Dead Reckoning

by C. J. Snyder

  Now she had to look at him.

  “Why don’t you lie down for a while before the food comes.”

  Didn’t sound like a request. For that reason alone, she wanted to refuse. Unfortunately, she wanted away from him more. She moved through the open door to the adjoining room. The beds were back to back, ensuring that even though she left the door open at his request, they couldn’t see her as she opened her computer and plugged in an ear bud.

  Ghost watched until she disappeared into the other room and then closed his eyes with a sigh, until he heard Tron move from his seat on the bed to take the chair Mykael had vacated. He immediately bent down to look under the table, while he spoke quietly. “Haven’t found the connection between Azisi and Caldera yet, but it’s there somewhere—that footage proves it.” Tron was on his knees now, looking under the chair. He surfaced seconds later with a tiny disc, like a watch battery. He tipped his head toward Mykael’s room.

  Ghost knew his face reflected shock, but only for a moment. “Okay,” he murmured. “Can you douse it?” Tron rifled in his bag and came up with a small metal container. He unscrewed the lid, dropped the bug inside and replaced the top. “Done. As for the rest,” Tron leaned back to fetch his communicator from the bed and read: “Property owned by an LLC, owned by a corporation, owned by another LLC. Principals of that one reside in Mexico. Family name of Lucano. Birth records show a Maria Lucano, born to an illegal in Vegas. Timing seems to fit.”

  “Maria Lucano. Wonder when it changed to Mykael?”

  “Always been. Her name is Maria Ylena Katarina Angelica Elyria Lucano. Mykael.” “Interesting.”

  “Isn’t it? What’s up with you two? Haven’t seen you like this since…” Tron held up his hands in defeat. “Never.” Greg shook his head. Not going there. “What else on the fire?”

  “Translation of the audio has a mention of Cobra.”

  Cobra. Faceless, nameless, but with his finger in dozens of terrorists’ pies all over the world. He was the money man, the planner, the glue holding together isolated, tiny cells. Individually they were almost harmless. With Cobra behind them, they wreaked horror on the world. Every agent on the planet wanted Cobra.

  “So Azisi’s working with Caldera and they’re both working for Cobra?”

  “That’s what it looks like at this point.” Tron shrugged. Greg sighed. Up until now, Cobra’s contacts were all small cells, not-quite-but-close-toharmless entities. The Caldera cartel was anything but a small player. “Our little play is moving to Broadway.”

  Tron anticipated his next question. “Nothing significant from chatter at this point. I’ve got all the doors and windows open, though, and I alerted Marge at Quantico and Dawson at Langley.”

  “Good. Anything on the pictures we shot after the explosion?”

  “Ibrajim. Didn’t even try to hide.”

  “Why is Ibrajim after Mykael?”

  “That, boss, is the question of the hour.”

  “I’ve got another one.”

  Tron waited expectantly.

  “Who the hell is Ibrajim Azisi? We’ve got damn little actual Intel, given his rep.” Greg shook his head like he wanted to clear it. “Tell me about Magnum.” Tron consulted his communicator, his own creation for the team, a monument to his commitment to Black Fire. The device could have made him an instant millionaire in the open market. Using the tool, he flipped through pages of notes. “Owns four restaurants in California, working on number five. Financed by Caldera and company, though Magnum claims no prior knowledge. Says his partner took the easy way when he looked for capital to start the first restaurant. Magnum didn’t find out until his partner died a couple of months ago. The partner’s death was an obvious execution. The kid inherited a huge pile of shit.”

  In her room, Mykael nearly groaned with frustration when the two began to reference pages on their communicators. Enough was enough. If they wouldn’t let her listen in secret, she’d do it in person. “Why would you trust him?” She walked back through the adjoining doorway, trying to appear calm as she took Tron’s vacated seat on the bed. “Is he working for you?”

  Greg stared at her for a long moment, a tic pulsed along his jaw. She met his eyes coolly, determined he wouldn’t get to her again. “He came to us,” Greg said. “Offered to do whatever we wanted to bring his unwanted partners down.”

  “So he’s an informant.” “Exactly.” Tron looked relieved she understood, which explained the faint disdain she’d heard when he’d spit out the information. He obviously didn’t like Magnum. She’d bet Black Fire had hundreds, if not thousands of informants. But they weren’t members of the team “He’s more than an informant. He has other assets.” Ghost stuck up for the new kid. Mykael didn’t care.

  Ghost apparently didn’t intend to enlighten them. Fine with her. “Bring in that Ibrajim. If he’s illegally in the country it should be easy, right? If Magnum has information that links him to money laundering, the FBI can take over. No reason for Black Fire to be involved.” She glanced back at Greg. The tic still pulsed in his cheek.

  “I don’t just want Azisi. I want Cobra, too.” “The whole food chain?” There was more here than Greg was telling, something that turned his voice to granite and his eyes to ice. Something that hearkened back to the pain that ate at his soul.

  “All the way to the top.”

  “Did your genie grant you three wishes, or only the one?” Tron smiled at her jest, but Ghost didn’t. “What do you hope to get out of this Magnum?” Tron jumped back in. “We don’t know. For his security, we haven’t made further contact in person, I’ve spoken to him over the phone. I do give the boy props for bravery. If Caldera got a whiff that he’d come to us. . ..” He shook his head. “So, somebody’s got to go to San Diego. I scheduled the meet for three o’clock tomorrow afternoon. Did you figure out who’s going?”

  “Mykael and I are going.” He didn’t look at her. “Tron, you’re going to follow up on the Caldera connection. And find out who Azisi is. If he’s working for Cobra, I want to know it.” Tron nodded. A knock at the door signaled the arrival of the food and silence descended until the delivery girl was gone.

  Mykael ignored her Styrofoam bowl of soup when Tron picked up the conversation. “At your cabin, they looked at your computer. Any chance they were after info you might have?” “Info on what?” she shrugged. “Nothing important.” Mykael got to her feet, glanced from Greg, who was busy with his communicator, to Tron, who watched Greg. A plan sprang to life, settled over her like a warm blanket. “When do we leave for San Diego?”

  She was either paranoid or the undercurrents in the room were real. Either way, she wanted out, away from Greg and the disturbing emotions he evoked. She needed time alone. “We’ll take a flight in the morning.”

  “All right. Night, gentlemen.”

  Ghost watched her go, waited until the lock latched firmly on her side of the door, before he nodded to Tron. “We’ll need her other files.” Tron gave a short nod. “Figured that. Sure they weren’t destroyed in the fire?” “Positive.”

  “Then you know where they are?”

  “The cabin has a basement. Like a bomb shelter. I’ll get the coordinates from Calla. You’ll head out tonight,”

  “What’s up with the two of you?” Tron grinned. “If she bothers you, I could keep her with me.” Ghost stood up to toss the remains of his sandwich into the trash. Tron’s words rattled him, had him seeing green. He had to get control of his problem with Decoy. Either that or take himself out of the picture. Right. Like that was gonna happen. “We got off on the wrong foot,” he admitted finally.

  Tron grabbed for his communicator. Ghost, relieved by the interruption, waited while he scanned relayed information. Without taking his eyes off the small screen, Tron lifted his eyebrows. “Did you know your little brother was injured in Baja?”

  “Cole? What was he doing in Baja?”

  “Apparently the DEA knows about the Caldera/Azisi connection too. They sent in Cole’s
unit for confirmation and Intel.” “They going to share the info?”

  Tron snorted. “DEA? Doubt that.”

  Ghost smiled. “Good thing I know people.”

  Chapter Six

  Ghost left Tron standing guard over Mykael’s room and strode outside into the parking lot. There, he made certain he couldn’t be overheard and called a secure throwaway phone. Tron had sent it to Magnum two days ago, specifically for their use.

  “Can you talk?”

  “Give me five?”

  “Five.” Ghost disconnected. He and Tron had been over possible reasons for Caldera to want Mykael dead. None of them fit. Yet, he affirmed silently. None of them fit yet. The answer was out there, and she was his to protect. He sighed. Sure would be easier if he could trust her. Or if she’d at least trust him. But if she was Blade’s woman, if she’d been there at his death, why would she trust him? Why get in touch with Black Fire? What did she want?

  Maybe Tron could find some answers tomorrow at the remains of her cabin. In the meantime, there was one sure way to see if she was working with Caldera–if the entire meet had been nothing more than an elaborate set-up to get to him. But he’d need Magnum’s cooperation. He couldn’t put the kid’s life in further danger without his assent and cooperation.

  She’d be furious if she found out, but she was already furious. He couldn’t begin to bridge her anger until he was sure of her loyalties. She said she’d lost her cell phone in her truck. He’d given her one similar to Magnum’s. But Mykael’s had a direct feed to a file monitored by Tron. If she contacted Caldera, or Azisi, or anyone for that matter, he’d know. He dialed again after a quick glance at his communicator revealed enough time had passed.

  “Magnum.”

  The younger man’s voice was hushed. “I only have a second. You still coming?” “Yes.”

  “Good. I have more information. I think it can wait til I see you.”

  “About our meeting–you still want into the unit?”

  “More than anything.”

  “Then I’ve got a test for you. I’ll be traveling with a woman. I need to know if I can trust her. I want you to meet with her before our meeting. She’ll either report back to me, or immediately get in touch with Caldera.”

  “Sounds more like a mission than a test. This is my ass we’re talking about here?” Ghost could hear the amusement in his voice, despite the sincerity of the question. “Actually, yes. But we’ll have her wired. We’ll know and we’ll yank you if she calls Caldera.” “Which Caldera?”

  “Either. Why? You have a preference?” Ghost couldn’t imagine preferring one brother over the other.

  “Jaime’s scheduled to be here tomorrow night. Wants my office vacated for his ‘personal’ use.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  Ghost could almost feel Magnum’s shrug. “Anything from drugs to whores. He’s a piece of shit. Carlos at least pretends to have decency.” “Pretend being the operative word. You supposed to hang around while Jaime’s there?” No way he wanted the kid around an op without training. Test Decoy out, manage some pre-op Intel, yes. Work the op, or even around the op, absolutely not.

  “No.”

  “Good. I’d love to visit your office tomorrow morning when we get to town.” “Fine by me. Shall I leave it open for you or meet you there?”

  “Leave it unlocked. What time you open for business?”

  “The restaurant opens at ten-thirty. The bar’s open at ten.”

  “We’ll be in and out before ten then. Sure you’re okay with the meet?”

  “Fine with it. Whatever you need, whenever you need it.”

  Ghost smiled at the kids’ enthusiasm. “See you tomorrow.”

  *** Mykael could almost feel the wind in her hair as the small plane lifted off the ground. The words she couldn't quite make out were Mexican, uttered quickly, the voices calm and relaxed, but she couldn't hear what they said. She eyed the package in front of her, and even though she couldn't understand the voices, she could hear as the timer, tick, tick, ticked away the last precious seconds of her life.

  She struggled with ropes that bound her wrists, the cloth over her mouth that made warning the men up front impossible. The plane curled into a lazy turn, banked so she could see the Atlantic below through the tiny windows up front.

  “Stop,” she screamed, but no sound left her lips. “We've got to get back on the ground. There isn't time.”

  Tick, tick, tick... Frantic now, she yanked at the cords on her wrist, tried to rub the cloth out of her mouth used her shoulder, but nothing changed. She glanced into the cloudless blue sky, then her eyes were inexorably drawn back to the small neat package as it ticked to a single silent heartbeat.

  The fireball ate up the tiny plane, burned through her skin, past her muscles to her very bones, turned everything to ash. The hot red and orange faded to black and then to gray as the ashes floated to the sea.

  Mykael's eyes slammed open, heart pounding, tears streamed down her cheeks. She shuddered, reached for her things—her blanket, her pillow—to ground her, to assure her it was Melina who'd died that day, not her. Only she had nothing. At home, if the tremors didn't stop, she'd run for her Mule, driving away the rest of the night, losing the night terrors in trails she knew like the back of her hand. Now even her Mule was gone. Her eyes crunched shut on the tears but they didn't stop. It was cold and she couldn't get her limbs to stop trembling.

  Mule was gone, her house was gone, the abyss waited to swallow her whole. She was on her feet and moving before she understood her body's intent. When she reached the door adjoining their rooms, she caught the door frame just to stop herself. The respite was brief and fleeting. She craved warmth, safety, and for the first time in years, her heart knew where to go. Her body no longer listened to her mind, which would scream betrayal and deceit if it weren't still in midsky getting blown to bits in Melina's plane.

  She reached the side of his bed, thankful Tron wasn't here to see her disgusting defeat. Greg tensed as she approached, but she put a single, shaky finger over his lips. “Don't talk,” she warned. Greg gave a single nod, his eyes dark but with an understanding that flooded her soul. He lifted the covers and she curled into his strength, her back to his muscular chest, his arms like the shields she'd prayed for. Relief soothed the myriads of tiny screams of danger her nerve endings still screamed. Eyes open, she laid her hand in his open one, felt his fingers close softly around her own. Her mind was still caught up in the horror of her sister's death. She left it there. Her body was now safe. The two could have it out tomorrow.

  Just before dawn, before he awoke to the stirrings their bodies created together, she slipped out of his arms and retreated, closing the adjoining door behind her.

  She hadn't slept, but she hadn't dreamt either. Her brain was willing to accept the logic of the truce her body offered. Her heart still branded her a traitor, to Peter, to Edward, but she could only hope it too would come to accept the reality that she couldn't walk this tightrope, couldn't fulfill her missions, if she didn't have rest somewhere. That need had driven her to create her hideaway, so safe and secure. The craving for safety lay behind her software designs, her electronic knowhow. She couldn't live without security somewhere, somehow. She stepped into the shower and made her peace. For now, it appeared she could fool herself with the false security of Greg's arms.

  ***

  At five minutes to three the next afternoon, Mykael walked into the Galleria Hotel in San Diego. Even two hours on the plane hadn’t been enough to calm her erratic heart. She backed up against a stately column, visible to anyone in the lobby, without calling too much attention to herself. She glanced at her watch. Three minutes to spare. Her gaze swept the room. No likely candidates, which was just fine with her. Beyond the hard facts, Ghost had asked her to assess Magnum himself as an agent. He had reports from Tron and Cap, but he wanted her perspective. The request had her a little spooked. The mission seemed to have trap written all over it. But she
didn’t dare say no. The man was involved with Caldera, for all he claimed to be an unwilling partner. Willing or not, if he partnered with Caldera, that was all the information she needed to know.

  She felt for her Koch inside the bag hung over her shoulder. The flimsy cotton of the little purse wouldn’t impede a bullet’s progress at all. She only had to get him away from the hotel and into the parking lot, where a quick charade would conceal her actions. The transformation from killer to stunned witness would take no time at all. She’d used the ruse enough times to know.

  There’d also be no reason for the Calderas brothers to suspect Los Cochillos. The little man only ever used a knife. Although Peter’s tutelage in blades had been extensive, he’d taught her to shoot just as well. Later, she’d honed her skills at night outside her cabin. If Ghost were truly looking for a new team member, she could easily fill the position.

  Not that she wanted to. Unless it was the only way to get to Ice. Interesting how the two missions were becoming intertwined. She hadn’t expected that when she’d placed her first Black Fire internet trap.

  Enough.

  The time flashed bright from her watch. Magnum was late. Eight minutes late. What if he didn’t show? Her gaze traveled the room again. The hotel lobby was shabbily elegant, with worn velveteen settees and faux-marble columns whose gold and black threads were faded to reveal the façade. Seventy years ago, the hotel had been the ultimate in California chic. Now it was popular with a retro-loving younger set. She liked it, liked the wannabe-rich feel of the place. Her nose tickled with the smell of cigar and pipe smoke so faint it was nearly just a memory. California’s glory days.

  Magnum intrigued her. Tron obviously considered him just a simple informant. Greg had been adamant he was more. She wondered who’d named the kid, wondered too, whether the name stood for champagne or condoms. Either way, it wasn’t particularly flattering as names went. What kind of informant impressed Greg, but not Tron? Guess she’d find out shortly.

  When Magnum was ten minutes late, she studied the room’s occupants again. By the straggly potted palm, an elderly gentleman played footsie with a woman thirty years his junior. Behind the lobby desk, a bored clerk read the newspaper. On the far side of the room, a group of twenty-somethings listened intently as one of their group told a history of the hotel. There were occasional bursts of laughter, but the speaker had her back to Mykael and spoke just low enough she could only catch the odd word or two. She noted each face gathered around the tour guide, but no one glanced in her direction, or looked the least bit interested in extricating themselves from the group to make a meeting.