Force of Fire (The Kane Legacy) (16 page)

Scott told them of Maria’s
business savvy, how she’d managed to hold onto most of their assets during the
war, even after Franco seized control and stripped the upper class of its
wealth.

She’d opened a Swiss account
early on and had been building a nest egg of their investments over the years.

Scott paused for a moment,
thinking, then turned to Mark. 'You don’t suppose –'

'We’re not involving Maria.'

Mark pulled his gear from the
rack overhead as the wheels of the train screeched to a halt. 'You already told
us she’s not doing well. What’s the point in upsetting her?'

McFadden was the first to
stand. 'We wouldn’t have to upset her. We could
go easy
,
feel her out
. See if she knows anything.'

'No can do,' Mark said,
leveling a look at McFadden. 'I’ve got strict orders to leave her family out of
it, and that’s precisely what we’re going to do.'

Ana’s shoulder slammed into
blistering wood. She bent her chin in to her chest to avoid contact with the
rough beams above her head. She kicked with her bound feet, thrashing against
their furious hands with her heels. Then the lid slammed down and all was still
within her prison.

The Americans joined the throng
by a milling taxi stand outside the station, the adjoining plaza framed by
blooming orange trees. Mark was eager to find a hotel and link up with
Washington, but Denton had other plans.

He stood there stroking his
beard, as if trying to remember. 'I’m almost positive,' he finally said.

They climbed into the cab and
Denton gave directions. Mark didn’t really believe Denton capable of directing
much of anything, much less an operation like this one. Still, he had a point.
The
Delgados
’ old warehouse was a good starting
place. The label the gypsy woman slipped them had hinted at that. Mark didn’t
really believe Ana would be there, but something would. He was sure of it.

It was a long ride out into the
countryside. Joe McFadden not only didn’t like sitting still, he didn’t like
sitting quietly. He nudged Denton who was preoccupied with the landscape. 'If
the
Delgados
were so well off here, what prompted
them to send Isabel to the States?'

Denton shook his head. 'They
were only well off in comparison. Because of Maria, the family managed to
maintain a certain lifestyle. But things were tough for them in other ways.
Carlos didn’t survive the war.'

'A loyalist?' Mark asked
.


'Unfortunately, for him.'

McFadden shifted in his seat.
'How’d it happen?'


'Ana never would talk about it.
I’m not even sure if she knew.'


Another family secret, Mark
thought
.

Denton continued to tell them the
family history as he knew it. Maria was ashamed of what she saw happening in
Spain: once prominent
families,
reduced to living in
street-level apartments with no domestic help.
An appalling
reversal of roles.
Things were changing too fast. And what was once
important –
who
you were, where you came from
– didn’t matter any more.

Maria felt she no longer
belonged in the chameleon world around her. But, because of her gender, because
of her class, she felt powerless to change it. The only change she could make
was a personal one, one that would affect the future of her only daughter
Isabel.

'So she sent her to America,'
McFadden surmised, 'land of opportunity.'

'Yes, America,' Denton said.
'And the type of opportunity Maria was hoping for was the marrying kind. Nice,
faithful American husband, someone dedicated to the family. Ana says Maria
loved Albert like a son.'

The white cocoon of the city
was growing distant; Mark could see the vine-covered hills approaching. His
muscles were tensing up. They were getting close.

To the left of the highway sat
two buildings: one, nearly a quarter-mile long and built mostly of wood
;
another, smaller, made entirely of stone.

The taxi driver turned down the
dirt road and pulled up beside the larger structure, idling his engine.

'This is it,' Denton said,
stepping from the car
.

McFadden got out behind
him, carrying the book that had been resting on his knee.
Mark exited the
other door, drawing his Browning.
As soon as they were out of the cab,
the driver floored the accelerator and took off with a roar.
Mark damned
himself for not being more careful. All his gear was in there
.


'What now?' Denton asked.

'He could just have been
spooked,' Mark said, 'when I pulled my weapon.'

McFadden thought this over.
'It’s possible. People do rob cabbies in Spain, just like back in the land of opportunity.'

'I don’t know,' Denton said.
'All of a sudden I’ve got a bad feeling.'

Denton’s instincts had been
right so far.

'Nobody’s going to make you go
in there,' Mark said. 'But, for what it’s worth, I think you were right about
the warehouse. There’s something here we’re meant to find.'

'Could be a trap,' McFadden
said.

'Don’t think it hasn’t crossed
my mind. But think about it. Who would set us up?
The gypsy
woman in Madrid?

'You saw the others at the pub.
They knew we were there–'

'Yeah, and they sent old
four-wheels to run us down,' Denton snapped
.


'Could be. Or could be he tried
to scare us,' McFadden said, appearing to align himself with Mark
.


Mark gave the two of them a
confidential look. 'I have reason to believe we’re being assisted.'


'If that was assistance, man,'
Denton said, 'that cabby needs a course in driver’s
ed
!'


Mark looked at him, losing
patience. 'Nobody can be everywhere at all times.'


Denton threw up his arms. 'Oh,
that’s comforting. So now we’re to believe this place is safe because you claim
we’ve got some imaginary back up? You’re saying the thugs at the meson were
somehow there to protect us, while the taxi driver was LPP?'

'I’m saying there appear to be
double interests at work,' Mark answered.

'Trick is discerning the two,'
quipped McFadden.

'Oh, that’s just dandy,' Denton
said. 'So who gets to be the guinea pig who decides what these guys’ intentions
are?'

Mark and McFadden looked at
each other
.


'I’m going in,' Mark said,
deciding as he spoke. McFadden turned the book over in his hand and Mark
suddenly realized it was a Bible.

'Right behind you.'


'You surprise me, McFadden,'
Mark
said, unable to mask his skepticism. 'I never figured
you a religious man.'


'Ah,
la
Biblia
,
'
he said, drawing the Good Book to his chest in an exaggerated motion. 'The
power of the Lord protects me!' With that, McFadden parted the book to expose a
Beretta resting comfortably in the cradle of its counterfeit pages.

Denton looked at them and
backed away in defeat.

'Fine, fine.
You two go ahead and make sitting ducks of yourselves. I’m no GS-
Goddamned-whatever-the-hell-it-is. They don’t pay me enough for this job. I’m a
fricking
volunteer.'


Mark smiled as McFadden tossed
the hollow book in Denton’s direction
.

'Here,
Denton. Pray for us.'

The warehouse loomed large and
silent.

Mark could hear the sudden
flutter of wings as a crown of pigeons rose from the dome housing an enormous
cooling fan.

They slipped silently through
the open warehouse door, becoming aware of a vague humming sound, large blades
above them turning in slow, mechanical motion.

The two split up and circled
the building's interior in careful measured steps, weapons poised, eyes and
ears alert.

But there was nothing and no
one to be found among the towers of sherry casks lining the warehouse aisles.

'Look's like we're out of
luck,' McFadden said.

Mark squatted to examine
something on the dark earth floor.

'What is it?'

Mark held a pinch of the dusty
white powder between his thumb and forefinger, rolling the fine granules back
and forth. He brought the tip of his index finger to his nose,
then
pressed it lightly against his tongue. 'Cocaine,' he
said, looking up. This was one piece of the puzzle the LPP hadn’t wanted him to
find.

McFadden raised his pistol and
took a second, more careful look around the warehouse. 'Colombian?'

Mark stood and examined the
plug of one of the wine casks. 'Most likely,' he said, taking a whiff of the
over-sized cork in his hand. 'Looks like we’ve just discovered
Carnova’s
lucrative side-line.'

'And his route for smuggling
weapons?' McFadden asked.

'Weapons and,
quite possibly, an American hostage.
Come on. Let’s check out that other
building.'

The cool gray building stood
empty as a tomb.

'Look at the size of this
door.' McFadden pressed the expanse of oak between his hands. 'Must be a good
ten to twelve inches thick.'

Mark crossed the room and stood
beneath the small window. 'Not much chance of an escape from here.'

McFadden looped his weapon
through his belt behind him and stooped low to examine a scattered pattern on
the floor.

'What’s that?' Mark asked.

'Chicken scratch. Something’s
been clawing at this dirt.'


The warehouse fan ground to a
halt.

'We’d better get out of here,'
Mark said, bolting toward the door. In a split second, he could hear McFadden
up and running after him.

By the time Scott felt the cold
rim of the pistol barrel against his temple, it was too late. He knew it was
only a matter of seconds. No time to scream, no time to run.

Scott opened his mouth as the
gunman pulled the trigger, thinking of Pauli, thinking of Ana, thinking of the
damage he’d done and his final chance to repay it. Then shut his eyes and
slipped quietly toward the sleepy village that called him.

The men raced to where Denton
lay on a rock, as if sunning himself like a lizard. He remained immobile, his
eyes closed.

Mark raised his hand in a
cautionary fashion and McFadden stopped in his tracks.

Mark walked over to Denton,
carefully surveying the other side of the boulder. He lifted Denton's wrist to
check his pulse then let it fall limp against the rock. His head rested in a
pool of blood. The wound was still fresh.

Mark looked up.

Without saying a word, McFadden
scraped his blood-splattered Bible off the earth and broke into a sprint.

Joe McFadden trekked alongside
Mark
Neal,
the only sound between them the rustling
wind through the olive groves bordering the road. They hadn’t been followed, so
after a while had slackened their pace.

Joe massaged his beard stubble,
pondering the equation. Something here definitely didn’t add up. Why had Denton
been offed and he and Neal been allowed to escape? And what was that
bullcrap
Neal had alluded to before they entered the
warehouse? Unarticulated support? If he and Neal were being double-tailed, that
would explain their current predicament of being alive. If it had come down to
a choice, for whatever reason the 'protective interests' had decided to secure
his and Neal’s safety rather than Denton’s.

Mark was right about the others
at the meson. They
could
 
have
been a lookout for the gypsy, but McFadden doubted it. They
were clearly a tail.
But by whom?
And why had they
disappeared just in time for the LPP rundown in Madrid?

Perhaps they were not connected
at all but were opposing forces as Mark had guessed.
Carnova’s
men and
..
.

Joe looked over at Neal. 'Level
with me.'


'What?' Mark asked, with a
forced look of ignorance
.


'You know what the hell what.
What the hell went on back there?'
From the look on his face, he’d been
thinking about it too.

'
Carnova
and his bastards want us out of their business.'

'Now tell me something I don’t
know.'


Neal looked at the river
fanning itself out beside the road. 'I had a visitor in Madrid.'

'Let me guess. A Spanish visitor?'

There was agreement in Neal’s
silence.

'Dammit, Neal, when were you
going to tell me?'


'This is a DOS operation,
McFadden. If you’re under any other impression, you’re sadly mistaken.'


'You’ll be flying a suicide
mission if you try to take this baby solo, and you know it.'


He was quiet for a few minutes
thinking. 'There’s to be no official cooperation.'


'Unofficial?' Joe asked
.


'You’ll be happy to know,' he
said, gesturing toward the Bible tucked under Joe’s arm, 'we’ve got a guardian
angel.'

'Only one?'

'Only one I’ve met, I saw in
Madrid. And, I think he was on the train.'

'To Jerez?'

'Can’t say for sure. Dressed
differently. More casual. Jogging suit and sneakers.'

'Carrying a racket?'

Neal nodded.

Joe had seen him, too. Young
Don Juan.
Very smooth.
Glossy black hair and a
matador’s build. He’d passed through their car one too many times and Joe had
noticed him. If someone from Spanish National Intelligence was on their
side, that
would explain Madrid.
And the
warehouse.
Joe and Neal were, of course, more critical to the operation,
and depending on the Spanish agenda...