Discoveries (Mercenaries Book 5)

by Tony Lavely

  “Wait a minute!” Amy said. “Well, no, keep going. But… Lisa,” she hollered, “bring me that bag from Else, please?”

  In a moment, Lisa tossed a fabric sack to Amy, who reached in and pulled out… Beckie would have laughed, except for the tape and the pain. Amy was holding a flimsy bra, as near to transparent as could be.

  “Here, Mom. Can you get this on her? Else sized it off one Maurice found, so it should fit.”

  Millie finished the taping before unhooking Beckie’s bra and replacing it with the new one.

  “It’s not really my style, you know.”

  Any sneered. “No one but you and Ian would know that, though. Else chose it to give anyone who might be looking something besides the bra to leer at.”

  “It ought to succeed at that,” she said ruefully, looking down at her essentially exposed breasts. “Why would Else care about… distracting, I guess⁠—”

  “That underwire thing? It’s a tracker that senses when it’s near a WIFI base station. She says it lurks until it can mimic a station already on the network, then transmits little bursts until it’s sent its location. It repeats randomly as long as it has WIFI. Battery’s good for a week.”

  “That’s cool. How do we hear it?”

  “Else gave Lisa an iPad with the software and ID’s already installed, so as long as we don’t let that battery go dead…” She hefted the bag. “Don’t worry, you won’t be alone. She made me one, too. And Lisa, but I made her leave hers at home.”

  “Well, three things,” Beckie said. “Tell Else thanks if I don’t get to do it first. What motivated her to do this? And you will not be needing yours any more than Lisa will!”

  Amy had already doffed her shirt and was swapping her bra for an elaborately embroidered one that was no more concealing than Beckie’s. When Beckie gave her a what-is-that? look, she said, “This is one of Dylan’s favorites. So I had Else add the tracker. And what do you mean, I won’t need it? You don’t think you’re going into Monaco alone?” She made a final adjustment and grabbed her shirt.

  “That’s exactly what I think! If Millie will stop with the tape and give me a pain killer that won’t make me even more confused. The ones Shakti gave me for my arm should be fine.”

  “Sorry,” Amy said. “That’s what we call a bad decision. Not the pain killers but going by yourself. Even if you can slip me, what about Sam, and Ben and Gillian? And Willie?”

  “What’s Willie doing? And you left out Karen and Derek.”

  “Karen’s going to be flying soon. She’s getting the hell out of here. Derek hasn’t gotten away from that guy… the one met you on the way to the car. We saw Willie, out on the tarmac guarding us.”

  Yeah, that’s Willie.

  Millie ripped off the tape and folded a little tab at Beckie’s hip.

  “Thanks, Millie. I’m glad to have the end where I can reach it.”

  “Since the note says ‘alone,’ I figure no one’s going to be able to help you.” She gave Amy a stern look. “Behave yourself. I’ll be out front where I can see the monitors on them. By the way, no useful info from the blood tests, yet.”

  “So we still don’t know what’s affecting them?”

  Millie nodded and left.

  “Okay,” Amy said, “do we have a plan?”

  “A plan for getting me into Monaco alone?” Beckie leaned against the bulkhead. “I’ll bet you a bottle of that good champagne you like that I can get a taxi outside the terminal and be there in less than an hour.”

  “Well, we were talking⁠—”

  “Who?”

  “Sam, Ben, Gillian and me. Lisa too, but she was more listening. Anyway, our plan is for Sam to drive you to Casino Place and drop you at the Cafe de Paris. Lisa will be with you, but she’ll stay with Sam, using the tablet to track you and me.

  “Gillian will drive the other car, with Ben and me. She’ll drop me off nearby⁠—”

  “No. I want Ben to stay with Willie, guarding the plane. Even if Karen’s leaving, they can watch for things. Gillian drops you and then?”

  “She joins up with Sam and Lisa and they watch where your tracker goes. If you get in a car, Sam will follow while Gillian picks me up. If you stay on foot, I’ll use my stealthy skills to follow; Sam and Gillian will just wait unless we get close to out of range.”

  Millie poked her head around the doorframe and tossed Beckie a small bottle. “Two to start, then one every four hours. No more than that.” When Beckie nodded, the doctor disappeared again.

  Amy twisted to fill a paper cup and handed it over Ian. Beckie gulped her pills, then said, “Okay.” She read the note again, both sides, but there was nothing more to say. Either we go and try to save them, or we watch them die. Tough choice.

  As Beckie heaved herself to stand, Karen looked in. “Good. Patrice called and said everything is fine with them. Since you’re not staying, we’ll head off, toward Marseille probably. We’ll be able to get back pretty quickly, when you’re ready. Patrice’ll stay where he is.”

  “Sounds reasonable. Thanks.”

  She and Amy followed Karen into the cabin. Karen went on to arrange her departure, while Beckie collected her team, grateful for their willingness to stick with her. After asking Ben to stay with Karen and Willie and the others aboard the plane, she climbed into the back of Sam’s car while Lisa took the front seat.

  Gillian’s car clung to Sam’s bumper all the way to Monaco. Beckie huddled in the back seat waiting for the drugs to kick in. She recalled the delay the couple times she’d missed one before; she gritted her teeth and allowed fear for Ian to wash over her.

  “You’ll go straight in, and we’ll wait til closing, right Mrs Jamse?”

  She popped her head up from the despair. “Thanks, Sam. I’m back now. Yeah. If we need to. Did anyone check when that is?”

  In a surprisingly faint voice, Lisa said, “Two AM according to the web site.”

  Glad to have something to take her attention, Beckie wondered for a second if she should bring up Cori. She decided not and leaned up between the front seats. “What’s the problem, Lise?”

  The girl stared at her tablet, silent, for a moment. She looked out through the windshield where the car’s headlamps were lighting the way. Finally, she said, “I’m scared. That’s all.”

  Beckie gave a little snort, but before Lisa could take it the wrong way, Beckie said, “For you? For me or Amy? Actually, doesn’t matter, the answer’s the same for all of us. The team.

  “For a minute, I thought about trying to do it alone. You know, grab a taxi and send all you guys off to wherever with Karen so you’d be safe. Until Amy slapped me upside the head⁠—figuratively!⁠—and told me what you guys had put together for a plan. Sounded a hell of a lot better than my plan, when I thought about it.

  “So you’ll be here with Sam, and he’ll make sure you two are okay. As for Amy and me, we’ve got you as our guardian angel, watching over us and our wispy bras.”

  Sam made a funny gagging sound. Beckie laughed and said, “Didn’t you get to see them? I have to admit, I liked Amy’s a little better than mine; Dylan’s got good taste.” She turned back to Lisa. “Did you hear why Else decided to go into electronic lingerie?”

  The girl twisted around in the seat to stare at Beckie. “Kinda, I think. At least, Amy and I were telling her about when Leonid called to say you’d gone missing. I don’t speak German, but it sure sounded like she was swearing up a blue streak. Finally she stopped and asked Amy if Doctor Ardan had given her the bag. I guess she’d been worried for a while about you running off or getting captured… Sorry, I know you’re the boss and all, but⁠—”

  “A healthy dose of cynicism will stand you in good stead. Don’t forget, I allowed you to get yourself sliced and shot; you may rest assured I take as good care of me as I do you.”

  Lisa rubbed her chest where Beckie remembered the scar. “Yeah. Anyway, she was worried about you, and Amy said she’d been playing with the idea for a wearable
tracker for a while. She made ones for Amy and I, and we tested them around the Nest before we left. I guess she made yours and Amy’s new one and gave them to Doctor Ardan to bring here in case we needed them.”

  “Wow. I will have to thank her when I get back.”

  Sam caught her eye in the rear view mirror. “What do you think, Mrs. Jamse?”

  “Beckie, remember? What do you think?”

  “I asked first… ’Cause I have no idea, really.”

  “Well, what do we know? Ian and Kevin are alive, but dying. But they’re alive, still, from September. So, why?”

  He shook his head. Lisa just looked back and forth between them.

  “They want something. Something they thought Ian and Kevin could provide. I guess they couldn’t or wouldn’t, so…”

  “But then why not kill them?”

  “Leaving them alive, but dying, puts pressure on me. On the team. We want to save them.” She smiled her best sardonic smile. “Evidence our racing through Nice traffic to meet their demands.” She sighed. “They want me to do what Ian and Kevin wouldn’t.”

  “Will you?”

  “Ian wouldn’t.”

  “Yeah, but you?”

  “Persistent, isn’t he?” she said to Lisa. “Ian didn’t. Ian trained me. What do you think?”

  “I’d like to hear you say it.”

  “No. I won’t almost certainly. Either I won’t be able to, or… No, that covers it, I expect.”

  “Hmm. Okay.”

  “You know, when the game runs out, none of us will have a lot of value to them. They’ll not be happy.” She patted his shoulder. “Take care of everyone you can. Ahead of me, if you need to. One is not worth the team.”

  “I know. I don’t have to like it. I just have to do it. But we never leave anyone.”

  Beckie waited til the car stopped at a light, then grabbed Sam’s chin and pulled his head around.

  “Hey⁠—”

  “You will make damned sure that everyone’s clear before you move in my direction. That’s an order!” She released Sam and told Lisa, “You heard that.”

  Sam said no more. Beckie was sure he’d follow the plan. Pretty sure. And she was confident that no matter what, the only one her order might save would be Lisa; all the others⁠—Sam, Willie, Ben, Derek, Gillian, even Amy⁠—would be together making sure she wasn’t left behind. Best I can do. She sat back in the seat.

  “We’re about there, ladies,” Sam said. In another couple minutes he’d made the sharp left onto Avenue de Monte-Carlo; in traffic, he needed another five minutes to climb the hill and pass the Casino, pulling over at the Café de Paris.

  Beckie took a deep breath⁠—constrained by the tape⁠—and blew kisses to the two of them. She exited the car and looked around, giving Sam plenty of time to get out of the immediate area. She showed her passport at the casino entrance, walked through the slots. A lot bigger than the Omar Khayyam Casino at the Marriott in Cairo. Noisier, too.

  A quick trip to the ladies allowed her to swap her blue shirt for a red silk one; she headed toward the maitre-de’s station. The man was younger than she expected, but resplendent in his uniform. Looks Mediterranean to me!

  She approached him. “Rebecca Jamse. I believe you have a table reserved.”

  He gave her a piercing stare, longer than Beckie was comfortable with, but not so long she felt obliged to respond. Without looking away, he felt in the shelf area under the podium, then brought out a slim cloth covered book.

  His gaze dropped as he leafed through the pages, until he said, “That is accurate. Please come with me.”

  He led her along the central aisle to a table under a Café de Paris labeled umbrella still raised against… Against the moon? The table had been set slightly farther from its neighbors than was typical. He held a chair for her and then scooped up the Réservée sign. A waiter had been hovering while the maitre-de did his work; he hurried up and offered Beckie a menu.

  “Merci.” A quick glance and she pointed to Coupe Champagne in the menu’s corner. He nodded and hustled away.

  The ambience was definitely tourist. At ten-thirty at night, the Casino appeared busy though the vehicle traffic outside had slowed in volume; the weather continued clear and warm, but not hot. Most of the wait staff appeared frazzled. Yeah, I can believe dealing with tourists all day would do that. Beckie’s face twisted a little. But… What else would you expect?

  The menu was in French with English following. While Beckie had enjoyed Boynton’s excellent menus at home, she’d rarely asked what the items he’d served actually were, so even the English wasn’t the help she’d hoped for.

  Beckie noticed the waiter’s return; as he approached, a woman in a black pants suit and white tuxedo shirt slid around from behind her and into the seat beside her. Beckie gaped; the shirt was not only sleeveless but open at the neck at least two buttons, perhaps three.

  The waiter looked askance at the woman who nodded as she waved at the flute he’d placed before Beckie. “Le même, s’il vous plaît.”

  When he’d gone, the woman said, “Don’t wait. He’ll be a moment, I’m sure.”

  Beckie took the glass and raised it deliberately without taking her eyes from the woman’s face.

  “Not what you expected, I’ll wager.”

  “Too true,” Beckie muttered. “A woman wearing form-fitting pants and showing a little skin. Definitely not what I expected.”

  “I am not a believer… which does not mean I am a non-believer. Now. I assume you have a mobile; may I have it, please.”

  Beckie began to rummage in the small bag she’d brought. As she did, the woman said, “If you were foolish enough to bring a weapon or another electronic device for communication, those also.”

  A little peeved, Beckie solved the woman’s problem by upending her bag so the contents spilled on the table top. She fished the phone out of the tissues, pill bottle and miscellanea, and slid it toward the woman. As it came to a stop, Beckie stood, nearly colliding with the waiter, but he pirouetted to safety and placed the woman’s glass on the table. With a look of confusion, he stepped back, but the woman’s glare made him retreat.

  When he’d gone, Beckie ran her hands over her front and rear pockets, expecting that the woman would agree that she carried nothing. In like manner, Beckie ran her hands over and between her breasts, and then down the inside of her thighs.

  When she again sat, the woman said, “Very nice. Sufficient for the moment, surely.” She slipped Beckie’s phone into an inside pocket in her coat.

  Beckie cleaned the contents of her bag from the table before looking up again. “Before you drink any more of that, tell me what you guys did to Ian!”

  “All in good time, Madame Jamse, all in good time. For now, finish your excellent champagne, and we’ll be off.”

  Her insistence on finishing the glass made Beckie wonder if the waiter had added something to it, but her palate wasn’t sufficiently trained to taste any doctoring⁠—in fact, it’s damn good!⁠—so she drank the wine off. “Let’s go,” she said as she rose.

  The woman took a leisurely sip to finish hers, then stood and waved Beckie toward the exit.

  Stay well back, Amy!

  Beckie was forced to lead by virtue of the woman remaining behind her, murmuring “Left,” or “Right,” or more frequently, “Straight ahead,” as they came to intersections or crosswalks. When Beckie slowed, she received a poke just where the ribs were still complaining.

  She spun and grabbed the woman’s jacket. “My broken ribs do not need shoving!” she hissed into the shocked face.

  She turned back and walked on, keeping the pace up.

  The walk took Beckie not quite twenty minutes, up the hill from the casino toward France. The woman directed her up Avenue Saint-Michel to rue des Roses, where she halted her before a ground level store front with no signage. The brown stone building looked like almost every other building they’d passed. The woman reached around to knock on the glas
s; the front door opened enough that someone inside could peer out without being observed.

  The woman said something that Beckie didn’t recognize, then pushed the door wide and shoved Beckie through.

  A man stood back from the door. He and the woman exchanged more French before he stared at Beckie. He spat to the side. “His manners leave much to be desired,” the woman said. “However, he will not damage you further, and will explain.”

  “In English?”

  “En anglais.”

  The man spat again, then after the woman must have scorched him with her look, he waved both of them to an inside room. “I will speak here.”

  “Okay?” the woman said to Beckie.

  She nodded. “What do you want for my husband’s cure?”

  “You will perform a small task for⁠—”

  “I will perform nothing until he is conscious and improving. And my doctor believes he and my friend will survive.” She looked around for a chair.

  “First, the necessities. Unfasten your hair and remove your clothes.”

  Beckie spun to glare at the woman. “Not good enough, huh?”

  The woman shrugged.

  Beckie quickly pulled the scrunchie and fluffed her pony tail across her back. She turned her back to the man before stripping her shirt and pants. The woman signaled her to turn in place. As she did, the woman said, “I don’t think we need her to remove the rest.”

  The man nodded, but rifled through her clothes. Beckie couldn’t read the expression on his face, beyond that it wasn’t disinterest. She snatched the pants from the floor and dragged them back up her legs, then fetched the shirt and drew it over her shoulders. I wonder if leaving it open would distract him… or would it upset him, make him harder to deal with? Unable to decide, she chose to button the shirt as she’d worn it before. She looked again for a chair; one had been set against the wall.