Navy SEAL to Die For (8 page)

Rather than turning right to take them to the block Royce was waiting on, Quentin made a left and backtracked a block, coming full circle to the one where they’d seen Jabouri’s man. He was gone from the corner. Quentin and Becca retraced their footsteps down the path they’d taken to the next street and looked for the man. Again, he was nowhere to be seen.

“Did we lose him?” Becca whispered.

“That would be my guess,” Quentin replied. “But it wouldn’t hurt to take an even more circuitous route to meet up with your boss.”

“Agreed.” She turned right, away from the road Royce was waiting on. Quentin stayed abreast of her, his reassuringly big body blocking part of her view. At the next alley they ducked in and made their way around trash bins, pallets and rubbish. Becca held out her arm, stopping Quentin before they emerged from the alley onto the street where they would be meeting up with Royce.

She pressed a finger to her lips and eased her head around the corner of the building.

Royce hunkered against the corner of the next building. But he wasn’t the only one on the street. The man who’d been following them was headed their direction. He slowed as he passed Royce, staring at him long and hard.

Royce held up a cup and moaned something.

The man shook his head and moved on, closing the distance between Royce and the alley where Becca and Quentin stood.

She ducked back and whispered, “Hide.”

Quentin stepped into the shadow of a large trash bin overflowing with garbage and an old mattress. He pulled Becca in with him as Jabouri’s man rounded the corner and entered the alley.

Becca held her breath, afraid to make even the slightest sound.

Something scurried across her foot. Becca jerked her foot backward, swallowing the natural urge to scream.

Jabouri’s man stopped and stared at the bin.

Becca shrank back into Quentin’s arms and remained motionless.

The rat that had crossed her foot ran out into the alley.

Jabouri’s man leaped back and kicked at the creature, saying something in a language Becca didn’t understand. Then he moved on, hurrying out of the alley, turning in the direction of Jabouri’s apartment building.

Quentin and Becca stayed in the shadow of the trash bin for a full minute before venturing out of the alley and back to where Royce sat huddled against the building like a homeless man begging for money.

“Was that your friend?” Royce asked, glancing left then right before pushing to his feet.

“We picked him up at the corner of Jabouri’s apartment building.”

Glancing down at the empty paper cup, Royce snorted. “He wasn’t much into charity.” He crumpled the cup in his hand. “What did you see?”

“Sixth floor corner apartment was the only one that seemed completely blacked out,” Becca reported.

“No one hanging around the building before Jabouri arrived with half a dozen followers,” Quentin added.

“Fire escape functional?” Royce asked.

“As far as I could tell. At least there is one from that apartment.”

“Good. We might need it.” He glanced past them. “We need to find a good observation point.”

“The building across the alley from our target building is being renovated. Several of the windows were open with chutes for tossing down rubbish.”

Royce nodded. “Let’s see if we can gain access to it and watch from there until Jabouri’s entourage leaves.”

They walked back the way they’d come, stopping short at the building under renovation, facing the apartment building they would enter later that night. As Quentin indicated, this tenement was being renovated and many of the apartments were unoccupied. Royce was able to jimmy the lock on the entrance door while Becca and Quentin stayed at the end of the street in the shadow of the scaffolding being used to protect the people walking along the sidewalks from falling debris.

Quentin’s hand rested low on Becca’s back as they waited for their cue to join Royce. Becca didn’t step away. She liked the feel of his big hand warm on her back.

Royce signaled. Reluctantly, Becca stepped away from that hand and Quentin’s solid body. She hurried toward the entrance to the renovation project and ducked inside, Quentin on her heels.

Royce went up the stairs first, then Becca, followed by Quentin. They didn’t stop until they reached the sixth floor. The going wasn’t easy in the dark and they didn’t dare use more than the pocket flashlight with the red lens Quentin had picked up on the airplane. On the sixth floor, Becca took the lead, turned left and hurried to the end of the hallway. The door at the end stood halfway open, the room filled with drop cloths, buckets of paint, rollers and brushes.

Light shone through the uncovered windows from the apartments across the alley, allowing them to make their way across the room without turning on a flashlight.

Quentin stood to the side of a window, pulled out the night-vision monocular and focused on the corner apartment window.

“See anything?” Becca asked.

Quentin stared longer and then handed the device to her. “I count six people from what I could tell.” He glanced over at Royce.

The older man held his own monocular to his eye. “I got five or six.”

Becca raised the small device to her eye and took a moment to train it on the right room in the apartment across the street. Green heat signatures appeared in the lens. She counted them, one by one. “I got six.”

“That’s two to one odds.” Quentin shrugged. “I’ve been in worse scenarios, but I prefer to make a quieter entrance.”

“We can’t go in firing with both barrels,” Royce said. “There are families in that building.”

“Right.” As Becca handed the monocular back to Quentin, their hands touched, sending electric shock waves up Becca’s arm.
How did he do that?
“No collateral damage,” she said, her voice a little gruff, her insides sparking with a desire she had no way to quench. Why was she so aroused by Quentin? Especially now. Maybe it had something to do with the adrenaline surging through her at the thought of the action ahead.

“No collateral damage,” Quentin echoed. “In other words we wait until we get better odds or they go to sleep.”

“We might be going in earlier than you think,” Royce said. “Check it out.”

Quentin raised his device to his eye. “Two, three, four of them are leaving.” Again, he handed the monocular to Becca. “See them?”

She pressed it to her eye and focused on Jabouri’s apartment in time to see four green figures walking toward what she assumed was the door.

She lowered the monocular and waited for the men to exit the front entrance to the building and circle around the way they’d come, passing the end of the alley. For almost a minute, she held her breath until a man appeared, then another and another. Four of the men she and Quentin had run into walked past the alley entrance. At least two remained inside. “I’m liking the odds much better now. Let’s do this.”

Chapter Eight

While they waited for several minutes for the foursome to get far enough away from the apartment building, Quentin took out his Sig Sauer P226, disassembled and reassembled the pistol and checked the fully-loaded magazine. It appeared to be in prime working condition. He didn’t like that he’d never fired the weapon and didn’t know its quirks, if it had any. But it couldn’t be helped.

Three minutes after the four men disappeared down the street, Royce placed a call to Geek’s private number. “We’re going in. Give us fifteen minutes, then call the police and send them to this address. Tell them you suspect terrorists live there and you heard gunfire.” When he ended the call, he shrugged. “It doesn’t hurt to have backup, even if the backup might mistake you for the bad guys. We just have to be out in fifteen.”

Quentin admired the way Royce thought. If he ever left active duty, he’d like to work for a man like the head of the Stealth Operations Specialists. “We will be out of there in fifteen. Sooner, if we can get the information we need.” Quentin led the way out of the renovation building and across to Jabouri’s.

Becca and Royce followed. The front door to the building was locked. A knife applied to the right place on the doorframe got them in and they quickly climbed to the fifth floor.

“I’ll go up the main staircase to the sixth,” Quentin whispered. “You two take the stairwell. Let me get halfway down the hall before you exit the stairwell.”

Royce and Becca nodded and took off for the stairwell at the end of the hallway. Quentin waited until they were through the door, then he continued up the stairs to the sixth floor and peered around the corner of the staircase to the hallway beyond.

Two men sat on the floor outside the end apartment door, their handguns lying beside them as they played a hand of cards. One yawned and spoke in a foreign language. Quentin couldn’t make out the words, and didn’t really care. A movement flashed in the small window of the stairwell doorway indicating the arrival of Becca and Royce.

On silent feet, Quentin entered the hallway and walked swiftly with his head down, his footsteps silent, one hand on the P226 in his pocket.

The men on the floor didn’t look up until the squeak of the stairwell door. Both men grabbed for their guns.

Quentin jumped the closest one before the man could wrap his hand around his pistol grip. The other guy hesitated between facing the stairwell and turning back to his partner, giving Royce and Becca the time they needed to pounce on the other. Only one of the two men had time to yelp before their air was cut off by arms hooked firmly around their throats. The resulting scuffle was minimal and they were able to drag the two to the stairwell where Becca made quick work of duct-taping their mouths and zip-tying their wrists and ankles.

Quentin was back in the hallway before the others. He turned his ball cap around backwards, gripped the Sig Sauer in one hand and rapped on Jabouri’s door with his knuckles.

“Who is it?” a man said from inside.

Royce and Becca joined him, standing to either side of the door.

“Pizza delivery,” Quentin answered, leaning close to the peephole to let them see his face in a more distorted image.

“Go away. We didn’t order pizza.”

“The two guys I passed going down the stairs said you did,” Quentin said with his best Bronx accent. “Look, I got a pizza with this address on it. Either you pay for it, or I have to pay for it out of my own pocket.”

The man on the other side opened the door with the chain lock engaged. Quentin verified the face in front of him belonged to the guy who’d tailed them for several blocks before giving up.

The man started with, “I said I didn’t—” He recognized Quentin and tried to slam the door.

Before the door shut all the way, Quentin reared back and kicked the door. The chain snapped free and the door swung inward, catching the man in the face. He staggered backward, reaching into his robes.

Quentin raced in, hitting him low in the belly, knocking him backward into a man stepping out of another room to see what was going on.

Both men went down in a heap on the floor of the apartment, and scrambled to reach for their guns.

Quentin pointed his P226 at the man nearest to him. “Keep your hands where we can see them, or I’ll blow a hole through you.”

Becca and Royce joined him, all pointing their guns at the pair on the floor.

“What do you want?” the man in the back asked. “We don’t have any money or drugs.”

“Right,” Becca said. “I imagine you keep your money in an offshore bank account.”

The men didn’t look at Becca, focusing on Royce and Quentin.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Jabouri said, addressing his remark to Quentin, not Becca. “We don’t have any money.”

Becca left the men and entered the next room.

Quentin didn’t like that she disappeared. Especially when he didn’t know if the other room was empty or had another terrorist waiting to come out shooting.

She reappeared a moment later. “The apartment is clear of other men, but there’s a weapons stash in the flooring beneath the mattress in the bedroom. Enough guns and ammo to start a small war. All Russian. And another Russian-made manpad.”

Royce stepped toward him. “We don’t want your money. We want information.”

“I don’t know anything. I’m just a poor man in a big city.”

“Look, Jabouri, we know you sell weapons and the services of mercenaries to the highest bidders. We want to know who hired you to kill Becca and Marcus Smith and Rand Houston.”

Jabouri shook his head. “I don’t know this Jabouri you speak of. No one by that name lives here. I’m Wayne and this is John.”

“And I’m Peter Pan.” Royce pulled a hypodermic needle from his pocket and removed the tube surrounding it. “You know what this is?”

The man’s eyes widened briefly and he shot a glance toward the door.

Royce continued. “It’s truth serum. You’ll tell us one way or another who is funding this effort.”

Quentin grabbed the top guy’s hand, yanked him off Jabouri and twisted his arm up between his shoulder blades.

Becca moved in with the zip ties. While they were securing the man, Jabouri rolled to his side and scrambled to his feet, making a grab for Becca.

She jerked the zip tie tight on the man’s wrists, jabbed her elbow into Jabouri’s, slammed a fist to his groin, spun and knifed her knee into his face as he bent double.

The man went down, clutching himself, still conscious but in a significant amount of pain. He reached for his gun.

Becca kicked the gun out of reach and stepped on his wrist, pinning it to the ground. “I suggest you cooperate,” she said, her voice low and dangerous.

“He will.” Royce jabbed the needle into the man’s arm.

Quentin slapped tape over his captive’s mouth and shoved him into a closet, returning to assist with Jabouri. He glanced at his watch. “We have five minutes before Geek does his thing.”

Royce nodded, waiting precious seconds for the drug to take effect.

Quentin helped Royce sit the man in a chair and Becca bound his hands behind him with another handy zip tie.

“Jabouri, where were you born?” Royce asked.

The man’s head lolled, blood dripping from his nose. “Syria.”

“Do you support the Taliban?”

He straightened.
“Allahu Akbar.”

“Do you support ISIS?”

“Allahu Akbar.”

“Who paid you to kill Rand Houston?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do,” Royce said. “Who paid you to kill Marcus Smith, the CIA Agent?”

“Ivan.”

“Ivan who?” Royce demanded.

“I don’t know. He has no other name.”

Quentin grabbed the collar of Jabouri’s robe and snarled at the bastard. “Where can we find Ivan?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know!” Jabouri’s eyes rolled back. For a moment Quentin thought the man had passed out.

Then in a soft voice Jabouri said, “He finds me. Coming tonight.”

Becca’s eyes widened and she ran for the door.

Before she reached it, the door exploded inward.

Two men rushed in, each carrying a pistol.

Jabouri’s eyes widened. “Ivan!”

The first man through the door yelled in Russian and fired at Jabouri, hitting him square in the chest. The force of the pointblank shot toppled the man and chair backward and he crashed to the floor.

Becca kicked the wrist of the second man, knocking the gun from his hand.

Quentin grabbed the other man’s arm, jerked it down as he pulled the trigger. The gun went off, the bullet missing the three of them.

Royce and Becca subdued one guy, while Quentin fought the other. When both men lay moaning on the floor, Quentin grabbed their guns with a cloth, ejected the magazines and the chambered rounds, and shoved them in his pockets.

Lots of footsteps sounded in the hallway and men shouted. Quentin slammed the door shut and shot the deadbolt home. It might slow them down, but not much.

Becca threw open the window to the back alley and swung her leg over the sill. “Time to go, boys.” She eased out onto the fire escape and started down.

Royce knelt by Ivan, checking for a pulse. “We need to question him.”

“No time,” Quentin said. “Sounds like an army coming down the hall. We’re outnumbered and the cops will be here soon.”

Royce patted the man’s pockets, removed a wallet and ran for the window. Quentin held a gun on the men in the apartment until Royce was halfway down. As he hiked his leg over the sill, Ivan clambered to his feet, staggered to the door and pulled it open. He shouted something in Russian and pointed back at Quentin.

“Yup. It’s time for me to go.” He slipped over the edge and dropped to the metal mesh of the fire escape and started down as fast as he could go. Several times, he vaulted over the railing and landed on the platform a level below the one he was on. Voices sounded from the open window above.

“Hurry!” Becca called out.

Gunfire echoed off the walls of the tenements.

Becca hovered behind a big metal garbage bin and returned fire, providing cover while Royce and Quentin made their way to the bottom.

Quentin had almost caught up with Royce when the older man dropped the remaining ten feet to the ground and took off toward the corner of the trash bin.

Before he made it a shot was fired.

Royce lurched forward and dropped to his belly on the ground, rolled and staggered to his feet, making it to the safety of the metal trash bin.

Quentin grabbed the railing on the last level, swung over the side, dropped and rolled on the ground. He sprang to his feet and ran in a zigzagging pattern. Gunfire sounded and he felt something sting his shoulder. He didn’t stop until he dove behind the cover of the trash bin.

Becca fired several times at the window and then turned to Quentin. “Cover us while we make a run for the street.”

“Got it. Go!” He fired at the window, keeping the men inside from taking aim at Becca and Royce as they dashed for the corner of the building. Once they made it, Becca returned the favor.

Once all three of them were around the corner, they ran for the next street and ducked down an alley. The sound of sirens wailing nearby was welcome, but no reason for them to stop running until they were far enough away that none of Ivan or Jabouri’s people would find them.

Five blocks from the tenement, Royce staggered and fell to the ground.

Becca and Quentin draped Royce’s arms over their shoulders and lifted him, guiding him to a darkened alley. When they eased him to the ground, rolling him to his uninjured side, that wet, warm oozing liquid Quentin had had far too much experience with dripped down his arm from the wound on the back of Royce’s shoulder. A metallic scent filled the air.

Quentin shed his jacket and shoulder holster and then pulled his T-shirt over his head, ripping it into long, wide strips. He wadded one strip into a pad and pressed it into the wound. “Press that pad onto the wound and keep the pressure on to stop the bleeding.”

Becca held the pad, applying pressure while Quentin wrapped the strip of his T-shirt around Royce’s shoulder and knotted it over Becca’s hand and the pad. Becca eased her hand out of the way of the knot.

Quentin pressed his hand to Royce’s back. “Are you hanging in there?”

“I’m fine,” Royce said, his voice less than convincing.

“Yeah, right.” Quentin faced Becca. “He’s lost a lot of blood. We have to get him to a hospital.”

“No.” Royce’s voice was weak. He tried to sit up, but he couldn’t, falling back to the hard pavement. He winced and grabbed for his arm. “Just leave me here and take this.” He dug in one of his pockets and pulled out an electronic device. “I tagged Ivan. Follow him with this.” He handed it to Quentin.

“Not until we get you to a hospital.” Becca dug the phone out of Royce’s other pocket and dialed 911. “Find out where we are,” she ordered Quentin.

While he jumped up to investigate, she was on the phone with a dispatcher.

Quentin ducked out of the alley long enough to find street signs, and was back by the time Becca was ready to give their location. He relayed the information and Becca told the dispatcher. She remained on the line while they passed the information to the nearest first responders and then ended the call.

“I order you to go,” Royce said. “The EMTs will find me. You don’t need to stick around to answer questions.”

She shook her head. “At the risk of being fired, sir...shut up and conserve your strength.”

Royce chuckled and grimaced. “Insubordinate witch.”

“I can be even witchier if you don’t do as I say.” Becca stood and paced to the corner, her gun ready. “Now be quiet. We don’t need Ivan and his men finding us.”

Royce looked up at Quentin. “Bossy, isn’t she?”

“When she’s right.” Quentin continued to apply pressure to the wound, afraid if the medics didn’t get there soon, Ivan would find them and they wouldn’t need an ambulance. A hearse would be more in order. His gaze drifted to Becca. He worried that she might be seen, peering around the corner of the building. “Becca, trade places with me.”

“No. I’m fine,” she whispered over her shoulder. “You’re doing a better job as a nurse than I would. Trust me. Just keep him alive, will ya?”