Discoveries (Mercenaries Book 5)

by Tony Lavely

  After the fourth run-through, she handed the tablet to Achmed. “Do I sleep here, on this chair?”

  The woman had been silent since bringing Beckie the second glass of wine; she now stood and said, “Through here.”

  ‘Through here’ was into a second room, windowless and smaller than the one she’d left. It boasted yet another door⁠—“Les toilettes,” the woman said.⁠—and a futon on a raised platform. “Merci,” Beckie said again. The woman nodded and left.

  The smell of coffee woke Beckie. Or maybe scuffling from the next room. She forced herself to quit the futon and return to the front room.

  The woman held a cup in one hand, and Beckie’s phone in the other. Beckie grabbed for the phone, swiping it on, and read the text message: “Ian and Kevin alert and improving. -M-” She sagged into the chair, then entered “Thanks! Tell him I love him! Raptor Five!” She pressed Send, then handed the phone back to the woman.

  “Raptor Five? What’s that?”

  “A rallying cry, kinda. Like Yah-hoo, you know.” I hope Lisa or Sam figures it out!

  The woman’s face went through most of the spectrum of disbelief and suspicion, but she said nothing, just slid the phone into her pocket. She’d changed out of the black pants suit to jeans and a sleeveless cotton top. “You now are ‘on-stage,’ as they say. Achmed will be here very soon; once he sees this, he will require your advice.”

  “And ‘forget it’ isn’t what you want to hear.”

  “I do not matter. However, that response will please no one, as you well know.”

  Beckie slumped in the chair and nodded. “Even though it’s the only rational one.”

  Now the woman crumpled a little. “You believe so?”

  Beckie nodded her head and took the coffee.

  The woman’s prediction was good; Achmed and a second man, trim with greying brown hair, appeared before Beckie’d finished her coffee. He carried breakfast pastries which he forgot once the woman showed him Beckie’s phone. Beckie worried that he’d question her about Raptor Five, too, but he was so excited about Beckie’s last requirement having been met that he had no other concerns.

  “So,” the newcomer said cheerfully, “what can you tell me?”

  “Before we go down this road again, let’s start over.”

  She recapped the situation as she understood it, from them not having any good results despite having access to Ian and Kevin for weeks, to her not having more than a couple of hours exposure to the problem, to not understanding⁠—from that beginning⁠—exactly what this unnamed man and his partners actually wanted and needed.

  “And that’s the biggest question I have: what do you want me to do? And why do you think I can do it?”

  Maryam’s face had washed out as she spoke, becoming grey, slack. Beckie guessed she’d finally realized the frustration Beckie’d felt all along.

  Her companion, however, wasn’t dismayed. “You speak only English?”

  “Except for a very few words of French, Arabic, Urdu and Spanish, mainly hello, good-by, thank you and I don’t speak whatever language, that’s correct.” Uh-oh. Shouldn’t have said Urdu… his eyes lit up like the jackpot.

  However, his words were innocuous: “I fear my English is poor; I may require assistance from…” He waved at Achmed and the woman. Beckie nodded. He went on, “Your opinion as to the feasibility of the three operations you have considered.”

  “The second and third both suffer the major problem of not being able to predict with certainty when the trigger event, the earthquake or the hurricane, will occur to set off the disaster. That coupled with the government’s interest, and in the pipeline’s case, the oil company’s as well, in making sure nothing happens to these protective systems means regular checks. Of course, if unbeknownst to me someone is planning to trigger the natural phenomenon, that makes this argument less of a concern, but I would spend no effort on either of them unless that is the case.”

  “Do you believe an earthquake or a hurricane can be… ‘triggered’?”

  “An earthquake, sure. Happens all the time from fracking. Hydraulic fracturing. Explosives have been talked about, but I’d have to do more research to see where that’s headed. But the pipeline’s not been running at full capacity for years. Who would notice, even?

  “As for starting a hurricane, I haven’t heard anything that makes that believable. I believe the New Orleans flood control system is huge; it will require significant time and study to design and then implement a strategy to cause the Katrina level of damage the slides indicated.”

  “How long to prepare?”

  Beckie chewed on her lip for a second, until one of her cuts began to pull. Well, Beck, since you got no clue and no Willie to help, go big! “For me and my team, it would require four weeks of analysis to understand how big the job is; how long it would then take to design and plan it. I have no idea how much time that would require. And I can’t speak for anyone else trying to design such an attack.”

  That wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

  “The assassinations, then?”

  “Again, I’ve done no research on the protection the justices receive on a routine basis, so this is a wild ass guess, but at least you’d have the ability to schedule the attacks, not waiting for a natural occurrence like a hurricane. It’s almost certainly plausible.”

  Damn. That cheered him up too much. I was right; they’ve already written off the last two.

  “How would you approach that job?”

  She thought for a second. How much do I hit him with? “First, I’d demand probably twenty-five million euros as the first payment toward the fee. Upfront. That buys the plan and risk assessment⁠—”

  “Risk assessment? What does that mean?”

  “The twenty-five million pays for the planning effort and decisions like where, when, how many. When that work is done, another payment will be required. Before you make that second payment, we will advise you of the parts of the plan you need to understand, and the risk that it will fail, either in whole or in part. I think it’s safe to say that, successful or not, another similar attempt will not be possible for years to come. So, you have the opportunity to judge for yourself whether the risk-reward of the plan is acceptable. If you do, a second payment of a minimum of twenty-five million euros will be required, again, up front.”

  “Minimum?”

  “The total will depend on the details of the plan. I could guess that a billion euros would be sufficient, but you might balk at that being paid up front. The first twenty-five is required to begin the work. The second payment may be adjusted up if the details require it.

  “Once the job is underway, you would never hear from us again.” She pursed her lips. “That’s how I would approach the job, if I were interested.”

  “But, are you interested?” the newcomer asked.

  “Not a chance. Murder, whether called assassination or just murder, is not something I want to do, ever. And nine of them… No, no way.”

  “What would be key to an attack such as this?”

  So do I tell him my opinion? This gets more and more like a test… I wonder what’s a passing grade. Or what the reward is. Well, one thing should be obvious to him… so obvious that it can’t hurt to say it. “Totally hypothetically of course, and so obvious a child should see it so I expect it won’t help you much… the assassinations must be simultaneous. I would have two teams for each attack, one prime and one back-up, because you’ll get no second chance. That should explain the need for planning.”

  “You would not attempt to attack when they are in their building?”

  “Not now. Maybe with more information, that’d seem a better opportunity, but as I see it from my place of no knowledge, that’s gonna be where they’re best protected.” She stared at him for a moment. “You know they’ll just pick new ones?”

  “Of course.” He smiled, and the lust she saw in his eyes and expression unnerved her for a second. “I must confer alone.” He wal
ked away; she heard the front door open, then close. Neither Achmed nor the woman had anything to say; at least, they said nothing. Beckie began to hope Sam and all were close by and incoming. I’ve missed something. That look on his face, it had no justification in anything we talked about. So what was it? The outside door reopened and closed before an answer had come to her.

  When the man stepped into the room again, Beckie knew she’d not have to wait any longer. He’s almost licking the cream from his lips. She was reminded of Trillian when she’d had a treat. His smile’s almost obscene.

  “I should thank you, I suppose, though I find it distasteful. Your comments agree in almost perfect harmony with the others we have consulted. Were we to actually attempt such plans, your advice would have been useful. However…”

  So what the fuck does he want with me?

  “… you have another, more appropriate, utility to us.”

  Oh, shit. Is this one of the guys sells women…

  “Also, you in particular have a, sentimental? Perhaps. Perhaps you have a sentimental value to a compatriot of mine.”

  A compatriot… How can he have any… compat⁠—

  “Sheikh, here she is. I believe we have exhausted her utility to us; once the money has been transferred, you may proceed.”

  Beckie found her disbelief exceeded only by her regret that she hadn’t shot the short chubby Arab who once again stood before her leaning against his cane, leering. Bakir!

  “Ah, it is true. And before time, as well.” Beckie watched his eyes sweep her body. “So, Madame Jamse, we meet once more.”

  “And never fucking again,” she muttered.

  “What? What is that you say? Ah, it makes no difference. This time, I will be avenged. You have stolen my property and caused me great embarrassment among my friends. Several had hopes of obtaining you and your child to be. I assume the baby is well, hale and healthy?”

  “Fuck you.” Beckie dearly regretted not having anything more brilliant… or scathing, to respond with, but, I’ve been gobsmacked.

  “Dear me. Such language from an otherwise educated person. No matter. Strip.”

  Beckie staggered back, more surprised than she had been. A motion to her side caught her eye; the man who’d brought Bakir in was standing, mouth opening, closing, as if he was trying to speak. The woman took a step and said, “He wishes to say⁠—”

  “Not here! You may do as you wish after the funds transfer and you go. But there will be no desecration here.”

  Well, that’s an interesting twist. And it wouldn’t be too soon for Sam or Willie to knock down the door!

  “If you insist,” Bakir said with a laugh. “Don’t forget, she is kafir.”

  “She is female and we are believers.”

  Bakir gestured with arms and hands, an exaggerated shrug, then took the chair and seated himself. After a moment, he removed his phone and with everyone watching, began fiddling with it.

  Beckie stepped back to lean against the wall. She thought about sliding down to sit on the floor, but instead took a small side-step toward the door. In case they do come. Achmed glanced at the man and then waved the woman to follow him. The door opening and closing argued that they’d left.

  The two men, Bakir and the man who’d brought him, began a conversation which, being in Arabic, didn’t include Beckie. She took advantage of their mutual chit-chat to sidle toward the door once more. If I get any closer, he’s gonna notice. She allowed her head to loll back, then grabbed her hair and pulled it around front and began to braid it.

  After several more minutes, she’d braided the tresses and pulled them out twice. Braiding was mindless, allowing her mind to wander off, so she jumped when Bakir spoke English. “The bank assures us that the transfer is in process; we will soon be off. Until time, they will provide us food.”

  Without her phone, Beckie had no way to tell time but dead reckoning; she believed more than an hour had passed when Achmed and the woman returned, holding several paper sacks like the one Achmed had brought the evening before. Once again, the grilled chicken sandwich was excellent; Beckie finished it and a cup of the wine the woman had shared around to all of them.

  The wine raised the Muslim prohibition against alcohol; if they’re so dead set on being unable to look at a female body, why isn’t the alcohol haram, also? I wonder… Maybe he doesn’t really care, but doesn’t want to let Bakir have his own way. Not likely he’s protecting me!

  She set that question aside, along with all the others she had from the past couple days, and allowed herself to worry about Ian. I hope we did the right things. That didn’t help as much as she wanted. Her next question floated to the top of her mind. Did she believe the man’s protestations about giving up on the jobs in his slide show? Not that it matters much, right now. If Lisa got Eric on the phone, he can get to Chelsie and she can take on the protection. Or not, if she doesn’t believe there’s a real threat. But that means I have to get out of here!

  The time passed slowly for Beckie, although it must have been even slower for the man waiting for Bakir’s transfer to complete. Even Bakir was becoming antsy. Must be thinking about that drive after dark. I am. There’s a couple places… if I can grab the wheel… If Bakir’s ego demands he take me by himself, no assistants or henchmen. After Paris, I gotta believe he’s gonna get me out of the country as quickly as he can. I wonder if… if his plane’s near ours… No, not likely, since Karen was leaving. Oh, well.

  The man’s phone rang; he swiped it on. His side of the conversation was monosyllabic until the end, when a large smile accompanied his words.

  So, the deal went through. Whether I believe it or not, I’ve been sold.

  And Bakir seemed to confirm that; he rose and stretched. “Shall we depart the rarified air here?”

  Beckie wasn’t sure whether he referred to the altitude or the man’s disapproval of everything but Bakir’s money. Not that it matters much. She sighed just as the man, the only one she didn’t know the name of, said, “Maryam, you will go with the sheikh and Madame Jamse until they reach the airport. You will preserve our honor, what remains.”

  As Maryam nodded and picked up her jacket, Bakir guffawed.

  He’s certainly having a good time with this. Beckie wrapped her arms about herself and stepped closer to Maryam.

  “Do you think I will ravage her in the auto?” Bakir roared. “Do you think Maryam can protect her if I choose?” He waved his hand toward the door. “Never mind. Of course she may accompany us; she can bring the car back… I suppose she can drive?”

  “She can drive,” the man said dryly. “This is France, not Saudi Arabia.”

  But she doesn’t speak for herself. Not likely to do any good to point that out though. Especially since he’s protecting me, for whatever reason. She smiled at the man, then dipped her gaze to her hands. “Shukran.” His brows rose, but he nodded back.

  Quickly, they were in the SUV. Bakir instructed Maryam to drive, while he took the passenger seat after opening the rear door for Beckie. Inside, she tried the door, but it failed to open. “Clever, the Japanese,” he said. “Locks to prevent the doors operating when a child attempts an escape. A marvelous invention.” He chuckled and faced front to watch Maryam navigate the mountain road.

  Beckie remembered the trip to Peillon; while it had been during full daylight, the sun was now behind the mountains even though it hadn’t set. She saw more shadows than light. A review of her circumstances left her pretty much where she had been: unable to have much of an impact. Keep ready, Beck! Take a chance if it comes up.

  Four: Nice, Côte d’Azur Airport

  The drive to the airport took them from half-light to full dark, over an hour. Beckie roused herself when the SUV approached the gate the team had taken Ian and Kevin through… When was that? Yesterday? Seems like longer than that.

  Whoa! There weren’t that many gendarmes when Karen brought us through. She cowered in the middle of the seat to get the best view of the double line of u
niformed officers blocking their way.

  When Maryam stopped, holding up the papers that Bakir had handed her, two officers opened the doors on either side and reached to ‘assist’ Bakir and Maryam from the vehicle. Before they had been led to the guard house, another officer grabbed for the back door and offered his hand to Beckie. “Madame Jamse?”

  “Oui,” she said, not knowing what else to say. Then, from behind him, a tall black man peered around his shoulder, giving her a huge smile. “Sam! Sam, God, am I glad to see you!”

  Sam scurried around the gendarme; the line of officers closed behind him. Beckie put that thought aside and hugged Sam for all she was worth. As she felt tears forming, she said, “How’s Ian? And Kev? And Amy got back okay? And ev⁠—”

  “Ian’s beside himself that Millie refused to allow him out here. Kevin, too, but he took it a little more stoically. We didn’t have to tie him up.”

  “You didn’t…” Crying mixed with laughter as she saw the image in her mind. “You didn’t actually tie him up?”

  “No, but it was a near thing. Willie’s sitting there with the rope if he tries to move. Besides, even Ian knows when the plane’s in the air.”

  “Oh my god. He’ll never forgive me!” She wiped at her eyes, then sighed. “It’ll be great just to hear him tell me that. And Amy, and everyone?”

  “All fine, though more scared than they know how to deal with.”

  She leaned away so she could look into Sam’s wonderful face. “How the hell did you know to find me here?”

  His smile got even wider. “You teased me about that bra, remember? Well, the⁠—”

  “Don’t tell me the tracker thing Else put in actually worked! Damn! She’s gonna get a month off. Or something.”