The Council of Ten (15 page)

“Fine. Where do we start?”

“You didn’t let me finish. We make up our own rules based on the ones we figure the enemy will be using, to counter him. Like your enemy in this case can’t afford to have you circulating. Too much risk involved there to the shiteaters. So, they leaked your name. And on the chance the police don’t find you and make life easy for them, they will have retained a killer to take you out.”

“He’d have to find me first, too.”

“This man would also be a hunter. Like me back in the woods. It’s what
I
do, what their person does. So, our first rule is that after today you stay on the move.”

“But I’ve got nowhere else to go!” Drew protested.

“You’ll go where I tell you, do what I say. You should be safe enough here for the rest of the day. Rest up. Grab some chow. But stay inside. By ten tonight you’ll have made your way to the Marriot Marina on Biscayne Bay. There’s a boat there called
Jude the Obscure
. I’ll see you in the cabin at ten sharp.”

“What about until then? What will you be doing?”

“Hitting the road to see a few people. Miami’s really a small town. Not much goes down plenty don’t know about. Our second rule: find them before they find us.”

“Us?”

“Just like the woods, only this time we’re on the same side.” Mace slapped Drew’s shoulder. “Hey, against that even the fuckin’ Timber Wolf would have his work cut out for him.”

“Maybe,” Drew said with a shrug. “But it’s not like I thought it would be. I wanted to kill Trelana more than anything in the world. I even had the gun out, but I couldn’t do it. You told me reality sucks. I didn’t believe you.”

“You got out of there alive, kid, and that’s all that counts.”

The night belonged to Selinas because it belonged to death. He preferred working in it because it never betrayed shape or motion. The fact that it was the enemy of most made it his friend.

Maybe it was the ease with which he walked through the darkness outside the Biscayne Bay Marriot en route to the marina that made him vulnerable. It was inconceivable that another could take him within darkness, especially at close range, so when the shape whirled before him, a glimmer of steel preceding it, Selinas hesitated.

If it had been a normal, hand-held weapon, he still would have had a chance. But it was something else, something much different wielded by a huge shape that nudged against him as its weapon sliced forward.

Selinas felt it first as a hard smack to his chest, followed by a tearing sound he dimly realized was his own guts being spilled as he searched for the air needed to scream. The blood was already filling his mouth when he crumbled, coughing it out, dying then, almost dead as he began to drag himself forward.

Drew waited in the cabin of
Jude the Obscure
, the night waves softly lapping against the side of the boat. Beyond that sound there was only the loud din coming from a disco called Tugboat Annie’s, which overlooked the marina from the first level of a condominium complex.

Mace was twenty minutes late. Under the circumstances that was something he would never do. Unless something had gone wrong. Drew moved to the window that contained a view of the dock and, if he strained hard enough, the disco. He swung around only when the cabin door creaked open.

And Mace fell on him with his stomach falling out.

“Looks like I lost this time.”

Mace virtually coughed the words out, almost matter of factly. Blood followed after several of them.

Drew held part of him in his lap. Mace was trembling everywhere as his body clutched for life. Drew trembled, too, words denied him from the shock.

“Worse than I thought,” Mace said. “Worse than
you
thought. Different. Shiteaters used me. Wanted—” A hefty swallow, which brought him some air. “—me to kill you, too. Never would have. Would … have found you … and warned you off.” Mace’s eyes flashed life briefly and found Drew’s. “Want you to know that,” he said grasping Drew’s forearm tightly, each syllable becoming a chore for him.

“Not you,” Drew moaned. “No! You couldn’t be a part of this!”

“Not me. Selinas. Facade created by me. I’m not a … mercenary. I’m an … assassin. Money was better. Accepted this assignment so they wouldn’t give it to someone else. Would have found you … but you found me.” Mace seemed to smile and blood rushed out from between his lips. He grasped Drew’s forearm even tighter, as if it were his own life he was fighting to hold onto. “No time to explain who. They’re … too … close. Run. Get out.” He heaved for air. “The Timber Wolf …”

“A part of this, too?” Drew cringed.

“Not yet. Get to him. Tell him everything that’s … happened. Give him—” Mace’s words were lost as he spasmed.

“The Timber Wolf’s here? In Miami?”

Mace managed the semblance of a nod. “My right pants pocket. A … list. He’ll know what it means. He’ll know what to … do… .” He had spat out an address when a final spasm overtook him and his eyes locked open.

Holding his breath, Drew reached into his dead friend’s pocket and withdrew two sheets of paper, wrinkled and bloodied. He started to back away, terrified.

Mace was dead.

Mace, the man who had taken him easily at the mercenary camp three times running, had been killed by men who were close, by men who were—

Footsteps pounded the dock, then slowed. Drew heard voices whispering, exchanging information.

They were here.

The footsteps picked up again. The killers had found the trail of Mace’s blood they had been searching for.

Drew tried to make sense of it as he pressed his back against the wall. The bastards had tried to hire Mace, in the guise of a killer named Selinas, to kill him. But Mace had turned the tables and gone after his employers. Only he hadn’t been good enough.

What chance do I have against them?

The question made Drew shudder. Mace was the best and they had got him.

The men were approaching the boat now, easing closer by the second in the bloody trail. As far as they knew, though, they were seeking only Mace. So, Drew would have his chance, the opportunity to take the men by surprise just as they must have done to his friend.

The pool of blood was spreading under Mace’s corpse.

A weapon, he needed a weapon! A quick strike to stun and disable and then he could make his escape.

Drew’s eyes locked on the large fire extinguisher bracketed into the wall. He ripped it free as the first of the killers dropped onto the deck. Drew brought the fire extinguisher up over his shoulder, testing its weight. Heavier than he had expected. His strike would have to be perfect.

He could hear what sounded to him like two men approaching the cabin door.

A four-step descent separated the cabin from the deck. Drew would strike while the killers came down in single file, one after the other. He jammed his back against the wall adjacent to the steps and held the extinguisher by its nozzle and neck, something like a baseball bat.

The door opened slowly. The men would see Mace’s body immediately and focus all their attention on it. At least that was what Drew was counting on, for if they so much as gazed to their left his presence would be forfeit.

The killers started down the steps. Neither of them looked his way. Drew held his breath.

He struck when the first man was halfway down the final step and the second had another two stairs to go. Drew leaped out, angling his body for the best possible strike, and swung the extinguisher hard. There was a thud as it struck the lead man square in the chest, forcing him backward against the second. Both men gasped and tumbled. Drew hurdled up the steps and onto the deck.

A third man was leaping down from the dock, gun in hand. Drew crashed into him before his balance was firm. A
whoooosh
of air poured from the man’s mouth at impact and his pistol clamored to the deck. Then Drew was lunging from the gunwale up to the wharf, sprinting at full speed for the head of the marina where boats and jetskis were rented by a company called Sunsplash.

There was a spit followed by concrete exploding around him as he pulled himself onto the cement that connected the marina to the condominium complex and entrance to Tugboat Annie’s disco. He never looked back; there was no reason to. The disco was his only hope for survival now, his only sure way to escape the killers’ bullets. There was no one checking IDs at the door of the disco, so Drew passed right through unhindered into the crowd, determined to lose himself while keeping a sharp eye on the door.

It was only seconds later when two of the men appeared. Drew had not gotten a clear look at either of them on the boat, but he realized who they were immediately. They were substantially older than the rest of the patrons and were breathing hard, faces tautly determined as they surveyed those around them and began shouldering their way through the packed disco.

Drew turned away and shrank into the mass, heading for the dance floor. He needed a rear or side exit, and then saw the red flash of a sign across the floor to his right. Halfway there he veered from it and pushed toward the bar. He had seen only two men enter the disco. What about the third? Drew realized the third killer must have been left outside to watch the other exits.

Drew was effectively trapped inside. A boy who couldn’t have been more than seventeen turned awkwardly from the bar and sprayed him with beer, muttering an apology. The Timber Wolf’s address was not twenty minutes from here on one of the Bay Harbor islands. But to reach it, Drew had to escape.

And to escape he needed to create a diversion. Drew’s eyes swept the dance floor and focused on the white-suited DJ atop a raised dais who had just flipped a switch to “create some atmosphere,” releasing a thick, foglike substance from beneath the dance floor. The effect was gained simply by exposing dry ice to water. But if all the switches were flipped at once, the entire stuffy room would probably be enveloped by the fake smoke in seconds. People would be forced out. He would have his cover. Yes, that was it!

Drew pushed his way toward the DJ, slanting across the far edge of the dance floor to better his angle. He hoped the killers were unsure enough of what he looked like to allow him to cover the distance without being noticed. Everything rested on what he was about to do. He climbed the steps to the dais from the rear, the way a patron with a request might.

“Hey,” the DJ started, “what are—”

Drew yanked him aside and flipped all five switches with “smoke” stenciled under them into position. A slight hissing sound followed, and clouds of white started pouring from beneath the dance floor, remaining thick as they climbed and spread.

The DJ was trying to grab him now. Drew twisted from his grip and knocked him away, lunging from the dais. The smoke was still rising, pooling, more like fog, and the patrons of Tugboat Alley’s were holding their ground uncertainly, flapping their hands to clear the air immediately before them. Many shoved their way toward the front door and Drew shoved with them. Halfway there, he started coughing from the slightly noxious fumes. A crowd had emerged through the main door before he did. Once outside he swung left, hoping to make his escape into the Marriot directly across from the disco. Then he saw a group of men running from behind the hotel toward Tugboat Annie’s. Another escape route was obviously mandated, but all three directions were blocked one way or another, and the fourth was Biscayne Bay.

Drew looked down at the docks. Three jetskis owned by Sunsplash rentals had been lined up on the dock immediately beneath him. A trio of people were hovering over them, obviously having arranged for a night rental. A fourth, the proprietor perhaps, was working one of the jetskis forward into the water.

Drew threw himself into motion, leaping down to the dock and rushing for the jetskis. The proprietor had just gotten the first into the water when Drew shoved him aside and jumped in near it. Seconds later he had climbed atop the jetski and was feeling for the starter. He twisted it and the engine caught immediately as the proprietor struggled to his feet and his customers cursed at Drew. It had been years since he had ridden one of these surprisingly fast and easily maneuverable water scooters. Nothing to it at slow speeds, but fast took a bit of skill.

Drew let out the throttle all the way from the start, splashing water in his wake as he surged through the marina area. From the Port of Miami, cabin lights in the huge cruise liners seemed to flicker, as if to laugh at his flight.

He was swinging out of the marina when a glance to the rear revealed the killers rushing down the dock, guns ready. Drew started to weave, cutting across his own wakes with the tip of the jetski rising like a bucking horse. Bullets smacked water about him, farther and farther off the mark as he drove the jetski into Biscayne Bay, taking from the small engine all it could give.

A small island dotted the sea before him, and Drew turned right toward the collection of bridges that linked Miami Beach to the rest of civilization.

Chapter 13

DREW LOOKED UP
at the intercom buzzer once again, but he didn’t press it. The black iron fence surrounding the home on West Broadview Drive in Bay Harbor intimidated him, seemed to warn him not to request entry from its occupant.

From Peter Wayman … the Timber Wolf.

The night before Drew had ridden the jetski to the Miami Yacht Club and ditched it there. His clothes drenched, he climbed back on land and considered briefly returning to his room at the Ocean Palm. The men who had killed Mace, however, might have tracked him there by now. If he showed his face in the vicinity, he could be walking into a trap. Instead, he had spent the night on the move, letting the warm air dry his clothes as he sat beneath trees and finally on the beach off Fifth Street where he dozed until the first of the morning’s sunbathers arrived on the scene.

His money, fortunately, had dried as well, which allowed him to breakfast on a pair of hotdogs and a Coke purchased from a beach vendor. The morning was comfortably cool and he walked a ways in the hope of steaming the wrinkles from his clothes before grabbing a bus that ran the length of Collins Avenue. He climbed out at 96th Street, stiff again, and loosened up by walking the last few miles onto Bay Harbor toward West Broadview, which he reached drenched in hot sweat.