“By the way, I like the new identity you created. Pretty innocuous. Would have worked too, if you hadn’t used the credit card we created for Henry Styles three years ago. Even though money gets pulled straight from your corporation, it still pings me. Once I saw the two tickets to Nur-Sultan, you were busted.”
“I didn’t use Henry Styles’ credit card, I transferred over to Raymond Lloyd,” Clint protested.
“Yeah, but you just did it two days ago. Sorry, Buster, if you don’t think that’s going to ring alarm bells, you have another think coming.”
That’s my woman, nothing gets by her.
“Otherwise, it was a perfect alias. Without that, I could have been chasing my tail for days.”
“Enough sucking-up, Lydia, give us the code that Diamond gave you,” Drake said harshly. “The sooner Clint can get into the little prick’s WhatsApp account, the sooner we can get the hell out of Kazakhstan.”
“And Clint back in rehab,” Lydia said with relief in her voice. “How are you doing, Clint?”
“I’ve been fine so far, in my opinion. Drake, what do you think?”
“He’s been on-point on everything, Lydia. I’d definitely choose to have him watching my back any day of the week.”
Clint smiled.
“That’s really good to hear. Clint, I’ll send the code to your new alias using our normal secure channels, then send me the account name of who you’re trying to hack. Let’s work in conjunction with one another. While you’re viewing his account’s texts, I will too. We can exchange notes in the morning. Don’t burn yourself out—if you end up setting yourself back, I’m going to kill you myself. Got it?”
Clint was grinning again. “Got it.”
“And stop grinning. I’m serious.”
Clint laughed. “I love you, Lydia. I should be back in two days. This shouldn’t take long at all.”
21
Derwood’s voice sounded tinny over the WhatsApp program. It came into the burner phone where it had taken Clint three-and-a-half hours to download the code so he could unscramble and record the conversation.
“I’ve got a mission for you, Avery,” Deadwood laughed. “That’s what you big bad SEALs call it, right? A mission.”
Clint had been right; he didn’t like the little shit. He didn’t remember him from Syria, though he’d been hoping he would.
“Cut the crap and tell me what you want.”
“I need two men killed.”
Drake’s head jerked up and he stared at Clint. Why hadn’t he considered that? Why hadn’t Drake for that matter?
“I’m not an assassin.”
“Bullshit, all you special operations guys are nothing but trained killers. It was a one-off that you rescued us. Your gig is murder, pure and simple. You don’t have a heart. They find men with psychopathic leanings, then they train you. I’ve read things.”
What the hell?
“I’m not going to kill anyone for you,” Drake said emphatically.
“That’s too bad. Your wife and kids are going to miss you when you end up in jail. Or do you go to jail? Is it a military prison? Didn’t look that up. I’ll be there testifying about how you tried to throw me under a tank in Syria.”
“The woman and cameraman who were with us will vouch for me.”
“No, they won’t. I have the goods on them too. They won’t walk one step out of line.”
“What do you mean you—”
“Enough! I’m the one with all the cards. You don’t get to ask questions. Now, I’m going to tell you the names of the two bankers I need killed. I don’t care how you get it done, as long as it happens within the next three days.”
Drake sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. There was a hint of a smile on his face. Mr. Bullshitter was about to take center stage. “Three days, two hits. That doesn’t allow me to set it up so I get out of here alive. I’m not up for a suicide mission. I need five days at minimum.”
“You get three.”
“Seems to me, Deadwood Weasel-Dick, I’m holding the cards on this one. If you need these guys killed, I’m your only game in town. I’ll get it done in five,” Drake chuckled.
“My name is Devon Cron,” the little toad spit out. “You will treat me with respect. I work for a United States senator, and he’s going places.”
“What are the names of the marks? What information do you have for me?”
“Their names are Amir Omarov and Zangar Boyko. They are vice presidents at the Sultana Asianic Investment Bank. They are brothers-in-law, so it is possible you will find them out together with their wives.”
“Why do you want them dead?” Drake asked easily.
“That’s none of your business,” Devon said sharply.
“Actually, it is. It will tell me if whatever they did is common, and how many people might be gunning for them, and how many bodyguards they might have.”
“Assume a shit-ton, these are slimy motherfuckers. There have to be dozens of people looking to get revenge on them.”
“Can you name any?”
“No, I can’t name any,” Devon said sarcastically. “Just get the job done. I’ll check in tomorrow night on your progress.”
The line went dead.
Drake rubbed his hands together. “I knew if I called him Deadwood Weasel-Dick he’d be forced to correct me. We got him admitting his name. It’s beautiful.”
“I’d say so. Now, for making contact with Amir and Zangar, that’s going to be tough with all the bodyguards.”
“How about an appointment at the bank?” Drake asked. “I like the simple, straight-forward approach.”
Clint gave out a pained laugh. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“You all right?”
“Fuck, Drake, I overdid,” Clint said as he began to rub his temples. “We needed to get the code downloaded onto the phone before the call, but it did me in. I need a pill, a bed, and someplace dark to lie down.”
His mouth tasted like bile. Please God, don’t say I’m going to throw up.
“You look like shit. Can you make it into the bedroom on your own steam?”
Clint rolled his eyes, then stumbled as he tried to get out of the chair that he’d been sitting in for four hours.
“Steady there, little buddy. Let me help.”
“I fucked up, Drake.” His own voice sounded far away. God, this headache was going to be a doozy.
“You did good, man, you kept it together ’til the end. As far as I’m concerned, you did your job and you came out smelling like a rose.” Drake was helping him up off the chair before he slipped out of it. “I’m getting you to bed. Migraine, right?”
Clint nodded, and a burning spear went through his right temple. He couldn’t help the groan. “Pill,” he damn near whimpered. Fuck, he hated this.
“Bed, lights out, then pill.”
“Must be like Syria all over again, you having to damn near carry my ass around,” Clint tried to chuckle.
“Nah, this time you have some of your own steam, last time you were dead weight. Big difference.”
Clint opened his eyes. Great, there were now two Drake Averys, just what he needed in his life. The room was dim, but even the little bit of light that was coming through the blinds killed his eyes. Drake noticed and pulled down the blackout curtain.
“Better?” he asked.
“Yes,” Clint said in a pathetic voice, but it was the best he could do.
“I’m getting you a pill and some water. Where are they?”
“Shaving kit.”
Both Drakes disappeared.
Dammit, he needed to dig deeper on Devon’s WhatsApp account. He didn’t have time for this shit. At least he had sent the decoded account to Lydia before he decided to play the victim. He tried to lift himself up on his elbows, but now it wasn’t just a spear, it was a spiked ball and chain, continually wrapping around his head, the spikes digging in. Even closing his eyes, he could see the code, and then the spiked ball wo
uld land on his eyeballs.
“God, man, I could hear your groans from the living room.” Drake lifted his head, and then Clint could hear himself groan. Drake put the pill on his tongue and lifted the bottle of water to his mouth. Clint knew that soon the pain would be behind him.
“Thanks,” he husked out.
“You can’t be doing code like that. I should have stopped you.” Drake sounded disgusted.
“Necessary.”
Drake’s sigh said he knew it was, too. “Get some sleep.”
Clint felt like he had been hit by a Mac truck when he woke up. He staggered to the bathroom and threw up. He picked up his toothbrush and spent four minutes brushing his teeth. While brushing he started replaying last night’s events.
Eventually, he began feeling human again. The residual head pounding remained, but he could think again, which was a blessing. He looked at his watch and saw that it was eleven a.m. local time.
“Okay, let’s see what trouble Drake’s gotten into now.”
He opened the door to the suite’s adjoining living room. Drake was talking to someone on his phone.
“Can you really pull that off?” Drake asked.
He then had to pull the phone away from his ear.
“Okay, okay, my mistake for doubting your abilities. I’m sorry, my goddess of all things tech.”
I knew it.
Clint stormed in, his feet hitting the carpet hard so he could be heard. Not a good idea for his hurting head.
“Give me the phone, Drake.”
Drake held it to his chest. “I’m not sure Lydia wants to talk to you if you have a stick up your ass.”
“Don’t make me fight for it. Or you’ll end up on your ass.” Clint was in the mood to knock Drake into next week.
Where is this coming from?
Drake put the phone back up to his ear. “Do you want to talk to someone named Clint Archer?” he asked. “I wouldn’t recommend it, it looks like he got up on the wrong side of the bed.” Clint loomed over Drake furiously while he listened to the phone.
“Nope, she doesn’t want to talk to you,” he grinned up at Clint.
Clint grabbed the phone. “Lydia, what in the hell are you doing talking to Drake and not to me?”
“Drake told me how badly you were hurting yesterday. It sounded like you needed at least twenty-four hours of sleep. Seriously, Clint, why didn’t you have me do that coding?”
“Don’t you have a real job to do?” he asked sarcastically.
“Half the time I work from home, they don’t care when I do my work, just so long as I get it done,” Lydia responded patiently. It was like she was talking down to him. He didn’t like it.
“Back off, Lydia, if I’d needed your help, I would have asked for it.”
He heard her suck in her breath. Good, he’d scored a point. He didn’t need her butting in on his shit.
Clint winced when Drake straight-armed him into the chest and yanked the phone out of his hand. “Way to be a dick.”
“Just stating the truth,” Clint snarled. “I—”
“Shut it.” Drake’s look was menacing. “Shut your goddamn mouth.”
“Lydia,” Drake started as he spoke into the phone. He listened for a minute. “No, I don’t think it’s wise to put it on speaker.” Drake was quiet for a bit longer, then he set down the phone on the coffee table and pressed the speaker button.
“Clint, can you hear me?” Lydia asked. This time she didn’t sound helpful and accommodating—this time she sounded pissed.
“Yes,” he answered succinctly.
“I gave you shit about your op, but when we last talked, you were Dr. Jekyll; aka reasonable, smart, not a halfwit. Today I find out that you did the exact damn thing the doctors told you would push back your recovery. And for what? Male pride? I could have done that same damn hack remotely. You’re halfway through the program and you’re going to fuck things up now?” she demanded incredulously.
Clint sucked in a deep breath through his teeth. He tried to get his thoughts together because they were scattered all over like dropped pennies. Lydia was on his side. She was trying to help. This was part of the TBI, he needed to take his over-the-top emotions out of the equation.
“For real, Lydia, and I’m serious. Which of us can do that kind of hack faster, you or me? Hands down, every time, it’s me, and you know it. We were under the gun, I had no choice. We needed that call recorded. The second the call was done and I’d cracked the account, I sent you all the information so you could take it from there. I’m not a fucking idiot!”
Way to keep it cool. I’m a fucking idiot.
“I didn’t say you were,” she damn near hollered back at him.
“It sounded like it,” Clint sighed.
“Take it down a notch, children,” Drake said as he put his hand on Clint’s shoulder. His immediate instinct was to shove it off, but he held it together and stepped away instead.
“Lydia, would you kindly share with the class what you found when you went through Dick-weasel’s WhatsApp chats.”
“Well first, he doesn’t just use it for business. He uses it for his personal life too. And I just want to say ick. Ick. Ick. And ick with sprinkles on top.”
Clint took a deep breath and sat down on the couch and forced a smile. “Sprinkles? No peanuts?”
“Oh hell, yeah, it was a whole banana split. This is where he talks to women after finding them on Tinder. It took me an entire hour to weed through that swamp. Then I got down to business, to find out all the different little endeavors our boy was involved in. He’s been busy.”
“Doing what?” Drake asked.
“He’s not just working for the senator, he’s playing footsy with a congressman across party lines. I guess it doesn’t matter who he’s in bed with as long as the money’s good.”
“Yeah, but doing what?” Drake asked again.
“He’s the go-between,” Lydia finally answered. “All of these guys have inside information, and there are a few rotten apples who want to make a little inside cash on this knowledge. Devon is more than happy to facilitate this.”
“So what did he and the senator cook up, and how did it relate to Syria?” Clint wanted to know.
“I don’t think it had anything to do with Syria. According to Devon, the Syria stunt was just Leonard’s way of getting votes back home. Nope, this thing he has going in Kazakhstan is all about making money based on some inside knowledge he has about tariffs.”
“So why does he want people in Kazakhstan killed if they’re working on a profitable deal?” Drake wanted to know.
“It’s not so profitable anymore. The tariffs weren’t lifted, so the senator is standing there with his dick in his hand looking like an idiot, unable to deliver. These guys in Kazakhstan want the payoff they were promised. Hence the reason Drake was so subtly recruited.”
“Oh, it was subtle all right,” Drake agreed sarcastically. “By the way, Lydia, I can tell you’ve been working with cops a long time, with all that colorful language.”
Clint laughed. “It’s okay, I’ve seen her with the other Midnight Delta women. She’s all angelic with them.”
Lydia snorted.
“So what were you all talking about when I first got up and made an ass out of myself?” Clint pushed his fingers through his hair. Even that still hurt his head a little bit.
“She got info on our targets. Amir Omarov and Zangar Boyko and she confirmed they really are vice presidents at the Sultana Asianic Investment Bank here in Nur-Sultan. They’re the real deal, right Lydia?” Drake asked.
“Yeppers. They’re the equivalent of Russian oligarchs, on their way to being billionaires. If they could count the money in shadow accounts, they would actually be considered billionaires.”
Clint looked over at Drake. “These are not going to be easy men to get close to.”
“But your woman has an idea.”
Clint grinned naturally this time. “Should have known.”
“Lydia says she can have fake profiles made up for us by tomorrow, so that Amir and Zangar will want to meet with us. We’re going to be Americans representing large crude reserves who have a plan of diverting the crude out of the US.”
“Lydia?” Clint questioned. “What in the hell idea have you come up with? Because you know big American oil is only allowed to sell within the US or Mexico. They’ve been pissed about that for years.”
“You tell them that after you have some assurances on their end that they would be interested in doing business with you, then you would explain how it could be done. Baby them along, you don’t have to have a plan. But this gives you an in to find out what they have on Devon and the senator. See if you can offer your deal in exchange for information or something. What you need is that information so you have the leverage to twist Devon.”
Clint sat back farther in his chair, processing what Lydia had just said.
“This is good, it has real possibilities, Lyd,” Clint finally said.
“Hey, Lydia, Dr. Jekyll is back with us. Mr. Hyde seems to have taken a powder,” Drake grinned.
“Can I talk to her?” Clint asked as he held out his hand for the phone.
“Depends. Are you going to be nice?” There was no teasing in Drake’s voice. He was dead serious.
Clint met the man’s gaze and gave him a solemn nod.
“Lydia, I need help,” were the first words out of Clint’s mouth when he took the phone into his bedroom.
“Sure, what do you need me to do?” she asked briskly.
“No, not that. It sounds like you have us covered right now. I mean I need help. I need to be in the Palm Desert, I get that. I won’t fuck up again while I’m here, Drake’s life is on the line.”
“And yours.”
He nodded. “And mine.”
When she didn’t say anything he continued. “Seriously, Lydia, those were extreme circumstances last night, otherwise we could have split the work and I would have stopped well before the headache point. If I’d done that, I wouldn’t have been such an asshole this morning.”
Her Unbroken Seal: A Navy Seal Romance Page 16