The place that had been chosen for the preliminary meeting was a dive. Favreau had spent time in his share of strip joints over the years, but this one looked like something from the outer rim of hell. Most of the women were dogs, for one thing, like the one on stage, pimping for Bahamian dollar bills. There was nothing less appealing than a stripper with the face and body of a pit bull.
He sat at a table, drinking scotch, staring morosely at what looked like a hair on the rim of his glass that was clearly not his, when a couple of hard cases walked in through the front entrance, spotted him, and came over to the table.
Favreau had never seen Valac before, had only spoken to him on the phone, but neither of these guys looked like they fit the voice.
The tall one, obviously in charge, scraped a chair back without an invite and sat across from him as the other one hung back a little, keeping his eye on the door.
“Good afternoon, Frederic.”
The accent was American. If Favreau had to guess, he’d say the guy was ex-CIA, one of the many who had either gone rogue or hired themselves out to men like Reinhard Beck.
“Where’s Valac?” he asked.
The tall man smiled. “Dealing with other matters at the moment. He sent me to continue the negotiation.”
“Continue?” Favreau said. “He made his bid and heard my counter. Either he accepts it or I’m gone. I know a man in Chechnya who would kill for what I’m selling.”
“I assume you’re talking about Dakalu?”
Favreau tried to keep the surprise off his face. How could they possibly know whom he’d been in contact with?
“Dakalu is no longer in contention,” the tall man said. “He’s had an unfortunate accident.”
“Accident?”
“Something to do with his car exploding. I don’t know the exact details.”
Favreau felt a chill run down his spine. What the hell was going on here?
The tall man was still smiling. “I believe you’ll find that Owusu and Budiono have withdrawn from the bidding as well. So that leaves only Valac.”
What started as shock was turning into anger. Favreau said, “So is this your idea of negotiating? You brought me here to try to intimidate me?”
“Of course not. Valac loves the island and wants others to enjoy the experience just as he does. It isn’t often that men like us get a chance to relax, but St. Cajetan is something of a safe haven, and he thought you might appreciate it here.”
“Bullshit,” Favreau said.
“There’s no need to be hostile, Frederic.”
“Look, I don’t care if your boss is the last man on Earth, if he thinks he can lowball me—”
The tall one raised a hand. “It’s not like that. Valac is a man of honor. He simply wants a couple days to consider your latest price and asks that you humor him. In the meantime, he hopes you’ll indulge in the many pleasures the island has to offer.”
Favreau gestured to the woman on stage. “You mean like dog face over there?”
“I’m sure some men find her very appealing. But if she isn’t your type, there are bound to be others on the island who are. A tourist, perhaps. There’s quite a selection this time of year, and they all have money.”
“The only money I’m interested in right now is Valac’s. Either he wants what I’ve got to sell or he doesn’t. Tell him I expect an answer by tomorrow.”
“I’ll be sure to relay the message,” the tall man said as he got to his feet. “We’ll be in touch again. Very soon.”
“You’d better be. Or competition or not, I’ll withdraw my offer and leave.”
The tall man gave him one last smile. “I’m afraid you might find it difficult to secure a flight, Frederic. You can certainly try, but I wouldn’t recommend it at this point.”
Favreau felt something stir in his intestines. “Is that some kind of threat?”
“Now why would we feel the need to threaten you? We all want the same thing, don’t we?”
He nodded to the other man and the two crossed the bar and exited.
When they were gone, Favreau let out a long, shaky breath, then flicked the hair off the rim of his glass, knocked the rest of his scotch back, and ordered another.
From his table across the room, Cooper watched Favreau down his drink and said into his comm mic, “Deuce, you out front now?”
“That, I am.”
“There are two guys coming your way, one tall, mid-to-late fifties, curly gray hair. The other mid-thirties, dark, looks like muscle.”
“I got ‘em, they just exited. The tall one looks a little familiar but I can’t place him. I’ll take photos for facial recognition.”
“I’m guessing they’re Valac’s men, so you’d better follow them.”
“I figured as much, but how can you be sure?”
“Because Favreau looks like he’s about to drop one in his pants. Once he leaves, I’ll catch a cab, see if I can keep up. But from the look on his face, I figure he’s done for the day.”
“You sure he isn’t done for good?”
“I don’t think so. Nothing exchanged hands. No money, no merchandise. So I think we’re okay.”
“Roger,” Deuce said. “I’ll be off comm for a while. Talk to you on the other side.”
Keeping his gaze on Favreau, Cooper touched the transmitter inside his pants pocket and sent a signal to Alex.
After a moment, she responded. “You rang?”
“How are things going back there?”
“Hunky-dory,” she said. “I’m babysitting a naked rock star, and the twit with the fancy glasses is banging around inside the ventilation system as we speak.”
“You’re in the rock star’s suite?”
“That would be a yes.”
“What the hell happened?”
“Favreau booby-trapped his door so we had to improvise.”
“Jesus,” Cooper murmured. “Warlock, are you on comm?”
“The twit with the fancy glasses is a little busy at the moment,” Warlock told him.
“Just give me an assessment.”
“All right, but you won’t be happy. I have limited choices up here, meaning one. I can snake a single cam into Favreau’s living room through the AC vent, but I don’t know how good the signal will be. He has some all-purpose jammers in place that’ve buggered up my equipment. Which means a compromised picture and little or no sound.”
“That’s the best you can do?”
“I’m afraid it is. The vent is too small for physical access to his room and the rest of the vents are cut off.”
Cooper sighed. “We’ll just have to get you in there somehow.” He saw that Favreau had finished knocking back another drink and was climbing to his feet. “In the meantime, Target One is on the move, so unless he makes a stop, you’ve got about ten minutes to get that camera in place. I don’t want to chance him getting even a hint of what we’re up to.”
“Almost there,” Warlock said.
“Good. See you soon.”
Alex had hold of Warlock’s legs and was helping him climb out of the crawl space above the toilet — and trying to avoid the blinding sight of his butt crack in the process — when the snoring abruptly stopped in the bedroom behind them and the rock star groaned.
“Shit,” she said.
She left Warlock hanging and sprinted out of the bathroom, closing the door just as Liam Bellamy came awake.
He blinked groggily at her, his expression a mixture of drunken confusion and outright surprise. “Who the ‘ell are you?”
“You don’t remember? I’m insulted.”
He frowned and thought about it. “Did we shag last night?”
Alex swallowed a tiny bit of bile. Between Warlock’s butt crack and this guy’s almost hairless body, she was beginning to have her doubts about the UK’s male population. Surely they could do better than this.