M.I.A. Hunter: Miami War Zone (21 page)

Rosales stared ahead, not necessarily at the traffic. "I did check him out a little bit, you know. So it's more than an impression."

"But you made the deal anyway."

"That's right."

"Why?"

"Because what he said makes sense."

"Yeah, I was afraid you might say that."

"You didn't think so?"

Allbright
was all seriousness now. "Yeah, I did. That's what's bothering me."

B
ack at the safe house, Hog was eating, Loughlin was sleeping, and Carol was in front of the computer keyboard.

Stone was pacing the room like a caged tiger. "There's got to be something," he said with repressed fury. "Some link,
something
. There has to be."

"If there is," Carol said wearily, "I can't find it."

"Keep trying. It's there. I know it is." Stone's frustration was mounting with every passing second, because as the clock ticked away Jack
Wofford's
time grew shorter. Stone had to find him, and find him soon.

One of the things that bothered Stone most of all about the situation was its very familiarity. It reminded him uncomfortably and too much of the situation of prisoners of war in Vietnam, or at least of the ones who were left behind at the war's end. Often when a camp was sighted, the prisoners would be moved, sometimes within hours of the sighting. By the time a rescuer like Stone could reach the camp, the prisoners were gone and so was any hope of locating them again.

He knew that he had come within minutes of finding and saving
Wofford
. He knew that Crazy Charlie must have been moving
Wofford
to another location, probably after hearing about the death of his father.

Now there was no sign of either Charlie or
Wofford
, and someone else had attacked Charlie's estate.

Stone sat down in a wheeled swivel chair and rolled over beside Carol. "We need to talk this out."

She looked away from the screen. "Talk what out?"

He explained his theory about what had happened at Charlie's place. "Now, the question is, who was responsible? The most logical choice? Enrique
Feliz
. Judging from the reports we've tapped into, the police believe that Charlie was behind the drug ambush earlier tonight. Now
Feliz
is getting even."

It sounded right to Carol. "But where are Crazy Charlie and Jack
Wofford
now? There was no sign of them when we got there."

"I'll give you a logical answer again," Stone said. "That doesn't mean it's the right one."

"It's better than no answer at all."

He nodded. "Here goes, then. Let's accept the first premise, the one that says Charlie was behind the raid. Okay?"

"Fine. I believe it."

"Then there has to be a reason for it. Remember when we first got here that you told us Charlie was ready to take back the drug dealing from the Cubans?"

Carol nodded. "I remember."

"That massacre was his way of driving a wedge between the Colombians and the Cubans, making each side distrust the other and more likely to deal with him. Particularly the Colombians."

"That sounds right, too. Perfect, in fact."

"But to do any good, we have to take it a step or two further."

"Go for it. You're doing great so far."

"Well, we have to consider that just hitting Crazy Charlie might not be enough to satisfy either
Feliz
or the Colombians.
Feliz
needs something to win back their trust."

"I see where you're going now," she said. "Stop me if I'm wrong.
Feliz
doesn't kill Charlie or
Wofford
. He grabs them. Now he can turn them over to the Colombians.
Wofford
shows
Feliz's
good faith, and Charlie is the sacrificial goat. I imagine he has ways of making Charlie admit to the earlier ambush."

He reached out and touched her face. "I like the way you think, beautiful. I couldn't have said it better myself."

"It was you who got the ball rolling. I just caught up with you at the end there. But I think you're right. What other scenario could explain everything so well and not leave any loose ends?"

"I can't think of one."

"So we must be right."

"Or close. But . . ."

"What?"

"Even if we are right, what good does it do us?"

Stone slammed his hand down on a table and made a monitor hop. "Not one damn bit. We're right back where we started."

"I'll keep looking," Carol said. She turned back to the keyboard.

W
offord
had passed out again when they moved him to the back of the trailer. Now he was coming out of it. He could see the men crouching around him, men with guns. He thought about the major with no name again.

They were taking him back to the camp again!

He sat up suddenly, looking wildly around him. Someone shoved him roughly back down.

The doors of the trailer opened. Jack looked out into the empty warehouse. He knew that he wasn't in the jungle. His mind was tortured and disoriented from the drugs he'd been fed in the last couple of days, but after the first instant of flashback he was beginning to find his way in the world of reality.

Hands reached for him and dragged him across the floor of the trailer, then threw him on the concrete floor of the warehouse.

"Tie him up," someone ordered. His arms were jerked behind his back and his hands were bound together with rough rope. Someone tied his feet, as well.

He saw all the men with their machine guns and guessed that he was in the hands of the Cubans. From what he could remember, he had been held by another group previously. He was being swapped from one group to another like a pawn.

He vaguely recalled the questioning he had undergone, or at least the beginning of it. The needle in his vein.

The hell of it was, he didn't have anything to tell them. He didn't know anything. He had been out on the street, as usual, setting up buys, but he hadn't really hit with anybody, hadn't found out any names that would be of interest to his bosses.

That was just the way the game was played, he guessed. Sometimes you got lucky, and sometimes you got unlucky.

He had been lucky for a long time.

Now his luck had run out. He had tried to tell Williams, tried to tell him that it was too soon to work Miami again. Maybe Williams would feel a little guilt about that.

Maybe not.

Either way, it wouldn't do
Wofford
any good. Someone, somewhere had recognized his face and turned him over to the Cubans, who had sold him to someone else. Now he was with Cubans again.

They dragged him over against a wall and casually tossed him there to make himself as comfortable as he could.

Wofford
had no illusions about what was going to happen to him eventually. The Cubans made no attempt to blindfold him, to conceal their faces, to silence their talk.

Such behavior meant only one thing. Whatever he saw, whatever he heard, would make no difference. They were going to kill him.

Well, they could try.

People had tried before, and failed.

Not this many people, true, but there was always a chance. Who could say? Maybe the cavalry would arrive in the nick of time and perform a heroic rescue.

Wofford
smiled at the thought, then shook his head ruefully.

He was in the wrong movie.

"W
ell?"

Carol had motioned to Stone to join her at the monitor. "I have a location for
Feliz
," she said. "But I don't really think it does us any good. Surely he wouldn't be stupid enough to take Charlie back to his own home, not after all the shooting that's gone down."

"I don't think so either. That's the best you can do?"

Carol hated to admit defeat. "For now it is."

"What about that moving van?"

"What about it?"

"We didn't get the license number, but I remember the name of the company that was on the side."

"You really think that they'd be using a legitimate van for something like that?"

Stone knew he was reaching, but it was the best thing he had. It was the only thing. "Sometimes these guys are in legitimate businesses. It's at least a possibility."

"All right, what was the name?"

"Florida Movers."

"I'll put it in the computer and see what comes out." Her tone was not encouraging.

"It's a shot," Stone said. "At least it's a shot."

Carol's fingers tapped away on the keyboard.

F
lores arrived at the warehouse in time to watch the doctor work on
Feliz's
wounds. There were others who were much more seriously wounded, but
Feliz
demanded that he be attended to first. He was the
jefe
, after all.

"The hand is probably much worse than the hip," the doctor was saying. "Bites from human beings can be toxic you know."

"No, I didn't know,"
Feliz
growled. He nodded in acknowledgment as Flores walked into the office.

"Oh, yes. It's quite true. In fact, in a recent court case a prisoner with AIDS was convicted of assault with a deadly weapon for biting a prison guard." The doctor looked at
Feliz
. "The man who bit you was not infected with the AIDS virus, I hope?"

"
Jesús
, I hope not!"
Feliz
spat. "What are you trying to do, scare me to death?"

"Just considering the possibilities," the doctor told him.

"Yeah, well, just clean me up and forget all that other shit."

Taking the hint, the doctor worked silently, carefully cleaning the hand with alcohol, then giving an injection. "To deaden the hand. I'm going to stitch it."

He waited for the deadening to take effect, then went to work.

Feliz
gritted his teeth and didn't watch as the needle went in and out of his skin. Sweat beaded his forehead.

"There," the doctor said. "Now let's look at that hip."

Feliz
had to drop his pants, an awkward process with one hand, but he managed it. The doctor helped him to remove his shorts.

"No, not bad at all. Merely creased the flesh. I'll just clean it out, give you an antibiotic. That should take care of it. No need for more stitches."

"Good,"
Feliz
said. There was a clear note of relief in his voice.

After the doctor was finished,
Feliz
turned to Ram
ó
n Flores. "I've got a little present for our Colombian friends, but there's a problem."

"First," Flores said, "what is the present?"

"The don's D.E.A. man. I've got him."

"Crazy Charlie did not mind letting him go?"

At the thought of where Crazy Charlie was right then,
Feliz
smiled. "He may have minded at the time. He doesn't mind much of anything right now, though."

"I thought as much. And the problem?"

"I don't know where to deliver the present. You know the deal with the Colombians. 'Don't call us, we'll call you.'"

"Safest for both sides, we always agreed."

"Yeah, but not very convenient right now."

"Yes, and we cannot take out an ad in the newspaper."

"No."

"So what do we do about it?"

"Thinking has always been your area. Can't you come up with anything?"