Double Threat: The Park and Walker Action Thriller Series, #3

Double Threat

Patrick Weill

Weill & Associates

This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Every effort has been made to represent reality where possible but creative liberties have been taken, and no depiction of any action or omission by any person, authority, or organization, whether real or fictitious, is meant to imply or explicitly refer to any actual impropriety committed by any real person, authority, or organization.

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the publisher, nor otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

Copyright © 2024 Patrick Weill. All rights reserved.

Published by Weill & Associates

Version 1.0, August 2024

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-959866-04-6

Print ISBN: 978-1-959866-06-0

Cover design by cover2book.com

Dedicated to any soul struggling to survive or fighting for a better world.

Contents

CAST OF CHARACTERS

1.A MYSTERIOUS SIBILANCE IN SUBURBIA

2.ROUGH SEAS

3.THE UNDERCOVER TEAM

4.CHASQUAS RETURNS

5.THE OASIS

6.COPS AND ROBBERS

7.SEDUCTION

8.A BIG FAVOR

9.BACKSTAGE BLACKOUT

10.BAD NEWS

11.FIGHTING BLIND

12.SNIPER’S HILL

13.REVELATIONS

14.STATE OF EMERGENCY

15.A BRUTAL BON VOYAGE

16.EXIT DANIELS

17.ON AND OFF THE HOOK

18.A BLOOD-CRAZED WARRIOR

19.THE BLACK MASS

20.WALKER VERSUS CHASQUAS

21.MISS BOYDON FIGHTS BACK

22.LINDBLOOM GOES BELLY-UP

23.BRENTWOOD

24.DESCENT INTO DARKNESS

25.FIGHT, FLIGHT, OR FREEZE

26.A KNOCKOUT BLOW

27.THE GATHERING

28.FINALE

29.EPILOGUE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CAST OF CHARACTERS

PARK’S CHAPTERS

The Undercover team on the Oasis:

Detective Tony Park: An enormous Korean American who served as a Navy SEAL in the Middle East. He’s Jeff Walker’s partner on the Harbor Police force and married to Carla Reyes, a helicopter pilot.

Special Agent Scott Phillips: An FBI investigator recovering from a painful divorce who plays basketball and works on cars in his limited spare time. In this story, Phillips is drawn into a taboo romance with one of the suspects aboard the cruise ship, an exquisitely attractive vocalist. Is she as sweet as she seems or is it just another performance?

Supervisory Special Agent John Kerr: A famous criminal profiler on loan from the Behavioral Analysis Unit at Quantico, Kerr has had a spectacular career marred only by a single slip-up, but it was a big one. Can he find redemption while working one last case, or will he fall victim to the deranged serial killer they’re trying to catch?

Chief James Richards: Head of ship security. A former soldier, Richards is the only person aboard the Oasis who knows the undercover team’s true identities. At the beginning of the story, anyway.

The Suspects on the Oasis:

Amanda Boydon: This exquisitely beautiful singer charms SSA Phillips into her bed, quickly gaining his unwavering faith in her innocence.

Steve Russo: This clever comedian is beset by female groupies, and he’s popular with his fellow men at the card tables, but what’s he like when the laughter stops?

Staff Captain Kevin Massolt: This European gentleman is a minor celebrity on the ship, which he knows like the back of his hand, and his crisply pressed uniform is immaculate. The question is, are his motives equally impeccable?

Danielle Jackson: The kid’s club manager, a young Black woman who’s as sweet as they come, or so it seems. But, as the experts say, the guilty party often turns out to be the one you’re least likely to suspect.

Angelo dela Cruz: The ship’s executive chef. He’s got a quick temper, easy access to knives, and a knack for picking up passengers and getting them alone.

Other players

Jessica Reynolds: A wealthy widow traveling with her son and a little white dog.

Victor Cameron: A trusted member of Chief Richards’ security team.

WALKER’S CHAPTERS

San Diego Harbor Police

Detective Jeff Walker: Like Park, his partner, Walker has six years on the force. In this book, he joins MARTAC, the Harbor Police’s MARitime TACtical team. He’s married to Tina Garcia, who has so far given him two beautiful little girls.

Sergeant Cheatham: Walker’s supervisor, friend, and mentor. A Black man nearing the end of a long and distinguished career. A former drill instructor in the U.S. Army.

Furious: A patrol officer as well as a MARTAC operator. When he’s off duty, this African American powerhouse is a professional cage fighter.

Lieutenant Bill Coffin, MARTAC commander: A former Marine Corps scout sniper.

Sergeant Steve Ortiz: A thick-necked former soldier who is always ready for war. MARTAC’s team leader.

Detective Abbott: Like Park and Walker, Abbott is a detective as well as a MARTAC operator. He is intelligent and courageous.

Other players

DAI (District Attorney Investigator) Dominick Taylor: Once the commander of Oceanside PD’s narcotics task force, Taylor now works in the Hall of Justice alongside his better half, Chief Deputy District Attorney Lynn Peters. A former Special Forces soldier, Taylor has a dangerously short fuse.

Sean Choi: A brilliant but timid computer programmer who works for DAI Taylor as a technical analyst and is dating one of Jeff Walker’s sisters-in-law. Can he conquer his fear of fighting?

Marcus Crawford: A supremely fit and deeply tanned individual, Crawford is the leader of the San Diego Lifeguards’ dive rescue team and engaged to marry Walker’s other sister-in-law. He’d love to work in law enforcement someday, but does he have what it takes?

Ethan Hall and Jenn Fowler: Crawford’s fellow lifeguards. Six years before this story takes place, Park and Walker worked on the beach with all three of them. There’s always been a spark between these two, but for some reason they’ve never sealed the deal. Maybe now they will.

THE VILLAINS

Chasquas: This decorated street soldier is a known enemy from a previous case. Having fought his way out of the ghettos of Honduras to work for a criminal organization in the United States, Chasquas is stronger and smarter than ever before. Now he’s dropped his drug habit and is running a gang of his own.

Stephen Baker: The only surviving member of the now-defunct North County Kings, Baker is the leader of a motorcycle club that manufactures methamphetamine for Chasquas.

Sammy Enright: A high-ranking member of Baker’s biker gang, Sammy runs the secret meth lab and holds a deadly grudge against Chasquas.

Ronnie Locke: A crooked, wealthy businessman being groomed for the highest office in the nation.

Stryker Lindbloom: A thick-necked ex-convict working closely with Chasquas.

Joshua Pope: A shaven-headed former Marine who leads a racist militia that trains at Baker’s rural compound.

Berg: Pope’s second-in command. He lives at the biker compound along with Baker, Pope, and a few other guys.

Rick Daniels: A former Army sniper and the only remaining villain from The Mazatlan Showdown, Daniels is sure that Walker is responsible for the death of his true love, so he wants him to suffer the same kind of pain.

1

A MYSTERIOUS SIBILANCE IN SUBURBIA

Obviously I can’t produce human vocalizations, but I do recognize some, such as German shepherd, hot dog, walk, and bath. I spend most of my days confined to a grassy back yard, which is where we are now, in fact. Though here I’m safe and never hungry, it’s confinement nonetheless. My masters only let me out with a collar around my neck and only when they need to reach their step count goals.

I have one constant companion. She’s one of those winged creatures that fly and sing. The former she never does, and the latter only rarely, since she’s a prisoner, too, but in a much smaller cell. Then what’s the point of having wings, I say! She and I don’t converse, not like you humans do, but we’ve learned to read each other’s gazes. With one look at her quick eyes, I can tell she’s longing to soar through the perfect blue sky this sunny afternoon, to swoop and dive as she rides the wind. Me? I’d rather spend my time hunting for dinner, tearing through an open field in the ancient battle of will and wits for which I was created.

It’s unnatural, this existence of ours; Bird and I were meant to spend the prime of our lives mating, fighting, and relaxing in the softness of nature, then to live out our golden years in peace under the protection of our offspring. Being free, above all, which is a far cry from our limited reality. Yet it’s not our masters’ fault; they’re stuck in a similar situation, except that they don’t have to choke down these disgusting pellets.

Hang on, I see something new! Something different at the bottom of the back fence, which the neighbors must have broken last night in their noisy party. I lumber to my paws and trot through the grass to have a look, running now as my excitement builds. Yes! The wood is smashed at the bottom and there’s space enough to escape! I catch Bird’s eye, then dig a bit, squeeze myself through, and race through the adjacent yard, bounding toward new smells. I see a fence up ahead, and it’s low enough to hurdle, and that’s exactly what I do. Now I’m out on the street in suburbia at dusk, and this first taste of freedom is positively delicious!

As I settle into a gallop, stretching out my limbs, I’d like to tell you something about canines, in case you aren’t aware. We’re more complex than we seem. For instance, you might suspect exercise is what I’ve been needing most, but you’d be wrong. I mean, I’ve been longing to get out and run, but mental stimulation is what’s lacking in that back yard. It’s always the same. Here, I note the sound of crickets chirping, then seek them out and make them jump. Now the noise made by fighting cats. Then motors, music, and other human inventions. Far below those, in the ultrasonic range, I hear mice, moths, beetles, and even plants talking to each other. This natural symphony has jolted me back to life like a pair of defibrillator paddles, and it’s not even the best part of this adventure! You see, our circuits aren’t wired like yours, not quite, anyway; the new scents I’m picking up are making my long-depressed brain explode with pleasure as I canter past the houses on both sides of the street toward the open countryside. All around me, my fellow canines burst into a jealous cacophony of barks, ruffs, yaps, and howls.

I sniff the air six times a second as I gallop along, and my visual perception appears in four dimensions, displaying multi-colored trails of scent particles that vary in brightness, color, shape, and density, providing me with a wealth of useful information. For instance, as I come to the base of a tree, green wisps rising from the soil tell me a female dog has recently made a liquid deposit here. The aroma is exquisite. She’s about my age, with a similar genetic signature, in good health, currently relaxed and in a receptive emotional state, and—most importantly—in optimal estrus. The whiff of a compatible partner in heat is so intoxicating that my urethral sphincter relaxes involuntarily and I am overtaken by the need to leave a deposit of my own. Then I set off again, urged onward by the prospect of a piece of tail, yet wary of the danger foreshadowed by a second scent I’m detecting, that of a high-status male. He’s big and aggressive.

By the time I reach the outskirts of the housing development, night has fallen, but I can see just fine, aided by those multicolored scent trails I told you about. Speaking of which, a few yards up ahead, I see/smell a dark purple trail wafting out from around a corner—oh crap—and a king-sized pit bull comes charging out, snarling and barking with a deadly look in his eye!

I’m off at once, feeling hot breath and fangs gnashing at my haunches, but I’m a strong runner and soon his sounds and smells fade away. Panting hard, I slow to an amble and take refuge in a dead-end alley, where I should be safe until I catch my breath because the mingled odors of rotting garbage and other waste are strong enough to mask my own scent.

Hey, buddy, I hear someone say, behind me at the mouth of the alley. Want a hot dog?

Hot dog? I know that word! I turn around with happy anticipation to see a pair of male humans with violence in their scent trails and a dull, dead look in their eyes. One of them tosses the processed meat, which gives off mouth-watering aromatic tendrils as it sails through the air, but when the pink tube lands on the pavement, a toxic cloud bursts forth, signaling danger, so I bolt in the direction of freedom.

Grab it! one of them shouts.

The other guy drops to his knees and traps me by the neck while the first attempts to force-feed me the stinky meat. But all three of us turn toward the mouth of the alley as we detect a fourth animal present. My semi-feral rival has found me, and he’s hungry! Luckily, his killer gaze is fixed on one of the humans.

Oh shit! says the hot dog thrower, running toward the dead end, and the pit bull takes him down in seconds.

The human trapping me shouts, Hey! HEY! Over here! hoping to distract the giant dog, but he also doesn’t want me to escape, so he unsheathes a long knife that’s glinting in the moonlight, and shows it to me to keep me from attacking, but he’s not ready. I sink my fangs into his leg, realizing too late that I should have attacked his knife arm. Then I feel an icy flash on my head that blooms into a white-hot pain. The bastard’s cut my ear off!

I lunge forward and bite him again, in the right place this time. As I gnash forward for better leverage, crunching his hand into an irreparable mass of bonemeal, the coppery taste of blood floods my mouth. It tastes good! Better than dog pellets, anyway.

Shrieking and cursing, he drops the blade and kicks me till I release my bite. Then he says something I don’t understand; sinister and otherworldly, the words come out hissed, heavy on S sounds, like a snake would talk if it could. He spins on his heel and flees, abandoning his companion, who, I note with satisfaction, is lying on his back and no longer struggling. My high-status rival’s muzzle drips with blood as he turns to catch my eye.

So I follow the scent trails—some of them mine—back to the broken fence and squeeze myself through. The yard, with its shady trees, soft grass, and never-ending supply of dog food, doesn’t seem nearly as miserable as it did before.

Bird peers down at me with her beady eyes. I can feel her envy, so I do her a favor, leaping onto a planter bed and walking along the rail toward her cage. She flutters around with excitement as I launch myself into the oppressive suburban air, hitting the latch just right.

It’ll be lonely, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.

And what about that hissing human? Strange, don’t you think? I hope someone cuts his ear off. Or some other, more vital part!

2

ROUGH SEAS

I’ll go with you, offered Tony Park, who needed a trip to the men’s room for more than one reason.

Perfect, Jeff Walker replied. The closest one’s in the casino.

It was day two of a week-long Caribbean cruise, and so far the efforts of these two police detectives to keep their faces scowl-free had been admirable, despite the astonishing cost of the two-family vacation. Now, however, both of them needed a break. Park especially, whose wife, Carla, flashed him a pointed look that told him he’d better return with a different attitude.

Be right back, Walker said to his wife, Tina, who turned away from their two little girls to give him a nod and a tired smile. Tina Michelle and Mia were visibly excited for the magic show to begin, though everyone’s patience was wearing thin as they stood in line, waiting for the theater doors to open.

The Majesty was over a thousand feet long, a hundred wide, and two hundred high, Park knew. Even so, with three thousand souls aboard, space was a precious commodity. As he and Walker strode across the gaming floor amid a cheery cacophony of electronic jangles and chimes, scanning their surroundings as was their habit, he observed that the casino was slightly miniature. Just like his and Carla’s stateroom and every other part of the ship. Low ceilings, reduced aisle width, and clever placement of mirrors were just a few of the strategic elements of the vessel’s design.

As they came to the cashier cage, which spanned the far wall, an overhead restroom sign pointed to a hallway leading right. They were about to take the turn when they spotted two elderly men standing at the thick polycarbonate cashier shield, on the other side of which the casino employee looked terrified.

Park and Walker stopped in their tracks.

Do it. I won’t tell you again, growled one of the older men, who, like his fellow passenger, sported a dark suit with no tie. Both were oddly muscular.

I could lose my job, the cashier protested.

Park headed for the window to ask what was going on, but someone behind him spoke up first.

I got this, came a deep male voice. Thanks, though.

Park turned. The newcomer’s badge read Casino Security.

Can I help you, gentlemen? said the security manager.

The wide-eyed cashier shook his head in alarm as the two passengers whirled around to face the man addressing them. Yes, you can, said one of them, whose voice came out muffled by what was, on close inspection, a hyper-realistic silicone mask similar to the one worn by his companion. Both masked men reached into their jackets, whipped out pistols, and took careful aim. One of them shot the security manager, whose head snapped back with a red mist spraying out the rear, and the gun’s loud CRACK sent the patrons scrambling for the exits.

At the same time, the second gunman panned his pistol from Park to Walker and back again. Hands up, he ordered them.

The unarmed police detectives could only comply, but they kept their hands forward and as low as possible, ready to pounce if the crooks made a mistake.

The first gunman stooped to search the security officer, came up with a key card, and hustled to the door next to the cashiers cage. Then both of them stepped into the employees-only area, one facing forward and the other covering the rear, both with their pistols brought to bear, which Park identified as HK45 Compact Tacticals. Ex-military, he guessed, watching in dismay as they executed all the cashiers and hustled out of sight, presumably toward wherever the cash was kept. The crackling gunfire transported him back to the battlefield, to the Middle East, where he’d served as a Navy SEAL, so Park flew into combat mode, hurriedly unclipping the security manager’s radio from his belt and keying up on the device.

I’m going to the theater! barked Walker over his shoulder, on his way out of the deserted casino.

Park nodded, then spoke into the radio. Ship security, this is Detective Tony Park of the San Diego Harbor Police, over.

Roger, detective. James Richards, chief of security. Over.

After Park provided a brief situation report and offered assistance, Richards came back with Report to the security office, and stay safe on the way here. Do you know where we are?

Affirmative.

Park flew up the stairs and through the halls, coordinating his movement with Walker by cell phone, so when he came to the administrative offices, his fellow detective was already there. All good? he asked.

Walker nodded. Yeah. Carla’s in my stateroom with everyone else.

They were shown in to Chief Richards’ small but tidy office, made even smaller by the presence of his security team. Most of them looked too young and too nervous.

Richards, an uncommonly large man about Park’s own size, was on his feet talking to another security officer, and these two were the only people in the room, Park thought, who might have seen any combat at all, except for Walker and himself.

Richards looked up, strode forward, stuck out a hand, and introduced the other guy as Roger Lowry, his deputy chief. Then, after