Steele Morning

Vol. 1; Ch. 9

By R. J. Harrington,

As the bullets and now explosions continued to rock the crumbling terminal, Remington lifted his head just enough to squint toward the corner where Dubois was sitting. All he saw was a foot as Dubois slowly dragged his bound legs around a corner. Remington slid across the floor on his side and grabbed Dubois' ankle.

"You're staying right here with me, mate."

Dubois smiled.

"My men know a trap when they see one, Harry. Did you really think you could lure them here and take them without a fight? I'm impressed you got them here at all. And, who are your buddies?"

"Just a few friends who've been looking for a consummate con artist who uses threats to stay out of prison. You wouldn't know such a thief would you?"

Remington continued, "Now, we're going to stay here until I say otherwise. Once your men are out of the picture, we'll take a leisurely stroll to that awaiting helicopter and drop you at your new home. Sound like a plan?"

Still seated on the dusty floor, Remington held Dubois against the wall by his collar and pushed the gun into his throat. Dubois attempted a nod.

The rocket and mortar fire intensified and ebbed a dozen times before Remington heard silence. He pulled Dubois to the front of the terminal to peek around the corner of the concrete doorway. The agent guarding the entrance was lying nearby in a growing pool of blood.

Remington turned and sat just inside the doorway with his knees to his chest, his head back and his eyes closed. This was either the end or the beginning, he thought. He took a deep breath and crawled to a nearby wall to look through a broken window. He saw agents near the runway hidden behind the airplane and large concrete pillars that once supported welcoming statues for visitors. Several of Dubois' men lay dead or wounded in the patchy dirt and dried grass. He couldn't tell if they still had their weapons. What were they waiting for?

Remington suddenly heard the blade whip of several helicopters and what he thought was a jet engine. Dust swirled around the terminal. Remington pulled Dubois to the back of the building and waited against the wall. Agents rounded up Dubois' men from the field, thinking they had them all.

"BOOM!" A thundering blast rumbled their chests. Remington raised his hands to his ears to block the deafening noise before being blown backward. The gun flew out of his hand and toward the wall. He worked to reorient himself and turned to find the weapon. He found Dubois lying on the floor on his side with the Ruger pointed at him.

"Ah, ah, ah, stop right there. Hands up, Harry."

Remington stayed on his knees and raised his hands slowly, clasping his fingers behind his head.

"Now, you're going to slowly move over here and untie my legs and then my wrists. Then, we're going to take a walk out the back door; that is if I don't kill you first."

Remington untied Dubois' legs and wrists and returned his own hands behind his head.

"Let's go." Dubois poked the gun into Remington's back and pushed him toward the rear of the terminal. They stopped at the wooden planked door.

"I want you to go out there with your arms in front of you like you still have your weapon. That should make an easy target," Dubois cackled.

Remington pushed open the door, held out his arms and walked to the left. Dubois followed with his gun still pointed at Remington's back. Dubois jerked to a stop when he heard the hammer of a gun cock at the back of his head.

"Drop the gun Dubois….Now!"

Remington didn't dare turn around. With Dubois' back still turned, he dropped the gun and slid it to the side in the dirt.

"Now, get on the ground with your arms and legs spread."

Dubois complied and a rush of agents seized him. They handcuffed him in body chains and led him to one of three Huey helicopters that surrounded the field. All of Dubois' men – dead and alive – were loaded in the remaining copters.

"You can turn around now."

Remington dropped his hands and turned toward his rescuer.

"Really, Laura, was all of that drama necessary?" he said with a grin as he bent to wipe dust from his trousers.

Laura bent to meet his lips and kissed him, pushing him back up to stand. She wrapped her arms around him as he pulled her into the embrace. When the kiss subsided, they separated to look at each other. Their faces were covered in dust and Dubois' blood dotted Remington's white shirt.

"I'm glad you're alright."

"Me too. How did you find me?"

"With a little help from the CIA, your pajama pants and a little detective intuition."

"That easy, huh?"

"I would have been here earlier, but Mildred and I had trouble cracking the code."

"What code?"

"The one you left in your pajama pants."

"Oh. Nothing gets by you, Laura."

"It should have hit me, but we didn't know until just a few hours ago that it was the Longitude and Latitude for Mayaguana Island. We would have found you eventually, though, after Mildred traced the rental companies. Really, Mr. Steele, we need to find you some new aliases. You're making it too easy."

"I'll try harder next time." He said with a wink. "Let's go home."

Remington held his elbow in front of Laura. She wrapped her fingers around his arm as they walked toward the jet that had delivered Laura to Mayaguana Island.

As they walked, Laura looked up at her husband and grinned. "And, don't think you're getting off scot free on this one. You have a lot of explaining to do when we get back to Los Angeles, you know."

"I know. Hopefully, I'll be doing a lot more than explaining." His eyebrows wiggled.

To Be Continued