Choke Point

by Jay MacLarty

  Finally satisfied with his fastidious arrangement of rain gear, Chricher poured himself a cup of tea, then lowered himself into one of the fold-up canvas chairs, never once making eye contact. “I’m getting too old for this shit.”

  “Yup.” Mawl didn’t like being questioned, and he wasn’t about to make things easy. It was a matter of respect—command and control.

  Chricher leaned back in his chair, way back, eyes on the overhead canopy, and folded his hands over his chest, his fingers twitching in a nervous out-of-sync rhythm. Mawl let the man fidget, the quiet broken only by the relentless beat of the rain. After a few minutes of awkward silence, Chricher found his voice. “You get a weather report?”

  Mawl reached over, clicked the weather link on his laptop, then rotated the machine around so the man could see for himself.

  Chricher rocked forward, eyes on the screen. “Ahh…looks like this front is finally ready to move on.”

  “Yup.”

  Chricher glanced toward the night sky, as if he could see a parting of clouds through the darkness. “Might even get a few hours of sun tomorrow. The guys could use it.”

  “Yup.”

  He leaned forward over his mug, suddenly a reader of tea leaves. “Should be clear by Sunday.”

  “Yup.”

  “If we don’t find them by then, I could bring in the chopper.”

  As if he hadn’t figured that out, Mawl thought, becoming extremely weary of the man’s shifty-eyed avoidance. “What is it you want, Chrich?”

  The man looked up, making eye contact for the first time. “Want?”

  “You think I’m a bleedin’ idiot? Spit it out.”

  “Well, I…the men…we were wonderin’ about this…this Atherton chap. The kid says he was—”

  “The kid!” Mawl hooted, wanting to immediately knock Chricher off stride. “You think I’d have bothered to put Catman on his tail if I thought Jocko could figure something out on his own?”

  “No, but he was—”

  “You think I’m stupid enough to share intelligence with him?”

  “Well, no, of course you’re not stupid, Brick, but he was on the bird’s detail. He saw things.”

  “That’s right, Chrich, he saw things. He saw someone trying to get close to Rynerson’s daughter. Beyond that, he assumed. You’re smarter than that. You know I have contacts inside the hotel. Just who do you think arranged all those accidents? How else—”

  “Yeah,” Chricher interrupted, “but this is different. If he worked for you, why the bleedin’ hell did he get on that plane?”

  Good question, but obvious, and Mawl was ready for it. “Because the information went one way. I bought, he delivered. Everything by e-mail. I never met the guy till he walked in here and identified himself by his code name.”

  “But…” Chricher paused, thinking about it. “How’d you find the guy?”

  Mawl nodded to himself; another question he had anticipated. “Our old friend Madame Chiang.” A small fabrication, but one no one could dispute. “That’s one of the reasons we needed to take her out. She could connect us to someone inside the hotel.”

  Chricher nodded, clearly buying the story. “That makes sense.”

  Mawl waited, knowing there was at least one more question.

  “What about that big briefcase? The one that courier chap hauled onto the beach. The kid said Atherton had it with him.”

  Mawl cocked his head toward the case, which he had purposely left in plain sight; something hawkeye Chricher would have noticed the minute he stepped out of the rain. “It’s right there, Chrich. Check it out.”

  Making an exaggerated effort not to appear overeager, Chricher took a sip of tea, then stretched out and pulled the case onto his lap. “Heavy bugger.” He ran his hand over the indentations along the side. “Bloody hell. No wonder he didn’t go down. What the bloody hell is this thing made of?”

  “Kevlar,” Mawl answered. “Or something close to it.”

  Chricher opened the fold-over double flap. “What the bleedin’ hell. Is this a joke?”

  “If it’s a joke,” Mawl answered. “It’s on us.”

  “Any idea what—”

  “A worthless artifact, according to Atherton.”

  Chricher scowled, a look of disbelief. “You believe him?”

  “Nope.”

  “How do you know he didn’t just stash whatever was in the thing?”

  “We don’t,” Mawl admitted. “That’s why I’m not letting the bastard out of my sight until we’ve got Leonidovich. It’ll take Big about two minutes to make him talk.”

  Chricher nodded approvingly. “Atherton’s sleepin’ in your tent, right?”

  “Going on eleven hours,” Mawl answered. “Hauling that rock around must have tuckered the man out.”

  Chricher chuckled and stood up, apparently satisfied that everyone was playing on the same team. “Bed sounds like a good idea.”

  An hour later, during a lull in the downpour, Atherton came sloshing into the enclosure, his eyelids heavy from sleep. Though dressed in clean shorts and a T-shirt confiscated from Mawl’s locker, he looked like a street bum in clothes twice his size, his face drawn and stubbled, his blond hair disheveled. “What time is it?”

  Mawl glanced at his watch. “Twenty-three, forty-two.” He could see the gears grinding, so offered up the answer before the man blew a sprocket. “Eleven forty-two.”

  “Christ, twelve hours! You got coffee?”

  Mawl cocked his head toward the two-burner propane stove. “Tea.”

  “No coffee?”

  “We drink tea.”

  Atherton scowled, but poured himself a cup.

  “What about food?”

  Mawl kicked the box of field rations.

  “That’s it?”

  “Fruit,” Mawl answered, half tempted to shove a banana up the man’s ass. “Our chef couldn’t make the trip.”

  Atherton nodded, finally getting the picture, and dropped into a chair. “So what happened?”

  “We found where they spent the night,” Mawl answered, “but they were gone by the time we got there.”

  “Shit! That fucking Leonidovich.” He mumbled the last, as if talking to himself. “So why aren’t your men out there?” he demanded. “You’ve got night-vision equipment.”

  The banana, Mawl thought, was sounding better by the second, but he hadn’t yet decided what to do with Mr. James Atherton. “They’ve been out there crawling through the mud for three days. They’re not machines.”

  “But you’ve got to find them before the storm passes. If they’re able to signal a ship, it’s all over.”

  “We’ll get ’em,” Mawl answered. “After we found the spot, we blanketed that end of the island with sensors. That reduces our search area by two-thirds.” He turned the laptop so Atherton could see the grid. “I haven’t taken my eyes off that screen in eight hours. They fart just once and we’ll have them.”

  Atherton leaned forward, scrutinizing the screen. “They were planning to stay near the coast.”

  “And that’s the focus of our search.”

  Atherton nodded, eyes thoughtful. “What if they go in the water? Try to move around that way?”

  “Was that discussed?”

  “No, but I don’t think we should rule out the possibility. That Leonidovich is a clever bastard.”

  Mawl nodded to himself—he had learned that one the hard way. “I’ll put two Zodiacs in the water. If they—” Something Atherton had said, suddenly burrowed its way into Mawl’s consciousness. “How did you know we had night-vision equipment?”

  Atherton snorted, the sound derisive and bitter. “Rynerson grabbed one of your cargo bags. She was here when you unloaded your equipment.”

  Mawl almost laughed; the woman had balls, he had to give her that. “So that’s where it went. Why didn’t you mention this earlier?”

  “Didn’t think about it,” Atherton answered. “It’s nothing to worry about, she won’t be ba
ck. When she heard what you were planning to do, she ran like a scared rabbit.”

  “Do?”

  “Your plan to dump the bodies where a ship would find them. She didn’t much like the idea of death by drowning.”

  Mawl thought back, retrieving the time and place of the conversation. “She heard that?”

  Atherton nodded, took a sip of tea, and grimaced. “Christ, this stuff tastes like boiled piss.”

  Mawl ignored the gastronomical commentary. “That means she was here more than once.”

  Another nod.

  “Bloodyfucking hell! In our camp! You should have told me!” He grabbed his night-vision goggles and pointed to the lantern. “Put out that light.”

  Atherton made no move to comply. “You’re overreacting. She’s not coming back here. You’ve got them trapped on that side of the island.”

  Mawl knew the man was right, but it pissed him off and made him feel oddly violated that the woman had penetrated his camp. “Unless you want the pleasure, I intend to drown that bitch personally.”

  “Me?” Atherton leaned back in his chair, apparently giving the idea serious consideration. Then he shook his head and smiled. “Nope. But I’d like to watch.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  An Island in the South China Sea

  Saturday, 14 July 05:15:18 GMT +0800

  Simon adjusted his position on the rock, his backside numb from sitting in one place for so long. He could only guess at the time, but knew it had been at least six hours since she had disappeared into the night. Damn woman, just like her mother: smart, beautiful, and stubborn as stone.

  He took a deep breath—the moist air heavy with the odor of a large dead fish rotting in the seaweed—and tried to convince himself she was being careful, not careless. A few scattered stars were now visible between the clouds, and he tried to decide if the sky was getting lighter, or if it was just his imagination.

  He closed his eyes and started to count seconds—a full two minutes’ worth—giving his pupils time to adjust, then looked again. No question, the stars were beginning to fade. He needed to make a decision. If they had her, it wouldn’t take them long to find him. Everyone talked, it was only a matter of…

  She emerged out of the bluish-gray light, the morning fog curling about her bare legs. He saw it all, everything, all at once—in the slump of her shoulders and the way her feet pushed through the water—and knew exactly what she had seen. He crawled down from his rocky perch and hurried out to meet her. “You okay?”

  She shrugged, looking sulky and shut down. “Just thinking about my father.”

  But he could see it was more than that. “And…?”

  “And I’m tired, let down, and pissed off.”

  Uh-oh, he could already feel the heat of that famous Rynerson temper. “So…? Atherton wasn’t there?”

  She stopped, eyes flashing, her fuse officially lit. “Oh yeah, he was there all right. The scumbag is working with them.”

  He tried to look appropriately surprised, without overdoing it. “You’re sure?”

  “Don’t give me that crap, Simon. I’ve had all night to think about it. You knew something.”

  He shook his head empathically—“No, absolutely not!”—but knew she wouldn’t let him wiggle around the truth on this one. “I had a few suspicions. Nothing more.”

  “A few suspicions?”

  “That’s right, suspicions.”

  “Then why did you let me go?”

  Though he couldn’t have stopped her, not with one arm, he had been asking himself that same question all night. “Because you’re a pain in the ass, Rynerson, and I thought it would be a good way to finally get rid of you.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “And I’m not going to be your whipping boy for what he did. I tried to talk you out of it.”

  “You could have told me about your suspicions.”

  “Come on, Kyra, the guy just asked you to marry him. You would never have believed me.” Her eyes seemed to confirm it, so he hammered another nail, staying on the offensive. “You would have accused me of being vindictive and insensitive.”

  She opened her mouth, clearly intending to deny it, then turned and continued toward the rocks and the opening to the cave. “It was never that serious.”

  “It seemed pretty damn serious to me.”

  “He was a good dinner companion, nothing more.” She reached the rocks, stopped and turned. “Okay, I admit it, I was hoping for more. I wanted Tony Jr. to have a man in his life. And with my father…” She leaned against a large boulder, out of words—defeated.

  “Kyra, for god’s sake, you know better than that. TJ’s never going to be happy unless you’re—”

  She cut him off. “Don’t say it. I know it was stupid. I was trying too hard, for all the wrong reasons. But, hey, I realized it wasn’t right…that he wasn’t the man for me. I turned him down, remember?” She rolled her eyes, a look of relief. “At least I wasn’t sleeping with the guy.”

  Simon smiled—couldn’t help himself.

  She gave him the fisheye, though it was obvious her anger had dissipated. “You’re enjoying this aren’t you?”

  Only a little. “Of course not.”

  “You never liked him.”

  “What’s not to like? Rich, successful, good-looking, well educated…okay, you got me there, nothing to like.”

  Just as quickly as her anger had died, it flared back. “The fucking bastard! He made a fool out of me!” Tears welled in the corners of her eyes and she brushed them away with the back of her hand.

  Using his good arm, Simon pulled her against his chest. “He fooled everyone. The State Department. Your parents. All of us.”

  “Not you.”

  “Of course he did. Until a couple of days ago, it never even occurred to me that he might have a different agenda. I’m just now putting the pieces together.”

  She stepped back. “I’ve been thinking about it all night. It doesn’t make sense. What pieces? What did you see that I didn’t?”

  “Just little things. Some inconsistencies. Nothing remarkable.”

  “What things?” she demanded. “I want to know.”

  He hesitated, working it into an order that made sense. “Some of it’s in retrospect. I didn’t put it together until after he left.”

  “Such as?”

  “The attack at Madame Chiang’s. When I found the gun, I realized the attack had something to do with me. That someone wanted me out of the way. Buy why? If something happened to me, another courier could have been brought in. I’m not indispensable…it didn’t make sense.”

  “But now it does?”

  “It may sound stupid, but I now think Atherton thought we were more than friends.”

  “Oh.” She hesitated, thinking about it. “And why is that stupid?”

  It was not a question he expected. “Well…because we’re buddies. We don’t think of each other like that.” Embarrassed, he hurried on. “Anyway, I now think he wanted me out of the way. At the time, of course, I only knew there was an information leak.”

  “And that’s why you decided to move the crest early?”

  “Exactly.”

  “That’s what I don’t understand. If he’s been involved from the start, why did he get on the plane? He must have known about—”

  “No,” Simon interrupted. “I don’t think he did. These guys are mercenaries. Atherton said it himself. Something he was very quick to point out, in fact. It’s my guess, he’s the one who hired them.”

  “But…?” She faltered trying to put the pieces together.

  “He was probably trying to protect his identity. Everything could have been handled by e-mail or phone. No personal contact. There’s only one reason he would have gotten on that plane—he didn’t know it was going down, and they didn’t know he was the man who hired them. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  She lowered herself onto a rock, her expression skeptical. “Even so, he woul
d have been putting himself in harm’s way. Just being near you and the crest.”

  “That’s right, and I think it bothered him. Plenty. It was the only time I ever saw the man nervous. I didn’t think much about it at the time…just thought he hated small planes.”

  She nodded. “I remember that. I thought the same thing.” She cocked her head to the side, dragging a memory out of the closet. “Remember that conversation I told you about…the one between Robbie and the skinhead guy?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He told Robbie he had just gotten off the phone with the client. But he didn’t. He tried to call someone, but no one answered.”

  “Now we know why.”

  “Apparently so.” She glanced at the sky. “Maybe we should move inside.”

  He followed her gaze upward—the stars had faded to a few random light specks—but he was in no hurry to crawl back into that damp, closed-in space. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

  “Fine with me. I’m so pissed, I’m not even tired. So, what else? What other inconsistencies did I miss?”

  He realized she was now internalizing the anger—outraged that Atherton had fooled her so completely. “It always bothered me that he was so anxious to give up the crest and attempt to negotiate our way out of here. It felt wrong, this instant bravery and willingness to walk into the hands of men who wanted to fill his lungs with seawater. If they were so interested in the crest, why sabotage the plane?”

  She nodded. “Good point. I still don’t understand what it’s all about.”

  “I’m guessing, but when it comes to Atherton, I think it’s all about money. There are lots of people, governments even, who would pay a fortune to see the Alliance fail. He’s obviously well connected in this part of the world…he would have known where to peddle the information.”

  “What’s that have to do with me? Why the mad rush? The proposal…?”

  He hesitated, knew he needed to be careful, but she offered up the answer before he could think of a delicate way to express it.

  “I guess that was about money too.”