Stephen Coonts - Jake Grafton 2 - Final Flight

by Final Flight (lit)

  Then he caught the glow of a cigarette just beyond the wall, inside the grounds. "How many of them are there?" "I think there are at least two of them on duty-one on the gate, then one at the back of the property. There were dogs loose on the grounds last night, so I think the guards go in the house when the old man is alone." Qazi turned the binoculars toward the park and began to scan. The occasional lamps by the walking paths provided little oases of light, but there were many impenetrable shadows. "I saw the dogs' droppings the last few times I was there." "Dobermans. I'm surprised he even has two guards. No local in his right mind would dare burgle the place, and two men wouldn't even slow down a team of hit men. I doubt if Pagliacci even has a burglar alarm." "There's no alarm system. The guards are for appearances, which are so important. One must keep up appearances," Qazi said and handed the glasses back. "So he's in there." "Yes indeed. Big, mean, and ugly. No doubt paying his respects." "No doubt." "This pretty much tears it, huh?" "Tears what?" "The whole enchilada. If Pagliacci's spilled it-and there's no reason to think he hasn't-your little deal is gonna go off like a wet match." "You're too pessimistic. We mustn't assume the worst just because two men are sitting together in that house. But perhaps I should go have a chat with them." Qazi took a pistol from the waistband in the small of his back and a silencer from a jacket pocket. The pistol was a Bernardelli automatic in 380 ACP. The barrel had been altered by a machinist to take a silencer. He screwed the silencer on, then jacked a cartridge into the chamber. After carefully checking the safety, he eased the gun into his trouser belt. "I'll need the glass-cutter, some tape, and the little torch from the boot." Sakol opened the car door.

  The interior courtesy light did not come on. The bulb had been removed from its socket. "And get an Uzi for yourself, and the climbing rope." When Sakol was back behind the wheel, Oazi ran his hands over the rope and steel grappling hook.

  "Your knife, please." Sakol unstrapped the scabbard from his right ankle.

  Qazi examined the six-inch blade, a scaled-down Bowie. "You Americans make good knives." "It was made in Japan." Qazi slipped the knife back into the scabbard and pulled up his left trouser leg. His Walther was in its usual place on his right ankle.

  "If he comes out before I do, use the Uzi. I want him dead. And kill anyone with him." "With pleasure." Qazi adjusted the knife scabbard on his left ankle and pulled the trouser leg back down. "Then wait for me. No matter what, wait for me.

  Sakol screwed a silencer onto the barrel of the Uzi, then checked that the magazine was full and there was a round in the chamber. He started the car with his foot off the brake pedal and let it idle. "I've been watching the park since I've been here and haven't seen anyone. But there may be a man in there watching the gate." "We'll have to risk it." Qazi screwed the bulb back into the courtesy light socket above the rearview mirror.

  "Turn on your lights and drive down to the gate. We'll use English." There was a light on the power pole near the gate.

  Sakol stopped directly in front of the gate.

  "Do you see the house number?" Qazi asked in a conversational tone of voice.

  "No, but this must be it." Oazi opened his door and stepped out. He left the door standing open.

  Sakol shaded his eyes against the interior courtesy light and squinted at the gate. Qazi took a few tipsy paces toward the wrought-iron lattice, peered about, then extracted a scrap of paper from his shirt pocket and swayed slightly as he held it away from him so the streetlight fell on it.

  The man on the other side of the wall moved.

  "Oh, old fellow," Yes sirCaziallyes sir said thickly. "Didn't see you there. Can you tell me, does Colonel Arbuthnot live here?" The man took three steps up to the chest-high wall. "Non cornprendo greater-than sig" The words ceased abruptly as Yes sirCaziallyes sir shot him. The silenced pistol made a little pop. tilde azi stepped over to the wall and looked down. The guard lay with his legs buckled under him, his eyes open, a hole in his forehead.

  "QuicMore, let's get him into the car." The two men vaulted the wall, wrestled the body over, then dragged it to the car and placed it on the floor behind the front seats. As they did this, Qazi said, "Take the car back where it was and park it. Then come back and get the other guard. Wear this one's cap.

  You know what to do. Then wait here by the gate.

  Don't let anyone leave alive." Qazi vaulted the wall again and walked quickly up the driveway, alert for dogs. He heard nothing except the sounds of night insects and, very faintly, the engine of Sakol's car as it proceeded along the street.

  And he could hear the background murmur of traffic from the boulevard a kilometer or so away.

  As Yes sirCaziallyes sir approached the house he scanned the windows. The porch light was out, but several windows on the left corner of the house had indirect lighting coming through the drapes. The rest of the first-floor windows were dark. Any of them would do.

  He paused by the front door and gingerly tried the knob. It turned! But what did Pagliacci have to fear? The most powerful mafioso in southern Italy, he was perhaps the man who slept the soundest.

  Qazi turned the knob to its limit and pushed gently on the door, a massive wooden slab eight feet high. It gave and he slipped through.

  He stood in the darkness listening. Nothing. The house was as quiet as a tomb. He flashed the pencil beam about. A large foyer.

  Furniture centuries old. With the light beam pointed at his feet, he moved lightly across the Persian rug to the hallway and turned left.

  There were voices on the other side of the door.

  He strained to hear the words. Just murmurs. Qazi put the flashlight in his pocket, the pistol in his right hand, and pushed the door open.

  Their heads jerked around. General Simonov's shaved head reflected the light, and he glared.

  Pagliacci looked startled. They were seated in easy chairs, wine on the small table between them.

  "Good evening, gentlemen. Sorry to burst in "Who are you?" Pagliacci interrupted, his voice rising. "It's Qazi, fool," Simonov growled.

  "General, you must forgive our Italian friend.

  He knows me as an old man, quite infirm." Qazi sat down across from them and leveled the pistol at Simonov.

  "Now, gentlemen, we have much to discuss and not much time, so let's get right to it. Which of you wants to be first?" Simonov merely stared. Oazi watched the general's hands, resting on the arms of the chair. As they tensed and his feet began to move back under him Qazi shot him in the left knee. Simonov's motion was arrested almost before it began.

  "Why are you here tonight, General?" The Russian wrapped his hands around the damaged knee. His eyes remained on Qazi, expressionless. Blood oozed from between his fingers and began dripping on the carpet.

  Qazi shot him again, in the right biceps.

  Simonov leaned back in the chair. "You won't succeed," the Russian said at last. "El Hakim is mad. Surely you know that?" Qazi nodded, his head moving an eighth of an inch. Blood was flowing freely from Simonov's arm wound.

  "The Israelis, the Americans, the British.

  They'll launch preemptive nuclear strikes." "Only if they think they can succeed, General.

  Only then. They are careful men." "You cannot control-was And Simonov was hurling across the ten feet of space between them, driving on both legs in spite of the knee wound, his arms gathered.

  Qazi's bullet hit him in the neck, and the general collapsed at his feet. Blood pumped onto the carpet. Apparently the bullet had damaged the spinal column, for the Russian did not move again.

  Oazi swung the muzzle of the gun to Pagliacci. "Talk or die." The old man was trembling. Sweat glistened on his face and dripped from his veined nose. "Mother of God, holy mother.

  Qazi stood and walked toward the Italian.

  "The Russian wanted to know about the helicopters. When and where.

  Don't hurt me! I'm an old man. For the love of God." "And you told him." "Of course. He pays me much money every month.

  He has thing
s he wishes to know about the Americans and we tell him. When ships come and go, what weapons are aboard, documents he wants, documents...," He was babbling. "When did you tell him about the helicopters?" "You will kill me anyway. I will tell..

  Qazi placed the muzzle of the pistol against the man's forehead. "When did you tell him about the helicopters?" "Tonight. Just tonight." "And the delivery at Palermo? Did you tell him about that?" "Not yet. We hadn't time to cover everything." "If you are lying, I will come back and kill you." "I'm telling the truth, on the blood of Christ. On my mother's grave I swear it. I swear it on my wife's grave.... His words became incoherent.

  "And the villa? When did you tell him about the villa?" "He did not know about that. I was going to get him to pay me more before I told him." He was sobbing.

  "Stand up." "Oh pleeease, you promised!" Yes sirCaziallyes sir pocketed the pistol and hoisted the old man to his feet. He spun him around and broke his neck with one hard wrench on his jaw.

  Oazi grunted as his arms absorbed the now-dead weight. He dragged the don over to the general, taking care to avoid stepping in the bloodstains. He rolled the general over, then pulled Pagliacci across the wet blood smears. He rolled Pagliacci's body over. Good, the blood was still wet. Now he placed the general's corpse facedown, partially on Pagliacci, and gently squeezed the Russian's neck. More blood oozed from the hole in the throat, directly onto Pagliacci's shirt.

  The pistol he wiped with his shirttail, then he pressed the Russian's fingers against the gun, then Pagliacci's. The nails of the Italian's fat fingers still had dirt from the garden under them.

  He let the pistol fall beside the two bodies and kicked the spent shell casings to random position around the room. How Pagliacci had gotten the gun from the general was, of course, the weak link, but that was unavoidable. Finally Qazi placed the general's right hand behind the don's neck.

  He paused and scanned the scene. It would hold up to scrutiny by amateurs for at least twenty-four hours. The police would never see this room.

  Twenty-four hours would be sufficient.

  He wiped the doorknobs on his way out, and remembered to retrieve the climbing rope from the foyer, where he had left it upon entering.

  Sakol was standing in the deep shadows as Oazi walked down the driveway blotting his forehead with his sleeve. "Where's the other guard?" "In the car with the first one.

  "Let's go." After they were across the wall, Qazi said, "You dispose of the guards so that their bodies are not found for at least twenty-four hours." "No problem. You killed the Russian?" "I hope I die as well when my time comes." Fifteen minutes after Qazi and Sakol had driven away, a figure emerged from the darkness of the park. Under one arm he carried a medium-sized camera bag. The man crossed the street and climbed carefully over the wall. In ten minutes he was back. He crossed the street again and disappeared into the park.

  Toad Tarkington awoke at four A.m. with a raging headache. The pain throbbed above his eyeballs with every beat of his heart. Then he became aware of a weight on his chest and legs.

  Judith was sound asleep, her arm across his chest, her right leg across his. He inched up in the bed, trying not to disturb her. The bedspread and blanket were on the floor. Clothes were scattered where they had fallen or been tossed.

  He closed his eyes and let the headache throb as he listened to her breathing. Finally he opened his eyes again. She was still there, warm and naked and sound asleep.

  Why did you drink so much, fool?

  He eased himself away from her and went to the bathroom. Her purse was on the vanity and he rooted in it. She had a tin of aspirin. He took three and washed them down with water from the tap.

  He sat in the little chair by the writing table and watched her. She was so lovely.

  He retrieved her dress from the floor and draped it carefully across the back of the chair. What would it be like to come home every evening to this woman, he asked himself. This intelligent, fiery, beautiful woman?

  It would never be dull. Never boring.

  Whoa, Toad. You've never thought like that about a woman before. And this is just a one-night stand. One hell of a one-night stand, but that's all it is.

  She's a lonely woman in a strange city and you just happened to get the nod for stud service. She probably still thinks you're a jerk. She'll walk away in the morning without looking back.

  He was holding the drapes apart and looking out the window when he heard her stir.

  "What time is it?" "About four-thirty." "Come back to bed, lover. There's still some night left." She captured him in her arms. She smelled of pungent woman and sleep. Her skin was soft, yielding over hard muscle, warm and sleek.

  She drew him in as if she had waited for years for his tension and power and desire, as if she had searched and hungered all her life just for him.

  When he next awoke the sunlight was leaking through the drapes. He sat up in bed and looked around.

  Judith was gone.

  She had gathered her clothes and tiptoed out while he slept. Oh, he had done that very thing himself-how many times? He had slept in their beds and escaped just as the sun rose. He had fled from the soft, scented sheets and the photos on the dresser and the frilly curtains on the windows. He had stepped over the panties and bra lying on the floor and never glanced back.

  He could see himself in the mirror over the dresser. He needed a shave. The bed still smelled of her. The room was as empty as his life.

  AZ! WAS SEATED on the terrace of the villa drinking ornge juice when Yasim joined him and placed several envelopes of black-and-white photographs on the table. Oazi examined hem in the morning sunlight.

  He had had four hours sleep and elt sluggish.

  This close to an operation, it was difficult to get to leep, so he had taken a pill, the effects of which had not yet worn if The photographs were of people near the helicopters. Qazi reported them into piles: the shots of each person were stacked separately. When he finished he had nine stacks.

  "Nine people yesterday, eh, Yasim?" "Yes, Colonel. And one helicopter flew for two and a half ours. Here are the photographs of the pilots and their passeners." Yasim laid another group of pictures on the glass table. Qazi carefully examined each picture.

  Yasim refilled his glass with orange juice.

  "There is a storm coming, Colonel." "When?" Qazi did not look up from the photos.

  "Rising seas and winds this evening. Frontal passage at four A.m. local tomorrow." "Terrific. And Ali thinks nothing can go wrong.

  "Do we postpone?" "We can't. Not after last night." He continued to study the pictures.

  "The same people who have been there for two weeks, on and off," he said at last.

  "No known agents, Yasim agreed. "The pictures from the backup site will be ready in an hour." "And no one has been followed to or from the helicopters?" "No one.

  "No tails that you have seen?" "That is correct." Yasim frowned. He knew as well as Qazi did how difficult it would be to detect a major tailing operation. "We have taken every precaution." "Ummm. When does the crate go aboard the ship?" "The supply barge is tied alongside already.

  It should be aboard any time." "No problems at the quay this morning?" "They took the crate just as we had arranged." Oazi had a difficult decision to make, one he had purposefully been avoiding. He had hoped these photos would help him make it. The primary helicopters had been identified by Pagliacci, who had arranged for the bribery of the watchman and the transport company manager. And Pagliacci, Qazi was forced to assume, had told the GRU all about it. Yet no Soviet agents had been seen to visit the site in two weeks, or so it appeared. And Pagliacci had said he had just told Simonov last night. If the GRU intended to thwart Ali's departure tonight, they were being extremely circumspect.

  On the other hand, Oazi had kepi Pagliacci in the dark about dates. The vans were hired for another two weeks. The villa had been rented for three months. The ship-painting contractor thought his scow was going to be used tomorrow and the day aft
er. And the airport surveillance project was moving along nicely, with lots of Pagliacci's Mafia soldiers involved, costing lots of El Hakim's money and cocaine. Of course, Simonov would have suspected the airport project was a red herring, but only if he were told everything Pagliacci knew. And Pagliacci had dribbled the information out, squeezing rubles out of the Russian for every crumb.

  So it was probable-no, certain-that Simonov did not have the big picture when he died last night. But had he already made preparations to act on the information he did have? Certainly the GRU should be checking the helicopters and hangar area if the Soviets" intended to act.

  Finally, there were the backup helicopters, about which Pagliacci had known nothing because he had not been told and because no Italian or NATO soldier had been bribed or pumped for information. These machines were parked on the concrete mat at Armed Forces South, the NATO base.