No Fortunate Son (Pike Logan, #7)(107)

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means this place isn’t designated a hostile force. Unfortunately. Kurt has no idea who this guy is or what he knows, so we don’t have authority to start killing. Only in self-defense.”

Axe said, “What if we can’t leave? If the police show up?”

“We go to jail. That’s straight out of Kurt’s mouth. You guys still good?”

Axe screwed a suppressor on his Glock, saying, “You have to ask that?”

The three exited the van, slinking across the cobblestone street to a boutique, high-end hotel overlooking the Atlantic. Surrounded by much older buildings, it kept to the local charm with its architecture but was clearly a cut above. Like the rich bride attending her first party with the redneck family. Wearing the same clothes, and trying to fit in, but failing miserably.

According to the intelligence Kurt had sent, the man known as the Frog lived on the penthouse floor, and the reconnaissance earlier had confirmed it. The floor consisted of two suites. The Frog had the one on the left, which wouldn’t have been a problem, except his personal security detail started their protection at the elevator.

Crash led the way past the desk to the cars. He pressed the penthouse button and said, “We get out, it’s game on. We control this right, and nobody from the desk will know. We need to hit hard. Really hard. Before anyone can call reinforcements.”

The bell rang, and Johnny held out a fist. The other two bumped it, and the doors opened. Johnny and Axe spilled out, shouting for someone named Felton, with Crash staying behind in the car, out of sight. The first PSD grabbed Johnny’s coat, telling him to stop. He jerked out of the man’s grasp and continued on, shouting, “Felton! You f*ck! Your bride’s looking for you.”

Axe continued the charade, stumbling forward toward the T intersection. The bodyguard grabbed his shoulder, calling on his radio. Axe turned, drawing the guard’s full attention, and Crash put a barrel against his head. The guard raised his hands high. Crash pointed to the floor, and he sank down.

Axe and Johnny turned the corner, shouting and yelling for Felton. Weaving and stumbling, they saw the two outside the door. They got within five feet, and one advanced, politely telling them they were in the wrong spot. Axe said, “Bullshit. You’re hiding our friend. What’s with you, man? Where is he?”

The bodyguard pulled out a pistol, intent on jamming it into Axe’s face and showing he meant business. What he got in return was a display of controlled violence.

Axe trapped the pistol in his hands, then rotated underneath the man’s arms, torquing his joints in a small circle. He whipped toward the ground, and the man went flying over his shoulder, slamming into the carpet. Axe let go of the arm and hammered him in the temple with a closed fist. The man ceased moving. Axe turned to help Johnny, but it didn’t matter.

His target was down as well.

Searching the body, Johnny held up a keycard. Axe took it, glanced back to make sure Johnny was ready, then swiped. The light went green, and they exploded in.

They entered a den, Axe seeing a man on the couch and one at a liquor cabinet. The couch man leapt up, drawing a gun and aiming. Axe broke his trigger to the rear, popping his head back with a suppressed round. He turned to the right and saw Johnny holding liquor-cabinet guy by the hair, the man on his knees, compliant. Johnny hissed, “You had to kill that guy?”

Axe said, “Your guy doesn’t have a weapon.”

Johnny jerked his head to the right, toward the bedroom, and Axe sprinted toward it, Glock at the ready. He pushed open the door and saw a dream of every red-blooded male on earth. Two women on top of a man, both with impossibly inflated attributes. Both writhing and moaning. The target clearly had no idea Axe had entered. In a world of his own.

Axe hit the lights and the girls rolled off in confusion. The man sat up and yelled in a language Axe didn’t understand.

Axe leveled his pistol and said, “Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Frog, but I’m here to ask you some questions. Please don’t disappoint me with your answers.”

The girls began screaming, and Johnny entered the room. Into his radio, he said, “Crash, target secure. Clean up the hallway. Bring them in here.”

In a heavy accent the Frog said, “You f*ckers have no idea what you’re messing with. None.”

Axe looked at one of the girls and said, “I don’t know about that. I think I’ve been in something similar.”

Taking that as a cue, one of the girls sidled over to him and, in broken English, said, “American. I speak American.” She knelt down, reaching for his belt, completely unashamed at her nakedness. Axe roughly knocked her away with his knee, spilling her to the ground and leaving no illusion of the state of play.

The Frog said, “Leave now, and I’ll pretend this didn’t happen. I have no money here, and I have powerful friends in very high places.”

Johnny said, “I’ll bet not as high as ours. We’re looking for Nicholas Seacrest, and we understand you’ve had some dealings with some Irishmen who know where he is.”

The words hung in the air. For the first time, Axe saw fear crawl across his target’s face.






76




I paced back and forth in the lobby of the Shannon FBO, feeling more and more frustrated, slamming back one tepid cup of free coffee after another. We’d been sitting on our asses for more than six hours, and the thread from the hostages was growing distant.