UNKNOWABLE (Murder on the Mekong, Book 2)

by Rivers, Hart;

  Which made Izzy wonder why Gregg had not advocated with him to stay in the area until they could retrieve JD’s body. Instead, Gregg had held his silence—maybe he had still been recovering from his emergency dive; that had to be it—while the little guy was in a hurry to get going in the direction JD’s killer pointed. When Izzy dug in his heels, the little guy actually apologized, saying, “Take a look around. Everything looks the same. Not to mention we drifted and could spend a fuckin’ year looking and never find him. Sorry, time’s short. We gotta get this show on the road.”

  A pretty thoughtful response, considering he had been the one holding a gun to Kate’s head. Also, most interesting how he had completely freaked out when JD was head slammed overboard in handcuffs. That had been well over an hour ago. Now they were miles away from JD and his watery grave.

  Izzy looked over at Gregg. He was staring at Kate, still dabbing at her eyes, moving barefoot about the deck, wringing the silver bracelet around her wrist like a worry stone.

  “We shouldn’t have left without the body.” Izzy felt sick to his stomach just thinking of JD’s body trapped under water, to either expand and eventually float to the top, or to decompose, become food for the river’s inhabitants. “If only I could swim, I could have helped you bring him up, before we lost the general location.”

  “Like the little guy said, we had to get the show on the road.”

  “What did Kate call him?”

  Gregg didn’t immediately reply, kept his eyes on Kate. “Mike.”

  Izzy let that rest between them, wondering if Gregg also thought it odd for her to call her captor that, like they were on a first name basis. But he just couldn’t go there, not in his mind, and he certainly wasn’t going to that dark place knowing how much Gregg adored her.

  “Maybe Kate was right, what she said,” he ventured, hoping it was true. “That JD loved this river and he would be happier left here with the river dolphins.”

  “Yeah.” Gregg’s gaze suddenly swung Izzy’s way. The look in his eyes was hardly morose. Izzy had expected maybe shock or horror or numbness. No, Gregg’s look was almost revelatory, as if he had seen something, or realized something, transformative.

  “Are you okay?” Izzy asked, darting a glance at the tattooed tribe of pirates, or warriors, or whoever these thugs were that reported to JD’s killer, who clearly, absolutely, could not be trusted to take them anywhere but down a bad path.

  He showed up just then, holding out some sort of rations. “Eat.”

  When neither responded, he laid the food on the deck between them, about where their cards had been before the whole world got shot to hell. Then the bastard that killed JD pulled out a bottle of Jack from somewhere, from his ass as far as Izzy knew, and planted it next to the rations with the command to: “Drink.”

  As much as Izzy had been reared on the importance of good manners and professional protocols, he couldn’t bring himself to say “thank you” before the unlikely bearer of “eat, drink, and be merry” gifts moved away, just as Kate came in their direction with a jug of water.

  “I thought you might be thirsty…” She paused upon spying the bounty already left for their consumption.

  “Maybe you want to join us?” asked Gregg. He grabbed the bottle of Jack, screwed off the top with almost celebratory gusto, and tossed the cap next to her feet. “Let’s drink to JD,” Gregg decreed, raising the bottle to Kate. “You go first.”

  Chapter 31

  At first Kate thought she hadn’t heard right or seen right or the shock of losing JD so unexpectedly was making her overly sensitive and not able to interpret things right.

  But, no. Gregg had just issued a challenge and was watching, closely, how she would react. He knew something, or thought he did, and was waiting for her to confirm whatever his suspicions might be. Being a nurse who had to keep her head on straight when emergencies arose helped, as did her more recent training in the art of the sting, but that was hardly a comfort when Gregg was a highly empathic psychologist trained in the nuances of reading people, and especially her. He knew her too well, and she could not afford for him to know too much because that would endanger him, and Izzy.

  “I don’t think I can drink that without throwing it up, Gregg,” she professed, although it was an absolute lie. She wanted to down the whole bottle and bawl her head off and tell him she had already grieved her loss of JD before he was even dead, but now had the rest of her life to bear the guilt for her part in making it actually happen. “You and Izzy drink for me and I’ll make the first toast. How’s that?”

  “Sure.” He took a swig, handed the bottle to Izzy, and never took his eyes off her. “What’s your toast?”

  “To JD…” Since she couldn’t bear to meet Gregg’s hard gaze a moment longer, she swung her attention to Izzy. He was watching her closely, too closely, too. “To the man who stole my heart and took it with him. May he find the peace in death that eluded him in life.”

  “Very nice,” Gregg said as if he were applauding her, minus the actual clapping of hands. “Okay, Izzy, now it’s your turn.”

  Izzy took his own long sip, stretching the untenable moments out. He swiped at his mouth, handed the bottle back to Gregg. “What can I say to possibly do justice to JD and everything he was? He saved my life more than once. He made that life hell more often than not. But my life was richer, and so was the world, for having him in it. He was a rhyme wrapped in a riddle, an unstoppable force that never met an immovable object he couldn’t obliterate. Until today. I will…” Izzy’s voice caught. “I will miss him terribly.”

  “Well said,” Gregg agreed, and Kate wished he had phrased it differently, since his choice of words reminded her too much of The Pale Man, and she cringed to think of Gregg ever knowing the extent of her affiliation with him. Necessary for now—for how long she didn’t know—but Gregg, with his lofty ideals, would never understand, never approve, and probably never want to speak to her again if he knew.

  She had to make certain somehow that Gregg and Izzy never crossed Paulu’s path and got out of this. It was up to her to salvage this partially botched operation. If Zhang was killed, as many in the cartel would prefer, his blood would be on her hands along with JD’s. She had to save his brother as atonement. She had to save Gregg and Izzy before they became more involved than they already were. She would implore Phillip to have them flown back to the relative safety of Nha Trang as soon as possible.

  But first she had to extricate herself from this straightjacket of an inquisition in the guise of communally “celebrating JD’s life” so she could get to the communication center set up in the captain’s quarters.

  “Any other words?” she asked, moving as discreetly as possible a few steps back.

  “Just a few,” Gregg answered. He took a healthy swig, wiped his mouth with the back of his river-stained shirt sleeve, and pronounced, “JD was a bastard. An honest-to-God bastard that worked for the bastards who should all burn in hell for their part in this war, and for using people like pawns to make the world a worse place than hell itself. But as far as bastards go, JD was a good bastard, and when I didn’t resent him, I admired him. And I liked him more than I wanted to. For all his faults and possibly sociopathic tendencies, I wish he was here and could explain what really happened today. But he’s not. So that leaves us to put the puzzle together and try to figure out why the woman he loved so dearly pretended to be kidnapped so she could set him up after he, and us two guys”—he gestured to Izzy with the Jack bottle, then tapped it to his temple like he was really thinking—“put our lives on the line to find her, only to discover that she is perfectly fine, even if I can’t say the same for her acting abilities—possibly, hopefully, because she still has a working conscience—and appears to have a nice working relationship with ‘Mike,’ who clearly had no intention of putting a bullet into the brain that I once thought I understood but, as it turns out, I cannot fathom at all. Care to enlighten us?”

  Kate would have opened
her mouth but realized it was already slack, and any acting skills she had to call on were nowhere to be found.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.” Gregg lifted the bottle her way. “C’mon, Kate, have a good belt. Drink it all. Get sloppy. Confession is good for the soul. Presuming you still have one.”

  If Gregg had hit her with a battering ram she would have felt less assaulted.

  “How dare you?” She hardly recognized her own voice. The part of her brain that had detached itself to carry on in the face of crisis—one that had just gotten unspeakably worse—kicked in on the thrust of her desperation. Kate drew herself up as tall as possible, raised her voice and asserted, “How dare you!”

  “Well, darlin’, I think that’s a rhetorical question better put to yourself.” Gregg gave her a piteous smile, as if she were a hooker he would rather send off with whatever cash he had in his pocket, along with some advice to buy some groceries instead of drugs, before he would consider sleeping with her and whatever contaminates she might have to share.

  “I think we’re done here. I’ll see what I can do to have you returned to Nha Trang.” It was the best she could manage before distancing herself as immediately as possible from the man she had known since childhood, who had worshipped her when he never should have, despite her guilty pleasure in his misplaced adulation. The same man who had just made it abundantly clear that he no longer recognized her, and that the relationship that had once defined them was history.

  Kate didn’t feel much better after her “talk” with Phillip. Since there were no conveniently placed telephone booths along the Mekong, the fact that she could have a conversation at all was a minor technological miracle. Phillip had access to experimental advances for the government and military that few people would guess existed, but even with his access their remote location made satellite signals more like a game of roulette. Apparently NASA could communicate with a man on the moon, but keeping a phone connection on the Mekong was a lot more challenging.

  Phillip had lost her, and not just repeatedly on the SAT phone. They had arranged everything so precisely, taking care that the boat designated to trail her would stay out of sight so as not to tip off JD, but could easily catch up once they docked. Air surveillance had been arranged, strategically placed ground patrols, jeeps where the jungle would permit. Phillip had even arranged for any bombing missions to be scuttled from the area today, only they were no longer where they were supposed to be, and she couldn’t tell if the ominous rumbling was moving toward them or away. Phillip only had a vague idea where she was since the boat had changed course, with the one trailing hers desperately trying to get a visual but, so far, no luck.

  “For God’s sake,” he had barked between static, “why didn’t you try contacting me sooner? You should have let me know immediately after JD’s accident! And what on earth possessed you to leave the area before recovering his body!”

  All the reasons that seemed so sound earlier felt flimsy when confronted by Phillip’s battery of questions. Of course he was upset that JD had drowned—but he was even more upset at the prospect that JD had somehow managed to fake his death. Did she have any idea what kind of jeopardy that would place them all in?

  Her reassurances that Gregg had seen the body and produced the evidence of it with JD’s bracelet mollified Phillip somewhat—but it didn’t make him any happier that the two doctors were on the boat after he’d told JD to send them back to Nha Trang. How much did Kate think they might know, besides the fact JD was gone and she was safe? Could they be trusted to let it all go at that?

  She lied. She told Phillip exactly what he needed to hear to pass them off as a complete, security-risk non-issue, and gained his agreement to have an Air America transport pick them up once they got their coordinates synchronized.

  “I can do this, Phillip, I know I can. Zhang will see me since he was expecting to meet me before…everything else happened. I have the letter from JD. I have the escort I need to get me in.”

  “And doesn’t it strike you as somewhat odd that the very man who was responsible for JD’s accident is so helpful now?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that.” Doing the necessary critical thinking, getting a grip on herself and the situation first, that’s why she had waited to call. She regretted it now but refused to make excuses. Excuses would make her sound insecure and weak, when in truth she had wanted to prove she could take charge in the worst possible circumstances. “I don’t know if what he did was intentional or a reflex—but they had words, and JD was the initial aggressor. He was…” trying to protect me. Kate took a breath and tried to smother the guilt. “I don’t know what they said. It just sounded like a heated argument. I don’t know what is in the letter that JD wrote since I can’t read it myself, but I can only think of two words to explain the assailant’s willingness to help now. Words you should understand.”

  She didn’t have to say more. She was speaking Phillip’s language. The one responsible for killing JD and guiding the boat now preferred to be a Pirate rather than just another mercenary Whore hired by The Pale Man—who would consider himself too superior to his hired help to imagine they might have some knowledge or a valuable contact that he did not.

  “I see your point. Nonetheless, Paulu will need to be in on this new development.”

  “No. Not yet. Paulu will ruin it all if he gets a whiff of this and tries to barge in. Just keep him away until I can privately work out a group meeting that Zhang is agreeable to. Hopefully you and I can get our connections straight first, but if not—”

  “Katherine, this isn’t a US courtroom. Zhang is a dangerous drug lord with an army of militants to back him up. It would be different if JD was still there with you, but—”

  “Well, JD’s not here,” she snapped with a swipe at her eyes. “But I am. And I have a letter of introduction. You don’t. Neither does Paulu. Or any of the egomaniacs who would rather bomb everything and everyone to holy hell instead of reaching a diplomatic solution. You of all people, Phillip, should understand the delicacy of outreach involved and what hangs in the balance. As of now, I’m your best chance at opening the door for negotiations, and if you don’t use me for the purposes we’ve already agreed upon, then you’re—”

  The phone cut out for the umpteenth time. Over the next hour they cobbled together enough of a conversation to agree that if Phillip’s highly trained, ex-Special Forces Black Ops group didn’t catch up by the time her own boat banked, she would stall as long as possible. In the worst case scenario she would take Mike Gallini with her for protection until—

  When the most high-tech SAT phone in existence buzzed yet again, Kate ignored it.

  Someway, somehow, she vowed to herself, tomorrow would be a better day. God knew it couldn’t get any worse than this one. She wanted to check on Gregg and Izzy, but didn’t dare, not after the way they had left things. As for all those facially tattooed mercenaries on the boat with them, where Paulu had procured them was anyone’s guess, but his motive was no mystery at all: he wanted to make a statement. He wanted to shock and frighten anyone who got in his way, or even didn’t get in his way, of gamesmanship domination.

  As much as she hated giving Paulu points, she had to admit he had scored, and impressively so, on that particular strategy. He had managed to do more than shock and frighten by hiring a gang leader of such elite caliber that even JD hadn’t seen him coming.

  Kate pressed both hands to her mouth to muffle a reflexive cry. She could still smell JD on her palms while the lap of waves against the patrol boat mingled with the echo of Gregg’s voice saying, “Confession is good for the soul. Presuming you still have one.”

  “I hope I do,” she whispered, and tried hard, so hard, to remember she still had an important job to do that could save lives. Just as it was when working a critical care unit with infants, any crying had to wait until her work was done. Phillip would say that was a remarkable quality that had weighed into his decision to make her hi
s protégé. Gregg would say the means of assuming that status made her an ambitious ladder climber who had slept her way to the top.

  Kate knew such an assessment wasn’t completely untrue. But Gregg didn’t have all the information. And for his sake, and Izzy’s, no matter the personal cost to herself, they never would.

  Chapter 32

  “Where are they?” Kate kicked aside the blankets on the deck as if two grown men could be hiding under them. Turning her glare on Mike Gallini, she demanded, “Where could they have gone? You were supposed to be in charge of watching them last night. Didn’t you hear something, see anything? They can’t just disappear.”

  “Ma’am, I’m—I’m sorry but I must’ve drifted off. Not for long, but—”

  “Apparently long enough that we have two MIA passengers. Have you done a head count? Is anyone else missing?”

  The lead mercenary, who had directed the boat to stop in an inlet and drop anchor, stepped forward. “You want to see Poppy King? Yes? No?”

  For a moment Kate gripped the side of the boat, trying to make the world stop spinning faster out of her control. She had choices to make, important choices, and she needed her head on straight to do it. So far, in her first official capacity as an undercover operative, she wasn’t exactly batting a 1000. If she wasn’t careful this whole new career would be over before the day was out, and then she may be viewed as a liability that knew too many secrets. From Phillip’s perspective, Gregg and Izzy possibly already did, despite her assurances otherwise. Could it be that Gregg’s distrust of her ran so deeply he preferred taking his chances by jumping ship and swimming to shore in the dark? Izzy couldn’t swim, but Gregg had practically grown up on a surfboard and he would never leave Izzy behind. That meant they left together so at least they could watch out for each other.