Halon-Seven (42 page)

Not breaking his stride, Cyrus ran directly into the garage. There, spread out before him, were a half dozen, exotic sports cars and SUVs. The best a drug lord’s money could buy. But Cyrus was looking for one specific car. And it was parked on the end. A black BMW 5 Series sedan with blacked out windows. The explosion and gunfire on the Alvares estate would have brought the FBI surveillance team to full alert. The blacked out windows on the BMW would get Cyrus past the FBI, without risk of being identified.

Slipping behind the wheel of the BMW, Cyrus found the key already in the ignition. A twist of the key brought the engine to life with a throaty growl. He dropped the car into first and popped the clutch, launching the four-door sedan from the garage like a wild animal loosed from its cage. The car left parallel patches on the concrete as he shifted into second, following the winding driveway around the central house.

The perimeter gate was three hundred yards out and still locked up tight. Cyrus was confident the drug gang wouldn’t open fire on the BMW. With the dark windows, they wouldn’t know if the boss was behind the wheel. Unless they’d already discovered his body, in which case they would be out for blood. Not wanting to take any chances, Cyrus picked up speed and shifted into third. He was closing the distance to the front gate at savage rate.

It was clear that the gate guards were not going to open up for him. Even if they thought their boss was driving the car, the guards had their backs to him. They had automatic rifles and were facing the street out front. Clearly the crew still thought they were under siege from an outside force. He supposed these guys didn’t get into drug running because they had an abundance of analytical skills.

The gate was going to be a problem. Ramming it with a BMW would be like pushing a tomato through a cheese grater. Only in this case, he would be driving the tomato. Not a good plan. A quick glance across the dashboard brought him a glimmer of hope. His focus centered on the three garage door opener buttons built into the upper console, right beside the control for the sunroof. On a lark, he pushed the three buttons in succession. It was long odds that one of them would control the front gate, but it beat driving a tomato. To Cyrus’s amazement, the front gates began to part!

Not wanting to sour his luck, he didn’t waste time considering his fortune. Instead, he focused on the closing gap between him and the slowly separating gates. The timing was off. He downshifted into second, bringing the RPMs up and slowing the vehicle by a degree. The adjustment compensated for the slow movement of the gates and ensured he would have power at his command when he shot the gap. And, as he feared, the movement of the gates brought the attention of the four armed men beyond. They turned to face the oncoming BMW. Three of the men shouldered their rifles and prepared to open fire. The fourth man bellowed into a handheld radio. He would be communicating with the main house. It wouldn’t be long before they received confirmation that their boss was not driving the BMW.

The gap in the gate was close to his needs, within inches, Cyrus was sure of it. He shifted, stomped on the accelerator and dumped the clutch. The car rocketed forward. Cyrus slid down in the seat, hoping the dashboard would block the onslaught of lead that was about to be unloaded into the car. But the surge of acceleration had taken place just as the fourth guard with the radio had given the order to open fire. The burst of speed and the close proximity of the car caused the men to flinch. That half-second was all the time it took for the BMW to blast through the gap in the still opening gates. One of the guards ducked to the side just in time to avoid getting hit; another wasn’t fast enough. Cyrus felt the slight vibration of the car, as a body panel clipped one of the gunmen and sent him plowing into another man. Cyrus sat up in his seat and glanced into the rearview mirror. Only the radioman was still on his feet, and he could only stare as the BMW thundered off into the distance.

He had passed the FBI observation post, seeing it only as a blur. With luck, his escape would look the same way on film. Either way, the darkened windows of the car would keep the FBI from connecting him to what had transpired.

Downshifting and putting the car into a power slide, Cyrus left the opulent subdivision and pointed the car in the direction of Las Vegas. It would be a race against time now. If the FBI were on top of the matter, they would have contacted LVPD and scrambled at least one helicopter for air support. He dropped the hammer on the BMW. He needed to reach the city limits before that chopper was in the air. He wound the car up to one hundred and thirty miles an hour and closed the gap on Las Vegas in no time. The roads were virtually free of traffic, so the experience was more like a go-cart track than a straight shot down the highway.

Reaching the city limits, he dropped back to match the posted speeds. He didn’t need to draw the attention of traffic officers this close to the finish line. Taking side streets, he headed for the heart of the city while being careful to avoid any potentially bottlenecking traffic.

Finally reaching his destination, he pulled into a multi-story concrete parking garage adjacent to one of the major casinos. Following the circling ramp, he took the car higher. Once he reached the correct level, he crossed the structure and found a nearly deserted area off in the corner. He parked the BMW and slid from behind the wheel. Aside from a remarkably small dimple in the driver side front quarter panel, the car was still in pristine condition.

Just as Cyrus stepped away from the car, an old Ford Bronco pulled up. He climbed into the passenger seat, and the Bronco pulled away.

“How’d it go?” Hondo asked from behind the wheel. He hadn’t wasted time with pleasantries. They were already on the spiraling ramp headed for the garage exit.

“Pretty much to plan,” Cyrus said with a smile. “The blanks in the Magnum were a good idea. But next time, remind me to pick something a little easier on the ears.”

Hondo shot a glance at Cyrus and smirked. “So the SOB really tried to kill you with your own gun?”

“Just like the file suggested.”

“It troubles me that you let him get the opportunity to pull the trigger at all!”

Cyrus couldn’t deny that. But looking back, he wasn’t entirely sure the man had gotten the drop on him. He knew Alvares had his gun. To be honest, he wanted to see the look in the man’s eye when the gun fired and no one died. Childish? Sure. Unprofessional? Absolutely! Reckless? Okay. But how many people had Alvares killed in the very same way? It seemed fitting that he should die thanks to his own theatrics.

“I might’ve given him a little help with the opportunity,” Cyrus admitted.

There were a few long beats of silence before Hondo burst out laughing. He shot Cyrus another glance. “That’s more like the guy I use to know!”

They exited the parking garage and headed for the highway.

“How did things go on your end?” Cyrus asked, as they reached the city limits.

“Piece of cake. I disabled the surveillance cameras for the entire parking structure, so that won’t be an issue. I dumped the old Cherokee I drove in with. I hot-wired the Bronco ten minutes before I picked you up. The thing had a nice solid layer of dust on it, and the battery was so near dead that it almost didn’t start. No one’s going to miss this crate. We’re clean.”

Cyrus nodded. He held up the palm of his left hand and looked at his fingers. Carefully picking at a fingertip for a moment, he peeled back a layer of glue. The small layers of glue applied to the pad of each finger had ensured he left no fingerprints at any point along the way. It was an old-school trick, but it was extremely effective.

Leaning back in the passenger seat, Cyrus relaxed for the first time all afternoon. They wouldn’t be flying back to Santa Barbara. That sort of thing would show up in manifests, and he didn’t want anything to connect him with what had just happened outside of Las Vegas. Even the helicopter he rented for the flight into town was covered by the use of a fake ID and a dummy credit card. They would be driving back. A solid five-hour drive, maybe more with traffic.

Cyrus wasn’t entirely surprised that Reese was already on his mind. They had grown close over the last week. For some reason the realization that she was never far from his thoughts comforted him. He hadn’t felt that way for anyone in a very long time.

Berton Springs, Colorado

Friday, 11:22 am

Water ran from the faucet into the sink, which was filled with soapy suds. She scrubbed the plates and the pan from breakfast. It would’ve been easier to use the dishwasher but Reese preferred the distraction. Between the previous afternoon and earlier that morning, she’d finished the second of the two romance novels she’d taken from Cyrus’s apartment earlier in the week. They had served to pass the time, but keeping her mind off the problems at hand was proving more of a challenge. And sitting idle while Cyrus dealt with the Alvares cartel had proven easier said than done. She was a proactive person. Sitting still, especially given the circumstances, was difficult.

The day before, Cyrus had been vague in his strategy, as he left to deal with Alvares. Had she known what he’d been planning, yesterday would’ve been pure torture. So far he hadn’t explained what transpired in Las Vegas the day before, but if the online news reports had any truth to them, things had been violent and destructive. She’d watched a number of online news broadcasts. Basically no one understood what happened at Alvares’s Las Vegas estate. The press was still not allowed on scene, but camera footage shot from beyond the front gate showed considerable damage to the property. According to news broadcasts, a confidential source described the scene as a bloody confrontation between rival drug gangs.

Casting a glance at Cyrus, she studied him sitting on a bar stool at the breakfast counter, still hard at work on his laptop. He hadn’t said much, but he was clearly onto something. She’d never seen him so focused. His fingers would fly across the keyboard before settling into long periods of silence while he read whatever he discovered. This continued for the better part of an hour, ever since they’d finished breakfast. Reese tried to be patient. She knew he would explain everything when he had it sorted out. From what she was seeing, it appeared he was on a roll, and parts of what he referred to as ‘the puzzle’ were falling into place. It wasn’t easy, but she would give him the time to work through it.

Instead, she focused her attention out the window over the kitchen sink and continued with the dishes. An overnight snowstorm had brought more than a foot of fresh powder. It was the first snow of the season. Though it seemed unusually early for such weather, given their high elevation in the mountains, it wasn’t entirely unexpected.

The entire backyard was a blanket of virgin white fluff extending nearly fifty yards to the tree line. From there, dense forest clung to the steep incline of the mountain. The cabin was perhaps a half-mile from the peak. Pine and fir trees were laden with a thick coating of heavy white, which made them unique, foreign, and beautiful, all at the same time. She reflected on the wonderful location Walter had chosen to build his home. That he left it to Cyrus seemed fitting. She hadn’t known Cyrus long but was coming to know him well, and the place suited him. He already seemed quite at home here.

Reese again regarded him. In many ways she felt she knew him—in others he was a mystery. He had basically gone off to war the previous day, with little concern for the danger he faced. Kissing her gently, he had given her a warm smile before stepping onto the teleportation platform and disappearing. But judging by the news reports, the situation he’d faced after that had been gruesome. Still, he seemed unfazed, even unconcerned. She was sure his thoughts were focused squarely on today and tomorrow. Reese had met many goal-oriented people while in school but Cyrus was something entirely different. He had an exceptional confidence that was paralleled perfectly by his ability. So far, she had yet to see him shy from a challenge. That was saying something, since the challenges of the last week had been life or death on more than one occasion.

Once again she thought,
who lives like that?

How could someone face these things without flinching? What did a man have to face to develop that inner strength? There was no question Cyrus had a past. She’d seen shadows of it over the last week. It was clear that something terrible had happened to him. Something made him change his course and walk away from a very different kind of life. What it was, she had no idea. She wanted to ask, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

She decided to put it out of her mind. It was out of her control, and it was more productive to focus on the here and now. She was more nervous the night before. She’d tried waiting up for him, but she hadn’t known when he would be back, or if he would be back before morning. When she’d finally turned in, she’d found herself at a difficult crossroads. They had spent their first night together just the night before. And it was amazing. But it was only their first night. There’d been a strong connection from the very start. She felt it immediately, and she was sure he felt it too. But neither one had rushed things along. Until the previous night she had stayed in one of the spare bedrooms. But after last night, where was the right place to sleep? Was it presumptuous to wait for him in his bed? Would it be giving the wrong signal if she went back to the guest room?

It seemed silly now, but she’d agonized over the choice. So much so that she had been on the verge of falling asleep before she could make up her mind. Finally, throwing caution to the wind, she had slipped beneath the covers of his bed and instantly dropped off to sleep. The next thing she knew it was morning, and she awoke to find herself wrapped in his arms, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She had no memory of him returning home. No memory of him coming to bed. And, to her relief, waking that way had just felt right.

For as messed up as everything was right now, at least one thing was right.