Mortal Dilemma Read online

  “This may be the best way in,” J.D. said, “but there’s no way to set up covering fire. There’s not enough room.”

  “Precisely. The stairway outside is plenty wide enough for both you and me to go up side by side. If we make it to the front door, we’ll at least be able to cover each other. With one of the guys distracted by the TV, we might have a chance.”

  “We’ve got to get in there quick before they can kill Matt,” J.D. said. “If they haven’t already.”

  “He’s alive, J.D. I can feel it. Let’s go.”

  And that’s what they did. J.D. hugged the right railing of the stairway, and Jock stayed on the far left. They moved as fast as they could without making enough noise to warn the men in the house. Jock counted twenty-three steps, and they made it in less than ten seconds.

  When they got to the veranda, each took up a position on either side of the door. They could hear nothing but the TV. The plan was for J.D. to go in first, with Jock guarding her. J.D. would take care of the man in the living room while Jock forced the door to the right of the trapdoor. Hopefully, that’s where they held Matt.

  Jock was on the side of the door nearest the handle. He pushed down on it. Not locked. He looked at J.D. She nodded. Jock threw open the door and J.D. rushed in, Jock right behind her. J.D. had the shotgun at the ready. Jock was holding his pistol, the M-1 slung over his back.

  The man on the sofa stood quickly and turned toward J.D. She didn’t hesitate. The shotgun blast pushed the man backward into the picture windows overlooking the bay. Blood splattered and started running down the inside of the window. J.D. was aware of the large hole in the man’s torso, and she was also aware that he was very young. And very ugly.

  She turned quickly as Jock pushed open the door. She followed him into the room, her shotgun ready for action. Her gaze slipped around the room and rested on Matt, sitting in a chair, his arms and legs taped to it. He had bled a lot. His t-shirt was soaked with it. His nose appeared to be broken. His upper lip was split and there was fresh blood on his teeth. An enormous bruise was spreading across his left cheek, reaching toward his forehead. A man was standing behind the chair, a large hunting knife at Matt’s throat.

  Matt’s grin was lopsided, as if the left side of his face hurt too much to look happy. “Glad you guys could make it,” he said. “About damn time.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

  FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 7

  YOUSSEF CAME INTO the room holding a large knife. I could hear a TV on the other side of the door. Saif soaking up a little Western culture, I thought. Youssef stood close, staring at me, taking my measure perhaps, as if I could do anything while bound up like some poorly wrapped Christmas present.

  “I’ve got to pee,” I said. “Do you want to cut me loose and let me use the toilet or do you want to hold my dick and let me piss in a jar?”

  He slapped me. It wasn’t unexpected, but it still hurt. The bastard had no sense of humor. He was pretty much just bruising the bruises. I hadn’t seen a mirror, but I was guessing my face looked like Mike Tyson had worked me over.

  “I’m going to cut off your finger and send it to your woman. I want her to know we’ve got you. She can run the fingerprint.” He laughed, sounding a little bit like a hyena. He was losing control. No telling what he had in store for me.

  Oh well, just roll with the punches, Royal. They can’t stay here forever, wherever we are, and when they get tired of abusing me, or decide they have to leave this place, they’ll kill me. It’ll all be over. I thought I could take a couple of days of their crap, and then just float off into whatever comes next. Death isn’t something to be afraid of. It’s something to regret, I guess. At least when you’re on the side of the divide where you’re still breathing. I had always believed that one of two things will happen when you’re dead. If there’s no afterlife, there’s just oblivion, and I won’t know anything. If there is another life out there waiting for me, it’ll be a place of pleasure, of renewal, a time to be with those I’ve loved the most. Jock and J.D. My grandmother. My parents. A few others. The real test is getting from here to the other side. At least, that’s a problem when you’re at the mercy of a bunch of nutcases who think death is about getting laid by a bunch of celestial virgins.

  “You know, Youssef, this isn’t going to happen without a fight.”

  “I don’t think that’ll be much of a fight. Not with you tied to that chair.” He laughed again, that high-pitched yelp that really got on my nerves.

  “Try me,” I said. And I heard a shotgun blast.

  The door to the room flew open and Jock rushed in, pistol in hand. J.D. was right behind him, the shotgun stock under her arm, her finger on the trigger, the barrel pointing right at me. Youssef moved quickly behind me, squatted a bit, using me for a shield and making himself as small a target as possible. I felt the knifepoint dig into the right side of my throat. I said something, but I don’t remember what it was. I was very happy that my friends were there. I was thinking that the shotgun had probably taken out Saif and wondering a little crazily if J.D. had read him his rights before she sent him to wherever he was going. Hell, I supposed, if there was such a place.

  “Give it up, Youssef,” Jock said. “I don’t want to kill you.”

  “Your friend will be dead before I am,” Youssef said.

  “But you’ll still be dead. Think about it. You can live even if it’s in prison, or you can die here. Today. I’d rather you live.”

  “You killed my entire family, you bastard. Why do you care if I live or die?”

  Jock’s voice was cold, like a wind blowing from a grave. “I guess I don’t, Youssef. But I’m giving you a chance. Take it or leave it. It makes no difference to me.”

  “If you kill me, I’ll die a martyr. I’ll go directly to heaven. I’ll sleep with Allah and the virgins.”

  Jock still held his pistol pointed at Youssef. I could feel the pressure of the knife increasing. I could feel blood starting to drip down my neck. He’d punctured the skin. He was about to kill me.

  I jerked my head to the left and Jock shot Youssef through his forehead. “Go fuck yourself to death, you witless bastard,” Jock said. “Tell the virgins I’m sorry I missed them.”

  * * *

  “Where are we?” I asked, as Jock was cutting away the tape. J.D. had hugged me and didn’t seem to want to let go. She finally stepped back so Jock could get to the restraints.

  “Jewfish Key,” she said.

  “You’re kidding me,” I said. “I could’ve swum home.”

  “I don’t think so,” Jock said. “Not with that chair taped to your ass.”

  “Man, am I ever glad to see you two. How did you find me?”

  “Let’s talk about that later,” J.D. said. “I’ve got to call the paramedics.”

  Within about five minutes the place was swarming with people; paramedics, cops, forensics techs, medical examiner’s assistants. The paramedics took a quick look at me, listened to my chest, felt around on my abdomen, gingerly touched my nose and cheeks, and grunted to each other. “You’re going to be fine, Matt,” their lieutenant, Pete Collandra, said. “Now get your ass on the gurney.”

  “I’m fine, Pete. I don’t need no stinking gurney.”

  “Did anybody ever tell you that your impersonations stink?”

  “Yeah. All the time. I think you’re all just jealous of my talent.”

  “Right,” said Pete. “Now get on the gurney.”

  “I’ll walk, Pete. You guys will probably lose me on those steps.”

  “You’ve got a point. You can lean on me.”

  “I’ve always known that, Pete.” And I was afraid I was going to cry. Most everybody in that room was a friend and some of them were close friends. They’d put on a big operation to find and free me. I think I’d silently said good-bye to each one of them when I thought I was close to checking out for good. Sometimes, a little self-pity is called for.

  Jock had been talking to the deputy chief, telli
ng him what had happened. He walked over to me and said, “Glad you’re okay, podna, but you’re sure one big pain in the ass. Don’t get lost again.”

  So much for self-pity, I thought. I might as well enjoy it because I sure wasn’t going to get any from my friends. And I appreciated that.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 7

  WE WERE CLEAR of Jewfish by noon, and I didn’t think I’d ever want to see the place again, maybe not even a glance from my boat going by. Given that I could see the place from my house, I’d just have to get over that.

  Buddy Murphy, the young man Jock and J.D. found in the coquina hut had been looked over by the paramedics and taken to jail. It was a pretty good bet that he’d be there for a few years. I didn’t think he’d be charged with kidnapping, but he did steal a boat and that would probably get him some prison time.

  Jock was at the Longboat police station giving a statement. There was a lot he wouldn’t tell them, but nobody was going to push too hard. Since Jewfish Key is part of the Town of Longboat Key, Chief Bill Lester was in charge of the investigation and he knew about Jock’s ties to the intelligence community.

  The ambulance had taken me to Blake Hospital and after more poking and prodding and a few needle sticks and a nose splint, J.D. drove me home. She hadn’t said much since my rescue. “You want to talk about it?” I asked.

  “Not yet. Let’s get home and open a bottle of wine and talk this out. I was so afraid I’d lost you. And now, I’m just so happy that you’re here. I want to hug you and I’m afraid I’ll hurt you. It’s like I’ve felt about brand-new babies my friends have had. They’re so fragile, and yet, I wanted to hug them and squeeze them.”

  “Hey, sweetie. I’m not going to break. How do you feel about the man you blasted with the shotgun in the living room?”

  “Not good. We need to talk about that, too.”

  “If it’s any consolation, that guy was the worst of the two. He was a sadist and seemed to live to cause me agony.” It wasn’t true, of course, although Saif had done his share of the beatings, but sometimes you have to lie to the ones you love to spare them pain. I was pretty sure this was one of those times.

  By the time we got back to my house, the police presence had cleared out. We’d stopped by Jose’s for a couple of Cuban sandwiches and ate on the patio overlooking the bay. The weather was cool and the relative absence of humidity made for a pleasant day. I was hurting from all the punishment I’d taken, but felt nothing but relief that the danger we’d been facing for a week was over. I could actually feel myself slipping back into island mode. No worries. That was the island creed, and I had subscribed to it without reservation. It was time to get back to normal.

  Jock called and said he was going to have lunch with Chief Lester and Deputy Chief Sharkey and would stop by later. He’d checked in with Dave Kendall who insisted that he take some time off before coming back to work. I asked if he wanted to stick around on Longboat for a time and he said we’d talk about it.

  “How is this whole thing going to affect you, Matt?” J.D. asked, her voice tinged with concern.

  “I don’t know, but I think I’ll be okay. I’ve had worse days.”

  “I can’t believe anything can be worse that what you went through.”

  “Combat is worse. People shooting at you, mortar and artillery shells coming into your position, watching the teenaged soldiers who looked to me for leadership die before they’d really had time to live. Getting a gut full of shrapnel and thinking I was about to check out. All that in a single day. That’s worse than what I went through today. Today, I knew that you and Jock would come to the rescue, but if you didn’t, I’d die and find out what’s on the other side. I’d come to terms with that. In the minutes when I thought death was inevitable, I focused on you sitting on the beach at Egmont Key, looking at me, somehow silently letting me know that you loved me. That was the vision I wanted to go out with.”

  She hugged me, not tightly, but just enough to satisfy my need without adding more pain to my beat-up body. “I love you,” she said, and held on some more.

  She sat back and looked at me, her green eyes unwavering. It was like she was trying to memorize my face. It unsettled me. “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “I don’t know, Matt. This last week has changed me in ways that I don’t think I like.”

  “How so?”

  “I’ve always believed in the law, the procedures that hold it all together, the nobility of it. I grew up with a dad who was an honest cop, who taught me to live by a code that encompassed all those beliefs. This past week showed me a side of myself that I didn’t know existed. I would have gladly killed Charlie Bates, gutted him with that big knife of his. Today, I used a shotgun to kill a man. I didn’t give him a chance to surrender. He wasn’t armed. He was just standing there by the sofa, probably trying to figure out what was going on. I hated his guts. He was one of the men holding you, threatening to kill you, and there was no question in my mind that he would have gladly cut off your head. And at that point, I hadn’t even seen what they’d actually done to you. I killed the rat bastard in cold blood, and I don’t even feel bad about it. Have I become one of them?”

  “No, sweetie, you’re still you. You were put into a position today that you could not have foreseen. It’s different when your loved ones are in danger. You react differently. You weren’t there today as a cop, you were there as a woman trying to save someone she loved, and not at all sure he wasn’t already dead. You’re human and you reacted like most every human being would have under the same circumstances.”

  “That’s not quite true,” she said. “I knew there were two men in that house with you. I had time to see that Saif wasn’t armed. I knew that you were probably in the room where we found you. I killed Saif because I wanted to. I wanted the people who would take you away from me to die. And I made sure that happened.”

  “You did what had to be done,” I said.

  “Maybe,” she said.

  “You made sure that Saif would never harm another innocent person,” I said. “Come here.”

  And she did, enfolding me in her arms and holding me as tight as she dared. There’d be more talking, more analyzing, more second thoughts, more hugging, and just plain old more living. I was satisfied with that. I was alive and wrapped in the arms of the woman I loved. Everything was going to be okay.

  EPILOGUE

  SATURDAY, DECEMBER 20

  THE ISLAND FAIRLY jingled with Christmas spirit, a unique joie de vivre that seemed to infect everybody. Visitors from the north basked in seventy-degree weather and took pictures to text back to their snowbound friends who spent the holidays in more frigid climes.

  It was a nice counterpoint to the November week that began with Skeeter trying to kill J.D. and ended with my capture and rescue. That terrible week was a time of cognitive dissonance for us, a time when our little world went cockeyed, as if the earth was wobbling on its axis and creating a strange universe in which we could not find our place.

  I had recovered from what J.D. insisted on calling my recent unpleasantness, but there were some lingering memories that showed up occasionally in my nightmares. The bad dreams were getting fewer and farther between, and I didn’t think J.D. needed to know about them. Maybe I was just afraid of appearing a wimp in her eyes. After all, macho men should not be having nightmares about a few unpleasant hours spent in the presence of idiots, even murderous ones.

  Jock was still with us, enjoying his time in the sun, but after New Year’s Day he’d be going back to the agency and the wars he fought in the shadows. Dave Kendall had sent an agency psychologist down to spend some time with him, and it seemed to be working. The first two weeks were intensive, sessions every day, some lasting two or three hours. From then on, the shrink flew down once a week to meet with him and they talked regularly by phone. Slowly the old Jock, a man full of confidence and resolution and courage, began to emerge from the husk of himself that he ha
d inhabited during those terrible late autumn days.

  Dave Kendall and his wife Peggy had flown down to spend the holidays on Longboat Key and to bring us current with the end game, as he called it, the final chapter of our story. Jock, J.D., the Kendalls, and I were having lunch under the trees at Mar Vista, enjoying the warmth of the December day and the view of the boats cruising over the flat bay. I could see Jewfish Key from our table and it didn’t bring on a shudder. Progress, I guess.

  Dave was running through the dramatis personae that comprised the end of our sordid tale. None of the actors in the final scene ended up well, although their fates were deserved.

  D. Wesley Gilbert had stared into his future and made the best deal he could under the circumstances. He pleaded guilty to aiding and abetting terrorism and was sentenced to fifteen years in a federal prison located in Coleman, Florida, about forty miles northwest of Orlando. It beat the hell out of a supermax lockup in Colorado. Given his age, it was a pretty sure bet that he’d never see freedom again.

  Skeeter Evans was back at the Glades Correctional Unit serving a twenty-five year sentence for the attempted murder of a law enforcement officer. He thought that was a better result than a one-way trip to the middle of Lake Monroe.

  Xavier Duhns was still in the Seminole County jail awaiting transport to a state prison, where he would spend the next five years. After having ascertained to his satisfaction that Xavier was plain stupid, the prosecutor had decided that the idiot had not intended for the car he stole to be used in the murder of a police officer.

  Shaheed Mustafa, also known as Tariq Gajani, was interrogated at length and Jock’s agency was able to roll up a growing conspiracy to blow up the Sun Life Stadium in Miami Gardens during the Orange Bowl game on New Year’s Day. Shaheed and his friends disappeared into a supermax federal prison and will never be heard from again.