Halon-Seven (52 page)

Cyrus laughed. He looked to Dargo. “We’re clear. Bayer’s thirty meters that way,” he pointed. “Hondo says to be careful, Bayer soiled himself.”

Dargo looked up at the fallen sentries still splayed on the catwalks above. “My perimeter team?” Dargo asked sadness filling his dark eyes.

“Negative. I’m sorry,” Hondo reported from outside. He’d been listening to events as they unfolded inside the warehouse. “I had to take out two three-man-teams before I could get into position in the roost. By the time I was in place, they’d already eliminated Dargo’s field team,” he reported. The regret was obvious in Hondo’s voice.

Meeting Dargo’s eyes, Cyrus simply shook his head in disappointment. It was all the communication necessary to relay Hondo’s report.

Dargo closed his eyes for a moment and mouthed a silent prayer for his fallen comrades. When he opened them again, Cyrus was surprised to see genuine and deep-seated pain. Cyrus followed Dargo’s eyes to the holes high in the warehouse walls. Light from the sodium vapor perimeter fixtures was shining through. The four holes represented the four shots Hondo had taken to neutralize the sentries on the catwalk.

Dargo looked back at Cyrus. “It seems retirement has not dulled your suspicious nature. Tell me, was it Bayer you did not trust, or me?”

Cyrus chose not to answer the question. Dargo might feign resentment, but it was Cyrus’s distrust that had put Hondo in a position to save their lives, and the man knew it. “You should contact Yuri. Bayer made it sound like he sent a team to pick him up.”

Dargo nodded. “Da,” he muttered and set out to retrieve Bayer.

“You should find Reese about 80 meters to the northwest,” Hondo chuckled. “And Cyrus? Don’t sneak up on her. From what I’m seeing in the thermal, she’s about 10 meters off the ground. If I had to guess, she’s gone up into the shelving and probably has a nasty surprise ready for the first person to come along. Quite a Sheila you’ve go there, mate!”

A relieved smile crossed Cyrus’s face. “Roger that.” He headed into the warehouse to retrieve Reese.

Halfway to the back wall, a single gunshot sounded from the other end of the building. The gun’s report echoed through the confines of the massive structure. Cyrus would get no more useful information from Nil Bayer. In truth, he’d expected nothing less. Dargo had lost his entire team. Though he ran his outfit with military precision, Dargo considered those men his responsibility. The goal was to take Bayer alive. Still, Cyrus couldn’t blame Dargo for his actions. Truth be told, had Cyrus felt strongly about bringing Bayer back alive, he would never have let Dargo be the one to retrieve the man.

Cyrus walked on in search of Reese.

Airborne Out of Phoenix, Arizona

Monday, 10:14 am (11:14 am Colorado Time)

Cyrus, Reese, and Hondo were onboard a small private jet, making the short flight from Phoenix to Santa Barbara. Cyrus explained that one crucial component of Professor Meade’s work remained unfinished. He said only that security was of paramount importance. To their disappointment, he wouldn’t elaborate on the subject until they reached their final destination. Where that was, he would not say. Just that they would fly to Santa Barbara before using the platform for the final leg of the trip.

The three had spent the night in a motel while Cyrus arranged transportation for the this leg of their trip. He’d kept his explanation for the travel delay vague, saying only that preparations needed to be made in advance.

They sat in the spacious cabin with seating for twelve. Cyrus and Reese sat side by side on a small couch on one side of the aircraft facing Hondo, who was in a recliner on the other. Aside from the low hum of the engines and a slight whistle of the slipstream outside, the cabin was surprisingly quiet.

“And Dargo just disappeared?” Hondo asked.

“It’s not that surprising. His team was wiped out. He was supposed to be backing us up. If it hadn’t been for you, we would’ve been in hot water,” Cyrus explained. “Either way, his job was done.”

The distant look in his eye told Cyrus that Hondo was trying to put himself in Dargo’s position. “I suppose so. He did seem to take it personally. Losing your team? That’s an awful thing for a C.O.”

“It gets worse. Dargo thinks I had you on station as backup because I didn’t trust him.”

“He didn’t know I was there?
You didn’t tell him?
” Hondo took a moment to consider the new information. “You
didn’t
trust him, did you?”

Cyrus didn’t even need to consider his reply. “There are very few people I trust unequivocally. There was no percentage in sharing that part of the plan.”

With a chuckle, Hondo leaned back in his seat. “You may be out of the game, but you haven’t lost a step, mate. By the way, what about the mess we left back there?”

“I hired a pro to take care of it.”

“You mean a cleaner? I didn’t know you had the resources, being out of the game and all!”

Cyrus nodded. He tapped his finger on the side of his skull eliciting a loud thump. “Eidetic memory. I’ve got shit in here I can’t forget, no matter how hard I try.”

“And it included contact protocols for a cleaner? Current protocols? One you can trust? No offense, but most of those guys are wired wrong. And any one of them could sell you out to the Coalition.” Hondo considered the situation. “I guess it’s not like we had a choice.
It was one hell of a mess.
Only a pro could take care of something like that. Who’d you call?”

“Quinn.”

A broad grin spread across Hondo’s face. “Enough said. Good man. He’s been through some rough stuff, if you believe the talk around the water cooler. But a dependable man, that Quinn.”

“Yeah. Speaking of dependable, you took out the entire perimeter team back there and still had time to get into position to save our asses. I owe you big, my friend!”

Reese put her hand on Cyrus’s leg. “
We
owe you big,” she clarified.

He returned her smile. “Yes,
we
owe you. How many were on the perimeter team anyway?” Cyrus asked.

“Eight,” Hondo said matter-of-factly. “That last one was the real bugger. I was having trouble nailing him down. I had their comms jammed, trying to keep the upper hand. But that last grunt was making rounds to different stations, and he kept finding his mates where I dropped em’. After that he turned into a damn jackrabbit. I’d picked my improvised roost while I was taking the sentries down. I finally had to leave the last guy be so I could get in position and cover you. It was a near thing, too. No sooner had I dialed in my windage when you and Dargo opened up on Bayer’s boys. Discipline went right out the window—I just started popping the guys in the rafters.”

That brought a genuine laugh from Cyrus. He looked at Reese. “Hondo makes it sound like he was up there taking potshots with his eyes closed and his fingers crossed. Makes it sound like it was all luck!”

He turned to make eye contact with Hondo. “But the fact is,” Cyrus continued, “I counted four holes in the warehouse wall.” He let the statement hang for several long beats. Reese looked at him. She didn’t understand what he was getting at. “You might’ve been shooting by the seat of your pants, but by my count? That still means four shots and four kills.”

No reply came from Hondo. His eyes were turned to the cabin floor.
I’ll be damned
, Cyrus thought.
He’s actually embarrassed!

“Look,” Cyrus said. “I’m just saying you haven’t lost a step either. I’m damn glad I had you watching our backs. I owe you more than I can repay.”

“The hell you do!” Hondo bellowed. His leveled his gaze on Cyrus. “You think I don’t know what you did?”

Now Cyrus was confused. Reese must have been equally at a loss, judging by the look on her face.

“The account you set up for Emma?” Hondo clarified. “You didn’t think we’d find out?”

Oh,
Cyrus thought. He relaxed and leaned back in the seat.

“What’s he talking about?” Reese asked. “Does anyone care to fill me in?”

“The daft bastard went and set up a bank account in my baby daughter’s name!” Hondo sputtered. “Didn’t think me or the missus would find out, I guess.”

“I don’t understand,” Reese continued.

Cyrus shrugged. “Hondo helped me out with a story I was writing a little while back. He wouldn’t let me pay him, so I set up a college savings account for his little girl.” He turned his glare to Hondo. “He knows how I feel about paying my debts!”

“Wait, what?” This confused Hondo. “You set that up because of the Chicago job?”

“Of course, what’d you think?”

“Cyrus, that was a hell of a lot of money for me to watch you through a window for thirty minutes, then fly home.”

“It wasn’t about the half hour you spent watching my back. It was about you dropping everything to have my back in the first place. If things had gone south, you would’ve been in shit up to your elbows! But you didn’t think twice. I asked you for help, and you were there. That’s what the money was for. Not for the half hour you spent on a rooftop playing peeping Tom.”

The sound of someone clearing his throat came from the front of the cabin. Without missing a beat, Cyrus and Hondo snapped their sidearms into position and drew a bead on the man standing there. Cyrus felt Reese tighten her grip on his leg in surprise. Cyrus had been aware of the intruder’s presence and he knew Hondo was too. They’d been using the conversation as cover, while they surreptitiously readied their weapons.

“Wow!” the older man at the front of the cabin exclaimed as his hands went into the air in a gesture of surrender. “Guess I was wrong! I thought I’d gotten the drop on you boys. Suppose I should’ve known better,” he chuckled.

The man went to lower his hands, but Cyrus stopped him. “Not so fast, Clayton. Keep them in the air!”

The man looked nonplussed but once again raised his hands. Thomas Clayton was in his late sixties and slightly overweight. He had short gray hair parted down the side. Not a hair out of place. He was government, the figurehead of the Coalition. As always, Clayton wore a three-piece suit, expensive, nothing off the rack. The man was about five foot eight, which meant he could stand upright in the cabin, while Cyrus and Hondo had to stoop to move around.

“Come now, gentlemen!” Clayton said in his most soothing voice. “I’m no threat to you.”

Not willing to dignify the statement with a response, Cyrus gave the man his best ‘don’t bullshit me’ glare. Clayton was the head of the Coalition. As such, he was a very dangerous individual. In so far as he was an overweight sixty-year-old man in a suit, he was little danger on his own, but his position in the organization made him a formidable threat, and both men knew it.

Obviously not pleased with the lack of response from either man, Clayton pushed the issue. “This is how you thank me, after all I’ve done for you?”

“Done for us?” Cyrus laughed. He replied before could catch himself. It was a struggle to tolerate the man when he had been with the Coalition, but since Cyrus was free of that group, he had no intention of listening to anything Clayton had to say. Cyrus didn’t want to be on the same continent with him, let alone sharing a plane with the sonofabitch. And, if he listened to the little voice in the back of his head that was famous for keeping him out of trouble, Cyrus knew he should pummel the old man unconscious and throw him from the aircraft.

Clayton arched his eyebrows and waited for Cyrus to sort it out.

Dammit!

His mind immediately jumped to the pair of men dressed in black who had gotten Detective Franklin off his back following the incident at Reese’s apartment. He’d hoped it had been Agent Shaw who pulled the strings for him. But the dogs had been called off before she’d had a chance to intervene. Looking back now, the men in black arriving in the middle of the night? The detective dropping his interrogation without so much as a follow-up phone call? That had Coalition written all over it.

Cyrus’s frustration flared as he realized he’d been dogged by yet another group through the entire affair. The Alvares cartel and Nil Bayer hadn’t been his only enemies here. The Coalition was there all along, waiting in the background. But why? And how? If they’d been maintaining surveillance, he would’ve picked up the tail long ago. There had been no sign of Coalition watchdogs.

What was Clayton up to?

With a resigned nod of understanding, Cyrus motioned to the plush recliner that faced the direction in which he, Reese, and Hondo sat. “Go slow, and keep your hands where I can see them at all times,” Cyrus warned.

The barrels of Cyrus’s and Hondo’s handguns followed the old man as he walked forward, his hands still in the air. He slid into the seat facing them, before slowly lowering his hands and placing them on the armrests of the wide leather recliner.

As soon as the man was in his seat, Hondo was on him. A thorough pat-down produced only a Glock 30 semi-automatic, a cell phone, and a wallet, complete with false identification. After handing the phone and ID to Cyrus, Hondo pocketed the gun and again raised his weapon. Then he advanced on the front of the aircraft. Checking the galley and the lavatory as he passed, he next entered the cockpit. He returned a moment later and gave Cyrus a reassuring nod. No more surprises. There were no more unexpected guests aboard.

Clayton’s appearance was troubling. Cyrus didn’t trust him. He was pretty sure he knew what the man wanted, but this was an unexpected turn of events. And the thought of throwing him from the aircraft was more of a consideration than not. Cyrus kept his gun on the old man, while Hondo retrieved a pair of flex cuffs from his carry-on bag. When Clayton saw Hondo returning with the restraints, the indignant look on his face almost made up for Cyrus’s inability to throw him from the plane.

Clayton held up his bound wrists and spoke to Cyrus through clenched teeth. “Is this really necessary?”

Returning his gun to his holster, Cyrus shrugged. “It’s that or you leave,
right now
,” he said coldly.

The old man regarded his bound hands once more, rolled his eyes and reluctantly placed his hands in his lap. “Fine,” he muttered.