Weather the Storm (Security Specialists International #3) (33 page)

She stared at Crocker. “This is non-negotiable. I won’t be helpless in front of that devil ever again.”

Crocker glared. “I said I’d protect you—”

“FUBAR? Clusterfuck? SNAFU? Goat rope? Ever hear of those?” She raised an eyebrow.

Crocker snorted and then said, “Fine.” He moved slowly toward her with his hand out. “You’ll get your knife. But not until we reach my other team. I think we should remove all sharp objects from your reach in case you change your mind about working with us. Now gimme the knife.”

“No. First, I call SSI. Then you get the knife.” It took all her courage and Vanko’s reassuring warmth next to her to make the demand.

She leaned over and kissed Vanko’s cheek. Then she wiggled the fingers on her right hand. “Well, give me the damn phone. Vanko had a very well-stocked medical kit with him. Deke needs it. And my neck could use a bandage or two.”

Crocker punched in some numbers and handed her the cell. “Here. Deke is a medic. We have a kit, but we might as well use Petriv’s and leave it here. Bert, go get the bags Petriv had with him and bring them here. Deke needs some clean clothes.”

Bert left the room.

With the phone to her ear, she looked from Vanko to Deke and frowned at Crocker. “I don’t think any of Vanko’s clothes will fit Deke.”

Crocker threw back his head and laughed. “Jesus. I can see what Petriv sees in you. Pure guts. Sure you like Petriv? I might be persuaded to have white-skinned babies on my South Seas island.”

“No thanks.” She turned her attention to the phone and spoke to the man who answered. “I need to speak to Ren Maddox, please. Tell him it’s Elana Fabrizzio calling. I have a situation.”

She was scared spitless. She was lucky her voice came out strong and authoritative. Inside she was having a nervous breakdown—but if teaming up with these mercenaries put an end to Demidas once and for all, a case of nerves was worth it.

As she began speaking to Ren, she handed Crocker the knife.

Vanko woke slowly. First, he sensed the silence all around him. Then he felt the bed beneath him. Finally, he opened his eyes to slits and found he was in the bedroom of the suite he and Elana had rented.

He searched his mind for why he’d be lying down. He’d left the room to load the car and warm the car up—then darkness.

Shit!

He roared, “Elana!” No answer.

He shoved himself upward on shaky arms and looked around the room. She wasn’t there. Though he knew the suite was empty, could feel he was alone, he called, “Elana? Please answer me.”
Please
.

Silence. Panic and dread surged through him. Adrenaline pumped into his blood, giving him the needed energy to move, to react, to find Elana.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and groaned as the room spun around him and his stomach lurched. He swallowed back the bile threatening to come up. Drugged. He’d been hit from behind, then injected with some sort of drug.

Elana, where are you? Did Demidas get to you?

Unable to fight off the nausea any longer, he pushed off the bed and staggered to the bathroom where he vomited into the toilet. After two bouts of sickness, he flushed the toilet then staggered to the vanity and leaned on it. He turned on the faucet and rinsed his mouth. His reflection showed pin-prick pupils and ashy skin. He ran his hands under the icy cold running water and splashed his face as he tried to think through the lingering haze of the drugs in his system. He’d left the building. Two men. A hit on the head. Then three men stood over him as he lay on the ground. A sharp prick. Then nothing but darkness until he’d awakened on the bed.

They weren’t Russian. They spoke English; one man had a southern accent.
Crocker.

He shoved away from the vanity and lurched into the bedroom on still unsteady feet. He saw the blood on the end of the bed and some on the floor.

God, had they hurt her? Killed her? Ice cold fear stabbed him in the heart. He bent over, clutching his stomach, dry heaving at the thought of Elana gone forever―and how he’d done nothing to protect her.

Get a grip. Remember? Crocker is working for Demidas now.

God, yes, Crocker wouldn’t kill his new pay day. Relief rushed through him, but then…there was the blood.

He had to call Ren, tell him to have Tweeter locate Elana’s tracker. The sooner he had a direction to head for, the sooner he could get her back.

Vanko rushed into the main living area. The place was neat with no signs of a struggle and no blood. Then he spotted Elana’s laptop on the kitchen counter. It was open and the screen saver floated on the monitor. There was also a note attached to it.

As he moved to the laptop, he noted the medical kit and his duffle were on the small dining table. His attackers and Elana’s kidnappers had been unnaturally accommodating by leaving his bag and the kit. Only Elana’s duffle was missing.

The note said:

Vanko –
Sladkie
, I’m fine. Crocker is just “borrowing” me, he said. I believe him. All he and his team want is to get access to Demidas in order to kill him, and steal his money. Once they do…they will let you know where I am so you can come and get me. I spoke to Ren. He knows this. Don’t worry about me. Crocker and I have the same goals in this instance. What’s the saying? “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.” Consider Crocker my new friend. – Love, Elana.

Thank you, God.
Elana was alive, and it seemed would remain that way. But was she unhurt? Had they coerced her to leave that message? Had they threatened to kill him if she didn’t go along willingly? Had she even gone along willingly?

His jaw clenched at the thought of anyone manhandling her. Had they made her bleed? He growled low in his throat as even more energy-giving adrenaline flooded his system and finally pushed out the lingering lassitude from the drugs.

A flashing light on the task bar indicated he had instant messages. He clicked on the icon and noted the messages had come every fifteen minutes since three o’clock. He’d gone out to the car at about two-twenty. It was now five. He’d been unconscious just over two hours. They could be anywhere.

He clicked on the most recent message and more of his worry and tension dissipated when he read what Ren had typed:

GPS tracker is working. Call us. Have plan in place. Call. ASAP! Ren.

Vanko placed the encrypted video call. He wanted to be out there, but Ren had a plan, which was more than Vanko had at the moment. Plus, he needed to know what Ren knew about the deal Elana had made with Crocker.

Ren’s image flashed on the monitor. “God, Vanko. Are you operational?”

“Yes. What happened? Where’s Elana? What’s the plan?”

Ren smiled, a grim twist of his lips. “Elana’s smart and made a deal. She’d go with them as long as she could call and tell us what Crocker’s plan was.”

She offered herself as bait? He didn’t want her anywhere near Demidas. But there was fuck all he could do about it now. Vanko grimaced and felt sick to his stomach. He’d failed her and his failure placed her in the position of bargaining with mercenaries. The fact Crocker bargained with her at all was a fucking miracle in and of itself.

“Where is she?”

“Eventually Key Largo and then the Bahamas. Final destination is a private island in the Exumas Directorate.”

Fuck
. The Exumas was made up of thousands of small islands or cays. Thank God, they had her tracker signal; they’d need it.

“Shit, it could take at least two to three days by car to get to southern tip of Florida with this weather.” Vanko paced in front of the monitor. Worry and guilt ate at his gut. He wanted her back in his arms…now.

“We’ve got a jet fueled and ready for you at an airfield about five miles from your location. Crocker is in the air now. Elana’s tracker is moving at prop plane speeds.” Ren smiled evilly. “You should arrive in Key Largo around the same time if you get off the ground in the next hour.” Ren looked at him with deep concern in every line of his face. “You look like shit. You able to fly?”

“Yes. How’s the weather between here and Key Largo?” Head pounding like an air hammer, Vanko walked to the medical kit, found some extra-strength acetaminophen. He took four capsules and chased them with some of Elana’s Pepsi. The caffeine and sugar should help jumpstart his system.

“Small window between fronts. So hustle your ass. Flight plan has been filed.” Ren smiled and then shook his head.

Vanko growled. “What’s there to smile about?”

“Your lady made them promise to give her a knife. Seems her uncles taught her how to kill a man.”

“She asked me for a knife.” Vanko shook his head with regret. “I should’ve gotten her one, but I was more worried about her resting.” He paused and his gut tightened, but he had to know. “Ren, there was blood on the bed…”

Before Vanko could finish his question, Ren threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Ren…” Vanko yelled, “…did they hurt my woman? She’s so frail…and not strong like Keely or Callie.”

His friend just waved him off until he got his laughter under control. “She’s fine. She, uh, sliced up the biggest, meanest black dude I’ve ever seen—with a steak knife.”

“She kill him?” Vanko snarled at an elusive memory of a huge black man who’d stuck him with a syringe.

“Nope. They sent him on his way with your rental Hummer. This guy, Deke Jones, a former Army Ranger, actually told me he respected Elana for defending herself and to tell you that you’re a very lucky man.”

“Fuck him. What about the others? What was your impression—will they hurt her?” Vanko needed to know how to proceed once he got to the Keys. “Do I go in hard or soft?”

“Soft. Definitely soft until after Demidas is down, then all bets are off.” Ren’s laughter had disappeared in a flash. “Crocker got on the phone and told me his plan. Man’s as cool as they come. He’d kill you if the price was right. Elana might have saved your life, old friend.”

“Does the asshole even have a plan?”

“Yeah and a decent one. They have inside help on Demidas’s island which is more than we or any law enforcement agency has ever had. He plans to use Elana to get onto the island. After that, she will remain on their yacht with protection while they take out Demidas and his security force.”

Ren sliced a dark look at Vanko. “Then Crocker is mine. He would’ve attacked Sanctuary and killed Keely, Riley, me, and anyone else he could have. He’s dead meat, brother.”

“Agreed. And he took Elana from me. His allegiance switches too easily.” Vanko clenched his fists. He wanted to choke the life from the man personally. And Elana would get a lecture about not trusting mercenaries, even those with similar goals. “Where’s Crocker’s yacht anchored now? And where’s Demidas’s island specifically?” Vanko stood and got ready to shut down the laptop.

“All the info is in your e-mail box along with maps and latitude and longitude.” Ren’s lips twisted. “Once we knew where they were going in general, my lovely wife and her brother did some super-snooping,” Vanko inferred that meant hacking NSA databases and real-time satellite feeds, “and obtained a visual on the marina where Crocker’s second team has already secured a yacht. By the way, NSA had already been watching the Bahamian island in question without knowing who it belonged to. Guess the security measures for it were more than a normal, law-abiding citizen would install. Keely has also included sat-photos of the island. She marked the major security arrays and the best place to put a boat in.”

“I’ll need back up.” Vanko could go in alone, but he wanted to make sure he had someone to get Elana out if something happened to him.

“We’re stuck until late Wednesday, plus we’re stretched thin since we have a deal in Chicago to help Earl and Tessa with. But I found you some help.” He smiled. “Keely’s dad and her brother Andy were available. They’re already in the air and on their way to the marina. They’ll do surveillance and will have a plan in place by the time you get there. If they can grab Elana, they will.”

“What do you mean if they can grab Elana?” Vanko didn’t like the sound of that at all. “Why won’t they just take her? They’re effin’ Marines. It would be a piece of cake for them.”

Ren looked uncomfortable. “The big-ass-wigs in the intelligence community want Demidas taken down. They like the idea that Crocker, a mercenary, will do it. After that, Crocker’s ours.”

His friend stared into the camera. “This is why I want the Walsh men down there. They’ll cover her and you as best they can. DIA might want her as a witness against MacLean, but the CIA wants Demidas out of business more.”

“Fuck that.” Vanko fisted his hands.

“Agree with that sentiment, buddy. Elana’s uncles tried to get Interpol to okay a team to get to Elana, but Interpol wants Demidas dead also. So, we’re the only ones who care about Elana’s welfare.”

“Fucking politics. I’m out of here. Keep me informed.”

Ren nodded. “I’ll update the Walshes you’re on the way and continue to send you the latest intel.”

“Thanks, Ren.”

“None needed.”

Vanko signed off. After accessing the directions for the airfield where his ride was, he shut down the laptop and unplugged it. Picking up his duffle, the medical kit, and the laptop, he left the room and went to the front desk of the hotel to arrange ground transportation to the airfield.

Late Monday evening, Ocean Reef Club Airport, Key Largo

Elana looked out the window of the small plane Crocker had leased in Wheeling, West Virginia. For the first time since they’d taken off, she unclenched her hands. The takeoff from the barely cleaned runway had her praying in both English and Russian. Crocker piloted the plane and had to have balls of titanium steel as he took the small plane up through the cloud layers. Several times the turbulence threatened to knock the plane out of the sky. It had reminded her of riding The Beast at Cedar Point in Ohio when she’d visited a college roommate one summer.

Even after he’d leveled off, the small plane bounced on the air currents from the winter storms pummeling the southeastern United States. She’d never been fond of roller coasters, and this flight only reaffirmed her antipathy.