Hit Hard

by Amy J. Fetzer

  “If I may interrupt,” she said, and the Pharaoh shifted in his seat, clearly annoyed. Big, hairy deal, she thought. “This machine could be a mere casing. We have not seen it perform.”

  “Yes, you have.”

  The screen changed, the devastation of the dam in Sri Lanka, the volcano in Guatemala. I knew it. She didn’t have to see the guys to know they understood.

  “I’ll reserve judgment when geologists confirm. Your word, since we have no previous dealings, is not good enough.” She could almost see the Pharaoh bristle on the screen. “I want proof.”

  “Each of you have a chance to see it work.”

  “Each? Those who fail the bid? You do not know the meaning of a worthy deal, Pharaoh. I am high bidder. This loses its effects when you destroy for a test. Careful selection is tantamount. And the authorities will certainly be hunting.”

  “It will take them years to understand and be assured, they will not locate it.” In the shadows, he cocked his head. “Or have you grown a conscience?”

  Viva’s eyes narrowed, dangerous with her fury. “I want my enemy to die, not theirs.”

  McGill stared at the neon green light on the large screen. It blinked intermittently. He turned toward the cheap seats, the men lined against the window and looking down. Dragon One had learned far more and faster than they had. He looked back at the screen, the satellite imagery narrow enough that they could see the lights surrounding the building.

  Just because they had the location didn’t mean this asshole wouldn’t fire it. He’d done so twice, they believed. It was clear the consequences meant nothing to him. Therefore, letting the bidders test fire meant even less.

  McGill made a call, then cut the line and dialed again. Gerardo picked up instantly. “I’ve scrambled AWACS.”

  Gerardo understood his intentions. “That’s a long shot, sir.”

  The Airborne Warning And Control System’s planes could trace everything from troop movement to signal intelligence. The ear of the US. “If this Pharaoh fires it, the only thing we can do to intercept is put a large barrier in its way.”

  “Then pray it doesn’t do as our scientists predict.”

  And take down the aircraft.

  Viva cut the outgoing voice to the Pharaoh. “Are you seeing this, General?”

  “Yes, we are. This is Gerardo, Miss Fiori, and Mr. Harris.”

  The designer studied the machine. “It will work. The acoustic platform is the same, the pinpoint, but passing along the laser stream through the diamond’s beam—”

  “How can we stop it?” she interrupted.

  “Breaking it can stop the diamond transfer but not the sound. It’s three times the size of a standard. It would go mega. You wouldn’t hear it more than a whisper but the intensity of it would cook your brain.”

  Oh, no, Viva thought, even if Sam stops him from firing, he’ll be a vegetable.

  In her left ear, the other buyers discussed her point till they argued. She opened the line. “Enough,” she snapped. “What use is it if I cannot select my own target?”

  “It must be aligned with a satellite. And this takes time.” The Pharaoh chuckled, a dark, viperous sound, and she knew she was in trouble before he spoke. “Select a target, my dear. In fact, I insist.”

  “Allow me to confer with my people.” She leaned, tapped the key, and closed off any outgoing sound or picture. “All right, you’ve got the smart people with you, now what?” It was like speaking to God, no one there, but you knew they were listening.

  General McGill’s voice flared in her ear. “We have people standing by with a geologist.”

  “Oh, forget it, General, you’re a day late and a dollar short again.” She stood and got a map from the desk. “Okay, okay, I can pick a target that will not hurt anyone, well, not many, unless they are in the Baltic.”

  “We have outposts there.”

  “Then I suggest you do something to get them away from it, and do it now. That’s the only place I can think of that will not cause a tsunami, or an earthquake. Find these guys before I have to hit something!” She hurried back to the chair and hit the screen. Before she could say a word, a man spoke up, only his voice coming over the system.

  “Here are the coordinates.”

  Oh, shit. “I am high bidder!”

  “They all wish to see it work again.”

  “Then they pay the price or you forfeit mine. To do so, Pharaoh, you risk millions.” She held up the bowl of diamonds. “Are you prepared?”

  Bangkok Coast

  At Wyatt’s signal, Commander Isarangura cut the engine and let the boat coast on the waves. The house was in sight before they moved this close, now all they could see was a slight glare from the floodlight illuminating the grounds. No less than fifty meters above them. Isarangura watched curiously as Wyatt slung the nylon rope over his head and arm and moved his rifle higher on his chest. Then Wyatt turned, extending his hand.

  “Thanks, buddy. Just cover the road, we don’t want them running.”

  Isarangura gripped his hand and in Thai wished him a glorious victory. Within moments, the three men were over the side of the boat and becoming part of the darkness. The cliffs were rocky and blended in to the stone wall, the view to the sea open through the pilaster rail. On the west and north face, a twelve-foot wall offered the comfort of protection to the property, as did the long road. Wyatt was correct. A sea approach would not be unexpected.

  When Isarangura could no longer see them, he turned over the engine and maneuvered the boat away from the shore cliffs and back to his officers.

  Like most of the rich and depraved, they were also paranoid. As if the poorer part of the world wanted to look in and see what they couldn’t have. There were cameras at each corner of the wall, moving in a pattern. The bay side was rock cliffs, steep and full of good footholds, Sam thought, gripping a rock, testing its anchor before pulling himself up.

  Like mice over a chunck of cheese the team climbed, keeping distance between themselves. They each had a target. Cameras, guards, find the cutter, and take out the weapon. Anything else would be cherry. Sam would rather be coming in by chopper, guns blazing, but they didn’t know if there were hostages. He hoped the diamond cutter, Narabi, was here and not housed somewhere else. Pharaoh liked to play it close to the vest, he doubted Narabi was far from his control. If he was still alive.

  According to Isarangura, the incoming road was wired with laser sensors and fenced in with silent electrics, like homeowners had for dogs, all buried underground. No way for them to find the sensors and deactivate, though a good electrical shock would have done it. But they couldn’t show their hand. Sam didn’t doubt Viva was in for a battle with this guy, and there was the chance that he’d fire the damn thing before they got to him. Him being Constantine Jalier, French Algerian, a UN Security Council member.

  Which explained how this guy was always one step ahead. He had the resources, law enforcement, access to what was going on when, especially with Interpol. He got to someone, or Kashir would still be alive.

  Sam reached the top, braced his hand on the rock, and stared up at the terrace wall, then reached over his shoulder for the rubber-coated grappling hook—Max’s handiwork—wishing he had his whip, but the distance was farther than its length.

  Like Logan and Max, he swung the rope like a lariat and threw. The hook made a soft thump as it caught. He tugged and pulled, then climbed. His arms burned with pulling his own weight, and near the edge, he drew his rifle forward, then hoisted himself the last couple feet.

  “I’m in,” Sam whispered as he rolled over the edge, dropping to the ground.

  Twisted banyan trees hung below the rim of the wall, with red banana trees crowding and creating a jungle cover as Sam moved deeper into the thicket. Several yards ahead, the bubble of a fountain and pool mixed with the squawk of annoyed birds like mutterings in the trees. Yet they didn’t fly, content in their perches. The noise would cover any other sounds, but Sam didn’t have to ta
lk. He needed his hand for the throat mike to pick up a whisper, but his buddies knew the deal.

  They fanned out, Max to his right, Logan to his left. Sam was forward of their positions. Point man.

  Surprise was in their favor. Had to be. Not enough men for a nice, loud shock-and-awe assault. The grounds this side were a quarter acre, at least twenty yards from the terrace to the three-story house and enough room for four sets of furniture and a bar. Two floors were aboveground and the walls, shaped in a semicircle, were mostly glass windows and doors on the sea side to catch all the view the pricey land offered. The lowest was an underground garage, the only entrance from the road, according to Isarangura.

  Sam pointed to his eyes, held up five fingers. I see five guards, this level. Then two fingers: two upper level. They were each armed with automatic rifles.

  Logan advanced to the left and covered a short distance without sound. Sam went right, losing some cover to watch Max’s back as he darted behind him to the garage to disable vehicles, then search for the diamond cutter. Sebastian was sitting in the chopper, waiting to airlift them out if need be, and watching the satellite imagery with infrared. The more info they received, the better.

  Sam could pick off all four from his position and not be heard, the silencer would take care of that, but if a guy fell backwards, normal for impact, he’d hit the windows and they’d lose the surprise element. Hand-to-hand would have to be the way to go.

  “Cameras at ten and two.”

  Logan acknowledged. “Standard pan.” Left and right.

  “Black them out.”

  On the rear patio, guards walked the perimeter of the patio beyond the windows toward the pool walk, one strolling close to their position and enjoying the sea breeze.

  “I got him,” Logan said. Sam heard Logan take out the guard, the grunt of strength barely audible. Logan lowered the body to the dirt and dragged him out of sight.

  From his vantage point, Sam could see one guard forward of Logan’s position, one directly in front of himself, one more at the right near the path to the lower garage. He waited till the man walked in the opposite direction, then used the spotlights and the shadows they created as he rushed to the side of the building and onto the patio. A guard was about ten yards from his position.

  “Outlaw,” Sebastian said in his ear. “I’ve got thermal all over the place. There’s got to be at least ten, fifteen people in there.”

  A little more than he counted on, but doable.

  “Several are forward your twenty. Looks like housed in separate rooms. Three hot spots on the upper level.”

  The buyers, Sam thought, then slid up under the camera and shot the lens. “Two o’clock camera out.”

  “Ten o’clock out,” Logan said.

  “Charges set,” Max said. “I’m on the edge and going in.”

  Sam touched his throat mike. “Roger that. Two guards on the high walk and one more your twelve.” Sam heard a grunt.

  “Not anymore.”

  Two more to go this level.

  The men acknowledged each other, yards apart down the long covered patio. Windows opened to the sea view, every third disguised as a door with a pull latch in the door frame. Shades were drawn over the glass, light filtering through and Sam tucked himself into the only darkened corner near the window. When the guard approached, Sam drew his knife slowly, as the guy went past his position, and Sam waited till after he spoke into the radio before he moved out of the shadows. His hand over his mouth, his knife into his kidneys, the guard went down without so much as an indrawn breath.

  Sam searched him for keys, and took the radio before dragging the body into the bushes. Sam moved swiftly, ghosting the next guard and rolling him into the dark.

  “Outlaw, nothing below but cars, there’s an elevator this side,” Max said. “Stupid shit didn’t even put in stairs. I’m going to have to go west and find a new way in.”

  “I’ve got enough charges to blow the place off the map,” Logan said.

  “Save them. Narabi first, then we can do some damage. Room by room.”

  Logan cut the alarm wires, but with the guards patrolling, he didn’t think they were on. That said Jalier was confident in his safety. Guess again, Sam thought, as he felt for alarm sensors, found magnetic and infrared beams housing, and disabled them. The guards would have tripped them. He tried the simple version and opened the door. Nothing. Too easy, he thought, going still. He eased the curtain to the side and looked in. He switched his goggles to infrared and saw the red grid lines marking the floor. Clever. He relayed to Logan and Max.

  “Bet it’s pressure alarmed, too,” Max said. Logan advanced to the rear, to the land side of the property.

  Sam circled the house, and on the side found a glass door half-open. He frowned at the steel slab in front of him, and backing to the side, he hit the only button on the wall. The steel slid back. He aimed into the empty cavern. “Got an elevator this side. I’m trying it.”

  “Jesus, Sam.”

  But it didn’t move, merely opening on the opposite side. No chime, no numbers. He aimed into the room, his gaze bouncing to corners and doors.

  It was completely open, sharp-angled furnishings and slick black floors. Another elevator was at the far end from him. Stainless-steel doors opened quietly and Max stepped out and signaled. Two flanking corridors. Max went left, Logan right.

  Sam rode to the top and before the elevator stopped, Sebastian’s transmission made him freeze.

  “Outlaw, be advised. You are not alone. I say again, you are not alone. Two figures coming west across the grounds.”

  Did Isarangura jump the gun?

  Twenty

  Tashfin Rohki sipped coffee and paced the room. His patience was not infinite and he disliked being led by the nose for days, unable to trust his own judgment. And he wanted to end this and leave the country.

  He listened to the woman bid, admiring her tenacity with the Pharaoh, but Tashfin was ready to call this a loss and leave. He put his hand in his jacket pocket, felt the CD, and pulled it out. He had the schematics to create a weapon himself. He didn’t need to be here, but pulling out of the bidding after all this time, when the price had reached only a mere ten million, would have brought too much suspicion.

  He went to the computer and slid the CD in the drive. He typed, opening the CD, then opened the file. It didn’t appear and he tried again, frowning. He checked the properties of the file. Ten kegabyte. Enough for the title.

  Then he realized, the CD was empty.

  For the better part of a day, she crouched in the tree, hidden, watching till the men grew comfortable, lazy. They still patrolled the street beyond. But she’d seen them work. Put up more sensors, more charges. She’d been hidden since before sundown and her muscles were cramping. She’d seen them lift off in the chopper, suited up for war.

  Noor no longer cared what Constantine did or his outcome. He and Zidane had discarded her when she’d done all they asked. Now it was her turn.

  She spied the house across the water, a faint light in the darkness. She knew Jalier would be dying soon. It would be over, a failure. Noor planned to be the only winner.

  “You can’t give it to her.”

  “She has paid the price,” Jalier said, not bothering to look at the man hovering nearby.

  “Yeah, and she’s not Russian mafia.”

  Jalier frowned between the man and the screen. “You are mistaken.”

  “I don’t care. She’s just a woman I met in the jungle. Bloody hell, this is blown.”

  The man started to leave and Constantine reached for the pistol on the coffee table. When he cocked it, the man froze and turned.

  “Now that’s not very sporting of you, Jalier,” he said. “I got you information, the codes, that woman off the plane, and gave her to you. You have that stone because of me!”

  “Yes, thank you, but your usefulness has worn out.” He pulled the trigger.

  Beecham’s eyes widened. He looked down
at the blood blooming on his belly, then sank first to his knees, then to his face.

  Constantine was still moving, stepping over the body, and calling for Zidane to remove it. He hit the speaker on the wall. “Zidane, get them out of here, all of them.”

  Constantine went to his safe, pulling out the large wooden box and taking a long look at the cache of diamonds.

  Zidane didn’t respond. Constantine called to him again. No response.

  Frowning, Jalier went to the intercom and pressed for the buyers. No one answered his call.

  A floor below, Zidane hit the lock keypad. It sprang, swinging the door open. The buyer sat before the screen, turned and frowned. He rose and adjusted his jacket.

  “You have lost the bid, time to depart.”

  The man walked nearer. “Where is the blind? The hood?”

  “You won’t need one.” Zidane raised the gun and fired, then advanced before the man fell to the floor. He turned the computer toward himself and hit the keys, erasing the files, then popped out the CD. He pocketed it and left the room. The man was still moving and at the threshold, he fired again.

  The room was acoustically sealed, and the silencer assured the kills remained undetected.

  He went to the next.

  Adam Kincade rushed the grounds, low and fast in the dark, to the area below the house.

  Above him, a guard strolled the balcony deck. He’d given orders: no kills. Not that he wouldn’t want to wipe them off the planet for beating a child, but they had to do this right or they’d incur more than an international incident. Kincade would go to jail for disobeying a direct order not to touch the diplomatic corps residence. Kids meant more than diplomacy, and Viva Fiori was the one who gave him the push. Clandestine shit, he thought, and signaled. The three-man team, himself included, was all he could spare and the ones he trusted to keep this under wraps. The only way to reach the guard was from the left-upper landing of the staircase. Out in the open. The house was on the hillside, its main portion no less than thirty feet off the ground. He pointed to his eyes, then held up two fingers. His teammate went to the right, climbing the hillside before they entered the house. His movements were slow, a sniper had to have patience.