Deadly Straits (A Tom Dugan Novel) (20 page)

Reyes kept his seat, and Anna shot Harry a surprised look.

Harry shrugged. “Lieutenant Reyes is quite diligent in his custodial duties,” Harry said and moved to the door.

The door clicked shut behind Harry, followed by a few seconds of awkward silence.

“Well then,” Anna said. “I guess I’ll just pop off to bed.”

She gave Dugan a rueful look and moved through the kitchen and out the back door to her own apartment.

Dugan glared at Reyes.

“Looks like you’re my new roommate, so let’s get something straight. There’s only one bed, and it’s mine. You got the sofa.”

***

Twenty minutes later, Dugan stepped out of the bathroom in his boxer shorts, showered and ready for bed. Reyes waited in the bedroom with handcuffs.

“I’m not into that, Reyes,” Dugan said, “and you’re not really my type.”

The Panamanian controlled his temper. “I intend to cuff you to the bed.”

“Seriously?” Dugan asked.

“Your colleagues’ faith in you is touching,
Señor Dugan
, but I am not a believer just yet. Do you think I would risk waking with my own gun in my face?”

“What if there’s a fire?” Dugan asked.

“Unlikely,” Reyes said.

“What if I have to piss?”

Reyes shrugged. “Then you will be uncomfortable.”

“What if—”

“What if you shut up and extend your hand before I am forced to become unpleasant?”

***

Just before dawn, Reyes rose from the lumpy sofa and moved to a chair by the window. Sleep had been a disjointed series of catnaps, separated mostly by hours of thoughts of Maria and the boys. When he could bear the pain no longer, he had forced his thoughts to the situation at hand.

That was equally troubling. He could hardly contain his disdain for the methods being employed. He had learned enough to be convinced this Braun was key, and yet the
hijo de puta
was being handled with kid gloves while Ward and the Walsh woman’s team gathered “hard evidence.”

Where, he wondered, were the secret CIA planes standing by to whisk this Braun to some accommodating country where he could be questioned “aggressively”? Perhaps he should offer the services of his agency? He was sure that after a few hours in the Hole,
El Señor Braun
would be most cooperative.

He sighed. The gringos needed him to keep Dugan at large, just as he needed to remain close to the investigation. He would play their game, as they played his, until he learned who was really behind the death of his Maria and so many others. Then things would be different.

Offices of Phoenix Shipping Ltd.
2315 Hours Local Time
5 July

“That’s it. Kairouz’s was the last.” Sutton looked up from Alex Kairouz’s desk.

“Thank you, Sutton,” Braun said as he pulled a silenced pistol and shot his surprised underling in the head.

He returned the gun to his waistband and moved to his office, where he opened a small fireproof lockbox and checked the contents: cash, several false passports with Sutton’s photo, and the CD of conversations between Rodriguez, Kairouz, and Dugan. He locked the box and carried it to Sutton’s office, hiding it in a drawer just as Farley entered.

“All done,” Farley said. “I wedged open the stairwell fire doors and set incendiary charges on both the Phoenix Shipping floors. The main sprinkler supply valve is jammed shut. The place will go up in seconds.”

“It’s all concealed? I want no slipups.”

Farley shrugged. “Someone might close the fire doors, but it won’t matter. I’ve rigged both floors. The charges are out of sight.”

“And you’re sure Sutton’s and Kairouz’s offices will survive?”

“They should. They’re on the outer wall, away from the charges. The fire trucks will pump water through the windows first.” He looked around. “Sutton done?”

“Mr. Sutton has, and is, finished,” Braun said, “and as promised, his bonus money is now available to augment your own.”

Farley smiled. “Right then,” he said. “That leaves the timer. When you want to pop?”

Braun had struggled with timing until the Walsh slut’s call to Kairouz. Cassie had to be in their control to ensure Kairouz’s cooperation, but snatching her at home involved too many witnesses to silence. Authorities might believe Kairouz had the girl snatched, but not that he’d sanctioned the murder of his entire domestic staff. They had to grab the girl at school, and timing was key. It wouldn’t do for Kairouz to die in the office fire, but he normally arrived at the office about when Cassie reached school. Kairouz’s eight-thirty meeting with the slut was perfect. He’d even have a ringside seat to the destruction of his life’s work.

“Set it for eight forty,” Braun said.

Sterling Academy
Westminster, London
6 July

Farley accelerated. The retard would dawdle, this of all mornings. If the old bitch had to sign her in as tardy, it would cock things up proper.

“SLOW DOWN, FARLEY,” demanded Gillian Farnsworth as he rocketed around a corner. He ignored her, lurching to a stop moments later before Sterling Academy, relieved to see the headmistress still atop of the steps. He leaped out, opening Cassie’s door. He grabbed her arm as she scrambled out.

“I gotta use the loo,” he said through the open door.

“Get back in this car at once,” Gillian Farnsworth said.

“I’ll be a while,” he grinned. “Don’t get your knickers in a knot, luv.”

He slammed the door and moved up the long steps, still gripping Cassie’s arm. He bobbed his head politely to the surprised headmistress, looking embarrassed as he whispered his need and brushed past before she could object. Inside, he feigned ignorance.

“Where’s the loo?”

“Down there,” Cassie pointed. “Now let me go. I’ll be late.”

“Show me first.”

“Oh, all right. But hurry.” She led him down an empty side hall.

At the toilet door, he clamped a hand over her mouth and pushed her in, her jerks exciting him as he pressed against her. He pinned her head against his chest, fished out a syringe, removed the cap with his teeth, and jabbed her neck. She went limp, and he lowered her to the floor to open the window.

“Right on time,” Braun said, framed in the window. Farley passed her out and then grabbed the top of the window frame to swing through the small opening feetfirst. He landed atop a panel truck painted in the livery of the International Parcel Service, backed up to the wall beneath the high window in the deserted alley. Braun was already scrambling to the ground, clad in an IPS uniform. Farley closed the window and lowered Cassie into Braun’s waiting arms, then jumped down beside them.

“I’ll put her in back,” Braun said. “Change and get behind the wheel.”

At 8:36, the truck turned onto Victoria Street.

Castle Lane
500 yards from Sterling Academy

“Nanny. Control. Over,” squawked the radio.

“We copy, Control. Over.”

“Nanny, be advised subject is moving east on Victoria. Over.”

The driver pulled around the corner. The two men in the car shared a look of relief at spotting the stationary Kairouz car.

“Negative, Control. Subject’s vehicle has not moved. Over.”

“I show the subject in motion, Nanny. Eastbound on Victoria. Over.”

“Control, I say again. Subject’s vehicle is stationary. Check your equipment. Over.”

“Nanny, DO YOU HAVE A VISUAL ON SUBJECT? Over.”

“Negative, Control. But the vehi—”

The operator abandoned protocol. “The bloody CAR may be there, but the SUBJECT is in motion, now southbound on Artillery Row and getting farther away by the minute. DO YOU COPY?”

“Bloody hell,” the driver said.

“Control. We’re on it,” said the second agent as the driver whipped the car onto Victoria, heading east.

Starbucks Coffee
Vauxhall, London

Anna and Alex both arrived early and sat now in the Starbucks near the office, empty cups between them. She studied Alex. Panama and Dugan’s arrest had taken its toll.

“All those deaths. Thomas arrested,” he said. “If I’d just alerted you sooner… maybe you could’ve prevented it. I was just so afraid for Cassie.” His voice broke. “I am still.”

Anna took his hand. “She’s safe now. I promise.”

He sat, eyes downcast, and squeezed her hand before looking up.

“Right then,” he said. “Back to business. I’ll get you a position report, but how can you contact ships without alerting Braun?”

“We’re working on that,” Anna said vaguely.

“Well, you’re the expert. I’ll have Mrs. Coutts slip you a copy.”

Anna looked through the window. “You can tell her now.”

Alice Coutts was emerging from Vauxhall tube station. They went out to intercept her.

“Why good morning,” Mrs. Coutts said. “What a pleasant surp—”

A blast slapped them, followed so closely by a second it seemed like an echo. Shock waves cracked windows. They turned to see smoke billow above a familiar building, and the blood drained from Alex’s face as he watched the enterprise he’d built with years of blood, sweat, and tears go up in smoke.

Horseferry Road

Braun heard the explosions as they neared Lambeth Bridge. He’d chosen to cross the Thames at Lambeth for visual confirmation of the fire. Once on the bridge, he saw smoke billow on the far bank and heard the distant wail of fire engines. Gawkers jammed the walk south of the burning building.

He jumped at the sound of a horn. Farley was gawking too and almost hit a taxi.

“Keep your eyes on the bloody road,” Braun barked.

Farley muttered under his breath as Braun ignored him and dialed his cell phone. Alex Kairouz answered.

“Ah, Kairouz. Enjoying the bonfire?”

“You bastard. I’ll see you hang.”

Braun laughed. “I think not, Kairouz. But I’ll forgive that outburst. I’m sure you’ll be more respectful since I’m entertaining Cassie. Remember the videos?”

“Liar! She’s at school,” Alex said as the “call waiting” tone buzzed.

“Do take that, Kairouz. No doubt it’s the Farnsworth bitch. You have ten seconds to deal with her before I disconnect and Cassie disappears. Ready? Go.”

“Look, Braun—”

“Nine seconds, Kairouz. Tick. Tick. Tick.”

Alex switched calls.

***

“Mr. Kairouz! Thank God!” Gillian Farnsworth said. “That brute Farley has somehow taken Cassie fr—”

“I know. I’ll call back,” Alex blurted, reconnecting with Braun.

***

“What do you want?” he asked, shaken.

“Much better,” Braun said. “Speak to no one. Take the tube to Sudsbury and Smythe on Lombard Street. Do you know the firm?”

“I know of it.”

“Ask for Mr. Carrington-Smythe, the managing director. You’re expected. He’ll give you a case with cash and bearer bonds. Take receipt quickly and leave. Is that clear?”

“Yes.”

“Take a cab to Heathrow, the Global Air Charter counter. There’s a jet waiting to take you and Cassie to Beirut, your old home. Board and wait.”

Alex’s hopes rose. To be dashed.

“Cassie, of course, will never arrive,” Braun said.

“But, what—”

“Shut up and listen!” Braun said. “When the police arrive, confess you and Dugan conspired to blow up
China Star
and
Asian Trader
to manipulate freight rates, but that when Dugan was arrested in Panama, you panicked and fled. When Sutton discovered your plan to leave him as scapegoat, you killed him and torched the office to cover the murder. You arranged for Farley and me, mere cogs in your evil plan, to collect Cassie as you couldn’t trust the upright Mrs. Farnsworth. You will speculate we saw police and, fearing arrest, disappeared with her.”

“And if I refuse?” Alex asked.

“Surely you can guess, Kairouz. We’ve reviewed the video often enough.”

A strangled sob told Braun he’d won.

“One more thing, Kairouz,” Braun said. “While in custody, kill yourself.”

Alex gasped.

“Oh, don’t carry on,” Braun said. “It’s a trade, Kairouz. Your pathetic life in exchange for sparing Cassie.”

“You think I trust you?”

“I appeal not to your trust, you fool, but your logic. If Cassie reappears unharmed, it supports what I want believed: that we panicked, dumped the girl, and escaped. They won’t waste resources on minor players after they’ve captured you, the ringleader. But if she disappears or is found dead, she becomes a sympathetic victim and the authorities will keep looking. And if you confess and die, I can release her without fear you’ll recant. It’s in my interests to do so.”

“But how am I supposed to… to…”

“Inmates manage to kill themselves daily, Kairouz. I have every confidence in you. But don’t think a halfhearted effort will satisfy me. I need commitment, old boy. Clear?”

“Yes,” Alex said, barely audible.

“Excellent. On with it then. And remember, contact no one. In fact, remove your phone battery. I’ll know if you don’t and might allow Farley a go at darling Cassie.”

Braun hung up and smiled. “That went well.”

“How are you bugging his phone from here?” Farley asked.

“I’m not, obviously,” Braun said with forced patience. “But he’s too frightened to do anything but follow orders.”

“You think he’ll off himself?”

“Of course,” Braun said. “But just as importantly, he’ll implicate Dugan now. He’ll unconsciously compare his own noble sacrifice against a prison term for Dugan. Dugan’s fate will seem acceptable.” Braun smiled. “Kairouz’s suicide will make his confession irrevocable and dovetail nicely with the evidence found in Sutton’s desk.”

Farley frowned. “So we let the girl go?”

Braun laughed. “Of course not, you idiot. You think I care if some bumbling oafs are looking for me? By the time they suspect anything we’ll be long gone.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Bloody hell,” Anna said into the phone. “What about the protective detail?”

“On his tail,” Lou said, “but quite a ways behind.”

She sighed. “All right. Air support?”

“A chopper’s en route. Control has Cassie eastbound on Lambeth Bridge, near you. Vehicle unknown.”

“I need transport,” Anna said.

“It looks like the chase car will be coming right by you,” Lou said. “Can you be at the corner of Lambeth Road and Pratt Walk in ten minutes?”

“Affirmative.”

“All right,” Lou said. “I’ll have the chase car call when they near the intersection and start another car en route from HQ as a backup in case the chase moves abruptly in another direction. Harry, Dugan, Reyes, and I are leaving from Askew Road. I’ll call Ward, but we’ve no time to collect him. We’ll get her back, Anna.”

We better, Anna thought, hanging up and pushing through the crowd to Mrs. Coutts at the mob’s edge checking off arriving employees to start a list of missing colleagues. Anna looked around.

“Mr. Kairouz?”

Mrs. Coutts pointed to Alex some distance away, his back turned as he pocketed his phone. He turned as she approached, his face red.

“So much for your bloody promises.”

“Alex?… But how—”

“From Mrs. Farnsworth, who is apparently more competent than the whole of Her Majesty’s bloody Security Service. Where the hell was the protection?”

“We’ve a strong signal,” Anna said, “and I’m going after her. But you shouldn’t be alone now. Wait here while I get Mrs. Coutts.”

Anna hurried away. When she returned with Mrs. Coutts, Alex was gone.

***

Alex skirted arriving firefighters to walk north along the river, crossing Westminster Bridge to the tube station. He’d been wrong to entrust Cassie’s safety to others. Braun was too smart. He had no choice now but to play Braun’s game.

Even now, pursuit endangered Cassie, but he knew he couldn’t stop it. Braun was the real target now, whatever Anna said, for only he held the key to the attacks. And if Braun did escape, it would mean he’d found and disabled the implant and knew he was compromised. In that scenario, Alex was Cassie’s last chance. Braun the desperate fugitive would kill her and flee. Unless Alex provided an option. Unless his confession and suicide made the news in time for Braun to hear. Braun couldn’t even be charged with kidnapping if acting on Alex’s orders. Assuming he left Cassie unharmed.

Alex embraced that fragile hope and marched toward a date with death.

Bridge Street
Approaching Westminster Bridge

“Any luck?” Lou asked over his shoulder as Dugan dialed again, unaware Alex was entering the tube station only yards away.

“Another ‘unavailable’ message,” Dugan said from the backseat next to Reyes, glaring out at traffic. Assuming Lambeth Bridge would choke first, Lou had diverted to Westminster Bridge, along with most of the rest of London it seemed.

“Try the Farnsworth woman,” Harry suggested.

Dugan nodded and dialed. She answered at once.

“Mr. Dugan,” she said, “thank God you’re here. Farley has kidnapped Cassie. I called Mr. Kairouz straightaway, but he hung up and hasn’t rung back. When I call, I get a bloody recording. The headmistress called the police, but Ms. Walsh’s ‘protection’ is nowhere to be seen. What should I do?”

She was coming unwound. Dugan tried to calm her.

“Mrs. Farnsworth—Gillian. You need to be calm for Cassie’s sake. Anna’s people are tracking her and have a rescue plan.” He hoped. “I can’t reach Alex either, but I’ll keep trying and call you when I do.”

“All right,” she said, perceptibly calmer.

“We don’t want the media involved. Suggest to the headmistress it’s likely a kidnapping for ransom. Swear her to silence. Can you do that for me?”

“Of course. You needn’t speak to me as if I were a child, Mr. Dugan.”

“You’re right. Forgive me,” he said, relieved at the steel in her voice.

“Anna’s guys will deal with the police,” Dugan said, looking at Harry, who nodded and dialed his own phone. “You best go home. I’ll call when I know anything.”

“See that you do,” she said, again in control. “Good-bye, Mr. Dugan.”

Dugan hung up and waited for Harry to finish his call.

“Cops say they went out the toilet window,” Harry said as he hung up. “A two-man job. Braun must be along.”

“His plan is in motion,” Dugan said. “Burning the office cuts him off from the attack ship or ships and prevents us from searching for it. Which means—”

“We have to take the bastard alive,” Lou finished from behind the wheel.

They sat, digesting that. Harry broke the silence.

“You handled the Farnsworth woman well, Yank.”

“Maybe in gratitude you can describe the rescue plan I assured her we had,” Dugan said.

Lambeth Road Eastbound

Farley laid on his horn.

“Are you
trying
to attract attention, you idiot?” Braun said.

Farley sulked. Traffic was worse than anticipated. They had cutout vehicles in multiple locations, but they’d yet to reach the first one. Braun decided to forgo multiple switches and go to the safe house after the first change.

The shadow flickered again, and Braun leaned out to see a helicopter high overhead. He drew in and studied the traffic. The left lane was moving well as cars turned left to escape the accident ahead.

“Turn left on Saint Georges Road.”

“But we’re almost past the jam.”

“Do it.”

Lambeth Road at Pratt Walk

The car pulled to the curb in front of Anna. The agent in the front passenger seat jumped out and got in back, yielding his seat to Anna. Anna got in, and the driver laid on his horn and forced his way back into traffic.

“This is a bloody balls-up,” Anna said. “Was watching one young girl too taxing for you two?”

The driver shot a sheepish glance over his shoulder, deferring to his partner in the back. After a long pause the man in back spoke. “Anna—”

“Stow it. There is absolutely nothing you can say to help yourselves. Now give me the damn radio,” she said, holding out her hand.

The agent in back passed over the radio, and Anna took charge.

“Control. This is Walsh. I’m now in the chase car at Lambeth Road and Pratt Walk. Do you have the link with all units yet?”

“Affirmative, Walsh. You’re Chase One. Chesterton is Chase Two. Chopper is Air One. Target is east of your position on Lambeth, near the War Museum.”

“Chase One to Air One. Do you have an ID?”

“Negative, Walsh. I can’t separate him yet,” the chopper pilot said.

“Chase Two, did you copy? What’s your location, Lou?” Anna asked.

“I copy Anna,” Lou said. “We’re across the bridge, east on Westminster Bridge Road. We’ll parallel you in case he breaks north. Where do you want the police?”

“Out of sight,” she said. “When the chopper IDs him, we’ll fake an accident in his path. When he stops, we’ll surprise him.”

“Got it,” Lou said, then added, “Anna, have you seen Kairouz?”

“Negative. He’s disappeared.”

“Understood,” Lou said.

She wondered briefly about Alex, then cursed traffic. At least Braun was trapped too.

Saint Georges Road Northbound

Traffic moved faster on Saint Georges Road, most turning east on to Westminster Bridge Road back toward Saint Georges Circus.

“Make the right. Stay with the eastbound traffic,” Braun said, leaning out again.

As Farley complied, Braun pulled his head in. “Still there,” he said.

“Who?”

“The helicopter that’s tracking us.”

Farley tried to look up through the windshield.

“Eyes on the road,” Braun snapped.

Farley shot Braun a glare, then stared ahead.

“Interesting,” Braun said. “The police couldn’t have found us. Even if someone saw an IPS truck at the school, there are hundreds in the city; that’s why I chose it. They’re tracking us somehow. It can only be the girl. She must have a tracking device or an implant.”

“Christ, the flu jab,” Farley said. “It seemed legit. She whined all the way home. Even missed school the next day, which now that I think on seems a bit of a carry-on for a jab.”

“Right under your bloody nose,” Braun started, then contained himself. First things first.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s take stock. Our opponents coerced a doctor, have remote surveillance and a helicopter. That says authorities.”

“Shit. Cut out the implant and toss it. Better yet, toss her out as a diversion.”

“And do what, you idiot? Magically speed through the snarl in this brightly colored shoe box? No, I have plans for our little simpleton. They obviously haven’t identified us, or they’d have attempted something. We’re still only a signal. Just drive while I think.”

It came to him as they neared Saint Georges Circus.

“Take London Road to New Kent,” Braun said. “Most of these cars will stay with us, and an IPS van headed to the terminal is normal.” He laid out the rest.

Later on New Hope Road, Farley purposely caught the light near a B&Q Super Center.

“OK,” Braun said, “the loading dock in ten minutes. And Farley, do act like you belong.”

Farley gave an affirmative grunt as Braun left the truck to melt into the crowd.

Lambeth Road
Approaching Saint Georges Circus

Anna swore. Braun’s lead had widened.

“Target is stationary at New Kent Road and Balfour Street,” Control said.

“Copy that,” the chopper pilot said. “An IPS van and two cars caught the light. It’s one of those. Wait; someone is leaving the van. Damn. I lost him in the crowd and—”

“Air One, stay on the signal,” Anna said. “We’re a mile back. Lou, location?”

“A quarter mile behind you, Anna.”

“The cars are turning,” the chopper pilot said, “but the van’s going straight for the terminal.”

“This is Control. Signal is still on New Kent Road.”

“Bingo!” the pilot said. “Positive ID on IPS truck.”

“Brilliant,” Anna said. “Lou, have the police close to two blocks while we work out how to engage.”

“Will do, Anna.”

She leaned forward as if to speed traffic by force of will just as squealing tires preceded a loud bang ahead, and a wave of flashing brake lights rippled toward her.

Sudsbury and Smythe
Private Bankers
Lombard Street, London

Clive Carrington-Smythe, managing director and majority shareholder of Sudsbury and Smythe, stared at the case uneasily. If generations of Smythes and hyphenated Smythes had learned anything, it was that one’s reputation was all, and this felt dodgy. But he couldn’t refuse. Thanks to Braun’s appearance months ago, Phoenix Shipping was his largest account, and Braun never questioned charges. Almost like halcyon days of old when family fortunes were managed by gentlemen far too polite to question fees. But it was a great deal of money, he thought again, looking at the oversize case.

“Mr. Kairouz, sir,” his secretary said, showing a man in.

“Mr. Kairouz, at long last. I’ve so enjoyed dealing with Captain Braun. I am sorry your own schedule has precluded our meeting.”

The man nodded but looked puzzled. The banker was puzzled as well. His visitor was disheveled, with circles under his eyes and a vacant look.

“Coffee or tea?” Carrington-Smythe asked, waving his guest to a sofa.

“Nothing, thank you. I’m pressed, I’m afraid.”

“Of course,” the banker said, moving the case to the coffee table. “Nasty buggers, these pirates. The Royal Navy should hang the lot, like the old days.”

He opened the case. “Had to be creative to fit it all in, I’m afraid. Dollars, pounds, and bearer bonds.” He offered a paper. “If you’ll verify and sign, we’re done.”

“I’m sure it’s all in order.” Kairouz scrawled his signature.

“But… but… my God, sir, that’s twelve million doll—”

“I’m sure it’s fine.” Kairouz closed the case and rose, hefting it in his left hand and extending his right. “Do forgive my rush, but as I said, I am pressed.”

“Of course,” the banker said. “Is there anything else?”

“No, I… Actually, yes. My phone battery is flat. Could you call a cab?”

“Absolutely. Where to?”

“Heathrow. The private terminal.”

B&Q Super Center
New Kent Road
Near IPS Main Terminal, London

Braun left the B&Q with a long box on his shoulder. He dashed for the terminal, slowing as he reached the gate to wave to a bored guard and get a nod in return. He spotted Farley at the far end of the covered loading dock next to another truck, both backed in with only their fronts visible from above. He crossed the distance and climbed in, motioning Farley to follow him to the back.

“Tape her up so she can’t flail about,” Braun said, tossing Farley a roll of duct tape.

Farley worked quickly, glancing over as Braun opened the box.

“Data Shield—Window Film,” he read aloud. “What the bloody hell is that?”

“This, Farley, will make our guest invisible. Help me wrap her.”

Minutes later, Cassie was encased in a silvery cocoon.

“OK,” Braun said, “when you hear my tap, be ready to carry her to the next truck.”

“But why—”

“JUST DO IT,” Braun said, raising the rear door to exit, then closing it after himself.

He moved into the back of the next truck. The driver was stacking boxes, his back turned. He turned as the van shifted with Braun’s weight and got a bullet in the forehead, the soft pop of the silenced pistol lost in the dock noise. Braun moved boxes to the dock, building a wall behind the two trucks, then tapped the back of his own truck and ripped up the roller door. Farley carried Cassie into the next truck unseen.

Braun looked in, nodding at the dead driver. “Get the keys and be ready.”