She stood defiantly, no fear in her eyes. What had she been through before coming to the land of the free?
His right hand joined his left around her throat. He slowly applied the pressure as he ignored her slaps and clawing. Then, as her oxygen was cut off, little by little he saw fear start to spread onto her face. He enjoyed the look so much, he forgot how vitally he needed her special talents.
50
DUARTE USED HIS NATURAL SPEED AND DECISIVENESS TO REACH William Floyd before he could react. The ATF agent didn't even bother to draw his pistol. He had his right hand through the open window of the pickup truck and on Floyd's shoulder before Floyd could clearly see who it was assaulting him. With a quick squeeze on the truck's door and the right pressure on his shoulder, Duarte had "Ike" Floyd on the ground and immediately bitching about the treatment.
He just hoped Ike was the guy with the answers. As he patted him down roughly while holding his shoulder and pinning the larger man to the ground, he found a SIG-Sauer.380 tucked in the prone man's waistband. He tilted him and yanked out the pistol.
"We got a lot to talk about."
"Who the hell are you?"
Lina Cirillo had hardly noticed the pickup truck that pulled alongside their little rental Cobalt before Alex Duarte had sprung from the shoebox of a car and yanked the driver out of the truck. Félix Baez never stirred from his deep sleep in the backseat of the small car. She jumped out without waking him.
Now she had her pistol in her hand and rounded the far side of the truck to see Duarte holding down a larger man. As she got closer, her stomach tightened as she realized the man on the ground was William "Ike" Floyd.
Lina came to a stop in front of them and said, "How'd you subdue him so quickly?"
Duarte looked up. "He surprised me; I just reacted." He eased his hold on the prone man and then helped him to a sitting position. "Now we find out what's going on."
She saw the recognition in Floyd's face as he looked up at her. His eyes opened wide as she thought about her options.
Duarte said, "Okay, tell us what you brought out of New Orleans."
Ike looked up at Lina. "Why? The FBI never listened to me before."
Lina heard his bitterness and thought that it might even be justified.
Duarte was more confused. "What's that mean?"
Lina cut in. "Don't worry about it."
Duarte twisted his head to glare at her. "You're still going to keep your source and his information from us? After all we've done?"
"It's not that simple. We…" She stopped when she saw Duarte cock his head and stop paying any attention to her at all. Lina said, "What is it?"
"We're not alone."
"Félix is probably awake."
Duarte was clear in his tone. "No, it's someone else."
Pelly saw the cars stopped under the light in another warehouse's parking lot. His police training and instinct told him to be very careful and not let anyone see his car. There were no other vehicles in the neighborhood this time of night. He pulled the Impala off the road into the small lot of a business wedged in between two large warehouse complexes.
Even from a distance he could see someone move quickly to pull a man from a pickup truck. He left his car, checked his little Beretta and darted closer to the parked cars. Finding cover in the darkness and shrubs, he easily covered the distance between his car and the truck.
He settled near a bush where he could clearly see the two men who were now on the ground.
One was holding the other down.
Then Pelly saw the woman, and it only took a second for him to realize it was Lina, the FBI agent who had seen him clean-shaven. He looked at the men more closely, and then saw the man being subdued was Ike Floyd. What happened to the Ryder rental truck? Whose pickup truck was that?
He lowered his head and started to move to a better position to decide if he had to take action. He scurried along a low line of planted shrubs away from the two parked vehicles to approach at a different angle. He crept closer now, using the cars to cover his approach. The downside was that he lost sight of the people at the cars, too.
Alongside the Cobalt, he started to reach for his Beretta as he peeked around the corner of the car toward the big pickup truck.
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.