Deadlock (Uncommon Enemies: An Iniquus Romantic Suspense Mystery Thriller Book 3)

by Fiona Quinn

  “He could have been a good guy,” Meg pointed. “He could have been coming here to protect us.”

  “Not likely. He had his face covered with his shemagh.”

  Meg was shaking violently.

  “Don’t look down. Don’t look at him.” He grabbed her wrist. “Come on, we’ve got to move.”

  He stepped around the prone body, then pushed back against the wall, slinking to the far stairwell, cautious at each door he had to cross. As they reached the exit, Rooster pushed Meg to the side and cracked it open, cussing under his breath at the loud kuchaw as the release latch echoed in the stairwell. Once he was sure the space was empty, he reached his hand around, stretching his arm as far as it would go and sprayed a stream of foam at the camera lens. Only then did he pull Meg forward.

  “Two floors.” He tucked her tightly behind him, then worked his way to the next camera, sliding along the shadow on the wall where it was least likely his presence would be picked up by the lens that pointed toward the handrail where most people chose to walk. He sprayed the lens. “This is pretty good stuff. It’s got a long range.” He was looking for any bright spot to feed to Meg. Her hand still trembled on his back. One more flight.

  Down they went, when suddenly from below came a kuchaw as someone depressed the bar to open the door. It held at an inch wide, then slowly pressed open. Meg turned as if to run back up the stairs. Rooster reached his left hand back and grabbed at her pants’ leg as she moved. His right hand held the rifle snug against his shoulder. “Stop,” he hissed. “Randy?”

  The door swung open and Randy slid through. “Shit, man. What the fuck?” Randy was holding a rifle and had another one slung on his back.

  Rooster nodded toward the weapon. “I see you made contact. I took out four. You?”

  “Two. Looks like I have some catching up to do.” Randy had his bullet resistant vest in place. Another one hung from his left shoulder. “Here, Meg. I brought you a present.” He glanced at Rooster. “Sorry, man, but your door was locked. I was trying to break in when my pair jumped off the elevator. I took them out but the doors closed, it was heading up. The car had maybe four still on.”

  “Yeah, I found them and put them to sleep. But I didn’t get the elevator stopped. The doors shut and it went down. That doesn’t make sense. They weren’t letting their people off at each level if they moved from the third to the fifth.”

  “Roger that. An older couple pressed the up button on the elevator. They were in their night clothes, so I’m sure they thought up was a safe direction. I called to them to take the stairs but the elevator opened and two stepped off to nix them.”

  “They got the couple?”

  “Affirmative. Here.” Randy pulled a couple pistol mags from his pocket and handed them over to Rooster. “I see you picked up a rifle and ammo. That’s good ’cause now they know they have competition,” Randy said. “They’ll go hunting.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Rooster adjusted the Velcro straps on Meg’s vest so it was held tight against her body.

  “Can I have a gun, please?” she asked. Her voice almost back to normal. The initial shock was wearing off. Rooster thought that Randy was probably a calming force for her. Rooster eyed her, then pulled the gun and holster from his back. He turned Meg around and tucked it into her waistband, then spun her back in place. He took her hand, pushed it around her back under her windbreaker. “Pull it out.”

  She did.

  He put it back away. “Leave it there. I’ll do the shooting. I don’t want your finger on a trigger if a noise makes you startle. You’ll take off the back of my scalp. But you know you have it. Okay?”

  “Yes, okay.”

  Randy had positioned himself next to the railing and moved his eyes from top to bottom, checking for anyone who might be stalking them. “Where were you headed?”

  “To get you,” Rooster said, blocking Meg in the corner with the bulk of his body.

  “Then where?”

  “Out.”

  “You want to head to the first level or go out a window up here?”

  “The back drops off pretty far. Too far to rig sheets. They’ve got the front well covered. I’m sure they’ve got a scope on all the exits—doors and windows. We could try to get into cover somewhere, fridge or something, but they were unloading boxes from the trucks out front.”

  Randy nodded. “I saw that too. I’m thinking inside is going to get real unhealthy real soon. I say move while there’s still chaos.”

  “Right. Down we go.” Rooster went first. Then Meg. Randy was last man in the stack. He walked back to back with Meg as he covered behind and above them.

  The group advanced cautiously down the stairs. As they came to the landing, Rooster shot the last of the shaving cream onto the camera and set the empty can in the corner. There were two directions to choose from. Heads you win. Tails you die. Rooster pulled up a mental image of the hotel’s layout. “This must lead to one of the lounges. I don’t know where this other staircase might lead. We’re too far toward the center of the hotel for it to go outside. No signs saying an alarm will sound. What do you think?” Rooster asked under his breath, making sure his voice didn’t echo up the stairwell.

  “Kitchen? Laundry? That’s the route I think we need to take.”

  “Roger that.” Rooster turned to Meg. Her eyes were dilated almost black with adrenaline. He kissed her forehead. “Ready for this?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Rooster

  The Back Stairwell, The Ngorongoro Crater Imperial Hotel

  Rooster pushed through the door while Meg and Randy hung back. He fired his rifle as his brain sorted the people in front of him. Three tangos with shemaghs covering their heads and lower faces stood in front of him. Two pointed their muzzles at a group kneeling on the ground, their hands behind their necks. One covered the back door. As Rooster’s bullets found their targets, the hostiles fell. Ahbou raced forward, grabbing Rooster around the leg and squeezing tight. Rooster dropped his left hand both to soothe the boy, and to make sure he wasn’t tangling under his feet in case Rooster had to move fast.

  Rooster scanned the room, his eyes on the back door. One of the tangos moved, and Rooster squeezed off another round that punched a hole between the hostile’s brows. He hoped that the bad guys in the other parts of the hotel would think the gunfire came from their side of the battle. As silence fell, Randy swung his gun through the door, assessed, and pulled Meg in behind him. “That makes seven. Shit. I’ve got catching up to do.”

  “You see the ghost?” Rooster asked.

  “I was just wondering the same thing. Here’s the question. Do we trust the Mossad? Can we trust him? There’s bound to be bad blood from the Rex Deus side of things. I wonder if he was told we’re from Iniquus, or if they mentioned the Panthers happen to be en route, and that you’re assigned to that unit.”

  “I bet he wouldn’t mind a little payback. But right now, I’m more concerned about what he knows about Djibouti.”

  “What’s his skin in this game?” Randy asked.

  “None that I know of, besides his own. Ahbou, son, I need some blood circulation in that leg. You can hang on, but stop squeezing so tight.”

  The hostages remained in place, kneeling with their hands on their heads.

  “You can all relax,” Rooster said with a lift of his chin.

  No one moved, they stared at Ahbou.

  Rooster tapped Ahbou’s shoulder, and he translated the message. The people fell to the floor, some coming up on all fours to pant for air.

  “Ahbou, does anyone know what’s happening here?”

  “I was with my uncle.” He stopped to point. “The men came into the hotel. Everyone was running. We hid behind the waiter’s cart. They took the guests from the restaurants and bars. They are making them sit on the floor in the main reception room.”

  The uncle rose to his feet.

  “Did you see how many men are at the door?” Rooster asked in Kiswahili.

>   “They had many soldiers there, bringing in the boxes. Once they finished unloading, they closed the doors and put chains and locks on so no one could leave.”

  “Okay. Did you count the number of men? Do you know how many there are?”

  There was a brief discussion amongst the workers. The uncle focused back on Rooster. “We don’t know. Many. Three trucks filled with men and boxes.”

  “What’s in the boxes?” he asked.

  Everyone shook their head.

  “Any idea who they are? Where they came from? What they want?”

  They had another conversation. Rooster steadied his impatience, better to get intel then to go off half-cocked.

  “We believe these are Somalians. They have a few men who speak Kiswahili and one—the tall one in charge—is ordering the guests around in English.”

  “Ahbou, I want you to translate this.” He waited for Ahbou’s nod. “Are there any servants’ passages out of here? Any private routes where you bring in the food and supplies?” Rooster hated wasting time with translations, but specificity was key, this was no place for misinterpretations, and Ahbou was fluent. “Any way out that the soldiers may not know about?”

  After a brief discussion, Ahbou said, “Uncle thinks that we should hide in the wine cellar. That’s where we were heading when these bad men came to us.”

  “Okay, that’s not going to work. We need to get out of the hotel.”

  “There is no way out the front of the crater wall that is not guarded by the soldiers. And out the back of the hotel we will not be safe from the night animals.”

  “We’re going to have to take our chances. Do you know a way?”

  Ahbou consulted with his uncle. “Yes, we know a way.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Rooster

  The Kitchen, Ngorongoro Crater Imperial Hotel

  Rooster glided behind Ahbou’s uncle as he led them to the back of the room. Ahbou had moved back with Meg and was holding her hand. “You keep tight hold of Miss Doctor Meg so she doesn’t trip,” Rooster said, hoping to make the boy brave by giving him responsibility.

  The uncle pointed at the door that led down to a basement area. A single bulb hung from above, lighting up the unpainted wooden stairwell. “Stay put,” he said to the man.

  Rooster slid through the door and aimed his rifle up the center opening, where the stairs twisted to the upper levels. He scanned down over the railing. He saw no signs of movement and no cameras. He gestured for them to follow. The uncle, Meg and Ahbou silently shuffled forward, followed by the rest. Rooster put his finger to his lips, then started slowly down the stairway. There were five male hotel workers, three females, along with Ahbou and Meg. It was a big group to herd. It made things riskier with so many, slow moving, with lots of personalities, languages, and culture barriers.

  Rooster paused on the landing and looked up to make sure they were all together. Randy was slicking the door back into place silently. The sound of voices drifted down the stairs toward them. Rooster caught Randy’s eye, then moved his gaze from Randy up to the light bulb and back to Randy again.

  Randy nodded.

  Rooster put his finger to his lips again, and they began their descent. When they crowded in front of the door at the bottom of the steps, Rooster once again made the sign for quiet then pointed their attention up to what Randy was doing so there would be no gasps of surprise.

  Randy licked his fingers reached up and turned the lightbulb with a hissing sound as his spit evaporated with the heat. They were plunged into darkness. Rooster knew that would ramp up their terror, but they needed every advantage they could get.

  Rooster pulled the door open, his eye to the crack, casting his gaze around the room. Clear. He opened the door and stood to the side. The uncle held it only partially open as they slipped one after the other through the crack and to the opposite wall, where they hunkered in the shadows. Rooster’s gun was pressed into his shoulder, at the ready.

  Back in formation with Rooster in the front and Randy bringing up the rear, the uncle pointed toward a garage door.

  “Anything smaller? A regular door?”

  “Not here, this is for the food delivery. The trucks drive in and we cart the food off. There is an elevator to bring them to the kitchen just over there near the bay door.”

  Rooster squatted and spit onto his fingers, using their wetness to draw a map onto the cement floor. “Where are we right now? Where is the front of the hotel? Where is the road the trucks drive down?”

  The uncle spit on his fingers and drew as well.

  “Okay so if we exit here, we’re on the left rear of the hotel, right near the crater, correct?” Rooster asked.

  “That’s correct.”

  “If we go out here,” Rooster put his finger where the dock was drawn, “is it possible to get over the rocks into the crater?”

  “It is very steep. Too steep, I think. But there are ledges. We could hide there, at least. There is no safe place to run outside of the hotel. The only escape would be to get to the hotel hospitality vans and perhaps drive to the ranger station.”

  “Does anyone have the keys?” Randy asked.

  The uncle nodded. “The keys are left in the vans. The doors are all unlocked. There is no reason to protect them here. It is too far from anything.”

  Shots fired above, and screams erupted. Not far enough, apparently. The group hunkered into tighter balls in the modest protection of the shadows. “How do we get to the vans from here?”

  The uncle traced a route along the crater to a distant area. Too far. Too many in their escape group. Too many bad guys with weapons. “Ahbou, son, I need you to say this so everyone is very clear.” He waited for Ahbou’s nod. “I’m going to push the door up just a crack. One at a time, we will lay down and roll out under the door. Roll to the edge of the dock and drop down into the shadow. I’ll go first. Once everyone is out, Randy will shut the door behind him, and we will move to the crater and hide in the boulders. When things look safer—when we have a clear route—we’ll get to the vans and drive away.”

  Ahbou translated after each sentence. Rooster looked each of the people in the eye to make sure they understood, and that they could and would follow directions. He got an affirmative nod from each. “Ahbou, you’re with Miss Doctor Meg.”

  Rooster was in his crouch walk with his rifle to his shoulder as they moved to the bay. He squatted and grabbed hold of the rope tied to the handle and as slowly and as quietly as he could, he edged the door up two feet. It groaned and complained as the trolleys moved over the tracks. Rooster lay flat on his belly and assessed. Sensing no movement, he squirmed under the door. “Okay, here we go, Randy. As soon as I jump down, start sending folks out one at a time. Start with Ahbou, then Meg.”

  Rooster froze in place as the crunch of footsteps rounded the corner. A silhouette appeared, a rifle to his shoulder, a high lumen flashlight attached to the top. Rooster was on his stomach with his hands in pushup position and his face up when the beam caught him in the eye.

  “Don’t move,” a voice ordered in Somali.

  Rooster tucked his head down and whispered. “Back. Back. Back. Back. Back.” He extended his arm, pushing his rifle through the opening.

  He heard quiet scuffling from inside the door. He knew Randy would be on his stomach covering him. If need be, Randy would take the guy out. But if he did, that would pull other eyes on them. They might get pinned down in a gun battle. Rooster kept moving, hoping like hell this guy didn’t have a twitchy trigger finger. “I’m going to get down and put my hands in the air,” Rooster replied in Somali. He swung his legs over the dock and jumped down. He splayed the fingers of his left hand and lifted it slowly into the air as his right hand snagged on his shirt, exposing his stomach to show he had no weapons. Turning slowly, Rooster lifted his shirt tail to confirm he had nothing there either, glad that he’d handed his pistol off to Meg.

  The hostile had moved up quickly. When Rooster turned forwar
d again, the blinding light shone inches from his face. “Hey, friend, how about not shining that right in my eyes?” Rooster brought his elbow across his face and lowered his head as if to protect himself from the glare.

  “I’ll do what I want,” came the reply from the man Rooster couldn’t see behind the glare.

  Rooster needed the tango to talk so he had an idea of distance and height. “But that’s burning my eyes.”

  The Somali moved his gun closer to poke Rooster in the chest. “Put your hands on your head. Turn around,” he ordered.

  Rooster dropped his hand to the barrel and jerked it violently forward as he got his other hand on the weapon and drove the stock back to hit the bad guy across his eyes and the bridge of his nose. He rotated around the much shorter man to get the length of the rifle across his neck, one hand curled protectively over the trigger guard, keeping the tango from firing a warning shot. Bending his knees and jerking the rifle back to his chest, Rooster stood. The man dangled six inches off the ground, kicking his feet, grappling with the rifle, trying to find an airway. Rooster backed slowly around the dock, being mindful that this guy might have a buddy who would be checking up on him. By the time Rooster made his way to the other side of the loading dock and up against the wall, the man hung unconscious. Rooster dropped the bad guy to the ground, grabbed his head and shoulder and yanked in opposition until Rooster heard the crack of the hostile’s neck bones, finishing the job. He snatched up the Somali’s rifle and patted him over, looking for an extra mag, but found none.

  Rooster turned off the flashlight, plunging himself back into the dark of night. Hunkering down, he closed his eyes for the count of thirty to retrieve some of his night vision. Then, ducking low, Rooster hustled along the dock and ran along the exterior wall to check for others who might be making a guard circuit. As he edged toward the corner, he heard the crunch of boots against gravel. Rooster slung the gun to his back and jerked his knife from his pocket, pulling the blade free with two hands instead of flicking it open so there was no click echoing into the night as the blade locked in place.