Coyote's Revenge

by Vannetta Chapman

  “I can’t believe you, Aiden. What happened to the man who puts his team first? Suddenly you get a social call or a business call or whatever kind of call you got and then we’re not important anymore.” She walked toward the window, stood with her back to him, dismissing him with her disdain.

  He knew Jacob was waiting for him, knew he needed to go now, but he couldn’t leave her like this. Setting his single bag down, he moved to her side. He put his hands on her arms, but she pulled away and stepped out of his reach.

  “You’re leaving us. The whole team. Because you need to go to Banff at four in the morning.”

  He wished she had kept yelling, but instead her voice had grown softer as her disappointment had solidified. When he turned her to face him, the disapproval in her eyes hurt him more than anything she could have said. He pulled her to him, put his arms around her and spoke softly into her hair. Her body was so tense it was like holding a surfboard. Fleetingly, he wondered if she would ever trust him again, but then he realized it didn’t really matter.

  He had a job to do.

  Dambusters was about to break wide open.

  “Let the boys play their final round. Tell them an emergency business meeting came up and I had to go.”

  “Business meeting?” She jerked away and stormed across the room to the door. “You don’t even have a job. You’re a millionaire who volunteers as a part-time coach, apparently only when it’s convenient though.”

  “Samuel will be here at the hotel after lunch to take you back to Edgewood.”

  “Why did I think you would be different?” Her voice softened as tears pierced through her anger. “I could have fallen for you.”

  He barely made out the words. His senses were overpowered with the smell of her, the feel of her, the memory of her. And Jacob was waiting.

  “I have to go.” He summoned the strength to cover his hurt with the ice he was so famous for.

  “Go then. And tell Samuel we don’t need him, and we don’t want him.”

  He picked up his bag, hesitated as he brushed past her in the doorway, willed her to look at him, but she stared at the window, refusing to meet his eyes.

  He walked out of the hotel without looking back up at her window. He didn’t want to know if she was watching. He couldn’t bear to think his job might have cost him more than he wanted to give.

  SERGIO SAT IN THE BACK booth, a woman on each side of him, and wondered why he should wait another thirty-six days. For that matter, the opulence around him proved the town of Banff was as corrupt as any American city.

  So why did Yassin refuse to let him act? With sufficient charges in the correct places, he could reduce the exclusive Fairmont Banff Springs to a pile of rubble.

  The women didn’t speak. They wouldn’t unless answering a question. They were props, nothing more. The blonde folded her hands on the table. Her nails were painted a hideous red.

  Sergio continued to watch the cowboy standing near the bar. The man was familiar—black Stetson hat, designer clothing, and a hideous amount of money he was throwing around buying drinks for anyone who sat near him.

  The girls cozying up to him in the booth had been sent by Yassin. They were a useful cover. True believers always traveled alone or with other men.

  He indicated to them that he was ready to go, and they stood quickly, silently waiting to follow him from the bar.

  As they walked toward the hotel’s main corridor, Sergio again noticed the wealthy American. He had seen him before on the flight from Dallas. That was the flight where he had been tagged, a fact that still infuriated him. It could be a coincidence the American was here tonight, but then Sergio didn’t believe in coincidences.

  He pretended to stumble, knocking one of the women with him into the American.

  “Easy there, ma’am.”

  The American gave her a lopsided grin and reached out to steady himself.

  “A bea-u-tiful la-a-dy like you should be careful.” The words slurred and collided even as he sought to regain his balance.

  Sergio could smell the alcohol from his breath a good two feet away.

  “Perhaps you should watch where you’re going.” Sergio spoke in a low measured tone, not bothering to mask his contempt.

  The American had trouble locating where the threat came from. His eyes lingered on Dolly a moment longer, then with seemingly heroic effort he pulled his gaze away to try and locate Sergio. When he did, it was plain the infidel had consumed more alcohol than he could tolerate. The man sickened him.

  “There you are. I knew that voice was coming from somewhere.” He tipped the black Stetson hat toward them, dropped it in the process, tried to retrieve it from the floor and nearly fell over.

  An elegant black woman picked it up for him. “Let me help you, Aiden.” She flashed a smile to the trio, not noticing the hatred in Sergio’s eyes.

  “We probably stayed at the bar a little too long,” she offered quietly. The woman was dressed exquisitely in a long, black dress that was backless. Diamonds adorned her neck and shone from her earlobes. Her hand reached out to steady the cowboy—hands exquisitely adorned with expensive rings, although a wedding ring was not among them. Her manicure was tasteful and expensive. Sergio could tell she hadn’t worked a day in her life.

  His mind flashed back to his companion’s bright red fingernail polish, and he nearly flinched at the indignity of it all. The cowboy deserved these tramps, while he should have the well-bred woman in front of him.

  “Let’s get you out of here, Aiden. We can go to my suite.” She spoke softly, but the cowboy shook her off.

  “Car-o-line, we are here to p-arty, and I ain’t done yet.”

  The cowboy rose and stumbled toward the other end of the bar, and Caroline offered them a weak smile, apologized again, and followed him.

  The encounter had lasted long enough for Sergio to confirm it was indeed the man he’d seen on the flight from Dallas. If he were an agent—which Sergio seriously doubted—he was a very bad one. Yet the man reminded him of someone else, a woman more beautiful than either of those with him tonight.

  He had let Ms. Hart slide from his memory. Omar had followed her for days, but the woman did nothing other than go to work and home. They’d even put surveillance in her apartment, and it had confirmed that she was who she appeared to be—a teacher.

  But many people led a double life. Possibly he had not been persistent enough. Allah could have provided this encounter to stir his memory. Tomorrow he would pursue this path.

  With a nod to the wait staff, the three left the bar and entered an elevator. Sergio’s mind was consumed with the revenge he would exact, whether Yassin decided they would do so in thirty-six days or tomorrow. Sergio was ready to give his life whenever it was required.

  AIDEN SETTLED INTO the back booth at the Waldhaus Pub. He’d asked Caroline to go to the dining room and speak to the chef. He’d pretended to be starving, and of course the dining room had closed hours ago. Aiden was one of their best customers, and Caroline could be quite influential. He hoped the errand would keep her busy for at least half an hour. He needed time to think.

  He’d caught Coyote staring at him an hour ago. There was no doubt he would make the connection to the Dallas flight, so Aiden hadn’t even tried to hide his identity. Instead, he did the next best thing, which was to practically stumble into the man’s lap. If you can’t blend into the background, be a noisy part of the foreground. A single shot of whiskey combined with his drunk and disorderly routine had certainly convinced Caroline he was over his limit. He was sure by the look of disgust on Coyote’s face he had bought it as well. No self-respecting agent would get totally plastered on a job, and if he did he would hide in a back booth, not put himself on public display.

  The result was Coyote had confirmed his identity, which he would have done anyway, and dismissed him. He was now just another wealthy, obnoxious regular at the Fairmont.

  “Coyote has entered his room.” Tony’s voice came thr
ough the earpiece, mirroring Aiden’s own disgust when he saw the way Coyote looked at the two women. They might be foolish, but they didn’t deserve what the terrorist no doubt had planned.

  “Is there any way we can get them out of there?” Aiden strongly disagreed with the decision to not interfere.

  “Negative.” Martin’s answer was cryptic and offered no room for discussion.

  They all knew what was at stake—millions of American lives. The women would have to fend for themselves. There were times Aiden really hated his job. His mind drifted to thoughts of Madison, but Caroline appeared and he pulled himself back to the present.

  “The chef is sending down your steak.”

  Aiden slipped back into his drunken role, pulled her down onto the seat beside him, put his arm around her, and smiled. “Aren’t you handy to have around? I guess this is just my luck-i-ly night. I could use another drink. Bartender? Another whiskey. Another drink for everyone.”

  With a broad gesture, he indicated everyone in the room, as if the bartender—who happened to be an agent as well—couldn’t figure out everyone included the four people left. Both of the other couples smiled tolerantly and waved at Aiden, who waved back and nearly fell out of his booth in the process.

  Caroline reached out a steadying hand, holding on to him a little longer than necessary. She was an attractive woman, and Aiden was surprised that in his very sober state he felt absolutely no attraction.

  “You are something, you know it? Just a little less whiskey might be good though.” She was trying her best to reprimand him, but Aiden could tell her heart wasn’t in it. “After you have something to eat, I think we should call it a night.”

  Those perfectly manicured fingers touched his cheek and she leaned forward to brush her lips against his. Halfway through the kiss he found himself comparing her to Madison, and for reasons it would take hours to list, he found her wanting.

  “Aiden?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Would you like to—”

  Fortunately for Aiden, at that moment a waiter appeared with his porterhouse steak.

  “Feel like I haven’t eaten in days. Why don’t you go on up to your room, and I’ll call you when...” He left the sentence unfinished, knowing that he would not be calling her tonight or any other time.

  She took a pen from her purse, and slipped out of the booth. Taking his hand, she wrote her room number on the inside of his palm, then turned and sashayed out of the restaurant.

  “That is one beautiful woman.” Justin’s voice in his earpiece reeked with envy. “When do I get to move from the bar to the booth?”

  “When you learn to keep your trap shut on open frequencies.” Martin’s reprimand silenced the young agent.

  Thirty-six days. Just over five weeks.

  There were at least two more operatives at the Fairmont, and Aiden had to find them, or in thirty-six days millions of Americans would die.

  Aiden put enough money on the table to cover the food he didn’t plan to eat. Waiting to be sure he wouldn’t bump into Caroline in the elevator, he made his way to his suite. Counting the night he hadn’t slept in Missoula, he’d been up for nearly forty hours. The fatigue washed over him in waves.

  He surveyed his room to be sure no one had entered it in the last six hours, then removed his earpiece, took off his shoes, and threw his jacket across the Castle and Son desk. Checking his Glock, he placed it on the nightstand next to his bed.

  Then he collapsed on top of the comforter and allowed sleep to claim him. As he was nodding off, he remembered Caroline. With a groan, he snatched up the phone and dialed the concierge. “This is Mr. Lewis in Suite 756. Would you please ring Miss Caroline James and tell her I won’t be able to make it tonight?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer. He hung up the phone and was asleep within seconds. Although the mission clock was still ticking in his head, over it he could hear Madison’s voice, see the disappointment written on her face. He might not be able to tell her why he’d left or where he’d gone, but he would find a way to make it up to her.

  Ω

  Madison was more gorgeous than he remembered. When she turned to look at him, the lips he longed to kiss parted and she said something important. But he couldn’t make it out. Whatever it was, she was in danger. He started across the room to get to her, but the faster he moved the more the distance between them grew. The hotel room became impossibly long.

  He began to run—his heart thundering uncontrollably in his chest, but she was inexplicably farther away than when he started. He still couldn’t make out her words, but he could follow her gaze.

  She continued to look at him, her eyes pleading for him to get there, and then she looked down at her hands. Her eyes widened, and she started to scream.

  He ran faster.

  He could now see her hands were covered in blood. Aiden knew if he didn’t get to her soon it would be too late. He had to close the gap between them. He had to move faster.

  He woke with his heart racing, sheets tangled around his body, which was drenched in sweat. Instinctively, he reached for his gun, but it wasn’t on the table where he’d left it.

  “You don’t want to shoot me.” The voice was calm, sure, and Aiden knew he was no longer dreaming.

  IN THE COMPLETE DARKNESS of the room he couldn’t make out the man’s form, but Aiden knew who it was.

  “Why not?” he growled. His tone would only provoke his late-night visitor, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

  “Because you’d lose your job. And we all know how dedicated you are to your job, Iceman.”

  Martin had never called him that before. Aiden slung his feet over the side of the bed and tried to coax his heartbeat back to a regular rhythm. How did Martin manage to enter his room? Aiden was sure he’d set the deadbolt and the security chain. He couldn’t have broken in, or Aiden would have heard him.

  “Some nightmare you were having. Want to talk about it?”

  “When did you earn a psych degree?” Aiden knew he was dancing close to insubordination, but he was too tired to worry about it. The clock next to his bed confirmed he’d had less than two hours sleep.

  “Coyote escorted the women back to his suite.”

  “Are they all right?” Aiden’s eyes had adjusted enough that he was able to make out Martin’s profile in the suite’s wingback chair.

  “We created a bogus plumbing problem and managed to insert an agent into his room. Both girls were dazed and disoriented. There were no visible injuries.”

  Aiden thought of Madison, remembered the dream, and fought an overwhelming urge to break something.

  “He drugged them. I told you we should pull those girls out of there.” Aiden’s voice rose. “You were wrong to let them go with him, and now you have to live with their scars.”

  “They won’t be the first scars I’ve had to live with or the first sacrificial lambs I’ve offered up.” Martin’s voice became all business. “We’re looking at a catastrophic loss of life if even one of the dams are breached. You and I both know that has to be our priority.”

  Aiden walked to the bathroom, splashed water on his face, and tried to gain control of his emotions. By the time he walked back into his room, the ice was firmly back in place. The light from the bathroom illuminated Martin’s face, showing lines Aiden was sure hadn’t been there a week ago. Thirty-six days, correction thirty-five. They had exactly five weeks, if their intel was accurate.

  “What do we do now?”

  “You have a tee time at 7:00 a.m.”

  “Aren’t we carrying this cover thing a bit too far? Coyote is sleeping in this hotel, and you want me to play golf? Why don’t we bring him in? You know we can make him talk.”

  “Yes, we could make him talk, but he can only tell us what he knows. In all likelihood he doesn’t know the names of the other operatives. What is certain is if we bring him in the operational timeline will accelerate or their goals will change. We can’t afford for either to hap
pen. We need the names of the last two operatives.”

  Aiden gave up fighting Martin’s plan. In the end, he would assign a different agent if he had to, but he wasn’t going to change his mind. And maybe he was right.

  “So I have a tee-time in four hours.”

  “Three hours and forty-five minutes.”

  “What are we doing to find the other two?”

  “We’ve run background and travel checks on every male guest of Middle Eastern heritage.”

  “Expand it to women.”

  “Tony started on that three hours ago.”

  “Americans?”

  “We’re checking any American males, aged seventeen to thirty-five.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Maintain your cover. Coyote doesn’t suspect you after last night’s drunken debauchery. Looked pretty real, Aiden.”

  “I had one drink.” Aiden rose to the bait, even though he knew better.

  “From the sound of your dreams, you should have had one more.”

  As Aiden tried to think how to respond, Martin disappeared. One minute he was looking at the outline of his boss across the room, and the next he was gone. Turning on the bedside lamp, he found his Glock on the desk next to the wing-back chair.

  If he’d slept hard enough for someone to enter his room and take his weapon, you’d think he would at least feel rested.

  With a groan he called the front desk and scheduled a wakeup call, fought the urge to call Madison, and finally fell back into a mercifully dreamless sleep.

  AS HE WALKED TOWARD the eighth hole, the muscles in Aiden’s shoulders relaxed as naturally as night followed day. There was something about playing golf on a cool August morning, in the shadow of the Canadian Rockies, with elk grazing just beyond the fairway that improved his mood—even when his game was terrible.

  “I hate water shots.” Bob was a good ten years older than Aiden, and only a marginal golfer, but his enthusiasm for the game made up for his lack of skill.

  Aiden had golfed with him before and could trust him to keep quiet while he lined up his shot. Noreen and the Colonel rounded out their foursome. They were an odd pair, but then how often did you see a normal couple these days? She was in her early forties, athletic, intelligent, and completely smitten with the older man. Colonel Peter E. Bishop was a regular at the Fairmont. Aiden had known the man casually since he was a boy, staying at the hotel with his mom and dad. In his mid-sixties, the Colonel could still play a competitive game of golf. Water shots were his favorite.