Coda? (Mercenaries Book 4)

by Tony Lavely

  She found her phone and turned it on. After a delay she’d never before thought excessive but now seemed interminable, she could scroll through her contacts. Willie. She pressed his number and slapped the phone against her head. “Yeech!” She pulled the phone away and dug several fingers-full of mud out of her ear. It made no difference; the call had gone to voice mail.

  That means his phone is off. How can that be? We never turn them off on a job. Unless… Could he be on a plane? Why? Repeated questions provided no answers; she selected Amy’s number with the same result. Fuck! I’ll kill them!

  Won’t do any good to call Mike, it’s here in my pocket. But… I’m out of choices, here. She scrambled to get Mike’s phone out. As much as I hate this… he must have a number for Devon. And Devon’s in Paris. Lots closer to me than anyone at the Nest. A second of searching revealed Devon’s number; rather than copy it to her phone, she touched it.

  While it rang, she stood enough to see the, pub? If that’s what it is. The suspicious car had left, but Beckie wasn’t going to stick her head in that door. She approached almost close enough to see a name, but when Devon answered—she hoped it was Devon—she ran back to the trees and hid again.

  “Hello? What do you want?”

  “Devon, this is Beckie. Have you seen Mike or—”

  “Yeah—”

  She heard a scramble at the far end; it ended when Mike said, “Beckie! What… Where… What’s going on?”

  “Calm down! I guess you got back. I’m out of that house…” She didn’t want to admit the next, but… “I’m hiding in some woods maybe a mile from there. Have you seen Willie or Amy?”

  The pause was just long enough. “Willie and Amy… They’re on the plane back to New York… I’ll explain later. There’s another problem. Solène.”

  Beckie fumed silently for a minute. Then, “Okay, tell me her problem.” I’ll bet—

  “She walked in while I was telling Devon everything…” Great! I needed that. “She reads Arabic.”

  “And… Wait! Fuck! Bakir’s contract says what he said it did right? And Solène read it and knows her father signed it. How am I doing?”

  “Right every time. At first, she wanted to swap her for you, but Devon and I put the kibosh on that idea. Much as I love you, I’m not going to give another girl up for you.”

  “Good! Thanks. So now…”

  “So, she was originally going to ask about education, but now she wants out completely.” The volume of his voice dropped. “She’s looking at us with big eyes, tears and all. She’s ready to come back with you. Or me. Or even Devon, I think, if it means she’s away.”

  “Of course. I assume neither you nor Devon are interested in a sexy fifteen year-old who knows more about that end of life than all the others together?”

  “Not me, I’m taken. Devon, I think, only as a package deal.”

  “A what?”

  “With you. Ooof! Sorry. That was out of line, as Devon reminded me. Where are you?”

  “We’ll talk later, but, can you use Find My Phone? Or get in my room; my computer’s there, and it’ll be able to locate mine. I’m near a corner, with houses, but I can’t see any signs and I don’t want to break cover looking for one. So… I’ll see about that if the computer doesn’t work.”

  “I’m headed to the concierge; you’ll probably have to give him the magic word to open your room for us.”

  “Or Solène might still have her keycard.”

  A pause with mumbles in the background. “She does. Stay there. Hang up now; I’ll call you if we need to.”

  Beckie sat down in the leaves and sodden ground. With a glance at her phone’s battery indicator—60%—she scrolled through to Derek Hamilton’s number.

  “Derek, cheers! I’d like a little… help. I need a contact in France, in Paris. There’s this little problem needs cleaned up…” She gave him a very-redacted run-down of the situation as she knew it.

  “So, Willie scarpered on you?” He laughed.

  “I’m not sure, but I don’t think it’s really his fault. I mean, he listened to Mike. Who’da thought he’d be steered astray by my brother. Even Amy was snookered.”

  “Well, Pierre… can you believe it? Pierre will be calling you shortly after we get done. And I’ll be there later on; it’s a short trip for me.”

  “Thanks, Derek.” She ended by giving him Mike and Devon’s phone numbers. “Just in case.”

  The rain steadily increased; although the trees protected her from some of it, the little ice pellets that began after thirty-five minutes seemed designed to find openings and strike her. Since her shirt was soaked through her cami, the little shards found skin every time. She hugged herself, keeping an eye out so she could see any cars that drove by.

  An hour had passed, based on her phone, when it rang. “We’re in Courdimanche,” Mike said. “Near where you are according to the coordinates. Red Audi A5. Sing out if you see something like that.”

  Damn if I know what an A5 looks like… Wait… “I see a red car… lights flashing. Is that you? I’m frozen; turn up the heat!”

  In the car, between stress reduction and realizing just how cold she was, Beckie sat in the back seat and shook. Devon, recognizable from Mike’s description, drove, while Mike cuddled her from one side and Solène from the other. A few minutes after the pick-up, Beckie’s phone rang; no id but a French number. Let me guess that’s Pierre. If it’s not, I’ll bet Devon can outrun most anyone in this.

  “Hallo?”

  “Bon jour. Madame Rebecca… Jamse, s’il vous plaît?”

  “Oui, je suis Rebecca. Beckie, if this is Pierre?”

  “Oui, it is. Derek sends his wishes and we would like to meet you when you find it convenient.”

  “I’ll be at the Mandarin Oriental in rue Sainte Honore in…” She looked over the seat at Devon. He mouthed, an hour. “… in an hour and a shower. Say ninety minutes. Will Derek have arrived by then?”

  “I will pick him up at Orly and be at the hotel in two and a half hours, if that meets with your approval. I will have a man or two there before you arrive. How will they recognize you?”

  “If they are in the lobby, I’ll be the one looks like she’s been swimming in the Seine. Long dark wet hair. Two fine gentlemen, in windbreakers and jeans, are escorting me and another, dryer, young lady. She’s blonde, wearing a light blue jacket and jeans.”

  “Bien. À bientôt.”

  In the hotel, Beckie had to go through a few hoops to get her own keycard; they’d of course invalidated the old ones as soon as she said “lost.” But Solène had opened the door first, and Beckie’d had a hot shower and a change of clothes.

  Before that, though, Michel and Gene, guided by Solène’s blonde tresses and the water still dripping from Beckie’s trousers, introduced themselves with the keyword “Pierre.” Mike had begun the explanations while Beckie showered, once she emerged, bundled in that huge fluffy robe again, she concluded the brief explanation for them, reserving the whole exposition for Derek and Pierre. For Michel and Gene’s purposes, they really only had to understand who to protect against, not so much why.

  The new keycard had been approved once Beckie flashed her passport, along with a new one for Solène, though I don’t know how we can justify her needing it.

  Mike suggested they call Room Service for dinner; there was no argument, and more quickly than any of them expected, the waiters had the room set up and the wine, at least, ready to serve. Beckie took a half-glass, and sipped.

  “Okay, Solène. Until Derek gets here, explain your ideas. All of them.”

  The girl started, then poured a glass of wine for herself. Beckie recognized the delaying tactic; she’d learned it well. “Solène. Tonight. We need to make decisions, and I’m afraid your input is critical.”

  “I don’t understand, Beckie. How can my… concerns affect your decisions?”

  “Derek and Pierre are about to arrive, and when they do, they re going to make Abdul Bakir v
anish. Maybe from the face of the earth, but certainly from my life, and yours.”

  Solène’s wide eyes were too wide, the hand covering her mouth, too fluttery. “Nicely played, girl. You forget I’ve watched you for three months. You’re more familiar with eliminating problems than I am… You read what Bakir said was the contract your father signed, transferring… possession of one Solène Dalila, you, I assume, to him for payment to be determined once Ms Dalila had been… examined.” She sipped her wine, then pulled the girl to the sofa. They sat, half-facing each other, knees touching. Mike and Devon were in a pair of chairs at the window, several feet away. Beckie glanced their way, and decided there was no reason to ask them to leave. Might as well know what I’m thinking. “Correct?”

  Solène nodded, a spare motion.

  “And Mike said you wanted to go with me, but failing that, you’d be available for either him or Devon.” Solène’s head moved even more slowly, but up and down. “Today’s lesson: stick to one offer until it fails. I can’t speak for either of them, but Mike’s fiancée wouldn’t understand the platonic nature of your offer. Well,” she said with a glance at Mike, “she’d understand, but she might have difficulty with the believing part.” She gazed at Devon. “I’d guess that Devon had trouble believing you, too; you are a little out of his experience.” Beckie took Solène’s hand in hers. “I would be very happy if you would apologize to both of them.”

  The girl stood and glided across to the two men. Beckie was pleased; Solène wasn’t overly melodramatic, and she sounded sincere. She beckoned her back to sit.

  “Now, your turn.”

  “It’s not a very nice story, I’m afraid. The contract is dated months ago… Before I went to Syria… before Mum died.”

  In the pause, Beckie asked, “Was one of them responsible…”

  Big ocean blue eyes stared back at her. “I don’t know…”

  Maybe it’s better that way. I’ll ask Pierre, depending on his contacts, what he can find.

  “Let’s be clear on a couple things, okay?” Beckie said. “It’s been years since I played at being bi. So, while you are drop-dead gorgeous, I am not interested in that way. Shalin and I talked; you have a store of intelligence that hasn’t been exercised, hardly at all. We were both disappointed that you wouldn’t get the chance to use it.” She slid around. “Mike, any more wine?”

  Devon answered by bringing the bottle. After he filled Beckie’s glass, Solène held hers up. He gave Beckie a look before finishing the bottle. “Thanks,” the girl said quietly.

  Beckie had sipped while Devon poured; she raised her glass in a mock salute. “Now, can one of you guys use the phone out there and find out how long before dinner. And before you ask, neither of us needs any more wine. You aren’t staying here, right?” They agreed. “So don’t get so drunk you can’t find your way home. Order a cold six-pack of Beck’s for Derek. I guess Pierre can order what he wants.

  “Okay, continue. You didn’t know about the contract? Or you did?”

  “No! How could I know about such a thing! Treated as a lump of furniture, an old robe no longer wanted. A slave! I do not want to be a slave…

  “Once I arrived, it was obvious that Bakir had an interest in my…” She ran fingers through her hair. “And my body as well, though he was careful not to demonstrate it, and Da was adamant about him not being alone with me. Probably I was the only one who noticed it… his creepy nature.

  “But while Da made sure I was safe in that way, he also made sure that Bakir and I were together as much as he could arrange. As if he wanted us to get along. And he had me undress all the time it was just the three of us, for dinner or playing seega or Petra’s square. As I was when… when we met.

  “I didn’t enjoy it, but as long as there was no action attached to it… I believed Da thought Bakir to be a good possible mate, and was trying to motivate the two of us… There are other motivations as well—”

  “Besides your bo—” Beckie snapped around and gaped at Devon, now blushing so they could turn off the lights. “Sorry, that was really stupid! I’m sorry, both of you.” He stood. “Maybe I should just leave now.”

  Beckie was already standing; before he could move, she’d caught his hands. “While it’s your decision to stay or go, I think you can stay without upsetting anyone. As far as I’m concerned, there’s no need to apologize for thinking Solène is a beautiful young woman. And I doubt that Solène wants an apology because you think that.”

  Solène agreed with a laugh in her voice. As she did, Mike entered. “Three minutes; they’re just— What’d I miss?” he said, noticing the tableau.

  “Nothing important.” Beckie decided she’d put Solène through enough angst; dinner was at hand. “Derek and Pierre ought to be here soon, so let’s eat.”

  On the way to the room where the servers were just finishing, Beckie remembered Solène’s interrupted statement. “What’d you mean, other motivations, before?”

  Solène looked off, as if she was recalling, then said, “There is land involved somewhere. And not in Syria, though I don’t know where. Da has parcels in Qatar, where his money comes from; it could be there.” She took a seat beside Beckie as Mike and Devon found places opposite. “The contract, the part I read, anyway, only said euros, but they might have another deal, too.”

  “Hmm. Okay, thanks. Have some of this.” She passed a bowl of cut fruit to begin.

  “What will you do with me? If you send me back to—”

  Beckie leaned into Solène, clasping her round the shoulders. “I haven’t decided beyond that I don’t know how I’d live with myself if I did that. Let’s have a few more minutes of peace before we tackle that problem. Eat.”

  Before the dinner entrées—prepared to order at the sideboard by a female chef—had been finished, a knock on the door, answered by Mike, heralded Derek and Pierre’s arrival. Derek’s red hair was beginning to show signs of greying, even since Ian’s funeral. Beckie ran a hand through her own chestnut locks and thought about getting older. For a moment. Then she was up and giving him a professional hug with a cheek kiss.

  “And this, Mrs. Jamse, is Inspector Pierre Monteaux.”

  The prototypical Frenchman was rapier thin, about six feet tall wearing a three piece suit. Beckie smiled; his black hair was longish, but not slicked back, rather, it was wavy and a little mussed, now. No way to guess how old he is. Between thirty and sixty, probably.

  “I’m very happy to meet you… Inspector Monteaux—”

  “Please, Pierre, if you do not mind.”

  She dipped her head. “Thank you. We met both Michel and Gene, and left them to their work. Thank you for their help as well.” He nodded back. “Please sit and enjoy some of the Mandarin’s wonderful food, and allow us to tell you a story.”

  The story was told in far less time than it had taken to live; Pierre snapped his notebook closed forty minutes from the time Beckie began.

  “As Derek perhaps told you, I have a few… friends, contacts, in both the Police Nationale and the Gendarmerie… our two law enforcement agencies. I will step outside and make a few calls.” He took his phone in hand. “It may take a few moments to deal with Monsieur Bakir.” He left the suite.

  In response to Beckie’s look—she hadn’t meant it to be quite so pointed—Derek shrugged. “It’s a bit like in London, love. They want to know all the details before… acting. But then they do move, just not as fast as we want, maybe.”

  “Well, I can’t think of anything else to tell him.” She questioned Mike with her eyes; when he shook his head, she turned back to Derek. “Is he the right one… I know, I know. You wouldn’t have brought him otherwise. Sorry.”

  “Not a problem. But, yeah, ‘e’s the best one I know. Especially now we’ve ‘eard the story.” He poured more of his beer and drank. “Now, what about ‘er?” He made a little bow in Solène’s direction.

  “If Pierre can fix the Bakir problem, that will be huge load off.” Solène nodded at Beckie�
�s words. “Leaving us with her father…”

  “The one you said sold ‘er off to Bakir?”

  “Not me. The ‘contract’ that Bakir showed us said that. I mean, it’s unenforceable anywhere—”

  “Anywhere except between the two of them and their like-minded mates,” Derek finished. “If they agree between them…”

  “Yeah. Makes me sick that anyone would think that was okay… And I’m only peripherally involved. Imagine—” Solène landed on her lap, hugging. “Whoa! Calm down, young lady.”

  “Just… I love you! Thanks!”

  Beckie set Solène back on her feet, but left her arm around the girl’s waist. What am I gonna do with her? “Believe me, no problem. Do we need—”

  “Sam?” Derek finished her question. “I think at the least, we should get ‘is thoughts. ‘E’s been working with the… well, ‘e’s been working with both of ‘em for while.”

  Beckie grinned a few minutes later. The satellite phones had done their job and Sam’s voice sounded loud and clear. She gave him the medium length version. “So,” he said, “what you want me to do, boss?”

  “While I don’t mind if Bakir walks in front of a bullet, I don’t want Solène to think she’s responsible in any way for her father dying.” Muffled sounds of agreement came from the phone and from Derek at least, but not from Solène.

  “Kill the bastard; I don’t care! He’s trying to sell me like a piece of meat!”

  “What I said, Sam.” She felt a couple of blows against her back and shoulders before Derek snatched Solène back and set her on her chair again. “How iron-clad is our contract? And would it hurt him if we backed out of it? How about the medical center?”

  “From Ian’s original work, there’s the ‘buy ‘em out’ clause, so we can get out for a bunch of euros. Would it hurt him? I have to think on that. And the medical work… Stopping that would have a bad effect all around.” Sam paused; Beckie heard voices in the background. When he came back, Sam said, “What a surprise. Gillian and Stacy both are ready to feed him his… well, you can guess. Anyway, he’s not here, yet. Is he still there?”