Skills to Kill

by Brian Drake

  “One of our people? Dug it up and sold it?”

  “Unfortunately yes. Wolski had one other person working for him that managed to elude us when the others were arrested. She stayed under the radar for the longest time but then decided to move the other nuke. We have her in custody already. That’s why we know who has the weapon.”

  “So why not pounce on Milani right now?”

  “We want the tangos, too.”

  “Of course you do.”

  “Obtaining a nuke is top priority with al-Qaeda. We’ve intercepted enough coded messages to confirm that. We need the buyers to lead us to their bosses so we can round up the lot of them, not just onesies and twosies.”

  “How did Milani get the nuke? Is he the middleman for somebody?”

  “Yes,” the CIA agent said. “There’s a new arms dealer on the scene. All we know about her is her codename. The Duchess.”

  “And how did you learn about her?”

  “Old-fashioned grunt work.”

  “Nuts. You have somebody on the inside.”

  Lukavina smiled. “I hope your stunt won’t scare Milani off.”

  “He won’t go anywhere,” Dane said, “while Russo and his daughter are still alive.”

  Dane returned to the hotel and found Nina once again sawing logs. He sat on the edge of the bed a moment. He called Russo to make a report, but before he could say anything about his discovery, Russo told him Leila had escaped on her own. Dane felt a weight leave his shoulders. He arranged to meet Russo once the sun came up.

  Nina continued snoring. At least the accordion player had taken the night off. Dane undressed and went out like a light once he crawled under the covers.

  In the late afternoon, with Nina complaining that the vintner gods were playing bongos in her head, Dane paid a call on Dominico Russo. Dane settled on the couch. Russo smiled as another person entered the room.

  “Mr. Dane, meet my daughter, Leila.”

  Steve Dane jumped to his feet. “Hello,” he said.

  The woman’s mouth remained a flat line as she looked Dane up and down. The mod outfit he had seen her in previously was gone, replaced by simple blue jeans and white T-shirt. Her black hair was tied back, but a few loose strands dangled near her ears.

  “Is this the man you hired, Papa?”

  “He is.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Dane, but I didn’t need your help.”

  “You got lucky.”

  “So I should have waited for you to come storming in with your horse and lance?”

  “Leila, that’s enough,” her father said.

  Leila dropped onto the other end of the couch. Dane resumed his seat. Russo motored near Dane.

  “My apologies,” Russo said.

  Leila, still not smiling, stared at a spot on the carpet.

  To Dane he said, “I shall honor our arrangement. You will be paid for—”

  “No. I didn’t finish the job.”

  “Mr. Dane—”

  “I work for my money, Nico,” Dane said. “And there is another way I can earn it, if you want to put Milani in a box for keeps.”

  “Explain.”

  Dane told him the situation with Milani’s al-Qaeda meeting. Russo’s cheeks flared.

  “He’s doing that?”

  “Apparently he’s an agent for a new arms dealer calling herself the Duchess. Does that name mean anything to you?”

  “I have not heard of her.”

  Leila jumped in. “So where’s Milani if he wasn’t at the place I was held at?”

  “He won’t be far away,” Dane said. “Nico, did he have a preferred hideout when you two were running the show?”

  “Expensive hotels and public places. Usually travelled with two or three bodyguards.”

  “How about this,” the girl said. “They’re probably out looking for me. Why don’t I wander around and get caught again? I can tell you where he’s at.”

  “No,” Russo said.

  “That won’t work,” Dane said. “You’ll be taken to another hideout nowhere near Milani.”

  “This is my fight, too.”

  “You will stay here, Leila.”

  The woman huffed and stormed out.

  Russo smiled a little. “She is much like her mother.”

  “Your wife must have been some lady.”

  “She was.” Russo eyes drifted elsewhere, and he remained silent.

  “Leila is very sharp. She is not like other girls her age. Perhaps she also takes after her father?”

  Russo only nodded.

  The door swung open and Junior came in, breathless. “Leila took one of my guns! She’s gone!”

  Russo issued orders for Junior and Pops to go after her and to grab the other staff members if they were needed.

  Dane and Russo sat in silence for a few minutes after Junior departed, and did not talk any further. Dane excused himself and returned to the hotel. He had his own ideas on how to track Leila down, but he needed Nina’s help. He figured Leila was right about Milani’s men still looking for her. And if that were truly the case, one of those men, with appropriate pressure, would tell Dane where Milani was hiding.

  The little hothead, he thought, might prove useful after all.

  5

  A Friendly Chat, Pistol Optional

  The gun kept digging into Leila Russo’s belly, and she didn’t think the jacket she had grabbed prior to her exit hid the bulge. Hiding guns wasn’t her thing. It wasn’t at all like she saw in the movies. Everybody’s eyes seemed to be on her, and she knew any second a cop would spot her and arrest her, but she had to keep moving, stay visible in obvious places and attract the attention she was sure was out there.

  She window-shopped, using that as an excuse to look around a lot, yet nobody noticed.

  She ordered coffee at three different cafes, and sat outside, and nobody watched her. A little while later, she required a bathroom visit and stood in the stall a few extra moments, despite the urgency, trying to figure out where to put the gun. She stuck it on the coat hook, where it dangled, and she stared at it so she wouldn’t forget it was there, and, alone, tried a few poses in the mirror to reassure that the gun did not show.

  Leila Russo continued wandering the streets, yet attracted no more attention than the roving eyes of males. She was not unaware of her attractiveness, and such peeks were normal. And this was one time when that type of attention wasn’t what she craved.

  Where were the creeps?

  How hard was it to get kidnapped again?

  Her father and his bodyguards would be out looking for her too. And Papa would be pissed. But she had to do this. If he was going to ask others to risk their lives for her, she had to do something to contribute to the effort so those people could do what Papa had hired them to do. There was no sign of Luigi or Pasquale either.

  Then she got hungry. She found a McDonald’s and sat in the back corner with her Chicken McNuggets, and halfway through the meal a man in a tan suit entered and scanned the dining area. His eyes landed on hers, and not because he was another dude who thought she was cute. There was something more behind his eyes—something that made her shiver. He ordered at the counter and sat down at the opposite end of the restaurant, but Leila saw him peek at her enough to know that she had finally picked up one of the goons looking for her.

  The man had close-cropped hair. He filled the suit too well and glanced at her the wrong way before dialing a cell phone. She finished her meal. On the street, she spotted Hunky Dude keeping a discreet distance, but he stayed with her even as she jogged through a crosswalk and walked two more blocks away from the restaurant. Stopping to check out more window displays, she stole another glance back, and her shadow was on the phone again.

  Finally!

  She kept going, passing a line of shops, crossing in front of an alley—

  The hand that covered her mouth blocked her scream, and there was no way to fight the strength in the arms that pulled her from the sidewalk. Breath left her as
she was forced against the alley wall. The hand moved away. Leila breathed hard and fast as she stared into the face of Steve Dane.

  “You might as well have had a flashing sign on your head,” he told her.

  “You—”

  He shushed her and snatched her gun, and when Hunky Dude came abreast of the alley, Dane swung the gun and conked the interloper over the head. Just then Nina screeched up in the car, and Dane loaded the man into the back seat. Leila watched from the alley. Dane came back, grabbed her, and shoved her into the front seat next to Nina.

  “What if somebody saw us?” Leila said.

  “So what?” Dane said. “Never let witnesses get in your way.”

  Leila let out a string of curses as she sank down in the passenger seat.

  “You’re sharp, Leila, but leave this to the professionals,” Dane said.

  Nina patted the young woman’s leg. “His definition of professional is different than mine, honey.”

  “You two are insane.”

  “Only a little.”

  Nina steered the car onto a highway. Dane slapped their captive. The other man moaned, waking with a start. Dane slammed him back against the seat. “Behave yourself. We’re going to have a little chat.”

  “Why should I tell you anything?”

  “I’ll let you go. Live to fight another day.”

  “How do I know I can trust you?”

  “You can’t.”

  Hunky Dude, still breathing hard, didn’t blink for a moment. When he did, Dane knew he had the man right where he wanted him.

  “Milani’s hiding at a farm,” the other man said. “Off the N5.”

  “There are a lot of farms off the N5.”

  “His has a single-story house. No animals. It’s the only one with no animals. That’s all I know!”

  “Hardly.” Dane pressed the .45 into the man’s gut. “There’s more.” He jabbed once with the barrel. The prisoner winced.

  “Okay, okay!”

  “Talk.”

  “He visits the Testaccio Club every night. He likes the singer there. Table near the stage.”

  Dane scooted back and put away his gun. The prisoner relaxed a little, moved his foot an inch, and Dane whipped out the gun again. “I told you to behave.”

  “We made a deal.”

  “We did. Pull over, darling.”

  Nina slowed the car and pulled off the shoulder. They were still within city limits, but it would be a long walk to wherever the turncoat intended to go. Nina turned around and leveled her own gun at the prisoner while Dane returned his gun to its holster and took out a wallet. He handed the man a wad of bills.

  “Get out.”

  Hunky Dude stared at the money. “You’re going to shoot me in the back.”

  “I won’t. She might.”

  Nina smiled. “I haven’t shot anybody in weeks. Going through withdrawal.”

  “Get out now,” Dane said.

  The prisoner bolted, clawing at the door handle, launching onto the roadway, the door still open. He ran clear across the road. Dane pulled the door shut and sat back. Nina started driving again.

  Leila said, “Was that smart?”

  “You saw him crack,” Dane said. “If he reports back, he’ll have a hard time lying. Milani will know he talked. He has no choice but to run.”

  “Now what do we do?” Nina said.

  “Let’s check out that singer,” Dane said.

  The Testaccio Club wasn’t the music-thumping dance club Dane had first thought of. It had the look of a comfortable tavern catering to middle-aged folks; judging by the clientele at the tables and bars, they had succeeded in attracting exactly that. Dark colors, low lighting, muted voices; it wasn’t a place the party scene would go. Dane, Nina and Leila found a booth and scooted in. A waiter appeared and took their orders for drinks, and Leila added an appetizer plate to the selection. The singer/piano combo on the small stage held the attention of the patrons. The singer, a blonde in a slinky black dress, sung in a low voice but exercised great range when the tune called for it.

  Leila scanned the faces of those sitting near the stage.

  “He won’t be in the open,” Dane said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look along the wall. Milano will keep his back to it. Same as us.”

  “Guess I didn’t notice.”

  The drinks arrived. Leila picked at the appetizer with a fork. She didn’t offer Dane and Nina any, but that didn’t stop Nina from spearing a portion. Dane ignored the food. The four tables along the wall were full, and he spotted Milani almost right away, or at least the best suspect. The man sat in the booth with a woman on one side and two heavies on either end. He had no hair and a crooked nose and was pushing 70. He drank a double scotch, no ice. The woman sipped a martini. The heavies watched everybody but the stage.

  “See him?” Nina said.

  “I think that’s him.”

  “Of course it is.” Nina swallowed some of her drink. “I hope you aren’t going to do anything stupid, like going over to talk to him.”

  “No. I have another idea.”

  “Are we leaving?” Leila said, holding a piece of cheese.

  “Finish your snack,” Dane said.

  After delivering Leila back to her father, Dane and Nina returned to their hotel suite. Dane went out on the deck, lit a Macanudo and selected a number on his cell phone. Nina joined him, holding a glass of wine. Dane listened to the line ring a few times.

  “Yes?” the voice on the other end said.

  “It’s me.”

  “Hey, ugly,” Devlin Stone said.

  Stone had worked with Dane in the 30-30 Battalion, and they still aided each other in various buccaneering activities. Stone worked a smuggling operation in Europe, running guns, cigarettes, liquor, and pistachio nuts. He had a dedicated crew of misfits, two homes and a string of legitimate front companies that provided the necessary paper trail for his earnings.

  “I’m in Italy. Have you heard of a new arms broker called the Duchess?”

  “Only rumors.”

  “Like what?”

  “She’s currently unloading a dozen crates of US weapons.”

  “Interesting.”

  “You working?”

  “Yes,” and Dane told him the story.

  “Sounds fun,” Stone said. “What do you need from me?”

  “I’d like to build a phony backpack nuke, and I thought you’d be the best man for the job.”

  “I can’t believe what you’re thinking.”

  “I’m thinking it,” Dane said, “and together you and I can pull it off.”

  “We’ll get killed trying.”

  “When has that ever stopped us?”

  “True. When do you want this shoddy bomb case full of used pinball machine parts?”

  “Is now too soon?”

  “See you in a few hours.”

  Dane hung up. He turned to Nina.

  “Here comes the cavalry,” she said.

  6

  We Have the Best Shoddy Bomb Cases

  Dane and Nina had time for lunch before picking up Stone, so they ate sandwiches at a street café. They both enjoyed what the proprietor called a Godmother Sandwich. The French bread was well toasted and crispy and didn’t get soggy. Several layers of Italian ham and salami and prosciutto and cheese and jalapeño with vinaigrette made up the ensemble, and they almost forgot about the two men who were spying on them from a car across the street.

  “Cops or bad guys?” Nina said.

  He looked over her shoulder. “Cops.”

  Detective Lazzaro Palermo strolled up the sidewalk, grabbed an empty chair, and pulled it over to Dane’s table. He sat.

  “I’m getting in the habit of interrupting your meals,” the detective said.

  “That’s okay. Want a sandwich?”

  As Palermo started to answer, the car with the two spies drove off.

  “Were those your men?”

  “Yes. I actua
lly have work to do in this city and do not have the time to be chasing rabbits named Steve Dane, so I had two of my junior detectives keep an eye on you until I could break away to have this conversation.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “You’re causing trouble,” the detective said.

  “I am not,” Dane said. “I am contributing to the economy of Italy and enjoying the sights of this town.”

  “You are causing trouble,” the detective repeated. “Otherwise I would not have the US State Department or Interpol asking me to bring you in for questioning.”

  “Forget it. They have their own people.”

  “They do not want to step on our toes, Mr. Dane. Apparently you have no such inhibitions.”

  Dane swallowed a bite of sandwich.

  “So far,” Palermo said, “I cannot say for sure that you have committed crimes in my city, though I have one or two ideas. It would be very smart if you left the country and did not return for some time. I will even suggest that you never come back.”

  “That oversteps your boundaries a little, Detective.”

  The detective shrugged. “You have been warned.” Palermo stood up and walked away.

  Dane wiped his mouth and drank some water.

  “Your CIA friend talked,” Nina said.

  “He had to report. Apparently he has a few people on his team that like to tattletale.”

  “You can’t trust anybody these days.”

  “I can trust you,” he said.

  “Only until you stop putting out,” she said.

  “Look who’s talking.” He checked his watch. “Finish up. Stone’s plane lands soon.”

  Devlin Stone entered the terminal at Marco Polo Airport in a pressed navy blue suit that clashed with his shaggy hair. He always wore the mop a little long, and some of it rested atop his ears; he was constantly brushing the hair away because it irritated him, but refused to cut the source of the problem.

  Stone had already cleared customs and carried only suitcases. Dane wondered where the rest of his equipment was. Stone only smiled. He did not want to risk bringing the phony bomb case and assorted small bits on the plane, so he had some of his men bring it into the country by their usual nefarious means. The equipment would be waiting at a drop. Within an hour they had retrieved the gear, and then took the large steamer trunk back to the hotel suite.