Running Dark Part 5

"It did work well. I have to compliment you." The European-accented voice held no trace of sarcasm. The African exhaled softly, as if he'd been holding his breath. The Vulture turned to Tarrant. "And we could not stick her anywhere. It had to be at the peak of the race in order to a.s.sess the chemical's effect on the human body during extreme exertion. A little human clinical trial minus the federal oversight. And what about the chemical you love so much? I trust you'll be feeling better soon?"

Tarrant nodded. His throat was dry.

The Vulture held up two thick white envelopes. "Here's another five thousand for each of you and detailed information on the next job. I need you to persuade a certain gentleman to halt his operations in the Red Sea. Or, more specifically, in the trade route through the Gulf of Aden." Tarrant took one of the envelopes and shoved it into his pocket without looking at it. The Vulture had never shorted him.

"Dead persuaded? Or just hammered-into-the-pavement persuaded?" Tarrant said.

The Vulture shrugged. "Beaten first. Homicides draw too much attention. Of course, if the beating doesn't work, you can escalate the force. I'm aware that you have a reputation for killing people by accident."

Tarrant snorted. "Once my temper gets away from me, I have a hard time pulling back."

"If you end up killing him, be certain that his vice president gets the message, too."

"Is it true that you want us to stick the runner again?" the African asked.

"I understand that she got up and finished the race."

The African nodded. "She ran away, fast. Real fast. Is that what she was supposed to do?"

"Yes. But we also expected much more erratic behavior as well. No one seems able to confirm that aspect. If she was behaving within the bounds of normal, then the dose may not be enough."

The African frowned. "I hit her hard. Gave her every last drop. I thought the drug works better on fit people. Enters their system faster. If that's true, she should have turned into a lunatic."

The Vulture shook his head. "She did not. Not at all. Dose her again." He looked at Tarrant.

"Whatever. We'll get it done," Tarrant said.

"Good. I'll be in touch." The Vulture sketched a wave with his hand, walked to the curb, and reached a hand into the air, as if he was hailing a cab. Tarrant was just about to inform him that there were no cabs willing to risk this particular neighborhood at that hour of the evening when a large black sedan pulled up and halted. The Vulture swung open the door and disappeared inside. The car drove off.

"That man is a psychopath in a suit," the African said. "I won't be crossing him."

The drug was in full flower now, giving Tarrant a feeling of bravado. "He's just a rich guy in good clothes who's afraid to do his own dirty work," he said.

The African scoffed. "I'd like to hear you tell him that to his face."

Tarrant shrugged. "He's gone now."

"But he'll be back. Let's just be sure we get this Gulf of Aden guy good. I don't want to fail the Vulture. He'd start his testing on me. I wouldn't make it a week."

"We'll get him, don't you worry." Tarrant grinned like a fool all the way back to his car.

12.

SUMNER TOOK THE FIRST WATCH, TEAMED WITH JANKLOW. THEY walked the deck, moving in opposite directions. Every twenty minutes or so, they'd pa.s.s each other. Sumner's watch showed three o'clock in the morning. He met Janklow in the middle.

"You know, taking this s.h.i.+ft means that we're most likely to see some action, right?" Janklow said.

"If we don't fall asleep first," Sumner said. A thought occurred to him. "If these guys come back and actually board us, what can they get? Besides the hostages and the money in the casino, I mean."

Janklow leaned against the railing for a moment. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered it to Sumner.

"I don't smoke," Sumner said. He watched Janklow light up, take a deep drag, and blow out the smoke before answering.

"We're carrying some cargo as well. It's unusual, we don't often do it, but it's for a charity. Our hold contains vaccines and pharmaceutical products that we were to deliver to Mombasa when we docked there."

"Is it worth anything?" Sumner said.

Janklow shook his head. "Invaluable to the kids who need it, but not worth a thing to the pirates. The whole idea is a bit of a boondoggle anyway, because some African countries are highly suspicious of vaccines to begin with. They think the medicine is really a way for the U.S. to poison their children. Sometimes we deliver the products and they end up rotting on the dock."

"So we won't be able to use the cargo as barter to get us out of the situation."

Janklow took another puff. "Not at all. Our best bet is the money in the casino. But I doubt they'll settle for it. They'll want to ransom the pa.s.sengers as well. Last month the Danes paid over a million dollars for five of their own. That's big business for these guys."

Sumner thought about the four men in the cigarette boats. They had looked like Somali fishermen: skinny and underfed. He'd be amazed if they had fifty bucks between them.

"Who's getting the money? It sure as h.e.l.l isn't those four losers in the boats."

"The warlords. They finance the boats, guns, you name it. The guys actually doing the attacking barely make a living wage."

"I wish I could speak to them. I could tell them that the U.S. won't pay. I know this from personal experience."

Janklow looked at Sumner with a measured gaze. "I heard that you were held hostage in Colombia. The U.S. didn't ransom you?"

Sumner watched the ocean for a moment before answering. "Not a penny. But I ended up costing the kidnappers a lot more than they cost the U.S."

Janklow looked intrigued. "If I may ask, how did you get out of there?"

Sumner thought about Emma Caldridge. He caught himself smiling, which was something he didn't do too much of, before and especially after Colombia. He hoisted the gun higher on his shoulder. "I was saved by a beautiful mad scientist."

Janklow grunted in surprise. "Can you bring her here? We could use her help."

Sumner shook his head. "I want her to stay as far away from here as possible."

Janklow finished his smoke, ground out the b.u.t.t, and tossed it into a nearby cigarette bin. "I don't blame you for that."

Sumner started walking again.

Janklow moved out in the opposite direction. "See you on the next turn."

Halfway around the deck, Sumner b.u.mped into Block. "Out for a stroll?"

"I wish," Block replied. "Wainwright wants me to take over for Janklow. Something's going on with the damage, and he's needed there." He turned and fell into step with Sumner. "Anything happen so far?"

"No, but this is the *hot' s.h.i.+ft. You know that, right?"

Block sighed. "I told you, I used to hunt. Lots of animals come out at night. Don't see how these are any different."

Sumner couldn't argue with that. They met up with Janklow at the midpoint. He eyed Block with a sour expression that was even worse than his usual one. Sumner watched him manage a cordial nod.

"Mr. Block, what brings you on deck this late?" Janklow asked.

"Wainwright needs you in Stateroom A to inspect the damage. He wants me to spell you." Block waved toward the pistol holstered at Janklow's waist. "That little gun all you got?"

Janklow sighed and pulled the gun, holster and all, off his waist. He handed it to Block. "This is it."

Block scrutinized the pistol. "What the h.e.l.l is this?"

"A stun gun."

The gun was bright yellow and had a square muzzle instead of a round one. Slightly thicker than an actual pistol, it came with its own holster in fluorescent neon.

"Why the h.e.l.l is it so bright? This thing glows. I might as well be carrying a sign that says *I'm over here, shoot me.'" Block waved the holster around. The reflective material left streaks of green light as it moved through the dark.

"It's considered rescue equipment. All rescue equipment is designed so that it can be located in the dark."

"How does it work?" Block asked.

"It takes a few seconds to charge. You flick this on"-Janklow showed Block a switch-"and when it's ready, you aim and shoot."

"Do I need to touch the guy? 'Cause let me tell you right now, I don't want to get that close."

Janklow shook his head. "It has two darts that shoot out on fis.h.i.+ng lines with a range of twenty-one feet."

Block smiled. "That'll do for distance."

"But there's a hitch with the fis.h.i.+ng lines. They both have to hit the target to work. Guy manages to avoid one and you won't complete a circuit. Nothing will happen except you'll be standing there trying to reload while he's madder than he was before. The extra charges are attached to the holster's belt."

"Great." Block sounded disgusted. "Anything else I should know?"

"Certain materials will stop the electrical charge."

"Like what?"

"Like a wet suit," Sumner said.

Janklow hid a smile, while Block gave them both a long look.

"Sumner, give me your rifle," Block demanded.

Sumner shook his head. "The Dragunov stays with me."

Block pointed a finger at him. "Probably every one of those pirates will be wearing a wet suit as he climbs over the railing. You can't keep that state-of-the-art weapon while you give your pa.s.sengers these pieces of c.r.a.p."

Janklow knocked out another smoke. Before he lit it, he aimed it at Block. "Have you ever even shot a sniper rifle?"

Block looked outraged. "I can shoot anything you want to hand me, and that's a fact."

Janklow gave an incredulous laugh. "Texans. You guys are the biggest exaggerators in the world."

Sumner started pacing again. Behind him he heard Janklow instructing Block on his patrol duties. Sumner turned a corner, and the only sound was the swell of the waves on the side of the boat.

But in the distance came the roar of a cigarette boat's engine.

13.

THE a.s.sISTANT TO THE UNDERSECRETARY FOR INTERNATIONAL security policy and procedure called Banner at one o'clock in the morning. Banner noted the caller ID before he s.n.a.t.c.hed the phone off his nightstand.

"Mr. Banner, we need you at Department of Defense headquarters immediately. There's been a problem in-"

Banner interrupted her. "Don't say it. My phones are tapped."

The woman began coughing. While she did, Banner pulled an image of her up from memory. She was a mousy woman, about thirty years old. Nondescript brown hair, ill-fitting dark suits with b.u.t.ton-down s.h.i.+rts and flat shoes. She was new, one of the few who had lasted longer than a quarter of a year, and for the life of him he couldn't remember her name. She got hold of herself, and he heard her take a deep breath.

"Who's tapping you?"

"Probably the FBI, but I can't be positive."

"Oh." The woman sounded relieved. "The FBI is on our side."

"You would think, but I'm not so sure. Best you wait to fill me in until I get there."

"I'm using a secure phone and calling your secure line. A tap is unlikely. Are you always this cautious?"

Banner was up and rummaging through his dresser drawers, using his ear to hold the phone to his shoulder. "Yes. And really, aren't you just a little bit impressed that I am?"

His joke was rewarded with a small laugh. "I guess I am. We'll see you soon, then. And could you bring Major Stromeyer?"

Banner glanced again at the clock. He hated to bother Stromeyer unless it was urgent. No need for both of their nights to be ruined.

"Is it necessary? I could handle the meeting and let her sleep a little longer."

The woman coughed again. Banner thought it was a nervous reaction. He rushed to rea.s.sure her.