Whether he’d intended slitting Rink’s throat from behind or if he only planned on using the blade to force co-operation from him wasn’t important. Their dynamic had changed the instant Rink spotted him. The man aimed his blade at Rink. ‘What the fuck’s your game, mate?’
The man’s accent surprised Rink. It was British, but unlike the gruff northern English of Joe Hunter he’d grown familiar with, more a whiney twang. The guy was one of those ‘poncy southerners’ Hunter occasionally joked about.
It was pointless hiding the fact he’d been spying on the group at the van. Rink had been in a half crouch as he turned, but he rose up. Squared his shoulders. The man squinted at him, but didn’t seem fazed by his size. He had a knife and a gun, and backup.
‘I’m here to ruin Viskhan’s day,’ Rink answered.
‘You think so, mate?’ The man strode towards him, his blade held close to his right hip. ‘We’ll see about that then.’
‘Yeah,’ said Rink, and pulled out his KA-BAR. ‘We will.’
The guy slowed his advance, but only as he dropped into a fighting crouch. Rink, five feet away, adopted a similar stance.
In Rink’s trouser pocket, his cell phone chimed to announce an incoming message. It served as the bell to get their match underway.
24
Twice his day had been intruded on and Mikhail Viskhan was not pleased. First he’d had to go through with the charade with the police when they came to speak with him about Trey. He had acted shocked and dismayed, but not a little philosophical about the fact she’d been involved in a violent incident at a hotel, and was now a fugitive at large. He’d partially told the truth, claiming that they’d had a bust-up the evening before and his wife had left him, but then he’d outright lied, intimating that it didn’t surprise him that she’d run to the arms of another man, as it would not be the first time. He gave the cops the impression he was the put-on husband who was the recurring victim of an unfaithful spouse. His reason for not reporting her missing? She often disappeared for days on end, and didn’t return until she’d satisfied her lustful nature, or she’d maxed out her credit cards. That the cops didn’t believe his story wasn’t cause for concern; it was enough for their report, and they had left. Once the actual truth came out, it wouldn’t matter because he would already be back in Chechnya, so they could go to hell.
The visit by the cops was to be expected, so he’d allowed for the inconvenience to his busy schedule, before having Cahill and StJohn accompany him to this meeting at the port. Despite arriving later than originally planned, he couldn’t care less, because those he was meeting with danced to his fiddle, not the other way around. The security man, Jeff Borden, was on his payroll, and had stalled the Chinese driver until their arrival. Viskhan was pleased with the goods he checked in the van, and was satisfied to go on Borden’s word that the items concealed in boxes of frozen seafood would go undetected should Customs decide a thorough check was in order: he’d already greased enough palms that only the most cursory checks of the van would happen. Borden was confident that they could openly transport the goods on a flatbed truck and no questions would be asked. Viskhan was giving instructions for them to be moved to their final destination when the second unwelcome intrusion to his day occurred.
The first inkling that something was amiss was when he heard a savage curse ring out, and he stopped mid-sentence. The coarse words were followed by the bright clang of steel striking steel, then a duller sound of a body colliding with a shipping container. The container tolled like a funeral bell. Viskhan snapped his gaze on Borden.
‘What is happening?’ he demanded. ‘You swore we’d have this area to ourselves!’
But it was apparent that Borden was as equally in the dark.
Ignoring the guard’s perplexed expression, Viskhan looked to Cahill, who was already moving past them for a clearer view. Viskhan told Borden to lock the van doors and get it the hell out of there. Borden padlocked the doors then raced around the van in search of the driver. Viskhan went after Cahill. They’d only to take a few oblique steps to their right to see into the aisle between the nearest rows of shipping containers, and what Viskhan witnessed was concerning.
During their meeting, Dan StJohn had been tasked with perimeter guard duty. Although Borden had assured them that they would go unobserved, Cahill wasn’t one for taking a man’s word as the gospel truth, and nobody could ever be entirely positive an outside party wouldn’t stumble across them. StJohn was supposed to dissuade anyone from eavesdropping, and ordinarily it was a task he excelled at.
But StJohn was lying prone, unmoving on the concrete, while a figure sprinted away down the aisle.
Viskhan withdrew his sidearm, as did Cahill, but neither of them took a shot. Hitting the running figure at that distance wasn’t impossible, but still difficult. But it wasn’t the improbability of taking down the fleeing figure that stalled them, but that the gunfire would bring unwelcome attention. The customs officers might have been paid to turn a blind eye to an illegal shipment, but not to a murder on their watch.
The stranger raced around the end of the row of containers and out of sight.
‘Who was that?’ Viskhan demanded, but his words were as wasted as those he’d aimed at Borden moments ago. Cahill had no way of knowing.
Cahill rushed to StJohn’s side, crouched over him. He shook the downed mercenary.
Viskhan eyed StJohn dispassionately. ‘Is he dead?’
‘No,’ said Cahill, ‘he’s still breathing.’
‘Wake him. I want to know who that was and why StJohn let him escape.’
Cahill glanced up at him, and ordinarily he didn’t display emotion when challenging Viskhan, but this time his nostrils flared, and his lips screwed. ‘For God’s sake, Mikhail! Does it look as if Dan didn’t try his goddamn hardest?’
Viskhan noted the livid bruise forming on StJohn’s forehead, and the bloody wound on his left thigh. ‘His hardest wasn’t good enough. Wake him, Sean, before I do.’
Cahill shook the unconscious man. StJohn moaned, stirred, suddenly jerked into full fight mode. Cahill had to force him down again, both hands grasping the front of his jacket.
‘Dan. Take it easy. It’s me. Sean.’
StJohn lifted a palm, showing he was in control of himself, and yet he blinked in dazed confusion as he sat up. Cahill helped him shuffle across and settle his back against the nearest shipping container. StJohn dabbed at the blood leaking from his thigh, then held his fingers in front of him. His gaze still appeared unfocused. His fingers went to the lump growing on his forehead. ‘Fuck me,’ he groaned.
‘What happened?’ Cahill asked.
StJohn exhaled wearily. ‘Bit off more than I could chew, mate,’ he admitted, then laughed weakly. ‘I’m surprised to be alive.’
‘What happened?’ Viskhan’s demand was more biting.
‘Dunno, mate. Some huge Jap just kicked my arse.’
Viskhan and Cahill shared a frown.
‘A Japanese man?’ Cahill asked for clarity.
‘Yeah, well, maybe a half-caste,’ StJohn said. ‘An Asian-American. He looked like a Nip but spoke with a Yank accent.’
‘You spoke to him and you didn’t stop him?’ Viskhan snapped.
‘I challenged him, and he told me he was here to fuck up your day.’
‘My day? Really?’
StJohn only looked up at him as if Viskhan was stupid. But then his gaze swept the area around him. ‘Where’s my blade?’ His hand slapped at his jacket, beneath his armpit. ‘Shit. He took my gun, too!’
Cahill again offered Viskhan a frown, but it wasn’t reciprocated this time. Viskhan peered down the aisle, almost in expectancy of the mystery man’s return. When he was a no-show, he returned his attention to StJohn. By now he was struggling upright, Cahill assisting him to stand.
‘What was he doing when you came across him?’
Taking his time before answering, StJohn leaned against the container while he dabbed at his leg.
The wound was superficial, but enough to make his muscles stiffen. ‘He was spying on you, but I don’t think he could have overheard what was said. Listen to that racket.’ The crane continued its mechanical whining. ‘And from here he’d have no idea what you were looking at. At first I thought he might be a nosy copper, but only till he pulled his blade. Coppers don’t usually come at you with a military grade pig-sticker.’
‘He was good,’ Cahill said. ‘Least he was if he got you.’
‘Yeah, he pulled some fancy Jackie Chan shit on me,’ StJohn said. ‘Took away my knife, cut me with my own blade, then threw me upside down against that fuckin’ metal wall. He nearly bust my skull open, mate.’
‘Impressive,’ said Cahill.
Viskhan snorted. The way his men spoke he’d believe they respected the mystery man’s skills. ‘Are you about to die on us?’ he asked StJohn.
‘Not yet.’
‘Good. Then let’s go.’ Viskhan turned his instructions on Cahill. ‘Make sure that Borden has got the goods safely out of here, and then join us at the car.’ As Cahill went to check that the van had already left, Viskhan added to StJohn, ‘Maybe it’s best that Sean drives us this time.’
‘I’m all right, mate,’ StJohn reassured him. ‘Once I’ve given myself a shake…’
‘It’s not open to debate. Sean drives. I want to chase down that Jap son of a bitch.’
‘We don’t know where he’s gone to,’ StJohn argued as they began retracing their steps to the SUV.
‘I don’t care. You said he was here to fuck up my day. I assume you meant he referred to me by name? Well, I want to learn his and what he was doing here. Then I want him dead.’
‘I’m happy to oblige,’ said StJohn, ‘but you ask me we won’t find him. We’d be better off getting the fuck out of here, mate, in case he was a copper and brings back his pals.’
‘As you already said, he was no cop. But you said he wanted me, and that is worrying. If he’s after me because of what I’ve planned for tomorrow…’
‘How could he have a clue about that?’
Viskhan shrugged. ‘Some reason brought him here. He saw the van, and might have guessed what was inside. If he tells his suspicions to the cops, we’re finished. We’ll never get the goods where intended if the cops are on the lookout for that van. We need to step things up a bit.’
‘Then are you open to a suggestion?’
‘I’ll listen,’ said Viskhan, but he wouldn’t necessarily take the advice.
‘You could knock this jihadi bullshite on the head, mate, and go back to doing what we do best.’
Viskhan didn’t reply.
StJohn shrugged. ‘Or you could shift the weapons to a less identifiable van. That way it won’t matter if that Jap tells a friggin’ soul what he thinks he might have seen or heard.’
The refrigerated van had gone. Cahill was giving final instructions to Borden, but he left the security man standing as he jogged over to join them.
‘The van’s in the clear,’ he announced. ‘Borden just checked with his buddy at Customs. He was going to put out an alert on the guy that took you out, Dan, but I told him not to.’ Directly to Viskhan he added, ‘I didn’t think it’s a good idea to mention him in case it brings us attention we could do without.’
‘Hush,’ Viskhan grunted. ‘What is it with you two; suddenly thinking you can make all the decisions for me?’ He snapped a hand to one side, to halt any argument. ‘But I have to admit you both make valid points. Let’s get out of here with as little fuss as possible; I want those weapons shifted to another less identifiable vehicle. That was your idea, StJohn, so you can oversee it. Sean, I want you to find out who that bastard was, and why he’s got it in for me. Then I want him dead.’ He looked pointedly at StJohn. ‘Then we can concentrate on… what was it you called our multi-million dollars operation? The jihadi bullshite I’ve invested my future in.’
25
‘Brother.’ Rink wrapped me in his huge arms and squeezed. It was a manly and perfunctory hug. ‘It’s good to see you.’
It was good to see him too, except the situation meant our greeting was more sombre than usual. Jim McTeer’s death had hurt us both. We’d lost companions before, during our military careers and since, but under those circumstances there had been an expectancy of loss of life, and therefore the ability to compartmentalise our grief had pulled us through. But McTeer’s murder had happened during what should have been an easy weekend for us. Looking mean and moody in a tuxedo at the gala dinner event was about as difficult as the job spec went, and hadn’t required much effort – particularly on my part – and in hindsight it had been as dreary as I’d anticipated. Despite the number of celebrity guests there had been no real risk of trouble, and if I hadn’t come across Mikhail and Trey in the bathroom the night would have gone without incident. Trouble of the worst kind should not have followed us back to our own hotel. Since the brief skirmish in the room, and the deaths of four men, I’d had little time to dwell on the loss of our friend, but the same couldn’t be said for Rink. The senselessness of McTeer’s murder had been allowed to simmer in his thoughts for hours, and one glance told me that he was on the brink of explosion. I hadn’t seen him that riled since the murder of his father a few years ago.
One glance from him and he recognised the guilt in me. I’d earned Viskhan’s enmity, and those punks had been sent to the hotel after me: McTeer should not have died.
‘It’s good to see you,’ I said. ‘I only wish it weren’t under these circumstances.’
He looked away, but only to study Trey.
She took off her sunglasses. Her eyes were glossy. Perhaps she was feeling guilt too, because all that had happened had been as a result of my coming to her rescue.
‘I’m sorry about your friend,’ she said, her voice hoarse. ‘I feel partly…responsible.’
Rink’s mouth tightened a fraction. But he shook his head. ‘Let’s not play the blame game. We are all victims here, and nothing is on any of us. There’s no hard feelings, all right?’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m Rink.’
‘Tracey Shaw.’ Her slim hand was engulfed in his huge callused mitt. ‘But like I told Joe, everyone calls me Trey.’
‘Trey it is then.’ He appraised her anew, and I noted how she stood taller and squared her shoulders.
Rink would have spotted her at the gala event – she’d struck an eye-catching figure in her shimmery gold dress – but she looked very different now, so this was akin to a meeting of strangers. Although I’d shared her company for less than twelve hours I felt as if I’d known her for years. When we spoke on the phone I’d described Trey to him as a victim. But he saw the strong woman she’d proved to be.
He indicated his rental car, a Chrysler. He’d left it in a parking lot on the corner of the commercial strip near the Normandy Isle Monument. ‘We should get outta here. We need to get you out of harm’s way.’ He was referring to us both.
Once I’d purchased a burner phone and pre-paid SIM, I’d rung an anonymous web-based voicemail service that had pinged an alert to Rink’s cell phone. Using another similarly anonymous burner phone he’d called the service where I’d left him a coded message containing my new phone’s number that he’d then called me back on. He’d been surprised to hear where we were, as he’d driven past us not long ago while following Viskhan and a couple of his cronies to a dubious meeting at Miami-Dade County Seaport. He’d immediately told me to sit tight and that he’d come to collect us. We’d only shared the barest of details of our actions throughout the night, but we’d both come to understand that we’d identified our enemies, and that we’d gotten involved in something much bigger than any of us first realised.
As soon as we were in the rental car, Trey in the back, Rink in the driving seat, I asked about Raul Velasquez.
‘Still upholding his word, you ask me,’ said Rink as he fired up the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.
He meant that Velasquez was staying firm on his promis
e to buy us some time to get Trey to safety, and to avenge our fallen comrade.
‘He hasn’t used his phone call yet,’ Rink added. ‘I assume he’d have warned me if the cops were on to us.’
‘They must be looking for Trey and me by now,’ I said, ‘whether or not Velasquez has kept schtum about what happened in that room.’
‘It’s likely that you’re both persons of interest,’ he said, ‘but I ain’t heard your names on any of the news bulletins yet. The media’s treating the shoot-out at the artists’ shop and the high-speed chase as separate incidents to what happened at the hotel, but you ask me, the cops have already tied the two events together.’
‘So it’s only a matter of time before they identify the men I killed, and follow them back to Viskhan?’
‘They probably already have, or are close to doing so.’ Rink mentioned that the cops had visited Viskhan at his home, but that they left soon after, and Viskhan was still at liberty.
‘I’m betting Sean Cahill organizes the manpower so that a dirty trail doesn’t lead back to his boss.’ I checked with Trey, and caught her soft nod of agreement. ‘I guess the reason the cops went to speak with Viskhan was about Trey’s involvement at the hotel.’
‘Last I saw on the news was that they’re dredging Indian Creek for bodies… for now, those from the crashed van are presumed dead. For a while there I kinda feared the worst myself, especially when you took your time making contact.’
‘Yeah, that was my bad. But to be fair, Rink, I was kind of busy.’
‘Yeah, there was that.’
By now Rink was driving us across Biscayne Bay via the JFK Causeway toward the upper east side of mainland Miami. Leaving the collection of barrier islands behind felt good, I felt less like a trapped animal now I’d an entire continent to hide Trey in. He began to narrate his own eventful night. Beginning with his aborted interrogation of Albert Greville-Jones.
‘So Viskhan’s cleaning shop,’ I said. ‘Hardly unexpected. And he had him stabbed to death as if he was the victim of a failed home invasion?’
Marked for Death Page 15
