Cut and Run

by Fern Michaels

  Snowden stood silently, staring at the back entrance of the school. The back door was a replica of the front door, thick planks with monster hinges. The word fortress came to mind. He stared now at the row of windows, with their sickly yellow light, green to him now. It took a moment for him to realize there was some kind of glaze on the windows, which meant that even if he were standing directly in front of it, he wouldn’t be able to see a thing. What to do?

  Instinct kicked in when the back door groaned open and two men stepped out under the small overhang. Cigarette time. Snowden stepped deeper into the copse of trees. He fumbled for his high-tech listening device and held it in front of him, but not before he inserted two tiny buds in his ears. The cat inside his windbreaker squirmed. His hand massaged the wiggling animal, and it calmed immediately.

  The conversation was in Spanish. He struggled to hear and understand what they were saying. He squinted to make sure it was the two brothers and not the wharf rats. Satisfied, he concentrated on what was being said.

  “I hate this place. I hate what Rico is doing. We should leave, Mateo. He can’t force us to stay here. I don’t like holding a gun. I hate guns. Why are we still here?”

  “We’re here because we’re both stupid. He says do this, do that, and we do it. We’re his puppets. That was fine when we were kids, but not now. I can’t believe he’s doing this. These people have done nothing to him, and he’s threatening to kill them. He’s sick in his head,” Flavio grumbled.

  “I can tell you one thing—I am not shooting anyone. I took the bullets out of the gun. That dimwit inside will shoot anyone who looks at him the wrong way. I think we should take him out. He’s looking tired to me. His reflexes are off. We can tie him up and shove him into that broom closet. If Rico comes looking for him, all we say is that he left to smoke or to take a leak and didn’t come back. I’m game if you are,” Mateo said.

  “He’ll just send another of the rats from the church. I think there are twelve in total.”

  Flavio digested his brother’s words. “Then we’ll take him out, too,” Mateo said.

  Snowden watched as both brothers smoked in silence for a minute or two.

  “I think I could shoot Rico. I really do, Mateo. I am so sick and tired of him and his obsessions. He really is sick in his head. The countess seemed like a nice lady, a kind lady. She’s a victim here, just like all these village people. I will not have any part of hurting those two priests. I will not. Do you hear me, Mateo?”

  “Of course I can hear you. Rico has no soul. If we shoot him, we’ll be in confession every day for the rest of our lives. He has the Devil’s blood running in his veins.

  “If we turn him over to the authorities, all he has to do is flash those special badges he showed us. He said those things were a ‘get out of jail free’ card, whatever that means. There is no doubt in my mind that he’ll blame the two of us for everything. I don’t want to go to jail, and neither do you. I’m prepared to walk away from here right now, right this minute if you’re game.”

  Mateo tossed his cigarette into a puddle. He watched it sizzle, then fizzle out.

  “No, we have to take a stand and let this play out the way it’s meant to play out. Rico wants to be legitimate. He can’t come to terms with the fact that it is impossible. There is no longer royalty. No one cares in this day and age. He can’t accept that our mother was a lady of the evening, either. How did the two of us get to be so smart, Flavio?”

  Flavio made a strangled sound deep in his throat. “You know the answer to that, brother. We have a different father. We don’t have his father’s ugly blood running through our veins. How many times did Rico beat our asses when we were kids when we brought that up? He’s all mixed up in his head. He still believes our mother was some kind of princess queen, and the count was his father, and the two of us are just guttersnipes. He will never ever believe anything different.”

  “Too many to count. I still have the scars.” Flavio’s cigarette followed his brothers. “We need to go back inside.”

  Snowden’s eyes almost popped out of his head behind the night-vision goggles. Had he just heard what he heard? As Jack Emery was fond of saying, he didn’t see that coming. Well, damn. How could he have missed what he’d just heard? Or was it a family secret that only the Aracelis knew about? He could hardly wait to get back to the van to call Charles. The little cat moved, snuggled closer to his armpit, and then meowed softly.

  The brothers weren’t the count’s spawn. There was no love lost between the three brothers. In fact, the two of them thought their brother was deranged. Allies. But how to bring that about. Once a new day arrived and the bright light of day surfaced, moving around would be impossible. Well, there were still many hours of darkness ahead. Hours to plan and plot and act.

  The little cat inside his windbreaker continued to meow in contentment.

  As Snowden made his way back to the van, his thoughts turned Stateside and what Abner Tookus was doing. And Annie’s business manager.

  * * *

  Back in the States, Abner Tookus turned his special phone to speaker mode and propped it up on his desk so he could continue tapping away at his computer. “I’m on it, Connor,” he muttered to Annie’s business manager. “I understand everything you said in your last four frantic phone calls. You need to remember who you are talking to here. Plus, I told you that I enlisted the aid of the world’s number one hacker, Philonias Needlemeyer. I admit I don’t know what all you had to do to liquidate Annie’s holdings. Having said that, I appreciate all you did and are still doing. I got it! We are good to go. The minute you alert me that you are about to transfer that humungous amount of money into Enrico Araceli’s brokerage account, my finger will be on the key to transfer it out. Both transactions will take less than a minute. Araceli will see it; then it will be gone. He will think it’s a glitch. We will then send it back, let it lie for a moment, and when he sees that it stays put, that’s when we make our final move. I got it, Connor.”

  Abner listened as the business manager droned on. “You do have that right; Annie will kill you if you screw this up. It will be me next on her list. I have no desire to end up dead, so you can rest easy. We’re good here, Connor?” Abner laughed at Connor’s shaky response.

  Abner leaned back in his ergonomic chair and held his index finger high in the air. He wiggled it every which way to make sure it was limber enough to press the key that would transfer half of Annie’s vast fortune to her dead husband’s illegitimate son. Now that was a mind-blower to be sure.

  Abner bolted forward when he saw he had a call coming in from his wife, Isabelle.

  Their greeting over, he asked where she was.

  “We rescued Annie and now we’re on our way to meet up with the boys and Mr. Snowden. The meeting place is the middle of a fig grove. Enrico is holding the whole village hostage and is threatening to kill the two priests. His two brothers are there, too. We still don’t know how we’re going to rescue everyone. We’re all counting on you, honey, to make this work.”

  Abner wiggled his finger and nodded, forgetting that his wife couldn’t see him. “I’m good to go, just waiting for Connor’s call. Tell that to Annie. I won’t let you down.”

  The conversation turned to, do you miss me, I miss you, yada yada.

  “Gotta go. Myra is giving me the evil eye. Love you.”

  “And I love you,” Abner whispered, until he realized he was talking to dead air.

  “Okay, you son of a bitch, let’s see how smart you are,” Abner mumbled under his breath as he tapped into Enrico Araceli’s brokerage account again. He pondered the amount as he calculated how to reduce the bottom line to zero one more time.

  Abner laughed out loud. A piece of cake.

  Chapter 13

  Snowden was halfway back to the van when he changed his mind, whirled around, and headed toward the rectory, the cat nestled next to his chest meowing softly at his abrupt movement. It was raining harder now, drenching him but m
uffling all sound. He hated that his feet were soaking wet and cold as he sloshed his way toward the rectory. Instinct told him something was happening inside the small cottage that consisted of four rooms and one and a half baths, the place where the two priests lived. He couldn’t remember who had told him about the cottage’s layout. Obviously, the information came from someone his operatives had spoken to along the way when they practiced their due diligence.

  Two bedrooms, obviously, since two priests lived in the house. Probably a sitting room that doubled as an office, and a kitchen. There would be no need for a parlor or general room since priests, as a rule, didn’t entertain.

  A front door. A back door. The back door was probably off the kitchen, possibly some space for a laundry. Even priests had to do laundry. Maybe he could pick the lock and sneak in. And do what?

  Snowden groaned out loud, causing the little cat to meow louder when he slipped in a dip in the ground. He was up to his knees in muck. Then he cursed. The cat moved and tried its best to snuggle into his armpit. Stupid, Avery, he chastised himself. He looked around to get his bearings. He shook his head to clear the rain from his face. He slipped his night-vision goggles on again and slogged forward, confident that even if he was making noise, it couldn’t be heard indoors over the sound of the pelting rain.

  Snowden inched his way toward the back door and the single diamond-paned window. He was reminded of the Hansel and Gretel cottage from childhood fairy tales. He was glad that, unlike the schoolhouse, this building’s windows were clear glass and not glazed. He was adjusting his goggles when he froze in place. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he felt a warm breath on his neck.

  “Boss, what are you doing here?”

  “Making the rounds,” Snowden hissed in return. He must be slipping. He should have picked up on Barker’s heat signature. “You got anything?”

  “Two guys tied to chairs. The two priests are mobile. The older one is pretty much just sitting. The younger one is pacing and praying his rosary. Araceli keeps his phone busy. He’s made a lot of calls. He seems to be checking something, like every few minutes. No way to tell exactly, and I sure as hell can’t read lips. Things look tense. Oh, and just for the record, that’s an automatic weapon he’s got. No sign of any guards.”

  “So what you’re saying is he could mow down everyone in the room before we could break down either the front or back door.”

  “That’s what I’m saying, boss. What do you want to do here?”

  “Nothing right now. We have to wait for the boys to get here. Then we’ll make our decisions. At least we know Araceli hasn’t carried through on his threat to shoot anyone.” Snowden went on to tell his operative what he’d overheard at the schoolhouse.

  Barker shook his head, then swiped his face with the back of his hand. “That’s the best news I’ve heard since we got here. There’s nothing going on here, and I doubt anything will go on before morning. We stay out here, we’re both going to come down with pneumonia. I’m just saying, boss.”

  Snowden nodded. “Let’s go back to the van and get into some dry clothes. The rain is getting colder, so I see your point. There’s nothing worse than getting sick in a foreign country.” To back up his words, he whirled around and started to slog his way around the rectory and out to the road that would take them back to the heated van.

  Barker quickly turned on the heater as both men started to strip down. Both rummaged for clean, dry clothes in the mountain of gear loaded in the back of the van.

  Barker’s eyes almost popped out of his head when he heard the little cat protest at being removed from its warm nest next to the boss’s chest. His jaw dropped when he saw his boss cuddle the animal, but not before he cooed in its ear. Wait till he shared this with the guys and gals in Snowden’s employ. Even the boss was human after all. The thought pleased him.

  Dressed in thermal underwear with heavy-duty cords and a thick flannel shirt, Snowden looked down at the little cat, then scooped it up and returned it to its temporary home against his chest. Later, he would think about the peaceful feeling he felt when the cat purred its thanks. He wondered if it was a girl or a boy cat, not that it made a difference. He looked over at Barker, daring him to make a comment, which the operative knew better than to do.

  “What now, boss?”

  “Like you said, nothing is going to go on now, so we just wait. At least we’re warm and dry for the moment,” Snowden said, as he held out a large plastic bag for Barker to dump his wet clothes in, along with his boots. He cinched the bag and tossed it in the back. “Catch a few winks if you can.”

  The old spy settled himself in one of the van’s seats and stretched out. The little cat was still purring in contentment. His thoughts turned to the mission he was on as he recalled every move he and his people had made since their arrival in Spain. So far, they hadn’t made any mistakes. Not knowing the two brothers’ true heritage didn’t come under the heading of a mistake, but he could see how it was going to play a big part in the resolution of this particular mission.

  Snowden closed his eyes, knowing he wouldn’t doze or fall asleep. He always did his best thinking with his eyes closed for some reason. He opened his eyes and looked down at the watch on his wrist, which did everything but cook a meal. Charles and his gang should be arriving anytime now. He closed his eyes again.

  Twenty minutes later, Barker stirred and called out, “Company, boss.”

  Within minutes, the oversize van was full and steamed up, with everyone jabbering at once. Charles yanked at his whistle and gave it a sharp blast. The little cat stirred, squirmed, and snuggled deeper against Snowden’s chest. Obviously, it knew friends from foes. That was a good thing, Snowden decided.

  “This is the situation, boys. Annie’s business manager, Connor, has been in constant contact with me and has a virtual open line to Enrico Araceli, who is rapidly losing patience with him. He keeps threatening to shoot the two priests. He even went so far as to say the old priest had outlived his usefulness, so it would be no great loss. He’s now given Connor a deadline to transfer what he considers his share of Annie’s holdings to his own account in Barcelona. Abner is on it and knows exactly what to do.

  “But that’s not the end of it. He’s demanding Annie show herself at the rectory so she can draft a letter that he’s going to send around the world. Those are his words, around the world, so the entire world will know he is the son of Count Armand de Silva. Obviously, he does not understand or refuses to understand that people could care less. The man is deranged, plain and simple.”

  “What is Annie saying?” Snowden asked.

  “They’re an hour out the last I heard from them. Annie is willing to do whatever it takes to make sure the villagers are safe. The letter is a joke, but not to Enrico. He’s obsessed with the world’s knowing who he is. The bottom line, of course, is that the world doesn’t care, and he can’t see that after such a letter is released, he will be a laughingstock. That’s how obsessed he is with his lineage.

  “And I also think from all we now know, there’s a problem with his mother. He refuses to acknowledge . . . how do I say this . . . her free-spirited ways. He knows what she was, but if he doesn’t speak of it, then it doesn’t matter. And now you tell us what you overheard the other two brothers say. Which just confirms the nature of the mother’s . . . ah . . . professional life,” Charles said.

  “The bottom line is that Annie will head for the rectory the moment they get here. So we need to come up with a plan as to what we’re going to do before that happens. We do not want any bloodshed if we can help it. We all need to be aware of Araceli’s mental state at all times.”

  Jack spoke up. “There’s no room in this van for all of us. Charles and Fergus can stay here, and the rest of us will go back to our van to wait for the girls. Unless you think there’s something we can do.”

  “Sounds good. We’ll call the minute we know something,” Snowden said.

  “Is our plan for Harry and me to show u
p at the door at first light as two mountain climbers still on the table, or did you switch it up?” Jack asked.

  Snowden nodded. “It’s still on the table unless things change when the girls get here. You might as well take the climbing gear with you now.”

  Mass confusion ensued as everyone jostled everyone else in their haste to get outside, so the gear Jack and Harry would need could be found.

  “This sucks,” Dennis mumbled as he ran for the van they’d arrived in.

  “You got that right, kid,” Ted said, pummeling him on the back.

  “How am I supposed to take pictures in this slop?” Espinosa groused.

  Jack laughed out loud. “We’ll all pose for you when we get back to the van. My publicity kit could use a few new pictures. My right side is my good side, so make sure you capture it accurately, and be sure the lighting is on my side.”

  “Eat shit, Jack,” Espinosa barked as he slammed open the door of the van. He shook himself like a shaggy, wet dog, rainwater going in all directions.

  “Already I hate that guy Araceli, and I haven’t even met him yet?” Ted snarled. “He’s sitting in that rectory like the king of the hill, and the rest of us are here and miserable. I wonder what that sick bastard is doing right this minute.”

  * * *

  What the sick bastard was doing at that moment was jamming the gun in his hand under Padre Santos Mendoza’s chin. The old priest just stared at him with unblinking intensity. Even with the cataracts on his eyes, he could see the crazed stare of Enrico Araceli. He said nothing even though his heart was thumping wildly in his chest.

  “I will kill you, you do know that, right?”

  “If it is meant to be, then so be it. My death will be on your soul, and there will be no entrance to heaven for you. I am at peace with my Maker.”