Endwar_ The Hunted Part 23

"You won't be getting credit for Sayyaf's capture. Nothing."

"I don't care, sir."

Mitch.e.l.l smiled, then rose. "Make no mistake, if she gets away, your field days will be over. I will say that teaching at the JFK was some of the most rewarding work I've done."

"I'll probably wind up there either way, sir. Hopefully later and not sooner."

Mitch.e.l.l came across his desk. Brent wondered if he would extend his hand in a shake. He didn't. "You're dismissed."

Brent snapped to and saluted. "Thank you, sir. And sir, one last favor?"

Mitch.e.l.l returned the salute. "Are you kidding me, Captain?"

"Major Dennison and Colonel Grey-"

"I'll talk to them. But you sure as h.e.l.l better prove me right."

"Or I'll die trying."

The general gave a curt nod. "Very well."

Brent practically ran outside to the parking lot and got immediately on the phone with Schoolie. "Saddle up, fat boy, but don't tell Boleman yet."

"Holy ... you did it?"

"I just need to call one more player."

The Mucky Duck was a neighborhood pub and restaurant located in the heart of Captiva Island. Its owners had adopted a bright green duck as a mascot/logo, and the place had become a tradition for vacationers since 1976.

Brent found Thomas Voeckler seated at one of the sun-worn picnic tables located right on the beach. Voeckler enjoyed the shade of a large umbrella with a Corona beer logo and was nursing one of the same while staring across the Gulf of Mexico. In the far distance, the dorsal fins of pa.s.sing dolphins rose above the waves, and a salty tang clung heavily to the air. It was easy to see why the man found this retreat to his liking.

With his own beer in hand, Brent arrived at the table and sat opposite the Splinter Cell, part of him wis.h.i.+ng he could spend a few weeks on the island.

Thomas noticed him and frowned deeply. "Aw, dude, you drove all the way here? You're wasting your time. I told you on the phone I'm done."

"You have to look me in the eye and say that."

Voeckler turned, looked him in the eye. "I'm done."

"Okay," said Brent, pretending to rise.

"And you're leaving now?"

"I got my answer." Brent started away.

"So what makes you think you can catch her this time?"

"I feel pretty good about it."

He gave a little snort. "You sound like my brother."

Brent returned to the table and took a seat. "You think he'd want to see you lying on your a.s.s, getting drunk, not finis.h.i.+ng the job?"

"He doesn't care anymore. Because he's dead."

"What're you, an atheist?"

"I am now."

"Well, I like to think that he's watching us and trying to give me some words that'll bring you around."

Thomas's grin turned sarcastic. "Good luck with that." "I talked to Grim. She gave me her blessing. She'd like to see you get back in the saddle, too."

"I'll bet she would. I'm money, and I'm being wasted right now. That's how they think."

"Hey, they spent a lot of money on you. Time to give them a return on their investment."

"They've already been paid-with my brother's life."

"All right, I won't argue with you. I know what you feel like. You don't have to heal, but you have to go on."

"Why?"

Brent pursed his lips. "To better remember him. To respect him and what he believed in."

"All that honor and duty c.r.a.p. It's all lost on me. And why do you even care? You feeling guilty?"

"Oh, I'm an expert at that. I'm just looking at you and thinking this guy's in the same boat I was. And it's a little boat, taking on water, and there's a big shark, and we're both thinking we need a bigger boat."

Thomas almost smiled.

"Come on, it'll keep your mind off it."

Thomas thought a moment, and then his expression brightened. "I guess if I go with you, I might get killed. Then I wouldn't be lying around here, feeling sorry for myself."

Brent chuckled under his breath. "Exactly."

"Then why the h.e.l.l didn't you tell me that in the first place?" Thomas rose. "You're buying us beers for the road."

"You got it."

"So where does the wild-goose chase take us next?"

"Dubai," said Brent.

"That place is nuked out."

"It's not as bad as you think."

"Why there?"

"She's got the heir to the country and the chief money man. This ain't rocket science. Dennison tells me there are bank vaults intact."

"So she went after the kid and the banker so she could go rob a bank?"

"You know, sometimes we make life more complicated than it really is. Maybe it's always been a bank heist. And she just needed help."

"We get her and some of the people she's working for, and maybe we open up something a lot bigger."

"Exactly."

As Brent ordered more beers to go, Thomas asked, "So how did you get us back on the job?"

"I handed them Sayyaf."

"Are you kidding me? Third Echelon's been trying to nail him for years."

"I know."

"How?"

"Long story. I'll tell you on the plane."

Thomas was still aghast. "That's a story I want to hear."

"Not my proudest moment."

"What makes you say that?"

Brent paid the cas.h.i.+er and headed out, leaving Thomas's question hang.

EIGHTEEN.

Geneva Three Hours Later Just when Chopra thought the Snow Maiden was showing some kindness and humility, she'd remind him of what she really was.

After brutally gunning down a woman who was purportedly her friend, and after dumping her body in an alley and seizing another car by gunpoint, they drove about ten kilometers up to the small town of Versoix, where they were met by two men who took the car and ushered them into yet another, and a driver took them to a small hotel, where they had already been checked in. The Snow Maiden said her friends had arranged it all.

Now Chopra sat in the hotel room, palming sweat from his forehead and rubbing his tired eyes. He still had Heidi's blood on his left s.h.i.+rtsleeve. He was listening to the Snow Maiden speak on the phone while Hussein sat in a chair, watching a movie on the television. Chopra had been reading the tourist literature, something about a festival going on all week, sponsored by Favarger, a famous manufacturer of Swiss chocolate.

Abruptly, the Snow Maiden marched into the room and said, "I need to ask some questions about the gold and the vault."

"How much longer do you think we'll cooperate?" Chopra asked.

The woman rolled her eyes. "I'll shoot you in the leg or the arm, and you'll come around."

"I won't. I'm ready. Shoot me." He took a deep breath, closed his eyes.

Chopra tried to imagine himself a martyr for his cause, but all he saw was a frightened boy who'd allowed his bicycle to be stolen.

"What do you need to know?" asked Hussein, muting the television.

"We're a.s.suming the main vault is located in the old Multi Commodities Centre."

"Yeah, it's there," said Hussein. "Almas Tower. There are a lot of other ones, too. It's easy to get confused."

"Exactly how much gold?"

"That I don't know. Chopra?"

Chopra spoke through his teeth. "Hussein, our country needs us. We cannot go along with this anymore."

"I'm ordering you. You work for me. You do what I say. I'm the sheikh. Tell her."

Chopra took a deep breath.

The Snow Maiden drew her silenced pistol and jammed it into his bicep. "This will hurt."

"Chopra, you stupid old man, tell her!" cried Hussein.

After a few more breaths, Chopra lowered his head in defeat. He was too weak, too fearful of the pain. He was a coward, and he cursed himself for that.

Her voice came through a hiss. "Tell me about the gold."

"Tell her!" Hussein cried again.

Chopra answered, but he would not face her. "There are between five hundred and seven hundred gold bars."

"How much do they weigh?"

"A lot. Four hundred troy ounces each."

"In kilos?"

"About twelve each or twenty-seven pounds each. Heavy. There's silver there as well. Each bar is worth nearly half a million U.S. dollars."

"So we'll obviously need trucks. Heavy moving equipment."

He glowered at her. "Obviously. And you'll need friends to move all that gold, friends you're willing to keep alive and not throw away like garbage."