Thrilling Thirteen

by Ponzo, Gary

  I checked my watch. Riley could have been in the air and travelling flat out at a hundred and twenty knots for fifteen minutes now. The diameter of the search zone was increasing all the time.

  “Do we know who’s taken your people hostage?” Wilson asked. “And what do they want?”

  Marcus explained briefly about Santiago Rojas, our theory that he was Enzo Lefévre, and about Riley’s cryptic radio message.

  “If this Lefévre is a pro that’s good,” he said. “Means he’s less likely to do something stupid with them.”

  “We know he’s killed once already,” I said. That earned me a sharp glance from Dr Bertrand. “If he swapped identities, who do you think shot the real Santiago Rojas in the chest—this mysterious third man nobody can find?”

  “Sounds like your pilot can take the pressure, though,” Wilson said. “What’s his call sign? I’ll get my guy to give him a shout and pretend to be Air Traffic Control, something like that. Worth a try, eh?”

  “But there isn’t any ATC operating over the city, is there?” I asked.

  “No.” Marcus gave me a grim smile. “We’ll just have to hope Lefévre doesn’t know that.”

  Wilson spoke to the pilot. A minute or so later he handed back to us a folded aviation chart with a heading scribbled onto it, wincing as he bumped his injured arm.

  “Damn, I think he was wise to us. That bearing makes no sense unless he wants to end up on top of a mountain.”

  “I’ve worked with Riley for a long time,” Marcus said. “He would have given us something even if he had a gun to his head.”

  I peered at the chart. From the hospital which had been ringed in pencil, the heading the Aussie had given took them out of the city to the northeast, which wasn’t a logical route to anywhere. I opened the chart out and scanned it. Almost at once I recognised one of the areas Hope and I had been given to search.

  “What about a reciprocal?” I said. “Rojas’s store is directly southwest of the heading he’s given you.”

  “Could be,” Wilson said. “Better to go somewhere than nowhere, eh?”

  He showed the chart to the pilot who swung the Eurocopter onto a new heading and gunned it. If he’d had lights and sirens he would have been using those too.

  “Why would ’e go back there?” Dr Bertrand asked. “’E must know we are after ’im.”

  “Because of the gems,” I said. “If there was no third robber then he and the woman—Gabrielle Dubois—must have robbed Rojas themselves, but we know he didn’t have anything on him when he was found.”

  “So he’s gone back to look,” Marcus said. “But we searched and didn’t find anything.”

  “Yeah, but we didn’t have Hope and Lemon with us.”

  His expression hardened. “All this for a few stones.”

  “Lefévre mentioned a new delivery that was supposedly delayed,” I pointed out. “But he was lying about everything up to that point. Why not about the delivery as well.”

  “So you reckon there’s a fortune in precious gems out there for the taking, eh?” Wilson said. “Not surprising he decided to risk it.”

  I shook my head. “I think there’s more to it than that—”

  At that moment the pilot leaned over his shoulder. “Coming up on the location.”

  “Put us down short,” Marcus said. He pulled the Colt out from under his shirt and racked a round into the chamber. “I don’t want the bastard to know we’re here.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Joe Marcus might have been ten years out of uniform, but before that he’d been twenty years in the USMC and he hadn’t forgotten a trick.

  The two of us picked our way across the deserted streets and the rubble, moving fast but careful, guns out in our hands. The SIG felt inadequate for the task. What I wouldn’t have given for an M16 or an HK53 compact assault rifle for this kind of urban combat.

  We’d had difficulty persuading Dr Bertrand and Wilson to stay with the helo. Both had wanted to come with us and Marcus had been blunt in his refusal.

  “You’ll slow us down.”

  From the way Dr Bertrand scowled at him, it was probably the first time she’d been told she wasn’t fit to do something. Wilson looked pained but seemed to accept the truth of it.

  “Shout if you need backup though. We can always land the bloody helicopter on ’em, eh?” His pilot did not look overly enthusiastic at this prospect.

  We worked our way in to the opposite side of the street to the location of Santiago Rojas’s jewellery store. The only signs of life were carrion birds and the occasional scurrying rat.

  It was strange to be in the midst of a city and have no traffic noise. Even the immediate airspace was quiet. When the broken canopy of a petrol station flapped in the rising wind, it was sudden enough to make me whirl, bring the SIG up. The canopy rattled again harmlessly and we passed on, dust clouds eddying through the gaps and crevices.

  The only place to gain a decent vantage point was the row of buildings facing the jewellery store, none of which were in a particularly good state.

  Marcus studied the structural damage with a professional eye and eventually led us into the end unit through a rear service door. The store was another one that had sold designer clothing and the sight of the fallen manikins inside the gloomy interior gave it a surreal air. There was the relentless drip of a cracked water pipe somewhere, too, so the ground floor was an inch or so deep in water. I just hoped the power was definitely off as we paddled through it.

  A cast iron spiral staircase gave access to the upper storey. The whole thing had become detached from the building around it and now leaned at a slightly drunken angle. It trembled beneath our feet as we climbed.

  Upstairs there was a crack in the outer wall so bad I could see daylight through it. The interior had been home to more display racks and fitting rooms. The racks were tumbled to the floorboards and every mirror in the place was cracked or lying in splinters. Looked like somebody was in for a shit-load of bad luck.

  Marcus and I tiptoed our way across the glass to the empty window frames and peered out. Below us we had a good view of the street. Off to our far right the Bell was settled on the same landing site Riley had used previously.

  The Aussie pilot himself was sitting on the ground, ankles and wrists secured with duct tape. His bound hands were pressing a bloody rag to the side of his head. I guessed from that he hadn’t given in gracefully to being hijacked.

  The man we suspected was Enzo Lefévre stood a little distance away. In his uninjured hand he was holding the huge Ruger revolver I’d last seen next to Riley’s seat in the Bell. Alongside him was Hope, her skinny frame hunched as if expecting a blow. Of Lemon there was no sign.

  “Too far for a clear shot,” Marcus murmured, regret in his tone.

  “Especially in this wind.”

  “Call her back to you,” Lefévre was saying to Hope. He extended the arm holding the Ruger and thumbed back the hammer with a click I could imagine even if I couldn’t hear it. “Call her back or you won’t ever see your dog again.”

  “Fuck. You,” Hope said clearly and raising her voice she yelled, “Lemon, STAY!”

  “God dammit, Hope,” Marcus said under his breath. “For once in your life do as you’re told, girl.”

  “If she doesn’t start playing along we’re going to have to do something fast,” I murmured. “If Lefévre can’t get what he wants from her, she’s no use to him.”

  “She’s still a valuable hostage.”

  “At the moment she’s just a pain in the arse. He won’t let her back into the helo with the dog—asking for trouble in a confined space—and you know she won’t leave Lemon behind without a fight.”

  Marcus flicked worried eyes to me but said nothing.

  Below us the thief still had the gun aimed at Hope, although the Ruger weighed the best part of three pounds and his arm was starting to waver.

  “Why are you being so stubborn about this, hmm? All I want is for this remarkable
dog I’ve heard so much about to locate a bag for me. A small bag I had with me when I was trapped by the earthquake. Then you can go free—you have my word.”

  “What about Riley?”

  “I need Monsieur Riley to take me out of here. After that I will release him, also.”

  Riley laughed and ended up coughing fit to burst a lung. “He’s lying, sweetheart. Soon as he gets what he wants we’re as good as dead.”

  Even so, we could see the indecision on the girl’s face.

  “Do it,” Marcus willed her through his teeth. “Give him what he wants. Buy us some time, create a distraction.”

  “The building’s not safe,” Hope said at last, tears in her voice. “The gap they made between the cars to drag you out is caved in. What if there’s another aftershock and the rest of it comes down on Lem?”

  “The decision is up to you, of course,” Lefévre said with an almost courtly bow, “but you may not like the alternative.”

  “What’s that?”

  Lefévre shifted his aim downwards and to the side, away from Hope.

  “That I shoot your friend here through his left leg.”

  Riley grinned widely at him.

  “Not a good idea, mate. Not unless you’ve got a couple of hundred hours’ rotary wing experience under your belt. ’Cos there’s no way I can balance the controls for the tail rotor on the old bus without two good feet.”

  Lefévre thought for a moment, then gave as much of a shrug as his injured arm would allow and shifted his aim back to Hope.

  “I am nothing if not flexible in my plans. Call the dog or I will shoot you through your left leg, mademoiselle. And I can assure you that it will be very painful.”

  “Another bad idea, mate,” Riley said, although there was an edge to his voice that hadn’t been there previously. “Look at her. She wouldn’t weigh a hundred pounds if you filled her pockets with rocks. That hand cannon is a three-fifty-seven Magnum. You’ll blow her bloody leg off and she’ll be dead before the dog finishes scratching its arse.”

  Lefévre let out an annoyed huff of breath and let the big revolver drop to his side. Then he transferred it into his other hand, holding it delicately as if he didn’t trust his injured arm to take the weight.

  “Ah well, I had hoped we could be … civilised about this,” he said, and backhanded Hope across the face.

  The force of the blow had the girl stumbling back. She lost her balance, falling heavily. Riley shouted and swore and struggled against his restraints. Beside me, Joe Marcus surged up. I grabbed his arm, dug fingers and thumb into the pressure points on the inside of his wrist and twisted hard.

  “For God’s sake stay down,” I hissed. “That won’t help any of us—least of all Hope.”

  I nearly recoiled at the way his eyes loathed me at that moment but he subsided without speaking. I relaxed my grip and he roughly shrugged my hand away.

  Hope did not get up at once, just lay sprawled on the uneven ground as though stunned. She pushed herself up to a sitting position very slowly, head hanging. When she finally lifted it, there was blood staining her upper lip and her eyes were drenched.

  “I assure you this gives me no pleasure,” Lefévre told her, “but it causes me no anguish either. I will keep doing it until you give me what I want.”

  “Go ahead!” Hope threw at him, her voice breaking. “You can’t do any worse than what’s been done to me already.”

  “Jesus Christ mate, she’s just a kid!” Riley yelped, still struggling without result. “Hope, do what he wants sweetheart. Please. Don’t put yourself through this.”

  “Riley knows, doesn’t he?” I said close to Marcus’s ear. “He knows about Hope—that she’s only sixteen.”

  “Of course he knows.” Marcus couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene unfolding below, but there was pain in etched on his face, and the kind of promise in his eyes that sees men die very unpleasant deaths. “We all know. Did you think we wouldn’t?”

  I glanced back outside. Hope was still on the ground, gathering herself. Lefévre had made no further moves toward her.

  “Including Kyle Stephens?”

  I heard his teeth grit together. “Yes.”

  “Then what the fuck were you thinking, letting her stay?”

  “Making a mistake.” And for once the contempt in his voice was not solely directed at me.

  I rose to a crouch and handed the SIG across. He took it automatically before he realised what I had in mind.

  “What the—?”

  “He’ll only take it away from me,” I said, dumping my spare magazines in his hand too. “And he might decide that a forty-cal round is more survivable than three-fifty-seven. Just do me a favour—when you get the chance to shoot him, don’t miss.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  I walked into the street from the far end, keeping my hands in plain view. The dust swirled around my legs as I went, like some tumbleweed-blown town in the Old West. In the back of my mind I almost heard the jingle of spurs on my heels.

  Lefévre saw me coming a long way back. He yanked Hope to her feet and steadied her in front of him, checking Riley’s position at his back so nobody had a clear shot behind either.

  No flies on you, sunshine.

  “That’s close enough, if you please,” he called when I was maybe fifty feet away. “What do you want?”

  “To negotiate.”

  He smiled. “With what?”

  “Word from Hope’s boss.”

  “And where is Monsieur Marcus—lurking somewhere nearby no doubt?”

  “We split up to search. He went northeast,” I lied, gesturing vaguely. “Could be anywhere by now.”

  “Let’s see the gun.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not carrying.”

  “You will not be insulted if I ask you to prove it?”

  I lifted my shirt up, baring my midriff, and turned a slow circle so he could see I had nothing tucked into my belt.

  “Ankle holster?”

  I leaned down and pulled up the bottoms of my cargoes.

  “Never liked ’em,” I said. “They play hell with my back.”

  “Sleeves, too, if you please.”

  I unbuttoned my shirt cuffs and rolled up both sleeves with the exaggerated movements of a stage magician showing there were no rabbits or white doves hidden there. I even removed the cotton scarf from around my neck and twitched both sides toward him like a matador tempting a bull.

  “OK—talk. What does Monsieur Marcus have to say?”

  “The gist of it is, let his people go or be hunted to the ends of the earth.”

  He pursed his lips. “And in return for this?”

  “We give you what you want.”

  I heard Hope gasp but didn’t take my eyes off Lefévre. He grimaced.

  “You cannot give me what I really want.”

  “You have my sympathies,” I said blandly. “Just out of curiosity, what was Gabrielle Dubois’s real name?”

  He looked momentarily startled then shook his head. “Better for both of us if you never find out.”

  “Did you really buy that ruby for her, or simply take it after Rojas was dead?”

  And did she find it appropriate to be given a blood-red stone?

  That brought a twisted smile to his lips. “Once a thief, always a thief,” he said. “But our engagement was real. This was supposed to be our last job.”

  “For her, it was.”

  The smile vanished and he gave Hope a shove in the back that made her stagger. “Now, if you would be so kind—call the dog in.”

  Hope’s eyes were pleading. “Charlie—”

  “Please, Hope. Do as Joe asks.”

  And whatever you’re planning Joe, you better do it soon …

  Hope cast me a final despairing glance, circled her forefinger and thumb, stuck them between her lips and blew sharply, letting out a piercing whistle.

  Almost at once there came the scrabble of booteed feet and the yellow Labrador
retriever appeared over a mound of fallen bricks. She was wagging her tail and looking inordinately pleased with herself.

  With another careful glance behind him, Lefévre leaned to the side and picked up a discarded paper bag. I realised it was the one he’d been carrying when he left the hospital. So he hadn’t kept hold of his clothes for sentimental reasons, then. He’d kept them for scent.

  That made me feel a little better, knowing that it wasn’t a spur of the moment decision born of opportunity that had led him to hijack the Bell. He’d probably been planning this ever since he discovered the dog’s tracking abilities.

  Yeah, Fox, and who told him about that?

  I pushed that insidious thought aside and tried not to look around me for any sign of Marcus’s approach. Lefévre was too canny not to spot it.

  Lemon trotted right up to her handler and sat down so close in front of her she could prop her muzzle on the girl’s thighs. Hope cradled the dog’s head with both hands and looked about to cry again.

  “Good girl, Lem,” she said, her voice cracking. “Who’s my best girl then?”

  I studied the thin frame and wondered how I’d ever believed she might be twenty. Hell, she didn’t even look sixteen.

  Lefévre had put the paper sack down near her and now he nudged it with a foot. He had swapped the Ruger back into his good hand, I saw, just in case Hope got any ideas.

  “No more delays, mademoiselle. If the dog is of no use to me …” He let his voice trail away with another expressive shrug.

  Hope shot him a look of pure venom and dragged the bag of clothing closer. She thrust it under Lemon’s nose. The dog obligingly shoved her face inside until only her ears overlapped the top edge and made loud snuffling noises while Hope murmured words of praise to her.

  “That’s it, Lem. Now find it!”

  Lemon almost quivered with excitement as she began to circle, moving outward until she neared the crushed cars where Wilson and his team had cut their way through during the rescue. Was it really only a couple of days ago?

  Lefévre’s attention was on the dog. I risked a quick glance around me. No sign of Marcus. I tried to catch Riley’s eye but he seemed as anguished as Hope.