The Specter (21 page)

“Who’s there?” Daniel’s voice.

“It’s me, Aaron. Open up.”

“Come on in,” Daniel said as he opened the door. “The gang’s all here.”

“We have to leave. Now. I was followed here. There’s four guys in the lobby and they aren’t here to have tea with us. We have maybe one minute. No doubt they’re on their way to the fourth floor, thanks to Alex. Guys, gather your things. We’ll take the stairs and use my car. Let’s go.”

“What’s going on?” Daniel asked as Alex and Benjamin walked up behind him.

“No time to explain. We have to move.” Aaron rushed down the hall, but paused when none of the three followed him. “What’s up, guys? We gotta go.”

“Maybe this is too big a fight, Aaron,” Benjamin said. “Can’t the police handle it …” he broke off when Aaron stepped inside their comfort zone.

His face tightened. “My sister was murdered. The man responsible has four men in this hotel looking to kill me. I had a gun,” he pointed a finger at his temple, “placed here hours ago. I’m lucky to be alive. After talking to the
police
, there isn’t much they can do. The bad guy lives in Russia. Basically, I’m a walking dead man. I will not go down without a fight as it is my life we’re talking about now and not just Joanne’s. I want you three on my side. If this is too much, stay here for the night and then go home. I’ll understand. But if you’re with me, follow me now because I need you guys.”

Aaron leaned on the door’s trim. Precious time ticked by. His pursuers would be on the fourth floor by now and realize they’d been duped. They would either return to Aaron’s car or wait for him in the lobby. Perhaps they saw the elevator stop on the second floor and not the fourth. Or maybe they were already by his car, waiting.

Shit!
I should have pushed the fourth floor button.

Aaron dipped his head out the door and looked down the hall in both directions. Still empty.

When he looked back at his students, his friends, they weren’t coming. He should have expected it. This was bigger than training in the martial arts. This was international murder, assassins and real-life violence. People had been killed and could be killed. How could he expect anyone to join him on his personal crusade? It was a dream of his that the best fighters of his dojo would join him in the biggest fight for justice of his life, but he could see by the expressions on their faces and the tension that suddenly filled the air, they weren’t coming.

“It’s okay, guys. Forget it.”

Aaron moved into the corridor, followed by Alex. He wasn’t coming along, just wanting to wish him well.

Aaron ran to the end of the hall and opened the stairwell door. Alex waved to wish him well. Aaron waved back.

“Thanks,” he said loud enough for Alex to hear and then disappeared behind the door.

He felt let down, saddened by this turn of events. He actually thought the four of them could chase Clive Baron to the ends of the earth and beyond as a team.

His friends hadn’t let him down, but he felt let down just the same. They had every right to deny his request to join his fight. Alex worked at Taco Bell and was saving his money to open his own franchise. Daniel and Benjamin worked at a factory in Etobicoke on forklifts. They were great fighters, the best, but they were Toronto boys, waiting for the weekend and the next beer with buddies, not a fight with the next international criminal gang.

Aaron hit the first floor landing and almost laughed. He was running for his life and needed to pay someone back for the hotel room, whether in trade with private lessons or cash, depending on who paid for the room. Alex would take payment in lessons, but the forklift drivers were always short on cash.

He slowly opened the door to the lobby. Nothing threatening or suspicious. He slipped out of the stairwell, across the open lobby and made it to the main doors before he stopped.

No sight of his pursuers. He assumed they were still on the fourth floor or on their way back down to the lobby. They wouldn’t know where his friends were and after he left, they wouldn’t be able to follow him as
he
didn’t even know where he was headed.

Maybe back to the police station or maybe he’d contact Julie. He felt directionless. There was nothing he could do, and he had no idea where to go to do it.

Clive Baron had to be his next task. Find him, get to him and end this nightmare. But how?

The night air had cooled. Several cars down, a man fumbled with his keys by a four-door Cadillac while holding a piece of luggage over his shoulder. On a bench by the walkway, a woman held a cup of coffee and puffed on a cigarette. No one else was in the immediate area. He crossed toward his Nissan and pushed the button to unlock the doors. The familiar beep sounded.

As he opened the car door, he caught a shadow behind him. He raised an arm to block the sudden movement to his right. He screamed in pain as a steel pipe broke his wrist on impact.

The pipe came down again.

Aaron collapsed to the cement, silenced.

Chapter 25

Clive stood in the space between the Lada and the open elevator doors. The other strike team gunman, covered in body armor and helmet, poised behind a cement pillar.

“I’m done. You’ve got me,” Clive said as he sidestepped as if dazed.

“Stay where you are.” The gunman moved from behind the pillar only far enough to keep his weapon trained on Clive.

Clive pretended to have weak legs, stumbling to his right so as to move closer to the open elevator door, but the gunman caught the movement.

“Drop to the floor. Do it now! Hands over your head.”

Clive stepped sideways once more, knowing he was pushing the guy to shoot him. If he got shot, it was all over.

“I’ve got a detonator,” Clive shouted. “Don’t shoot. The whole building could blow. Let me throw it to you first. I don’t want to die,” he said in his most convincing voice.

“Last chance. On the ground, now!”

“I can’t,” he shouted back. “The detonator is in my pocket. I’ll just get it out first.” Clive lowered his hand and touched the top of his jeans pocket. He nodded toward the shooter. “It’s okay. Just getting it out. Once I toss it toward you, I can get on the ground. If this button is pushed, we’ll all die.”

He wondered if the strike team member was buying his story. He probably didn’t, but he hadn’t shot yet, which was what Clive was bargaining for. The man also knew that dozens of his friends were on their way down to the parking level to back him up.

“Shoot him,” the wounded man called from the left.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. The button can be pushed quite easily.”

Clive reached inside his pocket and grabbed his room key. He slowly lifted it to the edge of his pocket. The open door to the elevator was still six feet away.

“Once I will toss it to you, I will get on the ground.”

A door opened somewhere to his right. Another door. The shuffling footsteps of dozens of men filed into the basement parking area.

He pulled the room key out completely. Behind the shooter, men rolled into the basement parking area in waves and dropped behind cars.

He tossed the key toward the shooter, took two large steps to his right and dove for the open elevator, punching the button for the third floor. A weapon discharged. Then another. A bullet ricocheted above his head. How many men were coming toward the open doors, he had no idea.

More bullets pinged off metal.

The doors began to shut. Each second they took, he expected a weapon or an arm to jam in between them. But nothing came and the doors closed, muffling the pinging sound that continued.

The elevator lifted. When he reached the third floor, the elevator’s display would say he was on the fifth, but he wondered if the men chasing him were quick enough to have figured it out this time.

He pulled out his cell phone and texted the code to turn the freight elevator off service, which would correct the readout in the building. When he exited on the third floor, it would accurately say the third and the strike team would assume he was in the lobby.

The doors opened on the third floor. No one waited for him.

The power went out. The elevator’s interior lights blinked off. The entire area went black. A second later, emergency exit lights flickered on.

He pulled out his weapon and ran down the hall to the apartments that overlooked the small market store on the street. At apartment 302, he knocked hard.

“Superintendent,” he yelled in Russian. “Open up.”

He waited, watching the hall behind him. The door opened an inch and an old woman stared up at him through the chained opening.

“You’re not the superintendent—”

Clive body checked the door, broke the chain, and knocked the old woman into the wall and sprawling to the tiled floor where she gasped for breath.

He didn’t have time to gag or bind the old woman.

He threw back the curtains, kicked a wire plant rack out of the way and slid the balcony doors open. The railing was a wall of solid metal about three feet high. He crouched so no one could see him from below, and crab-crawled to the edge and peeked over.

Police cars filled the street half a block up, near the entrance to the building. Directly below pedestrians walked by or entered the market.

He tucked his gun in the small of his back and climbed over the edge. The drop was too far for his age and physical condition. The longer he hovered on the outside of the balcony railing, the more attention he would receive. But surrendering now, after shooting one of theirs, he would probably spend more than a day in a holding cell, possibly longer.

He had to drop down and run to fight from afar. This was his only chance. His last chance.

He edged left, then right, trying to set himself just a little off center of the large red awning over the market. The peaches and plums would be in their normal spots in the center.

Clive let go and braced himself. He fell, angling sideways so his right shoulder would take the impact.

The awning bent in the middle as he hit, slowing his descent. Metal popped. A metal arm bent and then cracked. He free fell again, but only for a fraction of a second before he hit the peach stand dead center. Hundreds of peaches crushed under his weight, breaking his fall enough to avoid any broken bones, but his right calf smacked the edge of the peach container.

Clive yelped and then clamped his mouth shut. He rolled off the display case and tried to stand. He collapsed to his knees, not so much from the pain in his leg, but from the fear of having performed such an act at his age. He felt weak, even though adrenaline flowed freely through his veins. He tried to get to his feet again, wondering if he could.

People around him gasped, and someone yelled inside the market. The electricity was out in the store. They had tried to slow his movement with the lack of electricity, but they were too late.

The commotion would attract attention. He needed to move and he needed to do it fast. The owner came out of the market, bellowing in Russian. Clive leaned against a shelf and pulled out a small wad of bills, tossing them at the small man who slowed his barrage to look at more money than he probably saw in a year.

With all the strength he could muster, he moved. His legs worked better with movement. None of the strike team followed him yet.

One block down, his heart slowing enough that he didn’t feel he would die of a burst valve, he pulled his weapon out of his belt line and stepped onto a side street.

A small convertible BMW, not usually seen in these parts, pulled up to the corner. He aimed the pistol at the driver’s head and ordered her out.

A middle-aged woman opened the door tentatively and climbed out, heels clacking on the cement. She was about to say something when Clive smacked her across the mouth. She staggered back and leaned against a car parked on the side of the road. He jumped into her BMW and slammed the door behind him. He tossed his gun on the passenger seat and dropped the clutch, turning right, away from his building.

In the rearview mirror, armed men in full Kevlar vests and helmets ran up to the fresh fruit market to investigate the downed awning.

He smiled at himself in the mirror and headed for the airport with every intention of meeting Aaron.

He had a special prison in Nafplio, Greece, that Aaron would call home during the last few days of his short life.

Chapter 26

Aaron lifted out of a pain-filled dream. The ground moved below him. He adjusted his body to counter the movement, but pain paralyzed him into immobility.

He clenched his teeth and moaned, squeezing his eyelids closed. He hadn’t opened them yet, afraid what the light on the other side of his lids would do to his roaring headache.

Thoughts of the Quality Suites, the pursuit, the man hidden behind his car, ran through his mind. The pipe.