He couldn’t exactly tell Rebecca he wasn’t having a bit of fun parasailing as Lopez turned them nearly ninety degrees, barely missing a government building. And now, on the ground there were police cars chasing them. Even if they survived landing, he wasn’t sure if they’d survive incarceration in Hong Kong.
“Sorry, babe,” Brandt responded. “I should be home by the weekend.”
Rebecca sighed, sounding more herself when she spoke next. “I think we can survive until then. Kasa and I are going out for mani-pedis.”
“Kasa?” Brandt reflected back. That didn’t sound right.
“I had to promise her camo,” Rebecca replied.
Okay, that sounded a lot more like his little girl.
“See you soon and tell the kids I love them,” Brandt said just before he hung up.
Mainly because he didn’t want Rebecca to hear him hit the pavement.
* * *
Davidson ran down the stairs taking them three and four at a time. His damaged joints complained, but he didn’t care. He had to see what was happening and he couldn’t exactly stay up on the tower with all those dead bodies. Someone was going to notice, that was for sure.
Since Lopez was up in the air, hopefully, Davidson had to secure an escape vehicle. Something fast, but well built.
He hit the ground floor, running. He ran right past the main desk in the ultra-modern lobby and raced out the front door. He really didn’t care what it looked like.
Glancing back and forth, Davidson tried to find the perfect vehicle.
And there it was, right across the street.
A tourist bus. People were just starting to load in front of the hotel. It may not have the speed, but it was a Mercedes model and looked well fortified.
Davidson ran over, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and pulling his sidearm. No reason to go all overkill.
“Get out!” Davidson shouted, pushing the tourists away. Luckily only a few of them had loaded.
Many didn’t seem to understand what he was saying until he shot in the air once. That they all seemed to understand. They all rushed to get off the bus first, even the driver.
Davidson hopped into the driver’s seat. Crap, it was right-sided. This was why Lopez was their transportation specialist. He’d dig this kind of thing. Davidson wasn’t looking forward to it.
Revving the engine, Davidson put the bus into gear and pulled out into traffic, greeted by a hail of honking horns.
Oh well, that was just Hong Kong. He hoped he was doing Lopez proud.
Davidson had tuned his headset to the Hong Kong police channel. Not too hard to tell since only one channel had people screaming in English and Chinese about some crazy tourists who were parasailing through the city.
He stepped on it. It sounded like Lopez and Brandt were coming down too fast. Which was one of the reasons that Davidson had picked the bus. A nice landing strip right on the roof.
Davidson took the first right available. For the mission, he’d memorized the city’s traffic grid. Not because he expected to have to drive, but to make sure he knew of all the perches.
But right now he needed to stop thinking like a sniper, and start thinking like Lopez.
A scary proposition indeed.
CHAPTER 2
Cristoval Prieto listened to the chorus of voices on the police scanner.
This was not at all how this trip was supposed to resolve.
He was supposed to “run into” the military team. Being a master thief, Cristoval was tasked with lifting a certain item off of Lopez. Cristoval didn’t think that the man even knew what he had in his possession.
The crucifix was mostly thought of as a simple trinket sent to Lopez to congratulate the man on the impending birth of his daughter. Yet, Cristoval knew the item was so much more than that even though it had been purchased at a flea market in Lima, Peru off of a scruffy merchant, the crucifix was one of his sect’s most prized artifacts.
Cristoval had to get the item back.
Today. The stars were aligning in the next few days.
He could not allow the crucifix to fall into the hands of any of the team’s historians. Either Rebecca or Bunny could quickly decipher the meaning and value of the item.
And that would just not do.
His sect, The Brotherhood of the Seven Suns, had kept their secret for millennia. To have it come out now? All because an elder of his sect had succumbed to Alzheimer’s and his children did not know the value of the items in his possession and sold them to a passing merchant? Cristoval knew that God moved in mysteries ways, but this seemed to be a stretch. Some might say the artifact’s landing in an American military man’s hands was the will of God. That this Lopez was meant to be the crucifix’s protector now. God had also given men free will and the desire to use it. Today would be such a day. Cristoval did not wish to harm the team. They had done nothing against his sect except exist. However if forced, Cristoval would do what he must to secure the artifact.
Above him, and not that high above him, a parasail came into view.
He had calculated the wind patterns to determine where the parasail would come down. His years out of their sect to attain a higher education degree might serve the Brotherhood of the Seven Suns well.
Now to reclaim what was the Brotherhood’s.
* * *
There were three ways to die in the field that Brandt had decided he did not want on his tombstone. Now he had four. Crashing landing while standing on Lopez’s shoulders on a parasail.
No one was telling his mother that. Rebecca, fine, she could handle it. But his Mom? No, just no.
He couldn’t really blame Lopez. He’d done a phenomenal job keeping them in the air while he looked for a place to safely land. It wasn’t his fault Hong Kong wasn’t built for parasailing.
And now the damned wind. It had initially picked them up, giving them some altitude, but now it was tossing them back and forth, nearly making it impossible for Lopez to steer them in any given direction. And all around them were high rises, just waiting for them to crash into.
“Holy…” Lopez moaned above the wind.
Brandt didn’t know which of the many dangerous variables that Lopez was referring to.
Then he saw it. A tour bus careening around a corner, heading away from them.
“That’s my boy!” Lopez shouted, “Keep it steady!”
What was Lopez thinking?
Brandt realized in a flash what the two of his men were thinking. It couldn’t work. Could it?
Davidson was laying on the horn, hitting any car that got in his way.
Lopez lined them up as best he could in the cross winds.
Brandt, despite how awkward it felt and probably looked, bent his knees, now squatting on Lopez’s shoulders, bringing down their wind resistance.
“You ready?” Lopez shouted.
Brandt didn’t bother to answer. Either way he answered would be a lie. If he said he was ready, that was completely bogus. He wasn’t ready and probably never would be. On the other hand, if he said he wasn’t ready, that wasn’t true either. He’d been ready to tackle something like this his entire life.
They came in fast over the bus. Too fast. Lopez cut the parasail and Lopez dropped the few feet, clanging on the metal. Unfortunately Brandt had another whole five feet seven inches added to his fall.
He tried to tuck his shoulder under himself, but ended up landing on the point of the joint. Right at the point.
That. Hurt.
The collision of bone on metal hurt enough that for a few moments Brandt could only see a blinding white light. Just enough time for him to slide toward the side of the roof.
Lopez lashed out, grabbing Brandt by the ankle. The ankle again.
Again, not a way to die, to put on his tombstone.
He opened his eyes to find the pavement streaking by under them. Davidson had gotten them onto a side street away from the traffic.
Lopez grunted, hauling Brandt back up onto
the roof of the bus. “You need to stop eating your Momma’s smothered pork chops.”
Right. That wasn’t going to happen.
* * *
Stark blinked several times. That really didn’t just happen did it? Brandt and Lopez hadn’t survived their rather awkward tandem parasailing adventure, had they?
“And you want back out into the field?” Stark asked Bunny.
The redhead shrugged. “Probably less dangerous to my long term health than sitting around all day like you do.”
“The three months in the hospital to the contrary,” Stark shot back, then smiled. Bunny should know by now though, that he could never be upset with her.
The smile back told him he was right. She got him.
He worried though. It was hard enough to watch what Brandt and his men did to themselves. Having Bunny out in the field was going to raise Stark’s blood pressure by several dozen points.
At least he had another week before the doctors signed off on her release from care. Bunny’s leg had finally healed. Finally. And her lungs were 100% again. From the outside it was hard to tell all that had happened to her.
Only Stark and a few other people could see the scars on the inside. Her smile wasn’t quite as bright. She didn’t flip her red curls quite so frequently. She spent more time looking far away with the ghost of a frown on her lips.
Stark probably should have been jealous, since it had been him in that hospital room when things had gone so horrifically badly, supporting her, but he was glad that Davidson had proposed. Bunny deserved it.
She sported the large rock on her ring finger. Sometimes he would catch her staring at it, spinning it around the appendage, tilting her head as if she couldn’t believe the ring was really there.
“We’ve got a problem,” Stark’s mother stated.
“Mom, seriously, can’t you lead with something a little more upbeat?” Stark joked.
“The lemon meringue pie is almost out of the oven,” his mother replied.
“See? Isn’t that so much better?”
His mother shrugged. “It doesn’t stop what looks like an ambush party heading to the hanger that houses the team’s private plane.”
“No way,” Stark said, swiveling his chair around to face her surveillance screen.
“Ambush?” Bunny repeated.
His mother nodded. “Sorry, but it looks like someone wants to catch the team before they leave Hong Kong.”
“The police?” Stark asked, scrolling through the footage. “Chinese government?”
“Not sure,” his mother stated. “They aren’t exactly wearing uniforms.”
His mother was correct. The six men were dressed in black with ski masks. Stark’s eyes flickered over to the screen showing the team’s progress. They had ditched the tour bus and picked up a random SUV and were speeding to the airport.
They were three minutes out.
“Um, guys, you’ve got an attack team at the airport.”
“Who?” Brandt asked in that really demanding way of his.
“Not sure. We will backtrack their movements as far as we can to find out where they came from and hopefully who they are, but it could be a few minutes.”
There was a grunt. Not quite sure what it meant, but there it was.
“Stark,” Davidson asked. “Any other ways out of the country quickly?”
“Mom’s working on it,” Stark reported. “But not looking good for the next hour or so.”
“Fine,” Brandt said, then nothing else.
“Fine, what?” Stark asked. “Are you going to ground?”
“Hell, no,” Lopez snorted.
“Then I don’t…”
Stark looked to Bunny, but she raised her shoulders. She didn’t know what was going on either.
“We’re heading to the plane.”
“What?” Stark said, knowing that his voice was way too high for Brandt’s taste. “Did I not make it clear, there are six armed gunmen waiting for you at the hanger.”
“Yes, yes I believe you did,” Brandt replied back. “I just don’t care.”
And Stark just didn’t understand.
* * *
“It’ll be fine,” Davidson said trying to comfort their upset IT man. “Bunny, try to explain.”
Bunny tried, but Stark was still pretty riled up. It didn’t matter though. Brandt had made his decision.
Brandt’s policy was, a trap was only dangerous if left unsprung. Davidson actually thought Brandt looked forward to springing traps. Kind a point of honor with him. No matter they were outgunned two to one. Those were measly odds. Almost not worth mentioning.
Stark wasn’t exactly made of the sternest stuff. He had other great qualities but courage in the face of danger, not so much.
“I think… I think we found another plane,” Stark said, sounding brighter.
“Where? When?” Brandt asked in his usual efficient self.
Stark paused which told them all what the answer was.
“The hanger then,” Brandt responded before Stark could even answer the first question.
“It is about fifty miles away and will be ready in two hours.”
“Like I said,” Brandt grunted.
“But --” Stark started to say. Then someone turned off the feed. More than likely Bunny.
“Hey, guys, any word on Maria?” Lopez asked.
The line clicked back on to Bunny’s voice. “The doctor is looking to discharge her in the next few hours. It seems it was just indigestion.”
“Again,” Lopez moaned. “Tell my Momma, to ditch the Sriracha and ghost peppers. Please. I am begging her.”
Bunny chuckled. “Will do.”
“She’s more likely to give Maria stomach cancer than induce labor at this point.”
“I think I’ll leave that part out,” Bunny replied. “I’ll keep you updated though.”
While Lopez might be shaking his head, chuckling, underneath it all, Davidson knew that Lopez was worried about the baby. Especially since it seemed it wanted to come out a month early.
* * *
Despite her wet nails, Rebecca swiped her phone as soon as it rang. It was from an unidentified number. For most people that meant a telemarketer was on the other side of the line, however for her it meant her husband was out on a mission.
“Hello?” Rebecca asked, trying to keep the nervousness from her voice. So far it had always been Brandt, however she wasn’t naïve. One of these times it might be one of his men, informing her of the worst possible outcome.
She couldn’t think of that now as she gulped. There was a lot of static on the line.
Finally her husband’s voice punched through the white noise. “Rebecca?”
“I’m here, hon,” Rebecca said, flashing a smile at Kasa who sat next to her in the nail salon. “Everything okay?”
“It’s great, just great,” Brandt said in that overly cheerful voice. So he was in trouble. The team was in trouble. Good to know.
A burst of static ended the call before it barely began.
“We’ve got to go,” Rebecca said, carefully fishing her wallet out of her purse.
“But my toes,” Kasa said. Her daughter’s fingernails had gotten done, but the pedicures hadn’t even started.
“Your father just told me his mission is going great,” Rebecca stated.
Kasa’s eyes dilated. “Oh no…” she sighed.
Even at five, the little girl knew her father’s code. The better he said the mission was going, the worse it was actually unfolding. As a matter of fact, Rebecca was pretty sure that Brandt was going to do one of his “best to spring the trap” maneuvers. He always called her before he did anything incredibly stupid or brave. Tomato. Tomahto.
Quickly Rebecca paid and got them out of there. She drove the speed limit, barely. For some reason, in these circumstances she always liked to be home with the kids around her. If she got that horrible call, she wanted to have the family gathered. After a quick errand at the Walgreen
’s, Rebecca got them home.
She pulled the SUV into the garage and quickly, but calmly, went to the door. That was when she heard a blood-curdling scream. It was one of the twins. She wished as a parent she could tell which one it was, but no, just no. You would think that a parent could tell them apart, but it was impossible. They spoke the same. They ate the same. They dressed the same. Not by her insistence, but by theirs.
And they screamed the same. She should know.
Bursting in the door, Rebecca arrived in the laundry room to find one twin on top of the washer, a bottle of detergent at the ready to swig down. The other twin? Well there was a lot of thumping in the dryer and Mr. Brandt, her husband’s father was trying to pry the door open.
First things first.
“Drop it!” Rebecca ordered the twin that Mrs. Brandt was trying to wrestle to the ground.
The boy stopped, tears of fury rolling down his blotched red cheeks. For a moment Rebecca could see her son contemplate disobeying. This was clearly just too much fun.
Rebecca leveled her “oh don’t you dare” glare.
Her son released the bottle allowing it to fall on his grandmother’s head, then bounded over to the sink, shimmied down the side and bolted off. He would get his punishment later.
Right now she had to get her other son out of the dryer. Rebecca leaned over Mr. Brandt who was sweating as he tugged on the door. “He has wedged something in the lock mechanism.”
Of course he had. He was Brandt’s son after all.
Little did the boy know, but this was an older washer, with a crappy locking mechanism. Rebecca raised her fist and hit the corner of the dryer, the door sprang open and one of the twins tumbled out. His normally light brown hair singed at the tips.
Well, at the least she could now tell them apart. The boy wobbled, spinning slightly as he tried to stand.
“To your room,” Rebecca stated.
She had to suppress a smile though as he comically staggered out of the laundry area.
“Make sure he gets there,” Rebecca asked Kasa.
With a roll of the eyes, her daughter did as asked.
Only then did she turn on her mother-in-law. “You…you are home early.”
The 3rd Cycle of the Betrayed Series Collection: Extremely Controversial Historical Thrillers (Betrayed Series Boxed set) Page 26
