Spy of the Storm

September 1984. An island in the Caribbean.

Gabriel "Gabe" Thomas watched as piles of ominous-looking clouds swirled in the northeast sky and torrential rain pelted the churning ocean. The clouds were a threatening black, and the rising wind blew the hotel room curtains around.

Looking down from his third-floor balcony, Gabe saw a handful of resort staff rushing to secure the pool chairs, pick up the towels, and lock down the swim-up bar. They were also raising flags to warn everyone of the approaching storm. It wouldn't be long before the normally happy sunny island would be covered with masses of dark clouds, damaging winds, and a flood of rain.

Gabe thought it was symbolic. His fun-in-the-sun romantic getaway was now something dark, stormy, and lonely. His now ex-girlfriend had ended their relationship at the airport using the crappy cliché line, 'You're great, but we're different people.' Her delivery had been devastating, but the tickets were nonrefundable, so he got on the plane anyway.

"I gotta make the best of it," Gabe said to himself as he picked up the keys to his rental car.

Storm or no storm, he was going out to find some excitement.

***

Two men sat in a parked, rusty, brown van. The thicker of the two tapped the steering wheel while the other checked his watch. The van was backed off the road and covered with the lush foliage indigenous to the island. This, combined with the vehicle's limited windows, meant neither man could see the storm clouds. They heard a few heavy raindrops splatter on the metal roof. The drops became a steady downpour in less than fifteen seconds. A jagged fork of lightning shot across the sky, and the vehicle shook under the impact of the thunder.

The tapper looked out the window to his left, then turned his head and looked out the window to his right, "The storm's early," he said in German. "It's not supposed to be here until tomorrow."

"Don't worry about a bit of rain," The thicker man responded with a heavy Spanish accent to his German.

"But now she might not show," the first man spat out, waving his hand in the air.

His calmer companion wiped the fogged-over windshield with the sleeve of his shirt. He checked his watch, then looked out at the red sedan, down and off to the side of the road. "Don't worry, she'll be here."

***

Holly walked off the Douglas DC-9 with a nylon backpack pulled tightly to her shoulders. Her sundress hugged her hips, accentuating her curvy figure and catching the attention of the ground crew. She kept her head down as she moved across the asphalt, ignoring their stares.

Once she entered the terminal building, she went to work with smooth efficiency. She cleared customs without issue, bypassed the luggage claim, and went right to the car rental kiosk. "Holly Mitchell. You should have a car reserved for me."

The slightly pudgy man behind the counter checked his paperwork and nodded before handing her a copy of the rental agreement. He waited until Holly lowered her eyes to read the document before staring at her ample cleavage.

Holly could all but feel his visual inspection of her body; those senses had developed long ago. As with the grounds crew, she did not acknowledge his distraction but rather completed the form and pushed it back across the counter.

"You arrre berrry lucky, Señorrrita Mitchell," the man said, in English but with a heavy Spanish accent. "Yourrr flight was de last one allowet."

"What do you mean?"

"De storrrm. It's a trrropical deprrression now, but dey say it'll be a trrropical storrrm soon ant coult ent up ja jhurrrrrricane."

Holly knew the storm was going to make her job complicated, but a full-on hurricane would change everything. "When will we know? How much warning will we have?" she asked, suddenly tense.

The man lifted his palms. "No warrrning. Maybe it does, maybe not."

Holly grimaced as she took the keys and headed towards the parking lot. She pulled the straps of her backpack tighter as she walked. Finding her car, she got in and quickly drove out.

It took her longer than it should have to get to the location of her contact. The meeting point was a deserted road outside a village in the resort district. Under normal circumstances, this was the perfect location, away from any witnesses. In a hurricane, however, it was nearly impossible to find.

Eventually, Holly found her contact's red sedan parked on the side of the road. As she pulled up behind it, she became nervous. The car didn't appear to be running, and the lights were off. She also expected her contact to get out as soon as she pulled up, but he didn't.

She parked and exited cautiously. She left the car running, the driver's side door open, and her backpack on the passenger seat. As she walked toward the other car, she could tell there was no one in it. She leaned in and saw the keys were in the ignition, and the passenger seat was splattered with blood.

***

The thicker man, the one in the brown van's driver's seat, saw the shape of a small car emerge from the rain. It came to a stop behind the red sedan. He whispered in heavily accented German, "She's here."

His impatient counterpart pulled a Luger from his jacket and urged, "Let's go."

"No, not yet. We wait until she's close to the car."

They watched their target approach the trap. When she turned to peer into the red sedan window, they got out and moved forward, guns in hand, the rain dampening any sound they made.

***

Holly knew her contact was dead. Probably killed right here in the car, waiting for her. She felt remorse for a few seconds before realizing that whoever killed him was close. She snapped straight up and jerked her head around. There, not fifteen meters away, were two figures coming towards her.

Instinctively, she turned and sprinted for her car. Shots rang out, and she could hear the sizzle of bullets flying through the rain. That rain was the only thing that kept her alive. She was sure it was obscuring the shooter's view just enough to throw off their aim.

Holly dove into her car, not bothering to shut the door or put a seatbelt on. Leaning over, barely enough to see over the dashboard, she shifted into drive and slammed on the gas. The car shot forward, momentum causing the driver-side door to slam shut. She sideswiped her contact's vehicle as she steered straight toward her attackers. She saw muzzle flashes and felt bullets impact the car.

She was close to the men. A few more seconds and she would run them down. That's when the windshield exploded, sending safety glass everywhere. Holly turned her head to avoid pieces hitting her face. She felt the car hit something on the driver's side. Instinctively, she swerved right. The wet road, high speed, and sharp turn sent the car into a spin.

Holly tried to correct, but now she didn't know where she was going. When she looked up, she found she was on the wrong side of the road. Her attackers, however, were no longer in front of her. Maybe she got one of them, or maybe both. Either way, she drove away as fast as she could in a shot-up rental car with no windshield and in the middle of a storm.

***

Both men had avoided Holly's attempt to run them down. Once they were back on their feet, they ran for their van. When they got there, they found a palm tree lying in front of it.

"She must've knocked it over on her way out," one insisted, in Spanish-accented German.

"She's getting away!" the other urged.

"She won't get far. Let's get this tree moved. We'll find her."

***

Holly was drenched. Her long, deep brown hair was clumping against her shoulders, and her sundress clung like a second skin. She drove as fast as she could until she was confident she had lost her pursuers. She found a phone booth just outside of a resort village. She picked up the receiver, pushed two coins into the slot, and dialed a sequence of ten numbers. She listened for a long moment before hearing a series of short beeps.

"Two-seven-nine-nine," said a mechanical voice.

Holly responded, "Traffic agent. Number six-nine-six-nine. Grid twelve. Lat twenty-four."

There was a click indicating that the call had disconnected. Holly hung up and waited shivering with a cold, wet chill. A moment later, the phone rang.

Rather than a customary greeting, she repeated, "Traffic agent. Number six-nine-six-nine. Grid twelve. Lat twenty-four."

"This line will be secure for only three minutes," the voice on the other end said. "After that, we risk giving away your location."

Holly recognized the voice as that of Field Leader Abernathy, the head of C.I.A. operations in the Caribbean. "The trade-off was incomplete, sir," she told him. "My contact was not at the location, but his car was. It was shot up, and there was blood in the interior. Before I could investigate, I was ambushed by two hostels."

"Are you injured?" Abernathy asked.

"No sir."

"Good, and the package?"

"Safe and in my possession. But the hostels are still after me, and the island is shutting down."

"Yes, we know. We won't have a storm-worthy aircraft available for evac until morning," Abernathy explained. "Can you hunker down until then?"

"Yes sir," Holly responded, knowing she had no other options.

"Ok, good. Call us after oh-eight hundred and we'll get you out of there."

"Yes sir."

"Be careful agent."

The line went dead. Holly didn't know if it was because Abernathy had hung up or if the storm had knocked out the phones.

She leaned against the glass of the phone booth and squeezed some of the water out of her hair. The wind began howling, and thick drops of rain pelted the enclosure. She thought about what she could do for the night. Camping in the wild during a hurricane wasn't an option, and her shot-up rental car wouldn't provide shelter either.

Holly was alone, a description of her situation and the description of her life. She had few friends, no house, no husband, not even a goldfish. She accepted this when she entered this line of work, but after a few years of it, she had started to feel empty.

She got back into her smashed-up rental car and headed towards the resort village. Without a windshield, the car had no protection from the cold, constant rain. She flicked the switch to turn the heat on, but immediately turned it off when she heard sparking noises and could smell something burning. An engine fire would just make her situation worse.

***

Gabe had hoped to find a little fun, but he wasn't having any luck. The hard rain ruled out any sightseeing, and not a single club, bar, or restaurant was open. As he drove, the wind picked up and the rain turned torrential. It became almost impossible to see where he was going. When he drove through a puddle so deep that his rental car almost stalled, he decided he would return to his hotel.

As he made his way back, he noticed a liquor store across the street from a small general store. Both looked open. He needed to get a bottle of rum for his co-worker Asha back home. He might as well get it now and maybe get something for himself.

He parked on the street close to the front door. He was outside for less than a minute yet still got soaked. The store was small but well-stocked. Behind the counter was a petite, middle-aged woman with dark features. She smiled and said, "Hola."

"Hello," Gabe responded, exaggerating his English to indicate that he didn't speak Spanish.

She got the hint, "Can I jhelp you fint something?"

"Rum. I'm looking for some local rum."

"Overrr herrre, I'll ssow you."

She led Gabe to the back corner of the store and pointed out some of her favorites. He picked out three bottles and went to the front to pay for them. On the counter was a small radio. Instead of music, a serious-sounding man was talking.

"De storrrm is berrry bat." The woman said. "Maybe a jhurrrrrricane. Dey arrre closing de entirrre islant."

Gabe nodded, "Thanks. I'm glad I found you before you closed."

She replied, "Gracias. Estar segura."

He ran back to his rental car in a vain attempt to prevent the paper bag full of bottles from getting wet. He opened the trunk, put the bottles in, and shut the cover as quickly as he could. That's when he noticed the car across the street. It was parked in front of the grocery store; the engine was running but making a loud grinding noise. There was smoke spewing out of the front grill. In the driver's seat, there was a woman with her head resting on the steering wheel.

***

Holly entered the town but found navigating the streets difficult. Visibility was so bad that she could barely make out signs or shop fronts. She had to swerve to miss wind-blown mailboxes and garbage cans. Eventually, she found what looked like a small general store with its lights on. Holly parked in front and left the engine running, knowing that if she turned it off, it might not turn back on.

She entered the store to find only the shop owner inside. He was short with deeply tanned skin and puffy cheeks. His dark eyes stared at her as she made her way through the aisles.

Wasting no time, Holly got to work. She moved through the aisles, grabbing scissors, a box of Ziploc plastic bags, a roll of clear tape, a roll of masking tape, and a children's Zencar Chronicles coloring book.

In the back of the store, there was a door to what looked like a storeroom. Thinking that might make a good hideout for the night, she slowly pushed the door open and found an apartment. Realizing that the shop owner must live in the backroom, she discounted it as a hideout.

When she got to the counter, the store owner's eyes narrowed into black slits, but he said nothing. Holly paid, thanked him in Spanish, put her purchases in her backpack, and headed out into the rain.

Her heart stopped when she got to her car. The engine was still running, but it was making a loud grinding noise. There was smoke spewing out of the front grill. She quickly got in and shut the engine off. She was no mechanic but knew the car was dead. She dropped her head on the steering wheel, thinking about her next move. That's when there was a knock on the driver's side window.

Holly lifted her head to see a man next to the car; he was bent low, and his hand was pressed to his forehead to keep the pouring rain from his eyes. His button-up shirt, smile, and almost-perfect teeth gave him away as an American. This didn't make him trustworthy, but discounted him as a threat. The people shooting at her wouldn't be American. She rolled down the window.

"Is everything ok? You look like you could use some help?" the man asked loudly, to be heard over the heavy rain.

Holly looked into his eyes; they were brown, warm, and friendly. This confirmed he was most likely a tourist and not a threat. She shook her head, "I don't know. There's something wrong with the car."

Gabe made his way to the front of the vehicle, popped the hood, and set it in place. Holly got out and joined him.

"Yeah, this is no good, you're not going anywhere," he said plainly. "The radiator has holes completely through it, and all of the coolant has drained out."

Holly mustered an "Oh," in response.

He noticed both front fenders were smashed, and a headlight was broken. "It looks like you crashed into something. Are you sure you're ok?"

"Yes. The rain made it hard to see. I must've clipped a tree."

"Did the tree knock out your windshield too?" he asked.

"Um, no. That was some windblown debris," was the quickest excuse she could muster.

His brain told him that he should be suspicious, but his instincts told him she needed his help.

"Well, you're not going anywhere in this. The island is shutting down. Can I take you somewhere?"

"I've got no place to go. Can you take me to where you're going?"

"Sure. My car is right over here," jerking his hand up and pointing his thumb behind him.

"Thanks, let me get my bag."

Holly retrieved her backpack as Gabe closed the hood. It was then that he noticed the bullet holes in the headrests. This changed the situation from odd to concerning, but before he could process his thoughts, Holly was at his side, "Come on, let's get out of this rain."

They crossed the street and got into his rental car; their clothes and hair were completely soaked. Holly kept her backpack in her lap and asked, "What's your name?"

"Gabriel, but you can call me Gabe."

"Well, Gabe, I'm Holly, thanks for your help," she replied, tucking a lock of wet hair behind her ear.

As they pulled away, Holly noticed the shop owner locking the front door of the store and staring directly at her.

Finding the car a much easier place to talk, Gabe asked, "How is it you have no place to go?"

Holly fabricated a story, "My plane was forced to land here because of the storm, and I haven't found a place to stay yet."

"The liquor store owner told me the whole island was going into lockdown. This storm will be a hurricane at any minute. You might be shit out of luck."

"Well then, I guess I'll need to sleep in the lobby," Holly smiled nervously while squeezing rainwater from her long, deep brown hair. "What's your story? You don't strike me as dumb, yet you're alone on a Caribbean island during a hurricane."

"I'm on vacation. Guess I'm dumb enough not to realize that the best rates are during the storm season. I went out hoping to find something to do, but everything was closed. I promised a co-worker that I would get her some authentic rum. When I found that the liquor store was still open, I figured it might be my only chance. That's when I found you."

Holly nodded, trying to keep attention from herself, "What do you do?"

"I'm an airplane mechanic," he answered, working hard to keep his eyes off her soaked, sexy figure.

"Impressive. Somewhere in the States, I'm guessing."

"Yes, Cincinnati."

Holly laughed.

"What's wrong with Cincinnati?" Gabe puzzled.

"Nothing, I'm from Cleveland."

"Oh, Okay, Go Reds!"

"Oh no, go Indians!" Holly replied with a smirk.

The moment of levity was followed by silence. Holly spoke seriously, "Listen, I know we don't know each other, but if I could crash in your room for the night, I would be incredibly grateful. I can reimburse you enough to cover your vacation."

Gabe fretted. The whole situation screamed bad news. This was more than 'she had too much to drink or crazy jealous boyfriend trouble.' This seemed to be a genuine danger. If she was mixed up in drug trafficking or was playing him for some nefarious reason, he could end up in a situation way worse than getting dumped at the airport.

Then he thought, what if this trouble wasn't her fault? What if she was the victim, caught up in something she couldn't get herself out of? He prided himself on being the stand-up, helpful kind of guy. What if this was the most important time in his life to be that guy? If he ignored her request and then something happened to her, he wouldn't be able to live with himself.

Gabe took a deep breath before asking, "Are you in trouble?"

Trained to look less nervous than she was, Holly was coy in her response. This was her best shot at safety; if he sensed a lie and got spooked, that shot would be gone.

"Well, sure, I am stuck in the middle of a hurricane, with a broken-down car and no place to stay."

"Is there more than that?" Gabe pressed.

"I need your help. Just a place to crash. If I could just stay with you tonight, that would help more than you will ever know."

Gabe processed the vulnerability in her request. Hoping he wasn't making the biggest mistake of his life, he nodded and said, "Sure, no problem."

Holly glowed with an appreciative smile, "Thank you."

It took Gabe more than thirty minutes to travel the short distance back to his hotel. The parking lot already had standing water on it. He and Holly dashed through the dangerous weather into the lobby to find no one around; even the front desk was empty. The downstairs restaurant was closed, and the bar was locked up. The elevator and halls were all deserted.