Cold Blooded III: Sins and Sanctions (Nick McCarty Assassin Series Book 3) (9 page)

Nick gave over the bone to a deliriously happy, tail wagging Deke. Nick laughed at Rachel and Jean posing in arms over chest disapproval.

“That’s bribery!”

“Good one, Dad,” Jean admitted. “If it gets you down to the pool with us and your drug of choice, I like it.”

“Then the hell with national security, terrorists, and mass murdering cults… down to the pool I go. I would take this time to remind both of you the reason we have not gotten near the pool together is your Mom’s nearly manic adversity to being seen in a bathing suit. How is it she’s happy to go there now? Did you two find her a burka bathing suit?”

Rachel gasped in indignation, but received no support from her daughter, bent over at the waist enjoying the burka dig. “Yes… I look very matronly in my bathing suit. Now let’s go before you pop my self-esteem bubble completely. I find it rudely inconsiderate of you to make fun of my looks when I’m carrying your child.”

Nick and Jean did a dual gagging response in reply to Rachel’s whine. “Fine! Let’s go before you two turn me into a closed in pariah.”

Jean high-fived Nick’s held up hand while Rachel’s back was turned. “I heard that smacking of disrespectful hands! You two are dead to me! Dead… to… me!”

Chapter Four

Isis

Nick glanced down at his iPhone from his surveillance of a Roxbury, MA warehouse. He had taken Rachel and Jean to their flight, walked Deke twice, and kept pursuing the angles derived from correspondence between Zarin and James Sherazi. Nick hit pay-dirt at a huge warehouse on Clifford Street. He hit the speaker button while still keeping sight on the warehouse.

“A little busy here, Payaso. Don’t you have something better to do where you are, like enjoy your incredible hot tub with your lusty new bride?”

“Damn it! I knew you’d go on mission without your trusty sidekick! What the hell?”

“You were only married a couple of mornings ago, Payaso, my unromantic stooge. You should still be sweeping the lovely Tina off her feet, while living the dream in your plush suite. Unfortunately… you’ve decided to harass your hardworking superhero friend: El Muerto. For shame, Payaso… for shame!”

“Are you done now?”

“Of course not.”

“You do know I’ve FaceTimed you, and I can see you ignoring me, even from the seat, right?”

Nick kept his night vision range finders on the surroundings of the warehouse he had under surveillance. “You’re only a touchscreen away from talking to empty air, my bored friend. It wouldn’t be because Tina has been with you so long, the wedding suite opulence has already worn off to be replaced with her caustic boredom, would it?”

Silence. Crickets… and then Gus’s muttering curses. “You’ve made me into an action slut. Thanks to you, even my honeymoon seemed less enthralling than the murderous missions you coerce me on. I even miss being called Payaso. I’m sick! I need help!”

Nick nearly lost his bearings listening to his old friend. “Enough. I have to keep you safe from this one, my faithful sidekick. It’s too dangerous. I am surrounded by people wishing me harm: police, terrorists, CIA, FBI… hell even the Boston Firemen will be calling for my head by the time I get done with this unauthorized op. I cannot speak more without risking discovery, Payaso. Go forth, and do good deeds.”

“Please! There… I said it. He’p me… he’p me.”

“What about Tina?”

“What about her?”

Nick laughed. “Okay… you got me, Payaso. I’ll call you from the room if this goes to the next stage I’m following.”

“Acknowledged. If it takes more than a few hours, your brave sidekick may already have perished by self-inflicted wounds.”

“Damn… Payaso?” Nick held in laughter with every fiber of his being. “You’re making me doubt your humanity, your loving nature, your bonding with Tina as your soul-mate, your-”

“One more word, Muerto, and I slash my wrists!”

“I’ll be talking at you soon, Payaso.” Nick disconnected, noting Gus would be invaluable with him on this. He had stayed rogue by choice, fielding and laying off Sergeant Stallings’ calls. Nick noticed from his first admission Stallings wanted ‘justice’. He wanted a terrorist cell frog marched out of a building to face the American peoples’ righteous anger at their planned dastardly deed. Nick didn’t do ‘justice’. He killed bad guys now exclusively, and no one on earth did it any better when Nick embraced a job like he did this one. He had listened to one of the Isis Islamists in a cave somewhere talking to a terrorist enabling Al Jazeera dupe, claiming on the news earlier in the day that their acolytes would bathe the American people in blood. Nick grinned.
Yep, gonna’ get me some of that
.

Then within minutes of Gus’s call, Sherazi arrived with a half dozen goons at the warehouse Ebi Zarin had already entered. Nick dutifully filmed everything while texting Gus, narrating the time, the participant he recognized, and the location, as he had done with Zarin. He left immediately. He had a cam in place, and listening devices already implanted. Nick arrived at the Boston Harbor Hotel moments later. He laughed, seeing Gus waiting out front with a ‘Go Bag’. Nick popped the lid on his rented Ford Edge. Gus threw in his bag, and slid into the passenger side seat with his satellite laptop in hand.

“Payaso… my old friend.”

“Shut up, Muerto. What are you up to, and who do I have to kill to get in on it?”

Nick drove toward the warehouse again, but stopped a few blocks away from the hotel. “Take the wheel, Gus. What did you bring?”

“Flash bangs, your MP5 with silencer, your Glock with a silencer, and that Italian Stiletto you like so much.”

“I love you, man!” Nick traded places with Gus, but retrieved implements from both Gus’s bag and his own, laughing out loud when he found a full head evil clown mask. He placed his earwig in place as did Gus. Nick also fastened his cam into place so Gus could follow his every movement. He had already put on a Kevlar vest before going on his surveillance run. “Nice mask, Payaso. How did you know I was coming back to the hotel?”

“Gut feeling from your text. I knew you were within a short time frame to act. We have a book signing in Salem the day after tomorrow. When you brought me on board, I figured it would be tonight. You’re going Ronin on this job, huh?”

“Not quite,” Nick replied. He explained the basic parameters including Cinny’s death, and that she was Stalling’s niece. “Several agencies know this Isis wing has been marked for sanction. The main guy to get alive is James Sherazi. Several factors filter in if that ever gets done. I’m not sharing with Sergeant Stallings. He’s an above board police officer with impeccable service record. He’s lost his niece to these bastards, and he knows his sister won’t recover from her daughter’s death. I’m going to close this one out myself with your help, Payaso. Want a piece?”

“Hell yeah, Muerto!”

Nick smiled. “Good, because so do I. Cinny will get justice, but whether James Sherazi will live through it will be in God’s hands. You’re in my ear, Payaso. Pay no attention to anything other than warnings going out to the police. This warehouse isn’t anywhere near a housing district. Thanks for coming in on this, my friend.”

Gus reached over to grip Nick’s shoulder without looking away from the street ahead as he followed the GPS screen. “You’re doing right, Muerto. I got you into this crap while whining about you doing bad things in retirement. I see a hell of a lot more good you’ve already done since then. I’m happy to be a part of it. I don’t much give a damn how you do it.”

Nick glanced over at Gus with a grin. “That’s good, Payaso, because when I get inside the warehouse with those bastards, only divine providence will allow Sherazi or Zarin to survive. If they do survive, then my plan starts. I need to take them somewhere to get answers. It won’t be pretty, but I plan on making this Isis/Hamas cult combination extinct. The damn government keeps letting the cell members of these cults in, as if they’re simply poor immigrant trolls. Jesus… God in heaven, I’d like to know why.”

“You and the rest of the country. I’ve been thinking about it. It’s possible these idiots have a number of explosive materials in there with them.”

“I’m counting on it. That’s the part I’m rolling the dice on as to whether the right guys survive. I hate these bastards, Gus. I have many contacts and friends in the Middle East. You met a few of them when I did the hit on Abdul Nazari. I’m willing to deal with these clucks in the Islamist murder cults on a one on one basis like Isis and Hamas when they’re not here trying to blow us to kingdom come. The turds get let into America, making headlines in return for our generosity by claiming they will bathe us in our own blood, and I figure bypassing the idiots who let them in is the only way to deal with them.”

“I hate to say it, but I don’t see any other effective way. The damn people in charge are so busy being politically correct, they’ll sacrifice us plain old American citizens in any number necessary to be thought of as being down with the Islamic struggle. Good God, brother! Now, you’ve triggered my media induced Islamophobia!”

Nick chuckled. “You’re screwing up the media word application saying that. Islamophobia means ‘fear of’. We need a new term. How about Islamist-interfectorem?”

“It has a nice ring to it. What’s it mean?”

“Islamist killer. Interfectorem is Latin for killer.”

“The term fits better than phobia for sure,” Gus agreed. “We’re not in fear of these murderous jackasses, cutting the heads off American citizens with dull knives. Americans want them handled like the chicken-shit cowards they really are.”

“Save it, Payaso. I’ll give you some closure with these hyenas on our target list. One of these days though, I’ll probably go mental, and snatch someone highly positioned in government. The need to know why we keep allowing immigration from the Middle East will finally overwhelm my common sense.”

“I can tell you the answer without the need for interrogation of the narcissistic pawns in our government. It’s the money. They buy off politicians, and they’re damn good at it, the Saudi’s especially. Back to business, Muerto. We’re on Clifford Street. How do you want to do this?” Gus parked on the roadside.

Nick retrieved his satellite uplink laptop from the back seat. In moments he had his cams on line. “We’re already within range. I couldn’t get a cam inside without killing someone in this short of time period. I did manage two cams aimed at new arrivals. Before I texted you, I filmed our two main guys entering with a thug posse. I’ll send the video to Paul so he’ll be able to cross off the corpses. I’m going to recon the place before I do anything. I planted an audio pickup I’m listening to right now. Unfortunately, I believe they have an underground chamber where they’re doing their dirty deeds, shielded from any audio pickup. If I can get inside to confirm my hunch, I may be able to toss down some party favors into their playroom. It would depend on whether they’re stupid enough not to have a sentry keeping watch. I need you to keep the head phones on, network the audio so we both can hear. With the headphones on you’ll be able to hear anything down to a pin drop inside. If my recon or entry cause a commotion, you’ll be able to alert me.”

“Sounds good. How far away do you want to start your approach?”

“Fifty yards should do. If they have motion detectors, I didn’t trigger them the last time. I think they feel pretty safe.”

“I know they wouldn’t simply leave a door open for you,” Gus pointed out. “I’m betting they have more than a deadbolt on their doors.”

Nick turned the laptop so Gus could see the screen. He cued up a video clip. “HD baby.”

Nick zoomed the screen to the entrance doorway, making the electronic keypad on the frame fill the screen. Gus watched as the first man approaching the keypad entered the code. Nick slowed it down, so Gus could see the numbers and sequence perfectly.

“That’s cheatin’.”

“So… I’ll finger in the code, enter, and wait for you to listen. If you don’t hear anything, I’ll find their underground terrorist toy cellar. Wait until you hear what I have planned for the contestants who survive my initial greetings. Your new mask will fit right in.”

“Somehow, I don’t like the sound of that.” Gus left the lights off on the final approach, moving slowly toward their destination while still hugging the roadside. “It seems like a sure way to become incarcerated, Muerto.”

Nick sighed. “I was only incorporating a great way for you to try out your neat new mask, and have some fun.”

“What kind of fun?”

“The kind where murdering jackals end their lives in comical form.”

“You thought eviscerating Big Tex and pouring bleach on his intestines was comical,” Gus replied.

“So what’s your point?”

* * *

“I’m ready,” Nick whispered.

“I have my ears on. Do it.”

Nick used the code. The green light blinked on, and Nick went in with the MP5 with silencer ready to fire. Only red safety lights illuminated the interior ground floor with a dull eerie effect. Nothing moved within Nick’s field of vision. He knelt next to the now closed door, using his night vision ocular to scan the inside with patience attained in many past deadly encounters. He resisted the impulse to move his scan quickly, even though the warehouse area near the entry seemed empty of anything other than some shelving and crates. Waiting for Gus to report on any sign of discovery audible on the audio pickup he had installed earlier, Nick moved away from the entrance.