Fight Fire With Fire. Page 6
The prefix said it was the other side of the island.
She hurried to the locker room, stripped, washed off the foul smell of spoiled food and Chinese five spice, then dressed in her street clothes. Removing the mic, she tossed the uniform in a laundry bin, and before she left, she slipped an envelope into Miya’s locker vent. The day’s wages and tips were a payback for Miya’s keen eye.
She zippered her tight fitting jacket and left. Outside, she hurried to the far corner of the lot and threw her leg over her silver motorcycle. She twisted her hair up to put on her helmet, then started the bike and left the lot at a moderate speed till she cleared the next street. She urged the machine faster. Two blocks away, she turned on the small GPS screen on the dash. Her mic relay went through her helmet.
“I’ve got him. Damn, he’s passing Changi and heading to Seletar airport.” And not in the direction of his last phone call. She followed and Barasa’s car took the Central expressway, gaining speed. “Get me some SAT info, now, Base.”
“Yes ma’am. We have imagery of the field. A plane is landing.”
“Check for clearance of his jet. He can’t leave till I tag it.” Tracking Barasa was a lesson in international hopscotch. He paid bribes to get in and out of countries without notice, but most often, he was welcomed by the latest regime.
She spotted the dark blue town car that was larger than most of the vehicles on the road and slowed, keeping at least a hundred yards back. She leaned, taking a turn that put her on the other side of the runway. It was a private air strip, reserved for those who could pay the fees to land. Three hangars located at the far end were open, a helicopter shadowed inside one. She stopped the bike near a park bench off the highway, her position secluded enough by trees and shrubs someone took the time to trim. The runway was off Seletar’s 747 traffic, yet further up the road the highway split, dividing smaller towns and villages on the edge of the water. A stone’s throw would land on the poorest of Singapore.
She left the bike, bringing her backpack and digging out her binoculars.
She sat on the metal table with four chairs permanently attached and flipped up her visor. She focused on the field. The town car was just making it around the long drive to the airstrip. Tires are a little low, she thought, waiting for the show to begin. Too often, he was legit, magically producing the right papers for his cargo. Interpol hadn’t given up on catching him, but Safia knew that letting him have some rope would get them more. He’d been in very bad company lately and following the money trail didn’t get her enough. While his accounts were modest enough not to draw the attention of the international banking community, recent increases in the millions said otherwise. Whatever he was up to, was big.
The roar of engines whining down for a landing made her swing the glasses left. Too fast to be safe, the Gulfstream jet touched down. Barasa left the car and stood next to it, his bodyguards at the rear looking like Secret Service in bad suits. She noticed several feet to the right of him was a shade cabana, a table and—oh you’ve got to be kidding—linens and set for a tea?
She swung her attention to the jet as it powered down and the door opened, lowering the steps. A figure moved in the dark interior and Safia was surprised when a woman stepped out. That explains the tea set.
The woman wore a pale gray suit, cut close, the skirt longer than fashion but her shoes were the bomb. Bright red. She sighed, wishing for playtime to be a girl. The woman descended the jet’s stairs and walked straight to Barasa before he could meet her. She didn’t offer her hand nor did he. Red shoes went to the shade and sat. Barasa was slower to follow, his attention on the woman’s rear. Clearly, he’d other plans for her, but Safia was interested in Red Shoes.
Women didn’t fit in the world of arms dealers. Aside from the fact that half the buyers seeking weapons were Muslims and therefore still in the dark ages, she thought snidely, most men had ego problems with strong women. They felt threatened. Barasa didn’t. He seemed amused.
She needed to get closer and hopped on her bike, riding it to the fork, then doubling back to the airfield. She stopped the bike behind a tall chengal pasir tree. They were sitting at the table, a servant who must have come from the jet, pouring for them. A sharp breeze battered the cabana, taking away a piece of linen. The woman didn’t notice nor acknowledge the servant chasing after it. Was she the money?
Safia raised the cell phone and snapped a picture of the two, then hailed Base. She worked the slideout keyboard. “Base, I’m sending you a photo. Run everything.”
“Confirmed jpeg and running.”
“Ya know, you can drop the military speak, Ell.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Safia shook her head, and sighted through the monocular, using its digital camera to get a full face shot as she watched the pair converse. The woman was beautiful, her black hair twisted up to show off her slender neck and reminding Safia a little of Audrey Hepburn. Way out of place. The suit was designer, the shoes . . . fifteen hundred easy. Though this was Singapore; knock-offs were sold on every street corner.
She studied the unlikely pair.
Who are you Red Shoes, and what are you doing with that nasty arms dealing trash?
Four
Sungei Kadut
Singapore
Max was finishing off Riley’s wrap when he saw movement behind the salty glass of a storefront. He grabbed his binoculars, sighted, shifting his position on the windowsill. His side of the neighborhood was empty except for a couple of dogs that would end up as dinner if they weren’t careful. A few entrances up from Vaghn’s suspected address, a bell plinked as a shop door opened.
A man appeared, then turned west. That he didn’t look left kept Max watching. Who didn’t check for oncoming anything? Max slipped back inside and went to the laptops, keying up the next street in their four-block radius. He focused the tiny pen-sized cameras, then saw the man turn the corner. A few seconds passed before he could get a face shot.
The man appeared, his image clarifying with each step closer.
Max grabbed the radio. “Riley. It’s not him!”
“Repeat last?” came back. “I’m three feet away.”
Max grabbed his weapon, holstering it behind his back. “I’m telling you, he’s here. Your guy’s a freakin’ decoy!”
Over the wire, he heard a scuffle, then cursing. When Riley’s voice came back on, he could tell he was hoofing it fast. “Some
Australian. Vaghn paid him a hundred. Where the hell is Vaghn now?”
“On Pi Nang Road, west. I’m going after him.” Max went out the fire escape, and when he hit the ground, the ladder shot off its track. He darted out of the way as it crashed to the pavement and crumbled in a pile of rusted iron. “One step closer to demolition.”
He took off in a hard run and glimpsed the guy’s brown tee shirt that hung to his thighs, his jeans rippling with fabric. “Behind the village, toward the river,” he said over the personal roll radio. “Same clothes, same pack.”
Where was he going? There wasn’t a damn thing on the water except shanty homes slapped together with tin and wood discards from recent construction. The river was so shallow along tributaries the next monsoon would wash away any evidence of their existence. He hauled ass past new construction toward the old and almost untouched. Lush with palms and towering banana trees, the paved land blended into dirt roads, rutted and sloping toward the water.
Far ahead, Vaghn walked a steady pace, unaware. Then two men in a flat bottom boat appeared around the curve of a jetty. Vaghn quickened his steps.
“Put some fire under it, buddy,” Max said into the mic. “He’s got a ride.”
Seletar Airstrip
He knew her by no other name than Odette.
“What I don’t understand is why you aren’t handling it yourself,” she said, then sipped warm tea.
He couldn’t place her accent and wondered if, like him, she strove to cover it. The less people knew of him the better.
It was something they had in common. “Like your employer, I can delegate.”
“We have warned you.” She set her cup down with a click. “He’s immature and a genius. Those are qualities not easily handled, neh?”
“I’m due a measure of trust.”
She scoffed, her smile tinged with patience delivered to the mentally incapable. Barasa felt his shoulders tighten. The pretty little bitch would learn not to dare more than that with him.
“Trust is not a commodity in business. Any business.”
At least they agreed on that and planned for it. “When will he show himself?”
“When we have completed the next phase.”
“He promised the perfect delivery system.”
Something skated across her flawless face just then, and he didn’t try to decipher it. The woman was not the force in this dangerous bargain, but merely the messenger.
“You will have it.” She made a show of checking the time. “We will expect to hear from you within the deadlines you set.”
“You came all this way to say that?”
“No. I’m here to demonstrate that, should you betray us, we will find you.”
“If he wishes to fold”—he shrugged—“I won’t oppose.”
Her smile was slow and thin, her blue eyes taking on a victorious gleam he’d seen only in the pump of sex.
“And you’re prepared to return the money he has already fronted? Won’t that be difficult when you’ve already spent most of your share?”
His features stretched tight. How did they know anything? No one knew . . . his gaze immediately scanned his surroundings. Their position was in the open, yes, but also far enough to see anyone approach. He saw nothing unusual.
“No one has betrayed you, Barasa.”
He looked at her and she tilted her head, the move coy yet somehow ill-fitting on this woman. He offered the truth. “Had they, they would be dead.”
She nodded once, regally. “Sometimes loyalty accompanies strict rules of self-preservation. Your clever discretion and influence has earned his admiration.”
His brows knit as he considered what would bend her loyalty.
He stood with her.
“It’s in your best interest to keep the genius alive and out of Western hands.” She tossed the napkin on the table. “Bring him to us.” She turned away, starting toward the plane.
He called to her, but she didn’t stop, and he rushed to grasp her arm. He heard the click of bullets chambered and looked at the plane. From under the open staircase, two men advanced from either side and aimed rifles with infrared scopes. The gaping entrance in the fuselage remained empty, yet a gun barrel slid from hiding.
She didn’t have to tell him to let go. He put his hands up, stepping back.
“Again you have underestimated, Cale.”
His gaze narrowed. He didn’t like anyone calling him that.
“Anticipating your enemy is necessary for success,” she said.
“I’m not your enemy. We are equal partners.”
“Equal?”
“I am risking everything while your boss hides in the shadows giving orders,” he snarled at her, taking a step closer and ignoring the men with weapons.
“Are you not capable of the task?”
“Do not insult me, woman. Of course I—”
“Then enough.”
The words weren’t sharply spoken, but he felt their bite. Something shifted between them and not in his favor.
“Do you want more money, is that it? Or simply to see a face when it’s shown to you several times already?” She flicked her hand at the jet and men. “We have step one. Now stop this . . . whining and fulfill your obligations.” She spun away and mounted the steps. “Succeed, and the rewards will be many, Barasa.” She paused to look back at him, smile, and add, “And I don’t mean in virgins.”
Barasa chuckled under his breath, admiring her ass shifting inside the gray cloth as she took the stairs. She never once looked back as she was swallowed inside the jet. The guards filed in, the door raising on a hydraulic hush and the locks clamped it seamlessly. Barasa hurried away as the engine powered up for takeoff.
“Hey,” someone said and he looked at the guard standing near his car.
“Address me as sir and nothing else. What do I pay you for?”
“Answering your phones.” The beefy man held out a clean one.
He suddenly realized that the woman couldn’t have arrived so quickly if she hadn’t known where he was first. He stared at the phone. She must have tracked it and while removing the GPS would end her watchful eye, the phone wouldn’t work without it. Disposable cells were easier. He put the phone to his ear.
“We have the package,” the gravely voice said.
Barasa snickered. Of that, he did not doubt. “Bring him to me, and take away his phone.”
“Yes sir.”
He waited till the jet banked off the runway and into the sky, then slid into the back of the town car. He wasn’t without influence and scrolled through his phone numbers for just the right advantage. He didn’t doubt Odette and her mysterious master were doing the same to him. He hadn’t survived in this business by being careless.
Max’s words pushed Riley, his arms pumping as he ran. He darted into the street, around people and cyclists, then jumped a cart, spilling baskets to the ground. A hunched man shouted at him in Mandarin, and his new kneecaps held up as he sprinted out of the dreary projects onto a newly paved street. Cars raced dangerously close together. He stopped, catching his breath. A traffic circle was packed with little cars like bugs marching to a nest. It led off in three directions but not anywhere he wanted to go. He watched the cars, then stepped into traffic. Horns honked, drivers shouted. A cab came so close he felt it brush and he figured it was now or get killed standing here. He darted between cars, then hopped on the back of a pint sized Carmen Gia, holding on as it took him around the curve. The driver shouted at him and Riley felt the bumper give under his weight. He had to jump, his target coming fast.
This is gonna hurt. He pushed off, but the driver sped up a fraction, and he tumbled to the road. His elbow burned as he rolled away from the street, then hopped to his feet.
“Finn, come back.”
Riley frowned. Why was he using call signs? “I hear you.”
“He’s on the docks.” Max’s voice popped in his ear. “Two men in a boat heading toward him. Christ, the package waves like a pansy.”
Riley paused on the balls of his feet, spying between the trees. The river looked almost black from the road. It was deceiving, the tributaries only hip deep. It confused him when he heard the soft putt of a motor and he rushed into the trees toward the water. Two men in a flat bottom boat floated toward the dock, the trolling motor small enough to accommodate the low water level. The pair in the boat looked like any local; big shirts over a muscle tank, but that’s where it ended. Riley was thinking fast as Vaghn waved with big gestures. It annoyed his chauffeur as he expertly slid the boat sideways to the dock.
“Back off, Drac.”
“We’ll lose him.”
“They’ve been here before and the locals know it. Look at them.” On their approach, people vanished, retreating into huts, dropping what they were doing and melting into the forest along the banks. “That’s too familiar.”
He recognized fear in their faces. If just showing up provoked that, then it was probably a smuggling trail. Within moments, there was only Vaghn, the docks, and his cabbies. The boat rocked as Vaghn stepped in and apparently not fast enough. The cabbie yanked him into the center seat, his partner in the rear. They used the long handled paddles to push away and under their loose shirts, Riley saw weapons.
“Christ, they’ve got an Israeli Galeils, and I’ve got two magazines. Sebastian where are you, man?”
“Stuck behind a rickshaw,” Sebastian said. “I could walk there.”
He looked back at the road and saw the hood of the truck behind a c
ycle cart. “When you can, go north, cut them off.”
“What are you thinking?”
He told them.
Sebastian snorted. “You don’t actually think that will work, do you?”
“We don’t have much choice now that he has help. And I’m not into automatic gunfire with so many locals nearby.”
He wasn’t leaving without Vaghn. No bloody question about it. He hauled ass to get further ahead of them. The craft was moving slow, idling in the short canal as one man used a cell phone, the call no more than seconds. The main body of water was just a few yards ahead. The only path was around hundreds of soggy juts of land. Riley moved out on one of them, stopping to yank on thick green vines and cut a portion. He turned in a small circle to wrap it around his chest, then moved further out on the peninsula.
Max appeared in the forest several yards to his right. He crouched low, winded, then swiped his hand over his face. “That’s some definite skill there.”
“The norm lately, huh?” Riley approached a tree and quickly climbed.
Max moved into position. “This better work.”
The armed twins kept an eye on their surroundings and only the dense undergrowth concealed Riley. Broad branches curled without direction, the porous limbs seeking water and light. Soft moss coated the north side, and he slipped, hitting his chin, nearly biting off his tongue. He shimmied quickly toward a thick branch hanging over the river. Stringy green-gray moss draped inside the trees so dense it felt like a cave. Riley slid a length of vine free, rolling it, then feeding it down and up. This would be tricky, but automatic gunfire could spray the huts hiding villagers.
“Eagle’s in the nest.”
The craft was about fifteen feet long. He’d seen the like all over Asia. Farmers used them to bring goods to market. They could accommodate a lot of weight. Lucky for me, they tip easy. The boat slipped forward on the current, its motor silent, the pair of guards using the paddles to guide. He could tell it was shallow, too flat and clear nearly to the center. Drowning their asses wasn’t an option. Vaghn wore a satchel and pack like the last guy, yet it was his death grip hug on it that clued Riley in. No telling what that guy could invent when he wasn’t restrained.