mere inches above Pike’s head. This close, the texture of the light was odd. It was glossy, like a sheen of oil on concrete. He hoped it wasn’t going to be the last thing he ever saw.

The black light cut through the shrubbery cleanly, raining leaves and thin branches onto Pike’s head.

He heard Jimmy Swift curse. The sound came from a few feet behind him and to the right.

“Smith?”

“Here,” the man’s said, from Pike’s left. By pulling his head toward his chin, Pike could see the top of Smith’s head.

“Don’t let Swift get away.”

“Si.” Smith sounded happy.

“And don’t kill him.”

“Si.”

“At least until I talk to him.”

Smith chuckled. It was an evil little sound.

“Pike, where the hell are you going?” Swift sounded understandably nervous.

Pike didn’t answer. He crouched low to the ground and scrambled toward the road. Within a few yards, he was past the arc of the black light. The man wielding the weapon couldn’t reach Pike without cutting through his own van.

The surviving Federales found cover between vehicles and the rubble of the resort. They opened fire on the van.

Great. He was out of range of the weird ray gun, but now stray shots flew over his head.

When he reached the road, Pike moved until the bulk of the dark van was between his body and the Federales. He sprinted for the van.

The driver must have seen him. A gunshot shattered the passenger window. The bullet missed him, but small shards of glass cut Pike’s cheek and lip. He flattened his body against the side of the van. The metal hummed and vibrated from the black light weapon. Pike wondered about the weapon’s power source and how long it could fire.

A hand holding a gun poked out of the wrecked passenger window. Pike knew he was visible in the passenger side mirror, so it was only a second or two before the driver could shoot. With the black beam spewing death on the other side of the van, and the gunfire of the Federales peppering the van, Pike had few options.

Pike grabbed the hand and the gun. He pulled. The driver’s face slammed into the top of the door frame. The man was Caucasian, dressed in a white jumpsuit like the other members of the Brotherhood. Still holding the man’s gun hand, Pike drove a fist into the center of the driver’s face. The man dropped the gun and slumped back across the seat.

Pike opened the passenger door. The back of the van was filled with unidentifiable machinery. The loudest noise came from a box the size and shape of a large generator. From the front of the box, a thick silver tube connected to the base of the cylinder that fired the black beam. The second white-garbed man was focused on using the weapon to destroy the remaining cops.

“Nice suit,” Pike said. “Way to blend into the night.”

The man with the weapon whipped his heard around to look at Pike. Recognition filled his eyes.

“You,” he said.

“Me.” Pike fired the driver’s gun. The shot hit the man in the right shoulder. He looked vaguely familiar to Pike. Maybe he was an ex-Ravenscroft employee who had defected along with Jimmy Swift.

More shots poured in through the van’s open side door. The man Pike had shot was hit several more times.

“Give me the ray gun and I’ll get you a doctor,” Pike said.

“You’ll...never stop us,” the man said. Bright red stains flowered on his white uniform. He turned the cylindrical weapon toward Pike...

...and kept going until it was pointed at the bank of machinery. The black light arced from the tube and sliced through the equipment.

Pike pushed himself out of the van. He ran for the street.

The explosion lifted him from his feet and pushed him through the air. He crossed his arms over his face and tried to go limp. He struck the pavement with his arms first, then his chest. The air was forced out of his lungs. Something sharp and hot landed on his back. He had enough sense to move his hands to protect the back of his head.

Someone took him by the arms and pulled him to his feet. Pike’s vision was blurred, but he could make out the figures of Miguel Smith and Jimmy Smith.

And he could clearly see the flaming remains of the van. Most of the vehicle’s body was gone, along with the Brotherhood’s mysterious weapon.


To Be Continued

© Mark Justice 2011

Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods--Chapter 14

Pike pulled Jimmy Swift to his feet and jammed the barrel of his pistol into the center of the larger man’s back.

“March,” Pike said. “I want to be out of hear before the Federales arrive.”

“Fat chance,” Swift said. It came out as Bat chance.

They climbed the steps to the resort. At the top, Jiminez’s man was standing, albeit weakly, and leaning against the railing.

“You’re alive,” Pike said.

“I’m a tough little wetback,” the man said in Harvard-accented English.

“Not so little,” Pike said. “What’s your name?”

“Miguel Smith.”

“Smith? You’re kidding.”

“That’s what everybody says.” Smith pointed his gun at Swift. “Is this the bastardo who shot me?”

“Yep.”

Smith lifted his pistol in preparation to strike it across Swift’s nose.

Swift covered his face with his hands. “Not the nose! Not the nose!”

“Later,” Pike said. “We have to get out of here. The police...”

“Won’t be a problem,” Smith said. The three of them walked through the resort, back to the lobby. Smith kept up pretty well for a man with a gunshot wound. Sirens were sounding as they started back, growing closer, and finally dying out. Law enforcement had arrived at the Imperial Laguna.

By the time the lobby came into sight, the sky was throbbing with red and blue lights. Many of the resort’s occupants were standing on their balconies or peering through their glass patio doors.

“So, is there another way out of here?” Pike said. “We could never slip past them, not with the way you look.” Smith’s shirt and jacket were stained with blood.

“You’re right. No one would believe such a handsome native would be hanging out with two such ugly gringos. But, really, it won’t be an issue.”

Two Federales, sub-machine guns hanging from their shoulders, crouched over the body of Jiminez’s other man. One of them looked up as Pike and the other two men approached. He whispered to his companion and pointed. Both officers stood and unlimbered their weapons.

“Stay here,” Smith said. His pistol stashed under his jacket, he walked toward the two Federales. One hand was raised in the air, the other held his side.

“This day sucks,” Swift said. Sucks came out as suds.

“Jimmy, if they arrest us, I swear to God I’m punching you in the nose again before they cuff me.”

Swift stayed quiet.

Smith returned to them. The two cops stood talking to each other.

“Come on,” Smith said. “We can leave.”

“How did that happen?”

“I’ll explain later.”

The three of them climbed the steps to the lobby, where more Federales stood. Most of them smoked cigarettes and ignored Pike, Smith and Swift. When they reached the parking lot, they found several Mexican Federal Police trucks and more officers smoking and trying not to pay attention to them.

Smith pulled a cell phone from his pocket. He spoke into it for maybe two seconds.

“The car is on the way,” he said.

“So how come we’re not on our way to jail?”

“Mr. Jiminez is very generous to many of our government institutions.”

“Right,” Pike said. “And what about your late friend in there?”

“Mr. Jiminez will pay for a nice funeral and supply his family with a healthy stipend.”

“What about me?” Swift said.

“We’re gong to have a nice conversation, Jimmy, and pretty damn soon,” Pike said.

“Let me talk to him,” Smith said. “I won’t take very long.”

“Easy, buddy,” Pike said. “I think you need a hospital first.”

As they spoke, a black van pulled up in front of the resort. Pike noticed it, primarily because it wasn’t their limo. It was probably the Mexican version of crime scene techs.

The van’s side door opened, and Pike saw a man dressed in a white jumpsuit. Yeah, a crime scene guy.

The man in white picked up a metal tube. The design looked familiar. The man placed it on his shoulder like a rocket launcher.

That was odd.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. Eventually, sparks flashed from the tip of the cylinder.

Black sparks.

Pike knew why he recognized the design.

“Run,” he told the others. “Move your asses.”

He grabbed Swift’s arm and jogged for the topiary at the edge of the drive. Smith was close behind.

“Tell your cops to get out of the way,” Pike said.

Smith shouted something in Spanish. It was too late.

Black lightning roared from the cylinder, followed a dark shaft of light. The light sliced through three of the Federales, cutting them in half. The lower halves of their bodies stood for a moment, as if refusing to acknowledge the end. Then the body parts tumbled to the asphalt, spilling fluids and ropey loops of intestines to the hard surface.

The beam continued to the front of the Imperial Laguna, cutting a swath of destruction through the structure. The path of the black wave of death changed. It moved in the direction of Pike, Smith and Swift.

“You’re right,” Pike said to Swift.

“Huh?”

“This day sucks.”

To Be Continued

© Mark Justice 2011

Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods--Chapter 13

“Get her back to the chopper,” Pike told Donovan. He didn’t stick around to see if Drake did it.

Pike ran full out, his gun in his right hand. He was already behind the curve in the situation, and if Gemma was in the resort, he wasn’t going to stop until he found her.

He sprinted up the steps to the lobby. The portico opened up into a huge, room with an exquisite marble floor. To the left was a massive counter that must have been sixty feet long. If there was a concierge on duty at three in the morning, he had found a hiding space when the shooting began. The right side of the room was devoted to a bar. There were dozens of tables, and soft music played from speakers mounted in the ceiling. There was no one present here, either.

There was no back wall to the lobby, just open space that provided a view of the hotel rooms and a pool that apparently wound its way through the resort. A dozen steps led down to the edge of the pool. One of Jiminez’s goons – the one who hadn’t spoken – lay on the concrete, curled into a fetal position. Pike didn’t stop to check on him. Another gunshot spurred him on.

The sound of the shot echoed off the concrete walls of the guest quarters, making it difficult to tell how far away it was. So Pike took a straight path, east toward the ocean. The resort grounds were illuminated by streetlights that were constructed to look like Mayan statues.

He ran for more than a quarter mile, though it seemed longer, thanks to the detours he had to take to get around that damned labyrinthine pool. Finally, he reached the edge of the resort property. The concrete turned to sand, and a set of wooden stairs gave access to a beach. Jiminez’s other man, the one who spoke English sat at the top of the steps, leaning against the railing support. He held his left hand against his side. Even in the pale moonlight, Pike could see a lot of blood around the wound and spattering the sand. The man’s eyes were closed and his chin rested on his chest.

Pike knelt next to him. He realized he had never asked the man’s name.

“Hey, you okay?”

The man slowly lifted his head. “Sure, never better,” he said.

He spoke so softly Pike had trouble making out the words.

The man cleared his throat and when he spoke again, his voice had a little more volume.

‘It’s one guy. White man. American, I think. Got a Glock. He ran down those stairs a couple of minutes ago.”

Pike nodded. He didn’t have time for words of comfort, and he didn’t believe the wounded man desired them. He followed the steps down to the beach.

It was a private beach, as it turned out. Beach chairs were stacked by the dozens at the top of a small rise of sand. Below, the Atlantic rolled in and out with a soft, pleasant roar.

There was movement to the right, about 40 yards away. A shadowy figure was tugging at something next to a stack of pedal boats, the kind of plastic contraption Mom and Dad could take out in calm waters to give the kids a ride in the ocean. The man pulled a rubber raft away from the pile of pedal boats. It had a small motor attached. He must have used it to come ashore with Elizabeth, then hid the boat from sight, in case anyone patrolled the beach.

The man used both hands to tug the rubber boat toward the water, so the gun must be stuck in a holster on in the waistband of his pants.

Pike ran again. The soft sand and the ocean’s murmuring masked his footfalls.

The dark figure was at the tide line when Pike stopped six feet away, gun raised.

“Freeze!”

The man raised his hands. There wasn’t enough moonlight to make out his features, but he was larger than Pike.

“Who are you? Where is Gemma Ravenscroft?”

“Well, hell,” the man said. He talked like he was suffering from a bad cold. Yet the voice sounded familiar.

“Who are you?” Pike stepped closer, and the big man jumped on him.

Pike couldn’t shoot him, not if he had any information about Gemma. Pike landed on his back with the other man on top of him.

Pike’s gun hand was free. He swung the barrel into the other man’s face.

“Shit!” The man rolled off Pike and covered his face with both hands. “Not the nose again! Jesus!”

A cloud moved away from the moon and there was enough light for Pike to see his opponent clearly.

The man who brought Elizabeth to the resort, the man who had vowed he was out of this, was Pike’s old pal Jimmy Swift.

To be Continued

© Mark Justice 2011