Fight Fire With Fire. Amy J. Fetzer
the long drive to the airstrip. Tires are a little low, she thought, waiting for the show to begin. Too often, he was legit, magically producing the right papers for his cargo. Interpol hadn’t given up on catching him, but Safia knew that letting him have some rope would get them more. He’d been in very bad company lately and following the money trail didn’t get her enough. While his accounts were modest enough not to draw the attention of the international banking community, recent increases in the millions said otherwise. Whatever he was up to, was big.
The roar of engines whining down for a landing made her swing the glasses left. Too fast to be safe, the Gulfstream jet touched down. Barasa left the car and stood next to it, his bodyguards at the rear looking like Secret Service in bad suits. She noticed several feet to the right of him was a shade cabana, a table and—oh you’ve got to be kidding—linens and set for a tea?
She swung her attention to the jet as it powered down and the door opened, lowering the steps. A figure moved in the dark interior and Safia was surprised when a woman stepped out. That explains the tea set.
The woman wore a pale gray suit, cut close, the skirt longer than fashion but her shoes were the bomb. Bright red. She sighed, wishing for playtime to be a girl. The woman descended the jet’s stairs and walked straight to Barasa before he could meet her. She didn’t offer her hand nor did he. Red shoes went to the shade and sat. Barasa was slower to follow, his attention on the woman’s rear. Clearly, he’d other plans for her, but Safia was interested in Red Shoes.
Women didn’t fit in the world of arms dealers. Aside from the fact that half the buyers seeking weapons were Muslims and therefore still in the dark ages, she thought snidely, most men had ego problems with strong women. They felt threatened. Barasa didn’t. He seemed amused.
She needed to get closer and hopped on her bike, riding it to the fork, then doubling back to the airfield. She stopped the bike behind a tall chengal pasir tree. They were sitting at the table, a servant who must have come from the jet, pouring for them. A sharp breeze battered the cabana, taking away a piece of linen. The woman didn’t notice nor acknowledge the servant chasing after it. Was she the money?
Safia raised the cell phone and snapped a picture of the two, then hailed Base. She worked the slideout keyboard. “Base, I’m sending you a photo. Run everything.”
“Confirmed jpeg and running.”
“Ya know, you can drop the military speak, Ell.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Safia shook her head, and sighted through the monocular, using its digital camera to get a full face shot as she watched the pair converse. The woman was beautiful, her black hair twisted up to show off her slender neck and reminding Safia a little of Audrey Hepburn. Way out of place. The suit was designer, the shoes…fifteen hundred easy. Though this was Singapore; knock-offs were sold on every street corner.
She studied the unlikely pair.
Who are you Red Shoes, and what are you doing with that nasty arms dealing trash?
Four
Sungei Kadut
Singapore
Max was finishing off Riley’s wrap when he saw movement behind the salty glass of a storefront. He grabbed his binoculars, sighted, shifting his position on the windowsill. His side of the neighborhood was empty except for a couple of dogs that would end up as dinner if they weren’t careful. A few entrances up from Vaghn’s suspected address, a bell plinked as a shop door opened.
A man appeared, then turned west. That he didn’t look left kept Max watching. Who didn’t check for oncoming anything? Max slipped back inside and went to the laptops, keying up the next street in their four-block radius. He focused the tiny pen-sized cameras, then saw the man turn the corner. A few seconds passed before he could get a face shot.
The man appeared, his image clarifying with each step closer.
Max grabbed the radio. “Riley. It’s not him!”
“Repeat last?” came back. “I’m three feet away.”
Max grabbed his weapon, holstering it behind his back. “I’m telling you, he’s here . Your guy’s a freakin’ decoy!”
Over the wire, he heard a scuffle, then cursing. When Riley’s voice came back on, he could tell he was hoofing it fast. “Some Australian. Vaghn paid him a hundred. Where the hell is Vaghn now?”
“On Pi Nang Road, west. I’m going after him.” Max went out the fire escape, and when he hit the ground, the ladder shot off its track. He darted out of the way as it crashed to the pavement and crumbled in a pile of rusted iron. “One step closer to demolition.”
He took off in a hard run and glimpsed the guy’s brown tee shirt that hung to his thighs, his jeans rippling with fabric. “Behind the village, toward the river,” he said over the personal roll radio. “Same clothes, same pack.”
Where was he going? There wasn’t a damn thing on the water except shanty homes slapped together with tin and wood discards from recent construction. The river was so shallow along tributaries the next monsoon would wash away any evidence of their existence. He hauled ass past new construction toward the old and almost untouched. Lush with palms and towering banana trees, the paved land blended into dirt roads, rutted and sloping toward the water.
Far ahead, Vaghn walked a steady pace, unaware. Then two men in a flat bottom boat appeared around the curve of a jetty. Vaghn quickened his steps.
“Put some fire under it, buddy,” Max said into the mic. “He’s got a ride.”
Seletar Airstrip
He knew her by no other name than Odette.
“What I don’t understand is why you aren’t handling it yourself,” she said, then sipped warm tea.
He couldn’t place her accent and wondered if, like him, she strove to cover it. The less people knew of him the better. It was something they had in common. “Like your employer, I can delegate.”
“We have warned you.” She set her cup down with a click. “He’s immature and a genius. Those are qualities not easily handled, neh?”
“I’m due a measure of trust.”
She scoffed, her smile tinged with patience delivered to the mentally incapable. Barasa felt his shoulders tighten. The pretty little bitch would learn not to dare more than that with him.
“Trust is not a commodity in business. Any business.”
At least they agreed on that and planned for it. “When will he show himself?”
“When we have completed the next phase.”
“He promised the perfect delivery system.”
Something skated across her flawless face just then, and he didn’t try to decipher it. The woman was not the force in this dangerous bargain, but merely the messenger.
“You will have it.” She made a show of checking the time. “We will expect to hear from you within the deadlines you set.”
“You came all this way to say that?”
“No. I’m here to demonstrate that, should you betray us, we will find you.”
“If he wishes to fold”—he shrugged—“I won’t oppose.”
Her smile was slow and thin, her blue eyes taking on a victorious gleam he’d seen only in the pump of sex.
“And you’re prepared to return the money he has already fronted? Won’t that be difficult when you’ve already spent most of your share?”
His features stretched tight. How did they know anything? No one knew…his gaze immediately scanned his surroundings. Their position was in the open, yes, but also far enough to see anyone approach. He saw nothing unusual.
“No