Читать книгу Flashpoint - Connie Hall - Страница 12

Fish Hoek Village, False Bay, South Africa

Lucy stood looking out on the balcony of the safe house, polishing off a glass of sangria. She’d just finished eating a meal of bobotie, a kind of shepherd’s pie made with a lightly curried mince topped with savory egg custard, served on a bed of turmeric-flavored rice with a dab of chutney. Lucy loved the pungent spices. The dish, a local favorite, came from the Cape Malay cuisine, a blending of early European Dutch and Malay fare.

The July wind gusted and whipped Lucy’s hair against her face. South Africa’s winters ran from June to October, so different from America’s. She set down her glass on the railing and zipped up her sweatshirt. The wind hadn’t stopped blowing since she’d arrived, and she’d quickly learned that she hadn’t packed enough warm clothes. She’d had to make a run to the local market to buy another sweatshirt.

The safe house was in Fish Hoek Village, about thirty minutes from Cape Town. The village faced the Indian Ocean side of the Cape Peninsula and, like most of the Cape, the winds tore at the shore, molding the beaches to its will. She’d since learned that the wind blew constantly here, sometimes at twenty knots. Monster thunderstorms were known to rise up without notice. Even now dark clouds gathered to the west. She watched a janitor emptying a trash can on the beach, struggling to corral the plastic bags, paper cups and empty soda cans. A bag got away from him, flitted across the beach, smashed into the sea froth and was swallowed by the thick lengths of black kelp that chopped against the shore. The kelp was so thick, two surfers in wetsuits fought it to paddle away from the beach.

She looked out at the horizon and saw whale-watching boats bob and list in the wave swells. Miles up the beach, penguins guarded eggs, cavorted in the surf and wobbled up and down the beach like stiff wind-up toys.

The three-story safe house itself was shaped like a Far Eastern pagoda with a curved smiling roof, wide pillars standing tall across the front. A balcony wrapped around the top floor, providing awesome vistas of the Cape. Behind the house were the sharp jagged peaks of Simonstown Mountains. Mountain ranges seemed to cover the western coast of South Africa. Jagged escarpments coughed up pristine white beaches, creating spectacular seascapes.

The violence and savagery of the wind here drew her. She enjoyed the unrestrained feeling of it pushing against her, thrashing her shift against her legs, bits of sand stinging her lips. It stirred her almost as much as the African bush. She had seen a lot of Africa traveling with her mother and nothing could compare to the wildlife and wilderness of the bush, but Cape Town was by far the most beautiful city on the continent.

Inside the house, retro modern furniture and thick mahogany tables were paired with an oriental theme. A windowless basement ran the length of the house and held a lab with enough explosives and weapons to keep an anarchist happy for a couple of years.

She felt her hair stinging her cheeks as the wind lashed it against her face. Uncertainty tugged at her. She’d been here a whole day and no courier had arrived. The team should be here in a couple of hours. No one complained about the change in plans. Flexibility was essential in their line of work. Tommy was flying Cao and Betsy over in the Cessna he used for his security business. She had taken a chartered flight in from Jijiga.

A knock on the door brought her out of her seat. She stepped through the open patio doors and paused near the security monitor.

The heart-shaped face and short brunette hair she spotted made her smile. She pressed the intercom and screamed, “Oh my God!” Her jaw fell open. “Val!”

“Hey, girlfriend, open the door. I’m growing warts here.”

Lucy grabbed the knob and flung open the door. She almost leaped into Val’s arms, but the cupcake and burning candle her friend held made her pause.

Val broke out into a smile. “Thought I’d forget? Happy birthday, McGill.”

Lucy grinned at the sound of her old nickname. McGill stood for McGillicuddy. Louise Benson, Lucy’s archrival at the Athena Academy, had dubbed Lucy with the name because of her red hair resembling Lucille Ball’s. The name had stuck. Lucy hadn’t liked the pet name at first and she had paid Louise back by putting Elmer’s Glue in her hair conditioner. Louise had walked around for a week with chopsticks for hair.

Louise hadn’t known it at the time, but she’d done Lucy a big favor. The nickname had made Lucy buckle down, rein in her restlessness, strive harder in her classes so she wouldn’t live up to her I Love Lucy namesake. She had graduated with honors, and if she were brutally honest with herself, it was partially owing to Louise’s spite.

“Oh, no! I forgot yours,” Lucy said. They shared the same birthday and had always tried to celebrate it together. She wondered if her mother had planned a surprise party for both of them. Knowing her mother, she probably had. She’d have to make it up to her.

“Okay, so I win the better friend medal today.” Val strode inside, sporting an Ann Taylor white pant suit, matching shoes and purse. Sleek white sunglasses to match. When Val made an entrance, heads turned.

Lucy stared at her own jade-green shift, Nikes, and white tourist sweatshirt with Cape Town, South Africa silk-screened on it. She felt a little dowdy around Val, who always looked like she’d just stepped out of a Neiman Marcus window.

Lucy closed the door and Val held out the cupcake. “Make a wish for both of us.”

Lucy filled her cheeks, closed her eyes and blew.

“Still got enough hot air for both of us, I see.” Val thrust the cupcake at Lucy, pushed her sunglasses up on her head, and glanced around at the luxury surrounding them. “Can you find a knife in this dump?”

Lucy laughed until her eyes glistened with tears. God, she had missed Val. “Share some dinner with me, then we’ll eat the cupcake.”

“Lead the way. I’m starving.”

Val followed her into the galley-style kitchen. “So what are you doing here? How did you find me?”

Val wiggled her fingers like an evil conjurer, her bright green eyes glistening. “We Khaosians have ways of finding out things.”

Lucy thought of the Khaos mentor group Val and she had belonged to at the Athena Academy. The group had been named after Khaos, the primeval Greek goddess of air. Her name actually meant “gap,” the space separating heaven and earth. They went hot air ballooning and sky diving, and on special occasions put on fireworks displays. The group activities had been a blast, but Lucy had taken the most pleasure in setting up the fireworks.

“Come on, spill the beans,” Lucy said.

Val pulled a manila envelope from her backpack and handed it to Lucy. It looked like any business envelope, innocuous enough. She must have breezed through customs.

“You’re the courier?” Lucy asked, staring at the envelope in disbelief.

“Delphi must have known we were friends and asked me to drop it off.”

“I just found out about this Delphi person. I was skeptical at first.”

“Delphi is one of the good guys. You shouldn’t have any reservations about accepting an assignment from that quarter.” Val hesitated for a moment, then said, “Delphi thought you might have some questions and said I should brief you on the Oracle network.”

“What is Oracle?”

“All I know is that it’s a secret network that monitors intel from U.S. intelligence-gathering agencies, and Delphi oversees it.”

“So you work for Oracle, too?”

“I do assignments when I can.”

“We’re both Athena grads. Does that mean Oracle gets its recruits from the Athena Academy?”

“I don’t know if all the operatives who work for Oracle are AA grads. I have my suspicions that a lot of them could be. And I know they often use resources from AA.gov.”

“Do you know who Delphi is? That altered voice creeped me out.”

“You, too?” Val grinned. “You get used to it.”

Lucy had a feeling Val was avoiding the question so she said, “Okay, so who is it?”

Val shrugged. “I’m not sure, but I believe it’s someone connected to the Athena Academy. I don’t even know who any of the other Oracle agents are. I only knew about you because Delphi gave me your name as my contact. We’re not even supposed to be discussing it. Pretty hush-hush stuff.”

“Oh, okay.” Lucy let it drop, but she was still curious about Delphi’s identity.

Val pointed to the envelope. “By the way, you’re not to open that until I’m gone.”

“So you’re not here for long?” The excitement dropped from Lucy’s voice. She set the package on the counter and pulled out a plate and fork and knife for Val.

“Sorry.” Val checked her Rolex. “We got two hours, then I’m on a flight for the States.”

“CIA biz?”

Val nodded as she picked up the take-out container and shoveled the rest of the rice onto a plate. “What did you wish for?” she asked.

“Can’t say. Bad luck and you know it.”

“Remember that silly vow we made our sophomore year?”

“I’d almost forgotten about it.”

Val shrugged and shook her head. “Falling madly in love by our thirtieth birthday and turning down at least five marriage proposals. Hard to forget.”

They both smiled at each other, their expressions turning somber, pensive.

A strange sadness tugged at Lucy. Maybe it was the lost closeness they had shared at the academy, a youth that had slipped by all too quickly. Or it could be the vow that still nagged at the back of her mind, a whispered uncertainty that she might not ever fall in love. She certainly hadn’t turned down any proposals. Thoughts of Jack Kane surfaced, but she hadn’t really loved Jack in that breathless, love-ever-after way. They’d only gone out on one date before he died. But if they’d had more time… Jack might have been the one. She forced memories of Jack back into that dark place she refused to enter.

“Remember,” Val said, her voice faraway, “I wanted twin boys that looked like—”

“Johnny Depp.” Lucy finished for her. “And I wanted a girl—”

“Without red hair and freckles who didn’t look like an extra from the cast of Annie,” Val said, grinning. “Although, you know, all the Khaosians envied your red hair.”

“They did?” Lucy stared at her in disbelief.

“Sure, why do you think everyone kept calling you McGill? Nothing but jealousy, girlfriend.”

“Well, if we’re coming clean, I’ve always wanted your hair—anyone’s hair color but my own.” Lucy grinned.

“So we didn’t get a family and we didn’t get the hair color we wanted, but we got kick-ass careers…” Val’s words trailed off, her tone slightly sulky. Her brows narrowed as she poured herself a glass of wine from the open bottle of sangria Lucy had left out. She gulped down a large swig.

“What?” Lucy looked expectantly at her.

“I’m just…I don’t know.”

“Lonely,” Lucy supplied for her.

“Yeah. Even in a singles bar, hunks all around me, hitting on me with their goofy lines, and I still feel like I’m alone on the planet.”

“So fall for a line.”

“I’m tired of one-night stands. I don’t think there’s anyone for me. Don’t you ever feel that way?”

“Sure, but I haven’t given up yet.” Lucy hadn’t really been on the prowl for a man. There’d been a few meaningless nights, when she hadn’t been able to face an empty bed and another night alone, with guys whose names she couldn’t even remember. But no one serious. And she wanted to keep it that way.

“Oh, you’re a hopeless romantic.” Val waved her empty glass at Lucy.

Lucy realized she might have been a romantic at one time. God, she wanted to feel that way again.

At Lucy’s silence, Val said, “Remember that time you made me watch An Affair to Remember six times?”

“You cried. I saw you. Admit it.”

Val rolled her eyes.

“Talk about tired movies. What about your Steven Segal fests?” Lucy pointed at Val.

“I thought you liked them, all the explosions.”

“Only my own explosions.” Lucy grinned. “Too much overkill and fallout in Hollywood.”

“You’re right. Let’s do an indie weekend, get in some serious angst and melancholy with a little black humor thrown in.” Val grinned at Lucy, then looked at her watch. “And we’d better plan it quick. One hour and fifty minutes and counting.”

Lucy gulped back the tightness that had suddenly swelled in her throat. She wanted more time with Val. She glanced at the envelope sitting on the counter, and it felt as if minutes were traveling at light speed. An overwhelming restlessness within her wanted to reach out and grab time, force it to be still. Suddenly a foreboding gripped her, one that told her she’d better enjoy this fleeting moment with Val because she might never get another one.

Cape Flats, Cape Town

Nolan fought the wind hitting his face and darted into the throng of an open air market. He weaved his way past farmers hawking melons, grapes, fava beans, coffee and spices from crates and wheelbarrows. He dodged sari-clad women, dragging packages and children behind them. He knew his height made him an easy target to follow, so he crossed to the market’s higher-end side and zigzagged his way through the covered stalls. Vendors sold everything from ostrich-skin wallets to zebra-hide cushions. The strong smell of body odor, animal hides and incense made him grimace. He could barely make out Viking’s footfalls over the market’s noise.

When he neared a rug seller, he darted in between several lines of hanging carpets. The vendor, a thin man wearing a turban, watched him with wary eyes as if street violence and people being chased was the norm.

The carpet line ended near an abandoned metal shack. Beside it, knee-high grass covered a small area. Nolan ducked beneath the last Karabakh carpet, and pressed his back against the metal, the heat of it burning his spine. He waited.

Viking’s footfalls grew closer.

Nolan watched his progress below the carpets. Viking’s feet came to the end of the line and halted.

A carpet wall separated them.

Nolan listened to Viking’s heavy breathing and could almost hear his indecision: lift the carpet or not. Make the leap or be safe. Be the clever intimidator or the wimpy sod. Nolan had learned early on in his life that muscle-bound thugs liked testing their strength on bigger chaps. And since he’d always been in the top percentile for height and weight, he’d fought every bully at school and in his neighborhood before he’d turned six. It was no different in his later life. He was actually looking forward to facing this sod.

Nolan didn’t move, breathing through an adrenaline rush.

As Nolan had planned, Viking stepped around the carpets, the barrel of his gun coming first. Nolan drop-kicked the gun from Viking’s hand.

It landed in the grass and discharged; the report seemed to echo for miles.

Viking faced him, pulled a switchblade, his face like that of a cat with its prey. “How you like this?”

“The question is, do you have the bollocks to use it?” Nolan circled him, his arms out in a wrestling stance.

Viking lashed out at him.

Nolan easily avoided the knife, grabbed Viking’s arm and twisted it behind his back. Nolan caught the man in a headlock. “Sorry, mate, you’ll have to do better than that.”

Viking cursed in Norwegian and struggled in Nolan’s arms. But Nolan was bigger, stronger and had the upper hand.

“Move again, and I’ll break your bloody neck.”

Viking growled in frustration and stopped struggling.

“Better. Now, who do you work for?” Nolan asked, his tone pleasantly composed.

No answer.

Nolan turned Viking’s head within a millimeter of snapping his neck. Color bled into Viking’s pale cheeks. The patient quality left Nolan’s voice. “I’ll ask again, but this is the last time.”

“Myself,” Viking ground out.

“What have I ever done to you?”

“My job…”

“Your job?” Nolan narrowed his brows at him.

“She gave you my job. It should have been mine.”

“You work at Pincer?”

Viking ground out, “Yes.”

“It’s all very clear now.” Relief washed over Nolan. At least the terrorists hadn’t discovered his whereabouts—if this bloke was telling the truth.

Instead of breaking Viking’s neck, Nolan applied pressure to his carotid artery. Too long and the lack of oxygen to his brain would kill him. Just enough and he’d be out for a while and wake up with a bloody headache. Nolan chose the headache.

Viking went limp in his arms. He patted the sod down, pulled out his PDA. He pocketed the handheld computer, then grabbed Viking’s arms and pulled him toward the abandoned building. He wasn’t certain Viking had been telling the truth. Jealousy could make a person do just about anything, and Viking seemed like the type to even scores at any cost. Nolan hoped the PDA might contain information that could confirm Viking’s story.

Fish Hoek Village, False Bay, South Africa

“Plus Suisse Worldwide Depository is our target?” Cao asked, frowning at Lucy across the dining table. He sat nearest the open balcony doors, and a breeze rustled the shaggy black hair protruding from beneath his black sun visor. He wore a black matching warm-up suit.

“Yes.” Lucy squinted at the schematic on the computer screen. It was part of the info Delphi had sent her on a flash key. She’d also received the history of the PSWD, a twenty-four-hour, fully automated Geldschrank bank. They maintained offices not only in Switzerland, but all over the world. Criminals and terrorists could hide stolen bonds, accounts, art treasures, passports. Just about anything they wanted to keep from law enforcement. Ambiguity was PSWD’s ultimate profit source: electronically untraceable computer source code escrow accounts. Anonyme lager, otherwise known as anonymous drop storage boxes. Digitized international transferable accounts. All high-tech blankets of privacy. Accounts were by numbers only. No names. No faces. The bank’s very anonymity policy could be its downfall. It might be its only one.

She studied the building’s twelve floors, six of which were underground bank vaults, buried beneath thousands of tons of concrete and steel. It really looked like a rat-maze fortress.

“You say there are three electronic readers we have to get through to get inside?” Betsy asked, reaching for the bag of potato chips. She chomped one down, then chased it with a sip of sangria. Betsy had on red biker shorts that looked poured over her small hips. The straps of her sports bra peeked out from the top of a red sweater that hugged her flat stomach.

“Yes.” Lucy peered at the schematic Delphi had supplied for them. “One in the underground parking deck. Two on each vault floor.”

Tommy gazed at Betsy’s glass of fruity wine, tasting it with his eyes. He’d been a recovering alcoholic since he was sixteen. He picked up his can of Pepsi, frowned at it like an old friend who annoyed him, then said, “How many guards on duty?” He settled against his flight jacket that rested on the back of his chair and sipped his soda. The slogan, Pilots Do It Better, blazed across his T-shirt.

“One at the lobby desk,” Lucy said. “Three manning the security cameras.”

“Better than ten.” Tommy rubbed his finger around the top of the can.

“I can get us past the readers and the metal detectors,” Cao said in his quiet, serene voice, all the while looking at Betsy as if he were imagining what lay beneath her sweater and bra. He reached in a briefcase and pulled out something that looked very similar to a hotel pass key, but had a metal casing.

“What is it?” Betsy asked, narrowing her eyes at the gadget.

“A microprocessor wireless modem. My design.” He grinned, looking pleased that she had questioned him about it. “You just insert it into the electronic reader and I’m in their computer.”

Betsy frowned at the invention as if it were a new brand of bullet that she’d never used before. “You sure it will work?”

“Of course.” Cao shot Betsy an indignant glance.

“Won’t they have filters that scramble a foreign signal?” Tommy asked.

“I’ll break them before the alarm goes off.” Cao paused, seeming to be at war with an emotion for a moment, then said, “There’s one drawback.”

“What?” Lucy asked.

“This device has to stay in the electronic card reader and cannot be taken out. Preferably the reader in the parking deck. Inside the bank, the wireless signal will be blocked.”

“It’s only got to get me inside and to the strongbox. So will it work…here?” She pointed on the schematic to the security gate that opened into the underground parking deck.

Cao nodded.

Betsy reached for another chip. “We have to make sure it’s not spotted by a guard or another customer.”

“We’ll deal with them.” Tommy chugged the rest of his Pepsi and burped.

“You’ll have three minutes between the entry doors,” Cao said.

“Okay.”

“What about the strongbox’s password?” Cao asked. “No way I can find out that info.”

“I got the password right here.” Lucy pointed to a pea-size piece of C-4 she had stashed in a pillbox.

Tommy leaned back in his chair, the glint in his green eyes turning apprehensive. “There’s another hitch—the carbon monoxide delivery system in the vaults. Get caught in there and your ass is grass.”

Cao spoke up. “It only takes a concentration of .04% to be fatal. At 1.28%, you’re dead in less than three minutes.”

Betsy frowned at him. “You’re a regular book of creepy facts.”

Cao cocked his head at her. “I designed a gas chamber for North Korea once.” He didn’t sound proud of the fact, but he still met her eyes without blinking.

Betsy winced. If he had meant to shock her, it had worked.

Lucy said, “So will a gas mask work?”

“Not with CO,” Cao said. “It absorbs all available oxygen, and with a mask you’re filtering and breathing in the stuff that comes out of your car’s tailpipe, but more deadly.”

Tommy spoke up. “You can use a portable oxygen mask. That’ll keep you alive until you can get to an oxygen source.”

Their conversation drifted into a heavy silence that mixed with the sound of the breaking waves outside the door.

Lucy stared at the glowing schematic on the screen. It radiated with an eerie liquid blue glow. Was she looking at the blueprint of her own coffin?

Pincer Industries, Cape Town, South Africa

Nolan Taylor drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. What was taking so long? He had arrived promptly, not a minute before or after, twelve hundred hours. He lifted the heavily starched French cuff of his white shirt and read his watch: 12:10. Was punctuality too much to ask?

The hum of a computer on the sleek modern desk across the room began to irritate him. He looked at the webcam turned in his direction. Was he being observed? Nervous energy got the better of him and he stood and walked over to the windows that ran floor to ceiling in the high-rise office, out of the webcam’s sight.

From his fifteenth-story view, the vast microcosm of humanity that was the metropolis of Cape Town spread out before him. Cape Town had evolved from a refueling outpost for Dutch ships in the sixteen hundreds to what it was today, a diverse city with 2.9 million people, one of the busiest shipping corridors in the world. This made it a perfect place for smugglers and terrorists.

He could see the N1 Freeway curving around the fringes. White beaches and blue water met the Atlantic seaboard side of Camps Bay and Bantry Bay. Along the waterfront were the old Dutch docks that had been converted into Victoria and Alfred Waterfront, a tourist’s dream of shops, bars and cinemas. Part of this area, the Sea Point Promenade, included the Muslim district and the notorious “red light” district. He’d tracked down terrorists in the Muslim district before.

High-rises stacked the city proper like building blocks. Down the street from Pincer Industries, the historical yellow sandstone walls of City Hall gleamed in the sunlight. Farther on the Botanical Gardens formed a lake of green. Table Mountain towered in the background over the whole seaside city, its plateau looking just like the natural UFO landing pad in Close Encounters of the Third Kind with a few extra hills on either side.

His gaze moved southeast of the city to Cape Flats, where its white beaches looked pleasantly beautiful, innocuous enough from this distance. His brows furrowed as he remembered what he’d left there only two hours ago.

A side door to the office opened. He straightened his tie, then turned to face the CEO of Pincer Industries.

Downtown Cape Town

Lucy drove a rented Corolla down St. John’s Street. She had rented six vehicles for the stay in Cape Town: the Corolla, three Jeeps and two vans, all at different rental places, all fees paid with cash, and all under assumed names. She tugged at the short black bangs of a wig, making sure her auburn eyebrows were covered. Cao had her disguised with a Roman nose, black glasses, and sideburns. She’d wrapped her breasts so they wouldn’t show beneath the male pin-stripped suit she wore. She was just tall and muscular enough to pull it off, with the help of shoulder pads. How did men get used to all these layers of tight clothing?

She glanced in the rearview mirror. The white van carrying the rest of the team cruised several car lengths behind her. It reassured her, but it didn’t stop the adrenaline strumming her veins.

She neared the target, Plus Suisse Worldwide Depository, a monolith of steel and glass that shadowed half a block.

She approached the cement-lined ramp to the underground parking deck and slowed. “Okay, going in,” she spoke into the bone mic.

“Passing you,” Tommy said as the van eased past her.

“Turning.”

Cao, Betsy and Tommy all wished her luck, and she heard the worry in their voices. Tommy pulled the van into an alley across the street, next to a sleek modern law office. Cao slid a tiny portable dish onto the roof.

She paused before the electronic podium and gate. An LCD screen spewed out directions in Afrikaans, French, Dutch, German, English, Xhosa, Zulu, Sesotho, Setswana, Muslim, Hindu…and the languages kept rolling.

She spoke more than ten languages, a necessity from having lived in many impoverished Asian and African provinces with her mother, so she had already pulled out the mini modem.

“Okay, in we go.” She slid it in. It fit perfectly. No alarm went off. Always good.

Would it work? Her faith in Cao had never wavered until this moment. She counted the seconds by the steady pulse in her temple.

Waited. Held her breath.