Lazzo had visited the house one last time a month ago, and this time the door had been left wide open. He couldn’t help feeling like someone was in the house with him as he explored it, but he saw no one. There was a single bedroom with a bed but no pillows or blankets, a kitchen with a table, two chairs, and crates of bottled water—but no appliances or food—and a living room with another table, two more chairs, and an old couch. On the table in the living room sat a car key and a pink piece of paper held down by an L-shaped piece of metal. The writing on the paper was in Arabic, and Lazzo could still see the words clearly in his mind: “We are here to help. But the next time you come here must be the last time.” And then there was a pin number for the front-door keypad.
When Lazzo turned from the table to leave, he found the front door had been closed and he couldn’t open it from the inside. He went to the other door in the kitchen and found the same to be the case there. Additionally, the windows were not only all barred but immovable—with thick-paned, perhaps even bulletproof, glass. Fearing he’d walked into a trap, he began to panic, until he remembered the L-shaped piece of metal on the table. He found a small slot in the front door it fit into perfectly, and the door clicked open when he inserted it. This pink house wasn’t merely a safe house—it could be a prison. Someone had been sending him a message. Or a threat.
Lazzo had searched the property for the vehicle belonging to the key but found nothing. He knew it was more than luck, however, that he happened upon it back at the marina—the brown van that had followed him before. The van contained a backpack that held handcuffs, duct tape, chloroform, an IED, and a remote detonator. On the boat ride back to the island—with the backpack—Lazzo couldn’t help but feel like he’d been given the answers to his problem…and he should know exactly what he was supposed to do now. So why didn’t he?
TEN – Hot and Bothered (Ryan)
Danny and the Pack took the plane to Oahu for another meeting five days before the USS George Washington was scheduled to leave Pearl Harbor to launch the rescue planes. Governor Barnes had elected to keep the newer carrier, the USS JFK, in port, given that the shortage of personnel meant we couldn’t send accompanying ships—a carrier strike group—along for protection. The JFK was the most technologically advanced—most modern—ship in the world. If we were going to risk losing one, it couldn’t be the JFK.
Before Baker and his team took the carrier out into the open ocean, they’d be making a test run with it on July 31. They’d head out fifty miles south then loop north into the deep Kauai Channel—parking about a half-mile south of Redemption Island for the night. They’d run some last-minute drills and checks, then move out the next morning. It would be strange seeing that giant ship a few hundred yards off our coastline, knowing the 348 people on board—one eighth of our remaining population—might never be coming back. In my mind it was like going back 110 years and waving at the Titanic as it left port—knowing they would hit the iceberg and still letting them go anyway.
We didn’t know what kind of naval opposition the enemy might provide. It had been months since our radar had detected any vessel approaching Hawaii from the mainland, and even that boat had never come within our long-distance firing range. Did Qi Jia have control of any subs? Destroyers? A carrier of their own they also could sufficiently staff and operate—considering the USS Reagan had been in port in San Diego during the attacks? We knew we could send our carrier out 1,500 miles or so and still be beyond their land-based radar—assuming their range had the same thousand-mile max as ours. But if Qi Jia did have a carrier, submarine, or some other ship parked off the coast, the carrier wouldn’t even be able to go that far—and the rescue group needed every inch of that 1,500 miles to safely get an airplane to Colorado and back.
Danny told me this meeting was as intense as every other. Captain Baker and his sidekick Brock were their usual condescending selves—pissed off about anything and everything having to do with their makeshift crew. Baker wanted fighter jets to accompany the rescue planes to land, somehow not grasping—or caring—that more firepower would mean more visibility—and getting noticed would nullify the additional weaponry. It took all of the governor’s patience and reasoning ability to convince them of that fact.
Danny feared that eventually Baker would do what he wanted anyway. While the USS George Washington had been made as light as possible, it still contained four transport planes, two Apache helicopters, one Blackhawk, and six fighter jets—two F-111s, an A-10, two F-15s and a Nighthawk. There would be no one to stop Baker from using any or all of the planes however he wished. His problem would be pilots. He only had seven Air Force pilots with him. Seven more were staying in Hawaii—including Axel.
Meeting days for the Pack were beach days for the rest of us. Everyone but Lazzo, Kate, and Ollie went down to the cove this time. Kate volunteered to watch Ollie so Tara and I could get away and relax a little together. The decision was a no-brainer for us. Kate was going to be an incredible mother, whenever she and Danny reached that point. She’d always been so gentle, patient, and compassionate. Truthfully, if you were to describe the perfect mother, almost every adjective you’d come up with would be part of who Kate already was.
As for getting away for a bit with Tara—even if everyone else was around—well, let’s say that as much as I enjoyed seeing her naked and frolicking around the cabin, there was something uniquely arousing about splashing through the ocean with her. So many little things got to me…the water droplets glistening on her tanned skin…the goose bumps I regularly found on her thighs. I loved pulling her in—her perky breasts smashed against my chest, her heartbeat combating my own. Man, the sensations that swarmed me as she wrapped her strong legs around my waist and laughed that beautiful laugh—she made me feel like a teenager all over again. But this time there was more than just a chance I’d get lucky. In fact, I knew for certain I got lucky every day I woke up next to her. She was amazing.
We had settled onto a sandbar out in the cove—just the two of us—mostly watching Emily and Abbey build some sort of sandcastle on the shore. Tara was leaning back against my chest and I was using the nearly neck-high water to conceal my active hands—my fingers inching downward as my pulse raced upward. Tara was tolerating it—adjusting her suit and legs to give me better access—but I could tell there was something else on her mind. She wasn’t nearly as frisky as usual—barely participating at all. “What’s going on?” I cupped my hands around her breasts and squeezed them firmly.
“Huh?” She craned her neck to meet my gaze and kissed me. Her hot breath gave me chills.
I shuddered, licked the salt off my lips and smiled. “What’s going on? You seem like you have something else on your mind.”
“No. I’m good. Keep going.”
She reached back for my swimsuit but I blocked her hand. What the? Did you seriously just do that? “Tara, seriously…”