Kill Zone: A Lucy Guardino FBI Thriller (32 page)

“Careful now, sweetie. All you need to tell me is one thing then we’ll be all done. Okay?”

He didn’t nod, just blinked slow and hard.

She peeled the duct tape away slowly. “Where will they take Andre?”

“Andre? How do you know Stone?”

The knife bit into his flesh. More blood, a satisfying trickle. Superficial vein, but he didn’t know that. He gulped hard, his Adam’s apple pushing against her knife hand.
 

“Answer me.”

“Uh, uh, probably to the building beside the dogs. Darius had me scout it for him. It’s behind the food joints, long cement building.”

“How many men are here?”

He started to shrug, remembered in time and froze, shoulder half-cocked. “I dunno. Mostly all Zapata’s men. I think I’m the only Ripper Darius trusted to bring with him.”

She shook her head sadly at the tone of pride in his voice. Poor thing actually thought he’d been chosen. From what she’d gathered from listening to Jenna and Nick’s conversations, Zapata was setting the Rippers up as Judas goats. She pressed her lips close to his, sealed the kiss as her blade slid home.

With practiced ease she pushed his head away from her, arterial spray leaking onto the dirt beside him. She cleaned her blade on his jacket sleeve then moved through the bushes, hunting.

She came out on the trail in front of the aquarium. There was an RV parked in the middle of the path. The door opened and she pushed back into the bushes, out of sight.

Two men dragged Jenna out of the RV. She sagged between them, unconscious. Behind them a third man in a suit jumped out and followed.

Blade in hand, Morgan followed cautiously. Now she had two to save. And more to kill.

Who said being a hero wasn’t fun?

<><><> 

Darius and his goons took Andre behind a large privacy fence, through a door marked: Private, No Public Allowed, to a long single-story cinderblock building with a metal roof topped with more fake thatching. It had a wooden door and no windows on this side, just a few open slits as wide and high as a cinderblock up below the roofline.
 

A wire mesh fence extended from each front corner, creating an enclosure that included the building. As they approached, two of the strange chirping dogs gathered at the fence line, watching them.
 

Andre hoped it wasn’t because they were hungry for dinner.

Inside it stank of rotten meat and ammonia but it was clean, with whitewashed walls and a cement floor. There were a few naked light bulbs hanging from the ceiling of the long central corridor. There were stalls on each side, like for horses, except they had cinderblock walls and thick wire doors with sturdy latches. Cages for sick animals, he guessed. Bales of straw lined the corridor outside each enclosure, ready to be spread inside for bedding. At the opposite end of the long, narrow building was another door, this one leading out to the dogs' fenced-in enclosure.

They walked him past eight stalls, four on each side, until they reached the final ones. Darius opened the cage door and motioned Andre inside. He tensed, ready to fight it out here and now, but one of the guards placed the muzzle of his gun at the base of Andre’s skull.

“We don’t really need you alive anymore, Andre,” Darius said in a tone of mock sympathy.
 

Andre gauged the odds. Better to wait, give Lucy and her people more time. Maybe catch Darius off guard. He relaxed his fists and strode into the enclosure. The guards, Darius, and Giselle stayed outside the wire, watching him. This cage and the one opposite were different than the others, he noticed. On their rear walls was a sliding metal grate; an exit for animals to return to their exhibit. Above it an observation window.
 

There were a few bales of straw stacked against the wall, so he took a seat and waited. Just had to distract Darius and his goons long enough for Lucy to find Fatima and the baby.
 

Darius leaned against the wire mesh door, staring at Andre with a look of smug satisfaction. "You are one stupid piece of shit, Andre. Just want you to know that before you die."

Andre was damned tired of being treated like a zoo specimen. “You think you're so smart? No way in hell are you or the Rippers surviving this partnership you have going with Zapata.”

Darius stepped forward and backhanded Andre. The blow stung, but it barely registered on Andre's pain scale. A few months of torture in a burn clinic and a few dozen surgeries would do that to you.

“The Rippers are dead,” Darius said. “They just don’t know it yet.” He tapped Andre’s temple, hard as if checking to see if his skull was hollow. “Zapata is big business, Andre. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“It’s all about the bottom line. Which includes keeping my new partners happy.”

“Partners?” Andre frowned. “You
are
working with Raziq. But you killed his daughters.”

“Did I?” Darius gave him a look that was both condescending and amused. As if Andre was a trained animal performing beyond expectations. "Time we're done, cops gonna think it was you, Andre. You picked the wrong time to come home, dawg.”

“So why all this other shit? Blowing up police stations?”

“Not us. The Rippers," Darius said. He sounded proud about betraying the men they'd grown up with. "See, I learned something while you were gone. Anytime the streets got bloody the old ma'ams would raise holy hell and the cops would come running."

"Yeah, so?"

"Did you know the police department publishes an annual manpower and budget report?" This time Darius tapped his own head. "Where you think they get those extra cops? They take them from other areas like the rivers and docks.” He threw up his hands, beaming in delight. “Raziq and Zapata saw it as well. They realized Pittsburgh was a perfect fit. So we whipped up the perfect storm. A neighborhood ready to explode. A vicious gang wanting to prove themselves top dog. And you, our fall guy, a dangerous former gang member obsessed with Raziq and bombs."
 

Andre knew Zapata and Raziq were the brains behind tonight's events. What did they get out of this? It definitely wasn't business as usual, not even for a Mexican cartel. No, not business. Military. Where everything depended on… “Supply lines. This is all about supply lines.”

“Bingo. Maybe you're not so stupid after all."

“You want to control the distribution channels. The rivers.” He looked up at Darius. “Barges. That’s why they chose Pittsburgh. That was Raziq’s job. Setting up a system of barges to smuggle Zapata's drugs up and down the East Coast.”

“That and helping the DEA eliminate our competition in both Afghanistan and Mexico."

Our?
Andre spotted the flaw in Darius' thinking. "You keep saying 'our' and 'we.' What makes you think Zapata is going to let you live now that you've done his dirty work for him?"

Darius narrowed his eyes. "We're partners. He needs me."

"Really, Darius? For what? Your keen fashion sense?" Andre knew he was asking for trouble, but he had to keep Darius engaged, stall for time.

“Hell, yeah,” Darius laughed, snapping his cuffs. He gestured to Giselle who'd been watching from behind the door. From the worried look on her face, she'd come to the same conclusion that Andre had: that if Darius was disposable, so was she. She sidled to join Darius, her gaze locking onto Andre's, pleading. As if he were in any position to save them.
 

He tried one last attempt to reach Darius, breach his wall of denial. "We should make a break for it now. Get out of here before it's too late. Grab Fatima and the baby, use them as bargaining chips with the cops."

"Nice try, Andre. But I ain't buying." He nodded to the two guards. “Take his shirt off, hold him down.”

Andre thought of struggling but there was no way he could take on all three and he didn’t want to give Darius the pleasure. So he stood tall, waving the guards off as he unzipped his hoodie and shook free of it. Underneath he wore his fitted long-sleeved compression garment. He tore the Velcro fasteners open, pulled his arms out of the sleeves, and let it drop to the floor.

“Didn’t know you were into guys, Darius.” He couldn’t resist the taunt.

The two guards stared at his scars. Some were surgical straight lines. Some looked like the doctors had taken a cheese grater to his skin—those were from the skin grafts. Some of the scars were pitted down to the muscle—the burns. And some were bulging worm-like pink fleshy ugliness—hypertropic, the docs called it. His skin had healed but had gone overboard, like it was on steroids and wouldn’t stop heaping up on itself even after the wound was covered.

“Damn, that’s ugly,” Darius said. He was smiling again. Andre couldn’t wait until he had the chance to wipe that smile from his face. Darius had his hand in his pocket. When he took it out he had a switchblade. He clicked it open. “Hold him down.”

The two guards pinned Andre against the cement block wall. Darius flicked the blade twice across Andre’s belly. Not too deep, just enough to draw blood. The skin was so thick there and the nerves so damaged, Andre barely flinched. Darius didn’t like that.

Frowning, he looked over his shoulder and shouted, “Giselle, go get me the gasoline.”

Chapter 38

Lucy moved through the trees along the side of the path as quietly as possible. She hit a chain link fence at the outer edge of the bear enclosure. The air was filled with a musky odor. Animals moved restlessly on the other side of the fence.

Skirting the fence, she ended up on the trail between the aquarium at one end and the Primate Habitat on the other. Across the path was a food stand with its lights on; a neon slice of pizza looking garish against the fake grass thatch roof. Two men lounged at a table, backs to Lucy.
 

They stood guard over a woman holding a baby. Fatima.

No sign of Andre. What had they done with him? She double-checked the GPS position on her phone. The food stand was definitely where Andre’s watch had stopped sending his heart rate signal.

She’d promised him the cavalry, but he’d have to wait until she got Fatima and the baby clear. Then she realized that was exactly what he wanted. That’s why there was no sign of a struggle, no sign of a body. He’d dropped the watch here so she would find Fatima.

Good intentions, but it wouldn’t help her find Andre. If he was still alive.

“Taylor,” she whispered into her radio. “I’ve spotted Fatima and the baby.” How the hell was she going to get mother and child over the wall? Shit. She’d have to hide them for the duration. “I’m going to take them to the Primate Habitat exhibit for safe keeping.”

“Okay, Boss. I’m still working on reinforcements. Washington Boulevard is completely shut down after the bombing of Zone Five, but I’ve got a squad of National Guardsmen coming in across the river. They should be there in about fifteen, twenty minutes, barring no nasty surprises.”

This whole night had been chock-full with nasty surprises, why should they stop now? “Tell them to clear the bridge first. It would be a good place for an IED.”

“They’re on it. Can you wait for them?”

Lucy studied the situation. The men were relaxed; they were no immediate threat to Fatima and the baby. But she’d feel better with the two safely out of the line of fire. “I’m going to move them now,” she told Taylor. “That will leave the coast clear of civilians once Haddad and Jenna get Raziq.”

“No word from them.”

She almost missed his transmission as the sound of a gunshot rang out from near the aquarium. Both men jumped to their feet, one grabbing a AK-47 from beside him, the other holding a pistol. The man with the pistol sent the first man down the path towards the disturbance as he took up a position guarding the front of the food stand, keeping Fatima behind him.

As soon as the first man passed her position and the remaining guard was looking in the opposite direction, scanning for trouble, Lucy sidled across the path. The fake-thatch canopy provided some nice, deep shadows. Hugging the food stand’s wall, she came in behind the remaining guard.

There was only one chance to get this right. She couldn’t risk the noise of a gunshot, but hopefully he wouldn’t know that.

Fatima had turned her body to face the wall, cradling the baby between it and her, giving him as much protection as possible. Lucy crept past her, closer to the guard. He wasn’t much taller than she was. He was kind of skinny, too, so if it came to close-quarters combat she might have an edge. But it would be far, far better to end this quickly and quietly.

The guard paced in the other direction a few steps, staring into the wilderness behind the fence. Strange chirping noises came from there. The African dogs, she remembered from her previous visit.
 

The man stepped back from the fence. She got a glimpse of his face.  He seemed afraid of the dogs; he was making the sign of the cross. He took another step back and she was close enough to pounce.

She leapt forward, jamming the muzzle of her Glock against the small of his back, shoving him against the fence. “Drop the gun,” she whispered. He let the pistol fall to the ground. “Don’t move.”