He could hear someone coming. He held his head up. Two men, one with a rifle. He pushed with his good leg, crawling away from them, his good hand scrambling in his jacket and pulling out his SATPhone. He flipped it open. Nothing. The signal couldn’t get through the floors of concrete and metal above him. He kept pushing back until a boot came down on his chest, pinning him to the ground.
Killean knew he had lost a lot of blood. He felt very weary, the pain from his hand more distant now, his wounded leg just a dead weight below his waist. The phone dropped from his hand.
A man leaned close to him, holding something in his hand. In the dim light, Killean could make out jewels and diamonds sparkling. An elongated cross.
The man picked up his SATPhone. “Is there someone left alive to call here in the States?”
Killean spit at the cross.
The man laughed. “That’s the most effective thing Nexus has ever done against us.” He put the cross away and held the SATPhone in front of Killean. “Who is left?”
Killean heard the voice as if from far away as his head slumped back on the concrete. He knew they’d taken down Eichen. And the agent who had made the contact when they killed Callahan. If the Priory was asking, that meant they didn’t know about Mentor.
The man put his foot on the thigh wound and ground the heel, but Killean felt nothing.
“Who is left?”
If Nexus was not much of a threat, why was the Priory so concerned about wiping them out? Killean wondered. It meant the Priory was afraid. He felt a slap across his face and he blinked.
“Who is left?”
It was Killean’s turn to smile. And that was how he died.
Luis Farruco was thirty-eight years old and had survived sixteen years as a member of Cesar’s cartel. He’d risen in the ranks not because of intelligence but rather through ruthlessness and, more importantly, the fact that he had lived so long in such a dangerous occupation.
Since Cesar had begun spending more time at Saba, Farruco had taken over more of the operations in Colombia. Right now, he was pacing back and forth in the master bedroom of Cesar’s villa, the naked women on the bed of little interest to him.
The door to the room swung open and two of his men came in, holding a third between them. The man’s face was bloodied; his fingers twisted where each had been snapped one by one.
They threw the man onto the floor. The two women made no attempt to cover themselves; indeed they edged closer to the scene, predatory eyes watching, sensing Farruco’s blood lust.
Farruco squatted in front of the wounded man. “Alonzo, tell me the truth.”
Alonzo lifted his head. “I have!”
Farruco reached forward and grabbed Alonzo’s jaw. “You were the one responsible for guarding the bodies. No one can get in that freezer unless they go down the corridor that was your post. So why are you lying to me? Did you leave your post? Tell me.”
“I did nothing! I did nothing! I was there. I swear on my mother. I never left.”
“Take him to the balcony,” he ordered his guards.
He followed as they pushed Alonzo up against the steel railing overlooking the extensive front lawn. The two women were right behind Farruco.
Farruco held a hand out and one of the guards gave him a sawed-off shotgun. He pushed the large barrel under Alonzo’s jaw, jerking his head up. The man’s eyes bulged and he tried to speak, but the pressure of the steel under his chin only allowed him a garbled plea.
Farruco pulled the shotgun back slightly. “Tell me.”
Alonzo was sobbing. “I swear! I was there the entire time. No one passed.”
A line furrowed Farruco’s brow. He’d seen enough men beg for their lives, and he realized that Alonzo was telling the truth.
He pulled the trigger. Alonzo’s head exploded, spraying blood, brain, and bone out over the lawn. The headless body collapsed. Farruco indicated for the guards to toss it over the railing-he didn’t want the carpet in the bedroom to get soiled.
Even if Alonzo had been telling the truth, for the other men to see him sobbing and begging meant his effectiveness in the organization was over. Farruco handed the gun back to the guard as his cell phone buzzed. The two women were at his side, running their hands up and down his body.
“Yes?”
He stiffened as he recognized Cesar’s voice, and pushed the women away roughly. He listened and then acknowledged the order he had been given.
Flipping the phone shut, he shouted orders to his guards. Then he went to the large gun case on the wall nearest the balcony and opened it. He surveyed the various weapons inside. He could hear shouts now from the lawn as his men brought the Americans out and lined them up.
He chose an American-made M-16, enjoying the not so subtle irony, and walked out to the balcony. Looking down, he could see the prisoners squinting in the bright sunlight, most of them mesmerized by Alonzo’s body in front of them, then slowly noticing his presence above.
“Who is in charge?” Farruco yelled.
For several seconds nothing, then one of the men stepped forward. “I am.”
“Your name?”
The man said nothing. Farruco shrugged. “It does not matter. Pick one of your men.”
“For what?”
“To die.”
The man blinked. “What?”
“I am going to kill one of you. You have thirty seconds to pick who it is.”
13
Valika watched the few lights on Saba disappear from sight as the plane gained altitude. She was armed with only a laptop computer, a fact that made her quite uncomfortable, especially since she had met the man she was heading toward once before and it had not turned out well. Of course, in that meeting she had been representing herself, not Cesar and the Ring.
Cesar, at least, was confident that his backing would garner her a peaceful reception. Valika wasn’t as confident. She gripped the armrest as the plane banked hard, heading for Martinique, a neutral place. The flight would be short, the only good thing about this mission as far as she was concerned.
A thousand miles to the west, Aura II was circling a spot in the ocean two miles off the coast of Grand Cayman, all lights blacked out. An Aura transmitter was bolted to the deck of the ship, cables looping from it to a computer in the ship’s bridge. None of the crew were near the computer. It was linked by SATCOM directly back to Saba. Instead of bunks, the main cabin was full of lithium batteries to supply power to Aura.
At the appointed time, the captain of Aura II turned his bow toward the main harbor of Boddentown. He slid into the small bay and edged as close as possible to the town without running the yacht aground.
The SATPhone was answered on the second ring. “Yes?”
“I need some help,” Dalton said.
“Are you still at Bright Gate?” Mentor asked.
“Yes.”
“Something is happening,” Mentor said. “We’ve lost two others besides General Eichen.”
“ ‘Lost’?” Dalton repeated.
“Killed.”
“By the Priory?”
“Most likely.”
“Then I really need your help.” Dalton quickly told Mentor about his plan to establish an alternate Bright Gate. “I’ve got transportation lined up,” Dalton said. “I can get the stuff out of here, but I don’t have a place to take it to.”
“What are your requirements for a location?” Mentor asked.
“Someplace secure. Hidden. And access to power.”
There was no static in the SATPhone, just a dead silence for several seconds, which made him wonder if Mentor was still on the other end.