Out.
The Moose pushed through the doors into the terminal building. The arrivals hall was full of life, energy and confused commotion. Everywhere he looked people bustled to and fro. A flight had just arrived. Or maybe more than one. Men and women in uniforms varying from suits to shirt and jeans held up handwritten nameboards. Relatives jostled to get the first look at their returning loved ones. Parents with strollers were at the front of the queues.
The Moose digested it all, letting it wash over and through him. The peripheries always bothered him—the innocents on the edge, the gray areas—his own family had been a typical gray area in a long-gone and bloody past. But the peripheries could be forsaken, and they could be ignored; they usually were.
Once past the widespread human gaggle, even helping a woman calm down her over-tired child, he used the ID badge to gain access to a relatively small room. The shelves were full. What he saw standing in neat rows around the shelves made him smile. This was a cleaning cupboard, subject to tough but not impossible security access, replete with the various chemicals he needed to start measuring, pouring and mixing together a nice little surprise.
One thing was for sure, no one standing in the aftermath or remotely sane would be asking for the recipe.
****
It didn’t take long, not for the Moose, the consummate artist of his trade. When the correct proportions had been mixed and placed in close proximity to each other he rigged the timer. It was necessarily crude but effective. A quick check of the watch—again sticking faithfully to Davic’s timetable—and he realized he was two minutes early. He wasted the time making sure the explosive device was even better hidden. No point tempting fate at this late stage.
At last the job was done. His part was complete. He exited into the lively arrivals hall and looked around. No faces registered or stayed with him beyond that instant. No words of happiness or excitement moved him. No excited childlike voices struck a spear of remorse through his heart. He was stone, an emotionless rock; empathy long since ground out of him and crushed by his enemies. The past might well be long gone, but it had shaped the monster he had become.
And now he had a future.
Leaving the bomb ticking he walked away, wondering if he had time to hit the gym before he began the long drive out of California. The exercise would do him good.
47
Silk fought hard to stay focused. If Davic’s exit strategy was a bombardment of misdirection, misery and utter madness then it was the best Silk had ever seen. He was in constant contact with Alex Black—Doug’s inside magic man—the ultimate facilitator, and had reconfirmed the mansion’s address in Bel Air. Silk hadn’t mentioned Doug’s death to him yet, he thought it better that the man remained undistracted. With Radford driving, they arrived in Bel Air, screeched to a halt, and piled out of the vehicle.
Even Amanda was there, refusing to lie down and rest, refusing to take a back seat. She was a big part of this and, to her credit, she hadn’t backed down. The woman had stepped it up big time. Silk noticed Radford staring at her in awe, with amazement; and wondered if he was only now realizing what kind of a woman he had married. But such thoughts were mere brief flashes in the overwhelming dark right now. Everyone was distracted. The news about Doug’s death, and then hot on the heels of that the possible death of Victoria had stunned them all just as much as if they’d heard Mikey had died. The impact was almost the same. The elation at his survival badly tempered.
Brewster pointed ahead as they grouped near the front of the car. “Cops’re here. I’ll get us inside, but that ain’t a good sign, guys.”
The driveway fronting the Bel Air mansion was lined with black-and-whites, some with lights still flashing and parked askew as if they’d been exited in a hurry. The front door stood open; uniforms milled around. Stark white garden lights illuminated the proceedings. Brewster led them forward and confronted the officer on the door, taking out her badge.
“Never heard of you,” he said, waving her through. “Wanna grab a beer later?”
Once inside they were quickly stopped by a man wearing civvies. A detective. Brewster identified herself and then introduced Silk and Radford as FBI agents. The detective frowned at both of them before turning to Amanda.
“And this is who? Cagney? Or Lacey?”
Brewster leaned in. “They may be able to identify the body,” she muttered. “If there is a body?”
She watched the detective’s face closely. Her hopes fell. His blank eyes said it all. “Go on through.” He waved. “Don’t touch anything.”
“Davic?” Radford asked as they squeezed past.
“Gone.” The detective showed his disgust with the Serb. “But not long since. We have BOLOs out based on descriptions from the men we did catch.”
“Who did you catch?”
“Lackeys. Computer geeks. All went down without even a sniff of complaint. We found a roomful of computer hardware and surveillance equipment. All kinds of crap. And we’re trying to get that fucking truck of Davic’s shut down.”
“If it were me,” Radford said. “I’d wait until it pulled onto a quiet road and fire a fuckin’ missile at it.”
“You and me both, bud. You and me both.”
Brewster led the way. Silk tried to ignore the various distractions around them and focus on the door leading to the attached garage up ahead. Already, he could see flashes as crime scene investigators took their photos. He entered the space and immediately saw the body strung up between two cars, head hanging, feet swaying softly.
Silk closed his eyes. It was Victoria Trent. Blood had blossomed through her shirt over her heart where someone had shot her. Silk ignored the sudden rush of misery and looked above the door and carefully into the higher rafters for cameras. These mansions usually had several placed around their interiors, not all of them fully disclosed. Radford walked up to Victoria with Amanda at his side. He bowed his head.
Silk heard him murmur something, most probably an apology or a promise. He turned and met Brewster’s eyes.
“What the hell do I tell Trent?”
Brewster touched his arm. “Just the truth. You didn’t do this, Adam. You didn’t cause this. No matter how the words of a madman may twist the truth—you know the reality of it. Blanka Davic and his Serbian mercenaries did this. Not you.”
Silk gave her a grim smile. He was about to walk over to Radford when his phone rang. It was Alex Black, calling with new information.
“Big trouble. Mr. Silk. Big trouble. Or so it seems. It could be nothing, but the odds are stacked way high. I have been tracking the past movements of the man known as the Moose ever since Doug helped identify him. It appears that his rental car left your Bel Air address over an hour ago and has since spent a considerable amount of time at the airport.” Alex paused. “At LAX, Mr. Silk.”
For a moment Silk drew a blank. Then it hit him. “Oh, shit. Are you kidding me? You think the son of a bitch has something planned?”
“Seems the car left the airport twenty minutes ago and I have none of the Moose’s aliases booked on any flight anywhere in the country. Why else would he spend almost an hour at Los Angeles’ biggest airport?”
“He could have met someone. Dropped someone off. Arranged a meet.”
“All of that is true . . .” Black let it hang.
“All right, all right. I get it.” Silk nodded. “After what’s happened earlier today we need to be sure, right? Get started on the CCTV footage and alert airport security. We’re on our way.”
Silk called the others into a circle. “The Moose spent nearly an hour at LAX, then left. He’s heading out of town. Trouble is—we don’t know if he left some special luggage behind.”
“A terrorist attack at LAX today would cripple the country,” Brewster said. “It could be Davic’s final bow. Sounds like the bastard’s MO.”
“I agree,” Silk said. “We should get over there right away. Alex Black is looking at the CCTV footage as we speak. If anyone can f
ind the Moose in that circus, he can. But that leaves us with another big problem. Two actually.”
Radford bit his lip. “The Moose’s escape,” he said. “And Davic himself.”
“Leave Davic to Trent,” Brewster said. “My guess is he’s already hatched a plan.”
“I’ll track the Moose down then,” Radford said. “It’ll be a pleasure.”
Amanda hugged his arm. “Correction,” she said. “We’ll track the Moose. You shouldn’t do it alone, Dan. And I . . . I don’t want to lose you again.”
Radford turned to stare at her as if she’d just given him a revelation. And she had. Silk saw the truth of it in his friend’s eyes. Amanda had given him an answer to a private question. He glanced over at Brewster and saw the question in her eyes.
He shrugged. “All right, then. Brewster, your ID will get us through LAX. You ready?”
“Is that all I am to you?” She mock-pouted. “An ID?”
“Nope. You’re a damn fine lay as well.” He bit his tongue once the words were out of his mouth, not because he regretted saying them, but because the Radfords hadn’t even gotten used to him and Jenny having split up yet.
Damn, it’s always so freakin’ complicated.
“Don’t worry about us.” Amanda saw his concern. “Ain’t no couple out there odder than Dan and I, believe me.”
Silk smiled. “Are we ready for this? Be careful, buddy.” He spoke directly to Radford. “Moose-man ain’t stayed alive these past few decades because he lets his guard down.”
“Stop the bad guy.” Radford shrugged. “It’s what we do.”
“Then I’ll call Trent.”
As Dan and Amanda headed quickly out to their car, Silk dialed Trent’s number. The man, despite today’s craziness, sounded as terse and switched-on as ever.
“Yes? What have you got?”
Silk gave him the details about Victoria and didn’t sugarcoat a thing. The state of the crime scene would eventually reach his attention and Trent needed to know the facts about how his ex had been murdered by the Serb. The entire scenario.
Trent was silent for a while, then asked Silk to continue.
Silk explained the rest, about LAX and the Moose, then said, “You go and get Davic, Aaron. You get to take that freak apart.”
Trent’s voice grew croaky. “It will . . . work better that way.”
“For Victoria and Doug.”
“And not forgetting all the other people who have suffered today.”
“Of course.”
Trent spoke fast then, as if suddenly remembering something. “Listen. Have you spoken to Collins at all? Something’s wrong, Adam. Have you heard anything about her?”
Silk felt a bit taken aback. He’d completely forgotten about the FBI agent, but then he hadn’t been part of the recent Monaco mission and Radford had been somewhat preoccupied. “No,” he said. “Nothing at all.”
“Damn. I could use her right about now.”
Silk moved quickly on. “I do have someone you need to speak to though. It’s Doug’s ‘go-to’ man, Alex Black. You’ll need his help to track Davic down.”
“Does he know about Doug?”
“He does now. He’s fully vested, Aaron.”
Silk made the call to Alex and introduced Trent via the conference facility. The men didn’t waste any more time on condolences. This was their one chance for payback. And not only that, it was the time to take Davic out of the game and save more innocent lives from being touched and tainted by his madness.
Alex Black explained what he’d found so far. “The CCTV around LA is pretty good, obviously. I’m into the traffic cams, the police network, the security feeds, and more. Everything. I can actually hijack anything from ATM footage to satellite recon if I have to. And it’s all above board. Davic is number one priority, they’ve given us carte blanche here. Now remember,” he paused, “it also means that this goes out to everyone. Not just you guys. With a slight delay,” he added softly.
“Good.”
Silk prepared to end his side of the call and listened as Trent made his own connection with Black. “I’ll see you on the other side, Aaron. Good luck, man.”
“You too.”
Silk swallowed his anxiety, knowing time was the big factor now. He listened hard as Black continued to relate his own investigations so far.
“Two SUVs exited the Bel Air mansion, loaded down, and headed north. They took the San Diego then the Ventura, then headed through Topanga down toward the 101. Seems they’re aiming for Malibu and its surrounds, maybe even further. That’s just my guess though,” he added the warning. “You set?”
Silk listened. Trent was clearly running.
“Fucking right, I’m set,” the Edge’s leader said. Silk took a second to glance at Brewster.
“Let’s go.”
48
Trent found himself back behind the wheel, only this time he was chasing down the mastermind of today’s mayhem, the real architect behind the kidnapping of his son, the man behind the murder of Doug the Trout and Victoria—Blanka Davic. The open channel to Alex Black buzzed with constant chatter, updates as to Davic’s route, refreshing all the time as Black found the two SUVs passing new CCTV cams. Black was also in touch with the Radfords, apprising them of the Moose’s position, though the man was way ahead of them.
Trent threw the new car around several curves, heading along the Pacific Coast Highway. Somewhere along this road was Davic’s destination and a means of escape, and Trent intended to be on an intersecting route.
As he drove he thought about Mikey. Finally reunited with his son, and then hearing about the murder of the boy’s mother, Trent had had to dig deeper than ever before to bring himself to drive away. It was all about the head and the heart—the heart shot heavy guilt at him like a fusillade of bullets, but the head knew that if Davic wasn’t taken out here and now he’d be a constant threat. The Edge and their friends and families would never be safe.
But still he’d wavered, clinging to his son and never, ever wanting to let him go. Mikey’s face, buried in Trent’s shoulder had been awash with tears, his chest heaving as if he’d run a marathon. The news of his mother’s death had been mostly revealed by the man who’d run up to Trent—there’d been no point in hiding the truth when Silk had reported it.
But then Natasha had stepped up. Ex-Russian Special Forces, ex-spy, she was a formidable figure; a strong, capable protector. She’d motioned to Trent that he should hand Mikey over. Then she’d motioned to Doug’s inert form and a waiting car.
Go kill that bastard. For all of us.
So Trent had left Mikey with her, confident that Natasha could protect him with the same mad skills as anyone he’d ever known. Now the night stretched like a black vault above, littered with stars, and the Pacific rolled and glittered in response to the sky, a vastness too deep and wide to contemplate to his left. Strip malls and gas stations, winding hill roads and diners stood in haphazard disarray to his right, lining the highway. At this time of night they were brightly lit and well-populated, colonized by the hubbub of life.
Even after today, the people of Los Angeles partied. Trent hoped the people of Washington, London and the rest of Europe were partying too. The alternative was to let unbalanced psychopaths like Davic and his cohorts win.
Never surrender, he thought. Never go quietly. Fight til the last breath and last shred of will has left your body.
Trent blasted past all the lively diners, weaving in and out of traffic, feeling at the same time fortunate and a little anxious that the official authorities were only about ten minutes or so behind him. It was a good gap, but not quite good enough. In his own mind he’d decided that a Davic in jail was a Davic one step away from perpetrating another attack.
Still, the justice system was there for a very good reason.
Struggling, he resolved to take the situation as it came. This man could hardly have wronged Trent more. Some kind of resolution was inevitable. The Serb was highly u
nlikely to come quietly, and was most probably averse to American jails. As the road stretched in front of him, red lights blurring and becoming one, he tried to focus on Alex Black’s voice, bringing his flighty and tempestuous thoughts back into a hard single core.
“Davic just showed up on a security cam. He’s already past Malibu Bluffs. I have you . . . twelve minutes behind him, Aaron. Shit. Hit it!”
Trent smashed the gas pedal to the floor. “Is he gunning it?”
“No. He’s staying perfectly within the law. If you haul ass you’ll catch him.”
“Consider it done.”
Alex Black’s voice dropped, suddenly clipped with hatred. “I was once in the military, Aaron. You know what AMF means?”
“Adios Mother Fucker.”
“Wish him one from me.”
Trent pushed the car as hard as it would go, knowing that Black would now be relating the same details to the cops. The one good thing was that Davic had no idea he was being chased. Trent imagined the Serb was headed to a dark beach rendezvous, maybe a place he used for his trafficking operations. And he was supremely confident; arrogant. A disdainful maniac to the end.
The blacktop flashed by beneath the shrieking car. Every passing inch of it brought him closer to his quarry.
49
Silk abandoned their vehicle in the drop-off zone outside LAX, somewhere close to where Alex Black had pinpointed the recently parked position of the Moose’s rental car. Brewster jumped out first and Silk quickly followed.
Airport security met them at the door. A man with a face as flat as a frying pan, short-cropped hair and tiny flinty eyes asked for their credentials. When Brewster showed her cop’s badge he sniffed reluctantly.
“I’m Jackson, and I’m not sure you have the juice for this, lady.”
Brewster pushed by him hard. “We’re finding a damn bomb, man, not measuring our dicks. Now tell me where we are with the CCTV.”
The Disavowed Book 3 - Threat Level: Red Page 14
