Enigma (FBI Thriller #21)(47)
The pilot twisted in his seat, yelled, “Hey! What’s going on back there? What did you do to Elena?” The helicopter banked, then righted again.
Liam saw him fumbling with a box on the seat next to him. He turned his headset microphone on so the pilot could hear him. “No, mate, don’t go for a gun. There’s nothing to worry about. She’s not dead, only taking a little nap. I didn’t want any more trouble from her, and you know women—” He laughed, picked up the Walther from the floor, checked the magazine was full. Excellent. He said, “I’ve got the gun, but you have no worries as long as you keep flying us where we’re supposed to go.”
“But why’d you do that, Manta Ray? You didn’t have to; she wasn’t going to hurt you.”
He wasn’t Manta Ray now. No, he was Liam, Liam Hennessey. He smiled widely, showing a gold back tooth. For the first time since he was shot, he was in control again. He was flush with pleasure. If he played his cards right, he’d soon be richer than his poor dead partner, Cass, God rest his soul.
Showtime.
He eyed the back of the pilot’s head, brought his Irish to full power, falling into the cadence. “Well, laddie, first thing for you to remember is my name is Liam Hennessey. You can call me Liam. I’ll admit it: Elena’s good, but I’m better. And to be honest, I knew she couldn’t shoot me. If I die, her boss’s grand schemes go to the grave with me.” He lifted the Walther so the pilot could see it.
“Look, mate, I know the lay of the land, probably better than you do. Let’s have ourselves a fine chat.”
“All they told me is your name’s Manta Ray, but who are you?”
I’m your worst nightmare. Liam smiled, gently pressed the Walther to the back of the pilot’s neck. He froze. Liam rubbed the muzzle back and forth across his neck. “Don’t make me remind you again, mate. I’m not Manta Ray, I’m Liam. And I am the most important man in the world to the boss.” He lowered the Walther. “What’s your name?”
“Ralph, Ralph Henley. I didn’t know you were a mick. Listen, don’t kill Elena, the boss would go nuts, shoot all of us. They’re lovers, for years now, common knowledge.”
“Yeah, I know all about her,” Liam said without hesitation. “She’s his enforcer and bodyguard and his bedmate.”
Henley eyed him, still afraid and uncertain, but at least the crazy bastard wasn’t still rubbing the gun against his neck. He had to know if Ralph crashed, he’d die, too. He met Liam’s eyes, slowly nodded.
Good, he was starting to accept that Liam was in the know. “You can consider me more like his partner, but I’d be a fool to trust the boss, you know? And she’d take his side. Like you said, they’re close and I have to keep the upper hand if I want to stay alive. If I hadn’t put her down, the boss would have held all the cards, ended up killing me, burying me deep. Now, I’ve got a pretty fair chance.”
It was fine with him that Ralph was afraid of him, still eyeing him like he was a terrorist. Fear was a great motivator.
Liam knew when to stop pushing, when to let things settle. He sat back and contemplated the unconscious Elena. He had only a couple of minutes before her blood pressure booted up and she came back, maybe woozy for a bit, but mad as hell, ready to fight him. Unlike Jacobson, he wasn’t about to underestimate her. He looked for something to tie her up, but he didn’t see anything. He pulled a toolbox from under the seat and found mankind’s savior—duct tape. He wrapped it around her wrists, her thighs, and her ankles. Then he wrapped her arms to her chest and fastened the tape around the arm of one of the front seats. It kept her forward and steady, and if she twitched, he’d know it.
He smiled, waved at the pilot. “This is only a precaution. She’s all right, don’t worry. I liked your maneuver back there at the road, that was real impressive. You landed easy, held steady enough to give Jacobson his shot at the agents. Then you rose straight up, nice and smooth and fast. It was well done. Not your fault the big man got shot.”
Henley licked his lips, knowing he could be in bad trouble, helping these people escape the cops. He’d seen a man die a horrible death, but still he couldn’t help himself. He preened, and Liam saw it, added, “Tell me how you learned to do that.”
Henley shrugged, tried to look modest. “It wasn’t hard. Any trained pilot could have done it. I was told to be fast in and out, then fly back to the boss’s place.”
Where is that?
Liam said, “I guess you’ve worked for the boss for a long time?”
“I’m his pilot whenever he’s in the U.S.”
“And when he’s not, what do you do?”
Liam saw Henley’s eyes narrow. He’d taken a wrong step. He said quickly, “Well, of course you fly some bigwigs around.” Still, he looked uncertain. Liam laughed. “Do you ever get to fly to New York? That’s my kind of town, lots of gorgeous broads, any kind of action you want.”
Henley’s eyes flickered, his brow smoothed out, and he shrugged. “Yeah, you know how it is. They pay me well, tips under the table, so who cares if I can’t understand them?”
Understand them? “I can’t, either. Pisses me off.”
Henley looked back at him, shrugged again. “Who wants to learn Russian?”