Authors: Dakota Banks
Deliverance (6 page)
T
he next day Maliha attended Abiyram’s funeral. The Mossad had photographed his body and removed the bullet for their investigation, then released his body for burial. In accordance with Jewish custom, he wasn’t embalmed. There was no viewing, and his body was wrapped in a shroud inside a plain wooden coffin. His body was in the ground fifteen hours after his death.
Later Maliha investigated the top floor of the building where the sniper’s shot originated. She found several scratches on the windowsill. An experienced sniper left no trace—the scratches indicated that the rifle had been moved around, as if the shooter was hesitant.
An experienced sniper like Jake wouldn’t hesitate
, she couldn’t help thinking.
Is this proof enough that he wasn’t here?
I
n the aftermath, she found that Abiyram had changed his will to include her, since she came back into his life. Anything in his apartment related to the intelligence business was hauled away by the government, as expected. Abiyram’s money went to his brother. What was left, the personal accumulations of a brilliant, worldly, and well-traveled man, belonged to Maliha. Unable to stay in his apartment to sort and appreciate her newly acquired treasures, she had everything packed and sent home to Chicago on her jet.
Reeling with the notion that she was a destructive force ripping through the lives of others, she wondered if this might be a good time to break up her team. They all had had lives of their own before they aligned their goals with hers. Maybe it was just too dangerous. In a short period, she’d had to deal with the loss of two old friends, Arnie and the Israeli. Although Arnie’s death wasn’t a certainty, she didn’t hold out much hope for finding him alive.
Why not turn them loose? None of them need me to survive. We’re friends, but time and distance could take care of that. Maybe it’s time for my cover identity to meet an unfortunate death or just vanish. Bye-bye, Marsha Winters.
Maliha had gone through numerous reinventions in her long life. She couldn’t remain in the same identity and stay young while others around her aged. So periodically, she would have to move on and establish a new life, usually by moving to a different country. Setting her new life up well took a year or two of planning, but in the meantime, she could live in isolation on the island she’d inherited from Lucius. Unfortunately, the first time she’d visited there was after he’d kidnapped her in an attempt to gain her trust, but they’d smoothed that over after she’d broken his neck.
And Rabishu’s offer for her to return to being an Ageless assassin was still open.
No emotional attachments. No tragedies. No concern about friends, because I wouldn’t have any. No more pain, because of instant healing. Immortality. Sounds like a damn good package.
She’d told Yanmeng she’d never do it, though, and he’d called her worthy. Balanced against all the temptation, Yanmeng’s respect was enough to hold her back.
I will stay rogue. There’s more to this than balancing my scales and regaining my soul. Only a rogue has the motivation and skills to retrieve the shards and kill the demons. Without my commitment, how long will the Earth have to wait before there’s another rogue stupid enough to try?
She decided to call Amaro for an update. He didn’t answer his phone, so she tried Hound, using an encrypted line.
“Hey, Hound,” she said. “Do you know why Amaro isn’t answering his phone?”
“Yeah. He’s on a cruise. Took along some dancer he met name of Trixy, with a y. I told him he’d have to have a pole installed in his cabin, and last I heard he was considering it.”
“Oh. So he probably hasn’t left his cabin, yet.”
“If you really need to talk to him, I can get him on the ship’s radio, but I wouldn’t recommend it. Don’t send him an email either, unless it’s encrypted. Shipboard Internet security sucks, or so he tells me.”
“He just told you that to keep you from bothering him.”
“I’d go for that. Listen, it looks like the whole incident is blowing over.”
“I’ve been searching for news. Seems like the police have egg on their face and they’re not going to pursue it anymore. They’ve got two thugs to put in jail, so they’ll make do with that. But I’ve got something to tell you.”
She filled him in on her stay in Tel Aviv, leaving out everything she’d learned about Jake. She hadn’t processed the information enough to feel like sharing it with anyone, even Hound. He was shocked to hear that Abiyram was dead.
“I’m really sorry to hear that. Are you sure the bullet wasn’t meant for you?”
“We were sitting four feet apart. A sniper wouldn’t miss by four feet.”
“Wasn’t he the guy you were going to bring onto the team?”
“Yes, but I never had a chance to confirm it. Hound, do you . . . do you think maybe we should all go our separate ways? Make this scattering permanent?”
“What the fuck for? ’Cause I tried to get into your pants again?”
“Oh, please. There are bigger issues here.”
“I don’t know. You didn’t see what you turned down.”
“Smart ass. I’m serious.”
“I’ve yet to hear a reason.”
“You know the reason. Danger. It’s my job to deal with whatever I stir up, but I’ve involved you guys too long. You and Glass are getting married, starting a life together.”
“Yeah? Where’d you hear that?”
Maliha bit her lip before responding. “It might have something to do with the engagement ring she’s wearing. The ring you gave her.”
“Technically you gave me the diamond, so I wasn’t acting of my own free will.”
“Would you please just shut up, you exasperating man! You’re getting married, Yanmeng is getting older, and Amaro will get married . . . eventually.”
Jake and I . . .
“Amaro is already married—to the Holy Motherboard. And if Yanmeng heard you call him old, he’d wipe the floor with you.”
“Not a chance!” Maliha paused. She was falling into Hound’s verbal trap, allowing him to lead her away from the main point.
“Okay, seriously. I have no intention of cutting off my work with you. I believe in what you’re doing. You’ll have to do a better vanishing act than you did in the alley to leave me behind, and then I’d spend the rest of my life looking for you. Besides, I couldn’t live like this if I wasn’t in your condo.”
“You’re where?”
“I hid out in a dump of a motel out in the suburbs. They had a sign that said ‘No Bedbugs, No Crabs,’ and they were halfway right. I slept in my rental car. Have you ever considered with the prevalence of nasty critters in even respectable hotels lately that rental cars . . .”
“You’re in my condo.”
“I figured if there were going to be any repercussions it would happen fast, at the speed of YouTube. I stayed at the bedbug paradise a whole four days before crawling back. Don’t take that too literally.”
“Since you’re there, you should know that a shipment of around fifteen boxes will be arriving. Please accept them and put them in the living room.”
“Are you mad at me?”
How can I be mad at someone who just pledged loyalty like that?
She examined her feelings and found that she felt more light spirited than she had in a while.
“No . . .”
“Sorry about your friend,” he said.
“Uh-huh.”
“Hey, Amaro sent me something on the key before he took off. He said it’s from a resort in Greece.”
“That makes sense. It would be near the island Lucius owned. How did Amaro know that?”
“Microengraving on the inner surface of the hole where you’d attach a key ring. It’s the resort’s logo. It’s their way of making sure no one duplicates the key.”
“This must be some ritzy place.”
“Caters to the ultra-wealthy. They must have an expensive spa or something.”
“You wouldn’t believe the cost of some massages. Wait a minute—Amaro got all of this from a picture of the key?”
“Um, we have a 3D digital camera and some software that lets him view the image from different angles.”
“Oh. Why doesn’t anybody tell me things? What’s the name of the club?”
“The Royal Dawn Hotel on Crete.”
“Hound . . . thank you.”
“Aw, shucks. Maybe you won’t say that next month when the credit-card bill comes in.” He hung up before she could respond.
Maliha had an American Express Platinum account with cards for her team members. She’d recently switched to the black card for herself, partly because she liked the official name of it: Centurion, the rank Lucius had held in the Roman army.
Well, I guess Hound is having a good time in Chicago.
E
lizabeth almost snorted at the pathetic conversation, but caught herself in time. She was talking to Fred, and he was giving her suggestions on how to, as he put it, “secure the assassin.”
Stay out of what you don’t know, asshole.
She was relaxing in her bathtub, talking on a speakerphone. Fred had wanted a video connection, but she’d refused. She wasn’t about to let him invade the privacy of her home, at least not yet. Both of them wanted to be making the decisions, so Elizabeth had to carve out her territory. She’d held off his sexual advances so far, but she knew that eventually she’d have to give in.
When I say so.
“I appreciate your suggestions, Fred, but I have a plan that’s already in the works.”
“You’re not a very good communicator. I need updates on this project daily.”
Project—he calls planning assassinations a project? I wonder if he’s ever gotten his hands dirty.
She dipped her hand in the bathwater, rose-scented and pale red, and dripped some between her breasts. She was in a slipper tub, a claw-foot tub with one end raised and sloped for support for her back. The tub was located in a room adjoining her master bedroom, on the second floor of a redbrick home in Wildwood, in northwest Chicago. It was a family neighborhood, filled with trees, meandering streets, and parks, and it was adjacent to the Bunker Hill Forest Preserve. The bicycle trail, prairie, and woods of the preserve would have been convenient hunting grounds, but Elizabeth had learned her lesson about soiling her nest.
“What if nothing happens on a particular day? You expect me to call you and say nothing happened?”
“Sarcasm doesn’t wear well on your pretty face. Tell me your plan.”
She slid down into the tub until the water was neck-high.
“I should have an update on that for you soon.” She ended the call smiling. She liked keeping him on edge and pissed off at her.
The bathwater was getting a bit cool. She waved over her bath servant, a seventeen-year-old runaway.
“Run some hot water.”
“Yes, Lady.” The girl ran enough to warm the tub and went back to her position kneeling near the door. As she walked away, Elizabeth could see blood striping the back of her thin dress. The girl—
what was her name? Debbie? Deidre?
—had been whipped earlier in the day. She hadn’t done anything wrong. It was just her turn. Elizabeth needed to keep her servants in line so they knew that their situation was hopeless.
Hanging above the bathtub, upside down, was a naked girl whose pitiful body showed whip marks, bruises, and broken bones. Her throat and wrists had been slit, and her blood drained into the tub. Elizabeth lifted her right foot out of the water and let the blood drip between her toes.
Ashley didn’t do anything wrong. It was just her turn.
M
aliha flew into Heraklion International Airport, the largest one on the island of Crete. The Royal Dawn Hotel, built into a rugged hillside on the eastern coast, was pleased to welcome internationally best-selling author Marsha Winters, including the expansive gesture of sending a car to pick her up at the airport. Maliha had been there several times before, and once had rented a villa for six months to soak up the Mediterranean sun and Cretan hospitality.
In December, there were fewer tourists, and the eastern coast of Crete was not as well developed for travelers. That might have had something to do with the hotel’s expansive welcome of her. Maliha used the hotel’s priciest accommodations and its restaurants, shops, spa, personal trainer, and concierge service often, and tipped well.
“Welcome, Ms. Winters! We are delighted to see you again,” the manager said. He’d met her at the front desk. Mr. Eliades was about fifty, angular, had a moustache that looked as though it had been dipped in olive oil, and darkly tanned skin. He always wore a black suit, a white shirt with an open collar, and monogrammed cufflinks. His eyes came up to Maliha’s chin, and he had either an affectation or a nervous tremor that made him look like a bobblehead.
Never did like this suck-up. He strikes me as the kind of guy who’d rifle through the guests’ underwear drawers while they were at the pool.
“You haven’t mentioned how long you’ll be staying with us,” he said.
“Let’s start with a week and see how things go from there.”
“Certainly, certainly. If you don’t mind my saying, it doesn’t seem like you’ve brought enough luggage for a week. Are you expecting more to arrive?”
Maliha had only a garment bag and her metal case full of sharps. “I plan on picking up some new items at the hotel’s boutiques.”
“Excellent. Will you be coming down for dinner or do you want room service?”
“I’ll call later. Right now, I’d like to wash off the dust of the journey.”
If only sorrow could be swept away so easily.
He tilted his head sideways, like a robin eying a worm, but she kept her face unreadable. He drove her in a golf cart around the paths that cut through the hotel’s dramatic landscaping to spare her the walk to her villa, which was perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the pebbled beach. He left the cart for her convenience, and walked back to the hotel lobby. If he’d known that she planned a cross-country marathon run that night, he would have taken the cart for himself.
Fresh flowers greeted her on a table just inside her door and a bottle of wine with a cheese and fruit basket stood on the counter. It was impressive that the staff had gotten them there before Maliha’s arrival, and it didn’t seem that Mr. Eliades had tried to delay her. Maliha took a shower, wrapped in a luxurious robe, and relaxed with the wine, fruit, and cheese. She had a beautiful view of the sea as the sky darkened and the round moon gradually became visible. The hotel was known for its spectacular sunrises, but Maliha always found the descent into night intriguing.
Lucius was here at this hotel, maybe in this very room.
She was hungry and could have devoured the entire contents of the basket, but she needed to eat dinner later, so she set aside the food. Dressing casually, she drove the cart to the hotel’s shopping area. Two hours later, she’d made several clothing, shoe, and jewelry salespeople very happy, and followed that with getting her hair, nails, and makeup done. She hadn’t felt so decadent since she was on the arm of royalty at a state dinner.
I could live like this. It’s fun getting pampered here, and there are places I’d love to revisit. Dissolve the team, no matter what Hound says, take a new identity, and travel the world. They might find me, but I just wouldn’t let them back into my life. After all, I was saving lives before I had a team, and I could do it again.
Maliha changed in the dressing room of a shop where she’d made a large purchase, while the attendants fussed over her as though she was Cinderella going to meet her Prince Charming. The dress was red and low cut, front and back, to show off her assets. Resting just above her breasts was a diamond pendant that would give a cat burglar a heart attack, and an inch-and-a-half wide diamond cuff circled her wrist. She had the rest of her purchases boxed and sent to her villa. When she went to pay for her purchases, she found that her jewelry was already paid for—a gift from Jake.
Very thoughtful. He’s keeping tabs on me.
She couldn’t help thinking about the red laser sight appearing on Abiyram’s forehead.
Her final preparation was to put on a dead woman’s fingerprints.
Maliha had a large supply of prints from a time before they were widely used for identification. She’d foreseen the use and had been collecting fingerprints from unclaimed corpses starting about eighty years ago. Amaro used them to set up her fake identities, and she had them made into “skins,” thin sheaths that covered her fingertips. They were very responsive to body heat, and in a minute were smooth, undetectable, and sealed to her skin.
Maliha went to the dining room. It was a large space with tables around a dance floor, and a glass dome over all. She scanned the room quickly.
He’s not here.
The maître d’ approached. She requested a table for two. Heads turned as she made her way to the table. Fifteen minutes later, a waiter led Amaro to her table.
“About time,” she said, after the waiter left.
“Do you have any idea how much a fucking tuxedo costs in this place? You better have a damn good reason for pulling me off that cruise.”
“You’re the only one who could do this with me.”
“Is that like I’m the only ship in the quadrant or something?” His voice was starting to get loud.
“Shush. Yanmeng’s off somewhere meditating, and Hound can’t dance. Not on this dance floor, anyway, because he only dances naked.”
Amaro rolled his eyes. “Too much information. So Yanmeng’s daydreams are more important than my cruise?”
“Some cruise. It was a sex romp.”
“We had ports of call with archaeological interest. It was educational.”
“I’ll bet it was. Did you have the pole installed in your cabin?”
He crossed his arms and looked petulant. “No. And Hound shouldn’t have said that. That was guy talk.”
“We shouldn’t be looking like we’re having an argument. We’re supposed to be a romantic couple.”
Amaro forced a smile on his face, leaned forward, and took her hand in his.
“Is this better? What’s the mission?”
“We’re retrieving a shard. It’s in the hotel’s safe.”
Amaro’s eyes lit up. “Robbery?”
Maliha shook her head, and then blew him a kiss.
“Mayhem at least?”
“I hope not. I’m planning to use good old deception. But if things go wrong, you may get your mayhem.”
“I’ve never been on a field op before. I’m always at home base working on a computer.”
“That’s another reason you’re here. In case of mayhem, I’ll need you to destroy some computer records.”
She explained her plan and the two made a show of flirting while eating a fine dinner. They danced a few slow dances under the dome that showed a velvety black sky with stars scattered by an otherworldly hand. They left, his arm around her waist, and headed for the hotel’s front desk. Everything she had planned led up to this moment.
Mr. Eliades was behind the counter talking to the night clerk.
Doesn’t he ever sleep?
“How may I be of service, Ms. Winters?”
“I’d like to put my jewelry in the hotel safe. Sweetie, do you mind waiting a few minutes?” she said to Amaro.
“Each guest area is equipped with a locking safe.”
“Into which I will put my pocket change. The hotel safe, please.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll have to get a key made for you.”
She had been counting on his cooperation, and he came through. He took Maliha into a small room where she had her fingerprint scanned and her photo taken. A few minutes later, a guard handed her a key, then gave her a slip of paper with her safe box number on it. She memorized it and he threw the paper into a shredder.
“No one else can use this except you. Let’s go try it out.” They went to the vault room, where there was an armed guard posted.
“I’m impressed with the security here,” Maliha said. Mr. Eliades beamed.
I hope I don’t have to kill him. He may be a creep, but he’s been a useful creep.
She inserted the new key into a slot near the door and pressed her finger on the pad. Up popped her photo and a positive identification. The guard swung open the thick vault door.
I’m in.
She considered the situation for the worst-case scenario. She’d have to take out the armed guard first. Mr. Eliades was next. Last, she’d have to go back to the room where her key was made and kill the guard while Amaro removed her information from the hotel’s computer.
Three possible deaths for this one shard. Deaths of people who aren’t killers. Wonder what Anu would think of that, if it all goes wrong.
Amaro remained by the door, talking to the guard and Mr. Eliades. He was creative with small talk, and kept their attention focused.
Maliha removed Lucius’s key from her handbag. The box number was encrypted in the microengraving, but Amaro had deciphered it. She went to that box and opened it with Lucius’s key. Inside were a letter and a diamond shard. She tucked the letter into her bag, but stared in dismay at the shard. It was roughly rectangular, about two inches by twelve inches. There was no way it was going to fit into her small evening bag. It was also a shock because it meant that the lens was bigger than she thought. From the pieces she’d already retrieved, she thought it was about seven inches in diameter.
There must be some whopper pieces out there. Makes sense, since the Tablet of the Overlord is a foot high. I had this shard in my hands once before, but didn’t remember the size. Too busy trying to get out of the sucking sand pool.
Like the other shards, this one was a quarter of an inch thick. It had a glossy surface and underneath there were thousands of facets reflecting light, as though it had been carved from the inside.
“Sweetie, would you come over here? I could use your help.”
Amaro excused himself and came into the vault, blocking the view from the doorway with his body. She pointed at the shard and he saw the problem right away. He picked it up, tucked it under his vest, and slid it into an area covered by the jacket. Maliha quietly pushed the box closed and removed the key.
Then they moved a few steps away and inserted Maliha’s key in her numbered safe box. Amaro unfastened the diamond pendant and bracelet Maliha was wearing and put them in the box. The two men near the vault door were now watching.
“Your selection of jewelry shows a perceptive eye, Ms. Winters. The shopkeeper asked me to convey his appreciation of your taste,” Mr. Eliades said.
“Thank you. These pieces are already among my favorites.”
She and Amaro walked out together, Amaro with a little less grace than usual, one arm pinned to his side.
Amazing. Body count 0.