Hit Hard

by Amy J. Fetzer

  He needed to know why.

  Seven

  Sam had company.

  It wasn’t hard to notice. Anglos in Thailand sorta stood out. Who sent them was another matter. He’d noticed the man outside the restaurant this afternoon, then picked him up again when he was near the Four Seasons. Keeping tabs on Viva wasn’t a job he needed right now, but he couldn’t trust it to anyone except his teammates, and they were all occupied and short-handed this week.

  This tail was a new one, and the man passed him, entering an apartment building. Another was back a block and turning in the opposite direction. Tag teams, he thought.

  “Drac, you catch that guy?”

  “Yeah.” Max’s voice rolled softly in his ear mike. “What do you want to do about it?”

  Max was somewhere outside a bar up the street ahead, Sebastian nearby to the south. Sam didn’t look. Fontenot had the skill to blend in with the locals, something Sam never tried to achieve. You could lie only so far and a slip-up would get you killed.

  “Maintain, and let’s see how far they take it.”

  “Roger that.”

  Sam stayed where he was, his shoulder on the stone wall, watching the human traffic slip past, stall, then move again. There were men off oil rigs for the first time in months, construction workers for the high-rises springing up all over the city. Locals were heading home as the sun set, to safety. This wasn’t a bad section of Bangkok in the day, but at night, the potential for trouble floated on the salty air. He spotted more than a few ill-concealed weapons. A few yards away, the river moved slowly, small boats with lanterns flickered dim light on the water. In one, an old woman slowly paddled with the current, a child riding behind her and looking more alert than a cop.

  He glanced at his watch, then pushed away from the wall, moving through the congestion of bodies, pausing to let people pass. The heat was only slightly less than at high noon, his overly long hair heavy and concealing the ear mike. This week he was a weapons smuggler in need of a plane. Some cash laid out and whispered words to some pretty degenerate types and his presence was noted, avoided. The locals eyed him covertly, then moved on. A few stared openly and he saw debate in their eyes, questions.

  He wanted the badasses to come to him. While the team thought flashing the diamond around would bring some action, Sam wasn’t risking Thai officials or Interpol snatching him, and then having to explain his ass out of prison for possession of an uncut diamond. He didn’t have the time for roadblocks. There were enough around him already.

  He slowed his steps. “Drac, ahead, half a click.” Three men left a high-rise and got in a large town car.

  In his ear mike he heard, “Getting pictures. Looks familiar. Chechen we met in Spain?”

  “Jesus, I hope not.” Those guys were brutal sadists and the cells of Islamabad were just too many to track. But if Niran was right, and the money handlers were in town, this problem just went global. “Send it to Logan.” Max used a telephoto camera linked to a satellite phone to Logan. “This is the second Most Wanted in two days.” Where the hell was Interpol in this?

  “Everyone wants in the party.”

  But according to Half Ear, Riley’s diamond wasn’t enough. “I’m getting that really bad feeling,” Sam said.

  “You’re thinking big guns,” Sebastian said. “I’m moving west. Nukes? Ballistics?”

  “Christ. How do they get these things?” But he knew: blackmail, torture, kidnapping, and enough money could sway even the most honest of men. If he could find the jet maybe they’d get some names, fuel bills, manifest, cargo. Sam could read a jet-fuel invoice and know where the jet had been and its next destination. All he needed was one mistake to open a new door.

  After a few minutes he heard through the ear mike, “Outlaw, be advised. You’re a popular guy. Rabbit closing in fast.”

  “Roger that,” he said and didn’t look back, yet slid his hand inside his jacket.

  “You look like shit, Outlaw,” he heard, and Sam turned sharply.

  Russell Dahl.

  “I heard you were here somewhere.” Sam lowered his hand from his weapon and eyed the man. Dahl had been in flight school with him. He’d washed out when he crashed a four-million-dollar fighter jet because he didn’t listen to the flight leader. It was potential down the tubes, Sam thought. The man was a natural. He’d heard he was flying a Lear filled with wealthy businessmen from Bangkok to Kuala Lumpur, Singapore, anywhere there was jet fuel—and making money hand over fist.

  Money meant something to Russ. It didn’t to Sam. Hell, the guy was wearing Armani, for crissake, and sweating in it.

  “What? No pleasantries? No, what have you been up to?”

  “I know what you’ve been up to.” Sam tsked softly. He had a dossier on Russ and he’d bet the CIA, MI6, and the Thai police did, too. Just not as thorough as Sam’s. Logan could get information out of the dead, and there were a few bodies lingering around Russ.

  “Good, keeps me from rehashing my sordid past. But you? You dropped off the face of the earth.”

  “Not really. Just off your part of it.” Sam pulled a cigar out of his shirt pocket, bit the tip, and spit it aside before he stopped to light up. The cigar tasted smooth. He used the moment to look the way they’d come.

  The man who’d tagged off the last guy was back, looking like a student with his backpack and scraggly hair. “Drac, you got a bead on him?”

  “Negative, gimme a minute. Jesus, it’s midnight, these people need to go to bed.”

  “Coonass?” Sam asked.

  “I got your six, Outlaw. He’s moving, your three o’clock. He’s armed.”

  Russ frowned, then his features pulled tight when he realized Sam had comm gear he couldn’t see. “You want to tell me what’s up?”

  “No.” Sam handed him a cigar.

  “Monte Cristos, man,” he said, drawing it under his nose. “I can get these cheap if you want.”

  Contraband. “Don’t tell me that, Dahl.” Sam eyed him, then dragged. “I need to keep moving.”

  “Word is out enough about you.”

  “Easiest way to bring the nasty people close.”

  “You want confrontation?”

  “I can only hope. Coonass, I’m going for the hippy,” Sam said.

  “Bang away, Outlaw. I got number two.”

  Sam clenched the cigar between his teeth and grinned. “It’s a good night to beat the shit outta someone.”

  A chuckle came through the earpiece as Sam walked past the alley, and out of his peripheral vision spotted the man in the doorway. Jesus, he must be new at the job, he thought, too obvious. Sam motioned Russ to stay put, dropped the cigar, and walked into the building, drawing his pistol as he found his way to the side entrance. Sam looked down at the jamb, shaking his head at the shadows and light cast through the space between door and threshold.

  He threw his shoulder into the door, breaking it open. On the other side, the watcher flew across the alley and into the brick wall. He groaned, whipped around, and scrambled for his comms.

  Sam aimed and he went still. “Who are you and why are you riding my ass?”

  No answer. Christ, he couldn’t be older than twenty-five. “An answer would really help your situation.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Slight British accent, or Australian?

  Sam slid back the glide. “You’re not my type.” Sam saw fear, a flare in his eyes, and moved closer. “Drac, got one.” He searched him for weapons, pulled the gun apart, tossed aside the pieces, and kept the ammo.

  “Got the other. No ID,” Sebastian said.

  “Who sent you after me?” CIA or Interpol, Sam considered. Which didn’t tell him much. CIA wouldn’t waste manpower on conflict diamonds. It was too big a problem to cap unless it directly involved the USA interests, and if he was offering a plane for his smuggled weapons, he should be talking now.

  “I can beat it out of you, ya know. Right here, right now.”

  The man stiffened, hi
s shoulders going back. Great. Stupid and brave. “I don’t have time for this.”

  Sam holstered his weapon. The man made a break for the street, but Sam bolted, catching him by the shirt, yanking him back. He fought, and Sam hit. Two punches, the temple and solar plexus, and the kid staggered back. A roundhouse sweep, and Sam clipped him behind the knees. The man landed on the ground hard and didn’t move.

  “I’m done.” At least he was out of his path.

  “Number two down,” Sebastian said in his ear.

  “You guys get all the fun,” Max put in. “What do you want to do with them?”

  “Leave ’em.” They weren’t giving up anything, and he didn’t have the time to interrogate. Sam left the alley and found Russ at the edge, smoking the cigar.

  “You’re a lot of help.”

  “You didn’t need it,” he said, exhaling a long drag. “CIA?” He inclined his head to the unconscious man.

  “Who the hell knows? See ya.”

  “Something I can do for you, Wyatt?”

  Sam eyed him, remembered his dossier, and said, “Not unless you can give me Tashfin Rohki.” For some payback.

  Russ’s features went taut. Sam narrowed his gaze and Russ spilled it. “Tashfin Rohki, LTTE Tigers money man. Brawny, ugly, and rich. And yes, I know him.”

  “How well?”

  “I flew him to Singapore.” Russ scowled. “Don’t look at me like that. It was before I knew who or what he was.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “I’m legit.”

  “In what hemisphere?”

  Russ dug his hand in his trouser pocket. “Ya know, fly a known terrorist to Bali, then have the place blow up, killing hundreds, and I spend months in jail for it.”

  “Shouldn’t you have?”

  “Fuck no. Just because I wasn’t F18 doesn’t mean I’d betray my country. I did my years, paid them back for the flight education.”

  Though never enough. It cost over a million to train an F18 pilot, in Russ’s case a bit more, since he ditched the jet over Miramar. But that didn’t mean he didn’t owe his homeland some loyalty. Sam had a feeling it was damn thin lately.

  “I need the jet and where it landed. It came under radar.”

  “That took some doing, even in Thailand.” Russ frowned. “You try the abandoned airstrips?”

  “I must really look stupid to you, huh?” There were thousands of airstrips out of commission in the west after the tsunami. Slipping in through the area wouldn’t be as closely guarded.

  “Maybe I can help.” Russ inclined his head and they walked, turning a corner and when Sam thought it would be another alley, it opened up to Nai Lert Park surrounded by high-rises in the business and diplomatic district. Streetlights lit the square, cars budging along toward the Hilton International Bangkok hotel.

  Russ strode to the second building a good two blocks away and said nothing, then went inside. Sam grabbed his arm, halting him. “Fill me in.”

  “You find the jet and all it will get you is where it landed. You need to know who owned it, who paid the bill, and where Rohki is right now.”

  Sam doubted he could find him. Rohki didn’t evade capture for the past ten years by being stupid. Russ entered the elevator and, with Sam beside him, he touched the tenth floor.

  “I’m in the building, slow down,” Max said into the comm link.

  “What’s here?” Sam asked Russ.

  “Entertainment.”

  Sam’s brows shot up.

  “These women know everything.”

  Sam was game enough to try anything to get his hands on Rohki. He strolled into a wide foyer, the tile floor glossy. They passed a wide glass desk, a young woman sitting behind it clad in traditional Thai clothing, the waterfall of straight black hair contrasting the vivid pink.

  “Hello, Russell.”

  Russ smiled. “She in?”

  She glanced at something on the desk. “She’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  Russ moved into the room, smiling, snatching a flute of champagne from a roving waiter. Two exotic-looking, black-haired women played chess, another curled on a sofa, reading a book. The place was a sea of brightly colored Thai silk, and no one had to tell Sam where he was; he could feel it, smell it.

  The woman from the desk walked to him, her spike heels clicking on the tile floor. “She’s ready for you.” She escorted them through a door marked NO ADMITTANCE, then down a hall lined with doors, she opened the last.

  While Russ was grinning, Sam was watching the exits.

  They entered a salon, empty except for the homey and very American style furnishings. A door on the far side opened, a woman wrapping her robe as she walked inside. She was beautiful, Sam thought. A delicate Thai flower. Yet mentally he compared her to Viva. No contest. Viva, hands down.

  “Russell,” she said in a throaty voice, tiny steps taking her to him. She kissed his cheek, smiled, then looked at Sam. Her gaze was direct and penetrating as she waited for an introduction.

  “Mali owns this business.”

  “You’re the cowboy.”

  Inwardly Sam swore.

  “A man who kills a half dozen Thai mafia doesn’t move quietly.”

  Russ looked at him. “Jesus fuck, you could have told me!”

  “Slipped my mind.”

  The woman moved away from Russ, and sat in a chair, one leg beneath her. She leaned over a tray of canapés, selected one. Then gestured for them to join her. “Would you like some wine, or a beer perhaps?”

  “No, thank you, what I want is Rohki.”

  “He landed a few days ago from Sri Lanka, on a jet with many others. Somewhere in the west.” She waved a manicured hand. “He isn’t staying in one place, which is his preference.” She chewed, swallowed, then sipped a pink cocktail before she spoke. “He watches his money and his back carefully.”

  She wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t know. Tashfin Rohki might look like a small-time player, but he wasn’t. He supplied half the mujahdeen with weapons, and diamonds were his currency. Logan was already searching for cutting equipment, new arrivals, transfers of old equipment, but Thailand was ruby and sapphire central, and a major area for the diamond cutting. Hell, the Jewelry Trade Center a few blocks away was fifty-nine floors of pure gem dealing.

  “He is not the only one of his kind in my city.”

  “So far you’re batting zero.”

  “There is a Russian gentleman, older, odd tastes. I turned him away. He leaves too many marks. He’d seek pleasure elsewhere, and not the willing woman.”

  Russian or Chechen, Sam wondered, there was a fine line between. He looked at Russ. “You brought me here for a who’s who of bordellos?”

  “The jet, Mali.” Russ’s gaze warned her.

  Sam saw something pass between them. He almost missed the subtle exchange and a thought occurred to him. They’d need a skilled pilot to land on a crumbling airstrip. “You flew the jet.”

  Russ’s gaze snapped to Sam. “Like hell.”

  Sam was across the room, slammed him against the wall, his forearm across his throat. “Try again.”

  “Back off, Wyatt. There are a thousand pilots around here who could land a jet in dirt, for crissake. You included.”

  Sam pressed harder. “But none of them knew to contact me.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Then how’d you know I was on that street tonight? Bangkok is a very big city.”

  Mali was there, not touching them, but her voice pleading. “Don’t hurt him, please.”

  “Those were your people in the alley.”

  “I had to make sure you weren’t tailed.”

  “What are you into, Dahl?”

  “Transportation.”

  “Please let him go.” Mali touched his arm.

  Only Sam’s gaze shifted. Mali retreated quickly.

  Russell choked, clawed at his throat. Sam disarmed him, making a face at the small handgun. “Rohki.”

  “He was in the Baiyo
ke Tower, the Viengtai, and the Pan Pacific. In that order.”

  “Now?”

  “I don’t know, dammit, I’ll tell you what you want.”

  Sam didn’t move.

  “Rohki hired me to fly him out of here in a week.”

  Sam thrust back. Russ rubbed his throat. “Tell me about the jet you brought him in on.”

  “I’m not sure he was on it. I was hired to fly in, fly out. I sat on the flight deck till right after the flood.”

  “You were in the cockpit, Dahl.”

  “Yeah, with the pit door locked from the outside, and they brought the passengers up from the right rear, out of my line of vision. They made me leave before they unloaded. These guys are slick, Sam. They cover all the bases.”

  “Where?”

  “West, Ratchaburi. It’s not an airstrip, just a field with a couple buildings under the trees. It’s converted to a hangar, looks like a warehouse though. There isn’t even a road anymore, you can’t drive on it without an ATV.”

  Sam pulled out his cell to dial Logan for a search.

  “You won’t find it in computers, it’s the dark ages. No paperwork. No traces. All in cash right then, and whoever pays the bills isn’t visible. Ever.”

  They had to buy fuel, Sam thought, and write a flight plan from Sri Lanka. “Who paid you?”

  “An envelope slipped under the cabin door when I landed here. And I was contacted at my shack by an encrypted phone delivered to me, then taken back before they locked me in the cockpit. I saw only the hangar. No people.”

  “Christ.” Getting the number wouldn’t matter, encrypted wires jumped through no less than a half dozen links before they hit the origin. “So what was your price, Dahl?”

  “Half a mill.”

  “Your honor comes cheap,” Sam said.

  Russ took a step, but Mali pulled him down to the sofa, glaring at Sam. “Leave. It’s bad enough you’re here. Men come here for confidence and pleasure, not to be beaten.”

  “I haven’t even started.”

  “Tell him what you know,” Russ said tiredly, rubbing his throat, then downing her cocktail.

  She touched Russ’s face and nodded. “Rohki complained to my girls about delivering a fee and having nothing in return.”