No Remorse (4 page)

Mac laughed. These two expected him to trust their word? “But...?”

Taylor seemed to sense his skepticism. “
But
, you would have to plead guilty to the charges of AWOL and unauthorized use of weapons. You’d receive an Article Fifteen slap on the wrist and a standard discharge from the Army. No black marks. Full pension rights.”

“Leave the Army? What do I get out of that? I’ve got nothing to fall back on. No house. Not much saved. A soldier’s skillset…”

“You’d do some work for Mr. Wisebaum as part of the deal. A well-paid contract, as I understand it, doing the sort of work you’re good at.”

Mac studied Wisebaum’s eyes. “You with Blackwater XE? DynCorp? CIA?”

“All in good time,” Wisebaum said, putting on his glasses.

“I’m not leaving the Army–”

“The choices, McCloud,” Wisebaum interrupted, “are jail time with a dishonorable discharge, or the plea bargain and work with my agency. Your poison, bud.”

“Fuck, I don’t even know you guys!”

Wisebaum shrugged and gestured at Taylor. “Call him, Bryce.”

Taylor dialed a number and passed Mac the cell phone. It rang for a moment.

“Matheson.”

“Colonel? It’s Sergeant Lee McCloud. Sorry to—”

“Quite all right, Sergeant. You with Captain Taylor and Mr. Wisebaum?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you for—”

“I know you’re a team player, Mac. It’s unfortunate you’ve ended up in the middle of this. Your own fault, of course. But we obviously need this disposed of quickly, and quietly, just as you want your freedom. I understand Mr. Wisebaum has an important mission for you that I understand will give you the scope you need in that regard.”

“Yes, sir. But—”

“Your record will be unblemished. Mac, I want to extend my gratitude for your outstanding service with SFOD-Delta. Your actions during your time with us saved many lives. I know that’s not enough, but you guys are used to that. There it is. Whatever you decide, good luck, soldier.”

“Thank you, sir. I—”

Matheson had hung up.

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me you'd been speaking with Matheson?" Mac held out his hand. “Give me the document.”

He quickly read the plea bargain agreement and signed the three copies with the pen Taylor offered.

“I’ll be in touch,” Wisebaum said, and he and Taylor turned and strode away towards their car.

Mac stared at his copy and his vision blurred. He felt numb. He knew he should be pleased the matter had been settled. But he hadn’t expected the outcome to require him to leave the Army. The Army was his life. His family. His friends. His profession for the last sixteen years. Whatever Wisebaum had in mind for him, it could never replace the times he’d spent with his Delta buddies.

He jogged back to the house and called Freckle and Termite to tell them the news. Eventually, he noticed the messages on the screen and checked them. There was a voice mail from Jogesh Khoury, his contact in Paris, telling him there was no news yet on The Frenchman, but that he would keep digging. There were also four missed calls from Bob’s cell phone, but no messages. He returned Bob’s call. At least he’d have a few days to help with the search before he’d be Wisebaum’s boy.

Bob’s wife, Elena answered. “Mac! Thank God you’ve called. We’re in Martinique following a lead. Bob’s been shot.”

“Just take it easy, Austin. You don't understand.” Tally Francis said as she stood with her weight on her toes in the hallway of her house, ready to react if he attacked.

Austin Shephard was unshaved and reeked of beer and sweat. His shirt was wrinkled and buttoned wrong. He wasn’t a big guy, but he was ex-Army who’d done it tough in Afghanistan, and being from Nebraska he’d been raised on beef seven days a week. Quick on his feet too—at least when he was sober. Tally was expecting the confrontation to end in violence like the last time, two weeks ago. She was still bruised and sore from then.

But this time she was better prepared.

She cursed herself for not bothering to check the security viewer before opening the door. But it had been natural for her to assume the buzzer was Rosco forgetting something; after all he’d only left a couple minutes earlier. Austin must have been watching, waiting for him to leave.

Austin’s nostrils flared. He started jabbing his finger like he was stabbing a knife. “No,
you're
the one who doesn’t understand. I come here to apologize and you shove it right in my face.
That’s
what’s not right. What is it now, two weeks? And already you’re fucking other guys! You think I don’t know? Jesus, I’ve seen the look on your face after a good fuck. The cheeks, the eyes. Look at yourself! You know what you are? You’re a disgrace, you know that? A fucking, whoring disgrace!”

She crossed her arms defiantly, refusing to be drawn into an argument, but remaining alert in case she had to move fast. This time she wasn’t going to let him get the jump on her. It was difficult to maintain a calm voice, and inside she felt like churning concrete. She had to get him out the door before he lost it. Her two-story house backed onto bush in the Montreal suburb of Laval, and neighbors would not be rushing to her aid any time soon.

“It was only Rosco from work,” she said. “I’d hardly be rushing into another relationship after us. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“How convenient.” Austin said, as his demeanor continued to darken. “Clearly, I was standing in the way.”

“Rosco’s gay, for God’s sake! Surely you knew that. He makes no—”

“Oh, sure! He comes around for an intimate little meal and doesn’t leave till two a.m. You used to kick me out before that, and that was
after
we’d had sex!”

“
Rosco
cooked. And he likes to talk. And you kicked me once too often.”

“One time. I kicked you one time…”

“As I said. Once too often. And now I think you should leave.”

“Look, I said I was sorry. How many times do I have to fucking apologize?”

“Do you want me to call your mother? You obviously can’t drive.”

An aggressive laugh. Austin glared at her. He looked like Jack Nicholson in
The Shining
.

“You fucking deserved it. You think you’re so smart, don’t you, in your nice, cushy office overlooking the lake. Looking down on people like me who have to do the dirty work in the field.”

“Just go, Austin. You need help. The Army will—”

“Don’t make this about the Army!” he yelled, jabbing the finger again. “I know what you think of the Army. This is about you, you skanky bitch. You and your whoring.” Suddenly his expression turned morose. “How can you treat me like this? After what I’ve been through…”

He began to cry.

Tally lowered her voice. “I think you should leave.”

He whimpered as the tears ran down his cheeks. Tally didn’t move any closer. She knew better. That was how he’d surprised her last time. Austin sniffled and his face twitched, as though he was trying to decide what to do. He ran his fingers through scraggy hair that was graying prematurely, and began to dawdle to the door.

Keeping her distance, looking for objects she could grab if he lashed out, Tally followed. Usually, once he started to cry, Austin would become morose and introspective. Their boss, Derek Wisebaum, had tried to help, but in the end, cutting him loose was their only option. Even then, Derek was worried he would try to hurt her. Derek told her he was trying to get Austin into treatment.

“You want me to call a cab?”

He turned to her, his eyes full of shame. “God, I’m sorry, Tal. I’m so fucked up, aren’t I? So. Fucked. Up. Oh, God, let me stay. Please… just tonight.”

The hairs prickled on the back of her neck at the thought of Austin prowling around while she slept. “No. Come on, I’ll—”

“I’ll sleep here, downstairs. On the couch. I’m
sooo
tired.”

“No, Austin.”

“You’re afraid of me, aren’t you? Scared I’ll sneak up and rape you? Slit your throat or something? You know, you are one fucking gutless bitch!”

“I’m not afraid of you, Austin.” Keeping her voice steady was difficult.

“Hah, you think that Aikido crap would save you? No chance! Wanna know how many men I’ve killed with a knife? Eight. You’d be easy fillet.”

She lifted the phone handset on her grandmother's antique cherry dresser she kept in the hall.

“What are you doing?” His expression changed again, his eyes narrowing, a dark frown appearing above his nose.

“Calling your mom.”

“The fuck you are. You’re fuckin’ calling the cops, aren’t you, you lying cunt.”

That was when she knew. When he used that word. She spun around and ran, just as he lashed out. He tackled her, slapping the handset away. It flew across the floor as he rammed her against the wall. His fist pounded against her cheek and the blinding flash made her miss seeing his second punch, into her gut. She backed away with her hands covering her face as his fists landed like rocks. She tried to stay on her feet to avoid his kicks but lost her balance and fell to the floor, trying not to make any sound. That would only provoke him more. If he grabbed her around the neck with those hands….

He kicked. Somehow the blow missed her head and connected with her shoulder. He laughed and said something Tally couldn’t make out, then grabbed her hair and began dragging her towards the kitchen.

“I’m going to kill you! Then I’ll tell the world about the slick little operation you guys have going at the agency. The media’ll pay a fortune for that story…”

The sickly smell of his body odor wafted over her. She felt a sharp pain in her chest and wondered whether it was a pulled muscle or broken rib, or if she was having a heart attack. Her face was throbbing. Her scalp stung and she glimpsed a clump of her hair on the floor. A thought flashed that these might be her last moments of life; that she’d be found cold and alone, stabbed and gutted.

No! She wouldn’t let it happen. She mustn’t let Austin reach the kitchen where the long knives were primed in the block. He kept yanking her like he was pulling up an anchor chain. A few more feet. She had to move.

Now.

With both hands, she reached up and grabbed the hand holding her hair. As she had anticipated, Austin reacted by raising his fist to punch her again. But she was ready. She drew her knees up and released the full force of her legs in an upward kick into his crotch. She missed, but the unexpected attack stunned him long enough for her to follow up with two quick punches to his crotch that struck home. He uttered a string of expletives as he doubled up, coughing and collapsed to the floor, grunting from the crippling pain.

Struggling to her feet, she kicked her bare heel into his face. Again and again. Blood spurted from his broken nose and mouth, but he was far from done. He got a punch to her ribs, and as she staggered with the pain, he scrambled backwards into the kitchen. Cursing her, spitting blood.

She reached behind the dresser and pulled out the Glock she had taped there, just as he reappeared with a carving knife. If he saw the gun he ignored it in his rage.

“You are so fucking dead, bitch.”

He charged forward, the knife raised.

She fired three times. Center of chest. No taking chances.

He fell, still gripping the knife. The tip of the blade slammed down into a floorboard just in front of her. She scrambled away from the pooling blood and took a few minutes to get back her self-control, before finding her cell phone.

The voice was croaky, woken from a deep sleep. “Wisebaum.”

She spoke in short breaths, trying to ignore the shooting pain in her side. “Austin’s dead. You were right, Derek. He came after me with a knife. Blamed me for everything. I tried to…. He left me no choice.”

“Drive over here if you can manage it. Leave your garage remote under the mat. I’ll arrange a cleanup team.”

“Thanks.
Now
can we forget about having a soldier on the team?”

“They’re not all like Austin, Tal. We must have a soldier. The director has mandated it. And anyway, I’ve already recruited a replacement. Judging by his track record, this guy’ll be perfect.”

The Princess Aliya was berthed four hundred yards out to avoid a coral reef. From the upper deck, Ziad inhaled from his cigarette as he watched the helicopter Khalid was flying turn towards the Yubani Resort. Ignoring the men moving supplies along the jetty to the maintenance compound, he switched his gaze to the movement on the deck below, where a photo shoot was underway. He was always intrigued by the ability of the models to smile with a seemingly genuine warmth. Because when Ziad smiled, he felt nothing.

Bill Fanning joined him on deck, adjusting his cap against the burning mid-morning sun. “Strange how Sheik Khalid loves the helicopter, but hates the submarine,” he said as the machine passed over the crater ridge out of sight.

“Not so, Bill, when you understand the bad experience that His Highness has had. I doubt he’d even have this ship, except that his father signed it over to him six years ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware. You wanted to see me, Ziad?”

“Yes, Bill. I thought you could use a distraction now that your hard work is finished. Marianne is magnificent, is she not?” he said, leaning over for a better view.

On the deck below, Marianne was on her hands and knees, wearing nothing but her smile. Her face, with its Snow White complexion and brilliant blue eyes, was turned back over her shoulder towards the camera.

“Oh, well, of course. I… I’ve never seen a redhead from this angle before,” Fanning said. “But… she seems so… young.”

“Ah, perhaps because she has been shaved, Bill. But surely, with a Thai wife who looks about twelve, you would understand that young meat is the most tender?” He ignored Fanning’s horrified glance and sputtered protests. “That’s why Sheik Khalid has half a million subscribers paying thirty dollars a month on his website. Anyway, all our girls sign a form that says they’re eighteen. Keeps the American censors happy.” He gestured at the other models lounging by the pool, where three assistants were busy brushing hair, applying makeup and touching up areas the photographer wanted smoothed of hair. “Which one would you like, Bill? Any except Marianne, of course. The one you choose will remain with you while His Highness is entertaining his guests. As with previous banquets, you are required to stay on board the
Princess Aliya
.”