Black Ops 03 - Deadly Games (14 page)

Yeah, well, that was before some asshole backed into Harry’s car, right in front of the freaking hospital, leaving Rocco free to speed off, oblivious to his would-be tail.

The accident had caused little damage to Harry’s rental car, but the swapping of his fake driver information had taken long enough to allow Rocco to catch up with Edguardo and Gena.

After fleeing Sugar Springs, Edguardo had bonfired the stolen black truck, a fast way to destroy trace evidence. As it turned out, the cops had nothing but a handful of conflicting accounts about a gun being fired from a truck. No one got a good description of Edguardo and the license plates had come back stolen.

None of the eyewitnesses had even mentioned Rocco’s vehicle. And while one person claimed they saw a blond woman in the black truck, there were no reports of a missing person, so the cops hadn’t even realized Gena Armstrong had been involved.

Harry still wasn’t buying the story that Gena had jumped from a moving vehicle. He knew her too damn well. Sober, she was vain with a capital
V
. So even if she’d managed to scrape up enough courage to jump, ultimately she’d have worried more about the potential damage to her face and chickened out.

Now had she been drunk …

Most likely she’d fallen out of the truck. He didn’t care what Edguardo said, the door must not have been shut all the way. At least Rocco or another driver hadn’t run the bitch over when she’d hit the pavement.

That Rocco now had Gena in his possession wasn’t the absolute worst-case scenario, though it wasn’t ideal. Harry still had a couple of cards to play.

Finding out where Rocco had stashed Gena was job one. The private plane that had ferried Rocco to Sugar Springs had flown back to D.C. without passengers. Harry hoped that meant Rocco had picked a safe house in Texas. The Agency used a lot of third-party contractors for security, which made it easier to circumvent.

Harry was also waiting to learn where Rocco’s sister and her kid were staying. Snatching one of them was not Harry’s first or second choice, but if he ran out of other options …

He slowed, turning off the highway. A few minutes later he pulled up beside the Winnebago he’d left parked at an RV station near Brownsville.

Inside, he booted up his laptop while microwav-ing a frozen dinner he’d grabbed at a convenience store. Then he brewed a pot of coffee. It was going to be a long night. By the time Harry had wolfed down the food and poured coffee, his laptop completed its security protocols. A slow process to be sure, but necessary.

He opened a browser and began retrieving e-mail from various sources. There wasn’t much.

The Rialto cartel wanted a progress report, which was a subtle way of saying, “Hurry, we’re waiting.”

“Well, you’re just going to have to keep waiting,” Harry muttered as he typed a reply that was equally subtle and vague. Wrapping up details now. Hope to have final timeline in 72 hours.

Reading it reminded him of the stakes. Damn it! He needed to make contact with Rufin.

His cell phone rang with the special ringtone he’d assigned to his CIA mole Ian Brown.
The traitor
.

“Have you found them?” Harry asked.

“No. Rocco hasn’t called in or contacted any of the Agency resources for a safe house.”

“Are you monitoring all his known aliases?”

“Absolutely. But no hits.”

“I expected as much,” Harry said. Rocco had a knack for keeping a ready supply of secret IDs. “I take it you’ve had nothing on Gena’s IDs then, either.”

“I even tapped her health insurance records, but either she wasn’t hurt badly enough to need medical attention or she’s using an alias, too.”

“What about Rufin? Any headway in tracking his location?”

“None. Though an opportunity might open if they catch this Taz character. Max Duncan’s fiancée, Dr. Houston, seems confident that Max is closing in on Taz. If Rufin is truly the only one who can retrieve those data chips, then perhaps we need to follow Taz once he’s in custody.”

“Maybe I should join the hunt for Taz,” Harry said, only half joking. “We need to watch Dr. Houston more closely as well.”

Ian cleared his throat. “If we could manage to get the research on those chips, would we even need Dr. Rufin? Abe Caldwell seemed certain someone on his staff could replicate the Serum 89 formula from the research notes.”

It bothered Harry that Ian knew so much about Serum 89, a mind-control drug the late Dr. Viktor Zadovsky had invented.

Had Abe Caldwell really confided in Ian to that degree? Or did Ian have access to more data than he let on? True traitors always looked out for themselves first. All the more reason to debrief and unplug Ian as soon as possible.

“Abe Caldwell overestimated his researchers,” Harry said. “There’s only one scientist I know of who could replicate the Serum 89 formula. A man who worked with Viktor Zadovsky in Belarus.”

Harry was bluffing. He damn sure wasn’t going to tell Ian the truth, that even Dr. Rufin had expressed doubt in anyone’s ability to replicate Serum 89. Still,
getting the data from those chips might be all Harry required to manufacture SugarCane.

“Would this person in Belarus be open to a partnership?” Ian was obviously interested.

Harry set the hook. “I’d approach it from a work-for-hire angle. The fewer people to split profits with, the better.”

“Let me see what other sources I can tap to trace Taz.”

You do that,
Harry thought. “Any news on where Rocco’s sister is?”

“She was supposed to be moved but apparently her son has disappeared. No sign of foul play; they think he sneaked away to meet a friend. The kid’s got a cell phone, but he’s keeping it off. The mother was refusing to leave until he returned. She’s also demanding to speak to Rocco but he’s not answering his cell phone either.”

“We can use this.” Harry took a sip of coffee. “Get word to Dante Johnson about Rocco’s nephew disappearing. Mention that Rocco’s sister wants contacts. You can bet your ass Dante knows how to get in touch with Rocco. Then monitor the sister’s cell phone. Rocco will call her.”

Springfield, MA
October 4, 11:00 P.M.

Mission incomplete.

Find Rufin.

“Almost there.” Taz grunted as he withdrew the ice pick from his thigh. The slender metal pick created a neater, smaller wound than a knife. It also preserved his clothing and conserved his ability to self-heal, which had grown erratic.

The best part, though, was that the pain of ramming an ice pick straight to the bone was far more excruciating than simply cutting muscle with a knife. And the more intense the pain, the longer the moments of clarity lasted.

He sheathed the ice pick. Something else to thank Hades for. During one of their recent connections, Hades had reminded him of the tenets of self-administered pain. Short and extreme served better than long and less intense.

Hades had also been ready to help when Taz began experiencing brief but powerful bursts of hallucinations. Hades had mentally guided him through the process of compartmentalizing.

Break it down.

Prioritize.

Focus on a single task.

It had worked.

But at a price. When Taz allowed his connection to Hades to open fully, he’d given Hades complete access to his thoughts for a short time.

Hades had quickly exploited the opportunity and discovered where Taz and his hostage were holed up. Taz had felt compelled to release the woman as Hades insisted. In the end, Taz had had to trigger a seizure in Hades to forcibly close their portal.

Then a funny thing had happened. In those scrambled seconds while Hades had writhed in pain, Taz had been granted reciprocal access to Hades’ thoughts. That’s when he uncovered the connection between Dr. Erin Houston and Dr. Rufin.

Hades’ concern for Erin had been off the charts.
Mine!
Hades had even established a mind link with the woman, not to exploit or manipulate her thoughts, but to protect.

And during those moments when Hades’ consciousness was battling the seizure, Taz had touched that connection to Erin. To Erin’s thoughts.

She had visited with Dr. Rufin yesterday, in a Washington, D.C. hospital. Rufin had been moved today, to an undisclosed location, while Erin had rushed off to Massachusetts.

Right here.

She was currently inside the building, perusing records. What she hoped to find and why it was so urgent wasn’t clear. Nor did it matter.

Prioritize.

Find Rufin.

From his hidden spot across the street, Taz watched the building. According to the front marquee, it housed a half-dozen medical businesses most of which had the word
research
in their name.

Though foot traffic was low this time of night, Taz still saw a few people he presumed were employees gain entrance by swiping a magnetic card. A security guard had come by twice in the last hour talking on his cell phone while checking doors.

Taz sensed a mental nudge. It was his connection with Hades.

Cautiously, Taz checked it and found Hades was speaking with Erin, by phone.
It’s late, why don’t you call it a night?
Hades said. Erin agreed.
I’ll call you when I reach my hotel room,
she promised.

Taz quickly cut the connection to prevent Hades from sensing his presence. His eavesdropping.

After crossing the street, Taz moved toward the parking lot and hunkered down beside a large panel van. A few minutes later, a woman left the building, striding purposefully toward the parking lot. She had her keys out and headed toward a dark blue Taurus.

Crouching low, Taz shadowed her. Beneath the sodium lights, her red hair took on a burnished cast. He shifted the ice pick in his grip as he moved up behind her.

“Excuse me, Dr. Houston?”

She gasped and turned, clearly startled.

Even though he had accessed Hades’ memories of
this woman several times now, Taz wasn’t prepared for the emotional jolt of actually seeing her. It was more than physical beauty. It’s her eyes, Taz silently acknowledged as he recalled another of Hades’ thoughts about Erin.
Angel eyes
.
So big a man could fall into them.

It was impossible to look at Erin and not feel Hades’ love for her. Which in turn brought forth a memory from Taz’s own past. A hazy reminiscence of Taz’s one true love.

The thought triggered a sharp spike of pain behind Taz’s left eye. Memories of love were forbidden.

Taz quickly refocused his thoughts.

Mission incomplete.

Find Rufin.

Erin tried to back away, but Taz stopped her. Pulling her close, he pressed the tip of the ice pick against her ribs.“No screams. I just want to talk. Pretend like we’re old friends.”

“You’re Taz, right? I’ve seen your photograph,” she said.

He nodded. “I need your help, Erin.”

She relaxed. “We can go inside and talk. It’s more private”

“No. Let’s drive. You won’t be harmed,” he said. “As long as you do as I say.”

Laredo, TX
October 4, 9:15 P.M.

Rocco was parked outside a twenty-four-hour Walmart.

“You sure you’re up to this?” he asked Gena.

“After everything else I’ve faced the last twenty-four hours? I think I can handle Walmart.”

Her bravado didn’t fool him. She had pretended to sleep during the drive, maybe catching an hour of actual rest. The balance of the time had been fitful.

Rocco wished he knew what she was thinking. About Harry? About Lupe?
About him?
Her habit of internalizing her thoughts hadn’t changed.

And badgering her about it would only make it worse. Or so it used to.

Right now, she looked exhausted. Fragile. Yet beneath the surface there lurked a smoldering resentment. Compressed heat and fire. He realized he’d never seen her like this: angry.

“I meant we could wait till morning, if you preferred,” he said.

“Seeing as I have nothing but the clothes on my back”—she motioned to her torn shirt—“and even these don’t look so hot.”

“We’ll speed shop. Grab whatever you need for a couple days. We can get more later, if necessary.”

“You really think we’ll be on the road that long?” she asked.

As long as it takes,
he thought.

The last time he’d talked with Catalina, he’d learned there was nothing new on Maddy, Travis, or Taz. The wait was frustrating for both of them.

“At this point, it’s hard to say.” Rocco shrugged. “I’m hoping something breaks soon.”

“Hoping? Or wishing?” Gena opened her car door and started to climb out.

Rocco exited the car and came around to help, but she waved him off. He watched how slowly she moved and realized some, if not all, of her short-temperedness stemmed from pain.

They had stopped a second time after leaving the drugstore so he could clean and bandage the rest of her cuts and burns. He’d wrapped her sprained wrist and convinced her to let him check her bruised ribs.

There were probably myriad other bruises and scrapes hidden beneath her clothes. When they’d finally pulled over at a diner, she’d picked at her food, eating just enough to have something in her stomach so she could take more ibuprofen.

Rocco touched Gena’s arm as they approached the store’s entrance. She jerked and moved sideways.

“Don’t flinch when I touch you,” he whispered. “We’re supposed to be married. Remember?”

She glared at him over her shoulder, not slowing down. “Maybe we just had an argument.”

Inside the store he grabbed a cart. “Fine. We had an argument. Now I’m apologizing. I was wrong. You were right. Better?”

To his amazement, she smiled. Briefly. It was the first time she’d done so, and Rocco felt … dazzled.

“Your tone was a bit mocking,” she said. “But, I agree. You were wrong. Turn here.” She pointed toward health and beauty.

The shampoo aisle was crowded, so Rocco kept quiet even though something about her response “You were wrong” didn’t sit right.