Takedown (An Alexandra Poe Thriller)

by Robert Gregory Browne

  “The CIA?”

  Hopcroft nodded.

  Alex wasn’t buying it. “My father was never CIA.”

  “Really? Think back to your childhood, Alex. All the trips he took, and the little knickknacks and toys he brought you and Danny from other countries. Every one of those countries was a political hotspot, and there was your father, right in the thick of it.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I don’t expect you to,” he said. “I don’t expect you to believe a word I say. But I have a feeling that Munro or somebody has filled your head with lies. Because I know you didn’t come here to help Frederick Favreau.” He paused. “You came here to kill me.”

  She said nothing but her eyes must have given her away.

  He smiled. “What did they tell you about me?”

  “Not ‘they.’ My father.”

  His eyebrows raised. “You’ve been in touch with Frank?”

  “He’s been in touch with me,” she said. “And you’re right, I don’t believe a word you say. But I believe him. And he says you killed my mother.”

  Hopcroft studied her, then closed his eyes, lowered his head, and said nothing for a long moment. Then he sat upright again, set the P380 on the mattress, and slipped a hand into his pocket.

  He brought out a square gold coin. A Bahamian fifteen-cent piece.

  “You remember when you were about eleven years old and I showed you a little vanishing trick called the French drop?”

  She remembered, vaguely, but said nothing.

  He demonstrated by holding the coin between the index finger and thumb of his left hand, then closed his right fingers over the coin and carried it away.

  When he opened his hand again, the coin was gone.

  He showed her his left hand and the coin was sitting on his palm.

  “It’s an illusion,” he said. “A trick of the eye.”

  “I’m afraid your tricks don’t impress me anymore.”

  “No, but apparently Richard Munro’s do. He’s the master of the French drop and many other illusions. Like the illusion that your father is a traitor. That’s one of his finest maneuvers. And now he seems to have gone to great lengths to convince you of something else that isn’t true.” He paused. “Frank didn’t tell you I killed Mitra, because he knows better. He knows I would never have hurt her or allowed any kind of harm to come to her. Not if I could help it.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because I was in love with her.”

  CHAPTER 36

  “YOU’RE FULL OF crap,” Alex said. “You didn’t love her. That’s just another one of your tricks.”

  Hopcroft shook his head. “There’s so much you don’t know about our past, Alex. Things we could never talk about.”

  “You mean like my mother’s first marriage?”

  He stiffened. “You know about that?”

  “I’ve seen the video,” she said. “And you’re in it.”

  “Did Munro show it to you?”

  “I told you, I don’t know this Munro person. The video came to me anonymously. Talk about shattered illusions. I feel as if I was lied to my entire childhood.”

  Hopcroft lowered his head again. “I’m so sorry about that. But they were all necessary lies.”

  “Necessary? Why?”

  He hesitated. “That’s something your father needs to tell you.”

  “Fuck you,” she said. “You sit there and pretend to have sympathy for me, but you can’t even tell me the truth? Who’s the man my mother was marrying? Where is he now?”

  “It’s not my place to say.”

  “Of course not. Why would you even want to? You’re consorting with a known terrorist. A guy who’s wanted in six different countries.”

  “Maybe that’s another illusion.”

  She balked. “Which part?”

  “The part about me.”

  “Right,” she said. “Yet there you are with my gun, and here I sit cuffed in a chair.”

  “What do you want from me, Alex? You want me to prove it to you?”

  “Yes. That’s exactly what I want. You’re very good at showing me coin tricks, but all I see is a guy hanging around with thugs and facilitating the transfer of some very dangerous information.”

  He paused. Looked at her. “You want the codes, don’t you? That’s what this was originally about.”

  “I don’t really give a damn anymore.”

  “You would if you knew what they are.”

  “All right, then. Illuminate me.”

  He was silent, but she could see by his eyes he was considering the pros and cons of telling her.

  He said, “They’re the key to a little secret your friend Munro would just as soon keep to himself. But your father knows, and so do I. I’m guessing that’s why Munro sent you to kill me. It’s exactly the kind of thing he’d do. There’s a certain symmetry to it.”

  “You still haven’t told me what they are.”

  “GPS coordinates.”

  “To what?”

  “To seven different strategic locations around the world. All highly classified. What Munro calls the Seven Wonders.”

  “Locations for what?”

  “Chemical storage facilities, containing an organophosphorus compound that makes sarin gas look like a household disinfectant. The US government thinks the inventory has been destroyed, but Munro knows better. And with those coordinates in the wild, he has quite a problem on his hands.”

  “Yet you’re about to help Frederic Favreau sell them to Valac.”

  “I’m telling you, I’m not what you think I am. It’s all illusion.”

  “And I still don’t believe you.”

  “Then maybe this will help.”

  He got to his feet, took a key from his pocket, then walked around behind her and unlocked her cuffs.

  Alex looked at the P380 on the bed but remained where she was.

  “Go ahead,” he said. “I’m unarmed.”

  She still didn’t move.

  He went to the bed and picked up the pistol, released the magazine, and showed her it was full. After slapping it back into place, he offered the weapon to her, grip first.

  “It’s what you came here to do, isn’t it? If you don’t trust me, if you believe the lies that Munro has filled your head with and you think I would kill the woman I loved, the woman my best friend married, then by all means, take it. Pull the trigger.”

  Alex stood up, took the pistol from his hand, then kicked the chair aside and stepped back, pointing the muzzle at his chest.

  “Tell me the truth,” she said.

  Her hands were trembling.

  “I’ve told you all I’m willing to, Alex. Everything else has to come from Frank.”

  “And when is that supposed to happen? I haven’t seen him since I was a teenager.”

  “He’ll come to you when he thinks you’re ready.”

  “When he thinks I’m ready? You’re lying,” she said. “You killed her. He told me you killed her.”

  “Did he? Did he really?”

  She almost said, “Yes, he did!” but that would have been a lie. The accusation had come from Thomas Gérard. And while that poem and the story surrounding it had been a powerful convincer, how could she be sure others didn’t know about them? The people she was dealing with, the people she worked for, were all very good at extracting information by whatever means necessary. She knew for a fact that Thomas Gérard was a liar. No speculation there. He’d lied to her from the very beginning.

  Had what he told her about her father been a lie, too?

  Had the text message?

  If it’s too much to ask, I’ll understand.

  Her certainty crumbled as she realized that of course it was a lie. Her initial instincts had been right. Her father would never have asked her to kill Hopcroft even if the man had killed her mother. He would have never asked her to kill anyone.

  “Make your choice, Alex. But think about one last thing before y
ou do.”

  “What?”

  “Why would I be standing here if none of this were true?”

  And that was the clincher, wasn’t it? Why would he bother to come here? For old times’ sake? That seemed unlikely. Why not have her shot and been done with it?

  Yet here he was, trusting her with a loaded weapon in her hand.

  She lowered the pistol.

  “You’re your mother’s daughter, Allie Cat. I can’t tell you how much you remind me of her.” He gestured. “You even have her ring. She got that from her grandmother.”

  “Stop, Uncle Eric. I don’t want to hear any more right now.”

  “Then you’d better put that weapon in that holster strapped to your leg. It’s time for you to meet the man I work for.”

  “But why?” she said. “Why do you work for him?”

  “Because I want the truth, too. And the people he works for have it. The closer I get to him, the closer I get to them.”

  She didn’t bother asking him what he meant by all that. He wouldn’t tell her anyway.

  She said, “You know I didn’t come here just for you, or those codes. I came for Valac. That’s what I do. I’m supposed to take him back with me.”

  Hopcroft nodded. “Then let’s try to make that happen.”

  CHAPTER 37

  DEUCE EMERGED FROM the jungle and made his way under cover of darkness down a shallow incline. The loading dock was several hundred meters away, a CCTV camera mounted on the roof above it.

  “Warlock, are you ready with that first loop?”

  “Give me a mo. Almost there.”

  “Hurry it up, will you?”

  “Contrary to popular belief, I can’t work miracles, so hold on. In the meantime, watch yourself. There are two guards coming ‘round from the left, headed for the dock.”

  Deuce stepped back and crouched, wishing he had something more than shadows to hide in. He heard voices a moment before he saw the guards round the corner. Holding himself very still, he followed their progress as they moved parallel to the dock and headed to the far right side of the house.

  When they were gone, he said, “Come on, dude. Give me that loop.”

  “It’s done. Go.”

  Deuce lit out, running at a full clip across the yard until he reached the Gold Coast catering van that Cooper had arrived in. He looked past it toward a set of steps and an open door that led into a basement hallway. He knew there was another camera in there. It was next on the list.

  “Tell me when,” he said.

  “Now. Go.”

  He scrambled up the steps, keeping the tranq gun at his side, and ran through the doorway into the hall. Up ahead the corridor angled to the right, where the security stop, manned by two guards, would be located. Another camera, mounted high on the wall, was pointed in their direction.

  “Do your thing, dude.”

  “Done.”

  Deuce may have been a big guy, but he knew how to travel quietly and quickly. He made a beeline down the hall and turned the corner, raising the tranq gun as he moved.

  The two guards looked up in surprise and he fired two darts—thock thock—dropping them to the floor. As rapidly as he could, he dragged one, then the other, out of sight behind the machine.

  “Tell me where I’m going,” he said to Warlock.

  “Down the hall and to your left, past the kitchen. But be careful, there are people milling about. Put the gun away and act as if you belong.”

  “This should be fun.”

  “I told you it was suicide.”

  “Yeah,” Deuce said, “but who do I have to go home to? My goldfish is probably dead.”

  They took Favreau to a room about half the size of a barn, that may have been the most luxurious office he’d ever seen. The chairs, the sofa, the desk, the paintings on the wall all oozed money. The kind of money he’d like to have.

  He still wasn’t sure what had happened out there. One minute Alexandra was running away from him, the next he was being grabbed by a couple of goons. He didn’t understand why they’d made such a fuss about Alexandra, although the pistol in her hand had been a pretty good indication that something was up.

  Where had it come from? And why did she have it?

  Had she only made a move on him to get to that party? Was she trying to horn in on his deal and snatch the merchandise? Or was she what he’d first suspected—a spy for Valac?

  But if the last were true, why would they grab her like they had?

  Whatever she was, Favreau realized he had meant nothing to her. He was merely a stepping stone. All the attention she’d given him had been a con, and he’d fallen for her like a chump.

  And that made him both sad and angry.

  The two hard cases escorting him took off his cuffs and sat him on the sofa. One of them was the guy from the bar the other day. The one who hadn’t said anything.

  To Favreau’s right, in a big red armchair, was the guy who had made the speech tonight. Leonard whatshisname. Pappy Leo. And for a man who supposedly had more money than God, he didn’t look all that happy. Like he didn’t want to be here, now or ever.

  Behind the big desk was a man with a ponytail.

  Jesus. Fifty-something years old and he wore his hair like a schoolgirl. What was that all about?

  Favreau had never seen the guy before, but he assumed it was Valac. Reinhard Beck. Nobody got a face with all that wear and tear without going through some heavy-duty shit. He reminded Favreau of the guy from those beer commercials. The most interesting man in the world. Only this one had that ponytail, and a look in his eyes that said he’d happily squash you like a cockroach if you got in his way.

  Favreau didn’t intend to get squashed. Not if he could help it. He just wanted to make this deal and get out of here.

  Assuming there was still a deal to be made.

  He was about to say something to that effect when the door burst open and the tall gray-haired man from the bar came in, pushing the whore in front of him. That’s what Alexandra was, wasn’t she? Another opportunistic tart whose only real interest was taking a guy for everything he had, even if it meant screwing with his head and heart.

  Favreau wondered what they’d done with her partner. Coop. Hopefully, they tied him to a chair and beat the shit out of him.

  The gray-haired man shoved Alexandra toward the sofa and told her to sit her ass down. She looked as if she wanted to strangle the guy, but did as she was told, not bothering to give Favreau even a single glance as she sat. They weren’t two feet apart and she acted as if he didn’t exist.

  Bitch.

  Instead, her eyes focused on Valac, still sitting behind that big desk as if he were the true king of St. Cajetan. Maybe he was, meaning the guy in the red chair was an impostor. A sock puppet. Someone so used to being controlled and manipulated and dragged out of his hole to perform for the crowd that he could barely look anyone in the eye when he wasn’t on stage.

  That was exactly what was going on, Favreau realized.

  When had the coup taken place?

  Months ago? Years?

  Favreau didn’t have much sympathy for guys like him. All that money and what did it get him? Anyone who was weak enough to let someone muscle in on his territory deserved whatever blew his way.

  It took awhile, but Valac finally spoke. “Mr. Favreau, I think you owe us an explanation.”

  “Me?”

  Valac wagged a finger toward Alexandra. “You are the one who introduced this unpleasantness into what should have been a simple business transaction.”

  Favreau sat forward. “Hey, she’s got nothing to do with me.”

  “No?”

  Valac picked up a remote from his desk and flicked a button. Behind him a large-screen TV came to life, displaying surveillance footage of Favreau and Alexandra going at it in the ballroom.

  Valac froze the image. “Would you like to retract that statement?”

  Favreau glanced at Alexandra and saw she had turned away from the
monitor. He waited a moment, thinking if only she would look his way, then maybe…

  But no. She wouldn’t give him the time of day.

  “I’m just a patsy here,” he said. “I don’t know what she’s up to or who she’s working for and I don’t want to know. I came here to make a deal with you and that’s it. As far I’m concerned, we could’ve handled all this over the Internet, but it was your idea to turn it into a vacation getaway. Not mine.”

  He was talking too much, sounding too desperate, and he knew it. But he couldn’t help himself. It was all true, wasn’t it?

  “I would like to believe you, Frederic.”

  “Then believe me. I’ll give you the codes, you give me my money and let me off this goddamn island.”

  “You have them with you now?”

  “I probably shouldn’t, but yeah. They haven’t left me since I got to St. Cajetan.”

  “Show me.”

  Favreau started to reach into his jacket pocket, but Valac signaled to the hard case from the bar, who grabbed Favreau’s wrist.

  He winced. “What the hell?” The guy’s grip was like the bite of a pit bull. “You people already searched me. I’ve been through a metal detector. You know I’m not carrying any weapons.”

  “Neither was she when she arrived,” Valac said.

  “Yeah, well, I don’t know anything about that.”

  With a nod from Valac, the thug released Favreau.

  Favreau rubbed his wrist, then stuck his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out the two key cards he’d removed from his wallet earlier. He handed them to the thug, who in turn took them to Valac.

  Valac studied them. “Very clever, Frederic. I must admit I would not have given these a second thought.”

  “That’s kinda the idea,” he said.

  “Which of them holds the codes?”

  “The one with the tiny nick on the corner.”

  Valac inspected them. “I don’t see any nicks.”

  “Look closer. It’s there. I made it myself.”

  “That may be true, but I still don’t see it.”

  “What’re you, blind?” Favreau started to rise, but the second hard case stepped forward and shoved him back down.