Black Ops Chronicles: Dead Run (21 page)

If this wasn’t a black op, he could’ve gotten
backup
from Langley, or from Tom Davis in Mexico City. As it was, with David gone, Max was on his own.

Christ, could the mission get any more screwed u
p?

He cursed the lack of cover between him and the house. Numerous cacti and scrubby desert plants dotted the landscape, but most were small and low to the ground.
It’ll be hard getting close without being seen
.

Still, it had to be done. And there was no sense putting it off. With a sigh, he got to his feet and crept down the ridge.

The moon had risen, giving him sufficient light to see by as he moved out. Careful as a desert mouse, he eased toward the residence, using what cover he could find. A cactus here, a boulder there, he worked his way across the terrain.

As they had all day long, his thoughts returned to Tess. She hated him, but at least she was safe. He probably should’ve handled it differently, but damn it, at the time he hadn’t seen any other option.

If he’d told her what he intended to do, she’d have run from him. And without a viable plan, she had little hope of escaping Nick. Especially if she’d meant what she said about going after him. Even if she didn’t, with the terrorists behind him, Nick had the manpower to track her down before she could get out of Baja.

If only she hadn’t insisted on helping. Damn woman was as loyal as she was stubborn and courageous. And he loved that about her. Except when it affected her safety.

I may have gone about it the wrong way, but turning her over to Jim was the right thing to do
.

A brief flare of light off to his right caught his attention. Glancing over, he saw someone holding a rifle with a scope, lighting a cigarette.
You stupid fool. Lighting that cigarette just ruined your night vision
. Well, the guy wouldn’t need it much longer, anyway.

Pulling his knife out of the sheath hooked on his belt, Max changed directions and headed for his new target.

The lack of cover made silence imperative. He had to place his feet so he didn’t make a sound, which meant each step took forever. If the terrorist checked his six, Max would have to shoot him. And since his pistol didn’t have a silencer, the gunshot would alert the rest of the guards. But luck was with him. The man didn’t turn around.

Clamping his left hand over the terrorist’s mouth, Max used his right to shove the knife into the back of his neck, at the base of the skull. The man dropped his rifle, his body collapsing as the blade severed his spinal cord.

Max lowered him to the ground, pulled out the knife, and rolled him over on his back. He wasn’t dead, but he would be in a very few minutes. With the electrochemical commands from his brain cut off, the guy couldn’t breathe. His eyes, the only thing he could move, were filled with hatred and shock.

Max wiped off his knife on the man’s shirt. “Sorry, pal,” he whispered. “But you should’ve been paying more attention.” Sticking his knife back in its sheath, he watched the life fade from the man’s eyes. “Sorry,” he muttered again, surprised to find he meant it, and gently closed the guy’s eyelids.

Shoving his pistol into the waistband of his jeans, he picked up the terrorist’s rifle and continued on.

A speedboat rounded the point and pulled up to a dock near the house. He hit the ground and trained his
rifle scope
on a man climbing out of the boat with a briefcase. Almasi.

“Hello, you bastard,” Max whispered. “I owe you for David. And you’re the reason I couldn’t take Tess someplace safe.”

Centering the terrorist leader in his sights, he gauged the range. Too far with this piece-of-shit Chinese copy of an AK-47. Damn shame this isn’t a sniper rifle. He watched Almasi and his three companions go into the house.
Gotta
get closer
. He rose, brushed off his clothes, and crept on. I’ll be damned if I’ll let that son of a bitch get away.

He heard voices and crouched beside a candelabra cactus to listen. Two men arguing. There. Twenty feet ahead. Jeez, these guys were dumb. Almasi used to have better help. Max glanced at his Chinese firearm again. Better equipment, too. The economy must have affected terrorists just as it had everyone else.

Still, the rifle had a silencer as well as a scope. He aimed, fired. His first shot caught one of the men behind the left ear. His second bulls-eyed the back of the other guy’s head. The smell of gunpowder drifted on the breeze. Max left the bodies where they fell and crept on toward his goal.

Only a few yards left to go.

Two men with rifles ran out of the front door. Max froze, but they didn’t look his way, just hurried around the house and out of sight. Five men now patrolled the grounds. But they weren’t in his line of approach, so he’d worry about them later. First, he’d take out Almasi.

Anticipation balled in his chest.
Almost there
. All the years of hunting this bastard were finally about to pay off.

He knelt by a small bush just as a terrorist stepped into view from behind the house. Max dropped him with a bullet to the forehead.

Rushing the last few feet to the nearest wall, he shot a quick glance around then turned in the direction of the front door. He hadn’t gone more than a couple of feet when a quiet step behind him froze the blood in his veins.

Raising his rifle, he whirled around. Too late. The man who’d come around the corner—just as Max turned his back—had the drop on him and was screaming for reinforcements. The commotion brought the other radicals and their guns.

Fuck
! A combination of bad luck and rotten timing and the mission was over.
Thank God, Tess is with Jim
.

“Drop gun,
mothersucker
. It
be
over,” said someone from behind him. The voice slaughtering the English language was unpleasantly familiar.

Max could speak Farsi like a native but figured Almasi didn’t need to know that. Dropping his rifle, he raised his hands, and turned around. A bit taller than his underlings, Almasi was just as dark skinned as they were and even more radical. Max had matched wits with him before. Should’ve killed the bastard three years ago, when I had the chance.

“Hello, Almasi,” he said, pleased at how calm and reasonable his voice sounded.

“Max! You not dead. Me thinks me kill you on boat.” Almasi gave him a self-depreciating smile, shook his head, and jabbed his rifle into Max’s side. “Hands on head,” he ordered. “Walk
slow
at door.” He stopped and looked down at the body of the last man Max had killed. The eyes he raised to Max’s were filled with maniacal rage. “You shoot
Hassein
!”

Max felt a surge of triumph.
Hassein
had been important. Good. “You were out of range,” he said with a shrug. “He wasn’t.”

Almasi took a deep breath, his knuckles whitening on the rifle. “Hands on head,” he repeated. “Walk.”

Max complied in silence. There really wasn’t anything more to say. His luck had run out. Another terrorist marched beside them, his gun aimed at Max’s head.

They walked through the front door into a luxuriously furnished room containing a large stone fireplace and several armed men. He recognized Nick and Tony. From somewhere in the house shrilled the voice of an announcer calling out the plays in a ball game.

“Who the hell is this?” Nick demanded.

“CIA man me thinks me kill.” Almasi’s voice held anger, admiration, and chagrin. “He kill one me man, maybe more.”

“We’ll put any bodies inside,” Tony said. “Blow them up with the house.” He frisked Max, found the knife on his belt and the pistol in his waistband, and tossed them to Almasi. “So, what do we do with you, CIA man?”

“Shoot him,” Almasi demanded.

“Wait,” Nick ordered with a smirk. “Let’s make him suffer. We’ll tie him up and throw him in the back bedroom. He can blow up with the house.”

Almasi grinned and nodded. Nick left the room and came back with several yard-long lengths of cord that looked like cut-up clothesline.

“Who wants to do the honors?” he asked.

Almasi stepped forward and took the rope. He shoved Max to the floor, tied his hands behind him, and bound his ankles. Then he bent Max’s knees back and tied a rope between his wrist and ankle bonds, cinching it up so Max couldn’t stretch out his legs. At Almasi’s signal, two men picked Max up and carried him into another room.

The room was bare of furniture, except for a double bed and a nightstand, and lit only by the moonlight streaming through the un-curtained window. They dropped Max on the floor, walked out, and closed the door, leaving him to ponder his situation.

His thoughts flashed to Tess. She’d be okay. Jim would take her to Tom, and Tom would keep her safe from Nick.

Max struggled against the ropes, disgusted by his helplessness. No way could he get free by himself.
Damn you, Almasi
.
How the hell am I supposed to get out of this mess now
?

***

7:31 p.m., Hotel La Siesta, La Paz, Baja California Sur
:

“Look, I’ve already told you.
I
.
Don’t
.
Know
!” Tess paused and tried to lock down her temper. “The truth doesn’t change just because you don’t want to hear it.”

She’d been asked the same stupid questions over and over all day until she wanted to scream. Bradshaw hadn’t looked pleased she had no information for him. Served him right. Him and Max both.

Bradshaw sighed and rose from his chair. “I guess that’s all the questions I have. For now.” He packed up his notes and tape recorder then picked up his suitcase. “I’ve got an eight o’clock flight to Mexico City. Special Agent Tanner will take care of putting you in protective custody,” he said, gesturing to the FBI agent who’d joined them after Max left. “You’ll be safe with him.”

“Whatever.” She didn’t watch him leave. Tired, hungry, and depressed, she wanted supper and a bed. And a good, long crying jag. Maybe then she’d be able to clear her head.

“Sorry,” Tanner said as soon as the door closed behind Bradshaw. “But it’s hard to believe you had no idea Nicholas McKenzie was making a deal with terrorists.”

“Believe what you want.” She leaned back on the couch and closed her eyes. “I’m tired and hungry. I’d like something to eat, and then I’d like to go to bed.”

“Sometimes, life just sucks, doesn’t it?”

She glanced up at him. The menace in his smile stunned her. Tanner removed his pistol from his shoulder holster and aimed it at her.

“No,” she breathed.

“I’m afraid so.” His chilling smile widened. “I’ve worked secretly for Nick for years. Not even his grandfather knows.”

Tess studied him, wondering if she could jump him. No, he was too alert. She wouldn’t stand a chance. So, she’d lost after all. The fight drained out of her as despair settled in. After Max’s betrayal, she couldn’t drum up the will to continue. At least it was finally over.

“What are you waiting for? Kill me and get it over with.”

“Not a chance.” His dark chuckle rang with satisfaction, making ice clusters form in her stomach. “I’ll deliver you to Nick and let him kill you. I’ll get the reward, but your blood won’t be on my hands.” He motioned for her to stand up. “After all, I am a cop.”

“Some cop. Afraid to do your own dirty work.”

“Don’t be a smartass.”

Tears stung her eyes. Max had called her that, too. Damn it, why couldn’t she be strong, heartless, and cruel like Nick and Max? And Tanner. Did you have to be a man to be that callous?

“Come on.” He gestured with the gun. “And don’t try anything funny. If I have to shoot you, I will. I’ll just tell the
Federales
you were a fugitive trying to escape.” He backed away. “Pick up your bags, and let’s go.”

Refusing to let him see her pain, she swallowed her tears and got to her feet. “You won’t even carry my bags? Not much of gentleman, are you?”

With a muttered oath, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and rammed the gun in her kidney. “I warned you. Now shut your mouth and pick up your bags before I decide to kill you myself and tell Nick where to find your body.”

Yeah, he would. She had no doubt he’d put a bullet in her back and leave her to bleed to death. At least Nick would be so glad to get rid of her, he’d make it quick and painless. Hopefully.

Resigned, she nodded. He let her go and stepped back. She picked up her bags and moved to the door.

“Don’t try anything,” he warned again, grabbing her arm. “I’ve got the gun in my pocket, and I won’t hesitate to shoot.”

He forced her down the hall and into the elevator. When they reached the lobby, his hold on her arm tightened like a vice grip. Tess nodded to the clerk at the desk. Would it be worth it to scream for help? No. It wouldn’t do any good. Tanner worked for the FBI, so the local police would take his word over hers.

He pulled her out of the hotel and across the street then pushed her into a dark green sedan parked at the curb. As they drove south, she thought about jumping out of the moving car, but decided against it. If she survived it, he’d just flip a U-turn and come after her. She’d have a better chance of escaping from Nick.