Omega Sanction

Chapter Thirty-Three

"Thorpe is on the Blackhawks heading back." Dilken seemed surprised by the news.

"Do they have the VZ?” the director asked.

"Yes, sir."

"What about the girls?" Parker asked. "They recovered three hostages," Dilken said. He glanced down at his notepad. "Catherine Walker, Leslie Marker and Terri Dublowski."

Parker sank down into a seat, feeling the tension drain from her body for the first time in days. She picked up a phone and dialed the number for the Ranch to let Dublowski know the good news.

Thorpe sat next to Terri Dublowski, an arm around the young girl's shoulder, his fatigue jacket over the smock. He could feel her trembling.

She looked up. "You shouldn't have let them go. They killed the other girls. They'll do it again."

"I don't think they'll be killing anyone else," Thorpe said.

Prince Yasin stood in front of the vault door. He watched as welders sealed the seam. He had designed the room himself and knew this was the only way out. When the welders were done, he dismissed them.

He looked at the door one last time, then turned and left.

Epilogue

"Favors being owed are the oil that keeps the machinery of international relations working." Former National Security Adviser Hill poured himself a shot of bourbon, then raised the bottle with a questioning look toward former CIA Director of Operations Hancock.

Hancock declined. They were in a cabana on the west coast of Costa Rica with a magnificent view of the Pacific Ocean crashing on a pristine beach less than fifty feet from the double doors opening to the deck. Jungle surrounded them, and guards from the Costa Rican army, supplemented by mercenaries, patrolled the perimeter. The cabana was luxurious, with every modern comfort money could buy and import.

"They'll seek to extradite us," Hancock noted as Hill sat in a large wicker chair across from him.

"They have to find us first," Hill said. "That will take them a year or two. By then we'll move on. I have many people owing me favors — as do you."

"Prince Yasin is looking for us also," Hancock said.

"We did Yasin a favor by showing him the true nature of his bastard sons," Hill said.

Unnoticed by either man — and the security guards — a small, crablike object crept out of the ocean on metal legs. With a body less than four inches in size, it walked across the beach toward the open double doors.

"It was bad luck, really," Hill continued.

Hancock shook his head. "No. Jawhar and Akil had their own agenda and I should have foreseen that. It cost us everything."

"Not everything," Hill said. "Who knows? With a new administration coming into office — and there is no doubt the pendulum will swing the other way with the next election — we may very well be able to go back to Washington and reclaim our old jobs."

Hancock was listening to his mentor, but he was distracted by a very slight clicking noise. He looked about, then saw the mechanical creature stalking in through the doorway, the metal legs making the noise against the hardwood floor.

"What is that?" Hancock stood up.

Hill turned. A small optical wire on the top turned in their direction, like a crustacean's eye. It fixed on the two men.

Hill pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and was punching in for the head of security when a small canister about two inches long by one in diameter popped out of the top of the device. The canister rolled onto the floor with a hissing noise.

"What the hell—" Hancock leaned forward to look at the canister when he felt his throat seize up.

Dublowski watched the VZ kill Hill and Hancock. Certain they were dead, he hit the self-destruct on Freddie Two, and the image on the small TV screen in the cabin of the rented boat went black.

Dublowski climbed up the short ladder to the boat's bridge. He engaged the engine and headed north from his position three miles off the coast of Costa Rica. In two days he was meeting his wife and daughter in San Diego for a week of vacation and he wanted to make sure he made it in time. He knew Simpkins would be happy to know Freddie worked.

Parker knew the driver was checking her out, but more out of curiosity than male lust. That was a relief, given he was over sixty and looked like life had not been too kind to him.

"How much farther?" she asked as they turned onto another narrow street in Stuttgart.

"You sound like my grandkids," Morty Lorsen groused good-naturedly. He pulled the car into an alley and stopped. "We're here."

Parker got out of the car and looked around with some concern.

Lorsen saw her expression and laughed. "Yeah, this is it. Looked worse a month ago, if you can believe that. Our friend, he has…" Morty shook his head. "Well, you must see. Come on, come on."

They walked down the alley and then turned right through a narrow doorway. Morty opened the door and extended his right hand, inviting her in.

Parker walked through and blinked. Bright lights illuminated the center of the large room where several teenagers were gathered at a table while a tall, thin man was speaking in a low voice, pointing to a computer.

"That's Esdras," Lorsen said. "He's teaching them basic computer skills. And here…" — Lorsen led Parker around a thick concrete pillar to another section of the room—"is your friend Mr. Thorpe."

Thorpe had a roller in his hands and was perched precariously on a ladder. The ceiling above his head was half painted and Thorpe was covered with white spots. He saw Parker and smiled. "Hey." He climbed down.

A thin young man with tattoos all over the parts of his body that were visible poked Thorpe in the arm. "Hey, man, no breaks. You said it!"

"I've got to talk to the lady, Crew," Thorpe said.

The young man doubled over coughing, then straightened with a weak grin. "Yeah, well, I want to see this done."

"We'll get it done," Thorpe promised. "Maybe you should take a break too."

"Nah." Crew dipped his roller in the paint.

Thorpe walked over to Parker. "How goes things back in the States?"

"Things are good. Dublowski sends his regards and his thanks for the hundredth time."

Thorpe nodded.

"Hill and Hancock are dead," Parker added.

"How?"

"According to Gereg, someone infiltrated some VZ gas into where they were in Costa Rica."

"Interesting," was Thorpe's only comment on that.

"That seems to close everything out," Parker said.

"You think so?"

"Are all the world's problems solved?" Parker asked rhetorically. "Of course not. But a couple of them are."

"Jawhar and Akil haven't been spotted, have they?"

Parker shook her head. "Not a peep."

"I think Daddy took care of them," Thorpe said.

"We've kept an eye on Nabi Ulmalhamah," Parker said. "Nothing since Yasin left. No one's gone in there or out. Looks abandoned."

Thorpe sat down in an old chair that the stuffing was coming out of in several places. Parker settled down on a battered couch.

"There's something else," she said hesitatingly.

"What?"

"The German link who set up Jawhar and Akil with the Russian military. We've received word from the Israelis that—"

Thorpe held up his hand, then pointed. "See that wall?"

A splash of colors covered the concrete. The pattern caught the eye and held it, as the mind tried to make sense of the swirling images.

"It's beautiful," Parker said.

"Crew did that," Thorpe said. "He created something."

Parker opened her mouth to speak, then paused.

Thorpe leaned forward. "We're creating something here. A place for these kids to be safe. Because there will be more Jawhars. And Akils. And Hancocks. And Hills. All of them. I don't care about who the German intermediaries were and what they're doing now." He stabbed a finger at the floor. "As long as they don't come here. Nabi Ulmalhamah was the last mission. The Omega Sanction, to use CIA terminology. I'm done destroying."

Thorpe stood up. "We've got an extra brush if you want to help."

Parker nodded. "Sounds like a plan."