Devil's Advocate (Trackdown Book 4)

by Michael A. Black

  Wolf looked at McNamara, who shook his head, his lips drawn together in a tight scowl.

  “No questions,” Wolf said. “Just some statements. First, we’ll make our own travel plans. Once we’re down there, we’ll contact you, so I’ll need a phone number.”

  “Out of the question regarding the phone,” Soraces said. “It won’t do you any good anyway. But I can understand your trepidation regarding the flight and pick-up.” He sighed audibly. “Look, as a show of good faith, I’ll go along with the first part of it. You two make your way down here and I’ll call you Monday night. Want me to recommend a good hotel?”

  “Like I said, we’ll make our own plans.”

  “As you wish. But don’t even think of any outside authoritative involvement. One whiff of anything like that, and everything, and everybody, turns to sparkle dust. Get it?”

  “I got it.”

  “Good. And just make sure you bring the real deal this time,” Soraces said. “No more duplicates.”

  Wolf almost came back with, “There are no more duplicates,” but caught himself in time.

  There’s no sense in divulging anything in the way of intel to this asshole, he thought.

  But the fact that he’d almost blurted it out reminded him how much he was off his game. Extreme fatigue, emotional involvement, worry about Kasey, and about Mac as well, was all extra baggage he was carrying. And in combat, extra baggage weighing you down can get you killed a lot quicker. He had to get his analytical mind wrapped around this. For Kasey’s sake, as well as his own. But he also knew he had to capitalize on whatever leverage he had.

  “I’ll bring it,” Wolf said. “But I’ll also bring a sledgehammer. Any tricks, any harm comes to Kasey, anything at all, and I’ll be using it to smash that little stone artifact to smithereens. You got it?”

  Soraces said nothing.

  “Make sure you tell that to your boss, Von Dien,” Wolf said and hung up.

  The four of them sat in silence in the living room, and finally Mac said with deliberation, “Those bastards are gonna pay for taking my little girl. No rule book.”

  “Damn straight,” Wolf said, wondering if Mac was secretly blaming him for this. He didn’t want to ask.

  “There will be a reckoning,” McNamara said, his expression austere. “And I’m looking forward to watching that son of bitch die. Real slow.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  THIRTY THOUSAND FEET

  SOMEWHERE ABOVE ARIZONA

  Wolf leaned back in the seat and reviewed the past fifty-seven hours in his mind. It had gone by like the miles in a marathon, the clock seeming to do double time. He estimated that he hadn’t slept more than a quarter of it, and that had been in short bursts when exhaustion had overtaken him or in forced combat naps. It had been the same for Mac, who looked terrible. His face sagged with the immense weight of worry and concern. The weariness seemed like a permanent fixture inside Wolf’s head, too, and each moment to maintain any clarity of thought was a struggle. Now that he and Mac were cruising at commercial flight altitude on an international Southwest Airlines flight heading south to Philip S. W. Goldson International Airport in Belize, he hoped for a chance to rest. But that prospect turned out to be problematic, if not impossible. He’d been forced to stash the bandito in the overhead storage compartment. The bulky backpack was too large and cumbersome to try and slide under the seat. Ever since they’d removed it from the safety deposit box that morning, Wolf had kept it right by his side. Even now, within the confines of a commercial airliner, he couldn’t let go of the anxiety of not having it in his direct proximity.

  Separation anxiety, he told himself, allowing a bleak smile to grace his lips.

  It was their holy grail now—the only thing that could secure Kasey’s safety and freedom. And it was their only bit of leverage. They’d already decided that the overall operation was Wolf’s to run.

  “I’ve got too much personal involvement in this,” McNamara had told him. “With Kasey being hostage, it’s messing up my thinking and we can’t afford any mistakes.”

  No mistakes, Wolf thought. Easier said than done.

  He felt on the edge of physical exhaustion, but as long as he was moving he was okay. Once he stopped, the omnipresent fatigue began wrapping itself around him like an encircling python again.

  A python, he thought.

  Just like that idiot biker that he’d cold-cocked with the staff. He snorted at the recollection and this brought a reaction from McNamara, who was seated next to him.

  “What?” Mac said. His voice was low and gravelly.

  “Just thinking,” Wolf said. “Trying to make sure we’ve got all the bases covered, for now, anyway.”

  “Yeah,” McNamara said. “Me too.” He reclined his seat back and said, “But we’d best try to get some sleep while we can.”

  Wolf agreed and pushed his seat back as well, but he doubted that sleep would come. His mind still whirled with the events leading up to their trek down the jetway.

  He and McNamara had both agreed that involving the authorities at this point would probably be a mistake. The feds would have little choice but to contact and work with the Belizean police agencies, and each new layer of callous by-the-book authority would lessen the chances that Kasey would be returned safely. They decided they had to do this on their own and take a more proactive stance. But that didn’t mean they’d be doing it without some kind of support network.

  Ms. Dolly and Brenda were the first to volunteer, but McNamara said he wanted them here to guard his grandson.

  “Well,” Ms. Dolly said, “at least take Brenda with you. She can pass for a local better than me. I’ll stay here and watch Chad.”

  Wolf still remembered her attempt at some mirth: “But don’t none of y’all even think about calling me grandma.”

  The humor had fallen flat. Mac was too worried and Wolf couldn’t shake the guilt at having been the cause of all this. He felt responsible. Although he’d been dragged in through the backdoor, he’d come into Mac’s life and brought nothing but trouble.

  After a fitful night’s unsuccessful attempt at sleep in what hours remained, Wolf and McNamara had started their own preparation. They’d made the twenty-minute trek to Mesa to Buck’s and asked to borrow the night vision goggles and a few other items.

  “What you need this stuff for?” Buck asked. “You just returned it yesterday. I mean, I gotta business to run and we gotta a new class coming in next week.”

  The haggard expression on McNamara’s face told the other man it was an important and urgent request.

  After hearing the dire circumstances, Buck stiffened.

  “Take whatever you need,” he said. “And I’m coming with you.”

  Despite McNamara’s protestations, the former marine wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  “You’re gonna be going down into Indian country,” he said. “And I owe it to you. You saved my bacon once. Now it’s my turn to return the favor.”

  McNamara and Wolf reluctantly agreed, with Wolf feeling a bit better after the other members of the Best in the West Tactical Training Institute also wanted to come. It was decided that Buck and Joe Barnes would go and leave Ron and Pete here to run the next class. As an unexpected benefit, Dirk, who was still hanging around the Institute helping rebuild the firing range house, also said he wanted to come. McNamara nixed the idea, but Dirk insisted.

  “I’ll be your ace in the hole,” he said. “I been there before.”

  Wolf’s brow creased. “You’ve been to Belize?”

  Dirk nodded. “I taught some classes down there. Military stuff.”

  “You speak Spanish?” McNamara asked.

  Dirk smirked, “Yeah, but they speak English in Belize. It used to be called British Honduras. The country got its independence in the eighties. The SAS still trains down there. I helped teach some of them.”

  Wolf was still a bit unsure about taking all of them, especially Dirk, about whom he knew little. But he
’d entered the picture through serendipity and he was familiar with the terrain. And beggars couldn’t be choosers.

  So that was that.

  First, there were three, Wolf, Mac, and Brenda, and now there were six.

  Better odds, Wolf thought.

  Who knew what they were going to be up against down there … Bambi taking on Godzilla, but now Bambi had a herd with him.

  Well, Wolf remembered thinking, more like a small but tough semi-herd.

  After calling the hospital to check on Franker, Wolf got the FBI man’s partner, Special Agent Turner. Turner was mostly unhelpful but did put him through to Franker.

  “Is Kasey all right?” were his first words.

  “What?” Wolf said. “Why?”

  “She was with me. Now, is she all right?”

  Wolf didn’t answer. Instead, he asked Franker how he was.

  “I’m mostly okay,” Franker said. “It was a through and through. Now what about Kasey?”

  “What happened?” Wolf asked, again evading the other man’s direct question.

  “Carjacking, apparently,” Franker said. “I’d just dropped Kasey at the restaurant when this guy stepped out of the shadows and shot me. Did the police contact her?”

  Wolf said nothing.

  “I’m so worried about her,” Franker said. “She hasn’t called me. Is she all right?”

  “I can’t talk about that now,” Wolf said and hung up. He didn’t answer when his phone immediately rang again and kept on ringing. Eventually, he shut it off but felt lousy about it. He’d promised the man some answers before.

  Okay, he thought. Franker will get his damn answers and if things go bad down south, I’ll leave something to go on.

  Wolf then spent two hours typing out a detailed letter of everything that had happened starting with the Mexico fiasco and detailing everything up to their upcoming mission in Belize. He left Reno’s and the others names out of it, but basically spilled everything. He printed out and signed the copy and then put it inside an envelope, scrawling his initials over the edge of the seal. After hand-printing Franker’s name on the envelope, he contacted Dolores Delgato on her personal cell. Despite it being a Sunday night, she answered with a warm greeting. Wolf asked her to meet him early that Monday morning. She agreed and they’d met at a Dunkin’ Donuts shop just down from her office building. The next day, with Mac waiting for him in the parking lot, Wolf watched as she walked up casually, smiling that million-dollar smile.

  She commented on how fatigued he looked.

  “I’ve got a lot going on,” he said.

  She canted her head and looked at him, her yellowish-brown eyes fixed with a questioning expression.

  “My,” she said. “That sounds cryptic. Anything I can help with?”

  He nodded.

  “If you don’t hear from me by next Wednesday,” Wolf said, handing her the envelope. “Take this to the FBI office and leave it for Special Agent William Franker.”

  Her perfect eyebrows arched slightly.

  “This is intriguing,” she said. “Do you want to tell me what this is all about?”

  Wolf mulled that over in his mind.

  McNamara tapped the horn twice and Wolf remembered that they had a lot to do before their afternoon flight.

  “It’s best I don’t right now,” Wolf said, standing. He smiled down at her. “It’s a long story, sort of involving what we discussed before, but I’m going out of town and I’m pressed for time.”

  The letter contained more details than what he’d already confided.

  She smiled, placed the letter in her Gucci purse, and said, “Godspeed.”

  Their last stop was going to see Reno at his gym. They remembered he and Black Hercules had been taken down to Von Dien’s estate a few months back, at the time of the Mexican fiasco. Both Wolf and McNamara began grilling him about what he remembered about the place.

  “It’s big,” Reno said. “Got armed guards and an electric fence. Huge house, with a pool out back. The place is in the middle of a jungle. You gotta drive there from Belize City.”

  “Here,” McNamara said, shoving some paper and a pen across the desk at him. “Draw us a diagram.”

  “Huh? What for?” His face twisted in confusion. “What’s going on?”

  After much hesitation, Wolf confided what had happened, figuring it might be better if somebody knew, in case things went badly and they didn’t make it back.

  But what came next totally surprised him.

  “I’m going with you,” Reno said.

  “Out of the question,” Wolf said.

  Reno reached out and grabbed Wolf’s arm. “Steve, please. I owe it to you.”

  “Reno,” McNamara said, “this is my daughter down there. It ain’t your fight.”

  “The hell it’s not,” Reno said. His grip tightened on Wolf’s arm and he was cognizant of the other man’s strength. “These are the guys responsible for killing Herc, ain’t they?”

  Wolf and McNamara exchanged glances, and then Wolf nodded.

  “Then I’m going,” Reno said. “I owe it to Herc, and most of all, I owe it to you two. You saved my life down there in Mexico.”

  After a few more minutes of silence, McNamara spoke in a low voice.

  “We’re going down there to get my daughter back,” he said. “By any means necessary. You know what that means?”

  Reno nodded. “I’m good with that. And like I said, I owe it to you.”

  And then there were seven, Wolf thought. The magnificent seven … Better odds at least.

  THE VON DIEN WINTER ESTATE SOUTH

  BELIZE

  It couldn’t have worked out better if he’d planned this new development himself. Soraces took a deep breath of satisfaction as he walked toward the library for what he hoped would be his penultimate session with Fallotti and Von Dien. Gordo, the big butler with the concealed piece, led the way.

  In his original scenario Soraces had intended that Dirk would be his fail-safe figure, remaining up in Phoenix to deal with Wolf and McNamara should they not make the trek down to Belize and went, instead, to the cops. But now his rook had turned into the perfect sleeper agent.

  A sapper right in their midst, he thought, smiling. And a Shadow on the same flight. Those stupid bastards don’t even have a clue.

  As they got to the door Gordo stopped and tapped Soraces on the shoulder before he could enter and handed him a face mask.

  “Señor Von Dien insists,” he said.

  “But where’s yours?” Soraces asked, allowing a little sarcastic lilt to his words and watching the huge servant’s reaction.

  The big man smirked and Soraces took this as a good sign. He needed to keep on the good side of the rank and file just in case Fallotti and Von Dien had some kind of a double cross in mind. He didn’t think they did, but he made it a point always to consider all the moves beforehand.

  More than likely, he thought, the fat, rich, son of a bitch will be coming in his pants once he has that fucking second half of the artifact in his greedy little hands.

  He slipped the mask on and went inside. They both sat at the far end of the table, the lawyer situated six feet away, the hulking bodyguard hovering over the fat Buddha’s right shoulder. They all wore masks, but Soraces was sure that the rich bastard was probably frowning underneath his.

  The table was long and Fallotti motioned to a chair at the opposite end.

  The fucking germaphobe’s so scared he doesn’t want me within six feet of him, Soraces thought with amusement.

  The bodyguard’s light blue eyes watched his every movement.

  He sat, thinking how easy it would be to repeat the practiced move of drawing the ninja blade and hurling it into the big man’s eyeball.

  “We’d like an update,” Fallotti said.

  “Of course,” Soraces said. “They’re on their way here with the bandito. The girl’s secured in your special detention room, with a guard posted, and I’ve got someone watching their ever
y move in transit.”

  He raised both of his eyebrows since that was the only facial gesture that would be visible over the mask’s concealment.

  “Here?” Von Dien said. His words sounded slightly muffled by the mask. “You’re bringing them here?”

  “What better place to deal with them?” Soraces shot back. “Down here where the local police are in your pocket. As soon as we get possession of the Lion Attacking the Nubian, and verify its authenticity, everything can be wrapped up with a bow without leaving a trace.”

  Von Dien’s heavy exhalation of breath was obvious even through the mask.

  “We’d prefer you to refer to it as ‘the item’ in these conversations,” Fallotti said.

  “Certainly,” Soraces said, more convinced than ever that every word was being recorded by this devious rich asshole.

  But that’s okay, fat man, Soraces thought. I’m doing a recording of my own.

  He glanced down to reassure himself that he’d activated his spy pen.

  “And you’re certain they’re bringing the item?” Fallotti said.

  “Of course,” Soraces answered. “What other choice do they have?”

  “Wolf was smart enough to use a duplicate the last time,” Von Dien said. “What makes you think he won’t try that again?”

  “He knows better, for one thing,” Soraces said. “And, for another, we’ll have all of the principals down here as your …” He purposely hesitated for a few beats before finishing his sentence with, “guests.”

  Fallotti looked at Von Dien, who made a quick nodding motion with his basketball-sized head. The lawyer turned back to Soraces.

  “Very well,” he said. “Keep us advised.”

  “I’ll be glad to,” Soraces said, getting to his feet, cognizant that the big bodyguard was still watching his every move.