Blackjack Wayward (The Blackjack Series) (55 page)

I fired off the smoke system, surrounding us both in a special formula that concealed us from even infrared and ultraviolet scanning, and forced myself out of his grasp. He was fast, though, and came back at me. I caught his wrists mid-pummeling blow, and held him.

Then my legs failed.

At first it was a twitch, then the right knee buckled. A second later, the agonizing pain swept upward from the joint into my hips, and I collapsed to the floor. The worst part was realizing it wasn’t because of a strain from catching Rockhead’s powerful blow. I had done that easily, almost without effort, but my new found body wasn’t responding as I wanted, and there was nothing I could do about it. The pain was reminiscent of Lord Mighty cracking my bones apart, and I fell to the floor, clutching my injured joint.

Rockhead misunderstood what was happening, thinking his blow had felled me, and continued pummeling me with abandon. I barely felt his blows against my back and head, more aware of the tears flowing down my face, the slow quivering of my body, overwhelmed with pain, unwilling to cooperate.

“Rock, you’ll kill him, dammit!” the girl shouted, but the big guy was having too much fun pounding away. He followed his bosses’ instructions, but only after another half-dozen punches, that made the ground crack beneath me.

“Fuck you up, motherfucker,” he shouted, putting his foot on my shoulder like a big-game hunter gloating over a kill. “Crank, take a pic, bro.”

“This guy ruined my hand!” Crankchain was complaining, standing over the damaged appendage.

“Forget him,” the woman continued. “Let’s get out of here!”

The pain in my leg was starting to settle, reaching a crescendo that I was slowly becoming accustomed to. Rockhead took his foot off me, taking a step towards Crank.

“Oh, fuck this guy. You fucked my boy’s hand, you know that?” he said, stomping on my head. It was a tickle against a flood, it was a scratch while being drawn and quartered. I almost laughed, if not for a lack of control of my body.

Rockhead punched me in the head and tried to pick me up, throwing another blow into my stomach. I was doubled over, making a hard target so he ripped at my arms, punching me in the face to get me to give him a clearer target.

“Come on, you little faggot!”

Something possessed me. I fought the pain, or managed to weather it, clenched my jaw so hard I heard my teeth straining, and threw the hardest punch I had thrown in ages.

It caught Rockhead flush in the jaw, spinning him as it lifted him off the ground, sending him soaring into the night like a missile, invisible to us in an instant.

My roar echoed through the alley like the dying cry of a lion.

“Oh, my fucking-” Crankshaft said, his mouth agape, bewildered that his tough guy companion had taken a punch that sent him soaring for miles. He was interrupted though, by the girl unleashing her powers on me.

A vortex of murder and darkness opened up at her outstretched hand, her face a twisted mask of rage, and hell itself was spat out at me. I screamed, as my pain returned, now stretching across my body, her horrible power tore at my spirit and soul, ripping me apart. My voice was like a wail of death, as a beast is torn asunder. Flecks of madness shredded my skin and clothing, pressing me back against the floor as she brought her free hand to strengthen her assault. In the back of my mind, a flashing against my cornea told me her name was Despoil, a Class-X power just recently identified and wanted across the planet. She wasn’t just stronger than me, she was almost to the level of Retcon and Apostle, two of the most powerful creatures ever to walk the earth.

I wasn’t just in trouble. My newly repaired body was failing, my powers near useless, my bow an afterthought and I was in the hands of one of the most dangerous creatures alive, moments away from certain death.

Zhou dropped them off at the hotel, the only indication that he wasn’t staying with the others was Gabril’s mention for him not to return to late.

“Wait a minute, where’s he going?” Walker said, suddenly serious, watching Zhou tear off from roundabout the Hotel Tamanaco down the long hill leading to the rest of the city of Caracas.

“Party time,” Gabril said, not giving the matter much thought as he hurried to catch up with Alicia, already halfway to the lobby doors. He made it just in time to open the door for her, illiciting a pleasant smile from his boss.

“Hey!” Walker said, having not moved an inch.

Alicia stopped, almost all the way inside.

“What is it?”

“Call him back,” he said. “We can’t split up.”

She was confused, then dismissive, shrugging him off and heading inside. Walker chased after Alicia, grabbing her arm.

“You have to take this stuff serious,” he said, but her glare was murderous.

“Hey, bro,” Gabril said, interceding between them. “No grabbing, okay?”

“I’m not kidding,” Walker said, releasing Alicia, but not backing down otherwise.

“Don’t ever fucking-”

“Call him back,” Walker said.

“Hey, bro. Easy with the crazy. Zhou does DJ’ing and stuff. He goes to bars and he’s up all night. It’s cool.”

Walker turned his stare to Gabril, avoiding Alicia’s fury.

“We need to stay together,” he said. “Rule number one.”

“Listen,” Alicia said, pressing forward through Gabril into Walker’s space, “You ever touch me like that again, you better be ready to back it up, motherfucker,” she said, snapping her finger into his chest.

Walker was confused, not sure why they weren’t following his orders and commands, but the fucker didn’t know she had studied Aikido for ten years, and had all kinds of training, thanks to her dad’s paranoia and a long string of specialized courses, like tactical driving classes, weapons training with former Navy SEALS, even going so far to captivity training, to survive abduction, to be more prepared than her potential kidnappers.

“Call him back,” he said, nonplussed by her physical threat.

“I want to hear you say it,” she said, inching even closer, forcing him to take a half-step back.

A man walking past saw the commotion and came closer. He was a big guy, young and eager to show off in front of Alicia.

“Cual es el peo?” he said.

“No hay problema,” Gabril said, still trying to act as a shield between his employer and Mr. Walker.

Walker’s expression changed, from confused and taken aback, returning to his usual defensive glare, moving to position himself between the newcomer and Alicia.

“You got a problem?” he asked.

The new guy was maybe six foot six, muscular but heavy-set, and towered over Walker, but one look at the brit made him take a step back.

“No English,” he said. “Este tipo le esta causando problemas, señorita?”

“No hay problema,” she said, realizing they were causing a ruckus in the hotel lobby. Walker wasn’t saying anything, his face expressionless and his body ready for the big guy to get braver, but the newcomer noticed that and didn’t want any trouble over some random hot girl. Still, he had his pride to massage.

“Tienes suerte,” he said, backing off and heading to the door. “Maricón.”

Alicia left them both behind, moving to the elevators, eager to stop the staring eyes, lest someone would recognize her. Walker didn’t relent, though, following her with Gabril in tow.

“Hey,” she heard the Brazilian say as he entered the elevator, “Take it easy on Miss Alicia, okay?

As the doors were almost closing, Walker slid inside, leaving Gabril, the big Venezuelan, and the gathering crowd behind.

“Oh, Jesus!” she said.

Walker chuckled, “Look, I’m sorry about all that.”

“About what, the first part, the second part or the third part?”

She had him nonplussed, as he tried to figure out the third one, then he smiled, “Oh, this?”

“I think we got off on the wrong foot, Ms. Barkley,” he said, giving her ample time to respond, but when she didn’t, he went on; “Danny...ah...well, he and I go way back. To his son, Nicky. You knew Nicky...”

He stopped again, but she stared at the changing floors in the readout.

“Of course you did. I mean, we met at his twenty-first party. You...” he laughed, reminiscing. “You must’ve been fifteen or something. Anyway, Danny puts me on this, and all I see are security flaws. I don’t even get off the plane and there’s a bunch of fucking Russians waiting for me. Your team isn’t vetted, you’re not working together. You’ve been compromised and there’s no damned sense of urgency. I don’t care that you’re treasure hunters, the same principles apply. You’re staying at...”

He looked at the numbers counting as they rose to the tens. The highest floor was the twelfth and the subsequent penthouse.

“You’re at the penthouse?” he said, incredulous. “See, this is what I mean, you’re too high profile. From what Danny told me, you have some serious competition on you so you have to lay low. Have you even swept the rooms?”

The door slid open onto the Penthouse, and she finally spoke.

“Mr. Walker. You’re fired.”

They were waiting in the second penthouse, the one under construction. The team was smaller now, five of the members were seriously injured, and three more had recused themselves, taking flights out of Maiquetia Airport, stopping first in Germany, then back to mother Russia. It was to be expected, they were the least experienced and all related. They came and went as one.

Tihkonov didn’t much care about that anymore. He’d been in this shit South American country two days and he was already tired of all the stupid little dark people and their pitter pat semi-language, he was tired of the heat, though he had been told Caracas was as 2,000 meters and quite mild, and most of all, he was tired of his stupid team, a bunch of goddamned miscreants who couldn’t even stop a single man.

“She’s here,” the man on watch said, looking out under the door with a flexible camera. “Ms. Berkley is with a companion.”

“Can you identify the companion?” Tihkonov asked, slapping a 32 shell drum magazine his AA-12 autoloading shotgun. Around him, the other five men were readying their DRD Paratus-18 suitcase guns, pulling the individual components - stock and trigger assembly, barrel and grips, and a scope - from the case and putting their assault rifles together. The watchman at the door was armed with only a pistol, but he just needed to secure their egress point by the elevator.

It was all planned to the last detail. Break into the penthouse, secure the perimeter, disarm those present, which now included a second person, then “negotiate” with Ms. Barkley to get the information Tihkonov’s employer needed, information they had failed to receive in a previous failed mission. The failed mission before the last failed mission, another “negotiation” with a British national that was unwanted in the region.

This time, thought, they had the advantage of surprise, numbers and firepower. The companion had to be Superman for this mission to fail.

He followed her, and she couldn’t believe it, leaving the door wide open and standing there.

“Get the fuck out!” Berkley finally said. “I have a gun in the other room, don’t make me go get it.”

Walker smiled.

“I was trying to apologize,” he said.

“I don’t care about sorry,” Alicia snapped. “I don’t have to keep you around, okay? That was the deal with Uncle Dan. This was a test and you failed it.”

Walker opened his hands wide, defensively, “I’m just trying to get you to understand the gravity of the situation, and you’re completely ignoring me.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re not giving me reason to do anything other than ignore you. Motherfucker with a little-man’s complex. Shit, and you’re tall.”

“I was sent here to protect you, Miss Berk-” Walker stopped, his head snapping to the door area where he had heard a commotion.

“What the fuck do we need protection for anyway?”

Someone knocked outside, and a muffled voice called out, “Room service.”

“I didn’t-” Alicia said, but Walker raised on finger to his lips and backed out of the suite’s foyer into the bed room. Before he disappeared into the room’s darkness, he pointed to the door, and motioned her to go open it.

“Oh, fuck,” she said, hearing only her soft breathing, and the pounding of her heart.

Another knock, and it was pretty obvious there was more than one person outside by the rumbling. Alicia looked back at the bed room, where Walker had vanished, and thought of going after him, but something told her that she wouldn’t find him there, that he’d be gone already.

Something came over her, a calmness she hadn’t known in years, and she walked to the door and opened it. A wave of humanity rode over her, grabbing her and forcing her back into the room. She held back a scream as one of the men pulled her hair, another grabbed an arm, and another groped her as they threw her to a couch.

Alicia slammed her back hard on the wooden frame of the couch, and before she could bounce back, she had a large caliber rifle barrel in her face.

“Where is it?” Tihkonov asked Alicia, as his men dove into the two rooms in pairs, beam lights from their rifles leading their way through the dark. “Where is the primer to Lazar’s journal?”

But she didn’t get a chance to respond as a ruckus broke out in the room. The angle of the door didn’t permit neither Alicia nor Tihkonov a chance to see what was happening, but one man screamed, then something broke with a loud crash, a mirror or a heavy lamp, then something slammed into the near wall and it was over.

“Alexei!” Tihkonov shouted, pressing the barrel hard against Alicia’s chest.

“What’s going on?” one of the men in the other room shouted, coming back into the main room of the penthouse. Their search was cut short, but it was clear that Walker wasn’t in the room they were searching.

“Alexei!”

But there was no response and no other sound coming from the room where his two men had entered and now disappeared.

“Go,” Tikhonov said, motioning for the two other men to guard the entrance into the room.

“He has their guns,” one of his men, called Jufi, said. He was the toughest and strongest of the group, but his face showed worry.

“We have your friend,” he shouted into the room. “Come out or I shoot one of her tits off.” Tihkonov aimed at one of her breasts, pressing hard, making Alicia gasp.

“What’s happening?” asked Goram, the watchman, who had another man in tow outside in the hall.

The leader waved them off.

“Last chance,” he said, cocking the AA-12 shotgun so he could hear the action, even though he wasted a shell. “I’m going to shoot her tits, man!”

But the only sound inside the room came from the breeze coming in from the open door to the balcony toying with the drapes.

Jufi knelt by the door, his rifle read. “Let’s rush him,” he said, but a commotion broke out in the hallway. Goram screamed, and something crashed into the wall, just beside the door.

“He’s right outside,” Jufi said, aiming his rifle toward the door.

“Don’t! You can hit our guys!”

Tihkonov picked up Alicia and hid behind her, shielding his form from a stray shot, as the fight outside finally came to an end with a loud meaty thwap, and the drop of a body to the floor with a long groan.

“Goram!”

The only sound he could hear was the groan, and low scratching against the wall.

“Shit!”

The angle which he held Alicia, forced her to look at herself in the mirror, and she tried to suppress a smile for the next ten or fifteen seconds as silence descended over the penthouse.

“Goram?” he called again, but no one responded.

“Did they get him?” Jufi asked, his attention and that of the last remaining man on the front door.

“Pay attention to the room!” Tikhonov hissed, throwing Alicia to the floor at the feet of his men. “And watch her.”

He inched to the door, feeling the sweat between his fingers and the stock of the shotgun. Another mission gone to fuck, he thought bitterly, coming up to the door, and throwing himself outside, AA-12 shotgun leading the way.

But only his two men were there, both down. Goram, the one nearest the door was out, a bloody crack on the side of his head dripping blood all over the floor and his weapon, the stock caked with blood, lying nearby. The other man, Osvald, was the groaner, clutching his chest and rocking from side to side, his face a grimacing mask of pain.

Tikhonov aimed down the hall, hoping to catch a target in the other Penthouse, which had until just minutes before been their home, but he saw nothing, just the door ajar as they had left it.

“Where did he go?” he asked Osvald, but the man was nearing shock, starting to shake violently, probably suffering from internal bleeding near his lungs, based on how he was holding his chest. The man coughed when he tried to respond, unable to keep pressure in his lungs, and quickly loosing the fight against the pain.