Force of Fire (The Kane Legacy) (24 page)

'Turn around,' Cromwell said.
'As long as he doesn’t know we suspect him, we’re safe.'

It was true, Mark realized.
Rebelles
was after the
archivo
,
not them. McFadden pulled in at Mark’s left, while
Rebelles
slipped in to his right, just between him and Cromwell. McFadden crouched
beside him, readying his Biblical weapon. 'What the hell were you going to do,
Neal? Pray for a happy outcome?'

But Mark’s eyes were on the
Spaniard bending low at his boss’ back to drop a cartridge into his magazine.
'Did you bring el
archivo
?'
Rebelles
asked Cromwell.

Cromwell lifted his pistol in
the air, pointing it almost carelessly at
Rebelles
’
head. 'In there,' he said, motioning toward the shack with the barrel of his
gun.

Rebelles
’
face fell. His plan, Mark realized, was for the Americans to have their
showdown, then hand the
archivo
over to what was,
after all, its rightful owner – the Spanish Government.

Cromwell craned his head over
the roof of the car. '
Carnova
, you have what you
want! Release my daughter!'

Inside the house, El
Dedo
removed the barrel of his pistol from Ana’s ribs.

Carnova
slammed shut the door, hooting at the Americans.
'Ay
si
,
que
lindo
,'
he said,
lifting the file to his dirty lips. He stared into Ana with lifeless eyes.
'Revolution is mine!' he chortled, reveling in victory.

'Very sorry,
Fidelito
,' El
Dedo
said, swinging
his weapon away from the wall and pointing it at
Carnova’s
head. 'Today’s victory is for the AIC.'

A rash of incredulity raced
across the thin man’s face, as he stared down into the barrel of the pistol not
two feet away.

Ana’s body was a violent
tremor. El
Dedo
still held
her fast in his left arm, bracing her body against his own. There was a hard,
metallic click.

He was readying his gun.

She had less than a second to
react. The
archivo
secured, her life
was
nothing.
Anything was worth the risk.

Ana waited until El
Dedo
leveled his weapon, then in one harsh movement sunk
her teeth into his putrid arm
.

He yelped and
discharged his pistol.
An
bullet severed
Carnova’s
head, sending flesh and bone fragments flying
against the wall in a gruesome spew.

There was a burst of confusion
as
Ana
bolted for the door. She could hear them coming
after her, the outrage of her name tearing at her back as she threw her weight
into the door. Her shoulder absorbed the force that sent her sailing into the
blinding sand. She pushed herself off the beach with tethered arms, the rapid
rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire exploding behind her, then ran alongside the pounding
ocean for dear life.

The sound of pistol fire
reverberated from inside the cabin. The front door flew open and a commotion
ensued. Panicked shouts rang out against the mountain.
'
Escapa
la
nena
!'

Cromwell started down the hill.

Mark raced to stop him,
grabbing him by the arm. 'No, Chief – look!'

Ana had bolted through a side
door and was fleeing barefoot down the beach.

Cromwell scampered back up the
hill. 'Fire on them. Now!'

Mark cut loose a round of
bullets that burned through the villa's open door.

Submachine gun barrels quickly
appeared in the shuttered windows. The terrorists returned their fire.

A trembling figure made its way
through the threshold, hands thrust skyward. It was the young woman, the fear
of God on her face.

'Please,' she begged in broken
Spanish, tears streaming to her cheeks, 'spare me!'

A new round of gunfire burst
forth from the building and the young Basque
gir
l
fell against the sandy slope.

Cromwell steadied his pistol
against the roof of the car and raked the villa's wooden windows.

'We're outnumbered,'
Rebelles
observed, bending low to reload his weapon. 'Those
damn reinforce–'

McFadden glanced back over his
shoulder at the low moan of engines and wheels kicking up gravel. 'Look!'

Mark swung his head around. It
was a jeep. Two jeeps.
A pair of army-style vehicles, each
carrying a squad of Spanish Guardia Civil.
Federalist soldiers wore
requisite tri-cornered hats and carried semi-automatic rifles. The jeeps roared
and dragged to a halt.

Soldiers dismounted and opened
fire. For a moment, no fire was returned
.

Cromwell
held up his hand, signaling for the others to wait. '
Carnova
,'
he yelled, 'surrender now while there's still time!'

Rebelles
was just standing to steady his weapon when another slew of gunfire raced
toward them. A slug caught him dead center in the chest, sending him crashing
backward into the gravel behind the car.

Mark dropped to his knees,
ripping the bloody shirt from the dying man’s chest. The moment he saw the
wound, he knew it was too late.

Spanish soldiers shouldered
their weapons and the quick popping of automatic gunfire riddled the desolate
building.

Mark reached below the
Spaniard’s arms and drew
Rebelles
’ near lifeless head
onto the shelf of his knees. No man deserved to die alone.

Rebelles
grimaced and raised his eyes to Mark’s, muttering his dying words.

Pete Jarvis pretended to walk
to the bathroom but instead made one last sweep around the cubicles. Thank God,
they were finally gone.

Pete looked at the row of
clocks lining the seventh floor wall. You could be anywhere in the world and
the DOS could tell you what time it was. The DOS, Jarvis thought with a snort,
masterminds of the intelligence community.
The old boys, the
best of the best.
What a big, fucking joke.

Almost six in
Spain.
It would soon be over. Neal and McFadden had made his job so damn
easy by repeatedly checking in.
Once the AIC underground had determined
Carnova’s
route, Pete’s only mission had been to get the
Americans to Jerez. That asshole Denton wasn’t the only one who knew a gypsy or
two.

It was crucial they get to that
warehouse and make their discovery. Neal and McFadden hadn’t known it, but
they’d never been in danger there. They served a far greater purpose by
bringing
Carnova’s
LPP
empire
to its knees.

Jarvis had telephoned Spanish
authorities as soon as he’d heard from Neal in Seville. He’d called Neal’s
contacts at DEA headquarters, DIA, and INR at State along with US Customs, the
FBI, any organization that could possibly care. That little tidbit about the
Greek princess and the plane crash that killed Neal’s family was the icing on
the cake. It was all so fucking beautiful, falling right into place as if
preordained.
Carnova’s
dope-dealing days
were
over and with them his ability to secure an arsenal.

Of course, with
Carnova’s
kingdom destroyed, the AIC reasoned he’d no
longer need those documents. The AIC would be more than glad to take
el
archivo
azul
off of
his hands, even if they had to sever them at the wrists to do it.

No, Neal and McFadden had never
been in danger in Jerez, not at the hands of AIC assassins. Of course, Denton
had been another story.

Pete had caught sight of him
that day he’d been brought in for questioning. Cathy had been leading him
around the corner to Cromwell’s office as Pete bent over the water fountain.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the flash of dirty-blonde hair, something
familiar in the face. Then when he stood and watched Denton’s back disappear
into Cromwell’s office, he knew.

Denton had never seen him.
Didn’t have a clue. If he’d been smarter, he would have wised up. Seen the
whole thing coming. If ignorance was bliss, Scott Denton was now in heaven.

Pete’s student days in
Barcelona had been a fucking blessing. He’d gone for a summer program, just
after his freshman college year. An impressionable age, some say...

Pete remembered standing on an
overturned orange crate addressing the students in the square.
'
Gente
para
la
Alianza
'
('People for the Alliance'),
'hoy
es
el
dia
para
dedicarse
.'
('Today is the day to dedicate yourselves to a purpose greater than any
individual. The right of the people to practice, without worry, the laws and
customs of their native state. Their indelible right to live as they choose
,
to uphold their own language and adhere to their own
time-honored traditions.
The right to live without fear of
retribution.
The right to freedom!') A cheer had risen from the crowd
that overwhelmed him and he’d become one with the frenzied masses chanting his
song.

A young man enraptured with his
speech stood on the sidelines. He was
light-haired
and
fair-eyed with the awkward gait of an American. He’d applauded and taken some
literature.
Clearly the kind who embraced every cause.
But whether it was through gullibility or cognizance, the AIC was eager to get
its message into the hands of believers. Whether or not Scott Denton had
ultimately believed was beside the point.

The AIC had changed Pete’s
life, made him into the man he’d always known he could become. He’d gone from
being the prodigal son to being a player and it hadn’t hurt one bit that he’d
been able to reinvent himself in the process. The AIC had been very helpful in
that regard. They had on hand a number of student passports collected from
various crime victims throughout the country. It was a simple matter of
narrowing the field to someone with similar physical characteristics who, for
whatever reason, hadn’t made it back to the United States alive. Peter Calvin
Jarvis had been among a select group, an unfortunate orphan with very few to
miss him when he was gone or identify the fact that he’d changed once he’d
returned.

It was a sick blessing that
Pete’s real father didn’t seem to give a whore’s ass that his son had dropped
right off the planet. Twisted bastard was probably relieved. Old man had tried
to beat some sense into him, but he’d never been able to do it. A broken nose
didn’t break your spirit or change who you were or how far you were willing to
run. There were others like him in Barcelona, others who understood. There was
someone
there
waiting for him now.

'I’ve had just about enough of
this,' Cromwell said, dragging his briefcase from the top of the trunk and
expertly resetting its numbers. 'Mark, Joe, get with the others behind the
jeep.'

He made his way around the
bumper of the car, heading straight for the villa. 'Cover me!' he shouted back
over his shoulder, as he sprang toward the open driver’s door. Bullets poured
toward the car. Cromwell dove onto the seat, shoving his briefcase in ahead of
him.

He set the car in first gear
and quickly released the brake. Then pushed himself backwards out of the door
and bolted up the slope, bullets flying all around him.

Cromwell bent beside Mark,
catching his wind. 'Had that wired briefcase for years,' he said with a smile,
as the white car lumbered down the hill. 'Always wanted to use it.'

The vehicle picked up speed,
making its way toward the house.

Rifle barrels sent one final
thrust of gunfire burning up the hill.

'Duck!' Cromwell shouted as the
phantom car plowed into the wooden frame of the beach house. A sonic boom
shattered the air and Fidel
Carnova’s
seaside
retreat, and all the evil it housed, exploded in a burst of flames.

The inside of the Kane house
resounded with the noise of heavy mechanical wings settling on the lawn
outside.

The voice from the bullhorn was
loud and intimidating. 'We have you surrounded! Give it up now, or we open
fire!'

The leader peeled back the
curtain and peered outside.
'Madre de Dios,'
he warned the others,
'they've brought the whole army!'

Soldiers dressed in fatigues
and armed with automatic rifles made their stealthy approach on the house. The
lanky man ran to the back door, but through the small square window, he saw
gas- masked men approaching.

Suddenly, there was the sound
of glass shattering in the front hall. Then, the whole building was filled with
a choking gray smoke.

Mark sat opposite Ana at one of
the small outdoor tables lining Santiago’s Plaza de
Obradoiro
.
She’d ordered something simple, a sandwich, Mark gauged from his growing
command of the language. He stuck to the coffee that, after several sleepless
nights, he had been reduced to drinking black. Normally, he took it heavy on
the cream, but now needed every extra ounce of caffeine he could muster just to
keep his senses clear. Ana had refused the debriefing with her father, refused
to talk to Joe. They both had deceived her, she'd said. And, of course, she was
right. Mark was neutral. And he thanked God for his neutrality as he watched
the natural light of the moon fill her eyes. She still didn't know about
Denton.