The Sheltering Tree by Rick Nichols

Author:Rick Nichols [Nichols, Rick]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Rick Nichols
Published: 2021-02-19T00:00:00+00:00

TWENTY

He didn’t move a muscle. He just stayed there on the end of the dock and looked at me.

“Do I know you?” I asked.

“My name is not really important but if it matters you can call me Mr. Hardy,” he said. “I’ve been sent by your former employer, Major. And you, Lt. Johnson, can keep your hand away from that Beretta. I know of your skill with it.”

Surprise must have flickered across Teri’s face.

“Don’t be so shocked, Lt. I read both of your files before coming here, although you are prettier than your dossier photo.”

“Thanks,” Teri said. “Don’t make me have to make a play for the gun.”

Hardy smiled slightly. “I’m not here to hurt the Major, just to talk to him.” He made a sweeping gesture toward the parking lot. “I have a car waiting. Let’s take a drive.”

Teri tensed for a second.

“Relax, Lt. I will have him back to you safe and sound,” Hardy said. “Unless of course he decides to do something stupid in which case I have strict orders to kill both of you with extreme prejudice. I then make a phone call and two hours later nothing will remain of your life here in Coral Bay.” His smile broadened slightly but it was still a cold expression. He nodded toward the parking lot. “Shall we go, Major?”

* * * *

The car was a black limo with darkened windows. Three bodyguards in nice suits and submachine pistols beneath their arms stood in a protective circle around the car. They all wore sunglasses and probably had the little transceivers in their ears and they watched me expectantly. They were waiting for—perhaps even wanting—me to try something.

“You expecting trouble from someone or am I that dangerous?”

“Your reputation precedes you, Major.” The driver opened the rear door and Hardy made a motion. “After you.”

I climbed into a spacious area that actually had circular seating. I sat with my back to the front of the car; Hardy sat opposite me and one bodyguard took a seat by the far door. He turned studious attention to what was outside the window.

Hardy regarded me for a moment before speaking.

“There is a reason, Major, why Carl is managing a CIA front business in Miami rather than working as an active field handler in, oh let’s say, Europe.” He took out a cigar, clipped off the end, and lit it, puffing contentedly. “He’s only good at one thing—marketing that club and getting selected people to want to come there. He’s very good at it.”

“But not so good elsewhere?”

“Afraid not. He hadn’t even reached the second level of our servers before we called him. At first, he denied anything then we threatened his pension. He ratted you out in less than five seconds. I certainly hope you have a good reason for dragging me out of my office and sending me down to this sauna.”

“Actually, your bosses did that.”

He leaned forward. “Why are you interested in Operation Starhawk?”

“Because Mason Killian is an old friend of mine and he ended up in ICU.

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