“Quiet, love,” Keegan said. “And order something else, will you. You know I can’t stand that stuff.”
She smiled at him and took another bite.
“Fish is meant to be cooked,” he said. “Now hold this.”
As Keegan handed the cane over, Hawker tracked it from the corner of his eye, watching as the girl rested it against the edge of the table.
“So you two are here on your honeymoon?” Hawker said.
The girl sucked at her teeth as if the idea was absurd. Keegan scowled. “Who’m I gonna find to marry me?”
“Only half the women in London,” Hawker said.
Keegan looked appalled. “Don’t believe a word he says, love; it’s more like a third.”
“Of course, the other half want to kill you,” Hawker added.
“That part might be true,” Keegan admitted.
The girl did not seem to care.
“Neither of which explains what you’re doing here.”
“I’m here to find you, mate.”
“I guessed that,” Hawker said. “Why? And for that matter, how the hell did you know I was here?”
To do what Hawker did — and survive for any great length of time — took an unusual set of skills: brains, brawn, and quick reflexes. It also required an ability to think two steps ahead of everyone else and doses of absolute confidence and healthy paranoia. Let the ratio get out of whack in either direction and you ended up walking into a bullet or paralyzed by fear.
“Listen, mate,” Keegan said. “This is my stomping grounds now. And you’ve been walking around in it lit up like neon. The whole world knows you’re here, because you wanted them to know you were here. Now whether you’re buying or selling or—”
Before Keegan could finish, Hawker’s left hand shot out, swinging around his old friend’s shoulders, grabbing him by the back of the neck, and slamming him forward. At almost the same instant, Hawker’s right hand shot inside his jacket, hitting the grip of his pistol, tilting it, and jamming the barrel against Keegan’s ribs.
As Keegan grunted in shock, Hawker glanced back. The girl had grabbed the cane. Hawker kicked it with his heel, knocking it out of her hands and sending it flying across the balcony’s stone floor.
Buried inside that cane, Hawker knew, were two 9 mm shells that could be fired at the touch of a button and a knife that could be pulled from the handle.
The girl went to move.
“Don’t,” Hawker growled, flashing enough of the gun for her to see.
The commotion had stirred the other patrons and Hawker realized he was in a precarious situation. But he couldn’t let Keegan spit out what he was probably about to say. Most likely, the girl knew everything Keegan knew, but on the odd chance she didn’t, Hawker needed to shut him up.
A few tables down, Mr. Thousand Euro Suit had stood up, tossed his napkin down, and begun coming their way.
“One of yours?” Hawker asked.
Keegan shook his head.
Hawker cut his eyes at the man. “I’d sit down if I was you.”
The man stopped in his tracks. Whether he’d seen or guessed that Hawker was holding a gun or just realized this wasn’t a person to mess with, he walked back to his table, grabbed his date, and left.
The rest of the balcony began to clear out and Hawker figured he had a minute or so before security showed their faces. He’d dropped enough money on the important people at the hotel that it wouldn’t be a problem, but the conversation would be over and the cops might follow.
He leaned close to Keegan’s ear. “Tell me who you’re working for and what you want, or I’ll blow what’s left of your guts out and dump your sushi-eating friend over the balcony.”
Keegan glanced up at him and then pulled from his grasp. Even now he was strong as an ox.
“Choose your words carefully,” Hawker added.
“Same old Hawker,” Keegan announced. “Can’t tell a friend from a foe.”
“Can you?” Hawker said.
Keegan looked across the table at his girl, ignoring Hawker.
“I ever tell you about the time Hawk here found me half blown to bits in the desert. He pushed my intestines back in, wrapped me up, and dragged me a half mile through enemy fire to a waiting air evac unit.”
Keegan turned to Hawker, locking eyes with him.
“I don’t care what you think, mate, that makes us blood. Understand? I’d go to hell and back for you. So take that damned gun out of my ribs and listen to me for a minute.”
Hawker eased off. The fact that no other thugs had appeared and the girl hadn’t shot or stabbed him was somewhat reassuring, but he held the gun on his lap just the same.
“You’ve got sixty seconds,” Hawker said.
“You still into helping friends?”
“You need help?”
“No,” Keegan said. “I’m in the information trade now. I run a legitimately illegitimate business these days. Just like you. I’m here for another friend, a less capable friend. A guy I helped you spirit out of Africa five years ago.”
A name came to mind: Ranga Milan, a Spanish geneticist he’d met in Africa a decade ago.
“Haven’t heard from him in years,” Hawker said.
Keegan raised his eyebrows. “What about Sonia?”
For reasons Hawker could never fathom, Ranga’s twenty-year-old, American-born daughter, Sonia, had been with him. She was a budding scientist in her own right, but the Republic of the Congo was a dangerous spot, no place for a beautiful young girl. Then again, the whole situation had been a little odd.
Ranga and his daughter were supposed to be working on genetically modified crops, but the paymasters were military men. Whatever the original deal was it seemed to change over time. Veiled threats became outright demands; the generals wanted a bio-weapon.
While Ranga lived in denial, Hawker made escape plans, spending all his time guarding Sonia. Both he and Ranga knew she’d be the target if the generals needed more leverage. They grew closer during that time and she’d convinced herself that she loved him.
Hawker recalled trying to dissuade her from the idea, though he wasn’t sure that he’d tried that hard. Either way, when they’d finally cleared the border and made it to safety she’d begged Hawker to come to Europe with them or to take her wherever he was headed. Hawker had put her on the plane with Keegan and had never seen or heard from her again.
“She was in love with you, mate,” Keegan said. “You telling me you haven’t spoken?”
“Not since the three of you left Algiers.”
“Too bad,” Keegan said grinning. “Thought you’d have found her, run off, and had a bushelful of kids by now.”
“I think she deserved better.”
Keegan nodded. “Probably right about that.”
“Did she come to you?” Hawker asked.
“No, mate, Ranga did. He found me in Athens. Don’t ask me how. He wanted me to find you. Said he was desperate. Someone was trying to put a bullet in his head.”
“Why didn’t you help him?”
Keegan looked insulted. “I offered,” he said. “Even offered to stake him if he needed cash. But he said money wouldn’t do it. And he didn’t trust me the way he trusted you.”
Hawker remembered Ranga being troubled in his own way. He lived in some brooding world in his own mind, alternating between dark spells and manic euphoria as he chased whatever it was that possessed him. How such a brilliant man could seem utterly clueless, Hawker didn’t know. But Ranga had pulled it off.
Forcing him to see what was about to happen in the Congo had almost broken him, as if giving up on what he was doing would drive him to madness. After that, mostly silence and then a simple thank-you when he realized what Hawker had saved him and his daughter from.
Apparently Ranga had become no better at choosing his partners.