Blood Trust (51 page)

“How are you at climbing?” she asked.

They moved as close to the wall as they dared. Jack wove his fingers together, Annika stepped onto them, and he launched her up toward the lowest branch. By stretching to her limit, she was just able to grab hold of it with one hand. Jack pushed her upward several inches and she swung one leg over the branch, rolling her torso until she lay horizontally on it. From her backpack, she uncoiled a length of rope, tied one end around the branch, and threw the other end to him.

A moment later, Jack had joined her on the branch. With his weight, it dipped down perilously close to the razor wire, and they began to wriggle their way toward the trunk, over the wire and wall.

They found themselves hanging above a courtyard garden that smelled strongly of citrus.

“Just a matter of time before the dogs scent us,” Jack whispered. He looked around. “Get me a rock about fist size.”

While Annika crawled across the branch and shimmied down the rope, Jack slipped off his backpack and jacket, unbuttoned his shirt, and, using a knife, slit out the entire back. Then he put it back on, and the jacket over it. As Annika was climbing up the rope, he unzipped his pants and relieved his bladder into the square of cloth until it was thoroughly saturated.

By this time, Annika had regained the branch, but now a wind had sprung up, one that bobbed the branch up and down. Again and again, it dipped dangerously close to the electrified wire. Annika froze, waiting for the wind to subside, but it didn’t. In fact, it started to blow harder. Closer and closer she came, until Jack stretched out on the limb and slowly pulled her toward him and off the far end of the branch.

He took the rock from her, wrapped it in the soaked square of shirt, then tied it off with a piece of plastic cord ripped from one of the outside pockets of his backpack.

“Ready?” he whispered.

Annika nodded, and he threw the makeshift bundle into the far left corner of the garden. Almost at once, a howling commenced and two huge dogs came racing and skidding around the corner of the house, heading directly toward the unfamiliar spoor invading their territory. Jack and Annika shinnied down, keeping the tree trunk between themselves and the dogs. They reached the opposite corner of the villa and pressed themselves against the cool stucco wall as a pair of guards, AK-50s at the ready, sprinted into the garden to see what was driving the dogs into a frenzy.

They had very little time before the dogs scented them. Jack opened a side window and Annika climbed through. He was about to follow her when he heard a stirring in the shadows and another guard appeared. The moment he saw Jack he swung his assault rifle toward Jack’s midsection. Stepping toward him, Jack shoved the barrel of the AK-50 to one side and delivered a sharp blow to the guard’s throat. Then he grabbed the assault rifle out of the staggering man’s hands and drove the butt into the bridge of his nose. The guard went down and stayed down. Slinging the AK-50 over his shoulder, Jack dragged the unconscious guard to the windowsill and tipped him inside. Then he followed him in.

He was in a darkened bedroom. Closing the window behind him, he looked around for Annika, but she was nowhere to be seen. Cursing under his breath, he stepped out into the hallway, looked both ways, then went to his right. He soon found himself in the large kitchen with its line of windows overlooking the garden. Two guards lay sprawled on the floor. Three down. Two were outside with the dogs. That meant one last guard left. He had to find Xhafa and the Syrian before the other two guards grew suspicious and decided to check the interior of the house. He unslung the AK-50.

Moving stealthily, he came upon the vast living room with its prayer rugs, modern task chair, and desk. He soon discovered that the computer was without its hard drive. He saw a connection for a high-speed modem but the modem itself was missing. He turned. Had Xhafa somehow known they were coming? Had he and the Syrian abandoned the house, leaving the guards as bait?

Then he heard the gunshot and he broke into a run.

*   *   *

T
HATË
,
HIS
hand around Alli’s arm, was met almost immediately by an Albanian thug who was clearly higher up the crooked ladder than the guards outside.

“A new cherry,” Thatë said. “And a feisty one.”

The thug grinned. “We have a cure for that.” He ogled her openly. “We’ll break her spirit soon enough.” Laughing at her expression, he grabbed at one of her breasts.

Thatë pulled her away before she could receive more of a mauling. “Absolutely not. Now that Edon is gone, Arian wants this one for himself. Where are the special cherries housed?”

“Third floor in the rear.” The Albanian frowned. “But I didn’t hear anything about another special.”

“What d’you mean?”

“We have Edon’s sister up there. She belongs to Xhafa.”

Thatë sighed. “I only do what he tells me. Call him, if you need to.”

“That’s just what I intend to do.”

The Albanian pulled out his cell and Alli jammed her elbow into his kidney. Thatë used the barrel of his handgun on the Albanian’s neck, cracking several vertebrae. The Albanian crumpled to the floor. Thatë nodded at Alli and, together, they raced down the corridor and up the central staircase.

Behind them, the Albanian’s cell activated with an incoming call.

“Ilir, are you there? Ilir, check in.”

*   *   *

A
NNIKA FOUND
Xhafa in a small room, perhaps a study, because there were piles of books on the floor. He was sitting in a chair, a Sig Sauer in one hand.

“I knew you’d come,” he said. “Like a dog to its own stink.” He lifted the handgun and pulled the trigger.

Annika, in shadow, was already moving. The bullet whizzed by her ear. Then she kicked out with her right boot, connecting with the point of Xhafa’s chin. The chair tumbled over backward. Reaching out, she plucked the Sig Sauer from him and pulled the chair back onto its feet. Xhafa sat dazed, blood drooling from a corner of his mouth.

“Sure I came back,” she said. “You’re the dog, you’re the stink.”

That’s when the barking of the dogs rang through the house.

Xhafa smiled through his pain. “Bang, bang,” he said. “You’re dead.”

T
HIRTY
-
ONE

T
HEY WERE
pounding up the safehouse stairs when Alli felt a breeze on her cheek, cold enough to make her shiver.

“They’re coming.”

It was Emma. Alli fought down a certain terror. Emma spoke to Jack only when he was near death or in dire straits. Was it the same with her?

“Prepare yourself, Alli.”

“Company,” Alli said to Thatë.

—Emma, stay with me.

Two men appeared on the second-floor landing. The moment they saw Alli and Thatë, they opened fire with AK-50s.

“I guess our cover’s blown,” Alli said as she scrambled out of the way.

Thatë opened fire with his assault rifle and the two men scattered. He advanced upward, Alli in his wake. She saw one of the men above them prone on the landing, aiming his weapon at Thatë, and she shot him. Her hands were firm, her mind unclouded. These were the lessons Jack had taught her, even before he’d brought her to the firing range for the first time. A firecracker could have gone off next to her and her concentration wouldn’t have wavered. Jack was a zen master when it came to concentration. For him, it was a necessity. In order to function more or less normally in the world took enormous amounts of concentration on his part. Anything flat with letters on it looked like a pinwheel or the inside of a lava lamp.

They were almost at the landing. Where was the other Albanian? As they reached the second floor, Thatë indicated that she go left while he went right. To the left, the banister ran along the second floor for about fifteen feet before arching upward on the flight to the third floor. Just before she reached the landing, Alli swung onto the banister. Here her smallness and light weight were a distinct advantage. Hooking her ankles through the uprights, she inched her way along. Behind her, she heard a spray of bullets and, turning, saw Thatë coming toward her. He was pointing upward; he had nailed the other Albanian.

They launched themselves up the staircase. Alli checked her watch. Less than four minutes until Vasily started his diversion.

They were only partway up, when a commanding voice called from behind them. “Stop where you are! Lay down your weapons and kneel with your hands behind your head!”

*   *   *

J
ACK COULD
see Annika in the shadows, heard her speaking, presumably to Xhafa, when the barking of the attack dogs announced their entry into the house. He turned and, in a half-crouch, prepared to defend their position.

The first of the dogs appeared, its claws skittering on the wooden floor. Jack got off a shot just after it saw him. He hit a flank, but that hardly stopped the animal. It merely bared its teeth and came on. He shot it in the chest, but he was distracted by the sight in his peripheral vision of the second dog. The first dog was hardly slowed down by the two bullets and was barely two feet from Jack when he shot it in the head. It dropped in front of him, but now the second dog was upon him, its long claws extended, its jaws snapping as if it were rabid.

The sheer weight of it bowled him over. He jammed the barrel of the AK-50 between its jaws to keep it at bay, but its claws were tearing through his jacket as it if were made of tissue. He cracked his elbow into the side of the dog’s head, but that only made it angrier. The dog had hold of the AK-50 and wasn’t going to let go. He twisted it so hard, he heard the animal’s neck vertebrae click. In that moment, he let go of the weapon and used his crooked arms to jerk the dog’s neck even farther. The vertebrae cracked like a gunshot, the light went out of the animal’s eyes, and its weight slumped on top of him.

He took a deep breath and was about to retrieve the assault rifle from the dog’s clamped jaws when a voice said, “I’ll take that.”

He found himself staring up into the face of one of the guards.

*   *   *

A
LLI TURNED
to see the man with one green eye, the other blue; monstrous eyes, revealing a pitiless and relentless soul. She shivered and even Emma, beside her, seemed to quail.

“He’ll kill you, Alli. Give him the chance and he’ll kill you.”

Thatë made the mistake of trying to reason with him. “I work for Arian Xhafa. We’re here for Liridona. We have no quarrel with you.”

“The blood you’ve spilled is quarrel enough.” One eye seemed to speak while the other was deep in scheming. He was addressing Thatë but seemed to impale Alli with his implacable gaze. “No one leaves my safehouse.”

“Yours?” Thatë shook his head. “This safehouse belongs to Arian Xhafa.”

“Arian Xhafa belongs to me.”

The Syrian lifted a pearl-handled M1911 but before anyone could react, a ferociously hot fireball raced up the stairs with a massive lightning crack. The Syrian turned. Thatë shot him in the shoulder, but the Syrian, seemingly unperturbed, fired the .45. The full-metal-jacket bullet buried itself in Thatë’s chest, throwing him back against the stairs. From that semiprone position, he fired again and again, forcing the Syrian back into a room on the second floor.

“Thatë!” Alli cried, bending down to see to his wound.

But he thrust her roughly away. “Upstairs. Find Liridona and get out of here. I’ll keep this fucker out of your way.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“Don’t be stupid.” He glanced up at her. “This is what I’ve trained for, this is my life. Now leave me to it.”

He began to fire again.

“Thatë—”

He shoved her hard. “Go!”

“Run, Alli.”

Tears running down her face, she turned and bolted up the stairs.

*   *   *

A
NNIKA IGNORED
the shots and the animal growling that came from the room behind her. This appeared to surprise Xhafa, until he said, “You’re not alone.”

Without a word, she hauled him out of the chair and, spinning him around, slammed him down on the floor.

“You’ll always be mine, you know,” he said. “Whatever you do, until the day you die.”

Annika straddled him. Taking a huge bowie knife out of her backpack, she proceeded to strip off his clothes, baring his back. The muscles rippled in anticipation.

Pressing the blade point to his skin, Annika proceeded to score seven concentric circles into his back, carving each circle deep into the muscles. Blood flowed, Xhafa screamed and kept on screaming.

*   *   *

C
AROLINE WAS
sitting in the passenger seat of the Syrian’s car, cradling her laptop, when she heard the volleys of gunshots. The car was parked a block away from the safehouse but the cracks sounded much closer. She turned to look out the side window just as Taroq pulled the door open.