The Joe Brennan Spy Thrillers

by Sam Powers

  ‘Which would be?’

  ‘Watch the birdie.’ Ady pushed a button and a sequence of photos played out in a rapid-fire slideshow. A blurry Ben Levitt crossed the street and got into a nineties-model Jeep Cherokee. Ady stopped the slideshow on the final panel, then zoomed in on the license plate. ‘Stolen off Hollywood Boulevard two days ago.’

  ‘Maybe he knows his Paul Joseph credit cards are compromised,’ Drabek said. ‘Vic, you know how many cheap motels there are within two miles of that store?’

  ‘A whole shitload,’ Ady said.

  ‘Eloquently put as always. Exactly. A whole shitload.’

  Ady looked back at him again. ‘You know I have to send this up to Cummins in Homicide, right Normie?’

  Drabek clapped a hand on his shoulder. ‘Just don’t mention that I saw this already, okay? The speed Terry moves at, I might have a chance to sweep those dives and find this guy before he complains to the captain.’

  Ady swivelled in his computer chair. ‘Why’re you so hot on this guy anyway? He stopped being your problem as soon as he iced somebody.’

  ‘Yeahhh.... it’s complicated. There’s this young lady...’

  ‘Ohhh...’

  ‘No, it’s not like that. Really. She’s younger than...’ He’d been about to say Nicole. It had been four years since his daughter’s heroin overdose but he still thought of her in the present, as if he might wake up one morning and find it had all just been a horrible dream. ‘She’s thirty, tops. Her man went missing, she’s freaked out, and she had a hard life.’

  ‘Ah. That makes more sense. Norm Drabek, detective with a soft spot the length of the San Andreas fault.’

  ‘Yeah, well, she’s had a rough time of it. This guy was her white knight, and... I don’t know, Vic, there’s just something weird about this one, something interesting.’

  ‘You are intrigued.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘You have to keep digging into it.’

  ‘I do. You know how it is...’

  Vic had been Homicide for a decade before becoming a desk sergeant. ‘Oh yeah. Still have the itch occasionally.’

  ‘How do you handle that?’

  ‘I keep a little bottle of formaldehyde in my desk. Every time it comes on me, I take a little sniff and get reminded of all the trips to the morgue.’

  ‘That’d do it.’

  ‘Oh yeah. You think you’ll find this cat before Cummins?’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘It’s going to break your young friend’s heart, you realize.’

  ‘Yeah... yeah, Vic, it will.’

  Zoey watched the electronics store from the front passenger seat of Drabek’s unmarked squad car. He’d been in there for nearly ten minutes, which didn’t surprise her. He’d seemed nothing if not methodical. But the place would soon be closing. How many questions could a guy ask, anyway?

  He’d also taken on a grimmer look most of the time, and Zoey was a good judge of character. He was trying to put off talking to her about Ben, she knew, about the fact that he was being hunted for murder, and that maybe her life with him wasn’t going to go back to what it had been.

  She knew all of that already. She was telling herself, still, that it wasn’t entirely true, that there had to be some other rationale. She’d spent the night prior on Valentyna’s couch crying herself to sleep, so angry at him, for lying to her, and for loving her in the first place, or pretending to. She couldn’t really believe it, though. There had to be some explanation, some middle point they could come to in which everyone came out of this okay.

  Everyone except Paul Joseph. She leaned on her right fist, elbow against the passenger side window and frowned, thinking back to the horrible sight of the decomposing body in the morgue. But maybe... maybe there was another explanation, some natural cause of his death, with Ben only getting involved after the fact...

  Oh God, sweetie, give your head a shake, she told herself. For everything that was right about him, just like everything else in your life, this has gone wrong.

  She felt her anger rise again; if nothing else, this time she wanted an explanation. For once in her life she’d made all the right choices, said and done all the right things. And again, she’d been saddled with a bad guy.

  But Zoey wasn’t taking it lying down.

  She looked over at the store again. Drabek sure was taking his sweet time. She opened the glove box, bored and curious. It was stuffed full of paperwork and more than a few citations, of both the speeding and parking variety. She smirked at that and wondered if Drabek would blame Pace. They seemed to have a good partnership that way, easy going, respectful without being uptight.

  She almost didn’t notice the small patch of dark brown plastic between the car documents. She moved them aside.

  The pistol was large and clipped in a half-sized speed holster. She let it sit there for a moment and contemplated whether to pick it up at all. Doubtless Drabek had either forgotten it or hadn’t planned on her nosing around.

  She reached into the glove box hesitantly and picked it up. It was bulkier than she’d expected, and she bounced it slightly in her palm to judge the heft.

  ‘I like to be an optimist and assume I won’t have to use that.’

  The voice caught her by surprise, and she juggled the gun back into the glovebox. ‘Norm! I mean, Detective...’

  He got back into the car.

  ‘Norm is fine. Don’t mess around with those things, you hear?’

  ‘Yes! Of course! I apologize for even picking it up. I was just...’

  ‘Bored. Yeah, I’ve done my share of stakeouts in cars over the years and the longer you have to sit, the worse it is. We used to order pizza to the car sometimes. But believe me, fifteen minutes is nothing. You ever think maybe you’ve got the attention deficit thing there?’

  ‘I think it’s just the circumstances,’ she said. ‘I’ve got a lot on my mind.’

  ‘True enough. Apologies for the remark,’ he said. ‘Anyway, the clerk said Ben came in and picked up about twelve hundred dollars worth of stuff the day after he skipped out on you. The kicker is he said he’d be back for more in a week’s time and wanted a couple of other things ordered.’

  ‘Then we just wait for him?’

  ‘No. He used Paul Joseph’s credit to pay for that stuff. If he’s returned to Joseph’s house and seen us there, he knows the card is compromised, which means he can’t come back here, either. But if he was planning on doing so, his motel or borrowed space is probably near here.’

  Zoey felt a flutter of anticipation. Near here? That meant the police might find him soon, which might give her the answers she was looking for -- although probably not the ones she wanted.

  MERIDA

  The taxi driver opened the rear door, a pair of Bruno Magli pumps stepping out into the hot evening air.

  Daisy Lee’s black cocktail dress showed enough leg to get attention, not that it was really needed. She already had a date for the evening. Santerra’s underling had been bribed to arrange his escort via one of numerous agencies owned by the People’s Liberation Army intelligence department.

  Santerra had a taste for Asian women. Lee had no intention of honoring the string of perverse requests his handlers had left with the agency; but getting close during Santerra’s dinner party would make him as vulnerable as he could be. If necessary, she supposed, he would gladly let Raymond Pon loose in order to save his testicles.

  The building was tall by Merida’s standard, one of a handful of towers grouped together in the north central district, mostly hotels. Santerra’s extensive intelligence file suggested he owned it outright. His equally extensive history of precursor chemical shipments from Asia suggested he paid for it with methamphetamine.

  She scanned the street quickly before approaching the front door guards. She didn’t have to say anything and was obviously expected, as the doors opened ahead of her without a word.

  A serious-looking man with busy grey-white hair, a blue blazer an
d gold cufflinks was sitting at the security desk. Lee approached him with a smile.

  Before she could say anything, he gave her a perfunctory smirk and then pointed toward the pair of elevators. ‘He’s on the twelfth floor in his personal quarters.’

  In the elevator, she was tempted to check on the pistol strapped to her thigh or the knife and shuriken secreted in her sash. But wary of security cameras, she stuck to her character.

  Daisy couldn’t get Macau out of her mind. It had been years since she’d fought someone other than her instructors who could ably block and counter with her. But the American had done it with relative ease. She suspected it was only his hesitancy in hitting a woman close to a hundred pounds lighter that had given her an edge. Daisy had no great desire to hurt anyone, let alone someone just doing his job. If they met again, however, she knew she could not show mercy.

  The elevator doors pinged and slid open. Santerra’s apartment was grandiose, filling the top floor. Outside the rosewood front door, a pair of hulking guards stood at ease. Along with those in the lobby and outside the front and back doors, she counted at least a half-dozen protectors, and there were probably more. The ministry wanted things handled quietly; the North Korea situation practically demanded it.

  One of the guards gazed over her from head to toe then smirked sleazily before buzzing the door for her with his proximity pass card then holding it open.

  The man on the other side of the door wore a white linen suit; it matched the furniture in the gargantuan living room, as if by odd design. On the wall adjacent to the front door was a flat screen television. He turned it off with a remote control, took a sip from the whiskey glass in his other hand, then nodded her way as if they were old acquaintances.

  ‘Ah, you must be Lucy,’ he said in Spanish. ‘You are even lovelier than your picture.’

  He was squat and overweight, with a wispy brown beard and moustache. A gold Rolex dangled from a loose bracelet on one wrist, and his other hand featured several rings. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Señor Santerra,’ she said, offering a hand for him to kiss.

  ‘Charming,’ he said. ‘Such poise! You will be a most elegant dinner date tonight my dear.’

  ‘I look forward to it, Señor.’

  ‘Please... Call me Ramon.’ He walked over to the bar along the opposite wall and poured himself more scotch. ‘A drink?’

  ‘White wine?’

  He smiled. ‘Of course. An elegant drink for an elegant woman. This... thing tonight, the party. It is not important. But the people who come to these things think they are, and it is for business reasons that I must put my best foot forward.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Be as social as you like, just don’t say anything controversial.’

  ‘Certainly, Ramon, it will be my pleasure.’

  He approached her, placing one thick, stubby hand around her waist, running it from the small of her back down until it was cupping one of her buttocks. ‘We’ll get to that part later,’ he leered.

  Lee had the urge to headbutt him between the eyes and break his nose; instead, she merely smiled. ‘I shall give you a night you will never forget,’ she promised. ‘Is there anyone particular you would like me to focus on during the dinner?’

  ‘Jorge Gasol, the politician. He’s old and smells of mothballs, but he’s also a complete letch, a self-appointed Don Juan. He sits on the police commission and could be of value to me.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘When we get downstairs, I will be seated at the head of the table. Take the chair directly to my right. The one on the left is reserved for Martino, my head of security.’

  ‘Will he join us there?’

  ‘No, he’ll accompany us down from the apartment.’

  Damn. Lee had counted on isolating Santerra for long enough to get Pon’s location out of him. Dealing with a bodyguard would necessitate a change of plans. ‘Perhaps we should spend some time in your bedroom before the dinner -- to ease some of the pressure of the night.’

  But Santerra didn’t like that suggestion. ‘No no, everything is set. Do not involve yourself in my affairs while you are here.’ He appeared stern for a moment, then softened. ‘Come, I’ll show you where the powder room is so that you can splash your face.’

  The half bathroom was just down a short hallway from the living room, on the way to what Lee presumed was Santerra’s master suite. She didn’t need the refresher, but Lee appreciated the moment of peace to figure out her next step. The bodyguard was unlikely to be anything special. It was possible she could even turn it to her advantage. She removed the pistol and suppressor and checked its magazine and chamber.

  She flushed the toilet for sound effect, then followed the marble-floored corridor back toward the living room. Before she could reach it, she heard a man’s voice.

  ‘.... I tell you about bringing in these girls without talking to me?’

  ‘Martino, she’s just a whore. Will you relax, man?’

  ‘Do you know how many enemies you have in this city right now? Whose agency? Who owns her?’

  ‘Eh? I don’t know. She’s just a whore. My God, you see a conspiracy around every corner...’

  ‘And one of your competitors probably pays her. Think about that for a moment, please, patron. Did you even have her searched?’

  The drug lord sounded exasperated. ‘You’re being paranoid now. Goddammit, Julian...’

  Lee hung back from the end of the corridor to listen for a moment. ‘I’m being practical. A little paranoia amounts to taking thirty seconds to search someone. What? You think she’ll be offended? Like you said, she’s just a whore.’

  She’d heard enough and strolled back into the room casually. ‘Who’s just a whore?’ she asked pleasantly.

  ‘You,’ Martino said. ‘Get over here, now.’

  She swung her hips as she sashayed over to him.

  ‘Ay ay ay,’ Santerra professed. ‘If something’s going to kill me...’

  Martino shot him a disappointed look. Lee looked him over and smiled.

  ‘Are you planning to search me?’ Lee asked demurely. ‘You have such... big hands.’

  He approached her, unimpressed. Lee ran through the variables and likely outcomes of her limited options. There was a high probability he’d insist on searching her, and would find the pistol; and if they came to blows and he was prepared, his size advantage was considerable: the mustachioed protector was over six feet, probably close to two hundred pounds, and packed with muscle.

  ‘That’s exactly what I’m...’ Before he could finish the sentence, Lee sprung forward, rising up from beneath his chin and hammering the palm of her hand into the bridge of his nose, driving it backwards into his brain. Without a pause, she quarter-turned then used the extra momentum to drive the side of her hand hard into his windpipe, crushing it. Martino collapsed face first to the floor, stone dead.

  Santerra was so shocked by the sudden explosion of ferociousness that his mouth dropped open and his cigar fell out. Before he could move, Lee had removed the pistol and suppressor from her thigh holster and trained it on him. ‘Now you and I are going to have a little talk, señor, and then we’re going to take a little walk.’

  ‘You won’t get away with this, you little bitch. I have men all over this building.’

  ‘Yes. But most of them are downstairs in the conference hall waiting for your big birthday dinner. Now, while I cover you, you’re going to lean out of the doors to this place and tell the two guards to go downstairs for the event, and that Martino will escort us down. Do it confidently, because I’m not sure at this point how much I even need you in order to accomplish my objective.’

  Santerra’s head slumped. ‘The scientist. I should have known he would be more trouble.’

  ‘He has cost you a lot of money. If I were you, I’d be glad to be rid of him,’ she suggested.

  ‘Not before I get some of that money back,’ Santerra said. ‘You know how many armed men I have in this
building? Across this city? You won’t survive the night.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘Why should I tell you?’

  ‘Because if you don’t, I’ll start breaking limbs, starting with your fingers and toes.’

  He appeared to believe her. ‘The ninth floor. But you won’t get past the guards.’

  ‘That’s where you come in, Mr. Santerra. You’re going to come along as my date for the evening and get us past any trouble.’

  ‘So maybe I refuse. Maybe I’m not afraid of dying and don’t like being used.’

  ‘Okay. Then I shoot you in the head now, and go look for myself.’

  He shrugged. ‘When you put it that way...’

  She walked behind him, one arm hidden so that she could keep the pistol pressed against the small of his back as they made their way to the door. ‘Keep in mind that if I have to shoot you in this position, the bullet will go through your spine. You won’t die, but I doubt you’d ever walk again. Or order any prostitutes.’

  They opened the door. Santerra leaned out. ‘You two, go downstairs and get drunk with the rest. Martino will bring me down in a few minutes.’

  Lee could just barely hear the footsteps as they made their way over to the elevator. A few seconds later, it pinged and she heard the doors slide open. She waited thirty seconds. ‘Okay, let’s go.’

  They waited for the elevator to return.

  ‘Whatever they’re paying you, whoever’s behind this... I’ll double it,’ he said.

  She ignored him. The elevator doors slid open. ‘Inside,’ she said, pushing him forward with the tip of the barrel. All of the guards would be downstairs except for those on the ninth floor. The trick was going to be getting a second of advantage. They’d move directly to the elevator when it stopped, she knew.

  ‘When the doors open on the ninth floor, I’m going to kiss you,’ she said. ‘The pistol will be pointed at your internal organs, so nothing tricky, please.’ The idea was simple: the doors would open, the guards would see them embracing and drop their guard in surprise, and she would eliminate both.