Jamie Freveletti - Running Dark

Sumner started walking again.

Janklow moved out in the opposite direction. “See you on the next turn.”

Halfway around the deck, Sumner bumped into Block. “Out for a stroll?”

“I wish,” Block replied. “Wainwright wants me to take over for Janklow. Something’s going on with the damage, and he’s needed there.” He turned and fell into step with Sumner. “Anything happen so far?”

“No, but this is the ‘hot’ shift. You know that, right?”

Block sighed. “I told you, I used to hunt. Lots of animals come out at night. Don’t see how these are any different.”

Sumner couldn’t argue with that. They met up with Janklow at the midpoint. He eyed Block with a sour expression that was even worse than his usual one. Sumner watched him manage a cordial nod.

“Mr. Block, what brings you on deck this late?” Janklow asked.

“Wainwright needs you in Stateroom A to inspect the damage. He wants me to spell you.” Block waved toward the pistol holstered at Janklow’s waist. “That little gun all you got?”

Janklow sighed and pulled the gun, holster and all, off his waist. He handed it to Block. “This is it.”

Block scrutinized the pistol. “What the hell is this?”

“A stun gun.”

The gun was bright yellow and had a square muzzle instead of a round one. Slightly thicker than an actual pistol, it came with its own holster in fluorescent neon.

“Why the hell is it so bright? This thing glows. I might as well be carrying a sign that says ‘I’m over here, shoot me.’” Block waved the holster around. The reflective material left streaks of green light as it moved through the dark.

“It’s considered rescue equipment. All rescue equipment is designed so that it can be located in the dark.”

“How does it work?” Block asked.

“It takes a few seconds to charge. You flick this on”—Janklow showed Block a switch—“and when it’s ready, you aim and shoot.”

“Do I need to touch the guy? ’Cause let me tell you right now, I don’t want to get that close.”

Janklow shook his head. “It has two darts that shoot out on fishing lines with a range of twenty-one feet.”

Block smiled. “That’ll do for distance.”

“But there’s a hitch with the fishing lines. They both have to hit the target to work. Guy manages to avoid one and you won’t complete a circuit. Nothing will happen except you’ll be standing there trying to reload while he’s madder than he was before. The extra charges are attached to the holster’s belt.”

“Great.” Block sounded disgusted. “Anything else I should know?”

“Certain materials will stop the electrical charge.”

“Like what?”

“Like a wet suit,” Sumner said.

Janklow hid a smile, while Block gave them both a long look.

“Sumner, give me your rifle,” Block demanded.

Sumner shook his head. “The Dragunov stays with me.”

Block pointed a finger at him. “Probably every one of those pirates will be wearing a wet suit as he climbs over the railing. You can’t keep that state-of-the-art weapon while you give your passengers these pieces of crap.”

Janklow knocked out another smoke. Before he lit it, he aimed it at Block. “Have you ever even shot a sniper rifle?”

Block looked outraged. “I can shoot anything you want to hand me, and that’s a fact.”

Janklow gave an incredulous laugh. “Texans. You guys are the biggest exaggerators in the world.”

Sumner started pacing again. Behind him he heard Janklow instructing Block on his patrol duties. Sumner turned a corner, and the only sound was the swell of the waves on the side of the boat.

But in the distance came the roar of a cigarette boat’s engine.

13

THE ASSISTANT TO THE UNDERSECRETARY FOR INTERNATIONALsecurity policy and procedure called Banner at one o’clock in the morning. Banner noted the caller ID before he snatched the phone off his nightstand.

“Mr. Banner, we need you at Department of Defense headquarters immediately. There’s been a problem in—”

Banner interrupted her. “Don’t say it. My phones are tapped.”

The woman began coughing. While she did, Banner pulled an image of her up from memory. She was a mousy woman, about thirty years old. Nondescript brown hair, ill-fitting dark suits with button-down shirts and flat shoes. She was new, one of the few who had lasted longer than a quarter of a year, and for the life of him he couldn’t remember her name. She got hold of herself, and he heard her take a deep breath.

“Who’s tapping you?”

“Probably the FBI, but I can’t be positive.”

“Oh.” The woman sounded relieved. “The FBI is on our side.”

“You would think, but I’m not so sure. Best you wait to fill me in until I get there.”

“I’m using a secure phone and calling your secure line. A tap is unlikely. Are you always this cautious?”

Banner was up and rummaging through his dresser drawers, using his ear to hold the phone to his shoulder. “Yes. And really, aren’t you just a little bit impressed that I am?”

His joke was rewarded with a small laugh. “I guess I am. We’ll see you soon, then. And could you bring Major Stromeyer?”

Banner glanced again at the clock. He hated to bother Stromeyer unless it was urgent. No need for both of their nights to be ruined.

“Is it necessary? I could handle the meeting and let her sleep a little longer.”

The woman coughed again. Banner thought it was a nervous reaction. He rushed to reassure her.

“Is there a particular reason you want her there?” he asked.

“No, no, it’s just…” The woman trailed off.

“Go on.”

“It’s just that Major Stromeyer is so good at requisitions.”

Banner slid on a pair of pants and sat on the bed to put on his socks. “Major Stromeyer is great at requisitions,” he said. “I’ve often thought that Major Stromeyer could requisition a trip to the moon and do it in a way so that no one in the government would complain.”

The nervous assistant heaved a sigh. “I always get my paperwork wrong.”

Banner felt sorry for the young woman. Especially since she probably wouldn’t survive another month in the job.

“I’ll bring Major Stromeyer.” He rang off and called Stromeyer. When she answered in a voice filled with sleep, he almost regretted his promise. “Meeting at the DOD as soon as you can.”

She gave a small groan. “Is my presence required?”

“The assistant asked for you specifically. I forget her name. The mousy one.”

“Susan Plower.”

By now Banner had his shoes on, and one sleeve of his shirt. He headed to the door with the rest of the shirt hanging off him. He snagged his car keys from a leather tray that sat on a credenza near the front door of his town house.

“She says she’s bad at paperwork.”

“She’s terrible at paperwork. We’ll finish the meeting, and she’ll get it wrong, and then Darkview won’t get paid for an additional six months while I straighten it all out. I’ll see you in twenty-five minutes.”

Banner walked into a DOD conference room populated with various personnel. They all looked relieved to see him, which should have made him feel good about himself but somehow only made him wary. Since Darkview specialized in missions to “hot” spots around the world, he wished someone would tell him which area had blown up. He didn’t have long to wait. He watched Stromeyer enter the room and, directly behind her, the new undersecretary for international security policy and procedure, Jonathan Rickell.

Banner didn’t know much about Rickell except that he’d been hired when the new administration took office and that he had a degree in international studies from the same Ivy League school the president had attended. About fifty years old, fit and balding, with shrewd eyes and a reputation for having an explosive temper, Rickell had been polite but distant the few times Banner had met him. Banner couldn’t get a handle on him.