Chapter 17 #3
“The Lightfingers forgery in the Louvre,” Kadjic accused, his voice high and ringing with triumph.
“What are you talking about, stupid mobster man? I don’t paint!”
“But I know you were there—I saw footage. There were six of you with black clothes and… and hats and masks and….”
“If there were hats and masks, how would you know me from a hat and a mask? Geeze, Mister, if you’re going to kill me, kill me for that diamond. It’s worth a fortune.”
“I don’t want the bloody diamond! I want Lightfingers and the bloody Klimt you stole!”
“That’s nasty!” Grace retorted, sounding as wounded as a startled racoon. “I didn’t finger anybody’s bloody Kl—”
“I will beat you!” Kadjic screamed, and for a moment, Josh’s heart stopped, he was so afraid for his friend.
“If you beat me,” Grace said, “you’ll never find the Rothschild Egg I slipped into a maintenance closet tonight. I mean, it’s not fingering a bloody Kli—”
“You stole a Rothschild Egg?” Kadjic gasped, sounding as though slapped. “How did I not know about that?”
“Because you’re all excited about lady parts? I don’t know, you tell me!”
“Did you really?” Josh asked, forgetting that he wasn’t supposed to be talking to his friend right now.
“I don’t believe you,” Kadjic said at the same time.
“Why do people always underestimate me?” Grace retorted. “Why doesn’t somebody go online and check for it?”
And Josh realized he had underestimated his friend.
“Stirling!” he whispered, clicking his earpiece three times to change receivers.
“Josh?” Stirling asked, sounding frantic. “You okay?”
“Cramped,” Josh admitted. “And would love some fresh air. But Grace just told Kadjic to look online for a stolen Rothschild Egg at the museum.”
“Did he really?” Stirling squawked.
“Does it matter? Trace that request to Kadjic’s phone, and then you can track him should he ditch this vehicle!”
“Oh my God. Oh my God—that’s brilliant. I don’t know if I’m that brilliant—”
“Please-please-please-please…,” Josh whispered.
“I’m working!” Stirling practically sang.
Josh kept his begging to himself after that and tuned in to what Grace was saying.
“Well, did you find it?” Grace asked, presumably speaking to one of the flunkies.
There was a flurry of Russian, too fast for Josh to follow, and then Stirling said, “Woohoo! I found it!”
“I’ll leave a tracer here,” Josh whispered. “And one wherever he―”
“Josh, he’s heading here.”
“He’s what?” Josh squeaked.
“What was that?” Kadjic asked.
Josh held his breath, and Stirling told him, “He’s heading straight for D??in. It worked—we spooked him. But he’s heading for us, and we’re not done yet.”
“Shit,” Josh muttered. He was thinking, Reveal myself now or wait to see… reveal myself now or wait to see…. But at that moment Grace spoke up again.
“You found it,” Grace said smugly. “I can tell. See? Left that egg right there. Why, did you want it?”
“I wanted the Klimt!” Kadjic snarled. “And now I get neither Klimt nor egg. What do you say to that, you rank guttersnipe?”
Grace started to cackle. “Mister, my father can buy and sell you for spare parts. You don’t have to be born in the gutter to know how to snipe, you hear me?”
Josh winced, and in his ear, Stirling—who must have tuned in to Grace’s frequency too, said, “He must be really scared.”
“I should get their attention,” Josh murmured.
“No!” Stirling yelped.
“No!” Grace yelped too.
“Stay there until you can really help him,” Stirling urged.
“Fine,” Josh grumbled, and he didn’t state the thing he knew and they didn’t.
Even if the hatch popped, he would need help getting out.
His body, the thing he’d valued for his independence, was giving out on him when he needed it most. Careful in the confines of the trunk, he rolled to his side, making sure not to crush his earwig.
There was an emergency foil blanket back there, and he pulled it over his body, not sure if he was overheated from the engine or freezing from the fifty-degree coolness permeating the trunk, but knowing a shock blanket was never a bad idea.
With a deep breath against the panic of claustrophobia and of knowing Grace was in the hands of their most mortal enemy, he closed his eyes and put his biggest asset to use.
Think-think-think-think-think….
Oh shit.
“Stirling,” he asked, barely above the hum of the engine, “how’s the op going?”
“Funny you should ask that,” Stirling began, and Josh had to work not to pop the trunk and leap out of the vehicle as it ran.
LIAM’S SENSE of direction was best described as fair-to-middling, which was one of the reasons he always hovered over his laptop before an op.
He supposed it had something to do with his mild dyslexia—remembering his left from his right was difficult and painstaking, but it wasn’t something he made a big deal out of because people tended not to trust somebody when they had that problem.
It took a concentrated effort to zoom through the ship’s corridors, climbing up to one deck and down to another in order to bypass the galley, and feeling the giant plastic-covered package of passports thudding against his hip from the black canvas satchel he’d brought in with him.
Danny’s idea, of course, or Liam would have been forced to shove them down the front of his pants.
In his ear, scenes from his nightmares played out while he tried to do his bloody job.
“Molly, luv,” he sang, “I don’t suppose you know how many girls you have?”
“Sixty-three,” she said promptly. “How many passports do you have?”
“Sixty-five,” he replied, his voice grim. “Any idea where to search for the missing girls?”
“Hold on,” she said. “Some of the girls know English.”
He let her do that while he tagged overwatch. “Stirling, how are they doing?”
“Grace has almost gotten himself killed at least three times in one conversation,” Stirling said brutally. “And Josh keeps threatening to expose his position to shut Grace up.”
“No,” Liam said, his heart thundering in his ears.
“Oh hell no,” said Felix.
“And fuck no,” Danny said. Liam knew they’d both been escorting girls from the cold water of the river, where they’d had to swim the last twenty feet from where the inflatable path to the cofferdam gave out, under the dock that held Leon’s yacht, and up the offered narrow steps into the bottom portal itself.
A volunteer Julia had secured from heaven knew where was there to give the victims hot soup and clean warm clothes and promise them their passports and a return to their homes, which Interpol would secure just as soon as Liam (Ha! Like he could do this alone!) broke them out.
And Chuck and Hunter were down below the ship, working whatever industrial magic they’d produced to keep the water pumped from the hole they’d carved in the hull.
Thin, he thought in frustration. So many of us, and we are spread too thin.
Well, they were attempting, in one fell swoop, what many government agencies had tried to do over the last fifteen years.
And they were so close to succeeding—but dear God, what the cost?
“Ideas?” Liam panted. In the silence after his last breath, he heard a sound—one he’d heard on the streets often, and one he was there to stop. With a frustrated grunt, he threw open the door to the cabin he was passing and took in the scene with one glance.
Sex slaves were often trained, and it was as brutal and as awful as it sounded. One girl was on her back, sobbing, and another girl was chained to a fixture in the corner of the room, and Liam didn’t have time to be a good guy.
He didn’t carry guns—but he did carry a telescoping baton and a short dagger on his belt.
He pulled off the baton in one practiced gesture and telescoped it out in mid-swing.
It hit the crewman assaulting the girl at the base of the skull and spine, killing him before he had a chance to turn his head.
With a grunt, Liam pulled him off the girl, saying, “Found the other two girls—taking them to escape now.”
Turning to the one on the bed, he asked, “All right?” in his threadbare Russian. She nodded numbly and stood, pulling the rags of her shirt around her, crossing her bare legs in what was obviously pain.
“Wash,” he said, trying for gentleness. “Get dressed. We have little time to leave.”
She swallowed, tears running down her face, and then swallowed again. And then showed far more courage than Liam would have been able to and set about the cabin, going far enough to pull the sweater off her rapist’s back to cover her thin adolescent body.
It hung down to her knees, which was cover enough for Liam. He was busy picking the locks on the other girl’s chains. The two girls embraced, sobbing, mumbling to each other in Russian, and Liam gestured them firmly out the door and down the stairs to the next deck,
He knew the word for hurry, and that was enough. As they ran, he with his telescoping rod held at his side, he tried his comms again.
“I ask again, ideas?”
“We’ve been discussing that while you were busy,” Danny said, coming back online. “How much do you know about munitions?”
Liam grimaced. “Not as much as Chuck and Hunter,” he said. “And they happen to be right under the ship.”
“Good point,” Danny said. “But they’re going to need your help.”
“Fair enough,” Liam muttered, hopping to steady one of the victims as she stumbled. “Anything else I need to know?”
“You, uhm, do know how to swim, my boy, don’t you?”
Liam almost stumbled himself. “Why? Why do I need to know how to swim? Danny?”
“Just answer the question,” Danny soothed. “And then we know how to plan.”
Liam said, “Yes. Yes, I know how to swim. Why do you ask?”
And then he wished he hadn’t.
“NO,” FELIX said as together he and Danny abandoned their post of escorting the girls and left it in the volunteer’s capable hands.
“Fox, I need you to keep your wits about you—”
“I said no, you will not do this!” Felix cried, and Danny stopped as they were running and turned to cup Felix’s cheek.