Chapter 6
“I suspect the terrorist cell is connected to the Russian SVR, maybe run by them, at the very least trained by them.” Dane pulled in a large gulp of sea air.
He had his team reassemble out back and took a scrambler with him for good measure.
He called Cap in because he had as much at stake if not more—he was the only one of them with a truly sterling reputation worth protecting.
Shana licked her lips. It was her tell for nerves. Dane gave her all his attention, lasering her with his eyes and every bit of the intense energy that emanated from him. She gave her luscious lips another lick. Dane held himself in check in spite of the twitch of sensual awareness in his pants.
She said, “Maybe we should call the FBI.”
“You remember the last time we had a case involving them—we’re not exactly on friendly terms.”
“Speak for yourself.” She lifted her chin. Damn. He hated that she was right and hated even more why she was right.
“Don’t say it,” he said.
“Don’t say what?”
“That you get along with them just fine. That you—”
“Don’t you say it.”
“Don’t say what?” He loved toying with her, but this was a sore spot. He hated the fact that she had more than one admirer who happened to be an FBI Special Agent.
“That I could be dating any number of FBI Special Agents.”
Dane said, “I know what you mean. It must be annoying to have special agents fawning after you.”
Shana snorted but didn’t deny it.
He closed his eyes and let the wave of panic, or anxiety or whatever nameless horrible shape his jealousy took in the form of bodily pain, pass through him.
Acer said, “What business is Toly into these days? Homeland Security is bound to find out.”
“He’s in the Russian vodka business now. Legit import.” Dane said. “He ought to look into tequila.”
“He’s probably already into tequila,” Cap said. “Ivanov said he had connections in Mexico.”
They both knew his connection was Oscar, an old friend from Dane’s mercenary days—who was also reputedly in the import/export business.
Cap said, “About that—Ivanov has a tentative truce with the feds, but he doesn’t exactly get along with them.”
“The truce we negotiated was temporary. Once they find out he’s involved in an arms deal all bets will be off,” Dane said. And then he thought about it. “If we called the FBI in on this it would definitely rock the boat.” He smiled.
“You’re crazy,” Cap said. “We don’t want a war with the FBI when we’re already going to be in a fight with Homeland Security.”
“Who says? What if we set it up so that the FBI is in a turf war with Homeland Security?” He unleashed his most devilish smile then so that they all knew he was serious.
“Then everyone would want to be our friend,” Shana said.
“You are a damn tricky bastard,” Acer said. He was ready to lift the bottle of Patron again until Dane stopped him with a wave of his hand.
“We need to act fast and talk faster. I need everyone at 200% capacity.”
“You calling the governor?” Cap asked.
“He’s your boss—you can call him for a heads-up—no intervention.”
“That’ll be for him to decide,” Cap said.
Nothing Dane could do about that except maybe have Shana talk to the governor’s wife to help reign him in.
Governor Peter John Douglas, their old special ops unit commander, hated being left out of the action.
But he had big ambitions and Dane didn’t want his friend making enemies over this—and didn’t want him spoiling the plan.
They needed to keep a precarious balance between the FBI and Homeland Security and the governor’s influence would tip the scales in the favor of the FBI.
Peter John Douglas was notoriously friendly with the Boston Special Agent in Charge—or SAC, as he was known to his agents.
Dane would settle for the subtle residual effect of that friendship without any direct explicit intervention.
“So is the wedding on or off?” Shana asked.
“It’s on. Business as usual for Max and Sal. We send them an invitation for the staged wedding to take place on Friday, the night before the real wedding.”
“I’ll call Sassy and Ronnie in to help.”
Dane gave her a nod.
“I’m betting it wouldn’t matter. Either the FBI or Homeland Security will be there in full force—possibly both—to shut it down and grab Max and Sal. Then with those two by the short hairs, if it were me calling the shots, I would have Max and Sal run a sting on the terrorist cell.”
Dane would make the FBI and Homeland Security understand he was handing them the perfect opportunity to shut down a cell without risking the sale of arms. They’d only be putting Toly and his family in danger. Something Dane and his band could worry about so the feds didn’t need to.
“What’s that smile for?” Shana gave him her suspicious look.
“Our plan got a thousand percent better. Isn’t that legit enough to smile about?”
“No.”
“When did you get so suspicious, girlie?”
“Hanging around with you too long,” Acer said. “Happens to everyone trapped in Dane’s web.” Acer smiled but Dane felt the discomfort of a damning truth tightening between his shoulder blades. He kept his mild smile in place.
“Who wants to go with me to give Toly the update?” He looked around the group. He felt the frisson of agitation from Shana without meeting her gaze. He knew it was her place to do it as his partner. He had no idea why he put that fact aside and looked to others to usurp her place.
Or maybe he did know. Maybe he was distancing again to make up for his dangerous dip into forbidden emotional waters earlier. No matter, she spoke up either way.
“We’ll both go. We’re both working for him. Or did you forget we’re partners? Again.”
She turned and walked away from the group standing near the edge of the water on the weedy grass of his backyard lawn.
Dane watched her go. Acer gave a low whistle of disapproval and shook his head.
“Ace, man, I need you to hack into the computer files at Murphy & Haley. Get me everything they have on their distinguished client Maxim Xavier. That includes the black files.”
“You got it, boss. Piece of cake. What are you going to do about Shana?”
“I’ll ignore your impertinence.”
Acer snorted. Cap raised a brow and said, “I’m back to the office. I’ll place that call to my boss on my secure line.”
“Use code. Assume Homeland Security is listening,” Dane said. Because he knew with a sickening certainty that they were.
Dane and Shana went out the back door down to the water and walked along the harbor shoreline, cutting through the back yards of the few homes in between theirs and the Big Shack. Dane took out a key and let them in the back door.
An alarm went off, pulsing lights and a steady hum pervaded the air. Shana had called ahead to alert Viktor and Pavel of their visit so that he wouldn’t get shot. But Dane had wanted to test the system. It was loud enough to raise household, but not too loud to alert the neighbors.
Only problem was that it wouldn’t likely slow down the likes of SVR professionals invading the premises.
At most it would give Viktor and Pavel an extra two seconds to protect their charges.
Toly rushed into the kitchen flanked with his two bodyguards and stopped short when he saw Dane and Shana.
He lowered his gun hand, the one that Pavel had tried to restrain unsuccessfully.
Dane shot Pavel a look. It was lucky Toly was an old man and had slowed down enough so that he wasn’t his old lethal self.
“Shit. I could have shot you.” Toly was looking at Shana when he spoke. His face was white and he swiped a large shaky hand across his brow. Dane was okay with Toly’s concern for Shana over him, although he’d been shielding most of her in case someone got crazy.
“Don’t worry, Toly,” Shana said. “I’d have shot you first.” She smiled. Dane, and everyone else in the room, believed her, dispelling the wicket of tension.
“What are you doing here?” Toly shot at Dane.
“There’ve been some developments. We need to talk.”
“Not here. I need to get out of this place. I am sick of being here all day with talk of wedding arrangements and bridal gowns and my men watching baseball on their phones when they think I am not looking.”
“Let’s go. But leave your bodyguards here.” Then because he knew Toly was about to protest, Dane added, “Lara and Paulette need them more than you do.”
Dane and Shana accompanied Toly and Ryan to the Vineyard Haven Yacht Club on Owen Little Way where a boat named Gatsby was tied up at a private slip.
It was a fifty-four foot Cantius Cruiser Yacht recently acquired by their former clients, the Gables, who were the kind of people who had a habit of acquiring big toys.
Dane and Shana had helped the Gables with a jewel theft problem earlier in the summer.
Since then Bill and Laura Gable wanted to be in on the excitement generated by Beachcomber Investigations any way they could.
That included donating the use of their expensive toys to the cause.
“This is not a boat, Dane Blaise. I fear for your sense of proportion,” Toly said. “This is a yacht. A big and shiny one at that. I’ve seen one like it this summer. Brand new.”
“Who owned it—the one you saw before?”
“It was owned by a famous film maker.”
“Gable.”
“Yes, that is him. You know him?”
“Sure. This is his boat.”
Toly let out a belly laugh and clapped Dane on the back. If the man kept it up, Dane figured he might be forever cured of his back and shoulder tension. He might suffer from broken bones instead.
Dane used the gadget that Acer had brought to check for surveillance and cleared the boat before he allowed the group to settle onto the white leather couches lining the upper salon. He sat at the helm, but he turned away from the controls to face the others.
“Aren’t we taking it out to the sea?” Toly asked.
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”