To The Lions - 02 (53 page)

“But
you don’t see any?” Dmitry asked.

“If
they’re under cover, I won’t.”

“He’s
about to reach the boardwalk,” Angelines interjected.

“Turn
in,” Gage could be heard saying to Arturo.
 
“Okay, gang, I’m outta here.
 
E.T.A. on the beach is about two to three minutes.
 
Dmitry, wait until you see whether I make
contact or not, then take your man out.
 
You should have time because Xavier is going to want confirmation of the
bearer bonds.
 
Angelines, did you bring
them?”

“We
brought one on top of a stack of plain paper.
 
The rest are in the truck with the cash.”

“Where’s
Redon?”

“Handcuffed
to the truck.”

There
was a pause.
 

“Did
you hear me?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“Problem?”

“Doesn’t
matter.
 
There’s no time.
 
I’m on my way.”

“Be
careful, Gage,” Angelines said.
 
She was
greeted with a burst of static followed by silence.
 
As she turned her head, deftly slipping the
Bluetooth device into her pocket, Xavier turned left on the boardwalk, holding
both arms out to his side to demonstrate that he wasn’t carrying a weapon in
his hand.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Arturo’s
repaired jump door worked as designed.
 
Gage climbed out and stepped down to the diamond-plate section of steel
affixed to the wheel strut of the Cessna 182.
 
He glanced inside, seeing his fellow soldier, Arturo, faintly
illuminated by the Cessna’s blue cockpit lights.
 
Arturo saluted Gage, following it with a
thumbs-up.
 
Gage nodded his thanks, then
let go of the wing strut, falling to the earth as he arched his back.
 

Knees in the breeze…

As
Gage arched, he came face to earth as the relative wind—somewhat slow during
the Cessna’s mild 80 knot “jump run”—decreased.
 
Coming face to earth, going through an altitude of 6,000 feet above sea
level, Gage oriented himself as his body reached terminal velocity.
 
He reached back to his harness, his hand
immediately finding the hacky sack.
 
With
a solid tug he liberated the attached pilot chute and tossed it to his right,
feeling a series of jerks as the collapsible preliminary chute yanked the
high-performance, zero-porosity main chute from the form-fitting Javelin
Odyssey container.
 
After a planned
“snivel,” the parachute, a Stiletto 150, fully opened.
 
Gage collapsed the slider and re-oriented
himself, grasping both steering toggles.

Regarding
his position over the earth, he was approximately 500 meters northeast of the
Tossa de Mar boardwalk.
 
There was plenty
of light to see what was happening on the beach.
 
And the tall, lean figure of Xavier Zambrano
was just reaching Angelines and Gennady.
 
Gage checked his altitude—just above 4,000 feet—he was right on
schedule.

Thinking
about the one practice jump he’d made ninety minutes earlier, and his numerous
mistakes, Gage began to S-turn his way to the rendezvous site, reminding
himself to leave sufficient altitude for the high-performance turn he planned.

As
the Stiletto rocketed forward, managing plenty of forward speed under Gage’s
“suited” 220 pounds, he went through his final preparations, setting aside his
worry over Señora Moreno and, of course, Justina.

When
he turned to the north, to do a penetration check into the wind, Gage estimated
fifty seconds to impact.
 

* * *

“Angelines
de la Mancha,” Xavier sang out as he approached through the sugary portion of
the sand.
 
“Fancy seeing you here.”
 
His tone was one of long lost friends.

Feeling
the need to respond, even though she knew he was trying to put her on the
defensive, and knowing she needed to buy some time for Gage, Angelines made her
reply cutting.
 
“I’m finished,
Zambrano.
 
Finished with you.
 
Finished with that animal, El Toro.
 
Finished with Berga.
 
When I saw what you did to Navarro’s son, and
learned that you were behind a dozen other killings in my prison, I washed my
hands of it.”

“Just
blind all those years,” he sang.

Xavier
stopped a few meters away, standing west of their position.
 
He surveyed Gennady, who he thought was
Gage.
 
“And look at this big fellow.
 
You’ve no doubt been enjoying him, Angelines,
but I hope he knows how many of my Leones you’ve spread those legs of yours
for.
 
That’s quite a busy crotch you
have.”

Feeling
her cheeks flush, Angelines looked down at her blouse, making sure her arms weren’t
preventing its loose tails from whipping with the wind.
 
Before she could stop herself, she looked up
into the sky, wondering where Gage was.

Xavier
followed her eyes, his own going up into the sky as he smiled broadly.
 
“A beautiful evening, isn’t it?”
 
He looked at Gennady.
 
“I understand you didn’t care for Berga, or
my men.”

“Correct,”
Gennady answered mechanically.
 
He put
his foot behind the cardboard box, sliding it toward Xavier.

“I
take it that’s my bonds,” Xavier said.

“Before
you get the bonds,” Angelines said, “you’ve got to turn over the two women.”

Xavier’s
smile still broad, he turned to Gennady.
 
“Do you always let this cunt do your talking for you,
gilipollas
?”

Gennady
stepped over the cardboard box, walking toward Xavier.

“Stop!”
Angelines yelled.
 

Xavier
stood his ground, his arms open wide as if he welcomed the challenge.
 

“Come
back over here,” she said.
 
“Fighting
will get us nowhere tonight.”
 
Then, from
the corner of her eye, she was aware of a quick flashing, not unlike a bat
passing in front of a floodlight.
 
But it
had been heading away from her.
 
With a
slight turn of her head, she could see the black shadow of the parachute
zipping to the north.

“Show
me the bonds,” Xavier commanded.

Angelines
knelt down, putting her hand on the box.

“Do
it slowly,” Xavier warned, licking his lips.

* * *

Gage
had no time to check his tritium-based altimeter.
 
From this point on, it was all about instinct
and snap judgment as he raced past the threshold over which the three people
stood.
 
He was pulling down on both front
risers, making the canopy’s angle of attack even steeper, creating highway-like
forward speed for the canopy as the buildings to the left, especially a tall
hotel, began to rise up to his level.

And
in a moment, the real fun would begin.

Just
before initiating his riser turn, he remembered the location of the two bodies
next to the car Xavier had exited.
 
Gage
looked in that direction, his ten o’clock, momentarily surprised to see the
distinctly tall silhouette of Justina staggering down the street, toward the
boardwalk.

Oh, no!
 
Justina…please, just stay put.

But,
by this point, there was no turning back.
 
Gage released the right front riser and pulled the left riser down
further.
 
This snapped the Stiletto into
a left turn, swinging Gage out in a straight plunge to the sands of Tossa de
Mar.
 
Then, with the toggles, as his
speed neared that of free fall, Gage began to plane out.

His
target was facing away from him, staring down at Angelines and the cardboard
box.

As
Gage was on his final approach, he heard a loud pop to his right.
 
Something was wrong.
 
It was too early for Dmitry to excise the
shooter on top of the building.
 

Had
Justina been shot?

Whatever
had happened, it caused Xavier to turn and take a few steps to the side,
meaning Gage had to adjust his approach.

Five seconds
…

* * *

Fifteen
seconds earlier, Angelines lifted the one genuine bearer bond from the prop
sheaf in the cardboard box.
 
“There,” she
said.
 
“Satisfied?
 
Now let the two women go.”

Xavier
eyed the bond as she held it up for him to view its authenticity.
 
His grin was genuine, but grew
malevolent.
 
Then, he raised his hand to
his hair.
 
It was an odd, out-of-place
gesture.
 

Several
things happened in short order.
 
Angelines saw a flash of light up at the main road.
 
Then, behind her, where Gennady stood, came a
wet, plunking sound.
 
It sounded the way
a mallet does when hitting a piece of meat.
 

Then
she heard the rifle’s report.
 

Angelines
turned, watching Gennady’s massive form tumble to the sand.
 
He held both hands over his neck.

She
turned back around, her mouth readying a protest, just as she heard the ripping
of air.
 
Almost instantly, a flash of
black appeared and collided with Xavier.
 
Xavier, as if tethered to a speeding truck, was immediately thrust fifty
feet down the beach in a tumbling, Vitruvian man pose of flinging limbs and
sand.

* * *

Justina
didn’t know where she was going.
 
She
simply knew that she needed to move.
 
As
she’d staggered down the sidewalk, having no idea where she was, she witnessed
a man lurch from an alcove and shoot another man on the sidewalk.
 
In her muddy drug haze, she wasn’t even
certain sure what she’d seen.

Am I dreaming?

Her
mind was still muddled with swimmy visions of her captor…Xavier…and his
tattooed nurse friend.

Did he kill her?

Yes…he injected her.
 
Her breathing stopped.

My God, what has happened to me?

Her
head slowly clearing, Justina stepped to her right, into a café’s courtyard,
kneeling behind a fence.
 
On all fours,
she lifted her head, peering down the sidewalk.

The
man that had been shot lay there, fifty feet away.
 
He wasn’t moving.
 
She lifted her head higher.
 
A cold spike of recognition came to Justina,
especially when she noticed the dead man’s ruby earrings.

Dmitry from Eastern Bloc
.

“Get
your head down,” came a whispered voice from behind her.

Had
Justina not been drugged, she would have certainly screamed.
 
Instead, she obeyed and turned.
 
Directly behind her was a man in an athletic
wheelchair.
 
He had large, powerful arms
and a bushy moustache.
 
His hair was
curly and long, held up by a sweatband, reminiscent of many soccer stars
decades before.
 

“I
remember you,” Justina whispered, her own voice sounding foreign to her.
 
Despite all that had happened, she distinctly
remembered having met this man when she and Gage had been in Tossa before.
 
Before Gage accepted the job.
 
Before the insanity.

“Why
the hell are you out here, pretty lady?” the man whispered, ducking his
head.
 
“People are killing each other.”

“I
don’t really know,” she murmured, slurring.
 
“I was kidnapped.”

He
adjusted his wheels to get a better look.
 
“There’s one down on the sidewalk.
 
Looks like he dropped a grenade, too.
 
The guy who shot him moved up behind the sea wall.
 
And I saw a shooter on the roof, up behind
the facade.
 
Do you know who’s who?”

“The
man who was shot…I know him.”

Then,
from the beach came a muffled thud followed by several distant yells.
 
Both Justina and the man in the wheelchair
whipped their heads to the sounds, seeing a rolling mass tumbling inside of
what looked like a large, black sheet.

From
the beach, a woman screamed Gage’s name.

“Gage
is with me,” Justina whispered.

As
commotion reigned on the beach, the sniper and the man who’d shot Dmitry began
speaking urgently, doing nothing to conceal their voices.
 
The man in the wheelchair cupped his ear,
listening to them.

“They’re
trying to kill your friend.”

“Can
you help?” Justina cried.

The
man who’d been hiding behind the sea wall began running for the beach.
 

“Stay
here,” the man in the wheelchair commanded.
 
Then, keeping himself in the dark shadows, and making sure the umbrellas
were between him and the sniper, he began rolling to where Dmitry had fallen.

* * *

Gage
had purposefully landed downwind for greater speed and had impacted Xavier with
both of his feet extended out in front of him.
 
He’d kept his knees slightly bent but his closing speed had been
tremendous, probably around fifty miles per hour.
 
Thankfully the tall Spaniard was a moveable
object.
 
But, despite that fact, as Gage
now clung to the man through the black of the crumpled Stiletto parachute, he
could feel his own left leg, below the knee, popping and grinding.

It
was a sensation known well to Gage—the grating of splintered bone against
splintered bone.

After
a few seconds—it felt like minutes—of scrambling in the murkiness of the
parachute, Gage found the head of the gangster, still covered by the
fabric.
 
Gage wrapped the parachute’s
low-profile lines around Xavier’s neck, choking him with one hand while hitting
him with his other.