Option to Kill (Nathan McBride 3) (35 page)

From this location, he had a good view of the receiving bay. It looked to be about forty feet in depth and ran the entire length of the building. A cardboard-baling machine, along with several pallets of wire-bound cardboard, dominated the wall adjoining the showroom floor. The perimeter wall leading out to the loading dock looked similar to that of Marchand’s warehouse. A fire-exit door flanked two roll-up doors for moving furniture into and out of the receiving area. Packing peanuts, plastic wrap, twine, and various other kinds of trash littered the floor. A musty odor hung in the air. Nathan didn’t see a Dumpster but expected to find some kind of trash container near the add-on rooms.

Keeping his SIG level, he advanced to the pallets of baled cardboard and crouched. Tactically, this environment favored the defender, offering multiple places to hide. Psychologically, he held the advantage. If Radio Man was alone, the guy would be acutely aware that he faced a competent and deadly enemy. Putting himself into the guy’s shoes, Nathan believed he’d hide in a location where he could see the entire receiving bay and wait for an opportunity to ambush his opponent.

That’s when he saw it. Pay dirt. A sliver of light emanating from beneath the left-most door of the add-on rooms winked out. Whoever was in there had just turned off the light.

Taking advantage of the situation, Nathan sprinted the length of the receiving bay because the man in the room wouldn’t be able to see his approach until his eyes adjusted to the darkness. In the dim light coming from behind, Nathan saw that the door’s handle was on the right side and angled in that direction. He flattened himself against the perimeter wall of the receiving bay and saw the source of the smell he’d detected earlier — a three-or four-yard Dumpster.

He stopped behind its rectangular form, held perfectly still for a few seconds, and heard nothing.

The door to Radio Man’s hiding place stood ten feet away. If the guy cracked the door, he wouldn’t be able to see Nathan because the door opened inward. In order to see the Dumpster, he would have to open the door fairly wide.

Without knowing how long he had until reinforcements arrived, Nathan needed to act quickly to flush the guy out.

He reached over the Dumpster’s rim and felt for what he needed.

Without making a sound, he slowly approached the door and crouched next to the wall. As best he could see in the near-darkness, the door appeared to be closed, not cracked open. He knew the guy would be feeling a substantial amount of fear at this point. When a man was being hunted, silence, coupled with darkness, was extremely unnerving.

Nathan removed the box of matches from his pocket.

Facing the wall, he lowered himself to the deck and pivoted onto his right hip. In a risky move, he gently placed his SIG on the concrete and struck a match. The sound was damning, but probably not detectable from the other side of the door. He ignited the paper plate he’d grabbed from the Dumpster. Staying on his hip, he kicked the door with all his strength.

It crashed open with a loud
bang
.

Radio Man sprayed the empty doorway with a fully automatic weapon. The sound was deafening. Nathan closed his eyes to preserve his low-light vision. When the maelstrom stopped, he tossed the flaming plate into the room like a Frisbee.

He heard the unmistakable sound of a magazine being ejected. A second later, it clinked on the floor. Nathan grabbed his SIG, gained his feet, and rushed through the door.

In the orange glow of the burning plate, Nathan saw a panicked man attempting to load a fresh magazine.

They locked eyes.

In a desperate move, his opponent lowered his head and charged.

Nathan shot him through the top of his skull.

The man went down in an ungraceful swan dive. His chin cracked on the concrete at the same time he landed on the plate.

The orange light vanished, and Nathan found himself engulfed in darkness.

He slipped out of the room and hurried over to the Dumpster. Using it for cover, he peered over its rim and looked for any kind of movement in the receiving bay. The faint glow from the single fluorescent fixture cast long shadows across the floor, but none of them moved. Again, he held perfectly still, listening for any sound. All he heard was Radio Man’s last breath, a gurgling exhalation. He waited ten seconds before reentering the room.

Nathan felt for the light switch, flipped it on, and squinted at the sudden brightness. The smell of burned paper and gun smoke hung in the air. Spent nine-millimeter shell casings littered the floor. Next to Radio Man’s open mouth, a tiny pool of blood had formed, probably from biting his own tongue. It’s just business, Nathan told himself, but the sight of the dead man triggered a sense of loss. This was someone’s son and maybe someone’s father. He dismissed the useless thought and surveyed the small room. As he’d suspected, it was an office.

Although Nathan believed this man had been alone, he didn’t know it with absolute certainty. And someone might’ve heard the automatic gunfire. The roll-up doors leading outside were made of thin metal, probably aluminum. The sound would’ve been hard to miss.

He approached the second of the three add-on doors. Again, the knob was on the right side. He crouched and silently bypassed the door. If anyone was in there, he’d probably be expecting his opponent to check the doors in linear order. By skipping the middle door, he made himself less predictable.

At the third door, he saw that the knob lay in the same place. Staying in a low stance, he reached up, turned the knob, and pushed the door open.

He inhaled through his nose and caught a sour smell, like a homeless stench. He held still and waited. All quiet. He slowly reached around the jamb, feeling for the light switch, and froze when he heard a soft voice.

“Please…help me.”

Episode Seven

Chapter 27

What Nathan saw tore at his soul.

A shirtless man was strapped to a chair with duct tape. Bruises covered his face from forehead to chin. Graying black hair plastered his skull. The flesh around his eye sockets was inflamed and swollen, and his lips were a mess. Whoever this poor sap was, he’d been put through a Mob-style interrogation.

Nathan needed to check the remaining room. He kicked its door open and found the light switch. Seeing only a storage room full of boxes, he ran back to the bound man.

The man slowly raised his head and blinked a few times. Although Nathan didn’t recognize him, some degree of recognition seemed to show in the captive’s eyes.

“You’re going to be okay. Don’t try to move.” Nathan cut the tape tethering the man’s wrists and ankles to the chair.

“How…long…?

“Have you been here? I don’t know. Who are you?”

The man cleared his throat with obvious difficulty. “Marchand.”

“Malcolm Marchand? You’re Malcolm Marchand?”

The man nodded.

“Jin thinks Voda killed you.”

Marchand didn’t respond.

“I’m gonna get you outta here. More of Voda’s men might be coming.”

Nathan cut the duct tape around Marchand’s rib cage, then tore the strips from his skin in quick pulls. Nathan was ready and caught him as he slumped forward, then gently laid him on the concrete. “I need to do a quick check for spinal injury. Can you feel this?” He squeezed an untouched area of Marchand’s lower leg.

“Yes. Where’s Lauren?”

“She’s safe. Don’t worry about her.” That’s when he saw Marchand’s bare feet. Most of his toes had been smashed, the nails split and caked with dried blood. Whatever wrongs Marchand had committed with or against Voda, he’d paid dearly for them. Jin’s note said Marchand had wanted out of Voda’s operation, so he couldn’t be all bad.

Nathan squeezed Marchand’s other leg. “Feel that?”

“Yes.”

Nathan tucked the suppressed SIG into his waist. “This is going to hurt. Sorry.”

Marchand howled in agony as Nathan scooped him off the floor and stood him up.

“Can you walk?” Nathan asked.

“I think so.” Marchand took a step and nearly fell.

Nathan steadied him, realizing that walking him out of here would take too much time. Fortunately, Marchand wasn’t a big man. At five foot seven, he probably weighed 175 pounds or so. Without asking, Nathan slung Marchand over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Marchand cried out again. Nathan couldn’t fault the guy — his ribs weren’t firm like they should be. Hauling Marchand, he ran from the receiving-bay office toward the roll-up door leading to the showroom floor.

He stopped at the corner and peered around the jamb. Abandoning all stealth, he ran through the maze of furniture and took Marchand out the shattered glass door. He had to brace Marchand’s body against the Taurus to open the rear door. After laying him down, Nathan hurried to the other side of the vehicle. As gently as possible, he pulled Marchand across the seat, then reached across and tucked his legs inside.

“Be right back,” Nathan said.

He reentered the store, pulled his SIG, and approached the man with the bloody gloves — the thug who’d been torturing Marchand. The guy had regained consciousness, but he was clearly lethargic and unable to get up. When Nathan pointed his gun, the man held up a hand in defense.

“I ought to kill you, but I’m not going to.” Nathan shot the man through the shoulder — a serious but not life-threatening wound. He’d purposely aimed high to avoid opening the guy’s brachial artery.

The man cursed and clutched the wound.

“Tell Voda I’m willing to make a deal, but it will be on my terms. You got that?”

The man winced and nodded.

Five seconds later, Nathan pulled away from the furniture store and drove as fast as possible without jarring his passenger too much. Marchand was in pretty bad shape, but Voda’s men had clearly avoided deadly force, wanting Marchand alive. The question was: Why?

“Voda has my wife,” Marchand said. “Your half-sister.”

Nathan shot a glance at Marchand, disturbed by the man’s knowledge of Jin’s relationship with him.

“He may have already killed her.” Marchand stopped to cough. It sounded like gravel in a plastic bucket.

Nathan turned his head again and saw Marchand wipe blood from his mouth. Probably a perforated lung. Not severe, or he’d already be dead.

“How do you know Voda has Jin? And what makes you think she’s my sister?”

“When they first took me,” said Marchand, “Voda was looking for Jin. They asked me all kinds of things about her: her properties, her cars, her habits. All her friends. Her personal history.“ He coughed again. “They beat the crap out of me. I couldn’t take it. I told them everything I know, which really wasn’t all that much. I’d never realized until then how little I actually knew about my wife.”

“Keep going.”

“Late last night…they stopped asking questions about her.” Marchand hacked and coughed again. “And started asking me about
you
. I’d never heard of you, but they didn’t believe me, so they started beating me again. They told me they had Jin, that she was your half-sister, and that you were protecting Lauren. I think they were trying to check what Jin had told them against what I knew. That’s when they started smashing my toes. The stupid jerks…. I didn’t know anything about you.”

Great, thought Nathan. Voda has Jin and knows — at the very least — my name and connection to Jin. What else, he wondered, might Jin have given up under torture?

“Look,” he told Marchand, “I’ll be honest. I’m temped to dump you at a police station and move on. From what I understand, you brought all this upon yourself by getting into bed with Voda. You put your stepdaughter’s life at risk for the sake of money.”

“Voda doesn’t care about Lauren anymore. He tried to get her so he could make me talk. What he really wanted was something from my office.”

“The coordinates to the location of the girl.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

“Jin wrote me a note. She actually defended you, said you wanted out of Voda’s world.”

“It’s true. I would’ve given it all up to keep Jin and Lauren safe.”

Again, Nathan tended to believe him. What reason did Marchand have to lie at this point? His world had crumbled. There was no sense in tormenting the guy further. “I’m with you on that,” he said, “although I don’t think you can do much to help at this point. I’ll be leaving you with someone from the FBI. If you cooperate, you might be able to strike a deal and avoid a prolonged prison sentence.”