Boiling Point (An Ethan Galaal Thriller Book 4)

by Isaac T. Hooke

  Ethan couldn’t help but draw comparisons between the relatively deserted Spanish streets and the main drag of some fictional cowboy town as it emptied out before the final showdown. Instead of tumbleweeds though, litter blew down the empty roadways, and rather than a lone horse trotting quickly through there was the odd car whisking along. There were no sheriffs sitting on stoops, but pairs of cops patrolled the sidewalks, chivvied people on who were guilty of dawdling, berated them for not being at home, quizzed them on why it was they were out and about.

  Each of the four times that Ethan and Kiana were stopped by the Guàdia Urbana they acted the foolish and scared tourists, lost, trying to get back to the hotel that was near La Monumental. It was not difficult to feign being intimidated and nervous––Kiana was seemingly in a state of perpetual anxiety brought about by desperately not wanting to be killed.

  The quickest and easiest way for them to reach La Monumental would have been to head north past the Museum of Contemporary Art, up Ronda de Sant Antoni and onto Gran Via de les Corts Catalanes. Once on that usually busy thoroughfare, it was a straight shot northeast, through the Plaça de Tetuan with its famed Doctor Robert sculpture and onto the unmistakable El Monumental. However, this route was the one that Ethan most suspected the Kidon to be watching––whether physically or by hacking into the traffic camera network–– so he opted to take a slightly longer and more circuitous route. He had hoped not only to avoid Kidon eyes, but also to circumvent the majority of the police patrols.

  One of his hands was thrust into his pocket, his fingers clenched around his cell phone, waiting for it to hopefully vibrate with the Kidon team’s reply to his phony message about a meeting being on the cards.

  What the hell I’m going to do with an address, two men, a couple of handguns and no bargaining chips I don’t know.

  Ethan led them northeast, into the Gothic Quarter, up La Rambla and past the intriguing Erotic Museum of Barcelona. There were a few more people still out than he had expected, though not nearly as many as was normal. The Gothic Quarter was another district famed for its eclectic inhabitants––artists, musicians and the like––and clearly these people were less inclined to obey or bend to mere Governmental whims.

  “I have always wanted to visit here,” Kiana said suddenly, her voice slightly muffled by the mask. They were walking quickly along the edge of the prominent square of Plaça de Catalunya, the place that was considered by many to be the very heart of the city.

  Ethan glanced up as they passed the fountains and sculptures and the great flocks of pigeons that seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the lack of humans.

  “Is that right?” he said, not sure what else he was meant to say. He looked at the young woman beside him, only to find that she wasn’t looking at the square at all. Her head was turned across the street, peering intently at a garish restaurant front.

  “Yes,” she said, “I have always wanted to see what was so amazing about The Hard Rock Café. You see so much of them on the movies.”

  This brought an incredulous smile briefly to Ethan’s face. He shook his head. The Iranian scientist caught his look of bemusement as she turned to look at him. “What?” she said, grinning.

  She was beautiful, but Ethan’s thoughts were only for Bretta at the moment, and he quickly looked away. She still had her arm looped through his, and Ethan considered unlinking from her, but that would be a bit churlish––besides, it added to the façade of them being a couple. He returned his attention to the streets.

  When they reached the corner of Carrer d’Ausìas Marc and Carrer la Marina, the three of them formed up tight again and looked left and north. The Plaza de Toros Monumental de Barcelona’s spires were clearly visible. They hurried up the street, Ethan and William on high alert, their eyes sweeping the roads and side streets that intersected with Marina Street.

  If the Mossad have caught wind of this rendezvous, this will be their last chance to take Kiana before she is under heavier guard, Ethan reminded himself. If they’re going to move, they’ll have to move now.

  Ethan hated the sense of venerability that accompanied crossing as open a space as the Gran Via de les Cortes Catalanes in front of Barcelona’s Monumental Bullring. The street was wide and looked down upon by countless windows, many of which were now set into office and retail buildings that had been entirely deserted.

  “I’ve always considered you a lucky man,” William muttered in his ear as they hot-footed it across the broad boulevard, “the sort of man who could sit on a fence and have the birds feed him, but if at least one of us doesn’t get our head blown off crossin’ this street I’ll call it a miracle. This is a sniper’s wet-dream.”

  Ethan pulled Kiana tighter to him, though what he hoped that would accomplish against a .30-06 or .50 BMG sniper round he could not say.

  The most likely outcome there is for a two-birds-one-stone win for the shooter, he thought drily.

  El Monumental was a truly impressive building, and not even the threat of imminent death by high-powered rifle could entirely rob Ethan of his appreciation at seeing it in the flesh for the first time. It was once, in times not too long gone by, one of the grandest bullfighting venues in all of Spain. Now though, it served as a bullfighting museum and a venue for concerts, circuses and other spectacles.

  Crossing the shooting gallery that fronted the exotic-looking brick building, in which one could clearly see the merging of the Byzantine and Moorish architectural styles, Ethan would quite happily have gone toe-to-toe with the meanest bull that ever lived if it meant getting out of Barcelona alive and with the rest of his team intact and unscathed.

  “I think I’ve got eyeballs on the exfil team,” William said, from behind him. “Eleven o’clock.”

  Ethan’s eyes swiveled to the mentioned direction. Parked confidently in a bus stop were two identical, white Nissan Patrols, windows tinted to hide the occupants. Ethan suspected they were the same type of 5.6 liter V8-powered, four-wheel drive SUV that the Spanish municipal police were prone to use––a nice touch.

  “We don’t know for certain,” Ethan said over his shoulder.

  “Black Swan said two matching vehicles, right?” William asked.

  “Affirmative.”

  “Well, I don’t see any others, do you?” William pressed.

  “No,” Ethan admitted. “I do not.”

  Kiana squeezed his arm. “You’re sure this is safe?”

  Ethan weighed his options. He wasn’t, but then what with everything that was going on in the world, what the hell was there to be sure about anymore?

  “Take comfort in this,” he said, with a grim smile, “if it’s the Kidon and you’re about to die, we’re all going down together.”

  The lovely Iranian’s face creased in worry. “There is comfort in that?”

  William gave a bark of laughter from behind them.

  Ethan felt the Sig pistol riding snug and reassuring, tucked into the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back. He slipped his arm around Kiana’s waist. Under the cover of that move, he pulled his handgun from where it nestled at the base of his spine and then hid it under the hanging bottom of Kiana’s jacket.

  The three of them stepped onto the pavement. Ethan looked left and right, but there was no one in the immediate vicinity. No cops, nobody loitering and the only visible pedestrians were way off towards the Plaça del Tetuan. His skin crawled as he imagined someone staring at him through a nice, clear sniper scope, the mil-dot reticle creeping down his face towards his chest.

  “Why again did the Swan think it was a good idea to walk this?” William asked quietly.

  Ethan picked up his pace.

  As they approached the Nissans, the front doors of both vehicles opened as if the move had been synchronized.

  Ethan’s forefinger slipped from the trigger guard of the Sig to rest on the trigger itself.

  Five pounds.

  The words echoed strangely in his head, resounding out of the distant past––a pa
st in which he had been far less cynical, disillusioned and dangerous man.

  Five pounds.

  It was one of the first things that grunts freshly drafted into the army had drilled into them. Five pounds of pressure was all it took to squeeze a trigger. All it took to potentially end a life, turn someone from present to past tense. It meant that even a child was capable of killing, if they were holding a firearm.

  Four sets of matching Alt-berg Sneeker boots hit the pavement at the same time.

  Ethan’s eyes narrowed. He wondered if the cars were armored or whether his nine-millimeter rounds would punch through the door panels like they were going through a coke can.

  He felt, more than saw, William move away from him and Kiana to lessen the target the three of them made. Was aware of the nuclear scientist slowing.

  “Oh,” she said.

  23

  Ethan prepared to slip out the pistol as the driver emerged from the closest Patrol. But when the man emerged, Ethan slumped in relief.

  “Oh,” Kiana said, her eyes fixed on the driver’s door.

  “Well, well, it might not be over a beer, but it’s nice enough to see you guys again,” Aaron said. He held out a hand toward Kiana. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

  Kiana gave Ethan a beseeching look, and he nodded in permission.

  “You’re in good hands.” Ethan unhooked his arm from around Kiana, slipped his gun back into his waistband and ushered her towards the waiting SUV. She seemed hesitant.

  “The back of the vehicle, if you please,” Aaron instructed.

  “Who are they?” Kiana asked, eyeing the three silent figures who had emerged to wait next to the Patrols. There were dressed in dark combat trousers, sunglasses and dark plaid shirts that did not quite hide the bulletproof vests they wore underneath. Their faces were set in the impassive, yet somehow alert expressions of seasoned field operators. Their heads moved in efficient arcs as they studied the surrounding buildings. They didn’t stray far from the vehicles, which made Ethan think there were probably a few weapons lying cocked and ready on the rear seats.

  Aaron pushed his sunglasses up onto his forehead so Kiana could see his eyes. Ethan recognized this as a simple way in which he could gain a little more of Kiana’s trust in the limited time available to them here.

  “Well, I could give you the names of these gentlemen, Doctor, but they wouldn’t be real names, I’m afraid,” Aaron told her. “Suffice it to say they are very capable men that I’ve had the pleasure of working with in some very tight corners over the years.”

  “I am to go with them?” Kiana asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Aaron replied.

  She turned to Ethan. “You are coming with me, aren’t you?” She clutched at her satchel like it was a piece of wreckage in a storm-tossed sea.

  Ethan shook his head. “This is where we part ways, Dr. Avesta.”

  He was not a man taken to heartfelt goodbyes. It was undeniable that the woman was beautiful and intelligent––extremely attractive in numerous ways––and had definitely held some sort of appeal to him in the few short days they had been together, but he had things to do now, things that would not wait.

  Kiana turned back to Aaron. “And you? Are you coming?”

  “No,” Aaron said.

  She seemed taken aback, and then glanced at the other men once more. “But where will they take me?”

  Aaron gazed nervously at the upper balconies, just as afraid of snipers as Ethan apparently. “I don’t want to voice the specifics out loud, Doctor, just in case there are unfriendly ears listening. But let’s just say your brief Spanish holiday is over. You’ll be heading State-side soon enough. Now please, get inside.”

  Kiana gave him a small smile, but then turned back toward Ethan and William, as if she was going to refuse.

  “You’ve got to get out of here Dr. Avesta,” Ethan said. “There really isn’t any time for long goodbyes. We have to find our colleague before the Kidon make her disappear.”

  To her credit, Kiana didn’t bandy empty words about. She stepped forward and threw her arms around Ethan, before he could raise his own arms to stop her.

  “Thank you, Ethan,” she whispered into his ear. Her voice was thick with emotion; with pain and loss and grief, with unshed tears and the fear that she might yet be brought to bay in the end. Most all though, Ethan picked up on the undercurrent of genuine appreciation for what he––and his team––had done for her.

  Her breath was hot and unapologetic in his ear. One of her hands clasped him around the back of the neck, pulling him as close to her as was possible.

  “You have showed me a side of myself I never even dreamed could exist,” she murmured into the side of his neck. “You showed me that I could be stronger than I could ever have imagined. Could put up with stresses and strains that I never considered I might have to endure.”

  She paused then, and he was about to push her away when she continued.

  “Come and see me,” she whispered, in a rushed and urgent voice. “Come and find me in America. I would like that very much.”

  Ethan wasn’t what one would call loquacious at the best of times, so the fact that he could find nothing to say in response to these ardent words except, “Good luck” was of no surprise to himself.

  Kiana planted a lingering, forceful kiss on his cheek and then pushed herself away.

  She waved at William and said, “Thank you for everything.”

  William inclined his head. “You make sure you paint the town and the front porch for me when you get to where you’re goin’, doc.”

  Kiana shook her head in the sort of a way that told Ethan she had no idea what William meant. Then, she hurried towards the vehicle indicated by Aaron and climbed into the rear seat. Immediately, one of the DIA agents closed the door and sealed her inside.

  “You know the brief, boys,” Aaron told the men. “No stopping, no letting her out of your sight. Copy?”

  Both men nodded and climbed into the vehicle. Before the door shut, he caught one man reaching into the back seat to extract some sort of short-barreled assault rifle, which he promptly tucked between his legs.

  The V8 engine started with a throaty grumble and the Nissan Patrol took off down the road, before swinging right onto Lepant Street and out of sight.

  And, just like that, the rescue mission that had plucked Ethan from Istanbul, sent his team to Dubai and then on to Tehran, before taking them to Spain’s most famous city, was over.

  Yet, despite the hell that they had gone through to get Kiana to safety, Ethan knew there was far worse to come.

  “Well, damn me, Copperhead, the HVT really took to you, huh?” Aaron said.

  Ethan raised his hand.

  “We don’t have time for wisecracks,” he said tersely, expunging Kiana from his mind as well as he was able to. “I’m going to have to commandeer your ride. I’ve got a feeling I’m going to need it.”

  Aaron’s face lost its slightly jovial cast and was suddenly all business. “Actually, I’d like to talk to you about exactly that.”

  Ethan’s stomach was suddenly filled with the acid of apprehension. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean me and my partner are here to help you with Maelstrom’s recovery,” Aaron replied.

  Ethan’s face cleared. “Black Swan okayed this?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Aaron replied, with another flash of those white teeth, “and before you go ordering us to get our asses in the SUV and search every building from La Sagrera to Les Palmeres, I need to tell you something.”

  Ethan nodded. “Well, all right, but you better tell it to me quick. We’ve got less than two hours before our time runs out on the ultimatum the Kidon gave us. I’ve tried to contact them, saying that we’re keen and able to trade Bretta for Kiana, but I haven’t heard anything back. I’m not sure if they’re going to take the bait.”

  Aaron waved him down. “Yeah, yeah, I know all about the sham trade-off already.”

  �
��You do?” Ethan asked, genuinely surprised.

  “Oh, yeah. Black Swan told us all about it as soon as she intercepted your communication to both Bretta and the burner phone the Kidon used to send the initial offer.” Aaron held up a placating hand at the look of outrage that had formed on Ethan’s face. “Relax, Copperhead. Both those numbers are dead. Your message wasn’t received by anyone, let alone the Kidon. Black Swan traced the number and there was nothing, not a blip. Those phones were smashed, fried and sunk long before you sent that text.”

  Ethan ran a hand through his hair, fighting back the urge to roar his frustration or throw something. “Then how the hell did the Kidon expect us to make a trade?”

  “They intend to contact you, obviously,” Aaron said.

  Ethan considered that for several moments. Then: “So, how the hell are you and your pal here supposed to help us out?”

  Aaron looked over at the silent man still standing by the Patrol. He was a tall, fit man with blonde hair shaved short and a nose that looked to have been broken at least four times and set by a doctor that was all thumbs. “That there is Anderson Todd, codename Huntsman. He’s solid, dependable and a mean hand at poker so don’t ever play cards with him.”

  “Good for him,” Ethan said impatiently. “You didn’t answer my question though. How the hell are you two boys going to help us track down Bretta? If I’m only going to be contacted by the Kidon with the address when it’s time for the exchange, that’s means we’re heading into ground they’ve picked, with absolutely no idea of the lay of the land. We’ll have a better chance of getting Bretta out of a scenario like that alive if we just hit the area with a little ordnance and cross our fingers for her.”

  Aaron put a firm hand on Ethan’s shoulder and gave him a little shake. His face was stern, no trace of a smile on it. “You aren’t the only one who cares about Maelstrom, all right? So just shut up and hear me out, will you?”