“Is he alive?”
Burke turned his head and saw Moore clambering over the side of the boat.
“He’ll make it, the lucky bastard,” Burke shouted back, the rush of adrenalin still keeping the inevitable shock of pain at bay. “Another couple of seconds and he’d have been hung by his own tether. At least the boat turned back over.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s taken on too much water and it’s going down. We can’t stay here. I’ve got a life raft below deck. I’m going in to get it and then we’ll have to abandon ship before this thing takes us to meet Davy Jones.”
8
The only thing slower than letting Zmaj lead the way was waiting for him to follow. The man walked as if he was the illegitimate son of the first creature to drag itself onto the shore of the primordial ocean. But at last he slid his legs across the drawbridge and reached the keep door of the ancient building. It opened without being touched and the two men entered a yawning foyer anchored by a grand staircase. Placed along the walls of the foyer were large tanks of assorted marine life and one entire section of the foyer’s floor had been replaced by glass, below which was a massive tank containing more than one type of shark. The vicious creatures swam lazily along, looking more like massive shadows than anything.
Zmaj noticed the Wolf looking around at the tanks and laughed. “I told you I was neither a cat nor a dog person. These are my kind of pets. You can’t train them to do tricks. Save for one. By restricting their food intake, it is quite simple to train them to kill anything that should stumble into the water. Cats, dogs…even wolves.”
“I do not stumble.”
“Of course. Of course. But you can understand the deterrent. For the most vile of offenders, I have my sharks. A section of the glass flooring comes up like a hatch, leaving an opening large enough to drop a grown man through. And several of these tanks along the wall contain my favorite fish of all, the dreaded piranha. Those tanks are not used for killing, but for correction. For edification. I would much rather show a man the error of his ways and send him down the path of rectification than to toss him away. Isn’t that right, Pederson?” he said to a servant who stood at the bottom of the stair, opening a small lift for Zmaj to bring him to the second level of the castle.
“Yes, Mr. Zmaj,” the man said, bowing.
It was impossible not to notice that the servant was missing a hand.
Pederson hesitated, holding the lift door open for the Wolf.
“I’ll take the stairs.”
“Suit yourself,” Zmaj said.
Pederson stepped in and pulled the metal half-door closed. With a click and a groan, the lift started, then whispered as it carried Zmaj to the second level.
As Zmaj had suggested, it was easy to forget one was standing in a building that had been constructed in the immediate aftermath of the Norman Conquest. Modern furniture adorned the area, and the walls, which in this section had been refurbished so that the ancient stone was invisible behind wallpapered sheetrock, were decorated with contemporary masterpieces, including an original Jackson Pollock that dwarfed the men who stood before it. The swirls and splatters of paint were almost dizzying this close up.
As if imitating the swirls of the Pollock, Zmaj whirled toward the Wolf with as much speed and grace as is possible for a man of such rotundity. “I suppose I owe you a full explanation for everything that has happened since I arrived at your factory.” Zmaj tried not to let his disdain for the factory sound in his voice.
The Wolf nodded. “I would be interested to hear it. The grandstanding has been amusing, but it is now time for business. I know a little already, but there are many questions left unanswered.”
Zmaj bristled at the word “grandstanding.” It was clear he and the Wolf would never be fast friends, even if either man was conditioned for such a thing—which they assuredly were not. The continuing barbs from the Wolf, some subtle and others more obvious, and Zmaj’s inner scornfulness for his own guest, would ensure the boundaries between them remained professional at the warmest. It was dangerous to bring a man like the Wolf into the fold, as such a move could lead to great slaughter, but Zmaj calculated the risk to be worth the reward. At least for now.
“You’ve heard of SpyCo, I presume?”
“I have,” the Wolf said. “They’ve been something of a nuisance to some acquaintances of mine, although I have no direct experience with them.”
“I have not been so fortunate,” Zmaj said coldly. “The word ‘nuisance’ is a good one, for that is what I have found them to be. They are more lucky than skilled, but can still pose a threat when they have a mind to.”
“I heard they were on the brink of implosion.”
“And so they were. That’s the luck factor. They managed to get things together just enough to evade complete annihilation, even though their mainframe had been entirely compromised.”
“So they are back in operation?”
“Yes, but still licking their wounds. They are recruiting agents and attempting to bolster their subpar security systems.”
The Wolf showed a flash of interest. “You seem to be well-informed concerning their activities.”
“They may be lucky,” Zmaj said, grinning horribly, “but they are not invincible. I would hope I do not need to explain that I and I alone am the source of all their recent woes. I still maintain a foothold in their information system. It is not unfettered access but allows my team to gather various bits of intel that are then pieced together to create a relatively informed SpyCo itinerary. A few educated guesses later, and we’re able to keep tabs on them with moderate success and consistency.”
“You are still planning to eliminate them?”
Zmaj emitted his infamous laugh, causing the Wolf to stifle a grimace. “You know how to steer a conversation, don’t you? That’s the crux of our business together. The IRA recruitment is for a very specific purpose—taking out SpyCo before they have a chance to completely recover and strengthen.”
“You realize this will be an exorbitantly expensive venture. My own fee, which will be large, will be only a part of it.”
“I am prepared to meet any and all expenses. My coffers are full.” Zmaj fixed the Wolf with the most piercing gaze he could muster. “Now, then. What is it to be? Will you help me raise my army?”
9
Well, here’s the way I see it,” Dot said as the four women again rode in the big green land-yacht, following Connor in his light blue Skoda Octavia. “We don’t know what’s going on with the men. Every attempt to call Moore back has failed, which leads me to think they may have gotten caught in a storm and it’s interfering with the satellite. Blondie, do you know where this pleasure cruise was taking place?”
“They left out of Bordeaux, or so Burke said on his last drunken teenager-in-love call,” Lyndsey said.
“He’s got it bad for you, girlie. We need to talk about that, but right now, we’ve got other problems. So they’re in or around the Bay of Biscay. Any of your fancy-ass smart phones able to pick up a feed from a weather satellite?”
Charlie did a quick search and reported, “It looks like a pretty nasty squall boiled up several hundred miles offshore. Do you think they got caught in it?”
“Moore’s not stupid, and you’d hope not. But shit like that can really come out of nowhere. It’s possible. So we’ve got three important assets out of the picture until further notice. And we’ve got Connor. Anybody else feel like he stinks a little?”
“I suppose his story is conceivable,” said Adabelle, “but don’t you think that news that big might have seemed important enough for Moore to mention it, even though your call got dropped? And does Moore’s number on his phone guarantee that he’s really SpyCo? I mean, it’s true Moore’s private number is not common knowledge, but we do come up against some pretty resourceful bad guys.”
“You’re right. I doubt he found it scrawled on the stall of a men’s room, so there’s really only two logical sources. Moore himself or a
n enemy source.”
“Moore doesn’t hand that number out freely. Even among the agency, there are only a handful of people he trusts enough to have that. And while SpyCo is a big enough outfit that it’s impossible to know everyone, I’m pretty sure I know just about everyone who should have access to that number.”
“Hmm,” Dot mused. “Is the picture clearing up, or is it getting muddier? So there’s a good chance our Irish Rover is not on the up-and-up. I think we still need to find out what he’s up to. The fact he mentioned Zmaj makes me uneasy. His name is still not commonly known. If Connor’s a spook for someone else, it may very well be the mutant gnome himself.”
“Which means we could be following him right into a trap,” Adabelle said. “Where did he say it was taking us?”
“His apartment on O’Connell Street. Which is the only reason I agreed to follow. That’s a pretty major thoroughfare. They put up one of the city’s biggest trees there at Christmas time. Lots of tourists, lots of locals.”
“An abundance of eyes is good.”
“It is. Also I know that the majority of the apartments there are smaller. They tend to be over businesses, rather than in dedicated blocks. Less potential for a large and unwelcome reception.”
“Assuming that’s where’s he’s actually taking us,” Charlie chimed in.
Dot nodded. “I know Dublin pretty well, though, and he seems to be going the most logical way to get to O’Connell Upper.” They had turned off Church and onto Mary Street. “If he takes a left onto Jervis and a right onto Parnell, he’s likely going where he said. Which means very little. One nugget of truth in a cauldron of bullshit doesn’t go very far.”
“He knew about our recon mission,” Charlie said. “Doesn’t it seem more likely he’s one of ours, knowing that?”
Dot pondered this for a very brief moment. “No. No it doesn’t. Curly Sue, you may have just pushed the Connor-is-full-of-shit meter over the top.”
“Explain,” Adabelle said.
“When an agent goes on training, it’s made known to only those directly involved in the vetting and training process. This protects both the agency and the trainee. Spies are a nasty lot, and they love to pull shit. Even your own allies might put you in a difficult situation, just for the fun of it. And enemies absolutely love to take out recon teams. The fact this little prick knows why we’re here is likely not good news at all.”
“Well, shit,” Lyndsey said.
“Shit indeed. Or as they like to say around these parts, ‘shite.’”
“So now what?”
“He just turned onto Jervis, so we’re still clinging to the nugget of truth, but shields to maximum, ladies. Set phasers to kill.”
“From Spider-Man to Star Trek. You’re one cool old broad, Dot,” Adabelle said.
From driver’s seat, Dot grinned. “Don’t tell the others, but you’re still my favorite.”
Lyndsey chuckled. “You know we can hear you, right?”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about. Now when we get wherever this jack-weed is taking us, I want Charlie to stay with the car.” Dot pointed to the glovebox, which was the size of a modern microwave oven. Adabelle, in the front passenger’s seat, opened it and retrieved three tiny earpieces. “Those are newish comms,” Dot said. “The ear bud both receives and transmits. As much as I love seeing people talk into their shirtsleeves, because everybody does that, this is a little less obvious. Plunk ‘em in.”
“Is that what you’re wearing?” Adabelle asked, slipping the tiny device into her right ear. “I thought it was a hearing aid.”
Dot shot her a sideways glance, then in the same voice she’d used before, said to Lyndsey, “Don’t tell the others, Blondie, but you’re my favorite now.”
“I’m just saying,” Adabelle said, laughing.
Dot completely ignored her. “Okay, we’re turning onto Parnell. O’Connell is just a few blocks up.”
Even as she spoke, they approached the wide thoroughfare. O’Connell Street was buzzing with activity, which was exactly what Dot was hoping for. At the very least, it was unlikely Connor would pull anything with this many witnesses.
The little blue car led them about halfway down the block before pulling into a parking spot. Directly behind it was another open space, fortunately large enough for Dot to moor her vessel. All four women stepped out of the car as Connor walked back to where they were parked.
“Charlie, stay with the Impala,” Dot said as if the idea had just occurred to her. “I don’t like the looks of this neighborhood.”
Connor looked around, then back at Dot. “Are you serious? This is one of the best parts of Dublin.”
Dot’s voice lowered a little. “I don’t like the neighborhood, Seamus.”
“It’s Connor.”
“It’s Seamus. You’re all Seamus. I would think that you’d be okay with leaving behind a woman who had a knife to your crotch a while back. She still has it on her, you know.”
Lyndsey watched Connor carefully, searching for signs of betrayal. She felt like he was running a list of options in his mind. With each passing second, she was more convinced Dot was right about the Irishman. She realized that ultimately he’d have to go along with leaving Charlie behind, even if he was planning something inside. To do otherwise would show too many cards.
Connor seemed to reach the same conclusion. “Very well. But don’t go wandering off, Charlie.”
“Oh, I’ll be good,” she replied, a little testily.
Connor nodded. “Right this way, ladies,” he said.
10
Perry had regained consciousness about the same time his boss had come back on deck with what looked like a compact brick of rubber.
“This is the worst fishing trip ever,” he said.
Moore didn’t seem amused. “How about you shut your mouth and look for something to splint Burke’s arm? He broke it while saving your worthless life. It’s the least you can do.”
Perry smiled, but the smile faded quickly as he turned and saw his best friend’s face. The adrenaline that had been carrying Burke thus far was draining away, and the pain from the snapped ulna and the effects of the still pitching sea had colored his face far closer to the green shades of the spectrum than living tissue was meant to be.
“Hang on, buddy,” Perry said. “I’ll see what I can find. Too bad it wasn’t your dick that got broken. We could have used a toothpick as a splint.”
“You’re the funniest guy you know, aren’t you,” Burke groaned.
“Hurry up about it,” Moore chastised. “This vessel’s lifespan will end in less than five minutes.”
Perry didn’t have to search long to find a piece of debris that would work as a splint. A cylinder, about a foot in length, lay next to a small wooden crate that had been secured to a cabin wall with rope. Perry recognized the cylinder as a flare and began to pick it up. Then he took a closer look at the crate, smiling broadly and reaching into the pocket of his sodden Dockers for his pocket knife. He collected both the rope and the box.
When he returned, he found Burke throwing up over the railing of the boat, which was now only a few inches above the waterline. Moore had activated the raft’s inflation mechanism and attached a line to it. He threw the raft overboard, holding on to the other end of the line, which he then tied loosely to a batten.
Perry walked over, holding the flare aloft. “I think I found something for your arm, Burke.” He knelt by his friend and felt along the arm, searching for the best location. He held the split against the forearm and began to wrap the rope around it, tightly binding it in place.
Burke yelped. “Not so tight, you asshat!”
“It’s got to be tight. You’ve splinted arms before, haven’t you?”
“Not my own.”
“Well, that pain you’re feeling is nature’s way of telling you to let me drown next time.”
“I’d already come to that conclusion.”
As Perry finished knotting the rope
, Moore called out from the railing.
“I hate to break up this tender moment, but we need to abandon ship right now.”
Without waiting for a response, he jumped overboard and swam to the raft. Even the six-foot distance to the bobbing rubber oasis made for a difficult swim. While the storm seemed to be abating somewhat, the seas were still rough and treacherous.
“Come on,” Perry said. “Try to hold on to the line with your good arm when you jump. Hopefully, you’ll be able to pull yourself close enough to the raft for Moore to help you on.”
As Burke prepared for the jump, he noticed the small box Perry was holding under his arm.
“What the hell is that?”
“I’ll tell you when you’re safely on the raft.”
Burke shook his head in disgust at Perry’s lack of priorities but said nothing as he grabbed the taut line and, as gingerly as he could, eased into the water.
Still tightly grasping the crate, Perry jumped over as well.
Burke immediately began to flounder, as his right arm hung uselessly at his side. He still held the rope line with his left hand but was unable to move along its length. Perry swam toward him, but the crate was interfering with his ability to aid his fellow agent, so he swam past him, threw the crate in the raft, and made his way back to Burke.
“Wow,” Burke gasped. “I’m glad to see you care more about some stupid box than your best friend. Real nice, Hall.”
“You’ll thank me later,” Perry said, putting his arm around Burke’s waist. “Let go of the line.”
“When your ass was tied to the submerged rail, did I stop to collect souvenirs?”
“Oh my God. Shut up and let go of the line.”
Burke released his grip and immediately dropped below the surface of the water. But Perry had a solid grip and pulled him back up promptly. He swam against the roiling waves and got close enough to the raft for Moore to reach over and pull Burke to safety. Unfortunately, he had to grab the struggling man’s injured arm to get a secure enough grip to extract him from the water. Burke let out a scream.
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