Out of Nowhere (The Immortal Vagabond Healer Book 1) (30 page)

I dragged out the phone I’d stolen and dialed.

‘Hello,’ answered Bob.

‘Hi. It’s me.’

‘Good. I got some info. Probably enough to buy you some forbearance. Maybe get the boys in Washington to keep out of this. Not send these drug smugglers any more intel or direct help.’

‘That’s good news.’

‘I have to ask one question before I send this stuff over.’

‘What’s that?’

‘This operation you were on,’ he said, ‘are you wanted for any of it? Legally? You AWOL or anything?’

‘Long time ago and a long way away,’ I replied. ‘I’m clean with the US military. The guy that wants me has a personal grudge.’

‘So if I call some people, all you’re asking for is that they back off, let you go on your way, and you won’t cause any trouble?’

‘Well, I’ll probably still be an insubordinate nightmare of an employee, but unless the CIA cares about ambulance company supervisors getting grey hair and ulcers, I shouldn’t be a headache for anybody on the government payroll.’

‘I can probably get them to go for that. Keep your head down. I’ll show them what I have. It should be good enough.’

‘What is it?’

‘I’ll send a copy to Sarah. You can look it over. If they know I don’t have the only copy, they probably won’t try to cut me out. I’ll be in touch.’

‘Can I call you at this number?’

‘No. This phone is a throwaway. I’ll get in touch if and when I have to.’

‘OK,’ I said. ‘Thanks, by the way.’

‘I owe you for coming for me.’

‘I hadn’t picked your place to hide out, there’d have been no need.’

‘In that case, you can buy me another bottle of Scotch,’ he said. ‘Too dangerous for me to go back to my still until this blows over. Keep your head down.’

The line went dead.

‘What did he say?’ asked Sarah.

‘He’s got the info we need. Check your email. Says he’s sending it over.’

‘OK, I just got something.’ She clicked and opened an attachment.

‘That looks like a Nigerian money laundering scheme,’ I said. ‘You sure that’s from Bob?’

‘He used my middle name in the greeting. And you see these numbers across the top? Like an international phone number?’

‘Sure.’

‘It’s code. The real message is in the Nigerian spam. The first number is 5, so you count five words in—’

‘I got it,’ I said. ‘Like a book code but different.’ I grabbed a pen and paper, and we started working on the code.

The attached file had a list of agents, active and retired, who had some connection to Afghanistan and to the poppy growers, and who seemed to live well on the salary or pension of a Federal employee. The CIA had had people in the area going back to the Soviet occupation in 1980.

There was enough info to make a lot of people very nervous. A lot of people who had access to guns and secure records and the skills to have people removed.

If a retired army vet, a college professor and a wiseass paramedic had to die to keep this stuff secret, I don’t think many of the guys on this list would lose much sleep. That was nothing in the scale of things in the thinking of the intelligence community. Just a little collateral damage from the people who brought you the Bay of Pigs.

The flip side was that this might be enough info to buy the forbearance of those same people. If they knew that our deaths would result in this info coming out, they might just become invested in our continued good health. That kind of accommodation was also nothing that would make a spy blink.

‘That might buy us some security from Doors’ buddies in Washington,’ I said. ‘Now we just have to get him to drop a blood feud.’

‘So how do we do that?’ she asked.

‘I take a page from Conrad,’ I said. ‘I just hope Doors doesn’t read as much as you.’

‘You think he’ll go along with it?’

‘He almost has to. If this challenge is delivered so that any of his men hear about it, he has to take it up or lose face. If he refuses the chance to fulfill his oath in an honorable duel, he’s done as a leader.’ I shrugged. ‘He’ll probably be excited to do this. He’s cocky. He’s good with a foil or an epee, and he’s been raised as an aristocrat. This is the kind of thing they drill into them from birth.’

‘But he’s not a nobleman now. He’s just a smuggler. Last I checked, they aren’t all that hung up on honoring promises.’

I rubbed my chin, tried to think how to explain. ‘He was raised as a nobleman. He believes it. It’s hard to explain to an American.’

‘We’re not exactly a classless society,’ she said.

‘No, but the American upper class is based on money or power. A family blows that, they become just any old family. A penniless Duke, on the other hand, is still a Duke. The title matters to him—especially if he’s lost his estate and the title is all he’s got. He’s been raised to believe he’s better than the rest of the population.

‘The thing is,’ I continued, ‘Doors has proof he’s better than everyone else. He didn’t just inherit a birthmark and a signet ring. The guy has a superpower.’

‘So that makes it OK?’

‘No, but it makes it understandable. Look, I saw it in his office. It’s not Eurotrash steel and glass and abstract sculpture, it’s not drug-lord bling, it’s old-world hand-carved woodwork. He has photos of himself fencing, riding, doing all those upper crust things. Diplomas from good private schools. Look at the weapons they use. Knives, not guns. Gangs love to show off their guns. Even the knives aren’t new, carbon steel. These are either old and handed down or, at least, they’re hand-forged in the old style. Those symbols mean something.

‘You know he’s a thug. I know it. On some level, even he probably knows it. But deep down, he’ll have convinced himself he’s a knight. Avenging the family grudge is his chance to live out that fantasy, to prove he’s not just some drug pusher.’

She chewed her lip as she thought about it. ‘It does make sense in a way. I hope you’re right.’

‘Me too.’

‘Thanks for putting my fears to rest,’ she laughed.

‘I live to comfort.’

‘You think you can beat him?’

‘Age and guile, my sweet. Age and guile,’ I replied. ‘And while he’s done a lot of fencing, I’ve done a lot of fighting. Looking over this list you put together, I know about half his coaches and trainers. Most of the masters I studied with are dead.’

‘That probably sounded more reassuring in your head,’ she pointed out.

I smiled, ‘OK, yeah, that did sound bad. But most of them died in advanced age in their beds. Or someone’s bed, at any rate.’

‘So what do we do next?’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘I’m gonna need to contact him and set up a meeting. I’ll probably need to find a second. Then I’ll need a little something to get me back on my feet and in condition to fight.’

‘So we hang and rest up?’

‘Yes, but not here. They may still be looking in the area.’

We headed back South, past Philips Mills, down Route 114 to Middleton and the Moonlight Inn. I knew it from doing a few ambulance calls there. It turns out you really shouldn’t mix your cardiac medicine with Viagra. But, if you have to die of something…

The Moonlight had amenities like hot tubs in the rooms, mirrored ceilings, theme rooms, that kind of thing. It was the kind of place you went on your honeymoon, or your anniversary, or to rekindle the cooling spark of your relationship, or cheat on your spouse.

It was the kind of place that understood if you didn’t want to put this on the credit card. I paid for the room in cash. Three nights. I tipped lavishly, since it was money from the pockets of the thugs I left cooling up north. The clerk smiled and handed me the key, not commenting on the fact that we were the third Mr and Mrs Smith to sign the guest registry that day. So, while he would assume we were hiding, he would assume it was from my wife or her husband or both, not from a bunch of knife-wielding Eastern European drug dealers.

The only other way to get a room without showing a valid credit card or photo ID would be in the flop houses in the city, and I guessed we’d be safer among the adulterers than the junkies.

Plus, the Moonlight had in-room hot tubs.

We settled in, and I set the bags down and spent a long, shaky half-hour lying on the bed, groaning as my injuries throbbed.

Sarah raided the mini bar and sat beside me, handing me a few fingers of whisky. ‘It’s a blend, so I poured it over some ice,’ she explained. ‘It should still dull the pain.’

‘You’re too good to me.’ I sat up and rolled the cold glass across my sweating forehead before sipping.

‘So, now what?’ she asked.

‘Get out your laptop and pull up the website for Doors Imports.’

When she did, I leaned over her shoulder. ‘Do we have a phone number for Doors Imports? I don’t want his personal phone. I want the low-level guy at the front desk to know I called. The better known this is, the more incentive he has to play it straight.’

‘Call him out at high noon?’

‘Something like that.’

I dialed the main number for Doors Imports, and waited through the recorded list of options until instructed to hold for an operator.

‘Doors Imports.’ A voice finally came on the line, flawless English. No accent, but too precise for a native speaker. ‘How may I help you?’

‘I’d like to speak to Mr Toren, please.’

‘I’m sorry sir?’

‘Ah. My apologies. Mr Doors. You can tell him this is Mr Danet. He and I need to discuss an old family obligation.’

After an extended pause, the voice came back, a trace of agitation under the polished tone. ‘One moment, sir.’

I smiled as I waited. By the time I got off the phone, everyone in Doors’ organization would know that I’d thrown down the gauntlet.

At length, someone picked up.

‘Hello.’

‘Mr Doors?’

‘Mr Danet. If that is how you call yourself. I have waited long for this day.’

‘I haven’t exactly been looking forward to it myself,’ I replied.

‘I must say, this call surprises me. I expected you to run. That seems to be your strength.’

‘If I thought your men posed a real threat, I might have,’ I replied, trying to put enough aristocratic arrogance in my voice to rankle him. ‘I’m calling you because I find your attention irritating, not frightening.’

‘And your recent... visit?’ I could hear the words forced through clenched teeth.

‘I had to be sure who you were,’ I said. ‘I suspected, but I had to know. Now I do. In fact, I know an awful lot about your... activities.’

I let that sink in. With his connections, he’d escape from any drug charge easily enough, but I could get his US operation shut down. Force him to relocate, spend a lot of time and money to get it up and running somewhere else. Get a lot of his contacts in trouble. That kind of failure would erode confidence in his leadership. It wasn’t something he could allow.

‘So,’ he said, keeping his voice level with some difficulty, ‘what do you propose?’

‘I think perhaps you and I could settle this like gentlemen.’

‘You? Propose a duel?’

I shrugged with an affected nonchalance of which Oscar Wilde would have been proud, then remembered this was a phone call. ‘I do. That way I can stop killing your men and you can stop inconveniencing young ladies of my acquaintance.’

‘I will take the greatest pleasure in finishing this old business, believe me,’ he snarled.

‘I find it distasteful, but I do look forward to putting this behind me. What would you like to choose for weapons? Knives at midnight in a dark alley?’

‘Swords,’ he snapped, ignoring my taunt. ‘Saturday. Noon. The renovation project in the old Exeter Mill. Bring a second.’

The line went dead.

‘You should have a little pencil-thin Errol Flynn mustache to stroke when you talk like that,’ Sarah said. ‘This is a new side of you.’

I shrugged, with much less disdain this time. ‘I know how to speak arrogant nobleman. I don’t like to. As far back as I can remember, I’ve been a humble outcast and I’ve lived and worked as a soldier, or a medic. The thing is, if I want this guy to deal with me, he has to think of me as an equal. If I’m a social inferior, he can lie to me, have his men rough me up or kill me without feeling any stain on his honor. If I’m a member of a noble family, however disgraced, he owes me some basic courtesy.

‘It’s crap, I know, but it’s like dealing with a different tribe or a mob of baboons. You need to know the signals. Observe the social niceties.’

‘So, no portraits of noble forebears on the walls of the Danet dining room?’

‘Do well,’ I said, ‘and you have no need of ancestors.’

‘Voltaire,’ she said. ‘I’m impressed.’

‘I am a well read peasant, at least.’

‘That’s OK.’ She smiled. ‘I never really wanted a prince to ride in and carry me off.’

‘A short, underpaid ambulance jockey will do?’

‘Seems to be working out at the moment,’ she replied. ‘How do you think the call went?’