Best Laid Plans
STYLO FANTÔME
Published by BattleAxe Productions
Copyright © 2015
Stylo Fantôme
Critique Partner:
Ratula Roy
Editing Aides:
Barbara Shane Hoover
Ratula Roy
Cover Design
Najla Qamber Designs
http://najlaqamberdesigns.com/
Copyright © 2015
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
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MISSION STATEMENT
I not only write, I read. A lot. Probably more than is healthy. There are a lot of things I love about self-publishing/indie authors, and a lot of things I’m not a fan of. Just personal preferences, no disrespect meant. So when I decided to self-publish, I made some promises to myself to try my hardest to avoid doing those things I didn’t like seeing/happening in other stories. Now I would like to make those promises to you, the reader:
I promise to never leave you hanging. If I write a story with a cliffhanger ending, I will only publish it when the second part is completely written.
I promise that all cliffhanger sequels will be published within 16 weeks – maximum – of the previous part (i.e., part two will come within four months of part one. Part three will come within four months of part two, and so on, and so forth). You will never have to wait six months, or a year, or years, for a sequel to any cliffhangers that I might write.
I promise that, while I am an unsigned indie author, I will never raise the price of any part of a series above $2.99. I will not “hook you” with book one, two, and three at $1.99 and/or $2.99, and then suddenly book four is $4.99. I refuse to pay for series that are like that, so I will never do that to you.
I promise that if I am lucky enough and blessed enough to have fans, I will interact and communicate with them as much as possible – you are who this is all for, after all.
If at any point in time, I fail to live up to any of these promises, you have my permission to tar and feather me, beat me, leave me for dead, or worst of all – call me out.
No work is ever really completed, no story ever completely told, but I will always try my hardest to bring you my best.
Thank you for reading.
DEDICATION
For R
M and K and D
all belong to you
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Every location in the following story is real. Every hotel, landmark, border, neighborhood, etc.; they are all based on a real location that actually exits. Customs and holidays and hazards were all researched.
That being said, creative license was taken occasionally, as a drive across western Africa would be virtually impossible in real life – geographically as well as it’s simply too dangerous. The U.S. Department of State advises using extreme caution when traveling through that part of the world, and the U.N. has listed many of the cities mentioned as extremely dangerous.
Best Laid Plans
The Mercenaries #1
LILY
Six days. Six days. Only six more days.
Liliana Brewster unloaded her Glock 22. Racked the slide and discharged the bullet from the chamber. Disassembled the gun. Took a deep breath. Put it all back together again, as quickly as possible.
Six more days and I never have to do this again.
Six more days. Six more days.
MARC
Three days. Three days. Only three more days.
Marcelle De Sant hopped from foot to foot, punching the weight bag harder. As hard as he could.
Three more days and I can get the fuck out of this country.
Three more days. Three more days.
DAY ZERO
Marc smiled to himself as he strapped a shin plate onto his right leg. He could always smell her before he saw her. For almost a month, that aroma had been tempting him. Tormenting him. It was faint, the scent could be lingering from a moment earlier in the day, but he didn’t think so. He thought she was somewhere close by, and getting closer.
Sure enough, a moment later and someone walked into the room.
“Hey! I didn’t know you were here.”
Lily. Funny, because she didn’t smell like her namesake – she smelled like lavender. Not perfume, though. Maybe lotion? It was calming, and made her stand out. They were in a hellhole, one of the worst cities in the world, and here was an auburn goddess with rosy skin and a lavender scent.
At least she brightened up the scenery.
“Yeah,” Marc answered, standing upright and pulling on his flak jacket. “Just suiting up.”
“Oh, that’s right, tonight’s the night,” she replied. She moved around to his side, tightening the straps on the vest for him.
“The night. And you leave tomorrow?” he asked, though it wasn’t necessary. He knew full well she was leaving in the morning. They had spent enough time together over the past month to know the roles they each had in the little scheme the Russian Stankovski Bratva had going. Still, he asked, just to hear her speak. Marc was normally a loner, but over the weeks, he’d grown to enjoy her company. He hated to admit it, but he would miss her.
“Yup. Bright and early. Without me riding your ass, life is gonna be pretty boring,” she teased, reading his mind.
“Life is going to be sweet. This time tomorrow, I’ll be vacationing off the coast of Greece, sleeping my way through the women of Santorini,” he sighed dramatically. She yanked hard on a strap and he wheezed.
“Well, try not to let the syphilis eat too much of your brain. What’s left of it, that is.”
With his vest in place, she came back around to his front and watched him as he loaded up the rest of his gear. Thigh holsters, shoulder holster, ankle holster; pretty much anywhere he could hang a gun, there was a holster. When he glanced at her, she had her eyebrows raised in surprise.
“What?” he looked himself over, looking to see if he’d missed anything.
“That’s a lot of gear,” she commented.
“Can never be too careful. I don’t feel like dying tonight.”
“Why are you getting ready here, anyway? Don’t you have a home?” she pointed out. He snorted.
“Sweetheart, the job starts here and ends here. I don’t want anyone following me back to my place – not even these fuckers. I don’t let anyone see where I sleep,” Marc stressed. She pouted her lips.
“Pity.”
“Why?”
She stepped up close to him, standing on her tiptoes so her mouth was near his ear.
“Because I’d love to see where you sleep.”
Before Marc could respond, could even process what she’d said, there was a knock at the door, and they both turned towards it. A large man in a black blazer and black turtle neck came into the room.
“It is time,” was all he said, his Russian accent thick. Marc turned back to Lily and winked.
“Gotta go. Take it easy out there, don’t break too many hearts,” he cautioned her. She rolled her eyes.
“I’ll try my best. Don’t get shot out there.”
“I’ll try my best.”
Marc was halfway out the door when he stopped. Looked back into the room. Lily was bent in half, picking up some of the stuff he’d left on the floor. He didn’t know her, not really. Marc had been hi
red by a Russian Mafia group, or Bratva, to execute a heist. A very peculiar heist, not his normal gig, but he liked a challenge.
He usually worked the EU, eastern Europe, and Russia, so getting a call to Moscow hadn’t been unusual. Meeting with the Pakhan, or “Godfather” as it were, was also not unusual – he had met the man several times over the course of his years working with that particular group. No, it was the request itself that was unusual.
Steal diamonds from Liberia.
The blood diamond business was booming in Africa, and everyone wanted in on the action. But Africa was a dangerous place, particularly the places the diamonds were coming out of; having Bratva safe houses doing dirty deeds in Liberia was already pushing the envelope. Stealing from a Liberian gang? That would be inviting war. Every Russian in Liberia would have to fear for their lives.
That’s where Marc came into the picture. Steal the diamonds. Make sure it was impossible to trace the theft back to the safe house or the Bratva. Give the diamonds to the Brigadier, the man who operated under direct orders from the big boss back in Moscow. Get paid. Get the fuck out of Africa.
Simple.
But as he watched Lily move, Marc knew it wasn’t simple. There was a very real possibility he could die later in the night, and Lily could very well die the next day.
She’d shown up in Liberia a couple days after Marc had arrived. He’d been walking across the large back yard just as she was brought through, and it had been like seeing the sun after being in the rain for too long. American – he hadn’t spoken to another American in longer than he could remember. A beautiful, intelligent woman – had probably been even longer since he’d talked to one of those. Who was she? He’d figured either a high end escort, or an undercover CIA agent.
She turned out to be neither. She was a transporter, and the diamonds he was going to steal, she was going to smuggle them out of Africa. How a gorgeous redhead from Cleveland became a transporter for a Bratva, in Monrovia, Liberia of all places, Marc had no clue. And she never explained it. To have gotten there, she must have been good at her job, so he’d never questioned it.
Two Americans, working for a Bratva in Monrovia, they were bound to run into each other. He was smart and funny, she was smart and funny, they got along. She was good looking, he was good looking, they flirted. They never once saw each other outside of the safe house, and they never shared any explicit info about their individual jobs.
But they chatted and they flirted and they danced around each other. Became friends. He liked her, he supposed. He didn’t like many people.
“… I’d love to see where you sleep.”
Marc walked back across the room. Lily stood upright and smiled at him, even started to say something. But he didn’t give her a chance. He grabbed her by the back of her head and pulled her in for a kiss.
Lily was a pistol, he halfway expected her to kick him in the nuts. One of the bodyguards in the house had made the mistake of grabbing her ass right after she’d gotten there. She’d broken his wrist and three of his fingers.
Luckily, she didn’t do that to Marc. She grabbed the straps of his vest and yanked him even closer, sliding her tongue into his mouth before he could make that move first. They stumbled backwards, falling into a wall. She moaned and he felt her teeth against his bottom lip, and it just about had him stripping all his gear back off.
“You wait till now to make a move!?” she panted when he pulled away.
“I like to leave people wanting more. Take care of yourself,” he replied, brushing his thumb across her lips. She went to respond, but he turned and walked away again, this time for good.
No sense in getting more attached than he already was; after that night, he’d probably never see her again.
DAY ZERO
Lily sat in an anteroom of sorts, chewing at the edge of her thumbnail. She’d never been in the safe house that late at night before; usually after nightfall, she liked to be safely tucked away in her hotel room, behind secure gates and keyed entries and multiple dead bolts.
She didn’t like to be in the Bratva’s house, period, but especially not at night. Some of the men didn’t seem to understand that not all women were hookers, there solely for their pleasure and entertainment. She could handle one or two by herself, but not a whole house, not on her own, and she didn’t trust the Brigadier – Oleg Ivanov wasn’t exactly known for being a warm, fuzzy kind of guy.
Why the fuck am I here!?
There was a commotion outside of the room, and she turned towards a door to her left. It led to a hallway. The door to her right led into Ivanov’s office. She’d only been in there once, on her first day. She hadn’t expected to ever come back to it.
The commotion got louder, and suddenly the door burst open. She jumped in her seat, and was shocked to see a parade of men storming through the room. Ivanov was leading the way, waddling to his door, keys in his hand. Several byki trailed through the door. Bodyguards. Dumber than rocks, but loyal beyond belief. They would die before they let any harm come to Ivanov.
Between the byki and Ivanov was Marc. Lily was surprised. She really hadn’t expected to see him again, either. When he’d kissed her five hours earlier, she’d figured that was goodbye.
But there he was. He was soaking wet, and muddy. Blood coated the side of his right arm, trailing out from underneath his black t-shirt sleeve. Most of his gun holsters were empty. He was breathing hard, and he looked pissed – she’d never seen him that way, before. Never seen him working. He was usually flirty and smiley with her, but there was no hint of that man anymore. He glanced at her once, their eyes connecting for a second, but he didn’t say anything. Just followed Ivanov through the office door. The byki followed, and soon enough, Lily was alone again.
What happened? Did he get the diamonds? Is this it? Why am I here? What the fuck is going on!?
DAY ZERO
Marc ran his fingers through his hair, shaking away the wetness. When he thought of Africa, he thought of desert. Liberia was in the savanna. He felt like he was living in a sauna.
“Anyone follow you?”
“Please. I’m like a ghost. Let’s hurry this up,” Marc snapped at Ivanov.
“De Sant, always so impatient,” the other man chuckled.
Marc wasn’t actually a member of that Bratva, or any Bratva, in any way, but he had been hired by the Pakhan for lots of jobs, so he’d become accustomed to working around their organization. But he’d never worked around Ivanov before, and after this job, he never would again.
He did not care for the weaselly little guy.
“You were late,” Ivanov was wagging his finger, but smiling, like a proud parent who liked to tease. Marc frowned.
“Yeah, they were a little more tenacious than I thought they would be¸ I had to use some interesting evasive maneuvers,” Marc explained.
“Tenacious? Were you followed? De Sant, if they followed you -” Ivanov started to turn red.
“No one followed me,” Marc stressed.
“Good, good, good, very good. Is very good. Let me see, let me see!” Ivanov urged, waving his hand¸ motioning for Marc to come forward.
It took a few minutes to unstrap his gear bag from his back, and then to dig out the large velvet baggie from the bottom of it, but eventually, a sea of glistening stones was spread out across a large wooden desk. While Ivanov inspected the goods, Marc let his eyes wander around the room, taking in the faded wallpaper and peeling ceiling paint. The maps that seemed to be everywhere, and the cats that were lounging upon them.
“It’s all there. I never opened the package,” Marc assured him, keeping his voice loud enough for the other men in the room to hear. Ivanov nodded, but his eyes never left the diamonds.
“Yes, yes. Stunning. Absolutely stunning! The clarity! You are sure no one followed you?”
Is this guy serious?
“I’m beginning to get insulted. I’ve never been followed, and I certainly wasn’t followed this time. Now give me the r
est of my fee so I can get out of this fucking hellhole,” Marc spit out.
“Of course, of course. Lev!” Ivanov snapped his fingers. A large man lumbered away from the group at the back of the room, holding out a small duffle bag. Marc took it, and was a little surprised at its weight.
“What’s this?” he asked. Ivanov still hadn’t looked away from the diamonds.
“Bonus. You do such good work, De Sant. No one could have done this as good as you. As quiet as you. Perfect work. Big bonus for you. Please, enjoy. Take a vacation! You have most definitely earned it,” Ivanov explained.
Marc was instantly on alert. In all his years of doing mercenary work, he had never been given a bonus that hadn’t been discussed in advance. Criminals weren’t usually big on parting with their money – sometimes payment alone had to be taken by force. He was certainly never just handed extra money.
Until that moment.
Sure, it was the biggest diamond heist of Marc’s nefarious career, and possibly in that Bratva’s history, but still. Criminals were criminals.
Something is very, very wrong.
“We never discussed a bonus. I didn’t do anything extra to earn it. Just standard protocol,” Marc put out there. Ivanov waved him away.
“You got diamonds. You didn’t lead them back to us. Is good enough reason. Go, go, go now, enjoy, Marcelle. For once in your miserable life, enjoy something!”
Marc paused for a second longer, but the whole situation made him so goddamned uncomfortable. He just wanted to get out of there. He gave a curt smile, nodded his head at Ivanov, then started elbowing his way through the bodyguards.
He just wanted to get away. Wanted to go home and count his money. Shower. Decompress. And then get as far away from Liberia as fucking possible. As quickly as fucking possible.
But when he stepped out of the room, it was to find Lily sitting in the anteroom. He’d forgotten about her. The last five hours had been an adrenaline ride on a roller coaster in hell. He’d been shot, he’d been chased, he’d sprinted for no less than a mile – he was tired. Beyond tired. He was dirty, he was angry, and he was confused by Ivanov’s “bonus”. And now the redheaded goddess herself was looking up at him with her big green eyes, all wide and confused looking.
Best Laid Plans Page 1