Choke Point (34 page)

Saturday, 14 July 23:14:38 GMT +0800

Simon had two oddly discouraging thoughts as the black inflatable slid silently into view: that his insurance plan would never succeed against two men, and only a fool would put a gun in the hands of James Atherton. To survive, one problem would have to cancel out the other.

As the boat scraped along the bottom, Atherton stepped into the water, a small automatic leveled at Kyra’s chest, his eyes on Simon. “I finally figured you out, Leonidovich. Point one way, go the other.”

The man with the shaved head, a small Uzi hanging below his right arm, grabbed the tow line and began pulling the boat out of the water. “Cut the bloody chitchat. We need to do this quick, before the others get back.”

Atherton smiled, a cat-like smirk. “Before the others get back? Now why would you say that, Mawl? They’re your men.”

Mawl realized he had made a mistake, it was written in the sudden stillness of his eyes, but he tried to bluff his way past it. “I only meant—” He turned and bent forward, as if to stake the boat, his hand moving toward the Uzi. “—we should—”

But Atherton wasn’t fooled and he didn’t hesitate—
BANG-BANG-BANG,
firing so fast it sounded like one loud eruption—blowing away half the man’s head before his hand reached the Uzi. He pitched forward into the sand, his body folding up like a discarded suit of clothes. Even before the sound echoed away, Atherton had his gun back on Kyra. “I was on the pistol team in college.” Then he laughed, a kind of mirthless bark. “I may have forgotten to mention that when he gave me the gun.”

She glared at him. “Apparently you forgot to mention a lot of things.”

“Well, hello-o-o, sweetheart. Found your tongue, did you?”

“Fuck you.”

Atherton grinned, an expression of detached pleasure. “You should have. We could have had everything. The whole enchilada. Now look where you are.” He flicked the barrel of his automatic toward Simon. “You and the loser. Oh, well…” He shrugged and glanced over his shoulder, a quick scan of the dark water. “But the late Mr. Mawl was right about one thing, we do need to hurry. Where’s the crest?”

“We don’t have it,” Kyra answered, her response a little too quick. “We lost it in the water.”

“Really?” Atherton shifted his focus to Simon. “Now why don’t I believe that?”

“It’s true,” Simon answered, knowing the man would never believe him. “We don’t have it.”

“Now there you go again, saying one thing, meaning another. Of course you don’t have it. I can see that. But did you lose it?”

“Yes,” Kyra snapped. “That’s what I said.”

Atherton never took his eyes off Simon. “Okay, I don’t have much time, so we’ll just have to do this the quick and dirty way. On the count of three, she dies. It’s up to you, Boy Scout. One! You know I’ll do it. Two!”

Yes, Simon realized, the bastard would do it without a moment’s hesitation; he had enjoyed the first experience too much. “Okay, you win. I’ll take you to it.”

“No, Simon! Don’t do it. He’s going to kill us anyway.”

Atherton smiled at her in an understanding sort of way. “That’s just not true, Kyra. All I want is that piece of broken rock.”

“Tell that to your friend with no face!”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Mawl wanted the same thing,” Atherton responded, his tone indifferent. “But I have no reason to hurt you or Simon. No reason at all.”

“I believe him,” Simon said, trying hard to sound sincere. “Killing the daughter of Big Jake Rynerson would attract too much attention.” He gave Atherton a disgusted look. “Our Jimmy boy is too smart for that.”

“That’s right, Boy Scout, and I’m smart enough to know when you’re stalling for time. Now where is it?”

“Please, Simon, don’t do it. He’s crazy.”

“It’ll be okay,” Simon answered, trying to send her a signal without making it obvious. “He’s not going to hurt us if we do what he wants.” He turned back to Atherton. “It’s up the coast a ways. Follow me.” Something he knew the man would never do—not in the dark.

Atherton turned his head, listening hard to the distant drone of the Zodiac. “I don’t think so.” Keeping his automatic leveled on Kyra, he crouched down, unclipped the cell phone from Mawl’s belt, and picked up the Uzi. “I’ll give you five minutes.” He glanced at the watch. “If you’re not back by—”

“I’ll be back,” Simon interrupted, “but it will take at least fifteen minutes.” Kyra stared at him, knowing it shouldn’t take half that time.

“Five minutes,” Atherton snapped. “I suggest you run.”

Simon didn’t move. The man was clearly growing impatient, and impatience led to bad decisions. “Five minutes isn’t long enough. Not on foot. It might be possible if we—” He purposely said
we,
knowing Atherton would resist any suggestion. “—took one of the boats.”

Atherton hesitated, his expression going from wary to appraising. Simon silently held his ground, letting the pressure of time wear on the man. “Five minutes,” Atherton repeated. “I don’t give a fuck
how
you do it.”

“I’ll take this one,” Simon said, moving toward the boat still partially in the water. “It’s warmed up.” He reached down, yanked the tow line out of Mawl’s lifeless hand, and pushed off.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Atherton warned, “and we can all walk away from this little adventure.”

Though he didn’t have a watch, Simon doubted if it took him more than three or four minutes to retrieve the crest and start back, but he knew that was the easy part—that things were about to get hairy. As he came around the last outcropping of rocks, he could see the two of them silhouetted against the sand, Atherton now standing behind Kyra, using her as a shield. Before he got too close, Simon adjusted his course to a spot about thirty feet offshore, then cut the engine and slipped over the side. Using the crest’s Frisbee-sized container to maintain direction, he wrapped his broken arm around the prop shaft, and ducked as low as he could behind the engine.

“Don’t start playing games,” Atherton yelled. “I can see you, Leonidovich, and you know I’m a very good shot.”

Simon held up the crest, the golden sunburst clearly visible in the moonlight, letting the man see the prize. “You shoot me, you lose this.”

Atherton placed the tip of his automatic below Kyra’s ear. “I’m going to start counting, and if—”

“Cut the bullshit,” Simon shouted back. “You want this crest, you’ll have to do better than count.”

“I’m not kidding!”

“You think I am?

“One!”

“You kill her, you think I’m going to give you the crest?”

“Two!”

Kyra closed her eyes, the moonlight pale against her face, and Simon hoped to hell he wasn’t making a mistake. “You told me the first step in any negotiation was to determine what the other person wanted.”

“I’m not negotiating.”

“Then you lose, because when you say ‘three,’ I’m dropping this thing in the ocean. Is that what you call a ‘successful end result’—no one ends up with anything? Sounds like lose-lose to me.”

Atherton hesitated, a man sifting through his choices, looking for the best one, then apparently gave up. “What is it you want?”

“You know what I want. Release her.”

“I will. Put the crest in the boat and shove it over.”

“That’s not going to happen, Jim. I’ll trust you with my life, not hers. You release her and you can have the damn thing. You have my word.”

“I’m going to start counting, Leonidovich!”

“Don’t try and play the stupid card, Jim. It doesn’t work for you. I’m making you a good offer and you know it. You get me, you get the crest. I heard you say it, ‘you’ve got to give up something to get something.’” Actually, he didn’t remember Atherton saying anything of the kind, but it sounded reasonable. “And I suggest you make up your mind…I don’t think your new friends are going to be too happy about what you did to their boss.”

Atherton smiled awkwardly, the expression of someone feeling outmaneuvered but having to act like it was all for the best. “Sure, let’s do it that way.” He pulled the gun away from Kyra’s head, then carefully leveled it on Simon before releasing her.

“Go on!” Simon shouted. “Get out of here.”

She hesitated, their eyes making a brief connection, then she turned and sprinted into the trees.

Atherton steadied the gun with his free hand. “Come on, come on! You got what you wanted.”

“Don’t get trigger happy,” Simon warned, holding the crest above the boat where Atherton could see it. “You hit me…
or the boat
—” He emphasized the words, making sure Atherton got the picture. “You’ll lose the crest.”

“Just bring it here.”

“Hang on, I said you could have it.” He began to rotate the boat around, making a production of it and filling his lungs with air. As the bow came about, shielding his body, he dropped the crest into the boat and slid beneath the surface. Muffled by the water, he barely heard the eruption, but realized it was only a shriek of anger, the man not daring to fire with the boat between them.

Ignoring the pain in his arm, Simon began to kick and stroke his way into deeper water, not surfacing until it felt like every capillary in his lungs would explode. He grabbed a quick breath and dove again, moving to his right with the current. When he surfaced again, he grabbed a quick look around, surprised to find that he wasn’t more than fifty feet from shore. Atherton had already retrieved the boat and was pulling it onto the beach. He reached inside, grabbed the container and snapped it open. Though too distant to read his expression, Simon could well imagine the triumphant smile.

As if hearing the thought, Atherton looked up, scanning the surface of the water. “I know you’re out there, Leonidovich! Nice move! Unfortunately, you’re not going to live long enough to enjoy it.” He stepped back and fired three shots into the inflatable. Then he laughed, the sound high and maniacal. “I’m only sorry I won’t be here to see what they do to you.”

C
HAPTER
F
ORTY-ONE

An Island in the South China Sea

Saturday, 14 July 23:34:16 GMT +0800

By the time Simon reached shore, his arms and legs had gone numb with fatigue. “You realize this is the second time I’ve had to crawl onto this beach?”

Kyra squatted and ducked her head beneath his arm, trying to pull him up. “Come on, Leonidovich, we need to get out of here.”

“Give me a break, Rynerson, I just saved your puny butt.”

“For which you shall be thanked and rewarded for the rest of my life.”

Thanked and rewarded
—that didn’t sound too painful.

“Which won’t be very long, if we don’t get moving!”

Though his legs felt like Silly Putty, he finally managed to get his feet under him and stand. “Just give me a couple minutes. I need to catch my breath.”

“I’m not sure we have minutes.” She pulled him around, pointing toward a bouncing speck of light, the sound of the Zodiac’s huge engine reverberating over the water. “Once we’re in the trees we’ll be okay.”

He felt two rubbery legs short of
okay.
“You go. We stand a better chance if we split up.”

“Don’t give me that crap, Leonidovich. You mean
me,
not
we!
We’re a team, remember? Muscle and brains. Giddyup, cowboy. Let’s go!”

A disembodied voice put an end to the debate. “Brick! Come in!”

For one heart-stopping moment neither one of them moved, their feet cemented to the sand, then the tiny radio on Mawl’s belt gave a beep, and they realized where the voice had come from. “That was Robbie,” Kyra whispered, as if he might hear her.

Simon stared at the light, which now hung steady over the dark water, the sound of engine reduced to a low idling rumble, and realized they had stopped to use the radio. And he realized something else, it was right there, as clear as Mawl’s body lying in the sand: the cat-and-mouse game was over, or it should be, there was nothing in it for mercenary soldiers without a leader. “Give me that damn thing.”

“What?”

“I’ve got an idea.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “You sure?”

Beep.
“Brick! Come in!”
Beep.

“Rynerson, if we’re going to be a team, you need to get past this questioning every one of my little life-and-death decisions.”

She hesitated, then dropped his arm, ran to Mawl’s body, pulled the radio off his belt, and rushed back. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

Don’t we all.
He pressed the
TALK
button, trying to sound almost giddy with confidence. “Hello-o-o, Rob-bie.”

There was a long pause before Robbie answered, his voice tentative and muted, as if filtered through cotton.
Beep.
“Mr. Leonidovich?”
Beep.

“You got it, Robbie boy.”

Another long silence.
Beep.
“Where’s…where did you get that radio, Mr. Leonidovich?”
Beep.

Kyra smiled and shook her head, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You gotta admit, that boy sure is polite.”

“Sure is.”

“Now what?”

“Now I give him the bad news.” He pressed the
TALK
button. “Sorry to break it to you like this, Robbie boy, but James Atherton just killed your boss and took off in one of those small inflatables.”

Beep.
“That’s a bloody lie!”
Beep.

“Oh, it’s true, Robbie. How else would I have gotten his radio? Not to mention his machine gun and his cell phone.” He released the button. “That should make them think twice before storming the beach.”

Kyra nodded. “Remind me not to play poker with you.”

Beep.
“You’re full of blarney! You snatched the radio! We ain’t stupid!”
Beep.

“You may not be stupid, Robbie, but you’re damn lucky.”

Beep.
“Lucky?”
Beep.

“Atherton tried to kill all of you. He put something in your food.”