Cherry Adair - T-flac 09 (14 page)

“Unfortunately.”

“I’ll backspace five minutes. We’re cool. No one will remember you were ever there.” And none of his team would recall the do-over either. No one but himself was ever aware that time had been manipulated.

“I take it you didn’t find him?” Caleb asked Dekker when he shimmered beside him for the second time.

“No. Fucked up. Minor miscalculation. Almost ended up embedded in mountainside forever. You?”

“Negative.” Caleb sensed Rook’s shimmering return seconds before the man spoke quietly from a couple of feet away.

“Restaurant’s closing up. Owner and his wife. Another ten minutes I’d guess.”

“Good enough,” Caleb told him. “Let’s do it.”

Earlier they’d slipped into houses on either side of their quarry to see how far back into the mountainside they went. But that wasn’t necessarily an indication of the depth of
Shaw
’s place. There’d been massive excavation over the past five years. Not surprisingly. With clients as dangerous as his,
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Shaw would know that one day he’d need a secure place to hide. None of the locals knew for sure how deep a new cave could be carved into the soft tufa stone. He was in here. Somewhere. Caleb was confident
one
of them would find him.

Thinking of Hannah, he hoped that one of his team would get to the bastard first.

He teleported to his guesstimated entry point some eight hundred yards in, almost landing on top of a man built like a defensive tackle. His hairless head was the smallest part on his body and he had no shoulders. A three-hundred-pound brick shithouse.

In these tight quarters, with twenty other men in the room, it was a wonder the guy could scratch his ass. Unless Shaw used him as sheer body mass, Caleb couldn’t think of one useful purpose for the dude.

Ignoring Gigantean Man, Caleb quickly did a visual scan of the thirty-by-fifteen space. Beds lined the rough-hewn walls of cream-colored stone. No creature comforts here. Stone walls, stone floor. Bare bulbs, with exposed wiring, were strung precariously from a crumbling plaster ceiling. Beds. Foot lockers. Weapons rack.

The room might be light on accessories, but the gun rack more than made up for the lack of décor.

An opening on each end of the room indicated that the place had been set up like a shotgun house, with a passageway connecting each cave to the next. This was clearly a dorm, and it smelled like one. The stench of stale sweat, dirty socks, and leftover meals permeated the air, already too raunchy with that many unwashed bodies in a confined space.

The men were getting ready to sack down, with all the accompanying bodily noises and verbal bullshit.

Ignoring them, Caleb went over to the weapons racked across the room. The usual shit; AK-47s, XM8s, G3A4s—the retractable butt version of the G3. A bunch of semiautomatic handguns, and a shitload of ammo.

There was plenty of noise to cover the sound as he disabled what he found by jamming the safeties or removing the firing pins. That done, he moved off into the next room. Another dorm. Bigger. This one held seventy-five sleeping men. Again he disabled the weapons in the rack, accelerating his movements to save time and escape detection. He might be invisible, but the weapons he was handling weren’t. If anyone happened to catch a glimpse of movement it would be so brief they’d think they’d imagined it.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Man, he
loved
this part of the job.

The only thing better than being a T-FLAC operative was being T-FLAC/psi and walking among his enemies unseen. Too bad he didn’t have the time to dick with their heads. He grinned as he moved unnoticed to the next room. A large galley-style kitchen. Clean and empty. They’d had fresh bread with their dinner, and the hot, yeasty smell made his stomach rumble. Shaw wasn’t starving in here, Caleb thought dryly, looking around for some nuts. He’d had an insatiable craving for Brazil nuts in the last few months, but right now any kinda nut would do.

Shaw had one of London’s top chefs working for him. Feeding his men well was a smart move. A full belly and good pay, very good pay, would ensure that the men stayed put. For how long? Caleb wondered, opening another pantry door.

Jesus. Forget the goddamn nuts!Shaking his head, he shut the door. Chairs and tables for a hundred.

Instead of the salty nuts he craved, Caleb helped himself to a damn fine oatmeal-raisin cookie from an enormous container on one of the counters. Commercial refrigerators, commercial dishwashers, commercial, fully stocked pantry. Yeah. Shaw was feeding his men well. He’d have to in order to keep two hundred and fifty men incarcerated with him in these caves. This place certainly wasn’t for the claustrophobic.

The man was well prepared. But then T-FLAC knew that about Brian Shaw. Knew that the man was fastidious, organized, some said anally so, and Mensa brilliant.

Had the death of Babette Shaw last year been the catalyst for Brian’s out-of-the-ordinary behavior?

How had Heather felt when she’d learned her mother had been murdered?

Hannah. He—
T-FLAC
—knew where Heather Shaw was located. Still in San Francisco. And if she had any access to the billions her father had embezzled it sure as hell hadn’t shown in her lifestyle.

And according to reliable sources, he thought, yanking his mind off Shaw’s daughter and back to Shaw,
someone
had been digging away at this mountain for almost five years.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Which meant that the embezzling hadn’t been spur-of-the-moment. Caleb grabbed another couple of cookies.

Maybe not spur-of-the-moment, but still f-ing stupid. He chugged some cold milk, then put the jug back in the fridge. First, according to T-FLAC sources, Shaw had been excellent at his job. He’d protected his clients’ money, invested it, and laundered it. His commissions earned him billions of dollars a year.

Most of it tax-free. It wasn’t like he could report earnings from participating in a criminal conspiracy.

So why steal his clients’ money? He’d already lived a life of affluence and privilege. He’d had everything a man could buy, and plenty of things that a man couldn’t.

So why steal?

From tangos?! Stupid wasn’t even the word.

There was nowhere on the planet that he could spend that money. Nowhere he’d ever be safe.

Shit. The man’s behavior was illogical.

Caleb helped himself to a couple of fat olives, wiping his hands on a nearby folded towel as he chewed and walked. Why would any sane man rob the golden goose?

It was a given that when Shaw’s ex-clients caught up with him, they’d extract the information as to the location of their funds in any way necessary.

Caleb came to a rec room. Everything any man required. Except a woman, of course. He wondered fleetingly how Shaw handled
that
need for two hundred and fifty men.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Men had killed for less than lack o’nookie.

Recliners, giant-screen TV. Hundreds of first-run movies.

Where the hell are you, Shaw?And please, God, don’t let Heather be with you.

Caleb had been so certain that Shaw was here, but now he wondered if the intel was wrong, and they’d made a mistake. He’d already traveled more than seventeen hundred yards in from his entry point—he was now more than a mile and a half inside—and there was still no sign of the man.

And still no indication that this maze-like pile of rocks Shaw called home was ever going to end.

Satellite imaging indicated that there weren’t any cave openings on the other side of the mountain. And if there were, Caleb had another team positioned there just itching to get the glory.

Shaw had been observed entering. There was no other way out. He was still here.

Somewhere.

Next up, the latrine. Making sure no one was around, Caleb took a leak. The thought that someone could come in and see a sourceless stream of urine midair made him grin.

Moving right along.

Ah. Nowthis
looked promising.
The next opening was a hallway of sorts, intersecting three narrow tunnels. Unlike the areas he’d been through, there were no lights in the tunnels.

Without hesitation Caleb went left. The natural inclination would have been to go right. There was enough light from behind him to show the way for a couple of hundred feet. After that it was blacker than

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

a witch’s heart.

He didn’t bother with the NVGs. He saw pretty well in the dark, and after a few moments his eyes adjusted adequately to see the bends and turns in the pale walls.

He sensed, rather than felt, a presence, seconds before he heard the low-throated growl. Caleb paused, the hair on his arms standing straight up.

Make that growl
s.
Plural.

The pack of black dogs, eyes gleaming, white teeth snapping, came at him from out of the darkness.

SANFRANCISCO

FRIDAY, APRIL14

10:15A.M .

She was pregnant.

Of course she was, Heather thought, pacing her far-too-small apartment. God had a perverse sense of humor. That day with Caleb had been magical, so of course there had to be penance.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

She’d always been crazy about kids, and had no doubt that one day she’d marry and have a family. But not
now.
Not while her own life was on hold.

Not while one of her father’s business associates was hunting her down like a bloodhound after fresh kill.

Arms wrapped around her body, Heather rubbed her upper arms as she speed-walked in a tight circle.

“Ring, damn it,” she snarled at the silent phone as she passed it for the nine hundred and ninety-ninth time in the last two hours.

After confirming her pregnancy, it had taken her a week to muster the courage to call the number on Caleb’s business card. But now that the decision to tell him had been made, and she’d called and left a message, she wanted to talk to him this instant.

Perversely, just because she’d known he couldn’t possibly contact her, Heather had spent the last eighty-some days pissed off that he hadn’t. “And how could he?” she asked the room at large.

“He doesn’t know where I live. He doesn’t know my phone number. He doesn’t know
me.
” Worse, unlike herself, he’d probably forgotten that day altogether.

What was she hoping Caleb would do? Talk her out of the most difficult decision she’d made in her life? “Don’t expect him to be thrilled,” she told herself.

Not once in the hours that she and Caleb had spent together had he asked for her phone number or address. Not that she’d have told him, but damn him, he hadn’t even
asked.
Which meant that he’d had no intention of seeing her again. No matter what he’d intimated.

“He is not going to be a happy camper when I tell him.” What man would? She was as responsible as he was. She was a grown-up. She could have said no at any time. How responsible had she been not to put a stop to what they were doing when she realized they weren’t using any protection? Oh, yeah. By the time her brain had caught up with her body it was a little late to put that horse back in the barn.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

And as much as she hated to have to tell him, he had a right to know that they’d created a child together.

If he ever gave her the opportunity. He could very well ignore her message. Or it could’ve gotten lost.

Or—

He’d call. She was pretty sure he would call.

“So I’ll tell him. Without e-emotion.” The break in her voice didn’t bode well, and she cleared her throat as if he’d suddenly materialize before her right then. “And without an editorial.” Then she’d tell him that this was her body and most importantly, she wanted nothing from him. “My choice.”

Tears filled her eyes and she brushed them away. Hormones. And feeling sorry for herself. She desperately wanted her
mother,
which made the tears fall faster. Biting her lower lip, she wiped them away with both hands, wished she could be cool and sophisticated about this pregnancy and not feel so damn sad, and lonely and scared.

For that matter she’d been plenty lonely and scared
before
she’d found out she was pregnant. She forcibly pushed aside the mental image of a pink-cheeked, wide-eyed baby from her mind. The same sweet face that now gave her even more cause for nightmares and sleepless nights.

Everywhere she looked she saw pregnant women and babies. She awakened this morning sure she’d heard her baby crying. And then realized that it was her own sobs that had roused her. She didn’t have any moral or religious reason to dismiss an abortion. But, oh, God. She had empty arms, and a heart yearning to give the love she had bottled up to the tiny life growing inside her.