The Resurrector (The Dominic Grey Series)

by Layton Green

  She thought about it, gave a faint smile he couldn’t quite decipher, and slid on top of him. “Where did you meet him?”

  “Now that’s a long story.”

  “Maybe you should introduce him to Diego, once you leave me.”

  Jax gave a mock smile. “Leave you? Who would ever do a ridiculous thing like that?”

  “Isn’t that the attraction of the lone wolf? That we know you’ll leave one day? Where would be the fire if you stayed?”

  Jax wondered who was playing whom in this relationship. “I don’t think a meeting between Grey and Diego would go over too well. You know how there’s an Alpha male in every wolf pack?”

  “Sí. So he’s the dominant type?” she asked, her voice turning husky.

  “No, love. He’s the reason the Alpha males need the rest of the pack behind them.”

  She slid onto him and slowly began to rock. “Then he must come for dinner.”

  A while later, Fabiana fell asleep, and Jax slipped outside to call Grey back. After hearing him out, Jax decided to make a trip to the States. Diego was due back the next day. He had already hinted that he had more jobs for Jax, but the mercenary knew he was pushing his luck with Fabiana. If Diego ever found out about the affair, and they always did, then he would send his men to emasculate the cheating gringo with a rusty pocketknife.

  While Jax loved taking risks, especially where beautiful women were involved, he loved staying alive even more. He didn’t trust Fabiana not to slip up when Diego returned and let her eyes linger on Jax a moment too long, or seek his bedroom when a guard was watching.

  The call from Grey had served as a wake-up call. It was best, Jax thought, to leave Venezuela tomorrow, while he still could.

  Right after he said his goodbyes.

  -27-

  Charlie’s captors kept her locked in a mobile home with ten other African American children, ranging in ages from eight to nineteen. She had learned the skyline in the distance was Atlanta, and that the other children were from all over the South.

  Charlie was the lone New Yorker. In fact, the more she thought about it, it seemed as if her captors had gone to an awful lot of trouble to bring her here.

  Armed guards patrolled the perimeter of the clearing. Outside the grimy windows, she counted twelve trailers. Some of them, she knew, held more children.

  Every morning and night, a gray-haired woman with lips like cracked leather shoved trays of chicken nuggets and boiled spinach into the trailer, as well as milk jugs full of cloudy water. Frost rimed the windows in the morning, and the guards ignored the children’s pleas to bring them a heater.

  Charlie tried to stay calm and in control. She could take the cold and the awful food. She had endured worse. Though not the oldest, the other children looked to her as their leader. She was from the Big City and knew jujitsu and didn’t panic like the others. In the confines of the cramped and squalid trailer, Charlie did her best to impart self-defense tips, and plan an escape for when the opportunity arose. She hadn’t realized it, but helping Grey teach class had made her something of a leader.

  The sliver of hope gave way to despair when the guards herded them onto a small plane that made her want to throw up when it lurched into the sky. A plane? Where were they taking them? Who were these people?

  An hour later, the plane landed on a raised and narrow runway surrounded by cleared swampland. Charlie had never seen a more desolate place. The younger children wailed in fear. At first she thought they planned to kill them and dump them in the marsh, but that didn’t make sense, and the guard herded them onto the blacktop and made them stand in line while the plane returned to the sky. A few minutes later, a larger plane with a snub face landed on the airstrip. The guards forced all of the children except Charlie into a cavernous holding area at the rear of the new plane. Even more children crowded the back of the bigger plane. All dark skinned. All terrified.

  When the plane took off, leaving Charlie by herself on the runway with a dozen guards, she had never felt so alone.

  She looked back and forth, searching in vain for an escape route. The trees had been cleared for a hundred yards in every direction, providing visibility for the rifles. Beyond that lay nothing but fetid gray marsh.

  The kidnapping. The plane. Now Charlie knew the score. She had heard about gangs who took kids to other countries around the world and sold them as slaves to rich people. Sometimes even kings and sultans and shit. Those countries didn’t even have laws against it. It was just bad luck if you ended up there—and no one was coming to get you.

  But why had they left her behind?

  An hour or so later, a smaller cargo plane landed. After the big red-headed man boarded with a group of men, one of the guards stuck Charlie by herself in the hold and slammed the door. As the plane took off, she felt long fingernails of panic digging into her skin.

  The cargo door stayed locked the entire flight. A long time later, hours and hours, the door lowered and Charlie stepped warily down the ramp.

  When she saw the world outside, she thought the pilot of the plane must be a wizard who had taken them through space and time to another dimension, because the landscape looked like the cover of one of those fantasy novels the librarian at her old school used to read.

  Surrounding the airstrip was a jumble of green mounds that resembled giant heads of broccoli, unlike anything she had ever seen. A range of jagged, snow-topped peaks riddled with waterfalls surrounded them. It didn’t even look real. Even more startling, on the other side of the giant sponge field, she saw the glassy surface of a humongous blue-white thing that snaked into the mountains like a twisty playground slide.

  She thought she knew what the blue-white thing was, again from the books in the library.

  A glacier.

  The freezing weather reinforced her conclusion. A laugh hiccupped out of her, despite the gravity of the situation. Maybe they had taken her to Alaska.

  What the hell? she thought. Does Santa Claus need sex slaves?

  Armed men poured out of the cargo plane. Charlie looked around in panic. To her left, she saw a paved road and a cluster of wooden buildings.

  She had to get away. Now. During the transit. Before they took her to some cold place she would never get out of. Made her do things she couldn’t forget.

  For whatever reason, the guards hadn’t tied her up. Probably because they thought she would never try to escape in such a remote place. The guards might be right about most kids, but Charlie would take her chances. Find a way to survive. Just like she always had.

  And if she didn’t, then that was okay.

  It was better than wherever they were going.

  A guard loomed right beside her, but he was barely paying attention. The next closest was twenty feet away. Charlie took a deep breath and punched the guard in the solar plexus, as hard as she could.

  He gasped and doubled over. Charlie darted past him, knowing the moment she had gained by silencing his voice would give her a chance to escape. Without a sound, moving as quietly and swiftly as if she was sneaking through gang territory, Charlie darted for the cover of the green mounds. Another guard noticed her, but he was too far away to catch her before she reached cover. Now it was a matter of how fast and far Charlie could run, and how bad they wanted her.

  The mazelike landscape enveloped her. Most of the spongy mounds rose higher than her head. She guessed they were boulders covered by moss or fungus. Whatever it was, it was the best hiding place ever.

  She had no idea where she was going, but for the moment, she was free. If she was lucky, the location wasn’t as remote as she thought. Maybe it was New Hampshire. She had a chance!

  Just as she wondered why no one had bothered to raise the alarm, the side of one of the green mounds hinged open, scaring Charlie so bad she tripped on a rock and fell.

  A man stepped out of the mound who scared her even more. A man with a weird face that looked like hardened wax, and a fur-lined jacket with a silver symbol, some kind of
T, attached to the front. He took Charlie by the arm with a grip that felt like pliers, even firmer than the big red-headed man.

  Charlie debated trying to choke him but decided against it. It was hard to choke a grown man in a fight. Real hard. Especially one this strong. And he was holding a gun and would just shoot her.

  She opted for the solar plexus again. The man didn’t react when she hit him. Not even a change of expression. Instead he dragged her by the arm back to the landing strip, expressionless, as Charlie bounced along the ground at his side.

  -28-

  NEW YORK CITY

  During the evening rush, Grey watched a debonair man with sandy hair and a strong cleft chin navigate the crowd at the Grand Central Station food court.

  Earlier in the day, Grey had taken the first flight to New York he could find, visited a Harlem homeless shelter for a fruitless conversation with the teenage boy who had witnessed Charlie’s abduction, and then hurried to meet Jax at his requested destination.

  Though the mercenary appeared nonchalant as he strolled through the masses, smiling at the pretty women and eyeing the array of food vendors, Grey knew Jax was watching the crowd as keenly as Grey, a wolf among sheep.

  “Midtown,” Jax said in disgust, when he arrived at Grey’s table. “Is there anything besides Starbucks and pharmacies around here?”

  “Not really,” Grey agreed.

  He didn’t rise to greet Jax, or even offer his hand. Grey didn’t like mercenaries. He had a history with Jax—they had saved one another’s lives—but a grudging mutual respect was as far as the relationship went. Or would ever go.

  Beside them, a dreadlocked man was sitting by himself, waving his hands and cursing at invisible people. Grey had chosen his seat on purpose. Their unbalanced neighbor kept everyone else away.

  “You look like hell,” Jax said. “Is your shower broken?”

  Grey took a sip of coffee. “Thanks for coming.”

  “It was time for a change of scenery.” Jax spread his hands and grinned. “Your money’s good with me.”

  “I meant, thanks for skipping your protocols and meeting me in person right away.”

  Jax rolled his eyes. “It’s not like I didn’t scout this place beforehand. And watch you come in before I doubled back.”

  Grey ran a hand through his hair in agitation. “I don’t have time to argue.” He had already filled Jax in on the gist of what had happened, enough to get him involved. They had yet to discuss next steps. Not until they met in person.

  Jax bobbed a hand. “Whoa, cuz. I’m here to save the day. You bought me for a whole week.”

  Grey had been shocked—and relieved—to discover the credit card Viktor had given him had a sixty thousand dollar limit, with no withdrawal restrictions. As agreed, Grey had paid Jax half up front.

  He wanted to think Viktor would have approved, but Charlie’s life was at stake. Better to ask forgiveness than permission.

  “A week is too long,” Grey said. “We need to find her before the investigation progresses. Today. Now.”

  “Listen, whoever took her has to give you time to impact the investigation. At least a few days.”

  “You don’t know these people.”

  Jax leaned forward, the glint in his deep blue eyes belying the easy grin. “My brother. Know your audience.”

  Grey waved a hand. “There are things I haven’t told you about.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like the dead Nazi who kicked my ass.”

  Jax stared at him, then started to chuckle. “Is that some kind of tenth degree black belt humor?”

  “I wish. You said over the phone you had something in mind. Someone who can help us get started.”

  Jax settled back in his seat, probing Grey’s eyes and then glancing around the busy dining hall. “Hungry?”

  “Yeah.”

  The mercenary wrinkled his nose. “We can do better than the food court.”

  They hailed a cab to the West Village. After telling the driver to drop them at Sheridan Square, Jax led Grey a few blocks deeper into the neighborhood, to a cramped street with a few ethnic restaurants wedged among grimy apartment buildings.

  Grey almost missed the faint green lettering marked Ceviche on a dirt-streaked awning. He was further distracted by a bare-chested obese man in a wheelchair leering at passersby as he ate a bagel out of a paper bag. Crumbs covered his hairy chest, and a sign asking for money was taped to the chair. “You got something for me?” he asked.

  Jax made eye contact. “Just here for the grub.”

  The grotesque man winked and kept chewing. Grey had the feeling they had just passed a test.

  As Jax opened the door, Grey realized restaurant was somewhat of a misnomer. If someone looked up hole in the wall in the dictionary, surely a picture of this place would appear.

  The entire dining area consisted of a wooden bar counter, half the length of a bowling lane, that began just inside the door and ended at the rear wall. A barebones kitchen lay on the other side of the counter, tended by a gruff hipster and a man of Latino-Asian descent, fussing over a saucepan.

  Their backs brushing against the crumbling brick wall, Grey and Jax squeezed past a trio of patrons near the door and grabbed a pair of stools at the far end. Despite the humble environs, the smell of fresh lime and caramelized garlic made Grey’s mouth water. The hipster slapped down a menu, then stood with his hand on his hips and waited for them to order.

  Jax pushed the menus back. “We’ll take whatever the chef wants to give us. And two Cusqueñas.”

  Without a word, the goateed hipster collected the menus and grabbed two bottles of beer out of a mini fridge. Grey noticed that Cusqueña was the only beverage on offer.

  Jax took a swallow of beer. “You’re not gonna believe the food in this place. The guy fussing over the pan like he’s performing surgery on Baby Jesus is a genius. Best damn ceviche this side of Lima.”

  Though he ached to take action, Grey didn’t bother asking what was going on. He knew Jax had not taken him to a random restaurant. They sipped their beers in silence, until Jax wiped his mouth and said, “I heard about Nya.”

  Grey stilled.

  “I’ve been there, too. I know how you must be feeling.”

  “You don’t know anything,” Grey whispered. He stared straight ahead and gripped his beer bottle. He couldn’t let himself think about Nya right now. She was dead. Charlie was alive.

  “All right, then,” Jax said, after a moment. He clinked his bottle against Grey’s motionless one. “To fallen companions,” he said quietly.

  The food arrived, slim wooden platters artfully stacked with raw fish soaked in lime juice. Slivers of pickled onion and cubed sweet potato accentuated the dish. Grey’s eyes widened with the first bite. Jax was right. The food was the truth.

  The other customers left. When Jax finished eating, he set his beer down and flicked his eyes toward the rear door. “Why don’t you have another? I’ll be back in a few.”

  “I’m going, too,” Grey said quietly.

  “I can’t take you in.”

  “Then I’ll take myself. I might need to be there for whatever happens.”

  “You really want to get your hands dirty?”

  “You don’t know me as well as you think you do,” Grey said.

  Jax pushed away from the counter. “Look, why don’t you just trust me?”

  “It’s not that. I know this case.”

  “Are we going to do this with every decision?”

  Grey stepped down off the stool.

  “Jesus,” Jax said. “Fine. I’ll take you if they’ll let me.” He turned and addressed the chef in decent Spanish, asking whether he needed a llave maestra for the restroom.

  Strange turn of phrase, Grey thought to himself. Llave maestra. Skeleton key.

  For the first time since they had entered, the chef stopped working and looked up. He was wearing black earlobe stretchers and a sleeveless vest. After hearing Jax’s request
, the chef lifted a hinged wooden section at the end of the bar, unlocked the rear door, and disappeared.

  He returned a few minutes later and said, “The Sensei is not available.”

  “I told you,” Jax muttered to Grey. Then, to the chef, he said, “Should I come back later?”

  The chef gave Grey a disapproving glance before he returned behind the counter. “No.”

  “Look,” Jax said. “I’ll vouch for him. And you know what that means.”

  The chef shook his head.

  Feeling desperate, Grey said, in much better Spanish than Jax, “I’m looking for a little girl. She’s been kidnapped, probably trafficked. Please. We need your help.”

  The chef pointed at the door.

  “C’mon,” Jax said to Grey. “We’ll find another way.”

  Grey could see in Jax’s eyes that this was a major lost opportunity. As Grey stood with his fists clenched atop the bar, unwilling to leave, the chef stopped chopping and cocked his head, as if listening to an invisible microphone. Grey wondered if his earlobe stretchers contained tiny radios.

  The chef gave a curt nod, then returned to slicing fish. The hipster set down his dish towel, ushered Jax and Grey through the rear door, and closed it behind them.

  The door opened onto an elevator that looked as ancient as the rest of the building. It started moving of its own accord.

  “The whole building is theirs,” Jax whispered, looking surprised by the turn of events.

  “Who’s they?” Grey asked.

  “I don’t really know. Information brokers. It’s the new black market.”

  “You’ve been here before? In person?”

  Jax nodded.

  The elevator stopped on the fourth floor. Grey tensed as he stepped into a waiting room with a finished cement floor and glass walls he assumed were one-way mirrors. He and Jax allowed two men in street clothes and ear pieces, both armed with semi-automatics, to check them for weapons. Jax handed over his utility belt, Grey his boot knife.

  After the pat down, the men herded Grey and Jax through a keypad door and into a room with a green marble floor and a crystal chandelier. Against the far wall, a staircase with ornate iron railing led both up and down, and the walls were painted in purple swirls and covered in martial arts movie posters and memorabilia.