by C. J. Snyder
She shook her head, blinked rapidly to refresh her eyes and replayed it again. One more word. “Wake up… Wake up… Wonderland!” In a flash she was on her hands and knees and back through the tiny entrance.
“Wake up, wonderland,” she called and was rewarded by the pulsing of monitors springing to life all along the back wall. “Oh, thank you, God,” she cried.
Focus. Back out the satellite, find the Lexus. Follow the Lexus.
Her communicator, silent since Greg’s quiet vow, flared to life with Tron’s anxious voice. “Decoy!”
“Here. Working it. Hang on.” Too long! Her fingers shook with commands that produced nothing, then finally the image responded. The pictured focused in, spread wide, and un-focused, waiting for further instructions.
“Decoy.” Tron sounded as impatient as her fingers.
She didn’t have time to reassure him. “Working.”
Mykael turned to the next screen, learning more about the system with each command she tried. From memory, she typed the license plate of the Lexus, hit enter and moved to a third screen. Traffic camera locations sprang up on the display. She backdated the time, searched for five agonizing minutes and then was rewarded. The Lexus.
Fourth screen Logistics. Possible locations given time, traffic and conditions. “Tron.”
“It’s about time.”
Her suddenly nimble fingers slid images toward his avatar. “Got it?”
“I do.”
“Know where it is?”
“No, but I will. Stay put.”
Like she had anywhere else to go.
That’s when she realized she’d pulled the satellite image off the white Cadillac. Sean’s white Cadillac. Mykael slumped into a chair and felt tears sting her eyes. She didn’t dare reverse her moves to recapture the Caddy until Tron had the Lexus in sight. Maybe not even then. Decoy told Mykael to stuff it. Decoy told her she didn’t like funerals anyway, that bodies were bodies, that Sean’s soul was safe in heaven with Peter. With Edward. With Melina.
Mykael closed her eyes and let the tears come. She didn’t want to listen to Decoy any longer. Decoy had killed Sean. A screen flared to life at the far end of the room. The outside of the building where she sat now. A lone man, with a Mercury Delivery logo emblazoned on his shirt and an envelope in his hand.
The package from Caldera? She found an intercom switch.
“Leave it, please.”
The messenger waved a clipboard. “Gotta have a signature.”
Mykael reached for her communicator. “Tron, how do I get out of here?”
“You don’t.” The reply was quick and fierce.
“There’s a guy here, with an envelope. We were supposed to wait for a package from Caldera.”
“We’re not following that script anymore. They’ve got Ghost and Calla. We’re done. You got eyes on me?”
She did.
“Widen the image by backing the camera off zoom and you’ll see a helluva lot of black SUVs about to join me. If Ghost isn’t dead yet, he won’t be dying’ today.”
Mykael did as he suggested and found he spoke the truth. There were at least twenty dark SUVs making their way toward the dot that was the unsuspecting Lexus.
The man with the envelope rang again. Mykael felt for the switch, not taking her eyes off the screen. “I can’t come out.”
“If they’ll sign for it at the office across the parking lot, can I leave it here then?” “Sure.” The delivery man was forgotten as she watched Tron speed forward, taking the lead position. She saw the Lexus slow, then stop in the middle of the road, surrounded by SUVs, men in dark suits with drawn guns. Two men exited the car, hands in the air. Mykael captured images of their faces and started the visual recognition software, but she knew their character if not their names. Caldera’s thugs. Eyes fixed on the screen, she singled out Tron and didn’t blink.
He opened the back door of the Lexus, then the hatch at the back. She didn’t need the satellite to tell her what Tron’s frustrated grimace did. There were two humans in the SUV. Neither of them was Greg Lassiter. The satellite caught the image of the driver’s smile as he shook his head in response to Tron’s angry question.
Ghost was gone.
*** Ghost wasn’t worried until his abductor gave instructions for him to drive the green Jeep into the tunnel. The satellite couldn’t track here. Following gruff orders to pull in behind a sidelined red midsized Chevy, he figured a bullet wasn’t far behind.
He figured wrong. Less than thirty seconds later, he was behind the wheel of the Chevy, heading out of the tunnel, backtracking his original path. His abductor kept his distance, using the business end of his Glock to give direction. The mask covered his face, except for his eyes. Using the rearview mirror, Ghost committed them to memory, knowing a prickling sensation when he realized that those eyes were already there in his mind.
He knew this man. Gaze firmly on the road now, as they headed west out of the tunnel. The hotel? No. The recording at Mykael’s house? Not there either. The crowd watching the burning truck?
He risked another glance in the mirror—found those eyes piercing his—and knew. “Nice double-cross, Sean.”
*** Mykael choked back a cry and flew to the monitor where Calla stood frozen, waking up her wonderland. She reversed the satellite images again, only Greg hadn’t switched vehicles anywhere on screen that she could see. Then she tried a search for the Cadillac. She found it, only to watch it disappeared into a sea of traffic heading over a bridge. Sean was lost, but she’d known that already. Right now, finding Greg was all that mattered.
“Green jeep,” she muttered and started her search once more. She watched the vehicle enter the tunnel, slipped to a camera on the other side and saw every imaginable car except a green Jeep pour out of the concrete river. She spent five minutes finding the right camera inside the tunnel and by then the vehicle they’d switched to was lost.
She turned to the seamless barrier of solid steel that was the entrance to Wonderland. Ghost left. Before that Tron got out. Calla with her captives, too. Somehow, someway, she’d discover how and escape as well.
Ten excruciating minutes later, she had the answer. The door was open, the corner of the envelope just visible on the sidewalk. She took a step toward the door, remembered something she’d seen in the inner office and backtracked. Seconds later, she was outside, envelope in hand. The inscription on the front sent chills racing down her spine.
Los Cochillos
*** Tron swung back into his vehicle. “Decoy?” He waited for an answer that didn’t come. Interestingly, it didn’t surprise him. He’d lost three principals. If Ghost were lucky enough to survive, Tron would be the next dead body if he didn’t protect Decoy. No question there.
He didn’t know the tragedy that haunted Ghost. He did know Maria Lucano was exorcising the ghosts. God help him if he let anything happen to her.
He turned the car around and headed back toward WKBG.
***
“Where the fuck is my sister?”
Ghost blinked. Not the question he’d expected from a man in Caldera’s employ. He’d have to step through this minefield with care. “She’s safe.”
“Safe? Safe?” Sean whipped the mask off his head like he couldn’t stand the feel of it any longer. “Safe like she was at home? Safe like Reno? Or maybe safe like my restaurant?” He wanted to throw up his hands and rein in the wild pony who’d taken off with Sean’s mouth. He didn’t because the gun in Mykael’s brother’s hand never moved and the man’s knuckles were white. Too white for denials.
Even truthful ones.
“Safer than that. She’s at my office.”
Sean’s gaze stabbed him with a warning while he dug into his pocket, extricating a cell phone. Greg spat out the office number.
“No answer.” Sean’s eyes hardened.
“I love her, Sean.”
“You don’t even know her.” Not only did Maria’s brother not believe him, he sounded disgusted w
ith him. Ghost gave him Tron’s number, risking his buddy to save his girl. He hoped Tron would understand. “He won’t talk to you. Enter 42 on the keypad and hang up.”
“So they can trace it?”
Ghost’s head dipped once in acknowledgment. “He’ll also call back. He’s closer than we are.”
He slowed just under the posted limit, watching as options and actions flew through Sean’s mind only to be immediately discarded.
“Did you or did you not get an assignment to take out Los Cochillos?”
“We did. Not the highest of priorities until we discovered the second man he took out at your restaurant was one of ours.”
“He?” Sean snorted, disdain obvious. “Damn. She really is good.” Ghost’s driving went onto autopilot. He cruised at the speed limit, stopped for red lights, even signaled his lane changes. None of his actions reflected the warfare in his mind as he slipped back in time.
The knives.
“Personal. They were a gift.” “They were Blade’s.”
Left turn. Wait for arrow, but ahhh his gut was on fire.
She lives in Las Vegas, dead center to virtually all the Caldera kills.
Distance is nothing. Every airport flies into Vegas.
Accelerate, slow for yellow light. His heart climbed into his throat, choking him. He heard his own voice, from the motel in Reno.
“Caldera. Let’s start there.” Then he heard hers. “Brother of Jaime. Mexican drug underlord who specializes in the recruitment of children—gets them hooked and pays them in drugs—lots of babies die. His family murdered my brother. I know the Calderas.”
One man. One little man.
“I know the Calderas” He saw again the recording of Crater and Jaime Caldera’s death. Only this time, Crater rose to his feet and snapped her neck like a twig. One or two tokes on that damn hash pipe had saved her life. He couldn’t stop seeing Crater’s large hands on either side of her neck…see her blade fall uselessly to the floor as Crater severed her spinal column. Again. Again.
Ghost winced, forced the vision away, tried to ignore the hammering inside his head. She’d be arrested. Spend the rest of her life in jail, abused, or worse. She wouldn’t care, would say it was worth it. That her life was a small price to pay.
Damn it, Maria! He’d care. No way in hell was it worth that. He couldn’t let her pay that price. He’d do anything, anything, to prevent it. So, he couldn’t, wouldn’t turn her in. But he couldn’t keep his job if he didn’t. Hell, if he could find her, safe, he didn’t want Black Fire any longer. She needed more than a man who might or might not come home. She needed security. His heart calmed just the slightest bit. She needed to be held every damn night for the rest of her life. His muscles relaxed. He knew just the man to take that job.
Decision made, he met Sean’s eyes in the rearview mirror.
Sean still waited, the gun close to Ghost’s ear.
“Los Cochillos was a top secret Black Fire op. It’s ended. I’ll file the report tomorrow.” he assured Los Cochillos’ baby brother.
Sean watched him for a long moment, then gave a nod and put away his gun. “Where’s your office? Why’s she there?”
“We were supposed to wait at the office for a package. Caldera told us he had you. Maria’s frantic.” “Who is with her at your office?”
“No one at the moment.”
“Did he send a package?”
“Caldera? He said he was going to. Was he going to deliver it himself?”
“No, Caldera ordered it sent. Ibrajim was to deliver. Caldera said it’ll make Reno look like sparklers.”
*** Maria stared at the envelope, her trembling hands making the firm strokes of the inscription quiver. She already had her back to the camera outside the WKBG office. Now she walked away, out of its sight.
She slid one finger under the flap, hesitated, then tore open the envelope. A single key fell out. She yanked out the solitary sheet of paper that accompanied it.
Maria, we will trade Sean’s life for that of Los Cochillos. You have one hour only. Bring no one and nothing else.
The key was looped to a paper tag that read White Toyota Camry. Two blocks south. How long since the envelope was delivered? How much time did she have left? Where was she supposed to go? She put one hand on the building to steady herself and then took off at a run. Two blocks south.
***
The communicator in Sean’s lap gave a snippet of sound. Sean hit speaker and held it between them. “She’s not here.” Sean had never met Tron but Ghost was sure he could hear
the disappointment in his voice.
“Did you check—“
“Yeah, not there either. No package.”
If the circumstances were less grim, Ghost might have smiled at the frustration in Tron’s tone. “I suppose a note is too much to ask for?”
“No note. No taxis.”
“How long’s she been gone?” Ghost adjusted his route and picked up speed. Sean gave the rental car’s statistics to Tron so they wouldn’t be stopped by local LEOs. “Twelve minutes.” Tron was on speaker himself and busy. “She got a delivery.” “A box?”
“Not a box. Can’t tell what. Looks like an envelope. I’m on it.”
***
Sean sat back behind Ghost to more easily see him in the rear view mirror. "How did you get involved with my sister?" "We killed her husband.”
“Maria’s married?”
Ghost winced. “Yeah, she was, but you’ll have to get that from her. We had bad Intel, resulting in a friendly fire incident. She came after Black Fire to even the score." He thought back to the note left in his arm. "Who was responsible for the Dallas Station incident?"
"Azisi. He was there to kill Los Cochillos.” Ghost caught the tail end of Sean's shudder. "I don't know what happened, but she wasn't supposed to walk out of there that day." And instead, Ghost had been warned. Who the hell was Ibrajim Azisi?
Ghost yanked the car into park in front of the WKBG office and flew to the door. "Where is she, Tron?"
"Tracking now. I think I'm about ten minutes behind her." Tron spared a single glance for Magnum.
"Don't stop." Ghost moved to another screen, searched a list and replayed the message he'd received when they'd first arrived. "A package will arrive shortly.”
“I want to talk to Sean.”
“No. Wait for the package Follow the instructions.”
“Azisi,” Sean muttered.
"He wasn’t in San Diego,” Tron added. “He routed the call there, but he used a throwaway from DC.”
"He’s here.” Ghost sent one of the chairs careening across the room, its rollers spinning wildly even after it crashed into a wall and tilted on its side. “Where is she, Tron?” Tron didn’t look away from the screens, didn’t want to see Ghost’s face. “I have no idea.” *** The key shook so hard it took three tries to get it inserted into the door lock. Once she had, the lock flipped up and she slid in behind the wheel. A scrap of paper sat on the passenger’s seat. An address. A map.
Maria felt sick. There was so little chance, virtually none that Sean still lived, but she had to go, had to take the chance. Time for Los Cochillos to pay for her sins. Only… Only she’d never know if Greg lived. Never be able to tell him she was sorry, for the lies, for hurting him. "Tron?" she called softly. She hoped he’d put a bug on her that would activate at the sound of her voice.
"And what? Magically summon help?" She scoffed at her own foolishness. Maria shuddered and let Mykael take over. Maria couldn’t do this. Mykael was a pro. Twenty minutes later, she rolled up in front of a middle-class-suburbian dream house. A trilevel, with a neat yard, a cement walkway that wound from the driveway up to the two-step front porch. A white picket fence framed the tidy lawn, perfectly-trimmed hedges lined the driveway. She stepped on the brake, reached for the gear shift and the garage door opened.
Mykael straightened her shoulders and pulled in. “Fly, pulling into spider’s parlor,” she whispered. Maybe they
could hear her and not respond. Maybe Tron had invented a spyder that could swoop in and surround the house with a web.
She wiped her hands on her jeans’ legs. If only Carlos Caldera waited for her inside. She wouldn’t mind death so much if she could take him out with her. She edged out of the car. Why hadn’t she grabbed a gun from the extensive stash at the WKBG office? She had her knives, and began to reach for one when the snick of a bullet loading in a chamber sounded right behind her right ear.
"Cut it a little close, Maria, didn’t you?”
Not Caldera. Sounded like the man from her cabin. Ibrajim Azisi. “There’s a package in the trunk. I’d appreciate it if you’d retrieve it for me. If you don’t mind."
She did, but didn't see any point in tipping him off as to how much. The garage was dark and cool after the bright sunshine of the day. She moved slowly, grabbing options only to discard them just as quickly, until Azisi’s slight accent insisted she hurry.
"Carlos doesn't like to wait," he informed her. "And he’s been waiting a long, long time already."
Arms now full of a box, she tried to figure out how quickly she could drop it and retrieve the knife locked in a holster at her back. Only the box probably held a bomb. Better to wait until she was face to face with Caldera. She could feel the Sig Sauer at her back even as he reached past her to turn the knob on the door to the house. He held the door open for her, then his hand descended on her shoulder and shoved her through a smallish kitchen into a spacious living room with white carpet. If she could set the box down, there was an extremely small chance she could disarm Azisi and take control. But she’d have to lure him in close.
“Maria,” the smug voice had her gaze flicking to the woman on the sofa. “Or do you go by Mykael now? You always liked that, didn’t you? Silly, stupid girl.”
Melina.
Melina with blond hair, blond eyebrows, colored contacts turning her hazel eyes to green, but oh, that voice, so definitely Melina.
“You’re not dead.” Did she speak the inane sentence or did it only echo madly in her mind? Melina wasn’t dead. Her sister ignored her now, but Mykael couldn’t take her eyes off her face. “Is this the Azisi special?” Melina laughed and took the box from Mykael’s numb fingers, setting it carefully on the empty coffee table. “Hmmm, heavier than it looks.”