by Gayle Lynds
Raina touched his cheek. “I’m sorry, Jay. He wasn’t who you thought he was.”
“Me, too,” Elaine said softly. “Very sorry. But he was really such an awful man.”
Jay straightened. “Yes, he was. But now we have to move. We’ll leave him here. Do you want to go on, Elaine?” He examined her worriedly. “There’s no shame in stopping. You’re not in the best of shape.”
“You can’t leave me behind now.” She lifted her chin.
He nodded and checked his watch. “I understand. We’re going to be badly outnumbered, so we need to figure out a plan and pick up supplies. Follow us in the Jag.”
50
Baltimore, Maryland
Across the wide Port of Baltimore, the Patapsco River spread like black ink, ripples chromed by moonlight. At a cove, the long wharves of the Cross-Global Sea Center jutted out into the sheen. Tonight only the Mango Blossom was anchored, and only Jerry Angelides and his armed men—dressed in Cross-Global’s smart blue guard uniforms—were on duty on the terminal’s one lit dock.
A cigar clamped between his teeth, Ghranditti paced high above, along the Blossom’s railing. Trimmed in brilliant blue and gold, her hull was the creamy white of a mango flower, his first Marie’s favorite scent, while inside was stored a fortune in shipping containers, including those destined for the Majlis al-Sha’b. Beside him, more containers extended in a towering steel flotilla from bow to stern. As his gaze swept over his kingdom, he felt a moment of rare pleasure. Someday the world would know about his triumph. It was his legacy, and a legacy endured forever.
He turned on his heel and glanced down at the pier. Laurence Litchfield was striding toward the ship’s gangplank, a woman beside him. Ghranditti slowed to study them. They were an odd pair, Litchfield lean as a wolfhound, the woman short and rounded. As they climbed the ramp, Ghranditti swore loudly. It was Bobbye Johnson.
As a tugboat whistled in the distance, Ghranditti pulled his cigar from his mouth and glared at Litchfield. “Explain!”
“I don’t like this any more than you do.” There was bite to the CIA man’s tone. “Is the ship loaded?” He and Bobbye Johnson stepped aboard.
“Just finished. Pilot and tugs will be here in an hour. You have the DVDs?”
“Of course. But nothing happens until I know you’ll handle our problem.”
“Our problem?”
“Her.” Litchfield nodded brusquely at the DCI.
The DCI’s eyes snapped. “Do you really think you’re safe? If the Majlis get their hands on so much state-of-the-art technology, you’ll go down with everyone else. You may be their friends tonight. Tomorrow you’ll be like everyone else—prey.”
Litchfield ignored her. “She needs to vanish when the ship’s out to sea.”
“The cameras caught you kidnapping me, you son of a bitch.” Her chin jutted. “If I disappear, Langley will come after you!”
Litchfield told her calmly, “There was no sign of a kidnapping. You got into the car of your own free will.”
Smoking, Ghranditti considered the situation. The ship’s officers were American, the crew mostly Filipinos. All civilians. None was armed, which was the rule in case pirates attacked; they were more apt to survive if they did not resist. He had kept them on for the voyage because the Blossom must appear to be like all others, with nothing unusual to attract authorities in the ports at which she would call.
Still, there was a solution. “Yes, I have someone. He’ll enjoy scrubbing her.”
Sweat beading on his forehead, Jay rowed through the dark night toward the tip of Ghranditti’s dock in an inflatable boat with a glass-reinforced plastic hull. Its diesel engine was high-powered, but now they needed silence—so he rowed. To the left loomed the Mango Blossom, a massive piece of machinery more than three football fields long. From the water-line, her gleaming hull and superstructure rose fourteen stories to the bridge and monkey island above.
Raina sat at the small boat’s prow, SIG Sauer ready, her upturned face vigilant. As Jay shipped the oars, letting the craft skim silently ahead, she holstered her pistol and grabbed a rope. When they neared a tree-trunk piling, she threw the rope around, and he caught it. Pulling on the rope, he angled the boat until it slid into the deep shadow of the wharf.
He looked at Raina. Both were dressed completely in black, from special microfiber pants and waterproof jackets to backpacks filled with supplies. As in the old days, warmth passed between them, then acceptance of their fate. One way or another, they must stop Ghranditti’s cargo.
As their boat rocked and Raina gripped its sides, Jay reached up. Muscles complaining, he grabbed the dock and pulled himself up and over. Drawing his weapon, he lay flat on the planks and studied the men who were patrolling under the radiant illumination of tall pole lamps. Jerry and Rink were in their usual sports jackets, guns concealed, while the other guards were uniformed and carried Uzis.
Jay followed the line of the gangplank. Shocked, he stared as Bobbye Johnson wrenched herself from Laurence Litchfield’s grasp, and they and Martin Ghranditti headed along the deck toward the wheelhouse.
He scrambled back to the edge and looked down into Raina’s questioning face. “Come.” He reached down a hand.
She shook her head, stood, and pushed off the balls of her feet. As she leaped, the boat swayed and thumped the piling. He peered across the dock. When he turned back, she was pulling herself up and over.
Gripping their pistols, they dropped to their bellies to study the situation. On their right stood the terminal building—a three-story warehouse opening onto the pier. A shadowy interior showed through the giant doorway. To their left was the ship, and alongside it were two cargo cranes that looked like colossal four-legged spiders. The cranes were dark, confirming the shipment was loaded. Beyond the pier spread a parking lot, and farther yet a double-wide truck gate with a kiosk in the center.
Whispering, he told her about Ghranditti, Litchfield, and Bobbye Johnson. “If we can free her, she’ll call in her shooters.”
“If she’s still alive.”
It was what he had been thinking, too. The situation seemed to grow only worse.
“No sign of al-Hadi?” she asked.
“Not yet.”
They watched longer. As guards drifted across the dock, converging to talk and smoke, Jay speed-dialed his cell phone: “Elaine, we’re here. Where are you?”
“Arrived a while ago. Sitting in my car now. There are two guys in the sentry kiosk, both carrying Uzis. I’ve got a clear view of the ship, wharf, and warehouse. The complex is fenced—heavy wire mesh, rolled concertina wire on top. No surprises.”
Raina interrupted by touching his arm and pointing up. “Ghranditti’s back.”
“Hold on, Elaine.”
Smoking a cigar, Ghranditti was marching alone along the deck as if he owned not only it but the world. He was an imposing figure tonight, radiating self-confidence. Stopping at the rail, he rested his forearms on it and leaned over, attentively watching a limousine roll toward the gangplank.
“Bastard,” Jay muttered. Still, the limo offered possibilities. “We may have a better way to do this, Elaine.”
“Jay! You promised not to cut me out!”
“I’m not.” Keeping the cell at his ear so Elaine could hear, he told Raina, “As soon as we have a distraction, we duck into the warehouse and wait for a couple of guards. We overpower them and take their uniforms.” Then to Elaine: “This is a safer opening to accomplish what we want. They’ve got Bobbye. Try to help her.” He ended the connection.
Inside the plush limousine, Marie Ghranditti stared straight ahead, feeling ill.
“It’s okay, Mom.” Aaron patted her hand as if he were the adult and she the child. “Dad told me he’d be waiting for us here. Remember?”
Marie nodded mutely. She had felt sick as soon as the doctor’s needle punctured her skin. She had no idea what the new drug was. She glanced at the nanny, Bebe, young and pretty, who cuddled the sleeping K
ristoph on her lap. Little Mariette dozed, her shoulder sunk into Bebe’s side. She wanted to tell Bebe she would take care of her children, but that was not going to happen for a while. Not until she figured out how to get them away from Martin.
Turning her head, Marie saw Jerry through her window. He opened the door and offered his hand. She grasped it and heaved herself out as a bustle of activity erupted. The limo’s trunk swung open. Suitcases emerged. More suitcases from the front seat. Children awakened and yawned.
From the gangplank, her name floated toward her. “Marie! Darling, you’re here!” It was Martin.
She straightened. She must not embarrass Martin. She stretched her dry lips in a smile. Jerry held her arm, supporting her. They made their way around the limo.
Controlling his emotions, Jay watched Marie Ghranditti. He studied her rigid movements, the apparent weakness in her joints. She sagged against the rear fender when Jerry released her to help with the suitcases.
In other respects, the scene was touching. As soon as he reached the bottom of the ship’s ramp, Ghranditti crouched and enveloped the children in his arms, delivering kisses to little cheeks. He took Kristoph’s and Mariette’s hands and drew the children up the gangway. Both feet together, Aaron enthusiastically jumped up the ramp after them. Jerry returned to Marie, and she leaned heavily on his arm as he escorted her next, followed by a chauffeur pushing a dolly loaded with suitcases. Last was a young woman, probably another employee.
“What a happy parade,” Raina whispered angrily.
As the arms dealer’s troops gathered in a loose circle, transfixed by their employer’s beautiful family, Jay gave a sharp nod. “Now.”
Bent low, they sprinted across the swath of open space toward the warehouse. The illumination from the outdoor lights seemed to pulse. As he followed Raina through the door, Jay checked behind.
“Jay.” Raina’s voice was a warning.
He whirled back around. She was motionless, surrounded on three sides by high loads of crates. An S&W pistol leading, Alec stepped briskly out from among them, his broad features cool and shrewd.
“Hello, Glinda.” He seemed to fill the warehouse with his bulky presence. “So we rendezvous again. Fortunately, I remained here to observe Ghranditti’s Pied Piper act. Family occasions hold no charm—”
As if she were elastic, Raina spun on the ball of her right foot and, using her hips for power, shot back her left foot in a yoko kekomi thrust kick that landed hard against the big Whippet operative’s solar plexus.
Jay was already around her. As Alec staggered, Jay ripped away the S&W.
But the barrel of another gun rammed into Jay’s side. “Jay Tice. At last. You and Raina have been such trouble. I will have that.” Volker Rehwaldt yanked Jay’s Browning away while Alec retrieved his weapon and grabbed Raina’s SIG Sauer.
Hardly breathing, Raina glared at Volker.
His pocked face was severe. “To the ship,” he ordered. “Go now.”
Jay peered around.
“Forget it, Jay!” Alec snapped. “You’re not going to get out of this one. Move!”
Jay and Raina exchanged a look then walked slowly back out into the harsh lights, their two captors close behind. The Ghranditti family had vanished on board, while the limousine cruised back toward the terminal’s gates.
“We’ve got them!” Alec bellowed to the men on the docks. “We goddamned well got them at last!”
The Jaguar was parked against the curb that arched into the terminal, where the approaching limousine blocked Elaine’s view for a few seconds. When she could finally see again, the throbbing pain in her finger vanished. She leaned forward, alarmed.
Jay and Raina were crossing to the container ship, herded by two men with guns. She recognized the shooters—they had led the pack that had chased her from the fish wharf. She must do something quickly.
As she judged the limo’s speed and distance, she pressed the switch that kept her headlights dark. Turning on her engine, she touched an overhead button, and the sunroof opened. Damp air drifted down.
Keeping herself calm, she watched the gate slide open. She would have only seconds to slip through before it closed. She studied the limo’s headlights as they grew larger. In the kiosk the guards were watching the vehicle, too. As it nosed through the opening, Elaine snapped the Jag’s gear into drive and slammed the accelerator.
With a squeal of tires, the car took off. The entry’s ornamental bushes seemed to fly past her window. Turning the steering wheel, she sped around the limo. Metal screeched against metal as she sideswiped its tail and rushed on. Guards leaped out of the kiosk, a blur, too late. She sideswiped the gate’s steel post. Shimmying, the Jag burst through into the Sea Center, speeding over the pavement toward the wood dock.
51
Atop the Mango Blossom’s towering deckhouse, the bridge was intense with activity. Voices crackled from the shortwave radio while officers plotted the ship’s course, checked charts, and tracked weather patterns.
Martin Ghranditti stalked onto the bridge first, followed by Faisal alHadi, wearing cheap eyeglasses and a white steward’s uniform and carrying two martinis on a silver tray. With his Mediterranean skin and slick black hair, he looked as if he had been serving at sea for years. Ghranditti hid his annoyance. Al-Hadi had demanded Laurence Litchfield be present for the transfer, a personal guarantee against duplicity.
Ghranditti nodded at the captain then at Litchfield, who was waiting alone in an alcove, hands clasped behind, apparently admiring the scenery. A laptop computer sat open on a ledge beside him.
“I thought you might like a drink before you go.” With a timbre of excitement in his voice, Ghranditti spoke loud enough to Litchfield for the crew and pilot to hear, then he disappeared into the alcove with al-Hadi.
His deep-set eyes emotionless, Litchfield looked the “steward” up and down then nodded. “It’s ready for you to inspect.” He stepped aside.
Al-Hadi set down the serving tray. “You have the decryption disc also?”
“On me.”
As al-Hadi’s fingers flew over the laptop’s keyboard, the arms merchant and the CIA official drank and watched data and point-and-click interfaces flash across the screen. At last al-Hadi removed the DVD from the laptop and stood back. Without a word, he pulled out his cell phone and tapped numbers, signaling his approval.
Ghranditti and Litchfield took out their cells, too.
Within minutes, al-Hadi transferred $6 million into Ghranditti’s account, and Ghranditti wired half into Litchfield’s. When Litchfield confirmed his had arrived, he handed the decryption DVD to al-Hadi. The simple gesture completed the transaction.
Pride surged through Ghranditti. He had never felt so alive. “We’ve just created history!” He touched the rim of his martini glass to Litchfield’s.
The CIA man chuckled loudly. “To a better future.”
They drank and smiled.
Ignoring them, al-Hadi slid the ForeTell and decryption DVDs inside his shirt, propped the empty silver tray on the ends of his fingertips, and strode away. His starched white back was erect, his tread triumphant and sure.
Summoned by Alec St. Ann’s announcement, the guards on the dock grinned and shouted in celebration. Like big-game hunters, they converged on Jay and Raina.
“You got them!” One pounded Alec’s back in congratulation.
“Shit, it’s about time,” said another.
While Alec and Volker silently accepted the men’s praise, Jay used his peripheral vision to scan the complex’s entry. Raina’s head moved slightly; she was looking, too.
“Be ready to move,” he told Raina quietly.
“Shut up!” Jerry Angelides’s voice boomed from the top of the gangplank. “Both of you, shut the fuck up!” He pulled a Colt handgun from inside his sports jacket and trotted down the ramp. His flat, stony gaze never left Jay.
Rink called out, “I knew you’d get them, Jerry. I knew it!”
Jerry nodded.
“I knew it, too, Rink. It was only a matter of time.” He landed on the dock, his bristle haircut flicking artificial light, and stalked to Jay. “Don’t you say another word.” He raised the Colt inches from Jay’s mouth.
“Volker!” Raina twisted to peer at him. “You can’t let—”
“Be quiet!” the German operative ordered. “It is none of our business.”
Jay stared into the deadly muzzle, hoping like hell it was not Jerry’s personal weapon, but it probably was—a shooter liked to work with his own gun.
Thinking quickly, Jay allowed terror and indignation to radiate from him. “That’s not Billy’s Colt, is it?” he pleaded. “It’s bad enough you’re going to scrub me, but it wouldn’t be right to do it with that poor kid’s gun!”
“I was training him good until you tricked him,” Jerry snapped. He stuck his Colt back inside his holster and slid the other from his waistband. “Yeah, Billy’s the one who should take you down!”
“Watch out!” someone yelled.
The growl of the racing Jaguar pierced the hush. Heads whipped around. Showered in the dock’s lights, the windshield displayed Elaine’s small face, angry and intent, as the car accelerated directly at them.
Alec and Volker spun and fired. Their wild bullets made explosive sounds as they slammed into the car. The pair ran backward, firing sporadically, while the rest of the men scattered. More erratic gunfire split the quiet air.
Jerry swore loudly. “Gotta ice you fast, buddy.” He squeezed the Colt’s trigger. But it did not shoot. There was no sound, no bullet, nothing.
The car’s motor was a roar. The dock shivered. Jay controlled an urge to bolt.
“What the fuck did you do to Billy’s gun!” Yelling, Jerry squeezed again then tossed the Colt and reached for his own weapon just as the car was about to smash them.
