Thrilling Thirteen

by Ponzo, Gary

  Lemon nosed around the blocked gap for a moment or so, then apparently lost interest. She feathered away further up the street, head down and tail up.

  “What is she doing?” Lefévre demanded. “Call her back.”

  “She’s doing her job,” I snapped. “Let her get on with it.”

  Hope gave me a look of grateful surprise and when Lemon paused to check back, she called encouragement in a stronger voice than before.

  Lemon disappeared from view. With her eyes fixed on that spot Hope asked in a brittle voice, “How much do you know?”

  “Some. Most of it, probably. Hope’s your older sister isn’t she? And because she’s mentally handicapped and cared for by your parents, you knew she was never going to leave home, get a job, or apply for a driving licence, or a passport, so you did it for her.”

  “It was my fault,” Hope said. “A stupid dare when we were kids. I was only eight—didn’t know any better. She always was afraid of heights. Sometimes … sometimes I think it would have been better if she’d died. Instead, Mum and Dad were left with a constant reminder of what they’d lost. Of what I’d done. I guess I don’t blame them for taking it out on me.”

  “So you ran away.”

  She nodded. “Stuck it for a couple of years, but in the end you can only take the back of someone’s hand so often before you’ve had enough.” She glanced at Lefévre with hatred. He either ignored it or didn’t hear. “I lived rough, learned to get by.”

  “Picking pockets.”

  “Better than the alternative. I was lucky. Met someone who taught me. Got caught a few times, taken back home, but they couldn’t make me stay.”

  “And then you found Lemon.”

  For the first time she smiled. “Saw someone chuck a box in the canal. Though it might be something I could sell so I fished it out. Turned out to be pups, the sick bastard. Lem was the only survivor.”

  The unwanted girl and the unwanted dog. Perfect companions. Hope’s face suddenly crumpled and she scrubbed away tears, meeting my eyes for the first time with a fierce promise. “If anything happens to her because of this, Charlie, I swear I’ll bloody kill you …”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  A further ten minutes went past in windswept silence before Lefévre glanced again at Hope and said, “I begin to think the abilities of your dog have been somewhat overplayed.”

  “She’s working it,” Hope said, her whole body tense. “Give her time.”

  “Time is a luxury I do not have. Perhaps you need some encouragement to persuade her to work a little faster.” Lefévre lifted the Ruger and swung it in my direction. “Your friend here, for instance, I do not need.”

  Hope looked at me briefly and I knew she already regretted telling me so much. She sneered. “Shoot her then. She’s done nothing but poke her nose in since she got here.”

  For a moment I saw Lefévre’s knuckles tighten around the grip of the big revolver. I braced myself automatically, waiting for the shot. If I was lucky I wouldn’t know much about it.

  And then, muffled by layers of stone and concrete and brick, came the distinct sound of a dog barking.

  Lefévre smiled. “Saved by the dog.” He lowered his arm. “Although I think it was perhaps a bluff on your part, mademoiselle.”

  I glanced at Hope’s set face. I wouldn’t be so sure about that if I were you.

  Hope shrugged and ignored him, just took a few steps forward and yelled, “FETCH, Lem! Bring it, girl.”

  A few more agonising minutes dragged past until there was a flurry of movement from further along the row of storefronts and Lemon emerged from a tiny hole. Her golden fur was filthy with dirt and mortar dust, and there was a patch of what looked like oil staining her flank.

  But clutched in that soft retriever’s mouth was a grubby canvas satchel.

  “Good girl, Lem!”

  The dog brought the find straight to Hope, head high to avoid bumping it on the uneven ground, and relinquished it directly into her hands.

  I heard Lefévre mutter, “My God,” with wonder in his voice. “That’s it. She actually found it.”

  And a voice behind us a voiced called out, “Did you ever have any doubts?”

  We all of us turned almost as one unit. Across on the other side of the street, Commander Peck stood just far enough back to cover the group of us with a HK53 compact assault rifle. How ironic that I’d been wishing for one earlier.

  Standing alongside him was the Scottish copper Wilson, and Joe Marcus. For a second I could not think of a good reason for Marcus to be there that didn’t have bad connotations for all of us. Me especially.

  “Thank you, Miss Tyler, for retrieving my gems.”

  Lefévre took a step forward but wisely did not try to bring the Ruger up to make himself more of a target.

  “We had an agreement, commander, if you recall? A seventy-thirty split in my favour.”

  Peck gave a negligent shrug. “Circumstances have changed, my friend.” He gestured around him. “More people are now involved on my behalf and, if you’ll forgive me for pointing this out, fewer on yours.”

  I checked Marcus’s face but could glean nothing from it. Did that “more people” Peck mentioned include him or not? Where was the Colt he usually carried? And my SIG?

  “But, a deal is a deal, surely?” Lefévre’s mouth was smiling but I was close enough to see his eyes were scared. “You brought us in—my late partner and myself—for this job because you were told you could trust us. Is it unreasonable to expect that you will keep your word?”

  “Unreasonable? No. Unrealistic in the circumstances? Yes.” Peck’s face was stony. “It was supposed to be a simple robbery. You had no need to kill Señor Rojas. That was not part of the deal.”

  Lefévre took a quick step back, opening his mouth to protest, but it was too late.

  Peck fired a short three-round burst from the HK. The 5.56mm NATO rounds exploded into Lefévre’s upper torso, dropping him instantly. He let go of the Ruger which skittered away out of reach. I watched his chest deflate slowly as his last breath expelled and he was unable to draw another.

  Riley swore again, low and vicious. Hope merely curled herself around Lemon’s shivering body as the dog cowered from the gunfire.

  “Thank you all for assisting me to capture a dangerous criminal, who sadly resisted arrest,” Peck said calmly. “Mr Marcus, if you would be so kind as to retrieve the bag of … evidence from Miss Tyler, I believe I will now be able to close this case.”

  With only the briefest pause, Marcus walked across the gap separating us and grasped the satchel Lemon had brought out. As he bent over her, Hope raised a tear-streaked face to his.

  “It’s all right, Hope. Everything will be all right.”

  He walked back to Peck without hurrying. Peck held out his free hand for the satchel but Marcus made no immediate moves to hand it over.

  “We agreed on a dozen stones,” he said, “for letting you handle this your way.”

  Peck said nothing for a moment, then nodded.

  I watched in disbelief as Marcus undid the straps and pulled out a black velvet pouch. He reached in without taking his eyes from Peck and came out with a handful of what might have seemed like chips of glass except for the way they sparkled as they caught the light. He let a couple drip back through his fingers, counted what remained, then put the pouch back into the satchel and handed it over without a word.

  “This just gets better and better, doesn’t it, Joe?” I said, my voice oozing with contempt. “Now I know why you had to get rid of Kyle Stephens.”

  Riley swore again, more quietly this time, and Hope’s breath hitched in her throat.

  Marcus gave me a long stare that went right through me as if it found no resistance. “You don’t know anything for sure.”

  “Oh, of course not,” I agreed, edged with sarcasm. “That’s why you wanted to leave me in that damn cellar and hope the building would silence me so you didn’t have to.”

 
He frowned but before he could speak Wilson broke in.

  “What about me, eh?” Marcus and Peck both turned to look at him. Their expressions were not encouraging.

  “You only received your cut if you obtained the gems first. You did not,” Peck told him. “That was our agreement.”

  “Wait a bloody minute there, pal. If I hadn’t brought them here—” he gestured to Marcus and me, “—and tipped you off, you would never have got a hold of the stones.”

  “You brought them here?” Peck queried mildly. “I thought my pilot did that. Just as my pilot made the radio call that summoned me as soon as you were in the air.”

  The shock on the big Scot’s face tightened into outright fury as Peck turned away, dismissing him. He launched for the police commander’s back, managed to get his good arm around the man’s neck before Peck brought the butt of the rifle back, jamming it into Wilson’s ribcage.

  I heard the air gust out of his lungs along with a grunt of pain. He tumbled backward, gasping. The effect of the blow surprised me. Either Peck was stronger than he looked or …

  “Bastard!” Wilson got out between his teeth. “I put my career on the line for you. You owe me! You needn’t think I’m going to keep quiet about this, pal.”

  Peck regarded him for a moment and then started to bring the HK up to his shoulder again.

  I moved forward. Peck’s aim shifted slightly.

  “Enough,” I said. “Killing a murderer is one thing. Killing a man because he’s threatening to expose you is quite another.”

  And I knew when I spoke that Joe Marcus would not have missed the significance of the words, even if he did not react to them.

  “What about killing a man who has tried to kill you?” Peck asked. “Who did you think was sniping at you from the end of this very street yesterday?”

  I looked down at Wilson. He was clutching his side as though it would come apart without the support of his hands, and trying without success to move around the pain.

  “All’s fair in love and war, eh?” he said with a grimace that tried to be a smile. “Couldn’t let you get to those gems first. Him—” he flicked his eyes in the direction of Joe Marcus, “—he’d already offered me a cut, but you? You would have handed ’em in, you daft bitch.”

  I leaned over him, several other things becoming clear now. “How are the ribs?” I asked. “I should have booted you harder when I had the chance.”

  “Hey!” Riley shouted, making all of us jump. He was still sitting trussed on the ground. “Hey, there’s—”

  “Shut up!” Peck snapped, swinging the HK in his direction.

  But even as he spoke we realised what Riley had been trying to tell us as the ground began to tremble, then to shake.

  “Aftershock!”

  But this one was not like the others. It was as if the whole of the surrounding area was being hit by intense artillery bombardment. It jarred and shuddered violently from each impact, except there were no explosions, no heat and blast waves, no shells raining down on us. I tried to drop to my knees, to get my head covered, only to discover the ground under me had already gone.

  I screamed. A pure visceral cry of terror as my body lurched, leaving my stomach behind, and then I was falling feet first into the void.

  EPILOGUE

  I watched the Lockheed C-130 plunge towards the fractured runway with a feeling of relief that, this time, I was not on board. It was bad enough watching the tyres deform from the impact as they hit, seeing the puff of smoke and only afterwards hearing the chirrup, delayed by the distance between us.

  “Your ride,” Commander Peck said unnecessarily.

  “It is,” I agreed.

  “It has been a pleasure to have you visit my country, Miss Fox,” he said, offering his hand. “Please do not come back.”

  “They couldn’t pay me enough,” I said cheerfully.

  His mouth twitched, almost a smile, although his eyes were hidden behind the usual Aviators. “Then we are in accord.”

  I climbed stiffly down from the back of the police Eurocopter. A silent Wilson followed me out. I watched him struggle with the pair of crutches he was relying on, his foot and ankle encased in plaster.

  “I hope this is the last time we meet,” I told him, not offering to help. “But if you ever decide to shoot at me again, pal, make sure you don’t miss. Because I won’t.”

  “I was never trying to hurt you, just shake you up a bit. Thought I could put in for your spot, eh? Seemed like a cushy number.”

  Wilson, I’d learned, was a man who could resist anything except temptation, the lure of easy money, at which point his scruples tended to take a holiday. I wondered what kind of a soldier it had made him, and what kind of a copper he’d since turned into.

  “Ribs still hurting, are they?”

  “Like a bastard,” he admitted, his voice rueful. “It was Peck put me up to—”

  “Good,” I interrupted, meaning the ribs. “I don’t need to hear any more. And as long as you keep your mouth shut, nobody else does either, do they?”

  I walked away from him, far enough to watch the Hercules taxi off the flight-line and slot into its designated space in a line of other heavy transport aircraft. The rear loading ramp was already lowering before the engines finished spooling down, forklifts and refuelling tankers converging.

  As the crew emerged there were two figures among them who didn’t fit the usual mould. Manners dictated that I go to meet them. Surprise kept me static.

  “Charlie,” Parker Armstrong greeted me without inflection as he drew closer. Those cool grey eyes skated over the cuts and grazes on my face, the way I held myself, and I knew he was assessing the damage—both what he could see and what he could not. “Glad you’re OK.”

  “Sir,” I murmured, keeping it formal because alongside him was R&R’s sponsor—in effect my employer on this job—Mrs Hamilton. She looked as cool and elegant as ever, the rigours of a long-haul flight in steerage notwithstanding.

  “It’s a miracle they got you out alive. It must have been terrifying,” she said, ignoring my proffered hand in favour of a light hug and a kiss to both cheeks. “My God, I never expected … How long were you buried?”

  “Only about six hours,” I said, playing it down. It had felt like six weeks. “They had to stabilise the area before they could get to us.”

  I did not add that the initial surveys and gathering of equipment had taken Marcus and his team over four hours, during which time neither myself nor Wilson, trapped nearby, had known if they were coming for us or not. It had been a sobering experience.

  Wilson had wept and wailed and raged himself into silence—something he was not proud of now and another stick I could beat him with if I so chose. Providing he kept to his side of the bargain, I’d keep to mine.

  The infinitely slow tick of those first four hours had given me time to think about where I had been with my life and where I intended to go. About right and wrong. Trust and betrayal. And justice, whatever I deemed that to be.

  “Ah, looks like we have company,” Mrs Hamilton said, smiling over my shoulder.

  I turned and saw the khaki-coloured Bell making a fast showy landing near the hangar where Riley picked me up on my arrival, less than a week ago.

  As soon as the skids were on the tarmac the doors opened. Joe Marcus helped Dr Bertrand climb down as Hope and Lemon jumped out of the rear load bay. Riley stayed in the pilot’s seat as if to be ready for a quick exit. He gave me a nod and a salute when he saw me watching, but for once he did not smile.

  “The gang’s all here,” I murmured. Parker glanced at me sharply, but he made no comment.

  The R&R team greeted Mrs Hamilton with respectful enthusiasm. Even Lemon was on her most appealing best behaviour. Hope could hardly bring herself to look at me.

  “I expect you are all wondering about the reason for this impromptu inspection of the forces,” Mrs Hamilton said, flicking her eyes to Parker. “I—”

  “I think I can
probably answer that,” I said. “Mrs Hamilton did not simply employ me as a replacement security advisor for Kyle Stephens.” I let my gaze wander across them. “She also employed me to find out how and why he died.”

  Mrs Hamilton took a breath as if to contradict me. I waited, but she said nothing, frowning.

  “I’m very sorry,” I told her, “but I’m afraid your trust was severely misplaced.”

  She flinched and I heard Hope take in an audible breath that hitched in the back of her throat.

  “Misplaced how?” Parker asked.

  “Kyle Stephens, for all his record in the Rangers, was not a man to be trusted,” I said. “He stole from the dead and sold off what he couldn’t trade or barter.”

  “So his death?” Mrs Hamilton queried. “It wasn’t …?”

  “Deliberate?” I shrugged. “You’d asked him to look into the rumours, so he must have known he was on borrowed time. Maybe that led to him being … reckless, who knows?”

  She nodded, the slight drop of her shoulders the only giveaway to her relief. “And that’s it?” she asked. “Nothing more?”

  My gaze skimmed the R&R team once again, lingering on Hope. She paled, mutely pleading.

  “No,” I said. “There’s nothing more.”

  “Thank you,” Mrs Hamilton said. “For putting my mind at rest. I mean, I knew, but even so …”

  “You’re welcome.”

  A man in uniform with a lot of gold braid across the breast and epaulettes arrived to claim Mrs Hamilton in some official capacity.

  Parker touched my arm. “We’ve located Sean,” he murmured, his face grave. “It’s not the news we were hoping for.”

  “Let’s hear it, Parker.”

  “Not now. I’ll brief you on the plane. Wheels up in two hours, OK?” And with that he joined his client, giving me a brief nod that was not altogether satisfied.

  As soon as they’d gone more than a few yards Hope flung herself at me and squeezed me tighter than bruising and stitches were happy to allow. Lemon skipped around the pair of us, squeaking like a puppy.