The Loch Ness Legacy (12 page)

“Michael, if you’re really concerned about this, I can ask Tyler to go over your computer and cell phone to figure out what happened.”

“Is he some kind of computer hacker?”

“No, he’s a partner in an engineering firm. It’s his company, really. They have experts who can check out this kind of thing.”

“He’d do that for you?”

“Sure. That’s what big brothers are for.”

Dillman scrunched his face in thought, then nodded. “I knew you were the only one I could trust.”

Alexa stood. “Come on. His office is only a few blocks away. I’ll take you over there.”

“Now?”

“Why not? You tell him your story, and he’ll have someone check your phone while we’re talking.”

“Okay.” Dillman got up and scanned the restaurant. No one so much as glanced at them as far as Alexa could tell.

“Let me give Tyler a call to let him know we’re on the way.”

Dillman seemed about to protest but held his tongue. Alexa turned on her phone as they exited the restaurant into the walkway leading to the main market area.

When it came on, it showed that she had six messages, three from Tyler and three from Grant. She also had a text from Tyler that said, “
Urgent!!!! Call me or Grant now!!!
”

She stopped abruptly before they got to the crowd hovering around the outskirts of the store where they were throwing the fish from the iced display racks to the register at the center.

“What is it?”

“I don’t know,” Alexa said. “Something’s wrong.”

* * *

Grant hit Answer as soon as he saw who the call was from.

“Alexa, are you all right?”

“Of course, I am. Why wouldn’t I be? I tried calling Tyler, but I couldn’t reach him.”

“He’s on his way north.”

“Why?”

“I can’t explain right now. Where are you?”

“I’m at Pike Place Market.”

“Where in the market?”

“Near the fish-throwing place.”

“Okay. Stay where you are. I’ll be there in sixty seconds.” He accelerated his pace, dodging people as he walked.

“You’re here?”

“Yes. We’ll get you out of here and tell you everything in the van.”

He hung up and the phone switched back to the conference call. “Where are you guys?”

“At the pig,” Miles said.

“I’m inside,” Aiden said. “Be there in a…wait a moment. I think I see Alexa near the Fish Market.”

“Good,” Grant said. “I’ll meet you there.”

“She seems to be chatting with some bloke.”

“Who?”

“Don’t know. She’s talking to him about you.”

“How do you know that?”

“I used to be deaf, remember? Just because I can hear now doesn’t mean I can’t still read lips.”

“That must be Dillman.”

“Hold on. There are two other men looking at them.”

“Tourists?”

“Muscle-bound types. Thick jackets and necks. Not here on holiday.”

“Can you see what they’re saying?” Miles asked.

“One said…oh shite! I think he said, ‘we only need one of them alive.’”

Grant sprinted toward the famous clock sign that read public market center, huffing with effort as he ran. The fishmonger was directly underneath it. He could see Miles motoring inside, his iBot wheelchair cranked to its full height.

Aiden’s voice went up an octave. “The two men just went up to Alexa and the bloke. It looks like they have guns at their backs!”

Grant turned the corner. He caught Alexa’s eye. The look of fear on her face was unmistakable. Grant and Miles weren’t armed, and there were no cops in the vicinity. If these men started shooting in the dense crowd, it could quickly turn into a bloodbath.

The throng watching the fishmongers was so impenetrable that the gunmen steered Alexa and Dillman around it into the morass of people strolling through the market. Running would have been an option for them if the gunmen didn’t have hands wrapped around their arms.

“Aiden, you hang back and call the police,” Grant said, trying to catch his breath. “I’m right behind you, Miles. Can you get the guy with Dillman?”

“He won’t know what hit him.”

Grant caught up with Miles but didn’t act like he was with him. They put themselves directly in the path of Alexa and Dillman. Alexa was on Grant’s left, closest to the crowd watching the flying fish.

Grant fell in behind Miles as if he were waiting for the slow disabled man to move it while the crowd traveling in the opposite direction flowed past. The positioning meant the two gunmen would have to separate and walk around them to either side.

Alexa stared at them, but Grant tried to ignore her. He hoped she was aware enough to keep quiet. If the gunmen suspected anything were about to happen, they’d lose the element of surprise.

As he hoped, the two gunmen shoved Alexa and Dillman apart as Miles approached.

“Pardon me,” Miles said loudly as he jostled Alexa aside.

She stumbled more than the gunman behind her expected. Miles’ right hand grabbed the pistol and twisted it out of the kidnapper’s hand. His left hand threw a wicked uppercut to the gunman’s jaw, sending him reeling backward.

The distraction caused the man behind Dillman to release his grip and turn toward Miles. Grant was in a perfect position to launch himself at his target. He caught the man’s wrists and pushed them toward the ceiling as he shoved the man backward, toppling several tourists as they stumbled toward the ice racks.

Shouts and screams from the surrounding patrons only got louder when Grant’s gunman fired several shots at the ceiling. The crowds scattered as the two of them landed on the freezing piles of ice used to chill the fish. Out of the corner of his eye, Grant saw Dillman run toward the street.

“Dillman, come back!” Grant shouted, but even his deep basso was inaudible over the din.

The loss of focus was enough for his opponent to knee him in the stomach, driving the breath from him. Grant took a gulp of air and responded with a head butt. Normally an impact with his skull was enough to incapacitate anyone, but the awkward angle and his protesting muscles reduced the force of the blow. The gunman staggered backward, blood flowing from his brow. He shook his head and brought his pistol up for the kill shot.

Grant was too far away to get to the man before he fired, so he used the only weapon at hand. He grasped the tail of the salmon next to him and whipped it around. The fish smacked into the gunman’s hand, sending his pistol flying. Grant swung the salmon again, but the man backed up enough that Grant connected with nothing but air. Then the man melded with the fleeing crowd.

Grant considered pursuing him, but he didn’t know if the gunmen had more friends around. His top priority was making sure Alexa was safe. He found her clinging to Miles, her eyes glassy from the ordeal.

“Where’s Dillman?”

Miles pointed toward the street. “There!”

Grant spotted one of the gunmen pushing Dillman into a grey Suburban. The driver plowed through three fruit stands to make the escape.

A wail of sirens heralded the approach of the police, but by the time they arrived, Dillman was long gone.

Victor Zim’s Jeep was the first of four vehicles to arrive at the scene of the Blazer’s plunge off the fire road. As soon as he’d received the frantic radio call from Harvin, Zim ordered every available man into the search, weapons in hand.

When the Jeep skidded to a halt, he threw open the door and stalked to the edge of the road, where he stopped to survey the damage. The Blazer’s grill was caved in from the tree, and the side and roof had been battered during its tumble through the woods.

Gaither’s corpse was slumped against the wheel. The remaining live passenger looked pathetic. Harvin was on his butt, propped against the front tire. He glanced at Zim and then looked away in embarrassment.

Exactly the response Zim expected. His stance was intended to provoke awe and intimidation. Legs wide, hands on hips, his muscles flexing in the afternoon sunlight to show off the tattoos snaking down his arms, chiseled jaw set below all-seeing eyes and a hair cut that was two clipper settings from being shaved.

The constant workouts in prison made the bulging veins on his arms stand out even under the skulls and fiery daggers on his biceps. The muscle sculpting was a way to bring his body as close to perfection as possible. As Nietzsche said, “Become what you are.” Zim had.

The escape from prison had gone exactly as he’d envisioned. In a clearing in the middle of an orange grove, his men had set up an inflatable high fall air bag, the type used by stunt men and firefighters. As the remotely controlled helicopter passed overhead, a dead man at the stick, it slowed long enough for Zim to jump, landing in the center of the air bag. They simply folded it up and drove away as if nothing had happened.

Now Victor would finish Carl’s work. His crew, some from his former militia days and some recruited from around the world for this mission by his brother, needed to be convinced that he was now in charge. If there was any man on the team who’d consider disobeying Zim, that man needed to be disabused of the notion immediately.

Zim remained at his vantage point for a few seconds more to see if he could spot any sign of Gabrielle Cohen. Nothing.

Without looking behind him, Zim barked out his orders. “Davis, you and your men take a mile south. Monroe, you go a mile north. The rest of you are with me.”

He jumped off the edge of the road without bothering to grab a handhold and marched down to the Blazer. The men grunted as they struggled to follow as gracefully.

He didn’t need a recap about how Cohen had escaped. He’d gotten Harvin’s sniveling account of it over the radio during the ride to the site.

“Which way did she head?” Zim said when he reached the SUV.

“I think she went that way,” Harvin said, pointing over his shoulder in the direction of Lake Shannon.

Zim glared at him. “You
think
?”

Harvin nodded, a quick bobbing like a nervous Chihuahua. “I was pretty messed up. The bitch stabbed me in the wrist, and I can tell my leg’s broken bad.” The awkward angle of his foot confirmed the self-diagnosis.

“You’re not going to be much help on this search then, are you?”

“Are you kidding? I’m probably going to be in a cast for weeks with this thing. I need to get to a doctor.”

Zim sighed and nodded. He reached out to Harvin. “Let’s get you taken care of.”

Harvin took the hand and grimaced as he stood on his one good leg.

Zim put one hand on Harvin’s back and snatched the hair on the back of his head. Before Harvin could react, Zim bashed the man’s skull against the hood of the Blazer three times, the dull sound of the impacts swallowed by the surrounding trees. Zim released him, and Harvin slumped to the ground, his eyes staring into oblivion.

“Put him in the passenger seat,” Zim said to no one in particular. “It’ll look like the two of them had an accident.”

None of the men moved, shocked into silence. He turned and saw their stunned expressions. Good.

“Now listen up,” Zim said. “Harvin let Gabrielle Cohen escape, and he became a cripple in the process. If you can’t contribute to the mission, you’re deadweight. When you all agreed to this operation, you knew the requirements and you accepted the risks. Harvin was a good man, but he would have put everything we’re working for in danger.”

He looked into the eyes of each man and saw that they understood. Life was cruel, but those who clearly envisioned what needed to be done could act without hesitation for the good of the cause. If Zim were ever incapacitated and no longer a contributor to society and the team, he would expect someone to do the same for him.

Two men hoisted Harvin’s body into the Blazer. When they were done, Zim directed everyone to begin conducting a grid search and instructed his compound’s helicopter to fly along the shores of Lake Shannon in case they could spot Cohen out in the open. She didn’t have much of a head start and her hands were still tied. She couldn’t have gotten far. With the lake as a natural barrier, they would catch her within the hour.

Still, he had to update his own money supplier. Without access to Laroche’s land, which they were now searching, and his money for funding, the operation would never have been possible.

He took out his smartphone and made the call using the compound’s satellite hookup and Wi-Max base station. The connection beeped.

“What is it?” A modulator disguised the voice in case anyone was listening in. The effect made it sound as if Zim were speaking to a rasping demon from the pits of Hell. His voice would sound the same on the other end.

“We have a situation,” Zim said. Without using names, he spent a minute summarizing the events.

“Do you have it under control?”

“Yes.”

“If she escapes, she’ll be able to lead the authorities to you. You’ll have to abandon the compound immediately.”

“We’re ready for anything, but it won’t come to that. The forest is deserted, and she won’t be able to stay out of our sight for long.”

“Any word on the other one?” Zim had already delivered the bad news that Alexa Locke got away.

He took a breath. “We’ll make sure we find the creature before she does.”

“I hope you’re right, but I’ll see what I can do on my end. I want to be able to count on you like I did your brother. Your planning on the operation last week was brilliant. I rescued you because your talents were wasted in California.”

Zim smiled. “Once we get these two women in hand, I don’t see anything standing in the way of completing the mission as expected.”

“You know you have access to every fund at my disposal. Don’t hesitate to use whatever resources you require.”

“I’ll make sure they’re used well.”

“Good. Now I have some other matters to attend to. Keep me informed of further developments.” The connection terminated and Zim put the phone away.

Hank Pryor, a skinny goateed man who was the electronics genius on the operation, came running up to him, his radio held out in an outstretched palm as if he were offering it to Zim.