by Brad Taylor
“Okay, sir. I’m on the way. I’ll have Pushka replace the weapons and follow.”
Nikita said, “Good. Get here without any more theatrics.”
Alek glanced out the sliding door, seeing the police wrap up the body, and said, “I’m not the one creating drama.”
Chapter 66
We gathered in my room, taking stock. Brett said, “They know we’re here. They have to know. There’s a dead guy on the hotel grounds. A guy who had a key to their room. We need to vacate this hotel before they start to look.”
Aaron said, “They know he was killed, but they don’t know why. You left the money. It has to make them guess. We have time to figure it out.”
I let them talk, then called downstairs, “Knuckles, what do you have?”
“A lot of police, and nothing else. Targets are still in the room.”
I looked at my assembled team and said, “I agree with Brett. We need to get out of here. We’ve got the bugs in place, and they’re feeding to the Taskforce, but I don’t even know if anyone is listening. This ended up a mess, but staying here is asking to make it worse.”
Jennifer whipped her head to me, and I spoke directly to her, “You didn’t cause this. You did what was right, but we need to go.”
Knuckles kicked in on the net, saying, “I’ve got beacon boy. He’s leaving the hotel.”
I snapped upright at the call, saying, “To a vehicle?”
“I don’t know. I’m on him.”
Then, “Yes, he’s in the minivan. He’s gone.”
“By himself?”
“Yep.”
Shit. This was falling apart faster than I even expected. I dialed up Creed on my phone. He answered and I said, “What do you have? What did they say?”
“Pike, I don’t have a Russian linguist here. I’ve got about six minutes of audio, and all I heard was Rio de Janeiro. And I’m not even sure that’s right.”
I said, “I need that audio. Right fucking now.”
He came back, and I could feel the embarrassment through his voice, not liking letting me down. “Pike, I just can’t. I don’t speak Russian, and I’m not even supposed to be doing this. I can’t help.”
I retreated. It wasn’t his fault things were going south. I said, “Hey, sorry. That was uncalled for. Get it to me when you can. I have to go.”
I looked at the people in the room and said, “This just got real. We have one guy left, and no intel from the Taskforce. Creed thinks they’re headed to Rio, but that’s even shaky. We need to roll up the guy who’s still here before we lose him as well. Kit up. We’re going to his room.”
For a split second there was stillness in the room, everyone realizing I’d just ordered a hit. There was no self-defense rationale. No one to rescue, no one being threatened. We were going on the offense, and we had no sanction.
I said, “Anyone got a problem with that?”
And the room turned into a beehive of activity, everyone kitting up for the inevitable, jamming bullets into magazines and slapping gear into pockets. In the middle of it, Knuckles called, saying, “The other guy just exited.”
The room stopped movement, and I said, “Where?”
“I have no idea, but he’s leaving the hotel. He’s carrying the two guitar cases.”
I thought, He’s putting them back. And then he’s gone.
On the net, I said, “Get on him. We’re taking him down.”
I heard, “Taking him down?”
I said, “You heard me.”
While I’m sure he was wondering if I’d lost my mind, all he said back was, “Roger all. On him.”
I sprinted to the door, saying, “Jennifer, on me. Everyone else, when we exit the hotel, fan out. Give me a mobile box. Don’t let this fuck get away.”
I exited without even seeing if they agreed, running down the hallway to the stairs. I reached the restaurant and sprinted through it, bouncing down to the exit on the front patio. I slammed onto the ground floor, seeing two couples drinking cocktails and looking at me like I was insane. I ignored them, sprinting past the wall of the hotel entrance and calling Knuckles.
“Give me a lock on.”
“He’s walking to the front of the opera house. Still has both guitar cases.”
Panting as I ran, I said, “He’s going back to the place where he picked up those cases.”
Knuckles said, “The opera house is active for a show, and I’m about to lose him. This place is crawling with people.”
And I saw he was right. I entered the square, Jennifer right behind me, and we were immediately stonewalled by a throng of people. There was an outdoor stage with a band, vendors selling popcorn and glow sticks, and a mass of humanity.
I said, “Knuckles, you have the eye?”
He said, “No. I lost him. He’s in here somewhere.”
Aaron came on, saying, “We have the top. If he comes to the front of the opera house, we have him.”
I began moving to the stairs, believing I knew where he was headed. I said, “Good to go. You find him, take him out, but not permanently. We need answers.”
Shoshana said, “So I can’t kill him?”
I grinned, knowing she was tweaking me. I said, “We’ll kill him later.”
Moving through the crowd, parting the people left and right, Jennifer heard what I said and looked at me. I caught the stare and said, “I’m just kidding. You and Shoshana take everything too seriously.”
Doing a double step to keep up with my pace, she said, “I never know with you.”
I said, “Well, now you know. I promised Shoshana.”
She heard the words and jerked her head to me, saying, “What? Wait a minute, what did she say to you in the room?”
I kept walking, saying, “You made me go talk to her. Don’t tell me you aren’t in cahoots with her. I promised I wouldn’t murder anyone, and I’ll keep that promise.”
We reached the stairs for the opera house and I keyed the radio, saying, “Knuckles, Knuckles, what’s the status?”
“He’s unsighted. I lost him in the crowd.”
I stared hard at the alcove between the stairs and saw a shadow threading through the crowd, the two guitar cases standing out. I said, “I have the eye. We’re moving in.”
I turned to Jennifer and said, “You ready?”
She nodded her head, her eyes wide, the adrenaline flowing. I grinned and said, “Looks like you’re ready. Let’s go get some.”
I keyed my radio and said, “We’re taking him down. Knuckles, I need you to close the back door. Don’t let anyone access the tunnel. Blood, get our vehicle and stage it on the square. Carrie, Aaron, stay up top and give me early warning of any police response. All elements, acknowledge.”
I saw the target enter the alcove and heard my team repeat my commands, one after another. I threaded through the crowd, getting up to the wall, right next to the tunnel. Jennifer slammed into the brick next to me like she was in a television cop show, much harsher than was necessary. I looked at her and said, “You good?”
She nodded, and I saw her breath coming in and out, like a dog panting. I said, “Easy, easy. He can’t shoot back. I’ll take him down. You cover him. Okay?”
She nodded her head fiercely and said, “Let’s go.”
I entered the tunnel, seeing blackness in front of me but a dim glow at the very back from the lighting of the stage above. I saw a shadow break across the illumination and knew our target was still inside. I began moving, Jennifer to my right, both of us trying to remain quiet, and then my world was split apart.
Chapter 67
Gunfire blasted to my front, splashing the darkness like a mistimed flash from a smartphone. I slammed my body against the wall, screamed at Jennifer to take cover, and it boomed again, the explosion of the rounds elevated by the tunnel, slapping my ears. I drew my weapon and fired back spastically, trying to get him to quit.
I had no idea how he knew we were behind him, but now we were in a killing field. A tunne
l. The worst place on earth to be in a gunfight. If aimed rounds missed you, the ricochets would finish the job. This one was so narrow that two men could stretch out their hands and touch the walls, with a ceiling that was only inches above my head. Made of rough brick, it created a funnel of death. I dropped to the ground and whipped my head to Jennifer. She was on a knee, pressed against the wall, fear on her face, her weapon out and extended. I saw a bullet strike her in the chest. It lifted her up for a moment, and then she collapsed into herself and folded onto the floor.
In a firefight, there was one rule: eliminate the threat before treating the ones hit. I had adhered to that maxim my entire military career, but when Jennifer went down, I broke it. I launched myself across the tunnel, landed next to her, and saw her eyes open and slack, fluttering up and down. The bullets kept coming, and I lost my mind.
I leapt up and began shooting, putting down suppressive fire just to keep the enemy at bay. It worked. The return fire slacked off and I started running. I keyed the radio, and in a disembodied voice said, “Koko is down. I say again, Koko is down. I’m in pursuit.”
The radio came alive, the chatter erupting, but I ignored it all, the beast inside me exploding. A rage filling the narrow space. The bullets kept ripping by my head but I knew they wouldn’t find me. I had a mission now.
I saw a light at the end of the tunnel, then the man who’d killed my partner, a look of absolute shock on his face that I was still coming. He lined up his rifle and shot twice more, the bullets spanking the wall next to me. His weapon locked open on an empty magazine, and I kept running. Incredulous, he dropped the rifle, turned, and sprinted to a ladder, scrambling up in a panic.
I heard the theater above me, someone singing onstage, the audience clapping, and felt a coldness settle on me. The target was about to enter a public arena in an attempt to stop me from killing him, but it would do no good. Nothing would prevent me from ripping the life out of the thing that had taken Jennifer.
I followed up the ladder, exiting behind the stage, startling a multitude of people working the set pieces for the show. They looked at me in fear, and they had a reason to be afraid. I was willing to kill anyone who crossed me.
I snarled, “Where did he go?”
Three stagehands pointed to the left, and I took off running. I entered a darkened hallway and saw my target searching for a way out. I advanced on him and he held up his hands, saying, “No, no, no. I didn’t want this. I didn’t ask for this.”
I centered the dot of my holosight and said, “Yes, you did.”
He stood, waiting on the bullet, but that would be too easy.
I tossed my weapon to the floor, my rage coming forth, a bubbling mass of puss. I wanted to kill him with my bare hands, and in so doing, I sealed my fate.
I raised my fists, closed the distance, and he whipped his arm to his back, then leveled a small derringer.
In that moment, I knew I was dead, my hubris of beating the life out of him exposed as the failure it was, and the thought was debilitating. This sack of shit had managed to kill everything I held dear, and now he was going to kill me. It was unfair. A cosmic injustice.
He snarled, “Good-bye, Rambo.”
And he was engulfed in a cyclone of violence, a wraith enveloping his body. He was hammered into the wall, then slammed onto the ground hard enough to bounce his head against the stone. He desperately tried to fight back, but it was like a child trying to defeat a lion. Shoshana ended his efforts, controlling his body with a joint lock and turning his face into a mask of pain.
Kneeling on his back, she flashed her eyes at me and I saw the dark angel in all of its fury. She said, “I heard the radio call. You want this one? Or do you want me to do it?”
I felt the beast inside of me, writhing and slithering. I realized we were both in the abyss. Her eyes were locked on to mine, and I knew she wanted to kill the man below her for taking the life of someone she held dear. But she was giving deference to me.
Giving me the satisfaction.
I said, “Hold his neck up.”
She pulled his head off the ground and he said, “No! Please! I didn’t mean to kill anyone!”
I said, “Me either.”
And I kicked his throat like I was punting a football. I felt his cartilage crush and his vertebrae fracture, the crunch eminently satisfying. Shoshana dropped his head. He writhed on the ground like a worm trying to escape hot pavement. I watched it without empathy, wanting him to suffer, now swimming deeper into the blackness.
Knuckles came on the net, saying, “Blood, Blood, get the vehicle up here. I’m coming out with Koko.”
Shoshana heard the call, and I saw the same pain I felt. She said, “It wasn’t your fault.”
I said, “Yes, it was. She followed me into the tunnel. She was following me.”
She started searching the body, saying, “She was following family. You would do the same.”
Her words should have been some solace, but they weren’t. I’d managed to kill everything I’d ever touched. My wife, my daughter, Kurt Hale, and now Jennifer.
Knuckles came on the net, saying, “Pike, Carrie, we’re exfilling. What’s your status?”
I looked at Shoshana, saw the sadness, and said, “We’re inside. Target is down. We’ll meet you at the hotel. Leave the body in the vehicle. I’ll call the Taskforce about disposition.”
His next words didn’t register for a moment. “Why do you want to extract the body? Search it and be done.”
Shoshana heard me and I saw her eyes open wide, making a connection from his confusion. Not daring to believe, I said, “Koko. I’m talking about Koko.”
“What about Koko? She’s fine.”
And then I heard, “This is Koko. I cannot believe you ran off and left me.”
I sagged to my knees, unable to speak. Knuckles came back, saying, “She was wearing body armor. She’s bruised, but okay. We’re exfilling now. Do you need help?”
Grinning, her face lit up like a Christmas tree, Shoshana keyed the radio, “No. We won’t be needing any help.”
She pulled me to my feet, pointed at the dead man on the floor, and said, “We won’t talk about this little incident, okay? Don’t tell Jennifer what happened. I slipped a little bit when I heard your call.”
She smiled, looking just like a schoolgirl out on a date, the dark angel long gone, disappearing into the ether. I grinned back, the whipsaw of emotions overrunning me. I swam out of the abyss.
I said, “I won’t if you won’t.”
Chapter 68
Willow Radcliffe opened her eyes, seeing the same man sitting in a chair next to her bed, a pistol in his lap. Next to him, lying prostrate on the floor with a blanket over his face, was the head of security for her house, the blanket soaked through with blood.
So it wasn’t a dream. The last twenty-four hours had been all too real.
She’d awakened in a hospital with second-degree burns, a broken clavicle, and a punctured lung from some piece of debris that had acted like a bullet from the explosion on the ferry. None of the injuries mattered to her. All she’d cared about was her son.
She’d learned he’d suffered a concussion from being thrown off the dock, and luckily that was it. She was worried about traumatic brain injury, but there was no way to tell at this early stage. Only time would determine that.
After she’d recuperated enough, she’d demanded to leave the hospital, against the wishes of her doctors. They were concerned about her medical status, but she was more anxious about her health for a different reason. It wasn’t until she was home, surrounded with security, that she realized she’d made an enormous mistake.
She’d felt vulnerable in the hospital, knowing she’d been targeted for death on the ferry. She’d watched every orderly that entered, sleeping barely minutes at a time, only relaxing once she was pushed into her house in a wheelchair, an IV bag above her head and her own trusted nurse draining the fluid from her punctured lung.
Then
the Russians had come, walking right up to the front door in broad daylight, evading all of the security the house had in place simply by being brazen. They’d killed her two guards at the door, rushing in like they were storming the bastion of Hitler. She’d jerked upright in her bed at the gunshots, causing her wound to split, and she’d seen them kill her head of security right in front of her.
They hadn’t even bothered to remove the body. After he fell, a man had entered with a weird false eyeball, the pupil aimed up at the ceiling. He’d said, “I’m sorry for the intrusion, but we’re going to need your house for a couple of days.”
She’d curled up against the headboard and said, “Where is my son?”
He flicked his head at a man behind him, and Beau was brought into the room, running to her bed. Before he reached it, a man with a tribal art tattoo crawling up his neck snatched him in the air, holding his squealing body.
The leader remained focused on her, his weird eye staring into space, saying, “My name is Nikita, and if you behave, everything will end okay. Do you understand?”
Petrified, she’d nodded.
They’d allowed the nurse to clean her wounds, which was a small victory. She’d spent the day trembling, the man with the neck tattoo next to her bed, and eventually her body drifted off to sleep, no longer able to stave off the weariness.
When she woke up, the first thing she saw was the man with the pistol. She sat up in bed and he said, “Good morning,” as if there weren’t a dead body next to him.
She remained quiet. He said, “Don’t worry. It’ll be over soon.”
As always, her first thought was Beau. She said, “Where is my son? He has a concussion.”
“He’s fine. We understand the medical condition and want no harm to come to him.”
“I want to see him.”
Neck tattoo clicked on the radio, said something in Russian, and the weird eyeball entered, scaring her by his very presence.
“Glad to see you awake. You had the nurse worried.”