Hit Hard

by Amy J. Fetzer

When he turned away, Viva couldn’t help herself. She rushed down the stairs to the front door and threw it open. She found a room service attendant with a tray. Her shoulders fell, and she gestured the young man inside. She stepped onto the patio, looked around, but saw only the sway of flowers in the sunlight. Behind her, the young man had already set the tray down, and poured. She went to tip him, but he refused, never once looking her in the eye, and quickly left, closing the door.

  Viva sat at the table, disappointed as she ate a wedge of buttered toast. She frowned at the aftertaste, washed it down with tea and stood, then instantly latched onto the table edge as her balance vanished.

  This is not going to be a good day, she thought, grabbing furniture on her way back to the bed. She found Mecca when she made it to the mattress, falling facedown.

  And never once noticed the man with the camera outside her room.

  “He sleeps.”

  The large leather chair swiveled as he faced her. She walked gracefully toward him, her short skirt tight, a perfect portrait to show off her muscled legs. Her gaze flicked around the large rooms for anyone lurking, though she’d checked the instant she crossed the threshold. Noor didn’t like company.

  “Well fed?”

  She nodded, the waterfall of black hair spilling over one shoulder. “He does not know where he is, the time, and has seen no one but me.”

  He waved off any caution she might have. “He will not be alive that long to point a finger, my sweet.”

  Her expression remained unchanged as he studied her, admiring her beauty, the lethal edge of it. He couldn’t see them, but knew she was armed with her favored knives. He never asked why she preferred them; she had to get close to her victims to use them, yet this little flower had weapons no man could see.

  “Tell me.”

  In a dispassionate voice, she relayed her activities in the jungle, from eliminating a traitor to ensconcing his guest.

  “Nicely done.”

  She perched herself on the edge, crossed her legs, and plucked a chocolate from a small tray. She savored it slowly, licking the edge, digging her tongue into the soft center, and he felt himself grow hard just watching her.

  “I have seen a stone.”

  She would not mention it if it was not substantial and he sat up a little straighter. “Go on.”

  She popped the chocolate in her mouth. “A man possesses it. He offered it to Najho. To buy in.”

  And she killed Najho for speaking of it. “Did he know why? What for?”

  She shook her head, holding her hair back to examine the tray again. “In that, your secrets are well kept.”

  “Who is this man?”

  Her shoulders moved. “From his accent, an American.”

  “Noor,” he warned and she looked up, her stare brittle and cold. It reminded him how much she loathed men and that her association with him—he would never call it a friendship—was a privilege.

  “I can find him, but that will take weeks.” She tipped her head, no smile, no inclination of her thoughts, yet a glitter of anticipation sparkled her eyes. “There is a simpler way.”

  He smiled to himself, fatherly proud of her sharp mind. “And that would be?”

  “I have seen his weakness.”

  He sent her an arched look.

  “A woman.”

  “Find her.”

  She hopped off the desk, walking smoothly to the doors.

  “Don’t bring her to me.”

  She glanced over her shoulder, awaiting his command.

  “Just locate her, watch her.”

  With only the lightest dip of her head, Noor slipped out of the room. She would follow his orders with precision. Unlike the men in his employ. Zidane lost the stone in Sri Lanka and while he accepted his own part in that, it would not have happened if Rohki had not dared bargain with smugglers for quick cash. He steepled his fingers, and considered how to use this woman.

  His smile was slow and he tapped the keyboard. A view of the lab, a man hovering over a worktable came into view. A vast array of calibration machines and electronics were spread out in front of him. He touched the microphone. “Mr. Brandau?”

  The man flinched and looked around, yet he knew Brandau saw nothing. “Yes?”

  “How is your progress?”

  “Almost there. But until I have the rest, I can’t make this work. Not at the capacity you want.”

  Noor would find what he needed, he was sure of it. “I understand. In the meantime, I have an extra job for you.”

  Brandau looked directly at the camera, skeptical. “Does it pay well?”

  “Will a million be sufficient?”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  Sam let his eyes adjust to the subdued interior. Streams of sunlight through bleary windows cast shadows and showed the age of the place. Behind a scarred counter, wood shelves filed like old soldiers, their posture bent and twisted, yet honor-bound to hold the contents. At first glance, it was littered with junk, but as he took a step closer, he noticed the dust and cobwebs hid the true value of each piece. Sam fingered a glass sculpture, art deco, circa 1920 US, he decided. How the hell did this guy get this kind of stuff?

  He dropped his pack on the floor near the door and hit the bell sitting on the counter. It wasn’t long before a slender man hurried down the center corridor, smiling his best. Then he saw Sam and froze.

  “You don’t look happy to see me, Niran, I’m hurt.”

  Niran did an about-face and headed to the rear door. Sam didn’t move, sighing, and when Niran flung open the door, Sebastian was on the other side, big and imposing over the little man. Grinning, Sebastian walked, forcing Niran to back step.

  Niran turned to face Sam. “Is he a new guy?” He inclined his head to Sebastian.

  “We save him for special jobs.”

  Niran snickered, stopping at the counter. “I’m not talking to you.”

  Sam went to a shelf and drew down a clay pot, the markings similar to the cuff Viva had. “Maybe I can change your mind.”

  “Careful with that! You break, you buy.”

  “What’s selling this week, Niran?”

  “What are you buying? You need a motorbike? I have four in the back. Maybe a car, this I can find.”

  “Not what I want to hear.”

  The little man kept quiet.

  Sam let the pot drop, and Niran lurched, but Sam caught the vase before it hit the dirt floor.

  “They come to me, but I no can help.” He rushed to replace the pot on the shelf.

  Sam sent Niran a disgusted look. “That pigeon English is degrading, stop it.”

  Niran was raised in a British mission, his English was better than Sam’s and his accent was more Brit than Thai. This poor, uneducated act was for his customers, yet the shrewdness of his bartering skills, among others, was in demand in the underworld. And he freelanced to anyone for a price.

  Sebastian strolled the shop, examining the shelves. It made Niran nervous.

  “They’re buying diamonds,” he blurted. “A Chechen was here, and before you ask, I don’t have any roughs. That’s like strapping explosives to your chest, all it will do is get you and everyone else around you killed.”

  “Clever. But you’ve bought conflict diamonds before.” Niran was once a jeweler, and this place, he thought, was a big step down.

  “Now they are buying them from me, and no one wants them cut. Not by me.”

  Sam’s gaze flashed to Sebastian’s. That was odd. Uncut stones were extremely difficult to move. Like a red flag that they were blood diamonds. “Names.”

  “They don’t offer names, but they did buy some handguns, not my best stock, the cheap bastards.”

  Because they weren’t planning on taking them home, Sam thought. “What else, little buddy?”

  “That’s enough without bargaining.”

  “What do you need this time?”

  “Fly a plane for me.”

  Sam scoffed. “With what you transp
ort, I’d get shot out of the air.” Not that he’d consider it.

  “Bring my mother to England.”

  “You don’t have a mother, you little shit.”

  “That isn’t the point.”

  Sam glanced at Sebastian, and he moved up behind him. “You aren’t dealing in the sale of people, are you? Tell me it ain’t so.” The look on Sam’s face spoke volumes and Niran paled. “That will get you killed.”

  Niran gestured to his shop of contraband. “So would everything else.”

  “I meant by me.” Sam moved closer. Niran backed up. “Cough it up, Niran, you owe me.”

  Sam knew he was playing on the last scraps of dignity the man possessed. Sam had saved his wretched life, pulling him out of a firefight with a Chinese Thai mafia gang a couple years ago in Indonesia. They coerced the man into helping them find a diplomat’s daughter, a child held for ransom for weeks. When it went down, Niran was caught in the middle. Save the girl, save the snitch, and get hired again by the girl’s father, Sam thought.

  “They want big diamonds.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  He leaned his forearms on the counter. “Will you make it worth my time?”

  “No.”

  Niran sighed. “Tashfin Rohki came here looking for stones.” He made a face over his dislike of the man. “He’s been bargaining, stealing, trading for stones for two days. Then he just stopped.”

  He got what he wanted. “Where is he?” Why buy stones with cash, and not use the cash to buy weapons?

  “Hiding, if he’s smart. He looked for any stones, some cut, some not.”

  He’s making up for the whopper D-1 had, Sam thought. Rohki needed that to buy in for the weapons, Sam was sure of it. But why deal in uncut blood diamonds? Any cutter worth his weight would turn them down and call the cops. The certification and authentication papers would have to be forgeries, the cutting done in secret. Damn hard way to go to get money.

  “Who’s got the weapons?”

  “Look, cowboy, I don’t know.”

  “You’re really trying my patience, Niran, and you know I have little of it to start.”

  Niran shook his head. “You don’t understand, something is for sale, weapons perhaps, maybe information.” He shrugged. “No one speaks of it. Whoever has it wants only diamonds as payment.”

  Sam figured that much. “Any ideas why?”

  “Who knows why they do things?” He made a crazy head motion at his temple. “But the identity of the seller is secret. I hear no one has seen this person, ever. A man spoke about it, and he was found in the river with his toes and nuts cut off the next day.”

  Sam’s gaze shot to Sebastian’s.

  “Ahh, you know of this, the fight in the jungle over the redhead, perhaps?”

  Sam tensed. Word traveled fast in the underworld. “It was over a robbery, not the woman.”

  “But revenge is such an ugly emotion, you know.”

  “The woman is innocent.” Well, partly, Sam thought. “And the killing was by a dart.”

  “Ahh, see—a woman’s weapon.”

  “A Thai woman’s,” Sam clarified. “And if anyone harms the redhead, I’ll make sure they get some good-old American payback. Am I clear?”

  Niran’s features went slack. “Yes, perfectly.”

  Sam had seen her earlier this morning; he wasn’t worried. Yet. His concern now was lack of information and the shield around getting more. Tempting the badasses to his door might be the only way to go. Dangerous, but doable. “I know you’ll keep your mouth shut, right, Niran?” Sam went to his backpack.

  “Or you will shut it for me, yes I know. You forget that I have seen what you can do to a person.”

  “Now would be a good time to practice that closed-mouth deal,” Sebastian warned when Sam went still.

  Sam closed his eyes for a moment, beating back the memory. He’d always been in the air offering cover fire, a pickup out of the hot zone. That time, he’d had to perfect his hand-to-hand combat skills in record time. Deadly force was a hard thing to swallow, and he preferred the thrills he could control.

  He opened the backpack, pulling out a bundle, then tossed it to Niran. Niran caught it, frowning.

  “I keep my promises,” Sam said, almost in warning. He and Sebastian left.

  Behind them Niran shook out the rolled cloth, smiling widely at the Dallas Cowboys jacket and hat. It was real, not a knockoff like the kind made around here by the thousands. Niran wasn’t moved by many things, but that the Texan kept a promise made years ago, stunned him. He smoothed the embroidery and muttered, “This I will never sell.”

  Viva twisted on the sheets, her head pounding with pain as she dreamt. Yet the instant her eyes opened and she sat up, she felt different. Calmer.

  “The finest hotel in Bangkok and I’m getting crummy sleep,” she muttered, rolling off the bed and taking her time to stand. She’d never had a headache in her life and her brain felt swollen in her head.

  She went into the bathroom, and after a moment, stepped under a hot shower, letting the steaming water rinse sleep from her body. Wrapped in a robe, her hair in a towel, she called the hotel clothing store and spoke to a pleasant woman. She told her the dilemma, that her luggage was lost and she needed something to wear. Giving her panty size to a stranger felt weird, yet by the time she dried her hair, there was a bellboy at her door bearing several boxes. She tried to sign for them, but he told her it was taken care of.

  “Thank you, Dr. Wan Gai,” she said, pulling out the khaki shirt and sleeveless blouse, then lingerie. She opened the last box. “Oh, she’s a goddess. Makeup!”

  She was out the door in fifteen minutes, hailing a cab, and walking in the heart of the river markets. The sun warm on her hair and she felt better than she had in two days. Around her shopkeepers hawked, throngs of people moved furiously through the narrow corridors. The scent of food made her mouth water and she stopped in a café, and ate lightly, yet was halfway through her meal when her head started hurting. She worried that it was something more serious than a simple headache, yet when she left the café it lessened.

  Blowing it off as leftover food poisoning she walked to an internet access café, searching for anything on the bracelet. There was a vague mention of some legend in the north, but nothing conclusive. But the smelting of gold and bronze in the casting of the bracelet meant it was old. BC old. She left, pausing to chat and practice her Thai. Women paddling low-slung canoes filled with fruit passed on her right in the river, the concrete edge close to the walkway in front of the shops. The sun felt scorching on her scalp and intent on buying a hat, she walked past several vendors, her gaze on her feet as if mesmerized by the tempo.

  Then a sound jolted her, a loud crash of steel to steel. She stopped, looking up, and was stunned to see she was at the docks, alone. Her head whipped back and forth, her pulse suddenly rapid and short. What in God’s name am I doing here? She didn’t remember walking this far from the markets.

  A forklift rolled by her, the man driving giving her a toothless smile as he drove past. She spun around and saw men everywhere, some rolling rope or operating machinery. A huge cargo ship was forty feet away.

  And I didn’t hear it?

  Someone shouted and she backed up when a large platform laden with boxes swung from the side of the ship and started to lower. Instantly she turned back toward the city, and when several men started to follow her, Viva ran, her sandals slapping the asphalt and drowning their laughter. It was two blocks before the crowds thickened, and she slowed, moving between the people, checking to see if longshoremen were following her. No one was near, no one stared at her or did anything weird, but she still felt watched.

  “How stupid can you get,” she said to no one. She was reckless, she knew that, but not without some intention. This was just plain absentminded professor lunacy, and her heart was still pounding in her throat when she hailed a cab and went back to the hotel.

  Leaving her shopping b
ags at the door, Viva dropped onto the sofa. She turned on the TV simply for comfort noise. A moment later, she got up and locked herself inside.

  Sam and Sebastian left Niran’s shop, walking the next two blocks toward the car and Max.

  “Max, I need a visual on Viva.”

  Max’s voice was soft in his ear mike. “You’re really snagged by that woman, huh?”

  He had no idea. “Niran mentioned her.”

  “Damn. I saw her down at the river market. She was shopping, chatting with the locals.”

  “Alone?”

  “As far as I could tell, yes. Last I saw she was in a cab.”

  “Want to bring her in, lock her up at the CP?”

  The command post was a house in the hills outside the city, a great spot for snagging intel out of the air. “Christ, that’s not a fight I want to deal with right now.”

  Max slid the SUV to the curb and they crossed and got in. “What do you want to do about her?” He pulled into traffic.

  A marker would have made him feel better, Sam thought. “She’s in the best hotel, high security, hopefully she won’t get into any trouble.”

  “Yeah, right,” Max said dryly. “That works.”

  “Go by the hotel, I want to see for myself.”

  He kept his distance, yet his marks in his line of vision. When the marks stopped, he stopped, offering bhat for a soda, then kept going. He could pass them, and come up behind, he thought, until the pair slipped into a black SUV. He hailed a cab, the small green bug cramped and smelling like old shoes. He ignored the confused look of the driver as he directed him.

  The SUV stopped at the Four Seasons cabana, and the man looked in the window before leaving. They ended up at a small restaurant. The men went inside.

  “Pull over.” He paid the cabbie and left.

  In a low voice, he gave the address. Within five minutes another man moved behind the SUV, then crossed the avenue to wait outside the restaurant. His partner didn’t glance his way, simply rubbing his nose in signal. The sun was dropping in the sky as he turned away, back to the offices to upload the pictures from his camera phone.

  The pair weren’t on the list, but they’d been in the same circles.