Club Alpha (11 page)

Father was wealthy but understated. I was raised with those precepts. I'm somewhat indifferent to wealth, though the trust I will inherit on my thirtieth birthday will allow me long-term security. I have a feeling of accomplishment because I've worked for what I have. After a certain amount of money, I don't think a person spends differently. Of course, I wanted independence, and Father fostered it.

He set me free to seek my own path, and for that, I'm grateful. His lessons are part of what hurts so badly now that he's gone. Father is not here to see me triumph over the worst of challenges. Overcoming my fear will be the greatest.

I smile up into Tor's face as he guides me safely into the limo.

Paco

The Norwegian police are accommodating. They question me and quickly ascertaining my involvement, or lack thereof.

My panic is its own beast. Concern for the welfare of a woman I've never met consumes me.

Lisbeth
Wesbestad
must be in grave danger. While Tallinn and I were working on my brawn, someone was tearing apart my room—looking for something. I know exactly what.

Tallinn entered her address into his smartphone. But not before someone else took her photo, and the information attached, from the nightstand.

“Sir?” the officer says to gain my attention.

I blink, swimming out from my thoughts to meet his eyes. “Yes?”

“I was asking how long you intend to stay in Norway.”

I think quickly. “At least a week.” My mind strays unerringly to the girl from the elevator then returns to Lisbeth. “Perhaps longer.”

He hands me a heavyweight paper card.
Recycled paper, of course.
I feel myself take it as though moving underwater. “Please contact us before exiting Norway, Mr. Castillo.”

I nod. “Certainly.”

The officer takes a look around the once-pristine hotel room and shakes his head in apparent disgust.

He and the other officers move out the door. A fine layer of fingerprint dust coats every surface, making all the edges of the room appear grimy.

Our bags are strewn about; my personal things have been pawed through.

However, I am not about things. But people.

The important documents I take everywhere with me are secure in the hotel safe. The vagrants made short work of the room in the ninety minutes Tallinn and I were working out in the gym. They were about ease, not robbery.

The police were baffled over my wallet being intact. Ten thousand dollars in US currency and even more in large-billed pesos are still secure inside my billfold.

No, the motive was an entirely different from robbery.

I am certain it is related to Club Alpha. But as Zaire was quick to mention, I’m pressed to discern what is random circumstance presented by life and what is at the hand of Zaire Sebastian.

The last officer leaves.

Tallinn presents me with a key card to the new room we’ll be staying in.

“This has to be part of the fantasy,” Tallinn says, stuffing his own card in his pocket.

I shrug. “I believe so, but I'm not utterly certain.”

Tallinn cracks a smile. “That's the fun. For you.” He points a finger.

My eyes take in the ruin of my belongings. “This”—I wave a palm in the air—“is not fun.”

Tallinn cocks an eyebrow. “But you're not bored, are you?”

“No.”
I'm troubled.

“Let's get to the new room. They have people who'll collect the junk and get it in our room.”

I retrieve my passport and the bulk of my cash from the compromised safe and follow him out.

“What of your weapon?” I ask as we draw nearer to the elevator.

“How about: where's your piece?” Tallinn says, stabbing the button on the elevator.

I exhale in a rush. “I did fine with Greta.”

“No.” Tallinn laughs. “
She
is fine. I don't know about you.”

I laugh, slipping into the elevator. “Touché. I'll make a supreme effort to speak more casually.”

“Just while we're here, fancy pants.”

I roll my eyes, jerking my soft-leather briefcase onto my shoulder by its long strap.

“What is that?” Tallinn asks, pointing to my briefcase as it lays at my left hip, strap crossing my body.

I think of it briefly in Spanish then switch to the clunky English translation. “A soft briefcase.”

“A murse,” Tallinn says with a snort.

I frown. “I'm not familiar with the term but it sounds derogatory.”

“Oh yeah, it is.” He laughs like a bleating sheep.

I frown. “Wonderful. Explain.”

He does.

“This is not a female's handbag.”

Tallinn's lips quirk. “Uh-huh.”

“You're insufferable,” I comment, meaning it.

“You need me.”

I have no doubt of that. “Yes,” I reply. A thought occurs to me. “Do we have adjoining suites as before?”

Tallinn nods. “You sick of me already?”

I grin so hard my face hurts. “Oh yes. However, I think the night's young and we'll be using your GPS know-how to find Lisbeth.”

“On it.” His eyebrow sweeps up. “Wasn't that weird as hell, seeing the chick in the elevator looking so much like the target?” He scrubs his face. “Wow, totally.” His eyes slide to mine. “The dudes I have in place haven't seen a thing from our girl.”

“That doesn't mean she's safe.”

“True, but Manuel's narco losers haven't made a move either. Looks like they're giving you the time, Paco.”

A ragged exhale leaks out, sounding as weary as I feel. “How generous of them.”

I think of how odd the resemblance is between Greta and Lisbeth. I consider it all the way to the new room on floor thirty-eight. I stop hard at the door when Tallinn opens it.

I turn suddenly. “What if Lisbeth isn't the one?”

His face fills with denial. “Nah, you were given her name, her address by that asshat narco, right?”

My disquiet deepens. “Yes. But if this is a Club Alpha machination, I might have been set loose in the maze like a clever mouse.”

Tallinn walks back into the hall, his eyes scanning the vicinity. I ignore his cautious study for my safety as my mind turns over the different pieces of the puzzle I find myself in.

“He would not make it too easy. And this presents that way.” I pace inside the hotel suite while Tallinn looks both directions in the hall, closes the door, and bolts it from the inside.

“Hold up.”

I stop as he searches for more trouble.

“All clear.”

I feel my shoulders drop, becoming aware of the tension they held. I nearly succumb to the sensation of walking
an unseen tightrope that never ends.

Tallinn unstraps his ankle holster and latches it around the bedpost. I note the butt handle faces so that he could reach it while at rest.

“Before you shower…” Tallinn begins.

I groan and hold up a palm, dropping to the floor.

“Just because your shit got tagged, doesn't mean I go soft.”

“Of course not,” I say between push-ups.

At one hundred my breathing comes faster. At two hundred I begin to labor.

“No rest for the weary, buckaroo.”

I give him the middle finger, mid-push up.

He claps in glee. “Nice! The class act slips.” His eyebrows dump above his eyes, low and hard. “Now it's one-handed. Show me what you got.”

Sweat runs into my eyes as I shake from the three hundredth push-up.

“Stop.”

I gasp, moving to stand. The blood rushes to my head.

Tallinn faces me, his fist to his heart. “Bud, you're all guy somewhere in there. Sebastian has begun the unveiling of all those layers. And I'll coax it along.”

He winks.

“Now—let's shower and do some reconnaissance.”

*

Tallinn walks in a tight, prowling circle around me, and I turn with him, my eyes following his location.

“You trust me but don't give me your back. Interesting.”

“It's nothing personal, just training,” I reply.

I’m wearing the outfit he brought for me, which makes me
feel like a fake ninja. I tell him so.

He guffaws.

My hands go to my hips. “We have a young woman to save, if you recall.”

“And you will thank me that you're less visible. Now stop being a candy ass, and let's get going.”

My stomach feels slightly bloated from the room service order I just consumed. Even though I ate lightly, the day's chaos has taken its bite out of my normal center of calm.

I walk out, with Tallinn following. My soft-soled, all-black shoes make no noise. I wear a second-skin mock turtleneck, which is also black. Pants with a painted-black belt buckle solidify the monochromatic look.

We slip into an unmarked SUV, and Tallinn drives.

Though he’s driving on what would be the wrong side of the road in America, he doesn't have any trouble.

Tallinn makes it clear that we'll need to be a half mile out from the target's house for unnoticed entry and escape.

I feel very conspicuous as we park the car and exit. Two men dressed in all black out for a midnight stroll in mid-forties weather? It doesn't seem believable.

It seems, as it is, nefarious.

With his ultra-dark complexion, Tallinn is the one who blends with the night.

“Come on,” he says, moving into the nearest alley.

Cobblestones slick with the beginning of icy weather threatens our footing, but Tallinn has outfitted the soles of our shoes with stout tiny rubber pegs. They tear through the slickness but are not long enough to impede speed or make the noise that taller grippers would.

The cold seeps into my bones like icy leeches made of smoke. My warm-blooded roots rebel.

“It's damp,” I mention quietly.

“There's no staying dry here.” Tallinn stretches out an arm as we come to the back of a house. Small windows, illuminated softly, watch us like eyes.

Tallinn sends a cautionary look my way.

“Let's just get a feel for the area, the moment.”

I smirk, asking quietly, “What? Is this getting in tune with my inner male?”

He nods, as serious as I've seen him. “It's saved my ass many a time. Just sit here before you go in for the kill, so to speak,” he says quickly. “Close your eyes and listen. Open your senses. Forget the cold, the sound of the water. Listen for all things furtive.”

I raise an eyebrow at his vocabulary.

“This is where I have excellence, Paco. This is why you hired me.
Listen
. React.”

I inhale deeply then let it out in a smooth rush. I lean tighter into the crevice between the two clapboard homes. I hear far-off ships on the water. A distant bell tolls. A can rolls across the alley; the patter of scampering feet follow it.

There.
I turn my head in the direction of that small sound—a noise, deliberate and stealthy. My instincts flare like a flame lit.

Left.

Air pressure moves in front of me and the fine hairs of my body rise as my eyes snap open.

She comes for me, all blond braided hair.

Her hair is all I can see, for she wears black, as well.

For one terrible moment, I take in Tallinn's still form.

Then I'm fighting for my life.

*

I catch her foot as it sails with breakneck speed for my head. I twist as it smacks my palm, numbing my arm to the shoulder. The maneuver takes down my assailant.

She counters, spinning with my twist, and kicks me in the jaw with the other foot as she falls.

I lean back, defaulting to karate as I take my next breath. Her palms slap the stone, arresting her descent.

I retreat, dropping to a defensive stance—palms opposite each other, one foot forward.

She arches, springing to her feet, and runs for me without pause.

I prepare to use her momentum.

At the last second, she veers to the left, wrenching my elbow. I drop the arm she’s gripping, take her by the neck in a strong
V
hold with my free arm, and toss her.

She keeps her hold on my arm, and her body weight topples us both.

I've landed thousands of time—on the soft dojo mat. I land and roll expertly.

My ribs instantly bruise, though.

I suck her against my body. I am not on this earth to abuse females. I know it like I know I'm alive.

And I've never felt more alive than I do at this moment.

She fights me, throwing her head into my forehead. Stars burst in my vision as my ribs sing.

Her elbow plows into my tense stomach, knocking the breath out of me.
I tighten my arms like steel bands, capturing hers against me. I move my head when she would stun me again.

“Stop!” I yell in English into the chilled silence of the alley.

She stills.

We breathe harshly together. My head throbs, and my ribs constrict painfully underneath her body.

My hard hold continues.

“I will not hurt you,” I say in a hoarse whisper.

The quiet between us holds weight.

“You were not sent to murder me?” she asks in a voice I feel  I've heard before.