The Start of a Beautiful Friendship

by Tinnean

  As always, this is for Bob, who empties the dishwasher, folds the laundry, picks up takeout, runs the vacuum over the carpet, walks the pup when he visits, takes the car for an oil change, makes the coffee, power washes the lanai, and waters the plants so I have the time to write.

  Acknowledgments

  Many thanks to Tim Mead, Tony, and Gail Morse, whose help is more invaluable than I can say.

  I

  ON JANUARY 7, 1996, it started snowing in New York, and it snowed like a son of a bitch for the next two days. Trust me on this…. I was there at the time.

  Since I was in a hospital room at Good Sam in West Islip, I had my cell phone in etiquette mode, and when it vibrated in my pocket, I knew it was a message from work. No one else called this number. I took it out and checked the text message.

  Yep, it was from the WBIS, the Washington Bureau of Intelligence and Security.

  I grinned at the man lying in the bed, determined not to let him see how concerned I was about his condition. He was hooked up to more machines than a body should have to be.

  My old lady was a Grade A lush who had a tendency to hit the bars and bring home whoever caught her fancy. The guy would stay with us for a day, a week, a month, maybe, and then she’d boot him out. For some reason those men always treated me well and stayed in touch. One was a scoutmaster who taught me French, as well as how to fence. Another was a Portuguese fisherman who showed me the best way to scale a fish, how to handle myself in a knife fight, and how to crochet. According to Tio Ze, a man didn’t have to be defined by labels.

  The man in the bed, an expat Brit, not only introduced me to various methods of self-defense, but he’d seen to it that I had a decent education, even after he left. He got me out of the shithole that had been home from the time I’d been six and sent me to a military academy on Long Island. His name was Bert Greenley, but I’d always called him Uncle Bert, or UB for short. When I’d learned he had cancer and shit insurance, I’d made sure he had the best doctors and the most up-to-date treatment, even though I knew eventually it would just be palliative.

  “I have to take this call, UB.”

  “Go ahead, son,” he rasped. Lately, his British accent had become more noticeable, possibly due to his illness. I wondered if his accent had anything to do with my old lady’s attraction to him. Now that I thought of it, most of her men weren’t from the States to begin with.

  I rested my hand on his arm gently. My own father had disappeared from my life when I was about five. Four? Time had a tendency to blur.

  “I’ll be right back.” I strode out of the room, took the stairs down to the lobby, and went out to the parking lot, which was how I discovered all the snow. “Fuck.”

  This hadn’t been in the forecast when I’d flown up to Long Island a couple of days earlier, so I hadn’t brought along gloves or boots, and the bomber jacket I wore was more suitable for higher temps.

  The snow was already halfway to my knees, but this wasn’t a phone call I could make in a public area. I worked for an agency no one outside the intelligence community knew existed, and those inside the intelligence community wished didn’t exist.

  I trudged to my rental, got in, and turned on the ignition so I could get the heater going and thaw my toes. Goddamn, it was cold! I rubbed my hands together, blew on my fingers, and hit one on speed dial.

  “Mr. Wallace’s office.” I wasn’t surprised both he and his secretary were in on a Sunday. If I hadn’t had to see UB, I’d have been in as well.

  “It’s Vincent.”

  “One moment. He’s been expecting your call.”

  In less than a moment, The Boss—and yeah, that was with caps—came on the line.

  “I have a job for you, Vincent.”

  “Yes, sir.” This wasn’t an ideal time, but nothing, not even the man in the hospital bed, who I cared about, came before the job.

  “The Archbishop has turned up in Prague—”

  The Archbishop ran the terrorist organization known as the Scarlet Chamber. They were both stupid fucking names—he’d probably watched too many James Bond movies—but he still tended to blow up people and buildings governments didn’t want blown up.

  “—and this will be an ideal time for the WBIS to take him out.”

  The Division, an antiterrorist organization with roots in Paris, was supposed to have gotten rid of him a year or so ago, but I guessed not. He must have been lying low until he could turn up like the proverbial bad penny. It would be my pleasure to cancel the son of a bitch with extreme prejudice.

  “A team is waiting for you in Prague. I know you prefer to work alone—”

  I thought I’d made that plain three years earlier, after my idiot partner wound up dead. I’d dealt with the scum suckers who’d tortured and killed him, and then had even more bullshit to deal with back at the WBIS, where senior directors who’d never been out in the field decided I should have another partner. Instead, I’d pitched a fit they still talked about in hushed whispers.

  “—but you’re going to need some men to watch your back.”

  No, I wasn’t, but I could hardly tell The Boss I’d do just fine on my own. I waited to hear what else he had to say.

  “I’ve assigned you Turner, Seaver, Bennett, and Stanley. There’s also a DGSE operative who managed to infiltrate the Scarlet Chamber. Your job—” This wasn’t Mission: Impossible, and there was no question I’d choose to accept it. “—is to erase the Archbishop and get Claude Pluie out of there.”

  “Claude’s a good man.” I’d met him a few years before in Paris, and we played cat and mouse with Sidorov, the old school KGB agent who tended to turn up at the most inconvenient times. Once he’d gathered up his marbles and gone home, Claude and I had some downtime, and so we’d fucked for the rest of the day.

  Yeah, I liked to screw guys. Sue me.

  I stared out the windshield. Visibility was pretty much zero. “Sir, I’ve got a problem here. Have you watched the Weather Channel this afternoon?”

  “Just a second.” I could hear him get up and turn on the small television he kept in a corner of his office. He was silent for a minute, then returned to his desk and said, “Please tell me you’re not in New York.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. I flew in for the weekend.” Bert didn’t have much longer, a few weeks at most.

  “It looks like all the metropolitan airports are shutting down, if they haven’t shut down already.”

  I was afraid of that. “I’ve got a rental. I can drive to Philly or Baltimore….”

  “No, the roads are just as bad. They’re saying the highway rest stops are filling up with stranded travelers.”

  Shit. “I’m sorry, sir. What did you want me to do?”

  “I’ll send Director Sperling to get a handle on the situation.”

  “Uh….” Sperling was one of those directors who’d never worked away from headquarters. “Will he be able to deal with someone of the Archbishop’s caliber?”

  The Archbishop was dangerous in the way a rabid dog was dangerous, and unpredictable in pretty much the same way. Sperling didn’t have the experience necessary to get the job done.

  “I’ll worry about that, Vincent,” The Boss said in his ice-cold voice. “You fly out as soon as you can.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I SPENT the next couple of days at Bert’s bedside, and while he dozed fitfully, I put together the operation—Sperling could play head honcho all he wanted, but this was my op—and hounded UB’s doctors to make sure he wasn’t in pain. As soon as the airports opened, I told him I had to leave.

  “Mark.” His grip was featherlight. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.”

  “Br
ead on the water, UB.” I couldn’t tell him not to talk as if this was the last time he’d see me. He was dying. I covered his hand with mine and cleared my throat. “You’re welcome. I’ll see you as soon as I get back.”

  “Sure, son.”

  I leaned down and kissed his forehead, then walked out.

  It would take me about forty-five minutes to drive to JFK if road conditions and traffic on the Southern State weren’t bad.

  The drive sucked.

  MY FLIGHT took off shortly before a second blizzard hit the area, but that didn’t matter. My attention was focused east, toward Europe and the job.

  II

  THE job—that was a fucking laugh.

  It was supposed to be a simple mission—well, simple for me: fly to Berlin, get to Prague from there, and cancel the man known throughout the intelligence community as the Archbishop.

  Only before I arrived on the scene, everything went south. The Archbishop got away, and the WBIS lost two men. According to Stanley, Seaver and Turner had been shot to ribbons attempting to rescue Bennett, who’d been sent by Sperling into an ambush and was snatched by the Archbishop’s people.

  Bennett had been with them in this building for three days, and I didn’t think he’d be much use to us anymore. Just now, he was curled in a fetal position, a thin line of drool darkening his collar. If he ever recovered from the physical torture—he’d lost an eye, a nipple, a chunk of his ear, and the skin over his right rib cage—he’d wind up in a mental facility funded by the WBIS.

  As for Stanley, he had gotten into a skirmish with the Archbishop’s men—I could see the bloodstains where their bodies had been dragged away—and wound up with a through-and-through gunshot wound to his thigh. He was pale and sweating, and from the way the blood was pooling on the floor beneath him, I had a hunch it might have nicked the femoral artery.

  I crouched beside him and worked my belt free; I’d have to use it as a tourniquet. Stanley grabbed my tie and tugged me close. “He led us into it. I tried to tell him it was a trap, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  “Sperling?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t speak about me as if I’m not here!” Sperling ordered shrilly.

  “Shit.” I ignored him. “What about Claude?” I fastened my belt around Stanley’s thigh and tightened it.

  “No… no clue.”

  “Where’s Pluie?” I asked Sperling.

  “Who?” He looked green, and I wondered if he was about to toss his cookies.

  “The DGSE agent.”

  “What DGSE agent?” But his gaze skittered off mine. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

  “Jesus, all you had to do was cancel the Archbishop and get Claude out of there. Didn’t you have any kind of plan?” Did the Archbishop still have Claude? That wouldn’t be good—the Archbishop’s preferred method of interrogation included forms of medieval torture. If he realized Claude was working undercover, what had happened to Bennett wouldn’t compare to what he’d do to the Frenchman. Rape, castration, eventually being strangled with his own intestines, as my partner had been…. I’d have to go after Claude.

  “Of course I had a plan!” Sperling sputtered. “It was… it was….” He licked his lips, unable to describe whatever he’d planned to do. “It wasn’t my fault things fell apart!”

  This operation should have been a lead-pipe cinch. How could he have fucked it up so badly?

  I shook my head, turned my attention back to Stanley. “I’ll loosen this in fifteen minutes.”

  “Don’t… don’t worry about me.”

  “What makes you think I’m worried? You’re one tough old man.”

  “S-smile when you call me that.” He tried to laugh, and then he was unconscious.

  I rose and glared at Sperling, trying to contain my fury. “Did you call the Cleaners?”

  “N-no. There’s no cell reception here.”

  “Goddamnit!” I’d tell him to get the fuck back to DC, but I needed him to keep watch over Stanley and Bennett. “Okay, I’ll go make the call.”

  “You’re leaving me?” His voice got strident. “Alone?”

  “No, I’m leaving you with Smith & Wesson.”

  “Who….” He licked his lips. “Who are they? I don’t know any agents by that name.”

  Could he be any dumber? “Your gun?”

  He stared at me blankly, and I reached into his suit jacket. His revolver was under his arm. I brought the barrel to my nose and sniffed. The stupid fuck hadn’t even fired it.

  I thumbed off the safety and handed it to him. “Don’t shoot yourself in the foot. If I’m not back in fifteen minutes, loosen Stanley’s tourniquet. As soon as the Cleaners get here, you can go home. I’ll find Pluie and clean up your mess.”

  “My mess?” He tried to look as if he was the one in charge. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Yeah. You’re the son of a bitch responsible for this screw-up.” Two good men dead and two others of no use to the WBIS. I hoped in Stanley’s case it was just for the time being.

  Sperling couldn’t seem to take his gaze from Turner and Seaver. It wasn’t a pretty sight, and that was putting it mildly. Blood was splattered all over the walls, and body parts were missing, either blown to kingdom come or scattered across the floor.

  “What….” Sperling clenched his hand into a fist and swallowed heavily. “What about the bodies?”

  “The Cleaners will deal with them. That’s why they’re called Cleaners. Now stay the fuck alert!” This was an area of Prague that anyone with a brain gave a wide berth. Even their police made a point of avoiding it.

  Sperling looked like he might take umbrage at my words, but then he glanced at the bodies, avoided looking at Stanley and Bennett, and swallowed again.

  Bennett’s eye had a glazed, empty expression—the lights might be on, but no one was home—and Stanley was still unconscious, but I leaned down and said, “I’ll be back. Don’t you fucking die!”

  As Sperling had said, there was no cell reception in this spot. I had to walk three blocks—if I ran, I’d draw attention to myself, but I made that walk briskly—before I got any bars. First I put in a call to the Cleaners, who’d take care of this clusterfuck. I told them where the building was and that we needed medics as well.

  Then I called The Boss.

  “I understand you’re upset, Vincent,” he said after I got through to him and gave a brief rundown of the situation.

  Upset, hell. I was so fucking pissed off I could have chewed nails and spit them out in little pieces. “Why Sperling?”

  “I don’t explain myself to you.”

  “No, sir.” He wasn’t a stupid man. He probably heard the resentment in my voice.

  “All I’ll say is this was my call.”

  Well, it was a bad fucking call. “Turner and Seaver are dead. I left Stanley with a tourniquet around his leg….” I checked my watch. Fucking great. Seventeen minutes. I hoped Sperling had paid attention to the time and loosened my belt. “… and Bennett’s hanging on by a thread.” Jesus. I was a poet and didn’t know it. “God alone knows where Pluie is.”

  “You’re going after him?”

  Did he doubt it? “He’ll be expecting me to haul his ass out of the fire, especially since it shouldn’t have been there anyway. When I get back to the WBIS, I’m taking Sperling apart one piece at a time.”

  “No, Vincent. I’ll deal with Sperling.”

  “Mr. Wallace….”

  “I want you to cool down. Take some time off.”

  “I never take time off.”

  “You will now. Two weeks.”

  Okay, you never said no to The Boss, so I didn’t. But that didn’t mean I liked it, or that I wouldn’t go after Sperling when I got back to DC.

  “We’ll talk when you return. Just keep in mind—Director Sperling is off-limits. Have I made myself clear?”

  “Sir.” I didn’t say yes. Maybe he wouldn’t notice? “I have to get back.”

 
“All right, Vincent. Good luck.” And he hung up.

  III

  THE Cleaners had arrived by the time I walked… briskly… back, and Sperling was gone. “Hold on a minute!” I called, and the two Cleaners, who had the black body bags on gurneys, about to shove them into the meat wagon, stopped.

  “What can we do for you?” the older Cleaner asked.

  “I’m Vincent. I need to verify who you’ve got.”

  He shrugged and stood aside. I unzipped first one body bag and then the other. Yeah, they contained what was left of Turner and Seaver.

  “Okay. You’ll make sure they’re sent back to the States?” That was SOP, but so much had already gone wrong, it wouldn’t have surprised me if my men wound up in a Czech cemetery.

  “We’ll see to it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.” They loaded the bodies into the meat wagon, gave me a little salute, and then entered the vehicle and left the scene.

  I turned to the medics who were looking over Bennett and Stanley.

  “Dunno about this one’s leg. Really sloppy job on the tourniquet,” the medic treating Stanley complained.

  “This one’s got a name,” I snarled, pissed because Sperling had done a piss-poor job. If I thought he’d have held it together, I’d have sent him to make the call to the Cleaners and I’d have stayed, but goddamnit, I couldn’t be in two places at one time.

  “Uh… right. We’ll get them to the clinic, and as soon as they’re stable, we’ll see about shipping them home.”

  “These are my men. Take care of them, or I’ll be coming after you.”

  The medic scowled at me. “Who do you think you are, Mark Vincent?”

  “My reputation has preceded me?” I let the corner of my mouth curl, although I knew it wasn’t a pleasant expression.

  “Vincent, don’t make these guys crazy.” Stanley leaned up on his elbow on the stretcher. “They’ve got the good drugs.”

  “You’re with us again?”