Total Immunity (6 page)

“So why wasn't he busted?” Oscar said.

“Because . . . because he passed a lie-detector test, and there was no evidence against him. I got another question, though.”

“What's that?”

“Why is Forrester so anxious to pin the stealing of the evidence on Zac and Ron?”

Oscar gave a low whistle.

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing. You know, when I was in training, they always taught us that when somebody went bad, they almost always got caught by living the high life. Cars, secret bank accounts . . . hanging out with a fast crowd.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “And who likes to do that more than Supervising Agent William Forrester?”

“Maybe we ought to have a look at Billy-Boy's bank accounts,” Oscar said.

“Uh-huh,” Jack said. “Maybe we should. But I got a feeling he's defended them with some serious firewalls.”

“Yeah,” Oscar said. “But we'll figure out a way around that, because we are superagents who brook no shit from
pendejos
with pictures of movie stars in their office.”

“This is true,” Jack said. “There's no denying it. We fucking rule.”

5

THE ROOM WAS BLACK, and the air smelled of oil, musk, urine, and death. Kyle felt as if something was cutting into his chest, and when he opened his eyes and looked down, he saw the ropes. Christ, he was tied up. He wanted to call out, scream for help, but it seemed he was gagged, too. He looked through the dark gloom, and saw a lump a few feet away. What the hell was
that
? He couldn't really tell. He tried to blink away the cobwebs over his eyes. Jesus, what the hell? They weren't real cobwebs, but there they were nonetheless, like spider legs crossing his eyeballs.

He looked over at the inert ball a few feet away from him, but still couldn't quite make out what it was. The blackness was deeper in the corner there, even than it was where Kyle had been dumped.

He tried to move his legs, but of course they were tied, too. How could this have happened? What the hell were he and . . .

that other person (if it was a person and not a dead animal or something) doing in this shithole, anyway?

The last thing he remembered was that he was at school, and that the driver had come for him . . . a little early, it seemed, and he'd climbed in the back and started talking on the cell phone to one of his friends, Sam, and they were driving . . .

The pirate standing in front of him suddenly broke off Kyle's musing about what happened. The guy was about six feet three and he had on a freaking pirate hat, and an eye patch, and he wore one of those old coats — what did they call them . . . greatcoats, with fancy turned-up collars, all made of leather — and the guy had a beard, and when he smiled, he was missing a few teeth.

Kyle couldn't breathe.

The guy was smiling at him, and waving to him, and Kyle felt as though his bowels were going to loosen. And the guy, who now seemed to have a huge cutlass in his right hand, was walking toward him, laughing and pointing at him, though utterly silent.

And Kyle was scared shitless.

But then the pirate, all six foot three of him with giant gleaming sword . . . was freaking gone.

Like that. Bingo. Gone.

Kyle fell back against the wall, terrified.

Not only was he kidnapped, but he was losing his mind, too . . .

He was . . . had to be . . .

And then he thought of drugs.

No, he wasn't exactly losing his mind. Though he was out of it.

Drugs. It had to be drugs. Someone was drugging him — had drugged him — and the pirate was just a hallucination.

But so detailed, though. And so huge, hovering over him . . .

And what of the ball over in the corner?

Was that a hallucination, too?

He looked over at it . . . tried to whisper, but all that came out was a muffled sound.

Hey, who you? Hey . . .

Hard to even make it out as speech.

But the ball moved a little (or did he?) . . .

Yes, it seemed to. Moved a little.

Heeeehhhh!

The ball scraped around on the cold stone floor.

Kyle saw the ball sit up. Turned out not so ball-like after all. Even with the gag, and the scratches on the cheeks, even with

the dark cutting into his eyes, it was a face Kyle knew very well.

It was his younger brother, Michael.

He looked over at him and tried to shuffle across the floor. Got maybe three inches — and then something pulled him

back. He looked down at his feet, and realized the rope was tied to an old heating unit.

Somehow that detail made Kyle want to cry. Chained like a dog, or an animal.

Both he and his brother.

Now he felt the fear descend down on him like a lead sheet. He looked over at his brother. He could see him a little better

now. Guess his eyes were getting used to the dark.

He could see Mike's eyes, and he wished he couldn't. Because there was such terrible fear in them. Worse than himself. Far worse.

And there was something else, too.

Anger, fury. As though it was somehow Kyle's fault that they were in this horrible situation.

Like he had anything to do with all of this. For Christ's sake!

But it would be just like his younger brother to hold him responsible for . . .

Now he heard a noise. Coming from the back of the room.

A door creaked, footsteps, oh, Jesus Christ . . .

This wasn't any icy hallucination. This was a real person heading toward them.

He looked up and saw this huge bearded guy hovering over him. A guy with deep black eyes and a balding head. And a scar under his eye.

A guy with huge, powerful hands who grabbed Kyle and ripped off his shirtsleeve with one swipe.

And then Kyle saw the needle in the guy's hand. He tried to pull away, but there was no escaping . . . and he felt the needle burn into his arm, felt something oozing out of it and into him, like a snake going through his innards.

He wanted to cry and he wanted to scream. But he could do neither.

All he could do was fall back against the wall. He was sleepy, so very sleepy, and then . . . he was gone.

No dreams, no sounds, no brother, nothing. Nothing at all.

The bearded man did the same thing to Mike, and watched as he fell over on his side.

Then the bearded men checked the two boys' bonds and, finding them satisfactory, he went back the way he'd come, back into the light of Pier Two at the docks in San Pedro.

6

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, Jack waited at the parking lot of the United International Terminal at LAX with an attractive young Chilean woman who this week was using the name Maria Vasquez. Today she had dyed blond hair, which she wore in a knot at the back of her head. She dressed simply, in a plain blue shift, so as not to call attention to herself, and unless she was looking around for spies or for Karl Steinbach's people, she mostly kept her head buried in a mystery novel. But right now she was reading Joseph Campbell's
The Hero with a Thousand Faces,
a book that fascinated her and seemed to have everything to do with her current life.

“You're sure you're going to be all right, Maria?” Jack said. She nodded and looked at him with her soulful brown eyes. “I'm fine.” Jack took her hand and felt a surge of affection and admiration for her.

“Before you go inside, I want you to know that I can still get you into Witness Protection, if you want to reconsider. New name, new face. Whole new life.”

She smiled and shook her head.

“No,” she said. “Like I've told you before, Jack, I know of other people who did that and it didn't work out well at all. They had to live in places they hated, where they had no family . . . and the jobs they had to take were not anything at all like what they were used to.”

“True,” Jack said. “The Program's not perfect. But as long as people have gone along with our rules, we've never lost anybody yet. What happens if Karl decides to come after you? You know he has the money and funds to track you down.”

Maria sighed. “Then I will defend myself, with the help of my friends and family in Chile. They will watch out for me, Jack.”

Jack felt a twinge of fear for her.

“Listen, Maria,” Jack said. “Steinbach said it the day we busted him. He has a long reach. He's got people under contract to hunt you. Now that he knows you helped me set him up, he won't give up.”

“I know,” Maria said. “But he doesn't know my new name. He doesn't know which country I'm going to, and he doesn't know my friends, either. Where I am going is a small town in Chile. Controlled and run by my cousin Tito. We know everyone who works there, who drinks in the bar, stays in the hotel. It's kind of like your Old West, Jack. Anyone new who comes into that town is big news in about five minutes. If they are at all threatening, I will know about it immediately. And the threat will be . . . eliminated.”

Jack shook his head.

“I hope so.” He laughed ruefully. “You are such a goddamned stubborn woman.”

She smiled and patted his hand, as though she was comforting him.

“Yes, I am, Jack. That's the one thing Karl never counted on.”

Jack laughed and nodded in agreement.

“You're right,” he said. “He had no idea who he was playing

with.”

Suddenly she looked sad. Her beautiful smooth face nearly caved in.

“When I worked for him as his assistant, I could take everything. His abusive ways, the fact that he hit me once in a while if a shipment was late . . . or if we had trouble with the officials, but when he . . . when he struck out at Hector, that was the end.”

Jack nodded and remembered the circumstances. Maria Vasquez was a secretary/assistant to Karl Steinbach. She knew whom he paid off to get his blood diamonds. She also knew whom he wanted to deal with, and if she liked you, she could get you right into Karl's inner circle. Jack had been working undercover for six months, trying to set up deals with Steinbach. But he got nowhere until he managed to get close to Maria Vasquez at the El Tropical Restaurante in Sierra Leone. It was there that he met her, and there that she confided in him that she wanted to strike back at Karl Steinbach for killing her cousin, Hector Rodriguez. She had no proof of the murder. Steinbach was always careful to give himself plausible deniability when he had someone “disappeared.” But Maria knew. Hector had a wild streak, talked too much, and made the mistake of taking one of Karl's women away from him. That was enough for Karl. One day Hector had been taken into the jungle, tied to a tree, and devoured by wild animals.

That was how Karl dealt with traitors. It wasn't enough merely to kill them, you had to make them suffer, serve as an example to any other fools who might want to set themselves against him. He and his kind specialized in revenge.

Jack had cultivated Maria, listened to her growing hatred of Steinbach, and when the time was right, had turned her, made a deal for her that she wouldn't be prosecuted for her part in earlier diamond capers.

It was Maria who had vouched for him, Maria who got him in tight with Karl. And if Karl found her, it would be Maria who would be tied to a tree somewhere, covered with honey, her entrails hanging out . . .

But it was also her choice. If she didn't want to go into the Witness Protection Program, there was nothing Jack could do about it.

Besides, Jack could understand it. She'd been used to a life in South Africa and, before that, Peru and Chile. She wouldn't be happy living as a saleswoman in some godforsaken Midwestern town or down south in Fort Smith, Arkansas, where the latest members of the Witness Protection Program were planted.

She was a gambler, not unlike Jack himself, and she liked to live life close to the bone.

Maybe she'd be fine down there. With a new name, and maybe after a year or so, with a new face (Maria was considering having plastic surgery), she'd be untraceable.

Jack hoped so, anyway.

Just then they heard the announcement over the speaker. “United International Flight to Santiago, Chile, will now begin preboarding.”

Maria Vasquez looked up at Jack and smiled, but there was sadness in her eyes.

“You know, Jack?” she said. “There was a time when I thought . . . really thought we could have made it together.”

Jack kissed her on the cheek.

“Yeah,” he said. “I know what you mean. But, in the end, we're too much alike.”

“You think?” she said.

“Oh, yeah,” Jack said. “You and me . . . we're both addicted to life in the fast lane. That doesn't make for much of a marriage. In fact, that's the one thing I'm still a little worried about with you.”

“What?” she said, standing and gathering up her leather handbag.

“This town you're going to down there. Zato? I wonder if it'll be big enough for you?”

She smiled. Touched his cheek with her hand.

“That's where we're different, Jack. This whole thing with Karl, losing Hector, seeing all the hatred and killing and ugliness in the diamond business . . . that's cured me. I mean it. Maybe it's made me old before my time, but I can't think of anything I'd rather do now than go back there to my small town. Perhaps I'll marry and have children. That sounds like something real. You know, real friends, real family. People you can always count on. And they can count on you. After the lies and hustle of the diamond-smuggling business,
that
sounds exciting to me.”

Jack smiled and hugged Maria tight. “You know that if ever you need me, I'm right here for you.”

“Yes. I know that.”

He let her go and looked into her tearful eyes.

“Anything,” Jack said. “Anything you need. Don't hesitate to ask. You have my numbers.”

“I do.” She wiped away the tears from her cheeks. “I am going to miss you, Jack.”

“Me, too,” he said. “But who knows? Maybe we'll meet again.”