by K. J. Howe
“To Kanzi?”
“London. We have a new family waiting for us. The Wavertons.” Ayan waved both hands in the air.
“Soon enough.”
“Can we call Thea?” Jabari chugged some milk.
“She’s busy doing something for me.”
“Are you really going to let us go?” Ayan asked.
Man, these two were sharp. Or maybe they’d just had their fair share of broken promises.
“You’ll be in London soon.” At least he hoped so.
“My feet are cold. Can we have boots?” Jabari asked.
Prospero nodded to the maid. “Find them something. And jackets.” The kids must be freezing out there in the shed.
“More food?” Prospero asked.
“Can we take some back for our friends?”
“No. They can eat the slop the guards do.”
“Didn’t your mother teach you to share?” Jabari’s face wrinkled in disapproval.
“My mother taught me plenty. She was a good woman.”
“I want Thea.” Ayan had mayonnaise smeared across his cheek.
Prospero grabbed a napkin and wiped it off. “Then behave, and you’ll see her soon enough. And stay away from Luciano.”
The maid returned with several jackets and two pairs of boots. Jabari slipped on two layers, smiling in delight. Ayan chose a red down jacket that must have belonged to one of Aslan’s kids. The thermal boots more or less fit. They danced around in their new duds, admiring each other. Amazing, the things a lifetime of deprivation made you appreciate.
“Time to go.” He called one of Bassam’s guards to escort the boys back to the outbuilding. “Remember, behave.”
Ayan and Jabari nodded solemnly.
Returning to the kitchen, he decided to indulge in another sandwich. But the plates were empty, all the sandwiches and cookies gone.
He shook his head and smiled. “Quei piccolo banditi!”
Chapter 47
Prospero was growing restless. That truck had to be found, fast. Looking for a distraction, he clicked on the live feed. People fascinated him. Some proved resilient, handling stress and hardship with grace, while others cracked under hardly any pressure at all.
Karlsson’s mental state had deteriorated rapidly since the hijacking: he mumbled to himself constantly now, and his hair was askew. Bernard gave him water and tried to get him to eat, but he’d become convinced the food was poisoned. Some of the other passengers complained that he had been whimpering all night long, keeping them awake. Pazzu, but if he had to kill a hostage, Karlsson was quickly earning a place at the head of the line.
Ocean walked to where the basket case was huddled in a corner and sat cross-legged beside him. Her mouth moved, but Prospero couldn’t hear what she was saying over the other passengers.
Footsteps sounded on the hardwood floors of the living room. He turned. Luciano.
“Those boys are animals.”
Prospero was tempted to respond that it took one to know one, but he held his tongue. “They’re kids, rambunctious.”
“Nah, I’ve seen the look in their eyes. They’ve killed people. They want to kill me.”
“You sound more paranoid than Karlsson.”
“You do know they used to be child soldiers.” Luciano enunciated every word, working hard to avoid his stutter.
“And that’s a tragedy we should all feel bad about. No kid should have to go through that bullshit.” Prospero returned his attention to the screen.
“They’re nothing but trouble.”
“Thea is key to our mission, and getting those boys back is her motivation. They’ll be out of your hair soon enough.”
“I don’t trust them.”
“Basta, niputi! You’re letting two kids get under your skin for no reason. They’re bright and kind of funny.”
“If they attack me again, I won’t be responsible for what happens.”
“Yes, you will.”
Prospero’s cell rang. His man in Budapest. He dismissed Luciano and pressed the talk button. “Che fai?”
“They’ve organized equipment, even rented a plane.”
“How many men?”
“Hard to tell—maybe ten, tops. I was expecting more.”
“Tactical teams work better in small groups.” At least I hope so.
“We’ve plotted the most likely route, and we’ll have people searching the city as well.”
“I don’t care who gets there first, but someone needs to find that truck, pronto.”
Chapter 48
The sun descended below the horizon as Rif and Thea strode through Budapest’s Castle District. Rif caught a glimpse of their tail as they crossed the street. Both armed, the two men had been tag-teaming their every move since they’d left the basilica.
“Looks like you have two admirers—how will you choose between them?” Rif smiled at Thea, his eyebrows slightly raised.
“That’s easy: the one in the black hat. Couldn’t wear my Louboutins with Shorty.”
“Ah, then I’ll take Black Hat, to protect your virtue.” Rif tried not to laugh. “Hey, how about I show you one of my favorite places in the city?”
She glanced at her watch. “If we make it quick.”
Both of Rif’s parents had been born in Istanbul. And since Budapest was one of the few places in the world with authentic Turkish bathhouses, some of them dating back to the sixteenth century, his family had spent many weekends and holidays in the city. On many nights they had strolled along the Danube after dinner.
“My mother took me to the labyrinth every time we visited,” he said. “And we’re just in time for the evening walk-through.” He guided them across the street toward the entrance.
“Your parents still planning on remarrying?” she asked.
“Yup. No firm date yet, but I accepted my father’s offer to be his best man.” His parents had divorced years ago, when Hakan had been an active response consultant, away from the family more often than not, but they’d never stopped loving each other. Three years after the divorce, they’d started dating each other again.
“That’s a wedding I’m looking forward to,” she said.
“You could go as my date.”
“Tempting, but I have a date—Black Hat has already picked out his tux.”
“He won’t be able to dance when I’m through with him.”
She smiled. “Who said anything about dancing?”
It seemed that things had shifted between them lately, and Rif hoped Thea was beginning to see him in a new light. Thea was special, different from any woman he’d known—and not just because she was a skilled combatant and spoke seven languages. She was exciting to be around, with a dry sense of humor that shone through even in the most dangerous circumstances. They’d known each other since they were kids, and now they were colleagues, but it was only recently that he’d started to feel this way. He often found himself wondering if she felt it too, but he didn’t know how to ask—or if it was a good idea to explore the subject at all. Probably not.
Rif led Thea down the steep stairs to enter the series of caves under Castle Hill. He paid the labyrinth’s entry fee while studying the reflection in the ticket booth’s glass. Sure enough, Black Hat and Shorty lined up several people behind them. They were doing a reasonable job of surveillance, but they needed a larger team if they wanted to remain invisible. Clearly these two didn’t have intelligence or military backgrounds; now that they were closer, Rif made a point of studying their faces, remembering them. The skill had kept him alive more than once.
Tickets in hand, Rif picked up an oil lantern and entered the caves. The labyrinth offered a special evening tour featuring oil lamps as the only source of light. The dampness sent goose bumps rippling down his arms. As a kid, he’d loved anything creepy like this. Some people found the maze claustrophobic and terrifying, but he had a feeling that Thea wouldn’t be grabbing his hand for comfort. Too bad.
A pungent mix of mold and kero
sene wafted into his sinuses. Wax figures wearing dingy opera attire stood in what appeared to be jail cells as selections of Verdi operas echoed off the travertine walls. Water dripped from the ceiling, forming little puddles on the floor.
A private guide led eight Moroccans on a tour, and he and Thea tagged along, absorbing the history lesson.
The male guide spoke Spanish, so they had no trouble following along. “These caves served as a refuge and hunting ground for prehistoric man some half million years ago. Since then, they have been used as a wine cellar, a torture chamber, a jail, and a treasury.”
The guide stopped in front of the Hospital in the Rock exhibit. “These caverns were used as a medical facility in the Second World War, and during the 1956 uprising, they served as a command center in the event of a nuclear war. The whole cave system could accommodate about ten thousand people.”
Rif couldn’t imagine that many individuals crouching inside these dank, dark walls. They would be like rats in a series of tunnels, all scurrying for protection.
Their stalkers closed the distance, emboldened by the dim light. Fog machines pumped out plumes that reduced visibility. Rif made a quick nod to Thea. They slowed their pace, letting the group from Morocco forge ahead. Other than their tail, no one else lingered close behind.
They closed the distance to Dracula’s Chamber, the most intimidating section of the caves. Visitors were greeted by absolute blackness, given only a handrail to guide them out of the all-consuming darkness.
“Now.” Rif nodded to Thea. They entered the inky room and stepped to either side, waiting for their quarry, eyes adjusting to the dark.
The dim light near the entrance allowed them to see the shadows moving toward them. Shorty and Black Hat walked briskly side by side, probably worried they’d lose their marks in the labyrinth.
Verdi’s opera hit a high note. Footsteps. Movement. The men entered the Dark Room. Black Hat’s taller form was closest to him. Thea would handle Shorty.
Rif shifted his weight, then rounded on Black Hat with a quick kick, taking out the man’s legs. Black Hat sprawled onto the floor. Before he could regain his equilibrium, Rif forced the man’s arms above his head, then patted down his torso to find his holstered weapon, tossing it aside.
Grunting sounds echoed beside him: Shorty being manhandled by Thea. He couldn’t see a thing, but he’d bet on her any day. A soft curse from Thea. Shorty must have gotten a punch in.
A thud. The clatter of metal on stone. Silence.
“He’s down.” Thea’s voice was raspy.
Black Hat squirmed underneath him, but Rif held him fast. “Who do you work for?”
“Fuck you, baccala.”
“Let me guess. Salvatore.”
Black Hat spat in his face. Rif wiped it off with the back of his hand, curled his fingers into a fist, and slammed it into the man’s nose. The crunch of cartilage breaking preceded more Italian expletives.
“If you want any teeth left, start talking.”
“Fuck you.”
Rif kneed him hard in the balls.
A loud moan.
“Last chance.”
“Vaffanculo!” the man yelled.
Rif wrapped his hands around the man’s neck and tightened them. “Why does Salvatore want that truck?” Tough guys like this one were often brave—until they couldn’t breathe. Black Hat wheezed, lungs desperate for air, his legs kicking in panic.
Rif loosened his hold. “Talk.”
“Need to stop the Austrians.” The words were barely a whisper.
“What Austrians?”
“The Freedom Guardians.”
Voices sounded in the corridor. Innocent tourists would be entering the Dark Room soon. Rif punched Black Hat in the solar plexus. The man curled up into a ball, writhing.
“Let’s go.”
“Shorty is unconscious, and I can’t see a damn thing.” Thea was right beside him.
Rif grabbed her hand, enjoying the contact. He guided them out using the handrail.
As they neared the exit of the Dark Room, the voices in the distance became clearer. Sounded like college kids. Someone flicked on a cell phone light. “Hey, I think these guys fell down in the dark. I told you it’s dangerous in here.”
Thea, inspecting the bloodied knuckles of her left hand, already beginning to swell from the blow to the short man’s jaw that had knocked him out, had to agree.
Chapter 49
The sound of scraping woke Prospero. Metal against stone. What the hell? He scrambled out of bed and hurried over to the window and peered outside. One of the guards was shoveling freshly fallen snow from the cobblestone path. At least a foot had fallen while he slept. Dawn had eased in gently, soft morning light flooding the mountains, the view of the freshly capped white peaks breathtaking.
After slipping on a black cable-knit sweater, he opened the live feed on his computer. In groups of four, the hostages were allowed thirty minutes outside the cabin to get a little exercise. Prospero had given the okay, knowing it would keep them calmer. Given the tension between Luciano and the boys, they all needed to let off a little steam.
Karlsson, Matthias, and the two flight attendants were returning after their time outdoors. Karlsson seemed a little more together since Ocean had talked to him, but he still appeared fragile.
Prospero called Violetta to wish her good morning, telling her the business trip in Eastern Europe was going well. After this was over, he’d take her on a holiday, perhaps to Milan. She loved the stores at Quadrilatero d’Oro, the golden rectangle of shopaholic heaven where his credit card would get quite a workout. He smiled; he could afford it, and since it made her so happy, then why not?
The snow had lifted his spirits, and it seemed to give the hostages a morale boost as well. The boys were next in line to enjoy some outdoor time. They had already put on their new coats. Dillman and Captain Rivers were the other two hostages in their group.
“This is our first snow ever,” Jabari said. “What do we do with it?”
Dillman laughed. “I’ll teach you how to make a snowman—and snow angels.”
Rivers grinned. “Or we could have a snowball fight.”
“I’m going to dive right into it.” Ayan hopped around with excitement.
Prospero left his bedroom, grabbed a caffè from the kitchen, and hurried outside, thinking it might be fun to watch the boys enjoy their first snowfall. His hip ached even more when he stepped outside, but he didn’t care; he brushed off the snow on a nearby bench and sat down to enjoy the show.
Ayan sprinted toward a large pile of fluffy snow, diving headfirst into it with a squeal of joy. Jabari lay on his back, creating snow angels under Dillman’s tutelage. Jabari made one angel, then jumped up to briefly admire it before searching for a fresh spot to make another. Even Bassam and the guards watched with amusement. Seeing something new through the eyes of a child was a wonderful experience. And Ayan Kuria—the boy was like a wind-up toy that never stopped.
Dillman kneeled beside Jabari to teach him how to make a snowman. The older boy scooped up a handful of snow and sprinkled the fluffy white powder on the man’s mustache. They both laughed.
Rivers packed snow between his hands. One of Bassam’s men had removed the shrapnel and treated his shoulder, and he looked to be in less pain. Rivers’s snowball careened toward an unsuspecting Ayan. Smack. Right in the face.
For a moment, Prospero worried that Ayan might be hurt or at least stunned, but laughter echoed across the mountainside as he quickly recovered. Making his own snowball, Ayan hurled it toward Rivers.
The captain ducked, the snowball sailing straight past. But Ayan was already making another. He sent the white orb flying toward Rivers, then another. Prospero smiled. Rivers had no idea what he’d started.
War.
Jabari and Dillman joined in, and soon they were launching snowballs back and forth, Ayan hiding behind a large bin before sending more missiles flying their way. The others had joined forces w
ith Rivers, so Ayan now faced three opponents.
Not at all deterred by the odds, the little guy hurled a flurry of snowballs in the opposing team’s direction. The others closed in on Ayan, so he used a short break in the assault to run for better cover. Throwing a snowball over his shoulder, Ayan ran full tilt, his little legs stumbling in the deep snow. Prospero wanted to cry out a warning, but the words stuck in his throat. Ayan slammed straight into the back of Luciano, who was looking elsewhere, smoking. His nephew collapsed onto his knees and face-planted in the snow, his cigarette flying out of his mouth. Rivers, Dillman, Jabari, and Ayan laughed.
Luciano pushed himself off the ground, wiping the snow from his face. His expression was contorted by anger. He lunged toward Ayan, but his smooth-soled loafers slipped on the snow, and he fell again. Peals of laughter followed. Even the guards snickered. But instead of joining in the moment, Luciano rushed toward Ayan.
Before Prospero could move off the bench, his nephew cuffed Ayan hard across the temple. For a brief moment, the youngster wavered, dazed by the blow. Then Ayan gathered himself and charged toward Luciano, punching him hard in the balls.
Prospero jumped to his feet, knowing he was too far away to intervene. Time slowed, offering fractured snapshots. A flash of Luciano’s Glock. Ayan looking up in fear. Dillman leaned down, lunging toward Luciano, thrusting Ayan out of the way.
Bang, bang, bang.
Prospero was almost there as the Texan collapsed onto the snow.
All three bullets had caught Dillman in the face, his signature mustache obliterated. The Texan spread-eagled on top of one of Jabari’s snow angels, his arms outflung in a grotesque parody. Blood spurted onto the pristine white blanket as the man’s heart pumped its final beats.
Two guards raised their rifles but knew better than to shoot Luciano. Prospero ripped the Glock out of his nephew’s hand. Ayan and Jabari rushed over to the fallen man as frothy red spittle oozed out of his mouth. The Texan gurgled, a soft, mewling sound, and then went silent.
The gun felt cold in Prospero’s hands.