“All right...bringing security camera online...”
Bolan divided his attention between the two guards who had paused by the gate and the steadily lightening eastern sky. “Let’s go, Akira, the sun isn’t going to stop rising.”
“Just making sure the inside is clear. Won’t help much if you drop down into the arms of a couple goons, now, would it? Okay, go on my mark... Three, two, one, mark.”
Still mindful of the two guards, Bolan stepped out from cover and walked casually across the street to the corner of the fence, slightly stooped over, even muffling a yawn. Just another early riser heading to work. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw one of the guards look in his direction, but he didn’t turn or quicken his pace in any way as he reached the stone wall.
The second he was around the corner and out of view, Bolan leaped for the top of the fence, grabbing the rough stone with his gloved hands. Pulling himself up, he threw a leg over, grabbed the row of iron spikes and held there for a few seconds while scoping the inside. True to Tokaido’s word, the immaculate lawn was deserted, with the villa increasingly lit from behind as the sun kept rising. Bolan gave it another five count, then climbed over the spikes and jumped to the ground, staying in the shadows formed by the inside wall corner. The area here was calm, with no breeze.
“I’m on the grounds,” Bolan reported. “Keep that camera looped for another minute. I’ll contact once I’m inside the building.”
“Roger that.”
Drawing an odd weapon that looked like a small paint gun, Bolan removed a plastic vial from a waist pouch and screwed it on to the receiver just ahead of the trigger. Taking his SIG-Sauer in his right hand, he checked right and left one last time, then started down the wall on his left, wanting to be sure he was out of sight of the gate guards before entering the main building.
He had only taken a few steps when two black-brown shapes trotted around the corner. Upon seeing him, the two Doberman-Rottweiler mixes didn’t snarl or bark, just accelerated into a silent run, muscular legs churning the grass as they sped toward their target.
Waiting until they were only a few steps away, Bolan squeezed the trigger of the strange pistol in his left hand twice. The gun spit a fine mist into the dogs’ path as they leaped at him. The second they jumped, Bolan dropped to the ground and rolled out of their path. After two turns, he rolled onto his back, brought the real pistol up and aimed at the dogs behind him.
Deprived of their target, the dogs landed on the ground and turned to come at him again. However they weren’t moving as quickly as before; in fact, both dogs stumbled as they tried to charge at him and ended up sinking back to the ground, whining in confusion as they struggled to get back on their feet. Within a few seconds, both dogs were out cold.
Bolan got up, careful to stay several feet away from the dissipating cloud of a fast-acting, powerful tranquilizer. With a silenced pistol not all that silent, and dart guns, blowguns or crossbows only able to shoot one projectile at a time, John “Cowboy” Kissinger, Stony Man Farm’s chief armorer, had come up with the best way to silently eliminate multiple guard animals with minimal risk of injury to the defender. The spray pistol had been extensively tested, and other than wind dispersal, performed excellently in the field.
Holstering both pistols, Bolan headed for the wall of the house. It was a tastefully built place, all heavy timbers and stone walls. The stone had to have been local; it was rough cut and arranged in a natural style to blend in with the rest of the grounds. The irregular rocks sticking out of the wall afforded perfect hand-and footholds for him to climb to the roof.
Once there, he had to negotiate the overhang of the longer-than-usual eave. Reaching out as far as he could allowed Bolan to just grab the edge with his fingers. Pulling back, he braced his hands against the underside of the eave while positioning his feet on the topmost line of stones on the wall. His next move would require split-second timing, not to mention a lot of upper-body strength. Fortunately, Bolan had both.
Pushing off from the wall, he grabbed the edge of the roof with both hands and used his momentum to hoist his upper body above the roof. Once there, he threw a leg over and rolled onto the roof.
Made it...and only twenty minutes behind schedule, he thought as he rose to his feet and headed up the slight incline to the second-floor windows of the master suite. The room took up the entire second floor, and the row of curtained windows facing him was dark. Bolan stopped at the window farthest from where he knew the bed was located.
“Open sesame,” he whispered. After a few seconds there was a soft click and the electronically operated window popped open. Bolan watched it extend outward. When it was open far enough, he pulled a double-bladed dagger from its sheath on his leg, slit the screen open and slipped inside.
Bolan’s brow knit at the clean, modern furniture in the huge bedroom. Most Eastern European criminals he’d encountered loved to show off their ill-gotten riches, overdecorating their rooms in ostentatious leather and silk. Sevan kept things minimal, his only indulgence being the four-poster canopy bed he and another blanketed form were lying in.
Keeping his knife out, Bolan crept to the right side of the bed, where he figured Sevan would be sleeping. He was right. The head of the Armenian mob boss was turned away from him, breathing steadily. An open bottle of water sat on the nightstand, next to a small tablet computer.
Slowly, Bolan extended his free hand until it was just above Sevan’s mouth. In one quick movement he clamped his gloved fingers down on the man’s lips and put the keen edge of the blade to his throat.
Sevan’s eyes flew open as Bolan whispered, “Don’t move or you’re—”
Before he could finish, a blur of movement from beside Sevan caught Bolan’s attention. He raised his head just in time to see a vase flying at his face.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Gary Alcaster sat on the side of his bed, still breathing heavily from what had happened in the past few hours. “Goddamn, that was better than any hand job I ever had!”
After Josh Tyrell’s toast, the cognac and other liquors had flowed for the next two hours. Although William Scott still worried that the women were planning to get them all drunk and rob them while they were passed out, after the third round he was just as into his chosen woman, the blond Lusine, who had moved to his lap and was toying with his glasses, saying he reminded her of Harry Potter. That had made everyone, even Scott, laugh, then blush when Lusine commented that she found the character very sexy. The curly haired brunette, Anoush, had paired up with Tyrell, and the two were making each other laugh over the silliest of things, such as the shape of the cognac bottle.
That left Alcaster with the quieter and perhaps just a bit sadder-looking Siranush. He had tried to break the ice by complimenting her name, which he really did like. He asked if it meant anything.
She smiled. “It means ‘lovely’ in Armenian.”
“Well, it suits you.” Alcaster snagged the bottle from a giggling Anoush. “Would you like another drink?”
“Yes, thank you for asking.” After that she had slowly warmed up to him. Alcaster felt as though their conversation was always on thin ice and was terrified of saying the wrong thing or insulting her. Although he didn’t remember most of what he had said, she had never frowned or stormed off, and even smiled a few times while supplying very brief answers to any of his questions.
A couple hours later most of the other patrons had paired off with women, and the unluckier ones had taken to the streets in the vain hope of scrounging up some kind of business so they wouldn’t return to their brothels empty-handed.
The young men had escorted the prostitutes to their shared room on the second floor, where Tyrell held up two more keys. “I spoke to the hotel manager and got a deal on two other rooms and the girls for the entire night.” With a wink, he tossed one to each of the other guys
. “Enjoy, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“Wait—what does that leave?” Alcaster asked in exasperation. He turned back to William to see the lanky Englishman roll his eyes.
“For God’s sake, Gary, even I knew he was kidding.” He nodded toward their room. “Now get in there and dip your wick.” He waggled his own pale eyebrows as he slipped an arm around Lusine, who smiled and leaned into him. “I certainly intend to.”
The couple staggered off to their chosen bedroom, leaving Alcaster and Siranush alone in the threadbare hallway. With a nervous glance at the woman, he unlocked the creaking, wooden door and opened it, inviting her inside with a wave. “After you.”
She had walked inside and Alcaster had fiddled with the door after closing it, making sure it was securely locked. When he turned, Siranush was standing right in front of him, watching him with heavy-lidded eyes. She smelled of cheap floral perfume and stale cigarette smoke, which somehow combined to create an alluring scent. He thought she was breathtaking.
“You...seem nervous,” she said, the hint of a smile playing on her lips.
Alcaster tried to speak, but couldn’t around the sudden lump in his throat, so he just nodded instead. His heart was thumping madly in his chest and his palms felt like a river was flowing from them. He wiped his hands on his jeans.
“Is okay. I have had many... What is best word? ‘First-timers.’ Do not be afraid.”
Alcaster frowned. “Well, I’m not.”
“Good.” The back of her hand brushed the front of his jeans and he was suddenly at full attention. Siranush’s smile widened. “Very good. Come with me.”
She took his hand, not seeming to care about the sweatiness, and led him to the sagging bed. “I will help, yes? Just listen to me, and do as I say, and it will be fine.”
And it was. Actually, it was more than fine.
Now, sitting on his bed, with the woman who had taken his virginity sleeping on the other side, Alcaster was at a loss to describe how he felt other than...good.
Damn good.
Swallowing, he realized he was quite thirsty. The hotel was old enough to not have en-suite bathrooms. He’d have to go down the hall and get a drink from the old bathroom at the end of the hall.
Rising slowly to as not to wake Siranush, Alcaster pulled on his underwear and jeans, then crept quietly to the door and let himself out. Walking past the other two rooms, he heard the squeak of a mattress from one of them and smiled. A door opened down the hall and Alcaster didn’t turn to see who it was, wishing to respect their privacy. Only when he heard footsteps approaching, along with what sounded like a growl, did he turn to behold a strange sight.
Another prostitute, one he didn’t recognize, ran straight at him. The woman’s face, smudged with makeup, was twisted into a snarl of pure hatred. A vivid purple-and-black bruise covered the right side of her head and she only wore a cream-colored slip, her breasts flying with every quickening step. Her arms reached out for him, fingers curled into hooked, bloody claws as her bare feet slapped against the dusty floor, sending little puffs up with each step. A high, keening noise burst from her throat, growing louder as she approached.
Alcaster had just enough time to take this in, hearing some kind of commotion coming from one of the nearby bedrooms, before the crazy woman was upon him. Instinctively he stepped aside, grabbing the woman’s right wrist with his right hand and redirecting her force up and back. At the same time he stepped forward with his right leg and planted it behind the woman’s furiously churning feet. Using the prostitute’s own inertia, he swept her off balance and sent her crashing to the floor, the impact shaking the hallway.
Holy crap, it worked! Alcaster looked up—partly to keep his face away from her, partly because she stank of sweat and urine—as he held the woman down. “William! Josh! I need help—” was all he got out before the woman grabbed his hand and bent it back with unbelievable strength, the tendons in her neck standing out like taut cords with the effort.
What the hell? Alcaster watched, almost in shock, as his arm was levered into the air while the woman tried to claw at his eyes with her free hand. She had to be at least forty kilograms lighter than him, and didn’t look very strong. He should have been able to restrain her, but that certainly wasn’t the case at the moment.
Trying to wrench his arm free only caused more pain. He grabbed below the wrist of the hand that was about to break his fingers, and squeezed the ulna and radius bones as hard as he could. For a moment he thought he was too late, but then the pressure on her trapped hand lessened and the woman’s unearthly shrieks became tinged with pain. Pushing his attacker away, Alcaster jumped to his feet and faced his opponent, arms out, hands up and ready. “Josh! William! Help!”
A door opened and Scott, straw-blond hair tousled with sleep, craned his head out. “What’s all the noise about, man—?”
The woman, her head jerking around erratically, fixed on him. She whirled and tensed to leap at the student.
“Whoa!” Scott ducked back inside and tried to push the door closed, but she slammed into it and forced it partway open, then started pushing her way inside. “What’s her problem?”
“Shit!” Alcaster rushed at the woman and tackled her, bearing her to the ground and pinning her arms. Despite outweighing his captive, he had to use everything he had to keep her subdued, practically sitting on her to keep her on the ground.
“Get—a belt or something—to tie her up—now!” Alcaster ordered. Scott, mouth hanging open in shock, was jolted out of his stunned trance and ran back into his room, returning shortly with his belt. The woman snapped and hissed at them, unintelligible noises streaming from her mouth.
Alcaster fixed the British student with a steely gaze. “All right, first we’re going to turn her over. Then I’ll hold her arms together and you bind her hands.”
“I—I am?”
“Yes, damn it, you are. Get over here. Ready—now!” With a lot more effort than should have been necessary, he and Scott flipped the woman onto her stomach and forced her arms behind her back. Meanwhile, her legs beat a rapid tattoo on the floor, then she began arching them back to try to hit either of the two young men. Scott ended up sitting on her legs to stop her from lashing out at them while Alcaster double-looped the belt around her wrists and cinched it tight.
From where he sat, the Canadian med student eyed the restraint with a critical eye. “Don’t be stingy—we don’t want her getting free any time soon.”
The moment Scott finished pinioning her, the woman strained at her bonds with one final great heave, then collapsed on the floor, unmoving, only the rapid rise and fall of her chest indicating she still lived.
The two young men cautiously got off their bound captive. “What the hell was that all about?” Scott asked as he hurriedly dressed. Alcaster massaged his sore hand while staring at the panting, sweating woman. “You all right?” he asked.
“More or less. Except for seeing a woman I don’t know from Adam try to claw my face off just now, I’m peachy, thanks.”
“Yeah, that was certainly something you don’t see every day.” Scott’s tone was so matter of fact—as though he was discussing a trip to the store—that Alcaster looked at him carefully to make sure he wasn’t going into shock. But he seemed perfectly calm and collected as his gaze alternated between his friend and the woman.
“No, I suppose not.” Taking a deep breath, Alcaster squatted next to their bound captive and carefully thumbed an eyelid back, ready to jerk his hand away if she tried to snack on it. “Any idea what’s happened to her?”
Scott frowned. “Beats the hell out of me. We wouldn’t know without a full medical workup, which we obviously can’t do around here. Right now, the best thing to do is to keep her restrained until we can find some help. One that’s done, they can try to figure out what’s causing this.”
<
br /> After double-checking that she wasn’t going anywhere, Alcaster straightened again. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? After all, we don’t want to panic the rest of the village.”
Scott stared down at her. “I don’t think we have any other choice. We can’t risk moving her, and she’ll kill anyone she comes across if she gets loose. Let’s get her into my room.”
“Grab her feet,” Alcaster said as he bent to pick her up by the shoulders. Scott grabbed her ankles, holding tight as she tried to wriggle out of his grasp. Together the two young men carried her into Scott’s room, where Lusine sat up in bed, clutching the sheets to her chest. Her smudged eyes widened when she saw the young men enter.
“What happened?”
“She tried to attack me,” Alcaster said. “Can you move, please?”
Lusine scrambled off the bed, taking the sheet with her. “But that is Katar. She would not hurt a fly—never!”
“Well, that wasn’t the impression I got when she charged at me in the hallway,” Alcaster said as Scott and he set her on the bed. “Grab those sashes from the window,” he said.
Scott scrambled to do so, tossing them to his friend.
“Okay, you’re going to have to hold her down while I tie her to the bedframe—”
“You...you cannot do this,” Lusine said just as Katar came alive again, throwing her bound arms around Scott’s neck as he leaned over her. He barely got his hands up to block her as she snapped at his throat. He tried to rear back, bringing her with him. At the same time she scissored her legs at Alcaster. One foot kicked him in the stomach, driving him a step backward.
“Shit!” Scott tried to lever her arms off him, but couldn’t without risking getting bitten. He fell on her chest, pinning her to the bed. “Lusine, grab her legs!”
The prostitute shook her head and backed into a corner. Alcaster had recovered by then and grabbed her hands. Together, the two men forced her arms above her head as she strained to bury her teeth in his throat. “Got her?” Scott asked.
Nightmare Army Page 7