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  TWO MEN entered, both armed, both wearing hotel security jackets.

  Dane fired the .45 and blasted most of DeRocca’s face and pieces of his skull into the carpet. He swung the .45 to the new arrivals. Three rounds in quick succession. Two missed. The third hit one of the security men and knocked him back into the other. Both tumbled against the hallway wall.

  Dane changed magazines and ran for the patio as the second gunman shoved his partner’s body aside and ran into the office. Dane fired once. The gunman dived for some furniture. His return shot shattered the patio glass as Dane cleared the doorway. Bits of glass tugged at Dane’s clothes and bit the back of his neck.

  He cut right, taking cover by the wall, firing into the office as the gunman charged after him. The .45 slugs cut through the man’s legs and stomach. The shooter landed on the floor. Dane shot him again.

  Dane holstered the ScoreMaster, smoothed his jacket and crossed the office. He glanced at DeRocca’s body, the pool of blood under his head soaking the carpet. He didn’t feel any sense of accomplishment. He didn’t feel anything at all. Maybe he would when he caught up with Royce. If he could find him.

  He stepped over the dead security man and advanced down the hall. The walls and tiled floor were bare; only the doors of the elevator ahead had any color—brown. He pressed the call button and stood to one side. The doors slid open. Nobody there. He stepped in and pressed the button for the lobby. The doors slid shut and the elevator began its descent.

  DANE CHANGED clips again, his last mag, and put the gun back under his jacket. He took a deep breath as the elevator settled on the lobby floor.

  He and Nina had arranged a rendezvous. All he had to do was get out of the building. But he rode in DeRocca’s private elevator. It would deposit Dane near the check-in desk. If security was nearby, they’d know he didn’t belong. Dane cleared his throat, squared his shoulders, and the doors opened.

  Dane walked down the hall to the exit and entered the lobby. A line of people stood waiting to check in; two security people standing by a column noticed him right away. One spoke into a radio. Dane winked as he went by. They wouldn’t fire on him. Not with the public around. He continued toward the lobby doors. The shield of the public would end as soon as he left the building.

  A family entered as Dane exited. He used the family for cover and looked back. The two security men were still on his tail but keeping their distance.

  Where was the rest of the force?

  Dane crossed the parking lot asphalt and started walking between cars, looking every which way. Then he heard boots pounding on the pavement. A lot of boots.

  From the left and right, two separate groups were swarming through the lot, directed by the shouting orders of one man. Dane dropped between two cars. Well, nobody had said escape would be easy.

  He looked ahead. Three more rows of cars before he reached the street. The boss of the group told everybody to spread out and search.

  Shuffling footsteps froze Dane in place. A man with a radio and pistol approached Dane’s spot. Dane jumped up and punched the guard in the throat. He let the man fall and ran to the next row. Somebody yelled. A shot cracked and nicked the heel of Dane’s left shoe. Dane stumbled and fell forward, narrowly missing the fender of a sedan. Breath left him on impact. He groaned. Forcing himself up, he continued forward, but then a spotlight found him. Dane drew the .45 and pivoted right. The security man who held the spotlight yelled something. Dane answered with the .45. The man dropped, the light breaking as it hit the ground, and Dane continued forward. Not much farther. He surged ahead to the sidewalk, traffic screeching and drivers honking as he ran across the busy street.

  Two blocks to the rendezvous.

  He ducked into an alley, gasping, and checked the way he’d come. A pair of black SUVs was pulling out of the parking lot. They probably wanted to set up a perimeter, but any show of force or any clash would certainly bring the cops. Of course they had to have a plan, or maybe some bought cops, to get around that.

  The only good news was that they had no idea where Dane had gone, and needed to set up a search pattern.

  One of the SUVs sped by the alley and pulled over. The doors opened and two males climbed out. One crossed the street. How many remained in the vehicle?

  Dane walked the length of the alley to the opposite street. Turning left, he stayed close to the wall, hands in his pockets, trying for as casual a profile as possible.

  DANE WALKED down Atlantic Avenue. The bridge on North Albany was the meeting spot. Black SUVs from the hotel continued crisscrossing the streets. Dane did not react. Plenty of pedestrians provided cover.

  Atlantic turned into O’Donnell Parkway; Dane took a left on Albany, and the bridge lay ahead. A stalled sedan sat in the right lane. Dane quickened his pace. Nina for sure. It was their rental. He still had his hand on the .45 as he approached, but a peek through the passenger window confirmed it was Nina behind the wheel.

  He opened the door and dropped in beside her.

  She started the car and continued across the bridge. Filbert Avenue ahead.

  “So?” he said.

  “I should have brought marshmallows.”

  “Good.” Dane took out his phone.

  “DeRocca?”

  “Dead.” Dane dialed.

  Nina stopped for a light.

  “Len, it’s Dane,” he said into the phone. “Check out DeRocca’s trucking company, like we talked about. They had a fire tonight.”

  Nina drove across the intersection.

  “I’m sure you’ll find—”

  Nina screamed as the bright lights of an SUV filled the car. The SUV rammed the rental just behind Nina’s seat. Glass shattered and metal crunched as the impact shoved the rental across the intersection, where another SUV collided on Dane’s side.

  Gun crews leaped out of the SUVs and hauled Dane and Nina out of the rental and loaded them each into one of the SUVs, the big vehicles with their now damaged front ends pulling away in opposite directions.

  DANE FELT a dull throb, and then heard it. The drone was a constant low note. He opened his eyes. The surrounding light hurt his eyes, but he forced them open anyway. The cabin of a private jet, the sunshade to his left wide open. He couldn’t lift his head. His hands were cuffed behind his back, his ankles shackled to the floor.

  He managed to roll his head right. Nina, similarly bound, sat across the aisle. She was unconscious and drooling on her outfit. She’d get a kick out of that later.

  Two gunmen sat up front. One rose and knocked on the cockpit door, spoke to the man who answered and led him to Dane.

  Dane swallowed. His throat felt like sandpaper. He did not know the man standing before him. He had puffy black hair, dark skin, a mole on his chin. Dane mentally christened him Mole Man until further notice. Or The Molenator. Molenofski.

  “Did you have a nice nap, Mr. Dane?”

  “I’ve been drugged.”

  “You were. Your lady, too.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I am Sanchez. I am taking you to my employer.”

  “Where?”

  “Nuevo Cádiz.”

  “Never heard of her,” Dane said.

  Sanchez grinned. “Very funny, Mr. Dane. You will enjoy our country, what little you’ll see of it before we drop you and your lady in a grave.”

  “Why go through the trouble? You had us dead to rights.”

  “My employer will tell you. He has his reason for doing it this way.”

  Mole Man returned to the cockpit, and Dane was left in the presence of knocked-out Nina and two armed troops, and he couldn’t move with his wrists and ankles shackled.

  He turned to Nina. The drool stain on her top extended two inches from the collar.

  At least he had something to laugh at.

  THE CHANGE in altitude combined with his ears popping meant they were about to land.

  Nina stirred and lifted her head. Her disorientation didn’t last long, and when her eyes foun
d Dane, he smiled.

  “What are you so happy about?” she said.

  “We’re alive and about to meet the enemy. Think of all the extra work we won’t have to do.”

  Nina groaned and turned away. “I think I liked it better when you were dark and brooding.”

  “Now I’m just angry.”

  Presently the wheels chirped as the jet touched down, and Sanchez supervised while the troopers unshackled Dane and Nina.

  Nuevo Cádiz. Small country in Central America, close to Venezuela. Forgotten by most of the world, since it didn’t have oil or grow tobacco or sugar. Or much of anything. Nuevo Cádiz just sort of existed.

  A white Chevy Tahoe with police markings waited at the bottom of the exit stairs. Sanchez and his troops loaded Dane and Nina into the back. The uniformed officer behind the wheel drove away. No customs and a police escort. Sanchez’s employer, the fourth man of Royce’s group, had connections.

  They drove along the side of the runway. Dane noted no jumbo jets, just smaller Lears and Cessna Citations—the air force of the cartels and other members of the ungodly. Dane also noticed the absence of a control tower. This was a private airfield that didn’t see a lot of use.

  The cop left the airport through an electric gate and turned onto the road. No lane lines but plenty of space for opposing traffic, of which they saw none for the next twenty minutes up a winding mountain road with lush green forest on either side. Then the road flattened, some of the forest fell away, and they followed the road around the side of the mountain.

  Dane exchanged a glance with Nina. She shrugged. The further they traveled, the more complicated escape became.

  “Hey, Sanchez,” Dane said, “are we there yet?”

  The man with the mole didn’t bother to look back.

  Eventually the Tahoe stopped in front of an arched marble gate, opened by an armed guard. The SUV drove through. The access road led to the front of a mansion. Steps led to the front doors, the wide porch overhang supported by thick columns.

  A tall man with dark hair stood alone by one of the columns.

  The Tahoe stopped in front of the steps. Sanchez and his troops exited first, then helped out Dane and Nina, who were marched up the steps to where the tall man waited.

  Dane met the man’s blue-eyed gaze. He had the sharp jaw and high cheekbones of a Slav.

  “Hello, Mr. Dane.”

  “Hello.”

  “Have a problem on the plane, Ms. Talikova?”

  “Huh?”

  Dane said, “You drooled on your top, honey.”

  Nina looked. “How lovely.”

  The tall man looked at Dane. “Pardon me if don’t shake hands.”

  “Pardon me if I don’t care. Who are you?”

  “The brains of the outfit. I guess Gallagher’s notes didn’t include me?”

  “Apparently not.”

  The tall man smiled. “My name is Cyrus Lassen. Sanchez will escort you to your room. You will have a short stay, but I am not a poor host in spite of these circumstances. My home is well guarded. There is no way out and jungle all around. You will not leave until I say so, and then you’ll have two dozen troops with dogs on your trail.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Lassen snapped an order at Sanchez. Sanchez and the troops shoved Dane and Nina into the house. Dane looked back before the big oak doors shut. Lassen remained by the column, staring into the distance.

  SANCHEZ SHOWED Dane and Nina to a large and well-decorated bedroom on the fourth floor. He closed the door behind them. The lock snapped in place with a light click.

  Dane looked around. Plush carpet. Canopy bed. Curtains across the windows. Art on the walls and antique knickknacks displayed on shelves.

  “Expect bugs and cameras,” Dane said.

  Nina pulled open the curtains to find another curtain of razor wire outside the window, followed by a steep drop to the patio four floors below.

  “No exit this way,” she said, “even if I grew out my hair.”

  “Just relax, Rapunzel.”

  Dane found clothes in the closet that looked like their sizes. A desk by the bed showed a handful of Montecristo Habana cigars and a bottle of Glenfiddich.

  “Could be poisoned,” Nina said.

  “Nobody is going to poison Cuban Montecristos or twenty-year-old Scotch,” Dane said. “That’s inhuman.”

  Dane climbed onto the bed and stretched out.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Come and lie down, babe. There’s no sense trying to find a way out of here just yet. We could use a nap.”

  “I’ve slept enough.”

  “Afraid of drooling again?”

  Nina let out a curse and went into the bathroom. She closed the door extra hard.

  Dane dozed off almost immediately.

  “THAT LOOKS good on you,” Dane said.

  Nina tightened the belt. “Pants are too big and too short.”

  The cuffs of the trousers stopped just above her ankles.

  The shirt Dane wore was also a bit tight, and the sleeves were short. He stared at his fire-scarred right arm and something smoldered deep within him. He knew psychological warfare when he saw it. Of course a good operative would ignore such things. The fact that he was even thinking about it told Dane the trick might be working. Lassen knew more than Dane had thought he did.

  Somebody knocked on the door. It opened and Sanchez came in.

  “Dinner is ready,” Sanchez said.

  13

  Last Meal

  “THIS IS the presidential retreat, if you didn’t know,” Lassen said. “El Presidente and I have an arrangement.”

  Cyrus Lassen sat at the head of the table, Sanchez at the other end; Dane and Nina sat across from each other. A centerpiece of lilies divided them.

  The servers cleared the salad dishes and promptly returned with steak and garlic mashed potatoes.

  “I figured you’d enjoy a good steak,” Lassen said, sipping a glass of red wine. “Seeing it’s your last meal and all that.”

  Dane cut into the meat and chewed a bite. “My compliments. This is perfect.”

  Lassen offered a grin, laughing with his eyes.

  “So this is a perfect place to hide out?” Dane said.

  “Yes. I provide certain services to the government, and in exchange I get to stay here.”

  “Let me guess. Royce and his gang focused a lot on Central America. I’ll bet they not only eliminated Soviet agents, but they also eliminated the enemies of El Presidente, right?”

  Lassen shrugged.

  “Nuevo Cádiz has a problem with a certain band of rebels trying to get rid of El Presidente,” Dane continued.

  “They’ve been fighting for a long time.”

  “And that’s why Royce was moving guns and money and equipment down here to help the government fight. Why does Royce care what happens here?”

  “You’ll have to ask him,” Lassen said.

  “Except it’s not hard to answer. Nuevo Cádiz is the anonymous country. Royce linked up with the Mafia. It’s the perfect spot to hide money and fugitives and make it into a nice criminal sanctuary. All with El Presidente’s approval.”

  “So you say.”

  Dane ate some more. Nina watched him.

  Lassen said, “The rebels are not of much concern. They are small and unorganized. You won’t find any help there, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  Dane offered no reply.

  “The only thing you will find in Nuevo Cádiz is your death. Starting tonight. You two run. We chase. Stay alive as long as you can. Eventually we will get you.”

  “Sounds like a story I read in high school,” Dane said. “I should start calling you Zaroff.”

  “There won’t be a wager in this case,” Lassen said. “We will stalk you through a jungle. Very poetic. Almost ironic.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “We both have a reason for wanting
to kill each other. Our paths have been on a collision course for a long time.”

  Dane frowned. “I’ve never heard of you until now.”

  “Does somebody named the Duchess mean anything to you?”

  “I knew Angelica Kyznetsov for a short time, yes.”

  Lassen lifted his wineglass. “She was my wife.”

  THE DUCHESS. Dane remembered her well. An international arms dealer of some renown who had found a way to buy a nuclear weapon and almost did, until Dane interrupted the sale. When he and Nina finally tracked her down, the battle had been intense but brief, and the Duchess hadn’t walked away.

  Dane kept his eyes on Lassen. “You and Royce killed my father; I killed your wife. Very interesting.”

  “We’re both suitably fueled to see the other destroyed.”

  “You should have heard your wife scream when my grenade ripped her in half.”

  Lassen pushed his plate away, his jaw clenched tight. He snapped his fingers. “You’ve had enough.”

  The servers removed Dane’s and Nina’s plates.

  SANCHEZ WORE all black, including black jungle boots, with a pistol on his hip, as he and ten troopers armed with automatic weapons escorted Dane and Nina to the edge of the property’s west side. They filed through a gate in the wall. Twenty paces later, they reached the beginning of the jungle.

  The night sounds were well underway, filling the dark jungle with a sense of doom. You couldn’t see five feet in front of you.

  Dane’s pulse quickened. Nina took his hand and squeezed.

  Sanchez and the troops stopped.

  Dane’s eyes bounced around the grim faces of the troops. He gripped Nina’s hand tightly. The minutes dragged by as the night’s chill bit at Dane’s arms and face. Crickets chirped; other animal sounds drifted through the darkness. Dane and Nina faced danger from man and beast.

  They did not speak. The troopers were obviously waiting for Lassen. Lassen’s footsteps reached them first, heavy boots landing hard on the soft ground.

  “Are we ready?” Lassen said.

  He stopped beside Sanchez. He smiled at Dane.