Part 21 (1/2)
Banner leaned back in the chair. ”That's a lucky break. Vanderlock's fairly reliable.”
”The Price Pharmaceuticals jet went up in flames after landing at the Hargeisa airport.”
Banner stilled. ”What in the world was a Price corporate jet doing in Hargeisa?”
”No one seems to know.”
Banner took another sip of his cognac while he digested this information. ”A bomb blows up at an ultra where Price is a sponsor and Caldridge a Price-sponsored athlete. During the race someone targets Caldridge and injects her with a performance-enhancing drug. And now the Price jet blows up in Somalia. Quite a set of coincidences.”
Stromeyer nodded. ”Too many coincidences for my taste, but I can't figure out if all of this is somehow tied into your getting beaten up.”
Banner pointed his shot gla.s.s at her. ”I beg to differ. I wasn't beaten up, I was the one doing the beating.”
Stromeyer raised an eyebrow. ”Perhaps you should go look in the mirror.”
Banner always took pains to avoid looking in the mirror after any pummeling. In his experience the aftereffects of a beating were always worse than the actual injuries. It was better not to dwell on them. Otherwise he might think he was more broken than he really was.
”I have a hunch the whole thing is tied to Price somehow. The mousy a.s.sistant-”
”Susan Plower.”
”-said that Price manufactured the vaccines. Maybe whoever's at the bottom of this got wind of Darkview's mission to secure the s.h.i.+p and they're covering all bases. One of those bases includes threatening me.”
Stromeyer looked pained. ”That's a bad thing on so many levels, I don't know where to start. If you're correct, then they must already know what the s.h.i.+p is carrying. And if that's true, then all this secrecy is wasted effort. We might as well send in seven different aircraft carriers to surround the s.h.i.+p and escort it to port. You think they tapped our phones and that's how they heard we were hired?”
Banner considered her suggestion. ”Doubtful. The DOD call came through on this home line. We've never detected a tap here.” He stood up. ”Let's go to dinner. Maybe it will all become clearer on a full stomach.”
The night air was fresh, with more than a hint of summer. Banner enjoyed this time of the year, and he found himself relis.h.i.+ng the walk through his neighborhood. The only dark spot on the evening was right before they left, when Stromeyer had insisted he carry concealed. He had a license to do so but rarely did. He'd spent so many years carrying guns that he was loath to do it on civilian territory. Besides, he figured Stromeyer had one on her person somewhere. He thought his weapon was overkill. Also, Banner preferred a shoulder holster, but his injury didn't make that feasible. Currently the gun was located at the small of his back in a holster that wrapped around his waist. He wore a casual blazer to hide the bulge of the gun.
They made it to the restaurant, ordered dinner, and, as if by mutual consent, changed the topic to current events. It was only when the espresso order came that the subject veered back to their immediate circ.u.mstances.
”Are you going to sleep at the town house?” Stromeyer asked.
Banner sighed. ”No. I'd be an easy target. I thought I'd pack a bag and head to the airport hotel.”
”And from there?”
”Dubai.”
Stromeyer didn't seem surprised at all. ”You're due to speak at the local Rotary Club.”
Banner groaned. He'd forgotten all about it. ”Can you cover for me? Tell them I've been in some sort of accident? G.o.d knows it wouldn't be far from the truth.”
”Of course I can cover for you. I expect to see Cooley there.”
”Cooley! Why?”
”He's a member. Didn't you know?”
Banner put his espresso cup down a little harder than he intended. The noise of it hitting the saucer clanged through the room. He really disliked Cooley.
”All the more reason for me not to go. You do the speech. If Cooley's there, pull him off to the side and tell him just what happened to me in the bas.e.m.e.nt of his office. Let me know if you think he was involved in some way.”
Stromeyer shook her head. ”I'd be shocked if he was. He's a jerk, I'll admit that, but he doesn't seem to be the type to beat up rivals.” She caught the waiter's eye and made a writing motion. He appeared at their table with the check.
Banner took it, extracted his business credit card, and slapped it down on the vinyl wallet that held the bill. Ten minutes later they were back outside and working their way toward the town house. Banner's arm throbbed, his face hurt, and his torso felt as if someone had used it for a punching bag-which, when he thought about it, was exactly what had happened. What he wanted more than anything was to sleep in his own bed that night. He turned the corner to his house, and three of his best men were lounging on the front steps. They all stood up to greet him and Stromeyer.
”Hey, Banner,” Gage Johnson said. Gage worked most of England and Ireland for Darkview. He was a trained knife fighter, and so he thrived in settings where guns were not the norm. He was in D.C. for only a few days on a brief layover from Los Angeles before heading back to England. Standing next to him were Steven Cardill and Tyler Walter. Both worked Northern Europe.
”To what do I owe the honor of your visit?” Banner asked.
”We heard about your close encounter with several of D.C.'s finest criminal elements. We figured you might need some security. Are you up for a poker game? Should keep us occupied most of the night.”
Banner stepped into the pool of light thrown by the outdoor lamp, and he watched the men grimace.
”That's bad,” Tyler said.
”Don't tell me. I haven't looked yet. But I'd like to sleep in my own bed. If you guys stand guard, I'll be more than grateful. But I'll pa.s.s on the poker game. It's all I can do to stay on my feet.”
”Major Stromeyer, you could be the fourth.”
Stromeyer shook her head. ”I'm out, sorry. I've got to prepare a speech for tomorrow. My car is parked just down the street.”
”I'll walk you,” Gage said. Stromeyer waved at them all before leaving.
Half an hour later, Banner dozed off to the murmur of conversation and the thud of thrown poker chips emanating from his kitchen. Once again he was thankful for sleep.
36.
”THANK G.o.d, YOU'RE ALIVE,” EMMA SAID. THE GAG IN STARK'S mouth made it impossible for him to respond. The van's interior was stripped to the metal sides. Stark sat with his back against the wall separating the cabin from the cargo area. His tied hands rested in his lap. His face was bright red, alarmingly so. He looked about to pa.s.s out from the heat. Emma jumped into the vehicle and went straight to remove the gag. Stark bent his head forward to give her easier access to the knot.
When the fabric fell away, Stark said, ”Water.” His voice was hoa.r.s.e, almost a croak.
”There's some in the car parked ahead of this one. Let me help you out of this furnace, and I'll go get it.” Emma turned to the cloth strips binding his wrists and ankles together. After a minute they, too, unwound. She scooted backward with Stark following. He staggered onto the ground.
”Let's get the water and go back to hide in the trees.”
Stark said nothing while Emma retrieved the canteen. She gave it to him and watched while he took huge gulps.
”Better?” she asked.
”You have no idea.” He took a deep breath.
”Let's get out of the open. Last thing we need is for the crowd that brought you here to come back.”
Stark followed her to her hiding place. Emma crouched down behind a tree. When Stark joined her, she asked him the question that couldn't wait any longer.