by Scott Gamboe
"Planning to kill the old man, too, huh? What about Krista? Are you going to kill her, as well? Why not wipe out your entire family?"
"My sister is not a part of this. As long as she can keep her mouth closed, she might go free."
"Might?"
"It depends on you, my friend. I have some questions for you. Answer them truthfully, and Krista will be released unharmed. Lie to me, or refuse to answer, and things won't go well for either of you."
Jim did not believe for a moment that Tony would ever allow either of them to escape alive. Unless, that is, Krista and Tony were together all along. But if that was the case, why would she and Rich have saved him the night Matt shot him at the lake? And how were they found at their last hotel? Rich was dead long before they had decided to stay there, and they paid cash. His thoughts went back to Nick Halliton once more, but even Nick had not known where they were staying.
Tony's eyes narrowed. He crossed his arms and slowly turned his back on Jim. "I'm hoping you will be reasonable about this." With two slow, deliberate steps, he spun to face Jim once more. "What did you learn in Mexico?"
"Don't drink the water. Use sunscreen. There's a reason Cuban cigars are illegal."
At some point, Matt had donned a leather glove. He drove his gauntleted fist into the side of Jim's head. Jim saw spots before his eyes. He shook his head to clear it. The glove had lead shot sewn into the knuckles. He could feel his pulse throbbing in his temple.
"Jim, don't make me ask again."
Jim spat blood, raising his head once more. "I'm sorry. I forgot the question."
Another blow from Matt's sap glove almost made Jim lose consciousness. He stared at the floor in blank incomprehension as the room spun crazily around him. Matt pulled him upright. Grabbing Jim by the hair, he yanked his head up to face Tony once more.
Jim drew a shuddering breath. "Look, guys, I hate to do this, but you leave me no choice. You're all under arrest."
Tony's scowl never wavered. "I would suggest you cooperate, Mr. Hunter. Your friend Matt would like nothing more than to kill you, right now. It's all I can do to rein him in."
Jim swallowed hard. "You won't kill me yet. If that was an option, I'd already be dead."
Tony shook his head. He clasped his hands behind his back and walked slowly from the room. He stopped in the doorway to issue an ominous threat.
"You're correct, of course, at least for the time being. But think of this. Right now, it's just you. If you don't cooperate more in our next meeting, I'm afraid my dear sister might have to take your place. After all, she knows everything you know, doesn't she? And I believe you may have developed feelings for her. That means we could use her as leverage against you. Think about it."
He stepped out of the room as Jim lunged against his restraints in a vain effort to rise. With a slight grin, Matt stepped around in front of the chair and pulled his sap glove more firmly onto his hand. He struck Jim a pair of stinging blows, one to each side of the head, then doubled up his fist and drove it solidly into Jim's stomach. Jim toppled over backward in the chair. His head struck the floor with jarring force. Darkness ringed the edges of his vision as Matt's helpers sat the chair upright once more.
"Well, Detective Hunter. Do you mean to tell me you still haven't figured out how we knew where you were?"
Jim stared straight ahead. He would not play Matt's game.
Matt's smile grew broader. "Think about it. Who was with you every time we found you?"
"No . . . nobody." His voice was muffled by his battered mouth. "At least, not every time."
"Jimbo, Jimbo, Jimbo . . . Come on. I expected more out of you. There was one person who was with you every single time. Now, think about it. Who was it?"
Jim forced his eyes up to meet Matt's leering gaze. "There was only one person. Me. Are you suggesting I told you where I was?"
Matt gave a barely perceptible tilt of his head. "In a manner of speaking. Oh, not directly, of course. But you played right into our hands. It started before we tried to kill you that day at the lake. I knew you couldn't go anywhere without that stupid iPod. When I repaired it, I put a small GPS transmitter inside. It was too small to have its own power supply, so it relied on the iPod's own battery. Because of that, it only worked while you were playing music. But I knew that wouldn't be a problem. Not for you." He removed a knife from his pocket and used it to cut eyeholes into the hood.
"Why are you telling me this now?"
"Jimbo, you should know me better than that." One of Tony's henchmen took the hood from Matt. He yanked it over Jim's head, lining up the holes to allow Jim to see. His breaths came in short gasps beneath the suffocating layer of cloth. Matt stepped to Jim's side, fist raised high. "I love to gloat."
His hand descended once more.
#
Jim's swollen eyes slowly fluttered open, and he lifted his chin from his chest. He was still in the same room, the floor dotted by small puddles of his blood. Painfully, he ran his tongue over his cracked and swollen lips. At some point, the hood had been removed. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. Krista was in the room once more, also unhooded. Her head lay back against the seat. Her eyes were on the ceiling. She appeared unharmed.
"Krista." Jim's voice came out as a crackly whisper, his throat too dry and lips too damaged to manage any volume.
"James!" Her eyes brimmed with tears as she turned her head to face him. "What have they done?"
"Tony, Matt and I had a little talk. Tony wants to know what we found out in Mexico. Probably Saint Martin, too, for that matter. He knows everywhere we've been, but he doesn't know what we learned in our investigation. I think that scares him. I'll bet he's afraid we might have found out about his special delivery. He's probably worried who else we might have told."
"What do we do? Can't you just tell him something to satisfy him?"
"I'm afraid not, Krista. Once Tony is assured that I have nothing further to offer, he'll have Matt kill me. He claims he's going to let you go, but I wouldn't count on that. You already know too much. He's planning to kill your father, too."
"He's insane! We have to get out of here!"
"I tend to agree, but escape is going to be a bit difficult without some help. Don't tell them anything. I'll keep working on this. There has to be something we can do."
They were silent for a while. Jim closed his eyes and tried to ignore the dull, throbbing pain in his head while he plotted to escape. When the door opened once more, Jim started at the sudden interruption. Three men entered. They walked purposefully past Krista to stand before Jim. One took Jim's chin firmly in his hand.
"Tony and Matt couldn't be here this evening, but they sent their regards. Tony asked me to continue the conversation you two had earlier." He rubbed one hand over his fist. "You have anything to add to what you said before?"
"Yeah. What's for dinner?"
The beating commenced immediately. Blow after blow pounded his body, aggravating his earlier injuries. Krista cried out in protest. The man before him ignored her. Finally, when Jim's head drooped weakly to his chest, the beating stopped.
"Still the tough guy, huh? Well, Hunter, let's see how long you can take it when she is the one on the receiving end."
Jim was too weak to protest, able to nothing but watch as the man crossed the floor and stood before Krista. He tenderly brushed her hair out of her face, then roughly grabbed her by the chin. He forced her around to face Jim.
"Take a good luck, Hunter. You won't ever see her looking this good again." He drew a knife from his belt, holding it against her cheek. "Unless, of course, you'd care to answer some questions." He pulled the knife along the curve of her jaw, leaving a trail of blood dripping onto her chest. She spat in his face.
He wiped his face with his sleeve, then grabbed Krista by the hair. "What's it going to be, Hunter?"
The question hung in the air. Before Jim could answer, the man with the knife crumpled to the floor as his blood sprayed over the man b
eside him. A second man screamed and clutched at his chest; his blood gurgled from between his fingers as he collapsed. The third man reached for his gun. Before he could pull it clear, his bullet-riddled body lurched into the air and slammed into the far wall. He slid, limply, to the floor, eyes blank and lifeless.
Amit Cahen stood framed in the doorway. His pistol gleamed in the room's pale light. The silencer affixed to the muzzle gave the weapon an unwieldy look. He stooped and picked up the knife. With the new blade, he carefully severed the bonds holding Jim and Krista to their chairs. He gave them a few anxious moments while they tried to restore circulation to their arms and legs.
"Come, my friends. We must leave this place while we still can. Matt and Tony will return in the next half hour."
Jim and Krista staggered out of the room behind Amit. Jim leaned most of his weight on Krista for support. His legs felt rubbery, and his head swam with vertigo. He had to tell her to stop once while he dropped to his knees to vomit. They resumed their escape.
Although his vision faded in and out of focus, he studied their surroundings. They were in a cavernous warehouse, which reeked of mildew. The building must have been abandoned long before. A layer of dust covered everything. Cobwebs decorated most of the doorways.
Amit froze in place. He motioned to them with his free hand. Krista helped Jim limp closer to the wall, where he could support his own weight. He felt helpless. He had no weapons. He cursed himself for not grabbing a pistol from one of the fallen guards, but he was in no condition to defend himself, in any case. Everything rested on the skills of Amit Cohen.
Jim watched the Mossad agent lower his body into a crouch, pistol leveled. Anxious moments ticked by. He heard muttering voices ahead. Two men stepped into view. Amit sighted along his weapon. His index finger gradually squeezed the trigger. The gun leaped in his hands, but all Jim heard was an airy hiss and the racking of the slide. One of Tony's men lurched back to fall supine, thrashing and screaming. His partner stood immobile, his wide-open eyes locked on the form at his feet. Amit's pistol fired once more. The second man fell atop the first.
They exited by a side door and crossed a parking lot. Amit led them to a black pickup truck hidden behind an abandoned semi trailer. When he opened the door, the dome light did not turn on. They slid into the cab, staying low in the seat while Amit fumbled with the ignition keys. Jim allowed Krista to pull him close.
The engine turned over, and Amit eased the truck into gear. He used the ambient light provided by a half-moon to drive without headlights through the deserted industrial complex. The once-unobstructed pavement had become choked with weeds and debris. Jim could not recognize the facility, but that was no surprise. He tried vainly to find a sign, a name, anything to identify what the facility had once been.
Amit returned to the main road, where he turned the headlights on. Jim scanned the complex behind them in anticipation of an immediate pursuit, but no one came.
He turned back to Amit. "We need to go back to our hotel. We have some information on Krista's laptop, information that might give us some idea of what Tony is trying to do. If we can figure out what his cargo is, and when is he buying or selling it, we can take down both Tony and Matt."
Amit nodded slowly, and his eyes never left the road. "One of my associates followed Tony and Matt to Peoria. They received the package earlier tonight.” He rubbed his eyes. "Matt killed the delivery boy. I have to admit, I really don't know what he is doing. All Tony received was two briefcases. He paid for it with $65 million in bearer bonds."
Jim shrugged. "Yeah, but that doesn't mean much. They killed him, so they got their money back. They may have deliberately overpaid, since they were up for a full refund, so to speak."
"It didn't look that way to my contact. He got the feeling they killed him as a matter of expedience, not as a part of their plan. Whatever he is dealing in, Tony needs someone to bring him the product. If he kills every one of the mules, it won't be long before either no one does business with him, or someone kills him in retaliation."
"The bearer bonds make sense, though," Krista said. "They aren't used in the U.S. very often any more. They're still relatively common in the Caribbean, which is where Tony is conducting his business deals."
Krista dug through her pack. Jim cast an appraising eye at her while she was distracted. She seemed to have recovered from the shock of seeing her brother killed. While she was still upset, she had moved beyond the near-catatonic state she had been in when they were captured. His concern for her well-being lessened, albeit slightly.
When they returned to the hotel, the sun was just beginning to creep over the horizon, lighting the skies with a ruddy glow. Krista still had her key card in her pocket, so she was able to get them in the rear door. Jim had not wanted to enter through the lobby, afraid his disheveled appearance might lead to a phone call to the police. They used the fire stairs to return to their floor. Although their room was in disarray, Jim found the phone and computer right where he had left them. He sighed. Not for the last time, he wished he had some type of weapon.
Amit insisted they leave immediately, fearful that some of Tony's men might come looking for their escaped prisoners. Krista leaned her head against Jim's shoulder. He wrapped his arm around her. Amit suggested that they should drive back toward Saint Louis for a few miles. Then they could find a place to clean them up and get something to eat.
The satellite phone rang, breaking the silence. Jim checked the Caller ID; it was Nick Halliton. He hesitated, not sure how to respond. He decided to answer and see what Nick had to say.
"Hunter."
"It's Nick. What in the hell is going on?"
"We're on the run again."
"So I see. I've been trying to call you for hours. The Bloomington Police are claiming your gun was used in a homicide in Peoria. I'll assume that means Matt was the shooter. The victim was some foreigner who was here illegally. I'm trying to get his real name. Based upon some papers he had in his car, he went by the name Grigory Tarasov. He was obviously Russian, or at least from one of the breakaway former Soviet republics. I'm not sure what that means."
"It means Tony has his shipment. We still don't know what it is, or who his buyer will be."
"I don't like this, Jim. If this guy brought something in illegally from Russia, the possibilities of what the product might be are frightening."
"Why do you say that?"
Nick sighed. "Look. Ever since the fall of the Soviet Union, former KGB agents have been making a fortune selling old Soviet military hardware. A few of them, agents who were in the KGB's most inner circles, had access to weapons of mass destruction. If these were to fall into the wrong hands . . ."
Jim weighed his options. Who was Nick Halliton? Obviously, he was not who he appeared to be. But he had provided invaluable information. Was what Nick had said true? Jim almost decided to tell Nick he knew the real Agent Halliton was dead, but he changed his mind. He chose to give Nick a little more information to test his reaction.
"There was a witness to the exchange in Peoria. All Tony picked up was a pair of briefcases. He paid for it with $65 million in bearer bonds. Of course, we don't know how much of that is for the product and how much was the carrier's markup."
Silence greeted the announcement.
"Nick?"
"Yeah, I'm here. That worries me even more. You can't pack much in the way of conventional weapons into a couple of briefcases. But you could pack enough biological or chemical weapons into them to wipe out thousands of people in a crowded city. We have to find out what he has. Where are you?"
Jim took a deep breath. This had gone too far. He was willing to take Nick's information at face value, but he was not prepared to trust him with his location. "I'm sorry, Nick. That has to remain confidential for the time being. We have been found too many times. I won't let anyone know where we are."
Jim Told Nick what had happened, from the car bomb to their escape from captivity. He promised to keep Nick
informed once they had a chance to review what they found in Tony's Caribbean finance records.
"I'm going to give Grigory's name to a contact we picked up through Rich, while he was still on our side. This guy is supposed to have a friend in the CIA."
"Did you get a name on the agent?"
"No, just the name of Rich's contact. Actually, he may not be much help. The CIA agent he knows focuses mainly on domestic counter-intelligence, so he may not know who this Grigory person is."
"Wait, Jim." Nick's voice went up an octave. "CIA? Domestic counter-intelligence?"
Jim hesitated, frowning. "That's what he said. He told us this is a very good friend, and that they share a lot of information with each other."
"Jim, the CIA doesn't deal with domestic spying. The FBI does. The two agencies are very territorial about their jurisdictions. There is no way the CIA could have legally assigned anyone to watch spies here in the United States."
CHAPTER 13
Suddenly, Jim felt like a fool. Nick was right, of course. While briefly pursuing a job with the FBI, Jim had read that the FBI handled all counterespionage investigations in the territorial United States. With everything else going on, he had completely forgotten. But what did that make Nick? Was William Lakin not who he claimed to be? Was he working for Tony? Or was he being duped by his alleged CIA contact? Jim had no way to be certain. But William had been correct when he said that Nick Halliton was not who he claimed to be. It all fell back to one principal: he could trust no one. A glance to his side made him amend that thought. He could trust one person. Krista Marcel.
