The First Rule jp-2

by Robert Crais

  She said, “Is behind the hotel. Where they keep the big boats.”

  Stone cruised through the hotel’s parking lot until they found a view of the yachts. Rina searched the rows of yachts, and finally pointed.

  “That one. The blue. You see it there, on the end? The dark blue.”

  Stone scowled when he saw the boat.

  “Piece of shit scumbag motherfucker, living in a boat like that. I’d sink that bitch right there. Put it right on the bottom.”

  Pike made the boat for an eighty-footer, a fiberglass-and-steel diesel cruiser with a dark blue hull and cream decks. Boats were slipped by size, so this one was berthed with the other long yachts, near the end of the wharf with its bow to the channel. Pike didn’t see anyone on Jakovich’s boat, but he counted seven people moving on the boats nearby. Witnesses were good.

  “Take us back to the gate, Jon.”

  When they reached the gate, Pike gave Rina her phone. He had already told her what to say and how to say it.

  “Remember-you’re alive as long as you help me.”

  Rina made the call.

  “Is me. I have to speak with him.”

  They waited almost three minutes, and then she nodded. The old man had taken the phone.

  “No, we did not get him. No, not Michael, either. Pike got the boy. Yes, he has the boy now, but Michael escape. You must listen-”

  Pike could hear a male voice on the other side of her conversation. She talked over him to keep going.

  “We are here at the gate, Milos. He is here. Pike.”

  She glanced at Pike.

  “He is sitting here with me. He want to see you.”

  She glanced away.

  “I cannot. If I say Serbian, he will kill me.”

  Another glance.

  “Yanni is dead.”

  Pike took the phone.

  “I shot him. I will do the same thing to Michael Darko, but I need your help to do it.”

  The phone was silent for several seconds, but then the male voice spoke.

  “Go to the gate. We will buzz you in.”

  As Pike got out, Stone said, “Sink that bitch. Put it on the bottom.”

  Jon was like that.

  Pike was at the gate less than thirty seconds when he heard the lock open. He let himself through, walked down a long ramp to the wharf, then followed the wharf past the row of yachts. The sky was beginning to color, but the afternoon was still bright, and people were out.

  Two large men were waiting, one on a lower fantail deck that jutted from the stern, and one a short flight of steps above on an upper deck. They wore Tommy Bahama shirts and carried a lot of fat, but they looked hard, with brooding faces and dark eyes. Pike decided he would be safe as long as he stayed on deck, and in the open. No one would pull a trigger with so many people nearby, and Pike didn’t think either or both men could beat him with their hands.

  A balding man who appeared to be in his seventies was seated at a small round table on the upper deck. He had been a big man once, but his skin was beginning to hang like loose fabric. When Pike stopped at the stern, he motioned Pike aboard.

  “Come on. Let’s see what you have to say.”

  “His accent wasn’t pronounced. Probably because he had been here longer.

  Pike went aboard. The big man on the lower deck moved to search him, but Pike pushed his hand away.

  “I’m not here to shoot. If I wanted to shoot, we wouldn’t have warned you.”

  The big man glanced up, and the older man waved again.

  “Come on. It’s fine.”

  Pike climbed to the upper deck, but did not join Milos Jakovich at the table, and wasn’t invited. A salon behind the old man was visible through sliding glass doors. A young woman was inside watching television. Naked.

  Jakovich said, “Okay. So here we are. What is this business with Michael Darko, and why would I help you?”

  Pike said, “Three thousand Kalashnikovs.”

  Jakovich tapped the table. His finger was the only part of him that moved. Tap tap tap. He shook his head.

  “I don’t know what you are talking about, these guns. Is this a joke?”

  He was concerned that Pike was wired. Pike raised his hands to the side, holding them out.

  “We have to speak plainly. Have your boy search me.”

  Jakovich considered it for several seconds, then came around the table and stood very close. He searched Pike himself.

  Pike said, “One on my right hip, and another on my left ankle. You can touch them, but if you try to pull either one, I’ll kill you with it.”

  Jakovich leaned even closer. He smelled of cigars.

  “You got some balls, saying that on my boat.”

  Staying close, Jakovich moved his hands over and under Pike’s clothes. He felt under Pike’s arms, down the trough of Pike’s spine, and into Pike’s pants. His search was thorough. He felt Pike’s genitals, and Pike didn’t react. He worked his way down Pike’s legs, inspected Pike’s shoes, then returned to the table.

  He said, “Okay, we will speak plainly.”

  “Do you know why I’m going to kill Michael Darko?”

  “Your friend.”

  “Yes. My friend and I were military contractors. Do you understand? Professional soldiers.”

  “I know this. The girl, she tells me.”

  “Did my friend help you buy the guns?”

  The question Pike had been waiting to ask.

  “I knew nothing about this man. Rina’s sister, she worked for him. That is what I knew.”

  “Was he helping you sell them?”

  “No. I just tell you, no. I didn’t know anything about these people. Not even their names.”

  Pike did not show his relief. Frank was clear. Always had been, and would be.

  “I didn’t think so. If he was helping you, you would have had a buyer.”

  Jakovich tried to act offended.

  “I have many buyers.”

  “If you had a buyer, the guns would be gone, and Darko would have no play to jam you. You need a buyer, but you don’t know anything about the arms market. I want to buy them, and I can eliminate Darko. I can kill him for you, or I can give him to you, let you make an example of him, whatever you like.”

  Milos Jakovich cleared his throat. He rubbed at his eye, then cleared his throat again.

  “This isn’t what I expected.”

  “No. I probably know more about the guns than you. They were stolen by Indonesian pirates from a container ship bound for Pyongyang from Kowloon. They’re new, fully automatic weapons, still in their wrappers, but they won’t be easy to sell because of how they came to the market.”

  Jakovich looked irritated.

  “How do you know these things?”

  “You’re an amateur at this. I’m a professional. The North Koreans still want the guns, but won’t pay for them-they would consider that a ransom. The Chinese want them back, but they’re going to kill the people who stole them, and they’ve let out word that they will view anyone who buys them as an accomplice to the crime. You don’t want the Chinese coming here to the marina.”

  Jakovich pooched out his lips, probably imagining a Chinese invasion.

  Pike said, “I want to buy them. If you agree, I’ll throw in Darko and your grandson as an incentive.”

  “What kind of money are we talking about?”

  “Three thousand rifles, five hundred per, that’s one-point-five million, but only if they’re fully automatic and free of rust and corrosion. I will check each weapon-not three or four, but all three thousand. If they’re missing bolts or receivers, I’ll still buy them, but at a reduced price.”

  Pike never once looked away, and made his offer as businesslike as he could.

  “That isn’t enough.”

  “It’s more than you’ll get. And with me, you’ll get Darko.”

  Jakovich wet his lips again, and Pike could see he was thinking. He was convinced Pike knew what he was talking
about, but afraid. Pike’s offer had surprised him, but he was desperate enough to consider it.

  “You have the cash?”

  “I can have it by this time tomorrow. I will show you half the money up front. You’ll get the other half at the time I take delivery.”

  Jakovich crossed his arms, resisting, but trying to talk himself into it.

  “And how will you give me Michael?”

  “He wants the rifles, too. If you make a deal with me, I’ll bring Darko when I pick up the guns. I will need one of the rifles to convince him, but I won’t tell him your people are waiting. Then he’s yours, and your problems are over.”

  Jakovich slowly decided.

  “Give me your phone number. I will let you know sometime tomorrow.”

  “Don’t wait too late in the day. I can only get the cash during business hours.”

  Pike left his cell number, then walked off the boat without looking back. He let himself through the gate and climbed back into the Rover.

  Stone looked disappointed.

  “I didn’t hear anything blow up.”

  Pike made no comment for a moment, still thinking about Jakovich and how his plan was developing. One of the first rules of combat was that all battle plans change, and the winner was usually the guy who forced the changes.

  Pike said, “Can you put your hands on a Chinese AK? New, still in the wraps?”

  “Like the ones we’re talking about? Sure. Plenty of AKs around.”

  “Has to be Chinese. Not a sporterized gun. A battle rifle.”

  Stone shrugged.

  “I know a guy who knows a guy.”

  “Call him. Let’s go see Grebner.”

  Stone made the call while he drove.

  40

  There was only one guard this time, a short, muscular man who answered Grebner’s door with a scowl, and never had time to speak. Pike shut off his air, disarmed him, and marched him through the house. Emile Grebner was on the toilet when Pike found him. Pike made the guard lie on his belly, and told Grebner to stay on the can. It was hard to move quickly with your pants around your ankles.

  Pike said, “Call Darko. I have the boy now, and that changes things.”

  “How you mean changes?”

  “I can get Milos Jakovich, and that means I can get his rifles. I will sell Jakovich to Darko for one third of the guns-two thousand rifles for him, one thousand for me.”

  “You will sell him? What are you talking about?”

  “It means if Darko and I can put our disagreement behind us, Darko can get rid of his competition. I wrote my phone number on the floor in your living room. Tell Darko to call.”

  “These rifles, you have them?”

  “Tell Darko to call. If he doesn’t call, Jakovich will sell them to someone else, and he can kiss his Armenian deal good-bye.”

  Pike walked out of the house, and filled Stone in as they headed for Cole’s. The Jeep and Cole’s Corvette were side-by-side in the carport. They parked across the drive, blocking both cars, and Pike let them in through the kitchen. Stone hung on to Rina like she might try to run.

  Cole had the boy in his arms, watching the Lakers. Cole was set up nicely by the time they arrived. Food for the boy. Pampers and lotions, and a baby-sized spoon set. Pike saw the stuff in the kitchen as they entered.

  Cole stood as they entered and arched his eyebrows because he expected to see four people, and Yanni was missing.

  “I shot him.”

  Rina said, “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  “Jon.”

  Stone took her to the bathroom. He went in with her, and left the door open. She didn’t complain.

  Cole came over with the boy. The little kid swiveled the big head around, saw Pike, and smiled. He flapped his hands. Excited.

  Cole said, “He wants you.”

  Pike took the boy, and propped him on his chest.

  Cole lowered his voice so Rina wouldn’t hear.

  “What happened?”

  Pike explained what he now believed to be the truth, and described the play he was making on Jakovich and Darko.

  “I’ll have to call Walsh. They’ll find Yanni’s car up in Lake View, so they’ll know he was at the scene. When the IDs come back on the stiffs at the scrap yard, and everyone shows a gang-set connection, the police will be all over it. I’m going to need her cover, and her cooperation pulling this off.”

  “I don’t think she signed on for a war.”

  “She signed on for three thousand combat rigs. She’s going to get them, and she’ll get the man who killed her agent.”

  Pike jiggled the boy. The boy laughed, then pulled off Pike’s sunglasses. The last person who took Pike’s shades bought a three-week stay in the hospital. The boy waved them like a rattle.

  Cole said, “What about the baby?”

  Pike jiggled the kid again, and let the little guy punch him. Pike was fascinated by his eyes. He wondered what the boy saw, and why he took such delight in those things.

  “He needs someone who’ll take care of him.”

  “And that’s you?”

  “Not me, but someone. Everyone needs someone.”

  “Even you?”

  Pike studied his friend for a moment, then gently took back his glasses. He didn’t put them on. The boy seemed to like him without them.

  They handcuffed Rina to the bed in Cole’s guest room, then made a makeshift bassinet in the living room. The boy didn’t like the food Cole bought, so they made scrambled eggs. He liked the eggs fine.

  Pike phoned Kelly Walsh at ten minutes after nine that night, but kept it vague. He told her he might soon know where the guns were located, and promised to call her tomorrow. His true purpose was to make sure he could reach her in case he heard back from Jakovich or Darko. If either of them went for it, he would have to move quickly, and he would need Walsh to move quickly, too.

  Later, Cole went for a run, so Pike and Stone stayed with the boy. The kid crawled around on the floor, but grew tired quickly, and seemed cranky unless Pike held him. Pike held him, and after a few minutes the boy fell asleep. Pike kept his cell phone handy, but nobody called.

  Stone got shitfaced and passed out on the floor, so Pike woke him and told him to sleep in the car. Pike didn’t want the snoring to disturb the boy.

  Groggy, Stone said, “I gotta go see that guy.”

  Cole returned an hour later, and volunteered to watch the boy if Pike wanted to run, but the boy was still sleeping on Pike’s shoulder, and Pike didn’t want to disturb him.

  Cole shut the lights and went up to his loft for a shower. A few minutes later, Pike heard Cole climb into bed, and the last light went off. That was it for the day. Pike listened to the house settle, and still didn’t move.

  Sometime after two that morning, a thin layer of clouds masked the full moon, filling the room with blue light. Pike had been holding the boy for almost three hours, neither of them moving. Then the boy squirmed, and Pike thought he might be dreaming. He mewled like a cat, then kicked as if he were about to start bawling.

  Pike said, “I got you, bud.”

  The boy woke, arched his back, and saw Pike watching. He stared into Pike’s eyes as if he had never seen eyes before, looking from one eye to the other, as if each view was different and fascinating.

  Pike said, “Better?”

  The boy lowered his head, and after a while he snored.

  Pike never moved.

  The little body was solid and warm. Pike felt the boy’s heartbeat, delicate and fast, and his chest move as he breathed. It felt good, holding a tiny living person.

  Pike watched the night shadows play in the canyon.

  The boy shifted again, and sighed, and once more opened his eyes.

  Pike whispered, “Hey.”

  The boy smiled. He kicked his legs and pumped his arms with excitement.

  Pike said, “That’s right.”

  The boy reached a hand toward Pike, his fingers spread.

 
Pike touched the center of the little hand with his index finger. The boy’s hand closed on his fingertip.

  Pike wiggled his finger, just a little, and the boy, still hanging on, gurgled with a sloppy smile as if Pike’s finger was a wonderful toy.

  Pike wiggled his finger again, and the kid gurgled again, and Pike realized the little guy was laughing. Holding tight, and laughing.

  Pike whispered again.

  “You’re safe, boy. I won’t let them hurt you.”

  The feet kicked, and Pike sat, and held the little man for the rest of the night until a golden light brightened the world.

  41

  Later that morning, just after full-up sun, Jon Stone crept into the house. He made a thumbs-up, indicating he had the rifle. Pike eased the baby onto the makeshift bed, and followed Stone out. The baby never stirred.

  Outside, Stone led him behind the Rover.

  “The real deal, brother. Chinese, not Russian. Fresh from the oven.”

  When Stone opened the rear door, Pike saw a long, narrow cardboard box printed with Chinese characters. Stone opened it. The rifle was wrapped in a greasy plastic wrapper. Stone slid the rifle from its wrapper, and placed it on the box.

  “Never been fired. The factory preservative is still on it.”

  The rifle was mottled with a synthetic preservative that smelled like overripe peaches. The stock and pistol grip were made of a bright orange wood that was slick with the preservative. The Russians had gone to polymer stocks, but the Chinese still went with the wood. Pike opened the bolt to inspect the receiver and breech. They were flawless.

  Stone said, “See? Not even a nick, bro. Mint condition.”

  Pike worked the bolt several times. It was sticky. You had to put a thousand rounds through these things before they loosened up, but they were damn near indestructible. He slipped the rifle back into its wrapper, and returned it to the box. A 30-round magazine in its own plastic bag was included.