Since the rope was only a fifty-footer, he dropped down as far as he could, then climbed the rest of the way down. Once on his feet, he backtracked, following the noise of the river at his left and watching for trouble straight ahead. He hadn’t gone far when he heard the distinct trampling of heavy boots and two men’s voices. Ducking behind a stand of young hemlocks, Kruze crouched low in the shadows, straining to hear.
“We bringing her back alive?” one man asked, his voice smooth and cool.
“Yup,” another guy snapped. Kruze guessed that was Damon Vick. “Just her. We’ve got orders to kill everyone who’s with her. Even her kid.”
“Yeah, but…” Mr. Smooth and Cool mumbled, “I’ve never killed a kid before.”
“Shit, Webber! Then you take care of her, and I’ll take care of the kid if she’s with her.”
“She? Banks’ kid’s a little girl?”
“Why’d you take the fuckin’ job if you don’t have the stomach for it?”
“I can handle it.” Webber’s tone turned apologetic, whiny. “I can. Just never killed any kids before. That’s all I’m saying. When’s Lantz joining us?”
“Not sure. Bastard said he’d be here by now.”
Vick’s discontent rattled Kruze. They stopped a few trees away from where he crouched. The sudden pungent drift of tobacco in the air told him one or both these guys were smoking. Kruze’s nose twitched and his mouth watered. It’d been three days since he’d caved to his nicotine habit. He hadn’t wanted the smell on him if Bree had been part of that group therapy. Oddly, the call of that smoking cancer stick didn’t do squat for Kruze now. He brushed its siren call aside. First things always came first, by hell. And Bree would always be first. He peered through the fragrant evergreen boughs to measure the men hunting the woman he loved.
“What’d she do that’s got the boss pissed?” Webber asked.
He was short, maybe five-foot-eleven. Blond haired. Red-faced. Obviously out of shape. Wearing jeans that looked like they’d been ironed, a red-and-black checkered hunting vest that made him look like a rookie, topped off with an aviator hat with fur-lined ear flaps that declared idiot. All he needed was a pompom on top of that hat and he’d be a Rockstar.
“She got away, what the fuck do you think?” Vick bit out.
Kruze edged closer to get a better look at him. Tall and lean, Vick was dressed in well-worn camouflage, had a cigarette in one hand, a pistol in the other, and a damned nice rifle slung over his shoulder. The rifle was military-issue, an M4 assault rifle. Gas operated. Magazine fed. The scope was a close combat optic.
“Knock off the eat-shit-and-die attitude, Damon,” Webber grumbled. “I’ve got a right to know why I’m hunting a woman and her daughter, especially if he wants the kid dead. Why’s Lantz need Banks captured? What’d she do to get on his bad side?”
“Saw something she wasn’t supposed to. If she goes public with it, she’ll end Lantz, and we’ll lose our jobs.”
“Jesus, what’d she see?”
Vick blew out a long breath. “Something about a deal Lantz made with some Turkish General. The sooner we take care of Banks, the sooner he goes home, and we keep our jobs.”
Kruze cocked his head. Besides the altered truth of Berfende being a Turkish General, he now knew there was trouble within Lantz’s ranks. Vick was a straight-up killer, not Webber. He sounded more like a man with a conscience.
“What’s the boss get out of this?”
“He gets to sleep nights knowing the bitch who can ruin us is where she belongs.”
“So what’d Banks find?”
“You know what? For a smart guy, you sure ask a lot of stupid questions.”
BLAM! Kruze flinched at the blistering roar of that single gunshot, followed by an OOMPH and the sound of a heavy body dropping. He guessed that was Webber. Which made Kruze curious what Bree knew that had Lantz running scared enough to order a hit on her, both in a foreign country and here in the States.
Vick ground his cigarette under his boot, then fingered the radio clipped high on his vest and said, “Come in, Smith. Damnit, do you read?”
He had a cold hardness to him, like a hitman. What the fuck? Was Lantz part of the syndicate? The Mafia? Because that was what Kruze was looking at, a professional killer standing over a warm body, as if shooting his buddy was no big deal.
It took a minute before a man’s voice came back with, “Smith here. What now?”
“Webber ran into a little trouble, if you know what I mean.”
“Why the fuck do I care?” Smith had to be Harvey Lantz. What a bastard.
“Just letting you know. Also lost the signal from that pinger, but I’m pretty sure I know why. Banks must’ve found it. She’s no dummy. Got a shittin’ stone wall up ahead. I think that’s where she went.”
“You think she’s smart enough to climb out of there?”
“No, but the guy with her is. Don’t worry. I’ll finish him off and have her collared and on her knees by the time you arrive with your friends. I don’t think the little girl’s with Banks, though. I would’ve heard the kid bellyaching by now. What’s your ETA?”
Collared? What the fuck?!
“I’m not coming. Got another problem I need to work out, but the rag-heads should be close to your location by now. Go back to the river and wait for them. They’re coming to you by boat. Should be there within the hour. Will you have her by then?”
“Shit, I haven’t even seen her yet,” Vick hissed. “I’m not sure she’s even alive. This could all be a trap set by the guy she’s with. And this stone wall won’t be easy to climb. I’ve got no climbing gear, and now you want me to babysit your fuckin’ loser friends?” He kicked the dead body at his feet. “Christ, Lantz!”
“How hard can it be?” Lantz screamed back. “You’re always bragging you’re a fuckin’ SEAL! You promised you’d have her by now. Kill the bastard who’s with her and grab Banks. Isn’t that what I’m paying you for?”
“You shouldn’t have involved her in the first place!” Vick bellowed back. “Brianna’s a good kid. She doesn’t even know what she’s done.”
“Well, I do, so fuckin’ deal with it!” Lantz was growing nastier by the minute. “None of this story’ll work if she gets away. She’s got to go back with Berfende today. They both have to be there when everything goes down.”
Kruze watched Vick look up at the sky, then drop his chin to his chest. At last he ran a gloved hand over his head and growled, “Understood. You’re the boss. I’ll connect with your friends. Will be in touch when the job’s done. Over and—”
“Don’t back out on me now, you fuckin’ asswipe! I can still ruin you.”
“Don’t threaten me, Lantz!” Vick shot back. “I’ve got enough dirt on you to take you down with me.”
“Which is why Banks has to go back with Berfende today! She can hurt both of us. I’ve already set up an off-shore account. The second she’s gone you’ll get your money.”
“Got it. I’ll make sure she’s in Turkey when the strike hits tomorrow.”
Strike? Blackmail? Murder? These guys were dirty as fuck. Just as Vick ended contact with Lantz and stuffed his phone back into his vest, Kruze stepped in behind him and pressed the business end of his pistol into the back of Vick’s neck.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he said as he reached over Vick’s shoulder and jerked the radio off his collar. Kruze slid it into his pants pocket. “Drop your pistol and set the rifle on the ground. Slowly. Don’t try anything or you’ll be eating dirt like your friend.”
“Who the fuck are you?”
Raising his hand, Kruze pistol-whipped him. Vick went down like a rock. Working fast, Kruze dragged him to a tree a ways from Webber’s body. He removed Vick’s vest, the small pack from his belt, and searched his pockets. Oh, look, nylon cord and a son of a bitchin’ studded, black-leather dog collar. Holy shit! Kruze’s blood boiled at Vick’s cruel intentions for a woman a
s delicate and fragile as Bree.
By the time he came to, Vick’s arms were stretched around the tree behind him, and the dog collar was buckled on his neck. Studs were a good look on him, and the collar made for a damned tight fit. Not like Kruze cared. He crouched several feet in front of Vick, holding the opposite end of the nylon rope now wound into a noose around Vick’s neck. His weapons, including the pocket pistol from the holster beneath his pant leg, his extra magazines, knife, and wallet were lined up beside Kruze. Kruze left Vick’s wallet open and face up. Sometimes, an asshole needed visual confirmation of just how defenseless he was.
“Shit, give me some slack, I can’t breathe,” Vick hissed, struggling against his awkward position.
“I don’t care if you suffocate. Just talk.” Kruze tightened the loop around his knuckles, removing any slack between him and his prisoner.
“I’ve got… nothing to say,” Vick wheezed.
“You’re wasting my time. Why are you hunting Banks?”
“You’re… you’re him. The bastard with her.”
Kruze jerked the rope, a half-smile twisting his mouth while Vick sputtered. “I prefer son of a bitch, not bastard.”
Vick had no way of knowing Kruze was referencing the nickname Chance had given Senator Sullivan’s collection of black ops teams. Instead of the politically correct—and boring—Strike Back Force Sullivan had originally come up with, the senator from Texas now ran the SOBs, short for his elite army of spec ops sons of bitches from every federal service, including the FBI’s SWAT and Homeland Security. But then, Vick probably didn’t care much about acronyms right then.
Kruze loosened the rope. “You were a SEAL. You know how this works.”
Awareness tracked over Vick’s face. “Then do it. Kill me, you son of a—”
It only took one breath-stealing snap of the rope to correct Vick’s belligerent behavior. Then another, to make sure he understood Kruze wasn’t playing whose is bigger, that he would kill him. Vick was sweating. His face was already red. He couldn’t breathe.
Kruze didn’t want him to. He was going for blue. When the man’s legs kicked out and thrashed, Kruze relaxed the rope and let him suck in as much air as he could before Kruze took up the slack and asked again, “Why are you hunting Banks?”
“It’s not me, gawddamnit. It’s Lantz. This was all his idea.”
Kruze wound one more loop over his fist. “Why?”
“Because…” Vick spat to the side, then coughed. Sputtered. Coughed again.
He was buying time. Kruze had none to waste. He jerked the rope again, tightening the noose to its limit. “I can do this all day. Can you?”
By then Vick was suffocating.
In the name of good sportsmanship, Kruze allowed a little slack.
“You win, gawddamnit, you win,” Vick wheezed.
“Waste one more minute, you’re dead.”
“Lantz wants a story. A big story.” Vick licked his lips. “Only he doesn’t give a shit about the human-interest crap Brianna Banks sent. Her going to Turkey was never about that. Shit, Lantz said that was what he wanted, but he doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”
Kruze let out a little more slack.
Vick noticed. He swallowed and kept talking. “Lantz has been at odds with one of his competitors for years. World Geo, remember them? They ran that story about those three kids in the Falkland Islands years ago?”
Kruze shook his head, keeping the rope taut. “I don’t give a shit about World Geo or the Falklands.”
“You will! This’ll be the story of the century. Lantz is going to put World Geo out of business with it. I don’t know how, but he got hold of fifteen kilos of plutonium, probably from the black market. He got it for some asshole general in Turkey.”
“Berfende.”
“Yeah. That’s the guy. He already has a nuke, just needed plutonium to arm it. I don’t know what he was going to do with the nuke before, but after he and Lantz got together, they planned to bomb Ankara, Turkey.”
“Why?”
“Because Lantz’s wife was Armenian. She died of cancer last year, and her dying wish was for Turkey to suffer as much as her grandparents did during World War Two. She wanted vengeance for them, so…” Vick worked his throat until he could swallow again. “Lantz started out intending to honor her final wish. Only that general’s a smart son of a bitch. Once Banks got away, Berfende started blackmailing Lantz. That’s when Lantz had his bright idea.”
Kruze rolled his shoulder to loosen the cramp tightening his neck. “Explain.”
“Berfende still thinks he’s bombing Ankara. He thinks he’s safe.”
Kruze shrugged. “I’m only going to ask you one more—”
“J-j-just listen, will ya? Tomorrow night, right before Turkish election results go public, Lantz is going to betray Berfende. That’s why he needs Berfende and Banks back in Berfende’s camp by then. But the dumb bitch—”
Kruze snapped the leash and cut off Vick’s air until the man turned red. Kruze didn’t fuckin’ care. No one disrespected Bree, least of all some lowlife merc. He waited until Vick’s lips were blue before he gave a shit and let the bastard catch a breath.
Vick sucked in mighty gasps of air before he could talk. He was a dead man, and he knew it. At last, he muttered, “Sorry, but you’ve got to believe me. Lantz is insane. There is a nuclear bomb, there will be a big story and it’ll make him famous. Only it will be the story of how Lantz came to Turkey’s rescue by releasing insider information on the bombing before it happens. In that release, he’ll incriminate Banks and Berfende. He’ll claim they were working together, that they were lovers.”
“That’ll never fly,” Kruze growled.
“Yes, it will. Lantz is gonna blame Banks. He’ll say it was Stockholm Syndrome, that she fell for Berfende after he captured her. Honest, he’s got the photos she sent, and he already has the Pentagon on speed-dial. He’s talked to them, and he’s timed everything perfectly. The Pentagon will act immediately because the evidence he’s got against Banks is airtight. It’s damned good. I’ve seen it. He’s got photos of her standing a dozen yards away from the nuke, for chrissakes!”
“Where’d he get them?” There was no way Bree would’ve done such a thing.
“From that Mehmet guy. He took a shit ton of pictures when they interviewed that Kurdish girl. Banks sent them to me along with her story. She didn’t know it, but the tractor trailer with that nuke was in some of those shots.”
“What Kurdish girl?”
“Jesus H. Christ, don’t you know anything? The girl whose family’s sending her to an American college. That’s the bullshit story Banks sent me to edit. It’s all about how they scraped for years and could finally get her out of the country.”
“You got a name?”
“You have got to be fuckin’ joking!”
Kruze answered with a single snap of that rope.
“Okay, okay. Umm…” Vick rolled his eyes. “Her name was, ahh, Derya. That’s right, Derya Najjar. I remember now. She and her family live just outside Berfende’s compound. Her father’s name is Benjamin.”
“What’s the rest of the plan?”
“Okay, so…” Vick rolled his neck, a least as far as he could. “The Pentagon will notify the President, who’ll notify the President of Turkey, who’ll send the F-16 squadron at Incirlik Air Base, into Eastern Anatolia. By the time Berfende’s done doing whatever he wants with Banks, a hellfire missile will be on its way to destroy his compound and everything in it. He’ll never get the nuke to Ankara, because he and Banks will be dead, and Lantz will be the fuckin’ hero of the hour. Hell, he’ll be the man of the year.”
Kruze couldn’t believe the lengths greedy men were willing to go. “Who’s reporting the strike in Eastern Anatolia? Which one of his reporters is there, on the ground, right now? Give me a name.”
“That I don’t know,” Vick replied, his chest heaving and his gaze f
astened on Kruze. “I know a couple guys Lantz is closer to than me, but I don’t know the exact one who’ll be onsite and reporting when Berfende dies.”
“Banks and Berfende.”
Vick nodded, humbled now. “Yeah. When Lantz kills Brianna Banks and that motherfucker Berfende.”
Kruze pursed his lips. This timeline didn’t give him much chance of stopping Lantz. To cover all bases, Kruze needed help from someone he trusted. Lifting to his feet, he twirled the end of the rope in a lazy circle. “You see any bears while you were tracking Banks?”
Despair shadowed Vick’s countenance. “No.” He coughed. “But I’d do the same thing, if she were my girl.”
Kruze crouched at his adversary’s boots. “Here’s the thing. I can’t trust you, so I can’t let you go. There’s nothing you’ve got I want, so there’ll be no deal. Why the fuck should I let you live?”
Vick stared at the ground between them. “Shoot me then. Don’t leave me for bear bait.”
Kruze kept twirling that rope. He believed Vick. Men who knew they were going to die tended to tell most of the truth, and a tortured prisoner could only spill what he knew. But Kruze would never trust this bastard with Bree’s life, and he knew damned well Vick knew more than he’d ever tell. So far, he’d only incriminated Lantz, but this guy was dirty.
He tugged his phone out of his jeans pocket and dialed Chance, then tucked his earpiece into his ear, so Vick wouldn’t hear both sides of the convo.
“Where the fuck are you?” Chance bellowed.
“Busy,” Kruze snapped. “How far out are you?”
“Been at your place all morning, only you’re not here. Pagan’s with me. He’s out scouting for you and Bree now.”
“Tell him to check the place where he and I fell asleep last fall.” Kruze and his baby brother had been out hunting deer when a freakish, late-season thunderstorm hit. They’d been too far from his place, but not close enough to any hunter cabins to take cover. They’d dropped down the face of that slippery basalt to wait out the storm. Ended up sleeping the night away in the cave where Bree was now. Went home to the pissed-off oldest brother who’d been up all night, worrying about them.
Damned (SOBs Book 4) Page 24