by Brad Taylor
“He’s still in front of the convent, but he’s not window shopping. He’s walking with a purpose. We’re behind him now.”
Off the net, to Jennifer, I said, “I can’t see when to get him. Get outside and trigger.”
She said, “Pike, think about this. We have no planning in place. No exfil, no security, no nothing. You’re standing in an abandoned amphitheater we found six minutes ago.”
I said, “No time. This may be our best bet. Get out and let me know when to execute. I won’t be able to see him until he’s abreast of the door, and by then it’ll be too late.”
“Pike—”
I cut her off with a snarl, “Just do it!”
She slitted her eyes and didn’t move. Feeling the press of time, I wanted to snap at her again, but I knew that wouldn’t work. I settled for logic, saying, “Jennifer, this is our best chance. Don’t think about Kurt. Think about Knuckles.”
She shook her head and started walking back to the street. She didn’t even turn around when she reached the door, letting me know she’d accomplish the mission, but not liking where I was headed.
I’d be lying if I said it didn’t have an effect. I had been fully planning on killing this guy once I wrung him out, but now I wasn’t so sure. I had the same problem I had in Charleston—namely, killing him in a fight was one thing, but putting a bullet in his head after I had him under control was another. It was a cut line with Jennifer, and I understood it.
Even though I knew he deserved to die.
Jennifer came on the net, saying, “I have him in sight. About forty seconds. Carrie, you close?”
Shoshana said, “Right behind him. Keeping to the side. You’ll see me when he breaks past the alley from the convent.”
Aaron said, “Two pedestrians coming up the alley. They might break the plane of the street in view of the kill zone.”
I said, “Interdict them. Ask them questions. Act like a tourist.”
“Roger. Moving.”
Shoshana said, “Two more coming out of a shop. Directly to my front.”
Shit. I thought about just letting him go. And then thought about Knuckles, stuck on a ferry with a beacon he trusted. Knowing I was going to move heaven and earth to get him free.
I said, “Koko, distance?”
“Twenty seconds. I have Carrie’s targets. They’re moving the other way. Backs to us now.”
And I felt a surge of energy. If Jennifer had wanted to stop this assault, she wouldn’t have made that call. She was intentionally letting me know it was clear. Because she trusted me.
I heard “Ten seconds,” and sidled to the doorway, keeping just inside the gloom.
“Five seconds.”
I started to pant, feeling the adrenaline rise.
“Execute.”
I stepped out of the door and saw Snaggletooth engaging Jennifer across the small street, his back to me. I reached out, grabbed the top of his jacket with my right hand, his belt with my left, and ripped him backward through the door, flinging him into the concrete wall.
He bounced off it hard, landing on his back, but to his credit, he didn’t act like an ordinary civilian would, collapsing in total shock. He raised his legs up and rotated his back on the ground like a turtle, seeking the threat.
He found it.
I leapt on him while he was still dazed from the wall, batting his legs aside and locking up his arm, rotating around and jerking forward until he was on his knees, his hand upturned in front of him, the palm facing his nose.
I pressed forward and he screamed. I let up and said, “Stand the fuck up. Slowly.”
He did so, finally looking at me. I saw no recognition.
So these assholes down here don’t have the target package from Charleston. Or I’m making a big mistake.
I said, “You speak English?”
He shook his head no.
I said, “Portuguese?”
He just looked at me. Jennifer entered the hallway, then Shoshana. I said, “Where’s Aaron?”
Shoshana took in what was happening, then glanced my way. She said, “He’s on the way, Nephilim.”
She used my given name as a spear to let me know she thought like Jennifer, and I’d lost my mind. As if anything I did could compare to her crazy ass.
I said, “Lock down the door,” then turned to Snaggletooth saying, “He and I need to talk.”
Jennifer looked at Shoshana, and they seemed to agree on something. They went to the door, protecting me.
I turned to my target and said, “Look, I know you speak English. I know you’re Russian. I know you work for Wagner, and I know you tried to have me killed, but you killed my friend instead.”
At that, I finally saw recognition dawn. It brought a spasm of rage, me wanting to break his fucking neck right then. He was complicit, and he would pay the price.
He saw the change in me, and I recognized the fear. Which was good.
Aaron entered the little hallway, speaking Hebrew. Shoshana answered him, and I had no idea what they’d said, but I couldn’t let my target know that. Showing confusion to him was showing him a way out.
I glared at Aaron, and he went to English, saying, “We can’t stay here forever. I suggest letting Shoshana do the interrogation.”
I thought about it, then nodded. Shoshana had a weird ability with people. Not only was she just plain scary, but she was also a trained interrogator. A skill that was more useful than my bashing about, because within three questions, I was liable to just slaughter him out of pure malice. I needed information, and I wasn’t sure I had the ability to listen to the answers to get it. The beast inside of me was breaking through the bars.
I said, “Check that door behind you.”
He did, and it was a small closet, about eight feet deep. I turned to Snaggletooth and said, “Look, you have one chance here, unlike my friend you murdered. You can tell us what you know about that ferry in the harbor, or you can die.”
He locked eyes with me and said, “You and I are in the same profession. There is no reason to lie to me. I am dead. You know it, and I know it.”
I said, “Your death will be up to you.” I waved my hand and said, “He’s all yours, Shoshana. No reason to be easy on him, since he’s sure he’s going to die anyway.”
I saw her turn to him, the dark angel coming out, giving him the full force of her unearthly wrath, and he shrank back. She took his wrist from me, rotated him around, and kicked him into the closet. Aaron followed behind, his gun drawn, saying, “We’ll be but a minute.”
Jennifer hissed from the doorway. I went to her and she said, “We don’t have a lot of time here. The longer we stay, the more the chance of compromise.”
I said, “I know. It’ll be okay. Just keep eyes out on the street.”
Shoshana came out of the little room, floating her weird gaze over me. She said, “How much pressure do you want me to use?”
I said, “I don’t give a shit. Faster is better than slower, put it that way. I need to know what they’ve got on that ferry. What their plan is. How long do we have.”
She looked at Jennifer, then back at me. She said, “And when I’m done? I’ll get the information, but then what?”
I said, “Just get the information. We’ll worry about exfil afterward.”
Shoshana left the hallway, and I felt Jennifer’s eyes on me. An awkward silence followed. Finally, Jennifer broke it, saying, “You can’t kill this guy in cold blood. Let me get him out of here.”
Exasperated, I said, “Where, Jenn? Where are we going to take him? Our hotel room? We have no Taskforce assets, and we sure as shit can’t let him go free.”
I saw her eyes grow cold. She said, “So you are going to kill him. And I set him up for that.”
I said, “This is about Knuckles and Brett, not about him.”
She said, “It’s about you. You alone.”
Shoshana came out, interrupting us, Aaron dragging our target out behind her. He had a little blood
running from his ear onto his shirt but otherwise didn’t look the worse for wear.
She read the situation, but ignored it, saying, “I have the information. They haven’t engendered the ferry heist. It’s truly a hostage situation, but they have controlled the outcome. They have a policeman in their pocket who’s going to make sure the ‘rescue’ goes bad, killing everyone on board.”
I took that in, saying, “Okay, who’s the policeman? How do we get to him?”
“He’s the man in charge of the entire assault. Apparently, it’s going down tonight.”
“What do they have? Are they paying him? What’s the control?”
“They have his wife and daughter.”
Which caused the beast to slither inside of me. I cocked my head and closed my eyes, not wanting it to take over. Jennifer saw the reaction and said, “Pike . . . Pike . . . this isn’t about your family.”
I snapped my head up and snarled, “You fucking think that makes it right?”
She recoiled, and Shoshana approached me, getting in my face.
She said, “No, she doesn’t think that makes it right. But you could make it wrong. I will do what you ask, but you’d better make sure in your heart.”
A shadow blotted out the light from the door, and five youths entered, all of them between eighteen and twenty, laughing and joking. They saw us and stopped. One look at them and I knew they weren’t in a Boy Scout troop.
Chapter 32
The lead man took in our situation, seeing a guy on the ground, his face a little battered, a string of blood running onto his shirt, his hands flex-tied to his front, and said something in Portuguese.
Shit. This just went bad.
I glanced at Jennifer, telling her in one look to get ready. She gave me a long blink, telling me she understood. I stepped in his path and said, “Sorry, no habla.”
He smiled and turned around to his friends, saying something else in Portuguese. They laughed, and then advanced. He looked at me and, in broken English, said, “You doing something wrong here?”
I said, “No. You misunderstand.”
He pointed at Snaggletooth and said, “What do I misunderstand?”
He turned to our target and said, “Would you like some help?”
Snaggletooth said, “Yes, yes, please. They’ve kidnapped me.”
Aaron shoved him to the ground, and I said, “Look, we don’t want any trouble. We have a disagreement with this man. That’s all. I’m sure you have the same problems all the time.”
The leader turned to me and said, “Well, maybe we all have a disagreement. You understand?”
He held out his hand, rubbing his fingers together, asking for a bribe. Shoshana approached, and I looked at Jennifer, then the ceiling, knowing what was coming.
She said, “Get out of here. Now.”
He said, “Get out? This is my area. You—”
And that was all he was able to say before she ripped his legs out from under him, slamming him to the ground. Aaron jumped forward, pinning the man to the left against the wall, Jennifer closed on the man to the right, and I thought, Jesus Christ. Can’t anything be easy?
Two of the men fled at that point, leaving the rest under our control. Shoshana leaned over the leader, getting in his face and saying, “You will leave here right now, if you want to live.”
In our focus on the threat, the one thing we’d forgotten was our target. I stalked to the guy who looked like the second in command, the one Aaron had pinned, and caught a flash of movement. I whirled, and Snaggletooth sprinted by me, right out the open door.
In an instant, I realized our mission was about to be compromised. If that guy got free, Knuckles was dead. I turned to Jennifer and said, “On me,” then whirled back to Aaron, saying, “You got this.”
Shoshana squinted her eyes at me and I said, “They’re all yours,” then raced out the door, chasing down a guy who could eliminate any chance of saving Knuckles.
I entered the street, heard Jennifer fall in behind me, and looked left and right. I saw our target running flat out away from the church. I took off after him, the sparse pedestrians glancing at us and jumping back. He wove down the cobblestone streets, dodging pedestrians, and I slowly gained.
I heard Jennifer’s feet behind me, keeping pace. She was just as fast as I was, but I was wishing it were Brett behind me. That man was a freak on foot, and we’d have this guy in a bag within a block. But that wasn’t going to happen, because he was currently captured on a ferry, about to die, and the man I was chasing was going to cause it.
He glanced back, saw us getting closer, and dodged into a new alley, sprinting flat out. We followed, closing the gap to fifty feet. He kept going and burst out into a square, the expanse of space covered with some type of drum troop, all of them banging away and dancing. On the far side of the square was a cardboard cutout of Michael Jackson plastered to a balcony, an open door beneath with a string of T-shirts for sale with his image.
He dodged through the drummers, the men jumping left and right trying to avoid him, and we followed, closing to twenty feet. He glanced our way, saw us gaining, and a drummer stuck his foot out, tripping him. He hammered the cobblestone, skidding forward in front of the open door with the Michael Jackson memorabilia.
I snatched him off the ground and piled into the door, finding myself inside some sort of exhibit. I saw a black man on a stool, looking at me in shock, a stairway behind him. I said, “I’m with the American FBI. This man is a criminal.”
Snaggletooth started to fight me, and I punched him in the nose, then dragged him behind the man and up the steps to an open room, flopping him on the ground.
Jennifer reached me and said, “What the hell do we do now?”
The black man ran up the steps, saw us, and said, “You didn’t pay.”
It was surreal. I had a guy at my feet with his hands cuffed and blood on his collar, and this guy was asking for money? I said, “Pay for what?”
“Pay for the picture.”
I looked at Jennifer and she said, “This was the location for a Michael Jackson video. This man’s house was used. He makes money now by tourists taking pictures.”
I shook my head and said, “You have to be shitting me. Switzerland with Queen and now this? Is there any country we go to that doesn’t have a rock star?”
She grinned and said, “Not yet,” then turned to the man and said, “Yes. Sorry. We’re going to need quite a few pictures.” She held out a wad of cash—more than he would make in a month—and said, “Will this work? Can you keep anyone else out while we take them?”
He saw the money, grinned, and said, “Yes, yes. That will work. I’ll keep people away.”
He disappeared, and Jennifer looked at me. “Now what?”
I honestly didn’t know. The target looked at me as well, waiting. I could kill him now, which is what I wanted to do. Maybe. I wasn’t sure. I hated him, no doubt, but it no longer rose to the level of murder. And I thought I had a way out. Something to solve the problem of keeping him off the street while not killing him. But it would take a bit of work.
I called Shoshana, “Carrie, Carrie, you there?”
I got back “Yes.”
“Status?”
“We’re good here. Location?”
I gave it to her, then said, “Don’t come here right away. Go get your vehicle. I want to transport this guy somewhere else.”
Jennifer watched me, but said nothing.
Shoshana said, “Roger all. Do we need a place outside the city?”
Meaning, do we need a place to dump a body. Jennifer heard it and slowly shook her head.
I looked at her and said into the radio, “No. You said they had control over this guy through the police, right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’d like to turn him over to the police. All I need is a vehicle.”
I saw Jennifer’s eyes open wide, taking in my words. She had been sure I was going to kill him. And I really wanted to.
But she was right.
I thumped Snaggletooth on the head, bouncing it into the floor, saying, “This fuck doesn’t control me. Only you can do that.”
I saw the relief wash across her face like a wave, and she said, “What did you mean with Shoshana? About the police?”
I said, “It’s the longest of long shots. But it’s worth pulling the trigger, and might just be the key to saving this shit show.”
She said, “What’re we doing?”
I smiled. “Turning him over to the police.”
She looked at me like I was crazy, and I probably was.
I dialed my phone, calling George Wolffe.
Chapter 33
In no particular hurry, George Wolffe let the other passengers flow around him, all anxious to get out of the Charleston International Airport. Having a carry-on, he went straight to the car rental counter.
He got his keys, then walked out the door to the rental lot, checking his watch to make sure he wasn’t going to be late. He unlocked a late-model Hyundai Sonata, threw his suitcase in the trunk, then felt his phone vibrate.
Seacrest.
He pulled out his Taskforce phone and saw a blocked number. He answered, saying, “Hey, bud. Being the president’s son doesn’t mean I’m at your beck and call. You still work for me.”
He heard, “What?”
“Who is this?”
“It’s Pike, and I need some help.”
Wolffe was momentarily confused. He said, “Pike?”
“Yeah. Why would you think I’m Veep?”
Wolffe laughed and said, “I just landed in Charleston. I’m meeting him for dinner.”
Wolffe heard the same confusion through the phone that he’d felt. “Why on earth are you in Charleston? What’s going on?”
Wolffe told him of the Oversight Council meeting, ending with, “. . . it seems getting me out of the district was the best course of action. You know how it is. Hide until it blows over.”
Pike said, “This isn’t going to blow over. That asshole is getting a feed from the Russians. This isn’t random.”