According to Benavides, they were holding Garcia belowdecks, forward, where Agent Walter liked to do his work. There were supposed to be other prisoners as well, behind the engine room in tiny cells that ran on either side of the boat all the way aft. Senator Gorski would be there if she was still alive.
Miyagi led with her blade, moving silently. Thibodaux brought up the rear, ready to employ the H&K when it became necessary. A circular staircase ran downward to their right, disappearing into darkness. It would lead to the cells Benavides told them about. A wooden bulkhead obscured the view to their left, toward the bow of the boat. Thibodaux could hear voices, laughing about something. It soon became evident they were playing some kind of card game.
Miyagi inched sideways, cutting the pie until she could get a visual on what was around the corner. She ducked back and held up three fingers — letting Jacques know there were three guards. The knocking thrum of the auxiliary engine, along with their own conversation, left the guards unable to hear their compatriots fall less than twenty feet away.
Miyagi let the blade of her short sword trail behind her, as if she was dragging it along. Thibodaux had watched her do such a thing many times, just before she attacked.
Chapter 44
Garcia’s head felt like it was filled with burning coals. Every joint in her body was stretched, ready to snap. She was certain something in her wrist had already broken. Walter grabbed the back of her hair, yanking her head to keep her from head-butting him again. His arm pressed against her shoulder, driving downward and putting unbearable pressure on it.
“Virginia Ross,” he whispered into her ear, his face close enough she could smell the onions from his dinner. “Point me to her.”
The pain in her shoulder was so great Garcia could barely comprehend the question. Any words she could have mustered were covered in panting sobs.
Walter eased up a hair, bringing a measure of relief.
“You know,” he said, “I took it easy on her because of her office. You don’t have that luxury.” He reached into his pocket with his free hand and drew out a small insulin syringe. “So I guess we find ourselves at a crossroads. Will you be the traitor who gives up her fellow conspirators and spends the rest of her days in prison, or will the authorities find the shell of your once beautiful body, scarred and abused by the men who supplied you with drugs?”
“You sadistic bastard!” Ronnie spat. She screamed when Walter bore down again with his arm, grinding her teeth until she thought they might shatter.
He thumbed the flesh of her neck with the hand that held the syringe. “Have you ever heard of Krokodil?”
Ronnie felt her knees give out at the word. Named for the scaly skin of its users, Krokodil was nasty stuff. It had been developed as a cheap heroin substitute in Russia, where codeine was available over the counter. It might contain hydrochloric acid, red phosphorous, lighter fluid, and even gasoline. As addictive as meth, depending on the batch, it had a tendency to eat away flesh at the injection site, exposing bone.
Walter laughed in her ear. “You’ll still be sexy for a day or two,” he said. “Long enough for my purposes. But I have quite a supply of this stuff. It won’t be long before I’m tired of you. You’ll be so nasty by then even Joey B won’t want you — and that’s saying something.”
Ronnie rolled her eyes sideways to stare at the needle. Palmer and the others would already be moving, but she knew too much that could hurt them. She had to do something to make Walter angry enough to kill her before she talked.
Chapter 45
Counting Joey Benavides, there were nine bodies on the boat by the time Thibodaux and Miyagi made it to the hatch outside where Ronnie was being held. But for the guard on the top deck, Miyagi had taken care of all of them with her sword. Thibodaux, a man who had taken many lives himself since joining the Marine Corps was still amazed by the deadly, machinelike grace this woman displayed in battle.
They’d seen Garcia on the monitor and knew she was alone behind the hatch with Agent Walter. The image was fuzzy and they couldn’t be sure what he had in his hand, but it looked like a knife. Whatever he held, Walter was still oblivious to the fact that he had no more friends on his boat.
Miyagi shoved open the hatch, allowing Thibodaux in first with his weapon since silence was no longer an issue. Walter stood with his back to the hatch. Garcia was directly behind him, arms above her head, attached to a four-foot metal bar. There was too big a chance that the 10mm bullets would rip through Walter’s body and hit her for Thibodaux to shoot. Stepping forward enough to let Miyagi in behind him, he dropped to one knee and raised the muzzle of the H&K upward, releasing a burst of a half-dozen rounds at the pulley that held the handcuff bar suspended.
Ronnie rolled her eyes upward at the creak of the opening hatch, vaguely wondering which of the guards had come to watch the show. Through the mental haze of her torture, she saw a familiar eye patch — but out of context, she couldn’t place it. When Emiko Miyagi flowed in next like the unstoppable force that she was, Ronnie felt her heart begin to race. Adrenaline flooded her limbs. Reanimated, her head snapped up and she spat a mixture of blood and bile into Agent Walter’s eyes. She didn’t care if he hit her again, as long as his attention was toward her and not the hatch.
She could see Thibodaux over Walter’s shoulder and watched him take a knee as he aimed the H&K. Gunfire rattled the room. Brass clattered against the metal deck. The cable above her head gave a loud twang as it parted under the barrage of lead.
Ronnie collapsed on top of Walter as he fell backwards, bashing him in the face again and again with the bar. The first blow separated his nose at the bridge, peeling it downward so hung more off than on. Subsequent blows broke several teeth. Screaming in a voice an octave higher than before, he tried to throw her off, but Miyagi pinned him to the deck with an extremely painful but non-life-threatening sword through his shoulder above the collarbone. Jacques stood on the opposite hand while he bent to release Ronnie from the cuffs.
Ronnie screamed through the pain in her shoulders as she snatched up the fallen syringe and held it above Walter’s eye. Her hand shook. Her chest heaved. Every fiber of her body wanted to kill him and be done with it.
“Tell us what you know about Drake and McKeon,” she said, a line of spittle dangling from her lips as she looked down at this man who’d been about to rape and murder her. Fury alone helped her keep a grip on the syringe.
Walter shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.
“Who’s running them?” She pressed the tip of the needle against his eyelid with a trembling hand, bringing a flood of tears. “What’s their endgame?”
“McKeon hates the President,” Walter all but shrieked. He panted, regaining a measure of his composure. “They’re not working on anything together. I can swear to that.”
Thibodaux stomped on the man’s wrist. “Cochons!” he spat. “Quit tellin’ us what they ain’t doing.”
“Okay, Okay…” Walter nodded quickly, catching his breath. “I know McKeon and his wife are running the show.”
“You mean the Japanese girl?” Miyagi ground her blade back and forth in the wound to get his attention.
Walter clenched his eyes at the new wave of pain. “The scary tatted one?” He shook her head. “No. You’d think he was with her as much as she’s with him, but he and his wife… they have some seriously long talks.”