I held up the bag and opened it. “Take a few and have a look.”
“Aziz,” Mr. B said, and his man placed the case on the ground and stepped forward with his empty hand outstretched. He still held the pistol, but it was pointed downward. I put three diamonds in his palm and held back the rest.
Mr. B held his open palm in the headlight and used a jeweler’s loupe to examine them. Then he looked up and I saw a slight tug at the corners of his mouth. “I will need to see the rest, of course.”
“After I see the case.” My heart thumped so hard it felt like it was going to set the damn bomb off all on its own.
Mr. B. nodded to Aziz, who holstered his weapon under a jacket, opened the latches on the black leather briefcase, then set it on the ground. He lifted the lid and I saw it was stuffed with bundles of hundred-dollar bills. He took out a couple and flipped the banded packs so I could see they contained currency all the way through.
“Looks like legal tender to me,” Grist whispered in my ear. “Kyle, calmly slide your hand to the pouch inside your sleeve and remove the detonator button. No, in case you are wondering, it doesn’t work. Say what I say, and nothing sudden.”
I pulled the detonator from its pouch. “That’s fine, you can put it back in there,” I parroted. My mouth felt dry as cotton. “Are you ready?”
Mr. Beautiful was watching me. He whispered something to Aziz I didn’t catch, but his hand went back into his jacket.
I said my line, “Go easy, both of you,” and slowly held up the detonator.
“Open the jacket, Kyle. Stay frosty, Scope,” Grist said. I assumed the second was for Mauser.
“I’m so sorry.” I opened the jacket to reveal the blocks of plastique.
Mr. Beautiful’s eyes widened for an instant then turned to slits. He growled something Tom probably understood, but I got the idea. He also gestured for Aziz to leave his gun holstered. “Ryan is a jackal and his friends are sons of dogs.”
“That’s fair,” I said without prompting. “But you’ve come too far to die over a fraction of your fortune,” Grist put in my ear.
“You think to terrify me? You believe this is the first qunbula I have seen?”
That one I knew. The word meant “bomb.”
“If you know them,” Grist supplied, “then you can see this is genuine.”
Mr. Beautiful stared hard into my eyes. “Aziz is not the only one with me. Do you really expect to escape with what is mine? We were not enemies before. Why would you do this?”
“I need the money. More than you.” Grist sounded surprised at the resistance. I wondered how well he knew this guy. Mr. Beautiful didn’t look intimidated at all.
“Tom, this is how you bargain now? After years to gain my trust?”
Tom stared at his feet.
“He didn’t know,” I blurted out. “Don’t blame him.”
“Shut up!” Grist yelled into my ear.
“There is enough blame to go around. But tell me, how do you intend to get out of here? If you wanted to kill me, you would have done so already.” The man’s gaze never wavered.
“Nobody has to die,” I said, Grist the ventriloquist again. “Just give me the case and walk away.” I waved with the faux detonator in my hand. I was careful to keep my finger off the button.
Mr. Beautiful looked back and forth between me and Tom. If Grist expected him to wilt, he must be getting upset. The quarry pit was near silent except for a faint insect buzzing in the distance.
“I have seen more jihadi than I’d like wearing such vests, eager for martyrdom. They found death. Only Allah knows if they found anything else.” Mr. B had begun to smile. “You have no such fire in your eyes. You are no martyr, just a poor thief, and I can see you fear your own death.”
“You got to be shitting me,” Grist said. I assumed he didn’t want me to relay that.
Mr. Beautiful stepped closer to me. “Do what you must. Let us spend our riches in hell together, shall we?”
“Kyle, you are fucking this up, convince him now!” Grist said. “Scope, ready, aim,” he added. Two bursts of static in my ear acknowledged the command.
I held Mr. Beautiful’s gaze. “You are making a mistake.” I glanced upward and back to him and up again. He followed my lead and looked closer at my hat.
Mr. Beautiful stepped right up to me, reached up and took the cap off my head. Wires traced down the back of my neck and stretched. He pointed the camera at the case and the bag of stones in my hand. He waved to Aziz, who brought the case and set it at our feet.
Mr. B turned the cap around and spoke into it directly. “Coward. You will destroy the reason you came.” He held me by the shoulder. “Come out and negotiate, face to face.” Mr. B tore the wire out of the cap and threw the cap on the ground, where he stomped the camera with an audible crunch. My earpiece still worked, as Grist about burst my eardrum with cursing.
Grist only stopped when Mauser cut in. “Break. Break. Break.”
Grist turned professional instantly. “Go, Scope.”
“Just spotted a long gun,” Mauser said in a clipped tone. “Don’t think he’s seen me yet.”
“Kyle, tell him I’m coming out,” Grist said. “He’s a businessman, we’ll talk business.”
I held the earpiece as much to show Mr. B as to make sure I heard Grist. “They want to talk. Says he’s coming.” I wondered if Grist was trying to convince me or Mr. B about the next move.
I didn’t have to wonder long. The earpiece cracked. “They want to do this the hard way. Long gun first, Scope.”
Long gun meaning Rollie? “Don’t shoot!” I yelled and waved my arms. “Mauser, no! I’ll tear this bomb right off my body. All the loot is near me.”
“Scope, new target,” I heard Grist say and I knew who the new target was going to be.
I tossed the bag of diamonds to Mr. B, but the drawstring was still loose and the bag opened mid-air and scattered glittering stones in the chalky mud and soil. “Run! They have a sniper!” I shouted and grabbed the briefcase.
Aziz drew his pistol but appeared unsure about what to do next, go with his boss, grab the diamonds, or shoot me. Tom scrambled away and Mr. B ran toward the abandoned building.
I knew I couldn’t run fast, but figured I’d stand a better chance if I had a better idea where Mauser was perched. I did a fast-limping zigzag toward the truck. Too slow—my bad knee might as well have been an anchor.
“I got him.” I heard Mauser’s death sentence in my own ear. I wasn’t halfway there when I saw a bright green dot of light dance on one of the stone pile mountains facing me.
“My eye!” Mauser screamed into my ear. “Sonofabitch!”
The road in front of me erupted in a white puff of dust followed a split second later by the crack of a rifle shot. Half my mind thought that the bomb had gone off, but the smarter portion realized Mauser just missed me. Barely.
“Scope, report,” Grist called out. “Target status?”
“Somebody fucking lased me,” Mauser said.
I heard another shot from a different location. All the rock and stone piles made it hard to be sure where, but I was able to get to some cover from where I’d seen that green light point.
“Taking fire!” Mauser yelled and I saw the muzzle flash from his spot.
Aziz must also have seen it as he knelt down and methodically began to fire his pistol toward where Mauser was hiding. I’d guess it was probably one hundred or more yards away. Not easy for a handgun, but if nothing else it would give the sniper something to worry about.
Aziz and Mauser exchanged a few more shots, but I didn’t hear any more from the second location. I wanted to go look, but with the bomb still on me I’d be more of a risk than help if Rollie was hurt, plus I still didn’t know where he was.
Mauser’s rounds snapped off the ground and hit rocks. Some thunked into the mill building and I hoped Tom was behind better cover than old boards. Aziz knew what he was doing and fired and moved often. The laser tha
t got Mauser’s eye must have worked, because a rifle in skilled hands would have made short work of Aziz otherwise.
“Scope? Scope, report,” I heard over the radio. No reply and Aziz reloaded during the lull. I could see him and when he looked my way, I put my fingers to my lips then to my ear. He seemed to understand. At least he stopped firing.
“He killed them all,” I said. “Why’d you have to do that?”
“Shut up,” Grist said. “Scope, check in.”
“Did they get him? Maybe they got him, but I think he wasted everyone else,” I said.
“What are you talking about?” Grist said.
“Don’t hit the trigger,” I said. “I have the stuff.” I didn’t have to try to sound scared.
“Can you see Scope?”
“There might still be another sniper.” I hoped that was true, but I couldn’t think of why he’d gone so quiet otherwise. If his radio was hit, he could at least fire a shot in the air. “Look, take the stuff and go, but get this thing off me. You won, okay?”
“I know the rig is still on you, I get a signal,” Grist said. “Hurry up, and you better not be lying.”
“Give me a minute here. I have to run, no place to turn the truck around.”
“Screw that. Get on the road, I’m coming to you, meet you halfway up the hill.”
Between the weight of the vest, the case full of cash and my damn knee, it was going to be a slog no matter what. I agreed and glanced back to make sure none of the others tried to follow.
Strange how nobody else seemed to want to be close to a guy with high explosives strapped to his body.
I saw Grist’s headlights and picked up the pace. My knee was in the sweet spot where it was warmed up enough to give me more movement but hadn’t seized up yet. It wasn’t a big window, so I tried to make the most of it. I needed to get close to Grist to have a chance.
I still didn’t hear anything in my earpiece from Mauser, not even groans or static bursts. From where I lumbered up the hill, he’d have a perfect firing position.
The ambulance approached slowly and through the windshield I saw Grist’s face whipping around, trying to spot danger. Mr. B had chosen a good location. Lots of hiding places and the pit seemed to swallow sounds. I wondered if the gunfire would attract the police, but even if the noise escaped the quarry I didn’t know if anyone was around to complain.
“I see you, Kyle. Stop there. I’m backing up to you.” Grist did a choppy three-point turn and I realized he was plenty worried about rolling the ambulance. I caught my breath while he maneuvered. The backup warning on the ambulance filled the still air with beeps.
Safety first.
I had to remember that Grist’s stress was going to make him more volatile. I needed to think of how to exploit his mistakes.
The ambulance shifted into park. I could hear Grist breathing into his microphone.
I heard the double doors on the rear of the ambulance open from both sides. Grist wore his phony paramedic clothes and he held a detonator that looked identical to the one he’d given me. I didn’t doubt his was functional. He tore off the wireless rig and my earpiece went dead.
I held up the case and walked toward him.
“That’s close enough.” He had a pistol holstered in his front waistband.
I agreed. If this vest was half as powerful as I thought, he was well within the blast radius.
He eyed the case. “Open it.” I did and a couple bundles fell out.
Grist shifted the detonator to his weak hand and drew the gun. “No tricks.” I noticed sweat stains on the blue uniform.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m clumsy, that’s all.”
“Leave those. Close it and throw the case into the back. Gently.” Grist stood aside and trained the pistol on me.
I did as he asked. I figured throwing it at him was just a good way to get shot instead of blown up. But now he had the money I’d been holding “hostage.”
“Now the packets.”
It was awkward to bend over, but squatting wasn’t happening on my knee. I pitched the bundles into the ambulance, where they landed under the gurney. I was running out of time.
“The stones? Where are they?”
I didn’t know what else to do. I reached inside my shirt, but instead of pretending to look for a pouch of diamonds that I didn’t have, I felt for the straps to take the bomb off of me. The Velcro made an audible tearing sound.
“Don’t!” Grist pocketed the detonator and took out another tool that looked like a smartphone covered with a keypad.
I stepped closer and the vest shifted. Now I was holding it against my body. “The diamonds are on the ground back at the mill area. They spilled when Mauser shot up the place. Just leave. There could be some pissed off survivors down there.” I curled my fingers under the vest so he could see I was about to remove it right in front of him.
Grist punched a quick sequence on the pad. His forehead was slick with perspiration. “Go ahead, dumbass.”
I did. I wasn’t trying to be brave. I had a good idea of what he’d just done and I’d either confirm it or this would come to a messy end.
Cool air washed over my stomach and I hoisted the vest over my head and flung it at the open back of the ambulance. It flopped onto the floor at the edge of the open doorway.
“Asshole.” Grist raised his pistol and I braced to dive to the side. No way he’d miss, it was only a question of if it would it be lethal. I heard the shot.
Make that shots, and from two directions. I felt nothing but gravel tearing at my bare belly and chest.
I heard Grist swear and more shots, them the slam of the doors. I rolled over and looked and got a face-full of dust and pebbles as the ambulance sprayed gravel and raced up the hill.
While I spit sand and cleared my eyes, I saw Aziz run toward me and slam another magazine into his pistol. He’d followed me.
Aziz continued to fire at the retreating ambulance and then I saw something else. The bomb vest sat on the ground. Grist must have kicked it out before he fled.
I struggled to my feet and ran for the vest. Aziz stopped shooting long enough to realize what I was doing and he threw himself to the ground.
The ambulance was plenty far enough away and I snatched up the vest and swung it like a drunken discus thrower. The vest sailed through the air and over the side of one of the rocky steps cut into the hill of the quarry. I joined Aziz on the ground and looked to see the ambulance slow and stop just before the last turn out of our sight.
An instant later I felt the shock through the ground when the vest went off with a powerful blast. Rocks and dust showered deeper into the pit, but it was far from any of our people. The ambulance disappeared up the road.
“Are you shot?” Aziz asked me.
I checked before answering. Adrenaline can be a funny rush. “Nope, just cuts and scrapes. You?”
“I’m unharmed.” Aziz stood with his pistol dangling at his side and the slide locked back on an empty mag. He glared in the direction of the dust trail left by the ambulance.
“Everyone down there all right?”
“No,” Aziz said. “Do you know where he is going?”
“Out of the country as fast as he can,” I began, then his response clicked. “Wait, someone is hurt? Who?”
“Your friend. In the leg. I think he will live. My boss is tending to him.” Aziz continued to stare at the top of the quarry.
“Come on, let’s get down there.”
Aziz soon passed me. I arrived to find him retrieving some basic first aid gear from their van.
Just inside the mill building Tom lay on a makeshift cot of several crates and unfolded cardboard boxes. A blood-soaked torn pantleg lay on the floor and a leather belt was cinched high on Tom’s thigh to act as a tourniquet.
“The smallest target and only one hit. Some luck eh?” Tom looked pale but alert.
Mr. B glanced at me. “I’m glad you are not blown to pieces. Make sure this stays tight.” He
pointed to the belt. “Aziz.” The man returned and I noticed an AK-47 with a folding stock across his back.
Aziz and Mr. B spoke in rapid Arabic and I only caught a word or two.
“Stay here,” Mr. B said. “I am going to retrieve my property and Aziz will check on our man. I fear the worst.” I noticed a softening to his tone of voice. “Still, thank you for saving our lives,” he added.
“Sorry? Your man and Aziz saved ours.”
Aziz rushed into the room a moment later. “He’s coming back.”
Mr. B. drew a pistol and swore in Arabic, where I was on more familiar ground. Something about mothers. He looked at me. “Can you shoot?”
I nodded. I could provide covering fire at least. Mr. B grabbed the pistol out of Aziz’s waistband and handed it to me.
“Hang in there, Tom,” I said as I checked the chamber for a live round. Then I headed outside.
The moon hid behind some clouds so all we saw were headlights bouncing and weaving down the rocky road. Aziz snapped out the AK-47’s stock and shouldered his rifle.
This wasn’t the ambulance; the light set was all wrong. Then I heard the loud V-8 rumble. “Don’t shoot, it’s a friend!”
Chapter 32
The Quarry
Aziz kept his finger off the trigger but as the Blue Bomber rolled up, he never let his aim waver.
Rollie pulled to a stop and stuck his empty hands out the window.
I looked at Aziz and Mr. B. “He’s with me, it’s okay.” I yelled out, “C’mon out, Rollie.”
“You sure?”
“Okay,” Aziz said. “Hands in view.”
Mr. B finished collecting his diamonds and ignored Rollie until he was satisfied with the count. When he was done, he stepped forward.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Kyle’s friend. And I knew Ryan,” Rollie said.
Mr. B’s head cocked at that. “Knew?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m here for Kyle. You can call me Rollie.” He extended his hand.
“Ali,” he said, shaking it. “You saved us?”
Ali B? Probably not, it made him sound like a DJ.
“I had help, and with all due respect, we still have a chance to catch Grist.”
Short Cut (The Reluctant Hustler Book 2) Page 21
