Carl glanced at me. “The bomb, how big?”
“At least twenty pounds. I was too far away to get a good look, but I’m guessing it was packed in nails or something from the mess it made.”
“Good thing you weren’t close enough to get a good look or we wouldn’t be talking right now. These guys ain’t fucking around,” Carl responded. He’d been at the receiving end of a bombing during a job involving the Tamil Tigers several years back. That one had been wrapped in industrial staples. My friend still had one embedded in his back. It occasionally set off metal detectors. Carl didn’t like bombs, unless he was the one setting them.
I sighed. This was it. If the country was moving into a full-blown revolution, then Dead Six was sure to bail. It was now or never. I glanced over at Jill. It was time to put her out there and see who tried to kill her. She still had her head down. She’d had a really tough day. Shit.
“How’re you doing, Jill?” Reaper asked, a real note of concern in his voice.
“I’m fine,” she lied. She slowly raised her head and moved her long hair out of her eyes, neatly tucking the stray strands behind her ear. She was remarkably composed, all things considered. “I’ve just never seen anything like that before. It was terrible, absolutely terrible.”
“It’s probably going to get worse,” I added, “before we can get you out of here safely.” Lies.
“So what do we do now, chief?” Reaper asked hesitantly.
I didn’t know what to do. My one option sucked. Even the hardened killer, Carl, didn’t like it, and Reaper would probably openly revolt. I have to figure out how to play—then my phone buzzed. It was from another unknown number. I flipped it open.
“Hello, my friend,” Jalal Hosani greeted me. “I do not have much time.”
I covered the speaker and mouthed Hosani to the others. Jill looked round, still confused. She was still in the dark about everything related to this job, and I intended to keep it that way. “What’ve you got?”
“I have some information about those friends you’ve been seeking to reunite with. I’m happy to say that they’re still in town. I will need you to meet me the day after tomorrow. I will call you that morning with the location.”
“Thank you, my friend.” I said. “And how appreciative will I need to be for you doing this favor for me?”
“Do you remember how appreciative you were of the favor I did for you in Dubai? I believe that five times that should suffice.”
I had paid him a hundred thousand American dollars for what he’d done for me that time, and that had been outrageous. So now Jalal was asking for half a million. “You’ve got to be kidding . . .” Reaper and Carl looked with mild curiosity. I took a pen and wrote $500 K on the bottom of the leaflet.
“Holy shit,” Reaper said.
“Be cheaper just to beat it out of him,” Carl suggested.
“Believe it or not, there are other people who would be even more appreciative of this information. But we are such old friends that I thought you should have the first opportunity. And also, I do believe that I will be going on a vacation shortly after, as the climate around here has gotten a little warm for my tastes, so I would like physical appreciation, rather than digital.”
He wanted half a million in cash. “Physical?” I responded slowly, looking to Reaper, who thought about it for a second, then nodded in the affirmative. “Okay. But two days is short notice—are you cool if it is European appreciation?” Reaper hurried from the room.
“English, Euro, or other?”
“You picky bastard. Well, mostly British, God save the Queen, and some Continental, because I do love all those pretty colors, you know how it goes. And for this much love, it had better be damn worth it.”
“Such a sense of humor! You are a good friend. I will be in touch.” He sounded happy, and he should be.
I put the phone away. “Greedy, conniving son of a bitch.”
“What just happened?” Jill asked.
“For information on Dead Six, Lorenzo just agreed to fork over half a million bucks,” Carl explained. “Lorenzo has always sucked at negotiation.”
Jill seemed absolutely stunned. “Where in the world are you going to come up with that kind of money? That’s insane!”
Reaper came back into the room with a backpack and a big silly grin on his face. He dropped it in the middle of the table with a theatrical grunt. Carl, temporarily inconvenienced, was forced to move his beer out of the way. “I’ll have to pull some out and recount it,” Reaper said as he unzipped it. This particular bag was mostly U.K. pounds, neatly stacked 100 pound notes, fifty per stack, rubber-banded together. There were at least fifty stacks in this particular bag that we had smuggled into the country. Reaper pulled one out and flipped through it. “I’ll have to check today’s exchange rate first.”
Zubara had been a British protectorate, and they still had a lot of influence here. So we’d smuggled in mostly pounds. We also had a mess of euros, dollars, and a giant pile of local riyals.
Jill made a whistling noise as she opened the bag wider. “The movies always make it look so much bigger. . . . How’d you get all this?”
I’d been stealing professionally for years from everybody from Al Qaeda to FARC, from the Yakuza to the Russian Mob, and I was about the best in the world. My exploits were the stuff of legend. I was worth a lot more than Jill could easily comprehend. I wasn’t even really sure how much I had stashed in various encrypted accounts around the world dating back to my days working for Big Eddie. Personally, I was easily worth millions. I could have given up this lifestyle years ago, but then again it had never been about the cash. It had been about the challenge.
“I told you assholes always have more money,” I answered with a smirk.
Chapter 12:
Broken Arrow
VALENTINE
Location unknown
April 21
0700
Nine of us sat in the back of a V-22 Osprey, wondering where in the hell we were going. Well, eight of us were wondering. The ninth, Anders, seemed like he knew what was going on, but he wouldn’t tell us anything. We’d been suddenly roused from bed and rushed to the desert, where we’d been picked up by the Osprey.
Anders wasn’t really part of Dead Six. He answered only to Gordon and seemingly came and went as he pleased. I’d heard that he’d helped on a few missions, and he had a ruthless reputation. He never spoke to anyone else, and his background was a complete mystery. Holbrook was former Navy and said that he’d spotted a SEAL trident tattoo on Anders’ forearm. Other than that, we knew nothing about the guy.
Tailor and Hudson were with me, as was Singer’s entire chalk. Also with us was a new guy, a heavy-set dude with a buzzcut. His name was Byrne, and he was Wheeler’s replacement. Like me, he was former Air Force. We’d heard that new guys were showing up here and there to augment our losses. Obviously, those rumors were true.
Singer had been around since day one, and he was a solid team leader. Tall, lanky, and possessed of a sick sense of humor, Singer had probably the best track record of any of the chalk leaders, a fact which drove Tailor insane. With him were Holbrook, Cromwell, and Mitchell, all good guys.