by Seeley James
“Consider yourself already dead at the start, and you won’t worry about dying. Besides, we had Tania backing us up.”
“N-n-not really.” Tania stepped from behind the building with scraped knees and a dirty dress. “I forgot I was w-w-wearing a dress.”
“They headed into town,” Alan said. “We have to meet Eleni.”
“For the record, I absolutely hate dressing like a man.” Pia restarted the car. “They sit on their wallets. Their clothes fit like cardboard boxes.”
They raced as fast as the little engine could manage. The Russians were long gone.
“There weren’t any other planes at the airport.” Pia willed the little car to go faster.
“They were KSO,” Tania said. “The R-R-Russian version of SEALs. Matted, wet hair. I’m guessing they l-l-landed a Zodiac on the c-coast, stole a car, and tried to meet our jet.”
Pia glanced at the map on her phone and kept her foot pressed hard to the floor. “Is Eleni Christoforou an obvious destination for us?”
“It was a long time ago,” Dad said. “She was close to retiring back then. I’d hoped they forgot about her.” He sighed. “But Strangelove sent these guys.”
“What does she have?”
“What she told me then—and I took her advice to heart—was to stash a copy of the paperwork along the way. Hardcopies, she told me. You don’t want geeks erasing or rewriting your data. Cyprus deals with companies and governments of all kinds. They aren’t corrupt, but they don’t mind banking for the corrupt. They know the importance of records to protect themselves.”
“You kept copies then?”
“A few documents on Santalum and Roche in safety deposit boxes here and in Barcelona, Zurich, Singapore, other places.”
“Let me guess,” Pia said. “That’s what you were doing when I found you in Barcelona. Your boxes were emptied?”
“Polished, clean and shiny. The bank had my signature on the form an hour before I landed.” He clenched his fist and stopped himself from pounding the dash. “He’s been one step ahead of me.”
“Let’s send agents out for the rest of them.”
“One problem,” Dad looked out the window. “At the time I left each box, I thought I would write them all down. I cross-referenced a few, but I was working hundred-hour work weeks and never had enough time to document their locations. Jonelle and I have been reconstructing the trail as best we can.”
“You had time.” Pia glanced at him. “You came to all my games.”
“I, uh—” Dad took a deep breath “—made choices.”
Pia gripped the steering wheel, wishing she could be more appreciative of what he had accomplished.
She twisted the car through wide and narrow lanes. They arrived in a suburb that looked as American as any in the USA. They parked at an unlit curb two blocks from the banker’s house, got out and closed their doors quietly.
Pia opened the trunk and grabbed their gear. Tania ditched her dress for her more familiar ninja gear with liquid body armor and took the far side of the street. Pia donned her body armor. Both took a pistol with darts and a sound-suppressed MP5 with real bullets. She handed her father a pistol. All three of them slipped on the new dark-vision glasses from Sabel Tech. A combined night vision and thermal imaging display produced better-than-daylight sight in the dark.
They walked past Eleni’s street. The Mercedes was nowhere to be seen, but Pia remained vigilant. Tania circled into the backyard. Pia and her dad slipped quietly back to the front door.
Tania’s voice whispered in their earbuds. “Two Russians are inside, back of the house. Looks like a home office. They’re tearing up the place in the dark. That means night vision goggles. There’s a woman, slumped in a chair.”
Pia tried the doorknob. Locked. She pulled a slide hammer out of her coveralls, screwed the end into the lock and slid the weight back quickly. The lock came out with a small bang.
“Wait here, Dad.” She pulled her rifle around and tugged on the door.
“I’m coming with you.” He raised his pistol. “I’m not letting you go in there alone.”
Telling Dad what to do was hard enough; telling a self-made billionaire what to do was nearly impossible. If she left him behind, he would ignore her orders and rush inside to save the day. A well-intentioned idea that would lead to disaster. She knew because she’d done just that several times before she started listening to Jacob and Tania. Her best bet was to give Dad a role and make it significant.
“Cover the front.” She placed a hand on his chest. “You’re not trained for inside.”
“But I couldn’t let anything happen to—”
“I need you to cover our backs. Keep an eye open for the other two Russians.” She squeezed his shoulder. “Covering our six is very important.”
Alan stepped back and took up a position around the corner. He was content making a valuable contribution. Besides, the Major and her squad would be providing backup when they arrived in a few minutes.
Pia pushed the door and stepped inside. She could hear the Russians in the back. She crept through a family room into the kitchen. She slid the door open to let Tania in. Together, they stole down the hall.
The noises grew louder as they approached a narrow passageway with two open doors at the end, one straight ahead and the other on the left. Pia recognized the danger. A noisy distraction could be a trap.
Tania tapped her, motioning for her to step aside. She wound up an underhand lob. A pan from the kitchen flew past Pia into the darkened room and landed with a bang. The noise stopped. A figure leaned out of the door on the left. The hidden sentry.
Pia pulled her pistol and put him down with a dart. Tania ran past her and rolled out on the office floor. Pia holstered her handgun and pulled up her MP5. She ran in behind Tania and fired twice. Her target didn’t drop.
Which alarmed her.
The Russians were wearing body armor as advanced as hers. Which meant the dart probably didn’t work on the first guy.
The target in front of her aimed at her.
Tania opened up on him with her muzzle aimed at his face.
Pia dove to the left and covered Tania’s six. A bullet buzzed her ear. She emptied her MP5 in an upward arc at the man she thought she’d already dropped. The rounds hit the man in the groin, then stitched their way up to his head. This time he went down hard. At least one bullet had slipped between armor coverage to take him out.
Pia spun to aim at the last soldier. Tania rolled away as he fired into her empty space. Pia’s magazine was empty. She swapped as Tania, and her adversary exchanged shots. Pia rose, located her target, but held her fire. The man had dropped to his knees.
Tania scrambled to her feet, pulled her pistol and darted the man.
Pia surveyed the room and found an older woman in an executive chair. Blood oozed between Eleni’s fingers and dripped to the floor. Her face contorted with pain. Her body twisted in agony.
Tania flipped on the lights and went to clear the house.
“You’re little Pia?” Eleni Christoforou reached out with shaking fingers. “You’ve grown.”
Pia knelt next to the chair. There was a familiar feel about the woman. A memory of an ocean breeze came to her: an airy, white stucco house on a sandy beach where she’d played in the surf. “Did you used to live on the coast?”
“I had a cottage there.” A smile tried to cross her face. “We used it for discreet meetings. I liked your father. He was a good man. He read poems to you from that funny book. He deserved better than …”
Pia stroked the woman’s arm. She remembered the funny poems well. Shel Silverstein’s books were her favorite bedtime reading.
Alan touched Pia’s shoulder.
Eleni looked up and saw him. “Alan. Can I get you some tea?”
“Don’t get up.” Pia touched the woman as if she were keeping her down. “I’ll get it.”
“I’m sorry, I seem to be stuck in this chair.” Her eyes wandered abou
t the room. “Those men took your papers. Two of them left earlier. I’m sorry I could…”
Her voice drifted to a barely audible mumble.
“Is she going to be OK?” Dad asked.
Pia looked at the large pool of blood on the floor, then at the woman’s clammy skin. She listened to the shallow, labored breathing. She looked at her father and shook her head.
CHAPTER 16
A couple weeks after Ms. Sabel’s trip to Cyprus, the cat-and-mouse game I’d been playing with Viktor Popov boiled over. The cops couldn’t prove I was the guy who left three Russian operators naked and tied to the CIA’s front gate. Nor could they prove I was behind the rash of Russian diplomats passing out in bars throughout the city, their blood testing positive for Inland Taipan snake venom and sleep medication on top of the alcohol. But Ms. Sabel knew.
She gave me an assignment out of the country and told me to cool off. Since Eleni’s tragic murder, Ms. Sabel and her dad were hell-bent on taking down Strangelove and expose his involvement before Roche got elected. I wasn’t too sure they would make it in time. It was late October, and Roche was leading the polls.
My assignment sounded easy enough. Work my way into Strangelove’s circle by making friends with the guys who met Alan Sabel at the Mandarin Oriental, Barcelona a few weeks back.
And that’s why I was standing on the tarmac looking at Sabel Three, the oldest company jet. It was a foggy morning. My gaze wandered over the misty outline of the Dulles executive terminal a hundred yards away. The scent of autumn drifted in on the chilly breeze. The ground crew took my car and parked it in the Sabel hangar.
The pilot called out from the top of the airstair that Miguel and Emily were already onboard. I glanced around the airport. In the distance, commercial aircraft taxied across several expansive runways to the public terminal. I searched behind me, scanning the road leading to the private entrance.
Instead of finding what I was looking for, I found Mercury in his formal toga, full-length with red trim.
Mercury grinned like a fool. This is it, my brutha. Success is in the air. You pull this off and Pia-Caesar-Sabel’s going to build me a temple. Can you see it? A hundred feet high, all marble—better than anything those lowlife Greeks ever slapped together. He spread his arms across empty space. Home of Mercury, winged messenger of the Dii Concentes, the dawg of commerce, the dude of eloquence, the demon of travelers—
I said, She’s not building you a temple.
He faced me. Whoa now. Y’see that? Right there, bro. That’s stinking thinking. It’s because of that bad attitude of yours that we don’t even have a shrine. She almost spoke to me. Get me a little more time with her, and I’ll win her over.
I rolled my eyes. She’s never going to believe the ‘dude of eloquence’ talks like … you.
Say what? Face it, rap is the language of the future. Rappers are the Shakespeares of tomorrow.
I said, Maybe, maybe not, but you sound like my grandfather trying to be chill with the kids.
It was a harsh thing to say to a god abandoned in the fifth century. But if you think dad-jokes are awful, try listening to a four-thousand-year-old.
The car I was expecting cleared security and drove through the gate. I pointed to the ground at my feet, and a confused David Watson stopped where I indicated. He was a lean, short older guy, who acted like a man eight feet tall strutting through a village of pygmies. Before they fired him, he’d been an FBI Special Agent in Charge, which is about the same as a colonel who thinks he’s a five-star general. Watson argued with the ground crew until they convinced him they’d take good care of his aging Toyota. He glanced my way and looked around, his gray hair glistening in the early morning mist.
“Hoping for someone else?” I asked.
“I heard the Russians had you arrested.”
“Why would they do that?” I gave him my innocent look.
The ground crew made Watson hand over his personal phone and double-checked that he had no other electronics; part of my idea to isolate his communications. Ms. Sabel wanted him to feel close but not be close. I didn’t want him at all. I promised to return his stuff after the mission. I pointed him up the airstair.
He scowled and climbed. “Where’re we going?”
“To look for some bad guys.” I followed him.
“What’s the mission plan?”
“When you work for Ms. Sabel, you wing it.” We climbed aboard and moved down the aisle. “Working directly for the boss, you’ll find yourself on a lot of hastily arranged assignments.”
“Tactically, that’s a dangerous methodology.”
“Tell her. She’ll fire you.”
“Hey, what’s with the reporter?” He pointed at Emily.
She sat at a table with Miguel, looked offended, and tugged Watson’s wrist as he passed by. “Journalist.”
“She’s our embedded reporter. Uh. Journalist.” I pushed past him. “She passed the Sabel Security advanced training program. She’s fully qualified to kick your ass and write up a story about it.”
Watson took the first open chair. “Where you going?”
“To get some sleep.” I strolled down the aisle and stretched out on the couch. “Emily, if he keeps asking questions, toss him out the window.”
They woke me when we landed in Barcelona. Emily and Miguel rented a car and took off. I was stuck with Watson. We headed downtown to the Plaça de Catalunya and stopped at a sidewalk café. I sent him inside to fetch me a paper and coffee.
“What are we doing here?” He set a steaming cup and paper in front of me and slipped into the chair opposite.
“Waiting for a couple guys who have lunch here every day.”
“You going to tell me why, or is this some kind of stupid game?”
I picked up the paper and started reading. It was in Catalan, which is like a cross between French and Italian but structured like Spanish. Considering Spain, including Catalonia, is barely larger than California in size and population, you might think they’d get their language act together.
I tossed the paper at Watson. “Get me an English paper, and don’t tell me they don’t have them. This nineteenth-century plaza is tourist central.”
He sneered. “Get your own.”
Mercury stretched in the chair next to me. I expect more strategic thinking from you, dawg. You treat the man like he’s your bitch when you got no leverage. Have yourself a nice I’m-in-charge-no-really walk back to the news rack.
Mercury stood up.
I said, Where are you going? Why are you all dressed up, anyway?
Mercury frowned. Time for my semi-annual report to the Capitoline Triad, my brutha. In case you forgot, that’s Juno, Minerva, and the big man, Jupiter. They’re not easy to please, yo. Every few months I gotta make another excuse about why we aren’t on the comeback trail so they don’t smite you. But this time, I think we’re getting there. I mean, you did introduce me to Pia-Caesar-Sabel. And because of that, we be getting close to building that temple. I can feel it.
With that, he lifted off on his tiny wings and disappeared into the sky.
Watson looked into the clear blue above us. “What’re you looking at?”
“God, of course.” I shoved my chair back and went inside. I grabbed a Financial Times and stopped short of the cash register. I could swear Mercury was taunting me from the sidewalk, but that didn’t make sense—he was gone. I turned around.
Outside, my mission targets approached our table. I compared the picture Ms. Sabel took of her dad’s meeting. Same guys. They were clean-cut guys in expensive suits who were surprised to see my new buddy. Watson looked up, saw them, and turned white. Which was not the reaction I expected from him. He glanced inside, but the strong sunshine produced too much glare on the window for him to see me. But I could see him just fine. The targets stopped in front of him and spoke. He shielded his face with his hand and waved them away. They looked around and scuttled off to a table at the far end.
The barist
a coughed, “Señor.”
I paid for the paper and rejoined Watson.
“So we understand each other—” Watson leaned across the table with a glare “—I’m not your water boy.”
I opened the paper in his face and spoke through it. “Ms. Sabel told me to run you through the wringer to test your devotion to teamwork. Former soccer stars like Ms. Sabel are big on teamwork. You know what teamwork is? Doing what the team needs without question. So far… not so good.”
The pride he swallowed could be heard down the block. At least he wasn’t low enough to grovel.
I considered asking him when, where, and how he planned to kill Ms. Sabel, but she told me not to. This whole watch-him-closely plan of hers wasn’t working for me.
After reading a few pages, and observing one of the Russians return with sandwiches, I folded up.
“Hey, let’s go to Camp Nou and see if we can get tickets.” I rose and started walking past my marks.
One of them glanced at me, then at Watson, then back to the sandwich in his hands. He faced a tough decision: do his job or eat his lunch? He dropped the sandwich and licked his fingers. I kept walking at a brisk pace. Their chairs scraped back across the stone sidewalk behind me. Watson’s footsteps struggled to keep up with me.
I kept my pace down the block and around the corner. The entourage followed me at various distances. From three paces back, Watson asked me questions about where we were going and why. I crossed the tree-lined avenue and skirted the traffic circle, pretending not to hear him above the noisy motorcycles that filled the streets. I strode past the Passeig de Gràcia subway entrance and up the block to the Mandarin Oriental Barcelona. I stopped and used the reflections in Tiffany’s window to observe my two targets ten yards behind me on the broad sidewalk.
They didn’t appear armed, but I made no assumptions.
Watson looked in the window and elbowed me. “We’re being followed.”
“Really?” I turned around, looking past the men in dark suits as if they were signposts. “Who?”
