by Ellis, Dee
A fragment of memory bubbled to the surface.
“I saw it. I saw the van being parked, just as we were walking back to the store room. I watched the driver get out and walk away and I stood there thinking what a shame it is that there’s never traffic police around when you need them.” Sandrine’s words rushed out while she tried to recall what the driver looked like. It was no good, however, she could see the man but no words formed. The confusion, the inability to express herself in her normal logical way, crowded in on her.
Jack noticed her distress.
“Lay back, darling. It’s all right. There’s nothing we can do now. You need to rest. It’s been a big shock.”
“Was anybody hurt?” she pressed.
“A few injuries but there were no passersby close enough when the bomb exploded. In itself, that was pretty freakish, being mid-afternoon. An hour or so either way, lunchtime or the afternoon peak rush, and it would have been a completely different story.”
“How is Marcus? Marcella? Mariel?”
“Marcella and Mariel are fine, although Marcella has been taken to hospital for observation. Mariel has already filed a story for the newspaper and, looking suitably battle-scarred, has fronted interviews for two television news programs.”
Sandrine waited, expectantly, watching Jack closely. There was something he wasn’t telling her and the more she stared at his blank expression the more a dark dread chilled her.
“Marcus,” she probed. “You haven’t said anything about Marcus.”
His eyes flicked to a spot above her head and Sandrine feared the worst.
“There’s something you need to know. Marcus was kidnapped. Just after the bomb blast, while we were all lying stunned in the wreckage, he was taken away. I have no idea whether it was Sergei and his group or where he’s been taken.”
Oh, no, not Marcus, he’s not well. I hope he’s OK. He must be OK. There’s no two ways about it. Sandrine squeezed Jack’s hand in a gesture of reassurance.
Jack ran a hand through his lank and gritty hair. A patch above one ear was crusted with what looked like dried blood and stitches traced a closed gash on his forehead. His clothing was torn and ragged, coated with ash and soot, and stank sharply of smoke. While his face was pale and drawn, and his lips compressed into a grimace, his hazel eyes glowed with a fierce intensity. Sandrine could see he was trying hard to keep his anger from boiling over.
Jack looks terrible. He’s taken responsibility for us and now this has happened. The pain in his eyes triggered in Sandrine a sudden momentary revelation. Jack’s dedication to looking after her, after all of them, maybe even for his line of work, had much to do with the loss he’d suffered in other parts of his life. She felt he didn’t want others to know the anguish he’d felt and her heart melted further for him. He was an amazing man. It was a shame, she recognised with a tinge of guilt, that she’d been so angry with him just hours before when all he was doing was trying to help the best way he knew.
Jack unbuckled the restraints across her chest and waist and reminded her to be careful with the IV line in her arm. His eyebrows arched in surprise when she sprang up and planted a kiss on his cheek.
“You’ll be a little sore,” he continued. “A section of the bookcase fell on you, pinning your legs. You’ll have some nasty bruises, especially on your right hip and thighs.”
“I’ll be fine, Jack. Considering what happened, we’re very lucky we weren’t killed.”
“I don’t think that was part of the plan. If they wanted to kill us, they would have tried a lot harder. The bomb disposal team said the amount of explosives was minimal and the petrol tank of the van almost empty. On the available evidence, it would seem the idea was to create the sort of chaos that would allow Marcus to be snatched.”
“Why? Why would they do that?”
“Leverage. Whoever is employing Sergei and his boys has lost his patience. He’s making his move right now.”
Jack’s intent was obvious. He’d warned of the danger and nobody had paid much attention. He knew the world he moved in. He was the expert. We had no idea just how serious it was. And now Marcus is paying the price.
“What now?” Sandrine asked.
“We know Sergei’s current location. I’m heading a group to take him. If he’s behind this, hopefully we’ll find Marcus as well.” Grim determination had etched lines deep into his face. His eyes were smudged with tiredness, and the timbre of his remarkable voice faltered slightly when he spoke. He was on the edge, that was plain to see, but pushing himself forward. This was personal and he was intent on seeing it through.
“IF he’s involved? How can there be any doubt? He threatens us all and, not long after, a car bomb demolishes the store and Marcus is kidnapped. Jack, who else could it be?” Sandrine was unsure of exactly what Jack was suggesting.
His body language betrayed his unease.
“On one hand, yes, who else could it be? On the other, it just doesn’t feel right. I have a bad feeling about this,” Jack shrugged.
Instinct, Sandrine thought. He lives by his wits and they’re telling him that all is not as it appears.
“I want to go with you,” Sandrine said.
Jack shook his head.
“No way. Too dangerous.”
“I wasn’t asking for permission, Jack. I need to go. I need to know that Marcus is OK. He could be hurt.”
“You’ll be better off getting some rest in the safety of a hospital.”
“Nonsense. I’m fine. Just a little shook up. And I’d feel a lot safer with you rather than on my own.” In reality, she was far from fine but she needed to persuade Jack otherwise. She was still woozy, and the medication, while it had taken the edge from her physical pain, left her feeling nauseous. But she didn’t want to be shunted aside and spend the next few days in hospital if Marcus needed her help.
He leaned in close, gave her a lingering but chaste kiss on the lips and squeezed her hand reassuringly. His eyes were cold and alert and reflected a grim determination. It was clear he was engaging in an internal discussion that could go either way.
“You’ll be able to protect me much better if you know exactly where I am,” Sandrine added.
“Yes, OK. I accept that. But it’s important you do everything I say. I need you out of harm’s way. This was a close call already this afternoon and I can’t have anything else happen to you. Is that understood?”
In other circumstances, she would have argued. She didn’t like being told what to do. Such attempts at control annoyed her greatly and even at that moment she could feel her scalp prickling with irritation. Ever since she was a small child, she’d been incapable of following orders, no matter how well-intentioned. It continually drove her Aunt to despair.
But since she’d become involved with Jack, a lot of things had changed. The independence that had been such an enduring facet of her personality throughout her adult life had tempered. Jack had such a strong character that something had shifted in her own. She wanted to please him in so many ways; it wasn’t subservience although sexually there were certainly aspects of that. It was almost that Jack represented parts of a whole that she was lacking, that made up an image that she’d never felt would be her. Yet it was and she was glad to change in order to reflect the person he wanted her to be. It was complicated and she didn’t fully understand but she was becoming a different person and it was all Jack’s doing.
Sandrine enjoyed Jack’s company and responded to his needs and desires. She loved him as he undoubtedly loved her. The role she assumed in this relationship was unlike any she’d ever been involved in. It was new and uncharted territory. Earlier, she’d been uncertain, even scared, of the changes, unsure that she really wanted to alter herself in such radical ways. Sexually, she’d become submissive and this excited her enormously, opening up new avenues of desire and satisfaction. But she also recognised that Jack would never harm her or place her in danger. She trusted him implicitly and this gave her a confidence
and sense of wellbeing that was refreshingly new.
Whatever Jack asks me to do, I’ll do. Wherever he wants me to go, I’ll go. There are times I may be scared but I’ll never doubt him.
“Agreed.” She nodded enthusiastically. Anything to get out of here, she added to herself.
Jack helped her into a sitting position. The paramedic appeared at the open doors of the ambulance.
“She’ll be fine,” Jack assured him. “She’s coming with me.”
Parked beyond the tangle of emergency vehicles was a drab-painted armoured personnel carrier. A number of large men in black combat fatigues, made bulkier by bullet-proof vests, milled around, carrying helmets and automatic assault weapons, waited for Jack. A couple did double-takes as Jack steered Sandrine toward the vehicle, their hard weathered faces unable to hide their surprise.
Jack introduced her around.
“She’s coming with us.”
If they objected, they had the good sense to remain silent. They climbed in, closing the rear loading doors behind them. Jack and Sandrine squeezed onto benches along the sides of the truck. Nobody spoke or made eye contact as it lurched forward. There were no windows so Sandrine couldn’t see outside and had no idea where they were heading.
“It should take about ten minutes to get there,” Jack explained to her, leaning back, a hand resting carelessly on her thigh. Across from her, one of the men was watching her carefully. When she made eye contact, his gaze slipped away, his expression neutral.
The only sound was the rugged whine of the engine as it navigated the city streets, swaying into corners and bumping over potholes.
The truck stopped eventually. All of the men were now buckled into helmets, their guns checked and rechecked. Slowly, as the rear doors opened, they moved out into the street until only Jack and Sandrine remained.
“You’ll be safe here. One of the men will stay with you. I’ll be back once we have Sergei.” He leaned in close for a kiss and Sandrine felt the electricity spark between them.
“Please, be safe,” she said breathily.
“Always.” He had his own bullet-proof vest which he slipped on over his shirt, adjusting the Velcro straps to hold it snugly in place. As he stood, his cell phone rang loudly, echoing though the metal interior of the truck. He looked at it, raised his eyebrows, and sat back next to Sandrine.
“Interesting,” was all he said.
The volume was high enough for Sandrine to hear the conversation.
“Jack Lucas, this is Sergei. We need to talk.”
The surprise on Jack’s face was enough to cause Sandrine’s stomach to lurch uncomfortably.
Chapter Thirty Six
Jack and Sandrine made their way through the lobby. Flanked front, sides and back by SWAT team members, anonymous within black helmets with reflective visors, squat and ugly submachine guns and assault rifles, sweeping in all directions. Maintaining a tight formation through the marble lobby, crouched slightly, breathing steadily but heavily, their attention riveted on foreground, background, everything at once, six individuals in battle dress corralling two civilians, moving them with as much safety as they could ensure as they approached the open doors of an elevator.
Tightly confined for the next few minutes, not a word was uttered. Although not normally subject to claustrophobia, Sandrine was aware of a rising panic. It’s so hot in here, I need to breathe, flashed through her head. She looked across at Jack who smiled bleakly, wriggled his eyebrows conspiratorially and squeezed her hand. The tension was palpable although the SWAT team were like statues, staring at fixed points. One monitored the display panel, calling out the numbers in a flat monotone as the elevator sped skyward.
A barely innocuous muzak version of Girl From Ipanema filled the chamber; the volume was just slightly above the level of recognition but it still took a while to identify it. When she did, the bizarre nature of the situation struck Sandrine like a splash of cold water. Here I am wedged into an elevator, with a bunch of men looking like something out of a science fiction movie, and there’s bad lounge music playing. She lightly but incompletely stifled a snort in an attempt to keep the harsh bark of laughter at bay. Jack looked across, his eyebrows arched.
“Like to dance?” she asked.
“That’s the trouble with these new places, they’re so crowded you can’t move,” Jack answered.
A mirrored visor inclined towards them.
“Reaching the target floor,” a voice said, just as the elevator slowed and the doors opened. At the end of a long corridor was a double set of doors, both of which were open wide.
The group maintained its formation for half the length, until one of the SWAT team in front held up a closed fist. They stopped. One of the officers swung to Jack and Sandrine.
“Please wait here. We’ll clear the apartment, make sure it’s safe. Harrelson, you keep these folks company.”
“Commander, don’t shoot Sergei. It’ll only piss him off,” Jack said.
If his joke came close to hitting the mark, there was no outward indication. The helmet swung back and five SWAT members silently advanced up the hallway, creeping along the thick carpet in their shin-high boots like ghosts, disappearing through the doorway. After a few minutes, they were beckoned.
“All clear.”
Sergei waited alone, sprawled comfortably across a gigantic over-stuffed sofa in a huge room with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out across a night skyline of skyscrapers and apartment towers. On the coffee table before him was a highly-polished chromed handgun with a dark walnut grip. A SWAT team member stood off to one side, leaning against an armoire, his automatic rifle held at ease across his chest but his eyes vigilant and ready.
Sergei paid no attention to the guard. He stood up as Jack and Sandrine approached and shook both their hands.
“Thank you for the consideration. We’ve both been set up, made fools of. It appears I was to take the blame for the incident at your lady’s store. The truly annoying thing about this is that I trusted my employer. I thought I knew him well enough. I should have been more suspicious. This is the sort of thing that gives our business a bad name,” Sergei said wearily.
You have to be kidding, Sandrine steamed.
“What? Mobsters, murderers and criminals?” Sandrine spluttered indignantly.
The big Russian thought for a moment.
“Exactly,” he said finally. “There’s no trust in the world these days.”
“Where are Boris and Viktor?” Jack asked.
A cloud crossed Sergei’s features.
“I’m afraid I don’t know. I heard about the bomb from a news report and sent them out to check on things. I haven’t heard from them since. Their calls go unanswered. I fear the worst.”
Jack briefed the SWAT member on the make, model and license plate number of Sergei’s car and suggested that a trace be run, then took up a spot on the couch. Sandrine was too wound up to relax. She couldn’t understand why Jack wasn’t out searching for Marcus.
What is going on? Why are you wasting time here? Marcus is in danger! She felt like screaming. Instead, she stood in a corner and glared at Jack who steadfastly refused to pay attention.
“Who are we dealing with?” Jack cut straight to the point.
“My employer is named Sylvester. He’s Brazilian. An arms dealer who worked his way up from the favelas of Rio. Even for someone of his calling, he is indiscriminate. He’ll sell weapons to anybody as long as the price is right. Despite this, he has a thirst for legitimacy and he sees collecting art as a way of achieving that.
“I’ve dealt with him before and found him erratic but largely straight-forward. Not honorable, not honest, but such qualities are in short supply in this business. He’s been obsessed with your artwork for years, convinced it’s a Da Vinci and that it’s only a matter of time before it is universally accepted as such and thus worth a considerable amount of money. It was a harmless but lucrative side venture on my part to track it and I foolishly thought
my team were the only ones on it.”
“But you weren’t,” Jack interrupted.
Sergei shook his head with a rueful expression.
“So it seems. Last night I discovered there is another group, Brazilian former paramilitary enforcers who have worked with him since the old days, running a parallel operation. Sylvester was using them to keep an eye on me. He doesn’t trust anybody. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has someone else watching them.”
“Where are they holed up? Wherever they are, it’s a pretty fair bet Marcus will be with them.”
“As far as I knew, this was their base.” The big Russian spread his arms wide. “This evening, when I heard about the bomb, I came straight here but it was empty, cleared out. Filthy, rubbish everywhere. They won’t get their security deposit back but your people might have some luck with the forensics,” he said drily.
For the first time in hours, Sandrine noticed Jack was smiling.
“Good idea, Sergei. Thanks, I’ll get it rolling.” Jack spoke quietly into his cell phone, his voice so low she couldn’t hear what was said. His attention returned to Sergei. “The techs will be here soon. What else can you tell me?”
“I’ve been trying to think where Sylvester will be. He didn’t give a hint of any other locations but I know that, as a businessman, he’s very nationalistic. Doesn’t trust foreign banks and works almost exclusively with a Rio institution with long-time links to favela gangsters. I’d suggest your people look for transfers between that bank and any in this city; he wouldn’t have used a black Amex for his accommodation.”
Jack was back on the cell phone.
“Anything else?”
“Yes, most important,” Sergei leaned forward. Determination was now etched deeply into his features. “I don’t want to be sidelined. I want the chance to get Sylvester myself. I owe him, especially if Boris and Viktor don’t come back.”
Jack gave it some thought and nodded.
“OK. Fair enough. But on the proviso that I call the shots. You know him so it could be handy to have you along. But you take orders from me.”
