A Touch of Deceit (Nick Bracco Series #1) Read online

  Nick stretched out his arm and held Matt back as he came out of his seat, then he admonished Ray with a stare that forced his attention back to the floorboards.

  Ray’s cigarette slowly shrank between his index and middle finger. “Shit, the guy was talking to me like I was a moron, telling me over and over where to make the drop. How long to wait. I look like I just fell off the turnip truck?”

  Nick let that one go.

  “He asked me everything under the sun, except if I know how to make a good dupe. I mean shit, the guy didn’t even haggle with my rate.” Ray dropped the cigarette stub to the floor and twisted it with his shoe. He blew out a lungful of smoke and seemed to be looking at something off in the distance. “He’s not from around here, I’d know. He’s a foreigner. He’s got some kind of accent, like one of those Iraqis you used to see interviewed on the news during the war. You know, one of those guys you always knew was lying just by his accent.”

  Nick massaged his forehead. He could feel his arteries begin to constrict. “Let me get this straight,” Nick said. “You called for a meeting with the FBI because you forged a fake ID for someone with a Middle-Eastern accent? Is that right?”

  Ray seemed to absorb what had just happened. “When you say it like that it makes me sound like I’m wasting your time or something.”

  Nick waited and watched Ray shift around on the sofa. Finally, Nick said, “What are you not telling me?”

  Ray looked up at Nick with a wrinkled forehead. It seemed as if he was trying to decipher the genetic code to the double helix.

  “Isn’t that enough?” Ray said. “I mean, I already told you he’s a foreigner with an illegal drivers license. Shit, what else does a guy have to do to get arrested?”

  Nick tried to figure out why someone like Ray would rat on anyone without motivation.

  “You’re just being a good citizen, is that it?” Nick said.

  “That too hard to believe?”

  “Look, Ray, do you know why you’re a lousy poker player?”

  “Huh?”

  “Because you have a tell. Every time you’re bluffing you look to your right.” Nick pointed over his shoulder, “The guys inside don’t know why you do it, they just know it’s a tell. You look to your right, you’re bluffing. Me, I know why you do it. It’s because you’re using the right side of your brain to think. The creative side. Like right now you’re looking over my left shoulder. You’re getting creative with your memory. Don’t do it, Ray. For once in your life, tell me the truth.”

  Ray stared blankly at Nick. “Are you shittin’ me? All this time I got a tell and nobody says nothing?”

  “Are you going to tell me what really happened, Ray?”

  Nick waited while Ray grappled with the chore ahead of him. Possibly dealing with the truth. Ray nodded to himself. With his head still hung low, he said, “I lent my car to my buddy Skeeter yesterday. It was the last time I saw him.”

  “He’s missing?”

  Ray shook his head. “Gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “He was blown to smithereens trying to start my car.”

  Nick and Matt exchanged glances.

  “The guy warned me about following him and I didn’t exactly listen. I was curious. I thought maybe I could scam some juice from him if I told him I knew who he was.”

  Nick let out a breath. “Now we’re getting to it, aren’t we? You tried to shakedown someone out of your league and you want us to save your greedy ass.”

  Ray looked bewildered. “No, no, it’s not like that.”

  Nick slid a hand over his face and squeezed his eyelids until he saw stars, then he focused on the wiry mess sitting in front of him. “All right, Ray, who is he?”

  “That’s just it, I don’t know exactly.”

  “But you were going to try and extort money from him.”

  “Now you got it,” Ray said. “Guy like that’s got to have a big identity.” He looked around the room for support, back and forth between stone-faced Matt and Nick. “Doesn’t he?” Ray finished.

  The room was silent for a moment, allowing the slower brain cells to catch up. Finally, Nick said, “All right, Ray. Why don’t we start with what he looks like.”

  “Pretty average I’d say.”

  Nick blinked. “Ray.”

  “All right, all right. He was a little taller than me, about five-eleven, dark hair . . . shit, what am I doing?” Ray shoved his bony fingers into his jeans pockets and yanked out a folded piece of paper and handed it to Nick. “There he is. I made a copy of the photo before I gave it back to him.”

  Nick slowly unfolded the paper, hoping for a lucky break. He didn’t get one.

  Nick tossed the paper into Matt’s lap and watched his partner’s eyes go dark with anger.

  “Who is it?” Ray said.

  Nick said nothing. He had too many neurons firing all at once. The last time he saw Rashid Baser was eight months ago in a small village just outside of Istanbul. Rashid was lying on the ground with his hand pressed to his ear to stop the bleeding. Matt had fired a remarkable shot from 150 yards, allowing them to escape one of Rashid’s ambushes.

  It was Nick’s job to expect the unexpected, but Rashid Baser in Baltimore was pushing the limits. Even for someone as brash as Rashid.

  Nick looked down at Ray and thought he saw fear in his ignorant eyes. “How did he get in touch with you?”

  “I told you, he called me.”

  “Where? At home?”

  “No, on my cell.”

  “How did he get the number?”

  “Shit, I don’t know,” Ray said, “I couldn’t get the guy to tell me nothing, man.” Ray looked up at Nick again and said, “Who is he?”

  Nick let out a deep breath. “His name is Rashid Baser.”

  Ray sank lower into the couch, getting swallowed up by the worn out cushions. In a small voice, he said, “He dangerous?”

  Nick frowned. He thought about telling Ray that Rashid was the world’s greatest explosives expert. That he could turn a wristwatch into a bomb with little more than what you’d find in a typical shed. That he was an assassin. Maybe the purest human hunter on the planet. Instead, he said, “Yes, Ray, he dangerous.”

  “He . . .uh . . .Al-Qaeda?” Ray asked.

  Nick rolled his eyes. He wished he was a mindless Al Qaeda pawn. Someone who was just smart enough to take orders and just dumb enough to follow them. No, this was a real, shrewd threat. A bonafide hands-on terrorist who would manage to slip a snake into your pants pocket and then ask you for change.

  “No,” Nick said. “He’s Kurdish. He’s not one of these guys that hides out in a cave and draws plans in the dirt. He does everything himself. And he’s good at what he does. Maybe the best.”

  “What does he do?”

  Nick was deep in thought. Rashid Baser. What would Rashid be doing here? He looked over at Matt and saw the same question going across his face.

  “You think he came all the way here just for revenge?” Matt asked.

  Nick shook his head. Partly because he didn’t believe it. Partly because he didn’t want to believe it.

  “You said he’s the best,” Ray said. “The best what?”

  “He kills people,” Nick said. “He’s good with a gun, but prefers to work with blades.”

  “Blades?”

  “Yes, blades.”

  Ray involuntarily rubbed his neck.

  “Exactly.”

  Nick was pacing now, gathering speed as he went. “Do you want to know the most dangerous thing about Rashid Baser? He’s Kemel Kharrazi’s best friend. They grew up together in Southeastern Turkey.”

  Ray swallowed.

  “That’s right, that Kemel Kharrazi. The one whose name makes serial killers sleep with the light on. So let’s cut the crap, Ray. Are you positive this is the guy you saw?”

  “What do you want from me?” Ray pleaded. “I swear I’m not lying to you.”

  Nick nodded. He grabbed the copy of the phot
o from Matt and examined it closely. The image was grainy, but it certainly appeared to be Rashid. Nick thought it looked to be taken about five years ago. Rashid was still wearing a mustache. He thought of something.

  “Ray,” Nick said, “What did he look like when you met with him? Any different than this photo?”

  Ray appeared serious, as if he were adding numbers in his head. “Yeah, he wasn’t wearing no mustache when I saw him.”

  “Is that all?”

  “And . . . and . . .he was missing part of his left ear. Looked like he lost it in a fight or something. Pretty ugly.”

  “Great,” Nick said, now certain that Rashid Baser was actually on American soil. He turned to see Matt sitting there feeling his empty holster, looking like a boy who’d left his fly open.

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” Matt said, looking at the four cement walls that contained them.

  “No shit,” Nick said.

  Ray looked lost.

  Nick crouched down and pulled up on Ray’s chin until their eyes were inches apart. “What did you do, Ray? Did he pay you to set us up?”

  “Huh?”

  “Look, Ray, I know you’re stupid, but you don’t have to overdo it.”

  Seville’s face tightened with confusion.

  “Ray. He tried to kill you. He knows you made him. You don’t think he’s going to finish the job? You think he forgot about you? What if he followed you here and saw two FBI agents waltz in behind you? Especially agents who specialize in counterterrorism. Faces he knows.”

  Seville’s eyes widened with recognition, like someone who just remembered he’d left the stove on.

  “You think you were tagged, Ray?”

  Seville just stared. Until the explosion broke the silence.

  Chapter 2

  The sound came from the outer hallway. It wasn’t the searing blast of a bomb destroying the building, but the muted pop of Semtex ripping apart the hinges of a steel door. Nick knew that the next thing he’d hear would be the thump of that big piece of steel slamming into the corridor. He also knew that Truth would be hustling furiously toward his demise. Which was exactly how it happened. Nick heard a couple of coughs from a silencer, then all three hundred pounds of Truth hit the floor heavy.

  By now the red light in the poker room would be flashing, signaling a breach in the entrance. Everyone would scurry out the back exit for fear of being caught in a raid.

  Nick searched for a way out, but saw nothing. He knew what it felt like to be trapped inside of a coffin. Nick glanced down at his cell phone. No reception. He looked at Matt and saw him examining his phone. He shook his head. Their service was being jammed.

  Matt stood up and grasped his holster as if it could grow another gun. He stared at the solitary exit from the basement room. A rickety oak door that hung there more from habit than sound construction.

  There was a tap on the door. It sounded exactly what the muzzle of a gun would sound like against brittle oak. A man’s voice came from the other side. It was soft, but firm, with a hint of an accent. “Raymond.”

  The only noise was the hum of the fluorescent lights.

  “Raymond, it’s not you I want. Just tell me if they’re armed and I’ll let you go untouched. It’s the only way you’ll leave here alive.”

  “It’s him,” Ray murmured.

  Nick put his fingers to his lips. Matt was on his knees quietly twisting off the leg of the coffee table.

  “Raymond,” the voice said. “Don’t be a fool. These are not men worth dying for.”

  Nick watched Seville carefully. The guy was actually thinking about it. He saw it in his eyes. Seville blurted, “They’re un—”

  Matt reached him first. His uppercut smacked Ray hard under the chin. Seville’s head jerked back and his body instantly became a rag doll against the pillow of the sofa.

  “Raymond?” came the voice on the other side of the door.

  There was silence while Matt went back to work on the leg of the table. Nick saw him twisting the wooden dowel, but it was like watching from an out of body experience. A silent vacuum seemed to suck all of the oxygen from the room. Anxiety tightened its grip around Nick’s neck and forced him to remain still for fear of falling down. He was slipping away again.

  A vision flashed across Nick’s mind. It was the image of a lipstick kiss his wife left for him on the mirror that morning. It hung there like the single digit sum to the chalkboard-crammed equation of his life. The kiss said everything that needed to be said. Suddenly, the floor seemed to be moving and he realized it was his legs wobbling beneath him.

  “Nicholas,” the assassin said, breaking into Nick’s death dream. “I found two guns on the black man’s corpse. We both know who they belong to.”

  Matt freed the wooden leg and motioned with his hand encouraging Nick to engage the killer in some dialog. The lipstick kiss evaporated.

  “Nicholas,” Rashid said. “Is that your partner with you? Mathew?”

  Rashid’s voice jarred him back to consciousness. The evil seeped through the door like toxic waste.

  Nick’s heart felt as if it would burst through his chest. He forced himself to concentrate. He wasn’t about to accommodate his assassin with any concessions.

  “Nicholas, you may as well speak. They will most certainly be your last words.”

  Nick instantly went from resignation to anger. Fury built up inside of him like a bolt of adrenalin. He could practically see Rashid’s teeth showing through his shark-like grin.

  “Rashid,” Nick said, “wipe that smile off your face.”

  A small chuckle from behind the door. “Nicholas, I should have killed you in Istanbul.”

  “You didn’t kill me in Istanbul because you couldn’t,” Nick said. “Just like now.”

  A pop. The silenced bullet shot through the door and buzzed past Nick’s ear. Both agents hit the floor, their heads only a couple of feet apart. They scurried behind the sofa across from Ray.

  “He’s being cautious,” Matt whispered. “We got lucky once. He won’t make that mistake again.”

  “Or he’s relishing the moment,” Nick said. “Prolonging the pleasure.”

  “Whatever he’s doing, we’ve got thirty seconds, maybe sixty if he’s in a sporting mood.”

  Nick nodded. He pointed to the door. “How does he come in? Heavy, or slow?”

  “He busts through, dives right and shoots around the room starting from his right.”

  “Agreed.”

  Another pop. This time the sound was louder. He was alternating guns. The bullet passed through the dilapidated sofa with little resistance. Rashid had them. Without return fire he would be on top of them in a matter of moments.

  Matt gripped the table leg and got to a knee. He pointed at the door. “I’ll wait for him to barge through. He’ll see me first and fire, but I might get one swing in. It’s our only chance.”

  Nick shook his head. “No. It’s suicide.”

  “Of course it’s suicide. What, you think I was going to beat Rashid with a stick against his two guns.”

  Nick thought a moment. Two guns. “You’re right. He’s got a gun in each hand.”

  “Now you’re catching on. That’s why you’re the brains of the team.”

  “How’s he going to turn the doorknob with a gun in each hand?”

  Matt blinked. “What the fuck difference does that make? You see that thing, it’s barely hanging on its hinges.”

  “Exactly,” Nick said, his voice growing stronger with each cogent thought. “He rams into that door with any momentum at all and it will give way.”

  The both of them stared at the door.

  “Nicholas,” Rashid’s voice sounded impatient.

  “Okay,” Matt whispered. “What if I remove the hinges?”

  “Yes,” Nick said. “He leans into it and it comes straight down. Rashid won’t expect it and for a moment, he’ll be exposed. Just a moment.”

  Again a bullet spit through the flimsy do
or and this one plunged into Ray Seville’s chest. By the amount of blood hemorrhaging through his shirt, Nick could tell that the bullet had found his heart. The poor bastard never saw it coming.

  Nick turned to Matt. “That’s precisely how much time you get. One moment. Don’t miss.”

  Matt’s eyes had a glimmer of hope. As he crawled to the door with the table leg, he looked back and said, “Keep his attention toward you.”

  Great, Nick thought. Just what he wanted to do. He shimmied to the left and cupped his hand over his mouth, aiming his voice to the left. “Rashid, where’s your friend, Kharrazi?”

  As he’d hoped, the bullet missed to his left this time. It cracked through the frail sofa like it was made out of balsa wood. He rose up to see Matt working on the bolt in the top hinge of the door. He couldn’t tell what he was using. A pen? It appeared to be moving.

  “Nicholas,” Rashid said. “Let’s be reasonable men. Open the door and I will make it quick. You and your partner will never feel a thing. You have my word.”

  Matt had the first bolt in his hand now and was working on the middle one.

  “That’s a fascinating offer,” Nick said. “Can I get that in writing?”

  There was silence. Nick cursed his use of sarcasm. He took short, quick breaths and waited for the worst. Matt pried loose the middle hinge and Nick watched him apply pressure on the door to keep it upright.

  An onslaught of bullets blitzed into the small room forcing Nick to cover his head and duck below the sofa. He squeezed his eyes shut as he got peppered with shards of splintered wood and fabric. The spray of debris was so dense, it actually heated up the room. He knew that the barrage was tantamount to the finale of a Fourth of July fireworks display. Rashid was simply clearing the way for his grand entrance. It would be all over very soon now.

  There was a pause. In the silence, the room seemed to creak from duress. When Nick opened his eyes, it was dark. For a split second he thought he’d finally caught a fatal shot. Then he realized that one of the bullets had popped the fluorescents and left them in complete blackness. It was something Nick would have done himself had he been thinking clearly. Which he wasn’t.

  He couldn’t see Matt, just the filtered light that outlined the doorframe and two tight circles created by the bullet holes. Nick had to make sure Rashid burst through the door with his shoulder. He couldn’t afford to have the terrorist become cautious and test the doorknob. He wanted to give his partner a signal and let him know Rashid was coming, but in the darkness it had to be verbal. He prayed that Matt was finished with the hinges.