Zoe Sharp - [Charlie Fox]

by Absence of Light (epub)

  Twenty-nine

  I twisted on the balls of my feet and threw myself sideways, back toward the relative safety of the service road entrance. Another round followed the first. If I hadn’t moved instantly, that one would have been right on target.

  Thank God for the uncertainties of the first cold shot.

  I loosed a single round in the direction of the storefront and then scuttled backward deeper into cover, moving on my elbows and toes, keeping the SIG up and alert for a target. None showed itself.

  “Charlie!” Joe Marcus made no attempt to speak quietly now. I flinched at his voice in my earpiece. “Report! What’s your status?”

  “I’m being shot at, what do you think?” I responded in a savage whisper. “Not you by any chance, is it?”

  “No ma’am,” Marcus said more mildly. “I’m not nearly pissed enough at you for that. Not yet.”

  “Well I’ve pissed somebody off enough, that’s for sure. Where are you?”

  Did I imagine his hesitation? “I’d guess southeast of your position. I saw movement I thought was you but I guess that must be our shooter. Looters, maybe?”

  “If that was the case he would have fired and run. This guy’s dug in for the long haul.”

  “Stay put. No heroics.”

  I rested my forehead momentarily on my clasped hands. Moment of truth time. Did I trust Joe Marcus or did I think he was the one who’d just taken a pot-shot at me?

  Ah well, only one way to find out.

  “Any chance you can get yourself in a position to lay down a bit of covering fire for an exfil? By now he’ll have lined himself up with the end of the service road and I’m caught like a rat in a drainpipe.”

  “You reckon that’s where he’s located?”

  “Why not? It’s where I’d be.”

  “Give me a couple of minutes. Riley’s on his way in for an evac.”

  “Well unless he’s managed to fit a GE Minigun to the Bell since he dropped us off, he better keep his distance until we’re clear of groundfire. The helo makes a much more satisfying target than I do.”

  “Don’t you worry none about Riley. Won’t be his first time playing with the big boys.”

  “Speaking of which, how many extra magazines did you bring for that Colt?”

  “A couple. You?”

  “The same,” I lied. Always good to keep one in reserve. “Let’s hope that will be enough.”

  “I was trained by guys who believe you can never have a gun too big or too much ammo.”

  “I was trying to travel light or I would have packed my RPG.”

  He laughed briefly and was gone.

  I lay very still with more rocks and half bricks digging into my ribs, pelvis and shins than I was happy about. A few insects buzzed around me. I was aware of the smell of something vaguely rotten permeating the air. Large areas of the city had now been four days without power. We might have pulled out the bodies but if there was any food in the vicinity then it was definitely no longer fit to eat. A tiny shimmer of movement caught my eye and I noticed a couple of suspiciously large ants tracking across the terrain just in front of me.

  “Oh great. All supposing I’m not shot to death, instead I get stripped to my bones by bloody ants,” I grumbled. “Just what I need.”

  I cricked my head over to one side and raised it just far enough to have a minimal view over the tumbled pile of broken concrete in front of me. Almost immediately I saw the muzzle flash and heard the echoing snap of a handgun report from the glassless window of a storefront on the far side of the main street.

  The range was probably less than thirty metres, which was the length of a standard pistol range. If the unknown gunman put in any practice time at all, then hitting me was well within his capabilities. I ducked rapidly but the round landed close enough to blast concrete dust and grit into my face. The ants went about their business unconcerned.

  I didn’t return fire just for the sake of it. Let him think I needed to conserve my supply. I almost keyed the mic on my radio to report the gunman’s position but decided against it. If he had any sense Marcus would contact me before he took any offensive action. It seemed like a long time since we’d spoken, even though it could only have been a minute.

  Meanwhile there was no great imperative to move - providing those ants didn’t turn out to be some man-eating species. And providing my lone gunman wasn’t biding his time waiting for a bunch of his pals to show up. It wasn’t unreasonable to suggest they might be looters, although in my experience they tended to cut and run when faced with discovery rather than make a stand.

  I unwound the cotton scarf I wore round my neck as a dust filter and wiped my face to keep my eyes clear.

  “Whatever you’re going to do, Joe,” I said under my breath, “do it soon.”

  There was always the possibility, of course, that Marcus was already doing exactly what he came here to do, which was pin me down in an exposed location and wait until I panicked or did something stupid from sheer boredom.

  I could think of any number of reasons why he might have decided that another convenient ‘accident’ was called for. Aware my time here was short and we’d promised Mrs Hamilton answers, I knew I’d pushed harder than was prudent. I recalled again the way Joe Marcus had carefully questioned who was my contact back in New York - Sean or Parker. It was no secret that I worked for Armstrong-Meyer, but did the fact that I was reporting directly to Parker give anything away?

  With his well-informed source Marcus probably knew it was Mrs Hamilton who’d come to Parker for Kyle Stephens’s replacement, and it wasn’t a stretch from there to assume I’d also been briefed to finish the investigation Stephens had started. Was that enough to make him concoct this makeshift plan to get rid of me?

  Perhaps Hope had called him about my discovery of the gems she’d lifted from the street. Or maybe I’d overplayed my hand on the short flight over and he’d simply decided I was going to be too greedy for my own good.

  On the other hand, I could be way off base and it wasn’t Marcus out there at all. I took small comfort from the fact that most of the US Marines I’d encountered were proficient enough with a weapon to have slotted me at their first attempt.

  Still, Marcus was no longer in the Corps. It wouldn’t take long to discover if it took him a while to get his eye in.

  I twisted round very carefully and checked the service road behind me. As far as I could tell it was empty. The nearest piece of available cover was probably the same distance away as the man lurking in the storefront up ahead. That meant an attack - if and when it happened - could come from either direction. A fit man could sprint the thirty metres separating us in a little over four seconds. If he started his run when I was looking the wrong way, even for a moment, that didn’t leave much time to react.

  I shifted my position so I could swing the SIG to cover both vectors with the least effort. I learned a long time ago that the more naturally the muzzle points at the target, the more likely you are to hit it, even with your eyes closed. And the lack of reaction from across the street proved at least that my hips were not wide enough to stick up beyond the concrete in front of me when I was on my side. So, there’s always a silver lining.

  The time oozed by with exaggerated slowness. I forced myself to concentrate on the noises around me, trying to pick up on anything out of place. It was difficult when everywhere was far from silent. Apart from the distant helos constantly overflying the city and the squabble of scavenger birds, the buildings themselves rasped and groaned as they continued to settle. Plastic packaging snapped in the breeze. The occasional tile slithered and skipped off the roof and smashed on the concrete below. Every time one did so I tried my best not to jerk in surprise.

  Eventually, I caught the faintest scuff of movement along the main street to my left, too regular to be anything but human, moving with care. They were good, whoever they were, but not quite good enough to disguise all sound of their approach.

  I held the SIG str
etched out loosely in front of my body, elbow resting on the ground to take the weight of the gun. I kept checking both ways like a kid whose parents have drummed road safety into them.

  With an effort, I regulated my breathing. Slow in, pause, slow out. Nice and easy.

  So when the shallowest outline of a man appeared around the brickwork at the end of the service road, I was already lined up on him.

  “Like I said before, Charlie - nice reflexes,” Joe Marcus said.

  Thirty

  This time when Riley arrived to pick us up Joe Marcus climbed into the rear of the Bell with me. The Aussie pilot didn’t comment on the fact we both had weapons drawn. I kept one eye on the landscape below as we lifted off, as if hoping I might catch a glimpse of a fleeing figure.

  Needless to say, I did not.

  “OK mateys,” Riley said after a few minutes in the air, “Somebody want to tell me what the bloody hell that was all about?”

  Marcus tucked the Colt away under his shirt and slouched in his fold-out seat.

  “One of the things I’ve always liked about you, Riley, is the fact you know when to follow orders without asking dumb questions.”

  “Great. Thanks. Put it in a letter of commendation,” Riley said with dismissive irritation in his voice. “Now answer the bloody question - dumb or not.”

  Marcus shrugged even though Riley couldn’t see it. “May have been a looter.”

  “You think?” Riley’s words could have been my own. “Most folk aren’t making it this far in. Still plenty of stuff to be grabbed from the outlying food stores and electrical wholesalers. Keep ‘em quiet for another day or so yet, I reckon.”

  “That was no random looter,” I said and Marcus’s stony gaze swept briefly over me.

  “You think it might have been the jewellery store robber?” Riley asked. “Come back to grab the rest while he had the chance?”

  “Maybe,” I said, not taking my eyes off Joe Marcus. “Or maybe the answer’s a little closer to home.”

  That got Marcus’s attention. He came upright in his seat. “Be careful what you say now, Charlie.”

  “Or what?” I said. “I have a convenient accident of some kind, hmm? I mysteriously fall out of a helo or get taken down by some rampaging looter. What a shame there are no rebels handy.”

  Riley said nothing, all his focus suddenly taken up with the business of flying the Bell, but Marcus’s eyes narrowed ominously.

  “And why exactly would you think something like that might happen to you?” he asked in a soft lethal tone.

  “Why not?” I threw back. “Isn’t that what happened to Kyle Stephens?”

  Marcus sat back in his seat again and crossed his arms as if afraid of what his hands might unconsciously betray.

  “Why would we have wanted Stephens dead?”

  “Because he got careless,” I said, echoing Riley’s own explanation on the day of my arrival. “And then he got unlucky.”

  “Oh?”

  I sighed, rubbed a hand around the back of my neck. It came away gritty like the rest of me.

  “Look, let’s cut to the chase shall we?” I said tiredly. “I know about Hope.”

  That got a reaction - from both men. I felt the slight tremor through the airframe as Riley’s hands twitched at the controls. Joe Marcus’s reaction was a more straightforward flare of compressed anger.

  “What do you want, Charlie?”

  “A good question. The truth might be a good start.”

  Marcus gave a snort that broke up into a mirthless smile. “And what do you intend to do with this ‘truth’ once you’ve gotten it?”

  I shrugged. “I’ll burn that bridge when I come to it.”

  From his face he did not find my mangled metaphor amusing.

  “Hope is part of this team,” he said with deliberation. “We think of her as family and we look out for each other as family.”

  So what did that make Kyle Stephens?

  “Your apparent loyalty is admirable. Shame it doesn’t extend to everyone on your team.”

  “Not everyone needs protecting,” Marcus said. “Surely you get that we would want to look out for her?”

  “Even though she’s been lying to you since she joined R&R?” I asked mildly. “This can’t have been a first time for her - not the way she’s got her moves down - ”

  Marcus launched out of his seat. In the space between heartbeats he had his hand fisted in my shirt, his forearm wedged across my throat and his face thrust close to mine.

  “Don’t say another word about that kid,” he bit out, “or you will be getting out of this aircraft before the next stop.”

  In reply I jerked both hands up, grabbed his ear with one and his chin with the other and started to wrench his head round. Marcus wisely dropped his chokehold before the vertebrae in his neck gave way. As he lurched back his eyes were wary and, I like to think, just a little more respectful. He made an exploratory movement of his head and winced.

  Well, good.

  “Looks like you’re right,” I said. “Not everyone does need protecting.”

  “Like you said, I’m loyal to my team,” he said tightly. “You attack one of us, you attack all of us.”

  “But that proviso didn’t extend to Kyle Stephens, did it?”

  As soon as I spoke I knew it was the wrong thing to say. Marcus lost his defensive posture and seemed to uncoil. He sat back, his whole body relaxing.

  And in that moment I knew I’d been on the cusp of an important discovery, and somehow I’d blown it.

  Thirty-one

  I was photographing teeth when Parker Armstrong called from New York. It was early afternoon, after Riley had returned me and Joe Marcus to the army camp. Almost immediately Dr Bertrand commandeered me. Apparently my skills with a camera were not as bad as she’d feared.

  Besides, I didn’t think spending further time with Marcus - or seeking out Hope - was a good idea.

  So I spent several hours working with a forensic odontologist from the UK, who was carefully sorting through a scattering of teeth and allocating them to individuals. He was currently gluing them onto strips of card that resembled a dental X-ray. From this, he told me, it might be possible to identify victims too badly damaged to otherwise put a name to.

  “There’s always DNA, but that’s expensive and often there’s nothing to match it to,” he told me, inspecting another tooth. “Superglue and cardboard is the more cost-effective option.”

  I snapped each completed mouthful with the URN giving the team who’d found the victim, the area they were found in, and the unique number. Only when the body was finally identified and reconciled to their family would that number finally be put aside.

  I was so absorbed in the work that the buzz of my cellphone made me start. I checked the incoming number and gave an apologetic smile to the Brit odontologist.

  “This could be important. I better take it, if that’s OK?”

  He waved me away cheerfully enough, his glasses perched on the end of a long nose.

  “I’ll shout when this one’s complete,” he mumbled, distracted. “Now then, upper left second bicuspid … Ah, there you are!”

  I took the call, moving away into the far corner as I did so.

  “Hi boss, what do you have for me?” I asked, careful not to use his name just in case.

  “You first,” Parker said. “How’s it going out there?”

  I suppressed a sigh and gave him a brief rundown of earlier events. He listened in loud silence. When I was done he expressed a desire, again, to recall me. Again I refused.

  I stood with my back to the wall watching the other teams at work while I talked. The military had laid down a temporary floor that could be scrubbed clean every night but the faint tang of disinfectant overlaying old blood still lingered. It did little for my appetite.

  “You have information for me?” I said at last, trying to distract him.

  Parker’s own sigh was clearly audible across the international phone li
ne. He knew exactly what I was doing and was prepared to go along with it, if under protest.

  “Enzo Lefevre and Gabrielle Dubois are aliases,” he said flatly. “At the moment we’re still trying to uncover their real names but Interpol lit up like a Christmas tree as soon as we started a search.”

  “What’s their interest?”

  “Jewel thieves. Lots of skill and finesse - no smash and grab for this pair. I’m told Lefevre means ‘craftsman’. Maybe that’s why he chose it. From what I could squeeze out of my Interpol liaison, they’ve pulled off some major heists along the French Riviera, Monaco, Madrid and that one at the Cannes Film Festival last year. This is the first time they’ve operated so far from Europe, though.”

  “So how does that square with what Santiago Rojas told us about the robbery and this supposed third man?” I said, frowning. “The one who shot Lefevre and got away. If this pair were jewel thieves, how likely is it that they just so happened to be in a jewellery store - on the very day it was supposed to have a big delivery - at the precise moment it was turned over by someone else who was totally unconnected?”

  “Honest appraisal? About the same odds as getting struck twice by lightning,” Parker said dryly. “It happens, but you’d have to be pretty damn unlucky.”

  I thought of the man in the hospital bed who’d told such a heartfelt story about the woman with the ruby engagement ring.

  “I suppose they could have simply been taking a holiday and decided to buy a ring like normal people. Would it mean more to a pair of thieves if they paid for something rather than just stole it?”

  Parker made a “maybe” noise in his throat. “Might explain why Lefevre tried to intervene and got himself shot for it.”

  “A sense of professional outrage you mean?” I suggested. “That somebody had the gall to attempt a half-arsed job in front of him?”

  “Something like that, yeah - if that’s what happened.”