The Disavowed Book 3 - Threat Level: Red

by David Leadbeater

  He gently prized her off. His hands took a firm grip of her shoulders. Only he could feel the faint tremor that still coursed through his nerves, an effect of the bomb blast. “Do you remember anything? The man? His car? His accent? His clothes? Anything?”

  Victoria’s face screwed up in pain and she almost collapsed. Trent realized she was in more pain than she appeared to be. He maneuvered her back into the car. “Anything?” he urged. “The first few hours are our best chance.”

  Her face crumpled. She coughed; a wracking, pain-filled hack. Trent wiped blood from the corner of her mouth. Christ, she should be in hospital. But not yet.

  “Victoria?”

  “Dark. Your height, but older. Short black hair. Stubble. Very strong. He was wearing a black bomber jacket. You know, one of those Superdry ones? And Nike jogging bottoms. Weird. Doc Martens. His voice sounded . . . European or something. Aaron,” she sobbed. “Aaron . . .”

  He gripped her harder, not having a clue what a Superdry bomber jacket was or why combining it with Nike jogging bottoms was weird. He sensed she had something even worse to say.

  “He . . . he told me he was going to strap Mikey to some C4, Aaron. He told me that.”

  Trent stopped breathing. Through his job he had faced many forms of evil. He could even mark the time and date when he finally thought he’d seen it all. But the true face of evil was perfectly clear—it was the one you looked upon when you realized you would never see it all. Mankind always found crueler depths.

  He backed away, unable to speak. For the first time he saw that his ex-wife’s blood, smeared all over his hands, had mixed with dust from the bombing. “All I ever wanted was to keep him safe,” he whispered. “All I ever wanted was to treat him right. No terror. No evil. No coming face to face with the real killers of this world. Is that too much to ask?”

  Victoria’s tears made streaks through the dried blood on her face.

  Trent took a huge breath, steeling himself. It was time for action, not regret or procrastination. It was time to jump head first into the hardest battle of his life.

  First, he rang Collins. Her FBI link would be priceless. She didn’t answer yet again, the call going to voicemail. Trent left a terse, severe message. Next, he rang Radford, the tech-man coming to mind before Silk lately because of their recent relationships, but again the voice went to mail. He cursed. Was the entire world watching their goddamn TVs and the damn bombing?

  What if there have been others?

  But he couldn’t think about that now. It wasn’t like Radford not to answer. Trent hit the button for Silk and listened to the musical notes chiming as the call went through. As he listened, sirens wailed in the distance. He wondered briefly if they were for Victoria or something much bigger.

  Silk answered on the fourth ring. “Trent?”

  “Adam. Listen to me. I need—”

  Silk spoke at the same time, both men talking with extreme urgency. “Thank God. We need you. Dan’s in trouble. He—”

  “Wait.” Trent said. “What?”

  “We’re just arriving at Radford’s.” Silk’s voice grew hushed. “It’s freaky. Both he and Amanda appear to have been home-invaded by Davic’s men. He managed to get a call out. Sounded like the intruders were planning a murder.”

  “Then stay and help him. Christ, there must be a blood moon coming down tonight. Mikey’s been abducted. I hope it’s not related.”

  “What?”

  “I can’t come to you. I have to work this.”

  “Sure. We’ll call you and come to you when we’re all out.”

  Trent allowed a grim smile to crease his hard features. That was the kind of attitude that won victory in battle time and time again. “All right. And have you heard from Collins? The FBI building has been bombed.”

  “We know. Among others. Nothing from Collins, bud. I have to go. Good luck.”

  Trent pocketed the phone, thinking hard. Among others? Davic in LA? But he couldn’t think about that now. The imperative here was to find out who had taken Mikey and then locate his son. Was it an opportune kidnapping or something more sinister? Trent and the other two members of the Razor’s Edge had money, but the fact wasn’t generally known. Still . . . Trent could name a dozen people out of his past right then and there who would want to hurt him, some of them quite resourceful. Time was the big factor now. He couldn’t waste precious minutes pondering.

  Instead, he stayed practical. He scanned the area. The pickings were better than he’d hoped for. Two CCTV cameras overlooked this road on high poles, and the house across the way had its own private camera. Let’s hope they work.

  Damn you, Collins, he thought harshly. Her help would have been invaluable in ordering the CCTV footage.

  But there were other options. In the past he wouldn’t have hesitated to call Doug. Now, it pained him. The man didn’t have long left and deserved some peace, but Trent knew he would want to be a part of this. In fact, he’d be all over it.

  He made the call. Doug listened hard, then took a moment to collect himself. When he spoke his voice could have cut the edge off a brick.

  “Leave it with me, Aaron. Natasha and I will work this into the ground. We’ll find your boy.”

  Trent ended the call, thankful that he could now safely leave the CCTV footage search, the best chance of finding his son, with one of the most capable and connected men on the West Coast. That left Trent to look at other avenues.

  Victoria stared at him wretchedly. He fought his better judgment and placed a consoling hand on her shoulder.

  “It wasn’t your fault, Victoria. Sounds like this guy knew what he was doing.”

  “So helpless,” she sobbed. “We were both so helpless.”

  He leaned in and held her, thinking of his eight-year-old son battling a grown man. She clung tight, reminding him of better times, when their life together had offered incalculable promise. How had it all come down to this? Right here. Right now. Life turned on a whisper, a split-second decision, a chance direction taken on a whim. If he’d chosen a different bar to drink in all those years ago he never would have met Victoria.

  What then?

  “I’ll get him back,” Trent whispered into her ear. “I promise, Victoria. Mikey’s the only damn thing we ever did right. I’ll get him back.”

  His cell vibrated. Quickly, he checked the screen and felt a sudden sense of foreboding. The words unknown caller flashed up at him. On gut instinct he moved away from Victoria, putting the phone to his ear as he walked.

  “Hi. Who is this?”

  “This is the man who beat up your ex-wife and stole your son.”

  “When I find you—” Trent let his fury get the better of him.

  “Let’s keep this professional shall we? I know you, Aaron. I know of you. We’ve never met but used to run around opposite ends of the same circles. I hear you’re a straight no-nonsense guy and that suits me just fine. So . . . are we good?”

  Trent listened with growing fear. This man was a pro. Good? No, actually it couldn’t be much worse.

  “All right. What do I call you?”

  “The Moose.”

  Trent gasped. His heart tripped like it was on an acid overdose. The stories he’d heard! Oh, Mikey . . .

  “Ah, I see you’ve heard of me. Good. That will make this easier. Now, Mr. Trent, we’re going to play a little game. And this game? Well, it has just one rule.”

  Trent grimaced. “Yes?”

  “You lose, your son explodes.”

  20

  Silk and Brewster left the car down the road from Radford’s house and made their way along the hedgerows, keeping to shadows thrown by the late afternoon sun. Shaded dwellings stood all around. A steep hill twisted up to the right, dotted by and leading to more secluded houses. The Hollywood Hills were a hodgepodge of crazy homes, very few built in conformity, and you never knew who owned what.

  Silk struggled against a peculiar, dreamlike feeling. The last week or two had pretty much
floored him, undone him, and remade him as a different person. At last, a real living person and not just someone trying to create and live the youth he’d never had. The past was dead, long live the future. The path was wide open . . .

  Or at least it had been. The events of today had jolted reality yet again; he had never known a time when the Edge were this far apart, each man struggling against the odds. In one day their world had changed. The one saving grace was that Jenny was incommunicado and safe.

  Silk slowed as Radford’s property came into view. “See the big windows?” he murmured. “That’s Dan’s front room. The smaller one is the den. Next to that is a dining room which they barely use.”

  “You got a plan?”

  “Kinda.”

  “Feel like sharing?”

  “See the garage built against the dining room? It has a side door and I know where Dan keeps the spare key.” He shrugged in answer to her raised brows. “We all know where we keep our spares. It’s something we do.”

  “Cute.”

  “Cautious.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  Silk hugged the hedge as far as he could. The line wavered a little, moving them gradually closer to Radford’s house. They would have to dip beneath and crawl past the big front window in order to access the garage, but being so close to the house would help conceal their movements. Silk breathed slowly, running through his options. Brewster had her police issue radio and had called it in to the station, but for now they were on their own. They could wait of course, but Silk worried that Dan and Amanda didn’t have much time. Indeed, as he crabbed along, he raised his head slightly to better weigh the odds.

  Brewster hissed. “Keep your damn head down, dumbass. It’s too risky.”

  But Silk could see all he needed to. It wasn’t good. His instincts had been right. To wait for the cops was to condemn the Radfords to a violent death. Dan sat with his back to the couch, obviously restrained. A gag had been placed across his mouth. His face was blotchy as if someone had beaten him. Blood was smeared across his cheeks and chin. But that wasn’t the worst of it. Amanda was in a far more precarious position.

  Silk counted six opponents, all armed. The good news was they were all distracted, weapons laid down, gathered around Dan’s low table and playing cards. The bad news was that Amanda had been made to stand beside it, still cuffed, and was obviously the prize in some chilling game.

  Silk kept his head up as long as he dared then turned to Brewster. He told her the details. “I can’t see the kitchen or upstairs, of course. And they have handguns, so are probably street thugs rather than trained killers. That’s another reason they’re sat around playing cards rather than watching their perimeter. Are you ready?”

  Brewster double-checked her gun. “Good for it.”

  In that moment one of the thugs cheered and flung his cards away, then made a lunge for Amanda. Radford, still restrained, eyes bulging, barreled forward to help her. Two goons reached for their weapons, laughing.

  “Shit!” Silk hissed. “Move!”

  21

  Blanka Davic passed quickly through the rented mansion, heart pounding. He was excited because he was on his way to do damage to another human being. And not just any dull characterless stranger. This was Claire Collins, the FBI agent, the woman who had helped destroy his house and escaped his clutches once before.

  Not this time, Special Agent. He grinned to himself, barely noticing the sumptuously paneled passages he trod, the masterpiece-lined walls. All this old materialistic shit meant nothing to him. He lived for fast cars, wealth and power. Ownership of human beings was his goal. To him it was the ultimate power. Screw all that blow up the world crap. Such sheer fanaticism was surely misguided. He didn’t need spectacle, pomp and vast circumstance.

  All he needed were a few guys on explosive bikes and the resources to deploy them at the right time.

  He was better than all of them, of that he had no doubt. They would all dance to his little game, these so-called men in charge. The rules were his to play with, to create and destroy. The world was a playground for the mad opportunist.

  Davic entered the room where Collins awaited. As he pushed through the door he was momentarily disappointed. This was not the Belladonna room, that had been destroyed back in Monaco and he hadn’t had time to create even a poor mock-up. But it would have to suffice. The object of his nasty intentions lay in the center of the room, hands cuffed behind her back. When Davic entered she struggled to her knees.

  “You mad, pathetic little megalomaniac. The people at SolDyn were innocent. Just doing their jobs. And all for a few goddamn pills?”

  Davic blinked at her, feeling genuinely surprised. “You think SolDyn is innocent? And the FBI? They think SolDyn are innocent?” He laughed hard. “Then the bureaucrats are cleverer men than I thought.”

  “Don’t give me any crap about everyone being guilty of something,” Collins spat.

  Davic wondered if she was playing him, but then decided the outrage plastered across her face was genuine. “You should delve deeper. I assure you, Henry Curran’s company is balls deep in some very clandestine projects. A New Order for one. A hundred times worse than the defunct Shadow Elite. And biological agents. Secret cures that never see the light of day simply because pharmaceutical companies make so much money from people’s ongoing suffering. Engineered coups.”

  “The FBI would know if that were true.”

  Davic shook his head. “Of course they would.”

  “So you believe large corporations rule the world? And you believe in secret groups like the Shadow Elite? You really think that’s all true?”

  Davic moved closer to her. “I am a leader of men. I own people. Or have you so easily forgotten the Millers? Besides, the Shadow Elite are old news. There is a new order now, so I’m told.”

  “How do you think you know all this? Man, you’re fuckin’ delusional.”

  Davic laughed. “I have the resources of a small country.” He signaled to his men. “Drag her up.”

  Collins glared into his eyes.

  Davic produced a surgeon’s blade. “You see this? It’s sharp enough to cut all the way through the human body. All the way. In the past I never sought revenge. Even when my father was murdered at the hands of that Englishman, Drake, and his little team. I never once sought revenge. You know why?”

  Collins only grimaced.

  “I was happy. In my own world. My house. My villa. With my slaves and my casinos and my guards and my women. Happy. Is that too much to ask?”

  Collins opened her mouth, but a guard filled it with the barrel of a gun. “Boss hasn’t said you can speak.”

  Davic looked sad. “You helped take all that away from me, Collins. You. Why did you have to come and destroy my house and my business? This is your fault. The death. The terrorism. The chaos. It’s the fault of the FBI and the CIA. Not me.”

  She mumbled something unintelligible. Davic appraised her. “Your death could come in many ways, Collins. How does the barrel of a gun taste?”

  The guard forced her backward, making her gag, all the way to the wall. Davic watched this strong woman, clad in blue jeans and leather jacket; took in the flashing eyes and the styled hair, the way she didn’t show even a flicker of pain, and considered taking her with him at the end of all this.

  A fine trophy for a man such as he. A fitting prize, this thoroughbred of defiant flesh.

  “You want to know what I am doing, Agent Collins. I’ll tell you. The revenge is mostly a cover. The little blue pills, the DR579 that you tried to keep from me, are the main prize. They are an addictive party drug that Solution Dynamics made by mistake and decided to store for some future use, rather than destroy. Since my last business was shut down I need a new one. Curran himself told me about DR579 many years ago, a mistake I think he realizes now. Of course, I never forgot. So now I need a new advantage, an edge, if you like. Ha ha. And that’s purely the fault of you and your friends. But you will all p
ay.” He motioned irritably at his man, making him remove the gun barrel. “The theft and its ease was facilitated by the revenge cover. The mobile command unit will keep them occupied and soon add further to their confusion. The Edge threesome are . . .” he smirked, “in pieces, shall we say? And soon I will be gone.” He made a hand gesture. “Vanished! The only way you don’t die in agony, Collins, is if you agree to come with me.”

  The woman coughed. “Isn’t that against policy, Davic? Aren’t your slaves normally drugged up, made to be dependent, and then put to work?”

  He nodded agreeably. “It is the best way. But you, I like your fire. Your strength. The way you cling to your freedom even now. It is something I would love to break, but not with heroin. It’s so barbaric and easy, and changes a person so. There are many ways to tame a thoroughbred.”

  “Not me, Davic. I’m too strong.”

  “Is that a ‘yes’?”

  Collins remained silent.

  Davic pursed his lips. “You know, you have no chance. The Thrusters are gone. Dead. I have Michael Trent, yes, the kid. His father, even now, is being informed. You think he will care where you are? I have Dan and Amanda Radford. I have Henry Curran and the DR579. Soon, my plan will escalate in time to cover my escape.” He spread his hands. “It is all predetermined. Nothing can stop me. And I would love to own you. So make your choice, bitch. Make your choice.”

  Collins snarled her choice right into his face. “Fuck. You.”

  Davic nodded. He had been expecting as such. “All right. But now I want the new code that you keyed into the box.” His technicians had warned that any attempt to force the box might lead to a self-destruct failsafe being employed that could well destroy its contents.

  He didn’t expect Collins to tender it up easily. “Guards,” he said. “I expect this to take a while, but not to be entirely unenjoyable. Let’s get started.”