Devil's Dance (Trackdown Book 1)

by Michael A. Black

  One mistake after another, he thought.

  But there was little he could do about that now.

  He tossed the backpack to the side and assumed a squatting position next to McNamara.

  “Looks like this one went pretty easy,” McNamara said. “All things considered.”

  Wolf nodded but something didn’t feel quite right. He senses the same uneasiness in Mac. While they had pulled it off with relative smoothness, it somehow seemed almost anticlimactic.

  Accondras continued to thrash about as best he could, his eyes darting back and forth, but the duct tape gag seemed to be holding. His breathing was becoming labored and the sweat poured off him. Wolf found it hard to feel much sympathy, but at the same time, in the army he’d always believed in treating POWs with respect and dignity. This guy was reprehensible, but this wasn’t turning out to be one of those moments upon which you could look back with pride. He reached down and pulled the duct tape off Accondras’s mouth. The man immediately began pleading.

  “Please, get me outta here. They’re gonna kill me.”

  “Nobody’s gonna kill you,” Zerbe said. “Calm down.”

  He opened the passenger door and the dome light came on.

  The side door slid partially open and Wolf saw a familiar face in the opening. It was Reynolds, the guy they’d met in Vegas who’d set this whole thing in motion. He was wearing a black tactical outfit instead of a shirt and tie this time. His sleeves were rolled up over muscular forearms and Wolf caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a Glock pistol in a tactical holster strapped to his right leg. The guy didn’t look very much like an employee of a law firm, even in the investigative division.

  He smiled as he looked down at Accondras.

  “I see you got him. Good job.”

  “We got him,” McNamara said looking around. “This don’t look much like an airstrip, though. I thought you were going to fly him back to the States.”

  “They’re not,” Accondras said. “They’re going to kill me. You, too, most likely, you stupid idiots.”

  “The plane’s just over the ridge,” Reynolds said.

  “Can’t you see he’s lying?” Accondras yelled. “He’s a hired killer.”

  Reynolds raised his right index finger to his lips and made a shushing sound.

  “There, there, Mr. Accondras,” he said. “It would behoove you to behave yourself and cooperate.”

  “Cooperate?” Accondras spat out a harsh sounding laugh. “The sooner I do that, the sooner you kill me.”

  Reynolds shook his head and smiled. “If you two gentlemen will be good enough to escort him over to my vehicle, I’ll fire up my tablet and transfer the rest of your payment. He shifted his body and gripped the door, sliding if all the way open, and that’s when Wolf saw it: a tattoo on the back of Reynolds’s right forearm and hand. And not just any tattoo … It was the head and body of a viper. He’d seen one like it before, over four years ago, back in Iraq. Eagan, the big guy in that PMC had one just like it. Wolf remembered staring at it when Eagan was testifying at the court martial. The head of a snake on the hand of a snake. What did they call themselves?

  The Vipers.

  Wolf tried to figure the next best move. He had to alert Mac that something was really off, but they were in a totally vulnerable position: both crammed into the back section of a Mexican van with a dubious ally in the driver’s seat and an armed adversary in front of them.

  “Where’d you get that tattoo?” Wolf asked.

  “This?” Reynolds smiled. “A souvenir from my youth and my old army days.”

  “I knew a guy that had one just like it,” Wolf said. “The son of a bitch testified against me at my court martial.”

  He felt Mac stiffen.

  Good. He was alerted to this new set of circumstances.

  Now if they could just figure out exactly who and what they were up against.

  “It’s a pretty popular tattoo, I guess,” Reynolds said, the smile still fixed on his face.

  Wolf detected a flash of movement at the rear of the van. Someone was coming up on them.

  Damn, he thought. Why did I ditch those guns?

  Reno Garth’s grinning face appeared next to Reynolds, and right beside him the broad shoulders and dark visage of Black Hercules. Both of them were holding Glocks and pointing them at Wolf and McNamara.

  “Reno!” McNamara said. “What the hell?”

  Reno’s grin broadened. “Looks like we done scooped you again, Big Mac.” He let the words sink in, and then the smile faded. “Now you and small fry get your asses out of there so we can collect our pinch.”

  McNamara seemed too stunned to move. Wolf debated the option of trying to spring out of the van, but with the two of them holding guns on him, it was fruitless.

  Zerbe swiveled in the seat and he was holding a gun as well, although it was a small, cheap looking revolver.

  “You in on this too, huh?” McNamara said. “Looks like we got ourselves involved with some real low life sons of bitches, Steve.”

  “Come on,” Reno said, grabbing McNamara’s arm and pulling him out of the open door.

  “Hey,” Wolf said. “Get your hands off of him, asshole.”

  Reno’s smirk regenerated. “Why? You gonna do something if I don’t?”

  “Put down that gun and I’ll take your fucking pussy-ass apart,” Wolf said, praying that the insult would engender a lapse in judgment in the burly adversary.

  “Come on out of there, sucker.” Herc reached into the van. His big fingers sought Wolf’s arm and, figuring he had nothing to lose, he slapped it away.

  “That goes double for you,” Wolf said.

  The black man’s mouth twisted into a rage-filled grimace and he seemed about to crowd his way into the van to take Wolf on, but another voice intruded.

  “Back off. Can’t you see he’s trying to bait you? Get you close enough so he can make a grab for your gun?”

  The voice had an all too familiar sound to it.

  Eagan stepped into view, and next to him was a swarthy looking guy who looked like an Arab. The man smiled.

  A flash of gold in the guy’s front teeth glinted in the illumination from the dome light.

  Nasim.

  Wolf couldn’t believe it. It was like a nightmare vision of Iraq come to life.

  He was too stunned to speak.

  The back door of the van jerked open and two more men, both wearing black BDU outfits and carrying AK-47’s, suddenly appeared. One pointed the rifle at Wolf and McNamara.

  “You’d best get out now,” Eagan said. “And get that piece of shit out of there and into our vehicle now.”

  Wolf followed McNamara out of the van and they watched, with their hands on top of their heads, POW style, as Reynolds and Nasim carried the now limp form of Accondras toward the other vehicle. He was sobbing quietly. Wolf heard the doors of their van slam open. He was still in a state of disbelief. Eagan and that Iraqi fucker, Nasim … How in the hell?

  “Bet you thought you were living a flashback, huh?” Eagan said, leaning his face closer to Wolf. “Huh, boy?”

  Wolf said nothing. He debated whether to strike out and then make a break for it. Push them back and run for the shadows of the stone ruins, but with two of them carrying rifles he knew he’d be cut down in seconds. Plus, he had Mac to think about. Even if he could escape, if something happened to Mac, Wolf knew he’d never be able to face Kasey.

  Wolf looked at him. His face was drawn and pasty white in the moonlight and ambient illumination. One of the other men came up behind them and grabbed Wolf’s right arm. Reno still held the Glock on them. Wolf felt his arm being twisted behind his back, and then the impact and the unmistakable sound of a handcuff being ratcheted over his wrist. The man brought Wolf’s left arm down and secured that one as well, then did the same to Mac.

  “Take them over there and guard them,” Eagan said. He turned to Zerbe. “Tell your driver here he’s going to hitch a ride back to town with
his buddy on the motorcycle. We’re going to need his van for our scene setup.”

  Zerbe nodded and went to talk to Paco and José.

  Scene setup? What the hell did that mean?

  Whatever it was, Wolf didn’t like the sound of it.

  Zerbe turned. “They’ll want to get paid first,” he said.

  Eagan blew out a loud breath. “Aw, Christ. All right, give me a minute.” He glanced over to the other van. Nasim and Reynolds were finished placing Accondras into the vehicle. Reynolds walked back over and nodded. Eagan stepped back and pointed to Reno and Herc.

  “Might as well cuff these two as well,” he said.

  “Cuff us?” Reno said, his face registering shock and surprise.

  “What you talking about,” Herc said, and raised the Glock and pointed it at Eagan. “Stay the fuck away from me, motherfucker.”

  Eagan chuckled.

  “You don’t think I’d be stupid enough to give you weapons that were fully operational, do you?”

  Herc shot a quick look toward Reno, and then extended the Glock and pulled the trigger.

  It made a loud click, but nothing more.

  Herc racked back the slide, popping the round in the chamber out, and let it slam forward. He pulled the trigger again and was met with the same empty sounding click.

  Reno tried his gun and got the same result.

  “The strikers were removed,” Eagan said. “Now drop them and let my boys cuff you, or I’ll have them put a couple bullets in you.”

  Reno and Herc exchanged glances once again and threw down the weapons. One of the Vipers clad in black shouldered his rifle and stepped forward applying a new set of cuffs.

  “Put your fucking arms together, nigger.” The man grunted with effort. “Do it, motherfucker, or we’ll put a bullet in you.”

  More grunts, then he whistled as he snapped the cuffs over Herc’s thick wrists.

  “Christ, I can only get one click on this big, black buck’s wrists, they’re so huge.”

  “Keep an extra eye on him then,” Eagan said. “And take them all over there by that low wall to watch them.”

  Reynolds shoved Reno toward the wall and then he and another darkly clad figure herded Herc, Wolf, and McNamara behind him. Reynolds was carrying an AK-47 now as well. The situation looked hopeless.

  “Big Jim,” Reno said. “You gotta believe me. I had no idea it was gonna turn out like this.”

  “Reno,” McNamara said. “You got shit for brains.”

  “How the hell did you think it was going to go down?” Wolf asked. “That they were gonna let you waltz off with the prize after stealing him from us.”

  Reno shot a pained expression at him.

  “What’s gonna happen now?”

  “I don’t know,” Wolf said. “But you can bet it ain’t gonna be good.”

  His mind was still spinning, but a crazy, half-assed scenario was starting to form. This had something to do with Iraq. Why else would Eagan, and Nasim be together here in Mexico? He struggled to dredge up the repressed details of that ill-fated raid on the other side of the world. They’d been together back then. Both of them. And they’d been after something … Something that those Iraqis they were torturing had.

  Wolf shook his head, trying to will himself to remember those unattainable memories of exactly what happened. He remembered hearing men screaming, finding one with his throat cut, Spec Four Thompson shaking him awake, the firefight … Everything else was a blur, dancing just out of his mind’s reach, like a playful nymph teasing and darting away.

  It was no use. Trying to remember was like trying to grab smoke.

  But another explanation was formulating in his mind now.

  Accondras had something they wanted. Whatever it was, it was very valuable and most likely related to whatever they were seeking in Iraq. He’d mentioned somebody’s name.

  Is Von Dien paying you?

  Who the hell was Von Dien?

  Whoever he was, he had to be rich. And ultimately behind this whole elaborate setup.

  If this warrant stuff was legit, and Kasey had checked on the veracity before they’d left, so it was, then Eagan had hired both them and Reno and Herc to come down here and grab the guy. But it wasn’t to take him back to New York to stand trial. No, they meant to extract information from him. He’d been right when he said they were going to kill him.

  And most likely they were going to kill him and Mac, too. Reno and Herc were expendables as well.

  He remembered Eagan’s words: Scene setup.

  Wolf looked over to the van and saw Zerbe using a rag to wipe down the area where he’d been sitting.

  No fingerprints, Wolf thought. A scene setup.

  They’d all been brought down here to be patsies, to make it look like they all were after Accondras at the same time, fought over him, and ended up killing him and each other.

  We’ll all be shot and laid out to make it look like a bounty hunting dispute gone bad, he thought.

  So they had only as long as it would take Eagan to extract the information from Accondras and retrieve whatever it was they were looking for. He’d want to make sure that all the bodies bought it at the same time.

  Time … It was fleeting, but at least they still had a little bit of it.

  “Sit down there,” Reynolds said, pointing to a mixture of brownish dirt and weeds.

  The four of them did as instructed. Reynolds and the other two stood about fifteen feet away. One of them took out a pack of cigarettes and they each grabbed one and lit up. Wolf glanced at the other van and saw three shadowy figures hop into the back. They looked like Zerbe, Nasim, and somebody else, a short, fat guy. Something about him looked vaguely familiar, but Wolf couldn’t exactly recall what it was. Eagan strode over toward Reynolds and the other two Vipers. “Newman, give me the keys. We’re going to take a little ride. We’ll be back.”

  The one called Newman reached into his pocket and gave Eagan a set of keys.

  “Where you going?” Reynolds asked.

  “Back to the helicopter,” Eagan said, his voice lowering to a growl. “Is that fucking all right with you?”

  Reynolds shrugged and gestured toward Paco and José. “What about them?”

  Both Mexicans stood there expectantly next to the motorcycle.

  “Loose ends,” Eagan said. “Watch.”

  He slipped his Glock out of the tactical holster affixed to his leg, brought the weapons up quickly and fired two rounds in rapid succession. The two Mexicans jerked and twisted before collapsing to the ground. Eagan walked over to them, kicked each body, and them put two more rounds in each prone man’s head.

  The sound of the gunshots was ringing in Wolf’s ears, but he could still hear Eagan’s laughter.

  This was one cold son of a bitch

  Eagan holstered his weapon, walked back over to the idling van, and got in the driver’s side. The vehicle started and then made a sweeping turn to swing around Paco’s van and left via the exit road.

  Wolf shook his head to clear his ears and said in low voice, “That’s what they got planned for us. All of us.”

  “Oh, shit,” Reno said. “Whadda we gonna do?”

  Wolf pulled his right foot under his legs and began probing his boot with his fingers.

  “I got a handcuff key in my boot,” he said. “If I can reach it, I’ll unlock my cuffs and slip you the key, top.”

  McNamara nodded.

  “Slip him the key?” Reno said. “What about me and Herc?”

  “Shit,” Herc said. “Don’t need no key. I can bust my way out of these fucking things.”

  “All right,” Wolf said. “But listen. Our only chance is to use the element of surprise. We get at least two of us free, and we all four rush those bastard and knock them down. Whoever’s free, the two of us, will have to take them out. You up for that?”

  The black man’s face hardened and his head made a slight jerk up and down.

  “Let’s try to do it before they fin
ish their smokes,” Wolf whispered.

  He saw Herc’s lips purse and the huge muscles of the man’s arms began to stand out in bas-relief. Wolf hoped the guy was as strong as he claimed to be. For his part Wolf continued to probe the inside of his boot with his fingers to ferret out the location of the key.

  Gradually it worked. The ankle bone of his right foot pressed against something hard and obtrusive and about an inch long.

  It was the key.

  Wolf shifted his body to give himself a bit more purchase and thrust his fingers farther into the boot. The tip of his longest digit brushed against the double-locking pin.

  Almost there.

  He glanced over to check the progress of the three sentries.

  Their cigarettes were more than half-way burned down.

  Come on, come on, he told himself.

  Herc was sweating profusely now. Trying to break handcuffs with them placed in front of your body was the usual strongman trick. It allowed for maximum leverage being applied as the arms could be pulled outward. Wolf had seen a guy do it once on TV many years ago, and it took him several minutes. Having your arms behind you limited both your leverage and power.

  One of the guards took a long drag and field-stripped his butt.

  A second one, Newman, did the same.

  Reynolds laughed and also ground his smoke out on the sole of his boot and began peeling the papers around the last remnants of tobacco.

  Shit, thought Wolf. So close.

  His fingers had the key now. He manipulated it so that the hollow end was facing upward, then tried to slide it toward the area where he estimated the keyhole to be. It slipped over the smoothness again and again without finding the hole.

  Reynolds glanced at them, murmured something, and all three laughed.

  Go ahead, Wolf thought. Laugh, fuckers. Why don’t you have yourselves another smoke?

  As if they’d heard him, Reynolds pulled out his pack and passed it around. They each took one and Reynolds produced a disposable lighter.

  Herc let out an audible grunt.

  “Got it,” he whispered.

  Wolf suddenly felt the key slip into the opening. He twisted and felt the cuff on his left hand drop open.