James Born - Burn Zone

She saw the recognition in Floyd's face as he looked up at her. His eyes opened wide as she thought about her options.

Duarte said, "Okay, tell us what you brought out of New Orleans."

Ike looked up at Lina. "Why? The FBI never listened to me before."

Lina heard his bitterness and thought that it might even be justified.

Duarte was more confused. "What's that mean?"

Lina cut in. "Don't worry about it."

Duarte twisted his head to glare at her. "You're still going to keep your source and his information from us? After all we've done?"

"It's not that simple. We…" She stopped when she saw Duarte cock his head and stop paying any attention to her at all. Lina said, "What is it?"

"We're not alone."

"Félix is probably awake."

Duarte was clear in his tone. "No, it's someone else."

Pelly saw the cars stopped under the light in another warehouse's parking lot. His police training and instinct told him to be very careful and not let anyone see his car. There were no other vehicles in the neighborhood this time of night. He pulled the Impala off the road into the small lot of a business wedged in between two large warehouse complexes.

Even from a distance he could see someone move quickly to pull a man from a pickup truck. He left his car, checked his little Beretta and darted closer to the parked cars. Finding cover in the darkness and shrubs, he easily covered the distance between his car and the truck.

He settled near a bush where he could clearly see the two men who were now on the ground.

One was holding the other down.

Then Pelly saw the woman, and it only took a second for him to realize it was Lina, the FBI agent who had seen him clean-shaven. He looked at the men more closely, and then saw the man being subdued was Ike Floyd. What happened to the Ryder rental truck? Whose pickup truck was that?

He lowered his head and started to move to a better position to decide if he had to take action. He scurried along a low line of planted shrubs away from the two parked vehicles to approach at a different angle. He crept closer now, using the cars to cover his approach. The downside was that he lost sight of the people at the cars, too.

Alongside the Cobalt, he started to reach for his Beretta as he peeked around the corner of the car toward the big pickup truck.

The first thing he saw was the barrel of a Glock right in front of his face. And heard a man say, "Don't move."

ALEX DUARTE HAD SENSED THE FIGURE MOVING CLOSER TO THE car and then took a guess at which end of the vehicle the intruder would try to use for cover. It was the same thing he would've done. He had his Glock out and waiting as a shadow-covered face came into view.

Duarte said, "Don't move." Not a shout, just a simple command.

In a blur, he saw a movement, and, before he could react, felt the gun fly from his hand and heard it chatter on the ground.

In an instant, he saw the flash of a pistol and, using his own considerable speed, swatted it from the man's hand. He felt a fist as he instinctively bobbed his head and fended off the blow with his right hand. Duarte rolled to one side, and his attacker moved in the opposite direction so they could assess one another.

Then, as he focused on the man's face for the first time and the light from the streetlight fell on him, Duarte simply said, "You."

The man, equally astonished, said, "You."

The hairy first mate of the Flame of Panama recognized Duarte, too.

Duarte let a small smile spread across his face. He'd been waiting to meet this guy.

The man said, "What's so funny?" He had a noticeable Spanish accent.

Duarte said, "You'll find out."

"Or maybe you'll be surprised." The hairy man moved to his left, alert and ready for action. "I like your moves. You're quick and precise."

"You're pretty quick yourself."

"I work at it."

Duarte smiled a little more. "Me, too." Then, as the man stood, Duarte saw the first front kick blast toward him. He blocked it hard and followed up with a round kick to the man's ribs. He took most of the blow but managed a hard elbow into Duarte as he threw the kick.

They tumbled toward each other and then over a low row of shrubs, each managing to throw a punch or kick along the way until they were well in front of the parked truck, both men panting and battered a little.

Duarte realized he was in a fight with the first guy that was as well trained and in as good a shape as himself. He'd always liked the advantage, and now knew what it was like to face someone who prepared for fights as hard as he did. This was not a Bruce Willis movie. This was a good old-fashioned street fight.

Duarte hoped the fight might wake up Félix in the parked Cobalt. At least he might distract this guy long enough for Duarte to regain the advantage. Lina was busy with Floyd.

They moved from side to side, and then the hairy man backed up, a little at a time, the whole way feinting with punches and kicks. Duarte didn't realize what he had been planning until it was too late. The first mate had backed to his pistol, which had come to rest way back in this part of the parking lot, twenty feet from their first encounter.

Duarte tried to spring onto the man, but the latter was far too quick, reaching down and covering Duarte with the small handgun.

The hairy man took a second to catch his breath and said, "Sorry, I wish we had time to finish this. You're the biggest challenge I've ever faced."

Duarte kept his eyes on the man, looking for a weakness or opening. The man had retreated just far enough to ensure his ability to hold Duarte at bay. He obviously knew what he was doing, and now Duarte wondered how he could've let this killer gain the advantage. All he knew was that this guy wouldn't hesitate to kill him or Lina.

William "Ike" Floyd was scared and shaking as the FBI chick, Lina, leaned on him with that autopistol of hers screwed into his right ear. She didn't seem nervous, and he had no idea what they had planned for him.

Lina leaned in close to him and said, "Who's out there?"

"Don't know. Probably Pelly," he panted.

"Who?" The name had a ring to it.

"Pelly. He works for Mr. Ortíz." His voice cracked as he spoke.

That caught all of her attention. "Ortíz is here?"

"I think so. I haven't seen him yet."

Lina shifted her weight and moved away from him slightly. Then she said, "Sorry, Ike, I can't have you blabbing about things."

He sensed a tension in her hand and blurted out, "You can't just kill me, you're an FBI agent."

"I have to kill you because I'm an FBI agent."

"I won't tell, I promise. I've never told anyone."

The FBI agent seemed to tense, and Ike knew what was coming. He involuntarily squeezed his eyes shut and hoped he wouldn't pee in his jeans as he waited for the imminent blast from the pistol.

Duarte walked well in front of the first mate and didn't even bother to raise his hands. The guy already knew what to expect from Duarte and was pretty fast himself. He still hoped Félix would enter the fray and wondered what Lina would do when she saw them. The first mate marched him directly toward Lina and William Floyd, and he could just make out their forms as he moved forward.

Then Duarte stopped as he saw Lina and realized she had her gun to Floyd's head. He was lying on his side with his eyes squeezed closed, and Lina looked ready to execute him. At first he thought it might be an interrogation tactic, but then he realized she intended to pull the trigger.

Behind him, in an amazingly calm voice, the first mate said, "Don't do it."