“I’ll be home doing chores until this gets cleared up.”
“Swinton?” The director’s voice was harsh. “Go find your wife and get that money back. Contact Mia Kim every day, and don’t consider trying to run away. You are not cut out for that sort of thing. This meeting is over. Everybody out.”
The office emptied, and the director went to a cabinet and poured a stiff shot of icy vodka he kept in a small refrigerator. There were some sliced lemons in a little plastic bag, and he dropped one into the drink and took a long swallow.
The good part was that the Trident people had already flipped the hired thug into becoming an asset and forced him to send an e-mail of confirmation to the man in Turkey who had hired them. Geneen did not want to spend much time thinking about how they got that information so quickly, but the e-mail was being traced to an exact location.
INCIRLIK
TURKEY
FOR NICKY SHAW, THE e-mail message spelled the end of days, and he trembled slightly as he read it. Sam Fox and Nicky went back a long time in the gangster life that thrived in Washington, D.C., even in the great shadow of the Supreme Court. As fast kids, they snatched handbags from tourists and headed back to the projects on the run. In their teens, they turned to mugging tourists, picking their victims in the crowds around Union Station. Armed robbery came next during the years they should have spent in high school; then Sam got snapped up by the cops when he and another brother tried to hold up a Vietnamese liquor store one night. The other kid was new to the game and had crossed in front of Sam’s pistol, giving the owner just enough time to snatch a big Remington pump shotgun from beneath the counter and blow a hole in the robber’s stomach, hurling the instantly dead body into Sam, knocking him down. When Fox had looked up again, he was staring up the big smoking barrel of the Remington. When Nicky heard about the botched robbery, he decided that it was time for him to join the U.S. Army and be all that he could be, far away from the gangs.
Sam should not have freelanced like that. He should have waited until Nicky could have done the job with him. They were a fearsome pair, because Nicky had brought brains to the party. He even devised a set of code words, like a quarterback in a huddle, meaningless to anyone but him and Sam. “Green Cat” meant everything was fine. “Grand Canyon” meant to proceed with caution. “Lowrider” meant to stop immediately and withdraw, while “Buffy” was their code word that the shit had hit the fan and to run like hell.
After assigning the hit, Nicky had been expecting a smooth “Green Cat” message of confirmation. Instead he got “Buffy,” repeated three times in capital letters. He had no idea what had gone wrong, but Sam had managed to send the ultimate warning. The law was coming, and it was time to go. He did.
“ALL GOOD THINGS MUST come to an end,” he said.
“Cut the bullshit philosophy. What the hell happened?” Jim Hall was in the passenger seat of Shaw’s Land Rover, parked in an isolated little industrial park near the base. It was packed with layers of boxes and suitcases. Extra storage was in a container secured to the top of the rugged vehicle.
“Beats me. All I know is that my man sent me the code to get the hell out of Dodge. Been knowing him for thirty years and he’s never crossed me. Not a dude to panic easily, either.”
Jim Hall’s mind was spinning with possibilities. Some shithead gangbangers failed to take down the Task Force Trident communications guy? The guy was a nerd, not a field operator. Hall felt a tingle along his spine. Trident had expected something to happen and had pulled an ambush.
“Nope. Just wanted to meet and give you a heads-up. We known each other a long time.” Shaw slid his right hand up inside his jacket and grasped the stock of a pistol. “By the way, don’t even think of trying anything, old man. You ain’t no match for me. Gimme the gun in your belt, fingertips. Flip it into the back.”
Hall lifted the Glock from the nylon holster and tossed it over the seat. He put his palms on the dashboard without being asked. “Okay. I’m just thinking. So, the job failed and you’re on your way out. Tough luck all around. But I still have work to do. Did you bring the sniper rifle?”
“Yep. You still owe me for that stuff. See that key on the floor mat between your feet? It opens up that storage shed over there, 18-A printed on it. Your stuff is in there. Plenty of other toys, too. Help yourself. Ten thousand for my going-out-of-business sale.”
“Let me reach for my wallet?”
“Careful, Jim Hall. Just give me the money and go on about your business. We both walk away. Never see each other again.”
Hall slowly removed a long, flat wallet of brown leather from his inside jacket pocket, and handed it over, using his left. “Here, just take it all. Eleven thousand, close enough.”
“You a good man, Jim.” Nicky Shaw flashed his Grade A smile and reached for the soft leather wallet with his right hand, having to briefly remove his fingers from the shoulder gun.
Jim Hall had known all along that he would have to be quick, because Nicky was a big guy, a warrior. There would be no second chance, and he could not win in a brawl. The narrow knife with the four-inch blade fell into his palm from the rear, hidden side of the wallet, unseen in the dim light. When Shaw reached for the money, Hall grabbed his right wrist to hold it still, counted on the steering wheel to delay the left coming over, and plunged the knife upward into Nicky’s throat.
Hall threw himself atop the bigger man, the weight of his whole body pinning the muscle-pumped right arm and shoving Nicky tight into the driver’s seat. Nicky cursed in surprise, and his left arm broke free and a big fist thundered down on Hall’s right shoulder. Hall took the pain and dug into the throat again and again, ripping and tearing at the larynx and arteries. Jets of crimson blood flooded from the thrashing man’s throat. Nicky Shaw was extraordinarily strong, and Hall panted with exertion to keep him from breaking free. Thank God the man was wearing a seat belt that helped hold him in place. The legs were useless, trapped in the space beneath the dashboard.
The fist lost some of its power, and the right arm softened. Hall pulled away just enough to remove the knife from the neck and go to work on the stomach, slicing more veins and wrecking internal organs. Nicky’s cursing turned to grunts of pain, and finally to sighs of surrender and a gurgle of life puffing from him.
Jim Hall did not stop cutting until he was sure the huge mercenary, once a friend, was nothing more than a piece of dead meat.
45
BERN
SWITZERLAND
THE NOON SUNLIGHT REFLECTED mirror-bright off the snow-covered sharp peaks of the Bernese Alps that marched off into the distance outside the city. It was crisp but not too cold, and Kyle wore a lightweight bomber jacket, while Lauren was in a belted tan trench coat, with apples and carrots in her deep pockets and the collar turned up. She held his arm as they strolled beside the River Aare; gentle swells pushed the dark, swift-flowing waters to within inches of the wide walkway.
“I can’t believe that we are somewhere that you have never been before.” Lauren playfully pushed against him.
“The Swiss have been neutral for seven hundred years.” He pushed her back. “Not much call for my specialized services. Anyway, they have some pretty tough guys in their armed services to meet their needs. Do a lot more
