Dark Star (14 page)

The bacon began to sputter and he turned the
heat down and began to flip the strips over. Tonya joined him at
the counter. After taking a bowl out of the cabinet, she began
cracking eggs for scrambling.

“You still haven’t told me what his business
is,” she said.

“Right. Okay. Say you’re a terrorist and you
hear that another terrorist has done something you like. Maybe he
has a new type of bomb or chemical weapon you want to use.”

“Okay.” A terrorist mutual admiration
society? Who would’ve thought it? Did they have a Best Hits List? A
Bomb of the Day, perhaps?

“Well your typical terrorist is a pretty
paranoid guy. Personality disorders of various types run rampant
with them. They kill one another far more often than they do anyone
else. The body count is incredibly high. If we could wait around
long enough they’d probably save us a lot of trouble by just
killing one another off. Unfortunately, a lot of innocent people
would wind up dead in the back blow. Anyway, it’s not like they can
approach another group and ask to share their methods. Nobody’s
going to hold a networking event for terrorists. At least they
wouldn’t before the Rooster came along. He fills the void. Connects
the various groups to share and exchange information, weapons,
tactics and sometimes even operatives.”

“That’s diabolical,” she said, totally awed
by the concept.

“Diabolical? Yeah, that’s one word for it.
It’s also profitable. He’s not the first one to come up with the
idea. Just the first to take it global. We’ve found traces of
various weapons and such amongst groups on opposite sides of the
world. It’s taken a while to connect the dots, but they all lead
back to the Rooster. We want him pretty bad. When I heard he’d put
a contract out on you, I, well… I fucking lost it until I realized
what a gift I’d been given. I knew there was only one way he
could’ve found out about you, but I also knew it might provide a
way for me to find him. It’s pretty simple; stash you somewhere
safe, then tell him that I’ve got you.”

“But why does he want me?”

“He wants you as a lure for me, or at least
for the guy who’s been after him, who he doesn’t know is me.”

Tonya nodded, finally understanding what all
the craziness was about. “So you’re just going to go wherever he
is? By yourself? If he wants me, wouldn’t he expect you to bring
me?”

“Remember, these people are paranoid.
Goodness knows they’ve got reason to be, but there you go. No, he
won’t expect me to bring you. It would be stupid to bring my only
asset to him that way. He’ll understand, it’s what he would do. It
should be perfectly safe.” He laughed at her dismissive snort.
“Okay, not safe, but not as dangerous as it sounds. He has no
reason to hurt me as long as I’ve got you as my hold card.”

“Oh yeah, going to a meeting with a crazy
arms dealer slash terrorist facilitator is a perfectly reasonable
thing to do,” she said.

“Not safe, but not suicidal either. I’ve been
doing this for a while now, little sister, and while the Rooster
may or may not be crazy I’m definitely not. At times I’ve wished I
were, but I’m not,” he said with more than a hint of
melancholia.

“But Nate...”

Nate continued in a brisk pace, closing his
argument. “Look, Onion, he doesn’t know I’m the guy he’s been
hunting. He thinks I’m just some low-level mechanic that’s done an
occasional job for him. Having you should gain me entrée to his
inner circle. Once there I can take him out.” Tonya opened her
mouth to object, but he spoke over her. “Nothing you can say will
change my mind. I intended to kill this guy anyway, and once he
even thought about hurting you he became a dead man walking. You
won’t be safe until I take him out. Or die trying.”

“But -- ”

“This how it’s got to be, little sister. He
dies or I die. Either way you’ll be safe.”

“And I’m supposed to be okay with that?” she
said. “Do you have any idea how awful it is to know you’re risking
your life for me?”

“And for me. Without you, my life isn’t worth
living. I’ve only been existing for the past dozen years. Having
you back has shown me what I’ve been missing and I don’t intend to
be without it any longer.”

“Oh, Nate.” She grabbed both of his forearms.
“Can’t we just run away?”

“Run away where? This guy is international.
No,” he said shaking his head firmly. “This the only way. Of course
I subscribe to Patton’s maxim of not dying for my country; I plan
to do my damnedest to make that sonofabitch die for his, or I would
if any decent country would have him.” He grabbed her hand as he
stared into her eyes with fierce intensity. “Listen to me, Tonya.
Deringer wil be here. He’ll take care of you. He’s the only living
person I trust with you, and he’s the only one you can depend on
until I get back. Do you understand me? The only person.”

“Yes. Yes. I understand,” she said, wanting
desperately for this to be over. His vehemence was frightening
her.

“This is very important. Deringer will always
have my back and he knows you’re the most important thing in the
world to me. Promise that you’ll listen to him.”

Tonya nodded, knowing this was too important
to blow off. “I promise.” He sighed and released her arm, then
grabbed it again to pull her into his embrace. They stood like that
for a long while, simply breathing. Inhaling the essence of one
another into their souls. She wanted to absorb him where he would
stay forever. Tears welled up in her eyes again, but this time she
was determined not to let them fall. The man was going off to fight
psychopaths, the least she could do was keep it together until he
was gone.

She pulled back, forcing a smile through the
tears in her heart. “Well at least tell me where you’re going.”

“That’s the thing, I’m not sure. We played it
like this. When I took the contract on you I hoped he’d finally
call me in for bigger jobs. That way I could get close enough to
get it done.”

“I can’t believe you just casually kill
people,” she said. She constantly had to remind herself that this
wasn’t the man she’d known so long ago. Nate had been turned into a
weapon, a ruthless killing machine.

“There’s nothing casual about it,” he said
and the bleak expression on his face was testimony to that. “My
only solace is that these people have no qualms about slaughtering
thousands and that this is the only way to deal with them. We’re
not cops. The people we hunt have a bounty on their head: Wanted
Dead or Deader.”

Tonya had to smile at that despite his grim
expression. Then something occurred to her. “Wait, I just thought
about something. Didn’t you say you took the contract to kill me?”
Nate nodded. “But what about those guys who were shooting at us at
the hotel? They were trying to take me, weren’t they? And the
muggers. And the man in my room...”

Nate shrugged. “Did I mention these guys are
paranoid? I’m not sure, but I suspect the Rooster sent more than
one contractor.” He made a dismissive gesture with one hand.
“Anyway, I think he wants me to meet him in Triple Frontier.”

“Where on earth is that?” she asked.

“It’s a no-man’s land where Brazil, Paraguay
and Argentina meet. A lot of less than savory people hang out
there, including a veritable alphabet soup of assorted terrorists,”
he said.

“So you plan to -- ”

“Go in. Kill the bastard. Get out.”

Tonya smiled at his precise manner of speech,
but her insides were frozen with fear.

“Deringer will be here to take care of you.
When I come back, well, we’ll talk about us then. Okay?”

“Nate,” she said, her voice shaking. “I love
you. I still hate you, but I love you too.”

He smiled that cocky grin she’d always
adored.

“I know.”

Chapter Eight

Nate climbed out of the Land Rover in front
of the rambling estate. Perched as it was on the side of a hill,
the house had an unobstructed view of the valley below, making his
ultimate mission more difficult. Furthermore the area around it had
been cleared of vegetation for several hundred yards. It gave the
house’s inhabitants an unobstructed view. Of course, it wasn’t as
bad as trying to creep up on someone in the desert with no cover at
all, and he’d done that many times so he wasn’t particularly
worried.

“Come with us,” the driver said and gestured
for him to follow them into the house. Nate followed the driver,
while the other two men walked behind him. Under normal
circumstances he’d never allow himself to be placed in such a
vulnerable position, but right now he was playing a role. Someone
currying the Rooster’s favor wouldn’t insist on keeping his back
clear. The wide stone steps leading up to the front of the house
were flanked with stacked stone pillars. His footsteps, amplified
by the heavy boots he wore, created a hollow echo on the slate
tiles as they crossed the floor. Once inside they led him to
another pair of carved doors. He knew without being told that this
was the Rooster’s lair. The driver knocked and opened the door when
instructed to do so by the man inside.

Nate took a deep breath as he crossed the
room to meet the man he’d been chasing for half a decade. The
Rooster stood behind a large antique oak desk which should’ve
dwarfed him as he wasn’t six feet tall, yet somehow he managed to
dominate the room and everything in it. He had a presence that
immediately informed everyone that he was in charge. The room was
massive and ornately, but tastefully, decorated. The mahogany
paneling alone had to have cost a fortune. Obviously an English
gentleman’s study was the theme, and the heavy leather furniture
and dark green walls complemented one another in a most soothing
way.

At least it was supposed to be restful, but
its current occupant obliterated that effect. Also, the room itself
was unnerving. Perhaps it was the presence of such elegance in the
middle of a Brazilian forest, or maybe it was just that it was a
terrorist’s den. Either way, if he hadn’t already been on high
alert every spidey sense Nate had would’ve kicked in the moment he
entered the room. He stared at his nemesis who had come from behind
the desk to greet him. The Rooster was thin; he had an almost
ascetic look about him. Nate suspected that he dieted to maintain
his look as he had a preference for very expensive high-fashion
clothes. Certainly the suit he was wearing, in an elegant dove
gray, was not off the rack. The soft color complemented his almost
colorless gray eyes, and nearly matched his thick hair which was
brushed off a high forehead in a manner designed to look careless
but probably cost hundreds of dollars. He had assumed an old-world
manner and upper class accent that was practically bullet proof,
but Nate knew from research that the man’s origins were more than a
bit murky.

“So we meet at last, Akhmed. I must say you
are a rare find. Indonesia was a work of art,” the Rooster said by
way of greeting.

“Thank you. I’m always glad to meet someone
who appreciates my work. I look forward to doing more business with
you, though I’m not sure what to call you,” Nate said in Arabic as
that was the language he’d been addressed in.

“Gaspard, Gaspard Maximilian. But you may
call me Max. Everyone does. Please. Please have a seat,” he made an
elegant gesture with a long thin hand.

Nate sat down in the chair facing the
Rooster’s desk. The other man walked around and seated himself in
the large leather desk chair.

“So, you have the girl?”

“Yes I do.”

“Quite a crafty fellow, are you not? How on
earth did you get your hands on her? I thought you specialized in
demolition,” the Rooster said.

“I specialize in anything that might be
profitable. A trait I believe I have in common with you.”

The Rooster threw back his head and laughed.
“Oh Akhmed, I do believe I would have enjoyed working with you, but
unfortunately it is not to be.”

Uh oh. Nate leaned forward trying not to let
his anxiety show. “What do you mean?”

“I have it on good authority that you’re a
double agent. You’re the man who has been trying to kill me for a
while now,” the Rooster said.

Nate leaned back in his chair, forcing his
body into a relaxed pose. “Oh, that.”

“Yes, that. Mr. Randolph,” the Rooster said
switching to English.

Nate laughed. “I’m afraid that it’s not what
it seems.”

“Do you, or do you not work for the U.S.
government?”

Nate laughed again. “As I said before I work
for anyone who pays well. Something I would’ve thought a worldly
man such as yourself would understand,” he said slipping into his
customary drawl. People had a tendency to underestimate those who
spoke with a Southern accent and right now he needed any edge he
could get.

The Rooster greeted his comment with a low
chuckle before rising to his feet. “As I said, I believe it would
have been a joy to work with you. Unfortunately I cannot allow you
to live,” he said removing an automatic handgun from his desk
drawer.

“I’m thinking you’re probably going to want
to reconsider that,” Nate said with a casualness he definitely
didn’t feel.

The Rooster raised a well-manicured brow.
“And why would that be?

Nate slouched farther into the soft leather
of the chair. In full good old boy mode now he continued. “I’ve got
something that a someone in your line of business should find
infinitely useful. If, in fact you are the man who secured sarin
for that cult in Japan.”

The Rooster simply smiled and Nate stared,
fascinated as the movement failed to form so much as a wrinkle in
his preternaturally smooth skin. Jesus! Did the man use Botox? His
smug demeanor told Nate all he needed to know. The Aum Shinrikyo
attacks had made the Rooster’s career. It wasn’t his biggest coup
or his highest death toll, but he was inordinately proud of it.