The Assassin's Case (16 page)

              The soldier tensed under Grant’s arms and he pressed the blade tighter against the throat. “Let go of your gun,” Grant said. “Using your left hand. Thumb and forefinger only. Slip your gun’s sling off your shoulder and drop it.”

              The man did as instructed and the MP-5 splashed into the water.

              “You,” Grant yelled. “Now you drop yours.”

              The man didn’t move. The gun remained pointed toward Grant and his prisoner. Right now the soldier was contemplating whether or not he could take Grant out with a head shot, then turn and take down Tedesco.

              The former hit-man had stepped to the edge of the stream. He stood in a shooter’s pose, legs spread, right arm extended holding the forty-five, left hand cupped under the right, pointing it at the soldier’s head. “No one else has to die,” Tedesco called. “Just drop your weapon and we’ll be on our way.”

              No more had the words escaped Tedesco’s mouth than it all went sour. The man in Grant’s grasp shot a hand up, forcing the arm and the knife away from his throat. An elbow blasted into Grant’s abdomen and the man spun away from his grip. Blood dripped from his neck where the knife grazed the skin in the escape. His partner spun toward Tedesco. Shots split the silence of the primeval forest, but Grant didn’t have time to consider Tedesco’s fate.

* * * * *

Tedesco moved from the shelter of the rock outcrop and foliage. Although he had a clear shot from his position, he could not, he would not, take another life if there was any other alternative. Even if it cost him his own. If he died, he believed he would go to a better place. And he almost welcomed the prospect of being freed of his guilt, a burden that weighed on him like a stone around his neck. Oh, he was scared, death was the unknown, yet he wouldn’t send someone else to face it in his stead. No. Even greater than the fear of death, was stark dread at the prospect of no longer being able to rely on God for guidance, to no longer hear that still small voice he had come to so heavily rely upon. That, he would risk for nothing. He glanced in Grant’s direction. Dr. Morgan’s family was safe, so Tedesco wouldn’t kill again, except as a last resort to save Grant.

              Tedesco stepped as lightly as his large feet would allow and moved to the edge of the stream, gun extended in a two-fisted grip. The soldier aiming toward Grant was only about twenty yards away, a distance at which Tedesco could be confident in his aim. “Don’t shoot. I’ve got a forty-five centered on the back of your head.”

              Grant yelled for the soldier to drop his weapon, but he didn’t move, just kept his weapon trained.

              Tedesco glanced toward the soldier with the knife at his throat. Both of them looked so young, even beneath their black painted faces. The kid stared at his partner, and Tedesco realized some unspoken communication had passed between them.

              The one Grant held jerked an arm up to break the grip on his neck. His partner whirled toward Tedesco, gun sweeping in an arc with him.

              Tedesco opened up with the forty-five, firing a single shot to the ribs. The man stumbled back a step but still raised his gun. Tedesco moved forward into the stream, pulling the trigger in careful, measured shots. Each time the kid attempted to draw a bead on him Tedesco put a bullet into the center of his chest, stepping closer with each shot. The shots slamming into his body armor was akin to a sledgehammer smashing him in the chest, driving him back. Tedesco continued to march forward.

              He stepped to within two feet and with a valiant effort the young warrior raised his gun, face grim with determination. Tedesco ripped it from his grasp. “That’ll do, son.”

              Before he could go for any of the weapons at his waist or strapped to his leg, Tedesco blasted a left to the side of his face. As he fell back into the water, Tedesco grabbed his lapel and heaved him across a shoulder.

* * * * *

Grant could have,
should
have, slit his adversary’s throat. The opportunity had been there as the man moved. Grant’s reluctance may cost him his life, and he couldn’t explain the reason why the man wasn’t bleeding out in the river. This guy was young, and no doubt a well-trained and battle hardened soldier, with skills aplenty. But with the mission completed, Morgan’s family safe, Grant just couldn’t bring himself to do it, to kill in cold blood when there was another option. A scene from
The Karate Kid
flashed into his mind. When Daniel Larusso and Mr. Miyagi visited the Cobra Kai Dojo, sensei John Kreese was in the midst of berating his students with the admonitions,
“Strike first. Strike hard. Mercy is for the weak!”
Well, the sensei would sure as hell kick Grant’s ass off the mat for this.

              The kid lunged toward Grant in the knee-deep water, focused on the knife. Grant swayed left, feinting a stab, and unleashed a left cross to the jaw. He followed with a sweeping kick to the outside of the knee. But the boy was well trained. As he fell he grabbed Grant’s right wrist in one hand and smashed down with the opposite forearm. It impacted at the nexus of the dull edge of the blade, the hilt, and Grant’s thumb, stripping the knife from his hands.

              In the corner of his eye he witnessed Tedesco moving forward, his forty-five booming.

              No sooner did the kid hit the water on his knees than he sprang up, raining blows toward Grant. Easing away from the attack, sweeping the blows to the side with his palms, and blocking with his forearms, Grant backed up until he stood in just a few inches of water.

              A wicked overhand right flew toward his head. Grant swept his left hand up, blocked, grabbed the wrist, and pulled the young soldier toward him as he unleashed a side kick to the ribs. He didn’t hear or feel any ribs cracking.
Damn body armor.
The kick was still delivered with enough force to dump Grant’s opponent onto his backside in the water.

              The boy jumped to his feet and his hand flashed to a holstered pistol at his waist.

              Grant prevented the draw with a bone-snapping round house kick to the wrist. The kick pressed the arm against the kid’s own body, breaking it. As he stumbled back into deeper water, Grant followed. He deflected a blow to the head, grabbed the offending arm, and stepped behind the boy’s back, twisting the arm behind him in the process. Grant circled an arm around his opponent’s neck. Grant squeezed, constricting the arteries on either side of the throat between his bicep and forearm, then reinforced the choke hold with the opposite arm.

              As Grant squeezed his adversary into unconsciousness he glanced toward the middle of the stream, hoping he wasn’t about to catch a bullet in the head. Tedesco nodded, the other soldier draped across one of his broad shoulders.

NINETEEN

Exhausted, fatigued, tired, sore, and stiff. That pretty much summed it up. Grant stared at the small campfire, longing for a steak to grill over the flames, not caring that the glow ruined his ability to see in the dark. The campsite was on a small open bluff about fifteen feet away from the river. The gurgling water and moment of peace threatened to lull Grant to sleep. He finished wiping down the MP-5 he had fished from the stream and stowed it in a backpack.

              Tedesco, using a medical kit found in one of the soldiers’ packs, ministered to the men’s wounds. Both of them were bound by hands and feet, arms tied behind their backs, dressed only in their briefs. Grant insisted they be stripped down to ensure no other weapons were secreted in their clothing. When Tedesco finished tending to them, he sprayed them down with bug repellent.

              Tedesco finished his doctoring and returned to kneel near the fire. He held out a bottle of pills and a canteen toward Grant. “Take these, it’ll help.”

              Grant grabbed the aspirin, shook two into his palm, and popped them in his mouth. He washed them down with a long pull off the canteen and passed the items back. He mumbled his thanks.

              Tedesco fashioned pillows out of the prisoner’s backpacks and made sure they were as comfortable as possible, before lounging against his own pack. Tedesco inclined his head in the prisoner’s direction and spoke in just above a whisper. “So, why didn’t you kill him?”

              “Do you think I should have?”

              “No, no.” Tedesco waved a hand in front of him. “Just curious.”

              “He’s a kid. I didn’t have to. And … well … dammit, it just didn’t seem right.” Grant shrugged his shoulders. “To be honest I just don’t know. Okay?”

              Tedesco smiled and Grant felt a sudden urge to take a swing at his block head. Then the big doof changed tack.

              “Why did you protect me back there?” Tedesco poked a thumb in the general direction of the kidnapper’s compound. “You could have just left me.”

              Now Grant really wanted to wrap his hands around the man’s neck. The truth is, he hadn’t thought about it, but something made him do it. “If anybody is going to kill you, it’s going to be me.” Grant raised his eyebrows. “Any more questions?”

              “Okay, okay,” Tedesco said. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep? We still have a few hours til dawn.”

              “All right. Keep your eyes open.” Grant pointed at the bound men. “Especially on them.” Without any argument Grant shifted and laid his head on his own pack, closing his eyes. “Wake me in an hour. I’ll relieve you.” His last thoughts before he succumbed to sleep were of a woman. Her smile, her smell, her face filled his imaginings. He forced down a pang of guilt when he realized his thoughts were not of Susan, as they had been each and every night for the last sixteen years, but of Jaime.

* * * * *

The boat skimmed across the calm waters in the confident hands of Evans, the moon lighting their way. Dr. Morgan and his family had retired to the small cabin belowdecks. Jaime stared through the windscreen. The stars were so thick it seemed the blackness between them had lost the battle for control over the expanse. But in the western portion of the sky the moon’s glow carved out a place of dominion, its ethereal light guiding their way.

              Since he didn’t know the waters Evans had made the decision to follow the coastline. He kept the boat just far enough out and deep enough to avoid the numerous rock formations along the shore. Jaime was supposed to be helping him keep an eye out.

              Her anxiety consumed her thoughts and stole her focus. They had just left him. Grant may at this very moment be grievously injured. Or worse.

              A tingle on her cheek made her realize a tear had rolled from the corner of her right eye. She swiped it away with her palm and realized Evans was looking at her.

              “He’ll be fine.” Evans took a hand from the wheel and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “He can take care of himself.”

              Jaime just nodded and used her sleeve to wipe away a sudden deluge pouring down her face. It would be a tough couple of days.
You better be okay.
I can’t lose you again.

* * * * *

The cry of a morning bird jarred Grant awake. He sucked in a breath, bolted to a seated position, and scrabbled for the gun in his waistband. He blinked his eyes and noticed the gray light filling the sky.

              Tedesco was in the process of shoveling dirt onto the fire. Grant wiped the grit from his eyes and stared toward the captives. They were either asleep, or faking it. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

              “I thought you could use the rest.” The big man shrugged his shoulders. “I’m a night owl anyway. I enjoyed the peace.”

              Grant stood, barely stifling a groan, rotated his neck, and stretched. While the fire was tamped out, Grant collected their gear and stowed it in his pack. The soldiers’ clothes and weapons took the majority of the space. The MP’5s and extra clips would make a welcome addition to their depleted arsenal. Grant threw the backpack over his shoulders. “You ready to move out? It shouldn’t take long to reach civilization.” He nodded toward the bound men. “If their crew doesn’t catch up to us first.”

              While they prepared to leave the two men sat up, staring, yet to speak a word. “What about them?” Tedesco asked, while shrugging into his own pack.

              Grant considered. They should be left bound and gagged to boot. But there was no guarantee anyone would find them. He drew his pistol. “Make sure the ropes are tight.”

              Tedesco looked like he wanted to raise and argument.

              “Just trust me. Please,” Grant said.

              Tedesco nodded and moved to check the ropes. “Still tight.”

              Grant replaced the pistol in his waistband and knelt in front of the two men. “I need you to give a message to Cane.” Stares were his only reply. “We’re out. All we wanted was to rescue Dr. Morgan’s family.”

              “They were kidnapped,” Tedesco informed them. “Morgan never had any intention of giving away the formula. He just took a vile to fool the mole in your operation.”

              Grant shook his head and sighed. “Let’s go.”

              “What about th—”

              Resisting the urge to yell, Grant said, “Will you just come on you big pansy.”

              Tedesco’s jaw muscles bulged and he ripped his backpack off the ground before joining Grant.

As they entered the trail that than ran along the north side of the stream, Grant turned. He removed one of the soldier’s knives from his backpack and threw it into the ground where the blade stuck. “We’re out. Clear?” As he turned to walk away he called. “And please, don’t let me hear you on my back trail.”

Before he took three strides one of the soldiers called after them and Grant turned back. “He’ll keep coming for you. It’s enough that you know about the formula at all. He won’t let you go.” The soldier that spoke was the one Grant had tangled with. The man’s companion glared at him. “You should disappear.”

Grant nodded. That’s what he had been afraid of.

They hiked along the stream, generally south, for a couple of miles and the trail widened, showing signs of travel. The stream grew broader. It remained clear and mostly shallow, but there were some pools deep enough to swim in. The rush of water grew loud and they found themselves peering over the edge of a waterfall, the trail winding down to the bottom on their right. They climbed down and Grant stopped. He glanced at Tedesco, then down at himself. They were filthy, their clothing tattered, faces and hands covered in grime.

“You look like crap,” Grant said.

“Yeah.” Tedesco stared at Grant. “But you look shower fresh.”

In addition to being grubby, they were both dressed in black fatigues. “We’ve got to do something about this. Take off your clothes,” Grant said.

Tedesco’s brow wrinkled.

“Just do it.” Grant pulled off his shirt, pants, and boots before stepping into the stream in only his underwear. “Watch our backs. You’re next.” The water was chilly, but he plunged ahead, positioning himself beneath the falls. The cold blast of water stole his breath. Using his hands as a sponge he washed the grime away as best he could and climbed out. “Your turn.”

While Tedesco took his turn at washing, Grant dried himself with the remains of his long sleeve black shirt, using it to wipe away any remaining smudge on his face and hands. He rummaged in the pack and extracted a black tee-shirt and fatigue pants liberated from the soldiers. With the knife he cut the pants legs, and trimmed the sleeves from the tee-shirt. He dressed as Tedesco joined him on the bank. “Just another tourist,” Grant said.

The other pair of pants were too small for Tedesco, so Grant trimmed the pants he had worn with the knife. Some stretching and pulling of the fabric of another tee-shirt were enough to allow Tedesco to slip it on.

Sans socks Grant slipped on his boots. “I’ll take ‘em off when we get there.”

They continued down the trail. After about a quarter mile they heard voices and giggles floating toward them.

Tedesco cleared his throat. “Umm, hmm.”

“What?”

Tedesco reached over and tapped a finger against the grip of the pistol stuck in the front of Grant’s waistband.

“Oh, yeah.” Grant pulled the gun from his waistband. He took a second to study the trail behind them before stowing it in the backpack.

The voices drew closer and a pack of people, led by a guide, traipsed past them on the trail. They all smiled and called greetings. “Morning. Hello. Beautiful day, huh?”

The trail ended at a gravel road. By the stream, next to a small dam and a swimming hole, stood a two-story building designed to appear like a jungle hut, complete with a thatched roof. Next to a walkway leading from a small parking area rested a faded and rusted military helicopter. A sign indicated it was a relic from the filming of the movie
Predator
. The smell of cooking wafted to them on the breeze. Grant’s stomach gurgled and his mouth watered.

Tedesco sniffed the air and smacked his lips. “We should really get a quick bite. You, know, to ... uh ...keep our strength up.”

“We better not,” Grant said. “We really need to get some distance.”

“You’re right.” Tedesco rubbed his stomach. “I’m just not sure my stomach understands.”

A cab pulled up and disgorged some passengers.

Tedesco flagged him down. “Hola, mi amigo. Puedele nos da un paseo?”
Hello, my friend. Can you give us a ride?

The cabdriver studied them, his thoughts about their grungy condition obvious.

Tedesco unslung his pack and extracted a wad of bills. The man smiled and bobbed his head. “Si, Si, amigos.”

They piled into the backseat and, trailing a cloud of dust, left the jungle behind them.