Justice for Francesca (Six Paths to Justice #1)

24. The Mission

24

THE MISSION

Tripoli

H unched over Chaos’ body, Tripoli froze, mesmerized by the hulking figure approaching. It weaved left, then right, as if preparing for a fight. But Tripoli couldn’t fight him. He had to protect Chaos.

The figure drew closer still, and Tripoli realized the figure wasn’t weaving. He was simply walking purposefully, without hurry. He scrambled for his gun, but he never got a shot off. The shadowy man seemed to anticipate his movements.

“You can’t protect her anymore,” it said. “Only we can.”

Tripoli looked down. Instead of Chaos lying below him, it was Francesca.

Violently, Tripoli shook his head. He tried to yell at the approaching figure, but words wouldn’t come.

Struggling, he stood up. He could hear the muffled sounds of his teammates, trying to direct each other through the smoke from the flash-bang. He glanced to his left. Tiguan was yelling something at him. He tried reading his lips, but the man was too far away. He was motioning for him to back away, but Tripoli refused. Then Oz appeared in the haze, motioning him away from Francesca.

“Leave her to us.”

Once again, he violently shook off the figure. The shadow was the enemy. He couldn’t let them take her.

Coming up behind Oz, he saw the silhouettes of the men who had been lost that day on the trail. Honcho, his arm missing. Mayhem, a hole so big in his chest, Tripoli could clearly see his exploded ribs and stopped heart. Keys, blood leaking from his facial features.

“Leave her to us,” the shadow said again.

The fallen soldiers stared at Tripoli over Oz’s shoulder. “Let her go, Trip.” It was Mayhem who’d spoken. “Let them take her. They can protect her so you can get help. Let her go.”

The smoke cleared, and the figures faded into the jungle. Tripoli sat on the edge of his bed, his forearms supporting him on his thighs, his hands hanging between his knees. Mannix packed one hell of a punch, and he still felt like his bell would never stop ringing. Impatiently, he waited for the nausea and ear ringing to stop.

The lights suddenly flickered back on, and he heard the elevator ping. Someone had summoned it downstairs. Probably Cosmos or Cruz or both. Tripoli stood up, went into his bathroom, and opened the security panel behind what looked and functioned like an ordinary light switch. He keyed in his code, and he heard the pop of the safe room door. Mickie pushed her way out.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, fear behind her eyes.

“No, but it will be,” Tripoli replied. “I hope.”

A body came rushing into the bathroom. “Mickie!”

“Cruz!” She rushed into his waiting arms, and Tripoli smiled at their reunion. He wanted something like that with Francesca, although he’d much prefer there not be fear and worry behind it.

Cruz murmured into her ear, kissed the top of her head, and hugged her tight. Over the woman’s head, he checked on Tripoli. “You look like shit.”

“Yeah, well, you try going a round with Mannix McCabe next time, okay?”

“Hey. I had to deal with Fionn in the alley and barely avoided Hubble piercing my ear, so you got off easy.”

Mickie pulled back in Cruz’s embrace. “What the hell are you two talking about? Oh my god, you’re bleeding!”

“Relax, Mick,” Cruz murmured. “It’s not my blood. I’m fine.”

She looked around. “Where’s Francesca?”

“The McCabe brothers have her,” Tripoli replied.

“Oh no!” she exclaimed, tears in her eyes.

After another kiss to Mickie’s head, Cruz looked down at her. “Quint is downstairs. I asked him to take you home. I’m probably going to be a while.”

“You’re going after Francesca?”

“Yes.”

Tripoli snorted. “What happened with Fionn?”

“Hubble shot him in the shoulder. Didn’t even slow the fucker down. Hubble had to put a second one in him. Fucker punched my lights out and then took off running.”

“Yeah. Same for Mannix. He let me land a few good punches. Asshole was just letting me get close so he could pin me and share his wisdom.”

Cruz looked at him, puzzled. “You gonna fill me in?”

Tripoli deflected his question by drawing attention to Mickie. “Get her to Quint. We’ll talk after.”

One arm still around Mickie, Cruz tipped his head toward the elevator. “I’ll be back to talk to you in a few minutes. Don’t leave here. You’re not an officer, so I can’t sanction you going after her.”

“No need to ‘sanction’ me, Cruz. And I’m going. Francesca’s mine, and she’s going to need me before this is all over. I’ve sat back long enough and let her do her thing. Things are different now.”

Cruz shook his head. “Just don’t leave without talking to me, all right?” He exited the room, talking softly to Mickie as they left.

Tripoli began to unbutton his dress shirt and headed into the bedroom and his walk-in closet. Inside, he shucked his shirt, balled it up, and threw it in the hamper. His jeans were next. In the center of the closet was a table that contained drawers filled with underclothes, ties, and assorted other accessory items. From the bottom drawer, he pulled a long-sleeved black turtleneck and black tactical pants. Fully clothed, he returned to the bedroom with a pair of black lace-up boots in his hands.

A few minutes later, Cosmos, Triumph, Lobo, and Steel entered the room. “You okay, Trip?” Cosmos asked.

“Yeah. Nothing hurts but my pride.” Tripoli tossed Triumph a small black box. “Connect that frequency to my watch, then give it to Lobo and Steel.”

“What’s at the end of the frequency?”

“Mannix gave it to me. The receiver is where they’ve taken Francesca.”

“I’m on it.” Triumph spun on his heel and left the room.

There was quiet in the room. “Her father? He do Mila, Jessa, and Tilly?” Cosmos asked.

Swallowing past the large lump in his throat, Tripoli gathered himself and stomped down on the pain. He couldn’t afford emotions right now. Emotions got you killed. “Yes.”

“I’ll go check on Triumph. Be back when he’s got you locked in. I’m going with.”

Lobo and Steel were the only ones who had remained behind. “What do you want us to do?” Lobo rumbled.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Tripoli didn’t look up as he began lacing up his boots. “Get to wherever that frequency is,” he replied. “I need you to cover Oisin McCabe. He does not get out of this alive. Cruz won’t be able to kill him without provocation, and I can’t, or I’ll get arrested. They don’t know about you two, so if shit goes sour, I need you to do it and then get the fuck out of there. Price is no object.”

“No fee needed for this motherfucker. What about the brothers?” Steel asked.

“Let’s just say that they’re the good bad guys. They’ll protect her as long as they can, but…” Tripoli blew out a breath as he stood up. “They need to try not to blow their cover. Cruz and company can’t know.”

“You learned a lot of shit in a very short space of time,” Lobo commented. “You sure you trust them?”

“Trust them? No. But right now, they’re Francesca’s only hope, so I’ve got no choice.”

A beep came from Lobo’s watch, followed closely by Steel’s. The latter reported, “Triumph sent us the frequency along with a live map. They’re headed toward the airport.”

“Makes sense. They’re probably going to try to get her back to New York City. Driving her there leaves too many openings for shit to go wrong on their end, and leaving her body somewhere here means an investigation.” He sent a text. “I’ve asked Triumph to search the private jet companies for any flight plans going to or near the city. He’ll check into hangar rentals as well.”

“We’ll head that way and keep watch. Unless they try to take off and you’re not there yet, we won’t intervene.” Lobo held his hand out to Tripoli. “Either way, we probably won’t see you again tonight. We’ll leave town as soon as everything’s taken care of, and hopefully without being seen or involved. Just know, we will intervene if we need to, Tripoli.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” He shook hands with Steel, then both men went quietly out the door.

Cosmos reentered the room and whistled. “I still don’t know who’s scarier. Lobo or his friend.”

“Me either. Not sure I want to know.”

Tripoli went back into his closet and reopened his gun safe. Earlier, he’d removed his Glock, a gun he hadn’t touched other than to lock it up. Now he went for his second Glock, the holsters for both, and began to fill the second magazine on the tabletop in the center of the closet.

“You’re going to get yourself arrested if you kill him,” Cosmos warned.

Without looking up, Tripoli put the box of bullets he’d opened fresh tonight and secured it in his outer pants pocket. “Your point?”

“I’m just saying. I don’t give a shit, but if you go to prison, that leaves me in charge of the clubs, and I don’t want that headache.”

Grunting, Tripoli went back into the safe looking for his knife belt buckle and the knife that tucked into his boot. “Frankly, the clubs are the last thing on my mind right now. Knowing you like I do, they’re not really your first concern either.”

“I was trying to be the logical friend.”

“Why start now?”

“Trip.”

Tripoli closed the safe and began to clip the knife buckle to his belt, then thread it through the loops of his pants. “What?”

“We’ll get her back. With the FBI’s help or not, we won’t let you down.”

“I know.”

Raising his leg to rest on the edge of the table, he shoved the remaining knife down in his boot, then lowered his leg. It felt strange to be suited up again as if he were going on a mission. He’d sworn he’d never do this sort of thing again. Little had he known that the most important mission of his life was about to take place. Justice for Francesca.