M.I.A. Hunter: Miami War Zone (4 page)

"They might," he said. "We'll have to be ready for them."

"If they lock us up, I know a flight attendant that'll sure be disappointed," Hog said. "I sure hope they don't try anything like that."

"What rot," Loughlin said.

"What're you
sayin's
rot? You think I don't have a good shot at her?" Hog was indignant.

"Not that," Loughlin said. "Those other gentlemen you were talking about. Why, all we want to do is help them out, and you suspect that they might try to put us in jail."

"Well," Hog said, "they might. The
sarge
agrees with me." Loughlin shook his head.

"I know it seems farfetched," Stone said. "But it's possible. We've got to stay sharp."

"Don't worry," Hog said. "I got by the metal detector, didn't I?"

"Hog," Stone said accusingly.

"I ain't got a thing on me," Hog said, a hurt tone in his voice. "I wouldn't
chance
a thing like that. You know me,
Sarge
."

Stone just looked at him.

"I promise," Hog said.

"I believe you. But behave yourself in the airport, no matter what happens."

"Trust me." Hog grinned.

Loughlin sighed and leaned back in his seat.

A
s they made their approach to Miami International Airport, Stone glanced out the window at the neon-lined stainless steel towers that were the field's unique feature. Maybe the airport was trying to compete with some of the older art deco buildings in Miami. Stone didn't really care.

They deplaned, carrying their luggage. They hadn't checked anything through; there hadn't been time. As they walked through the accordion tunnel that connected the terminal with the plane, Hog complained about the heat.

"This place's worse than East Texas. That humidity is already
seepin
' in."

Stone wasn't interested in the complaints. "If that's the only heat we feel down here, we'll be lucky. Let's pick up the rental car."

He led the way out into the terminal, Hog bringing up the rear with a last look back at the flight attendant. Then she was gone, and he promptly forgot her.

When they entered the terminal, they encountered the usual crowd of any airport anywhere, some people rushing to make flights, some sitting awkwardly in the uncomfortable airport chairs. Greetings and good-byes were going on all around.

Stone stepped around a couple embracing while trying to keep their suitcases out of their way. Then he heard the loudspeaker.

"Will Mr. Mark Stone please report to the white courtesy phone. Will Mr. Mark Stone please report to the white courtesy phone."

"What the hell?" Hog muttered.

Stone looked around and saw the phone on the wall to his left. He walked over, dropped his bags, and picked up the receiver.

"Stone here."

"Good," a voice rasped in his ear. "Stay there. We'll have someone meet you."

Stone growled, "Who the hell is this?"

There was no answer, except for a click in Stone's ear as the other receiver was hung up.

Loughlin was standing at Stone's shoulder. "Something?"

"I don't know, and we're not sticking around to find out," Stone snapped. "Let's get moving." He grabbed his luggage and strode away, Loughlin and Hog right behind.

They didn't get far.

Three men in dark suits materialized in front of them.

"Right this way, gentlemen," one of them said, indicating a door in the wall. It was a door that hardly looked like a door, and if you hadn't been looking for it you might not have even known it was there. It was simply part of the wall. Now, however, it was slightly ajar.

Stone opened his mouth to protest, and three hands went into three jackets.

Stone turned into the doorway, leading his men inside. The three suits followed.

As the door swung shut behind them, Hog stepped to the side, bent down, and pulled up the leg of his jeans. His right hand slipped into his boot top and came out with a piece of clear plastic about a foot long.

Moving with amazing speed for a man his size, he slid behind the last of the three dark-suited men to enter the room, grasping him around the neck and cutting off most of his air supply.

As the man began to gag, his friends whirled around, but their hands left their jackets empty when they saw the sharp point pressing into the softness beneath his chin.

"I'd like to know what the hell is happening here," Hog snarled.

"Where did you get that thing?" Stone asked, genuinely curious.

Hog looked over the man's shoulder. The man was kicking weakly. "Plastic knife," Hog said. "C.I.A. uses '
em
all the time to beat airport metal detectors. Sharper than metal. Trouble is, if you slip one of '
em
in somebody, it usually breaks off in there. Too brittle to use but once."

"'Trust me,'" Loughlin quoted.

"I should have known." Hog smiled.

Stone didn't. "Let him go."

"Let him go? Just like that?"

"Just like that. I think I know who these men are."

Hog didn't let go at once. "Who?"

Stone looked at the other two men, who were staring at Hog and at the plastic knife with horrified fascination. "D.E.A.," Stone said.

"Shit." Hog released the man he was holding, pushing him roughly away and sheathing the knife in his boot so rapidly that it was hard to follow the motions.

The man stood rubbing his throat and gasping for breath. Stone looked at him idly. "You really should identify yourselves."

One of the men stepped forward. "You're right." He was short, about five-six or five-seven, with thinning brown hair. "I'm Mike Bass, D.E.A."

He produced his ID. "This is Gil Benton." He indicated the man by his side, taller, huskier, wearing glasses. He had thick gray hair.

Benton said nothing, showed no ID.

"The other guy, the one over there gagging, is Ferguson."

Ferguson was almost as tall as Hog, but quite slender, almost ascetic looking, with thin white hair. He didn't say anything either, but he had a good reason. He rubbed his windpipe and tried to breathe normally.

Bass turned back to Stone. "I want you to know that this wasn't my idea."

"So why are we here?"

A door opened in the opposite wall. "Here's the man who can tell you," Bass said. "Mark Stone, Carl Williams."

The guy who stepped through the door was average looking. Even his suit looked average, less expensive than the ones the others wore. He was of medium height, his eyes a bland brown, his hair cut short and parted on the left like the hair of millions of other men. He looked to Stone like a man who had gotten to where he was by playing the rules, never stepping out of bounds, never riling the higher-ups. Stone wasn't good at those things, himself.

Williams didn't offer to shake hands. "I know all about you, Stone," he began. "And what I know, I don't like. I don't want you coming here and
cowboying
around, screwing up my operation, maybe losing me a good man."

"Mr. Williams is from Washington," Bass said, as if that explained everything. Maybe it did.

"I'm down here because one of my men is lost," Williams said. "I'm here to see that he gets out of whatever trouble he's in. That's a job for the agency, not some hotshot freelancer that thinks just because he has a hot rep for covert operations he can push in illegally wherever he damn well pleases. This isn't Vietnam."

"I just have one question for you," Stone snapped.

"What?" Williams was startled. He wasn't accustomed to being spoken to like a subordinate.

"Who told you I was coming here? And the flight?"

"That's none of your concern," Williams sputtered, his face turning red with anger.

"
Kathi
Wofford
," Benton said suddenly. "We've been meeting every flight from your area of the country."

Williams wheeled on him. "You're under orders, man! You're guilty of disobeying—"

"No one said it was a secret," Benton snapped.

"All right," Williams said. "The woman told us she had called you. She said we weren't doing a thing and that she had gotten someone who would. She said . . ."

But Stone wasn't listening. He was on his way right out of the room, with Hog and Loughlin close behind.

"Where are you going?" Williams snarled.

Stone didn't even turn back. "Sightseeing."

Hog looked over his shoulder. "It's a free country, ain't it?"

They were out and into the terminal, the door swinging behind them. They could still hear Williams yelling as they walked away.

"Fuck '
em
," Hog said. "And the BMWs they rode in on."

T
hey took the rental, an inconspicuous white Toyota, and drove into Miami, into the quiet residential neighborhood where Carol Jenner was already waiting for them.

Thanks to Stone's connections at Fort Bragg, he had been able to get Carol on a military flight earlier, while he, Hog, and Loughlin stayed behind to get things in order and to make certain preparations.

If all had gone according to plan, Carol would be established in a safe house and provided with equipment that would be quite a help to them in the job ahead.

Hog was creasing a city map, running his finger along a street line. "
Oughta
be just to the right. I sure as to God hope so." He didn't like being cramped into the seat of the small Japanese car and was ready to get out and get into action.

Stone turned the car into a side street lined with palms and green grass. According to the address he'd been given, they were in the right spot. Hog was a good navigator.

He pulled the Toyota to a stop in front of a white stucco house with a red tile roof, not much different from the other houses that lined both sides of the street. There were a few cars parked along the curb, and a kid was chasing a ball with a dog in a yard a few houses down.

"We should be quite domestic here," Loughlin observed.

Hog laughed. "Fat chance. Not this boy."

Stone knew that Hog was right. They had too much to do. There was little chance that they would be able to enjoy the quiet that the house seemed to offer.

They got out their gear and went inside. It was cool and dark and anything but domestic.

The foyer was just a foyer, but the living room beyond was a command center. They could see Carol's blonde head bent over the console of a microcomputer, and when they went in they could see other computer terminals, modems, printers, and monitors.

Hog looked around for a place to toss his gear. "Nice dump. But not much security."

Carol didn't look up. "You didn't see the guy in the hedge, did you?"

Hog looked over his shoulder, as if he could see through the closed door. "What guy?"

"The one you didn't see." Carol looked up and smiled at them. "He's one of ours. There'll be one in that thick hedge around the house at all times. Don't worry. If he hadn't known who you were, you wouldn't be in here now."

She looked cool and beautiful. Stone went to her and touched her arm. "Have you found out anything?"

To some it might have seemed less than a greeting, but Carol understood.

"A little. Those Bragg boys do good work. You wouldn't believe what these babies are tapped into."

"Tell us."

Carol waved her arm at all the electronic gadgetry. "Just about everything. I've managed to get into Miami's crime
intel
sources at almost every level—local, state, even federal.

"That's the good news."

Stone frowned. "What's the bad news?"