Black Ops Chronicles: Dead Run

by O'Neal, Pepper

  A few minutes passed then she heard Max return. She continued to stare through the glass at a taco vendor across the street. At the sound of Max dropping her bags on the floor and coming up behind her, she blinked back her tears and steeled herself against another stab of pain.

  “Please, Tess.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Turn around and listen to me.”

  “No!” She jerked away from him but didn’t turn around. If she looked at him, she’d weep. “You have no right to touch me, and nothing you can say matters. Don’t talk to me. Don’t touch me. Not now, not ever.”

  “Tess—”

  “I sure know how to pick ’em, don’t I? You’re despicable, Max, so much like Nick, you could be twins. I don’t ever want to see you again. Just go away and leave me alone.” She’d known words could wound but hadn’t realized they could hurt the speaker as well as the one they were aimed at.

  He cursed then sighed. She pictured him, the way he always ran his hands through his hair in frustration, and the rip in her heart widened. His footsteps retreated. She heard the door again. When she turned around, he was gone. The leftover rage drained out of her until there was only self-disgust—and horrendous pain. It sliced deeper than any she’d known, leaving her whole essence shredded.

  She wanted to hate him—for his betrayal, for using her, for hurting her. For making her love him. She desperately needed the comfort despising him would bring her. So why couldn’t she do anything but love him?

  When things went south and the danger she knew was coming for her arrived, maybe then he’d believe the truth about her dreams. That thought should have given her some sense of satisfaction—but it didn’t.

  Battered by emotions so sharp and excruciating that every breath was like inhaling glass, she closed her eyes and hugged her arms over her chest. She was back to what she’d been since the age of nine. Alone.

  CHAPTER 14

  6:48 p.m. La Paz Airport, La Paz, Baja California Sur:

  Levi’s private jet touched down, its tires bouncing twice as the plane hurtled down the runway. Before the pilot had brought it to a stop beside the terminal, Levi was at the door, his duffel bag on his shoulder, his passport in his hand.

  Fifteen minutes later he was in a rented Toyota, racing for the marina. If the information he’d gotten from Nick’s men was correct, Nick’s Folly would be moored in Slip Three, waiting for Nick and the terrorists.

  Levi planned to leave the car at the marina and take the boat to the rendezvous house. It was the safest and quickest way to get there. And he didn’t intend to waste any time. He wanted Tess back. Now. And he had to neutralize Nick and Tony before he searched for her. He didn’t doubt he’d find her. True, Nick and Tony had been looking for her for over nine months. But then, they didn’t know Tess like he did.

  Although she considered him only a friend, Levi had loved her for years. And failed her the night he convinced her to go to the party where she’d met Nick.

  She hadn’t wanted to go, he remembered, but she’d gone to please him. Then they’d argued on the way there—when he told her he wanted to be more than a friend. So she was hurting when they got to the party, making her vulnerable to Nick.

  Why’d I have to act like such an ass that night? He should’ve been patient, given her more time. Been sensitive to what she was feeling. But I didn’t, did I? No, I was much too concerned with what I wanted. He sighed with frustration and guilt. Any way I cut it, this whole bloody mess is my fault. I’ve got to make it right.

  He parked in the marina parking lot, shouldered his duffel bag, and disappeared into the shadows. Silent as a thought, he made his way to Slip Three.

  Nick’s Folly, a sixty-five foot, custom-built Gulf Craft, was moored in her berth, dancing with the rhythm of the water. With stealth honed by years of covert ops, Levi crept on board and peered through the cabin windows.

  He could see Josh down below, sitting on a couch in the salon. Nick must’ve left him behind to guard the boat—if you could call smoking a cigarette and reading a magazine, guarding.

  Well, Josh never did strike me as overly dependable. Still, he was bound to have some useful information.

  Leaving his duffel topside, he tiptoed down the stairs and pointed his Colt .45 at Josh’s head.

  “Evening, Josh.”

  Josh jumped. “Levi? What’re you doing here?”

  “Jonas sent me to bring back Nick and his crew—” Levi paused and made his voice ice cold. “Dead or alive.” Hearing Josh’s breath catch, he smiled in relief. This one wouldn’t require violence. “Care to answer my questions, or would you rather feed the fish?” He cocked the gun. “Doesn’t matter to me one way or the other,” he lied. “But I figure it might make a difference to you.”

  It did. Josh gulped, nodded, and disgorged information. After he ran dry, Levi tied him up, locked him in one of the staterooms, and headed topside.

  Stowing his duffle under a bench, he went into the wheelhouse, checked the gauges, and hit the ignition switch. When the engines roared to life, he cast off the mooring lines and eased Nick’s Folly out into the Sea of Cortez.

  Motoring south, he mulled over what he’d learned from Josh. Tess wasn’t alone. But who the hell was with her? Josh said she hadn’t called him by name. And the physical description Josh had given—Caucasian, light-brown hair, about six-foot tall, maybe a hundred and ninety pounds—could’ve applied to dozens of men.

  Whoever he was, he hadn’t been swayed by the reward Glen had offered him. Did that mean he and Tess were lovers? Levi fought down a surge of jealousy. This man had saved her life at the cave. And that’s what counted.

  Levi knew she’d be harder to find if she was following someone else’s lead. But he’d manage it. Whatever it took.

  He had to have another chance with her.

  ***

  7:19 p.m., the rendezvous house, Baja California Sur:

  Damn terrorists. Battling impatience, Nick prowled the spacious living room, feeling like a large tiger in a small cage. The luxurious leather sofas and recliners, elegant fireplace, glass-topped tables, posh oriental rugs, and thriving potted plants in their large terracotta pots only added to his sour mood.

  Why the hell did they have to meet in this damn mansion anyway? The affluence reminded him of his grandfather’s house and made him want to glance over his shoulder. Like when Levi gave him one of those long, intense, and chilling looks he used to intimidate people.

  And since Tony intended to blow the house up tonight when they left, they could’ve held the rendezvous someplace simpler and less opulent.

  But no, Almasi and his men were too important—too arrogant was closer to the truth—to meet in anything but the best. Nick glowered over at two olive-skinned men in the corner. Stupid Arabs. Laughter from the six guards outside could be heard through the open front door. The last four idiots, including Almasi, hadn’t even shown up yet. And they had the drugs.

  A dozen fanatics planning an attack on America. And he was helping them? He shook his head in dismay. Why in the hell had he let Tony talk him into this?

  The two Muslims in the corner knelt on little rugs. Praying, Nick assumed. If it helped ease their consciences, that was fine with him. But he wished they’d be quiet about it. The constant mumbling drove him crazy.

  His stomach growled with hunger, but he refused to eat the tacos that’d been provided. He was tired of Mexican food and wanted some damn pork chops. Tony, afraid it would offend Almasi, had nixed that menu item. Nick couldn’t understand. These guys were planning to gun down people in churches on Easter Sunday. What the hell difference could it make to their god if they ate a little pig?

  Tony sighed. “For Christ’s sake, Nick, stop pacing,” he snarled. “You’re making me nervous.”

  “I can’t help it.” Nick stormed over to the window, pushed aside the heavy, rust-colored velvet drapes, and looked out at the boat dock. “Where the hell’s Almasi? He should have been here by now.”

  �
�He’ll get here when he gets here.” Tony cocked his head. “Why’re you so antsy?”

  “I’m just nervous. I want to get my drugs and get back to the boat. If we’re going to stash twelve men on board, it’s going to take some time to get everybody settled.” Glaring at the two men on the prayer rugs, Nick jammed his hands into his pockets. He walked back to Tony and lowered his voice. “Joe should have been finished at the marina by now. So why isn’t he here, either?”

  “I told him to stay there until Tess showed up. Obviously, she hasn’t.”

  “You still haven’t been able to reach him?”

  “No, but that’s not surprising. We’re out of radio range out here and probably cell phone range as well. Joe will come when he has Tess. If she doesn’t show, he’ll be waiting for us at the marina. Now, stop worrying.”

  “How can I? I still haven’t been able to reach any of the guys in Salt Lake.” Frustrated, Nick kicked the coffee table, knocking a few blooms off the flowering cactus centerpiece. “I’m afraid something’s gone wrong.” He glanced at his watch. “Tess should’ve been at the marina hours ago. If she knows where we’re meeting, she could show up with the Federales any minute.” A prickle of foreboding crept over him, and he scanned the room for danger. Nothing seemed amiss. “I’ll just feel better when I’m at sea and out of this backward ass country.”

  “Look, maybe there’s trouble back home, maybe there isn’t. Nothing we can do about it now.” Tony’s eyes narrowed. “As for Tess, maybe next time, you’ll think twice before involving a woman in your business. If you’d used a little common sense, Tess wouldn’t know anything, and she wouldn’t be a threat.”

  “I thought the murders would make a point.” Nick rubbed a hand over his face. “And though you say it’s my fault she knows about Almasi, I don’t see how it could be. I—” Shouts of greeting from outside cut him off. “It looks like Almasi finally decided to show up.”

  “Watch your tone,” Tony warned. “These guys won’t tolerate disrespect.”

  “I don’t know why we couldn’t have had this meeting on the boat. We’re just wasting time here.”

  “I’ve already told you. We needed neutral ground, someplace we can walk away if they don’t bring the drugs, or—” Tony broke off, turned toward the door. “Now, watch your mouth,” he hissed.

  Almasi strode in like a king entering his throne room—head high, shoulders back, expression arrogant. He stopped, glanced around, jerked his thumb over his shoulder, and barked out an order in Farsi. At least Nick assumed it was Farsi.

  The two terrorists, who’d been praying, grabbed their rifles and hurried outside. Another gruff order and one of the men who’d come in with Almasi took up a defensive position beside the front door. The other two went to the windows. Flipping off the safeties on their weapons, they pulled open the drapes and stared out at the night.

  Glen tossed aside the magazine he’d been reading and got up from the couch. “Ah, boss, mind if I go fix a sandwich?”

  Tony’s upper lip curled into a sneer. “Might as well. You aren’t doing any good here. But keep your eyes and ears open for trouble.”

  Glen nodded and hurried off. After a minute, the sounds of a ball game blared out from the kitchen television.

  “When Joe gets here, I’m going to have a few words with him about the guys he picked for this operation.” Tony’s snarl was barely more than a whisper, but that didn’t dilute the venom in it even a little. “Not one of them is worth a shit. We should’ve sent the ones you kept in Salt Lake.”

  Nick shuffled from foot to foot. “I needed them there.”

  “So you said,” Tony muttered, almost under his breath. “But it may end up costing you more than you think. Especially if these guys screw up, and we don’t get Tess.”

  Almasi finished barking orders then walked over, stopped in front of Nick and Tony, and opened the large briefcase he carried. “Here heroin.” He spoke in heavily accented and broken English. “Where sub guns?”

  “The submachine guns are on our boat at the La Paz Marina.” Tony opened each bag of heroin and took a tiny taste. “Excellent quality. As promised,” he told Nick then turned back to Almasi. “We’ll load you all onto our boat at the marina and motor up the Pacific to a small port in Oregon. Then in the middle of the night, we’ll smuggle you on shore and provide you with vehicles and maps so you can get to your targets.”

  “Is good.” Almasi closed the briefcase but didn’t hand it over. “Me like. When go we?”

  “Right away. We’ve rigged the house to blow up. I want the Mexican Federales distracted while we’re in La Paz, and this will keep—” Shouts from outside cut him off. “Sounds like trouble.”

  “Isn’t that what those guards are for?” Nick demanded, a tickle of panic in his throat. He turned on Almasi, masking his fear with anger. “For crying out loud, man, you’ve got eight guys outside. You’d think with that many there wouldn’t be any trouble.”

  Hissing under his breath, Tony put a hand on Nick’s arm. Almasi glared at them and muttered something in Farsi. Then he handed the briefcase off to one of his men, pulled a pistol out of his waistband, and motioned to another man. Together they slipped out into the night.

  ***

  7:20 p.m., a ridge outside the rendezvous house, Baja California Sur:

  Time to move out, Max told himself, though he made no effort to do so. Stretching his stiff, sore, and cramped muscles, he cursed the hours he’d spent lying on his stomach atop the ridge, staring through binoculars at the house in the distance below. A large, two-story, sand-colored adobe with a red tile roof, it sat sixty feet from the beach on an isolated stretch of coastline overlooking the Sea of Cortez. Damn nice house. Too bad it’s got such nasty people using it.

  Nick and Tony had shown up first, followed by eight Middle Eastern men. These guys had also come two at a time, at intervals of an hour or so. Dark haired and swarthy, they wore uniforms Max recognized as belonging to Almasi’s group of radicals.

  Most insurgents in the Middle East had stopped wearing their uniforms because they knew the U.N. soldiers recognized them and shot the wearers on sight. I guess Almasi doesn’t know about that. Or he’s too arrogant to care. Whatever. Once identified by their uniforms, these guys were fair game. Max didn’t know if one of the terrorists at the house was Almasi. They’d all worn dark glasses and hats, brims pulled down low to disguise their faces. Doesn’t matter. If he’s not here, I’ll track him down.

  Three Jeeps and a Chevy pickup truck now sat in the driveway. Six terrorists posing as guards roamed the grounds—four of them between Max and where he needed to go. That left Nick and Tony, along with two more terrorists, inside the house. So first I’ll deal with the men outside then take care of Nick and the others. He shook his head. Right. No problem.

  If this wasn’t a black op, he could’ve gotten backup from Langley, or from Tom Davis in Mexico City. As it was, with David gone, Max was on his own.

  Christ, could the mission get any more screwed up?

  He cursed the lack of cover between him and the house. Numerous cacti and scrubby desert plants dotted the landscape, but most were small and low to the ground. It’ll be hard getting close without being seen.

  Still, it had to be done. And there was no sense putting it off. With a sigh, he got to his feet and crept down the ridge.

  The moon had risen, giving him sufficient light to see by as he moved out. Careful as a desert mouse, he eased toward the residence, using what cover he could find. A cactus here, a boulder there, he worked his way across the terrain.

  As they had all day long, his thoughts returned to Tess. She hated him, but at least she was safe. He probably should’ve handled it differently, but damn it, at the time he hadn’t seen any other option.

  If he’d told her what he intended to do, she’d have run from him. And without a viable plan, she had little hope of escaping Nick. Especially if she’d meant what she said about going after him. Even if she didn’t,
with the terrorists behind him, Nick had the manpower to track her down before she could get out of Baja.

  If only she hadn’t insisted on helping. Damn woman was as loyal as she was stubborn and courageous. And he loved that about her. Except when it affected her safety.

  I may have gone about it the wrong way, but turning her over to Jim was the right thing to do.

  A brief flare of light off to his right caught his attention. Glancing over, he saw someone holding a rifle with a scope, lighting a cigarette. You stupid fool. Lighting that cigarette just ruined your night vision. Well, the guy wouldn’t need it much longer, anyway.

  Pulling his knife out of the sheath hooked on his belt, Max changed directions and headed for his new target.

  The lack of cover made silence imperative. He had to place his feet so he didn’t make a sound, which meant each step took forever. If the terrorist checked his six, Max would have to shoot him. And since his pistol didn’t have a silencer, the gunshot would alert the rest of the guards. But luck was with him. The man didn’t turn around.

  Clamping his left hand over the terrorist’s mouth, Max used his right to shove the knife into the back of his neck, at the base of the skull. The man dropped his rifle, his body collapsing as the blade severed his spinal cord.

  Max lowered him to the ground, pulled out the knife, and rolled him over on his back. He wasn’t dead, but he would be in a very few minutes. With the electrochemical commands from his brain cut off, the guy couldn’t breathe. His eyes, the only thing he could move, were filled with hatred and shock.

  Max wiped off his knife on the man’s shirt. “Sorry, pal,” he whispered. “But you should’ve been paying more attention.” Sticking his knife back in its sheath, he watched the life fade from the man’s eyes. “Sorry,” he muttered again, surprised to find he meant it, and gently closed the guy’s eyelids.