by Seeley James
“I told you, I don’t know.” He rose and headed for the door. “I thought it was Zola, then for a time, Blackson, but I don’t know anymore.”
“Hyde said you’re the only one who stood to gain.”
“Whatever he knows.” Koven stopped mid-step. “What would I have to gain?”
“Did you kill Zola’s boy too?” she asked.
He continued to the door. “No.”
Downstairs he found Hyde and Jago in the Grand Treaty Room, shaking hands with the Russian oil baron, Mikhail Yeschenko. A short, stocky man with a scar across his eye, he rested an arm on a cart full of suitcases.
“Mikhail, you’re not leaving, are you?” Koven asked.
“Your firm is unlucky,” the Russian said with his thick, guttural accent. “Putin and I want the sanctions lifted but not so much that I can afford to get involved with you. There are too many other Super PACs.”
He grabbed his supermodel wife’s hand and left.
Koven turned to the aging alcoholic. “What did you say to him, Hyde?”
The old man shrugged, lifting his hands. “Well. Maybe they’re worried about what you’ve been doing.”
“Why?” Koven peered at his partner. “What have I been doing?”
Hyde looked around the room and rubbed his balding head. “There have been a lot of deaths around—”
“Why would they blame me? People die all the time. Day after day, the dead stack up like cordwood all over the country. How is that my fault?”
Koven stared at Hyde until the old man turned to Jago.
Koven turned beet red and shook with rage. “You told him?”
Hyde grabbed Koven’s arm. “He never said a word to me. He didn’t need to. I just watched the Velox men cutting up Paul Benning’s body in the kitchen while that off-duty cop ate an apple. You and I both know Velox wouldn’t do anything without an authorization for the extra charges.”
“You sound awfully calm about it.”
Hyde let go and grabbed a chair for support. “It took me a minute to understand what drove you to such extremes. I’ve been around long enough to know this is not the time for insubordination or betrayal, Daryl. Jago and I discussed it. We’re with you. We don’t want to end up like Benning.”
Koven stared long and hard and ground his teeth. Finally, he took a breath. “Good. I appreciate your support. There’s much to be done.” He turned to Jago. “First, I want to hear what happened to Zola.”
“I told you.” Jago faced him. “He was shot to death.”
“Since we talked, I saw a report on a Japanese news site. It said Stearne was with him.”
“He was shot with Stearne’s gun.”
“It also said several off-duty police were involved and five went to the hospital where they were later executed.”
“I don’t know anything about the yakuza,” Jago said.
Koven stepped closer to Jago, nearly face to face. “The news reports said the executioner was American. But the eyewitness accounts described a man much taller than you.”
Jago didn’t blink.
“I didn’t want anyone else involved in this.”
Jago shrugged.
Koven thought through some options for handling Jago but none of them changed things. A third party was involved now, like it or not. Another betrayal, this time a betrayal of common sense. No, Jago couldn’t be that stupid. Maybe he was in league with Blackson and Zola. Maybe he was talking to Stearne already. The only way to find out would be to test Jago’s loyalty. Sure, a test. He scratched his chin.
After a few seconds, the tension in Koven’s face subsided, and he turned away.
“What does that have to do with us?” Hyde said.
“There’s something going on around here.” Koven turned to the former senator. “Something I don’t like.”
“What?”
“Those Velox men killed Benning without a second thought. They wanted authorization, but they didn’t care about the moral question.”
“Aren’t they CIA contractors?” Hyde asked.
Koven snorted and paced.
“It was a risky thing.” Hyde put his hands out. “People will come looking for the CEO of a major corporation. And locking up Sabel was—”
“He was recording our conversations.” Koven crossed to Hyde and grabbed his lapels. He yanked his jacket open and searched. When he saw nothing, he squeezed the material between his fingers. “Is that what you’re doing, Bill? Are you in with Sabel too? Is that why you’re asking all these questions?”
Hyde stood still.
Koven spun to Jago and pushed the coat off the man’s shoulders. “What about you, Jago? Are you worried about your future? Maybe willing to take a deal in exchange for a reduced sentence?”
“Who isn’t guilty?” Jago hunched his coat back on his shoulders. “You could turn me in too—but I’m not losing my temper.”
Koven raised a hand to strike Jago across the face. The younger man caught his wrist and held it. Jago’s strength surprised Koven, but he refused to ease off.
Their arms shook with tension.
“There’s no sense arguing about things we don’t control.” Hyde separated them.
Koven pulled away and straightened his jacket. “It doesn’t matter. The Three Blondes will cover me. I spoke to Katy Hellman and she said no one on Earth can touch us. Let the Bennings and Yeshenkos and Sabels flee in fear. Let them join the self-righteous fools who think life should be rational. We don’t need them.”
“Then everything is fine,” Hyde said.
“No, everything is not fine.” Koven’s voice shook the room. “Blackson’s been in contact with that crazy soldier, Jacob Stearne. Now he’s gone. I meant to have Blackson chopped into pieces, not Benning—but that’s how it goes sometimes.”
“Who is Jacob Stearne to you?”
“One of those soldier wannabes who concocted some crazy story about the war in Iraq. Made himself out to be a hero. For some odd reason, everyone believes him. My own platoon believed his bullshit. They forgot about him until that stupid Gottleib went to talk to him. Is that why everyone thinks I killed David?” Koven looked to the ceiling. “Doesn’t matter. Blackson’s been working with Stearne, so now it’s time to deal with him.”
Half of Jago’s mouth smiled. “Put him in the river with Benning?”
“He ran home to hide. Get back there and burn him out.” Koven faced Jago with rage in his face, his eyes bulging. “Burn down everything so there’s nothing left.”
Jago glanced at Hyde. The old man gave a gentle bow of his head and the younger man left.
“How are we going to explain the deaths of our clients?” Hyde asked. “Müller, Suliman, Taimur?”
“I don’t know anything about them.” Koven crossed to the fireplace and stared at it for a long time. “I thought that was Pia Sabel’s doing.”
“Not her style.”
Koven put his hands on the mantle and leaned to the fire. “What is her style? What do you know of her?”
“Tom knew her better than I.” Hyde stood next to him. “I only met her a couple times. I got the distinct impression she’s a destroyer.”
“You sound like my wife.” Koven cracked a short-lived smile. “For thousands of years, people have tried to destroy what they think is evil, but their destructive power becomes the very evil they seek to destroy. From the Salem witch trials to the atom bomb, what good has it done? None. We’re still killing each other and justifying it any way we like. What I want to know is, how do we attack her?”
“You have her father. She’ll attack you soon enough.”
“Let her try, it’s a fortress.” He stood back and crossed his arms. “You’re saying I should wait for her to attack? Let our destruction descend on us? Ha.”
“Ha, indeed.” Hyde closed his swollen eyes and shrugged. “She’ll descend on you like a Valkyrie and take you to Odin.”
“You sound happy about that outcome. I have every confidence in my f
ate, I’m not going to wait around. Let’s do this.”
Pulling his phone, Koven dialed her number. He went straight to her voice mail. “Pia, this is Daryl Koven calling. You have something I need, and I have something you need—presuming you care about your father’s life.”
CHAPTER 35
It was a long, lonesome valley, the kind a country singer would bring to life in terms of county jails, broken down cars, and cheating hearts. Black, leafless trees covered the steep, rolling hills and weak moonlight sparkled in the snow.
Carlos tossed a tarp over the razor wire and held the ladder. I climbed over and jumped to the ground. Carlos replaced the equipment in the shed where we’d found it and took up his position on the hill. I made sure there were no tracks left to give away my presence and went in the tunnel.
Memorial Tunnel was built in the 1950s to carry traffic, but the interstate took a different path thirty years later. The enterprising West Virginia National Guard turned it into the Center for National Response to train fire and rescue personnel as well as prepare military units for terrorism responses. In different sections over the half-mile, they keep two subway cars parked in a mock station; a careful replication of a fifty-car pileup; simulated terrorist caves; and even a collapsed building. Several times a year, Sabel Security rents the place for training sessions.
A hundred yards in, I staked out a spot in a subway car that had easy access and good places to hide nearby. Carlos did a sound check on our earbud system. Then we settled in for a long wait.
After an hour, Carlos came over the comm link. “Three guys got out of a car. One is working his way to you.”
Mercury and Seven-Death came up from deep in the tunnel.
The Mayan god stared at me as if I’d been stringing up cats. Then he turned to the entrance and shook his stick and chanted and stomped and chanted some more. He pulled his knife out, stabbed it into his chest, pulled out his beating heart and held it high over his head. He shouted and rattled his stick.
Mercury yawned and waved a dismissive hand at his friend. Save me, bro. He’s been doing that trick for three days now.
Mercury took a seat on a pile of rubble, elbow on his knee, chin in his palm.
Seven-Death turned around and waved his heart in front of us. Blood squirted from the arteries. The thing still pulsed. Mercury pushed him away. The Mayan turned to me with his fiercest glare. I thought his eyes would pop out.
I said, You’ve seen one god, you’ve seen ’em all.
Mercury said, He’s blessing you for battle, bro. The least you could do is look interested.
Too late.
The Mayan looked at me as if I’d killed his puppy. He stuck his heart back in his chest and plopped down next to Mercury.
The faint sound of bolt cutters snapped down the tunnel.
I texted Carlos: “They have arrived” and slid my thermal imaging visor down. One lone figure with NVGs scanned the tunnel without a thermal option. Approaching with the caution of a bomb squad tech, he inched past me. I resisted the urge to shoot him and unmask him but I was sure the boss would’ve sent a grunt to walk point. After reaching the far end, he came back and eyed my subway car for a hiding place. He reconsidered and tried calling someone but couldn’t get a signal.
He moved closer to the entrance and made his connection. “All clear, commander.”
A few seconds later, Carlos’s phone rang. Bianca had set us up so his phone mimicked mine; I could take calls from his location to prevent the tunnel’s echo chamber from giving away my position. I listened via my earbud and answered by sending a text which the system would send as a synthesized voice.
The caller came through. “Jacob Stearne, we’re here as agreed. Show yourself and the boy will be released.”
I texted back. “Do you realize why Shane Diabulus sent you instead of coming himself?”
The delayed response told me he was either easily confused or communicating with Shane; probably both.
Finally, he responded, “Why the voice box?”
My response: “Because I’m chewing gum and walking. Duh. The reason Shane sent you in is because he knows it’s a suicide mission. I have a bead on you, just below your body armor. If you were someone else we’d call that target ‘the family jewels,’ but on you, we’ll call it Darwinian debris.”
In the dark, he checked his crotch—which told me all I needed to know about both his IQ and his experience. He was not a soldier.
I sent another text. “Send me proof the boy’s been released and we’ll negotiate whether you die where you stand or wait til you’re outside the tunnel.”
Again he looked around, somewhat spooked. He moved in deeper, watching his signal meter.
His new position allowed me to see more of him. He had two phones and spoke into the other one. I couldn’t make out that part.
“OK,” he said to me, “the boy’s been released.”
I rolled my eyes. “Pinky swear?”
Mercury said, Dude, You got any of those stupid Sabel Darts? Now would be a good time for them. Drop this clown and wait for his boss to come looking.
I said, You told me to never touch Darts again.
Mercury said, That’s what you heard? You’re just like a teenager, man; you hear what you shouldn’t and ignore everything else. Fucking mortals.
Seven-Death nodded and put his fist out. Mercury bumped it.
The guy made his call. He was close enough to hear this time. “I don’t think he believes me.”
I snuck out of my subway car, making my way behind him while he listened to his instructions. I pulled my knife and pistol and waited until he finished his call. When he lowered the outbound phone, I pressed my knife to his neck and the barrel to the bottom of his skull.
I said, “First, we’re going to walk backward to where your friends won’t see us. Then, you’re going to toss your weapons six feet in front of you.”
We did our little dance and his assault rifle clattered to the ground. He held his hands up.
I pounded my knee in his butt. “Pistol? Knife? Anything else that will get you killed when I search you?”
Gingerly, he reached into several pockets and pulled weapons: two knives, two pairs of cuffs, brass knuckles. Last to fall to the ground, a Glock 22 in a .40 caliber. I knocked his Kevlar helmet off to make sure he understood how vulnerable he was.
“Where is Shane?” I asked.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
I smacked him in the head.
He changed his answer. “He’s not here.”
Another smack.
His voice trembled this time. “He’s in Rockaway.”
“Where is the boy?”
“I just said what the commander said. That was the first I heard of a boy.”
“You’re a cop and you didn’t think to ask what this was about?” I asked.
Shocked I knew him so well, he twitched and started to turn. I smacked his head.
I sighed. “You looked at your legs when I claimed to have a bead on you. Only TV snipers use red laser dots. Anyone with basic military training would know we use an infrared targeting laser in real life. You need special glasses to see them—that way the enemy doesn’t know you’re targeting him.” I paused. “Plus, you’re carrying a standard issue Montgomery County Police pistol. Even has the MCP property stamp on the grip.”
He swallowed so hard it echoed.
One of his phones rang.
End of game time.
I smacked the cop over the head so hard he was out before he hit the ground.
I picked up the guy’s other phone and accepted the call. “Let’s cut out the middleman, shall we, Shane?”
The inhale on the other end was satisfying. But the bastard made me wait for an answer.
“You’re a dead man, Stearne.” No voice box this time.
The voice sounded familiar. I hadn’t spoken to Shane in a long time, so I couldn’t be sure it was him.
I said,
“All the wit of a third grader. Is the boy safe?”
“So you do care about him after all. I’ll put him at the mouth of the tunnel. You come out and he goes in.”
“No dice. You come in, then put the boy in the tunnel. Anyone shoots him, you die. If he gets to my backup guy, I’ll come out.”
“What? No. Then I’ll be a hostage. That won’t work.”
The Shane-guy wasn’t as dumb as I’d hoped. I needed a new plan.
Carlos’s voice came into my earbud. “Six guys heading for the tunnel. Want me to take them out?”
I texted him back. “If one of them is on the phone, yes. Otherwise no.”
“No one is on the phone. Standing by.”
They were moving in faster than I wanted. Paranoia crept through me as I slapped plasticuffs on my first captive and shoved a rag in his mouth. I made it back to my train car as the advancing troops peered around the corner, into the tunnel.
The Shane-guy on the phone said, “Tell you what. I’ll have the boy out front. You come out close enough to see him, but not close enough to get shot. Then the boy can take off. When that’s done, you walk out. Deal?”
“If you stand next to him. Wear body armor if you want, but keep your hands open and out wide.”
“Done.” He clicked off.
His voice rang in my ear. It was familiar, too familiar. I couldn’t pinpoint why. Maybe I was expecting Shane to do more trash talk. This guy knew how to have a negotiation without losing his cool. I was leaning toward it being someone other than Shane.
He might not be on the phone, but he’d masterminded Tokyo. Of that, I had no doubts. Not even the creepy-as-hell Jago dude would execute people in an emergency room. That meant Shane was somewhere near the operation.
All six intruders snuck in the entrance. Four were using commando tactics like the well-trained soldiers Velox employed. Two hung back, looking a bit awkward, as if they were playing follow-the-leader. They took up positions behind concrete barriers on either side and waited. Several long seconds ticked by.
I calculated my chances. Bad and getting worse.
Sweat trickled down my temple. I could not let the kid die in this. Maybe I didn’t know him and didn’t have any allegiance to his mom, but Shane had beaten me in Tokyo and I couldn’t let that happen again.
