Taking Fire

by Cindy Gerard

  She studied the picture so long Bobby decided they’d hit another dead end.

  “Yeah . . . yeah. I know that arsehole.” She handed back the phone.

  Talia clutched his arm, and he felt her excitement like electricity. At last, they’d hit pay dirt.

  Adrenaline zipped through his blood. “When was the last time you saw him?”

  Lauren lit another cigarette, then squinted against the smoke. “Information’ll still cost ya double. Time’s money, ya know.”

  Bobby knew, and he wasn’t about to blow this. He fished into his dishdasha and pulled out a stack of rial notes guaranteed to make her eyes pop and her jaw loosen.

  She smiled and tucked the notes into her cleavage. “First time I seen ’im, ’e come in ’ere, ’e took a shine to Peggy.” Lauren took another drag on her cigarette. “I told ’er, ’e looks a bit dodgy to me. Had a mean look about ’is eyes, ya know? Just like in that picture.

  “You sure you want to go with ’im, I ask ’er,” Lauren continued, apparently determined to give them their money’s worth. “And oh, she was sure—Peggy’s always so bloody sure—so she takes ’im up to ’er room.”

  “When was this?” Talia demanded.

  Bobby covered the hand that gripped his arm, squeezed, urging her to tamp down her impatience. But he could feel her shaking beside him. At least, he thought it was her.

  “I’m gettin’ there, luv. So Peg takes ’im up to ’er room, right? Three hours later, ’e comes waltzing outta the lift and ’eads out the door. I’m still worried about Peg, so I goes up to ’er room—I was ’avin’ a slow night.”

  Lauren lifted a highball glass to her lips, and Bobby gave Talia a warning look when she almost flew around him to get in the woman’s face.

  “Easy,” he whispered.

  “Takes ’er a long time to answer,” Lauren said after a deep swallow. “And when she did, I almost ’ad a bloody ’eart attack. ’E’d bloodied ’er face. Split ’er lip wide open. And she said the bastard rogered ’er till she bled. When she told ’im to stop, ’e had another go at ’er till ’e’d done all the damage ’e wanted.”

  “When was this?” Bobby repeated Talia’s question.

  “Two nights back. But ’e came back again the next night. Tonight, too.”

  “He’s here now?” It was all he could do to keep his adrenaline in check. He wanted this bastard. He wanted him now.

  Lauren shook her head. “No. Come and gone. And good riddance.”

  Bobby closed his eyes and swore.

  “How long ago?” Talia’s voice was taut with tension. “How long since he left?”

  Lauren shrugged. “Fifteen, twenty minutes, maybe. Oh, no need for the mad face, now, luvs. ’E’ll be back. A mean bugger like ’im? When a woman is willin’ to take the snoggin’ from the likes of ’im, they always come back fer more. Peggy’s pretty, but she’s young. And a fool. I told ’er, tell ’im to bugger off. But no. ’E’s got money and heaps of it. ’E pays ’er triple ’er price.”

  She leaned in close then. “Ain’t no one’s to know that but us,” she said in a warning voice. “No one deserves an extra cut of what Peg’s worked for.”

  “What time does he usually show up?” Bobby asked stiffly.

  “’Round nine. Leaves a little after midnight. ’E’s a bastard, but ’e’s as regular as my nanna’s prunes. I give up on Peggy. If she wants to let ’im bugger ’er up that way, I got no more to say about it.”

  She lifted her hands, her story finished. “That’s what I know. What do you need with ’im, anyway?”

  “We just need to talk to him,” Bobby said.

  Lauren laughed. “You want to ’urt ’im, don’t ya? You’ll get no squabble from me.”

  “Tell you what.” Bobby reached back into his pocket, then offered her several more notes. “This is for your trouble and for not mentioning to anyone that we were looking for him, okay?”

  Smiling, Lauren nipped the money out of his hand and tucked it into her cleavage with the rest. “I’da kept me mouth shut for free, luv, if it meant someone was going to ’urt ’im the way ’e ’urt poor Peg. So don’t you worry. I ain’t never seen nobody askin’ about the bloody bastard, no matter who wants to know.

  “Sure you don’t want a little rumpy-pumpy just to take yer edge off?” she added with an inviting smile. “Might come up with a better rate, bein’ as ’ow we’re mates and all now, right?”

  “Appreciate it,” Bobby said. “I really do. But we’re in a bit of a time crunch.”

  “Offer’s open anytime, luv.”

  * * *

  “Fifteen minutes.” Talia’s expression was tortured as they left the lounge and headed across the tiled hotel lobby. “We missed that monster by fifteen minutes.”

  Bobby hated the rotten timing, too, but he had to put things in perspective, or he’d end up pounding his fist through a wall. “It sucks, I agree, but glass half full, okay? We found Amir, and we know he’s coming back. So tomorrow night, we’ll be waiting. The team will be here, and we’ll follow him to whatever rock he crawled out from under. And that’s where we’ll find Meir.”

  “I know,” she said. “I know this is huge. But . . .”

  “But it’s another twenty-four hours. I get it. They’re not going to hurt him,” Bobby assured her. “They don’t only want you and me, now they want the money, too.”

  “So why hasn’t Hakeem called again?”

  “Because he knows it makes you crazy with worry. He’ll call. And you’ll ask to speak with Meir again. And then you’ll tell Hakeem that you must speak with him every hour prior to the exchange, or the deal is off. That’s our guarantee that he’s alive. And here’s my promise,” he added. “We’ll have Meir back long before the time they set for the exchange.”

  “And if we don’t?”

  “We will,” he said firmly.

  “But if we don’t,” she repeated, just as resolute. She stopped in the middle of the large lobby and faced him. “I will exchange my life for his. Promise me, if it comes to that, you won’t do anything to stop me.”

  “It’s not going to come to—”

  “Promise me,” she demanded, her eyes dark and tortured.

  “I promise,” he said, cupping her shoulders and looking her square in the eye.

  She held his gaze for a searching moment, then nodded and started walking again.

  And he found himself wondering if he really could honor his word. If he could let her sacrifice her life. He was still contemplating the thought as they maneuvered the large revolving door and stepped out of the air-conditioned coolness of the hotel and into the oppressive Omani night.

  They hadn’t taken two steps out from under the three-story portico when Talia stopped abruptly. Her hand dropped into the pocket that held her gun.

  Instantly alert, Bobby reached for his Beretta. “What?”

  “Someone’s out there.”

  28

  Gun in a two-handed grip, Bobby searched the parking lot and moved with Talia behind the protection of a stone column supporting the portico. It would be easy for someone to hide out there in the acres of asphalt interspersed with palm trees and dim lights.

  “I don’t see anyone,” he whispered close to her ear. “Not even Sanju.”

  “Stand down. It’s me.” A voice came out of the dark beside them.

  Talia swung around, aiming at the source.

  Bobby pivoted with her, then grabbed her hands and jerked her Glock skyward. Surprised by her strength, he spun her around and immobilized her by trapping her arms between them.

  “What are you doing?” she cried when he wrestled the gun away from her.

  “He’s trying to keep you from killing me.” Nate Black stepped out of the shadows.

  “It’s okay, Talia. It’s Nate.” When Bobby was certain she’d
gotten the message, he released her. “You’ve made better entrances, boss.”

  “Yeah,” Black said, and for the first time ever, Bobby thought he looked a little sheepish. “Bad timing. I thought I’d catch you in the lobby. Thank God you make one pale, tall Arab and I recognized you, or this could have gotten ugly,” he added, giving Bobby’s native garb a once-over. “Great reflexes—both of you.”

  Bobby pocketed his Beretta and handed Talia her Glock. “Talia Levine. Nate Black.”

  “Miss Levine.”

  Talia’s small frame was still coiled tight with tension. “Mr. Black.”

  “We need to move out. There’s an Omani military patrol about two blocks behind us, and you two share the number one slot on their most wanted list.”

  “How did they find us?” Talia sounded alarmed.

  “How did you find us?” Bobby wanted to know. “And when did you get here?”

  “Let’s get into the car. Then I’ll explain everything.”

  * * *

  Tucked into the shadows behind the hotel, a black Land Cruiser idled quietly. Black settled into the shotgun seat. Taggart opened the back door, urged Talia inside, then climbed into the backseat beside her.

  The interior was dark—no light came on when the doors opened—so it took Talia a moment to recoup her night vision. Only when he spoke did she realize another man shared the backseat with them.

  “It’s always gotta be high drama with you, huh, Boom?”

  “Coop.” Taggart tugged off his headwear and reached across in front of her to shake Coop’s extended hand. “Glad to see you, man. Damn glad.”

  “Thank you for getting us out of Honduras. Always did prefer a dry hell to a wet one. And you know how Carlyle is.” Coop notched his chin toward the man behind the wheel. “Grumpy as a swamp rat when his golden locks get all curly from the humidity.”

  “Hey. At least I’ve got hair.” This protest came from the driver—Carlyle, apparently—as he shifted into reverse and backed away from the hotel.

  “Carlyle.” Affection filled Taggart’s voice. “I appreciate it, bud. Anybody else in here?”

  “The rest of the team is setting up shop.” Black checked his watch. “We should be there within twenty minutes.”

  Just as they swung around the side of the hotel and headed out through the service entrance, three Omani military vehicles roared up the front drive toward the portico.

  “Now, I’d say that’s good timing,” Carlyle said, driving past them.

  Black glanced over his shoulder. “Are we going to need to worry about anyone in the hotel ID’ing you?”

  “I think we’re good.” Taggart glanced at her, and she nodded in agreement. “Place was dark, and we were well concealed in these clothes. And the bar was packed. We spoke to one person, and she’s just as eager for Amir al-Attar to get his as we are.”

  His statement had Black wrenching around in his seat. “You got a lead?”

  “Yeah,” Taggart said, sounding relieved. “We got a lead.”

  “Nose like a hound dog,” the man called Coop said with a grin.

  “Okay, before the shit gets too deep in here,” Taggart cut in, “Talia Levine, meet Brett Carlyle, our wheel man tonight.”

  “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” Carlyle met her gaze in the rearview mirror.

  Warm from not only the Omani heat but also the close quarters in the vehicle, Talia removed her headwear and indulged in the cool blast from the air-­conditioner. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Happy to help.”

  She couldn’t see much of Carlyle’s face in the dark, but she sensed the same qualities in him that Taggart and Black possessed: integrity, determination, and confidence. She wondered how much they knew about Meir. Were they here helping to find her lost child, or did they know Taggart was Meir’s father?

  “This guy and I go way back,” Taggart said, leaning around her again to get a look at the man beside her. “He knows what he’s doing. What Rhonda sees in him, however, is lost on me. Talia, meet Jamie Cooper.”

  “Ma’am,” Cooper said with a nod. “I’m sorry for your trouble.”

  “Thank you.” So this handsome man was Rhonda’s husband.

  “So what’s with the hair?” Taggart asked him.

  Cooper smoothed a hand over his bald head. “Learned my lesson the last time we drilled in Central America. Too damn hot. Much cooler without it.”

  “And how does Rhonda feel about it?”

  “She’s got a thing for Vin Diesel so it’s working for her. At least, for the time being.”

  She wasn’t sure why Taggart found that funny, but he actually laughed. Something Talia hadn’t heard him do since Kabul, and she’d missed it.

  It was a release for him. His team was here; the two of them weren’t in this alone now. Needling, joking, trash talking—it was how warriors let off steam. It was how they stayed sane.

  “Don’t mind these idiots,” Black said from his shotgun seat. “They’ll level off soon enough.”

  “It’s all right.” And it was. She was so thankful they’d actually arrived. It wasn’t that she’d doubted Taggart; it was just that so much could have gone wrong and kept them from getting here.

  “I know you want information,” Black continued, “but if you can hold off a little longer, we’ll arrive at our temporary HQ. You’ll meet the rest of the team then, and we’ll read everyone in at the same time.”

  “That’s fine. And thank you again. I can’t tell you how much—”

  “No need,” Black interrupted kindly. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, ma’am—”

  “Talia.” She interrupted this time. “Please call me Talia, all of you.”

  “All right, Talia.” Black began again. “You two look exactly like you’ve been through a bombing and are running on little sleep. You sure you’re okay?” Concern darkened his expression as he took in Taggart’s head wound and the bruises on her face.

  “I’m fine,” they both said in unison, and got a sure you are look from Black.

  “Just the same,” he said, “if you boys can keep the reunion jabs down to a dull roar, maybe Talia can catch a much-needed combat nap.”

  * * *

  She didn’t get her nap, but she did close her eyes and rest for several minutes. When she opened them again, they’d neared the waterfront and the beginning of a major industrial area, where the buildings appeared to house administrative offices. They passed several blocks of both old and new construction. The scent of the sea and crude oil hung thick in the air, even in the air-conditioned interior of the SUV.

  Carlyle bypassed several complexes and finally stopped in front of a gated, chain-linked lot that enclosed a newer three-story cement-block building. Royal Brit Petroleum was painted in red block letters across the front of the building. Cooper jumped out and unlocked the padlocked gate, then locked it behind them after Carlyle drove the Land Cruiser through.

  He pulled around to the back of the building, hit a remote entry clipped to the visor, and waited until an overhead garage door opened. Then he pulled inside and closed the door behind them.

  Talia stepped out of the SUV with the others and found herself in a cavernous parking garage housing two similar SUVs and a large white utility van. Otherwise, the garage was empty.

  “Presents?” Taggart asked, walking toward the van.

  “Take a look,” Black said.

  Taggart opened the van’s double back doors. “Holy shit.”

  Talia couldn’t help gaping at what was inside. She was looking at a rolling armory: 1911A1 pistols and sound suppressors to fit them, M4 carbine rifles also equipped with sound suppressors, FAST helmets with top-of-the-line night-vision/thermal-imaging goggles fixed to them.

  There was body armor, boxes of thirty-round magazines, and the ammo to fill them. Sh
e spotted flashbangs and smoke grenades and radios for communication that, given the high-tech quality of everything else, probably had voice-activated throat mikes and earpieces that fit under sound-deadening hearing protection.

  These guys didn’t kid around. They could lay siege to the entire city with this much firepower.

  “No shit?” Taggart said, smiling. “You brought the drone?”

  “Said I would.”

  Taggart laughed. “Yeah, but I didn’t think you could pull it off. So where’s the Abrams tank?”

  Black almost grinned. “Requisition didn’t come through.” He closed the van’s doors. “Let’s go hook up with the rest of the team.”

  He punched a series of numbers into a keypad by a thick steel door. “Since Muscat is pretty much locked down because of the embassy bombing, Rhonda was able to secure this building on short notice. It helped that our British friends play well with others.”

  Yeah, and for a lot of money, Talia thought. Whoever these guys worked for, it was obvious they had the resources to back up the operation. And while she was still consumed with fear for Meir, she also felt energized with a new sense of hope.

  Once the door opened, Black led them down a long concrete and steel corridor. Their footsteps echoed hollowly in the dimly lit hallway; the air-­conditioning made a soft, shushing sound as it traveled through silver ducts running along the tall ceilings. They reached another door that opened to a set of stairs and walked down them to a basement-level conference room.

  Black rapped twice on the door and waited. When the door opened, he urged her and Taggart into the room ahead of him. A huge table filled the center of the room, surrounded by cushy leather chairs. Plastic plants were arranged in the corners, and pictures from ads showing Royal Brit Petroleum company workers giving ice cream and school supplies to impoverished children filled the walls. She was stunned to see the level and complexity of activity already taking place.

  Four men and one woman, all dressed similarly in dark T-shirts and pants, occupied the large room that now also held her, Taggart, Black, Carlyle, and Cooper. The scent of freshly brewed coffee perked her up a bit, and she spotted a Bunn coffeemaker on a side table. A screen and a projector were set up at the front of the room. Several laptops were booted up and filled with data and photographs.