Blackjack Dead or Alive (The Blackjack Series Book 3) (23 page)

“It’s okay.”

“Yeah, so I asked him one time, why he didn’t teach you. You were five, or six. I don’t remember, but you were pretty clever for your age and…well…he just looked at me all serious and said, ‘I teach you, Jason. You teach him.’”

I felt the tears welling at the edges of my eyes, then streaming down the side of my face, and did nothing to wipe them.

“And…it occurs to me,” he went on, also struggling. “Well, I didn’t keep my promise, little brother.”

“I fucked up real bad, Jay. Real bad.”

“Dad, are you okay,” I heard one of his little girls say.

“Yeah,” he said, sucking back the mucus on his nose. “I’m fine Abby. I’m talking to my little brother Dale. He’s your uncle.”

“You have boogers,” she said, making him laugh.

“Go help your mother pack,” he told her. “That one is a handful,” he told me. “Smart as a tack. The other is kind of artsy, like nothing in the world matters. She’ll curl up with a book and read all day long. You’ll forget she’s even there.”

“I can’t wait to meet them,” I said. “How long until you can leave the house?”

“In a minute, Luli’s coming down with some bags now.”

“Good,” I said. “Stay safe.”

“Dale,” he said. “Let’s not let another decade pass before seeing each other. You’re my brother, dammit. I want to hear from you. No matter what happens.”

“I may be going away for a long time after this,” I said, though I instantly regretted it. I didn’t want him to worry.

“Then I’ll come visit you,” he said.

I wiped my nose and face on the sleeve of my coat.

“And Dale?”

“Yeah.”

“If you can,” he said. “Go see dad.”

“I will,” I said and hung up, leaning back in the seat, unchecked tears streaming down my face.

Despite everything I must’ve cost him, he was still with me, probably the only person in the world that was. And now he and his family were in danger because of me. Worse than that, if I left everything behind and went to him, I wouldn’t be helping him. Everyone would be waiting, ready to slam manacles on me.

The last call I made with the dead man’s phone was a number I had committed to memory – my last resort.

I left a message for Superdynamic, begging him to help my brother.

*              *              *              *

I wanted to pass out in the seat and sleep for a year, but despite the exhaustion, I was wide awake. Fifteen minutes had passed and Stellian was still out on the tarmac. Looking out the oval window, I saw him talking to the woman I had bribed earlier, along with another woman dressed in a dark blue uniform. She might have been airport security, but the rifle slung over her shoulder was military grade.

Stellian and the security officer were huddled around the woman I had bribed, who held a tablet in hand. They looked at the tablet, then at the plane and back again. They must have seen me because Stellian broke from the group, waving his arms in a placating gesture, and turned towards the plane. Hanging my head, I rubbed at my face, trying to settle my expression, grinding the tears until they sublimated.

I heard metallic footsteps, and looked up to see Stellian peeking around the edge of the doorway. We made eye contact and he froze, but only for a moment before crossing into the cabin.

“Why aren’t we in the air,” I said, trying and failing to keep my tone genial.

He flinched, taking a short step away from me before gathering himself. He fidgeted with his hands, and I could see them shake slightly as he answered, “The government ground all planes. Something happen in the city.”

“This isn’t what I paid for, Stellian.”

“I know, sir. I apologize, but they say we can’t fly.”

I looked out the window again to see the two women approaching the plane. The soldier held her rifle at the ready, the woman I bribed had a cellphone at her ear. “Go outside and tell them they are going to let us take off,” I said, infusing the words with all of my anger and frustration. It came out as a low, feral whisper.

He left the cabin with a queasy nod, his step halting as he gripped the railing for support. I watched as he made his way to the two women, no longer animated in his speech. The soldier nodded and sidestepped away from the other two, taking a position that gave her a solid bead on the plane’s doorway. The other woman laid a hand on Stellian’s shoulder and said some more to him.

I may not have been sleepy, but it took a concerted effort for me to stand. I was careful not to put too much force on the armrests for fear of damaging them. I stepped out of the plane and felt the soldier’s attention shift to me. I told myself she was just doing her job, and repeated it like a mantra as I ignored her and walked up to Stellian and the woman. Towering over them both, I hunched a little, the resulting effect made it seem like I was looming, though I stopped six feet away.

“Sir, please go wait on the plane,” the woman said, her voice steady, her posture solid. She was a slimy little bureaucrat, but I admired her gumption.

“As soon as you tell my man that we have clearance to fly,” I said, taking another step forward. Stellian retreated a step, but the woman held her ground, almost grinding her heels into the tarmac.

“Sir, I am authorized to give you commands by my government,” she said. “And I insist you board the plane immediately and wait for further instructions, otherwise I will have no choice but to have you placed under arrest.”

“So arrest me,” I said.

“I will. I have the authority to do so.”

“I have the ability to tear this whole airport down around your ears,” I said. “You know who I am? Nod if you know who I am.”

She looked at the tablet again, swiping with a finger and compared, then nodded.

I nodded back and said, “You want to know my secret?”

“No, I do not,” she said, still defiant. She was working hard to control the situation; she had the authority, and a gun to my head. She didn’t understand how weak her position was.

“I’ll tell you anyway. I don’t want to tear down the airport. I don’t want to hurt you people. All I want is to leave.”

“You cannot leave. All flights are grounded.”

“You’re not thinking this through. If you were, I would already be headed home. I know what you’re thinking, catch the bad guy, and reap the rewards. I can see Stellian counting his cut, scared as he is. But you are missing one crucial element.”

“They would never believe you,” she said, reading my mind. “You are a criminal and a murderer. Your word has no weight.”

“You are correct,” I said. “But Stellian over there? He would sell you out for nothing, and when his government finds out what he’s been doing with their boss’s plane?”

I let the words hang, allowed them all to formulate their own conclusions. The woman’s bluster deflated with an audible whoosh, the effort of keep up the charade seemed to paralyze her. Stellian, a good pilot, but apparently not all that bright, looked like he was still grinding gears. The only pro on the tarmac was the soldier, whose gaze never wavered. I turned and gave her a flippant salute, earning a glare from behind the rifle’s sights.

The bureaucrat turned without another word, beckoning the soldier to follow. She obeyed, her attention sliding off me, never to return as she entered the airport. Stellian stood next to me and said, “I didn’t know what to do.”

“You and me both,” I said. “Time to go home. She won’t give us any more trouble.”

They delayed us just long enough to clear a runway, and an hour later, we were in the air. Nobody bothered us and I felt the Netherlands imaginary border pass beneath us. Digging into my bag, I picked out a burner phone and called Bubu. He answered on the first ring, his voice shaky.

“Bro, what’s happened,” he said. “That shit in Amsterdam is crazy.”

“How many dead,” I said.

“Nobody knows,” he said, and I heard him taking stairs, then closing a door behind him. “The ambulances just got there, and the army, but the BBC has a helicopter flying over the city and there are bodies everywhere. Like they just fell down and died.”

“They did,” I said, trying hard to keep my tone solid. My idiot brain started running math, tallying the casualties, but I tamped that out before it could consume me. I had zoned out and missed the last thing Bubu said, but I heard him talking about the castle and said, “No, Bubu, no castle. Shut it all down.”

“What? Bro, why?”

“I killed my duplicate in Amsterdam, and Haha doesn’t matter anymore. Brutal, I have to stop him. His powers don’t work so well on me for some reason.”

Bubu was silent for a long time.

“You might as well tell me,” I said.

“Before we left for Bucharest,” he said, the words clipped, his accent heavier, and I realized he was frightened.

“What about it?”

“While you were getting ready, I noticed the slave software was linking the printers, but it had just started.”

“That makes no sense, the second printer wasn’t even done,” I said, trying to remember the last bit I had been working on before Brutal’s video threw me into a tailspin.

Bubu laughed, and though it was forced, there was real mirth to it as well. “You needed some sleep bro. The second one was built and ready to go. You finished the last of the wiring before we saw the video.”

The last few days had taken place several lifetimes ago, so I nodded, waiting for him to continue. Realizing he couldn’t see me, I said, “And what Bubu?”

“Well, like I said, the software was running, and I figured it would be done by the time I got back from Bucharest. But when I got back the bar had stalled with about five percent to go.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. Without the slave program to link the printers, I could still close up shop and pivot to Brutal. “No worries, man. Just turn everything off, burn anything too incriminating and leave the rest to me. Take what’s left of the petty cash, pay the gypsy’s and keep the rest. Be fair to them, Bubu.”

Silence fell and for a second, I thought the call had dropped. I took the phone from my ear and saw a full set of bars, along with a counter timing the call. I felt a sinking in my stomach and said, “Tell me.”

“The guy who filled the rest of our order did IT at university, same time as I was doing accounting,” Bubu said, but my growl cut him off.

“You didn’t,” I said.

“Bro, I thought about trying to fix it, but I didn’t want to fuck it up. Sebas and his guys are really good, and I know he won’t sell us out.”

“Oh fuck-all Bubu, tell me you didn’t let those chimps look at my system.”

“He fixed the problem,” Bubu said, defensively. “Something was buggy in the directory.” He paused and I heard the sound of metal rending. At first I thought it was from his end, but I looked at the chair I sat in. The armrest crimped in on itself at an odd angle under my clenched fist. Shaking my head, I let my arm dangle over the side of the chair, and opened my mouth to prompt Bubu again when he said, “He started the maker program.”

“Goddammit, Bubu!”

“I’m sorry, bro. He saw the executive and did it without thinking.”

“Nice fucking team you brought over,” I growled, trying to keep my voice down. The last thing I needed was to spook Stellian at twenty-thousand feet.

“Bro, that’s not all,” he said.

“What?”

“They used the wrong design. Remember you were showing me the CAD program the other day? You showed me a file with Peles castle-“

“Don’t tell me that, Bubu!”

“-And how pretty it was,” he went on. “Yes, bro. They used that one.”

I stood up, letting the phone hang from my hand, and walked to the plane’s lone bathroom. The door slid open on well lubricated rails, the light coming on as it did. I could hear Bubu voice, spouting apologies, but I ignored him, splashing some water on my face, letting it drip into the sink. My face looked like raw, lumpy brisket, pounded soft and left in the sun for a day. I almost put my fist through the mirror, but the plane couldn’t take the punch.

They used the wrong castle. Of course they did, because I wasn’t even going to use the damned thing. I had intended the castle to be a beacon to draw Haha out. If nothing else, he was curious, and a castle spontaneously appearing on a Romanian hillside would have been enough to pique him. Forget that. I was going into deep hiding, maybe I could use the drones to burrow underground, bide my time, heal up, do my research and wait for Brutal to slip.

Then I was going to tear his spine out and choke him with it.

I picked up the phone and he was still apologizing. “Bubu, listen,” I said and waited for him to be quiet. “It’s okay.”

“You’re not mad?”

“I’m not,” I lied. “Just let it go. Keep the money, take the cars and go. Find your family in the UK. This will all be over soon.”

I ended the call but he phoned me right back.

“Why are you calling me, Bubu?”

“The phone cut out, bro.”

I laughed, “I hung up with you.”

“Bro…”

“I know, man. I don’t have much of a choice here.”