Sins in the Sun: A Vigilante Series crime thriller Read online

  “I’m waiting for him,” replied the man at the other end of the call.

  “I’m going to try to get some sleep,” Gomez informed him. “Call me at this number at five forty-five. You should have reached your destination by then.”

  * * * *

  Playa Dorada Plaza, Puerto Plata, Dominican Republic, 1:09 a.m.

  The gate rose as Oliver approached and he briefly waved to the guard as he passed, more out of habit in his current state of mind. The road, which served solely as access to his and neighbouring resorts, was deserted at this time of night and he barely slowed as he veered onto it, heading southwest toward the highway. Seconds later, he was surprised by an incoming call, not having expected to be contacted so soon.

  “Yes,” he said after pressing the switch on the steering console to connect the call.

  “Turn into the parking lot at the shopping mall,” a man’s voice commanded. “Drive around to the back. Mine is the only vehicle there.”

  Oliver hit the brakes to avoid driving past the mall’s parking entrance and turned in then cruised slowly along the side of the darkened building, his driving speed in sharp contrast with his rapidly pumping adrenaline glands. He rounded the corner of the building and spotted the dark silhouette of a SUV in the far corner of the vacant lot. A vision of his wife and daughter flashed through his mind, urging him to stomp onto the accelerator in anger. The car jumped forward with a roar, racing across the lot before screeching to a halt next to the SUV. Cutting the engine, he shoved the door open and climbed out, ignoring the pain his aggressive movements were causing.

  “I strongly suggest you calm down, Señor Lomas,” the man warned from the opposite side of the SUV, causing Oliver to pause. “Attracting attention to yourself will not help your cause and you have a long, difficult day ahead of you.”

  “That is because of filth like you and Gomez,” Oliver snarled. “Preying on an innocent woman and child.”

  “You’re wasting time, Oliver,” the man sighed, cleaning his glasses on his t-shirt as he approached. “You do have a timetable to respect.”

  “Very well,” Oliver surrendered. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “First, pop the trunk and lock the doors,” the man ordered.

  Oliver complied and gazed at the man for further instructions.

  “Your phone and keys in the trunk,” said the man. “We will be using the Cherokee and you won’t be needing to call anyone.”

  Oliver got rid of his mobile and keys then asked, “What next?”

  The man picked up a bag which rested on the hood of the Cherokee and tossed it to Oliver. Emptying the contents revealed a familiar looking polo-shirt, khakis and running shoes.

  The man grinned and said, “They’re yours so they should fit. You need to change.”

  “What’s wrong with the clothes I’m wearing?” asked Oliver, annoyed.

  “You may have accidentally hidden a tracking device in them somewhere,” the man replied. “I know the clothes I brought from your home are clean.”

  With a sigh, Oliver unbuttoned his shirt and stiffly shrugged out of it, throwing it into the open trunk but when he reached for the t-shirt, the man held up his hand to stop him.

  “Strip completely,” he said. “I must check you for electronics before you dress.”

  “Are you serious?” Oliver exclaimed. “Do you think I have a GPS unit shoved up my ass?”

  “Stranger things have been done,” the man replied, “Including implants beneath the skin.”

  “Ridiculous,” Oliver muttered but continued to remove the rest of his clothes.

  “This won’t be long,” said the man, producing a small device from a pocket of his cargo shorts. “Spread your legs a little and raise your arms.”

  Oliver assumed the requested position and the man began scanning him, first his legs, front and back, then his torso, followed by his arms and finding nothing. However, as he moved closed to Oliver’s head, the device beeped and an indicator light began flashing.

  “What’s this?” the man murmured, moving his detector closer to Oliver’s right ear and noting the increasing flashing of the light. He moved to the other ear with similar results. “What do you have in your ears, Señor Lomas?”

  “My hearing aids,” Oliver snapped as if speaking to a child.

  “I want to see them,” said the man.

  Oliver raised his hand to one ear, removed the tiny device and held it out for the man to see. As the man reached for it, Oliver warned, “They are rather delicate.”

  He carefully placed the hearing aid in the man’s palm and waited for his verdict, trying hard to seem indifferent.

  “The other,” ordered the man.

  “What?” asked Oliver, turning his head to approach his ‘still loaded’ left ear.

  “Show me the left one,” said the man.

  Expulsing a frustrated breath, Oliver removed the second device and held it out close to the man’s eyes.

  “It’s the same damned thing,” he growled, “And they cost a fortune.”

  “I don’t know if I can let you keep these,” the man admitted, seeming uncertain.

  “What?” Oliver demanded. “Speak louder. I’m deaf without those, you moron.”

  “Put it back in,” the man shouted, gesturing for added emphasis.

  Oliver reinserted the left device and asked, “What did you say to me?”

  “I said I didn’t know if I should let you keep those,” the man repeated, clearly in a quandary.

  “I’m legally deaf without those,” Oliver roared. “If I can’t keep them, give me your damned glasses.”

  “I can’t see without my glasses,” the man protested.

  “So, maybe you understand what I’m talking about,” Oliver snorted.

  The man held up his hand, the other hearing device still resting in its palm. “Put this one back in too before I drop it.”

  “Thank you,” Oliver snapped, carefully retrieving the tiny apparatus.

  “And you can get dressed,” the man added. “We need to get going.”

  * * * *

  Autopista Duarte near Piedra Blanca, Dominican Republic, 3:47 a.m.

  “Well, it looks like they aren’t heading to Santo Domingo,” said Leslie from the passenger seat, her eyes on the iPad in her lap.

  “I can see that,” Chris replied from the resort in Puerto Plata. “Maybe Jon was right about Gomez travelling although the call he made to Oliver’s phone went through a tower in Boca de Yuma in the same general area as the first time he’d called.”

  “Could he be using some kind of call forwarding system or something?” suggested Dave from behind the wheel. “Something like those internet proxy things you’ve told me about.”

  “I’m impressed, Dave,” said Chris, most things technical not being Dave’s forte, “But it doesn’t seem to be the case based on what the carrier tells us. Gomez had told Oliver to rest to be in shape for his trip. I’m thinking he’s sending him on a hell of a ride to lose any tails.”

  “We’ll do our best to stick with him,” Leslie promised.

  “I can’t ask for more than that,” Chris replied. “Keep in touch.”

  * * * *

  Route 44 near Santa Cruz de Barahona, Dominican Republic, 5:45 a.m.

  “Good morning,” said the man as his call connected.

  “Have you reached your destination?” Gomez enquired.

  “We’re less than ten minutes away,” the man replied.

  “Excelente,” Gomez approved. “You did not have any problems?”

  “Not at all,” said the man. “Everything went as expected.”

  “Nobody has followed you?” asked Gomez.

  “Impossible,” the man confirmed. “I have not seen another vehicle on the road for hours.”

  “And you did check Lomas for tracking devices?”

  “Of course I did,” said the man. “You have nothing to worry about. All went well, our friend has been good, if quiet company a
nd is a very good driver. Do you wish to speak to him?”

  “I will save my words for him when we are face to face,” Gomez replied before cutting the connection.

  * * * *

  Route 44 near Santa Cruz de Barahona, Dominican Republic, 5:53 a.m.

  “Aw, crap,” Leslie exclaimed. “Step on it, Dave.”

  “What is it?” Dave asked as he pressed on the accelerator.

  “They’re going to the airport,” Leslie replied.

  “Crap,” Dave muttered. “How far are we?”

  “Less than ten minutes,” said Leslie, “Five if you hurry.”

  * * * *

  María Montez International Airport, Barahona, Dominican Republic, 5:55 a.m.

  “Where now?” asked Oliver as he pulled to a stop at the T-intersection in front of the tiny María Montez International Airport.

  “Over there,” said the man, pointing to the left side of the deserted airport grounds. “Your pilot is waiting.”

  On a wide paved expanse by series of hangar-like buildings was a Cessna 206 next to which stood a man, the only sign of life in the area at this early hour. With a sigh, Oliver turned left then right a short distance later, heading toward the plane which waited on the edge of the apron. As the SUV approached, the pilot moved to and opened the passenger door then circled to the other side, climbed in and started the engine.

  Ten feet from the plane, Oliver stopped the SUV, set the gearshift in Park and opened the door, needing no further instructions from the nameless man he had spent the last five hours with.

  “May God be with you, Señor Lomas,” said the man, almost sadly, as Oliver climbed out.

  Turning to him, Oliver replied, “Go fuck yourself,” before hurrying to the waiting plane.

  * * * *

  María Montez International Airport, Barahona, Dominican Republic, 6:00 a.m.

  The rented Mercedes raced through the still dark morning along Aeropuerto Internacional Maria Montez, the road leading to the airport of the same name. The road curved slightly and the lit terminal building came to view. As Dave released the gas and stepped on the brakes, a jeep Cherokee appeared at the T-intersection one hundred yards away, turned and headed toward them.

  “That’s the bastard who was with Oliver,” Dave muttered as the Cherokee whipped by them seconds before he screeched to a halt at the intersection. “Where to now?”

  With a dejected expression, Leslie looked up from the iPad and pointed just above the terminal building where the lights of a small plane could be seen rising into the dark sky.

  “Damned if I know. We’re too late.”

  * * * *

  Ventura Grande Resort, Puerto Plata, Dominican Republic, 6:05 a.m.

  “Guys, there was nothing you could do about it,” said Chris from Oliver’s suite, which had become their crisis central.

  “We could have stuck to them closer,” Dave argued, “And reached the airport before the plane took off.”

  “And done what?” Chris asked. “Requested to hop on board? Listen, you two aren’t even thinking straight anymore. You need some sleep.”

  “You’re a fine one to talk, Chris,” said Leslie. “We’ll sleep once we’ve found Oliver and his family and taken care of Gomez.”

  “I caught a few hours while you were driving all night,” Chris replied. “So did Jon, Miguel and the admiral. We’re tracking Oliver and looking to figure out where that plane is going. You go find a place to get some sleep, even if it’s just for a couple of hours. I’ll need you in shape when the time comes, understand?”

  “You’re right,” Dave conceded, “But call us as soon as you know something.”

  “I’ll call you as soon as we need you,” said Chris. “Now, go get some sleep.”

  * * * *

  .

  Cessna 206P near Samaná El Catey International Airport, Dominican Republic, 6:53 a.m.

  The flight had been calm and comfortable and not a word had been exchanged since Oliver had boarded the small plane. He had considered, even wished for some much needed sleep, but had soon accepted achieving any form of slumber in his current anxious state would be an impossible feat. Still, he had managed to relax, letting his muscles loosen and his mind go blank, or almost, and sensed a feeling of renewed energy with the approaching sunrise.

  “We will be landing soon,” said the pilot, pointing to the illuminated runway in the distance.

  “Where are we going?” asked Oliver, realizing he had no clue where he was.

  “Samaná,” the pilot replied.

  “And what will I do when I get there?” Oliver questioned.

  “Somebody will meet you there,” said the pilot. “That is all I know.”

  * * * *

  Ventura Grande Resort, Puerto Plata, Dominican Republic, 7:02 a.m.

  “They’ve landed at the Samaná airport,” Jonathan announced.

  “Should I contact airport security?” asked Ortega. “Perhaps we can have the pilot detained for questioning. He may know where Gomez is hiding.”

  “I doubt it,” Chris replied, shaking his head. “This guy’s job was to take Oliver from one place to the next. I’m still convinced Gomez is sending Ollie all over the place to make sure he’s not being followed. You might want to find out who the pilot is for future reference but grabbing him now could result in alerting Gomez we’re tracking Oliver.”

  “So, what do we do in the meantime?” asked Ortega, clearly frustrated.

  “Follow the red dot on the screen and hope for the best,” Chris replied.

  * * * *

  Samaná El Catey International Airport, Dominican Republic, 7:06 a.m.

  The Cessna came to a stop next to a couple of other private planes along the edge of the apron and the pilot powered down the engine.

  “Where do I go now?” asked Oliver.

  “I will take you,” the pilot replied before opening his door and climbing out.

  Oliver did likewise and waited while the pilot chocked his wheels then followed him into the terminal. With no commercial arrivals or departures this early in the day, the building was deserted and they were soon exiting at the front. A tall, gangly man of Haitian descent seated on the hood of an old, beat-up Camry parked nearby slid to the ground when they appeared and sauntered in their direction.

  “Señor Lomas?” he asked between two puffs of his cigarette.

  “Si,” Oliver replied.

  “Let’s go,” said the Haitian, heading back to the car while the pilot returned to the terminal without a word.

  “Where are we going this time?” ask Oliver as they reached the car.

  “Santiago,” replied the Haitian, looking back at him. “You look beat, man. You can crash in the back if you like.”

  Oliver considered the two and a half hour ride ahead and nodded. “Thanks. I think I will.”

  * * * *

  Isla Saona, Dominican Republic, 7:10 a.m.

  “Señora Lomas, may I come in?” Valeria heard Hector say.

  “Do you always request permission from your prisoners?” she called back then added, “Yes, you can come in.”

  The tent flap was pushed aside and Hector entered carrying a small folding table on which sat a tray of food.

  “I brought you some bread, cheese and fruit,” he said, almost timidly, as he set the table down then unlocked and opened the cage door.

  “Hola, Hector,” Isabella piped up, oblivious of the tension between the adults.

  “Hola, Isabella,” he replied, pausing for an expected tongue lashing from Valeria but continuing when none came. “I brought you some juice. Do you like apple or orange?”

  Isabella smiled and nodded. “Apple and orange.”

  “You can have both,” he replied then glanced at Valeria. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “Don’t go to any trouble,” she said, glaring at him.

  Lowering his voice, he said, “I do not agree with what Pedro is doing and I am trying to convince him to change his mind. Ther
e is still time and I may succeed.”

  “And if you don’t?” Valeria snapped.

  Hector glanced at Isabella with glistening eyes and said, “I will figure something out.”

  Tears filled Valeria’s eyes as she stared at him in astonishment and whispered, “Oh my God, you are serious. Please do. Please.”

  In a louder voice, Hector said, “I will go get some coffee. Do not leave the tent because I am watching you.”

  * * * *

  Ventura Grande Resort, Puerto Plata, Dominican Republic, 7:16 a.m.

  “Oliver’s on the move again,” said Jonathan as he zoomed in on the map.

  “Another plane?” asked Chris, rushing over to see the screen.

  “Nope,” Jon replied. “He’s back on the road and currently heading west on Route 5.”

  “Mierda,” Ortega muttered. “Where are they taking him?”

  “If we knew that, we would already be there,” Chris replied, controlling his anger, “But we’re going to damn well figure it out, even if it takes a miracle.”

  * * * *

  Isla Saona, Dominican Republic, 8:00 a.m.

  Right on schedule, the latest throwaway phone in Gomez’s shirt pocket trilled, making him smile. Even as the fugitive on the run he presently was, he commanded sufficient authority for those working for him to obey his orders to the minute.

  “All is in order?” he asked after connecting the call.

  “Perfección,” the Haitian replied. “The plane landed on time, there is nobody on the road and your man is sleeping in the back seat.”

  “You are certain nobody is following you?” asked Gomez.

  The Haitian laughed. “Everybody in this country is still sleeping. I guarantee nobody is following us.”