Deadly Dozen: 12 Mysteries/Thrillers (179 page)

Then came the memories of all the good times he and Alfonso had shared since childhood, Lito only twelve and Alfonso seventeen when they first met. But thanks to his size and ferocity Alfonso had already been in security training, part of the family for all intents and purposes.

A twinge in Lito’s chest clipped his reverie short. He patted his old bodyguard’s face gently and smiled.

“Thank you for all your service to our family, Alfonso.”

“Wait! Where are you going? WAIT!”

He walked to the door, opened it, and with a nod to his lieutenants, shut it behind him.

“Lito, no!”

Out in the hallway, he heard Alfonso’s panicked cries. Maria pulled free from Eduardo and ran over with tears streaming down her cheeks. “
Ay dios mio
!”

Before she could say another word, two loud pops exploded behind the door.

Twice, Maria flinched.

Twice, she gasped.

“Maria.” He kissed the top of her head—a sweet jasmine fragrance rose from her hair. “One day, you will understand,” he said gently. “You may even forgive me.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE JOURNEY ACROSS THE PACIFIC was worse than he had imagined. He’d agreed to this job thinking, what was the big deal? Air or sea, cargo is cargo, right? But now, after four weeks of mid-ocean ship transfers in the middle of the night, dodging international patrols, Yuri Kosolupov had to face the irony that he might die from sea sickness.

Hanging his head over the gunwale to heave what little of his lunch he had kept down, Yuri comforted himself with the thought of his wages for this “simple” operation—20 million euros for gathering up components from various locations (an abandoned warehouse in Volhynia, Ukraine, the back alley of an electronics component factory in Pyongyang) and transporting the entire package to the States via the Mexican Border. Five million of it was already in his account in Zurich as a retainer, the rest to be paid upon delivery.

And now, after all the trains, the armada of ships he and his precious cargo had transferred from countless times, he felt like he was going to die on this miserable fishing boat off the coast of Ensenada.

The sky turned a shade of green that probably matched his complexion. As a dark veil obscured the sun, the air turned frigid with threatening winds that agitated the waves.

Just what I need now.

“Hey, Yuri!” Tom Jonas, the boat’s captain, came over and slapped him on the back. “Feeding the fish again?”

Yuri wiped his mouth.

The ship started to pitch, and his stomach clenched again. A distant howling announced the impending storm.

“How much longer?” Yuri asked.

“You’re going to want to get below decks, unless you fancy getting soaked.”

“Just get us to dry land, all right?”

“I’ll do that.” Jonas shook his head. “Just don’t blame me if you go overboard in this storm. You fall in, I’m not coming after you. Not with that storm coming.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re a hoot, Koso…Kuso. Whatever.”

“Yuri.”

“Like I said, whatever.” Jonas was a man who spent more time with dead fish than people. And dead fish didn’t complain, nor did they vomit all over his deck. They only bled.

Soon after Jonas left, the sea began tossing the boat.

Yuri chose the path of prudence and went below decks to stay with the package while Jonas battled the storm. One benefit of impending doom was that it distracted him from the waves of nausea that rose and fell with the ocean’s. He wrapped his arms around the splintery crate that held the package and cursed the wind, the boat, her captain, and the buckets of dead fish who were his only company in this dark hour.

I didn’t come this far to die like one of these stinking fish
!

Above the cargo hold, he heard Jonas preparing for the onslaught, swearing and laughing maniacally.

“Here it comes!” The idiot knew nothing of the concept of healthy fear. Or perhaps he dealt with it by mocking it, even as he went down with his ship.

Heavy blows rocked the boat—heavier, he’d be willing to bet, than if some great leviathan had attacked. Then came the pitching, the falling, the leaping of the vessel. The single light bulb dangling from the ceiling fizzled out.

Yuri cursed the darkness.

Not until the frigid water seeped through his pants and engulfed his hands did he realize the truth: he was going to drown.

Why had he agreed to this? Shouldn’t it have bothered him that thousands would die? No, he was just a courier, what his client did with the package was not his responsibility. But what use would all that money do him and Irina now? She would probably wait a month, maybe two, but even if his body weren’t eaten by sharks or returned to Kiev, she’d move on to the next man who made the same grandiose promises he had. She was stunningly beautiful but shallow as they come. And that had been fine with Yuri because like most young guys, he only thought with his loins.

Until death comes looking for you.

Up above, the water smashing down onto the deck sounded thunderous. Here below in the gloom, the water around Yuri rose. If the boat took on any more, the package might begin to float. Hard to maneuver in water—his head could get crushed between the crate and the hull.

“I’m not ready to go,” he muttered as tears began to sting his eyes. He thought of
Mommochka
, who had always believed in him, sacrificed so he would become a “concert violinist like Oistrakh.” How disappointed she would be to see him in the hereafter, having lived the life he’d chosen instead. Not that he’d see her, where he was going. She would be in heaven, not him.

The boat lurched sideways at a dangerous pitch.

Any minute now it would capsize.

Never in his adult life had Yuri prayed, but now, what the hell? It was worth a chance.
Mommochka
always said there is no sin too big for God to forgive. Shivering and curling up into a ball, Yuri folded his hands and thought of what he might say to the only one who could help him now.

“If you’re...if you’re really there...”

As if in reply, something heavy struck his head.

A white flash ruptured the darkness.

And then everything went black.

CHAPTER EIGHT

PERCHED HIGH ABOVE GRAND CENTRAL TERMINAL, Nick skimmed through the headlines of the newspaper. Housing prices across the United States were back on the rise as was the price of petrol, major online retailers reported that ebook sales were steadily overtaking print books, and U.S. Navy Seals had issued a slightly fuller account about the killing of Osama Bin Laden yesterday.

“High time.” Nick flipped the page and wondered what it would be like to be the reaper bringing this one to the Terminus. Terrorists, murderers, those were the people who should be plucked off the planet like—

“Hand me the sports section?”

The sudden materialization of the woman sitting next to him near the ceiling way above the terminal might have startled Nick, had he been human. But after several millennia working this side of the realms, almost nothing surprised him.

Nothing save the beauty of the creature who now sat next to him with her hand outstretched: glistening crimson lips, sapphire eyes, glowing olive skin, raven locks that fell gracefully over her shoulders and half over her lovely features.

“I was starting to wonder when you’d show up.” He pulled out the requested section of the newspaper, placed it in her uncommonly warm hand, and ruffled a page he had been reading as if he were interested in the contents.

They sat side by side for a few minutes, Nick’s curiosity fighting with his determination not to be the first to break the ice. Though he had a fairly good idea who she was, he couldn’t be certain.

Finally, she spoke. “I have to say, I’m surprised.”

“Are you?” He turned the page, still not looking at her.

“I’m surprised you accepted this position. Few angels of your caliber would.”

“I’m not just any angel.” He kept his expression neutral.

The sunlight entering the station momentarily backlit her outline like a halo of white gold. If mortal, she’d probably be in her mid-twenties. But the intensity of those sapphire eyes gave the impression of someone more wise than youthful.

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Lena.”

He held her gaze and wondered if she might be his new supervisor’s assistant. He reached out to shake her hand.

“Nick.”

Without warning, she pushed him off the ledge with a shove in the shoulder. Surprised, he turned around while suspended over the oblivious mortals hurrying to and fro in the physical layer. Lena floated down to him.

“I’ve read some impressive things about you, Nikolai. But frankly, I wonder if you’re not a bit rusty.” She was grinning, her expression was mischievous.

“
You’re
my new supervisor?”

“That depends.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t hire anyone based just on a hand-walked resume or a verbal recommendation.”

Nick cocked an eyebrow. “That so? Then what do you—”

Before he could see it coming, she threw what looked like a ball of light at him. It struck him in the gut, sending him to the floor, sliding though the crowd. Everything around him flickered as his head hit the foot of a set of steps. She’d caused him to enter the physical layer of existence just long enough for him to feel the impact.

He got to his feet and dusted off his jacket.

“Cute.”

“Just seeing if there’s any merit to your dossier. It says you were a highly decorated guardian.” She landed right in front of him, grabbed his arm, then with amazing force threw him clear across the promenade, under the American flag that fluttered as he passed beneath it, and straight for the tall windows. If he crashed through the glass, shards would rain down on all the people below.

And so, just in time, Nick forced himself to remain outside the physical layers of time and space. As he whisked through the window silently, it occurred to him that it had been centuries since he’d had the pleasure of sparring. Never mind that Tamara considered it childish—whether with another angel or in battle with a demon, it had always given him a rush.

Nick hovered over the traffic lights of 42nd Street, then launched himself back inside Grand Central. Lena was nowhere to be found.

“Hiding, are we?” He scanned the area. “Not quite as impressive as I might have—”

A loud grunt from his throat cut off his words. Lena, having just punched him in the gut, appeared right in front of him giggling like a schoolgirl. Then blew him a kiss.

“You
are
rusty, Nikolai.”

“I’m taking it easy on you.” He’d never sparred with an angel quite like her. “You do know I’ve signed an agreement to join your division?”

“Consider this your formal interview, or an audition.”

“I’ve already been hired.”

“We can forgo all this if you want to take an entry level position.”

“Such as?”

Lena bent down, brushed some hair out of his face.

“Oh, something like a celestial janitor.”

In a flash, Nick drove headlong into her midsection.

The two of them went flying across the terminal and passed through the windows, landing outside on the pavement of 42nd Street—beyond the scope of human perception. Nick had her pinned down, a mix of excitement and rage surging through him. His body began to give off a slight red glow, the glow of destructive energy he’d used in 1362 B.C. while protecting Akhenaten, a pharaoh under attack in Egypt for abolishing polytheism and enforcing the new state practice of monotheism. Good old Tut, his son, reversed all that in the end anyway.

How sharper than a serpent’s tooth.

Still pinned beneath him, Lena flashed a sultry smile.

“Oh, you like it rough, hmmm?”

The next thing Nick knew, she was on top of him, now glowing red herself. For a moment, he didn’t care what might happen if their destructive energies collided. He wanted to conquer, to defeat her utterly. Back in the day he had commanded thunder and lightning, brought down mountains upon legions of Hittites with destructive power that was, of course, reserved for inter-realm warfare. But now, the drive to see Lena destroyed was all but uncontrollable.