Swords Of Exodus Part 3

I was good at it. It's what I'm best at. A natural-born killer. Deep down, I'd always known. I killed my first man as a teenager. I grew up that day. I changed. And I knew I was different. I began to look at the people around me the way a wolf looks at a herd of deer.

Somehow I held on. My teammates kept me sane. We went through a lot of bad days and a lot of good ones. We fought together, partied together, and mourned our dead together. I traveled all over the world, and was paid a lot of money for what I did.

It all came cras.h.i.+ng down in Mexico. Only three of us survived that mission, and our employer was forced out of business. My entire life was gone in the span of a couple of days.

I tried. I tried to return home, to the US, and get a regular job. I tried to live my life as a respectable citizen. I did that for almost a year, and I was completely miserable. Restless, disconnected from the people around me. When my former teammate Tailor showed up on my doorstep with a job offer, the deal was sealed.

Project Heartbreaker, they called it. We did good work, at first. I met the first woman I ever really loved. Her name was Sarah, and she made me a better man.

She died in a little country called Zubara. Most of us did, betrayed by the same shadowy organization that had brought us there. They were just cleaning up loose ends. Some of us managed to escape with our lives, and those who did went into hiding.

Not me. I was done running. I tracked down Gordon Willis, the man behind the entire operation, and shot him through the heart.

Then they caught me. So there I was, some time later, in a windowless cell, wondering when they were going to get around to killing me. I wondered if anyone had any idea what happened to me. Did anyone even care?

My eyes snapped into focus as the tromp of combat boots echoed down the hall. Three people, it sounded like. It didn't seem like it was mealtime, and they never sent three men just to slide my tray of slop through the door. I took a deep breath, and tried to steady myself as I stood up. I knew what was coming next.

A key hit the lock. The door swung inward. Three men in black uniforms strode in. I recognized all of them. I'd seen them all before. Reilly, Smoot, and Davis. They didn't speak as they shoved me against the wall and cuffed my hands together and shackled my feet. They jabbed me in the side to get me going, hard enough to leave a throbbing pain. I shuffled up the hallway, chains clinking like an inmate at the County Jail.

There was a time when I'd tried to resist, tried to make myself a pain in the a.s.s, hoping for rescue or escape. In my confinement, I'd worked out, doing push-ups and sit-ups in my cell to stay somewhat fit. As time went on, that hope faded. I gave up exercising. What as the point? I was going to die in this place. I was too much of a liability for them to ever let me go.

I hung my head slightly, but said nothing, as I clattered along in chains.

LORENZO.

I studied the image for a time. "I don't know what happened to him. Once he popped that guy in Virginia, he just dropped off the grid. I figured the secret government types murdered him." I slid the phone back to Ling.

"From what your brother has told me, you owe him a great deal." Ling's dark eyes almost bored holes into me. Of course she was right. Jill would be dead if it hadn't been for Valentine, but that wasn't the sort of thing Bob should be sharing. How much had my brother told this woman?

"No disagreement there, but the way I see it, the way he saw it, we're even. No offense lady, and in normal circ.u.mstances, I'd love to go take on the entire US government to rescue somebody who shot me with a .44 magnum, but it sounds like my brother's in trouble. Family comes first."

"How n.o.ble of you," Ling said flatly. "My organization is searching for your brother as we speak, and as soon as we have information on his whereabouts, we will act. I understand your frustration. But until we are able to locate Bob, there is little that can be done."

"You might be surprised," I muttered.

"Perhaps not. I know exactly what you can do. You are one of most accomplished thieves in modern history. The Vladivostok gold train robbery, the Bahrain Museum of Antiquity heist, the South African Diamond Exchange, and rumors of many others. You are a master of disguise, stealth, and various intrigues." She smiled as she saw my reaction. Yep, the old poker face was out of practice. Island living makes a man soft.

"You missed a few of my greatest hits, but apparently you know me. So who the h.e.l.l are you supposed to be?"

"I am a strike team commander for the organization called Exodus. I a.s.sume you are familiar with our work?"

I nodded slowly. Of course I knew about them. Anyone who worked in the circles I did had heard of Exodus. "You kill people. Slave traders mostly. Criminals, terrorists, drug lords . . ." Mostly I knew about them from their reputation, and it was a grisly one. They were a bunch of pseudo-holy warrior kooks who never took prisoners and rarely left witnesses. "You pop anybody you decide is evil enough."

"There's a lot more to it than that, but you are fundamentally correct. This does not bother you, I trust."

I smiled. "I'm morally ambivalent."

"So your brother implied. Given your reputation, I'm surprised you haven't crossed paths with our organization before."

"I try not to take sides. And, no offense, I'm too good at what I do to be snared by a bunch of vigilante fanatics with automatic weapons. Please continue, Miss Ling."

Ignoring the slight, Ling glanced around the restaurant to make sure no one was listening before continuing. "My organization was working on a matter of some significance. We were planning a mission against a very-high profile target. Have you heard of Sala Jihan?"

"The Pale Man?" I snorted. Every professional criminal who had ever worked in the Eastern hemisphere had heard of him, but it was all legend and nonsense from the superst.i.tious or crazy. He was central Asia's cross between the boogieman and Jack the Ripper. Villagers had been telling scary stories around campfires about him for hundreds of years. "I don't have time for fairy tales."

"He is quite real, I a.s.sure you." Her flash of anger was very convincing. "Or at least some slave-trading warlord wants people to think he is real, and that he has returned. Someone calling himself Sala Jihan appeared a few years ago, and during that time, he's ama.s.sed an army and now controls the trade of slaves, illicit arms, and drugs across south and central Eurasia."

"That part of the world was Big Eddie's territory," I stated.

"Eduard Montalban was not in the same league as Sala Jihan."

"Then you didn't know much about Big Eddie."

"He was a bored rich man's son. A sociopath, of course, and dangerous, but in the end all of his power came from his family. His older brother is dead now, of course, and so is he. Thanks to you. That was well done, Mr. Lorenzo."

I happened to agree, but I was growing impatient. "What does any of this have to do with Bob?"

"Your brother was looking for someone with some extremely vital information. This individual he was searching for was also being pursued by a certain US government agency which I believe you have some experience with. The person Bob was after had fled to Sala Jihan's territory. It is easy to disappear there."

I had always thought of my brother as the law-abiding, rational one. That was why it had been kind of shocking to see him shoot some of his fellow federal agents, without hesitation, back in Quagmire. I could see Bob putting what he thought was right and good ahead of what was practical. I was the practical one of the family. "So where is he now, and how many people do I have to kill to get him back?"

"We're working on that. But first we need you to help us rescue Valentine. Read your brother's words. It's what he wants."

"And why the h.e.l.l is Valentine so important?"

She didn't get a chance to answer. One of her bodyguards, the tall black man, approached quickly and tapped her on the shoulder. "Ma'am, I received. We need to leave."

Ling brushed her hair back, and stood. "We need your help, Mr. Lorenzo. Our plane will be leaving the airfield in ninety minutes. Gather your equipment and meet us there. If we do not see you, then we will attempt this rescue without you. The choice is yours."

I stayed seated and stewed for a moment. Technically, I owned the airfield on St. Carl, and this woman had landed on my runway without my permission. Of course, I leased it to the island, and tourist planes weren't uncommon, but I was already angry and that just made it worse. I repeated my question. "And why is he so important?"

She looked at me like I was stupid.

"We never leave a man behind, Mr. Lorenzo. Your brother understood that much."

"Reaper." The phone picked up as I charged up the stairs to my home. The beach stretched for a mile in each direction below me, and my boat was rocking softly at my nearby dock. Seagulls squawked overhead. Ling and her men were on their way back to the airstrip. I was supposed to grab my stuff and meet them there.

"Hey, Chief! What's up? Haven't heard from you in forever."

"Where are you at?"

"I'm kicking a.s.s and taking names. Can I call you back?" I could hear clanking and something roaring in the background. Reaper played a lot of video games. "You like that, b.i.t.c.h? Huh? Witness my perfection! Go cry to momma, noob!"

"No. This is serious."

"Oh s.h.i.+t." Reaper was suddenly all business. "This line is secure. What do you need?"

"I've got some work for you to do." I looked at my watch. "Find out everything you can about a decommissioned air force base in Montana called North Gap. Then I want you to get my brother's file from the FBI database and forward it to me. I want to know where he was, and what he was working on."

"Wow. Jumping right back into the deep end." Reaper whistled. "That's gonna be a tough one. I'll get on it." For most people, a request to break into a secure government database would seem a bit odd. For Reaper, it was the kind of thing he did for kicks. "It might get really expensive."

"I'll cover it. And get me everything you can find on Valentine."

Reaper was quiet for a moment. "Like from Zubara? That Valentine?"

"Yes, that Valentine. Find me everything you can on him. Everything. I want to know where he came from, where he's been, and what happened to him after Quagmire."

"I'm on it!" Reaper paused for a second. "Are we back, Chief?"

He'd been bugging me about once a month for the last half a year about resuming our life of crime. Even though he was the only surviving member of my last team, and he was now independently wealthy from our looting of Big Eddie's treasury, he just couldn't leave it alone. I suppose some of us just aren't good at walking away.

"We're back."

"Sweet! I'm on this!"

I pocketed my phone as I stepped into the entryway. "Jill! I'm home. We've got to talk." My voice echoed through the vast s.p.a.ce of vaulted ceilings, but no answer came. My home was huge. The average slum apartment I had lived in as a kid could fit in the living room. This had been the Montalban family vacation home on this island. The walls were white, the floor made of bright local wood, and an ocean breeze caused the curtains to flow softly over the very expensive furnis.h.i.+ngs. For a place that Big Eddie had hardly ever visited, he had spared no expense. "Jill!"

"I'm up here." Jill's voice came from upstairs. I ran, my sandals slapping on the marble stairs, then softly as I hit the thick carpet of the second floor landing. She was waiting in the bedroom, a large cardboard box open on the bed, packing peanuts strewn everywhere. She was wearing the little orange sundress that I loved on her, and didn't look up as I entered. "Those antique candelabras I won on eBay got here, and look! They're so pretty! I'm going to put these up in the dining room. So how was lunch, honey?"

I didn't respond. I stepped past her, opened the door to the closet, and examined the three black duffel bags sitting on the floor. The first bag was set up with US currency and clothing that would fit in most places in America. I grabbed it and dragged it out. I reached up a shelf and grabbed another black case, this one carrying my disguise kit and other tools of my former trade. I hadn't asked, but I a.s.sumed that Ling's plane would have spots to smuggle weapons past customs. It was kind of a given in these kinds of social circles. The last duffle was my go-bag, with weapons, ammunition, and gear kept ready.

After a moment, I turned around and faced Jill. She stood there, looking confused, with a silver thing in her hands. It was designed to hold candles, but had a lot of points and edges. Knowing her temper, I was concerned that I was going to have to dig it out of my forehead when I told her that I was about to jeopardize my retirement and take off with a bunch of nut jobs to attack a secret government base to rescue a mercenary.

"What's going on?" Jill asked. Her dark eyes narrowed dangerously. Her hair was pitch black, and tied casually in a ponytail. Her skin was bronzed. Island living had been good to her. She was just as beautiful as the day that I had rescued her from a band of Zubaran terrorists. Considering that the first time we had ever actually spoken, she'd attempted to shoot me, our relations.h.i.+p had come a long way. "That's your bug-out bag." She looked back up at me, an edge in her voice. "Lorenzo, what did you do?"

I grabbed Jill gently by the arms, partially to comfort her, and partially to prevent her from getting a good swing with the candle holder. The running joke was that Jill was half Filipina, so when she got angry, people got stabbed. I didn't know how she was going to take this. "Listen to me. Bob's in danger. He's been kidnapped," I said as calmly as I could manage. Jill gasped. She loved my brother. He'd helped save her from Gordon Willis after all. "It's a long story. I'm going to get him back, but first I need to spring Valentine out of jail."

Jill looked confused for a moment. She hadn't heard that name in a while. "Valentine? Michael Valentine? He's still alive?" She'd known him a lot better than I had, since they'd spent some time together at Hawk's ranch. "I thought he was dead."

"I'll call you and explain everything. I don't have time now. There's a plane at the airfield leaving soon. I need to be on it."

She tossed the candlestick holder on the bed. "I understand. I'll grab my bug-out bag." Jill didn't have my background. She wasn't really a criminal, but she was tough. She adapted and overcame adversity no matter what, a trait which I really admired. Sometimes I worried that she had adapted to life with me a little too well. She hadn't even flinched at what I'd said. We were still technically newlyweds, but we had been through a lot together, so I knew how she was going to react to what I was going to say next.

"Jill . . . no."

She blinked rapidly, the way she always did when I said something stupid. "What do you mean, no? Bob's in trouble. We have work to do!"

"No, just me. It's too dangerous. These people I'm going with, I don't trust them. They're bad people." Here comes the stabbing part. "I need you to stay here."

"What?"

"I can't risk you, and I've got work for you to do, and I'll call and tell you, but I just don't have time now. I have to go."

"Lorenzo, you don't have a team anymore. Carl's dead. You never work alone."

"I called Reaper," I said defensively.

"Reaper hasn't done anything for the last six months but play video games and waste money on lap dances. He's not exactly in practice. If you don't know these people, then you need me to watch your back."

"Jill," I looked into her eyes, "do you trust me?"

She looked away. We'd been living an idyllic existence, my violent past left far behind. The evil that had plagued all my days had been locked away, seemingly forgotten, never to be brought out again. The horrible things that had befallen Jill were buried with them, and we'd begun a new life together.

That time ended now, and it was a lot to take in. Finally she turned back to me. "Yes."

I kissed her and held her tight. "I love you," I said softly, then let her go, her hands lingering on mine as I drew away. I slung the rifle case over my back, and grabbed my other bags. "I gotta go."

She followed me down the stairs and across the lawn. I stopped at my climate-controlled tool shed, unlocked the heavy padlock, and went straight to one of the wooden crates. This was the stuff I wasn't comfortable storing in the house. Jill fidgeted as she watched my preparations. She knew full well what I was doing.

"Be careful."

"Always."

Chapter 2: Head Games.

VALENTINE.

Location Unknown My shackles clinked as I was led down to the last room on the right side of the corridor. A pit began to form in my stomach. This was the information extraction room. I had been in there several times before, but couldn't recall exactly how many times. Nor, for that matter, could I remember how long it had been. I just knew that this was where they took me when they wanted me to tell them something.

The room was a little bit colder than the corridor. Machines and equipment that I couldn't identify lined the walls. At the back of the room was a large tubular tank that resembled an MRI machine or something.

Near the center of the room was a chair like you'd find in a dentist's office, except this one had built-in restraints. My three escorts sat me down in the chair. Davis held me in place while Smoot stood watch, taser at the ready. Reilly then fastened both of my wrists and both of my ankles to the chair before doing up the waist and head straps. Once I was restrained, they raised the chair so that I was almost in a standing position. Several suction cups with wires leading to them were connected to my head. A band was put around my arm to monitor my heart rate and breathing. An oxygen tube was jammed up my nose. Machines in the room blinked to life as they were brought out of standby mode.

In front of the insane dentist's chair was a regular chair. That was where she always sat when we did this. The door to the room opened again. High heels clicked on a cold concrete floor as a pale, fortyish woman strode across the room. She sat stiffly in the chair in front of me, crossed her legs, and tapped on her iPad for a few moments.

"Good morning, Mr. Valentine," she didn't bother to look up.

My eyes narrowed. "To what do I owe the pleasure this time, Doc?"

Her name was Dr. Silvers. Olivia Silvers. She didn't look like much. Pale skin, thin build, flat hair, but she was in charge here, and she was an ice-cold b.i.t.c.h. I hated her with the utmost intensity, but in my present position, the most I could do would be to verbally abuse her. Her retaliations for that kind of behavior had convinced me that it wasn't worth the trouble.

It's not that they necessarily tortured me. They hadn't pulled out my fingernails, smashed my kneecaps, or anything like that. h.e.l.l, they didn't even waterboard me. Nothing that base. These people had other ways, sophisticated, monstrous ways of getting inside your head.

First would be the needles and then would be the questions. Sometimes the questions didn't make sense. Other times I didn't know the answers, but she'd keep asking. Sometimes they'd put something in the oxygen tube in my nose. Other times they'd put things in my food and I'd wake up in the chair. Or I'd have a nightmare about being in the chair and wake up back in my room. Sometimes I'd remember things that didn't actually happen. It was hard to tell what was real.

Whenever I resisted or fought back they'd just beat the s.h.i.+t out of me and throw me back in my room. Sometimes they'd withhold food or leave me strapped down for days on end. One time, they left me out in the snow for a few hours. They let a big guard dog attack me once for the time I'd stabbed Smoot with the pen.

Dr. Silvers looked up at me over her spectacles. She must have practiced that disinterested, condescending expression in the mirror, since she was very good at it. "The last time we talked, you told me about the death of your mother."

"I did?"