Maverick

by Lisa Marie Rice

  Dan looked around sharply at the sound of a car coming up behind them. It was a taxi, one of the few cruising the streets. He hailed it, bundled her inside and gave the name of the hotel.

  In the back seat, he rested his arm along the back of the seat and brought his mouth to her ear.

  “I think those records saved your life. I think you saw that mysterious white man kill your friend, and if he had had any inkling that you were a witness, he’d have had you killed down in Florida. And you would never have seen it coming.”

  God no, she’d never have seen it coming. She’d barely escaped with Dan by her side. For most of this spring and summer, she’d have been as vulnerable as a newborn kitten.

  It had to be said. Horrible as it was to think, it had to be said.

  “It all boils down to Bowen, doesn’t it?” she said slowly. “My troubles started when I did a search for his name. And he was in Laka that day, instead of in Algiers. And the Deputy Prime Minister isn’t around anymore to give him an alibi.” She swallowed against a dry throat. “If Aba is right, the Red Army didn’t invade that day. And if my dreams are right, then Bowen McKenzie is—"

  “A murderer,” Dan said harshly. “And guilty of high treason.”

  Atlantic Ocean

  Fifty miles beyond US territorial waters

  The scandal was coming to a peak, some blogs registering ten million hits a day. He read them on his laptop as the Lear arrowed its way east.

  All in all, Bowen thought, it was a good thing that he wasn’t immediately available for comment. He checked his e-mail. Ah, yes. Hundreds of messages, requests for call-backs.

  Well, he was heading for Africa, doing God’s work, wasn’t he? He would be back on US soil just as the frenzy reached its apogee, having overseen the distribution of life-saving drugs and having gotten rid of that bitch Claire Day, who was a danger at exactly the wrong moment.

  He relaxed in the soft, buttery ergonomic chair in the luxurious aft section of the cabin and poured himself a celebratory finger of cognac. Hennessy 1985, an excellent year. By the time the plane landed in Laka, it would have worked its way through his system and out again. He could afford it.

  He pressed a button. “Heston.”

  A moment later, the door at the end of the cabin opened. The back of the plane was outfitted with ten regular coach seats and a roomy area for weaponry.

  Heston stood at attention. “Sir.”

  Bowen looked up lazily at his soldier. His war-dog. Who lately had not been a good dog at all. He got one more chance. He fucked this up, he’d have to go.

  The next stage of his life was going to be high-stakes, with no margin for error, he couldn’t afford having a fuck-up in his life.

  “Men all squared away, Heston?”

  They were travelling with three other soldiers, Heston’s men. Heston hadn’t wanted any more, because in the new Makongo, four white men travelling in a group already attracted enough attention. Heston had insisted on the men, though. Which was absurd. Four trained soldiers against an untrained woman. Overkill.

  So if anything went wrong this time, he’d shoot Heston himself.

  He speared Heston with a hard look. “This time we do it right. As soon as we find her, I want a snatch and grab, I need to know what she’s got. We’ll pump her for any information she might have. See if she’s passed anything on. I don’t care if you get the info the hard way. She’s costing me time and money, so she has to pay before we get rid of her.” He gave a wintry smile. “She’s a looker. You’ll like that part, won’t you, Heston?”

  “Yessir.” Heston tried to keep a soldierly demeanour, but his cheekbones turned red. This was what turned Heston on. Violence made him horny, and it was the reason Heston had been kicked out of the Army on a dishonourable discharge. One rape charge too many.

  It was massively stupid. Heston had sacrificed a military career because he couldn’t keep it in his pants.

  Once again, he questioned his reliance on Heston, who was proving to be an inadequate and inefficient tool.

  Sooner or later dull tools got discarded.

  Laka

  December 2

  “Fuck no, no fucking way!” The next day, Dan stood in the hotel room, clenching his jaws against saying anything else, because what he wanted to do was order Claire to stay far away from this. The thing was, though, she didn’t take orders well.

  He felt the hot flush of frustration rise up through his body. He was normally like ice when planning an op, but this one…

  Jesus.

  In frustration he thrust his hands in his hair and pulled.

  Last night he’d somehow sensed that this was coming. He’d made love to Claire for hours, as if joining his body to hers could create a magical aura of protection, as if the more time he spent inside her, the safer she’d be. If he could have, he’d have tucked her right into his own body and kept her there.

  He’d felt danger approaching and he’d been right. Claire had just proposed setting herself up as bait.

  “Yes, way,” Claire said calmly. She turned in her chair. “Jesse, you tell him.”

  Dan rounded on Jesse, willing him to be the rational one here and tell Claire it was a crazy plan. Jesse scratched his head because he didn’t have enough hair to pull and sighed.

  “Well, I’ve looked at it upside down and right-side up, Dan. It makes a lot of sense. Right guys?”

  Frank Rizzo and Dave Lee looked up from checking their weapons and nodded. But they wouldn’t look him in the eyes. They wouldn’t look him in the eyes because the whole friggin’ plan was insane.

  The Etoile was mostly empty of guests. On the off-chance that someone was checking, and somehow knew his fake name, Dan had relocated them to an empty room that he’d slipped $50 to the clerk to keep empty. If the guy at the front desk thought it was strange to pay for a room and then pay to use another room instead, he kept it to himself.

  The Makongans thought all white men were crazy anyway.

  Jesse, Frank, and Dave had arrived last night at 9 on the 7 p.m. flight, which had only been two hours late. Dan didn’t know Frank and Dave well, but he knew of them and knew they were good men to have at your back. Right now, together with Jesse, they were his new absolute best friends, because they’d come to protect Claire.

  And now Claire was planning on throwing herself straight into the line of fire.

  No. No way.

  She wasn’t trying to wheedle, either. That was what had Dan so scared. She wasn’t asking permission or sounding him out. She was planning this, full speed ahead.

  Five minutes after arriving, Frank and Dave had already fallen half in love with her, so there was no use turning to them. He’d hoped Jesse would at least see his point of view, but no. He was just as infatuated as the other two.

  All three were sitting on the edge of the bed like idiots, watching her pace back and forth, eyes glued to her, their heads swivelling as if at some championship tennis match.

  “We don’t have proof, that’s the thing,” Claire said, her beautiful face scrunched in ferocious concentration. “The best thing—the only thing—we can do is trick out a confession. And the only way Bowen would do that is if he is convinced I’m alone. I know him, he’d love for a chance to gloat, to show me how smart he is.”

  “And he’ll do it, knowing he’s going to have you killed!” Dan was gritting his teeth so hard the grinding sound filled the room. “Of course he’ll gloat. Because you’ll never live to tell anyone and he knows that.”

  Claire turned to him, looking surprised. She waved at her little fan club sitting on the edge of the bed. “Well, what do I have you guys for? You’re there as backup. Bowen will think I’m alone and he’ll have his guard down. It’s a classic ambush.”

  Dan tried to sound reasonable even though his head was ready to explode. “We’re fast and we’re good, honey. But what if he comes armed? We’re not Superman. We can’t outrun a bullet.”

  She was shaking her head before he f
inished. “No. The one thing about Bowen everyone knows is that he was all intel, he wasn’t an operative at all. I know for a fact he doesn’t know how to use a gun. He used to boast about it, and the security types used to snigger behind his back. He’s not going to be carrying a gun, trust me.”

  “He’ll have backup,” Dan warned.

  “Yes, he will. And that’s where you come in. I expect you four to neutralize the backup and be ready. Now—I need to check equipment. I know you guys have checked your weapons. Jesse—did you bring what I asked you?”

  “Oh yeah.” Jesse stood up and pulled a tiny piece of plastic from his jeans pocket. It was shaped like a comma and he fit it behind Claire’s ear. When he pulled a lock of hair over her ear it was invisible. “Perfect. A bud is always visible, but this conducts through bone. No one could possibly know it’s there. One of my buddies in the Detachment Command is a nut for this stuff. He’s going to want it back.”

  Dan ground his teeth even harder. It was going to be hard to give the jarhead back his earpiece if a sniper put a round through Claire’s head. It would be all covered with blood.

  He opened his mouth to say something when Claire held up a hand.

  “Let’s test this. Talk to me.”

  Jesse went into the bathroom. Dan could barely hear a low male murmur.

  When Jesse came out, Claire’s eyes were shining. “Wow. It was like you were talking directly into my ear. What about video, now? What did your friend have that we can use?”

  Jesse brought out a small thin panel of plastic with a circle on top. “Top-of-the-line miniaturization,” he said, tapping the button. “This turns it on. It’s very lightweight. You slide this button through a buttonhole of a shirt. I brought you a size small shirt in case you didn’t have one. One of Dan’s would never fit you.” He held up a plain white cotton shirt that was too big for Claire but not outrageously so. Most people wore loose clothing in the tropical heat. He held the shirt up, with the button threaded through it. Then he placed a small video screen on the table and switched it on. The screen showed Jesse, and Dan behind him wearing a ferocious scowl.

  “See how it works?” Jesse said, and the speakers on the video screen repeated See how it works?

  The sound was excellent, the image was sharp.

  “Good to go,” Claire murmured.

  “Let me talk to Bowen,” Dan pleaded. “And you stay out of it.” Let Bowen come after him, not Claire.

  Claire put her hand against his face and smiled at him. “No,” she said gently. “It wouldn’t work. You know that, Dan. It has to be me and he has to think I’m working alone. That I’m this idiot who will just walk unaware into a trap. He’d never believe you don’t have backup, and he’d never talk to you.” She sighed. “I’m not entirely sure even I can trip him up but I’m the only one who can try.”

  “Claire—" Dan began in a reasonable tone, though he felt anything but reasonable. He felt like beating his head against the hotel room’s stuccoed wall.

  “No, Dan. You listen to me.” Claire’s voice was sharper now. “Did you hear what Aba said? People are dying. Bowen’s going to continue these criminal acts unless someone stops him. It has to be done.”

  “You want to avenge Marie, that’s what you want,” Dan grumbled.

  “Absolutely. That, too. But this is bigger than us. And you know that.” She didn’t even wait for him to respond, and went to her computer. “Now that’s settled I’m going to send a clear message to Mr. Bowen McKenzie, wherever he is.”

  She went into Computer Mode, hunched over the keyboard, nose an inch from the monitor, hands flying.

  Jesse looked at him. What’s she doing?

  Dan shrugged. How should he know? Claire was a law unto herself.

  She was mumbling to herself under her breath. “Come on Bowen,” she whispered, “Where are you?”

  Jesse, Frank, and Dave simply sat on the bed, unmoving, letting Claire do her thing.

  Finally, Dan couldn’t stand it anymore. He put a hand on her shoulder, controlling the wince at the feel of her fragile bones. Right now, Claire looked capable of taking on the world. She was infused with fury and righteousness, a woman on a mission of revenge.

  But she was small and not back to full strength. Dan had seen big strong men, trained to kill, tough as nails, fall. All it took was one bullet. With Claire, it was entirely possible that Bowen could fell her with one strong blow, if it was true he wouldn’t draw a weapon.

  Dan was terrified of losing her. The line between life and death was so very fine and could be crossed at any moment…

  “What are you doing, honey?”

  Claire blew out a big breath and sat back, frowning.

  “Looking for Bowen. I figured he’d have someone tracking me and that they’d have found out by now that I’d flown to Laka. I thought Bowen would be the kind of man to come after me, damn it. But there are no reservations from the continental United States in the name of Bowen McKenzie. His face has been plastered all over the newspapers lately. He wouldn’t dare fly under an assumed name. But I simply can’t find…”

  She stopped suddenly.

  “What? What, honey?”

  But she was lost to him again, back communing with the computer. Another five minutes went by. The only sound in the hotel room was the clacking of the keyboard, at twice the speed he’d ever heard.

  Claire smiled and narrowed her eyes. “Gotcha,” she said softly. “Look.”

  She angled the laptop so he could see the monitor better. A flight manifest.

  “He’s flying on a private plane, the Foundation corporate jet. The pilot filed a flight plan to Laka. And he’s flying with four men.” Dan’s hand tightened on her shoulder “We’ve got him now, oh yeah.”

  Claire pounded the keyboard for another minute. “The plane is scheduled to land in Laka at 2:30 p.m. this afternoon. I need to send him a message. I’ll text him.”

  “You have his cell phone number?” Dan asked, startled.

  She smiled again, and for a moment looked positively wicked. “Darling Dan, the day I can’t find a cell phone number is the day I hang up my computer.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Over the Azores

  Atlantic Ocean

  He tried to relax during the flight. It made him feel a little better to think about the photos of Neff starting to bounce around the internet.

  He controlled his breathing, smoothed out his thoughts.

  Claire Day could do some mischief, but he was tracking her down now, and she’d be neutralized soon.

  She was isolated, sick, a little crazy. Even if she contacted people with some wild story, who was going to believe her? She had no official standing at all, and even a cursory check of her medical records would show how unreliable she was. When she was dead, things would return to normal. No one would even remember her name.

  It was all okay, all on track, all as it should be. This was a glitch, nothing more.

  Wizard’s signal sounded.

  No trace of Day at hotel but computer records not updated since October 14. Who r these people? How do they run a business?

  Shit! She might or might not be in Laka. For a second, he was tempted to just forget about it, tell the pilot to turn around. Who knew what Claire thought she was doing? Maybe she was just spinning her wheels. Maybe she wasn’t even in Laka at all, but had stayed in Freeport.

  Should he leave the country right now to head her off? Would it be wise? The next few days were going to be really interesting as Neff clung uselessly to power while a grassroots movement to recruit him was gathering force.

  On the other hand… if Neff started drowning in new scandalous photos popping up every six hours and videos being released daily, no one could suspect him if he were overseeing the delivery of life-saving drugs to poor Africans.

  Lot of good photo ops there.

  He could come back at the very height of the scandal, to witness Neff’s shame.

  Hmmm. He could be photographed
stepping off the plane from Makongo, tanned, vigorous, a patriot, a philanthropist, just the man to step into a pervert’s shoes.

  He could see it very clearly. Above all he could see the headlines, clamouring for a new morality, journalists pressing around him as he got off the plane, shouting questions about his plans, would he be willing to be drafted to replace reviled Senator Neff, caught in the mother of all scandals?

  Why yes, yes he would. And in fact, on the tarmac of Richmond International Airport would be the perfect backdrop to answer the call of the people.

  He was mentally drafting a catchy reply to the press that would be on the tarmac to greet him when his cell phone gave its ‘incoming text’ distinctive buzz.

  Frowning, he checked the display, annoyed at the interruption.

  Unidentified caller

  He was tempted to just leave it, but these were days in which a lot of stuff was happening. He had to be on top of it all.

  He clicked open the message and his blood froze. He was sure his heart stopped for a second or two in his chest, then thundered to life again in a frantic tattoo of panic.

  Hi Bowen, long time no see. I’ve found out some very interesting information about you here in Laka. I hear you’re looking for me and you’re on your way to Makongo. I’ll be in the lobby of the Etoile Africaine, this afternoon 4 pm, local time. You want me? Come and get me, you son of a bitch. Claire

  Laka

  “Hello, Bowen.” Claire stood up, making sure her hands were visible. “I can’t say it’s nice to see you again.”

  Bowen McKenzie’s easy charm was gone. He was tense, nostrils white with stress. Dressed elegantly, as always, in a tailored white linen shirt that screamed Armani, chocolate linen trousers, kidskin Gucci loafers without socks.