Terror Stash (35 page)

Ria considered this. “It would perhaps be useful to visit the men,” she said. “While I am there, I could show Montana all we have achieved.”

Montana’s view of the world had shattered in the last few seconds. She was mentally flailing, without ground or anchor to guide her. Her forehead was clammy with sweat. She thought that without too much encouragement, she could be comprehensively sick but at Ria’s revolting suggestions, hot angry words bubbled to her lips.

Ghenghis Bob sent her a look with his mismatched eyes that withered her words. He spoke before she could vent her fury. “This? She is nothing but a western whore.”

Ria stepped across the kitchen and slapped his face. Hard. “She has value beyond compare and what is more, she understands every word you are saying, you pig of a man. Apologize to her at once.”

Ghenghis Bob fingered his reddened cheek. He looked at Montana where she sat on the floor with Caden sprawled across her legs. “I apologize most humbly,” he said and bowed his head to her. But his eyes were lit with an inner fury. Montana knew the words were purely for Ria’s sake, to appease her.

It’s all about power
. Ria had power here and apparently believed that Montana had some sort of value. Montana knew she had to play this out and wait for an opportunity, an opening, any sort of break that would let her find a way out of this jam. Her and Caden. If Ria was right and it was all about power, then she had to wait until the power swung her way, then ride it for all it was worth. Whether it would be enough to win against an entire army when she was just one woman on her own was something she didn’t want to have to calculate.

Ria pushed at Caden with her toe. “Go find out what he did to Davey. Then round up anyone who is still here to help you with this one. We’ll take them both to the factory.”

* * * * *

Because the beaches around Margaret River and Yallingup were wave beaches, rolling in over shallow reefs and sand bars, pleasure cruising on expensive yachts was not a popular pastime, but there were a few deep-sea fishing craft that were housed at marinas and docks on quieter waters. The minivan that carried Ria, Montana, Caden, Ghenghis Bob and two other silent, pistol-carrying men, pulled up beside one of the biggest vessels tied up to the dock.

Ria climbed out and stretched, her hands at the small of her back, like a rheumatic old lady who had been forced to sit for too long. Montana realized she was scouting the area, looking for witnesses. There were none. It was a weekday and high noon and it felt like the temperature had already reached forty degrees. The heat waves rising from the wooden planks of the dock were almost visible. All sensible Australians were behind shuttered windows, lazing away the heat of the day.

“Come,” Ria called softly, in English.

Ghenghis Bob motioned to the two silent ones with him. They clambered from the vehicle and between the two of them, carried Caden onto the boat like a sagging bag of wheat. They took him into the cabin.

Bob had traded his cosh for another handgun. Montana recognized the model from one of her reading projects. It was a Glock twenty-nine, an automatic pistol that carried ten bullets. Police in the States favored them because they were highly accurate, rarely jammed, were light enough to carry on the hip all day long and small enough to conceal under a jacket and not make it bulge in all the wrong places.

Above all, the Glock was a favorite because the bullets were ten millimeters and had real stopping power.

Bob waved her out of the car with the gun. He didn’t exactly aim it at her because she was nominally a volunteer but the black snout of the gun was inducement enough. She eased out of the car and followed Ria onto the gently rocking deck of the boat.

Bob touched her shoulder. “Into the cabin,” he told her.

“English, only!” Ria hissed.

“My apologies, mistress,” Bob returned, in heavily accented English.

She ignored him.

Montana moved into the cabin. They had dumped Caden on his back one of the couches running along the curved walls. She sat next to him. His eyes were still closed, his head rocking a little with each lift of the boat.

Ghenghis Bob took up station on the opposite bunk as the low burble of powerful engines ran through the boat. He watched her, the gun resting on his thigh, his fingers curled around the butt.

The sea journey to the cave fissure took about forty-five minutes, with the boat cutting along the light swell with a corkscrew motion that made Montana’s insides ripple. Ria did not come into the cabin and Ghenghis Bob never moved a muscle. Behind him, Montana watched the coast slip by through the windows. She recognized beaches she knew well, then the mouth of the river and the steadily climbing cliffs south of it. She saw the cliffs she, Steve and Caden had walked just twenty-four hours before. Somewhere on those cliffs, Steve had died.

When the engines cut back and the nose dipped back into the waves, Ghenghis Bob finally stirred, turning to look out the windows himself.

That was when Caden’s fingers squeezed her wrist. She was resting, propped up on one arm, her hand planted on the seat between the back cushions and Caden’s waist. His arm had been flung beneath him when they tossed him on the seat, but he had worked his hand to the back of the seat and now his fingers were curled around her wrist.

Relief flooded her, a relief as deep and intense as the horror she had felt when she had realized that Ria—that Nicollo—was the leader of the terrorists in the caves and had ordered the attack on Caden. The nausea that had accompanied that revelation was absent now. This was a positive emotion. A joyful one.

She looked down at him. His eyes were still closed, his head limp. His hand squeezed again and she knew she had not imagined it.

She clenched all her abdominal muscles so she could take the weight off her hand while still looking like she was leaning on it. Then, shielded by Caden’s torso, she carefully turned her hand, caught his fingers in hers and squeezed back. She was no longer alone.

When Ghenghis Bob turned back to face her once more, she was gazing out the windows again, watching the cliffs draw closer.

Far out on the horizon, grey with distance, was another ship. It was very still and small, but Montana knew it must be an ocean-going vessel of some size to be visible that far away. It was possible the ship was simply cruising the coast, heading for Perth or Geraldton, but her gut told her it was hovering, waiting for the cover of night.

The floating dock was out on the water, lifting and falling with the swells. Half a dozen men stood with their legs apart to keep balance, waiting for the boat to approach. As the boat bumped against the tires, they all grabbed the running rails and held on to it.

Ghenghis Bob got up and reached for a water pitcher sitting on the bar at the back of the cabin. He turned and tossed the contents onto Caden’s face, soaking Montana’s hip and leg as well.

Caden stirred, groggy.

Bob leaned over him and slapped his face. Caden’s hand snaked out to grab Bob’s wrist, squeezing tightly, halting the slapping. Instantly, the Glock was pushed up against Caden’s temple.

Caden opened his eyes. “Want to lose that hand?” he said.

Ghenghis Bob gave an oily smile. “You get up and walk on your own, or I shoot you dead now. We won’t carry you again.”

Caden sat up and rubbed the back of his head, looking around. “I’ll walk,” he said amiably. He pointed at Montana. “Just keep that bitch further than spitting distance from me, okay?”

Ghenghis Bob’s smile broadened. “Okay, Yank.”

Caden stood. It brought him nose to nose with Bob. He was half a head taller, but Bob didn’t seem intimidated by either his height or the menace that radiated from him. Caden stared into Bob’s face for a full twenty seconds. “I’m not a Yank,” he said softly.

Bob blinked. Then his lips curled in a sneer and he stepped back and sideways, out of the way. “Walk, western pig.” He waved the pistol.

Caden brushed past Bob, heading for the stairs up to the deck and didn’t look back.

Bob looked at her, then looked back at Caden, trying to decide which one he should stay with. Finally, he chased Caden, following him up to the deck.

Montana followed.

Ria was helped down onto the dock with regal gentleness. She motioned to Montana. “Come with me,” she said.

Montana moved around the small group bunched at the gangway and jumped down to the dock.

“Power-hungry slut,” came the muttered curse behind her. Caden’s voice.

Ria jerked her head up, her eyes narrowing. “Bring him down here.”

Caden was roughly manhandled down onto the dock, where he stood towering over Ria. His face was clear of blood thanks to Bob’s pitcher of water, but his undersized tee-shirt was blotched with diluted pink bloodstains and filthy from two days of relentless work. His hair stood up in tousled spikes and visible lines of weariness bracketed his mouth.

But the men crowded around him, wary and alert.

Ria studied him. “Solar plexus,” she said softly.

Instantly, a fist was pistoned into Caden’s lower stomach. The breath whooshed out of him. He sank to the soaked docking, a hand to his abdomen. He coughed hard.

Ria looked down at him, unmoved. “I had thought you might be an ally, Caden. Unfortunately, your morals are a flaw I can’t work around.” She crossed her hands together. “I do hope you enjoyed the show in Edmonton, though.”

Caden’s head lifted sharply. “It was you?”

“Of course it was me! Oh, I know everyone’s running around screaming about Al-Qa’ida and that’s a fortunate piece of window dressing, but really! Have they no sense? Would Al-Qa’ida bother with a little city like Edmonton, when there’s a perfectly good city to either side of it?” She gave a small laugh. “Edmonton was for you, dear boy.”

“Why?” Caden shook his head. “
Why
?”

Ria’s expression shifted, the features hardened. “Because you think you’re invulnerable. Oh, I’ve watched you for years now, flitting around the world indulging your passions. That supersized ego of yours has been growing bigger year after year, with each successful project. I watched you carefully build every layer of your fortress around you, eliminating all the weak spots, the openings. You were right to keep people at arm’s length, you know. When you let people in, they get to see your true weaknesses. That’s what Edmonton was about.”

Caden’s fury was palpable. “It was just a goddam
demonstration
?”

The men around him stepped closer, their guns straightening up.

Ria lifted her forefinger in warning. “Keep a civil tongue in your head and I’ll ensure it ends quickly for you. For old times’ sake.”

She stepped around him and moved down the dock to where Montana was standing, stunned. “I’m sorry you had to hear that, my dear. Caden always was opinionated.” She took Montana’s hand in hers. Montana controlled the impulse to jerk her hand away from the touch of the soft, wrinkled skin and allowed herself to be walked along the decking.

“I have so much to show you,” Ria said happily.

* * * * *

Even though there had been no formal discussion, both Jacko and Bruce called their day jobs and reported in sick. Also without discussion, all three of them found themselves in the Pink Galah just on opening time. They were the only three in the bar. Even Barbs hadn’t arrived yet. Duncan poured them a frothy-headed beer each and apologized for the bad pull by not taking their money. He headed back to his office, leaving them alone.

“It’s bloody stuffy in here. Let’s go outside,” Greg said, tugging at his tee-shirt.

Jacko and Bruce stayed on their stools.

Greg sighed. “‘kay.” He busied himself with his beer.

“Fucking cops,” Bruce said at last, his voice all low and twisted. “I knew those bastards were twisted.” He glanced miserably at Greg and Jacko.

Jacko nodded. “Creates a problem, no?”

Greg frowned. “What problem?”

“Who we fuckin’ tell about this,” Bruce muttered.

Greg thought it through. “Hell, yeah, we can’t tell cops, coz they might be in on it...shit!” His eyes widened. “How’re we going to know
who
isn’t in on it?”

Jacko nodded again, confirming the size of the problem.

“We could just keep our mouths shut,” Bruce suggested.

Jacko smiled a little. “You figure you’ll last longer than a week doing that? You already look like last week’s shark bait.”

Bruce grimaced and swallowed a big mouthful of his beer. “I didn’t move to Margaret’s to be a good little Aussie an’ do my duty and all that crap. We go to someone, suddenly we’ll be hip deep in officials and forms and pricks who’ll make us feel like we did something wrong...you know how it goes.”

Jacko stared down into the amber liquid inside his glass. “We can’t just not do anything, though. This is too big. It’s too complicated.”

Bruce nodded and sighed. He looked at Jacko directly. “But you know what they’ll do if we go to them.
You
know what I mean, don’t you?”

Jacko nodded. “Yeah.” He took a long, thoughtful swallow of beer, which was mostly froth and screwed up his face in reaction. He put the glass down. “But it’s murder we’re talking about,” he said slowly. “Someone
dying
. Yeah, he’s a cop, but still, it’s not like he was stopping bank robbers or something. You said he was standing between them...?

“Yeah.” Bruce’s voice was low.

“That’s execution,” Jacko said, his voice just as low. “It’s the sort of shit that was going down in back alleys when I left Jo’burg.”

Bruce pushed out his cheeks with a sharp exhalation. “Yeah,” he said again, heavily. “So, who do we tell?”

Greg put a hand on each of their shoulders. “You want an official that you know isn’t part of it and won’t make you feel guilty? I got one for you.”

“Who?”

“Montana.”

Montana moved through a magical mystery tour that grew swiftly more detached from reality with each passing minute. Followed by an attentive retinue of six silent, turbaned men, Ria toured her around ‘the factory.’

The system of caves used by her army was more extended than the three of them had guessed when they had passed through. The center cavern was not the main one at all. Ria had stood at the Formica table and waved around the huge cavern.