by G. K. Parks
Mercer and Donovan watched the exchange. It was one thing to know that the police force was in Trila’s pocket. It was another to actually see a civilian order an officer of the law to act. Money was the controlling power, especially here.
“You’re free to go,” the detective said. “Mr. Browne will provide us with your contact information. Assume we’ll have plenty of questions later.”
“Let’s go,” Donovan said, dragging Mercer back the way they came before the commander could say or do anything that would get them arrested, killed, or turned over to a foreign power.
“Mercer,” Browne called after them, “is that Alpha?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You nailed that son of a bitch. We’ll talk in my office later.”
Mercer didn’t respond. Alpha was dead. He should feel relief. It was good news to share with Sarina. However, this meant that someone else had been pulling Alpha’s strings — Zed.
Forty-one
“We have a new player on scene,” Donovan said into the phone. As soon as they were out of the subterranean shithole, cell service was restored. “Alpha’s been neutralized.” He grunted a few affirmatives and disconnected.
“We have nothing to go on.” Mercer’s calm demeanor meant the wheels were turning.
“It could be over. With Alpha and Omega eliminated, Zed is out of puppets. He probably cut ties and has gone to ground.”
“Alpha’s need for the protocols bordered on mania,” Mercer said. “Why would Zed walk away without the score?”
“Maybe Alpha’s life was dependent on obtaining the computer data,” Donovan suggested. He monitored the traffic in the rearview mirror. “Did Sarina actually encounter Zed?”
“Yes, but their interaction was limited.” Mercer glanced at the younger man, knowing he had insight to offer.
“How can we safeguard the Porters against a threat that we can’t identify? We had enough trouble discerning if Sarina had even been abducted, and then we had plenty of trouble finding Alpha.” Donovan shook his head. “For once, we need military intelligence to call the plays.” He swallowed. “A state’s weapon systems could be anything from defensive measures to prevent an airstrike to nuclear capabilities. How can these Trila shitheads sell that kind of technology with such an extensive flaw in the design? We’re all fucked.”
“We fight,” Mercer said. “It’s all we can do.”
“Bugger. Now you’re turning into a freaking Pollyanna. That’s never good.” They continued the drive in silence for a time before Donovan asked, “Should we go straightaway to the hotel?”
“Yes. If Zed comes to us, it would make this less complicated.”
“It depends on the amount of firepower he brings with him.”
Despite their hopes that the mysterious Zed would make an appearance and put this entire situation to rest, no one followed them back to the hotel. The room remained secure. Bastian had torn down most of their work; he needed a clean slate to compile the new information. And Hans had the television on. To the untrained eye, it would appear that he was deeply enthralled in the program, but Mercer knew better. Hans was evaluating their location from a tactical standpoint, imagining how he would conduct a breach.
“Where are our guests?” Donovan asked.
“Inside,” Hans said, not bothering to turn his head. After he finished his mental assessment of the tactical weaknesses of their current position, he turned to Mercer. “Are we working for those sods at Trila now?”
“No,” Mercer replied.
“Except we are,” Hans retorted, embittered by this fact. “We don’t have a choice. It’s tangled together. Serve the greater good. Straighten out the karmic scale.” He gave Bastian a disgusted look. “Did I miss anything?”
“Nope,” Bastian smirked, not letting his friend’s annoyance deter him, “that covers it.” Pushing away from the desk, Bastian picked up a sheet of hotel stationary. “Here’s the list of things our guests want from their home. Shall we?”
* * *
The Porters’ home remained undisturbed. Despite Mercer’s assumption that Trila would have conducted a search to determine where their wayward employee had gone after the break-in, there were no signs of tampering. However, the guards at the post would have reported any activity on the premises had they returned after the failed heist. Mercer looked at them again, annoyed by their incompetence in allowing Sarina to be taken in the first place.
After collecting the items on the list and a few that she was probably too modest to request, Mercer and Bastian gave the perimeter a final sweep, checked whatever parts of the security system Mercer hadn’t dismantled in a paranoid fit, and left. As they made their way through the streets, Bastian noticed a tail behind them. He performed a few unplanned turns to make sure they were being followed.
“How do you want to handle this?” Bastian asked, hoping Mercer didn’t want to risk a shootout in the middle of a crowded street.
“Let’s pay Mr. Browne a visit,” Mercer replied. He remained outwardly impassive, but Bastian noticed that the handgun now rested on Mercer’s lap.
When they stopped in front of the Trila building, the car that had been following them double-parked. Mercer opened the door, prepared for the worst, but instead, he was met by a professional nod from the detective he encountered earlier that morning in the sewers.
“Nice driving,” the detective said. “You saved me the trouble of having to track you down. I was on my way to speak to Mr. Browne. You might as well join us.”
Bastian watched the exchange with a morbid fascination but followed Mercer’s lead and remained silent.
Unlike their previous visits to the Trila building, this time, the kidnapping specialists weren’t treated with outward hostility. The detective spoke to the receptionist, offering his credentials, and waited patiently for the guards to escort them to Browne’s office. No one demanded Mercer’s weapon or asked for any identification. Even Bastian, whom they had detained, was treated like a guest.
“Ah,” Browne stood, “just the men I wanted to see.” He waited for the three to enter, and then he shut the door to his office, returning to the spot behind his desk. “Detective Maxwell, do you have what I requested?”
Maxwell pulled a sealed envelope from his pocket. “We took fingerprints and determined the cause of death, but before we could conduct any other tests, the body was claimed by diplomats. Since it was located inside the sealed door, the state department ruled that it was on embassy property, and since the deceased is a foreign national, we have no jurisdiction.” The cop turned to Mercer. “What can you tell me about the body?”
Mercer snorted, amused by the quick headshake that Browne made. “Nothing.”
“Why were you in that tunnel?” Detective Maxwell asked. He opened a manila folder. “In the past week, you’ve been arrested for grand theft auto and wanted in connection with numerous crimes that happened on this property.” He shifted his focus to Bastian. “You’ve been inside our holding cells on two separate occasions. Are you trying for a third?”
“Do you have a punch card?” Bastian asked. “Is my next visit free?”
Browne cleared his throat. “These men are currently in Trila’s employ. Those prior incidents were miscommunications and need not see the light of day.” Browne lifted the envelope. “This is everything?”
“It’s everything I could get. You have more pull and vaster resources. They’ll serve you better in this situation than I can.” Maxwell nodded at Mercer and Bastian. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but when this is over, I don’t want to have another run-in with any of you.” Giving the group a curt nod, he let himself out of the office.
“The detective followed us from the Porters’ estate,” Mercer said. “He knows more than he’s letting on.”
“Don’t we all?” Browne retorted. He tore open the envelope, pulling out the data the police department had on the body. Pointing to a photo, he asked, “Is this Alpha?”
Mercer nodded without looking. “Whoever executed him might pose a threat to the Porters.”
“And Trila,” Browne added. “Do you know who did this?”
“A third party,” Bastian said. “According to Mrs. Porter, three men were responsible for her abduction. That’s the only information we have.”
“Is that true?” Browne asked, leering at Mercer.
“Yes.”
“Okay,” Browne clicked a few keys at his computer, “I’ll deal with this matter.”
“How?” Bastian asked. “If those protocols get into the wrong hands, the situation could be disastrous. Large-scale destruction.” He placed his palms on Browne’s desk, leaning forward and towering over him. “I don’t believe a pencil-pushing pissant like yourself knows how to deal with this.” He slammed his palms against the desk for emphasis. “What are you going to do?”
“I remember you,” Browne said. “You were the friendly one until we roughed up your buddy.” He nodded his head. “Admirable really. But stupid. You might be former SpecOps, but I’ve been handling security at Trila for a long time. This isn’t the first time the stakes were this high. I doubt it’ll be the last. Don’t you think there’s a reason we have the security personnel we do? We can handle it.”
“So be it,” Mercer said. “Until you deliver proof of Zed’s demise, we’ll guard the Porters. Do not interfere.”
“Zed,” Browne smiled, “interesting codename. It might prove useful.” He looked up at Bastian. “You’re dismissed, soldier.”
Mercer grabbed Bastian’s arm before he could take a swing at Browne. It was obvious whatever occurred the night of their botched heist had left a bad taste with Hans and Bastian.
“Not here. Not now,” Julian whispered, yanking Bastian away from the desk and back to the door.
Neither man spoke until they were back at the hotel. Bastian went to the computer, immediately returning to the task of identifying Zed. It was personal now. It was a matter of dignity that Mercer’s team find Zed before those blowhards at Trila. However, after a few hours of hitting nothing but dead ends, Bastian slammed the laptop shut.
“What’s wrong?” Sarina asked. She had changed into her own clothes, and her spirits seemed higher than they had been. “Is the house okay? Are we safe?”
“The house is secure.” Mercer took a seat next to her. “Trila is doing everything they can to find Zed. They want to put a stop to this.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Logan asked.
“We don’t know that they can,” Mercer said.
Forty-two
“You’re making yourself crazy,” Mercer said. He reached over and ripped the cigarette out of Bastian’s mouth. “This is rubbish.” He broke it into pieces and tossed it into the trash receptacle.
“It wasn’t even lit. This bloody hotel doesn’t allow smoking in the rooms,” Bastian replied, angrily clicking the mouse in the hopes of making it cooperate.
“Lighter.” Mercer held out his hand. Reluctantly, Bastian handed him the Zippo. “Report.”
Bastian muttered a slew of derogatory comments, letting out his frustration. Then he spun the computer around. “Zilch. Nada. Nothing,” he huffed. “I’ve gone through the Porters’ security feed again. I even had Logan and Sarina review it. We can’t identify Zed. There are two men on the feed. Two. One is Omega. We don’t even know if the other is Zed. He might have been the driver, but we can’t access that feed. Or it’s shit. Useless shit.”
“What about the embassy information that Donovan’s contact leaked to us?” Mercer asked.
“More shit. I can run every person through facial recognition. The damn footage doesn’t even show Jorgen Black. And since we don’t know Alpha’s real name or any of his other aliases, I don’t know if we have any hits on him. I could be staring at him right now and not know it.”
“Take a break.”
“Jules,” Bastian pushed away from the desk and picked up an empty bag of pretzels, searching for a missed crumb, “we’re chasing a ghost. If it weren’t for Alpha’s body, I’d say Zed doesn’t exist.”
“Take a break, and when you have fresh eyes, conduct a threat assessment. If Zed’s gone, we don’t need to stick around.” He clapped Bastian on the shoulder before returning to the kitchen to see if his other teammates had made any progress.
“The embassy has tightened its security,” Donovan said. “Johann won’t risk our communications being intercepted, so he’s gone radio silent. It appears that Alpha was an embassy employee, and he used the tunnels as his own personal entrance. It’s how he smuggled you and Sarina inside.”
“I made some calls. Diplomatic passport records are being checked for the time of the other two Alpha abductions. Assuming our intelligence friends get a few hits, we might know Alpha’s identity soon. It could lead to Zed,” Hans added.
“Good work.” Mercer slumped into a chair. “It’s no wonder Alpha was so pompous. He picked a completely secure location to hold his hostage.”
“Clearly, he didn’t count on Donovan’s mate breaking you out,” Hans offered. “From the sound of it, he didn’t count on taking a bullet to the back of the head either.”
“The shot wasn’t precise,” Donovan interjected. “Normally, at that range, it would be at the base of the skull or higher on the head. This was in between. It doesn’t seem professional.”
“Zed’s a lousy shot,” Hans replied. “He probably orders others to conduct his hits.” He narrowed his eyes. “It’s weird that he left the body. It’s a sewer. How difficult would it be to dump it in one of the outflow tunnels?”
“It was probably safer to leave him on embassy property. The locals would never be involved, and it was unlikely anyone else knew of the tunnels,” Mercer said.
Bastian cursed loudly, slamming the chair against the desk before joining the group in the other room. “Jules, you thought you spotted a camera inside that booby-trapped building. I want to check it out.” Mercer moved to stand, and a sharp pain spread through his torso. Grunting, he grasped the table. “Whoa, easy.” Bastian’s eyes honed in on the growing bloodstain on Mercer’s shirt. “You’re not going anywhere. You ripped a stitch.”
“A few, from the looks of it,” Hans added. “I spotted a sewing kit in the loo.”
“I’m fine,” Mercer said, pushing away from the table. “I’ll deal with this when we return.”
“Stay. I’ll go,” Donovan offered. “The Porters need protection, remember?”
“Careful,” Mercer called to their retreating backs. Taking the needle and thread from Hans, Mercer grabbed a few additional supplies, removed his shirt, and settled at the table. “Have you updated Logan and Sarina?”
“They’re aware of the situation,” Hans said, watching Mercer thread the sterilized needle and push it through his skin. “Do you want help with that?”
“I’ve got it.”
“In that case, I’d prefer not to watch.”
Biting his lip, Mercer continued to thread a few additional stitches in his side. It felt like hell, and he knew having to remove the thread after the wound healed would be just as painful. Sometimes, it would be nice to live a normal life, but that option had been taken away from him long ago.
The sounds of Sarina’s laughter filled the suite, and Logan chortled. A flash of rage shot through Mercer, but he tamped it down. They were happy because of his team. Struggling not to allow his own foul mood to sour everyone else’s, he finished the stitches, bit the end of the thread, and cleaned up the mess. He had just picked up his shirt when the Porters entered the room.
“My god,” Logan said, “should we call a doctor?”
“I’m fine,” Mercer said, stumbling slightly.
“Lie down,” Logan insisted, ducking beneath Mercer’s arm. “You’ve done enough for us today.” Helping Mercer to the couch, he nodded at Hans. “We’re not invalids. We can help. Tell us what we can do.”
“Can you make the phone ring?” Hans asked. “Because we’re
waiting on intel. Until then, there’s nothing any of us can do.”
“I’ll get you something to eat,” Sarina offered. She looked at the two men. “Pizza?”
“Sounds lovely,” Hans said.
“Irish whiskey,” Mercer replied, annoyed that he was made to look weak in front of the people that hired him.
“Neat?” Logan asked, searching through what was left in the mini-bar.
“Yes,” Mercer responded.
Hans requested a Guinness from the stash that Bastian had purchased, and the four of them sat down to share a meal. It was the first normal thing that had happened since Sarina’s rescue, and soon, the Porters were sharing personal stories as if Julian and Hans were their lifelong friends.
“Wait,” Hans said, “you met here?”
“After my transfer,” Logan said, “I didn’t know anyone. I worked all the time. So I never had a chance to meet anyone outside the office. One night, I went into this dive bar after work.” A big, goofy grin erupted on his face, and he winked at his wife. “There you were in that neon pink sundress and the stupid hat.”
“Hey, it was vacation. I just got my MBA and treated myself to a quiet trip. It’s not my fault geography wasn’t my strong suit.” She returned his smile, downing another mouthful of some flavored vodka concoction that made Mercer grimace. “I met you and never left.”
“C’est la vie,” Logan said. They shared a quick kiss. He looked down, seeing her bandaged hand, and the nauseating sweetness plummeted into sadness and anger. “We can pack up and leave. You have family and a life elsewhere. We can escape this. Start over.” He looked at Mercer. “Now that Sarina’s safe, wouldn’t it be best for us to leave?”
That question had been asked a dozen times in the last two days. “From what I gather, Zed wants to remain protected. If getting to the two of you is easy, he might try it.” Mercer put his glass down, noticing the four empty miniature whiskey bottles. He didn’t mean to drink so much, and he was relieved that Hans had shown restraint. “But if you truly plan to walk away from the life you have here and can avoid Trila, your friends, co-workers, and everyone that connects to you, it would be a safe move.”
