Maden Mike - Tom Clancy Firing Point

Jack’s ribs still hurt, too, where Crooked Nose had kicked him. The image of that fuck-you smile looped in Jack’s brain like a bad movie trailer. He’d punched him hard, but not hard enough to kill him. Why the smile?

But the other image that wouldn’t leave his mind’s eye was Brossa, dead on the pavement, her lifeless eyes wide to the steel gray sky. She deserved better. So did her father, wherever he was.

It had all happened so fast. He’d replayed the scene in his mind a thousand times. What could he have done differently? He should have let her lead the way. He should have been more aggressively searching for Crooked Nose, after the fight he’d had with him in his parked car. But he never suspected the man would try to kill him and Brossa. Jack assumed he was just a surveillance guy. Had he wanted to kill Jack earlier, he could have done it easily instead of planting the bugs he never got to use.

Brossa’s death dragged his soul down even deeper as Liliana’s horrific death clawed at his heart. He’d failed her, too.

A hard Spanish face appeared in the steel door’s small, wire-reinforced window. The dark eyes scanned the room, then fell on Jack, holding on him for a while. Maybe the cop wanted to come in there and tune him up while no one else was around.

If he did, there wasn’t a damn thing Jack could do about it.

Keys jangled in the lock and the door swung open.

Dellinger spoke in Spanish to the guard, who shrugged and shut the door behind the CIA man, then locked it. Dellinger approached the table where Jack was shackled but remained standing.

“Jack, how you doing, son?”

Jack raised his shackled wrists a few inches, as far as they could go. “Good thing I don’t have to pee.”

“Well, if you do, don’t ask me to hold it for you.”

“Not part of your cultural affairs responsibilities, I take it.”

“No. But getting you out of here is.”

“That’s why I called you instead of a lawyer. Speaking of which, didn’t you bring one?”

“You don’t need a lawyer. I’ve made all the arrangements. A Guardia Civil escort is going to drive you and me straight to the airport and put your ass on a plane to fly you home to Dulles. You can pay for your own damn Uber back to wherever you want to go after that.”

“I’m not going anywhere until this case gets fully and finally resolved.”

“I guess you’re not hearing me. This isn’t optional. There are three dead people lying in your wake today, two Spaniards, including one of their federal officers. They intend to hold you for questioning as a person of interest—and here’s the fun part—they’re going to hold you without bail for as long as they need until they wring everything out of you.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t kill the Spaniards. That other guy did.”

“Which is what you say. Right now, there are witnesses that think you were responsible, since you were the one standing closest to both victims.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“That’s the nature of eyewitness testimony. Just about the most unreliable kind of testimony there is. But it’s out there, and the Spanish authorities have a legal obligation to take it under advisement.”

“And the third guy? The one with the crooked nose?”

Dellinger leaned on the table like a bad cop. “The one that could have proven you innocent if you hadn’t killed him?”

“Yeah.” Jack smiled. “That one.”

“As far as I know, smartass, the Spaniards are still trying to identify him. So far they’ve come up with at least seven aliases and four nationalities for this joker. The last alias he used was Bykov. And do you know what the real head-scratcher is?”

“I have a feeling I can’t stop you from telling me.”

“Turns out, you killed a dead man.”

“Run that by me again?”

“Bykov was reported dead three years ago. Interpol ran his photo. They think he was ex–Russian military and ex-Wagner, but they can’t be sure. Do you know what Wagner is?”

“Russian mercenaries.”

“You know a lot about the world for a finance guy.”

“I know how to read a newspaper. I also know that most cultural attachés don’t carry.” Jack nodded at the shoulder holster underneath Dellinger’s sport coat.

Dellinger frowned, frustrated he’d been that careless. He straightened up.

“You must throw one helluva punch, kid, to kill a man with one shot to the mouth.”

“Lucky, I guess. Well, not for him.”

“Or you. Look, the bottom line is that the Spaniards are very curious and very unhappy with the situation, and the only fall guy they can find within arm’s reach is you.”

“I’m not guilty of anything. I’m not worried about what their investigation might turn up.”

“I knew you weren’t listening to me. I believe you when you say you had nothing to do with the death of the two Spaniards, and that the death of this Bykov character was accidental because you were just trying to defend yourself. Okay? I’m on your side here. Do you believe me or not?”

Jack nodded reluctantly. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“Good, because I am. So, please, pay attention.” Dellinger pulled on his own ear. “And listen to me. You might not be worried about what the Spaniards might turn up on you. But you need to be very worried about how long it will take them to find you innocent. It could be months. It could be years. And if they decide to link you up with the L’avi bombing, that makes you a terror suspect, and then all kinds of new rules and procedures come into play.”

“If the Spaniards think I’m the prime suspect, why are they willing to cut me loose?”

“Because, like the rest of us, they’ve discovered you’re a real pain in the ass.”

Jack fought back a laugh. That’s a title he’d take any day. He’d been a pain in the ass to tangos and shitbirds for years, and he was damn proud of it.

“Ass pain notwithstanding, you need to be a little more clear.”

“Somehow this boss of yours, Gerry Hendley, has gotten involved in this, and apparently has a lot of pull with the State Department. You are just about to cause a minor international crisis between our governments, which means a crisis within NATO, and that’s something nobody wants.”

“Sounds like I have leverage.” Jack wasn’t referring to his dad. He would never use his relationship with POTUS for personal advantage, even if that meant getting out of this jail.

Dellinger pointed at Jack’s handcuffs. “Yeah? You got so much leverage, try standing up right now.”

“Then how come you can get me out of here?”

“Because our two respective governments have worked out a deal. But there’s a time stamp on it. If you agree to leave with me right now and let me take you straight to the airport and you return immediately to the States, the Spaniards are willing to accept your version of events. But if I walk out of here today without you, you’re on your own, back alley garbage stink and all.”

Jack sat back as best he could. He blew out a long sigh, thinking. “I just need to know what really happened to Renée Moore.”

“You and I both know what really happened to her. She was killed in an explosion from a bomb detonated by a member of Brigada Catalan.”

“But this Bykov guy. He’s connected to it, too. And if he’s ex-Wagner—”

“Bykov’s dead. You killed him, remember? Case closed.”

“But he was tied to Brigada—”

“Brigada’s all dead. Believe me, I know that because I was there when it happened. Case closed .”

“But—”

“Case fucking closed. Don’t you get it?”

“Yeah, I get it. I know it’s closed. Laia said the same thing. But there was another American at L’avi who was killed. A guy named Runtso. Dr. Dylan Runtso.”