Twisted Key

By Gary Showalter

Terry Rankin has a new client; Fatima al Natsche, a Muslim woman living under a sentence of death for her work on behalf of women suffering under Islamic law. Terry’s a businessman – he’ll protect just about anyone who can pay the freight. In fact, he admires Ms. Al Natsche and the sacrifices she’s made to get her message out.
But then her daughter flies over from Norway and gets snatched off the street in front of her mother’s home, and all of the masks come off and all of the dirty little secrets come out to play in the Florida sun.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gary Showalter
• Release date: Aug 24, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311855459

Gary Showalter

Gary Showalter was born in Honolulu, Hawaii. He lived in Aruba, Florida and the Panama Canal Zone before joining the U.S. Army during the 1960s. Mr. Showalter has picked cotton in East Texas, baled hay in Ardmore Oklahoma, sold light bulbs in Los Angeles, California, and built cattle pens in Fallon, Nevada (during a blizzard, of course). After settling in Atlanta, Georgia, Mr. Showalter worked as a professional gardener before turning his hand to furniture making.In 1981, he moved to Israel, married, and raised four children while working as a furniture maker, silversmith, goldsmith, and ornamental wood turner. He served in the Israel Defense Forces Reserves for sixteen years, and when not on active duty he worked in government and private security. He has also served in senior management positions in two software development companies in Israel.Mr. Showalter has published articles dealing with international terror and the Israel-Arab conflict in the Jerusalem Post, Israel national News and several political science web sites.Mr. Showalter returned to the United States in the fall of 2003. He published his first novel, “The Big Bend”, in the fall of 2008, his second novel, “Hog Valley”, in 2009, his third novel, “Twisted Key”, in 2010 and his fourth novel, “Lonesome Cove”, in 2011.Mr. Showalter resides in Dunnellon, Fl, where he is working on the fifth Terry Rankin novel.

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Twisted Key

By

Gary Showalter

Twisted Key

Published by Gary Showalter at Smashwords

Copyright © 2009 Gary Showalter

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Table of Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Author’s Note

Requisite Disclaimer

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Afterward

Lonesome Cove

Also by this author

The Big Bend

Hog Valley

Lonesome Cove

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my four children

Natanel

Yonatan Chai

Simcha

Vered Shlomit

I am so very proud of each and every one of you

R.I.P

Robert B. Parker

January 18, 2010

Acknowledgements

My sister, Carol, and her husband, Richard Fouraker have put up with a lot from me during the writing of this novel. I am grateful for their patience, kindness, encouragement and support.

My good friends, Mickey and Rayne Summers, have been staunch supporters over the years. At our very first meeting, Mickey took the manuscript for The Big Bend and returned it filled with edits, questions and comments. He and Rayne have done the same for all of my novels.

Mickey and Rayne, and their friends Walt and Trudy Carroll, are prime examples of what makes Florida such a wonderful place to live.

Mickey is a wonderful naturalist painter, and he has provided the cover art for all of my novels, including Twisted Key. I would also like to thank Eve Bell, of RevisionRendered in Ocala, and Lesley Davidson of Jacksonville for their help in making the manuscript as good as it is. Thank you, ladies!

Writing is a solitary enterprise, but you can’t do it alone.

I have been astonished at the positive response I have received from the readers of The Big Bend and Hog Valley. I’ll continue to write if you will continue to pat me on the back. I promise.

Finally, I would like to salute the men and women who work in Law Enforcement everywhere. Our lives would be chaos without you.

Author’s Note

The locations and historical characters mentioned in this novel are real, other than a certain French general and a certain French ship I had to create to carry the story. That said, I managed to stick to the history and geography of Florida and the Caribbean with my usual level of accuracy. Historical events I bring into the story happened pretty much as I say they did, and the locations I chose as background for the scenes in the story are as I describe them.

Florida has a rich and varied history, much of which is locked away in old documents and curious little pamphlets nobody ever bothers to read. And that is a terrible shame. But it is changing as people begin to look around and wonder about an old building rotting in the woods behind their home or that old stone chimney buried under the wild grape vine in the field.

There’s a story, there, if anyone bother’s to look around and ask a few questions.

I love cops. I admire anyone who can do that job day in and day out. I am a very strong supporter of police departments everywhere. I even admire the FBI and the work of the street agents in that agency. Law enforcement is a tough and too often a thankless job.

Cops keep us safe from chaos, which I can assure you from experience is a very, very bad thing. So, from me to all of the men and women who have chosen to make a career in law enforcement: Thank you all.

Requisite Disclaimer:

This is a work of fiction. The characters in the story are complete fabrications and are in no way meant to resemble any real person, living or dead. No animals were injured or abused in the writing of this story. No boats were damaged or sunk or even cursed at during the writing of this story. No fish were caught, dogs or cats kicked or birds irritated. No people were insulted during the writing of this story (though I did make a few mad at me).

Anyone who claims that he or she has written a novel all by himself (or herself) is playing fast and loose with the facts. Many people have helped to develop this story and make it as good as it is. Mickey and Rayne Summers, Walt and Trudy Carroll, my sister, Carol and her husband, Richard, Eve Bell of RevisionRendered in Ocala, Joyce Davidson of the Historic Grounds Bookstore in Green Cove Springs and the folks at the North Florida Writers Group and the Clay County Writers Group have all provided guidance and encouragement. I thank you all from the bottom of my heart.

All of the credit for this novel goes to everyone who has contributed to its success. The errors are all mine.

My email is address is [e-mail]. Please let me know what you think of this tale.

Chapter 1

Saturday, December 28

Leakey, Texas

San Antonio, Texas

Tampa, Florida

Orlando

We left my dad’s ranch close to ten on Saturday morning, three days after the most wonderful Christmas of my life. The temperature was in the low twenties and snow lay on the ground, but the West Texas sky was a beautiful blue. My sister, Mary Catherine, was driving. She and Cathy were the first to get up from the kitchen table once we were done with all of the phone calls.

Cathy’s call was from her boss, Lieutenant Mike Banks, of the Major Crimes Squad of the Orlando Police Department.

What’s up, Mike? She said. Then she put him on speaker phone so I could listen to both sides of the conversation.

Banks said, Got a shooting in College Park this morning. I need you on it.

What about Sparks and Moscowitz? Cathy asked. Why can’t one of them handle this?

They are both on this shooting now, but we’ve got a small gang war going on in west Orlando. That’s their field of expertise, and I’ve got to cut them loose from this so they can work it. Give my apologies to Terry and his family, but I really need you on the first flight back here.

We’ll be on the next flight to Tampa, if there’s room. I’ll let you know. Tell Sparks I’ll be in touch with him during the drive to San Antonio. I’ve got questions, and he’d better have answers for me.

While Cathy was still talking with her boss, I got a call on my cell phone from my operations manager, Charley Weeks. My stomach dropped into the basement. Sorry to ruin your vacation, Boss, he said, but we got a problem. I took a seat beside Cathy at the massive old pine table in the kitchen. What’s the matter, Charley?

You know that Arab lady we signed last month, Fatima al Natsche?

Yeah, so?

She was at the mall on Merritt Island doing a little post-Christmas shopping. A young girl was snatched off the sidewalk right in front of al Natsche’s home, so the team leader at the house called to alert the team with her. They got her out of the mall and into the vehicle. Then they called me to find out where they should take her. I gave them directions to my rental property in College Park.

I ended the call at Cathy’s request before Charley could give me any more information, so she was the one who told me that one of my men had been shot in College Park.

My name is Terrance Charles Rankin, and I’m the majority owner of Rankin Protective Services in Orlando, Florida. Cathy and I met early last year during a very rough period for both of us. We wound up in a like/dislike relationship, but things change, and now we’re planning to get married. We don’t have a date, yet. Once my sister learned Cathy and I were getting married, our two-week holiday visit quickly become a flurry of engagement parties and get-to-know-you parties; each of which included a round of gift giving for the new bride-to-be.

Cathy’s dad and I had our bags packed in about fifteen minutes. My intended was going home with a lot more than she arrived with. We were sitting in the living room with my father, saying our good-byes, until one of the women would call us to carry down another bag. As far as I was concerned, all of it could go later.

Cathy and I sat in the back seat of the old station wagon. She spent much of the trip to San Antonio on the phone while she took notes in a yellow pad my dad gave her. Her dad Matt sat beside my sister Mary Catherine and spent the trip chatting and I listened to Cathy get on top of the investigation.

Sparks, give me an update. She wrote and listened to him.

So what do you have? Cathy brushed a strand of hair off her face as she leaned over the pad in her lap.

Three shooters plus a driver? she asked. How many rounds did they fire?

The reply didn’t please her. Well, how many shells have you recovered?

She waited while he broke away and asked someone.

Then she asked. What’s the name of the bodyguard who caught the rounds? What’s his status? Well, why don’t you know these things? She asked.

Whatever Sparks said in reply apparently did not satisfy her.

She snapped back at him, asking, Are you the lead investigator or not?

I could almost make out the man’s reply as she held the phone away from her ear. I’m not going to do your paperwork for you. It’s your job now, so you do it. Listen to me, Sparks. You and Moscowitz stay on it until I debrief you in the office tonight. You have all of your paperwork current, complete and legible or by God you will stay until it is. Am I clear enough for you? She ended the call while he was still screaming at her.

What a wuss, She said. Matt, Mary Catherine and I all broke into laughter. The grin on Cathy’s face spread from ear to ear.

We got to the airport in San Antonio around noon; forty minutes later, Cathy, Matt, and I waved good-bye to my sister. Twenty minutes more and we were clearing the security barrier, with our bags on their way to somewhere, while we headed for Tampa.

The flight left at two-thirty. After we were wheels up and had our seat belts off, Cathy took out her pad and pen. I meant to tell you earlier; your man, Tommy Fuchs, caught two rounds, both non-life threatening. He’ll be okay. Now tell me about this client of yours.

Fatima al Natsche from Hebron in the Occupied Territories in Israel. She’s only been a client for a few months. She told me she was forced into marriage at a young age, and has one daughter. Her husband beat her and her daughter regularly. She converted to Christianity from Islam. She managed to escape with her daughter with the help of some kind of secret Christian organization.

That’s why these shooters were after her?

No idea. But she’s definitely a pain in someone’s butt. Once she was free, she started talking and writing about the abuse of women in Islam. She travels a lot on speaking engagements in the US and Europe, does television and radio interviews, holds seminars on women’s rights in Islam, stuff like that. She’s under a fatwa, a death sentence, for her public stance on the subject.

That young girl who was taken off the sidewalk in front of her home on Merritt Island, any chance that was her daughter?

It’s worth asking her. I have no idea. Don’t think she told any of my people she was expecting the girl to show up.

We were back on the ground in Tampa at five that afternoon. We carried our bags to my Suburban in the long-term parking lot and headed for Matt’s place. Cathy and I stayed just long enough to see him settled in and fed. Then we showered, changed, and got on the road to Orlando.

I drove my tan Suburban and Cathy took her quarter-ton canary yellow pick up. She’d called Mike Banks from her dad’s home to say she would meet him at the Public Safety Building. I drove to my office on Colonial Drive to meet with Charley Weeks and one of the two teams that were assigned to the protective detail on Fatima al Natsche.

Cathy expected to work through the night on the investigation into the shooting. I needed to know what had gone down with my teams on Merritt Island and in College Park. I needed to know why one of my men had to catch a few bullets.

Charley Weeks and two people from the security team that escorted the client to the Mall on Merritt Island were waiting for me at the office on Colonial Drive. Tommy Fuchs, the third member of that team, was in the hospital. It was close to 9:30 at night.

I wanted to be aboard my converted trawler, Nina R, in her slip in Clearwater. But she was up on blocks in Rolf Craddock’s boatyard in Tampa, being rebuilt for the second time in a year. The woman I love was in the Public Safety Building in downtown Orlando going over the paperwork on the shooting in College Park.

So much for what I wanted. What I had to do was to catch up on what happened with my teams. Then I could drive to the apartment hotel in mid-town, and get some sleep. Cecelia, the office manager, had the place open and the coffee maker going. I grabbed a cup and spoke with her for a few minutes before the smell of takeout Chinese food drew me into the conference room. Charley and the security team that had been with the client during the shooting were taking advantage of the free meal.

It would be deceptive to build the image of a fancy oak paneled boardroom, and leather-covered seats around a large, oval, conference table with ornate inlay. My office is utilitarian, not fancy. In fact, it could use a coat of paint on the walls, and at least some cheap plastic frames around the photographs and maps instead of mismatched thumbtacks. New carpeting would be nice, too. Don’t get me wrong. The place is clean and organized; it’s just nowhere close to showy. It’s more like a cop shop in a low-rent part of town. Homey, if you like that sort of thing.

Charley reviewed the events that led up to the shooting in College Park. Nick, Tommy and Alicia were with Ms. al Natsche at the mall on Merritt Island, he began. Nick Thomas, Tommy Fuchs, and Alicia Benning all had prior military or police experience. They’d worked for several years on bodyguard details, mostly for corporate executives on Central and South American jaunts, where things can get hairy in a heartbeat.

It was around three, maybe three-fifteen in the afternoon when Nick took the call from the house about a girl getting snatched off the sidewalk, Charley continued. We didn’t know if this represented a threat to the client, but we weren’t going to take any chances. So he, Alicia and Tommy hustled the client out of the mall and drove off the island, headed for Orlando. Charley’s voice sounded unsure. I got the picture -They didn’t know what else to do. Nothing like this had happened before, so they had to improvise.

Nick was driving and Tommy was riding shotgun. Alicia called me and asked where they should bring the client. I told her to get Ms. al Natsche up to a rental home I own in College Park and give me an estimated time of arrival, that I’d meet them with the key. Charley paused and said, We just never thought we’d need a safe house, Terry. But maybe we should have.

He was right of course, but buying a place that might be used once in a blue moon and keeping it staffed was a lot more money than we could afford to spend, even to cover something like this. ‘Something like this’ didn’t come up very often. In fact, it shouldn’t have come up at all. I shook my head. Go on, Charley. We can talk about what we should have done later.

He nodded and continued, Once the team leader at the al Natsche house knew the client was safe, he called the cops and reported what he saw happen to the girl. Nobody knew who she was, only that she had been snatched off the street in front of the house. The other team wasn’t with us in the conference room. They were still on duty with the client.

When I got off the phone with Alicia, Charley continued, I called the team at the house on Merritt Island and told them that once the cops released them they should lock up the house and drive back here to the office. Then I drove up to College Park. Charley looked at Alicia and said, You take it from there.

Alicia, an olive-skinned, slender woman, took up the story. We didn’t see any sign of a tail, Terry. Not once during the drive from Merritt Island. We went by the book. Tommy was shotgun, and he kept his eyes on the right side of the vehicle and on the side view mirror. Nick was driving, and I was sitting behind him with Ms. al Natsche. I kept my eyes on the left side traffic and out the rear window. If there was a tail, they were damn good at their job. She brushed her short, dark hair off her forehead and said, And there had to be one, Boss.

I didn’t think there was, at least not the way she was thinking. I’d explain later.

She got back to the story. We stayed in heavy traffic all the way. Nick drove south on I-95 to Highway 50. Then we went through Winter Park to Edgewater Drive and then up to College Park. She shook her head. We did everything right. But just as soon as we pulled into the driveway to Charley’s place on Rugby Avenue, those bastards were right behind us, blocking us in.

Charley picked up the narrative from there. I’d parked along the curb in front of the house to the right of my place, so my car wouldn’t block the view of the street. I got up to the house, unlocked the door, and was waiting inside. I saw Nick swing the car into the drive, and just the way Alicia said, a late-model, gunmetal grey mini-van pulled in right behind them.

Where did it come from, Charley? I asked.

Alicia jumped in. We were heading north on Edgewater Drive, and when we got to Rugby, Nick turned right, following Charley’s directions to the house. Alicia’s dark eyes rose to look at me as she said, I think it was an ‘07 Magnum – my dad used to have one. It was parked in a lot behind one of the stores on the corner of Edgewater and Rugby. I saw it pull in behind us as we headed for the house, about two blocks down. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, She shook her head. But those bastards were sitting right there in that parking lot, waiting for us.

I spared a thought for the other team members. Neal, Tina and Richard had been at the al Natsche home when the young woman was taken. They spent the rest of the day tied up with the local cops. They knew Tommy Fuchs, of course; they worked with him every day. Now he was in the hospital and my teams had been made to look like amateurs. They were not happy campers. None of us were.

Quietly, I said, They didn’t need to follow you, Alicia. They’d isolated the transmissions from your cell phones. They got the directions to that house on Rugby at the same time you did. When Charley gave them to you.

Chapter 2

Saturday, December 28

Orlando

Shit, Charley muttered, as his chin dropped onto his chest.

It’s like the safe house you mentioned earlier, Charley, I said. We can’t think of everything. We can’t afford to buy all the latest digital, tamper-proof, bug-proof communications gear. You know the bad guys will almost always out-gun and out-gear us. Sure as hell, they always have the first move. I put down my plate of General Tso’s Chicken and fried rice, and reached for my coffee. It was cold, so I grabbed a can of Coke from an ice-filled bowl on the table.

Cecelia stuck her head into the conference room. Terry, you folks are all set up, now. I just put on more coffee. You want anything else, look in the kitchen. I’m going to stop by the hospital, and see if Luanne Fuchs is still there before I go home. She spared everyone at the table a glance. You all clean this mess up real good before you leave tonight. I’m nobody’s cleaning lady.

We will, Miss Cecelia, Alicia replied. I’ll see to it.

Good night, Cecelia, I said as she turned to leave. If you do see Luanne, tell her I’ll be at the hospital tomorrow. Thanks for your help tonight.

As the office door closed behind Cecelia, I looked at the people around the table. They were all tired, angry, dispirited and confused. None of them was supposed to get shot. They’d all been cops, Special Forces, or Rangers. That kind of work can get you hurt. You sort of expect it. Bodyguard work can get hairy, sure. But it wasn’t supposed to be this dangerous.

Oh, really? I guess they weren’t listening when I interviewed them. We do our best to make sure things like this never happen. But the odds aren’t always on our side.

So how did Tommy catch a bullet? I asked.

Charley looked at Alicia, hoping she would respond. She shook her head, so Charley replied, "I don’t know what happened in the car, Terry, but I can tell you what I saw from inside the house. Three men climbed out of that min-van when it pulled into the driveway, all armed. Two were African-American males, both late twenties, with close-cropped hair, slender, with tattoos on their arms and necks. The third man was Caucasian; he was slender, late thirties, brush-cut reddish hair, also with tattoos on his arms. All three had handguns with extended magazines.

The driver, well, I couldn’t get a good look at him, so I don’t know. He stayed in the vehicle. Remember, Tommy was sitting in the front passenger seat of our vehicle. When he realized the bad guys had blocked them in, he got out, turned around and drew his weapon. I saw Alicia and Ms. al Natsche start to get out of the back seats. Nick was behind the wheel. He had his door open, and was trying get out to support Tommy.

Alicia decided it would be a good idea to clarify things, so she said, "I was sitting behind Nick, remember. I told the client to follow me out of the car, but she was sitting behind Tommy, and she’d already started to open her door. That got in Tommy’s way, and he didn’t want her getting out when he might have to fire his weapon with her standing in front of him, so he tried to close it.

I saw what was going on, so I reached in, grabbed the back of her blouse and tried to pull her back into the car, calling for her to climb out on my side. But she started to struggle with me, so I told Tommy to let her out on his side and get her into the house and I’d back up Nick. Alicia started to sob, but caught herself and said, That should have been my job, Alicia meant that she was the one who should have gotten al Natsche into the house. That would have put her in the path of the rounds that struck Tommy.

Go on, I said to her. Finish it up, please.

She nodded. I got out and drew my weapon. There were no civilians on the street, and no traffic headed our way, but College Park is a quiet residential area, and there are houses all around. I prayed we wouldn’t have to shoot it out with them, but they didn’t give us any choice. Her words spilled out, quickly and uneasily. She was having a difficult time holding it together. Guilt, shock, relief and exhaustion can do harsh things to anyone’s psyche.

Nick saw Alicia’s struggle as she tried to hold herself together. He picked up the narrative at that point. I saw the confusion in the back seat with the client and Alicia, so I stepped away from the vehicle to give Alicia room to get out on our side without crossing my tube. In military and cop-speak, ‘crossing the tube’ means getting in the way of someone else’s line of fire. It’s really not a healthy thing to do. I figured that having Alicia with me while Tommy dealt with the client could be a good thing, since we wouldn’t all be clumped together in one target. Alicia saw what I was doing, so she slipped out, drew her weapon, and stayed close to the vehicle.

He paused, took a quick sip from his coffee and continued. Boss, all of this took maybe six or seven seconds to develop. We pull into the drive, they pull in right behind us and get out, train their weapons on us, we scramble to get out of the vehicle and get the client under cover, and just like that, we’re in a free fire zone.

Overage, overweight, overtired, saddened and worried about our wounded employee, Charley took up the story again. He’d retired from the Philadelphia City cops a long time ago. Now maybe he was thinking he should have stayed retired. "I drew my revolver, stepped out of the kitchen door into the carport and lined up on one of