Jamie Freveletti - Running Dark

“What about the bomb? Who the hell did that?”

The man grinned. “I set that up. A little one, really. Took out the area around the track. Was a well-controlled explosion. I am good.” The man’s white teeth glowed against his dark skin, and his eyes gleamed with the touch of madness that afflicted all true arsonists. Tarrant thought killing the guy wouldn’t have been the worst thing that could happen, except for the fact that he’d have to find another dealer.

“I don’t know how a simple stick could turn into such a disaster. We could have stuck her anywhere,” he said.

“But now they think it’s tied to the bombing. Worked out well, don’t you think?”

A man emerged from the shadows thrown by the trees lining the sidewalk. Streetlight beams traversed his body at an angle from shoulder to ankle, illuminating the muted silk tie, soft blue shirt, and dark suit that looked custom. Tarrant noticed that the African quieted in respect as the man approached. The newcomer stopped just short of the pathway’s entrance, his face shrouded in the shadow of an overhanging eave. Tarrant felt his stomach turn. He thought the nickname of Vulture fit the man’s thin, hardened features. The Vulture paid handsomely, but Tarrant detested him. He was evil incarnate.

“It did work well. I have to compliment you.” The European-accented voice held no trace of sarcasm. The African exhaled softly, as if he’d been holding his breath. The Vulture turned to Tarrant. “And we could not stick her anywhere. It had to be at the peak of the race in order to assess the chemical’s effect on the human body during extreme exertion. A little human clinical trial minus the federal oversight. And what about the chemical you love so much? I trust you’ll be feeling better soon?”

Tarrant nodded. His throat was dry.

The Vulture held up two thick white envelopes. “Here’s another five thousand for each of you and detailed information on the next job. I need you to persuade a certain gentleman to halt his operations in the Red Sea. Or, more specifically, in the trade route through the Gulf of Aden.” Tarrant took one of the envelopes and shoved it into his pocket without looking at it. The Vulture had never shorted him.

“Dead persuaded? Or just hammered-into-the-pavement persuaded?” Tarrant said.

The Vulture shrugged. “Beaten first. Homicides draw too much attention. Of course, if the beating doesn’t work, you can escalate the force. I’m aware that you have a reputation for killing people by accident.”

Tarrant snorted. “Once my temper gets away from me, I have a hard time pulling back.”

“If you end up killing him, be certain that his vice president gets the message, too.”

“Is it true that you want us to stick the runner again?” the African asked.

“I understand that she got up and finished the race.”

The African nodded. “She ran away, fast. Real fast. Is that what she was supposed to do?”

“Yes. But we also expected much more erratic behavior as well. No one seems able to confirm that aspect. If she was behaving within the bounds of normal, then the dose may not be enough.”

The African frowned. “I hit her hard. Gave her every last drop. I thought the drug works better on fit people. Enters their system faster. If that’s true, she should have turned into a lunatic.”

The Vulture shook his head. “She did not. Not at all. Dose her again.” He looked at Tarrant.

“Whatever. We’ll get it done,” Tarrant said.

“Good. I’ll be in touch.” The Vulture sketched a wave with his hand, walked to the curb, and reached a hand into the air, as if he was hailing a cab. Tarrant was just about to inform him that there were no cabs willing to risk this particular neighborhood at that hour of the evening when a large black sedan pulled up and halted. The Vulture swung open the door and disappeared inside. The car drove off.

“That man is a psychopath in a suit,” the African said. “I won’t be crossing him.”

The drug was in full flower now, giving Tarrant a feeling of bravado. “He’s just a rich guy in good clothes who’s afraid to do his own dirty work,” he said.

The African scoffed. “I’d like to hear you tell him that to his face.”

Tarrant shrugged. “He’s gone now.”

“But he’ll be back. Let’s just be sure we get this Gulf of Aden guy good. I don’t want to fail the Vulture. He’d start his testing on me. I wouldn’t make it a week.”

“We’ll get him, don’t you worry.” Tarrant grinned like a fool all the way back to his car.

12

SUMNER TOOK THE FIRST WATCH, TEAMED WITH JANKLOW. THEYwalked the deck, moving in opposite directions. Every twenty minutes or so, they’d pass each other. Sumner’s watch showed three o’clock in the morning. He met Janklow in the middle.

“You know, taking this shift means that we’re most likely to see some action, right?” Janklow said.

“If we don’t fall asleep first,” Sumner said. A thought occurred to him. “If these guys come back and actually board us, what can they get? Besides the hostages and the money in the casino, I mean.”

Janklow leaned against the railing for a moment. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and offered it to Sumner.

“I don’t smoke,” Sumner said. He watched Janklow light up, take a deep drag, and blow out the smoke before answering.

“We’re carrying some cargo as well. It’s unusual, we don’t often do it, but it’s for a charity. Our hold contains vaccines and pharmaceutical products that we were to deliver to Mombasa when we docked there.”

“Is it worth anything?” Sumner said.

Janklow shook his head. “Invaluable to the kids who need it, but not worth a thing to the pirates. The whole idea is a bit of a boondoggle anyway, because some African countries are highly suspicious of vaccines to begin with. They think the medicine is really a way for the U.S. to poison their children. Sometimes we deliver the products and they end up rotting on the dock.”

“So we won’t be able to use the cargo as barter to get us out of the situation.”

Janklow took another puff. “Not at all. Our best bet is the money in the casino. But I doubt they’ll settle for it. They’ll want to ransom the passengers as well. Last month the Danes paid over a million dollars for five of their own. That’s big business for these guys.”

Sumner thought about the four men in the cigarette boats. They had looked like Somali fishermen: skinny and underfed. He’d be amazed if they had fifty bucks between them.

“Who’s getting the money? It sure as hell isn’t those four losers in the boats.”

“The warlords. They finance the boats, guns, you name it. The guys actually doing the attacking barely make a living wage.”

“I wish I could speak to them. I could tell them that the U.S. won’t pay. I know this from personal experience.”

Janklow looked at Sumner with a measured gaze. “I heard that you were held hostage in Colombia. The U.S. didn’t ransom you?”

Sumner watched the ocean for a moment before answering. “Not a penny. But I ended up costing the kidnappers a lot more than they cost the U.S.”

Janklow looked intrigued. “If I may ask, how did you get out of there?”

Sumner thought about Emma Caldridge. He caught himself smiling, which was something he didn’t do too much of, before and especially after Colombia. He hoisted the gun higher on his shoulder. “I was saved by a beautiful mad scientist.”

Janklow grunted in surprise. “Can you bring her here? We could use her help.”

Sumner shook his head. “I want her to stay as far away from here as possible.”

Janklow finished his smoke, ground out the butt, and tossed it into a nearby cigarette bin. “I don’t blame you for that.”