Juice leaned back, cranked his arm behind him, then slung the grenade forward. As it traveled through the air, James’s men were sending bullets toward the Jeep. The grenade landed in front of the truck and made a huge blast, but the truck came driving right through it. He’d thrown it short. Juice was a defensive end at Nebraska. And while he was a crazy-good athlete, throwing the football had never been part of his job description.
“Take the wheel!” Charlie shouted.
Luc jumped into the driver’s seat, and Charlie snatched one of the grenades from Juice’s pocket. “Let me show you how it’s done!”
All of the guys had heard many times after drinks just how good Charlie was as a high school quarterback. Not unlike most others when drunk, the fish stories started getting told. But now it was time for Charlie to put his money where his mouth was and show them what he could do. As Charlie pulled the pin on the grenade, they all had to cover up because a wave of bullets came at them from the truck. It was also when Juice noticed the sound of the Jeep’s engine again for the first time since firing the rocket launcher. His hearing was slowly returning.
Charlie arched back, then threw all of his power into rifling the grenade from the Jeep. The arc of the throw looked solid, but Juice thought his had as well. Luc turned to look as he drove, and Rick was watching like it was a Hail Mary at the end of the fourth quarter. Which, metaphorically, it was. As they all held their breath watching, the grenade descended on the perfect trajectory, blowing the truck into a hundred pieces as it detonated on impact. Just like if it were the Super Bowl, the four of them in that Jeep went crazy. It was a hell of a throw.
“Maybe you actually did know how to ball!” Juice said, slapping Charlie on the back.
When the dust settled and the smoke cleared from the exploded truck, Juice looked beyond it and noticed the truck that had hung back was no longer there.
Juice turned and tapped Luc on the shoulder as he pointed to his right. “That way!”
Luc turned the steering wheel accordingly, in the direction of where the Hummer had gone. Juice knew that they may have just won the battle, but the key to winning the war was in the back of that Hummer. And he knew that much without even knowing what it was.
21
Cannes, France
“Is it always like this with you guys?” Omari asked.
King’s jet left the runway without issue. The flashing blue lights disappeared from view below them. The tower had tried to coax Bob into turning back, but Bob just shut off the radio.
“Like what?” King said.
“Balls to the wall.”
“Actually, it’s like 99 percent brain-numbing boredom, with about one percent of total chaos. You skipped the boredom part on this run.”
“Good. I like the action.”
“Yada, yada,” Sam said. “We can talk later, I want to see what the hell is on that flash drive.”
Sam pulled her laptop off the seat behind her and opened it. King grabbed everyone a bottle of water, then brought her the flash drive.
“Is there going to be Sam amateur porn on this thing?” King said.
Sam took the drive and inserted it into the USB port on her computer. “No . . . I kept all of those for myself when Thomas and I separated.”
“That’s my girl,” King said with a laugh.
Sam tapped away on her computer.
Bob shouted from the cockpit. “So, you guys got a heading for me? Not sure just flying around French airspace is a good idea. Especially if you want to go back across the pond. We have enough fuel right now, but not for long.”
Sam was so into the computer she hadn’t even heard Bob. King thought about it for a moment. They had no reason to stay in Europe. They couldn’t fly back to London to get Kyle and Dbie. Not yet anyway. British intelligence would be all over the plane. Without any other leads, there really was no other choice but to head back to America. King just had to hope that some evidence of them doing nothing wrong could get sorted in the nine-hour flight.
“Turn for home, Bob.”
“Copy!”
“That man sure trusts you, doesn’t he?” Omari said.
“We have quite the history.”
King took the seat beside Sam and watched as she pulled up the window for the flash drive. She moved the cursor over to the file and clicked.
“Here we go,” Sam said.
This was it. It could determine just how difficult or easy landing back in the States would be. And how much work they were going to have to do to stay out of jail. And if they did stay out of jail, hopefully a little insight into who was coming after them.
After a moment of loading, the picture of Sam and Thomas on the beach filled the screen.
“He really liked that picture, huh?” King said.
Sam ignored him. King’s stomach dropped when the second picture was of a sunset on the beach, then the third, one of Sam sunbathing by a pool.
“You must be joking,” she said.
“Not good?” Omari asked from across the aisle.
Neither Sam nor King answered. They were busy watching Sam’s honeymoon photos scroll by on the screen. No sign of anything other than a trip down memory lane. Sam slammed her fist down on the keyboard. King sat back in his seat.
“All that for honeymoon photos?” King said.
Sam took a deep breath and continued scrolling. “Come on, Thomas. Be good for something in your life.”
King rubbed his face, taking a break from the disappointing pictures. Sam was scrolling so fast it was hard to tell what the pictures actually were.
“Wait!” King said as he sat forward. “Go back!”
Sam stopped scrolling and moved her finger to the left arrow button. “It’s all just photos for the bin, Xander.”
“No, go back more. Something was different.”
Sam let out a sigh and did as he asked. Sure enough, two photos back was a black-and-white picture of what looked like a garage or a small empty warehouse room.
“Remember this from your honeymoon?” King said.
“This is not from my honeymoon.”
Sam scrolled on. A few clicks later there was another odd photo, and this time the room had plenty of things lying around—but no people.
“He’s trying to show you something.”
Sam scrolled on. Finally there was a picture of a man looking down over an oversize backpack. His face was hidden since he was bent over.
“What the hell is this?” King said. “How many photos are left?”
“Four,” Sam said as she moved on.
The next three photos were of Sam in an evening gown. She looked beautiful. And she looked . . . happy. Then another black-and-white photo of the room. The next photo was a shot of the man’s face, but it was shadowed and still impossible to see.
“Who the hell is that?” Sam said.
“Somebody your ex really wanted you to know about.”
Omari unbuckled and came around behind Sam. “Anything we can use?”
“Nothing I can use,” Sam said. “But if anyone can make something of this, it’s Dbie.”
After a few clicks, Sam combined all the warehouse photos into one file and emailed them to Dbie.
King picked up the satellite phone sitting on the table next to him. “Give me Dbie’s cell number?”
Sam read him the digits, and King punched them in.
She answered on the first ring.
“Hello?”
“Dbie, it’s X. Calling from the plane.”
“Everyone okay?”
“We’re good. Sam just sent you an email. Tell us where it is if you can, but most of all, we need to know who the man in the last photo is. Work your magic.”
“Pulling it up now.” She paused. “Um, yeah, not going to be able to tell you where it is. And this photo is terrible of the guy. Got anything better?”
“You don’t think we would have sent it if we did?” King said.
“Snippy, snippy. Okay. I’ll try to brighten i
t and enhance the resolution. This will take me some time to clean it up, then run facial recognition.”
“You have about eight hours.”
“Kyle!” Dbie shouted away from the phone. “Go out for Red Bulls. I’ll take some beef jerky too.” Then back to King. “All right. I’m on it. It won’t take eight hours. But why eight hours?”
“That’s about how long we have until we are in United States airspace.”
“Kyle!” Dbie shouted away from the phone again. “Xander left us stranded here.”
“What?” King heard Kyle say from what sounded like another room.
“Call us as soon as you have some answers,” King said.
“Will do.”
King ended the call. The hum of the jet’s engines was the only noise.
“Okay, now what?” Omari said.
“Now we wait,” Sam said.
“Night cap, then some sleep?” King said.
“If you’re pouring, I’m drinking,” Omari said.
“Sure, why not?” Sam went along. “Make mine gin.”
“Bourbon work, O?”
“Bourbon always works.”
King went to grab everyone a pour. They talked long enough to finish their drinks; then they got some much-needed sleep.
22
Just outside Mexico City, Mexico
Even though the afternoon was transitioning to evening, the Mexico sun was still sweltering as it beat down on the topless Jeep. Juice and his men had been following the road the Hummer had taken for about an hour. Mexico City would be coming up soon. If that’s even where it had been going. They could have pulled off somewhere else a hundred times over and Juice would have had no idea.
“We’re going to have to call in some favors, brother,” Charlie said to Juice.
“Yeah, it’s not looking good.”
They’d returned to civilization a half an hour ago, but it still felt like they were in the middle of nowhere.
“What are we going to do with JJ?” Rick said.
“I don’t know. Let me make a call. I was a special advisor to the CIA on a target they were trying to erase last year. I didn’t get to meet with any of the higher-ups, but I worked pretty close with an agent. Good guy. Seen a lot of shit ’cause he used to run around with a Special Ops guy.”
“Worth a shot,” Luc said. “If he can connect us to someone high up in the agency, maybe they’ll send some help?”
Juice turned to face Luc. “We might have to implicate ourselves in order to stop whatever James is planning. How’s that sit with you all?” He gave a sweeping glance across the Jeep.
“I think I speak for all of us,” Charlie said. “If you think it’s that big of a deal, we don’t have a choice. I don’t want another 911 to happen or to be on my conscience.”
Rick and Luc agreed.
“I’ll give it a try. He gave me his personal cell. Dude’s a crazy UK basketball fan, so I gave him shit when the team didn’t do so well last year.”
“Great,” Charlie said. “Your lizard sports brain already screwed us for getting help.”
“Oh, no, don’t worry about that. My Cornhuskers were just as bad on the football field, so he gave it right back. Plus, I’m the reason they got their man. So I made him look good.”
Juice pulled his phone and scrolled to Kyle Hamilton’s contact. He took his hat off and ran his hand over his short brown hair as he listened to it ring.
“Juice!” Kyle answered. “What the hell are you up to?”
“Hey, Kyle, sorry about the wind. If I could help it, I would.”
“No worries, I can hear you. What’s going on? You didn’t call to tell me UK’s Coach Cal needs firing, did you?”
“No, I wish this was a friendly call. But . . . I got a problem.”
“Uh oh. You all right?” Kyle said.
“I’m okay, but I just lost a man. And I’m afraid we’re trailing something meant to hurt a lot of people.”
“Sorry about your man. I know how hard that is. Well, I’m in London, not sure how I can help.”
“Sorry, it must be late there. But can I bend your ear?”
“We’re up working on a case. All good. Shoot.”
“We’re in Mexico City. Long story short, I took a job for some bad guys. Desperate times kinda thing. Anyway, shit went sideways, and someone who wasn’t who they said they were smuggled something in and took off with it.”
“That tends to happen in our line of work. Mexico City you said?”
“Yep,” Juice said.
“Wow. That’s a crazy coincidence. I just got off the phone with someone else in Mexico City.”
“What?” Juice was shocked.
“Yeah. You wouldn’t have happened to be doing your job with Raúl Ortega, would you?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. But Ortega is dead.”
“Really. He was pretty talkative for a dead man. Just hung up with him five minutes ago.”
Juice covered his phone and shouted to his men. “Kyle says he just spoke with Ortega. He’s not dead.” Then to Kyle. “Okay. The guy who wasn’t who he said he was gave me that info, so it could easily have been a lie. What the hell is a CIA agent doing talking to a drug lord anyway?”
“Long story, but I’m not CIA anymore,” Kyle said. “I’m out on my own with Alexander King.”
“Good place to be. You still have contacts in the agency? Or know of anyone who can help? I’ve got to run down a vehicle. And a man. The vehicle has some sort of chemical or large explosives on it. That’s all I know. The man calls himself James Carter. But there’s no shot it’s his real name.”
“If you think there’s a credible threat, the CIA will listen. Especially since you helped us out last year. And I’ve got someone on our team who is good at that sort of thing. If she gets a break on what she’s working on now, I’ll have her take a look. Got any more info? On the man and the vehicle?”
“The vehicle is a cherry red Hummer H2. No plate unfortunately.”
“Can’t be too many cherry red Hummers in Mexico City. If it’s registered. The guy?”
“All I know about James is that he is British, and he works with the man I took this job from, Marcus Christian.”
“Get the hell out of here,” Kyle said.
“What’s that? Sorry, the wind is loud.”
“Marcus Christian? And this isn’t some sort of joke?”
“What?” Juice said. “I don’t follow.”
“We’re working on tracking down Marcus Christian ourselves. His guys tried to kill Xander earlier. Xander was able to get the guy’s crony to say Marcus’s name.”
“Unreal. What the hell is going on?” Juice said.
“I don’t know, hold tight if you can. Let me run down some things, and I’ll get back to you. I’ll be as quick as I can, but there’s a lot going on.”
“I just appreciate the help.”
“I’ll call you back.”
Juice ended the call, but his head was spinning. One of the first thoughts it landed on was a selfish one. That maybe since Marcus went after one of the deadliest agents in the world, possibly King would end Juice’s problem of not delivering the shipment for him. He still wouldn’t make the money he needed for Becca’s surgery, but at least he and what was left of his team wouldn’t have to be constantly looking over their shoulders. The second thought that came to him was, What in the hell was Marcus thinking going after someone like King? The entire world knew about his reputation. He was the last man you’d ever want to swing and miss. And what could he want with him anyway?’
The last thing that came to him once his mind stopped swirling was just how fortunate he’d been to take the one-time job the CIA had offered him last year. He almost hadn’t taken it. After talking to Kyle, it might end up being the best decision he’d ever made. But there was a lot to do yet. And he and his men were on the hook for some criminal activity now. All he could do was hope that the good they were about to attempt could somehow outweigh
the bad decisions he’d made for all of them.
23
Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean
“Xander.”
King thought he heard something, but his eyes wouldn’t open. It was as if they were glued shut.
Then he felt a push at his shoulder.
“Xander!” It was Sam. “The phone, grab it!”
Finally he pried his eyes open to Sam reaching across him. He stopped her and let out a breath.
“I-I got it.” He picked up the satellite phone’s receiver. “Man, I was really out there.”
“I thought you were dead,” Omari said, laughing.
“Hello?”
“X, it’s Kyle.”
“Hey man.” King was still trying to clear the cobwebs. “How’s the search coming?”
“You aren’t going to believe this.”
King’s stomach dropped. “Uh oh.”
“I’m assuming Sam is close?”
“Yeah. And Omari.”
“Put me on the intercom so they can hear this.”
“Aren’t you being a little dramatic?” King said.
“Trust me. Just do it.”
King took the receiver away from his ear and squinted at the phone. He found the intercom button and gave it a push. “Can you hear me?”
“Am I on speaker?” Kyle’s voice came through the speakers that dotted the footboards of the cabin.
“Loud and clear,” Sam said.
“I know it’s cliché, but are you all sitting down?”
“We’re on a plane Kyle,” King said. “It’s not like we’re having a dance off at forty thousand feet. It ain’t that kinda party.”
“Right. Anyway. Settle in, cause I’ve got one hell of a story.”
“Okay . . . hang on just a second.” Kyle was a bit of an exaggerator when it came to story time, but he hadn’t heard excitement in his friend’s voice like this in years. King was both nervous and excited. He could see the trepidation on Sam’s face as well. King grabbed the bottle of bourbon, topped off his glass and Omari’s, grabbed the gin and filled Sam’s glass, then they all three settled in. “All right. We’re ready. Hit us.”
Power Move (Alexander King Book 4) Page 9
