Out of the Dark

by Geri Foster

  “That’s three.” They moved the bodies to the far back against the house and went hunting.

  All eight guys were either tied up or out cold in ten minutes flat. Now to learn who occupied the house. Mac gave Brody the signal to take out the sniper.

  Brody stepped into center of the yard and threw his knife with killing accuracy. The sniper’s body rolled of the roof and into the large holly bush at the edge of the house.

  Mac looked in the window and held up six fingers.

  Brody nodded, went in first, and Mac followed with a smoke bomb and a hail of gunfire. Six men lay dead when they started up the stairs.

  Hugging the wall, weapons ready, Mac saw an armed man step from a room and walk toward the banister.

  Brody threw another knife and caught him in the throat. He stumbled to the railing then flipped over, sprawled on the floor below.

  They were halfway up the wide staircase when two guys burst from the opposite side of the house with AK 47’s. Mac and Brody took them out before they fired a shot.

  Sprinting up the rest of the stairs, Mac darted to the opposite side of the double door. On Brody’s nod, Mac threw in his last smoke grenade and they dropped to their knees and waited. A big man ran out coughing and firing blindly. Mac grabbed his ankles and yanked his feet out from under him. The man went down hard and the weapon flew out of his grasp.

  Brody tied the big man’s hands behind his back, while Mac checked out the rest of the upstairs. He found no one. When Mac returned, Brody rolled over their hostage.

  Mac stamped his foot down hard on their captive’s chest. “Well, hello, Bruno. Welcome to hell.”

  Mac heard a familiar click behind him

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Moscow

  Tony Archuletta took a chair at the small diner and ordered a cup of coffee. Blowing into his fists, and huddling deeper into his coat, he waited for the drink to arrive. When the waitress placed the cup on the table he grasped the hot brew with both hands.

  Seeing his frosted breath, Tony murmured, “Damn, this place feels like a meat locker.”

  The tiny, corner coffee shop reminded Tony of an over- crowded diner from the old TV show, ‘Happy Days’. At the counter, customer’s fat asses hung over the sides of their little, round stools where patrons sat elbow to elbow.

  On the other side of the room, red plastic booths lined a grimy window the size of a wall. The view was nice, but Tony surmised the gaps around the panes probably added to the freezing temperature inside.

  He’d carefully selected a small table in the middle aisle, but now, every time the waitress walked by, her hip bumped his arm, but it gave him a great vantage point.

  Watching the steam rise from his coffee cup, Tony noticed the pattern on the plastic tablecloth no longer resembled anything, due to age and frequent cleaning. In the middle of the table sat a wire tray with sugar packets, salt, pepper shakers and napkins.

  Restless, Tony shifted his tall frame and watched the door. Unfortunately, he sat in a vinyl-covered chair as ugly as it was uncomfortable. The waitress with a grease-stained apron stretched across her broad belly and fingernails crusted with dirt, asked if he wanted to order breakfast.

  Not in this lifetime.

  Tony shook his head, and stared into the black coffee. It looked strong enough to sharpen a knife. He picked up the small tin of cream and poured.

  At second thought, the stench of boiled cabbage, unwashed bodies and burnt coffee had Tony shoving his cup and the creamer to the center of the table. He refused to punish his stomach with that crap.

  When the door opened, Tony watched Nicholas Belskavia enter the diner and walk between the tables and booths to join him. Inwardly Tony smiled. He and Nicholas had never had a real run-in. Shrewdly, they’d always managed to tip-toe around each other in a diplomatic way. Both avoided a confrontation that stood a good chance of only one of them surviving.

  While Tony could tolerate Belskavia, he’d hated the Russian Mac had shot in Emily’s hotel room. Lev Stanislaw had been one messed up psycho. Scary and into torture, brutally corrupt, he took too much pleasure in killing. Rumor had it he’d murdered both parents and his brother. All over a bottle of beer, and a cheap hooker.

  Nicholas sat down with a grunt.

  Tony smiled.

  The older Russian reminded Tony of a retired boxer going bald. His nose covered the center of his face, his slack jaw and dirty teeth, along with a drooping eyelid made him the ugliest man Tony knew.

  Poor Nicholas, he had been KGB all his life, and when Russia changed to the Federal Security Service, Nicholas couldn’t adapt, didn’t fit in, and had finally decided to go rogue. According to certain sources, he’d made a good career move.

  Snapping his fingers in the air, Nicholas asked for coffee in Russian before removing his jacket. Slinging it over the back of the chair, he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, just as the waitress put the coffee down. Nicholas lit up. Pulling a strong drag from the cigarette, he blew out the smoke then took a sip.

  Since Nicholas had set the time and place, Tony figured the offending filth and foul odors didn’t faze the Russian.

  After a few more loud slurps, Nicholas flipped the ashes of his cigarette into the ashtray, and asked, “What you want, Archuletta?”

  After straightening the front of his Valentino jacket, Tony leaned back and propped his ankle on his knee. “I have some information I think you might find useful.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about. You and I don’t have anything to discuss.”

  They both knew better then to bring up the incident from two years ago. Tony had desperately needed an alibi to cover taking out a target, and of all people, Nicholas walked in and said that they’d been playing poker together with several of his Russian friends. Later, Tony learned Nicholas had wanted the target eliminated more than the US.

  “You’re right, we don’t and never will, but information is a good thing to have.”

  “Okay, so what you got?” Nicholas sounded like a gangster from New Jersey.

  Tony folded his arms on the table. “Word on the street says Ramón Marino and you conducted a little business a few days ago.”

  “I don’t know anything about that.” Nicholas took another deep drag.

  “Where is Lev?”

  Nicholas’s face turned red and he puffed out his chest. “When I get my hands on the shithead that killed him, I will tear off his legs.”

  “Ouch, that sounds so gruesome, Nicholas. Why not a bullet between the eyes? Much neater.”

  He knew that remark would wiggle the Russian’s memory about the target Tony took out.

  Nicholas batted that thought away. “Nyet! I want him to suffer.”

  “Good luck with catching the guy. But why did Lev go after the girl?”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  “Word has it you might have overheard her saying something about pictures she’d taken.”

  Nicholas scooted his chair back. “Our business is finished. I have done nothing wrong.”

  “Really? Since when is selling illegal weapons not against International law?”

  After a careful look around, Nicholas leaned closer. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  Reaching inside his jacket pocket, Tony pulled out the pictures Mac had scanned him then spread them on the table. “Look familiar?”

  Nicholas reared back from the photos as if to distance himself from the obvious. “I was just out for a walk that night. I did nothing wrong.”

  “And this?” He showed him the picture of Marino passing him the briefcase.

  Nicholas shrugged.

  “You know this guy?” He showed him a picture of Bruno.

  “Never seen him in my life.”

  “You’re a liar. But let’s not worry about him right now, okay?”

  “What do you want, Archuletta? Do not play with me or they will find your body floating in the Moskva Rive
r, face down.”

  Tony clutched his arms. “Brr.” He faked a shiver. “It’s so cold.”

  “Cut the shit.”

  “I have to assume there was money in that briefcase Marino gave you. Probably a lot of money.”

  Nicholas remained stoic.

  “My question, Nicholas, is have you tried to spend any of that money?”

  “Only you are assuming Marino gave me money. Money for what?”

  “I think you sold him something he could unleash on the United States. So, if you did, these pictures are pretty incriminating.”

  “They prove nothing. Nothing I say.”

  “Until something happens. Then these pictures will lead right back to you. Now, Nicholas, the way I see it, you sold Marino bio weapons so he could detonate a bomb on American soil. If that happens, you won’t need to worry about proof. Frank Hamilton will send every Falcon agent he has at his disposal to hunt your ass down. And when we catch you, ripping your legs off is the least we’ll do.”

  Tony pushed back his chair and stood. As he walked toward the door, Nicholas grabbed his arm. “What has money got to do with this? You asked if I’d spent any. What did you mean?”

  Tony paused and looked down at Nicholas. “I should let you find out on your own, you dumb shit.”

  “Find out what?”

  “If Marino paid you in American dollars, they’re probably counterfeit.” He waited a moment for that to soak in. The widening of Nicholas’s eyes revealed his horror.

  “Counterfeit? He is a fucking drug dealer.”

  “A drug dealer who recently learned how lucrative making phony money can be.”

  “You are shitting me. He not got that kind of balls to play me like that.”

  “Check it out, and when you do, I have the perfect way for you to get even.”

  Nicholas stood and jerked on his coat. “I’ll get that fucker.”

  Tony handed him a card. “I’m gone in eight hours. Once I leave Moscow, I can’t help you.”

  ***

  Mac stilled as the barrel of a weapon pressed against the back of his head. He looked at Brody who had the guy in his crosshairs. In one swift move, Mac spun, knocked the weapon out of the thug’s hand then finished with a right hook to the jaw. The guy hit the floor, and he wasn’t getting up anytime soon.

  Jake and A.J. busted through the downstairs door. Mac let them know everything was okay. They rounded up the gang of thugs and headed for Falcon’s office in Dallas.

  Before leaving, Mac decided to check on Em. The phone rang twice before she answered.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked.

  “Yes, I just stepped out of the tub.”

  Mac’s imagination went from a life and death struggle to images of Em’s naked body in record time. He enjoyed the thought of her sleeping in his bed, her touch making an imprint on everything in his apartment. He swallowed, “Why don’t you get some sleep? I’m going to be awhile.”

  “Mac, did you get the bad guys?”

  Her voice sounded soft, inviting, and real after what he and Brody had been through. For the first time in his career, Mac wanted to go home. Let someone else deal with the bad guys. He only wanted to curl up and make love to Em. “Yeah, they’re on their way downtown. As soon as I finish, I’ll be home.

  “Are you still mad at me for telling my sister?”

  “No, I don’t have a family, but I can understand your need to protect them.”

  “I’ve been with you all this time. I didn’t know you didn’t have a family.” Em said, slamming a fist into his soft spot. “Your parents are dead? How horrible.”

  “It all happened when I was a kid, so I’ve gotten used to the fact that it’s only me.”

  Silence followed by a deep sigh. “Mac, everyone needs a family. Weren’t you even adopted?”

  “Naw, I got dumped into the foster care system. When I turned fourteen I took off. Lived on the streets for a while until I joined the Navy.”

  “That’s so sad.”

  “That’s reality.” He paused unable to continue. He’d already told her more than any other woman. “I gotta go. Sleep tight.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Mac brought Bruno back to Falcon’s interrogation room. Frank followed. After shoving their prisoner into a chair, Mac handcuffed him to the table and they stepped into the hall out of Bruno’s earshot.

  “Easy as hell to get him,” Mac said with a hint of uncertainty. “I kept thinking we’re walking into a trap or something.” Mac shrugged. “Nothing happened. We threw him in the back of his own car and drove him here.”

  Brows furrowed, Frank shook his head. “That’s not like Bruno?”

  “I’ll say. Did you hear from Tony?”

  “He baited the trap.”

  Mac grunted, “Bet the Russian bites.”

  Frank shook his head. “Tony could talk a nun out of her habit in one minute flat.”

  “Let’s go inside and talk to the man who blew up Em’s house.”

  Frank opened the door then followed behind Mac. They leaned against the wall. “Bruno, imagine our surprise when we found you right under our noses.” Frank pulled out a chair on the opposite side and sat. “You probably aren’t in a talking mood, are you?”

  Beads of sweat bulleted Bruno’s brow. His hands gripped the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles showed white, as his black eyes darted around like a cue ball searching for a pocket.

  “Not really,” Bruno muttered.

  “That’s too bad, because before the night is over we’ll get what we want.” Mac casually examined his fingernails. “Your decision is how we go about it.”

  Marino’s henchman looked up. “It’s simple. I came here to carry out Marino’s orders. You guys know that. I do what I’m told.”

  “He tell you to kill Emily Richards?” Frank asked.

  Sadly, His Bruno nodded his head. “Sí, he did.”

  “Because he wanted to destroy the pictures?”

  “Sí.”

  Mac tossed the photos on the table. “These?”

  His head moved slowly as Bruno looked at the snapshots. “I guess. I wasn’t there when these were taken. I only know Marino didn’t want anyone to see him with the Wholesaler.”

  “What do you know about that?”

  Shrugging, Bruno looked away. “Not much.” Turning back, he nodded to Mac. “You know he keeps everything to himself. He don’t confide in nobody.”

  Pushing away from the wall, Mac said, “Yeah, but you’ve lasted longer than anyone. You do that by being one step ahead of your boss?” Mac leaned down and placed his palms on the steel table. “Marino might not tell you what he’s doing, but you know a lot more than you let on.”

  Bruno shifted and cleared his throat. “I know he is a monster.”

  “We want to know what he bought from The Wholesaler?”

  Bruno shrugged then looked at Mac. “Drugs and weapons. They are the way Marino makes money. But his real crime is against God.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Bruno bowed his head and held his silence.

  “Why didn’t he take you to meet with the Wholesaler?”

  “My job was to take you out, McKinsey.” Bruno snarled. “Marino did not tell me he was going to meet the Russian until afterward.”

  “So, you flew to and from Moscow with Marino?”

  “Sí, but Angel Diaz went with him to make the exchange. I was sent to kill you.”

  “Who is this Diaz?”

  Snarling, Bruno glanced away. “Probably my replacement.”

  “What about Miss Richards? Why would you kill an innocent woman?”

  “Marino is convinced she is a spy. Sent by Falcon to rescue you.”

  “Your boss is wrong. She knows nothing. She’s just a lawyer.”

  “Marino did not know that. But if she is innocent, why did she take pictures of the transaction?”

  “She was just testing a prototype for a friend who invented a sma
ll camera.”

  “Does she not know how dangerous that is? To take pictures of Marino making a deal?”

  Mac shook his head. “You don’t get it. She’s just a... lawyer.”

  “But she has the proof.”

  “Really? She just had a bunch of pictures until you goons turned it into a fucking war.

  “But you met up with her.”

  “No I didn’t. All I needed was a ride out of Russia.”

  Bruno looked down. Did it bother him that his boss had sent him to kill a woman who’d done nothing to intentionally harm Marino’s operation? Mac doubted that. Bruno was as calloused as his boss. They’d wallowed in the same blood and destruction for years.

  “If you think Diaz is your replacement then you have nothing to lose by giving Marino up. There probably isn’t much left for you after you botched killing me and Miss Richards.” Mac looked at his watch then Bruno. “And the clock is ticking.”

  “I know what you want, but I have a family. They are all that matters to me.”

  Pushing away from the wall, Frank said, “We can protect your family, Bruno. I give my word.” Frank leaned closer. “We can get them out of the country and settled in a place where they’ll never be found. And we can do it in less than twenty-four hours.”

  Bruno slumped back in his chair, his eyes downcast on the table. He was a big man, younger than he looked, older in many ways than someone twice his age. He’d never married. Mac figured he’d avoided the altar because Marino knew how to use a man’s weaknesses against him. He knew how to make a man sweat, and control him to the point he’d do anything Marino ordered.

  “Bruno,” Mac said. “You were there the day Angelina was shot. Who pulled the trigger? You and I know it wasn’t me, or any other Falcon agent.”

  “I was there that day,” The hard lines in Bruno’s face softened.

  “Why was she shot when we went to make the exchange?” Mac banged his fist against the metal table. “It could have all been so simple.”