Ambush (Michael Bennett #11)(28)

“None of these sheep will help you,” the man said. “But there’s no need to be afraid. I won’t hurt your pretty little skin, as long as you listen.”

There was the faintest lilt of an accent—Canadian, maybe. He smelled of soap and sweat. I could just make out a knee encased in green khaki and the sleeve of a tan shirt. My gaze fastened on the hand holding the knife. The hand was large and pale and puffy with big knuckles and neatly trimmed nails. A desk jockey’s hand, I told myself. Not the hand of a killer.

I rolled my eyes sideways, trying to catch a glimpse of his face.

“Tut-tut,” he said with a dig of the knife. “Eyes forward.”

I complied.

Across the table from me, Gonzo’s ghost slid into the booth. Gonzo was a Marine buddy who’d been blown apart by an IED. I’d processed his body, and because of that he liked to show up in my life sometimes. Now he shook his head at me, apparently amazed at my ineptitude. Pretty critical for a dead guy.

“Be smart,” he mouthed.

“See, we think you’ve gotten a little confused,” the man beside me said. “You and us—we’re on the same side. We all want to put Iraq behind us.”

A woman came in and approached the bar. “Hola!” she called.

The drunkard’s head stayed down. The bartender didn’t emerge. I kept watching for Hamid.

Beside me, the man lifted his arm—the one without the knife—and draped it over my shoulders. Another large, pale hand came into view. This one had a smear of blood on it.

“Snuggle,” he said, then sighed when I went stiff.

“Hola!” the woman called again. She glanced at her wristwatch and left.

“As I was saying,” the man went on. “We want to lay Iraq to rest. The boy is secondary. Give us the intel Doug Ayers gave you, and the boy won’t matter to us. We’ll go away. You’ll be safe. The boy will be safe. It will all be done with.”

The intel again. It was the same request Sarge had made of me.

I’m here for the intel, girl. Then I gotta take care of you.

When I’d truthfully protested that I didn’t know what he was talking about, he’d left bruises trying to get me to talk. It hadn’t helped. I still didn’t know what he was talking about.

Turn over whatever it was Ayers gave you, he’d said, and I promise it will be quick. A single shot to the temple.

But Dougie hadn’t given me anything that could qualify as intelligence. A compass. A ring. A broken heart.

No video of men smuggling weapons into Iraq.

Perhaps taking my silence for refusal, the man said, “If you don’t agree, then think of your friend Angelo as a warning. A taste of things to come.”

“Deal,” I whispered. “I’ll give you what you want. But I require guarantees. Some way for me to know we’ll be safe.”

“We all want guarantees.” He leaned in, brushing his cheek against mine. I didn’t suppress the shudder. “But you got nothing to bargain with. If anything comes out about Iraq, you got as much to lose as we do.”

“How do I know you won’t kill the boy and me after you have what you want?”

“Your deaths would not be our first choice. We prefer not to draw attention to ourselves, if we can help it.”

“Hasn’t stopped you so far.”

“Even so, we’re not in the business of guarantees. That’s as much as you’re going to get.”

I decided to see how far I could push this. And I wanted my capitulation to sound believable. “And I want money.”

“Even the noble warrior has a price, eh? How much?”

“Two million.”

The blade broke skin and trailed along my ribs. A line of fire followed the knife’s path through my flesh, and a trickle of blood ran down my side. On the other side of the table, Gonzo shook his head. Not your day to die, he told me.

“You’re a greedy little shit,” the man said.

At the bar, the drunkard lifted his head. He didn’t look our way.

“A hundred thousand,” the man said, twisting the knife. “That ought to pay off that dump you live in and maybe buy your granny a nice casket.”

In for a penny, in for a pound. “Two fifty.”

The tip of the knife withdrew. My side continued to burn.

“Deal. You have twenty-four hours. After that, we assume you’re not going to deliver without some additional motivation. Should we start with the boyfriend?”

My thoughts flew apart.

Panic kills, Gonzo said.

“That’s not enough time.” I scrambled to find a reason. “I can’t access the intel that quickly.”

“What, you hid it in Fort Knox?”

“A safety deposit box. But my access is limited.” Was there even such a thing? “I set it up that way. Because of you assholes. I can’t open it again for a month.”

“You’re shitting me.”

Totally. “No.”

Across the table, Gonzo gave me a thumbs-up.

The man said, “Did you forget how much you have to lose? Because if you did, we can remind you. One person at a time.” The knife dug back in. “Give us everything Ayers gave you. Every nickel and dime, every photograph. Every piece-of-shit junk he gave you. And forget that month bullshit. You’ve got forty-eight hours. Figure it out.”