As she neared the door, it swung wide and the silhouettes of three men appeared. Jet didn’t hesitate. She squeezed off burst after burst at the men, the chatter deafening in the warehouse. The lead man jerked like a marionette as her rounds slammed into his torso, his scream dying on his lips as he tumbled to the floor. The men behind him fired at her, but she stayed in constant motion and their pistols were no match for the stream of death issuing from the Uzi. The second grunted as a bullet thudded into his chest and the third was turning to run when her slugs cut him down with a cry. She paused, ears ringing from the gunfire and, seeing no more gunmen, continued to the door, where one of the bodies had blocked it from closing.
A shotgun’s baritone boom sounded from down the brightly lit hallway. A chunk of cinderblock tore from the wall she’d been standing near an instant before she threw herself to the ground. She used the corpses for cover as she brought her weapon to bear on the shooter, who was leaning around a corner, into the hallway, the gun barrel pointing at her even as he pumped another cartridge into the weapon. She fired two bursts where she calculated his torso would be, watching with satisfaction as her rounds ripped through the sheetrock, and thanked providence that the construction wasn’t concrete throughout the complex. The shotgun dropped to the ground, followed by the man’s inert form. She waited for more shooting and, when it didn’t come, ejected the magazine and slapped a fresh one in place before rising and running down the hall in a half-crouch.
The downed gunman’s breath burbled in his throat as he struggled for air, his inhalations choking him. Jet ignored him, toeing the shotgun well out of reach before she continued down the hall toward a set of double steel doors. She made it three-quarters of the way when they burst open and four more men filled the doorway and began firing. Jet’s submachine gun burped as she dived for the ground, the walls around her shredding from the gunmen’s bullets, the whistle of near misses in her ear as she dropped.
She hit the cement and rolled, all the time firing at her assailants, and watched two of the men slam back into their companions as her shots pounded into them. One of the survivors had the presence of mind to duck, almost avoiding her fire. She lowered her aim. He screamed as three of her rounds blew half his face off. She squeezed the trigger, the last gunman in her sights, but her weapon clicked, empty. The final shooter drew a bead on her as she whipped the Glock from her waist and fired four shots in rapid succession. Two of the slugs struck him in the chest as he fired, his rounds missing her by a hair’s breadth as she continued to roll.
At a final shot from her weapon, the top of his head disappeared in a spray of bloody emulsion. He tumbled backward and Jet scrambled to her feet as she felt for another magazine and slammed it home in the Uzi, dropping the spent one on the floor next to her as she sprinted for the doorway.
She found herself inside another warehouse, this one with illumination from overhead fluorescent lights in metal housings high above, and she ran through it, gun at the ready in front of her. A large office occupied most of the far corner. The door flew wide and automatic weapon fire opened up on her as she sprinted nearer. She lunged behind a forklift as slugs pounded into the metal housing. When the shooter paused, she fired her own volley at him from the cover provided by the engine. More of his bullets ricocheted off the steel before one of her rounds caught the gunman and he went down, his gun clattering against the cement slab as he fell.
The siren continued to blare as she emerged from behind the forklift and approached the door. Once near it, she ducked to the side and grabbed a pair of coveralls from a nearby rack and threw them across the doorway. Four shots sounded from within the office but she held her fire, preferring to let the occupants come to her.
Ten seconds stretched into a full minute, then the sound of running footsteps approached from the other side of the warehouse. Two men wielding pistols materialized from near the huge metal cargo door. She cut them both down before they had a chance to get off a shot. A gun barrel poked from the office – she sprayed the enclosure with the remainder of her magazine. An older man fell through the doorway onto the warehouse floor, his face contorted in agony, his shirt soaking through with blood. Jet waited to see whether anyone else appeared and, when no further threats presented themselves, she approached the office, her Glock in hand.
A quick scan of the interior revealed no other occupants. She knelt by the dying man.
“I’m looking for Luis.”
The man’s lips worked, but no sound but a rasp came from his mouth. Jet tried again.
“Where is he?”
The man’s eyes swiveled to the side, glazed with pain. He said one word before shuddering and lying still. Jet rose in a fluid motion and headed for the door. She led with the barrel of the Glock, holding it in a two-handed grip, keeping low in case there were any more heroes that wanted to take her on. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the iron stairway to the roof in the far corner. She ran silently, another sound now cutting through the siren – the whump of rotor blades beating the air above her on the other side of the steel roof door.
She was up the flight of stairs in seconds. When she threw the door open, she wasn’t surprised by the gunfire that pummeled the doorframe. She waited until it waned and rolled out onto the roof, firing at the figure crouched thirty yards away as a helicopter dropped from the sky. Another shot echoed off the slab. She fired four times and was rewarded for her marksmanship when the shooter fell against the roof, his pistol tumbling uselessly from his wounded arm.
Jet approached and kicked the weapon away as the helicopter touched down, the area too dark for the pilot to be able to make them out. Jet nudged the man, who was holding his shoulder where one of her bullets had shattered his scapula.
“Luis, I presume,” she said. The man’s eyes opened and regarded her with a combination of fear and fury. “Where’s my daughter? Where’s Hannah?”
Luis appeared to not understand the question, so she put her foot on his chest and pushed. He screamed as a lance of pain seared through him.
“Where is she?” she repeated.
“I don’t know…what you’re…talking about…”
“The woman took my daughter. You’re helping her. Where is she?”
“I…woman?”
Jet regarded him, noting the recognition in the last word. “That’s right. The woman. A foreigner. She took my daughter. Where is she?”
“I…don’t…know…”
“Do you want me to shoot your other shoulder? I will. You’ve caused me a lot of trouble today…”
Luis looked terrified. “No… Please. I don’t know anything about her.”
“Yes, you do. Your men said you were providing her with help.”
Luis nodded. “That’s right. But I…I don’t know her.”
“How did you get tangled up with her?”
“My boss. Dante…Caravatio. In Buenos Aires. Said I…was to…help…her.”
He screamed as Jet increased the pressure on his chest.
“Last chance. Where is she?” Jet demanded.
The top of Luis’ skull vaporized as a single dum-dum round blew it apart. Jet spun and found herself facing Tara, who was holding Hannah, a pistol against her head. Her daughter’s face was a mask of terror.
“Drop the gun. Now. Or she’s dead. I’m only going to give you one chance,” Tara warned, her voice cold as the grave.
Jet wavered and then dropped the Glock to her side, her eyes locked on Hannah’s. She slowly raised her hands. “Now what?”
“Now you tell me where Matt is.”
“I don’t know where he is.”
“Liar.”
“I really don’t,” Jet insisted.
“I’m about two seconds from shooting your daughter to pieces, just for fun. I was thinking we can start with her feet. Is that how you want this to play out?”
“No. I swear I don’t know where he is!” Jet’s voice sounded panicked for the first time.
Tara moved
away from the doorway, her gun still at Hannah’s head, and dragged the little girl toward the helicopter. “That’s a shame. She might have been a brilliant ballet dancer or ice skater. It’ll be hard to do that hobbling on stumps because Mommy’s a liar.”
Jet shook her head. “I really have no idea where he is. You have to believe me.”
“Say goodbye to your foot, sweetie,” Tara said, her eyes narrowing as she neared the chopper.
“Hold it right there,” Matt’s voice called from the doorway. Tara’s attention swiveled to Matt, who slowly emerged, a pistol trained on her, his left arm in a sling, the plaster of the cast a ghostly white in the moonlight.
“Well, well. Isn’t this sweet,” she said.
Jet took advantage of the momentary lapse by scooping up her weapon and drawing a bead on Tara’s head. Tara glared hate at Jet. “If you don’t lower that weapon, now, I’m going to blow the little girl’s brains all over this roof.”
“Tara, you don’t have any business with her. It’s me you want, not the kid. Let her go,” Matt said, refusing to lower his pistol.
“You’re really trying my patience. Put the gun down, now, or she’s dead.”
Matt glanced at Jet, who had Tara in her sights, and then stepped from the doorway and placed his pistol on the roof beside him. “Tara, let’s not make this ugly. I’ll come with you. A swap. Me for the girl.”
Tara appeared to consider his words before nodding. “That seems fair. Now tell Mama Bear over there to drop her gun and we’ll be in business.”
“That’s not going to happen. I want my daughter back. I’m not going to let you shoot us,” Jet called across the roof. “Matt, you can’t do this.”
Matt shook his head. “And I can’t let Hannah pay any more than she already has. This isn’t your fight.” He took a few cautious steps toward Tara. “Here’s what we’ll do. You release the girl; I’ll come to you. You keep your gun on me, and her mom will keep hers on you. If you keep your word, nobody gets hurt. You shoot at the girl or her mom, she’ll kill you.” Matt looked to Jet. “Take cover. Now.”
Jet moved to the doorway and disappeared into the darkness. Her voice called out from inside. “Fine. Let’s do it.”
Tara moved to the helicopter and stood by the nose. “I’m taking cover here. Same deal. Anyone shoots at me, the girl gets it.”
Matt nodded. “All right. Everyone just stay nice and calm. Tara? Let her go. I’ll walk to your position. Hannah? You go to Mommy, okay?”
Hannah appeared petrified, but then she nodded her head.
Matt tried a half-hearted smile. “Hannah, sweetie, listen to me. Don’t run. You come meet me in the middle, okay? Just come on.” Matt began walking toward the helicopter. Hannah started slowly, but then picked up her pace as she neared Matt. They stopped between the helicopter and the doorway, where Matt knelt and gave her a long hug. Hannah was crying as Matt held her tight. “Be brave for me, okay, honey? I love you, Hannah. Be a brave girl.”
“Enough with the soap opera. Get over here, Matt. I’m tired of waiting,” Tara snapped.
Matt gazed into Hannah’s eyes. “Run straight to Mommy. Don’t turn around, and don’t slow down, no matter what you hear, okay?”
Hannah nodded.
Matt stood. “This looks like the end of the road,” he called. He turned and watched as Hannah ran toward the doorway.
“Matt, get your ass over here, or I’ll pop a cap in her for target practice. You know I’m serious,” Tara threatened.
“Yeah, I know.” Matt took long strides toward Tara’s position, his one good arm held aloft. “Hold your horses. I’m not going anywhere.”
Tara held her pistol on him as he approached. “Nothing tricky, lover man.”
“I don’t have anything. I’m clean.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. When you get here, face the helicopter, legs spread. Nice and easy, all right?”
Matt nodded. “You got it.”
Hannah was shuddering, gasping for breath as she reached the doorway, where Jet crouched inside, her pistol unwavering on Tara – a difficult shot at almost fifty yards, but not the most impossible she’d ever made. Hannah threw herself at her mother. Jet took her in her arms, her eyes never leaving the helicopter, where Matt had just arrived and rounded the cabin, now out of sight.
Tara moved behind the chopper, so she evaded Jet’s wrath. Matt had used their agreed-upon code in his last words – the end of the road signaling that she wasn’t to interfere, and that he was to be considered lost to her.
Only Jet had no interest in playing that game. Tara wanted the diamonds. Matt had his ten million worth in a vault in Buenos Aires, at one of the largest banks in the capital, so that would be where they would be going. Of course, Tara couldn’t know that Jet had fifty million in stones, nor would she know her background, so that gave Jet two advantages – with the third being that she knew which bank they’d ultimately have to go to.
Jet watched as the helicopter lifted from the rooftop and rose into the night sky, the whine of the rotor and the roar of the turbine deafening, even over the sound of the siren in the warehouse. She watched it drift over the city, fading into a dot, just another in the glittering constellations in the night sky.
“Come on, Hannah. Let’s get out of here. Now. Close your eyes and grab my neck while I carry you, and don’t open them until I say it’s okay.”
Jet lifted her, gun clutched in her right hand, and Hannah complied, her eyes screwed shut as she sobbed. Jet came down the stairs into the warehouse and moved along the wall toward the entry, ignoring the bodies, keenly aware that she was racing the clock now to escape with her daughter before the police got there and all hell broke loose. She arrived at the entry and paused, remembering the two guards smoking outside. What were the odds they wouldn’t have been among those who had rushed her downstairs? Slim, she thought, with Luis’ life on the line – and Matt had been able to get in, so there was little chance they’d survived.
She pushed open the steel door next to the loading dock and peered out. Nobody there. After listening for a few seconds, she edged outside and shifted Hannah the better to be able to maneuver the gun and hurried across the pavement to the door in the perimeter wall. Jet swung it wide and slipped through it. She took off at a dead run, Hannah clutching her like flotsam following a shipwreck, and was rounding the corner when the first police cars screeched to a halt in front of the warehouse gate, a ghost disappearing into the night, leaving no trace other than a trail of the dead and dying and faint rust-colored footprints memorializing her passage in blood.
Chapter 20
Jet loped along with a fluid stride as she melted from shadow to shadow on the way back to the Land Cruiser. More sirens pierced the air as she moved and Hannah’s little arms hugged her for dear life. Only once they were halfway back to the car did Jet tell her to open her eyes and, when she did, Jet could see the worry and uncertainty in her gaze, even as her tears dried on her face, reservoirs of sadness exhausted.
The Glock rubbed against the base of her spine as she ran, her breathing easy, practiced. When they arrived at the car, she strapped Hannah into the back seat and slid behind the wheel. The big V8 cranked over with a muted rumble and she eyed the empty street one final time before easing the SUV onto the road, away from the warehouse and its carnage.
She checked the time and saw that two hours had passed since she’d left Sofia’s parents’ estate – barely enough time for the forensics team to have done their cleanup. But she had no other options than to return. The apartment wasn’t safe, Sofia’s house was still a question mark and the only people she could rely on for help were Sofia and her father, who’d made it clear there was no limit to what he was prepared to do out of gratitude for saving his daughter’s and his granddaughter’s lives.
Jet keyed in the phone number Sofia had given her and waited as the phone rang. Sofia picked up on the sixth ring, sounding exhausted.
“Yes?”
&nbs
p; “Sofia. It’s me.”
“How…how did it go?”
“I was able to rescue Hannah.”
“That’s wonderful! Congratulations. You must be so relieved!”
“I am. But I have another problem.”
“What?” Sofia asked, sounding cautious.
“I need you to watch Hannah for a little while. A day, at most.”
“Of course. But what’s wrong?”
Jet gave her sparse details about Matt. Sofia was silent when she finished. When she spoke, her voice sounded stronger.
“My parents have a vacation home, smaller, six kilometers from the estate. They’re there now with Catalina. I told them I’d stay here until I heard from you. We should meet up there. This place is a madhouse right now – the police said they would need to be here most of the night and part of tomorrow.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“I’ll give you directions and meet you.”
“Sofia…is it safe? Are you sure that if anyone got it into their head…”
“Nobody knows about it, and my dad called in additional security. It’s probably the safest place in Argentina at the moment.” Sofia gave Jet the address and instructions on how to get there. “I can be there in half an hour.”
“That’s perfect.”
Jet hung up and thought about what she needed to do. She would only have one opportunity to save Matt and it would involve traveling to Buenos Aires and arriving before the bank opened. That Tara and Matt would be going to the bank was a certainty, and Jet’s money was on them doing so immediately – which meant nine a.m., or in roughly six hours. How she would get across the country and into position was only part of her problem – she’d also need logistical support once there, including weapons and transportation.
Justice Page 15
