“Fuck you,” he mouthed.
Alicia dropped to the floor as the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Dahl set off as if released from a sprinter’s blocks in Donovan’s direction. Cam dropped low and Shaw slid behind a garbage can.
Fifteen feet in front of the running Dahl, and in front of Donovan, a row of shop windows exploded. Shattered glass flew outward as the blast wave knocked everyone off their feet. Bodies were shredded as tables, chairs and clothes racks were caught up in a firestorm, as masonry shot up into the air, and as killers emerged from cars parked down the street, automatic weapons slung across their shoulders and grenades held in their hands.
Alicia battled hard as she lay on the floor, bleeding, burning, struggling; but couldn’t hold on to consciousness.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mai Kitano found herself sitting at an office desk, something she hadn’t done since her time with the Tokyo Police Force, more than a decade ago. The uncomfortable chairs, dusty, sticky keyboards and general clutter hadn’t changed much through time. After taking Bryant up on his job offer, he’d asked her to spend a few days in the office whilst he found her a suitable posting.
Mai leaned back in the chair, a Styrofoam cup of bad coffee on the desk, a plate crammed with donuts sitting beside it. The donuts were fresh, the coffee not so much. The office was a busy place, full of conversation and decision making. This was Bryant’s control center in DC; it was from here that his entire operation was controlled. And Mai was only now realizing just how big an operation it was.
From teams guarding Hollywood celebrities to men getting down and dirty in the worst shitholes of the world, Bryant’s empire spanned it all. The more Mai listened the more she realized the team might have a future if they could bear working for someone as outwardly arrogant and brazen as Connor Bryant.
Not everyone knew his outer persona was a fictitious veil, hiding the quiet, more sensitive man within.
But Mai did. And that was why she gave him some slack when he burst out of his office, shouted her name and added: “Get your sweet little ass moving, girl.”
Men had died for less, but Mai rose and followed him to an elevator without speaking. Once inside, Bryant apologized profusely.
“It’d look weird to the rest of the office if I didn’t abuse you a little.”
Mai shook her head, perplexed. The elevator whisked them to the ground floor, before admitting them to a wide, airy, busy lobby. Bryant’s offices were on the eighth floor of a thirty-story building.
“Where are we going?”
Bryant indicated the revolving doors. “Quickie at the nearest Hilton and then we have a job to go to.”
“One more remark like that and I’ll remove the source of all your sexual desires before shoving it down your throat.”
Bryant winced. “Ah. Maybe straight to the crime scene then.”
Mai couldn’t help smiling. Bryant was a good-looking guy, fit and healthy and probably capable of performing all the bedroom feats he often described. His manner, however, turned her and most other women off. It was his money that made him attractive to certain gold-diggers around town.
“One day,” she said, “you have to turn the asshole rudeness off and prove you can be better.”
“Yeah, well not today.” He let the door close on her before waving at a passing cab. “We got a crime scene and, before you ask, the answer is no. The company doesn’t usually get involved in stuff like this. But this one’s different.”
“It is?” Mai shrugged into her seatbelt. “In what way?”
“The dead guy’s one of mine. And the cops wanna talk.”
“No lawyer?”
“A little cooperation goes a long way in my world. I’ve done nothing wrong, so why not be helpful?”
Mai studied the wintry streets as they traveled first north and then east. By the time they stopped she was completely lost but had a fair idea of their destination due to the fluttering yellow crime scene tape, the police cars and personnel milling around a house to the right of the road.
Bryant climbed out, pulling his thick coat up around his neck. “I would’ve dressed warmer if I were you,” he told her.
“A warning of what we were doing would have been nice before we set off.”
Mai ignored the cold and followed Bryant toward the tape where a uniformed officer used his radio to verify Bryant’s attendance before letting him and Mai through. They proceeded beyond the front door to find a tall black man facing them.
“You Connor Bryant? And who’s this?” The detective was all work, his face and manner demonstrating that he worked under intense pressure.
“My assistant,” Bryant said. “Where’s Bailey?”
The detective turned away without a word. Mai jabbed Bryant in the back. They entered a room on the right to find it half full of forensic people whilst a medical examiner bent over a dead body. Mai cast a quick, experienced eye over the unfortunate body but could see no obvious cause of death.
“Pro job,” the detective told Bryant. “We got a few partials. Running ’em now. What can you tell me about this man?”
“Bill Bailey was a solid ex-marine. A—”
Mai tuned out as Bryant went through Bailey’s history, habits and hangouts. Considering a man had died here the room appeared tidy, just a floor lamp upturned under the window. The mercenary lay slumped across his sofa, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.
“Broken neck,” the medical examiner said with confidence. “Time of death three to four hours ago. Let’s get him moved.”
Mai made way as Bryant and the detective also moved respectfully aside. Bryant stared at his dead employee. “Broken neck? That’s hard to believe. I mean, considering the state of this room.”
“You thinking Bailey was surprised?”
“That or drugged or poisoned...?”
“No poison involved.” The medical examiner overheard them. “At least nothing mainstream. Could be an exotic, I guess. But there was a struggle here.”
Bryant blinked. “Bailey was a fit, hard, working mercenary. Years of experience. A marine. No way would he go down this easy.”
“The evidence will lead us,” the detective said simply. “Thanks for your assistance, Mr. Bryant.”
With the interview clearly over, Bryant nodded and made to leave the room. At that moment however there was a low outcry of surprise from the far corner of the room. Mai turned to see a young blond woman with short-cropped air staring at a small device in her hand.
“It reckons the fingerprints belong to a man called Arnold Urban. Assume that’s an alias because this guy’s from Mossad.”
“What?” The detective lost interest in Bryant and Mai, crossing immediately to the young woman. Mai didn’t move.
“Mossad killer,” the woman said. “Arnold Urban. He’s red flagged by the FBI, so expect a visit.”
Mai followed Bryant back outside into the bright winter’s day. “So your merc was killed by Mossad? What the hell was he into?”
“I was wondering the very same thing. Bailey was a strong, dependable man and, as far as I know, a great father. He had no enemies in this country.”
Mai shrugged. “You can’t know that.”
“All right, maybe not. But he was murdered working for me. I owe him the courtesy of at least trying to track down his killer.”
Mai studied the wealthy owner of Glacier Private Security. “You are quite the paradox, my friend. On the one hand a complete asshole. On the other, a caring, concerned boss. I don’t understand you.”
“I told you. It’s all a front to—”
Mai shook her head and started for the car. “I know what you said but I’m not buying it. At least not now. You’ve made your money and your reputation. Your company is world renowned. Why continue to be a prick?”
Bryant coughed and shook his head. “Well, it’s kinda good to work with someone that speaks their mind. Most of my employees either stay silent or just nod. I wish I could get your
full team here.”
Mai chewed her bottom lip, reminded of the team’s overbearing anxieties. “Maybe you can one day soon. If we can stay out of trouble, off the radar and unmolested for the next month or so we’d probably be in the clear.”
“How’s that?”
“We figure our immediate enemies—and possibly government entities that want us out of the way—would scale down their efforts after a certain amount of time has passed. We’ll be old news. Not worth the resources. And who are we—a washed up, old product of yesterday’s government—gonna harm? We have no power. No say. No presence in the new world. Our days are numbered simply because we’re soldiers whose purpose has been stolen away. At least, that’s what they’ll think.”
“They?”
“Our enemies. Why do you think Mossad killed Bailey?”
“I don’t know.” Bryant looked at her. “But I’m guessing you have an idea.”
“I just need a phone,” Mai said. “We have our own ex-Mossad killer that we can call.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
On returning to the office, Bryant enlisted the help of every law enforcement officer he held even a little sway with. Mai seated herself in his office, in a chair facing his desk, and listened. She poured herself a coffee from Bryant’s machine and offered him one, but the boss of Glacier appeared preoccupied for once.
“I don’t care if you’re not supposed to do it,” he was shouting into a receiver. “You owe me. This is me collecting. Call me back.”
Another call, four minutes later: “I’d be grateful for any help that you can give. Bailey was a good man, an honorable man, and he left behind a family. Thank you.”
Bryant was trying every trick in his arsenal to probe further into the case. Mai would have called Karin, but decided it was best to wait for Kenzie at this point. A few hours later, when the dark-haired Israeli entered Bryant’s office, Mai was unusually pleased to see her. They shared little in common except a mutual respect and didn’t exactly hang out, but Kenzie was a world-class ally and always welcome. The first thing she did when she entered Bryant’s offices however, was search the walls and stare at the drawers.
“Got any weapons?”
“Yes,” Bryant said. “In the armory. You?”
“Don’t get cute. I just flew in from Florida and can kill you with these.” She flexed her fingers.
Mai nodded. “How’s the team doing?”
“Boring. Lazy. Fed up. Drake called and is coming back. We’re all getting back together. Every day we wish we were back in the field, dealing with evil. It festers you know.”
Mai narrowed he eyes. “What does?”
“Evil. You stop fighting it, it doesn’t go away. It spreads like a killer virus, sly and slow, leeching its way into your society so quickly and quietly that you don’t even know. By the time you realize it’s there—” she sighed “—some of the ones you love are already lost... or dead.”
“Is Drake admitting he was wrong then? And that by delaying our fight against the depravity in this world, we’re complicit in its spread?”
“I think complicit is a bit harsh. Naive to its ferocious rate of multiplication perhaps.”
“We don’t police the world.”
“No, but we help. And we help big time.”
“Does Dahl feel the same?”
Kenzie pulled up a chair and seated herself next to Mai. “I don’t speak for him, but I think you know.”
Bryant interrupted them. “You’d be better off working for me,” he said, then sat back. “And safer, domestically at least. Anyway, what do you know of Arnold Urban?”
Mai filled Kenzie in on the case so far. Kenzie looked surprised on hearing Urban’s name. “Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in years. Urban was Mossad, but to my knowledge they retired him. Put him out to pasture. Must be in his fifties now. What’s he doing running around DC?”
“Killing ex-marines,” Bryant said. “My people. I need to know why.”
“You brought me here to find him? I don’t even know him.”
“But you’re ex-Mossad. You were trained the same way. You’ll have similar instincts. What would you do next?”
Kenzie crossed her legs. “Well, that depends on his agenda. Unravel the agenda and you’ll find the man.”
“Hmm, it sounds so easy when you say it like that.” Bryant tapped his desk phone. “We’re already looking for a connection between Urban and Bailey. Can you give me anything more than a feeling of lust?”
Kenzie stared. “I can give you over two hundred broken bones. How’s that?”
“He’s okay,” Mai said quickly. “Just forgets himself sometimes. You don’t have to perform for us, Bryant.”
“Yeah.” The man shook his head. “This whole thing’s getting on top of me. I feel for Bailey.”
As they talked, calls started to be returned. Bryant answered four calls in the space of thirty minutes, all from local contacts.
“The FBI have the case,” Bryant said. “Which is lucky because the Assistant Director owes me big time. My men saved his ass in Afghanistan and then later unearthed a terrorist plot against him and his family. Give me some space.”
Bryant retreated into insufferable mode as he focused on the conversation he was about to have with the Assistant Director of the FBI. Mai waved Kenzie to the back of the room. “He’s safe when you get past the abrasive exterior.”
“I remember,” Kenzie said. “Have you heard from the others?”
Mai assumed she meant Drake or Hayden. “Nope. I only know that Drake was checking on that woman he saved, and that Hayden and Mano felt obligated to follow up with Trent and the Disavowed boys after what happened with Madame Davic. I guess it’s all going well.”
Kenzie eyed her. “Does anything we get involved with ever go well?”
She had a point. Mai was considering contacting Karin for a team update when Bryant put down the phone and beckoned them over. “Feds work fast,” he said. “But then they got those lightning-fast computer geeks working ten-deep over at Quantico. When Bailey was a Marine he was part of the Fighting Fifth, the Fifth Marine Regiment. Anyway, they saw action in Kandahar in 2011, especially during the big Taliban offensive, and later roamed Helmand, looking for groups of insurgents, stragglers. Well... something else went down and it’s very hush hush.”
“What?” Kenzie asked.
“He won’t tell me. At least, not on the phone.” Bryant grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. “You coming?”
Twenty minutes later they arrived on Wharfe Street and pulled into a parking space. “Shake Shack.” Bryant nodded at the glass-fronted, roadside burger establishment with its small fountain outside. “Sutherland’s weakness. Every friggin’ chance he gets and I’m always buying.”
They exited the car, entered the restaurant and took a seat. Sutherland arrived two minutes later and sat facing them, wearing a heavy black coat. The man was tall and healthy-looking, with a chiseled jaw and lean face. He regarded Mai and Kenzie with a closed gaze, but with a wry tilt to his mouth.
“Damn, Connor, you do get the best bodyguards.”
“Better than yours?”
Sutherland nodded toward two hulking brutes bursting out of their suits situated outside the door. “What do you think?”
“I don’t fancy yours much.” Bryant laughed.
Mai and Kenzie let them have their fun, expecting some answers from Sutherland. It took another five minutes and a special order of a chicken dog and bacon cheese fries before Sutherland started to spill.
“This goes no further,” he said. “I’m trusting you, Bryant.”
“We never had this conversation.”
“That goes without saying. Your man, Bailey, was part of a friendly fire incident in Helmand on October 5th, 2011. His team, five men, attacked and killed all but one of a Taliban unit that were targeting a rural village for no obvious reason. That targeting looks even more odd when you it’s revealed that the Taliban unit was in fact a c
rack Mossad team. Bailey’s team ambushed them, with only Arnold Urban making it out alive.”
Bryant stared as Sutherland got started on his fries. “You think this is about revenge? What... nine years later?”
“Urban only recently quit Mossad. Actually, he was put out to pasture, but that’s immaterial. Seems he nurtured a gnawing hatred for the men that murdered his team.”
“Not murder,” Bryant began.
“I know, I know. But that’s how he sees it. And since neither we nor the Israelis ever held anyone accountable... you can see how that would rankle.”
“My government,” Kenzie spoke up, “do not protect the men and women that work for them. We are seen as dispensable assets. When one dies, another pops up to take its place. And yes, I say it on purpose to show how they regard us.”
Sutherland had paused with a fry halfway to his mouth. Now he chewed it fully before answering. “I won’t pry,” he said. “I don’t want to know and don’t want to be complicit. I have the current addresses of the rest of Bailey’s team. Maybe some of them work for you?”
“It’s very possible,” Bryant took the proffered thin manila folder. “Whole units do try to stick together in the mercenary trade.”
Sutherland rose and made his goodbyes, taking the food with him. Mai watched him walk away and noticed Bryant staring at her.
“Wondering where he puts all those calories?”
“It crossed my mind. I don’t mind an older guy that looks after himself.”
Bryant looked disappointed, which was her intention. “Well, let’s see what we have here.” He opened the folder. “Oh, crap. That’s bad. Of the four other men on Bailey’s team, two are here in DC, one in New York and another down in Key Largo.”
“Which doesn’t bode well for the two that live here.” Kenzie jumped to her feet.
“Yeah, to the car.” Bryant rushed past her and out of the restaurant. By the time Mai and Kenzie reached the car, Bryant had it running and ready to go, with the first address punched into the satnav. They squealed out of the parking space and into the stream of traffic. Bryant tapped his fingers on the wheel as they cruised forward at a steady rate.
The Carnival of Curiosities (Matt Drake Book 27) Page 4
