Omega Series Box Set 3: Books 8-10

by Blake Banner

  It was not the kind of casino James Bond would have felt at home in. There were a lot of fat people in baseball caps, Bermuda shorts and shirts with parrots on them, standing at slot machines giving their money away, so my jeans and my linen shirt didn’t look that out of place. I found the cocktail lounge, ordered a Bushmills straight up and told the barkeep in the violet waistcoat it was on the house. He didn’t seem to care. He even threw in a free bowl of peanuts.

  I took a sip, climbed on a bar stool and turned to survey the bar. That was when I saw Rand, all four hundred and forty pounds of him. He was about ten or twelve feet away, in a white tuxedo with a burgundy cummerbund and black pants with a satin stripe. His bow tie was black. He was watching me and his expression was one of narrow-eyed curiosity: like he was doing mental arithmetic over and over and didn’t buy the result he kept getting. I smiled on the left side of my face, where it is more rueful than ironic.

  He said: “Lacklan Walker, late of her Majesty’s Special Air Service. I heard you’d been making a nuisance of yourself, but I did not expect to meet you here.”

  “Rand Peabody, allegedly of the United States Central Intelligence Agency. I can’t say I would be surprised to see you anywhere, especially a dive like this. Have a drink. It’s on the house.”

  His eyebrows shot up toward his bald scalp. “Is it, by Jove! In that case, I’ll have a vodka martini, shaken, not stirred!”

  Seven

  He sipped and asked me, “Why are you here, Lacklan? In my experience, whenever you show up somewhere, things start exploding and people start dying. Are we safe?”

  I shrugged. “What can I tell you? I yam what I yam. Actually, I’m on holiday. We used to come here when I was a kid.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It really is. Ask anyone.”

  He nodded a few times with a bland smile on his fat face. “I never figured you for the casino type. I had you down more as the beach bar, steak house type.”

  I ignored the comment and asked him, “What about you? What brings you here? You still with the Company?”

  He chuckled comfortably. “I am in the intelligence gathering industry, Lacklan. If you want news, switch on the TV.”

  I switched my smile to the right, where it was more ironic. “Haven’t you heard? That’s all fake news. So what kind of intelligence do you hope to gather on Galveston Island? Feel like sharing?”

  He took the olive from his drink with fat, pointed fingers and pressed it into his mouth. As he chewed, he eyed me and said, “That depends on what you’re sharing.”

  “You here for the auction?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Auction?”

  “Feel like sharing?”

  He tried to read my face and found only a blank page. So he nodded. “OK, we could share a bit. What auction?”

  I shrugged. “I heard there was an auction. If you’re here for the auction, you must know what one.”

  He thought about it, looking around the bar. “I guess I could be here for the auction. What do you know about it?”

  I shook my head. “Uh-uh. I committed myself by admitting I know there is an auction. Now it’s your turn, buddy. Commit.”

  He waited a long time, then nodded. “I’m here for the auction. I thought you were here on holiday?”

  “I am. Who else is here?”

  “So far, just me—and you. Who are you representing?”

  “No Europeans or Brits? No Chinese…?”

  “Uh-uh, not yet. But I’m guessing they’ll come. The ones I was expecting to see were the Saudis…”

  It was a calculated statement and his small, hard eyes watched me carefully for a reaction. I nodded and said, “So I guess you’re here on behalf of Israel as well as the U.S.”

  “Joint interests,” he said.

  “Right.”

  His eyes narrowed and he grinned. “You don’t know what the hell this is about, Lacklan. You sniffed something on the air and you’re prowling around, looking for an angle.”

  “That may or may not be true.”

  “Who are you representing? You’re not here for the Brits.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “Because I know who they’d send, and it wouldn’t be a rhinoceros like you.”

  I gave him a lopsided smile. “You’re right, of course. In fact, Rand, I am the auctioneer.”

  He didn’t say anything. His face went hard and his eyes were small diamonds.

  I said, “Feel like sharing some more?”

  He drained his glass. “I don’t know,” he said. “But I think your date has arrived. I’ll be in touch. Let’s do lunch.”

  “Yeah, I’d like that.”

  He moved away, like a galleon in full sail easing its way out of a crowded harbor. And as he left, Gregor approached. He didn’t acknowledge me. He just leaned on the bar. When he’d been served, he spoke without looking at me.

  “So. You are here. What you want?”

  I turned my stool to face him and shook my head. “Uh-uh. That’s not the way it works. You make me a new offer. I tell you if I like it.”

  “Five million was final offer. Where is Emily?”

  “Let’s understand each other and save time, Gregor. If you go near Emily, her family or her friends, if you drive down her street or send one of your gorillas near her, if you ever mention her name again or even think about her, the deal is off and you will never—never—get your hands on the box. Is that much clear?”

  “Is clear.”

  “Good. Now, shall I tell you what five million bucks buys you? It buys you my attention for five minutes. The next five minutes. If, by the end of that time, you haven’t said something more interesting, I’m going to go and have a chat with my friend from the Central Intelligence Agency.”

  “We said no auction.”

  “You agreed that with Emily. I already told you Emily is finished. You’re running out of time, pal, and I am running out of patience. Have you got a serious offer or not?”

  He still hadn’t looked at me. He was leaning both arms on the bar, staring at the polished wood, with his bald head reflecting the overhead lamps. I could see the corner of his left eye twitching. “Maybe,” he said at last, “I can go ten million.”

  “Maybe? Maybe you can go to ten million? When will you know? You had all goddamn day to sort this out, Gregor. What? You thought I wasn’t serious when I killed your four goons and came in here to give you your damned money back? What do I need to do to convince you I am serious?”

  Now he turned to look at me with eyes that had seen suffering and pain beyond endurance and grown calloused against it. “You don’t talk to me like this. I will gut you…”

  “What you do in your wet dreams is no concern of mine, Gregor. Make me a serious offer or stop wasting my time.” I stood. “And another thing, I’m sending you the bill for refurnishing my house. I’m insulted you think I’m stupid enough to keep the box where your gorillas could find it. Next time you damage my property, I’m going to level your damned casino. I hope I’m beginning to get through to you, Gregor.”

  “I don’t know what you talkin’ about. Give me card. I call you tomorrow.”

  I gave a small, humorless laugh and scrawled a number on a paper napkin. As I put the pen away, I said, “Don’t leave it too long, Gregor. I think you’re a pussy, and Emily was stupid to get involved with you in the first place. The auction is on, as of now.”

  I crossed the bar to where Rand was talking to a well dressed couple in their early fifties. I knew Gregor was watching. I placed my hand on his massive shoulder and said, “Forgive me for interrupting, Rand. Call me tomorrow if you’re free and we’ll do lunch.”

  He searched my face a moment, nodded and pulled a card from his inside pocket. He handed it to me and said, “Call if you need to talk. Till tomorrow, then.”

  I stepped outside and sat for a while with my ass on the hood of the Zombie, smoking and looking at the stars over the Gulf. I wondered who Jerry
was for a while; then I wondered if he was anybody, or just another one of Emily’s fantasies. Finally, I decided there was no way for me to know until I had extracted some more information out of the relevant people. So I dropped the butt on the gravel and trod on it. Then I drove back to my vandalized house.

  There, I did what repairs I could to my mattress with bits of duct tape, left the sliding doors open and tied a length of fishing line across the opening, secured at one end to the wall and at the other to a precariously balanced carton full of empty beer bottles. That’s the kind of high tech security an EMP won’t neutralize. I slept peacefully for four hours, with my Sig in my hand and my Heckler and Koch 416 under my improvised, duct-taped pillow.

  I rose at six to go for a morning swim and a couple of hours’ practice on the beach and, shortly before nine, I climbed the steps, planning to call my landlord about the burglary, and telling myself it had been either Gregor or Emily. My money was cautiously on Gregor, but I had decided that whoever turned up first that morning would, in all probability, be the guilty party. As it turned out, the first person to show that morning, at just before ten, while I was sitting down on the terrace to eat fried bacon and eggs, was Harry, the Colonel, Emily’s father.

  He parked his Ford pickup on the sand beside the house and struggled up the stairs. He looked slightly yellow, had hollow eyes and sweat beading his brow. He was breathing heavily. I stood as he reached the deck and went to him.

  “Colonel? Are you OK? What happened?”

  He came to me and gripped my arms, staring up into my face. “Lacklan, is Emily with you? Tell me she’s with you, please!”

  I shook my head. “No, I left her at your place yesterday evening. I watched her go in the door.”

  “Yes…” He nodded several times, almost convulsively. “Yes, but she’s gone.”

  “What do you mean, she’s gone, Colonel?” Before he could answer, I ushered him toward the table and told him to sit down. I handed him a paper napkin to wipe his brow. “Take a minute, relax, get your breath.”

  I went into the kitchen to get him a cup, then came back out and sat opposite him. As I poured his coffee, I said: “Now, tell me what happened, from the beginning.”

  “It must have been half past seven or eight when she came in. She looked upset. I sat her down and gave her a drink, and asked her if she was all right. She assured me she was OK, it was just what she called a ‘bad hair day’ and she needed some company. So we chatted for an hour, watched some TV, and at half past eleven or twelve, we went upstairs. She often stays over after a meal, so she has her own room, her own bathroom, she keeps some clothes there… You understand.”

  I nodded and he went on.

  “This morning, I rose at seven thirty and went down to make breakfast. She is usually up by half past seven or eight, but this morning, there was no sign of her. I gave her till eight thirty and went up to knock on her door. There was no reply. I finally went in and her room was completely empty. There was not a trace, like she’d never been there. Her bed had not been slept in. Her phone, her purse—everything was gone. It was as though I had dreamed the whole thing!”

  “So you called her…”

  “Her telephone is either switched off or has no signal.”

  “You went to her house?”

  He frowned, like my question was somehow absurd. “No. I came straight here. Why would she go home before half past seven in the morning? And even if she had, she would have left a note. And why would her phone be switched off? The only thing I could think of that made any sense at all was that she was with you. I thought perhaps you called her last night…”

  I thought for a moment, looking out at the surf rolling in off the sea. “Why? Did she receive a call last night…?”

  He hesitated. “I’m not sure. I wear earplugs to get to sleep. I have very sensitive hearing. I thought I heard her talking, it may have been a phone call. That would have been midnight or very shortly after.”

  I looked at my watch. It was five past ten. “Colonel, don’t you think you’re jumping the gun a bit? She might have got up early, made the bed and gone home or into town. She didn’t think to take her charger with her last night, maybe her battery is flat.”

  He shook his head. “Lacklan, I know something is wrong. For the last few weeks, I have known something was wrong. I can’t put my finger on it, but she has been…different.” He ran his fingers through his gray, wispy hair, looking around him, searching for the right words. “It’s as though she were on constant alert, waiting for something bad to happen. She’s been needy, clinging, always wanting to be around me, as though that made her feel safe. Take last night, for example. This is totally out of character. Something has happened to her, believe me. Somebody has taken her…”

  “Have you called the police?”

  He shook his head vigorously. “No!”

  “Why not?”

  “What if she has been kidnapped? They might kill her!”

  I nodded, still thinking. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Can’t you find her? Get her back?” He shook his head, imploring me with his eyes. “Lacklan, I couldn’t bear to lose her. In the last two years…”

  “I know, Colonel, she told me.” I hesitated. “How much do you know of her life before she came out to Texas?”

  He became serious. “Only what she has told me. She doesn’t talk much about her life before… before she came to look for me. I know she had to struggle financially. I know she worked as a receptionist, then got promoted to the director’s PA…” He faltered. “I have often suspected there was more, things she didn’t want to tell me about, especially lately. She’s been so edgy…” He stared at me suddenly, frowning. “Scared,” he said. “She’s been scared…”

  His eyes shifted from my face over my shoulder and his frown deepened. He sat forward, staring, noticing for the first time the state of my living room. “What in the name of…!”

  “I was burgled last night.”

  He got up and went to stand in the doorway. The glare of the bright morning sun had cast the inside of the house into darkness, and it was only as he stepped over the threshold that he got the full extent of what had happened.

  “Dear God, man! When did this happen?”

  “While I was with Emily?”

  He turned quickly to search my face. “Is there some connection? Has she confided something to you, Lacklan? I need to know!”

  “I don’t know anything, Colonel. And if something has happened to her, then we are wasting time. You need to go home. She might turn up, or there might be a ransom call. I’m going to go to her house, see if I can find something there.”

  He watched me say all this with a deepening scowl. “You know something. Goddamn it, Lacklan! Don’t lie to me! What has happened to her?”

  I sighed noisily through my nose. “Whether I do or not, we are not helping her by standing here arguing. Go home, Colonel, and wait there. I’ll see what I can find out and I’ll be in touch. You got a key to her place?”

  He nodded, but his scowl didn’t lessen. He pulled a latchkey off his key ring and gave it to me. Then he turned and made his way down the stairs. As I watched him go down, I thought he looked like a very sick man, older, suddenly, than his sixty-odd years.

  I called the landlord and told him I’d been burgled. He told me he’d be over that morning with someone from the insurance company and see about replacing my essential furniture by that evening. I thanked him, told him to let himself in, and went down to the Zombie, wondering if Emily had been kidnapped, or if this was just another fantasy episode in her unfathomable game. After my conversation last night with Gregor, it was hard to believe that he would snatch her. On the other hand, men like Gregor could be unpredictable.

  And then there was Rand, and the Company. I had no idea how much he knew or, perhaps even more important, who had informed him that there was going to be an auction. It was conceivable that the CIA had snatched her, but then again,
I had told Rand I was the auctioneer, so why not snatch me instead? Did they think they could use Emily as leverage over me? And then there was the big imponderable: if the CIA was there and knew about the auction, who else was there? Mossad? The Saudi GID? Al-Qaeda? Without knowing what the damned thing was, it was impossible to know who would have an interest.

  I climbed into the Zombie and sat drumming the wheel with my fingers. One thing was clear. However compelling the evidence was, that Emily claimed she had against Gregor, it was not enough to have Rand Peabody and the Company getting involved in an international auction, bidding millions against the Kremlin and the Russian Mafia. Was there anything, I asked myself, looking at the waves through the massive stilts under my house, was there anything about Emily that was true?

  “Who,” I asked aloud, “Who is Emily…?”

  Then I reversed onto the road and headed south over the bridge, toward Lake Jackson and Emily’s place on Jackson Lake.

  Eight

  I was half expecting to find her at the house, but as I moved down the drive, among the trees, there was no sign of any kind of activity, and the drapes in the windows were pulled closed. I parked outside her garage and used the key the Colonel had given me to open the front door.

  Inside, it was dark. I stood motionless on the threshold for fifteen seconds, listening to the house. There was nothing. It was still and silent: no movement, no creak of boards, no breathing. I closed the door and crossed the parquet hall to the living and dining area.

  The drapes were pulled closed over the large, sliding doors that gave onto the lawn and the pool at the back, casting the room was into a kind of penumbra, where shadows merged with each other and played tricks on your eyes. But even so, it was easy to see that the sofa had been moved about three feet back and now sat askew in the middle of the room, the lamp table at the far end of the sofa had been overturned and the large, cream lamp lay on the beige carpet, with the shade broken, torn and twisted.