Terror Stash

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Above all, the Glock was a favorite because the bullets were ten millimeters and had real stopping power.

  Bob waved her out of the car with the gun. He didn’t exactly aim it at her because she was nominally a volunteer but the black snout of the gun was inducement enough. She eased out of the car and followed Ria onto the gently rocking deck of the boat.

  Bob touched her shoulder. “Into the cabin,” he told her.

  “English, only!” Ria hissed.

  “My apologies, mistress,” Bob returned, in heavily accented English.

  She ignored him.

  Montana moved into the cabin. They had dumped Caden on his back one of the couches running along the curved walls. She sat next to him. His eyes were still closed, his head rocking a little with each lift of the boat.

  Ghenghis Bob took up station on the opposite bunk as the low burble of powerful engines ran through the boat. He watched her, the gun resting on his thigh, his fingers curled around the butt.

  The sea journey to the cave fissure took about forty-five minutes, with the boat cutting along the light swell with a corkscrew motion that made Montana’s insides ripple. Ria did not come into the cabin and Ghenghis Bob never moved a muscle. Behind him, Montana watched the coast slip by through the windows. She recognized beaches she knew well, then the mouth of the river and the steadily climbing cliffs south of it. She saw the cliffs she, Steve and Caden had walked just twenty-four hours before. Somewhere on those cliffs, Steve had died.

  When the engines cut back and the nose dipped back into the waves, Ghenghis Bob finally stirred, turning to look out the windows himself.

  That was when Caden’s fingers squeezed her wrist. She was resting, propped up on one arm, her hand planted on the seat between the back cushions and Caden’s waist. His arm had been flung beneath him when they tossed him on the seat, but he had worked his hand to the back of the seat and now his fingers were curled around her wrist.

  Relief flooded her, a relief as deep and intense as the horror she had felt when she had realized that Ria—that Nicollo—was the leader of the terrorists in the caves and had ordered the attack on Caden. The nausea that had accompanied that revelation was absent now. This was a positive emotion. A joyful one.

  She looked down at him. His eyes were still closed, his head limp. His hand squeezed again and she knew she had not imagined it.

  She clenched all her abdominal muscles so she could take the weight off her hand while still looking like she was leaning on it. Then, shielded by Caden’s torso, she carefully turned her hand, caught his fingers in hers and squeezed back. She was no longer alone.

  When Ghenghis Bob turned back to face her once more, she was gazing out the windows again, watching the cliffs draw closer.

  Far out on the horizon, grey with distance, was another ship. It was very still and small, but Montana knew it must be an ocean-going vessel of some size to be visible that far away. It was possible the ship was simply cruising the coast, heading for Perth or Geraldton, but her gut told her it was hovering, waiting for the cover of night.

  The floating dock was out on the water, lifting and falling with the swells. Half a dozen men stood with their legs apart to keep balance, waiting for the boat to approach. As the boat bumped against the tires, they all grabbed the running rails and held on to it.

  Ghenghis Bob got up and reached for a water pitcher sitting on the bar at the back of the cabin. He turned and tossed the contents onto Caden’s face, soaking Montana’s hip and leg as well.

  Caden stirred, groggy.

  Bob leaned over him and slapped his face. Caden’s hand snaked out to grab Bob’s wrist, squeezing tightly, halting the slapping. Instantly, the Glock was pushed up against Caden’s temple.

  Caden opened his eyes. “Want to lose that hand?” he said.

  Ghenghis Bob gave an oily smile. “You get up and walk on your own, or I shoot you dead now. We won’t carry you again.”

  Caden sat up and rubbed the back of his head, looking around. “I’ll walk,” he said amiably. He pointed at Montana. “Just keep that bitch further than spitting distance from me, okay?”

  Ghenghis Bob’s smile broadened. “Okay, Yank.”

  Caden stood. It brought him nose to nose with Bob. He was half a head taller, but Bob didn’t seem intimidated by either his height or the menace that radiated from him. Caden stared into Bob’s face for a full twenty seconds. “I’m not a Yank,” he said softly.

  Bob blinked. Then his lips curled in a sneer and he stepped back and sideways, out of the way. “Walk, western pig.” He waved the pistol.

  Caden brushed past Bob, heading for the stairs up to the deck and didn’t look back.

  Bob looked at her, then looked back at Caden, trying to decide which one he should stay with. Finally, he chased Caden, following him up to the deck.

  Montana followed.

  Ria was helped down onto the dock with regal gentleness. She motioned to Montana. “Come with me,” she said.

  Montana moved around the small group bunched at the gangway and jumped down to the dock.

  “Power-hungry slut,” came the muttered curse behind her. Caden’s voice.

  Ria jerked her head up, her eyes narrowing. “Bring him down here.”

  Caden was roughly manhandled down onto the dock, where he stood towering over Ria. His face was clear of blood thanks to Bob’s pitcher of water, but his undersized tee-shirt was blotched with diluted pink bloodstains and filthy from two days of relentless work. His hair stood up in tousled spikes and visible lines of weariness bracketed his mouth.

  But the men crowded around him, wary and alert.

  Ria studied him. “Solar plexus,” she said softly.

  Instantly, a fist was pistoned into Caden’s lower stomach. The breath whooshed out of him. He sank to the soaked docking, a hand to his abdomen. He coughed hard.

  Ria looked down at him, unmoved. “I had thought you might be an ally, Caden. Unfortunately, your morals are a flaw I can’t work around.” She crossed her hands together. “I do hope you enjoyed the show in Edmonton, though.”

  Caden’s head lifted sharply. “It was you?”

  “Of course it was me! Oh, I know everyone’s running around screaming about Al-Qa’ida and that’s a fortunate piece of window dressing, but really! Have they no sense? Would Al-Qa’ida bother with a little city like Edmonton, when there’s a perfectly good city to either side of it?” She gave a small laugh. “Edmonton was for you, dear boy.”

  “Why?” Caden shook his head. “Why?”

  Ria’s expression shifted, the features hardened. “Because you think you’re invulnerable. Oh, I’ve watched you for years now, flitting around the world indulging your passions. That supersized ego of yours has been growing bigger year after year, with each successful project. I watched you carefully build every layer of your fortress around you, eliminating all the weak spots, the openings. You were right to keep people at arm’s length, you know. When you let people in, they get to see your true weaknesses. That’s what Edmonton was about.”

  Caden’s fury was palpable. “It was just a goddam demonstration?”

  The men around him stepped closer, their guns straightening up.

  Ria lifted her forefinger in warning. “Keep a civil tongue in your head and I’ll ensure it ends quickly for you. For old times’ sake.”

  She stepped around him and moved down the dock to where Montana was standing, stunned. “I’m sorry you had to hear that, my dear. Caden always was opinionated.” She took Montana’s hand in hers. Montana controlled the impulse to jerk her hand away from the touch of the soft, wrinkled skin and allowed herself to be walked along the decking.

  “I have so much to show you,” Ria said happily.

  * * * * *

  Even though there had been no formal discussion, both Jacko and Bruce called their day jobs and reported in sick. Also without discussion, all three of them found themselves in the Pink Galah just on opening time. They were the only three in the ba
r. Even Barbs hadn’t arrived yet. Duncan poured them a frothy-headed beer each and apologized for the bad pull by not taking their money. He headed back to his office, leaving them alone.

  “It’s bloody stuffy in here. Let’s go outside,” Greg said, tugging at his tee-shirt.

  Jacko and Bruce stayed on their stools.

  Greg sighed. “‘kay.” He busied himself with his beer.

  “Fucking cops,” Bruce said at last, his voice all low and twisted. “I knew those bastards were twisted.” He glanced miserably at Greg and Jacko.

  Jacko nodded. “Creates a problem, no?”

  Greg frowned. “What problem?”

  “Who we fuckin’ tell about this,” Bruce muttered.

  Greg thought it through. “Hell, yeah, we can’t tell cops, coz they might be in on it...shit!” His eyes widened. “How’re we going to know who isn’t in on it?”

  Jacko nodded again, confirming the size of the problem.

  “We could just keep our mouths shut,” Bruce suggested.

  Jacko smiled a little. “You figure you’ll last longer than a week doing that? You already look like last week’s shark bait.”

  Bruce grimaced and swallowed a big mouthful of his beer. “I didn’t move to Margaret’s to be a good little Aussie an’ do my duty and all that crap. We go to someone, suddenly we’ll be hip deep in officials and forms and pricks who’ll make us feel like we did something wrong...you know how it goes.”

  Jacko stared down into the amber liquid inside his glass. “We can’t just not do anything, though. This is too big. It’s too complicated.”

  Bruce nodded and sighed. He looked at Jacko directly. “But you know what they’ll do if we go to them. You know what I mean, don’t you?”

  Jacko nodded. “Yeah.” He took a long, thoughtful swallow of beer, which was mostly froth and screwed up his face in reaction. He put the glass down. “But it’s murder we’re talking about,” he said slowly. “Someone dying. Yeah, he’s a cop, but still, it’s not like he was stopping bank robbers or something. You said he was standing between them...?

  “Yeah.” Bruce’s voice was low.

  “That’s execution,” Jacko said, his voice just as low. “It’s the sort of shit that was going down in back alleys when I left Jo’burg.”

  Bruce pushed out his cheeks with a sharp exhalation. “Yeah,” he said again, heavily. “So, who do we tell?”

  Greg put a hand on each of their shoulders. “You want an official that you know isn’t part of it and won’t make you feel guilty? I got one for you.”

  “Who?”

  “Montana.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Montana moved through a magical mystery tour that grew swiftly more detached from reality with each passing minute. Followed by an attentive retinue of six silent, turbaned men, Ria toured her around ‘the factory.’

  The system of caves used by her army was more extended than the three of them had guessed when they had passed through. The center cavern was not the main one at all. Ria had stood at the Formica table and waved around the huge cavern.

  “This is the second kitchen. Although you already know this place, don’t you?” She smiled at Montana, her eyes sparkling. “You were most ingenious. It was almost a pleasure to know someone had managed to slip past our guards like that. Most unpredictable. Unfortunately, it was still necessary to berate the guards for failing their duties.” Her face fell. “But let’s not linger on the unpleasant topics. There’s time later for all that. Come. Come.”

  She’d moved off again, taking Montana to the main cave, which was the section they called the factory. It was a huge cavern, hung with stalactites and with a good collection of stalactites clinging to the floor. Some of the stalactites had been sawn off at waist and knee level and planks mounted on them; they had been turned into the supports for tables and benches.

  Ria circled the cavern, pointing out the main kitchen section, the fire pits and then the factory itself. As she walked, she gave Montana a breakdown of the numbers of pounds of food processed, the total kilos of heroin processed and the revenue that tonnage produced.

  “On an official spreadsheet, you’d find we have an operating capital of over thirteen million. The operation is completely self-sufficient and provides me with steady revenue.”

  Montana realized that Ria was showing off. Possibly, she was the first westerner and non-resident to be shown the cave system. Ria wanted an audience. She wanted appreciation for what she had made here.

  “I’m betting it was your idea to set this up, too, right?” Montana said, letting admiration creep into her tone.

  Ria’s cheeks dimpled. “It was an idea I toyed with for a number of years before I put it into action. I had to refine the strategic blueprint a number of times to get it right. Then, of course, I had to convince the Arab groups and Palestinians I approached that I was quite serious about recruiting their discards.” She was using Farsi, but Montana still glanced at her royal guard to see if any of them reacted to being described that way.

  “The recruits themselves were easy to persuade. All they needed to know was that their talents and passions would still be of use, that they would still achieve their purpose in life, and they came to me eagerly. Their eagerness recruited others. How could they refuse? I was giving them a second chance to live their dream.”

  “Those dreams would be the projects you’ve got going now, right? You’re sending out a second team tonight, Bob said.”

  “Ah, yes. The L.A. project. They leave in two hours.” Ria smiled. “Very astute of you. A single passing reference and you put it together. Caden told me you were smart, but he understated it. I’m so delighted I finally got to meet you!”

  Ria spread her hands to include the whole cavern. “Four hundred and thirty-two of the fiercest, most ardent fighters in the world and they are mine to command.” She sighed. “I have waited such a long time to find someone I could share it with.”

  “Me?” Montana asked, trying to sound both shocked and pleased. The shock was honest. The pleasure was difficult to fake, but Ria was too involved in her own peculiar dreams to notice.

  “You are such a unique individual,” Ria said. “I could search the world—I have searched the world for someone like you and you were here in my own backyard.” Ria hitched up her leg and sat on one of the tables, modestly resting her feet on the bench beneath and crossing her ankles.

  “You’ve only known me for a couple of hours,” Montana said. “How could you possibly know that I’m the one you’re looking for?”

  “My dear, I’ve known all about you for over three years—since you came out of nowhere and won that windsurfing competition, actually. I had the most recent facts of your life in my hands within a month. Your older history took longer to piece together, but my instincts had been right all along. As I learned more about you, the more I liked what I heard. When Caden met you a few days ago and unwittingly reported back to me on you, I listened most carefully. Everything he told me merely confirmed my suspicions.”

  Where was Caden? Montana wondered. She had not seen him since they left the dock. She cleared her throat. “And your suspicions were...?” she asked Ria.

  “You’re a seeker of power, just like me. You’ve spent your whole life looking for it. Every line on your resume shouts of your need to climb to the upper ranks, to excel, to achieve the power that goes with that success.”

  “Power is something you can offer me?”

  “Look around you,” Ria said. “Look at the power I command here. It has the strength to reach out around the world and be felt. No diplomatic mission in the world would give you that sort of influence.”

  “The teams you’re sending out to Los Angeles,” Montana concluded. “What are their targets?”

  Ria smiled a little. “Let’s not put the cart before the horse, shall we? First, the interview. Then the orientation.”

  “All right, then.” Subtly, Montana adjusted the way she was standing and the
attitude coloring her words. If Ria was looking for a power-hungry heir, that’s what she’d give her. “If it’s just my resume that drew your attention, I have to point out that there’s probably a thousand people out there just like me. Hundreds of them are also women.”

  “Very astute. As a woman, you are more suitable. And yes, there are secondary qualities I was looking for. Your personal history is what makes you unique. You’re not American.”

  “I am, actually. I became an American citizen when I was seventeen.”

  “You were not born in American.”

  “No one knows where I was born, including me,” Montana said flatly.

  “I do.”

  Montana stared at her. “You couldn’t possibly know that,” she whispered. “How could you? The State Department, the Army, even the Immigration Department and the United Nations couldn’t figure out where I came from, even with a year of investigation.”

  “Oh, I don’t have details, but I know with absolute certainty that you were born and spent your early, most impressionable years somewhere in the Arab world.”

  Montana felt a trickle of disappointment. “I could have told you that. It doesn’t mean I’m not American.”

  “But you have a non-western point of view, to go along with your American life and love of power.”

  Montana held her mouth closed against the words of protest bubbling up in her and stared at Ria. “That makes me unique?”

  “Not quite. There are three other factors that make you utterly unique and so very suitable for the job. One is your lack of family. Your adoptive mother died three years ago, which leaves you completely alone in the world, with no ties to bind you to people or country. The other is your remarkable ability with languages. Do you like music, my dear?”

  Montana blinked. “Well, yes.”

  “Classical, especially Mozart.”

  “What has that got to do with anything at all?”