Ultimate Weapon (McClouds & Friends #6)(121)

Unfortunately, he had not brought Tamara on this pleasure jaunt. András had hoped to wrap this matter up this morning and get on his way. He wondered, with a stab of doubt, if Janos had bonded with Steele. Fucking a beautiful woman could have that effect on an unwary man. But Janos was anything but unwary. He was a seasoned professional and Novak’s hold over him was strong.

He would order the man to deliver her today, and perhaps the matter would end there. A swift, professional exchange.

If not, however, the situation would probably require protracted, sophisticated torture, and he suspected that Janos would take a great deal of time, effort and soundproof privacy to break. András was more than equal to the task.

His cell vibrated. He glanced at it, and was surprised to see that it was from the big boss himself. He answered promptly. “Yes?”

“Do you have them yet?”

András paused, startled at the urgency in the old man’s tone. “I have Janos under my eye physically right now, but not Steele.”

“Bring them in,” Novak rapped out. “Today. Immediately. Do everything you can to bring them in. There’s been a change in plans.”

“What change?”

“We’ve lost our leverage with Janos,” Novak said. “The old man killed himself. Slashed his femoral artery, right over my favorite Turkish rug. While on the videophone to Janos.”

András leaned back and was grateful that his boss could not see the appreciative smile that curved his mouth. “Don’t worry. I’ll bring him in. The woman as well. And I have another prize for you.”

“And that is?” Novak’s voice sounded sulky.

András savored the moment. “Steele’s daughter. Three years old. A lovely flower for you to pluck. Already en route from Seattle.”

There was an astonished pause, and then a harsh, wheezing crack of laughter. “András, you are a genius.”

I know, you selfish old bastard, and so why did you favor that fawning pup Luksch over me? “I live to serve you, boss,” he said.

“Call me when you have them,” Novak said.

András considered his options. He had no idea when Janos would rejoin the woman. No idea what she might do in the meantime. Too many unknowns. She could take off on her own and f*ck them all.

Best to force her whereabouts out of Janos now, reduce the number of variables immediately. He texted the others of his makeshift local team to converge on Janos’s beach. If the man decided to be difficult, one of them had to know of a deserted garage or warehouse nearby where András could exercise his special talents to the fullest.



Val put the computer on the passenger seat very carefully. As if it were a wounded person who could not be jarred. His hands felt numb.

On autopilot, he grabbed the car keys and pushed open the car door. He stumbled out onto the rocky beach and kept walking, all the way to where it sloped down to the rocky little coves.

He fell to his knees. He couldn’t think, couldn’t move. He was cut loose, spinning in space.

Memories played in his mind. Games of chess in the twilight, cups of tea. Philosophy, lectures and arguments and admonishments that made him roll his eyes and scoff, secretly enjoying the attention. Bach and Chopin, Dante and Socrates and Galileo. Van Gogh, Picasso, Rembrandt. The world Imre had shown him. So beautiful, outside that squalid hole he was mired in like a f*cking tarpit. Beautiful, even though Val could never quite reach it. Like a mirage in the desert, forever taunting him.

The pebbles roared with each wave that slapped the beach. He realized that he’d come to the place Domenico had brought him when he’d been infiltrating the smuggling ring and f*cking Donatella.

The honeycomb of smugglers’ caves.

Tourists came from all over the world to stroll the beach, sip cappuccino, and take boat rides inside the glowing, flickering lakes inside those mysterious caves. No idea of the cruelty and violence and greed that always lurked just out of sight behind the mask of beauty.

Imre. He started to cry, covering his face, shoulders jerking. He felt like the twelve-year-old boy he had been when Imre had befriended him, and showed him what trust looked like. How kindness felt.

The first time he had understood what kindness even was. He had never known it before, not really. Val’s own mother had not been cruel—but she was broken, weak. Too degraded by drugs and disappointment to trust. Too lost in despair to be kind.

He had loved her anyway, desperately, but he knew even then that she was broken. Kindness required strength and courage. Coherence.

These types of thoughts were so unfamiliar to his mind, it almost hurt to think them. Like eyes opening up for the first time, squinting and awash with tears, unable to bear the brilliant light.

Tamar was the strongest, most courageous woman he had ever known. Strong enough to trust. Strong enough to be kind, too, whether she knew it or not. Kindness from her would be something real. Something he could touch, grab on to. Something he could live in.

He had a dizzy sense of being adrift, swirling, with no oars, no sense of direction. He had to find a course to set, fast. To save the last chance he had for a real life. Him and Tamar and Rachel. They could run together to the ends of the earth. Disappear like smoke.

Anything so that Imre’s desperate last move would not be in vain.

Get Tamar. Get away. He was equal to that with the resources he had, if he moved his ass, made his weak knees, his jelly-like thighs move. If he could stop the tears.