The first thing he saw was the barrel of a Glock right in front of his face. And heard a man say, "Don't move."
51
ALEX DUARTE HAD SENSED THE FIGURE MOVING CLOSER TO THE car and then took a guess at which end of the vehicle the intruder would try to use for cover. It was the same thing he would've done. He had his Glock out and waiting as a shadow-covered face came into view.
Duarte said, "Don't move." Not a shout, just a simple command.
In a blur, he saw a movement, and, before he could react, felt the gun fly from his hand and heard it chatter on the ground.
In an instant, he saw the flash of a pistol and, using his own considerable speed, swatted it from the man's hand. He felt a fist as he instinctively bobbed his head and fended off the blow with his right hand. Duarte rolled to one side, and his attacker moved in the opposite direction so they could assess one another.
Then, as he focused on the man's face for the first time and the light from the streetlight fell on him, Duarte simply said, "You."
The man, equally astonished, said, "You."
The hairy first mate of the Flame of Panama recognized Duarte, too.
Duarte let a small smile spread across his face. He'd been waiting to meet this guy.
The man said, "What's so funny?" He had a noticeable Spanish accent.
Duarte said, "You'll find out."
"Or maybe you'll be surprised." The hairy man moved to his left, alert and ready for action. "I like your moves. You're quick and precise."
"You're pretty quick yourself."
"I work at it."
Duarte smiled a little more. "Me, too." Then, as the man stood, Duarte saw the first front kick blast toward him. He blocked it hard and followed up with a round kick to the man's ribs. He took most of the blow but managed a hard elbow into Duarte as he threw the kick.
They tumbled toward each other and then over a low row of shrubs, each managing to throw a punch or kick along the way until they were well in front of the parked truck, both men panting and battered a little.
Duarte realized he was in a fight with the first guy that was as well trained and in as good a shape as himself. He'd always liked the advantage, and now knew what it was like to face someone who prepared for fights as hard as he did. This was not a Bruce Willis movie. This was a good old-fashioned street fight.
Duarte hoped the fight might wake up Félix in the parked Cobalt. At least he might distract this guy long enough for Duarte to regain the advantage. Lina was busy with Floyd.
They moved from side to side, and then the hairy man backed up, a little at a time, the whole way feinting with punches and kicks. Duarte didn't realize what he had been planning until it was too late. The first mate had backed to his pistol, which had come to rest way back in this part of the parking lot, twenty feet from their first encounter.
Duarte tried to spring onto the man, but the latter was far too quick, reaching down and covering Duarte with the small handgun.
The hairy man took a second to catch his breath and said, "Sorry, I wish we had time to finish this. You're the biggest challenge I've ever faced."
Duarte kept his eyes on the man, looking for a weakness or opening. The man had retreated just far enough to ensure his ability to hold Duarte at bay. He obviously knew what he was doing, and now Duarte wondered how he could've let this killer gain the advantage. All he knew was that this guy wouldn't hesitate to kill him or Lina.
William "Ike" Floyd was scared and shaking as the FBI chick, Lina, leaned on him with that autopistol of hers screwed into his right ear. She didn't seem nervous, and he had no idea what they had planned for him.
Lina leaned in close to him and said, "Who's out there?"
"Don't know. Probably Pelly," he panted.
"Who?" The name had a ring to it.
"Pelly. He works for Mr. Ortíz." His voice cracked as he spoke.
That caught all of her attention. "Ortíz is here?"
"I think so. I haven't seen him yet."
Lina shifted her weight and moved away from him slightly. Then she said, "Sorry, Ike, I can't have you blabbing about things."
He sensed a tension in her hand and blurted out, "You can't just kill me, you're an FBI agent."
"I have to kill you because I'm an FBI agent."
"I won't tell, I promise. I've never told anyone."
The FBI agent seemed to tense, and Ike knew what was coming. He involuntarily squeezed his eyes shut and hoped he wouldn't pee in his jeans as he waited for the imminent blast from the pistol.
Duarte walked well in front of the first mate and didn't even bother to raise his hands. The guy already knew what to expect from Duarte and was pretty fast himself. He still hoped Félix would enter the fray and wondered what Lina would do when she saw them. The first mate marched him directly toward Lina and William Floyd, and he could just make out their forms as he moved forward.
Then Duarte stopped as he saw Lina and realized she had her gun to Floyd's head. He was lying on his side with his eyes squeezed closed, and Lina looked ready to execute him. At first he thought it might be an interrogation tactic, but then he realized she intended to pull the trigger.
Behind him, in an amazingly calm voice, the first mate said, "Don't do it."
Lina's head snapped up, and she hesitated about where to point her pistol.
The first mate said, "Shoot him, Lina, and I'll shoot your friend here."
Duarte was startled. How did this guy know Lina's name?
Lina looked at them and slowly lowered her pistol. Duarte felt a shove from behind and moved forward in a daze of confusion.
He sat across from Lina as the first mate, whose name was Pelly, had instructed. Duarte's head hurt from all the questions he had. He looked over at William Floyd, who seemed to cower next to Lina. She kept the gun to his temple in an effort to discourage Pelly from shooting Duarte.
Lina had just explained her brief meeting with Pelly in a bar.
Pelly rubbed his furry face and said to Lina, "You saw me clean-shaven. Quite the difference, no?"
Her dark eyes stared at the simian-like man.
Duarte said, "Lina, don't give up your gun. I've seen this guy's work. He's not gonna let us go."
Pelly gave him an odd look. "What work have you seen of mine?"
"The U-Haul mechanic."
"Oh, yeah, that was me."
"The young couple in Lafayette."
Pelly tilted his head. "That was my friend Ike's work."
William Floyd kept looking at the asphalt, apparently not too proud of shooting the young people. Ike mumbled. "What's it matter now? Yeah, I did it." His eyes occasionally darting to the gun barrel near his head.
Duarte continued. "Cal Linley in New Orleans, and I almost had you at Forrest Jessup's house in Mississippi."
Pelly shook his head. "I had nothing to do with those men. I don't even know who they are."
Ike's head snapped up. "Cal and President Jessup are dead?"
Duarte had always had some problems reading people. It just wasn't one of his strengths. But Pelly had admitted to some killings. Duarte didn't get the sense that either of these two were lying about other murders.
Duarte looked at Ike and asked, "What did you guys bring in?"
"What do I have to bargain with if I tell you?"
Duarte didn't know why he might want to bargain. He tried to look like he was focusing on Ike, but his eyes scanned down to his own pistol tucked in Pelly's belt. The first mate squatted just far enough away. He knew his tactics.
Duarte thought he saw a slight nod from Pelly, then Ike threw his weight toward Lina, knocking her off balance.
Duarte started to move, but felt the barrel of the Beretta against his neck.