A Touch of Revenge (A Nick Bracco Thriller) Page 8

  Tommy’s face tensed up. “No, I’m not wired, Hector, jeesh. I’m just calling to ask—” Tommy pursed his lips. “Relax will you.” He pulled the phone down to his lap and said to Julie, “The guy really needs an intervention, but everyone’s too afraid of him.”

  Tommy replaced the phone to his ear. “Easy Hector, you’re not listening to me. You’re acting all paranoid for no reason. I just want to know if you knew of any Kurdish involvement with this tunnel?”

  He waited.

  “It’s a type of people. They live in Turkey.”

  Tommy glanced in the rear view mirror while listening. Their car cruised along without much traffic.

  “They’re some kind of ethnic group,” he said, gesturing with his fingers while the palm of his hand steered. “Yes, sort of like Jews, but not like … hey, Hector, if you don’t even know who they are, don’t you think that answers my question?”

  Tommy shook his head while listening. “Hector, that’s all I needed to know. Really. You’ve been a terrific help. I can’t tell you how much this means to me.” Tommy rolled his eyes, seemingly attempting to get off the phone as quickly as possible.

  “Yeah, yeah, next time I’m down there we’ll get some cervezas together, you bet.”

  Another few seconds, then Tommy said, “Thanks, Hector, adios.”

  Tommy pushed a button, then put the phone on the console next to him. “Last time I had cerveza with Hector a jackrabbit knocked over his glass and got ten bullets for being an animal in the desert.”

  Julie picked up Tommy’s phone. It was a glossy and black and sleeker than she’d ever seen before.

  “Is this new?” she asked, looking it over.

  Tommy beamed. “You like it?”

  “I do,” she said.

  “It’s the newest technology. The things I can do with that are unreal. It has a radar loaded on it. I can point it at a car and see how fast it’s going.”

  Julie pressed the screen and scanned the icons. “That’s impressive. I’m sure that comes in handy all the time.” A little sarcasm leaking out.

  “Yeah, well, it does a ton of other stuff too.”

  Julie tapped into his music player. “Let’s see what we’ve been listening to,” Julie said, scrolling down the list of artists. “Oh, my. Coldplay? Tommy, you like Coldplay?”

  Tommy glanced at her sideways. “I don’t necessarily like Coldplay, I just like their music.”

  “Of course,” Julie said, scrolling further. “Kaiser Chiefs, Nada Surf, Razorlight? I’ve never heard of half of these bands.”

  “That’s because most of them are from the U.K. That’s where all the new alternative stuff comes from, then we copy the original over here and muddle it up. Me, I like the original. By the time some copycat artist picks it up, I’m on to the next thing.”

  Julie looked up at Tommy and it seemed he felt her stare.

  “What?” he said.

  Julie smiled. “I never knew this side of you.”

  “What side?”

  “I don’t know, I guess I pegged you for the Frank Sinatra type of guy.”

  “Oh really?” Tommy said, mocking disappointment. “I think that’s some sort of stereotype, Mrs. Bracco.”

  Tommy kept his eyes on the rear view mirror for too long and Julie turned to see a black pickup truck rushing up behind them. Tommy grabbed his phone and tapped the screen. The truck was speeding so fast the front end was bobbing up and down with the contours of the asphalt. Julie’s heart sped up as well.

  As the vehicle closed in she could see three teenage boys with exhilarated expressions sharing the front seat. The driver ran up to within a few feet of their bumper, then swerved fiercely around them while Tommy eased over toward the shoulder to allow them to pass. As the truck flew by, the kid by the passenger window held out an open beer can as if toasting Tommy.

  Tommy saluted them as if to say, “Carry on.”

  The truck sped on ahead of them and Julie finally caught her breath. Tommy held up his phone to show her a red blinking “95” on the screen.

  “See,” Tommy said. “Pretty accurate, huh.”

  Julie let out a big sigh. “Weren’t you worried?”

  “About what?”

  She waved her hand at the back of the speeding truck. “That?”

  “Nah,” Tommy said. “I saw them peeling out of the gas station a few miles back. I knew they were coming.”

  Julie looked down at her trembling hands. She wanted to know what made him so confident, so secure in his decisions. Before she could say anything, Tommy had grabbed her left hand and looked at her with a level gaze. For once there was no humor in his expression.

  “Look,” he said swapping his attention between Julie and the road. “I know what you meant.” His voice turned harsh. “It’s just that the people who are trying to hurt Nick are foreigners. And I’m sorry, but no punk from Turkey is going to come into my country and take out a Bracco. It’s just not happening.”

  Julie nodded meekly and Tommy seemed to notice her uncertainty.

  “Okay,” Tommy went on. “You see that kid in the jail cell? Semir? You look into his eyes and you tell me there’s any real creative intelligence going on. That guy is just smart enough to follow directions, and no more. I wouldn’t trust him to pick me out a decent loaf of bread at the grocery store.”

  Tommy held up his index finger. “There’s only one guy who knows what he’s doing and that’s this Barzani guy. We get him …” Tommy shrugged. “Game over.”

  He gave Julie his best ‘Trust me’ smile, then put both hands on the wheel.

  Julie guided him into the side road which took them to her gravel driveway, seventy-five yards of tires crunching and shock absorbers working overtime. Tommy parked sideways in front of the single level cabin. It was tucked away in the woods with a small man-made lake in the backyard. Both Nick and Julie had loved the remoteness of the place when they bought it, but now solitude felt closer to dangerous, than peaceful seclusion. She opened the door and immediately Tommy headed for the kitchen.

  “You got anything to eat, Jule? I never had lunch today,” Tommy said, opening up the refrigerator.

  Julie slid past him and pulled out a tray of leftover lasagna. She cut a piece for him, then put it in the microwave and set it for ninety seconds.

  “Thanks,” Tommy said, then shooed her away. “Go grab some clothes and let’s get going.”

  There was no urgency in his voice, but she’d been down this road before. After fifteen years as an FBI agent’s wife, she knew enough to stay one step ahead of trouble.

  She went into her bedroom and began throwing shirts and jeans on her bed. She kept opening and closing drawers searching for matching outfits. As she made her third trip into her walk-in closet, she checked out the stack of books on a shelf above her shoes. There were books on marriage, self-help books, even some autobiographies she’d enjoyed. Her friends teased her because she’d never read any James Patterson or John Grisham thrillers, but the truth was she’d had enough harrowing experiences in her life. She didn’t need to read about anyone else’s drama.

  Julie grabbed a book on finance. Maybe learn how to invest their money better since she’d taken a year off of teaching to move to the mountain community. She turned to go throw the book on her bed and screamed. A man wearing black fatigues stood in her closet doorway with a sinister grin and a pistol trained on her.

  “Don’t do that again or I’ll have to use this,” the man sneered.

  A surge of blood and nerves rushed into Julie’s head and tightened into a bottleneck around her throat. “Who … who …”

  “The name’s Buck Martin,” he said. “I work for a private security force called Iron Mountain.”

  Julie’s mouth dried up and her knees seemed unable to hold her up. “But, I don’t underst—”

  “Yeah,” Buck said, standing there wearing a communication headset and seeming to understand what she wanted to ask. “I get that all the time. Aren�
�t I too old to be playing soldier?”

  Julie’s breathing became erratic and she needed to sit. He must’ve noticed her struggling because he stepped aside and gestured to the bed.

  “Go ahead, Mrs. Bracco,” the man said. “Sit down.”

  Buck moved just enough to allow Julie to squeeze out of the closet. He gently pressed his pelvis into her tiny frame as she passed through.

  Julie sat on the edge of the bed and held her stomach. Nick had trained her to be aggressive in these situations. The quicker, the better. Before the assailant could decide whether he was prepared to kill. She was ready to attack, kick him hard in the nuts and grab the gun. If she was alone she wouldn’t have hesitated, but she wasn’t alone. She was carrying her baby now and it made her wait. She turned into pure protective mode.

  “I’ll do whatever you want,” Julie said, the words vibrating out of her mouth.

  “I’ll bet you would,” he said, looking her over like a fine piece of steak. “And I could show you a thing or two around the bedroom.” He grabbed his crotch with his free hand. The gun was still pointed directly at her.

  Julie’s stomach lurched at the man’s lascivious expression. She crossed her legs and wondered about Tommy. Was he dead?

  “Here’s what we do,” Buck said, suddenly looking businesslike. “I’m going to give you the phone and you’re going to call your husband. You’re going to tell him you’re not feeling too well. You feel sick. See if he volunteers to come home. If he doesn’t, you ask him to come home.”

  Julie listened, trying to remember certain phrases she could say that would tip Nick off. She was light-headed and not thinking right. It was all happening too fast. Her baby. She felt grateful she was too early in the pregnancy to begin showing.

  Buck pulled a small sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to Julie. “Here are the exact words you are to say. Should you throw in even one extra syllable, I’ll shoot you.”

  Julie looked at the words on the sheet. They were hard to see. Her hands were shaking and her eyes were blurry from tears. She wiped her cheeks, took a breath and gathered herself. She knew she had to attack him. Every second she waited worked against her.

  Buck looked around the room. “There’s no phone in here.”

  “No,” Julie said, irrationally hoping that caused a severe delay in his plans.

  He pressed the remote device on his collar and spoke into his headset. “Travis,” he barked, bring me a house phone in here.”

  Buck stood there with a sly grin and gestured his gun upward. “Let’s have a little peek,” he said staring at her chest.

  Julie pulled down her shirt, ready to go, wanting to go. Now.

  Buck seemed to sense her attitude. He held the gun to her head and said, “You’re not going to do anything stupid, are you? Because I’m getting paid a hundred thousand dollars to kill you, so if you get hasty—I collect sooner.”

  Julie tried to focus. With every move he made, she considered her assault. If she raised her shirt, maybe he’d get careless and drop his guard. He might reach for her breast and that could give her an opening. She uncrossed her legs and prepared herself.

  Buck stepped back for a moment and pushed the button on his collar. “Travis, where’s that phone?”

  Then to Julie he added, “But I get another two hundred thousand for your husband. And that’s some real incentive. So let’s do this the right way and I’ll make it quick.”

  He looked at the closed bedroom door and his face turned harsh. Into his headset, he barked, “Travis? Marshall? Will?”

  His somber face told her he wasn’t getting any response. Julie wondered now about Tommy. Buck never mentioned him and it gave her hope. He took a step toward the door, then thought about it. Julie didn’t remember closing the door. He glanced outside through the open shades. The windows faced the front of the house. Julie couldn’t see any other cars. The sun was beginning to set, throwing streaks of light through the bare fall trees. The nearest house was almost a mile away, so screaming was worthless.

  Then Julie heard a sound which made her heart soar.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said Tommy Bracco from outside the door.

  Buck grabbed a handful of Julie’s hair and yanked her to her feet. He shoved her in front of him for protection and clutched her tight around the waist.

  “Go ahead,” Buck yelled, jamming his pistol into her neck. “Just try it and she’s dead.”

  Buck dragged Julie to the side of the bed, all the while keeping her between him and the door. “Now listen,” he said. “Crack open the door and slide your weapon toward me. If you do anything slightly wrong, I’ll kill her first.”

  There were a few seconds of silence on the other side of the door.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Tommy repeated, seemingly mocking him. Buck fired his gun twice into the middle of the door. The noise rattled the bedroom and caused Julie to cower. When she didn’t hear anything on the other side of the door, she worried.

  Buck was jittery though. Julie could feel his indecision through his tight grip, which was leaving her with little oxygen. He was pulling tighter and tighter. This couldn’t last much longer or she would collapse. She had to try something.

  “Shoot him, Tommy,” she yelled, hoping her voice might give him the position he needed.

  “I’m not counting to three, jerkoff,” Buck snapped. “I’m killing her right now. Then you.”

  Tommy just said, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Only this time it sounded exactly like the first two times and it clearly baffled Buck. Julie was confused as well.

  Until she heard the high-pitched clink of her bedroom window cracking and felt Buck’s arms loosen their grip around her waist. Then his body slumped onto the floor behind her. His mouth was open in shock. On the side of his head was a round bullet hole with red and white liquid oozing down the side of his face and onto her beige carpet. She finally sucked in a full breathe and put her hands on her knees. She looked up to see Tommy opening her bedroom window and scrambling up into her room with a silenced gun. He dropped his gun onto the bed and pulled her into his arms.

  “You okay?” he said, holding her gently, like cradling a newborn.

  “Yeah,” she said, gathering herself. She held her belly while huffing. “Oh, Tommy, I wasn’t sure there for a minute.”

  Tommy backed up and held her chin in his hand. “You wanted to go after him didn’t you?” He grinned. “I saw your face. You wanted a piece of him.”

  Julie grinned. Mostly out of relief. They both look down at the dead man.

  “Who are these guys?” Julie asked.

  “They’re mercenaries. Soldiers for hire,” Tommy said. “I guess they’ll work for just about anyone as long as you pay them enough. Even a terrorist.”

  “You saw them coming?”

  Tommy kicked the headset from the soldier’s head. His lips curled into a disgusting scowl. “These assholes are so arrogant they can’t even imagine someone could be smarter than them.”

  “But … how …” she said not quite understanding what happened.

  “My new phone,” Tommy said. “I can hear wireless transmissions within a hundred yard radius. I knew exactly where they were.”

  Julie wanted to laugh. She nearly cried.

  Once again Tommy’s recorded voice came from the other side of the door. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  Tommy walked over and opened the door. Sitting on a chair outside the door was his phone. He grabbed it and held it up with pride. “I’m telling you, Jule. I love this thing.”

  Chapter 11

  Anton Kalinikov stood behind the wheel of the forty-foot yacht and became comfortable with the rhythm of the waves in the Chesapeake Bay. The restaurant he spied sat at the end of a long pier, out in the bay, by itself, exposed. Nightfall had blanketed the coastline and left him floating in darkness. The water was calmer than he’d anticipated, just a jostling of waves slapping at the h
ull as he peered through his binoculars. His eyes perked up as he spotted the target entering the restaurant.

  It was Carl Rutherford’s twentieth anniversary and he smiled while taking his wife’s hand and sat her at their table by the window. He’d made the reservations a week ago like a good husband. Most people felt there was safety in numbers, so Rutherford didn’t appear apprehensive. It helped that he’d brought along three of his FBI friends to watch over him while he enjoyed his meal. Two for the inside, one outside.

  The three agents came in the same car two hours prior to the reservation. They were efficient in their sweep of the area. They’d inspected the table, spoke with the kitchen staff and scrutinized the perimeter. Very professional. Kalinikov knew, because he’d been at the bar watching the entire time.

  A professional assassin, however, must always stay unpredictable. Once you develop a pattern you become vulnerable. Kalinikov wondered now how much the FBI knew about him. He had to believe they knew he was Russian, maybe even knew he was left-handed by the first body he’d left. That was okay. He was a complete stranger to the American authorities and the FBI had no data to draw from. If they’d known anything about his history they would suspect he preferred to work close-up. That helped.

  Now he could see the waiter standing by the Rutherfords’ table, hands behind his back, probably explaining the menu. Crab cakes were their specialty.

  He heard a moan and pulled the binoculars down to address the bound and gagged man next to him. Even in the darkness Kalinikov could see the fear in the man’s eyes. He sat behind the wheel on the captain’s chair, obviously petrified of his fate.

  “I told you I will not kill you,” Kalinikov offered. “But you must remain still.”

  The man nodded furiously, trying to agree as much as possible. His fears were most certainly elevated by the rocket-propelled grenade launcher lying on the floor across from him.

  Kalinikov scanned his surroundings first with the naked eye, then through the binoculars. Nothing seemed irregular. A few random fishing boats. A marine police boat slowly trawled the shoreline, moving away from him.