Dark Redemption (David Rivers Book 3)

by Jason Kasper

  “Hope your dream’s a good one, brother. Thanks for the lift.”

  A valet stepped forward to open my door as Reilly popped the trunk from the driver’s seat and began barking orders in crude Brazilian Portuguese.

  I stepped out as the valet hurried to the trunk to retrieve my luggage and a tall, middle-aged man dressed in an unbuttoned tan suit approached us gracefully from the hotel doors. He bent forward slightly at the waist and gave Reilly a single nod through the car window.

  After the valet slammed the trunk, Reilly pulled forward and turned right onto the street.

  “Mr. Rivers?” the well-dressed man said. He was in his late forties, thinning auburn hair neatly combed. If Reilly had been easily identifiable as an Outfit operator, then the man before me was equally discernable as a bodyguard; like Reilly, he appeared a shooter at heart, though his appearance was enameled by years of close proximity to an elite class who warranted protection but were unable to provide it for themselves.

  “David,” I responded.

  He handed a sky-blue bill to the valet, and my luggage was whisked inside.

  “Micah. Security lead. Your role,” he said in a low voice, “is to be a wallflower in this delegation. Go where my people tell you to go, sit where they tell you to sit. The first time anyone but me hears your voice will be when you say goodbye upon our return.”

  Forcing a smile, I said, “You must have me confused with someone who asked to be here.”

  “We follow the orders we’re given. But do not underestimate the consequences of failing to stay out of my staff’s way.”

  Before I could answer, a group of people exited the hotel and stood beneath the overhang. Close to a dozen individuals made up the entourage, mostly men and all dressed for business. Half wore the same unbuttoned suit jacket as Micah, paired with the subdued vigilance of a private security detail.

  The cast of players surrounded a single young woman. She was their center of orbit, and a strange one at that—not by virtue of her gender, for there were other women, but by her youth. I doubted she was over thirty. Unlike the others in her party, she carried herself with the somber petulance of one bearing a responsibility outweighing everyone else’s. Brunette hair so dark it appeared nearly black fell unadorned to her collarbone. Her face appeared free of cosmetics other than dark eye shadow and eyeliner, and her broad range of jewelry looked like an afterthought added by a painter’s final strokes that crossed the line into excess.

  I felt an unsettling burning sensation in my stomach, though whether discomfort or desire, I couldn’t tell. Who the fuck was this woman?

  The girl from Ipanema, I thought.

  Her body, a half-step removed from gangly, was lean beneath her business attire. She watched the screen of a phone being proffered by an aide beside her, then suddenly looked up at me. We locked eyes for a second, her electric green irises shocking against her heart-shaped face.

  In that moment, the woman looked like a child cast out to sea, vulnerable and alone amid an ocean that she had no control over.

  Micah stepped in front of my gaze, blocking my view of the woman. “Make no mistake: I report directly to the One. If you fail to tread lightly, there will be repercussions.”

  I faced Micah, feeling the tingling mix of irritation and rage bubbling inside me, an all-too-familiar sensation that generally preceded my saying something I shouldn’t.

  “As much as I enjoy getting threatened,” I said, leveling my eyes at him, “I already heard this number from your puppet master. He delivered it better. So how about keeping an eye on your primary instead of wasting your attention on an expendable extra.”

  His face intensified with anger, and as he opened his mouth to speak, the woman appeared beside us.

  “David, welcome to Brazil,” she said. Her voice was outwardly courteous, but I detected an undertow of inconvenience—she wasn’t any happier about my presence than Micah. “Thank you for making the journey.”

  I said nothing. Why was I supposed to protect this woman?

  She wasn’t traditionally beautiful, I told myself—her face was very much representative of the plain and innocuous supporting actress role at the casting agency. Strong, thick, sculpted eyebrows, chin a bit too prominent. Tall; lanky even. Not my style.

  Her smoky eyes took in my shaved head and softened, watching me with an expectant stare. I opened my mouth in the same manner that had many times allowed a rapier wit to take the lead before my mind could deliberately form a thought.

  No sound came forth, and instead I sealed my lips and nodded.

  She turned to Micah. “Make sure David understands—”

  “I’ve already spoken to him, Ms. Parvaneh.”

  The impasse between Micah, Parvaneh, and myself was arrested by the appearance of a black Chevrolet Suburban at the hotel entrance.

  It rumbled in slowly, its surfaces waxed to a mirror shine. I grasped its significance at once by the delegation’s reaction. All talking ceased, and all eyes turned to the SUV. It came to a halt, its body reflecting our images back at us. When the engine went silent, I realized how loud it had been—the echo faded like a receding thunderbolt. No ordinary V-8 under the hood.

  The driver exited the truck and approached us.

  He walked briskly for his immense size, a radio earpiece visible as he removed his sunglasses. I could see the bulk of a shoulder holster beneath his left armpit.

  Parvaneh greeted him warmly. “Bom dia, senhor. How may I help you?”

  He stopped before her, responding in thickly accented English, “Good morning, ma’am. I am here to take you to the meeting.”

  Micah said, “Where are the rest of your vehicles?”

  “I am afraid it is just me. Recent security concerns have forced us to take additional precautions, and the delay of this meeting has exacerbated these concerns considerably.”

  Parvaneh said, “How many people may we take?”

  “I have four open seats—”

  “Four?” Micah hotly interceded. “We were assured transportation for a delegation of thirteen. This is a breach of our terms.”

  “I am afraid my employer has set these conditions, not me. You are free to leave if they are not satisfactory. But this is perfectly safe.” He tapped his radio earpiece. “The meeting location has even been safeguarded from me—I will receive directions as we proceed. Your vehicle is armored against high-powered rifle rounds. Bomb blankets, run-flat tires. See for yourself.”

  He turned to the Suburban, straining to swing open the heavy back door.

  In a split second, I was wracked with horror.

  The SUV’s interior was a blood-splattered wasteland. In the far seat was Karma’s motionless body, slumped forward. Her face was a savage void of gore.

  “See?” the driver said. “Perfectly safe.”

  I grabbed Parvaneh’s wrist and was met at once by Micah’s steel grip on my forearm.

  “Don’t get in,” I said, my eyes locked on the interior.

  The driver looked at me, unsure if I was a decision maker and not seeming too concerned either way. “You are free to decline, of course. Perhaps the meeting can be rescheduled for a later date.”

  She slowly pulled her wrist free from my hand, her eyes moving to Micah’s rather than mine.

  He shook his head subtly.

  Parvaneh’s eyes were flat, heavy with the veiled magnitude of the decision she was about to make, for better or worse. I felt my stomach churn with dread—the situation couldn’t have been any more clear-cut to Micah and me, but we weren’t calling the shots.

  Without another second’s hesitation, Parvaneh said, “We agree to his terms.”

  Micah lifted his hand from my arm.

  The driver replied, “Very well. We may depart whenever you are ready.” He left the back door ajar and returned to his seat behind the wheel.

  Micah cleared his throat and whispered, “Ma’am, I must strongly advise you to—”

  She silenced him with a s
ubtle turn of her hand, palm down in a horizontal slice. Then she lifted the same hand to gently rest her fingertips on his shoulder. “We’re going. I’ll need you with me.”

  His response was immediate. “I hear and I obey.”

  Turning to the waiting group behind her, she said, “Gabriel.”

  A slight whisper of a man stepped forward. He was dark-skinned, with a pointed nose and dark eyes that shifted nervously. But his voice was perfectly steady as he spoke in the native accent. “I hear and I obey, ma’am.”

  Her stare swept over the delegation before settling on me with a subtle hint of inner conflict. The Handler had ordered me to stay by her side, and Parvaneh had no authority to disregard this command no matter the circumstances. I knew what she was going to say before she spoke.

  “And you, David.”

  Then she turned away from me, reaching for the passenger door. Micah stopped her with a soft touch and whispered, “I need you to sit in the back, middle seat.”

  “I ride in the front,” she said coolly.

  “Ma’am, I implore you.”

  A pause before she nodded her consent. She slipped in the back as Micah turned to me with a pained expression, his voice hushed. “I want you behind the driver.”

  I looked at him. “Bullshit aside—if this goes badly, you can count on me.”

  He didn’t reply, turning instead to enter the passenger seat as I rounded the vehicle. I pulled open the heavy back door, watching the empty space where I’d seen Karma’s body a moment before. Parvaneh was staring at me strangely now, sensing my weakness and not appreciating the view. Gabriel slid into the open seat opposite me, uneasily fastening his seatbelt.

  My blood curdled as I entered the vehicle, my breath quickening with my betrayal of all instinct.

  The heavy, armored doors of the Suburban slammed shut like gunshots. The driver pulled forward to the street, accelerating away from the remaining members of the delegation who stood with blank expressions, watching our departure in silence.

  An increasingly complex series of quick turns led us away from the hotel as the driver responded to instructions over his radio earpiece. I watched the surrounding traffic, scanning civilian vehicles, taxis, and commuter buses and idly wondering which belonged to the surveillance team following us. I found no evidence to justify the fear that consumed me with each passing second, and yet I felt like an animal snared, waiting for the arrival of an unhurried trapper.

  Every turn revealed a street as affluent as the last. I had been conditioned by military deployments to watch for the suddenly empty urban setting, the absence of children that preceded many an ambush where the locals either sensed or implicitly knew that bullets would soon start flying. But the sidewalks were host to a wide array of men and women strolling or waiting at crosswalks, the storefronts passing by much as a journey through any peaceful city.

  We reached the giant lake I’d first seen with Reilly, skirting its southern border until we cut into a city street that descended toward an oceanfront road. The beach was dotted with umbrellas and volleyball nets, swimmers and sunbathers in abundance as we proceeded northeast along the coast.

  Nonetheless, I had the implacable sense of imminent disaster lurking ahead. Judging by Parvaneh’s wardrobe, she didn’t have a weapon; while I couldn’t tell whether Gabriel did or not, the anxious jumpiness of his nervous eyes made me confident that he would be dead weight or worse in the event of a crisis. His face was made up of exaggerated features—long nose, fleshy lips—and the flattering cut of his suit couldn’t compensate for the scrawniness of the body beneath. Whatever his role in the Organization, he wasn’t a fighter.

  Micah’s poise, by contrast, was the only comfort to be had.

  He was alert as a falcon in the passenger seat, his head pivoting with smooth precision, the movement stuttering and reversing when something new caught his eye. I knew for a fact he was armed, and while I was unsure of his experience, he hadn’t been hired as Parvaneh’s security lead because he was bad at his job.

  Reaching into my pocket, I felt for my tracking device disguised as a money clip. Separating the folded bills, I pulled out the clip and shoved it deep into the crevice of the seat between my thigh and Parvaneh’s. As my hand brushed her leg, she flexed her left hand into a fist that bore an engagement ring and wedding band. The latter was crowned with an enormous princess-cut diamond, the same cut—though probably three times the size—of the one that I’d bought for my fiancée before our engagement had imploded two years ago.

  The Suburban turned left between high-rise buildings, coming to a stop behind a row of cars parked at a sidewalk inlet. The driver said, “Here we are.”

  Micah said, “Gabriel?”

  “Copacabana,” Gabriel replied. “This is a safe area.”

  We exited amid a row of office buildings to find a politely smiling, fair-skinned Brazilian woman wearing a form-fitting knee-length skirt. As she invited us inside, I appraised our surroundings but couldn’t find the slightest threat: we were in the middle of a city block like the rest we had passed, the building before us appearing in every way to be an ordinary structure.

  Micah took the lead, walking ahead with Parvaneh as I waited for Gabriel to pass me. We entered a lobby with clean, modern decor, the smooth, white-tiled surfaces extending down a hallway as our hostess led us past open double doors and into a conference room.

  Inside was a long table with a man standing on either side, their hands empty.

  Parvaneh asked, “Where is my counterpart, senhora?”

  Our hostess smiled. “I apologize for the inconvenience, but at this point we must insist that any items transmitting your location to outside parties be removed from your persons, including cell phones. This is to ensure the safety of our employer, who, as you know, prefers discretion. Once he has left the meeting location, your items will be returned to you.”

  Score one for the money clip I’d hidden in the Suburban, I thought. Parvaneh nodded her permission to us, removing first her phone and then her bracelet and setting them on the table.

  Gabriel slid a wedding ring from his finger and set his phone beside it, and Micah tossed down his phone and a pocketknife. I surrendered the phone I’d been given, leaving my watch with the tracking device on my wrist as I stepped back with the others.

  Then our hostess said, “I am afraid you must leave your weapons as well.”

  Micah replied, “Your employer must understand that asking a visiting delegation to surrender them before arrival to the meeting site is no sign of trust.”

  “Be that as it may, sir, we have our orders. You are free to cancel the negotiations and we will return you to your party at Le Chateaux Mer at once.”

  Parvaneh cut a glance toward Micah and said, “We are happy to honor the stipulations of our gracious host.”

  Micah and I removed our pistol holsters and set them down, followed by the extra magazines.

  Our hostess bowed her head in gratitude. “All that remains is a brief scan before you proceed to the meeting.”

  At this, one of the men beside the table stepped forward and procured a foot-long handheld wand from his belt, then scanned it over my body. It whirred to life with a garbled, high-pitched whine as it passed over my wrist.

  The man stepped back as our hostess said, “The watch, please.”

  I took it off my wrist and tossed it on the table, then received another full sweep before the man moved on to Micah.

  Micah did worse than me—he lost his belt and an innocuous-looking hotel key card. Gabriel fared the same, giving up a wallet and a business card holder. But Parvaneh took the prize, her face holding a composed air of dignity each time the detector howled.

  “Your earrings, please.”

  “And your necklace, ma’am.”

  “Your pen.”

  “Your rings.”

  By the time she passed the inspection, virtually every item she possessed had been surrendered. Even the giant glittering wedding rin
g was gone now, though the engagement band remained. The second man placed the confiscated items into separate zippered vinyl pouches and then put all four in a single backpack that he handed to our hostess.

  With that, we were escorted back to the waiting Suburban. Our hostess took the lead, carrying the backpack with our confiscated items.

  As we trailed her, Micah strode alongside me and whispered, “They’re about to throw our surveillance. The driver’s packing a shoulder holster.”

  “I noticed.”

  “If I go down, get his gun.”

  “If you go down, I’ll enjoy some peace and quiet.”

  As we returned to our previous seats, our hostess handed the backpack to the driver, who unzipped it and plucked my hidden money clip from a cup holder beside him. He held it up so those of us in the back could see, and then deposited it inside the backpack.

  “Must have fallen out of my pocket,” I suggested blithely. Parvaneh looked at me, incensed.

  Our driver said nothing, pulling back into traffic.

  The presence of our confiscated tracking devices within the vehicle amounted to a public service announcement that we were about to lose our aerial surveillance, just as Micah had said. As long as the ground team was able to maintain sight of us, I reminded myself, we still had some semblance of protection if we were headed into an ambush.

  Our driver spun a wild U-turn at an intersection, speeding three blocks back the way we’d come before making a hard turn into an underground parking garage. After he accelerated forward and around a curve, tires screeching, I saw a second black Suburban identical to ours.

  Braking to a sharp halt beside the doppelganger truck, our driver opened his door and handed off the bag containing our trackers to a man leaning out of the opposite vehicle. The other Suburban then raced forward and out of the garage to be reacquired by our aircraft and surveillance teams. Our driver reversed into a parking spot and pulled back out in the opposite direction, cutting left to exit onto a separate street.

  I wanted to fight the driver at this point, but the rest of my party remained silent throughout the exchange. Was this normal for them? Parvaneh’s face was stoic, and I couldn’t read Micah’s expression. Gabriel gazed out the window the entire time, though whether he was in a daze or ticking off familiar landmarks, I had no idea.