Erica Spindler - Cause for Alarm

"He wants it back," Julianna offered. "He told me he did. He was really angry that I'd taken it."

"That's good."

"Good? That he's angry?" Kate drew her eyebrows together. "Why am I not reassured by that?"

Luke smiled. "That means it's important. It means we're going to be able to use it to get this asshole."

"But how?" Kate asked, heart thundering, afraid of the relief flowing over her-she feared if she relaxed, even just a bit, that would be the moment that John Powers struck.

Luke rubbed the side of his jaw, rough with morning stubble. "I don't know that yet. I'll meet with my contacts, ask their advice. They'll be able to give us some direction. I know they will."

"Thank you, Luke," Kate said, voice quavering. "I don't know what we would have done without you."

"Not so fast." He flashed her a quick grin. "Wait until we've gotten this bozo taken care of. Then you can thank me."

Condor responded to Luke's message within forty-eight hours. The man agreed to meet him, choosing an all-night diner near the Hobby Airport.

Luke arrived early. He made his way to the rear of the diner, taking a booth against the far wall. He slid onto the vinyl seat, the upholstery cracked and peeling, held together in places by clear packing tape.

A waitress of no less than sixty took his order of a cup of coffee. The fluorescent lights tinted her gray cap of curls a vague, disturbing green and turned her skin sallow.

She brought the coffee immediately, plunking it onto the table, then without saying a word, walked away. A burned, bitter odor wafted up from the cup, and Luke wondered how long the brew had been sitting on the burner. An hour or two? Three, even?

Possibly, he decided, perusing the room. The diner's only other patrons were a burly man in overalls and two twenty-something girls who were wolfing down patty melts, French fries and colas.

Condor arrived, walking through the door exactly at the arranged time. He made his way to the booth and slid into the seat across from Luke, angling his back to the wall.

They exchanged pleasantries; the waitress brought another cup of the bitter brew, then Luke cut straight to the matter at hand. "A friend of mine's in trouble. I need your help."

"You know the business I'm in, Luke. Exactly what form do you wish this help to take?"

"The form of advice."

The barest of smiles touched the mechanic's mouth. "Go on."

Luke laid out the entire story for him. "The man's name is John Powers," Luke finished. "Do you recognize the name?"

For long moments, Condor remained silent, his steady gaze giving away nothing of his thoughts.

Finally, he nodded. "I know of him."

"But you've never met him?"

"No." He took a sip of the coffee, not seeming to notice its taste. "They try to keep us guys away from each other." Again, that small smile touched his mouth. "The last thing they'd want is us sitting around the clubhouse swapping stories. But I have heard of him."

"What have you heard?"

"That he was one of the Agency's best and most lethal mechanics. Specialized in the most, shall we say, delicate wet work."

"Delicate," Luke repeated. "You mean sensitive, politically charged?"

"Yes. The man is an expert in the use of all manner of weapons, as well as in hand-to-hand combat, poisons and explosives. An outstanding career until he went solo a few years back."

"Solo? What do you mean?"

"He's a renegade. Went out on his own. Hits for hire, no matter the government or cause."

"And the Agency allows that?"

"Up to a point."

"And what point is that?"

Condor ignored the question and continued. "Code name was Ice. For obvious reasons. Rumor has it he killed a Colombian drug czar's six children, disemboweled them while their mother watched."

"Holy shit." Luke felt sick. "And our government sanctioned that?"

"Let's just say that Ice was sent in to negotiate. He was told to use whatever means necessary to get our point across." Condor steepled his fingers. "Of course, that story's only a rumor."

Rumor, his ass. It was true, Condor knew it. And Luke did, too.

Up until that moment Luke had hoped that Kate and Julianna had been exaggerating John Powers' abilities. The threat he posed. He saw now that they had not.

The two drunken girls stood and started for the door. Condor watched them until they had exited the diner, then returned his attention to Luke. "Your friend is in a very bad situation. And now, so are you. I suggest you bow out of this."

"I can't do that."

"That's your choice, of course."

"There must be a way to beat him? A way out of this. If we went to the police, laid it all out for them-"

Condor shook his head, confirming what Luke already knew. "Going to the police will do nothing but make you sitting ducks. You'll be dead before the local boys get their heads out of their asses."

Condor leaned slightly forward, his gaze intent. "The police couldn't find him, let alone pin a murder on him. You know how it works, Luke. No weapon, no witnesses, no arrest."

He was right. Luke knew he was. What would he tell Kate? She had been so hopeful when he'd left. So positive.

"There may be a way, however. But it won't be easy."

"Go on." Luke waited, pulse hammering. He didn't care how difficult, a slim chance was better than none at all.

"It sounds to me like Powers is losing it," Condor said softly. "Making killing personal. That's dangerous. It crosses the line." He looked away, then back. "It'll make him sloppy. Because it's personal, because it matters so much to him, he'll take chances he never would otherwise. He might have already."

"It'll also make him go to lengths he normally wouldn't to succeed," Luke muttered.

"True. But therein lies your chance." Condor lowered his voice. "The Agency won't get involved unless they believe Powers is a danger to them, their operations or national security. He's one of their own, after all. They can't have him running around the country indiscriminately killing people. Not publicly, anyway."

Condor spoke carefully, his tone even, words measured. Luke tried to read between the words, certain the man was telling him something beyond their literal meaning.

Luke took a stab. "They wouldn't want their handiwork exposed, would they?"

Condor acted as if Luke hadn't spoken. "If you could prove Powers is out of control, if you could prove he's a threat to the United States government or the CIA, the Agency would bring him down."

Condor laced his fingers together. "They'll need proof, of course. Physical evidence. Names and dates. If you can produce a convincing enough paper trail, that would do it."

The book. Dear Lord, they had the proof.

"I can do that," Luke said. "Right now. I've got the proof."

Condor straightened. "Tell me."

Luke did, explaining about Powers' black book and how Julianna had come to have it. "It's in some sort of code, but I'm sure it contains the names and dates you're looking for."

The other man's expression changed subtly, became sharper, more intent. "Have you broken the code?"

"No." Luke leaned forward. "Help us do it. It's our only chance."

"I like you, Dallas. But I can't do that." He glanced toward the diner's front door, then back at Luke. "I don't want to know what's in that book. If I did, I'd be a mark. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but someday. Besides, messing with Powers' book crosses the line, and I won't do that."

"Then tell me how to break it."

Condor hesitated a moment, then nodded. "Make one of the entries, use what you learn to break the rest of the code. Meet with Tom Morris. He's going to play dumb about Ice, but he's in Operations so he'll be familiar with Powers' file. Lay it all out for him, the way you did me, then get the Agency's commitment to take Powers down in return for proof of his activities. It's important that you get a commitment from him."