by Jack Mars
“Half up front,” Speck said. “Half on delivery.”
“Of course. I’ll give you the numbers of my anonymous account. You know how things are these days. Everything is at the touch of a button. When I see the first half appear, I’ll turn on a GPS unit that I’ll bring with me to the pickup. Then you guys follow me there. It’ll be like I’m dropping bread crumbs. But be forewarned. I’m not going to be alone, and you’re not going to be the only one watching from the sky. So whatever you put in place, you’d better be able to camouflage it, then hit very hard.”
Speck didn’t speak. He let the silence draw out between them.
It sounded… fine. He could put a dozen men on this problem at short notice. They would be hard hitters, all right—merciless, fast, the kind who attacked without warning or hesitation. And Speck could move the money. Two and a half million was a lot of cash, of course. But in big picture terms, it really was a bargain.
Besides, the man would never live to see the other half.
“Speck?”
“You’ve made a reasonable request,” Speck said. “But I need to talk to a couple of people, and a couple of hours to put it together. You know, making bank transfers with that kind of—”
“Come on, Speck. This isn’t Citibank. You know as well as I do how fast that money can move. This is all happening tonight. I can tell you where it’s going down, or I don’t have to. You could be hanging from your belt by tomorrow morning.”
Speck grunted. The man seemed impatient, and possibly as if he had anger management problems. There might be a way to use that against him.
“Consider it done,” he said.
“That’s better,” the voice said. “The man you’re looking for is in Montreal. We’re going there tonight. There will be three of us. I’m the driver. Have your people ready to pick up my signal as soon as we land. But I want you to understand something. I’ve been at this a long time. In all my years, I’ve never taken a bullet. I’m hard to kill. Don’t even dream of double-crossing me.”
Speck smiled. It made sense. Of course it did. The man was a special operator who’d probably been in combat many times. And he claimed he’d never once been shot.
But there was always a first time.
“If you’re concerned about that, why don’t you just give me the man’s exact location, stay home and out of harm’s way, and I’ll take care of everything?”
“Believe me,” the voice said, “I would do that if I could. The man is being clever. He won’t tell us where to meet him until we arrive in the city. I imagine he wants to get a look at us first. He requested special couriers to collect and deliver him, so he probably wants to make sure he’s getting what he ordered.”
“Tedious,” Speck said.
“You know how some people are,” the voice said. “They make everything harder than it needs to be.”
“Suppose he’s not there,” Speck said. “Suppose he leaves you waiting at the altar. What about my money in that case?”
“That’s just a chance you’ll have to take,” the voice said. “And the chance I’m taking is that one of your goons accidentally decides to shoot me. I can promise you if that happens, I won’t be happy.”
“My friend, you have nothing to worry about,” Speck said.
CHAPTER FORTY
June 29
12:05 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time
Montreal-Saint Hubert Airport
Longueuil, Quebec
Canada
The guy from Executive Armor met them with the car.
“That’s a beautiful thing,” Ed Newsam said.
Luke couldn’t agree more. It was a big black gleaming Mercedes SUV. The front grille looked like a malevolent smile. All four doors were open.
Murphy, making himself useful, placed an SRT gym bag full of guns and loaded magazines on the floor behind the driver’s seat.
Luke was in a good mood. The three-hour nap on Don’s cot was the best sleep he’d gotten in a long time. The plane ride had been easy and quick. For the first time in days, things were looking up. He had taken a painkiller, plus half a Dexie to even out the sedative effects. He felt pretty sharp.
They were at a tiny private airport ten miles east of Montreal. The place was little more than a runway, a taxiway, some hangars, and a small terminal building, currently closed for the night. The SRT plane was parked behind them, lights blinking, reflecting off the ground. The tarmac was wet and slick. It must have rained here at some point.
“Excellent,” the rep from Executive Armor said. He was a young guy with dark hair. He was broad with gym muscles and wore a tight-fitting dress shirt and jeans, as though he planned to hit the nightclubs as soon as this delivery was complete.
“Very good car,” he said and made a circle with his thumb and forefinger. As he spoke, his French accent became obvious. English was not his first language, and whoever taught him to speak it had forgotten to mention verbs.
The guy gestured at the car with both hands.
“Entire cabin armored, ballistic plate. Very heavy, rated high-power rifle, armor-piercing bullets. Entire roof, same. Entire floor, stronger, withstand roadside bombs. All windows, multi-layer ballistic glass. Can’t open. Always closed.”
He raised a finger in the air. “Windows very strong, but not forever. Many shots coming…” He shrugged. “Drive away.”
Luke laughed. That was the best piece of advice he’d heard in some time. If people keep shooting your car, what are you sitting around for? Just drive away. It made perfect sense. Also, he really liked the car. He enjoyed hearing about the specs, but he hoped they weren’t going to need any of this. Was this what the world had come to? You could rent your own armored car, and they’d bring it right to you.
The man waved at the tires. “Run flats. Shot full of holes, keep going. Gas tank armored. Battery, armored. Radiator protected, behind hood.”
He nodded, as if to himself. “Best car we have.”
Luke, Ed, and Murphy stood around the guy in a rough semicircle.
“All right, Murph,” Luke said. “Looks like you’re driving.”
“So you like?” the guy said.
“We love it,” Ed said. “We wish we were buying it.”
The guy smiled.
“You buy, I get you very good price.”
CHAPTER FORTY ONE
12:25 a.m. Eastern Daylight Time
Kondiaronk Belvedere, Mont Royal Park
Montreal, Quebec
Canada
“What’s the story?” Lawrence Keller said into the phone.
He was nervous. This meeting was supposed to take place at midnight. They were late, and he’d already been here nearly an hour. He was at the top of Mont Royal, standing on the broad concrete patio overlooking the tall buildings of downtown Montreal and the Old Port behind them. It was an astonishing view. The city was lit up like Las Vegas.
It was a good spot to meet. The plaza wasn’t crowded, but there were still plenty of people up here, mostly groups of young people and couples, some walking around, some sitting along the wall, chatting, laughing, holding hands. If you wanted to murder someone, this wasn’t the first spot you’d pick.
“Don?” he said. “I’m hanging out here with my ass in the breeze.”
“Let me check the status,” Don Morris said into his ear. Keller could hear him talking to another person. “Swann, what’s the status?”
A deep male voice said something in the background. Then Morris came back on.
“They’re coming up the hill now. A couple of delays with the landing, a little delay with the armored car, now they’re there. Where exactly are you?”
“I’m at Kondiaronk Belvedere. It’s a little plaza that—”
“I know the place,” Morris said. “I’ll tell them.”
“There will be signs for it on the park road,” Keller said, but Morris didn’t respond.
A long moment passed. Keller’s eyes scanned the kids, the young guys with their t
hick beards, white girls wearing dreadlocks, tattoos, book bags and long skateboards in evidence, the smell of clove cigarettes and marijuana on the air…
None of these people were a threat. But threats could walk up out of nowhere.
“They’ve just arrived,” Don Morris said. “Be cool, relax, let them do their thing, okay? Everything they do is for your safety.”
“Is it the same men?” Keller said. “The men that saved David’s daughter?”
“It is. Their names are Stone and Newsam. Newsam is the black guy. He’s as big as the mountain you’re standing on. Stone is the other one.”
Across the way, a black SUV with high intensity xenon headlights drove slowly up one of the walking paths. It bumped over the curb and pulled onto the stone plaza. Its appearance caused the buzz of conversation to increase in volume a few notches. Did the young lovers and pot smokers and dreamers approve, disapprove, or think that the cops had suddenly come? It was impossible to tell.
Three men got out of the car. Two of the men made an immediate line for Keller. There was something disconcerting about that. They moved quickly, like sharks converging on a hunk of meat. Behind them, Keller saw the third man take up a position near the open rear door of the SUV. Keller caught the flash of a gun in the man’s hand, something bigger than a pistol, a machinegun, maybe an Uzi or an MP5.
Then the other two were nearly on top of him. The black man walked with a silver cane and a pronounced limp. His pant leg was cut off below the thigh. His thigh and knee were dressed in heavy bandages, making it impossible for him to bend that leg. He came in like a thunderstorm, or a tornado. It was hard to take your eyes off him. His face was surprisingly youthful. He could be one of these kids on the plaza himself.
“Mr. Keller?” the other one said. He had materialized right in front of Keller’s eyes. He was tall, with short blond hair and the beginnings of a beard. He might have been in his thirties. He was ruggedly handsome, in the way of a model for a cigarette ad. His face said he was tired, but his eyes looked alert, almost on fire. It was an odd combination.
“Yes?”
“I’m Agent Stone, this is Agent Newsam. Don Morris sent us to get you. I’m going to frisk you, and I’m going to confiscate any weapons you have on you. Is that understood?”
“I need—”
“No you don’t,” the big one, Newsam, said.
“Listen, I was in the Marines,” Keller said.
“Was is the operative word,” Newsam said. “When was that, before I was born?”
Keller shrugged. “Probably.”
“I’m going to guess your training has gone a little stale.”
Stone was already frisking him. He found the Sig Sauer more or less instantly. He took the magazine out, pocketed it, and checked the round for a chamber. “Nice gun. Is this the only weapon?”
Keller nodded. “Yes.”
Stone continued to search him, his hands expertly roaming Keller’s body.
“I just told you yes.”
He nodded. “I know. This is how we establish some trust. We’ve got a car ride, a plane ride, and a helicopter ride ahead of us. You told me that’s the only weapon. If it turns out to be true, already I feel a little better about you.”
“Okay,” Keller said.
Stone finished searching him. “Who do you have on the phone there?”
“Uh, it’s your boss.”
Stone took the phone. “Don Morris, the living legend,” he said. He listened and smiled. “We’re here, we have acquired the subject, and good Lord willing, we’ll be on our way home very soon. Please tell Swann to keep his eyes on us.”
He listened again.
“Okay, signing off.”
He looked at Keller. Then he looked at the phone in his hand.
“Is this a burner?”
Keller nodded. “Yes.”
“Good man. You won’t need it anymore.” He dropped it to the stone pavement, stomped on it several times, and kicked the remnants of it apart.
Keller looked at the two men. Newsam was scanning the crowd for threats. He wore a large Hawaiian shirt with one sleeve cut away to accommodate what looked like more wound dressings. His free hand was inside the shirt.
“Where’s your car?” Stone said.
“I left it at my flat,” Keller said. “I took the bus up here. Nobody gets murdered on the city bus.”
Stone nodded. “Good. Then we can just leave it there.”
“But I do need to go home first,” Keller said.
Stone’s shoulders slumped.
“No you don’t,” the big man said.
Keller nodded and looked at them both. “Yes, I do. I don’t have any of my stuff with me. I didn’t want to be a pack mule up here, weighed down and exposed. I need a few things. Most important, I don’t have the recording with me. I thought it best if I left it at the flat.”
“How far is your flat?” Stone said.
Keller shrugged. “Five minutes. It’s in Old Montreal, right down at the bottom of the hill. I live two blocks from all the nightlife.”
* * *
He could have killed them all.
Stone, Newsam, and Keller had been standing in a little group on the plaza. Stone and Newsam even had their backs to him. With the MP5, Murphy could have easily mowed the three of them down in a couple of seconds.
That would have done Wallace Speck’s dirty work, but it would have left Kevin Murphy with a conundrum. How to escape?
He sighed. The night was full of conundrums.
He eased the Mercedes down the winding park road and back onto the Montreal city streets. They were on Peel Street, a wide avenue right in the heart of McGill University and a busy bar scene. There were swarms of people out on the boulevard, doing summer night pub crawls. There were a lot of cars headed in each direction.
“Swann, how are we looking?” Stone said from the back seat. He and Ed had given Keller the front passenger seat so they could keep an eye on him. Any false moves from Keller, and they could incapacitate him very quickly from behind.
Swann was the eye in the sky. He was watching via real time satellite, and he was talking on a satellite phone. Stone had him on the speaker phone feature.
“There’s so much traffic on the streets, it’s impossible to say for sure. I don’t see anything moving in a pattern, I don’t see anything shadowing you. I don’t see anyone leapfrogging. But with hundreds of cars to choose from, I just don’t know.”
They moved slowly along with the night traffic.
“Murph?” Stone said. “Anything?”
Murphy shrugged. “Nothing jumps out at me. Just all these kids going to bars. I think we’re good.”
For Murphy, opportunity had knocked today. He had decided to join Stone at the Special Response Team not because he liked Stone. He didn’t. And he hadn’t joined because he liked the idea of police work. Frankly, crime was more appealing. All he had wanted was to come in from the cold for a little while, get a steady paycheck, get some health insurance, and maybe obtain access to inside information. Government spooks always knew where the big scores were.
And just like that, a very big score, the biggest of his life, had landed in his lap. This guy Keller was worth a mint. The trick was to make sure he fell into the hands of Speck’s people, or died, and yet still walk away as a hero of sorts, or at least someone above suspicion. He had checked his account, and Speck had been as good as his word. As of this moment, Murphy was $2.5 million wealthier than he had been this afternoon.
The thought nearly made him lose his breath.
Give them Keller, collect the second half of the money, and disappear. That was the entire game right now.
“You know,” Swann said. “You guys must have a GPS transponder in that car. You’re giving off a signal that I’m picking up. I don’t even need to watch you. I could plot your location on a map just by tracking the signal.”
Murphy nodded. He was the signal, but he wasn’t going to tell them that.
>
“It makes sense, Swann,” he said. “This thing is an expensive ride to start with. It’s loaded with probably a hundred grand in armor upgrades. I’d say the company tracks it because they don’t want to lose it.”
“Yeah,” Swann said. “It does make sense.”
“Turn left up ahead,” Keller said. “There at the end of this block.”
Murphy made the turn down a narrow one-way street. They were out of the university and moving down toward the river, into the Old City. More bars down here, more pedestrians, streets crazy with drunk people. He drove along for a few blocks.
“Okay, now a right.”
Murphy turned down an even narrower street, this one made of cobblestones. The tires were hard, and the stones made a low bass rumble under the car. Two-hundred-year-old three- and four-story buildings hemmed them in on either side. Cars were parked along the curbside, making the street even narrower.
When were Speck’s people going to hit? They had to be closing in by now, no matter what Swann said. Murphy was driving barely faster than a crawl. He seemed like he was nosing the car through busy nighttime traffic, being prudent, and he was doing that. He was also giving Speck all the time in the world to set up the hit.
“Come on, Speck,” he wanted to say, but didn’t. “Let’s get this over with.”
“This is it,” Keller said. “The white building with the red door in front. My place is on the third floor. I can be in and out of there in five minutes.”
Murphy pulled up in front of the building. It was an old brick construction, painted bright white. There was some sort of boutique house wares store on the street level, large glass display windows facing the street.
This street, man… It was very narrow, like a slot canyon. Murphy almost couldn’t get over it. It was the perfect spot for an ambush.
He unlocked the doors.
“Murph,” Stone said. “Do me a favor and keep the motor running, okay? I think we’re fine, but let’s run it like the real thing.”
Murphy nodded. “You got it, chief. But don’t be long up there or you might find me in one of these bars talking to the French girls.”
