His sleep was not peaceful. The drugs Kate had introduced into the drip that fed into his veins were not enough to satisfy his urgent need. Every cell in his body cried out for relief. And yet in his mind, there was an emotion screaming even louder. He reflected on the formidable Arab he had set out to destroy, a man who had built his fortune on other people’s poverty, misery, and death. He left a long trail of ruined victims in his wake, from the war vets whose lives he destroyed by conning them out of their homes, to his employees, the men he was prepared to throw away like chaff to defend his illicit fortune. There was no doubt the man had to be dealt with. This had to end. He thought about the problem of Wasim Malouf, the cop who’d thrown in his lot with Hussein. All he could do was sidestep him, and hope that sooner or later the police department would catch on to the evil he’d perpetrated on the very people he was paid to defend. Taylor could see dawn peering through the drapes, and in the chill, grey light, he saw Kate Donovan, asleep in an armchair close to his bed.
So she's been keeping watch on me, he smiled.
In slumber she looked if anything more beautiful and more exotic than when she was awake. Her face was completely relaxed, and her hair had flopped down over one eye, giving her a tousled, faintly erotic appearance. He jumped as her eye opened. She grinned at him.
"Jack Taylor, you were watching me. I was supposed to be watching over you. I must have fallen asleep for a few moments. How do you feel?"
He hurriedly checked his watch.
Jesus Christ, it’s already 0900! Today I planned to get dressed and put into action the plan I’ve been working on ever since I woke in Lincoln's house.
"I'm okay, but it's late. I need to get dressed. Where are my clothes?"
"I put them…"
It was as far as she got. The bedroom door burst open as if hit by a hurricane, and a man forced his way inside. He carried a typical doctor’s bag.
"Doc!"
Hermann van Rhoos nodded. "Yeah, I'm a doctor, and that means you're going nowhere, pal. I have to check you over. Sol, come on in and take a look at the kind of problems I have with this guy." Another man came into the bedroom. “This is my colleague from MIT. Sol Weinberg, meet Jack Taylor, my prize patient and the source of a good few headaches."
The new arrival walked forward, smiled, and offered his hand to Taylor. Tall, thin, neat to the point of fastidious, with a bow tie and custom-made suit with contrasting woolen vest. His face was pale; this was a man whose career obviously kept him indoors. His piercing blue eyes gave the impression they saw everything, and understood even more. Yet they also carried a look of compassion and warmth, which made Taylor feel here was a man to like. His hair was a rich blonde, beginning to turn grey in places, and he wore a small pointed moustache. The impression he formed impressed him. Sol Weinberg looked like a man who could stare deep into the human psyche, find the cracks and strains, and instinctively repair them with the deft touch of a highly trained surgeon.
Maybe he can help, maybe not, but the timing couldn't have been worse.
"Doc," he said to van Rhoos, "I appreciate what you're trying to do for me, but right now I have some important stuff to deal with. I'll give Dr. Weinberg a call when I'm finished, and we can fix up to get together."
The psychologist smiled gently, but van Rhoos shook his head. "Not a chance! You know as well as I do the problems you're experiencing with pain. Sure, I know some of it is physiological, but a good deal is psychological. A few sessions with Sol, and you'll feel a lot better believe me. Besides, you can’t go anywhere right now. You’ve had one hell of a battering, and if you try moving around before you’re fully recovered, you'll undo all the good work I've done putting you back together." He stared hard at Taylor, trying to impress upon him the importance of what he was saying. His expression softened. "Just a week, Jack. Just seven days, maybe even five if you make good progress. And during that time, you can have a couple of sessions with Sol."
They argued, and Taylor knew he was in for a fight. If there was one man in this world who he respected more than any other, it was the one who had given him back his life. But it was no go.
"Doc, there are people in trouble, people who depend on me. If I don't get back out there and finish the job I started, a whole lot of crap is going to fall on their heads. It's something I have to do." Something occurred to him, an argument he could use with Hermann that he may listen to. "You haven't fixed me up just to put a coward back on the streets, have you?"
Hermann stared at him long and hard. Finally, he grimaced and turned to his colleague. "What do you think, Sol? Is there any way I can persuade this stubborn bastard to follow his doctor's orders?"
Weinberg wrinkled his brow in thought and shook his head. "I doubt it. In my experience, a man with that kind of motivation is like one of those supertankers that sail the seas loaded with oil. Once they've started, there's no stopping them. I'd suggest giving him what help he needs, and attaching a couple of conditions."
Hermann nodded thoughtfully, but Taylor snapped out, "What conditions?"
"That you come to my rehab clinic as soon as you're done, and make time for your appointments with Hermann of course. It's nothing you can't manage, just turning up to see your physician. And if we physicians think patients are putting themselves at risk, the law allows us to compel them to be detained." His smile was back, but behind it Taylor could see there was an iron will that matched his own. He nodded.
"Agreed, I'll be there. I reckon we'll need two or three days to finish this business. One way or the other."
He chatted to Sol while Hermann gave him a quick physical. Eventually, the two doctors left, and only Taylor’s ‘squad’ was left in the room. Wes, recovered from his PTSD, managing to cope with the discomfort of a couple of cracked ribs; he was rock solid and as tough as the hide of a buffalo, so he’d be fine. Lincoln, the ex-marine, older but still in good shape, and like Wes, threatened with the loss of his home; so he was determined to put his old military skills to the test once more. Levi, he looked pale. He’d been hit hard, but while Taylor was unconscious, Doc Hermann had given him a transfusion of a couple of pints of blood to help him recover what he’d lost from his wound. And Kate. Beautiful, clever and full of grit, a girl without whom he’d undoubtedly be dead by now. He was loath to put her in the path of danger because of his strong feelings for her. Feelings he knew could go nowhere. They’d grown close, but it was no good. He couldn’t burden her with a crippled vet, no matter how good his prosthetic limbs. She was entitled to her own life, a good life, with a man who was strong and whole. Yet he knew dissuading her from this fight was a waste of time. In the short time he'd known her, he’d seen at first hand the single-minded determination that marked her out as someone special. There'd be no stopping her, so all he could do was take every precaution to ensure nothing bad happened to her. He could see they were watching him carefully. Waiting. Finally, he smiled.
"Okay people, let’s get this moving. We need a car. We can’t go back for the rented Dodge. We have to pick up the weapons and equipment I have stashed in the underground locker at my parking garage. We’ll need to replace the stuff we lost at the mansion, and maybe grab a couple of items to give us an edge when we next meet Mehdi Hussein and his friends."
“I have a car. It's not much, but you're welcome to it."
He nodded at Lincoln. "That's great, anything that runs will be fine. What vehicle is it?"
Lincoln Moss grinned. "Why, it's a Lincoln of course. She’s an old 1990 town car. She has a good few thousand miles on the clock and a few holes in the bodywork, but I keep the mechanics in trim, and she runs pretty sweetly."
"That’ll give us plenty of room for our equipment," Taylor replied, with a nod of thanks. "I need to get dressed, if you guys could give me some space."
"You want me to lend a hand?" Kate asked him.
"I thought you'd never ask."
It may have been old, but Lincoln's Lincoln was a classic, in a rich maroon finish with sumptuous dark gray upholstery. The paintwork was dotted with rust in places, and the leather was cracked and slightly torn, but as Kate drove away, the huge V-8 engine that still beat healthily under the hood gave a low-throated gurgle. He looked at the rich walnut control panel and couldn't help but admire the finish of this beautiful piece of machinery.
A few hundred dollars, well, maybe a few thousand, and several weekends’ work, and she’d look like new.
He was nervous about the materials they’d taken from Hussein’s house because she’d decided to keep them with her, and because of their importance. They were on the back seat in a briefcase Lincoln had given them.
“It’d be better if we left them here,” he’d tried to dissuade her.
“No, Jack. This stuff was taken illegally. If the cops found out about Lincoln, they could bust in here and have all the evidence they’d need to pin that business at Hussein’s place on him. I’ll find somewhere better to keep them.”
They reached his parking garage, and Chuck regarded his new conveyance with astonishment.
"Hi, Mr. Taylor. Wow, that’s really something, but it doesn't look like your usual wheels."
"It's a project, Chuck. The Camaro looked worse than this when I bought it. She just needs some love and attention, and she'll be one beautiful piece of machinery."
"I guess you're right," the attendant nodded doubtfully. "Good luck with it, but I reckon it'll be more than a few weeks before it's done."
"It's the journey I enjoy, my friend. Arriving is just the icing on the cake."
Chuck nodded again as he raised the barrier and allowed Kate to drive inside.
The parking bay next to his Camaro was empty, so she slid in adjacent to Taylor’s gleaming red muscle car. He handed her the keys, and she backed up the Chevy enough to gain access to the underground store. She opened the high security locks holding the steel hatch in place, and Taylor helped her lift the heavy cover. He carefully made his way down the steps, grunting in pain from his injuries, and surveyed his store of ordnance. She watched him with concern.
"You're in no shape to go up against Hussein and his goons, Jack. Doc Hermann is right. You need more time to recover."
He shook his head. "It's now or never. I learned in the service that when you start putting pressure on the enemy, you keep hitting them. You never let up."
"I think they've been putting pressure on you, on us. That's the problem."
He looked up at her. "Maybe you're right. In which case, it's time for the winds of change to blow through that greasy bastard’s company."
He picked out two more Claymore mines. They'd saved their asses during the attack at the mansion, and maybe they’d come in useful again. Then he bent down, feeling every muscle strain with the effort of moving, and dragged a wooden case from the floor and passed it up to Kate.
"Be careful. This baby is heavy."
"What's inside the box?"
"Russian-made RPG. It’s the shoulder-launched weapon that’s the terrorist’s choice of killing machine, after the Kalashnikov AK-47, of course. It’ll give us the ability to standoff and hit them from a distance. Kind of like artillery,” he grinned.
Her eyes narrowed, but she made no comment. He filled a canvas bag with more grenades for the M203 launcher and stuffed in boxes and clips of ammunition for their personal weapons, the HK 416, his MP7, and the different calibers for their pistols.
Levi's heavy Colt packed a .45 caliber round, while his Sig Sauer a 9mm bullet. Wes' HK 416 used a 5.56mm NATO cartridge, and his MP7 the tiny but incredibly powerful 4.6mm ammo. A lot of different calibers, not normally good military practice, but for Special Forces, it was not unusual. Whichever weapon the job needed was the one you carried.
"You still packing that Makarov?" he asked Kate.
She nodded. "I doubt any girl in your company would be well-dressed without it."
He looked at her, she wore the beginning of a smile, but there was a grim message there. This wasn't her scene, and the sooner it was all over, the better. She was more used to using a lawyer’s briefcase to fight back against crooks, than a gun. Even so, she understood what they were up against. Probably, Mehdi Hussein had learned the art of running a business in his brutal homeland, some Arab shithole, wherever that was. He didn't yet realize that in the United States, people were different. Most, though not all, people had standards, and in general treated each other with a degree of humanity. A humanity that was often absent in the lands ruled over by the fanatic Islamic warlords. As far as Taylor was concerned, by declaring war on wounded vets, Hussein had declared war on every decent American, those who cared for the people who suffered and died for the freedom of their homeland.
Someone has to stand up and be counted, that’s for sure. People have to draw a line in the sand. What was it that a philosopher had once said?
‘All that is necessary for evil to flourish is for good men to do nothing.’
Yeah, it was some Brit, Edmund Burke, from a book I read long, long ago. So bring it on, Hussein. The good men are not going to do nothing. They’re sick to their fucking back teeth with the shit you've been dishing out. Now you're going to get some of it pushed back in your face.
He gathered together several blocks of C4 plastique that were long past their sell-by date, together with their detonators, and passed them up for Kate to load in the trunk.
She helped him load the rest of the ordnance into the huge trunk of the Lincoln. It was just as well Lincoln Moss hadn't owned a Japanese compact. It would have made their mission almost impossible. Even so, Taylor had to force the lid down hard to close it. She took the wheel and drove away. Taylor waved to Chuck as they went under the barrier.
"You won't recognize this car when we come back, my friend. Just wait and see."
"You betcha, Mr. Taylor. You go for it."
He brought the barrier down, and Kate drove out of the garage and onto the street. She got ten yards before a car swerved across their front, forcing her brake to a halt, an unmarked car with a strobe light flashing inside the windshield.
"Cops."
"Yep," Taylor agreed, "but I only see one. That's strange. If this was a bust, there'd be more of them."
He recognized the guy who stepped out of the car and approached the Lincoln. Detective Brad Stutz. They both climbed out and waited for him to come up to them. They eyed each other in silence for a few moments. In Stutz’s case, it was more of a glare. Finally, he spoke.
"Do you people mind telling me what's going on? You, Taylor, you’re nothing but trouble. Wherever you go, I see chaos and destruction. But you, Counselor," he said, looking at Kate, "I would have thought you'd have better things to do than chase around Boston helping this guy make a mess of our fair city."
She wasn’t fazed. "Where's your friend, that other cop, Wasim Malouf? Has he gone to visit his good friend Mehdi Hussein to collect the payoff?"
The young detective flushed bright red. "I don't know a damn thing about any payoff. If there's something you know, and you're not telling me, maybe you should come clean. If a cop is bent, the Department can't do anything about it if they don't know. Are you saying Detective Malouf is on the take?"
They both laughed. “We don't have any evidence," Taylor explained. "But there’s a long list of people, many of them wounded war vets, who your friend is helping Hussein to put them out of their homes so he can redevelop. Maybe you think he's doing it for free? How about a favor to a friend from the local mosque, is that what it is?"
Stutz sighed and shook his head. He stared back at Taylor. "I honestly don’t know. I've had suspicions for some time about him, but he's the senior man, and I don't have a lot of choice but to follow his orders. Internal Affairs contacted me yesterday. Malouf is under suspicion. They didn't tell me what it was for, but it doesn't take a genius to work it out if what you say is true. By the way, you didn't hear that from me. It's confidential."
He stared at them for a few seconds, waiting for a reaction. When he realized it wasn't coming, he pressed on.
"You know about that business at Mehdi Hussein's house? Someone went there and shot the place to pieces. I’ve been out to look at the crime scene, and it's like downtown Baghdad after the Second Gulf War. The place was strewn with bodies, and smashed up furniture and artworks. We understand most, if not all of the victims were mercenaries. Ex-military people." He looked hard at Taylor. "So I assume it would need someone with military training to take down people like that. I checked your records, Mr. Taylor. You were a Navy Seal." Taylor didn't confirm or deny anything. He just waited. "It would need someone from an elite unit to wipe out a bunch of mercs. Do you know anything about it?"
Taylor considered his reply. He knew they were treading a fine line. They had a trunk full of weapons and equipment, and if he gave Stutz the excuse, the guy could impound the car and obtain a search warrant to open it up. He had to say something, just as long as it didn't incriminate anyone. Especially Kate. She was a practicing lawyer, and the last thing she needed was a brush with the law that would wind up with her disbarred as a convicted felon.
"Where are you going with this, Stutz? What do you want from us?"
"The truth. A lot of things are going wrong in this town, and now my boss is under investigation. It looks to me as if Hussein and Detective Malouf are linked, and something happened at that mansion as a result. I'm looking for some answers."
I have to give him something. After all, he’s a cop, so he won't just give up.
"On or off the record? And I would remind you," he said with a grin, "I have my lawyer with me."
"Yeah, I see that. You can have it any way you like. I'll take it off the record for now if you want. It may change later."
"I can’t give you names, but everything I tell you is documented and true."
He nodded his understanding. "Could you provide evidence of that? Witnesses, documents and so on?"
Taylor nodded. “Yeah, we can. Enough to put those bastards away for life.”
"Okay then, let's hear it."
Taylor sketched out the story from when he'd first encountered Hussein's muscle hammering in the foreclosure sign outside the home of Wes Harper. He told him about Jerry Yates, and the street gangs who were responsible for his death. Street gangs working with Hussein to tear up the lives of local people and drive them from their homes. He told him, without giving any name, of the former marine who’d gone to the law center after Hussein’s MMP began to target his home. Stutz looked at Kate with his eyebrows raised, and she inclined her head that it was true.
He nodded. "Okay, I think I got it. If this deal is as big as you say, it's a conspiracy that must involve a lot of people. I mean; you can’t get away with something that big without inside help from the Department. Someone had to make the complaints go away."
"Not someone, Detective. Wasim Malouf."
He looked at her. "Maybe you’re right. What about the fight at the mansion?"
"I'll tell you what I heard," Taylor said with a straight face.
"Whatever. Give me what you got."
He gave a brief outline of the battle at Hussein's mansion.
"Why would those people have gone in there, what were you,” he stopped, and smiled, “I mean, what were they after?"
"Documents, hard drives, data records, you name it. I think it's what you cops call evidence. What you’re paid to go looking for."
Stutz flushed. "Okay, okay, maybe we fell down on this one. Did these people find the evidence they were looking for?"
"I believe they did, yes."
He was thoughtful for a few moments. He looked up and down the street, as if to make sure they weren't being spied on.
"Okay, I need to know what these people took out of Hussein's place."
“I’ll get in touch with them,” Kate replied. "I’ll let you know."
He nodded. "Make it quick. This investigation is starting to move, and those documents could make the difference between a conviction and allowing a dirty cop to go free. Believe me, most of us want this cleared up pretty soon. If Detective Malouf is on the take, he can rot in hell as far as we’re concerned."
Taylor nodded uncertainly. “You’ll understand when I say it’s hard to believe that, Detective Stutz.”
He flushed. “Nonetheless, it’s true. I know we’re not perfect, but give us some credit, for Christ’s sake.”
They agreed to contact him the following day to arrange a handover of any material they could obtain from the ‘unknown people’ who’d invaded Hussein's house. Finally, he nodded he was satisfied.
"Okay, but make sure you call me the second you know anything. If this gets screwed up, I'll spend the rest of my career giving out traffic tickets."
As they drove away, Kate glanced across at Taylor.
"Do you trust him?"
"I don't know. But we need him, someone on the inside. He seems on the level, so we'll cooperate for now, but we also have to make certain we cover your back."
"Me? But why?"
"Because you're a lawyer. The last thing you need is to tangle with the cops and maybe get disbarred."
"And you? You think if they locked you up, you’d be okay?"
He knew what she meant. He’d almost been climbing the walls when she got him out of the cell. He shrugged. "I guess I'd manage."
She gave him a pointed look, and he looked away. The damage his body had sustained during the attack on Hussein's mansion was still not healed. There was no way he could listen to Doc Hermann's advice and rest for a few days. What he told them was true, once a mission began it was essential to keep the pressure on, to attempt to keep the enemy back footed. He was about to say something more, but he winced. The old agony was returning, starting to build in the familiar vicious waves. Lashing attacks that tortured every fiber of his being. He saw his face in the vanity mirror; his skin was pale, clammy, and wan. His face seemed to dissolve into a thousand fine wrinkles, and his eyes half closed as he attempted to contain what was eating him up inside.
"You're not managing now, are you?"
He said nothing. If he told the truth, he would have to tell her he wanted to shout a long scream of agony as he pounded his head against the windshield, in a forlorn attempt to take his mind off the pain. He knew it wouldn't work. It never did, just as he knew there was only one way out of the horror that his world had descended into.
She turned to look at him. Her face was unreadable. "I know you need a fix. You want me to drive there now?"
His reply was a single word, almost inaudible, a word murmured out of shame and despair. "Yes."
She made an illegal U-turn and headed toward Paris Street.
The sense of relief that it would end soon lightened his mood. "It's come to something when your girlfriend knows the route to your dealer," he joked, trying to be light-hearted, about a subject that was anything but.
"That's the first time."
"Excuse me?"
"It's the first time you called me your girlfriend."
He shrugged. "I guess it's just a figure of speech. After all, we slept together. That must mean something."
"That's it? We slept together, so it must mean something?"
"I guess," he mumbled. “No, I don’t know.”
Dear Christ, why am I saying the wrong things? Stupid things. This girl deserves so much more than that, than me.
He knew he'd screwed up. She wanted a different answer from him, and more from their relationship. But what she wanted was more than he could give her.
Christ, I’d burn to share my life with this amazing girl who seems to surprise me at every turn. It’s just…wrong. She has to understand it’s out of the question.
She was silent as she drove to Paris Street. She put on the parking brake and told him to wait in the car. She attended to the whole thing herself, and to his surprise Quint was in the park.
The man himself; maybe he’s short of staff. Could be his runners have been scooped up in some bust.
The drug lord was massive, a hugely muscled black man who resembled Mike Tyson with a few extra steroids. He had a reputation for ruling his crime kingdom through a combination of threats of extreme violence, and occasionally carrying out those threats. The cops were convinced he had a string of murders to his name, and it was an open secret they’d pay dearly to find out where the bodies were buried. But he was protected by his reputation, which he worked hard to maintain. Everyone knew that dropping the dime on Quint was tantamount to begging for a death sentence. Whether people were clients or employees, it made no difference. They were either loyal or they weren't. And if they weren't, their life expectancy could be measured in days, if not hours. Taylor watched carefully, his hand on the butt of his Sig Sauer, as Kate bought the drugs. To his surprise, the big black man treated her with an amicable courtesy. When she climbed back into the car, he asked her if Quint had charged a premium for dealing with a new face. She turned to him with a surprised glance.
"No, certainly not. I didn't even need to discuss price. He told me what you've been paying over the past few months and said he would keep the price the same. Why? Did you think he'd try to gouge me?"
"Oh, no, he's a perfect gentleman,” he smiled. “I'm sure he's a pillar of the Boston business establishment."
"Oh, I doubt that," He smiled as she missed his sarcastic comment completely, "but I told him I was your lawyer, so he's probably careful not to screw you, in case you decide to sue him."
"Are you serious…" He stopped, as he saw the broad smile on her face. She'd turned the tables, and the joke was on him. He stared at her, and she stared back with a gaze that was bold and brazen, honest and open, with eyes that were filled with warmth, and something else.
I don’t want to go there. She needs more, so much more.
"We need to find a motel," she said abruptly. "You're all in, so don't argue. After you've shot up, you must rest for a few hours, and get over the worst of the pain that I know you're feeling. Don't argue, I know a nice place just outside town, and I'm driving there now."
"But…"
"I said don't argue. Besides, I have the drugs in my pocket. Another word from you, and I'll toss them in the Charles River. So shut up.”
He shut up.
* * *
He lay on the bed in the motel room, feeling the blessed relief as the intravenous injection seeped through his body, and the agony swiftly drained away. He looked around. It was like motel rooms everywhere, soulless, shabby, and dismal. But it was private and anonymous.
"You want something else to ease the pain?"
He stared at her. "Like what?"
"Like this."
She undressed, taking off each garment slowly and carefully, until she stood naked in front of him. It was one of the most erotic displays he'd seen, and would surely put a professional stripper to shame. He could feel the heat in his groin and knew he was rock hard.
"Your turn to strip. Now just relax and let me do everything."
“Yes, Ma'am," he smiled. "A guy could get used to this."
"That's what I'm counting on."
He made no reply. He didn't want to spoil the moment. She gently removed his garments, one by one, until he lay naked. He didn't want to look down at his body, at the stumps that connected to his prosthetic limbs, with the exposed titanium knee joints. Didn't want her to wonder at the cables and caps protecting the interface to the miracle of electronic wizardry that had given him his life back. But he needn't have worried. She instinctively sensed his need.
"This is my show, Jack Taylor, so close your eyes and let me get to work."
So he did, and she did. He felt her tongue licking him, his face, his body, and his arms, even the tops of his legs. And finally her hot mouth closed over his throbbing penis, and he almost exploded. She pulled back.
"Whoa, cowboy. You're pretty keen, but I need you to hang in there a while longer."
She lay beside him. He touched her firm young breasts, hearing her moan as he gently brushed her nipples, and he traced his hand down her flat, smooth stomach and to her vagina. She moaned again as he lightly touched her clitoris, and then began sighing in ecstasy as he applied soft pressure to just where she liked it. Soon, she removed his hand and climbed on top of him, guiding his prick into her hot, soaking wet vagina. They made love slowly; so slowly. Each sensed what the other needed, and they held back until it was impossible to wait longer, prolonging the moment so that the orgasm when it came swept over them both. They were transported to an erotic heaven that blocked out their thoughts and their worries. They were together, and right then their whole world was just that room. There was nowhere else.
"I love you."
He looked up at her face. It wasn't a surprise she’d said that. He felt the same way, an emotion more powerful then he’d ever felt before in his life.
What do they call it? A cul-de-sac, yeah, that’s it. A road you travel, and yet there’s no way through. It’s strictly shut ended.
He could feel her hurt when didn't respond. It was that tender, post-coital moment when lovers murmur things to each other, things they want each other to hear.
I can't burden her, no way.
He felt the reaction dragged out of him, and knew as he finally spoke it was wrong.
"Yeah."
"That's it? Yeah?"
Her hurt began turning to anger, and he tried to head it off, that she’d listen to reason? He stroked her hair and looked into her eyes, seeing the mixture of love and hurt that seemed to set them ablaze.
"I'm damaged goods, Kate. Just a broken squid that spends his life worrying about where to get the next fix."
"Squid?"
He grinned. "It's a nickname for a Navy Seal. You have to know that I feel something so powerful for you it almost hurts. No, that's wrong, it does hurt. But you deserve a whole man, not some pain addled, washed-up addict."
He felt her relax. Maybe she had listened to him and understood his explanation.
"That's okay, Jack, we’ll work on it. As long as I'm not a ‘wham, bam, thank you, Ma'am’ kind of one night stand."
"Never. Not as long as I draw breath, I’ll always be there for you. Always."
They lay for a while longer, in that private world that is the dwelling place of lovers. She explained to him how the worst night of her life was at Hussein's mansion, not because of the violence and death that was all around them. It was because she thought he might die, and she’d lose him. She finally made him promise to listen to what she was about to say.
"As for that washed-up addict crap, you're the bravest, toughest man I've ever known. You have more to offer a girl than any of the men I've met before, much more. Listen to me, Jack. Those guys we’re working with, Wes, Levi, and Lincoln, they’d die for you. Do you know that? And I'll tell you why. You inspire that kind of loyalty in a man because they know that you’d do the same for them, and go a few miles beyond if necessary. If you think I'm going to just let you get away because of some feeble excuse, think again, buddy. You’ve got a lot to learn about Kate Donovan."
He was tempted to let his guard down. He'd need to think on what she’d said. There was a lot to consider. They dressed and prepared to leave the warmth and security they'd known so briefly, to once more go out and prepare to face the enemy. He was about to ask her about the Makarov pistol when there was a knock at the door.
"I'll get it."
He walked toward the door, happy that he really could walk without feeling the agony that so often engulfed him.
"Who is it?"
"It's the manager. It's about your car."
Oh, fuck! The trunk’s full of weapons. What could be the problem?
He opened the door and knew instantly he’d made a fatal mistake. Gunter Metz stood there staring at him, a sneer on his thick lips. Next to him was the Arab, Mehdi Hussein, flanked by a couple of hard-faced bodyguards, each with a hand inside their coat. They didn't need to tell him that if he made a false move, those hands would come out fast out holding pistols, and he’d go down in a hail of bullets; and so would Kate. They wouldn’t leave a witness alive, especially her. He kept his hands in view.
"What do you fuckers want?"
Metz sneered even wider, and the two guards laughed. Hussein fixed a smile on his face that was a long way south of being genuine.
"Why, Mr. Taylor, I want to talk to you, just a little chat. May we come in?"
Gunter put a hand the size of a dinner plate on his chest and pushed hard. Taylor went back, cursing as his artificial leg betrayed him. He stumbled and fell to the floor. At the back of his mind, he made a note to explain the technical glitch to Hermann, and then he smiled inwardly.
The chances of getting out of this alive are not good, so maybe the Doc will have to look for another guinea pig to use for his experiments with the miracles of neurobiological technology.
The men stormed into the motel room, and one of the bodyguards closed the door. He ignored the hand Kate offered him and got to his feet. Hussein regarded him with an expression of fake sympathy.
"Yes, of course, the man with artificial legs; pity about that. I wanted to…"
"The girl hasn't got anything to do with this, Hussein,” he interrupted. “If you want me, that's fine, but let her go."
"I think she should stay. We've been to a lot of trouble locating you, Mr. Taylor. I'm rather tired of your efforts to damage my business interests, so I've decided to put an end to it."
So this is it, it’s the end. No way am I going easily.
He began moving his hand toward the pistol under his coat, but three guns barrels whipped up and pointed at Kate.
"No, I wouldn't advise it. My men have instructions to shoot the girl if you try anything stupid. I suspect you have some foolish affection for her, and so would hate to see your girlfriend riddled with bullets. Put down your gun, Mr. Taylor. Use the left hand! That's it, slowly, and give it to Gunter."
He did as he was ordered and handed over the Sig Sauer. Hussein nodded with satisfaction.
"Excellent. Now, you're wondering why I'm here, I imagine." Taylor said nothing, and the Arab smiled and continued. "I'm not here to kill you.” He saw Taylor’s skeptical expression. “No, no. I don’t wish to do anything illegal." His smile broadened. "I've done what any good citizen would do, you see. I called the police." He looked at his wristwatch in satisfaction. "I imagine Detective Malouf will arrive shortly, about ten minutes should do it, and he’ll put both of you under arrest. I understand he's bringing the Boston PD SWAT team along, just in case you get any ideas of doing anything stupid, like trying to escape. Try that, and they’ll shoot you. You see; several witnesses have come forward who will testify to the murders of a number of my employees at my private residence." He looked at Metz. "What is the punishment in Massachusetts for multiple murder, Gunter?"
"Life imprisonment, without parole," the gorilla replied.
"Just so. That should keep both of you out of my hair, and everything is nice and legal. Of course, should you care to return the items you stole from my house, it is entirely possible these witnesses may suddenly change their mind about what they saw."
"Fuck you, Hussein."
His eyes blazed for a moment, and Taylor had a glimpse of the intense cruelty that lay barely concealed beneath the surface.
"I see. It doesn't matter. After your arrest, Detective Malouf will arrange to have your homes, places of work, and vehicles searched, as well as those of every person you have come into contact with.” He looked thoughtful, and turned to the guard at the door. “Go check inside their car, and see what’s there.” He looked back at Taylor. “By the time the cops have finished, they will have retrieved my property, and I’ll make sure they find enough solid evidence that will guarantee your conviction for murder when you come to trial."
Taylor felt the raging frustration of being unable to move. Hussein had a pistol on him, but that was no problem. The guns pointed at Kate were impossible to circumvent without her being killed. He felt the despair of failure creep over him like a thick fog. For himself he cared little, but for her, and his old comrades, he knew he'd effectively lost every chance of helping them achieve some kind of a life.
"Nothing to say?" Hussein smiled. "It's too bad. If you'd let things alone and not try to interfere, you could have enjoyed your life without having to face spending the rest of it in prison. Even so, you should consider yourself lucky. In my country, you would have been slaughtered out of hand long ago."
"Which particular shithole do you come from?" Taylor asked him. He was racking his brains trying to think of any way out, but so far there was nothing. He had the satisfaction of seeing Hussein's flush of intense anger.
"I am Syrian, and I can assure you that my country has a long and proud history."
This time Taylor laughed out loud. "Syria! That's a dump where the shithole Arab states toss their garbage. I've heard it called the Devil’s asshole."
Hussein lost it then, stepped forward, and slashed across with his pistol. Taylor took the blow on his face, and felt the iron foresight cut the skin of his cheek. But he made no move to prevent it. He was too conscious of the hairsbreadth that separated Kate from death. Gunter gripped Kate's arm so fiercely she let out a tiny squeal of pain. As Taylor wiped the blood from his face, he looked around the room to see if there was any possible opening he could take, any way he could get the drop on these guys. He briefly considered needling Mehdi Hussein some more, and when he came close to hit him again, grab him and used him as a shield. But the equation came back to Kate Donovan.
They’d simply threaten to kill her, and I’d have no choice but to back down.
Hussein checked his wristwatch, nodded, and smiled.
"It shouldn't be long now. Enjoy your last moments of freedom, Taylor. And your lawyer friend, she'll take the fall with you." He looked across at Kate. "Unless you do a deal with the DA. I imagine if you testify against this man, it could shorten your sentence. Who knows, you may even escape with a suspended sentence? Of course, you'll lose your lawyer's license, but that will serve as a lesson for you to be more careful when you try and cross powerful people."
She looked back at him, and even Taylor cringed at her eloquent expression. Without saying a single word, she managed to convey her opinion of the Arab with her eyes. And the opinion was straightforward. ‘You stink worse than a piece of dog shit that's been on the sidewalk in the midday sun.’
“Hey, Mr. Hussein, lookie here. I found it on the seat of that Lincoln outside. I think it’s the stuff you were looking for.”
He handed the case to Hussein, who looked inside with a smile that grew broader when he realized he’d got it all back. Kate darted a glance at Taylor as if to say, ‘I’m sorry, I screwed up.’ He shook his head imperceptibly, ‘it’s okay.’ But they both knew it wasn’t. Under the guns of Hussein and his people, with the cops arriving soon, and the evidence they’d fought so hard to obtain, all gone. Hussein snapped the case shut.
“I think that changes things. You know, I had thought about having you both killed. Just after you’re released on bail would have been a good time. You could just disappear, and they’d assumed you’d fled, but now it’s not even worth the trouble. You’ve got nothing, except a long prison sentence hanging over you.”
Taylor returned his glance. “It isn’t going to be like that, Hussein. You think this is ended? You’re finished! You know that. You’re scum, a dog turd you’d pick up on your shoe on the sidewalk on a hot day, rank and stinking. I’ll be seeing you, Hussein, and next time, it’ll be different.”
The Arab flushed crimson, as crimson as a person with his Mid East tan could flush. Taylor smiled and glanced around at his men. They kept their faces straight, except for one of the bodyguards whose mouth twitched a little, as much as he would dare.
He probably served in Iraq or maybe Afghanistan, Taylor reflected.
Gunter kept a straight, stony face, the perfect muscle, a robot that could be programmed to destroy at his master’s command. They faced each other. It was a tense moment. Taylor wondered if he’d gone too far, but they were interrupted by a knock on the door.
"That must be Detective Malouf. Time to get you out of my hair."
One of the bodyguards opened the door and stepped back, allowing a detective who held up his shield to enter. Hussein wore a look of surprise on his face. It wasn't Wasim Malouf. It was his partner, Brad Stutz. He recovered quickly.
"Detective Stutz, thank you for coming so fast. These are the people I want you to arrest."
Stutz gave him a cold glance. "I don't know what gives you the idea you can dictate to the Boston PD who we arrest, Mister. I'll decide how this works. Clear?"
Hussein nodded quickly. "Of course, of course. But I made a complaint to your department. I assume you came to investigate."
"I do have some questions for these people. But first, I suggest you and your people go home. If I have any questions for you, I know where you are."
Hussein’s jaw dropped. "But, you will arrest them?"
"I already told you how it works, Mister. Now get out of here. This is police business."
The bodyguards looked at their boss, clearly unsure of how he wanted to play it. Gunter still held onto Kate, but Hussein gave him a nod. He released her, and they walked out the door. Hussein was last to leave. He glared at Stutz for a few moments, then left, slamming the door behind him.
They looked at each other for several seconds.
"Care to explain, Stutz?" Taylor asked.
The detective nodded. "I can tell you some of it but not all. We managed to delay Detective Malouf so I could get to you first, but he'll be along soon with the SWAT guys, so we need to get out of here."
"We?"
"Yeah, you know that Internal Affairs is investigating Malouf for possible links to that guy Hussein. When I found out what Malouf had planned, I contacted IA, and they told me to come and get you away before Malouf arrives."
"What about you? I thought you were his partner."
"That’s true, but he's involved with some pretty bad people in this town, your friend Mehdi Hussein chief amongst them. I may not be the best cop in the city, but I think I'm above that kind of shit."
Taylor stared at him. "Yeah, I reckon you are, Stutz. Thanks for the help. What happens now?"
"We still need more evidence to bring him down. As soon as we have what we need, IA will take it to the DA, and hopefully Detective Malouf will be off the streets for a very long time. But it's important he doesn't know about this, so I want you out fast.”
"What about you? He'll go crazy when he arrives and discovers you've let us go."
“I'll concoct a story to explain it. Don't worry about me. Just get yourselves go somewhere he can't find you. Between him and that Arab, I wouldn't rate your chances if he comes gunning for you."
Taylor nodded. He looked at Kate. "You ready to go?"
"I was ready twenty minutes ago."
He smiled and let her out the door. The Lincoln was still parked where he'd left it. The window in the rear door was smashed where Hussein’s man had busted it open, probably with the butt of his gun, to grab the case. He cleared away the worst of the broken glass. Kate unlocked the front doors, and they climbed in. She looked across at him.
"Which direction are we heading in?"
"We'd better go to Lincoln's place. We need to talk to them and get ready to start."
"Start what?"
"A war."