Choke Point (26 page)

He carefully scanned each photo with a six-inch magnifier, marking locations with either a blue or red marker. When he finished, a job that seemed to take the better part of an hour, he set them aside and rolled out a topographical map of the island. He placed a lead sinker at each corner to keep the paper from curling, then pulled a laptop computer from a waterproof duffle lying next to his chair and placed it alongside the map. As the computer booted, he began to transpose the marked photo locations to the map, highlighting and numbering each spot with the same identifying colors. He worked methodically, not stopping until every location had been marked, numbered, and input on a gridlined overview displayed on the screen of his laptop.

Mawl nodded to himself; no way that Houdini Leonidovich would escape this time. He took a deep breath and counted slowly to five, mentally preparing himself for what he would say to Trader, a man who was never satisfied with anything.

No, sir, that wasn’t the plan
. A little dramatic hesitation.
But you said “get it done.”

No, sir, I didn’t know she would be on the plane
—Another hesitation.—
but you said you “didn’t give a fuck who got in the way.”

Yessir, quite sure, your exact words. Would you like me to play it back?

Oh, didn’t I mention that? Everything. Every last word.

Yessir. Thank you, sir. And fuck you too.

Just the thought of it made him smile. He reached down, pulled his phone from the waterproof duffle, attached the micro-recorder, and punched in the numbers. He waited through the familiar rings and clicks of the router, but then after a few moments the line went to dial tone. What the…? But he knew the answer even before the question formed in his mind. The bastard had heard the news reports, realized what happened, and was now trying to avoid final payment on the contract. Mawl wasn’t that surprised, and he certainly wasn’t worried. He could find the man—he had a voice print and a money trail—but that would have to wait. First, he wanted whatever was in that black case. That was the golden apple. His one-way ticket to…some out-of-synch vibration suddenly broke into his consciousness…the faint sound of breathing.

He leaned down, as if to return the phone to his duffle, his fingers closing around the butt of his Beretta. Hunched over, he could now make out the dark shape, realized who it was, and laid the gun on the table. “Enter.”

Robbie hesitated, then stepped forward into the yellow light, his body covered head to knee in a rain poncho.

Mawl leaned back and crossed his arms. “Well?”

The kid shook his head, his eyes downcast, like a dog caught soiling the carpet. “I’m sure it was on the boat.” He extended his hands out from under his poncho, the stiff material flaring off his arms like bat wings. “I remember pulling out my rain gear on the way over.”

Mawl motioned toward one of the fold-up canvas chairs. “Sit down. I believe you.”

Though his hangdog expression never changed, the kid’s relief was obvious, the tension melting from his face like snow before the sun. He pushed back his hood and dropped into the chair. “Thank you, sir.”

“I’m sure the
good captain
didn’t think anyone would notice if he helped himself to a little bonus.”

Robbie bobbed his head, clearly pleased to be off the hook. “Yessir. That’s what I was thinkin’.”

“That doesn’t excuse it,” Mawl snapped, letting the kid know he couldn’t dismiss his carelessness so easily. “You should have checked your gear.”

“Yessir, you’re right. It won’t happen again.”

There would never be another
again,
Mawl thought, if he could get his hands on that case. “You sure he didn’t get anything else?”

“Aye, that was all,” Robbie answered. “Just some clothes and things.”

“Things…?” Mawl knew exactly what the kid was trying hard not to say. “Such as your NV goggles?”

“Yessir.”

“Which you’ll pay for.”

“Aye.”

“What about papers? Prescription bottles? Anything of that nature? Anything with your name on it?”

“Nae.”

“Backup weapon?”

Robbie pulled back the edge of his poncho, exposing his shoulder holster and the butt end of his forty-five. “I’m good to go, sir. Really. No problem.” He glanced at the map, clearly wanting to change the subject. “Everything worked out?”

“Pretty much,” Mawl answered. “I won’t be able to finalize exact placement until we’re in the field.”

“How many infrared?”

Mawl glanced at the count totals on his laptop. “Fifty-three pair. Plus twelve dozen vibration sensors.”

Kyra could hardly breathe, her whole body going cold with fear, the way a field mouse must feel when it comes under the shadow of the hawk. What she assumed would be a struggling search through the rain and mud, had suddenly turned sophisticated and high-tech.

Robbie nodded approvingly. “Aye. That sounds right.”

“I’m glad you approve,” Mawl snapped, irritated by the kid’s appraising tone. “They so much as break wind, we’ll know it.”

“Yessir,” Robbie answered quickly, anxious to please. “They’re as good as trapped.”

“They won’t be trapped until the sensors are down and those Zodiacs are in the water. It’s gonna be a lot of work, kid, you better turn in.”

Robbie hesitated, the shadowed look of a person with something on his mind. “Chrich said you mighta hit one. That courier bloke.”

“Chrich talks too much.”

“But now you want everyone taken alive?”

Mawl nodded, realizing the kid was circling, building up the courage to ask something.

“Well…I was just wondering—” The kid glanced away, avoiding eye contact. “You know…what then?”

Normally, Mawl would have verbally swatted the kid for insubordination, but he realized the question would need to be answered soon enough, and this was a perfect time to test the story. “Listen, kid, I take orders, just like you. I just now got off the phone with the client, and believe me, he laid it out real clear. You know that case Leonidovich is carrying?”

Robbie frowned, a puzzled look of confusion. “Aye.”

“Well, he finally told me what this is all about. It’s full of incriminating papers. Papers that could ruin the client’s reputation. He expects me to deliver it intact. Unopened. That’s priority one.”

“Yes, but—”

“So we need them alive,” Mawl went on, getting into the story, feeling the rhythm. “To make sure they didn’t hide the case or what’s inside.”

“Then what?”

Then what?
Then it hit him; the kid didn’t give a bloody damn about reasons—he was still thinking about the Rynerson bird. “Then we do what the client wants. That’s the way we earn our money.”

“Well, yeah, sure,” Robbie mumbled, though he obviously didn’t want to accept it. “But I was just thinkin’…you know…we could get ourselves a nice ransom for Ms. Rynerson.”

“I told you, kid, forget about her. There’s not going to be any ransom.”

“But—”

“No buts,” Mawl interrupted. “We do what the client wants. And he wants their bodies found floating faceup with salt water in their lungs.”

For a brief moment the kid said nothing, then the color in his face drained away, as if someone were adjusting the tint on a television. “You mean…? Oh, Jaysus!”

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTY-TWO

An Island in the South China Sea

Thursday, 12 July 00:03:46 GMT +0800

Kyra remained frozen to her spot among the ferns for another two hours, not daring to move until the hole in the sky finally closed and the rain began to fall, an angry spitting that turned into another deluge within seconds. She skirted around the outside of the camp, able to move faster now that she knew the location of the tents, then stood up and ran. It was stupid, the rain coming down so hard she could barely see the trees, but she couldn’t stop the blind need to put distance between herself and that maniac who wanted to drown her. Dead was dead, it didn’t matter how they intended to do it, but she couldn’t convince her feet—not until she had slipped and fallen a dozen times, and gotten so lost it took nearly an hour to find her navigational landmarks.

By the time she found their hideaway shelter, the gray light of dawn was trying unsuccessfully to push its way through the dark clouds. “It’s me,” she whispered before daring to poke her head through the protective curtain of foliage. Sitting on the bed of palm branches, their backs to the rock wall, the two men jumped to their feet. Even in the dim light, it was obvious that neither man had slept: their eyes bloodshot and weary, their faces stubbled with whiskers.

“Ahh, there she is,” Simon said, a relieved lift in his voice.

“We thought they caught you,” Atherton said, his tone a touch scolding, parent to child. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she answered, knowing she looked like a train wreck; her legs and arms covered in scratches, her wet and muddy clothes hanging off her body like a filthy layer of old skin. She dropped onto the makeshift bed. “I just need to rest for a minute.” The lumpy green surface, with branches poking out in every direction, felt better than any feather bed she had ever slept in. “Then we need to go.” She recognized her mistake the moment the words crossed her lips; their single-word response—“Go?”—echoing from both sides. Knowing they would never let her rest until she told them everything, she leaned back against the rock wall, closed her eyes, and began.

No one interrupted or spoke until she finished, and then not for a good minute, until Atherton reached out and patted her knee. “It’s settled then.”

Settled?
She opened her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“They want the case. Isn’t that what he said? ‘That’s priority one.’”

“So…?”

He shrugged, his hands lifting from his sides. “We give it to them. We have no choice. They’re going to find us. They’re going to get it. We would be stupid not to use it to negotiate our way out of this mess.”

“And the trade agreement collapses.”

“No,” Atherton responded instantly, as if anticipating the argument. “I’ve been thinking about that. The crest is symbolic. Once the Chinese realize they have no chance of bringing the pieces together, they’ll move forward with the Alliance. There’s too much at stake. What they want is Taiwan. The Alliance is their foothold. It’s all a matter of diplomacy.”

“Even if you’re right, those men will never let us off this island alive.”

“Of course they will. They’re mercenaries. They don’t care about us. All they care about is collecting their money.”

Simon knew it was coming—had known it from the moment the three of them had crawled out of the water—sooner or later they would turn to him, as they now did, expecting him to play arbitrator. A no-win situation, if one ever existed. “Well…I guess—” He worked it through his brain, choosing his words carefully, trying to sound fair-minded. “I would have to agree with Jim, it’s the crest they’re after. And he may be right about the Alliance, it may hold. This whole thing with the crest does seem a bit silly.” He said this in an attempt to appease Atherton, knowing it was stupid for any Westerner to underestimate the seriousness of the Chinese when it came to things like superstition and the philosophy of feng shui.

Kyra opened her mouth, then apparently thought better of it and slumped forward over her knees, too weary to argue. In contrast, Atherton tried to hide his feelings of triumph, but it oozed from his pores like fresh sap from an old maple.

“But,” Simon continued, “I don’t think giving them the crest will get us off the hook. It may, in fact, be the only thing between us and a very large gulp of seawater.”

Atherton’s pleased expression dissolved into a scowl. “And just how do you figure that?”

“I’m only repeating what Kyra told us. Skinhead wants us alive. He wants to be sure he has the case and the contents before they kill us.” He turned to Kyra. “Is that right?”

Her head came up off her knees. “Exactly.”

Simon turned back to Atherton. “So we’re safe as long as
we
have the damn thing.”

Atherton nodded slowly, apparently giving the argument full consideration. “Yes, that’s a legitimate point,” he agreed. “And I understand your reluctance to try it my way. But I’m willing to take the risk. The two of you can find a new place to dig in. That way they couldn’t force me to tell them where you are. Not if I don’t know.” He turned over his hands, palms up, as if presenting them with a gift. “If I’m right, we all go home. If I’m wrong…” He shrugged. “You’re no worse off.”

The man was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid, Simon thought, and he certainly wasn’t stupid. “Right, except that they would have the crest, and you’d be dead.”

“A risk I’m willing to take.”

Kyra stared intently at the man, straight into his eyes, as if trying to read his thoughts. “And if I’m not?”

Atherton stared back at her, one of those awkward expressions people get when they don’t have a clue what’s being asked of them.

Kyra exhaled, the sound of disappointment, and shook her head. “Never mind.”

Two words, Simon thought, that should send any man with half a brain straight to the flower shop. She clearly wanted to know what consideration Atherton gave her feelings and opinions; another way of saying “where do we stand,” something he clearly hadn’t considered.
Bad mistake.

“Oh,” Atherton said, the internal lightbulb finally blinking to life. “I uh…of course I care what you think. That goes without saying.”

But it was too late; if her stony expression meant anything,
saying it
meant everything. “I’ve got an idea,” Simon said, trying to save the man from further embarrassment. “Why don’t—”

“And why,” Atherton interrupted, “don’t you stay out of this?”

Kyra turned on the man, her green eyes flashing, but Simon already felt like an interloper and cut her off before she said something she might regret. “Good point. I could use a shower.” Before anyone could respond, he stepped through the foliage and into the rain, their words lost in the downward flood. Despite the downpour, it felt good to move, to break free of the thick, moldering air of the enclosure; and though he hadn’t really meant it, a shower suddenly sounded like a very good idea.