Black Ops Chronicles: Dead Run (5 page)

“Considering there were children involved, I’m sure Jonas will understand.”

“I can’t risk it.” Her hands shook, so she tightened her grip on the phone. “As for Levi, he was my best friend. I won’t put him in the position of having to choose between
me and the family
. He means too much to me.” She shook her head and blinked back the tears stinging her eyes. “My only chance is to keep running. But I need some more money.”

“I put most of your money in mutual funds, so you’ve only got four thousand in cash. Will that do? Otherwise, I’ll have to convert stocks to cash. And when I do, it takes the investment firm a couple of days to cut a check.”

She fought off another round of panic. “The cash will have to do for now. Things are happening here, and I can’t wait.” When Karl started to interrupt with questions, she cut him off. “Just weird people showing up at my house.”

“But you’re still safe?”

“Yes. Please, don’t worry. Just send the money to marina number twelve. And hurry. I’ll be moving on again as soon as I get it. Oh, and use a different boat name. I don’t want to use the same one twice.”

“Okay. Let’s see. How about number E-two?”

“Whatever,” she murmured, recognizing his code for
Ebb Tide
. “One’s as good as another, I suppose.”

“It’ll go out today,” he said. “I’ll Express Mail it to the service and have
them
fly it to the marina. You should have it on Friday morning. Anything else?”

“Yeah, one more thing.” She worried about how much to tell him on the phone, but for her own protection she had to find out about Max. “Has there been anything on CNN about a shipwreck down here? We had a storm yesterday, a big one, and a...some strange debris washed up on the beach.”

“I don’t recall hearing anything about it. Let me ask my staff.” The line went quiet. Every second seemed like an hour until Karl’s voice came back. “No one else has heard anything about it, either. Sorry.”

“Thanks anyway.” She swallowed and closed her eyes a moment as loneliness and despair pummeled her. “And thanks for everything you’ve done for me, Karl. I’d be dead if not for you.”

“You’re a friend, Tess, and I’m happy to do what I can. I just wish I could do more.”

Through the open doorway, she saw the blue Jeep pull up across the street. She watched it with growing apprehension. Four men got out and swaggered toward the market. Caucasians in fancy suits. Big, muscular, and scowling, they looked more like thugs than
tourists
.

And Nick knew she was in Baja.

Had these men seen her when they drove by? They must have.

“Shit,” she muttered.

“What?” Karl asked.

“I have to go.” She hung up and looked around for the nearest exit. But there was no back door. Trapped.

“
Shit
!”

CHAPTER 3

Cornered, Tess searched for a hiding place. The bathroom? She tried the door. Locked. “Shit,” she muttered again. “Shit, shit,
shit
!”

Clutching her stomach, she crossed her legs and explained in broken Spanish that she had an “emergency,” hoping the clerk would assume she’d had a sudden attack of diarrhea—hardly uncommon among gringos. It worked. Eyes wide with alarm, the old woman grabbed a key from under the counter and shoved it at her. Tess snatched it, unlocked the door, and ducked inside the bathroom a heartbeat before the four men came through the market door.

Her pulse thundered in her ears and her stomach threatened to rebel as her system reeled from the overwhelming surge of adrenalin. Fighting off the nausea, she watched through a narrow crack between two boards in the bathroom door as one of the men questioned the old woman while she fiddled nervously with the phone. His voice echoed in the tiny store, but although Tess heard what he said, it did her no good. He spoke in smooth, rapid Spanish—too fast for her to understand the conversation.

The other three ruffians said nothing, just stood behind their spokesman like monoliths, hulking and mute. Only their eyes moved, shooting quick, wary glances that skimmed over the shelves and probed the shadows. With their lips curled in disgust, they didn’t look enchanted with the market.

None of the four men made any threatening moves that Tess could see. Not that they needed to. Their size, build, and attitude sent a clear, intimidating signal, and the clerk’s wide, transfixed eyes said she understood. Whatever they asked, she’d tell. When she pointed toward the bathroom, Tess cringed but understood the woman had no choice.

The spokesman headed over. Tess knew the flimsy wooden door couldn’t stop a brute that big. Her breath clogged in her throat as she scanned the room.
No way out
. The one tiny window—six feet off the ground and twelve inches square—was intended for ventilation, not escape.

A cold fist closed over her heart, chilling her blood to ice.
No
! She couldn’t afford to panic. If she did, she’d die. Taking a deep breath, and a vicious grip on her self-control, she pulled out her revolver, cocked it, and held it ready. If the asshole broke down the door, she’d give him a lesson in manners—one he couldn’t misunderstand.

When he stopped by the telephone and picked up the receiver, she felt like an idiot.
God, get a grip, will you
?
They’ve just come in to use the phone
. Closing her eyes as relief swamped her, she sagged against the wall.

Weak-kneed and drained, she released the breath she’d been holding and rested her head on the rough wooden planks. Although the man stood just on the other side of the thin barrier, and his conversation was in English this time, she didn’t learn much.

He started with a terse, “It’s Joe, but this line ain’t secure.” Next came a defensive, “No, we lost the satellite phone. I’m calling from the public one in the market.” A pause. “Not sure. Last time I had it was when we took Almasi’s guys out on the boat during a big storm yesterday. I know you’d rather we didn’t use the boat, but we had to take care of...that little problem. Good news is there’s no more problem.” A few more grunts followed that before, “Right. When?...Okay...Um, tomorrow morning, about eight?” Then, after a long silence, he ended with a quick, “Yep, I got it. No sweat.”

When Joe slammed the phone down, she went back to the crack. She watched him walk to the counter, pay the woman, and leave, his three companions trailing out after him.

Safe for the moment, she returned the revolver to her backpack, took a cleansing breath, and—since the abrupt withdrawal of fear had given her an urgent need to pee—used the toilet. After she finished, she washed her hands, grateful at least one faucet worked, especially since she’d had to put her used toilet paper in a bucket beside the commode.

Picking up her backpack, she hesitated at the door. Life had taught her caution in hard, painful lessons, so she waited until she heard the Jeep drive off. Opening the door a crack, she peered out. No one left but the clerk.

The old woman had lost her smile. Her eyes, bright with welcome and curiosity earlier, now looked tired and afraid. Tess flinched as a stab of guilt pierced her. She didn’t
know if those four men were after her, but even if they weren’t, others soon would be
. And the clerk was right to fear them.

Tess didn’t want the locals to suffer because of her, but she could do nothing to prevent it, except move on and leave them in peace.

Heart aching, she took a last look around the market, burning the scene on her mind. The scent of cilantro, overlaid with ripe bananas and chili peppers, lingered in her nostrils as she bought a jar of peanut butter and paid for her phone call. The clerk took her money, scuttled off to the other end of the counter, and came back with a handful of Mexican coins.

Tess stifled a groan.
Not more coins
!
As if I didn’t have enough
. Heavy and practically worthless, they weighed down her backpack like rocks. She didn’t even like to spend them. It was too much trouble trying to tell them apart. Sighing, she dropped them into her pack, adding to the hefty pile at the bottom. Then she shoved the peanut butter in on top and headed for the door. When she reached it, she paused and surveyed the street with a thoroughness born of fear. Not a soul in sight. Even the children had escaped inside out of the sun. She left the shelter of the market and trudged down the dirt sidewalk.

She hadn’t gone very far when something dark, and cloaked in a veil of dust, pulled up to the stop sign at the corner, three blocks down.

The blue Jeep!

It came to a rolling stop, turned onto the street, and headed away from her. She hesitated. Would they drive back this way before she reached the road leading to the cove? Could she risk it, or should she take another route home? Then the Jeep flipped a U-turn, bringing her indecision to an abrupt halt.

Breaking into a run, she darted down a side street and sprinted past the village church. She stopped, doubled back, and took the church steps two at a time. With a last, quick glance over her shoulder, she yanked the door open and slipped inside.

The interior of the chapel smelled of wood, furniture polish, and vanilla incense. Cool and peaceful, and thankfully deserted, it calmed her frayed nerves and lifted her spirits. Now, if only the men in the Jeep hadn’t seen her come in.

She stood just inside, with the door open a crack, and waited, watching the street. The Jeep rolled slowly past. Its brakes squealed.

Then the car doors slammed.

***

Where am I
? He woke up confused. And alarmed.
How’d I get here
? Simple questions he should’ve known the answers to. So why didn’t he?

Who am I
?
he
wondered next and drew another blank. Wait a minute. This couldn’t be right. How had his mind been wiped clean?

Nothing made any sense. A dream? No. He hurt way too bad for it to be anything but real.

Panic ripped through his mind, but he fought it off. He’d figure this out. There was a logical explanation. Had to be. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and tried to remember something—anything—but the pain was too distracting.

Jesus, my head hurts
. Raising his hand to his forehead, he brushed his fingers over a large bandage. Head injury? He felt a trickle of relief.
See
?
A logical explanation
. Concussion could cause temporary memory loss. Couldn’t it? Did he really know that, or had he made it up? And how long did “temporary” last?

Forcing his eyes to focus, he tried to sit up. Bad move, he decided, as a wave of nausea swept over him. He slumped back onto the bed with a groan

What the hell happened to me
? His whole body felt like one continuous bruise—and every square inch of it throbbed.
Whatever it was, it must’ve been horrific
.

Panic flared up again. To keep it at bay, he looked around, searching for clues. Didn’t help. Nothing seemed the least bit familiar.

He lay on a rickety double bed in a small, shabby bedroom. Beside the bed stood a dilapidated nightstand. A broken dresser over in the corner was the only other furniture. The clock on the nightstand showed twenty minutes after one. Daylight coming through the window meant afternoon. But what day?

He sighed, laid his head back on the pillow, and glanced up. The ceiling consisted of nothing but dried palm leaves woven together over rough wooden beams.
You’d think I’d remember that
. But the exotic construction only raised more questions.

He tensed, startled by a sudden movement on the bed. Cautiously, he raised his head then blinked at the large orange tabby that stared back at him. The cat curled up, closed its yellow eyes, and rested its head on its paws. Its deep, rumbling purr was soothing.

So he had a cat. What the hell had he named it? He struggled to sift through the dense fog in his brain, but the only thing he could recall was a woman leaning over him with concern on her face. A woman with golden-red hair, curling around her shoulders like a bonfire. And intense gray eyes that reminded him of gathering storm clouds. Real or a dream? If real, was she his? If only he could remember.

But he couldn’t concentrate. He found it hard work just to breathe, and a headache hammered at his brain, shattering his thoughts like glass.

***

1:31 p.m., the penthouse apartment of Nick McKenzie, Salt Lake City, Utah
:

Fuming over the transcript of Tess’s latest conversation with Parks, Nick stalked into the living room, carrying the stack of telex printouts and nursing a double scotch. “It sure as hell took Joe long enough to call.”

“He’s in Baja,” Tony pointed out. “There’s not a payphone on every corner like there is here.”

“Why the hell didn’t the fools take a satellite phone?”

“They did, but they lost it.”

“Figures,” Nick grumbled. “And I suppose they only took the one.”

“That’s all you were willing to give them.”

“Oh, right.” Nick flushed and cleared his throat. “Well, the damn things’re so expensive with that encryption program you insisted on. And one’s all the idiots would’ve needed if they’d been careful.” Flustered, he sank into a chair, splashing his drink on the papers. “So what’d you tell them?” he asked, wiping off the droplets with a disgusted flick of his hand.

“I told them to start where they were and check every house, church, cottage, outhouse, and dog house between there and the border. It would’ve been nice to have them in La Paz for the meeting with Almasi, but they aren’t really needed. So it’s better to have them hunt for her.”

“And if they don’t find her?”

“Then we keep looking. What else can we do?”

“Parks told Tess that Levi was asking questions. What if my grandfather finds her first?”

“Then you’ve got a problem.” Tony flashed him an arrogant half grin. “Not to say ‘I told you so,’ but you probably shouldn’t have done it in front of her.”

Nick shrugged. “That isn’t what worries me. I can always find some way to justify killing that slime and his family.”

Rising, he tossed the printouts on the couch, stomped to the window, and studied the quarter-sized snowflakes drifting past the glass on their journey to the street below. “It’s the operation I’m concerned about. Grandfather’s not big on drugs. And I can only imagine how pissed he’d be about Almasi.” He sipped his drink and watched the falling snow. “You’re sure Tess knows about our plans?”

“She knows enough. And before you ask, no, we can’t change them.”

Nick didn’t need to glance over his shoulder to know Tony’s face had hardened. It always did at the mention of Tess’s name. He wondered again what she’d done to fuel this deep-seated hatred Tony had for her. Knowing Tony wouldn’t tell him, he changed the subject. “Who’s with Joe in Baja?”

“Josh, Glen, and Bruce. But the two of us are flying down on Friday to meet with Almasi. Or did you forget?”

“I didn’t forget. I just wish we had someone better down there looking for Tess.”

“So do
I
,” Tony growled. “But if you recall, you insisted on keeping our best men here to oversee that new protection business of yours.”

“I need them here.” Nick had fought hard to win that battle. And he
hoped like hell he wouldn’t regret it
. “So, when’s Joe going to call again?”

“Tomorrow morning, around eight.”

“
Tomorrow morning
? Christ.” Nick threw up his free hand. “Why the hell don’t they just buy another cell phone?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Where? Come on, slick,
use
your head. A village like El Nopal doesn’t have a cell phone store. Joe could probably go into La Paz and find one, but the phone wouldn’t have the encryption program we need. And since I don’t really want the FBI listening in on our calls, I told him to wait and I’d bring him another phone on Friday.”

“They’ll probably just lose it again. How’d they lose the one they had?”