Secrets of the Dead

by Kylie Brant

  By this time tomorrow, he would be richer than he’d ever dreamed.

  _______

  The success of the Trojan horse code that Declan had encrypted in the email attachment meant rearranging the duties of the day. He and Eve would stay at the hotel, where he’d sift through the man’s stored documents and correspondence, and she’d translate them to see if there was any information they could use. Kell and Finn took surveillance duties again, this time with the intention of following the vehicles leaving bin Osman’s compound, at least those holding men.

  “What exactly are we looking for?” she asked after a few hours of reading files aloud to him.

  Declan worked his shoulders tiredly. He was growing as frustrated as she was. “I’m not sure. Maybe some information that would give us leverage over bin Osman. Or evidence of his criminal acts that we could then turn over to law enforcement.”

  Her voice sounded doubtful. “I don’t think we could arrange that in time to prevent Malsovic handing over Royce. “And once he’s on the property we’d have a heck of a time getting him off, from the looks of the security.”

  She was right. And they hadn’t run across anything yet that provided them with compelling information they didn’t already have. “Let’s switch to email.” He took a moment to access the man’s email account and bypass the simple encryption code on the messages. Time crawled as Eve translated them, one after another for over an hour. He stopped her finally with a hand on her arm.

  “Do you realize that so far he has daily emails to Nadia and Celine, bin Osman’s eldest daughters and only a couple a week to bin Osman himself?”

  “I noticed that, too.” She sat back and reached for a water bottle on the desk. Drank. “And they’re almost nauseatingly ingratiating. Constant assurances of his loyalty and devotion to them. And the ones he writes and receives to and from Umar Megat seem filled with concern for keeping the women happy, as well. Maybe Pascal is more of an underling than we thought. Perhaps he reports mainly to the daughters.”

  He took a drink from his own water bottle. Drained it. “Stillions seems to think that the two women are integral parts of bin Osman’s criminal enterprises.”

  “How does that help us?”

  He didn’t have the answer to that yet. But he had a feeling it existed in the rest of Pascal’s correspondence. “I don’t know yet. Let’s keep reading.”

  _______

  “Do you have your people on him?”

  “Yes. A half a dozen men on the street armed with his picture. He will try to cover his trail, but he cannot evade all of them.” Ahmed Pascal sat down in the chair that the man calling himself Goran Simic had vacated and looked at Umar Megat. “Do you believe it is true? Does he really have the son of bin Osman?”

  “It might be true.” The other man pulled the documents out that Simic had left him with and gave Pascal time to study them. “He also left me with a vial of the boy’s blood, which I said I would have tested tomorrow.”

  Several minutes later Pascal looked up. “This is very interesting and there is clearly more here that this man is not telling you. My meeting was with a young woman. An American who knew this man would contact one of us and will pay for information about where to find him.”

  “We do not need this kind of trouble.”

  “We do not,” Pascal said. “Whether the child is bin Osman’s or not, our path forward is clear.” Megat nodded. Both of them were employed by bin Osman, but their loyalty was with the man’s oldest daughters, who would one day run his network. Those in bin Osman’s line of work did not live to an old age. They had started ensuring their continued employment years ago.

  “So we are agreed. We will find where Simic is staying. We will kill the boy.” The daughters would not want a male heir to their father’s empire. That much was clear.

  “What about Simic? And the woman you met with.”

  Leaning forward, Pascal lowered his voice. “I have already constructed a plan for them, too.”

  _______

  Privacy had been Malsovic’s first thought when he’d looked for a place to stay. The boy needed to be drugged or bound and gagged to keep him from shouting and trying to get away. He would attract too much attention in a hotel. A cheap place in a neighborhood where people took money and didn’t ask questions suited their needs. There were many such places in Johor Bahru.

  The woman rented the places by the week or the month. She called them furnished condos, which was the worst kind of joke. They were a strip of one-story dwellings, each consisting of little more than a bedroom, front room and tiny kitchen, with a bathroom by the back door. The backyard had wire fencing, and a large metal doghouse left by the previous renters. The furniture looked a lot like the crap he’d had in his apartment in DC. It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be there long.

  After bringing them food, Malsovic had left Zupan with the boy before going to the next meeting he had lined up. Something he had learned from Shuang was not to place all his bets on one plan. If things did not work out with bin Osman, he would have something else lined up to take its place.

  But when he returned late from that meeting, he resolved that the second plan would be a last resort. The payout would be less, as there would be many fees to negotiate out of his take. Zupan was asleep on the couch when he got in, the boy on the mattress in the bedroom. Malsovic changed out of his wet clothes and lay down beside him, exhaustion overpowering him. It had been an arduous few days. But before many more hours his reward would be in hand.

  “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  He groaned. Considered calling for Zupan but knew he wouldn’t be heard over his snores. Rising, he grabbed the kid and pulled him to his feet. His arms and ankles were bound but Zupan must have taken the tape off his mouth to feed him and not replaced it. The man was soft where the boy was concerned.

  Ungently he supported the boy as he half hopped, half waddled to the tiny stall in the back of the house. As he waited, he looked through the house, out the front window. The rain pounded a steady beat on the metal roof. Against a window. In the darkness outside, he saw a flashlight close to the house flick off.

  “I’m done.”

  He didn’t stop to think. Just grabbed some paper towels and shoved them in the kid’s mouth before hoisting him up over a shoulder while he sidled to the back door. Unlocked it and eased it open. Locked it again before closing it behind him.

  Lafka Malsovic had not survived this long by ignoring his instincts.

  The rain came down in sheets. The back yard was slippery as he stepped into it. Once he almost landed on his ass as he picked his way across the grass. It was harder than he thought it would be to shove the boy inside the doghouse. He filled the space. “Stay here or I will kill you. Do you understand?” Without waiting for an answer he started back toward the house.

  He stopped when he heard the shots.

  _______

  “We need a new strategy,” Kellan Burke groused as he and Finn entered the hotel room. Water dripped off the men’s clothes to soak into the carpet. It had been raining for hours. Eve was inclined to agree with the man’s assessment. Her eyes burned from the hours spent poring over the documents and correspondence on Ahmed Pascal’s computer. She’d long ago ceased to marvel at the ease with which Declan was able to copy the man’s materials. If he had constructed a plan in which he would be using the information gleaned, he hadn’t shared it with her yet.

  “I looked it up today.” Finn shook the moisture from his clothes. “Johor Bahru averages rain half the days in December. Hopefully before we leave we’re due for a dry spell.

  “Maybe we could get a list of rental properties in the area, and go around showing Malsovic’s picture.”

  “That’d take Eve’s assistance, since she speaks the language.”

  As the men began to discuss
the idea, her cell pinged, signaling an incoming email. Stifling a yawn, she opened it to scan it. Then slowed to reread it more carefully. “It’s Pascal,” she said excitedly, interrupting the men’s discussion. “He has the address where Malsovic is staying.” Disbelieving, her gaze met Declan. “He left an account number for me to wire the money I promised if I find the man at this place.”

  “He gave you the information before he was paid for it?” Burke’s voice was skeptical. “That sounds sketchy.”

  “He says he has contacts everywhere in the city. He can easily find me if I don’t pay by morning.”

  “Map the address on your phone.” Declan stood so suddenly his chair teetered behind him. “We have some shopping to do first.”

  “Flashlights.” Finn was already heading to the door. “And rain gear.”

  Declan was right behind him. “I was thinking more in terms of weapons.”

  _______

  The gunfire hadn’t lasted long before an eerie silence ensued. Malsovic crouched behind the aluminum doghouse. Even if Zupan had managed to draw one of the guns Malsovic had bought on the black market today, the man was a sound sleeper. He wouldn’t have had a chance before the intruder put a bullet in him.

  The stranger had saved Malsovic the trouble of getting rid of the man, but he felt no gratitude. Zupan would have been useful a while longer. He watched the small house carefully. Saw the flicker of a light inside a moment before he heard the back door open.

  The rain covered the sound, but he thought he saw a shadowy figure walk into the grass. Slip in almost the same place Malsovic had. A flashlight turned on. Its beam was dim in the pouring rain. It played around the yard. Along the back of the house. After long moments it headed toward the rear of the lot. Toward the doghouse.

  Crouched on all fours, Malsovic waited for the man to come close. Squat to play his beam over the opening of the small hut. Then he shot the stranger, two quick bullets in the head. The constant drumming rain was better than a silencer. The man dropped to the ground and Malsovic shoved his weapon in his waistband. Then he crept forward to drag the man to the fence at the rear of the property. He emptied his pockets before heaving the body over into the next yard. Collected the man’s weapon and turned off the flashlight. And ran gingerly to the side of the house.

  He only had to wait a minute. The door opened. “Ilic?” A second man stepped out, took a few steps. “Ilic?”

  Malsovic shot him twice in the back. Again disarmed him, went through his pockets and shoved him over the fence. This time he waited ten minutes. Fifteen.

  Twenty minutes later he was certain there were no other gunmen in the house.

  _______

  “Are we clear?”

  Even though it was difficult to see him in the driving rain, Eve knew Declan’s gaze would be on her when he asked the question. “Perfectly.”

  “I’m with Finn through the front. Kellan will breach the back. Eve will stay here, just outside the back door. If an adult comes running out of it, use your knife.”

  She swallowed the protest she wanted to make. They’d agreed on most of the details. There were likely not more than two adults, Zupan and Malsovic inside. And then there was the boy. If the kidnappers had obtained guns, and opened fire, Royce could be harmed. She was almost, almost glad that they didn’t have guns to create the kind of firefight that would make injuries certain.

  But knives against guns made for scary odds. So they’d go with the element of surprise.

  And Eve would be stationed outside the back door in case one of them tried to escape that way. She hefted the knife in her hand. They’d gotten their supplies at the night market downtown. Weapons had been the first priority.

  Her heart was knocking loud enough that she was afraid Kell would hear it from where he was positioned at the back door. She saw him reach a hand out. Felt a leap of fear when the door handle twisted under his palm. No locks? That didn’t seem right. Before she could whisper a warning, he disappeared inside the dark home.

  _______

  Malsovic gathered what he needed from the house, taking the weapon from near Zupan’s body on the floor next to the couch.

  It wasn’t safe to linger, even with the gunmen dead. But Malsovic had needed things from the home. The guns that he had paid dearly for. All their IDs. And the research he’d done about the boy’s birth. He couldn’t leave without it. He put everything he needed in a bag and slipped away. Went for the car where he’d left it parked a few blocks away. And while he did he wondered which of the two meetings about the boy that he’d had today had resulted in this betrayal. He’d have to be clear about that before going forward tomorrow.

  He drove with lights off across the yards, halting behind the house two doors down, and crept back to the property. The rain hadn’t let up. Stepping carefully over the fence, he headed for the doghouse. The boy had still been in the small shelter, chilled, but not so wet. Where would he go? Malsovic was about to pull him out when he saw movement on the street in front of the house. He dropped to all fours. Crawled behind the doghouse again.

  Five minutes crept by, as slow as a dirge. His eyes strained to see in the darkness. Now he could see only one figure near the back of the house. This one he’d take alive. It would be easy to discover whom he was working for before he killed him.

  He crept to the entrance of the doghouse, pulled the boy out by the feet, keeping a careful eye on the figure near the back door. “It is time for you to go,” he breathed the words into the boy’s ear. “There is help at the by the fence.” He reached in the boy’s mouth to dislodge the paper towels and tossed them aside. “Call for help. As loud as you can.”

  The kid croaked. “Help. Help me.”

  “Louder!”

  He hopped forward, his voice a bit stronger this time. “Help! Someone help me!”

  Malsovic dropped to all fours, ducking behind the shelter. The figure was heading this way, sliding a bit in the slick mud and grass.

  “Help me!”

  “Royce. Royce Raiker, is that you?”

  Malsovic nearly froze when he heard a female voice call out, but there was no time to waste. He waited for her to draw nearer before rushing out of his hiding place to tackle the woman. Rolled. Something went flying from her grasp. He pulled his gun and brought it down over her head. She went limp.

  Shoving the gun in his waistband, he easily caught the boy as he attempted to hop away, and clamped one hand over his mouth. He carried the kid under one arm, hoisted the woman up with his free hand and half dragged her to the fence. He dumped the boy over, and heaved the woman’s still body on top of him. Then he jumped over the fence and hauled them to the car nearby, the boy struggling and squirming and calling out.

  There was room for both of them in the trunk.

  _______

  Ahmed Pascal checked the time again. Late. Things should have been over by now. The fact that the expected call hadn’t come, with the reassuring message was not good at all.

  The two he’d sent to take care of the man who called himself Simic and the boy had failed. There was no other explanation. He would have gotten a call if there was an unexpected issue, or if the house had been empty.

  He unlocked his desk and drew out an unregistered drop phone. Called 999. “I heard shots at this address.” He read off the house and street number where Simic had been trailed to. “Please hurry.” Disconnecting, he put the phone back in the desk. Relocked it. The best scenario was that Simic might have stayed around after killing his men, but Pascal doubted that. It was still likely, however, that the woman, Coughlin, and her escort had gone to the address after he’d emailed her. Perhaps the police would find her there. Take her in for questioning.

  If she mentioned Simic, the police still might look for the man. But they couldn’t count on that. He took out his cell. Called Megat. Waited sev
eral rings for the man to answer. “We have a problem.”

  _______

  He’d known as soon as they entered the front door that they were too late. The man on the floor had lighter hair and he was minus a beard, but Declan had recognized him as the guy who’d tried to force them into the car to meet with Shuang that first day.

  Likely Malsovic had shot the man when he’d had no further need for him. Except…Declan noted the snarled pattern of muddy tracks on the floor. Leading from the front door and the back. Criss-crossing in the room where Zupan lay dead.

  “The place is empty. No basement,” Finn reported.

  Declan noted the dead man’s stocking feet. “At least three adults were here.” He pointed to the tracks. The footprints were different sizes.

  “You’re thinking execution?”

  “Maybe it was Malsovic and the boy they wanted.” Declan felt his chest go tight. How much could a kid go through?

  “So someone kidnapped the kidnapper?” Finn sent a careful look around. “Has anyone checked outside?”

  Declan headed to where they’d stationed Eve. But when he got outside she was nowhere in sight. “Eve,” he called in a low voice. Maybe she was scouting the area. He should just wait for her to come back.

  But a surge of urgency wouldn’t let Declan stay. “Split up and go the other way,” he told Kell when the man followed him out. They circled the home. Met at the front door. Declan walked through the house again, desperation rapping at his skull.

  “I think you better come out here.”

  He ran to the back when he heard Finn’s voice. “Where’d you get that?” The man was holding the knife he’d given to Eve before they’d gotten out of the car.

  “Out in the yard. And there’s more.” Kell and Declan followed him to the fence line separating the small yard from the ones on either side. The man turned on the flashlight app on his cell and pointed it first at one side and then the other. “We’ve got bodies.”