Hard Case VII - Red Waves (John Harding Series Book 7) (25 page)

“I was turned from the dark side by the man we call Muerto. He gave me a second chance. If you act accordingly, you may live. I believe you will be spared if you do what we outlined for you perfectly.”

“I do not care about life anymore. I care only not to ever cross the woman, Crue. She has a demon inside her. I have seen torturers before. They are loud, messy, and inadequate in most cases. This woman they have doing interrogations could make the devil himself scream for mercy. No plea, no scream, and no reasoning can stop her once she sets her mind on the answer to a question. With that hellish device she will break anyone she deems a threat. I will do all I have been asked and more. I will take Yaman down and protect him with my own body. I no longer fear death. I fear only Cruella Deville.”

“I see that,” John replied. “These people do not break their words when given. You will be spared if we are successful. Remember to clamp hands over ears tightly and squint your eyes shut after taking Yaman down. The concussion grenades will hurt temporarily.”

“They will be but a feather’s touch compared to the woman’s torture techniques. Better that one of them land on me and I am killed rather than displease her.”

“Stay focused, Tito. You will be fine.”

Easy for you to say.
They walked inside the building after a short trek along Clay Street. Tito led the way in. As they crossed the threshold, John grabbed Tito’s arm to stop his progress. Tito watched the operative show the entire entryway to his colleagues before speaking.

“No security guards at the door. We are proceeding to the meeting.”

Allowed to go on, Tito went to the elevator with John following closely while continuing to feed wide angle streaming video to the action van. The others awaited the initial images and John’s low key reports. When they reached the third floor of a spaciously separated complex of offices, a suited man met them with a slight smile and nod of the head.

“Mr. Rontos? Mr. Yaman is expecting you, Sir. We understood you were to come alone. Who is this gentleman?”

“A colleague of ours Mr. Yaman will recognize. He has come with important news from our Eastern crossings at the Canadian border. He has also been in contact with Gordon Gilani. This man has escaped death many times in the past months. If you would like, call Mr. Yaman, and tell him I bring Ebi Zarin to see him.”

Recognition flashed on the greeter’s face. “Ebi Zarin? Yes… I know the name. He was killed supposedly at the Canadian border by the murderer, Muerto.”

“I am Ebi Zarin,” John said. “You have probably seen pictures of us. We received our ID’s in Canada from Mr. Yaman originally. I wager Francois has my name in his files.”

“Excuse me for a moment.” The greeter walked away with his cell-phone in hand. He turned and took a picture of John, who straightened when targeted by the camera phone. A few minutes later the greeter returned. “I apologize for the wait. Mr. Yaman agrees this is truly Ebi Zarin. He thinks it a miracle you are alive.”

“Gordon and I did not think it a good idea to update Francois on my status. He wanted Francois to know what he is dealing with in the Salinas area recruitment. We have had two failures of huge proportion we tried to complete in the Monterey area. I am sure you have heard of the true believers shot outside the Fisherman’s Wharf area of Monterey. The follow-up attack also failed and our boat, Falak, was blown to bits by the infidel murderers, The Unholy Trio. They seem to be everywhere.”

“We heard about our shooters being killed outside the Wharf area. We had not gained knowledge of losing the Falak. That is a great blow to our operations. How can this be happening without infiltrators?”

“It cannot,” John answered. “Gordon and I feel we are being sold out by an entity as yet unknown. It is the main reason he sent me to speak with Francois. So all things on a local basis remain compartmentalized, I am to wait until Tito speaks with Francois before giving him my report. Anything dealing with future Albanian Mafia business must be handled in private to maintain security if one of us is taken. I will wait for my colleague to finish his debriefing before presenting my suspicions and progress to Francois from Gordon.”

This guy is incredible. He’s selling the entire deal without hesitation or alarming Yaman’s guy in the slightest. “I have the final reports on our shooters and lost ship, Falak. I could give the reports to Mr. Yaman while Mr. Zarin waits outside the office. The grievous facts will not take long.”

“Come with me.” The greeter led them to the end of the hallway. He turned to John. “Please wait here, Mr. Zarin. I will come back to get you when Mr. Rontos finishes.”

“That would be fine. Is it possible to bring me a chair to sit on in the meantime? Mr. Rontos and I have been on our feet all day.”

“Of course. Wait a moment.”

Tito as well as John saw the entrance was not locked. The greeter came out in a moment with a straight backed chair. John took it from him with a nod of thanks. “Will it be possible to greet, Mr. Yaman?”

“I will check. Come with me, Mr. Rontos.”

Tito warily scanned the room. He counted eleven men further in the cubicle separated office space. Two women with head scarves worked near the front. He heard John’s voice in his ear then before Yaman greeted him.

“When you are able and ready, say ‘now’. Then tackle Yaman to the right of the room. Hit the deck. Stay on Yaman urging him to stay still as we discussed. Clear your throat if you can hear and understand me.”

Tito cleared his throat. The original greeter led the way in front of Francois Yaman toward where Rontos waited near the front of the office area. Yaman looked annoyed. The moment the greeter stepped aside Tito said, “now!”

As Rontos tackled the stunned Yaman, carrying him to the floor on the right, John heaved three concussion grenades into the office at varying depths. Tito clapped hands over his ears, huddling over Yaman while urging him to stay still. The military strength concussion grenades rocked the office, prompting screams, sobs and eventually cries for help. The entrance door slammed open to admit the armed EMT forms of Casey, Nick, and Lucas with John and Gus bringing up the rear. Tito rolled off of Yaman, his head ringing and eyes watering. He kept expecting the sprinkler system to kick on but it stayed dry in the office. The venting system began clearing the smoky air as Tito opened his eyes to a squinting, narrow view.

John took charge of Yaman, kneeling on his back while restraining his hands behind him. Tito watched John frisk the groaning Francois before helping him get Yaman on his feet. A solitary figure popped into sight from behind a desk with what appeared to be a machine pistol. Before he could fire, bullets smashed into both of his arms. The force of the slugs provoked a wail of anguish while propelling him into the chair he had been hiding behind and the chair into the wall. Tito sat down with John and Yaman standing near him. He observed with bleak outlook the professional killers covering each other as each captive was restrained. His count had been right. There were eleven plus Yaman. John patted his shoulder.

“You did well, Tito. I will tell the Cruella Deville you did all that was asked of you.”

“Perhaps they will allow me to live.”

* * *

“Damn,” Casey exclaimed as he helped Nick bandage the only shooting victim. “We only had to shoot one of these turds. Denny will be so pleased. His little antennae will wiggle in the breeze at the prospect of trades and favors.”

“Don’t you guys worry you’ll be seeing these clowns again, possibly with a gun barrel pointed at your head?”

Lucas shifted slightly while covering the moaning and crying men and women already restrained, sitting against the wall. “Because of the importance of the gig not to be mentioned, Crue will have to question each one separately since all survived. When she finishes, the possibility we’ll ever see them again in a combat situation ain’t likely. You’ve seen Tito. He’s a good example of post Crue interrogations.”

Nick glanced over at the quietly sitting Tito. “You’re probably right. I turned John. I didn’t do it with torture though. He was done with the death cult. All he saw ahead of him was death. I can’t claim I’ve made his life into a carefree voyage on the good ship Lollipop, but he has a wife, a house, and he’s not killing innocent people.”

Casey finished taping the last makeshift bandage in place, shaking his head. “I don’t think Tito’s going to be much of a help. Crue’s turned a few we call the minions. They are ex-Cartel enforcers. I think Crue broke Tito.”

“Case is right,” Lucas agreed. “I watched Tito closely because we were trusting him not to screw us on this. He’ll follow a simple direction but he’s not anywhere near as competent as your man, John. I doubt we’ll have to do much other than return him to where he came from after this is over.”

“I…I am in pain! You must get me to a proper medical facility!” The captive being bandaged had been eavesdropping, waiting to make his moaning demand.

“You’re in luck, partner,” Casey said, straightening and pointing at Nick. “This is Dr. Muerto. He sees you. Dr. Muerto, our buddy here is in pain. Can you help him?”

“Certainly.” Nick drew his .45 caliber Colt automatic and placed the barrel of it next to the complaining man’s head. “I have .45 caliber relief or 9mm relief. I would recommend the .45 caliber for instantaneous blackness of pain.”

“No! Please… don’t shoot me!”

Nick grabbed the man’s chin in a bone crushing grip, shaking it. “I can’t guarantee that, but you have a hell of a lot better chance of me not having to shoot you in the head if you keep your mouth shut.”

“Okay! I will be silent!”

Nick released him. He and Casey plucked him out of the chair while Lucas motioned for the rest to work their own way to their feet. The groans, moans, and sobbing cries increased exponentially. “Anyone not wanting to make the trip with us quietly can sit back down so Dr. Muerto can administer a shot to your heads with his .45 caliber pain killer.”

Their captives chorused a shocked gasp, staring at Lucas. A moment later when Dr. Muerto moved over in front of the captives with his .45 Colt in hand they scrambled to get on their feet. Lucas called down to have Dev drive the action van near where they had went in the building on the street side of the courthouse square. They were loaded with Gus and John handling all inquiries from passersby with FBI and Homeland Security ID’s in plain sight. They took personal charge of Francois Yaman as Dev moved out of the driver’s seat for Casey to take over.

“I parked the BMW over here, Gus,” Dev told him, leading the way to their private car.

Nick stayed on guard with Lucas until John, Gus, and their prisoner were loaded with Dev driving away. They entered the relatively crowded back with all the electronics gear confiscated in the office. Lucas shut the door and began kicking captives over against the far van wall before sitting. The wounded man took one look at Nick watching him and bit off any sound he had been contemplating.

“This will be a bit tricky if we’re to keep all of these people alive,” Nick remarked. “Once out of our custody we’d have no way of controlling what they said.”

“Denny’s working on it. If he can’t find a holding facility completely safe, we may have to be satisfied with whatever Crue gets from Yaman.”

“You will get nothing from Francois!” The woman who spoke spit on the van floor.

Lucas promptly went over, grabbed a guy, mashed him onto the spittle and swirled him around before throwing him against the van wall again. He faced off with the rest in a crouch. “Every time the burka-bunny spits or soils my van, I’ll use one of you to clean it up. If any of you spit, Dr. Muerto will shoot you in the head, and I’ll use as many of you as I need to clean the mess.”

The glares the woman received from her cohorts had her cringing against the other woman in the group.

Lucas sat down next to an amused Nick again. “Remember that boot-camp who came to my CIA training center with the ‘we’re here to kill not clean’ when I went over the ground rules.”

It was minutes before Nick could quit enjoying the vision Lucas’s memory jog stirred. “Oh my… that was… the best instructional exercise I ever saw.”

“That’s because you’re a Delta Force puke,” Lucas retorted. “If you had been a Recon Marine, it would have been standard operating procedure.”

Casey and Nick absorbed Lucas’s differentiating the Corps and Delta with highly amused enjoyment for another few moments with Casey banging on the steering wheel while remembering the episode. “In our defense, the guy was an FBI transfer. I think he was a lawyer.”

“Yeah… maybe,” Lucas allowed. “When I pissed on the deck and told him to clean it up, did you guys see his face?”

“Hell yeah,” Nick answered. “I was standing next to him trying to edge away. Case was across from him making the sign of the cross. What the hell were you doin’ Case, giving him last rights?”

“Nope. Just a final gesture of compassion for a slow learner,” Casey answered. “Then it really got funny. The dolt… I think his name was Gary… thought he could just quit and walk out in a rage of the offended. Good Lord did you ever turn that boy’s world around, Lucas.”

“Oh man!” Nick chuckled. “I remember what you said. ‘You don’t think I’m goin’ to let you just walk out of here, do ya’ boy?”

“Then the dummy says ‘take a break old man before you get hurt’.” Casey was howling in laughter to the point he had to pull off the road. Only after five minutes of the three men feeding off each other’s amusement was Casey able to enter traffic again.