Tonya nodded, knowing this was too important to blow off. “I promise.” He sighed and released her arm, then grabbed it again to pull her into his embrace. They stood like that for a long while, simply breathing. Inhaling the essence of one another into their souls. She wanted to absorb him where he would stay forever. Tears welled up in her eyes again, but this time she was determined not to let them fall. The man was going off to fight psychopaths, the least she could do was keep it together until he was gone.
She pulled back, forcing a smile through the tears in her heart. “Well at least tell me where you’re going.”
“That’s the thing, I’m not sure. We played it like this. When I took the contract on you I hoped he’d finally call me in for bigger jobs. That way I could get close enough to get it done.”
“I can’t believe you just casually kill people,” she said. She constantly had to remind herself that this wasn’t the man she’d known so long ago. Nate had been turned into a weapon, a ruthless killing machine.
“There’s nothing casual about it,” he said and the bleak expression on his face was testimony to that. “My only solace is that these people have no qualms about slaughtering thousands and that this is the only way to deal with them. We’re not cops. The people we hunt have a bounty on their head: Wanted Dead or Deader.”
Tonya had to smile at that despite his grim expression. Then something occurred to her. “Wait, I just thought about something. Didn’t you say you took the contract to kill me?” Nate nodded. “But what about those guys who were shooting at us at the hotel? They were trying to take me, weren’t they? And the muggers. And the man in my room...”
Nate shrugged. “Did I mention these guys are paranoid? I’m not sure, but I suspect the Rooster sent more than one contractor.” He made a dismissive gesture with one hand. “Anyway, I think he wants me to meet him in Triple Frontier.”
“Where on earth is that?” she asked.
“It’s a no-man’s land where Brazil, Paraguay and Argentina meet. A lot of less than savory people hang out there, including a veritable alphabet soup of assorted terrorists,” he said.
“So you plan to -- ”
“Go in. Kill the bastard. Get out.”
Tonya smiled at his precise manner of speech, but her insides were frozen with fear.
“Deringer will be here to take care of you. When I come back, well, we’ll talk about us then. Okay?”
“Nate,” she said, her voice shaking. “I love you. I still hate you, but I love you too.”
He smiled that cocky grin she’d always adored.
“I know.”
Chapter Eight
Nate climbed out of the Land Rover in front of the rambling estate. Perched as it was on the side of a hill, the house had an unobstructed view of the valley below, making his ultimate mission more difficult. Furthermore the area around it had been cleared of vegetation for several hundred yards. It gave the house’s inhabitants an unobstructed view. Of course, it wasn’t as bad as trying to creep up on someone in the desert with no cover at all, and he’d done that many times so he wasn’t particularly worried.
“Come with us,” the driver said and gestured for him to follow them into the house. Nate followed the driver, while the other two men walked behind him. Under normal circumstances he’d never allow himself to be placed in such a vulnerable position, but right now he was playing a role. Someone currying the Rooster’s favor wouldn’t insist on keeping his back clear. The wide stone steps leading up to the front of the house were flanked with stacked stone pillars. His footsteps, amplified by the heavy boots he wore, created a hollow echo on the slate tiles as they crossed the floor. Once inside they led him to another pair of carved doors. He knew without being told that this was the Rooster’s lair. The driver knocked and opened the door when instructed to do so by the man inside.
Nate took a deep breath as he crossed the room to meet the man he’d been chasing for half a decade. The Rooster stood behind a large antique oak desk which should’ve dwarfed him as he wasn’t six feet tall, yet somehow he managed to dominate the room and everything in it. He had a presence that immediately informed everyone that he was in charge. The room was massive and ornately, but tastefully, decorated. The mahogany paneling alone had to have cost a fortune. Obviously an English gentleman’s study was the theme, and the heavy leather furniture and dark green walls complemented one another in a most soothing way.
At least it was supposed to be restful, but its current occupant obliterated that effect. Also, the room itself was unnerving. Perhaps it was the presence of such elegance in the middle of a Brazilian forest, or maybe it was just that it was a terrorist’s den. Either way, if he hadn’t already been on high alert every spidey sense Nate had would’ve kicked in the moment he entered the room. He stared at his nemesis who had come from behind the desk to greet him. The Rooster was thin; he had an almost ascetic look about him. Nate suspected that he dieted to maintain his look as he had a preference for very expensive high-fashion clothes. Certainly the suit he was wearing, in an elegant dove gray, was not off the rack. The soft color complemented his almost colorless gray eyes, and nearly matched his thick hair which was brushed off a high forehead in a manner designed to look careless but probably cost hundreds of dollars. He had assumed an old-world manner and upper class accent that was practically bullet proof, but Nate knew from research that the man’s origins were more than a bit murky.
“So we meet at last, Akhmed. I must say you are a rare find. Indonesia was a work of art,” the Rooster said by way of greeting.
“Thank you. I’m always glad to meet someone who appreciates my work. I look forward to doing more business with you, though I’m not sure what to call you,” Nate said in Arabic as that was the language he’d been addressed in.
“Gaspard, Gaspard Maximilian. But you may call me Max. Everyone does. Please. Please have a seat,” he made an elegant gesture with a long thin hand.
Nate sat down in the chair facing the Rooster’s desk. The other man walked around and seated himself in the large leather desk chair.
“So, you have the girl?”
“Yes I do.”
“Quite a crafty fellow, are you not? How on earth did you get your hands on her? I thought you specialized in demolition,” the Rooster said.
“I specialize in anything that might be profitable. A trait I believe I have in common with you.”
The Rooster threw back his head and laughed. “Oh Akhmed, I do believe I would have enjoyed working with you, but unfortunately it is not to be.”
Uh oh. Nate leaned forward trying not to let his anxiety show. “What do you mean?”
“I have it on good authority that you’re a double agent. You’re the man who has been trying to kill me for a while now,” the Rooster said.
Nate leaned back in his chair, forcing his body into a relaxed pose. “Oh, that.”
“Yes, that. Mr. Randolph,” the Rooster said switching to English.
Nate laughed. “I’m afraid that it’s not what it seems.”
“Do you, or do you not work for the U.S. government?”
Nate laughed again. “As I said before I work for anyone who pays well. Something I would’ve thought a worldly man such as yourself would understand,” he said slipping into his customary drawl. People had a tendency to underestimate those who spoke with a Southern accent and right now he needed any edge he could get.
The Rooster greeted his comment with a low chuckle before rising to his feet. “As I said, I believe it would have been a joy to work with you. Unfortunately I cannot allow you to live,” he said removing an automatic handgun from his desk drawer.
“I’m thinking you’re probably going to want to reconsider that,” Nate said with a casualness he definitely didn’t feel.
The Rooster raised a well-manicured brow. “And why would that be?
Nate slouched farther into the soft leather of the chair. In full good old boy mode now he continued. “I’ve got something
that a someone in your line of business should find infinitely useful. If, in fact you are the man who secured sarin for that cult in Japan.”
The Rooster simply smiled and Nate stared, fascinated as the movement failed to form so much as a wrinkle in his preternaturally smooth skin. Jesus! Did the man use Botox? His smug demeanor told Nate all he needed to know. The Aum Shinrikyo attacks had made the Rooster’s career. It wasn’t his biggest coup or his highest death toll, but he was inordinately proud of it.
“I’m not foolish enough to confirm or deny my alleged involvement in mass murder.”
“Of course.”
“But what is it that you have that might be of interest to me?”
“Anthrax.”
The Rooster rolled his eyes. “You and every other mental deficient on the continent. I expected better from you, Randolph.”
“Of course, but what separates me from them is that I actually have it.” He picked up his backpack from the floor raising it to eye level so the Rooster could see it. “Do you mind?” The other man shook his head. Nate had been searched thoroughly when the men picked him up at the private landing strip not far from the house. The Rooster knew he didn’t have any weapons. He unzipped a small pocket on the inside of the bag and removed an aluminum container that looked vaguely like a box of talcum power. Nate carefully unscrewed the cap and slowly shook a small glass vial into his hand. He held the vial aloft between his thumb and forefinger so that the Rooster could see its contents. Inside the vial was a finely milled bone-white powder. When Nate shook the vial the powder turned into a cloud of dust inside the tube, completely disappearing before settling back to the bottom.
The Rooster resumed his seat before holding out his hand and Nate placed the vial in it.
“I assume you have Cipro?” he asked with a grin.
“Of course,” the Rooster said, examining the bottle as though he were a jeweler with a loupe. He shook the bottle again, watching the ensuing dust cloud with fixed fascination.
“I’m sure a man of your experience knows exactly what you’re looking at. However, I wouldn’t advise opening that bottle even if you do have antibiotics,” Nate said.
“Oh? And why not?”
“The anthrax is laced with smallpox.”
“What?” The Rooster said dropping the vial on his desk.
“I’m sure you know the anthrax has been weaponized -- milled down to a fine enough consistency that with the right equipment you could easily wipe out a sizable portion of the population of a large city.”
The Rooster nodded, staring at the vial in horrified fascination. “You mean to tell me you just walk around with something like this in your backpack?”
“I’m very cautious. Besides, I’ve been vaccinated. And I don’t fly commercial. Nobody’s likely to find it, unless I want them to.”
“Where did you get this? It’s only available in a few places. This looks like some U.S. government product I saw a long time ago. Lot’s of people claim to have it, but in twenty years I’ve never seen it.”
“It is U.S. government product, directly from Ft. Doom. And I can get as much of it as you need.”
“The profit margin from this is immeasurable. Everybody wants it.”
“That’s why I have it.”
“So why did you bring it to me?”
“It’s my understanding that you have certain contacts that will make such a transaction easier and more profitable. I don’t have those type connections.” Nate shrugged. “So it’s only reasonable to work with you.”
“How do I know it’s what you’ve told me it is?”
“I think you’ve probably heard enough about anthrax to know what you’re looking at. As for the smallpox, well you’ll need an electron microscope to see that. But if I told you the truth about the anthrax, why would I lie about the smallpox? It’s not like you won’t be able to find out. It’s the government’s nightmare scenario, and it’s what they thought the Anthrax Killer had done, but either he didn’t have the know-how or the skill to put the two together.”
The Rooster leaned back in his oversized leather chair staring at Nate with unblinking clear gray eyes. Then he steepled his hands in a practiced pose. “This is perfect. They’ll think they simply have anthrax again, and start dosing people with Cipro. It will be at least a day before they think to look for smallpox as well.” He clasped his hands together with a Scrooge-like glee. Then he sobered. “I’ll have to send it to Sao Paulo to be sure.” Nate nodded. “How do I know you won’t turn on me again?”
“Why should I? With you I can make millions of dollars. I’m much too fond of golden eggs to kill my favorite goose,” Nate said, confident that the Rooster would believe him. People like him always assumed that everyone thought the same way they did. He was a monster who wouldn’t hesitate to slaughter millions for profit, and, Nate suspected, his own pleasure, so he had no trouble believing Nate was the same.
The Rooster smiled, showing a set of overly whitened teeth. Everything about the man was just too immaculate. Nate wondered if he was subconsciously trying to compensate for the filth that lay beneath the well-groomed exterior.
“I like you Nate Randolph. I do believe we can make lots of money together, but there’s one thing.”
“And what might that be?”
“Your wardrobe is appalling. Do you just put on whatever you find on the floor? I simply can’t have an associate who dresses as though he were in the cast of Les Miserables.”
Nate laughed. “Nobody’s had a problem with it before, but I will try to do better. Now if you don’t mind, is there someplace I can wash up and maybe take a nap? The trip down kicked my ass.”
“How remiss of me; it’s almost noon and I haven’t offered you any refreshment. Of course, there was no point to it when I’d planned to kill you. I’ve never been a wasteful man, but now, well, everything is changed. It’s almost lunchtime. I’ll have Rodrigo escort you to your room. If you’re hungry after you freshen up come back down for a meal. If not, I’ll see you at dinner.”
* * * * *
Nate splashed cold water on his face again and again, then stood staring into the bathroom mirror too caught up in thought to reach for a towel. How was he going to get out of this house before the Rooster discovered that there was no anthrax in that vial? It would take a while, the harmless bacteria was a close relative of anthrax and was used in government experiments because it resembled the deadly spores so closely. A skilled technician looking through a microscope would immediately know the difference. He’d claimed that there was smallpox as well simply to buy himself some time, just in case the Rooster had a microscopist here on site. It would take an electron microscope to check for the smallpox virus, and no one in his right mind would open that vial outside a Level 4 lab. Nate was more than a bit annoyed that he’d had to relinquish his sample, getting his hands on the stuff had all but taken an act of Congress.
Since they’d closed down Ft. Detrick more than thirty years ago the government was leery of having even a hint of biological weapons associated with it. Of course, only a fool believed that the U.S. had totally washed its hands of the program. With all the biological weaponry being created around the world, it wouldn’t make sense to have no means of retaliation. Meanwhile he was still trapped here. He estimated that it would take at least a couple of days, even for a man with the Rooster’s contacts to get a definitive answer, and with any luck he’d be long gone by then. And getting out wasn’t enough; he had to kill the bastard, too.
They’d taken all his weapons when they picked him up at the Rooster’s private landing strip. He was prepared for that, and as always he concealed his favorite weapons -- knives and explosives -- so inconspicuously no one suspected just how lethal he could be. The search had been rather pedestrian and Nate knew he could’ve hidden even more contraband. Apparently finding good henchmen wasn’t as easy as it had been in the past. The narco-trade probably paid better and was considerably less risky. Nate wondered if t
he Rooster knew just how vulnerable he, the Rooster, was. Realizing that he was dripping water all over his shirt, Nate finally reached for a towel and rubbed his face in a brisk motion. He returned the towel to its rack and stood staring at the mirror with unseeing eyes as he tried to formulate a strategy. Having developed several and tossed them aside, he finally went back to the simplest and most dangerous one. His mind at ease now that he’d developed a plan, he lay down on the large bed to take a quick nap.
In the hour just before dawn, a specter drifted down the hall with such stealth that it didn’t even disturb the dust on the floor. Nate, dressed in dark camouflage, his face painted in mottled tones to blend in with the shadows inside the house carefully darted down the dimly lit corridor from his bedroom. The layout of the sprawling rambler was very conducive to his plans. The Rooster’s bedroom was on the other side of the house, and there was a back staircase leading down to the kitchen and then to the basement. He’d reconnoitered the area earlier when he went down to the kitchen for a snack. The Rooster had established a very secure perimeter with the latest technology around his house, but there was no electronic security inside, only bodyguards. As long as he was careful, and he was always careful, Nate had the run of the house. Making it to the basement by way of the backstairs, he used a penlight to assess the structure of the house. It wouldn’t be his easiest job, but it was certainly well within his skill set.
Examining the fuse box and the wiring for the external security, he realized that making a backdoor out of the house would be difficult, but not impossible. He shook his head over the arrogance of someone in the Rooster’s position building a house with a walk out basement. Apparently the man was confident that his security guards could prevent anyone from escaping. Clearly he had been reading too much of his own press. As he studied the wiring for the security system, Nate wished he’d brought Deringer with him. The man specialized in this type of thing. In nothing less than the blink of an eye, Deringer could rewire the whole system and have it playing the “Hallelujah Chorus.”
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