GUARDIANS: Mission To Rescue Innocence (Beauty 0f Life Book 7)

by Laura Acton

  “Winds—”

  “No! This time he comes first. You go on ahead if you must. Me, I’m going to have a conversation with a Chinese dude.” Winds began to walk away.

  “Wait!”

  “What?” Winds turned back. He witnessed indecision on Blaze’s face, so he played dirty. “You want your son’s death on your hands when you might’ve done something to prevent it? You knew about that stronghold we found the kid in … didn’t you learn your fucking lesson yet? Blaze, the kid trusts you. Don’t let him down. He is our priority. We’ve got time and opportunity.”

  Guilt slammed into Blaze like a two-ton truck. Winds’ words gutted him. Visions of holding Blondie in his arms on the rooftop while the young man bawled his eyes out believing he wasn’t a real man, tore at Blaze’s heart. Images of the kid chained to the whipping post in the stronghold, more dead than alive, seared in his mind’s eye. Howls from Blondie’s nightmares echoed in his ears. “What the hell are you saying? Thought you’re my friend.”

  “I am! But you need to do the right thing. Prioritize Blondie’s life. We took a blood oath …” Winds lifted his left hand, still gloved, so the thin white scar didn’t show, but Blaze would understand the significance. “Does this mean nothing to you?”

  “Don’t you think I want to do this? Guilt eats at me every goddamn day. But I’m the CO, and I have my orders.”

  “Fine. Be General Badfather. Follow your damned orders, and if Blondie dies, it’ll be on you this time.”

  The thought of Blondie dying spurred fire in his gut and ignited flames of fury in his eyes. Blaze strode over to Winds and slammed him up against the wall, glowering at his so-called best friend.

  Air left his lungs in a rush upon impact and Winds sucked in a breath, his hiss of pain disguised. “Shit, Blaze. I know you care about Blondie. I need you to pull your head out of your ass. This is the only way I know how to do it. I give you free reign to beat the shit out of me but do it later. Right now, we must find the delivery guy.”

  Personal desires warred with duty within Blaze as flashes of holding a deathly ill Blondie in the van while the kid gagged down the bentonite assailed him. The trust he witnessed in those soulful blue eyes … the kid counted on them to protect him … this time he would not fail. He chose to be a father over a CO. “You and me … we’re gonna talk later.” Blaze clenched his right hand seriously wanting to slam his fist into Winds’ jaw. “Let’s go.” He strode towards the pufferfish truck.

  Winds rubbed his sore chest as he trotted to catch up with Blaze. That’s the Papa Bear I know. His mind clear, he realized another problem they faced. “Blaze, we need to contact Galahad … neither of us speaks Russian.”

  “Not our only problem. Truck is empty. He could be in either building, and we don’t have a clue which one.” Blaze stared into the empty truck cab.

  “Glad I retrieved this little puppy before leaving the stairwell. Well balanced and useful.” Winds pulled out the skeletonized knife and slid the long blade between the window and door finding it long enough to jimmy the lock of the passenger door. Once open he popped the glove box, Winds rooted around for any paperwork which might lead them to the man they sought.

  A smile crossed his face. “Jackpot. Found a business card.” Winds held up the card to show Blaze.

  “How the hell does that help us? We don’t read Russian either.” Blaze kept his eyes scanning the area.

  “True, but I read and speak Chinese. And if his card is in Chinese then it is likely he speaks it too.” Winds’ grin grew as Blaze’s astonished gaze landed on the little card.

  With slight relief, Blaze stared at the characters. “What’s it say?”

  “Renqing Yu, proprietor of Arothron Stellatus Apothecary. Specialist in herbal medicine. Or at least something close … I’m rusty with the language.”

  “Still doesn’t tell us where to find him.” Blaze glimpsed a back door of one of the apartment buildings opening, grabbed a fist full of Winds’ shirt, and yanked him down to hide from view. The hiss which escaped his second in command couldn’t be missed. “Winds?”

  “It’s nothing.” He closed the passenger door noiselessly.

  “You’re in pain. Why?” Blaze’s mind supplied the answer in an instant. “The bullet in the stairwell … and goddammit, I slammed you against the wall. Status.”

  “I’m fine … make that okay. A couple of bruised ribs is all,” Winds whispered as the sound of footsteps approached.

  More guilt heaped on Blaze’s shoulders. How could I forget Winds had been hit? Dammit! He shoved aside his emotions to deal with later when footfalls neared the driver’s side. Blaze duck walked around the rear of the vehicle to catch a glimpse of the person.

  Bleary-eyed, having gotten only a few hours of sleep, Renqing made his way to his truck. Today he had a full schedule and needed every bit of business for two more weeks. He concluded after driving away from the Cherry Club he must leave before Panin’s mercurial moods harmed his loved ones. He would have enough to fly his family to Canada if he scraped together every last coin in the next few weeks. Once there, he would figure out how to stay, but at least his wife and children would be out of Savelievich’s reach.

  Fortune, fate, or God smiled upon him as Blaze recognized the man’s face. He hurried back around to signal Winds their quarry fell into their hands.

  After alerting Winds, who would block escape from this position, Blaze moved back to the other side and swiftly set upon the unsuspecting man, pinning him face first to the door and wrenching his arms high.

  Renqing’s eyes flew open as he screamed once. He struggled to free himself from his attacker. Panin’s men are going to kill me. Something must’ve gone wrong with the poison. His body and voice shook as he pleaded in Russian, “Do ... not ki … ill me. Pl … ease. I can pay you. More than Panin if you let me live. You c … c … can say I am de … ad.”

  With Blaze having the man pinned, Winds rounded the front of the vehicle as he spoke in Chinese, “Am I Renqing. I will tell me about the fatal.”

  Renqing twisted his face in confusion, responding in Mandarin, “What?”

  Winds truncated his statement and attempted again realizing he must be rustier than he thought. “You Renqing?”

  “Yes. Who are you and what do you want?” Renqing said as the other man turned him around but kept him pushed against his truck.

  Translating in his head, he got the gist of what the man said. He asked Renqing what his business was with Panin, “What are you afraid of doing Panin job with you?”

  Still confused, Renqing repeated, “What?”

  Winds’ lips formed a tight line as he ran his words through his internal translation again. “What trade do you do with Savelievich?”

  “Savelievich?” Renqing’s eyes widened in terror wondering who these men were. If they were politsia, he would be in as much trouble, maybe more than if they were Savelievich’s guards.

  “Yes, with the greasy chicken gizzard fatherless child!”

  Renqing chuckled at the words.

  Winds growled in frustration struggling to find the appropriate words, he glanced at Blaze. Switching to English, he said, “Damn, I suck at Mandarin. I need more practice. I think I just called Panin a greasy chicken gizzard instead of an oily chicken shit.”

  Blaze remained straight-faced. “You’ll figure it out. Ask him about the ingredients of the poison Panin slipped Blondie.”

  “Panin’s poison?” Renqing said in English.

  Both Blaze and Winds whipped their eyes to Renqing. “You speak English?” Blaze asked.

  “Yes, the only language in which Panin conducts business. Wish I did not. I would not be in this mess if I could not.”

  “Did you supply him with poison with diquat and tetrodotoxin?” Blaze took over the interrogation.

  “Yes.” Renqing’s head bowed. “I did not want to though.”

  “What did you put in it? The bastard only said tetrodotoxin and diquat.”

&nb
sp; Lifting his head, Renqing stared into intense hazel eyes. “Does not matter. This Blondie you spoke of … he will be dead soon. I supplied enough toxin to kill five men.”

  A surge of anger overtook Winds, and he lashed out with a right hook, connecting with Renqing’s jaw. “Bastard!”

  Only Blaze’s grip on the man kept him upright. “He is alive and in pain. What else is in the damned poison?”

  His jaw throbbing, Renqing eyed them warily. “I am sorry for your friend. It will be a painful death. Panin is evil, and he takes pleasure in the suffering of others. He threatened to sell my wife and children into slavery if I did not produce the toxin for him. We live frugally so I can save enough money to flee from his reach.”

  Winds fisted his hand again as he growled, “We’re not going to ask nicely again. Tell us what the poison contains.”

  Shifting his gaze to the angry man with lion colored eyes, Renqing answered, “Only those two ingredients in a solution of water. If Panin finds out I told, I am a dead man.”

  Itching to kill the man who created the fatal mixture, Blaze’s eyes flared with fire as he released his hold. “Be glad we let you live. We’ll kill Panin if we ever set eyes on him again so we won’t be divulging anything about you. Forget you ever saw us. We were never here. If I find out you tell anyone you spoke to us … I’ll come back and kill you myself.”

  Swallowing the lump of fear, Renqing slumped against his door as the two men took off at a sprint down the alley. He and his family needed to leave today. Renqing began thinking of things he could sell to raise quick cash.

  Sacred Heart Abbey – Unit’s Room – 0730 Hours

  Tension as thick as peanut butter filled the room. It had been an unpleasant five hours with Blondie suffering alternating bouts of vomiting and diarrhea with Patch forcing more bentonite down the disorientated man’s throat. Not only did the men worry about Blondie, but their buddies were long overdue from ditching the vehicles.

  Mason currently paced on the west side like a caged bear. Being the one in command when Winds and Blaze were absent, he carried a heavy burden of deciding if they would risk going out to search for them. He glanced at Blondie, his brother had thankfully not been cognizant of his bodily functions, though the sea of pain tossing him to and fro and spinning him in delirium was worse than being embarrassed about losing control of his bowels.

  Hearing Blondie’s agonized moans again, Mason asked, “Patch, are you certain you can’t just knock him out with a sedative?”

  Stress etched on Patch’s face. “Can’t. I want to, but I have no clue what else was in that mixture. You said yourself Panin said among other things. Those things … they might interact badly.”

  The door opened during Patch’s statement. A tiny bit of relief washed through the room as Blaze and Winds stepped in. “About bloody time,” Mason said. “I was about to take Mike and find you guys.”

  Brody, Patch, and Mason witnessed something they had never seen before. Blaze glared at Winds, ordering without any emotion, “Take a bunk by Ripsaw and strip down. Patch, check his ribs.”

  Winds plodded to the bunk without so much as a word and began undressing while Blaze pivoted and strode out of the room.

  “What happened?” Patch inquired.

  “We found the Chinese delivery man. The poison Blondie got only contained diquat and tetrodotoxin in saline. He indicated he gave Panin enough to kill five men. Doesn’t tell us how much he ingested, though.” Winds shared the only thing which mattered to the rest. On the way back, unfamiliar friction grew between him and Blaze. Aware the discord originated with his cruel words, Winds apologized, but Blaze refused to acknowledge his attempts at reconciliation.

  “Can you give Dan a sedative now?” Brody’s tone held a note of pleading.

  Blondie’s pitiful moans spurred Patch into action. “A mild one. A sufficient amount to take the edge off and put him in a twilight state. That should help with the pain. I can’t knock him out entirely. Too much risk with the toxin’s ability to paralyze the ….” He trailed off seeing the horror on Brody’s face. He injected the sedative and peered at Brody. “Should take effect soon.”

  “Thanks.” Brody slid down next to Dan and continued to bathe his sweating body with a damp cloth.

  Turning to Winds, who was now shirtless, Patch exclaimed, “What the hell happened to you?” His eyes lit on the dark red marking on his torso.

  “One in the vest in the stairwell. I’m sure the ribs are only bruised.” Winds winced as Patch probed, but as expected the medic didn’t find any broken ribs. Following Patch’s instruction, he popped two analgesic pills, washed them down with water, and laid down to rest. Right, like I can go to sleep now.

  Winds pulled the covers over his head, entering his own private hell. My incendiary mouth has finally blown up in my face, and my relationship with Blaze went up in flames. My best friend will never forgive me for my heartless words.

  Still Waters Run Deep

  44

  May 29

  Al Sattar Palace – Reception Room – 8:00 a.m.

  Panin ambled into the tastefully decorated room of his host. Envious of the expensive art and artifacts, he moved towards one of a matching pair of ornate Bergère style gilt chairs with thick cushions and armrests covered in white silk fabric. An octagon-shaped table of intricately carved dark wood with what appeared to be inlaid ivory on the top separated the chairs which had been arranged to face each other for easy conversation.

  As he settled his ample girth comfortably into the chair, Panin thought about the past six hours. After leaving the club’s underground garage, Al Sattar’s guards stopped at their hotel to gather all their belongings. Next, they drove to a secluded location outside of Makhachkala where Panin worried he would be killed and dumped.

  Fortunately, the guards only used the place to enshroud their dead in simple, white cotton cloth and conceal them in watertight storage trunks flagged with diplomatic tags. Upon arriving at the Makhachkala airport, their foreign service designation allowed the entourage to move through security with little attention. The agents didn’t dare search the items tagged with consular seals, so they were unaware the luggage contained dead bodies.

  A smirk appeared as Panin recalled the number of politsia roaming throughout the terminal. Lieutenant Tikhonovich did well, worth the cost of the bribe. Kesar managed to alert all security and supply them with a photo of Maks, the real one, but the cocky son of a bitch did look like him.

  They also possessed a sketch of the massive guard based on his description. The authorities would catch them for sure. He briefly wondered about their real identities but decided it made no difference. The impersonator would likely die of the poison, or he and his hulking man would be thrown in jail.

  Shifting his gaze around the room at the richness, he grinned again. After arranging for a loan from Fakhir’s father, he would be back in business. The next step would be to put a hit out on the fake Maks and the guard who choked him twice. Both would leave prison in a pine box.

  Al Sattar Palace – Security Room – 8:00 a.m.

  Ifran watched the man via a monitor as Panin entered the room and sat down as if he owned the place. Ifran’s eyes narrowed in on the corpulent slob. The man disgusted him.

  Standing next to his cousin Ifran, Jaasir Al Sami said, “Panin possesses no honor and is not fit to clean sewers. Unlike the pretender I allowed to live.” He and Saleet provided a full report upon returning, including his actions which spared the life of the one who fired the shot which killed Fakhir. Emir Umar’s grief over the loss of his youngest son had been painful to witness.

  Taking a moment to observe and collect himself before dealing with the club owner, Ifran understood his role as the eldest son. The unpleasant job of speaking with Savelievich about his brother’s death fell to him. Though the most level-headed one of his brothers, he could be ruthless. He possessed a comprehensive mixture of abilities essential to rule, having been groomed by his father from an e
arly age so he would be prepared to ascend the throne.

  His four brothers appeared less disciplined, and Fakhir was the worst of the lot. Sadly, Ifran could not choose his siblings, and he had never been fond of Fakhir. His brother had been peculiar as a child and unfortunately grew into a dishonorable man with repulsive tendencies, becoming the family’s shame.

  The Emir’s one failure when it came to Fakhir’s predilection was pretending it didn’t exist. Lenient with Fakhir, their father indulged and financed his lifestyle as long as he kept his sexual preferences from public view. At his father’s behest, Ifran tolerated his degenerate brother, but to keep close tabs on him, he assigned cousin Jaasir as one of Fakhir’s security complement.

  Ifran conceded Fakhir fulfilled his side of the bargain by exercising discretion. As far as the public knew, the youngest son of Umar was normal and honorable. Fakhir’s shameful and repugnant habits so far had not besmirched the family. As much as Ifran disliked his dissolute brother, he was still family and of royal blood. His death needed to be avenged. The oily man he viewed now caused the situation which brought about Fakhir’s end and almost exposed their family’s black sheep to the world.

  Fully in command of his emotions, his features a placid lake hiding the turbulent waters below, a skill he used with legendary success in his business dealings, Ifran strode out of the monitoring room. He called over his shoulder, “Come with me, Jaasir. Time to greet our guest.”

  Al Sattar Palace – Reception Room – 8:15 a.m.

  “Panin Savelievich Volkov welcome to my home,” Ifran said cordially in English, having been informed by Jaasir that Savelievich did not speak Arabic. He casually clasped his hand together in front of him.

  Panin remained seated. “King Al Sattar, let me say …”

  Ifran did not allow his irritation that the man did not rise and show respect to mar his veneer. “You are mistaken. I am Sheik Ifran bin Umar Al Sattar, Crown Prince of Oshar. Emir Sheik Umar bin Farid Al Sattar sends his regrets he cannot meet with you. As you might imagine, there are many items he must attend to with Fakhir’s passing. May I offer you refreshment?”