Well, neither did anyone else, but convincing Parker of that—or convincing the monkey to vacate Parker’s shoulders—proved impossible.
But once they got to the zoo, saw children gaping at the animals, saw wolves grooming each other, saw tigers swimming, saw penguins gadding about—Sophie felt at peace. And grateful that she’d been given an opportunity to save this place.
As they walked toward the red pandas, where Marney was waiting, Sophie put her arm in Nate’s. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Nate just smiled back. He could be an uncaring bastard at his worst, and Sophie had seen him that way more than once, but at moments like these, he was at his best.
Sophie could see the effect of the zoo on the rest of the team. Parker was practically squeeing at all the animals, while Eliot smiled indulgently at Parker and enjoyed watching the creatures frolic.
Only Hardison was out of sorts, waving his arm in front of his face. “What is that smell?”
Eliot shook his head. “I keep telling you, it’s fresh air.”
“Man, what I’m smellin’ is not fresh. It’s nasty. When can we go home?”
“Hush, Hardison,” Nate said as Marney turned and saw the five of them—well, six, counting the monkey—approaching.
“Mr. Ford! Welcome back to the zoo.”
“Glad to be here.”
Hardison muttered, “Speak for yourself, man.” But he then screwed on a smile for Marney. Anyone who didn’t know Hardison might even believe it to be genuine.
“It’s been quite a week,” Marney said with a bright smile. “Sal Tartucci was unanimously removed from the board of directors after his arrest, Declan McAllister’s estate was seized by the feds, and FWS contracted us to take over supervision of the animals until everything shakes out. Normally, they’d get local animal control to deal with it, but these are a little out of their range. Some of them will get returned to the wild, and the rest—well, we should be able to buy them for the zoo!”
“Really?” Nate smiled knowingly. “How can you do that, if you’re on the brink of financial ruin?”
“Funny you should ask,” Marney said with a smile right back. “When I heard on the news that both Sal and his buddy were implicated in the bear attack, I called IYS, and spoke to a very nice lady named Elizabeth Turre, who said we might be entitled to a larger payout, since we were sabotaged—and the increase in our premiums will be revisited, since it wasn’t due to negligence.”
Nate nodded. “Elizabeth is good people.”
“Yes, she is—and she’s not the only one. Just this morning, we received a cashier’s check for a million dollars. Mr. Ford, you didn’t have to—”
Sophie said, “It’s a donation—by definition, it’s voluntary, and therefore something one doesn’t have to do.”
“But we did it anyhow,” Nate said.
“Well, thank you. The only downside is that we’ll probably have to pay for the black rhinos again—but the government will probably give us a good deal on them, and besides, with all these new exhibits opening up, we should be getting lots of new revenue, and not only that . . . but is that a capuchin monkey?” This last was added as she seemed to notice Parker for the first time.
“This is Alec!” Parker said gleefully. “And, uh, I brought him along because I wanted to donate him to the zoo.”
Everyone turned to look at Parker. Sophie was especially surprised, considering how Parker had obviously grown very attached to the monkey. Indeed, she spent the entire ride over ignoring the rest of the group and bonding with the animal. At one point, Sophie could have sworn she heard Parker mention building a little harness for him.
Marney blinked. “Really?”
Parker nodded and walked up to her. “C’mon, Alec. Time for you to go to your new home.”
Surprisingly, the monkey ran straight onto Marney’s shoulder. “Well, hello there—Alec? Is that your name?”
Hardison had his head in his hands.
“Yeah,” Parker said. “I named him after someone I’ve always been able to rely on to be there for me.”
Now Hardison looked up.
“He’s a good monkey, and I’m sure he’ll be happy here. Plus, this is a place that has people who are willing to clean up his poop.”
Sophie put her hand in front of her mouth to stifle a laugh.
Hardison walked up to Parker and put an arm around her shoulder, right where the monkey had been. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Parker smiled.
“Well, the good news,” Marney said, “is that you can visit him anytime you want. I don’t know how you did what you did—or why, if you had a million bucks lying around, you gave it to us—but you did do it, and you saved something my father and two assholes did everything in their power to piss away. The least I can do is make all five of you Lifetime Zoo Boosters. You get free admission anytime, and a discount on any merchandise.”
Parker’s eyes widened. “I can see him anytime?”
While Alec draped himself around Marney’s shoulders, she said, “Absolutely. You people didn’t just get me my black rhinos back, you uncovered a conspiracy that would’ve resulted in a lot of dead animals, ours among them. Might’ve even helped wipe out a couple of endangered species. You people did a good thing.”
“That’s what we do,” Nate said quietly.
Eliot stepped aside after his phone beeped, but the rest of the team decided to take in the zoo. Parker and Hardison followed Marney to find a spot for Alec. Nate and Sophie wandered over to look at the red panda, which was asleep, and looking, Sophie thought, rather adorable.
“She’s right, Nate,” Sophie said. “This was a good thing we did.”
“And to think, if Norm Brillinger hadn’t died of a heart attack, this would probably be Declan McAllister’s little hunting preserve by now, with endangered species becoming ever more endangered.”
Sophie looked at Nate. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“About what?”
Rolling her eyes, Sophie said, “Don’t try that on me, Nate. You can play detached mastermind with the others, but not with me. Marney had to clean up her father’s mess—only it turned out to be a much bigger mess than she thought. You’re telling me that didn’t affect you?”
Nate turned away from the sleeping red panda. “What answer do you want, Sophie? Everything affects me, because everything affects everyone. It’s just a question of degree. Yes, I’m trying to make up for what my father did, and I’m doing it by being far too much like him than I’m entirely comfortable with.”
“But that’s just it, Nate. You are comfortable with it. It took you bloody well long enough to admit it . . .”
Looking back at the red panda, he said, “It’s funny, Marney was talking about how she loves her father, but didn’t like him much. And when Maggie helped us take down Blackpoole, she said that she didn’t love me, but liked me a lot more than before. It’d be nice to have both in one person, y’know?”
Sophie had nothing she could bring herself to say out loud to that. And even as she tried to compose the words, she found herself distracted by the sight of the red panda starting to wake up. It slowly opened its eyes and yawned, and then started to bat listlessly at a tree branch.
She put her arm in Nate’s, and they just watched the red panda play with the branch in companionable silence.
Keep reading for a special excerpt from
THE BESTSELLER JOB
Coming May 2013 from Berkley Boulevard!
“‘Overblown’? ‘Self-indulgent’? ‘Sublimely awful’?” Sophie Deveraux stared indignantly at the screen of the laptop, which rested atop their usual table at McRory’s bar and grill. A posh English accent added class to her outrage. She turned toward Nate Ford, who was sitting next to her, nursing his second Scotch, even th
ough it was barely lunchtime. “Can you believe these reviews?”
He tried to pivot the laptop away from her. “Just some random opinions on the Internet,” he said, dismissing them. “You shouldn’t even bother with them. What do they know?”
“But it’s not fair, Nate. I put my heart and soul into that show, you know that. How many actresses can play Cleopatra, Joan of Arc, Madame Curie, and Mata Hari in one night?” A classically beautiful brunette, stylishly attired in a striped jersey-knit sweater and slacks, she spun the screen back toward her. “And yet some snarky hack at Boston Theater Buzz says that my one-woman show had, quote, ‘one so-called actress too many.’ ” She sighed theatrically. “Small wonder the show closed after only a single night, after hatchet jobs like that!”
“It’s a crime,” he agreed, none too convincingly. Unruly hair and a rumpled sports jacket belied his razor-sharp mind. A careworn face hinted at his tragic past, which included a dead child and a failed marriage—in that order. Shrewd brown eyes glanced at his watch. “So what’s keeping our prospective new client?”
Sophie ignored his transparent attempt to change the subject. She turned toward the third member of their party. “What do you think, Eliot? Tell me the truth. Was my performance truly ‘more cheesy than aged Harvati’?”
Damn, Eliot Spencer thought. His perpetual scowl deepened. A mane of long brown hair framed his surly expression. A scruffy goatee carpeted his chin. He was dressed more casually than either Nate or Sophie, in a flannel shirt and jeans. A weathered windbreaker was draped over the back of his chair. I was hoping to stay out of this.
Post-traumatic flashbacks of being trapped in a stuffy hole-in-the-wall theater while Sophie emoted for the ages surfaced from the darkest recesses of his memory, where he had done his best to bury them. That had been a long night; Afghanistan and North Korea had been breezes by comparison. No way was he telling her the truth about her acting. I’m a hitter, not a sadist.
“You have a very . . . distinctive . . . style,” he said diplomatically. “Not everybody gets it.”
“You see!” she said, vindicated. “That’s just what I’m saying. So which of my portrayals did you find most convincing? Cleopatra? Saint Joan?”
“Er, I honestly couldn’t choose.” He concentrated on his calamari, avoiding her eyes. Truth to tell, he hadn’t been able to tell the characters apart. “They were all very . . . you.”
“But you must have some preference,” she pressed. “Please. I’m certainly open to constructive criticism.”
He looked to Nate for assistance. Help me out here, man, he thought, but their ringleader stared pensively into the amber depths of his Scotch, apparently content to let Eliot take the heat. Sorry, Eliot thought. That’s not how we’re playing this.
“I don’t know,” he said. “What do you think, Nate?”
Nate shot him a dirty look.
Tough, Eliot thought. You’re the one who’s sleeping with her. Sometimes. Maybe.
He had given up trying to figure out Nate and Sophie’s relationship, whatever it was. He figured it was none of his business, as long as it didn’t cause trouble on the job. Bad enough that Parker and Hardison were kinda, sorta a couple these days. The last thing this crew needed was boyfriend/girlfriend crap getting in the way of staying in one piece. In his experience, emotions and missions didn’t mix. That’s why he kept his private life private.
“Yes,” she said. “What about you, Nate? You know my work better than anyone.”
Nate squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. “Well, I’m biased, of course, but—”
The door to the bar swung open, letting in a gust of cold air and an attractive redhead who looked to be in her mid-thirties. A scuffed leather jacket, turtleneck sweater, and jeans flattered her slim, athletic figure. A canvas tote bag hung from her grip. Henna tinted her long red hair. Emerald eyes were rimmed with red, as though she had been crying recently. Dark shadows under her eyes suggested that she hadn’t been sleeping well. A small brass compass dangled on a chain around her neck.
“Ah, here’s our client,” Nate announced, sounding more than a little relieved by the timely interruption. “Only a few minutes late.”
And none too soon, Eliot thought.
The woman glanced around the bar uncertainly before her gaze lighted on Eliot and the others. She headed toward them. Eliot sat up straighter. He didn’t usually do the initial meeting with the client, but this time was different. He should’ve met this particular woman years ago.
“You must be Eliot,” Denise Gallo said. “I recognize you from Gavin’s photos.”
“Likewise.” He stood up and pulled out a chair for her, then introduced her to Nate and Sophie. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make the funeral.”
They had been running a con in Rajasthan when he’d gotten word that Gavin Lee had died in a hit-and-run accident in Manhattan. With Nate busy fixing a camel race, and the water rights to a crucial oasis at stake, hopping a plane back to the States for the memorial services simply hadn’t been an option.
Not even for an old friend.
SEVERAL YEARS AGO
The terrorist camp was hidden deep in the Sumatran rain forest. A lush green canopy shielded the compound from aerial surveillance. Hanging roots and vines, slowly choking the life from the trees that hosted them, added to the dense foliage sheltering the camouflaged base, which consisted of a large command center surrounded by several smaller outbuildings, including weapons depots and munitions dumps. As was common in Indonesia, the wooden structures were supported by stilts that lifted them ten to twelve feet above the jungle floor. Ladders, which could be withdrawn to deter intruders, provided the only means of access. Spiky vines covered the rooftops. Sentries, armed with black-market AK-47s, patrolled the perimeter.
Bamboo, palms, ferns, and creepers encroached on the camp from all sides. The abundant flora surrounding the camp was a two-edged sword. While it effectively insulated the compound from the outside world, it also made it easier to approach the camp undetected. A moonless night filled the gaps between the trees and underbrush with impenetrable black shadows. Monkeys capered through the overhanging branches, squeaking in the night. Nocturnal predators rustled through the jungle.
Some of them were human.
Eliot Spencer, a fresh-faced young American soldier, lay belly down in the ferns and vines abutting the compound. Cradling a Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine gun, he spied on the terrorist base. His hair was short, his face clean-cut. Green camouflage paint, masking his features, matched his jungle gear, which bore no identifying insignia. Only recently inducted into Special Forces from the regular army, he was primed for action.
His recon team had located the base a few hours ago. After a terse, hushed huddle, it had been decided to clean out the compound now before the terrorists could use it to stage more attacks and bombings on civilian targets and foreign nationals. At this very moment, the rest of the six-man team was taking up positions in preparation for an all-out assault on the central command center. The plan was to go in hard and fast before the rebels even knew what hit them. With any luck, the team would take out the whole nest in a matter of minutes, and maybe even capture vital intel on the guerillas’ plans and support systems. Eliot judged the potential rewards well worth the risk.
Too bad he was stuck babysitting.
Gavin Lee crouched beside Eliot, armed only with a machete and his favorite camera. The young photojournalist had been embedded with the special forces team for a couple of weeks now, much to Eliot’s annoyance. Sure, Gavin seemed like a stand-up guy who had endured the rigors of a jungle tour without complaint, but who in their right mind thought sticking a civilian into a military operation was a good idea? Eliot could only imagine what kind of strings had been pulled to get Gavin assigned to their unit in the first place.
“What’s happening?” Gavin whispered.
He wore an olive-green safari jacket with plenty of pouches for his film. His alert eyes scanned the camp as though already taking pictures with his mind. The moist tropical heat bathed his face in sweat. “When do the fireworks start?”
Eliot shot him a dirty look. He placed a finger before his lips.
Damn it, he thought, scowling at the photographer’s loose lips. Remind me never to work with civilians again.
To his credit, Gavin got the message and shut up. He hunkered down into the greenery, keeping his head low. Eliot gestured for him to stay down.
That’s more like it, he thought. I’ve got work to do.
A weapons depot rose up on stilts a few yards away. A bored-looking sentry, his rifle slung over his shoulder, stood guard over the tower. The guard munched on a durian, the spiky, foul-smelling fruit that was a staple of the local diet. Eliot could smell the pungent odor from where he was hiding. It made his gorge rise.
The guard finished up his snack and tossed the rind into the bushes, barely missing Eliot. Hefting his gun, he sighed wearily as he resumed his rounds.
Right on schedule, Eliot thought.
He waited until the guard had trudged past him before rising up from the brush like a ghost. Slipping out of the jungle, he crept up on the sentry from behind. He had left his own rifle behind with Gavin; this exercise required speed and stealth, not firepower. Noise was the enemy.
The sentry didn’t hear him coming. Eliot grabbed on to the guard’s gun arm to keep it pointed away from him, then clasped his other hand over the guard’s mouth to stifle any cries. Yanking the man’s head back exposed his throat to a forearm strike that silenced him long enough for Eliot to drag him backward onto the ground, where his head hit the earth with a muffled thud. The impact stunned the guard, allowing Eliot to wrench the AK-47 from his grasp. He slammed the butt of the weapon into the man’s skull. The sentry went limp.
The whole takedown had taken less than a minute.
So much for that, Eliot thought.
The Zoo Job Page 22
