Laden with over fifty pounds of clothing, weapons, and gear in the large pack on his back, he almost felt like he’d stepped off on another merc mission in the middle of nowhere. Adopting the guise of a tourist backpacker transiting the Pacific Coast Trail, he wore a baggy, water-repellent, softshell jacket to conceal the low-vis plate carrier and the Glock 21 holstered on his hip. The plate carrier held two spare magazines for all three of his weapons and a blow-out first aid kit, all accessible at a moment’s notice. Loose cargo pants and a pair of high-end hiking shoes completed his getup.
The collective aromas of several different coffee varieties socked him in his olfactory. He’d never been a coffee drinker, couldn’t stand the taste of it. But Janet had been a devoted drinker of swamp water, and during his married years he came to appreciate boiling coffee as a smell of home, the only true home he’d ever known. It had become an annoying stench since losing her however.
Find Leet and get this over with.
He expected to spot her easily amongst the patrons; she would be the only one paying any attention to her surroundings. With the exception of one filthy man with a three-foot ponytail who sat reading a book—perhaps an original hippie; he was old enough—the customers stared obliviously at their electronic devices, ignoring even their companions across the tables. Max shook his head. Why even leave the house? Oddly enough, he probably shared more in common with the hippie than with anyone else in the place. They might have had a stimulating dialogue regarding the machinations of the military-industrial complex. Some other time perhaps.
He didn’t notice her until she made herself known by signaling with a raised index finger. No wonder, she’s changed her appearance. Ben’s file included three pictures of Leet: one, a posed official photo for her FBI identification badge, and two candid shots. In all three, she wore the ubiquitous dark power suit of a female federal agent and had shoulder-length brown hair. The present Leet wore a faded brown leather jacket, tight faded jeans, and a pair of leather equestrian boots with too many brass buckles. She’d likewise dyed her hair jet black and cut it maybe too short. She looked a lot like Heat, minus several pounds of piercings and a couple quarts of ink. But the resemblance ended there. Heat had been several inches shorter, thin and rather stringy. Leet was tall—Max figured she stood 5’9” or so—and had the body of an avid gym rat. Not female bodybuilder big but pretty solid nonetheless.
Looks like she could handle herself in a fight. That was good; he’d been worried about having to babysit her as well as Farber.
Max set his pack on the floor and sat down across from her. Introductions were waived as unnecessary. “Nice getup,” Max said. “Took me a minute to spot you.”
“It won’t fool anyone for very long,” she responded, hazel eyes darting to the door as a young couple entered, each mesmerized by their glowing phone screen.
“Sometimes you only need a few seconds. Where’s your package?”
She appeared amused, though nervously so. “You tell me.”
Max scanned the café for Farber, whom he’d likewise reviewed photos of. It took him longer than a minute to find him, or a man who might be Farber, sitting at a table about halfway to the door, where Leet could easily observe him as he stared into a tablet, occasionally touching the screen as he read. His hair had been bleached from dark brown to light, and he wore a canvas outdoor hat with a wide brim that shaded his features. His expensive eyeglasses were the only giveaway, the same pair he wore in the photographs.
Across from him sat a boy, his back to Max, who wore a black baseball cap over black hair cropped very short, almost shaved off. Scowling, Max turned back to Leet. “Why did you seat a kid with him? That boy’s in danger.”
“That boy is part of the package, as in package deal.”
“What?”
She leaned closer and whispered, “That’s Farber’s son, Shai.”
Are you fucking kidding me? “Ben didn’t mention anything about a kid.”
“I wonder why? Maybe he thought you might have balked at his offer.”
After a moment of disgusted pondering on how federal agents tended to dissemble regarding crucial details, Max said, “He would have been wrong, but it’s spilled milk now.” Only an unexpected catch, no mission is complete without at least one. But why would Farber drag his son into this kind of danger? Kidnapping threats? The boy’s presence would certainly complicate things. “You need to fill me in on any other details Ben might have accidentally left out.”
“Not here, not now.” She drained the last of her coffee in one swallow. “We’re going to the restrooms. Leave the door unlocked; they’ll meet you in there. Wait three minutes, then take them out the rear door to the alley. I have an Uber waiting for us.”
“Understood.”
They headed to the johns, located down a short hallway at the rear of the café. A steel door at the end of the hallway barred access to the alley, its red push bar reading Emergency Exit Only! Alarm Will Sound! Then I hope she disabled it.
They entered their respective bathrooms. Max considered breaking out the Saint for the trip to the car yet decided against it. Though he could conceal it easily enough beneath the windbreaker, it was best left in his pack for now, especially in gun-shy San Francisco. The Glock which had served him well on so many missions would suffice.
The door opened about thirty seconds later, admitting Daniel Farber and his son. Farber tightly clutched a metal briefcase in one hand, which Max assumed held the Nexus software. The day packs they wore likely contained whatever remained of their worldly possessions. He pegged the boy, who clutched a ratty stuffed rabbit in his left hand, at about eight to ten years old.
Emotional turmoil rose immediately in his gut. He thought of David, who had died at that age, as well as other children he’d encountered in warzones throughout his career. Since joining the Marine Corps years before, his attitude on war had always been to accept it for the insanity it was, with the exception of children, none of whom should ever have had to endure such brutality and privation. Civilian adults could usually get out of the way if they really wanted to; children rarely had that option.
Max and Farber introduced themselves and shook hands. “Mr. Ahlgren,” Farber said. “It is a pleasure. I hope you can help us.”
Max noted his slow and careful manner of speech, found it rather odd for a man so brilliant. Maybe foreign languages aren’t his thing. They’re certainly not mine. “We’ll get you where you need to be.” He turned his attention downward to the boy, offered his hand and realized he’d already forgotten the kid’s name. “I’m Max; it’s nice to meet you.”
The boy only stared at him with an uncertain look of wonder.
“Remember your manners, Shai,” Farber said. He didn’t patronize the boy or express disapproval but said it in a manner appropriate for a father teaching a son. “Mr. Ahlgren is going to help us.”
Shai nodded, reached up, and shook Max’s hand, though he remained silent. He’ll require careful observation. Having been raised by a genius, Shai might be the precocious and inquisitive type, likely to wander off and examine whatever caught his fancy. David had certainly been that sort. And I’m damn far from being a genius.
“Good grip there, pal,” Max said, smiling. “You’ve got a cool name. I’ve never heard it before.”
The corners of Shai’s mouth rose slightly, probably the closest thing to a smile the kid had left in him. He’s been chased across the world. Poor kid’s probably in shellshock. “It means gift in Hebrew,” Shai bashfully informed him.
Max nodded. “I like it.” He patted Shai on the shoulder. “And both of you need to call me Max. We’re family for the next few days.”
“My apologies, Max,” Farber said.
“Not necessary.” He checked his watch. “We need to go now. Stay right behind me and do exactly what I say. There’s a car waiting for us out back.”
Not waiting for acknowledgement, Max opened the door a
nd checked the hallway. Empty. He stepped into the hall and remembered how much he hated jobs like this. No one in the café appeared threatening, yet he remained wary of taking his eyes off Daniel and Shai. Leet must have been shitting eggrolls these past few days. That she’d kept them alive on her own testified to her skill and planning. For an inexperienced agent, she seemed to be on top of things.
No alarm sounded as they exited into the alley where Leet awaited them. Max didn’t like the dark alley. Dumpsters, trash cans, and miscellaneous junk lined the dingy walls of narrow brick. Too many hiding spots. He had to consider the vertical as well as the horizontal—the dozens of windows and fire escapes overhead where attackers might be lurking.
“Car’s down there.” Leet pointed to a vehicle about a hundred feet down the alley, near the last couple of dumpsters and close to a street. “He wouldn’t pull all the way in here.”
Max understood why; bits of trash and broken glass littered the pavement amongst potholes the depth of atomic test craters. Suddenly he regretted leaving the Saint in his backpack, but Leet had made it sound as if the car was parked outside the doorway. She needs to be more specific in the future. “Let’s do it fast, then,” he said, taking the lead. The Farbers walked between them, with Leet keeping eyes out in the rear.
As he quickly stepped to the car, a blue Nissan Xterra about ten years old, Max tried to scrutinize every shadow. A part of his conscience chided him for being paranoid, while the rest of it applauded his cautious prudence, even though he hadn’t the time for a more thorough examination. The abundance of earthbound hiding spots confined Max’s overhead surveillance to brief glances.
They reached the SUV soon enough, which sat idling as the driver waited, no doubt a violation in the green city of San Francisco. Max stowed his pack in the rear as the Farbers piled into the back seat. Leet knew where they were headed; still Max needed to ride shotgun. No way could he fit in the back seat with Daniel and Shai.
Leet and Max jumped in simultaneously and closed their doors. “Let’s go,” Leet said.
The vehicle did not move. The driver, a Sikh wearing a black turban, appeared to have fallen asleep while waiting.
“Wake up!” Max ordered, shaking him violently by the shoulder. Only then did he notice the dark blotches on the driver’s face, and as his head lolled over and thumped the driver’s side window, Max saw the purple ligature marks on his neck.
CHAPTER 7
Tearing his attention from the dead driver, Max saw two men step around corners of buildings to block the alley: one was dressed like a businessman in a dark suit, the other like a derelict wearing a filthy overcoat that hung past his knees.
“Get down!” Max shouted, drawing his Glock.
His choice became obvious as they reached for concealed weapons. The bum in the overcoat would be toting the real firepower. Assuming they wore body armor, Max aimed for the guy’s head through the windshield. He squeezed off a shot as the bum brought up a silenced submachine gun from within the folds of his overcoat. The windshield exploded into a cloudy mosaic of blue-green safety glass, minus a .45 caliber hole dead center, and he couldn’t see if he’d taken out the bum.
He ducked behind the dashboard as rounds started flying through the windshield, rapid shots from a silenced semi-auto that showered the cabin with pebbles of glass. The snap of bullets striking the car and flying overhead was nearly deafening. Pandemonium erupted in the back seat, Farber yelling in panic, Leet shouting at them to stay down.
Max leaned over, found the driver’s side door handle, and pulled. The Sikh, who’d already been leaning in that direction, tumbled from the SUV to the cracked pavement as more trouble literally descended on them. With a resounding metallic boom, an enemy operative landed atop a dumpster on the passenger side of the vehicle. A louder boom sounded in the next instant when yet another crashed down on the roof of the Xterra, shaking the car.
Leet’s pistol, the only non-silenced weapon in the fight, popped twice, shattering one of the rear windows. A scream came from outside as Max attempted to take the wheel without exposing himself to enemy gunfire. “Go, go!” she shouted.
I’m fucking trying! But bullets kept flying over his head, and minus that vital appendage, they wouldn’t be going anywhere. When the other rear window shattered, Max knew he had to risk it. He slid over the console trying to contort his 6’4” frame behind the wheel. Upholstery stuffing exploded from the driver’s seat when a bullet with his name on it struck the headrest.
Still not fully in the driver’s seat, Max shifted into drive, found the gas with his right foot, and stomped it, finally exposing himself above the steering wheel. Fortunately, the enemy fire had completely destroyed the windshield, allowing him a clear view. He’d timed his move just right, the enemy in the suit reloading his pistol. Tires smoked and wailed as Max laid down rubber, bound for the street.
But there would be a slight detour involved. The suited man put his next shot past Max’s ear in a final attempt to stop him. Wrong answer. Wrenching the wheel hard right, Max clipped him as he dove for cover behind the last dumpster. Dammit! The guy wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon, but he’d survived the vehicular assault. Metal screeched and sparks flew when the passenger side raked the brick building, but Max got the SUV back on keel and shot out of the alley, almost t-boning another car as he swerved into the street.
Aware of the man clinging to the roof, which featured a luggage rack for his comfort and convenience, Max cut a sharp left onto the street amidst bleating horns and screeching tires of cars braking or fleeing from his path. The Xterra proved to be a surprisingly powerful SUV, difficult to control as he tried to straighten her out. He sideswiped a Prius and sent it careening into the roll-down metal door safeguarding the storefront of a closed business.
Leet fired twice through the roof, the rounds deafening in the enclosed space, eliciting more frantic shouts from Daniel, this time in a language Max guessed to be Hebrew. Fuck, he’s still up there. With the Xterra now under his control, Max floored it and steered into the oncoming lane to pass several cars sitting at a red light, almost running head-on into a car turning onto the street. He slowed as he passed the sitting cars, banged a right, and charged down a steep hill. He didn’t even want to look at the speedometer as he moved into the oncoming lane to pass a car creeping downgrade, narrowly avoiding a streetcar laboring uphill.
Leet was on her own in the back seat. Max couldn’t possibly know what she was doing, but it sounded as if she were grappling with the man’s gun arm as he shoved his pistol through the window.
You’re about done, pal. Max gunned the engine as the traffic light ahead turned from yellow to red. Cars began crossing the intersection. “Shit! Hang on!” Somehow, timing remained on his side as he shot the gap between two crossing cars, the SUV leveling off for an instant before catching air on the downhill side of the intersection.
Max heard a silenced shot from the rear as they sailed through thin air. Farber shrieked. The Xterra bucked when its wheels returned to pavement, the steering wheel animated in Max’s hands as the top-heavy SUV shimmied violently left and right, tires smoking and squalling.
In the instant after regaining control of the car, Max slammed on the brakes. A body clad in black tumbled onto the hood and kept rolling down the steep hill. Seconds later, the man came to rest smack in the middle of the street, barely moving.
With no reason left to hurry, Max observed the speed limit as he drove over the man, the driver’s side tires squashing his head like a rotten melon.
“Anybody hit?” Leet asked.
Farber answered with crazed blubbering until his faint piping voice proclaimed, “Shai’s okay.” Seconds ticked by before he added, “I’m okay.”
“Good up here,” Max said as he drove on at a sane pace.
“Oh thank God,” Leet gasped, weary with anxiety. “Get us out of here, Max. Find the 101.”
“Sure thing but first we need a new car. Th
ey must have hit the radiator.” The proof was in the steam rising around the hood, the temperature gauge spiking ever higher into the red zone.
“Ah, fuck me,” Leet groaned.
Nice thought but no time, Max almost said.
Pulling his mind from the gutter, he spied a possible escape from their dilemma down the street on the right side, where about a dozen cabs and Ubers sat queued in a line before the porte-cochere of a ritzy hotel. “Perfect,” he muttered, pulling the steaming, bullet-riddled SUV to a halt behind the last car in line, a Mitsubishi Outlander sport, a smaller SUV than the towering Xterra. A sticker in a lower corner of the rear window read AWD. Good. All wheel drive would be essential if they were forced off road.
“What are you doing?” Leet asked, voice laden with apprehension.
“I’m going to grab my pack, while you put your badge to work and commandeer that car.” He pointed through the steam cloud at the Mitsubishi, then opened the door. “You two stick with me.” He didn’t wait for affirmations but headed straight for the rear to grab his backpack.
Daniel and Shai joined him, the former looking like a sinner who had just attended an open house in purgatory. I’m surprised his hair didn’t turn white. Even Max had to silently concede that the encounter had been one of his hairiest to date, at least out in the civilian world. Max caught another glimpse at the ever-present briefcase in Daniel’s hand. Whoever is after this wants it bad.
Despite her relative cool under fire, Leet was failing miserably in her attempt at grand theft auto. “Bitch, I don’t care who you work for, you ain’t takin’ my car!” the driver protested.
“Exit the vehicle, sir, or I’ll arrest you for obstruction—”
Max tuned her out as he opened the rear hatch on the Mitsubishi and stowed his bag. “You guys load up,” he said to the Farbers. “I’ll handle this.”
“Hey!” said the driver, turning around in his seat. “Get your shit outta my car! What the fuck?”
Max closed the hatch. As he came around the car, the fuming driver got out.
Nexus Page 6
