Black Ops Chronicles: Dead Run

by O'Neal, Pepper

  The intercom buzzed. He turned back to his desk. “Yes?”

  “Mr. McKenzie would like to see you ASAP, sir,” the butler told him.

  “On my way.” So his instincts had been right. With a sigh, he headed out of his office and down the hall to the study.

  His first thought on entering the room was, Bloody hell. The trouble must be bad.

  Jonas sat at his desk, his sixty-year-old face strained and ghost white, his eyes bleak. Concerned that his friend might be going into shock, Levi crossed to the hutch and poured a glass of Napoleon. “Here, old man, drink this. And talk to me.”

  When Jonas didn’t respond, Levi set the brandy on the desk. “I can’t fix it until I know what’s wrong,” he said, hearing the lilt that reflected his Northwest London roots become more pronounced—as it always did under stress. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to relax and nudged the glass closer to Jonas. “Drink it, and tell me how I can help.”

  “I’m not sure.” Jonas’s voice had a disheartened ring to it, an unusual tone for him. “My grandson’s up to something, and I don’t think I’ll like it when I find out what it is.” He rubbed his eyes then ran his hands over his face. “And Tess has vanished.”

  Pain slammed into Levi like a fist. “Vanished? When?”

  “According to Nick, she disappeared some months ago. He says it’s because he cheated on her, but I don’t buy it. She left without saying goodbye, and Tess isn’t like that.” Jonas picked up the brandy, drank it, and seemed to steady a bit. “Was she in some kind of trouble?”

  “How should I know?” Frustration, anger, and bitterness competed for dominance in Levi’s heart. And assaulted his stomach. “Bloody hell, Jonas, I backed off from her even before she left town.”

  Consumed with emotion, he raked his hands through his hair and got up to pace. “I didn’t have much contact with her after she started dating Nick. He didn’t like her having other male friends, if you remember. So I stayed away.”

  “This is my fault,” Jonas muttered. “Not yours.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “I should’ve done something about my suspicions months ago, when I first became concerned that she hadn’t contacted me in a while. But I was afraid she was having second thoughts, and I didn’t want to pressure her.”

  “Second thoughts? About what? Nick?”

  Jonas sighed. “No, not exactly. It wasn’t long after I told her that she and I were related that she left town. So I thought perhaps—” He grimaced. “I was afraid she’d decided I wasn’t someone she wanted to be related to.”

  Stunned, Levi stopped pacing and stared at him. “That’s nonsense, old man. Don’t even go there. Tess loves you. I know she does. You gave her the only family she’s ever had. I doubt she even considered the crime syndicate part of it.”

  Guilt joined the cocktail of emotions churning inside him. “Which makes this more my fault than yours. I should’ve known something was wrong when her shop was sold. But I was actually relieved when I heard she’d gone to Chicago.” He shoved his balled fists into his pockets so he couldn’t slam them into the wall. “I should’ve kept in touch with her, but it just hurt too damn much knowing she was in love with Nick.”

  “Christ, Levi. I told her the family would help and protect her if she ever needed it. And the first time she does, we both let her down.”

  “Yeah, we did.”

  “Then we’ll make it up to her now,” Jonas declared, the light of battle brightening his eyes. “Find out where she is and what’s going on. I want her back. Safe. And find out what Nick did to make her run away.”

  Levi headed for the door. “I’m on it. And try not to worry. I’ll get her back safe.” Unless it’s already too late.

  He clenched his jaw, locking out his emotions so he could concentrate on the mission. But one thought refused to back down: if Nick and Tony had hurt Tess, even being members of the family wouldn’t save them.

  ***

  11:51 a.m., Baja California Sur:

  Tess didn’t know anyone who would come to her front door, so the knocking filled her with dread. Her landlord showed up occasionally but always at her back door. Pablo and his family used that one as well.

  The visitor had to be a stranger.

  Her knees quaking, her pulse roaring in her ears, she pulled the gun from her backpack, dropped to the floor, and slithered on her stomach to the living room window. Holding her breath, she peeked through a slit in the curtains.

  A dark-skinned, dark-haired man stood on her porch. Not Mexican. His features were too sharp and angular to be Hispanic. He wasn’t one of Nick’s men either. Nick was a bigot and only worked with Whites—although, she couldn’t be sure whom he and Tony might’ve recruited if they’d gotten desperate.

  Since the man wouldn’t have seen the cottage at all if he hadn’t been looking for it, he must’ve intended to come here. But why? If he’s looking for me and thinks I’ll answer the door, he’s brain dead.

  He knocked again then rattled the doorknob. Tess cocked the revolver and braced herself, thankful she’d locked up last night. Not that a lock would stop an assassin—if that’s what he was.

  But the man didn’t attempt to break the lock. Or pick it. Instead, he turned and strode to a Chevy truck. She heard him say something to a companion waiting in the pickup, but she didn’t understand the language.

  When they drove away, she sank to the floor, shaking with relief and the giddy aftereffects of fading fear.

  Good thing it’s almost noon. Between Griffin’s peanut-butter-surprise and strange men showing up in the cove, she’d had quite enough excitement for one morning. Steadying herself on the wall, she got to her feet and went to check on Max.

  Still out cold.

  He gasped softly a couple of times, but other than that he didn’t stir. Would he be okay on his own for a while? She didn’t know and hated to leave him alone. What if he woke up? Well, it can’t be helped, and I won’t be gone any longer than I have to. Retrieving her sneakers from under the bed, she slipped from the room to put them on.

  “Now, behave yourself,” she told Griffin when he followed her to the back door. “I have to go call Karl. And buy more peanut butter.”

  She grabbed her backpack, left the house, and headed off at a brisk walk down the narrow dirt road toward the village. Afraid her dark-skinned visitors might drive by, she stayed alert, ready to dart for cover at any sign of an approaching car.

  Venturing out to phone Karl, right now, might not be the wisest move, but with the time difference, she feared if she didn’t call early, she wouldn’t catch him.

  Without a phone in her cottage, she had to trek the two miles into El Nopal to make a call. The village market had the only public phone in the area.

  A fresh influx of worry seared her stomach. God, the consequences this call to Karl could have. With Jonas the head of organized crime in Utah, Nick would have no trouble tapping Karl’s phone. So it paid to assume he had.

  She and Karl never mentioned any place by name and used a code for boat names and marinas. Still, she worried. A careless word, however innocent, could pinpoint her location. Yet without replenishing her funds, she couldn’t survive. Or continue to run. She’d just have to make sure she was long gone before anyone from Utah could get here.

  As she entered El Nopal, she felt more vulnerable than ever. Her shoes sent up little wakes of dust as she hurried past the quaint, ramshackle houses lining the dirt streets of the village. Huddled close together with nothing but stick fences and tiny, bare-dirt yards between them, the small, sand-colored adobe structures looked rather sad.

  But then most everything here was dull and drab. Other than the bundles of chilies suspended from the eaves of some of the buildings, the only bright spots of color in town were a few scattered bougainvilleas and the laundry hung out to dry in the sun. Not much color in Baja, period, she mused. Aside from her little cove and an oasis or two, most of the peninsula was barren and
brown. She sighed. It wasn’t quite as nice as she remembered from her visit when she was a child, and now the lack of greenery depressed her. Maybe once she got back to the mainland, she should head north again.

  A couple of young children, playing in one of the postage-stamp yards, called out to her. She waved and quickened her pace. Except for Pablo and his family, she had tried not to become too well acquainted with the people in the area, figuring the less they knew, the less they could tell anyone who might come looking for her. The children’s greeting reminded her she was becoming a familiar sight.

  It was definitely time to move on.

  Crossing the street, she saw a dark blue Jeep raising a cloud of dust as it passed the village square. Thank God the market was on this side of the plaza and she could avoid most of the dust.

  Pausing in the open doorway of the store, she waited until her eyes adjusted to the dim interior light before stepping inside. As her mind filled with worst-case scenarios, she gritted her teeth and gave Karl’s name and number to the elderly Mexican woman behind the counter. She slid her hand inside her backpack and brushed her fingers over the gun for comfort while she waited for the call to be placed.

  Outside, the Jeep she’d seen earlier sped by, throwing a shower of dirt and dust through the open door. She moved farther inside.

  The old woman pushed a button on her phone, transferring the call, and motioned Tess to the one mounted on the wall by the bathroom. She picked up the receiver and heard Karl’s anxious voice.

  “Tess? How are you?”

  “I’m hanging on,” she said. “What’s new?”

  Karl hesitated. “Ah, both the FBI and the CIA are looking for you now.”

  “What? Why?”

  “You know why. At least you know why the FBI’s looking for you. The CIA man wouldn’t say. Anyway, he stopped by my office last week. Apparently, the FBI told the CIA you’re ‘down there,’ but none of them know exactly where. I told him I didn’t know either.”

  “Oh, God. If the FBI knows I’m here, Nick does, too.” Shit! Uneasy, she shifted the phone to her other ear. “What’s the bad news?” She meant it as a joke, but her sarcasm was wasted on Karl.

  “The bad news is that Jonas’s getting suspicious. Levi came by this morning while I was at court. Apparently, he’s asking questions. That means Nick’s going to come after you harder than ever.”

  Levi. God, I miss him. He tried to warn me about Nick, but I wouldn’t listen. With her free hand she massaged her forehead, trying to stave off the headache forming behind her eyes. “What am I going to do?”

  “Why don’t we try talking to Jonas?” he suggested. “I can’t believe he’d let anyone hurt you. After all you’re a member of the family. Besides, I know Levi would protect you. And I’m sure he’ll come back since he didn’t get me this morning. I could talk to him for you.”

  “No! Don’t you dare.” She immediately regretted the harshness in her tone. Taking her frustration out on Karl wouldn’t help. “Look,” she continued in a calmer voice, “I may be a distant cousin, but Nick is Jonas’s direct descendent. And his only heir. And though I know he wouldn’t approve of what the bastard did, it’s ridiculous to think he’d take my side. You’re forgetting Omerta, their vow of silence. I did go to the FBI.”

  “Considering there were children involved, I’m sure Jonas will understand.”

  “I can’t risk it.” Her hands shook, so she tightened her grip on the phone. “As for Levi, he was my best friend. I won’t put him in the position of having to choose between me and the family. He means too much to me.” She shook her head and blinked back the tears stinging her eyes. “My only chance is to keep running. But I need some more money.”

  “I put most of your money in mutual funds, so you’ve only got four thousand in cash. Will that do? Otherwise, I’ll have to convert stocks to cash. And when I do, it takes the investment firm a couple of days to cut a check.”

  She fought off another round of panic. “The cash will have to do for now. Things are happening here, and I can’t wait.” When Karl started to interrupt with questions, she cut him off. “Just weird people showing up at my house.”

  “But you’re still safe?”

  “Yes. Please, don’t worry. Just send the money to marina number twelve. And hurry. I’ll be moving on again as soon as I get it. Oh, and use a different boat name. I don’t want to use the same one twice.”

  “Okay. Let’s see. How about number E-two?”

  “Whatever,” she murmured, recognizing his code for Ebb Tide. “One’s as good as another, I suppose.”

  “It’ll go out today,” he said. “I’ll Express Mail it to the service and have them fly it to the marina. You should have it on Friday morning. Anything else?”

  “Yeah, one more thing.” She worried about how much to tell him on the phone, but for her own protection she had to find out about Max. “Has there been anything on CNN about a shipwreck down here? We had a storm yesterday, a big one, and a...some strange debris washed up on the beach.”

  “I don’t recall hearing anything about it. Let me ask my staff.” The line went quiet. Every second seemed like an hour until Karl’s voice came back. “No one else has heard anything about it, either. Sorry.”

  “Thanks anyway.” She swallowed and closed her eyes a moment as loneliness and despair pummeled her. “And thanks for everything you’ve done for me, Karl. I’d be dead if not for you.”

  “You’re a friend, Tess, and I’m happy to do what I can. I just wish I could do more.”

  Through the open doorway, she saw the blue Jeep pull up across the street. She watched it with growing apprehension. Four men got out and swaggered toward the market. Caucasians in fancy suits. Big, muscular, and scowling, they looked more like thugs than tourists.

  And Nick knew she was in Baja.

  Had these men seen her when they drove by? They must have.

  “Shit,” she muttered.

  “What?” Karl asked.

  “I have to go.” She hung up and looked around for the nearest exit. But there was no back door. Trapped.

  “Shit!”

  CHAPTER 3

  Cornered, Tess searched for a hiding place. The bathroom? She tried the door. Locked. “Shit,” she muttered again. “Shit, shit, shit!”

  Clutching her stomach, she crossed her legs and explained in broken Spanish that she had an “emergency,” hoping the clerk would assume she’d had a sudden attack of diarrhea—hardly uncommon among gringos. It worked. Eyes wide with alarm, the old woman grabbed a key from under the counter and shoved it at her. Tess snatched it, unlocked the door, and ducked inside the bathroom a heartbeat before the four men came through the market door.

  Her pulse thundered in her ears and her stomach threatened to rebel as her system reeled from the overwhelming surge of adrenalin. Fighting off the nausea, she watched through a narrow crack between two boards in the bathroom door as one of the men questioned the old woman while she fiddled nervously with the phone. His voice echoed in the tiny store, but although Tess heard what he said, it did her no good. He spoke in smooth, rapid Spanish—too fast for her to understand the conversation.

  The other three ruffians said nothing, just stood behind their spokesman like monoliths, hulking and mute. Only their eyes moved, shooting quick, wary glances that skimmed over the shelves and probed the shadows. With their lips curled in disgust, they didn’t look enchanted with the market.

  None of the four men made any threatening moves that Tess could see. Not that they needed to. Their size, build, and attitude sent a clear, intimidating signal, and the clerk’s wide, transfixed eyes said she understood. Whatever they asked, she’d tell. When she pointed toward the bathroom, Tess cringed but understood the woman had no choice.

  The spokesman headed over. Tess knew the flimsy wooden door couldn’t stop a brute that big. Her breath clogged in her throat as she scanned the room. No way out. The one tiny window—six feet off the ground and twelve inches squar
e—was intended for ventilation, not escape.

  A cold fist closed over her heart, chilling her blood to ice. No! She couldn’t afford to panic. If she did, she’d die. Taking a deep breath, and a vicious grip on her self-control, she pulled out her revolver, cocked it, and held it ready. If the asshole broke down the door, she’d give him a lesson in manners—one he couldn’t misunderstand.

  When he stopped by the telephone and picked up the receiver, she felt like an idiot. God, get a grip, will you? They’ve just come in to use the phone. Closing her eyes as relief swamped her, she sagged against the wall.

  Weak-kneed and drained, she released the breath she’d been holding and rested her head on the rough wooden planks. Although the man stood just on the other side of the thin barrier, and his conversation was in English this time, she didn’t learn much.

  He started with a terse, “It’s Joe, but this line ain’t secure.” Next came a defensive, “No, we lost the satellite phone. I’m calling from the public one in the market.” A pause. “Not sure. Last time I had it was when we took Almasi’s guys out on the boat during a big storm yesterday. I know you’d rather we didn’t use the boat, but we had to take care of...that little problem. Good news is there’s no more problem.” A few more grunts followed that before, “Right. When?...Okay...Um, tomorrow morning, about eight?” Then, after a long silence, he ended with a quick, “Yep, I got it. No sweat.”

  When Joe slammed the phone down, she went back to the crack. She watched him walk to the counter, pay the woman, and leave, his three companions trailing out after him.

  Safe for the moment, she returned the revolver to her backpack, took a cleansing breath, and—since the abrupt withdrawal of fear had given her an urgent need to pee—used the toilet. After she finished, she washed her hands, grateful at least one faucet worked, especially since she’d had to put her used toilet paper in a bucket beside the commode.