Patriot

CHAPTER 48

It was a day that would long be remembered as the calm before the storm.

“You sure you didn’t forget to pack anything, boss?” Stoke said, peeking his head inside the door to Hawke’s guest room.

“Just my heart,” Hawke said, turning to smile at his old friend.

“Your heart?”

“A joke, Stoke. Just trying to say thanks for taking on boarders at such a tough time for Alexei. Fancha has been an absolute mother to him. Precisely what he needed, what we both needed. So, thank you, is all I’m trying to say. Thank you, Stoke, for everything you’ve done for us.”

Stoke smiled. “You’re welcome anytime, you know that. And, by the way, you picked a good time to check out, I’m telling you that, man.”

“Really? Why’s that?”

“Power just went out in the house. Not just this property, either. Apparently the whole damn neighborhood is without power.”

“What happened?”

“Some kind of explosion is all I know. Very faint, but I heard it boom. Couple of transformers, I guess.”

“Yeah, that would do it, all right. How long will the system be down?”

“Couple of hours maybe. Maybe longer. They’re not really saying much on the emergency radio, which is a little weird.”

“Bureaucracy, Stoke. Withholding information from the public makes petty bureaucrats feel like big shots.”

“You got that right, brother.”

After a lengthy visit, Hawke had no desire to wear out his welcome. And, besides, Hawke’s yacht, the enormous Blackhawke, had arrived the night before and was now safely berthed at the Port of Miami, made fast to American soil once more.

After this was all over, Alex and his young son would take an extended world cruise, visiting random ports of call so no enemy could detect a pattern. He was going to look for the safest, most inaccessible location on the planet to stake his flag. Perhaps Switzerland. At some point, Hawke would return to his country home in England. But he had chosen to wait until final security arrangements were completed by crews from MI6 and Scotland Yard at Hawkesmoor.

On board Blackhawke was a fair-haired young Scotland Yard detective inspector named Tristan Walker, a highly respected officer of the Royalty Protection Branch, SO14.

Effective immediately, Detective Inspector Walker would assume the duties long held by Alexei’s beloved and sadly missed Nell Spooner. I will never forget her, Papa, not ever! he would say every night, following his evening prayers. Hawke, who seldom showed emotion and tended to keep his deepest feelings within himself, would hug his child and say a small prayer for them now that this woman he had come to love was gone.

“You want the top down, Alexei?” Stoke asked. “Drop the boot or whatever it is you say over in England?”

“Can we, Daddy?” the boy asked his father, craning his neck around. Alex had climbed into the backseat of the beautifully restored 1965 Pontiac GTO so his son could sit up front with his hero.

“Lower away, Captain Jones!” Hawke shouted as they wound their way along the curving drive through the green jungle of lawn to the road. Casa Que Canta was located on a small island off Key Biscayne called “Low Key.” It was hidden, just the way Stoke liked it. He lowered the top, and salt air flooded the interior and sunshine beamed benevolently down.

“How do you like this car?” Stoke asked his copilot.

“I like it, sir.”

“Your daddy tried to win it from me one night in a poker game in Manila. Guess what. He lost.”

“Daddy cheats,” Hawke said, laughing.

“It’s beautiful, sir. May I ask what kind it is?”

Hawke leaned forward between the pleated white leather seats.

“Oh, no, Alexei. Don’t even get him started.”

Stoke tousled the boy’s shaggy black hair and said, “Pontiac GTO, son,” he said. “Nineteen sixty-five vintage. Custom metallic black raspberry paint job, rolled-and-pleated hand-sewn white leather interior, bored-and-stroked V-8 mill with Edelbrock headers, full race cam, Hurst shifter… I’ll tell you what, son, she’ll blow the doors off anything you’ve got in the standing quarter mile and yet she’s totally street legal, little brother. Street legal! What you going to say to that?”

Alexei furrowed his brow. “Golly, I hardly know what to say, Mr. Jones. I don’t even know what you said!”

In the backseat, Hawke threw back his head and laughed out loud.