Phantom Pearl

by Monica McCabe

  They ignored the parking garage elevators, veered right toward a wide hallway, and kept a brisk pace past bathrooms, a lounging area, three reception rooms, a media room, and a couple of rushed-looking staffers who paid them no mind. At the end of the long hallway, they hit a left-right junction. The corner hosted an elevator station, and a telltale hum said the lift was in motion.

  Riki bit back a curse. Chances are it was Cho. He was more a grand entrance kind of guy, and she’d expected him to take the fancy stairs in the front, but they couldn’t risk it.

  A ding of arrival sent them darting through an alcove and into a classroom, where they flattened against the inside wall. The electronic glide of the elevator door sounded, and she counted to ten before peeking out to spy Ken Cho moving down the hallway they’d vacated.

  “Going up?” Riki whispered.

  “Race you to the service stairs,” he replied in kind.

  He was across the hall before she could blink. He glanced back at her as he held open the door in silent invitation.

  “Thanks,” she mumbled as she passed him and started to climb.

  “We’ll need to work on that response time of yours,” he said barely above a whisper as he followed her up. “Slow isn’t a desirable trait on a resume.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “That administrator look you have going on is intriguing though,” he continued. “Maybe even a little hot. How are you at filing reports and processing paperwork?”

  She snorted. “I’d rather die.”

  “That’s too bad. I know of a recovery specialist opportunity, but it requires red tape. Lots of it. Sounds like you wouldn’t be interested.”

  He couldn’t possibly be serious. “Does it pay well? Offer a good vacation package?”

  “I can ask.”

  They hit the top of the stairs, and Dallas peered through a little window in the door. He tapped his earpiece again. “We’re here,” he said quietly. “What have you got?”

  Would she be interested? Yes. But that wasn’t the issue. Long ago, she realized that she’d never find the person who killed her father, but hurting the organization responsible felt good. Was she done? No. She’d never be done making the Yakuza pay.

  She took a turn peering out the little window. The second floor had the look of a high-end hotel. Sconce lighting, patterned carpet, and half a dozen rooms. At the far end, a guard stood outside one of the doors. He paced back and forth, glanced at his watch, then paced some more.

  He looked bored. She was about to fix that problem for him.

  “Adam found a way to cut power to this floor,” Dallas said to her. “All I have to do is say the word.”

  She had an idea. “Save it for inside. I can take this guard.” She pulled the band from her ponytail and fluffed her hair, then tugged down the neckline of her blouse and adjusted the girls. “I’ll go out first. Give me a minute, then follow.”

  He stared at her newly exposed cleavage with a frown. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Taking my cue from Layla.”

  “Why?”

  “Seems to work for her. One minute is all I need. If I can get within arm’s reach, he’s toast.”

  He looked like he wanted to argue. She didn’t give him a chance. She took a deep breath and waltzed out the door.

  She gave her hips a slight sway, fiddled with the contents of the folder as she drew closer, then looked up with a smile of greeting as she approached.

  “Good evening.” She kept her tone business friendly. “I’m with the kitchen staff and came to talk about tomorrow’s menu.” She opened her folder and pulled out a random piece of paper. “We need to know if there are any food allergies. Don’t want to poison our guests.”

  She stepped close, as though to show him something on the page. When he leaned down to look, she went for the pressure point at the base of his throat. A total Spock move, pinching the nerve, one she’d only managed to successfully accomplish once before.

  Her fingers squeezed, and he dropped to the floor.

  Dallas yanked open the door and hurried down the hall as she retrieved the guard’s pistol from its holster. When she straightened and handed him the gun, he stared at her in disbelief.

  “Varma Adi,” she said with a shrug. “A martial art combat move. Pressure point attack. He’ll be out for fifteen minutes, give or take.”

  “You never cease to astound me.”

  “You can thank me later. Let’s drag him out of the way, shall we?”

  They pulled him over to lay under a window at the end of the hall before swiftly tucking him behind the drapes. The concealment might work for a first glance, maybe offer the advantage of a few extra seconds. Dallas made the call to action to the professor as Riki kicked the guard’s foot farther beneath the heavy damask curtain.

  Then she was back in front of Cho’s door, Dallas against the wall beside her, his newly acquired gun at the ready. He gave her a nod, and she donned her stolen glasses, straightened her shirt, and knocked.

  When a man answered, she flashed him a disarming smile. “Kitchen staff,” she said with a shoulder shrug that emphasized her newly lowered neckline.

  “What do you want?”

  “Can we talk about food allergies? Someone wrote down that Mr. Cho requested no onion in his meals due to a bad reaction. I mean, seriously?” She gave a little laugh, going for a running commentary as they waited for the professor to pull through. “That can’t possibly be right. Who doesn’t eat onion? How can you even cook without onion? I just knew I had to come up and check for myself.”

  “Where is Myan?” the man asked and started to step through the open door.

  Riki jammed her fist in his throat. When his eyes flew open wide and he gasped for breath, she followed through with a kick to his man parts that brought him to his knees. She finished the job with an elbow slam to his head that knocked him out cold.

  Officially, that was number nineteen. Not that she kept track or anything.

  “Remind me to stay on your good side,” Dallas whispered as he eased the door open to peer in. “Looks clear.”

  He stepped over the threshold, gun at the ready, and she followed. The suite was spacious and open, the foyer leading into an elegant living room complete with vaulted ceilings, plush furnishings, and a hint of Asian décor. At the far end of the room, recessed lighting softly lit an ebony dining table that stretched in front of a long bank of windows. A kitchen lay to the left of that, divided from the open room by a free-standing island.

  But not a soul stirred. Nor was there any obvious sign of Phantom Pearl.

  She turned her attention toward an extra-wide archway that led toward the sleeping quarters. Dallas was already moving that way so she joined him, each on a different side of the entrance. She peered around the corner to see a semi-circle foyer of sorts, with three closed doors. Riki guessed two bedrooms with a central bath.

  A muffled thump sounded to their right.

  She locked eyes with Dallas. They stood still and listened, but no other sound emerged. The room on the right had an exterior wall, probably a window, which meant an avenue of escape.

  Come on, Professor. Now would be a good time for that distraction.

  He must’ve heard her plea because suddenly the suite went dark. Dallas reacted instantly, delivering a hard kick beneath the door handle that splintered the portal. A second kick slammed the busted door wide open.

  They were greeted with the double snick of a silencer as two bullets ripped into the wall behind them, followed by the sound of breaking glass.

  The generators fired, and small red emergency lights beside the smoke alarms cast a dim eerie glow. Enough to see a man climbing out the window, and with him Kai’s custom case for Phantom Pearl.

  Despite the danger, she raced through the busted portal as the man
cleared the windowsill, seemingly oblivious to the jagged pieces of glass slicing his clothing and skin. When he turned and aimed his gun back inside the room, she dropped to the floor, Dallas right beside her.

  Two more bullets slammed the wall by the entry door.

  Dallas was the first up. “Take this.” He pressed the pistol into her hands then whipped the comforter off the bed, sloppily folded it in half twice, and used it to knock out several deadly shards of glass. He covered the windowsill and climbed out.

  Riki made to exit right behind him, but someone grabbed her by the waist. She was yanked backward and slammed into solid muscle. Her gun fell to the carpet on impact, and an arm squeezed her ribs with crushing strength. She reached up with both hands, grabbed fistfuls of hair, and smashed the guy’s face into the back of her head. She didn’t let go, just yanked harder.

  “Pukimak!” He snarled the Malaysian cuss word into her hair. Then a sharp sting bit her neck.

  She let go, one hand flying to the pinch and hit a syringe. The bastard had injected her. Adrenaline surged, and she struggled to free herself of his grip, but her spurt of defiance didn’t last long. An overwhelming liquid sensation began to melt the edges of her vision and turned her muscles into jelly.

  “Dallas!” she cried out weakly.

  Her legs collapsed beneath her, and the world went dark.

  Chapter 29

  Dallas heard Riki’s panicked cry and turned in time to see her drop limply to the floor. A goon stood over her, his sneering grin macabre in the glowing red light. Dallas charged for the window, but a sideways hit from a brick wall knocked the air from his lungs and dropped him to the wooden slats of the second-story party deck.

  The Yakuza soldier came down on top of him and followed through with his fist. Dallas blocked the punch with strength born of fury. He shoved the bastard off him and into a meditation pool full of koi fish, then launched to his feet, snatching up a splintered shard of glass for a weapon, not caring that it sliced his own skin.

  He never had a chance to use it. A second slam came from another waiting in the wings. Two against one. The hit wasn’t meant to knock him down. It was meant to inflict pain. Dallas twisted to deflect the blow, even managed to follow through with a shove that sent his attacker into a stumble. In a stroke of good luck, the momentum landed the guy head first against a huge stone planter overflowing with an arborvitae shrub. It knocked him out cold.

  One down.

  Dallas spun in search of the guy he’d sent to chat with the fishes. A soaking wet trail led from the pool toward the stairs leading down to the gardens. His target was nearly there, escaping with the Pearl. Dallas took off after him, snatched a patio chair, and threw it in a Hail Mary pass. It struck a direct hit against the guy’s legs. He fell and the Pearl’s case slid perilously close to the top step.

  He kept a grip on the gun, however, and aimed it at Dallas.

  “We warned you to go home, federal agent.”

  Advantage home team. Of course, they knew who he was. “And I told Cho to back off. Seems neither one of us listened.”

  “Now it’s too late,” the gunman replied as he climbed to his feet. “She will pay the price for her interference.”

  Not as long as he had breath in his body. “You’ve made a serious mistake, pal. I will take down every single one of you. Dead or alive, I don’t care.”

  “Your words mean nothing,” he said with a wave of his gun.

  Dallas had plenty more where those came from, and he needed to change the status quo. Fast.

  “You’re a schmuck.” Insults always helped in a situation like this. “So is your boss. Think I’ll add you both to the dead list.”

  His assailant smiled. “You can’t touch us. We’re on sacred political ground.”

  Like that would stop him. He couldn’t care less.

  “Sacred ground?” Dallas laughed. “You mean this isn’t the Holiday Inn?”

  “Your American government cannot help you now.” The guy shifted the Pearl’s case away from the step with his foot. “We have what we came for, and we have the girl. You lose.”

  Advantage Dallas in that he didn’t plan on agency help. They would only get in the way. He was going to kill the bastard all on his own.

  “Wouldn’t brag yet if I were you, Mr. Sissy Pants. You’re going to be easy to break.”

  The guy didn’t even blink, so he went for the jugular this time.

  “Yo mama is a gutter tramp, a two-bit, beer swilling whore who loves a hard f—”

  The lights kicked on.

  In that split second, Dallas struck with the velocity of a man who had everything to lose. Too late, the gunman realized his intent. He fired, but the shot went wild as Dallas crashed into him and sent them both tumbling into the deck railing. The wood cracked, but held. The gun thudded to the deck floor, and Dallas shoved the man near backward over the rail.

  “Where are they taking her?” he demanded.

  The guy pasted on an oily sneer. “Fuck off.”

  That dumbass answer only deserved one thing. Dallas slammed a tightly fisted upper cut to the bastard’s chin hard enough to crack bone. He went limp and fell to the deck.

  Dallas snatched up the gun and the Pearl, then raced back to the window, his heart pounding in fear for Riki. He’d almost made it when a snarling roar said the first goon had recovered and was in full charge.

  To hell with diplomatic bullshit. Dallas popped two rounds and down the scum went without a sound. No scream of agony. It was almost disappointing.

  Dallas stuffed the gun into his waistband, tossed the Pearl into a thick cluster of flower planters, and shoved a chair under the window. He launched himself inside.

  The bedroom was silent and empty.

  “Landry!”

  He jerked, then realized it was his forgotten earpiece.

  He activated the voice control. “They have her, Adam. The monitors… Do you see them?”

  A metallic glint on the floor by the bedroom door caught his eye. Riki’s cell phone. As he bent over to grab it, the hum of voices from the front hall sounded an alarm. No exit that way. He shoved the phone in his pocket and made a beeline back out the window, taking a slice to his arm in the process. He ignored it.

  “I see her,” Adam said. “Wait a minute. They’re in the parking garage.” Dallas heard rustling and scraping. “I can see them out the back window of the van. They exited the freight elevator.”

  “I’m coming,” he shouted.

  He retrieved the Pearl and flew down stairs to the gardens. He ran flat out down the long length of the building, rounded the side, and continued his push for speed. Adrenaline pumped in his veins, his breath coming heavy by the time he reached the paved roadway that looped into the garage main entrance.

  He tapped his earpiece. “Where are they?” he panted.

  “Toward the back. They entered a door by one of the exhaust fans.”

  Dallas ran, ignoring the dry rasp of his lungs as he pounded across the concrete. He saw the first fan, but there was no door and kept running.

  “Over here!” the professor shouted. He’d left the van and raced down the sidewalk, pointing to a metal door.

  “Take this,” Dallas said as he shoved the Pearl at him. Then he leaned over, hands on his knees, inhaling giant gulps of air to force oxygen into his bloodstream. “It’s what they’re after…hide it. Keep safe.”

  He straightened, charged for the door, and flung it open. “It’s a landing,” he said. “Stairs. Where’s it go?”

  “No idea,” Adam replied. “The bugger isn’t on the site map.”

  Dallas sprung the clip on the pistol. Five shots left. Son of a bitch. “I’m going for it. Keep watching. They can’t have her.”

  With that, he started down and down and down. He’d only seen one staircase this long, and that was in
the airport that bears his name. He’d always believed Dallas International had the steepest, longest stairs on the planet. He’d been wrong.

  It grew steadily darker the deeper he went. By the time he hit the bottom, he realized exactly where he was. A subway tunnel. The MRT had been expanding for the last several years, connecting the east-west line to downtown Singapore and on to the airport. What he hadn’t known was the embassy had access to the underground. How many of the consulates enjoyed that privilege?

  “Adam, can you hear me?”

  Silence. The signal was lost among all the concrete and steel. He was on his own.

  To the left lay darkness. The right had intermittent work lights reflecting concentric rings off the concrete. Way down the tube he saw them, two men carrying a limp Riki between them as they ran along the tracks.

  White-hot fury seared his blood. He leaped from the platform and tore after them.

  His pounding footsteps echoed in the semi-darkness of the tunnel. There was no place to hide on the long straight stretch, no way to dodge a bullet should one fly his way. He didn’t care. They were too far ahead of him, and when they disappeared around a curve, panic surged at the thought of losing her.

  He had to reach her, refused to let Cho get away with harming someone as extraordinary as Riki. He didn’t care what price he had to pay to save her. He was the one who caught Riki Maddox. He’d studied her movements, her processes, her past. He knew her better than anyone else. And she was his. He’d be damned before he lost her again. Not to Ken Cho. Not to Kai Menita. Not to Homeland Security. Not when he had just realized he loved her.

  He rounded the bend in the tunnel and slowed. Nothing but a dimly lit, long, straight stretch lay before him. Speed was impossible for two men carrying an unconscious woman. No way they could’ve made it down the length before he caught up with them. He stopped and listened.

  A clang sounded above him, and he spun in place, looking for a source. A door cut into the concrete sidewall stood slightly ajar. He jumped the curb and pushed it open. It was an emergency escape shaft. Shuffling footsteps and a muffled curse carried down from above.