Zeb dived at the guard, caught his chest with his left shoulder, grunted at the impact as they went down.
The man was wiry, fast and twisted and turned as he tried to escape, one hand clawing for his HK that had fallen some distance away from the bodyslam. His warning shouts turned into a choke when Zeb plunged his elbow into his throat. He grabbed the man’s head and smashed it on the concrete driveway. One down.
‘Meg—’ he started.
‘Yeah, on it,’ she said. Her job was to jam the electrical switchbox and turn off power in the house.
He looked around when he heard a sickening punch. Bwana disposing the second guard while Broker was dealing with the third.
No time to lose.
He resumed running towards the front entrance. A porch with some furniture, a glass-paneled door that stood invitingly open, a window behind a coffee table.
The lights went out. The entire house turned dark. And then, it lit again, dimly.
‘Some kind of battery backup,’ a shrug in Meghan’s voice. ‘We’ve got a count of the guards. There should be two inside, no more. Go.’
Zeb dived through the window, using his elbows to shield his face. Landed on carpet, crashed into a coffee table, felt an incoming shadow, looked up just in time to see a guard looming over him, straightening his HK.
Zeb hooked his fingers around the table, swung it around and let it fly at the attacker.
He lunged off the ground as the furniture slammed into the man and sent him sprawling to the floor.
‘Where’s the owner?’ he hissed as he jammed his Glock between the man’s teeth. The guard looked dazed. Blood streamed from his lips. He winced, his breath rasped.
‘I won’t ask again,’ Zeb warned in Chinese and slashed at his mouth breaking his teeth.
The soldier howled, his body jerking in agony. ‘Upstairs. Bedroom,’ he gasped.
Zeb knocked him out with a blow and got to his feet when a shot rang out.
Another guard who had come skidding into the room, and had fired hastily.
‘I got him,’ Bwana’s face split into a feral smile as he drew out his knife and charged at the Chinese soldier whose attention was distracted between the two threats.
Zeb ignored the man, circled him to give space for his friend, leaped towards the curving staircase and climbed it. Fleeting images of the house registering on him. The room he had landed into was some kind of reception room. Couches, tables and chairs. Another room beyond that was the dining room.
Kitchen should be somewhere there. Bear and Chloe will check out those rooms
Footsteps behind him. Broker and Roger.
‘I thought you would be outside,’ he asked the Texan as he took two steps at a time. The plan was for Zeb, Broker and Bwana to penetrate the house, while the rest secured the perimeter and the ground floor.
‘You know how much I like smashing things,’ his friend chuckled.
A landing, leading to several doors. Movement in one of them.
Chau! A gun in hand.
Zeb dropped to the floor and fired in one smooth easy motion, deliberately aiming high and wide. The oilman was a business executive not a soldier. All the guards are out. His using the gun is a last resort.
‘DROP IT!’ he commanded, projecting his voice to intimidate Chau.
The executive replied by raising his gun.
‘Don’t’ Zeb ordered. ‘We don’t want to kill you, but we will, if you use that.’
The oilman licked his lips nervously. He glanced over the balustrade, saw the wreckage in the room below, at the two guards who lay motionless and the large attacker in the room.
‘What do you want?’ he quavered.
‘DROP YOUR GUN.’
He threw it to the floor.
Zeb surged forward and shoved him back into the room. Slapped him across the face. ‘Who else is in the house?’
‘No one,’ the executive cried.
‘You’re lying,’ he punched the man in the gut.
‘There’s no one,’ the oilman wheezed and gasped. ‘Only the guards. They are all down.’
‘What about your girlfriend?’
Chau jerked in surprise. ‘You know about her?’ he panted.
‘WHERE IS SHE?’
‘She doesn’t stay the night,’ he shrank from the expression on Zeb’s face.
We know that. Bear and Chloe had mounted surveillance and had spotted the TV host, the cook and gardener leave after dinner.
‘Money, jewelry, everything. We want it,’ he told the man grimly.
Chau looked up at a loud crash and winced at the sight of Broker and Roger ransacking the room. They removed wall-mounted paintings and tossed them outside. They rummaged through the closet and flung clothes to the floor, upturned the bedside tables as they searched.
‘WHERE ARE THEY?’ Zeb hissed to attract Chau’s attention.
‘Got it,’ the older operative whispered in his earpiece under the commotion. Zeb saw his friend lean over a laptop from the corner of his eye. He grabbed Chau roughly by the collar and jerked him forward.
‘I AM WAITING,’ he grated. ‘WHERE DO YOU KEEP EVERYTHING?’
‘Don’t hurt me,’ the oilman trembled. ‘I don’t have much money—’
‘THIS IS TEHRAN,’ Zeb scoffed. ‘EVERYONE HAS MONEY.’ He drew out his Benchmade waved it around so that it caught the light.
Chau stared at it, hypnotized.
‘WHERE IS IT?’ Zeb yelled in his face and brought the blade down towards the man’s thigh.
‘SAFE,’ the oilman yelped as he tried to escape Zeb’s grip. ‘BENEATH THE BED.’
Zeb searched his pocket, found a cell phone. He threw it to the floor and kicked it out of the way, in Broker’s direction. He sent the oilman staggering against the wall and helped Roger shove the bed away.
They ripped up the carpet and when Zeb looked at Chau, the oilman pointed to a floorboard. Roger punched it with the heel of his closed fist. Several boards popped open. He reached inside and brought out a large box.
He threw it on the bed, door up.
‘Combination,’ Zeb asked Chau. He moved the blade threateningly, but it wasn’t required. The executive approached the bed tremblingly and punched a code on the keypad.
Roger pushed him away when it opened. He jammed a hand inside and grunted when he brought out thick bundles of bills.
Zeb shoved them in his backpack, nodded his head in acknowledgement when Broker whispered in his ear. ‘Done. Worm’s in his laptop. Cell phone is bugged too.’
Job done, he thought to himself. He took the passport that Roger produced from the safe. Scanned it quickly. Chinese. He threw it on the bed and ripped through several envelopes that came out of the safe.
Company incorporation documents. He flung them in the air and turned to block Chau’s view as Broker gathered and photographed them with his phone.
‘What’s this?’ Roger looked inside an envelope, shook his head and handed it over to Zeb.
Zeb opened its mouth and stared at its contents. What the heck’s that? He upturned the envelope over the bed, realization dawning in his mind when several thin, irregular shapes spilled on the mattress.
Paint flakes! He picked one up and brought it closer to his eyes.
That looks like what Mostofi and Nassour were examining. Why does Chau have these? And, why has he hidden them in the safe?
‘What are these?’ his voice sharpened.
The oilman didn’t reply. His face was pale, sweat poured down his cheeks. His eyes were on the backpack which held his money.
‘You!’ Zeb stopped himself just in time from calling Chau by his name. ‘This looks like paint. Why do you have these?’
‘It is paint,’ the oilman took a step back from the intensity of his gaze.
‘I know,’ Roger snapped his fingers. ‘It’s for restoring a valuable work. Those flakes must be matching the original. That’s why he’s stored them in the safe. Where’s the painting?’ He looked around the room, went to the closets and rummaged through them again.
Zeb stifled a grin. That was smart thinking from his friend. A home invasion crew wouldn’t be interested in the envelope’s contents unless it was valuable.
‘Yes,’ he growled and clamped a hand over Chau’s shoulder. ‘Where is it? Speak fast. I am tired of your whining.’
‘There’s no painting, no art,’ the executive summoned some anger from deep within and wrestled out of Zeb’s grip.
‘Why do you keep this in the safe, then? What are these?’
‘They are for coating the oil equipment. Those are samples for preparing new batches of paint.’
‘He’s lying,’ Broker joined them. ‘Give me that knife,’ he snatched it from Zeb’s hand. ‘Let me work on him.’ He moved towards the oilman who yelped and stumbled back.
‘I AM TELLING THE TRUTH. THAT IS NOT VALUABLE. THAT IS A SPECIAL MIX WE USE IN ALL THE TERMINALS IN THE COUNTRY. THAT’S WHY IT’S IN THE SAFE.’
‘But why?’ Zeb frowned as he examined the flake again. ‘These look old. Why can’t you coat the pipes with new paint?’
‘IT’S MEANT TO LOOK OLD!’
Zeb went still. ‘Why does it have to look old?’ he asked softly.
‘WHY DO YOU CARE? YOU GOT MY MONEY, EVERYTHING I HAVE GOT.’
‘He’s right,’ Broker whispered in his earpiece.
‘We are taking this,’ Zeb decided and pocketed the envelope. He sidestepped easily when Chau charged at him, tripped the man and sent him crashing onto the bed. ‘I don’t believe you. I am sure this is for some restoration. We’ll have it valued and then we’ll be back, and then, I will use the knife.’
He jerked his head at Roger who crashed his Glock on the oilman’s head and knocked him out. They searched the other rooms on that story but found nothing else.
‘Got to go,’ Bwana called out from below. He was lounging on a couch, feet on an expensive-looking coffee table, munching an apple. The two guards lay at his feet, still, unmoving.
‘You killed them?’ Zeb accused him.
‘Nah. Sent them back to sleep when they were waking.’
They hurried out of the house where the twins were waiting, Bear and Chloe further out, keeping watch.
Bodies lay in the garden, spread out, all of them motionless.
‘Any killing?’
‘I wish,’ Bear said in disgust. ‘We ambushed them when they were returning to the house. The lights going off must have alerted them that this was a burglary. They didn’t resist when they saw we had them covered.’
Zeb scaled the compound wall first and peered outside cautiously. A small line of vehicles behind Bwana and Roger’s car. A few honks, a few drivers leaning out, shouting angrily. He could hear voices at the main entrance. Passersby or some vehicles have gotten close to the gates. They can’t get past because of that van or its contents.
No police sirens. That wouldn’t last long, however. This is a fancy neighborhood. Someone’s probably called the cops already.
He circled the air with a finger, the all clear and dropped to the pavement outside. They hurried down the slope, their heads down, their masks over their faces.
‘You,’ a driver shouted at them. ‘Who are you?’
Beth gave him the finger and burst into a sprint, the rest of the operatives following her.
Zeb brought up the rear, slower than the rest, thinking furiously, remembering what Chau had said.
It’s meant to look old.
Which implied that all the oil equipment was new.
But why?