February 16th; 9:00 a.m.
Tampa, Florida
MacDill Air Force Base
Following a four-hour voyage beneath the sea, aboard the USS Minnesota, Hardy and Cruz—hugging each other—were hoisted into a helicopter, hovering above the submarine. A few minutes later, they were joined by Dahlia and Pence. The CH-47 Chinook delivered the foursome to MacDill Air Force Base; nearly three hundred miles away, where everyone showered, ate and got a few hours of sleep. A fresh change of clothes waited for them when they awoke, compliments of Charity, who had made the delivery arrangements.
“I have Isaac Wells on camera in Florida’s Palm Beach International Airport.”
Sitting at a conference table and staring at Charity’s head and shoulders on a laptop’s screen, Hardy leaned closer. “What time was that, Cherry?”
“He took off in a private jet at,” from her OR command center in D.C., she spied the time, “6:58 p.m., roughly fourteen hours ago.”
Cruz leaned left and rubbed shoulders with Hardy to get in the laptop’s camera. “Where was the plane headed?”
“No flight plan was filed.”
“So Wells,” said Dahlia, standing behind Hardy, hands on her head, fingers interlaced, “could be just about anywhere in the world right now.”
“I’m afraid so,” said Charity. “I’ve scoured the Internet and the dark web for anything on Wells…properties, boats, jets…you name it. The guy’s a digital ghost. He must have everything registered under aliases. I can’t find any matches to the photo you sent me.” She paused. “Unless you have some new information, I’m all out of things I can try.”
The conference room door swung inward. Pence appeared, pressing buttons on a cell phone. He closed the door and slid the mobile across the table, toward Hardy. “Thanks for letting me use that.”
Hardy nodded. “And?”
Pence pointed. “That was my handler at the CIA. I’m officially on loan to you and your team for the duration.”
“Glad to have you aboard.” Hardy dipped his head toward the laptop. “We’re getting an update from Cherry—” he shook his head, “excuse me…Charity right now.” He beckoned the new arrival.
Pence stood beside Dahlia and faced the screen.
“Pence, this is Charity Sinclair. She’s our computer expert.” Hardy eyed Charity’s image and pointed at the man over his shoulder. “Cherry, this is Thomas Pence. He’s the one who saved our skin on the island.”
Pence nodded. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”
“Likewise, but you’ll have to start calling me Cherry.” She waited a beat. “Only a select few call me that, and ones who save my friend’s lives are definitely on the list.”
“Thank you.”
“So,” Charity gathered her thoughts, “do I call you, Pence…Thomas…?”
Hardy tipped his head back and got an upside down glimpse of the man. “Yeah, Tom Pence,” he grinned, “what’s it going to be, rock star?”
The temporary addition to the team pushed Hardy’s head forward and smiled at the laptop. “Young lady, anything you want is fine with me.” Wiping the smile from his face, he glanced downward. “And you’ve just used up the rest of your goodwill on the ‘rock star’ comment.”
Chuckling, Hardy motioned toward Charity and spoke to his male counterpart. “Cherry’s run into a dead end on Wells. Any ideas on where he might be?”
“What do you have so far?” After the thirty-second briefing, Pence ambled away, arms folded, hand covering his mouth. He wagged his finger on the return trip. “Cherry, can you do a little digging on someone else?”
“All I need’s a name.”
“Johnny DeLucci…two N’s in Johnny.” Pence spelled the last name. “He’s Isaac’s assistant and number two. There’s a good chance he’ll know his boss’s whereabouts.”
“I’m running the name as we speak.”
“Start in Florida. I’m pretty sure I heard him mention he owned a place along the coast, beachfront property if I’m correct.”
Reading Pence’s mind, Hardy beamed and reached for the mobile. “I’ll get transportation lined up for us.”
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
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