Dak entered the password for his email account and it bloomed onto the screen. He scanned through some of the usual stuff, mostly promotional mail from various retailers he ordered everyday goods from.
Halfway down the page, he stopped. His eyes opened like a time-lapse of a flower opening its petals.
Possible match.
He read the words again. And again. Then he clicked the email and opened it.
Will's software had automatically generated the email upon facial recognition of one of the targets. Will warned that there could be dozens, maybe hundreds of false positives throughout the search, but so far the software hadn't sent them any bad leads, or any good ones for that matter.
Dak felt his heat pulsing as he clicked the black and white video clip from a street camera near South Beach.
The video began with nothing unusual, just tourists and beachgoers enjoying a stroll in the hot sun. Then a face appeared in the middle of the screen and a shiver ran through Dak's body. His skin pebbled at the visual.
It was Carson Williams. There was no question in his mind. He'd recognize the man anywhere.
He was wearing a white Polo and gray cargo shorts with a phone held to his ear. The image resolution even allowed Dak to identify the model and version of the smart phone his ex-teammate used.
Dak nearly shot out of his seat when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He took it out and looked down at the caller ID, though only one person in the world had this particular phone number.
He pressed the answer button and raised it to his ear.
“Did you see?” Will asked.
“I did,” Dak said. “You know, your apartment is next door. You could just come over.”
“Good point.” Will ended the call, and three knocks came from the front door.
Dak rolled his eyes with a laugh and walked over to the entrance. Out of habit, he peeked through the eyehole and saw his friend’s head drooped over his shoulder as if the act of waiting for ten seconds was the most inconvenient thing he’d ever experienced.
Dak unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open. “I didn’t ask for turn down service.”
“Yet,” Will quipped.
Dak stuck out his hand sideways and Will clapped it hard, shaking it for a second.
He let go and stepped inside as Dak shifted out of the way.
“So, looks like your boy is in Miami, huh?”
“Looks that way.” Dak closed the door and locked it behind him.
“What’s your plan?” Will asked, spinning around slowly and crossing his arms. “Going to head back to the states and hunt him down?”
“Something like that.”
“I thought you’d say that.” Will gave a nod and wandered over to the door that led out onto the balcony. “It’s been nice having you around. Offer still stands if you ever want to come back and do some work with me. You can make some good money in this gig.”
Dak figured his old friend would make the offer at least one more time.
“I’m good,” Dak said. “Once this is over, I’ll find something.”
Will nodded and reached into his pocket. He fished out a wad of Euros wrapped in a rubber band and dropped it onto the coffee table.
“This should help you get whatever you need.” He held up a hand, sensing Dak’s forthcoming protest. “No, you don’t get to turn this down. I have more than I need, brother. You’re going to need a plane ticket, too. I’ll cover that. And when you get to the states, I know a guy who can get you armed.”
Dak thought about arguing with the man, but he needed the money. The dishwashing gig didn’t pay great, and he was going to need enough to get settled in while he tracked down Carson. “I have guns and other supplies in a shed back home. Bo and his guys don’t know about it. It’ll be safe to go there.” He paused. “Thank you. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”
“Don’t mention it. You’d do the same for me.”
That was true. Dak hoped the need never came, but he would relish the chance to return his friend’s kindness if it did.
"You want me to bring you some cigars?" Dak asked off-handedly.
“Maybe,” Will said with a chuckle. “But I can get those too.”
“Of course you can.”
“When you going to leave?”
Dak stared at the image on the screen, fury raging like a furnace inside him. “As soon as I can.”
Seven
Miami
Dak watched the opposite sidewalk from behind a newspaper, sunglasses, and an Atlanta Braves baseball cap pulled down low to cover most of his face. All that remained of the dark, thick beard he'd kept during his time in the Middle East and in Portugal was a thin stubble that peppered his skin. The sun radiated on his arms, legs, and neck, reminding him how hot it got on the southern tip of Florida.
He'd only visited the city of Miami a few times in his life, but the weather never seemed to change. Hot and humid was always on tap, except next to the beach where a lukewarm breeze offered relief to those in bathing suits—or not.
Will had provided him with some money—against all Dak's protests—so he could purchase a one-way plane ticket to Miami, and enough cash to hold him over for as long as he needed.
Dak told his friend he'd pay him back, but Will swore off the promises. Will wasn't hurting for money, but that didn't mean Dak was okay with the charity. Even though he relented, he planned on paying Will back.
A bus rolled by, kicking out a puff of diesel fuel in its wake. The brakes screeched up the block as it came to a stop. The sights, smells, and sounds of Miami assaulted the senses. On one corner, a cluster of four old men in various colors of flower-patterned button-up shirts smoked thick cigars around a domino table. Across the street from that, a mojito bar offered cool drinks to its scantily clad, reveling patrons who sat on the patio
