Another Way to Kill Page 6

  “I’ve been doing the prelim,” she said, “and put together a presentation on how, with just a little more time and investment, we could actually revolutionize the use of lasers in medicine and help people instead of blowing them up.”

  “How much time and investment?”

  “Five years and less than ten million.”

  “That’s a little more than what you have in your purse, I assume.”

  “What?”

  “We don’t have the money, Colleen. It’s all gone into the 680 to win a contract we lost. We have to at least meet with the Russians. I can’t cancel.”

  “Maybe they won’t buy, either.”

  “Maybe,” he said.

  “Then what, we’re on the street?”

  “There will be severe cuts.”

  Colleen’s shoulders sank a little. “At least watch my presentation on the plane.” She handed him a pink thumb drive from her jacket pocket.

  Trent took it. “Those notes tell what I need done while I’m gone, and I want you to take care of it.”

  “Fine.” She rose stiffly, and her heels clicked again on her way out the door.

  Trent turned the pink thumb drive over in his fingers. He’d do what she’d asked, of course, no question, but if she knew just how close to the precipice the company was, she’d understand more why he was being so stubborn. To tell her too much, though, would worry her. He didn’t want that. Better she think him a punk for the time being.

  STEVE DANE reduced the speed of the treadmill and began a cool-down after logging five miles. Sweat coated his upper body and made his shirt cling to his skin. He was the only one in the hotel gym wearing a long-sleeved button-down shirt with his running shorts. He looked silly, but he didn’t want the puckered, fire-scarred flesh on his right side and arm exposed for everyone to see. Maybe that was sillier. The scars reminded him that he wasn’t invincible. He didn’t need that thought haunting the back of his mind. He saw the scars enough already.

  A helicopter crash had almost killed him, but he’d escaped with the burns, back when he was a CIA agent. His partner, Len Lukavina, had been with him at the time. Len hadn’t been as lucky. He couldn’t hide his scars, since part of his face had caught fire.

  Somebody had sabotaged the chopper, and Dane thought he knew who but couldn’t prove it. Someday he’d have the proof and settle the account.

  He slowed the treadmill more as a blonde man entered the gym and started on the bench press: John Blaze, Nina’s thief. So far, he only seemed like another tourist, and Dane wondered if they were watching him for no reason. But the watching kept Nina from being B-O-R-E-D, and, more important, kept her happy, and when Nina was happy, Dane wasn’t miserable.

  Dane slowed the treadmill to walking speed and hopped off. He dried his face.

  Blaze, at the bench press, lifted steadily, breathing in and out with each lift, but he had no spotter. Dane wandered over.

  “Need a spot?”

  “Thanks, mate. Going a little heavier today. Gotta burn off last night’s dessert.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  Blaze slowed as he went over ten reps, his face showing the strain. At twenty his face took on a reddish tinge. He pressed the barbell up with more effort than before, and Dane grabbed the bar and helped Blaze put it back on the rack.

  “Thanks,” Blaze said, breathing hard. He lay on the bench a little longer, then Dane helped him up.

  “New record,” the thief said. “You here by yourself?”

  “On holiday with my lady friend.”

  “Plenty of ladies here if you ever come alone,” Blaze said. “I’m riding solo. Waiting for some work to come along. May have to leave quickly.”

  “What do you do?”

  “Freelance search and recovery. If something gets lost, I go find it.”

  “Have fun,” Dane said. “I gotta meet the lady for lunch.”

  “Thanks for the spot,” Blaze said as he moved to a treadmill.

  With his towel over his shoulder, Dane returned to his room. A note from Nina, stuck on the television, said she was doing some shopping. In other words, spending more of his money. Or was it their money? After showering, he dressed in a blue shirt and black slacks, decided his shoes needed a shine and went downstairs. He sat in the hotel barber shop while an old Italian shined the shoes mirror bright, and Dane gave him a large tip. Then he searched the hotel’s mini-mall looking for Nina. He found her in the third shop he tried. She was looking at summer dresses, flicking through them in quick succession with growing irritation.

  “You’re not carrying any bags,” he noted.

  Nina continued sorting angrily. “Can’t find my size,” she said. “Apparently I’m not skinny enough.”

  “Skinny girls run the world.”

  “There should be a violent coup that ends at a guillotine.”

  With a gasp of victory, she finally selected a flower print. “I’ll be right back.”

  “What’s the price?”

  “Go to hell.”

  Dane laughed as she marched into a fitting room and shut the door. He went over and knocked.

  “Need any help?”

  “What did I just say?”

  He found a nearby padded bench and sat to dumbly observe other shoppers, all young women, who ignored him. He stared at a spot on the carpet.

  Presently she stepped out and modeled the outfit. Dane raised an eyebrow. It fit well around the hips but the straps over her shoulders were working hard not to lose coverage in front. They were losing the fight.

  “What do you think?” She posed in front of a wall-mounted mirror.

  “Looks lovely.”

  “It looks like a potato sack.”

  “Well…”

  “Quiet!”

  She went back to the fitting room and emerged in her other clothes. She returned the dress to the rack, and they left the shop hand in hand before discovering a brightly lit seafood restaurant free of gaudy plastic fish decorations on the walls—a surprise to Dane. The hostess sat them in a booth.

  He told her about his chat with John Blaze.

  “Is he waiting for something here,” Nina said, “or will he go someplace else?”

  “Who knows? I think we should stop watching him and see if any VIPs show up.”

  “This place is full of VIPs.”

  “And yet he’s made no moves,” Dane said. “For somebody who targets the rich, he’s ignoring a lot of potential targets. He might be waiting for somebody specific.”

  “There is a reward out for his capture, by the way,” Nina said. “I made some calls after you left for the gym. The Moscow police are offering five grand, U.S., but De Beers is offering two million.”

  “Why?”

  “He allegedly stole five uncut diamonds from one of their couriers.”

  Dane nodded. The diamond syndicate didn’t mess around when it came to their property. The waiter arrived to take their orders. Fish and chips for Dane, grilled salmon and salad for Nina.

  When the waiter departed, Dane said, “Let’s hit him over the head and take him to De Beers. I won’t get out of bed for Moscow’s money.”

  “It’s never that easy. And you’re talking out of your butt.”

  “Am I?”

  “You want to know what he’s up to as much as I do.”

  THEODORE STANTON Trent crossed the Hotel de Monte Carlo’s lobby. He was so focused that he didn’t take in the ornate architecture, and went straight to the check-in desk. While a young man processed his credit card, he said: “Has a guest named Alexander Arkady arrived?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t say, sir,” the man said, passing Trent a form. Trent filled in the blank lines. The young man returned his credit card along with a room key and wished him an enjoyable stay.

  Trent found the elevators and pressed the button for the twenty-first floor, noting that even in Monaco, they did not include a thirteenth floor.

  He traveled alone, no entourage. He’d closed
a ton of deals on his own throughout his career, and he didn’t need anybody else’s objection. Colleen’s words still weighed on his mind. She normally had zero reservations about their work and had contributed to the M-680 project as much as anybody. She had to feel very strongly specifically about this meeting to try to change his mind. He loved her for it, but she wasn’t the only person he had to think about. His company was at stake, as well as the livelihoods of every single employee and supplier. They had all put in too much to go unrewarded.

  He had to admit, however, as he entered his room and placed his bags on the bed, that her alternative plan looked very attractive.

  He filled the dresser drawers with clothes and hung an extra suit in the closet. He did not open the curtains to see the outside view. Instead he spread on the writing table the partial blueprint of the M-680c and photos of various tests. He had videos of the tests on his laptop. He hoped they were enough to get the interest of the Russians.

  He sat and examined the documents, going over in his head what he’d say at the meeting, with a nagging thought about Colleen’s presentation piggybacking on his strategy. He knew nothing about the medical field. All he’d ever made was military equipment. They might be able to transition, but the cost of failure outweighed the financial commitment. That was the other thing he didn’t want to tell Colleen.

  The Russian deal had to go through.

  6

  Little Victories

  MARCO CAVALLOS thanked the waitress for the espresso and sipped the hot drink.

  He and Roxana had traveled as far as Siena, Italy, where they’d been hiding out for the past twenty-four hours.

  When Alexander Arkady had called to ask for a meeting, they heartily agreed. They needed to replenish what they’d spent on the botched prison rescue.

  He sat alone in the back of a small café, near the kitchen, where cooking sounds and shouts in Italian drowned out the quiet music filling the rest of the space.

  Roxana sat in the outside sitting area, pistol and car keys at the ready, in case they needed to get away fast. They had parked the car near the alley behind the café.

  The hawk-faced Russian, in a black suit and coat, entered and Cavallos waved him over. The Russian ordered black coffee.

  “You’re alone?” Arkady said.

  “No. What’s going on?”

  “We have a job for you in the U.S.,” Arkady said. “I need an expert at industrial removal.”

  Cavallos nodded. The espresso had cooled and he drank a little.

  “Twenty million U.S.,” the Russian said.

  Cavallos let out a low whistle. “That’s fine, but we need more than money this time.”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Last job went bad. We’re on the run.”

  “You’re always on the run, Marco.”

  “Al-Qaeda this time.”

  Arkady drank some coffee. “So?”

  “Ten million U.S. and sanctuary in Russia.”

  “Sanctuary?”

  “A home base for us.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “Five million.”

  “You’re desperate,” Arkady said.

  “We can’t run forever.”

  “Okay. Ten million and we let you into Russia. You’re responsible for a domicile.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “And you’ll be on call for us. Gratis.”

  “You expect a need?”

  “We’ll create a need if we must. That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”

  “We’ll take it.”

  “You don’t need to speak with your wife?”

  “Don’t worry about her. When do you need us in the U.S.?”

  “Texas, specifically. First, I need you in Monaco. Brief side trip, won’t take long.”

  “Wire the payment to the usual account.”

  “Half now.”

  “Of course.”

  Arkady finished his coffee. “Hotel de Monte Carlo by tomorrow morning.”

  “We’ll be there.”

  “I’ll find you.”

  The Russian left the table. Cavallos settled the bill, exited onto the sidewalk and flashed a hand signal to his wife. She joined him in the car a few minutes later, and he told her about the deal.

  “Russia gets so cold in the winter,” she said.

  “I don’t see another option.”

  She squeezed his hand. “We’ll find a way to stay warm.”

  He started the car.

  “MAYBE I should seduce him,” Nina said.

  She and Dane sat in another booth in yet another of the hotel’s restaurants, a steakhouse this time with low light. A candle flickered in the center of their table.

  Dane sipped his martini. “Won’t work,” he said.

  Blaze sat alone at another table across the dining room. He had not seen Dane upon entering.

  “Why not?”

  “You’ll spend all your time thinking of me.”

  “You’re right. And he’ll wonder why I’m lying there like a dead fish. Wouldn’t tell me anything.”

  Dane smiled, eyes on Blaze.

  “Maybe you should seduce him,” Nina said.

  Dane chuckled. “That’s enough, dear.”

  She swallowed a slug of vodka and sat with her back to Blaze. “What’s he doing now?”

  “He’s taking an interest in a new arrival.”

  A tall man with thin gray hair and glasses. The hostess showed him to a table.

  Nina turned to look. “Who is he?”

  “Could be the target. Blaze hasn’t looked at anybody else except the waitresses.”

  “So how do we find out who this person is?”

  The waiter brought dinner. Dane told Nina halfway through the meal that he had an idea. After he paid the check, Dane brought Nina to the center of the restaurant where a fountain sat, the quiet waterfall taking the place of mood music. Dane used her iPhone and made sure the tall man was in the picture while she posed near the fountain.

  Back in their room, Dane and Nina sat at the writing table, and since he had no idea how to work the gizmo, she cropped herself out of the photo and tapped the screen a few more times to email the picture to Todd McConn.

  “Can you figure out how to call him?” she said.

  Dane winked and went over to the room’s phone. Picking up the handset, he sat on the edge of the bed and dialed.

  McConn answered on the third ring. “What’s today’s problem?” he said.

  “I just sent you a picture,” Dane said.

  Nina called out, “I sent the picture!”

  “I need an ID and whatever else you can get.”

  “Got it. Give me a half hour.”

  Nina poured a glass of Bereau for herself and a Jack and Coke for Dane. They sat out on the patio and looked to the horizon, where the ocean met the night sky. A light breeze ruffled Nina’s skirt. Dane lit a Montecristo and blew smoke at the stars.

  “What if the tall man is worth stealing from?” Nina said, and sipped her wine. It was one of the most expensive French reds available. Seventy-six hundred a case; Dane didn’t know that.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What if he’s a gangster or some other no-goodnik who deserves a licking?”

  “We’ll know soon, but what are you getting at?”

  “It might be worthwhile to help Blaze get away and catch him later,” she said.

  “Let the ungodly suffer, you mean.”

  “We might prevent something that shouldn’t be prevented. It’s just a suggestion.”

  “Drink your vitamins, dear.”

  She sipped her wine and laughed, her giggles like tinkling chimes.

  MCCONN CALLED back an hour later.

  “Took longer than I thought. You found a good one.”

  “Let’s hear it,” Dane said. Nina put McConn on speaker and they both listened.

  “Theodore Trent, sixty-four, president of Trent Defense. Major player in defense industry. He’s upset so
me people at the State Department.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s in Monaco to meet with a Russian representative to talk about a direct energy weapon. Ever hear of that?”

  “Just enough,” Dane said, “to know I don’t like them.”

  Nina said, “Is it a popcorn maker?”

  “Trent lost a government contract to build DEWs for the army,” McConn continued, “so he’s offering the tech to Russia. Could be a billion-dollar deal over time.”

  “Well he’s here, so State didn’t stop him.”

  “He’s not breaking any laws. Russia isn’t the bad guy anymore.”

  “Give them time.”

  Nina punched Dane in the arm. He winced but ignored her.

  “That’s all I got,” McConn said.

  “It’ll do for a start. Thanks, Todd.”

  Nina ended the call and put the phone down. “It’s not a popcorn maker?”

  Dane exhaled a cloud of smoke. “Those damn eggheads never stop.”

  “Trent has made a laser gun?”

  “Or something close. If he’s meeting somebody here, he has material related to the weapon that Blaze probably wants. Blaze might have been sent by the U.S.” He cursed and puffed on his cigar. “Why do we need laser weapons? It’s not like the human race can’t destroy itself ten times over with what we already have. The U.S. has lasers so now the Russians want them and maybe a third party, too, because the Sheldon Coopers of the world simply must make Star Trek real so they can live out juvenile comic book fantasies. It’s insanity.”

  “Human nature,” Nina said. “We do things because we can. We flew to the moon because it was there.”

  “We flew to the moon,” Dane said, “to beat your people there. To prove the Nazi scientists who built our rockets were better than the Nazi scientists who built your rockets. It was about winning the Cold War. Peace for All Mankind was a cute slogan.”

  “Before our time, honey.”

  “There’s always another agenda. Nobody does anything with pure motives. Least of all any government.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “I’d very much like to collect two million dollars from De Beers,” Dane said, “and take whatever documents Blaze steals from Trent.”

  “That won’t stop anything.”