The air tasted stale, smelled of coal dust and mold. The slow ping of water dripping on a metal surface whispered in the dark.
Aran issued orders in a quiet voice, took one of the flashlights, and strode toward John. “They’ll take Gan to an interrogation room. We’ll follow shortly.” Their captive was led through the door; light from the hallway beyond flared into the warehouse, waned as the door crawled shut.
This place creeps me out, but Aran looks like he’s coming home. And he knows a place to dump bodies, for Christ’s sake. This is a scary guy.
Aran said, “I need a few moments alone with Gan before you join us. He’s almost certainly thinking he’s going to be tortured and killed. I need to shift his focus to helping us.”
“How will you do that?”
“He’s not a principled man. I’ll explain that he’ll continue to work for the NIA, but as my agent. He’ll be paid well, and he’ll be permitted to leave unharmed.”
John said, “I’m missing something. Why wouldn’t he just agree to anything to get out of here?”
“Gan’s been dirty for years. Much of that time he’s worked for organized crime. If he won’t agree to work for me, I’ll get word to his syndicate bosses that he can’t be trusted. He’ll do anything to avoid that.”
He passed the flashlight to John. “I won’t be gone long. I’ll leave a couple men here.”
John spent the time matching his heart rate to the slow drips from the distant water, preparing for the interrogation.
Dystopian yoga.
Ten minutes later Aran’s head poked around the door. “This way.” He led John down a long hallway. The walls and closed doors were covered in peeling avocado paint. The shiny concrete floor reflected light from weak bulbs mounted in yellowed fixtures on the high ceiling.
“And?” John asked.
“I now have an agent who works for the NIA.”
“Who do you work for, Aran?”
The slender agent turned and placed a hand on John’s shoulder. “Now I work for you, my friend. I owe you.”
Aran turned and continued walking. He stopped before a scarred door near the end of the hall. The handle and lock were polished chrome, new. He pulled the latch down and pushed, nodding for John to precede him.
John grinned in surprise. They’d entered a small corporate oasis in the run-down building. A walnut table for twenty sat on a royal blue carpet, and tourist scenes of Thailand decorated the walls. Small microphones hung a foot from the ceiling tiles above the center of the table with a recording system at the far end of the room.
Gan sat opposite the door. The sleeves on his bloodstained shirt were rolled up, his right wrist bound in gauze spotted with blood. A bandage covered his neck under his chin, and his face looked like it had been scrubbed. The freckles were still there.
Gan stared at John, eyes dropping to his cane. There was no hint of defiance in his body language. He stood and wai’d the three of them, fingers steepled just below his nose. Aran returned the bow, his clasped hands stopping chest high.
Pretty clear who has the power.
John hesitated for a few seconds before following Aran’s lead. Everyone sat.
Gan said, “I won’t apologize for my earlier intentions. However, the situation has changed. I will assist you where I can.”
Incandescent anger washed over John.
Yeah, why apologize for helping steal children?
He withdrew the knife from his cane and laid it on the table, the blade glittering under the overhead spots. “I’m not bound by your deal with Aran. I’ll carve slices off your rotten carcass if I even suspect you’re lying. My English clear enough?”
Gan’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he nodded.
“Was the Scorpion story a lie?” John asked.
Gan slowly released a deep breath. “Not entirely. Scorpion had been given a premium price for Thai kids six or seven years old. They shipped their quota two days ago.”
“What for? Why were they bought?”
“I don’t know.”
John lifted the blade, gazing at the reflections dancing on its scalpel-like edge. “Why so young?”
Gan shrugged. “That’s not unusual. Lots of people like them young.”
John lifted his gaze from the blade to Gan’s blinking eyes, “Do you have an informant inside Scorpion?”
Gan hesitated. “Yes.”
“You get payoffs from any other gangs?”
Gan didn’t answer.
John shoved his chair back and turned toward Aran, his voice hoarse, “Let’s move to a room where I can be persuasive without messing up your carpet. I don’t give a damn what you do with him after I’m done.”
Aran arched an eyebrow and looked across the table. “Well, Captain? Is this what you wish? Tortured until you tell us everything? Surely you care about your wife and son, even if your own life isn’t important to you. You have one last chance. One only.”
Gan’s right eye twitched. “Scorpion is the only one that pays me. Several NIA agents receive payments from other gangs.” He spat out a half-dozen names.
John asked, “Who’s buying the kids?”
“All I know is that Scorpion’s connection was based in Zurich. They’ve had two contacts. The first was named Franklin. The one they use now is called Theodore.”
“Why two?”
“Franklin told Scorpion the Zurich operator was a broker for the Chinese. It was their last communication from him.”
“Names in Zurich?”
“None, other than Franklin and Theodore.”
“Who told you we were in Bangkok?”
“Ambassador Hogan in Hanoi. He gave me your travel plans and paid me ten thousand dollars to have you intercepted.”
“You mean killed. Was Hogan doing this for the Chinese?”
“He said nothing about the Chinese. Even if he did, I wouldn’t tell you. They scare me more than you.”
They prodded him for another half hour but learned nothing else.
* * *
Aran had remained behind while one of his crew drove John to Bangkok. He slept during the forty-five minute ride. The night sky was fading to indigo when he arrived at the familiar, comforting security station. An attaché took him to Ambassador Strong, who was waiting in the main conference room.
“Aran briefed me while you were in transit. You stabbed one guy and killed another, John? How very 007. I’m just glad you didn’t get killed, or Marva would haunt me for the rest of my life. She’s standing by for a call.”
She punched a number into the secure video link. The monitor brightened to reveal Marva, Stony, and Akina. Marva’s eyes appeared puffy, underlined by charcoal smudges.
John said, “You don’t look so great, Director, unless those marks under your eyes are badly applied makeup.”
“Wise ass. This entire town is in chaos about the Enterprise. I’ve been helping other agencies manage the crisis.”
“The carrier? What about it? I haven’t been anywhere near a TV the last day or so.”
“Reactor breach and massive radiation leak. The ship’s been abandoned. Multiple dead. However, that doesn’t have anything to do with this call. Fill me in.”
Their report and answering a barrage of questions took an hour.
“We’ve covered a lot of ground,” John said, “but it seems to me there are two things we got from tonight’s drama. We’ve pretty much confirmed that a global trafficking operation is being run out of Zurich for the Chinese. And whatever they’re up to, it uses kids who have three or fours years to go before Transition.”
Marva nodded and rubbed her eyes. “All of which means a big program with a long-range view. That scares the hell out of me.”
“It’s time to see what we can learn on the ground in Zurich,” John said.
Stony and Akina shared a frown. “I need a couple days, John. I’ve tripped over something I want to check.”
“What?” John asked.
“Not yet. Give me
a little time.”
“Time is in short supply, like facts on this damn case.” He paused. “It’s late Wednesday. I’ll give you the day tomorrow. Fly out tomorrow night and meet me Friday morning in Zurich.”
Washington, D.C
The United States
Marva Bentley glared at Stony. The secure video call with Bangkok had just ended. “Why did you tell John you needed more time before you meet him in Zurich? What did you uncover?”
“Just being thorough. I got a tip yesterday I haven’t had time to check.”
“Bullshit.” Marva scowled. “Why wouldn’t you tell John? Or me?”
“Uh uh. I gave my word to keep it confidential.”
Marva shifted her gaze to Akina. “You know about this?”
Stony jumped in before Akina could respond. “No, she doesn’t.”
“Go on, get out of here.” The Director’s face was taut with growing anger. Stony and Akina rose and scrambled out the door.
Akina said, “Long damn day. Want to go get a drink? You can tell me what’s going on.”
Stony didn’t respond.
“You aren’t going to tell me, are you?”
“No. Remember when we set some ground rules? We agreed that if there was something I didn’t want the director to hear, I wouldn’t discuss it with you.”
“Yeah.”
“This is one of those. You need to trust me.”
“I do trust you. How about the drink?”
They caught a cab to the Whiskey Beer Tavern and spent the ride talking about the horrors reported about the Enterprise. Latest news reports said two hundred men were dead or dying from the explosion and radiation poisoning. The D.C. rumor mill claimed the death toll was much higher.
Whiskey’s was on the border of the trendy Adams Morgan section of D.C., sandwiched between Tangles Hair Salon and The Kwik Pick in a residential neighborhood. The dive was popular with locals and college kids.
Stony and Akina settled into one of the ten booths that lined the left side of the place, all dark-red leather and tattooed oak tables. The bar ran opposite the booths, across a ten-foot aisle of scarred pine flooring. Bathrooms and a small kitchen were located in the back. No flat panel TVs screaming sports. No politicians. The air was scented with a pleasant blend of fried food and spilled beer, the lighting one notch below dim.
Four patrons were scattered along the length of the bar. Stony and Akina were the only ones sitting in a booth. Rick, the carrot-topped, 23-year-old Georgetown law dropout and proud owner of the bar, strode to their table.
“Hello, strangers. St. Pauli and a shot?” he asked, looking at Stony. She nodded.
“And you.” He smiled at Akina and shook his head, “I never know.”
“Floated B&B,” Akina said.
“You got it.”
Akina updated Stony on the latest task force research into kidnapping patterns, pausing when Rick returned with their drinks. Unfortunately, the team hadn’t been able to extract anything unusual from the limited available data.
“Shall we eat at chez Whiskey’s?” Stony asked. Akina nodded and they ordered dinner, sticking with the basics. Rick’s kitchen didn’t match his bar. Anything more adventuresome than a burger or club sandwich would push the limits.
The evening slid by with easy comfort.
At a quarter to midnight, Stony gazed at Akina and asked, “Been a while. How about a sleep over?”
“I’d love that. Your place? Your bed’s bigger.” They were an exuberant couple in bed; Akina’s athletic, six-foot frame demanded space.
An hour later they lay facing each other on Stony’s bed, breathing deeply, skin glistening. Akina’s arms and legs held Stony in a fierce embrace.
Sweet. I can’t tell where my skin ends and Akina’s begins.
She turned her head to the side and kissed the hollow at the base of Akina’s neck, tasting salt and spice, inhaling her musk.
“Is there anything better than making love?” Akina asked in a husky voice.
“Making love with a partner who knows what she’s doing,” Stony murmured.
Stony lay quietly for several minutes, then extracted herself and padded to the thermostat outside the bedroom door. She pushed the setting down into the sixties. “Warm in here.” She returned to the bed and stretched out beside Akina, close but not touching.
“Warm is good.” Akina rolled to her side, facing Stony. Her mahogany fingers traced the three tiny blue stars tattooed on Stony’s creamy skin above her French wax landing strip. “I like the new ink. Why stars?”
“Mostly because I thought they’d be pretty. And because I think a woman’s sex has a celestial connection. A center of the universe kind of thing.”
“Really?” Akina’s hand dropped lower, probing. “This is the center of the universe?”
Stony laughed and squirmed. “Yeah, and it’s still sensitive.”
Akina’s hand returned to the stars. “Have many others visited the center of the universe?”
Stony chuckled. “No. But I know a few who’d benefit from some celestial centering.”
“Think John would freak if he knew about us?”
“Nah. John’s a ‘live and let live’ kind of guy. Not that I plan to discuss that with him.”
“That would be an interesting conversation,” Akina said.
Stony turned to face Akina. “Do my sexual appetites bother you?”
“No, silly girl. I sometimes wonder what it would be like to be monogamous. But I can’t even decide between chocolate and vanilla ice cream.”
“One of these days I’ll be happy with one flavor,” Stony said. “But not yet.”
Akina’s voice softened, slowed. “Mmmm hmmm. And you are a particularly tasty vanilla.” She caressed Stony’s face, kissed her softly on the lips, bent and kissed the stars. They made love again, unhurried, savoring pleasures offered and embraced.
Afterward, Stony spooned along the curve of Akina’s muscled body, and they talked softly about the inconsequential details of work and relationships. Their conversation drifted away as Akina’s breathing deepened. Stony crawled to the edge of the bed, reached down and grabbed a sheet, and covered them.
Her mind wandered to the encounter she’d had earlier in the day. She’d been approaching the door of the DTS building from her daily lunch trip when a vaguely familiar gray-haired man wearing a trim charcoal suit held the door open for her.
“Thanks,” she said, and started to slide past him.
“Stony, I’m Leo Burns. We need to talk, but not here.”
She paused, startled, trying to place the name.
John introduced us a couple of years ago.
“What’s on your mind, Leo?” She’d heard scuttlebutt he was a good agent, but maybe a bit too much into conspiracies.
Burns glanced around. “Keep this natural, like we’re saying hello. I have information John needs. Meet me tomorrow morning at the west face of the Washington Monument. Ten a.m.”
What the fuck?
“You gotta give me more than that, Leo.”
He must have expected her response.
“There’s a program inside DTS that affects your investigation.”
What did Henry Kissinger say? Even a paranoid can have enemies. John will kick me if I didn’t check this out.
“Okay,” she said. “At ten.”
“Whatever you do, don’t tell anyone—the director, anyone—that I contacted you.”
The door banged into her arm when Burns let it go. He scurried away from the building without looking back. She returned to her daily meetings, deciding to keep the encounter to herself until she learned more.
Stony drifted into a troubled sleep, dreams of pursuit and death waiting for her in Zurich.
She woke to Akina’s kiss. “Mfmph. What time is it? You going already?”
Akina said, “Not so early—seven thirty. I need at least an hour and a half to run by my place, clean up, and get to work.”
“You
could wear the same clothes. I own an iron. Or I think I do—haven’t seen it in a while.” She smiled, knowing Akina would never repeat clothes two days in a row.
“Right, like that’s gonna happen. See you in the office. The stuff from the Swiss government should be waiting.”
“My turn to get the donuts,” Stony said. “Let’s get together at nine and review what we have. I need to run out about 9:30 for a meeting, but that should give us time to check whatever they sent.”
“Works for me. Bye.”
Stony got to her office a few minutes after nine. Akina was waiting at the small table, wearing a navy blue suit, her hair and makeup perfect. “Nothing yet from our alpine friends.”
Stony placed a box of donuts and two coffees on the table and pushed the door closed. “How the hell do you do that?”
“What?”
“Look like you just left a spa after a good night’s sleep. I feel like I’ve been ridden hard and put away muddy.”
“My superior African heritage. You need to be fast and have lots of endurance to survive on the savannah. You pasty northern European types are at a natural disadvantage.”
Stony sat, laughing, and they tackled the donuts and coffee. “I’m going to miss these after I leave.”
“The Swiss are very modern. I expect they have donuts.”
“John will never eat anywhere that serves something as unhealthy as a donut. On the other hand, he has a soft spot for Swiss chocolate, so all’s not lost.”
Stony glanced at her watch. Nine twenty. “Gotta go. I’ll be back for lunch.”
“Catch you then, “ Akina said. “You can tell me what this is about.”
“I hope so.” Stony snatched a donut for the road and scooted out the door.
Stony had the cabbie let her out a block from the Monument. She trekked the short distance, scanning for Burns and anyone who might be watching him.
The west side of the obelisk faced the World War II Memorial and, beyond, at the far end of the Mall, the Lincoln Memorial. A penetrating winter wind lashed the fifty flags that circled the structure; the sun offered more glare than warmth. Stony shivered and pulled her nylon jacket around her.
She spotted Burns when she was about thirty feet away. There were no obvious watchers. He was huddled against the base of the Monument, his back turned to her and the wind. She’d noticed the day before that his suit appeared tailored. Now he wore jogging shoes, a beat-up khaki raincoat, and a brown knit cap pulled low over his head. She would have walked past him if she hadn’t been searching. She strolled up behind him, tapped his shoulder, and enjoyed watching him jump.
The Scarlet Crane: Transition Magic Book One (The Transition Magic Series 1) Page 13
