by Cherry Adair
"My people appropriated one of the Soviets' most creative and inventive chemical agents en route to Iraq last week. It was easily done. Easily transported." He gave a little hum of pleasure. The kind of sound AJ made when a particularly delectable piece of chocolate melted on her tongue.
"Such a small quantity," he murmured with satisfaction. "With such large rewards."
"W—" AJ suddenly found her mouth bone dry, and she had to pause to moisten her tongue. Even her spit had dried up. They'd suspected this, of course they had. But seeing and hearing this madman talk about releasing—
"What are you going to do with it? Killing the President and everyone else won't put you in charge. Every country represented here will have someone else to step directly into their shoes. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if the Vice President is already in office and sending people here to kick your butt back to hell."
"Oh, they're coming," he said, unconcerned. "I expected and look forward to that. But by the time the troops arrive, my job will be done, and I'll reap the benefits from far, far away."
Which meant that his jamming device must be somewhere close by. Raazaq wasn't going to walk out of here. "So you're blackmailing all these countries not to kill their leaders? You really do need counseling."
"No, my dear Miss Cooper. I'm offering, for a very large sum of money, to sell them the antidote. It doesn't matter when help arrives. Half the people infected will die. A quarter will be so physically and mentally impaired that they'll wish they'd died, and the last quarter can walk away free and clear. Of course, they won't be aware that while they haven't been stricken, they will be carriers. Their body fluids will transmit the biological agent for perpetuity."
AJ felt the blood drain from her head. "Have you dispensed the agent already?" She realized that sounded more like a T-FLAC comment than a fashion model question. "I mean, I'm not in any danger, am I?"
He smiled. A lighthearted, open smile that made bile rise in the back of AJ's throat. "Possibly yes. Possibly no. Perhaps I'm enjoying the moment and prolonging my pleasure? Good things come to those who wait, they say. Are you wondering which group you'll fall into? Killing you at this moment would spoil that surprise, now, wouldn't it? No, I think you'll just have to wait and see which way the lottery will spin for you. Just like everyone else." He looked her up and down. "Or I can keep you safe, my dear."
"At what price?" AJ asked flatly. "No thanks."
His flat black eyes narrowed as he took a step closer and lifted her chin with his open palm. "Who are you, Miss Cooper?"
"What do you mean who am I?" She frowned and tried to evade his hand. He grabbed her jaw and held her firmly. "I'm AJ Cooper. American citizen. You're scaring the hell out of me. Stop it."
"Do you work for the American government, AJ Cooper?" His hand tightened and she heard the bones in her jaw pop.
"No," she said tightly, feeling a curl of panic wrap around the nerves in her stomach. "I most certainly do not."
He dropped his hand, but AJ still felt every one of his fingers on her skin. He walked back to his spot on the sofa and sat down. "Take her to the washroom, Halil," he instructed the redheaded kid, who was still purple as a beet and practically salivating, reminding AJ that she was still standing there naked in front of all these men.
She was suddenly so cold in the tropical temperature of the room that she'd started to shiver. "I don't need anyone coming with me. And I demand to call the American consulate."
AJ had visually measured the distance between herself and each man, weighing her odds of taking one down, grabbing his bolstered weapon, and firing before one of the others got her first.
The odds were not in her favor.
Raazaq turned his head slightly as the redheaded Halil came around to grip her upper arm. "Go with her. Umit," he said to one of the other men standing nearby, "obtain suitable clothing for Miss Cooper from one of our female guests on the first floor."
He walked across the room to look out of the window. "Duman, Husad, go and check to be sure Mr. Wright is dead, then report back to me… at the other location. You. You. And you. Stay here. Don't let her leave the suite, unless I send someone for her."
"Yes, Kadir." The two men he was sending off to check on Kane all but bowed as they backed out of the room.
"You're leaving? "AJ asked, mind jumping.
As Raazaq strolled past her he ran his nail hard across her nipple. That little bit of cruelty was senseless, and so typical of the man. AJ bit her tongue and gave him a cold stare.
"I will send someone for you, my dear. I believe you are deserving of a front-row seat." He glanced back at the boy, Halil, who stood waiting. "Get her cleaned up. And watch her closely. If her boss isn't dead, we'll use her as bait and smoke him out."
Leaving the others behind, he followed the two goons from the suite.
"Ma'am?" The kid indicated the door to the bedroom.
"What's your real name?" AJ asked the young man as he followed her into a spacious, marble-lined bathroom. They'd had to enter through a bedroom and travel down a short hallway lined with mirrored closets to get to the bathroom, giving her jittery nerves a few moments to regroup.
There was only the one way in. And unless she were an anorexic midget she wasn't going to get through the only window in the room.
Well, hell. Wasn't this inconvenient?
A brief glance at herself showed a pale-faced woman with a wild, unruly mane of half-dried, curly red hair, bruised-looking eyes, and a naked body liberally splattered with blood.
Surprisingly, there wasn't as much as she'd thought. AJ grabbed a large, soft towel off the shelf and wrapped it around her body. Covered, she grabbed up a washcloth from the pretty ribboned display of toiletries on a gold-leafed tray and twisted on the gold hot-water faucet. The entire bathroom was mirrored.
She glanced at the boy in the reflection over the sink area as she wet and lathered the cloth.
"My name is Halil." He leaned a bony shoulder against the frame of the closed door and removed a big, very, very nice Ruger from an underarm holster and held it loosely in his right hand.
He'd shoot her if she made a move, AJ thought, but he'd be sorry.
Of course, at this distance, and with that much firepower, she'd be very dead, no matter how apologetic he was.
"Your mother didn't name you Halil. What is that, anyway? Egyptian?" AJ applied the scalding-hot cloth to her face first.
"Turkish. Halil means 'dear friend, ' " the boy said proudly. "Kadir gave me my name."
"Who's Kadir?"
"You call him Fazur Raazaq."
"What does it mean? Why do you call him that?"
"It's Turkish, and his birth name. It means 'strong, power-fill.' Which is what he is." Hero worship shone brightly in the kid's eyes.
"He calls you 'dear friend, ' huh?" AJ said conversationally. Turkish? Had they been tracking Fazur Raazaq in Egypt for all these years when they should've been looking elsewhere? No wonder no one had ever been able to find his bolt-hole! Shit. She had to tell Ka—"Do you have parents back home?"
AJ turned her back, parted the covering towel, and washed her torso. Rubbing at a particularly nasty blotch on her belly button, sickened to see Kane's blood on places that mere hours ago he'd been kissing and caressing.
"They are dead to me. I believe in Kadir's cause. Inşallah, we will crush the infidels."
"Uh-huh." AJ shot a glance at the tall, lanky kid who should be taking his girlfriend out for a burger and a movie instead of being here, in the middle of what was a world incident of terrifying proportions. "God does not will you to kill, Bobby."
"My name isn't Bobby."
Great. Skip right over the "kill" part, pal. "Then Ricky."
"Brian," he said with a small, crooked smile. Oh, God. He was so young. "But now I am Halil."
It was a hell of a long way from mid-America and baseball games to working for, and believing in, one of the world's most feared terrorists. AJ tried to remind herself that
she was here for bigger problems than rescuing Opie and getting him back to Mayberry.
"Could you go out and see if they've found me any clothes yet?" She was damn sick and tired of being naked. Really tired of it. There were things to find, and a man to kill. She'd prefer doing it fully clothed. And, sorry, pal, but I have to have that nice big gun of yours.
"Sorry, ma'am. I was instructed to stay with you."
"But I have to use the toilet," AJ protested, looking suitably girlish and horrified.
He blushed harder. "I'll close my eyes," he offered.
"You'll hear me."
"No, ma'am." He turned to face the door. "I'll just stand here with my back turned and hum under my breath. Will that be all right?"
AJ sighed. Barring him leaving the room, standing with his back to her while he concentrated on humming was just fine and dandy with her. "Okay, but don't peek. Promise me."
"No, ma'am. Yes, ma'am. Go ahead." He started humming. Loudly.
Really, it was almost too easy to knock him out. AJ padded across the cold floor and raised both clenched hands. She struck the back of his neck. Textbook perfect. Halil/Brian dropped like a stone. "Sorry, Opie. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do."
It wasn't quite as easy to roll and strip him, but with a fair amount of muscle, AJ managed to divest the kid of his shoes, pants, and shirt. She left him on the floor wearing his underwear, and quickly tied both his hands and feet, using his own socks. Before dressing, God only knew she wanted to give his clothing a chance to cool before she put them on, she grabbed a washcloth and the ribbon tying the toiletries in a pretty bow, and gagged him.
Heart pounding, not with fear but with anticipation, she dressed quickly. They were about the same height and the pants and shirt fit, the high-topped boots, sans socks, were a little big, but tying the laces tightly made them work.
Now, to get out of here. Through the bathroom, the bedroom, and take care of Raazaq's men.
Hell, piece of cake.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
« ^ »
Kane observed them entering the suite from his position perched high on top of the armoire.
He was ready to get the jump on them. Literally.
He recognized them from earlier. Weapons drawn, expressions grim. They headed for the bathroom, where presumably they were to check his corpse.
Life was full of little disappointments.
He'd been leaving the suite when he'd spotted them coming down the corridor. As much blood as he'd lost, he wasn't enthusiastic about trying to take them out without weapons-fire alerting the others. Not until he had a second to shore up his wounds.
But with no other choice, he'd slipped back inside and scaled the biggest, highest piece of furniture. Which just happened to be the armoire they'd shoved aside to come in earlier.
He held his weapon in his left hand. Being ambidextrous was an advantage, as they'd caught his upper arm when they'd shot him. The bullet was through-and-through, taking a chunk of muscle from his right arm, and another healthy chunk from under his arm and at his back. It hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. He'd dressed, started a half-assed job of taking care of the wound, then run out of time.
The damn thing still bled copiously, soaking his nice clean shirt and incapacitating his right hand. He'd deal with it later.
His muscles bunched for the leap as they walked right below him. He pressed his left hand, the hand holding his weapon, over his wound so the blood didn't drip down on the white carpet and give away his position above them. Time to fly down and deliver a little justice of his own.
He checked himself as one started whispering to the other. They spoke Turkish.
Well, well.
They were discussing AJ's breasts. Which would thrill her to no end, Kane was sure. Good news: AJ was alive. Bad news: She was with Raazaq. Which should have been more good news. Hell.
The goons walked into the bathroom. Kane observed their inspection of the blood-splattered stall as glass crunched under their feet.
The bathroom wasn't that big—within seconds they tore out of there like their asses were on fire, and charged across the wide expanse of the sitting room. They were going to be in deep shit for leaving him behind in the first place. Kadir, whoever the hell Kadir was, was going to chop them into tiny pieces and have his grandmother serve them up in a casserole.
Fatty, Kane thought dispassionately as he took out the one on the left with a bullet to the brain, saving him from the stew pot. Hell. He was up here to avoid just such a noisy come-and-get-me confrontation. Blood from his multiple wounds made the butt of the gun slick in his hand as he shifted slightly to get the other man in the site. The gun slid out of his blood-covered fingers as if it had been greased, and went sailing across the room.
He launched himself off the armoire a split second later. The target goon was still looking around, puzzled, when Kane dropped from the sky and ruined his day.
The force of hitting him from that height took both men down to the blood-splattered carpet. The guy's weapon discharged as it spun from his hand as a result of the violent contact.
Kane hooked his elbow around the guy's bull neck from behind him, and twisted sharply. The man bellowed. He had muscles in his thick neck made of rubber, but Kane was working at it. The guy bucked, Kane held on, delivering a series of hook punches to the man's head, locking his legs around the guy's torso like he was riding one of his brother's bulls.
Raazaq's man was big, fast, and well trained. But Kane was bigger, faster, pumped full of rage and adrenaline, and already feeling like Superman on speed.
Forgetting the pain, he hooked his right elbow around the man's throat, keeping their bodies close together so the other man couldn't maneuver out of his hold. He clasped his hands together around the man's neck, and pulled the cutting edge of his useless right wrist upward with a jerk of his left hand, using the guy's own body as a block.
The man croaked and struggled, like an alligator thrashing in a sack.
Kane pulled his wrists in, hard against the guy's throat. The man gurgled, bucking and straining to break free. Kane controlled him with his legs tight around his back, and wrists around his throat. The guy wasn't at quite the right angle to have his neck broken, but Kane was working on it.
Kane drew the guy's head back where he wanted it with his left hand, then drove his right hand into his throat.
The man gagged. But he wasn't going down. With a wild burst of strength, he surged to his feet like a breaching whale, taking Kane with him.
They both staggered to regain their balance, circling, feinting. Kane's weapon was right below the sofa across the room. Fat guy's was close to the body of his partner, eight feet away.
Kane didn't mind a bit of hand-to-hand when time warranted it. But he felt the urgency and need for speed right now. "Come on, you ugly bastard," he taunted in Turkish, "get the lead out. I have things to do and a lady to find."
The other man came at him with an uppercut to the jaw. Kane dropped his elbows into the oncoming punch, following up the movement with a left hook to the man's face, followed by a right. The guy roared, face red. Head down, he attempted, rather stupidly, Kane thought dispassionately, a head-butt.
Kane used the man's momentum to grab him by the back of the head, brought his knee up in a sharp and quick slam, and heard the man's nose crunch from the blow. He released his victim and let the guy slump to the floor.
His own pain hadn't kicked in yet. Adrenaline was a terrific analgesic, but he'd better rebandage himself before he bled to death. Then he needed to go rescue AJ.
He heard slow applause and spun around to see her leaning against the doorjamb. "Very nice," she said, strolling into the room and stepping over Goon Number One. "Messy, but very well executed. You have to teach me that ride-'em-cowboy move sometime."
Her voice was steady, but Kane noticed the rapid pulse at the base of her throat, and the way her pale-green eyes glittered. She wore Raazaq's uniform of black pants and white s
hirt, and somebody's combat boots. Interesting.
Her hand came up as if to reach for him, but after an infinitesimal hesitation, she tucked it into her pants pocket instead.
He didn't touch her. He wanted to too much. "You okay?"
"I'm not the one with the hole in me." Her smile was a bit lopsided. "You're bleeding on the carpet."
He ran a quick visual scan to be sure she was in one piece. "Raazaq have you?"
"Not biblically, that's for sure. I was taken to him, but he left the suite to go downstairs in preparation for meeting his guest. I managed to knock out the kid they sent into the bathroom with me and grabbed these." She plucked at the shirt and pants.
Kane raised a brow. "And he left you with one kid?"
"Nah. There were four of them. I took them out."
"But not Raazaq."
She bristled. "No," she said flatly. "I didn't take out Raazaq. Again."
"I wasn't criticizing you." Kane stepped over Goon Two, and picked up the guy's Ruger. AJ opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand. "Let's get into the stairwell before you fill me in. Appropriate the rest of their weapons before we split."
She nodded, crossed the room, gathered the weapons, and picked up her backpack. "Grab that one's shirt." She pointed to the other attacker. "He doesn't smell quite as bad as this one. Hang tight, I'll be right back." She disappeared into a bedroom, and came back with a pillowcase in her hand. She put it up to her mouth and ripped at it with hands and teeth. Apparently to tear bandages.
"Let's go." She took up her own weapon, which was still where Kane had left it by the bathroom door earlier. Shrugged on the pack, checked the other weapons, tucked them into her waistband, and crossed the room to look out the window. "Oh, shit, shit, shit. They're going."
He had a pretty good idea, but didn't ask who and to where. Not yet. Not until they were clear.
By the time she reached him, her breathing was normal, her pulse steady. "Ready to rock. I'll take care of that arm when we're secure. Stem the blood flow so we don't leave them a trail to follow."
"Yes, ma'am," he said tongue in cheek. She'd kept her cool, but he'd seen the horror shine in her eyes for a brief second when she'd seen the blood all over him. His estimation of her grit went up several more notches. He wasn't that fond of looking at blood himself.