Storm Surge (2 page)

In fact,
Mercer had just been considering that exact thing. His side where the bullet
had grazed him was still raw and burning. What hurt worse was what
Chernov
had said to him yesterday. “You’re slowing down,”
Chernov
had said, and what hurt most was that he was right.
Five years ago, no one would have even gotten a shot off at him. He didn’t
answer.

Chernov
took a manila envelope out of his
briefcase. He pushed it across the table at Mercer. Mercer didn’t take it.

“New driver’s
license,”
Chernov
said.
“New
passport.
Even a new social security number.
A legitimate one.
Oh, and a new bankbook with a considerable
sum of money deposited in your new name. All that has to happen is for Kyle
Mercer to disappear.”

“And
the alternative?”

Chernov
shrugged. “War.
With
me.
And while I have no doubt you would do some more damage, eventually
you’d make a mistake. You see, Mercer, there's another rule at work here. That
rule is
,
I like my Sunday dinners with my family quiet
and peaceful. I don't want to have to listen to my bitch of a sister yapping at
me about this every week.”

Mercer reached
out and took the envelope. He didn’t open it, just weighed it in his hands.
“I’ll need your wallet,”
Chernov
said. “We’ll need to
make it look good.”

“
You going
to plant it on some luckless bastard?” Mercer
said.

“No. I think
delivering it to her covered with blood would be sufficient to stop her wagging
tongue.”

“Not my blood,
I hope.”

Chernov
smiled. “No. There is plenty of blood
to go around.”

“What if I
don't like the new name?”

“You'll get
used to it.”

“Probably.
It may take a while. It took me a
while to get used to being Mercer.”

The check
came. Mercer took out his wallet. He looked at it for a second. He opened it
and took a small photograph out.

“What is
that?”
Chernov
asked.

Mercer looked
at it. “Nothing that you need to worry about,” he said. He pushed the wallet
across the counter at
Chernov
and tucked the photo in
a shirt pocket. “Don’t worry,” he said, “there’s nothing to tie this to Kyle
Mercer.” He picked up the check,
then
looked at
Chernov
. “You could at least pick up the bill for lunch,”
he said.

“You drive a
hard bargain,”
Chernov
said. He took the wallet and
tucked it in his pocket. He picked the check up off the table. “We have a deal
then.”

Mercer nodded.
“Yeah.
We have a deal.”

“Any
idea where you might go?”

Mercer looked
out the window at the snow falling. “Someplace warm, I think.”

Chernov
smiled, almost fondly. “You have a
rare opportunity here. Not many people get to leave this life behind.”

“You ever
think of doing it?”

Chernov
shook his head. “No. I don’t waste my
time thinking of things that cannot be.” He stood up. “Have a good life, Max.”

CHAPTER TWO

TWO YEARS LATER

“Blake,” the
man at the back of the boat called out, “I don’t think this guy is dead.”

Blake glanced
back from his position at the wheel. “What’re you talking about?”

“Look!”

Blake turned.
The massive plastic ice chest where they had stashed the body ran the width of
the boat. It was the size of a coffin, meant to be filled with ice and a day’s
catch. Now it was shuddering, as if a big fish inside was thrashing against the
walls. As Blake watched, the lid lifted up slightly and fell back down. Worth
put his hand on the lid as if to stop it and looked up. Blake couldn’t read the
expression behind the mirrored glasses, but
Worth
seemed calm enough.

It almost
seemed a shame to do what they were about to do. The guy now rustling around in
the cooler had immediately told them everything they wanted to know, and more,
as soon as Worth had showed him his knife and explained things. Blake had been
pleased to see that Worth had gotten what they needed with a minimum of drama.
Once that was over, Worth had again taken the initiative and done what needed
to be done--two shots to the back of the head. The guy had never known that,
despite their promises, cooperation only saved him agony, not saved his life.
He never knew what hit him.

Or so they
thought.
As Blake watched, the lid of the chest raised up
again an inch or so.
Worth slammed it back down, a little harder.
Looked like two in the noggin wasn’t enough for some people.
It wasn’t unheard of; Blake had seen guys with half their heads blown away,
still crying for their mamas.
For a while.

“What do you
think we should do?” Worth asked.

Blake shrugged
and turned towards the bow. The boat rolled and pitched slightly in a light
chop. The sun pierced a few feet beneath the surface, turning the sea a deep
jade green. The sky was brilliant blue, without a cloud. That would be changing
soon enough. Blake looked down at the depth meter.

“Doesn’t
matter.
We’re out
far enough.” The sandy bottom had dropped away below them at the edge of the
Continental Shelf, and the surface was turning to a dark gray-blue that shaded
nearly
to
black in spots. Blake throttled the big
engines down to a rumbling purr like a big cat’s, giving them just enough speed
to make headway. He went to the back of the boat. Worth still had his hand on
the lid. Now Blake could hear a low moaning from inside the box. For the first
time, Worth looked upset. Blake wondered about that for a moment, but decided
to cut
Worth
some slack. It
was
pretty damned
creepy.

“I shot him
twice, Blake,” Worth said.

Blake shrugged
again. “It happens. A few minutes, it won’t matter.”

“I should do
him again.”

“Why?”

Worth shook
his head.
“Drowning, man.
It’s…it’s a bad way to go.”

“So is getting
shot. Now help me get him out.”

Worth drew the
pistol from his waistband. Blake stepped back slightly, muscles suddenly tense.
He wondered if he’d made a bad move leaving his own weapon up in the bow. He
kept his voice calm. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Just let me
do him one more time. So he won’t drown.”

Blake threw up
his hands.
“Yeah.
Sure.
Whatever.
Just get it done, okay?” Worth raised the lid. The moaning grew louder, and now
Blake could hear the rattling intake of breath. Whatever they did or didn’t do,
the guy wasn’t long for this world. Worth pointed the pistol into the box and
fired once, twice. There was a brief thumping and rattling against the sides of
the box, then silence.

They did the
rest of the job without speaking: hauling the awkward weight out of the chest,
affixing the weights to ankles and wrists, tipping the body over the side of
the boat. It sank
instantly,
leaving only a lacing of
bubbles that was soon erased by the sea. Worth stared at the spot where the
body had gone for a moment, then went and sat in the back of the boat, looking
out at the water. Blake shook his head and went to the center console. He
cranked the engines back up and headed for home. Blake thought about what he’d
just seen. So Worth had a fear of drowning. Blake had spent too much time in,
around, and under the water to fully relate to that. He wondered if the people
behind this mission had made a mistake picking Worth, considering that water
was about to be a big part of the team’s life very soon. He wondered if he’d
made a mistake in not insisting on picking his own team. Blake gave a mental
shrug. There was nothing to be done. And it wasn’t water that spooked
Worth
, it was drowning. He’d already seen some of the man’s
strengths, and had been briefed on others. On balance, Blake decided, it would
take too much time to replace Worth, not to mention the trouble of disposing of
him. No one was perfect, after all.

His mental
calculations made, Blake stowed his misgivings in a compartment in the back of
his mind like superfluous equipment. He steered the boat towards land, pushing
the engines as hard as he dared. He took the opportunity to enjoy the day, the
warm sun glittering on the water, the wind in his hair and on his face, blowing
away the sweat worked up in the exertion of dumping the body. They were almost
home, powering through the inlet, when the thought occurred to Blake and he
spoke up again.

“You know who
we need?” Blake called back over the roar of the engines. “We need Montrose.”

Worth didn’t
answer. Then: “Montrose is in Federal prison.”

Blake turned
his face back into the breeze and smiled. He spoke so softly he knew Worth
probably couldn’t hear him. “Not a problem.”

CHAPTER THREE 

Sharon Brennan
was almost to the dock when she glanced back and saw the man breaking into her
car.

“Hey!” she
yelled. She turned and started running back towards the employee parking lot.

“What?” her
daughter Glory called from behind her. “What’s happening?”

Sharon didn’t
answer, just picked up her pace. She had a ways to go; the employee lot was set
far back, away from the lot where the residents and guests of Pass Island left
their vehicles for the ferry. She was almost out of breath when she got to the
car.

“Hey,” she
gasped. “What the hell…” she trailed off as she saw that the guy wasn’t using a
slim-
jim
or other tool to get in. He had a key, on a
ring that looked like it contained dozens. “Shit,” she said.

The man smiled
nastily, showing crooked yellow teeth. He held up a piece of paper. “Coastal
Finance Company, lady,” he said. “
You been
missing
payments.”

“I only missed
one,” she said. “And I’m getting paid today.”
I hope
, she said to
herself. Payday wasn’t actually until tomorrow, but with everyone being
evacuated from the island, she figured they’d have to move it up.

“Not my
problem,” the guy said. “You can call the office and talk to them about getting
caught up, maybe.”

“What’s going
on?” Glory said as she trotted up. “What’s this guy doing, Mom?”

“Hang on a
second, sweetie,” Sharon said. She turned back to the repo man. “Look,” she
said. “I need this car to get to work. And how am I going to get them the
payment if…”

“Honey,” the
man said, “Tell it to someone who gives a fuck. Right now, this car goes with
me.”

“What’s
happening, Mom?”
Glory
said,
her voice frantic. “Why is he taking our
car?”

“Glory, be
quiet!” Sharon snapped.

“Excuse me,”
another voice said. “Can I help?”

Sharon turned
around. The man who stood there was tall and lean. He was dressed in jeans and
a work shirt, a baseball cap with the Pass Island Logo pulled down over his
salt-and-pepper hair. Sharon thought she recognized him from the island.

“Hey, fuck
off, buddy,” the repo man said. “This is none of your business.”

“This guy’s
stealing our car!” Glory said.

The man in the
ball cap leaned back slightly to look at the repo man from under the brim. “My
name’s Max,” he said. “Not buddy.” The repo man saw his eyes and took a step
back. “Hey,
Max
,” he said, “she don’t make the payments, I take the car.
You try to stop me, I’ll call the cops.”

The man in the
ball cap kept his voice calm. “Nothing says you have to take it today,” he
said. “Like the lady said, she’ll come down and make the payment when she gets
her paycheck.”

“Yeah.
Right.
Like I haven’t heard that bullshit before.”

“And
another thing.
You
want to watch your language. There’s a kid here.” Max jerked his chin toward
Glory.

“Oh fuck you,”
the repo man said. He turned and started to get in the car. Max was on him in
an instant, jerking him out of the car by the back of the shirt and slamming
him face-first against the top, with his left arm bent up and behind his back.
Glory screamed.
“Wait.” Sharon said. “Don’t.”

“Listen to
your girlfriend, Max,” the repo man gasped. “Look over there.
The brown truck.”
Max looked. The brown truck sat at the
entrance to the lot. There was a man inside, talking on a cell phone. “He’s
calling the cops right now.”

“Dumbass,” Max
said. “You think
I
…” he stopped. Then he sighed. He
turned the repo man loose and stepped back. “Look,” he said, “just let the lady
have one more day.”