If a breaking heart had a distinct sound, Olan knew he was hearing it now. The cry coming from Niko's throat could only be described as a bellow of rage and horror, much as a wounded lion crying its death knell.
Olan was at a loss in the face of a pain so raw. He could only stand and watch as Niko shattered right in front of him. Walking around the front of the vehicle, Olan went to his friend to lend whatever support or strength he could. He no more than put a hand on his shoulder when Niko took off at a dead run, heading for the forest and presumably the spot where Camille had landed.
Muttering a stream of oaths, Olan ran a hand through his shaggy red hair, turning to see several curious on-lookers approaching. Years of training and his need for self-preservation kicked in, galvanizing him to action.
As quick as his injured body would allow, he slid behind the wheel of the car. He hoped that the narrow road he was on would take him through the woods and close to the spot where Camille had landed.
He feared what Niko might do in his current state. A man with that kind of love and passion for a woman could very well lose his mind, go on a rampage or even kill himself. He only hoped he got there in time to stop Niko before he did anything crazy.
Given the trajectory of the fall and the distance of the helicopter, it was difficult to say where Camille's body had landed. Olan did his best to estimate the distance and tried to get the car as close as possible, but eventually was forced to abandon it. He'd long since lost sight of Niko in the crowding trees.
Calling out, Olan made his way through the thick undergrowth, stumbling from time to time in his weakened state. Just when he was afraid that he'd never find his partner, he heard a voice call out to him. He had to wait for a second call before he figured out the right direction.
When he finally found him, Niko was sitting on a fallen tree, his head in his hands. Not far from his feet lay a shattered body, the blond hair the only distinguishable feature by which to identify her. The remains were so badly broken the only word that came to Olan's mind was "pulverized."
"Niko...," he said, reaching a shaking hand to his friend.
"Nothos," Niko cursed, raising bleary red eyes to Olan. "The bastard wanted me to think he'd killed her."
"Huh?" Olan grunted, confused.
"That's not Camille," Niko replied. "I don't know who she is, but she's not my Camille."
Olan was convinced that his friend had lost his mind. Her body lay at their feet. What more evidence did he need?
"Niko, just hang in there, buddy. We'll get through this."
Shaking his head, Niko reached down to lift the shattered leg of the body, pulling the tattered, bloodied cloth of her slacks away to reveal a small tattoo of three small white flowers clustered together.
"White Oleander? She's one of them."
"Yeah," Niko said, his voice shaking. "She's a decoy to make me believe my wife is dead."
"They're trying to draw you out."
"Makes no sense. He could've just set that copter down and killed me."
"They want you alive, I'd say. Question is, why?"
"I don't give a shit. All I want is Camille. We have to get to her before they..." Niko said, letting his voice trail off.
"I know, pal. We're going to have to come up with a plan. That woman of yours kept me alive. She saved my life, Niko. I want to save her as badly as you, but we have work carefully."
"I know," answered Niko, "and we're going to need a little help."
***
Pain was Camille's first conscious thought upon waking. It throbbed in her skull, radiating downward through her torso and limbs. Some piercing source of light was shining in her eyes, each in turn, while the sounds of voices echoed around her.
She moaned, trying to move her head away from the light. Too late she realized her mistake. The sudden movement shot a wicked spasm of white hot pain through her head. Someone slapped her face lightly, telling her to wake up and be done with it.
Another voice, angrier than the first, came to her defense, while still another spoke to her with a slight accent. None of them made any sense and only one of them sounded familiar; the one that had belonged to the man who had slapped her.
The fog began to lift from her brain, allowing some of the chaos to form coherent thoughts. It was Doug's voice that spoke to her now, cold and cruel, telling her to pull herself together.
She opened her eyes, blinking against the harsh light overhead. As her vision cleared, she could make out the faces of the people around her. None of them was friendly, eyeing her with frosty scrutiny, seeming to size her up for some reason.
"Wake up, Camille," Doug said. "You've had long enough to recover. Snap out of it."
"Fuck you," she whispered, the sound of her own voice making her wince.
She heard his hand connecting with her face before she felt it. He had backhanded her hard, setting her mind to reeling again while the other man yelled at him.
"Christ, Gerhardt," the man said, "she has a concussion. You'll put her in a coma. Get out of here. At least let her heal up before you beat her to death."
"You stick to medicine, Doctor. I'll take care of interrogations," Doug shot back.
"Get out," the doctor ordered again, "or there won't be anything left to interrogate. I'll call you when she's fit."
The third person, a woman, waved Doug toward the door, saying, "Let Dr. Mark do his work, Señor Gerhardt. The woman goes nowhere. She talks soon enough."
"I'll handle this, Alma," the doctor said before turning back to Doug. "Leave here at once or I'll report you to Oleander."
Camille tried to sit up on the bed, discovering that her left wrist was manacled to the bed frame. To make matters worse, she was naked with no more than a sheet between her and the other people in the room.
"Where are my clothes?" she demanded, clutching the sheet to herself. "Get this damned thing off my arm."
"I disposed of those rags, Princess," Doug answered. "You never did have any taste in clothing."
"How dare you," she screamed, ignoring the pain in her head. "Get me something to wear."
"I prefer you this way. It will be so much more convenient for what I have in mind."
Camille screamed again, pulling so hard on the shackle that the steel cut into her flesh. He drew back, laughing at her attempt to kick him.
"I told you to get out," the doctor yelled. "You'll kill her."
Doug finally relented, flashing a chilly smile at Camille. He left the room without another word.
Shuddering uncontrollably, she held the sheet up tighter under her chin. She watched the doctor closely as he handed a bottle of pills to the nurse.
"Give her two of these every four hours," he said, picking up his stethoscope.
"Wait," Camille said as he headed for the door. "Why am I here?"
"That, young lady," the doctor replied coldly, "is none of my business. I'm sure the man has his reasons."
"What's wrong with you people? You have me chained like a dog. This thing hurts."
Camille fussed at the steel cuff that chaffed her wrist, smearing blood on the sheets. She flinched as the man stepped forward suddenly, seizing her arm in his harsh grasp. He slipped a key into the lock, releasing the shackle and giving her wrist a cursory examination.
"Bandage this wound, Alma," he barked, dropping her arm. "Where'd you get that scar?"
"What's it to you?" she snapped, gingerly rubbing at her swollen flesh.
"I don't really care, young lady. Looks as if it's self-inflicted though. We'll have to make sure that Alma removes any dangerous objects before she leaves you alone."
The doctor left the room without a backward glance. Eyeing the other woman, Camille wondered what was happening to her. Worse yet, she wondered what was happening to Niko.
Was he all right? She had a vague memory of gunshots and fear for his safety. Beyond that, she couldn't remember a thing.
"Chu give me arm," the woman, Alma, said.
Hesitating, Camille complied only after seeing the roll of gauze in the nurse's hand. As Alma started wrapping the injured wrist, Camille sized her up. The woman was tall with a pale olive complexion. Her dark hair was pulled up in a tidy bun under an old-fashioned nurse's cap. With her chocolate eyes, it would be easy to believe the woman was of Hispanic origin.
"What is this place, Alma?" Camille asked, glancing about the room.
It was a huge room, not at all like any hospital room she'd ever before seen. The walls were expensively paneled with a door made of the same dark wood and seemed almost invisible when it was closed. The furniture looked as if it belonged in a palace or a museum.
"Señor Oleander's mansion. Chu lucky girl. Thees ees luxury."
"You can drop the fake accent now," Camille said, fixing the nurse with a blatant stare. "It's really awful, you know."
"Que? Wha'chu mean?"
"Give me some credit for having a brain," Camille snorted. "I'd say you came from some place in the southern states. I doubt your heritage is even Hispanic."
"Yeah. You're so smart, huh?" Alma said, dropping all pretense of an accent. "Gerhardt thought it would be cute if I acted like a sweet little Mex. At least I can take off this crappy uniform now. I hate to wear white."
"Why do you call Doug 'Gerhardt'?"
"That's his name, stupid. Emil Gerhardt," Alma sneered, finishing the bandage. "He's one hot tamale, huh?"
Leaning against the mahogany headboard, Camille ran a hand through her hair, finding the tender lump on the back of her head.
"How long have I been here? What happened to me?" she asked.
"You were out about two and a half days. Gerhardt's girlfriend did that. Don't worry. You got her for it. He was pretty pissed off at you."
"What do you mean? I didn't do anything." Camille asked, afraid of what the response would be.
"You don't remember? You pushed her off the helicopter. Of course, I should be thanking you. With her out of the way, he's fair game," Alma answered, smiling knowingly. "Oh, yeah. That's right. You thought you were going to marry him. Tell me, is he as good as he looks?"
"How the hell would I know? You're welcome to him. He's a lying sack of shit."
"You're not exactly his type," Alma laughed. "He likes women who know how to please a man. Marissa once told me that sex with him was a battle. I'd like to fight a battle like that. The only reason he paid attention to you was the job."
"So I gather," Camille scoffed. "Believe me when I tell you he's not my type either. I prefer a real man."
"Jealous?"
"Hardly. Why am I here, Alma?"
"You'll find that out soon enough, girlie. Doc says you're to take two of these," Alma said, thrusting out her hand. "Swallow 'em down, or I jam them down your throat."
Camille obediently put the unknown pills on her tongue and took a sip from the glass that the other woman held. With a smirk, Alma left, the resounding click of a lock echoing throughout the room. As soon as she was gone, Camille spat the pills onto the floor.
She was mystified. Had she really killed someone? She was turning into one of them, the killers that had helped to ruin her life.
It took her a minute to work up the courage to try her legs, and when she did, she had cause to regret it. The room whirled around her ominously as the rush of blood drummed a cadence in her skull. She grabbed the bedpost, gulping air while she waited for the pain and dizziness to subside.
Once her body had settled down and her mind cleared she pulled the sheet off the bed, wrapping it about her naked flesh like a toga. With her modesty somewhat restored, she began to explore her surroundings. The first thing she did was try the door, which only confirmed what she already knew. It was locked.
Next she staggered to the windows only to discover them covered on the outside with steel bars reminiscent of a jail and more than three stories off the ground. She managed to get one of them open, allowing the surprisingly cool fresh air to cleanse her lungs and brain.
There was another door that she discovered led to a marble-lined bathroom. Splashing water in her face seemed to help wash away some of the fatigue and nausea she felt, but the image in the enormous mirror only served to disgust her. Her face was bruised and swollen, little resembling the woman she used to be.
Back in the cavernous bedroom, she took time to inspect things more thoroughly. The mahogany bookcase that spanned one wall contained an expensive array of first edition classic literature and assorted art work.
The carpeting underfoot was thick and plush and the furnishings were the best that tasteful money could buy. Everything around her bespoke luxury and refinement and reminded her of the proverbial gilded cage. No matter how much they dressed it up, it was still her prison.
Her curiosity was piqued when she discovered something that just didn't fit in the room. It was a ceramic piece that would have looked more comfortable in a souvenir shop than the sumptuous confines of this room. Picking up the little statue of a geisha girl, she noticed something tiny shining from the center of its chest. To her dismay, she realized it was the miniature lens of a camera.
Glancing about the room, she wondered how many more such cameras existed. She sprinted to the large wardrobe on the far side of the bed. Throwing the doors wide, she found it empty, dashing her hopes of finding suitable clothing.
Her pride came to her rescue. She'd be damned before she allowed them the satisfaction of seeing her crack. Taking a seat in an over-stuffed chair, she sat quietly, unmoving, her eyes staring straight ahead. Although her face was void of all emotion, inwardly she was a tempest of chaos.
***
"What do you think Brick will do when he sees us?" Olan asked, rubbing his aching shoulder.
Niko shot him a withering expression before turning back to squint through the windshield at the setting sun. It was a question he'd asked himself often enough during the long miles they'd crossed.
"I imagine the bastard will shoot first and not bother asking questions."
"That's what I was thinking," Olan agreed. "You think you'll be able to talk your way in?"
"Either that or I'll have to shoot my way in."
"That'll be a neat trick considering he's got more firepower than the US military. What if he's not there?"
"He'll be there," Niko said, slowing to turn off the steep mountain highway onto a narrow dirt road.
"Maybe we should wait till morning before we go wandering in. I'd hate to trip one of those damned booby traps of his in the dark."
"Loosing your nerve, pal?" Niko asked, watching the landmarks that he passed. "Damn. Everything looks different."
"You sure you can find the place?"
"Not a problem," Niko smirked. "All you have to do is get downwind of him. You can smell his stink from a mile away."
Twenty minutes later Niko pulled the vehicle to a stop, having finally found the single crooked tree that marked the path he needed.
"Stay here," he said, pulling out his gun and checking it. "I'll come get you after I talk to him."
"Nothin' doin', partner," Olan growled, pulling out his own handgun. "We're in this together."
"Christ. You sound like my wife."
"I knew I liked her for a reason," Olan laughed, hauling himself from the car. "You lead."
"Just stay low," Niko said, exiting the car. "He starts shooting, hit the dirt."
"You think he still has that mangy wolf?"
"Yeah. It's the only thing that can stand the smell of him."
Niko stepped carefully into the thicket, peering through the lengthening shadows, looking for anything that didn't belong. Brick was a careful man, if "man" was what he could be called. He lived like an animal and was more dangerous and unpredictable than a rabid coyote.
"Easy," Niko whispered, putting out a hand to stop Olan. "Trip wire."
"What is it with this son-of-a-bitch?"
"He's got good reason to be paranoid," Niko said, stepping carefully over the wire. "Half the world is trying to kill him and the other half wants to hire him. Let's get moving."
The Rocky Mountains were not high up on Niko's list of places he wanted to be, and certainly not this particular mountain after dark. They'd driven for two days to get to this place. He damn sure didn't want to get blown up before he even reached his destination.
They wound their way through the thick underbrush, avoiding a number of wicked-looking traps until the ramshackle cabin came into view. The brush and trees had been cut back, forming a clearing around the cabin fifty yards wide. It was those last fifty yards that worried Niko.
Both men hunkered down in the thicket, surveying the area around them. Deciding the coast was clear enough, Niko straightened to his full height, preparing to take his first step into the open.
"He's there all right," Olan whispered. "Stinks to high heaven."
"You'd think the asshole could take a bath once in a while," Niko returned.
There was an explosion of sound that sent both men diving into the dirt as bullets whizzed and ricocheted around them. The shots came in rapid succession, bringing tree branches raining down on them.
"Jesus Christ!" Olan hissed, trying to protect his head with his one good arm. "That crazy bastard's gonna kill us."
As suddenly as the volley had begun, the shooting ceased, leaving an eerie silence and the acrid smell of burnt gunpowder. Neither man was in a hurry to stick his head up, lest the shooting start again.
"You, out there," a voice yelled from the cabin. "Show yourselves."
"Not if you're gonna shoot at us again," Niko yelled back.
"You're trespassing," came the reply.
"How the hell else we gonna see you? God damn, Brick. Put down the gun."
"Portello, that you? Come out where I can see you."
It had been a while since anyone had called Niko by his agency name. It sounded strange after the time spent with his wife and his real identity.
"You gonna put down that gun?" he asked.
"Hell, no."
"Then I ain't coming out. I came here to talk, not get my head blown off."
"Get your ass off my mountain then," Brick growled.
"I need to talk to you, you dumb son-of-a-bitch."
"Good luck," Brick laughed, firing a short burst into the trees.
"Cease fire, God damn it!" Niko yelled once the shooting stopped. "Don't make me regret saving your sorry ass back in the desert. I should've known I was making a mistake. Shoulda let those Arabs cut you up for bait."
There was a stream of curses that would make a sailor blush, followed by a lengthy silence.
"Well, come on ahead," Brick finally yelled. "I'll put the gun down and leave the door open."
Olan raised an eyebrow when Niko looked at him. The smirk Niko returned was more like a gnashing of the teeth than a smile. Both men stood cautiously, glancing at the house and approaching slowly with weapons drawn. Just because the man told them he would put the gun away didn't mean he actually would.
"I don't like being in the open like this," Olan whispered, stepping over the rotting hide of some long-dead animal.
"Me neither, but it's the only way in," Niko replied, his nose already starting to burn from the foul stench that wafted from the cabin.
"God, he stinks."
"I heard that," Brick yelled from the darkened interior. "You don't like my perfume you can leave."
"Perfume?" Niko said, peering cautiously through the open door. "Smells more like a dead skunk. When's the last time you washed? You reek."
"Got caught in the rain just last month," Brick grinned as the men entered. "What the hell brings you two up to my cozy little nest?"
"Got a problem," Niko blurted, watching Brick through watery eyes.
"Figured as much. Pour yourself some coffee and have a seat."
"I'll pass," Olan said, glancing about the filthy room. "Christ, Brick. How the hell can you stand to live like this?"
"There's the door," the big man said from his seat at a rickety table.
As his eyes adjusted to the dim interior, Niko looked around for the source of the low growl in the far corner. Sure enough, Brick's one and only companion, a mangy, three-legged wolf stood with its head hung low and its hackles up. The animal looked as crazed as the man that it lived with.
When Niko took a step, the animal lunged forward, snarling viciously in warning.
"Shut the fuck up, Rafe," Brick snapped, sufficiently quieting the wolf. "You boys have a seat and tell me what's on your mind."
Niko pulled out a chair, inspecting it closely before perching himself on it. Olan remained standing, his disgust barely concealed.
"I need your help, Brick," Niko began.
"Someone shoot me," Brick laughed. "The great Anthony Portello asking for help. Now I've seen it all."
"This is serious, Brick. I need your help. My wife..."
"Your wife? You got a wife? Where is she? I'd like to meet the sorry bitch dumb enough to marry you."
"Watch your mouth," Niko growled, leaning forward.
"Didn't mean nothin' by it," Brick laughed again, holding up his hands. "Damn. She must be a hell of a woman."
"She'll be a dead woman unless I can get to her in time."
Brick's curiosity was piqued. Niko could see it in how the man's eyebrows shot up and the twist of his filthy face.
"What kinda trouble did she get into?"
"My trouble," Niko admitted, his eyes showing the sadness he felt. "I put her in danger and now... What do you know about tattoos?"
"Got plenty of 'em back in my Corps days. Needles and ink, not much else to it."
"The tattoo I'm interested in has a cluster of small white flowers – white oleander. Know anything about it?"
Brick frowned, leaning forward with his elbows on the rough table. He dropped his eyes for a moment, lost in thought. When he raised them again, his expression had taken a far-off appearance.
"There was a rumor going around some years ago. Talk was about this guy with no name, no past. He was collecting an army of sorts and has more money than the national treasury. People call him 'Oleander', but no one knows anything about him or if he even exists. One thing's for sure. If you try to find out, you get dead quick."
"And the tattoo?" Niko asked, leaning forward again.
"It's supposed to be some kind of symbol. If you see someone with that tat, you wanna get away quick. Saw one myself, back in the desert. Man come to me and asked if I wanted a job. Didn't like the look of him, so I stepped away."
"What did he look like?"
"Average, I guess," Brick said, standing to reach for the coffee pot. "Tall fellow with brown hair. Coldest set of green eyes I ever saw. He offered me a lot of money, but..."
"I thought mercenaries hired out to the highest bidder," Olan interjected. "Didn't know you could afford to be so choosy."
"What the fuck do you know about it?" the big man spat back. "One of the benefits of my line of work is that I can refuse a job if I don't like how it feels. And I didn't like the feel of that one."
"Why not?" Niko pressed, watching the man's face closely.
"Something about it was just wrong. He was offering a king's ransom just to join ranks. No mention of what I would be doing, just join up and be one of the crew. When I asked questions, he got all sullen. But that was a few years ago."
"Have you seen him since?"
"Nope. Ain't heard much about Oleander since then either. What's this got to do with the trouble your wife's in?"
"We go way back, Brick," Niko said carefully.
"Yeah. So?"
"So I'm about to let you in on a secret."
"Spook stuff?" Brick asked, taking his seat again. "Don't look so surprised. I know a government spook without looking. I can smell their shit."
"Yeah," Niko answered, wondering how the man could smell anything over his own stench. "My real name's Gregorios Nikodemos Pavli."
"The hell, you say. Now that's a handle."
"That's why people just called me Niko in my old life. Anyway, I sort of got drafted into this mess about eight years ago. The bastards took my life from me. I lost my wife, my home, everything, so that they could send me on a wild goose chase. Now this Oleander has my wife. He's going to use her to get to me."
"Sounds like a real problem, all right. I guess she should've known about the danger goin' in, though. Them's the breaks."
Niko felt a surge of white-hot rage. He wanted to wrap his hands around the man's throat. The old wolf, sensing Niko's mood, got to its feet again, growling out a warning.
"Shut up, Rafe," Brick snarled, tossing the animal a scrap from one of the dirty plates strewn about.
"She's a civilian," Olan said, taking a step forward. "She thought Niko was dead all these years. She's a good woman, Brick."
"Shit. Ain't no such thing as a good woman," Brick growled. "They're all bad, but if you're lucky, you get one that's bad in the right way. So what do you want from me?"
Niko stood, looking the mercenary in the eye as he said, "I want you to help me get her back."
Brick pulled himself to his feet, meeting Niko's gaze unwaveringly.
"No."
"I need your help on this, Brick. I need all the help I can get."
"Call the CIA. Call the State Department. Call anyone, just make it someone besides me. I'm retired, and I damn sure ain't gonna get myself killed for some piece of tail of yours."
Niko got hold of his anger, jammed it down deep inside to use later. Brick was a crazy, unpredictable merc, but he also had a certain code that he lived by, warped though it was. Niko knew just exactly which buttons to push.
"I was thinking something along those very lines when I found you in that hell, my friend," Niko said quietly. "I was on the job, had a mission to complete when I saw what they were doing to you. Remember how they had you strung up? I told myself to keep moving, to not jeopardize my mission.
"What they were doing to you was a crime, but none of my business. You knew what you were getting into when you entered that world. The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that I should just keep going and ignore it all. But then you screamed. You screamed like a woman."
He stopped a moment, watching the way Brick's eyes clouded at the nightmarish memories. Niko had to hide his triumphant smile before he continued.
"They had you hanging there, strung up by your thumbs, beating you, burning you, cutting you. Remember how they laughed when you screamed?"
"I remember," Brick growled, his eyes glittering with suppressed rage.
"You were more dead than alive by the time I worked my way into their camp. They'd gotten bored with toying with you, left you hanging there to bleed to death. I nearly got myself killed, but I got you out."
"And now you come to collect the debt," Brick snarled, advancing a step. "You think I owe your ass. Well, no one asked you to help. That was your choice."
"Yeah, and if I hadn't, you'd still be hanging there with your bones bleaching in the sun."
"You're a bastard, Niko."
"I know. Heard it before," Niko said, grinning widely.
"From that wife of yours, no doubt. Say I do help you. What's in it for me?"
Niko picked up a cup, poured a small amount of coffee into it and swirled it around. He tossed the dirty liquid into the dark fireplace and poured more into the cup. Taking a swig of the cold, bitter drink, he took his seat once more.
"Just a thought here," Niko said, staring into his cup, "but it just may be this Oleander is the guy we've been looking for. He may be the one who's been financing all this chaos and ultimately, may be the reason you were captured. How does a little revenge sound for compensation?"
"You must be in a buttload of trouble if you're coming to me for help. Why don't you just ask old Uncle Sam to call out the troops?" asked Brick. When Niko didn't respond, the merc grinned knowingly, laughing as he continued, "You're on the run, huh? Got in dutch with the boys at the Pentagon, didn't you? Now you come to ol' Brick with your hat in your hand."
"If this Oleander's as rich as you say he is, a man could live a pretty comfortable life on what he could steal. If we find him, you can keep anything you can carry out."
Niko knew he had the man. Brick's eyes glittered with greed and retribution. All he needed now was to hear it from the big man's mouth. But Brick surprised him.
"They say he's a cold son-of-a-bitch," Brick said, returning to his seat. "They say the man ain't got no feelings at all. He doesn't get angry and he doesn't feel pain. He just goes forward like a robot. I heard he even cut off his own nuts so that he didn't have to deal with basic urges. If that's true, you're dealing with a real sociopath here."
"I didn't think you were scared of anything, Brick," Olan said. "I thought you were the stuff that other men feared."
"A man'd have to be a fool not to be afraid of that one," Brick growled. "Besides, no one knows where he is. How you gonna find him?"
"I'm sure you'll think of something," said Niko, shoving his cup away.
"Me, huh? How the hell am I gonna find him?"
Niko smiled, hauling himself to his feet again.
"A man in your line is very resourceful," he said. "I'm sure you know exactly where to find the information we need."
"You mean a man who crawls around in filth, don't you? You calling me a dirtbag?"
Niko saw Olan biting his own tongue and understood his friend's predicament.
"Not at all," said Niko. "I'm just calling you resourceful is all."
Brick grunted, scratching his beard, staring off thoughtfully.
"I might know a guy," he said, looking at Niko again. "He owns a whorehouse in Nevada. Real scumbag. Uses his whorehouse as a front for a lot of illegal business. The man's got his hands in everything. Maybe he could shed some light."
"Let's get going, then," said Niko, heading for the door.
"Now? It's getting dark out there. We'll leave at first light."
"Afraid of the dark?" Olan scoffed. "A big guy like you? What will the other soldiers of fortune think?"
"Why don't you just shut the fuck up?" Brick snarled. "I can't just leave Rafe. He's got no one to look after him."
"He's a wolf, Brick," Niko returned. "Wild animals do for themselves."
"Shit," Brick hissed, casting the wolf a glance. "Keep an eye on the place, boy. I'll be back in a few days."
Brick opened a chest near the door, pulling out several items. Within minutes he had a lethal-looking blade and scabbard strapped to his hip, another in his boot, a holstered gun at the small of his back, a pack full of grenades over his shoulder and a Benelli M4 semi-automatic shotgun over his other shoulder. A vest loaded with ammunition completed the ensemble.
"That's the spirit," Niko said patronizingly as he stepped into the fresh air.
"Stay behind me," Brick muttered, walking through the door and leaving it open. "Step where I do and stay in a single file. Don't want you boys to get your balls blown off before we get to that tasty wife of yours, Portello. Or Pavli, I guess it is."
"Just get us out of this death trap," Olan demanded.
They followed Brick's winding path back to the road. Once inside their vehicle, Olan and Niko opened the windows, nearly gagging from the man's body odor in the close confines.
They'd driven for a couple of hours when Niko detoured through Grand Junction, finding a military surplus store and stopping.
"Stay here," he barked after putting the car in park. "I'll be right back."
Olan glanced at Brick on the back seat. Both men shrugged, waiting as told until Niko returned. He was quick, returning with a large bag that he set on the seat between him and Olan. He hit the highway again, looking for a likely spot to pull off. Following a sign that pointed the way to a scenic river drive, he found a spot with easy access to the water. Pulling the car over, he jammed the shifter into park and got out.
"What's up, man?" Brick yelled.
Ignoring him, Niko moved to the rear of the car, opening the trunk to remove something. When he finished, he slammed the lid down before walking back to the side of the car.
"Out," he ordered, yanking the back door open.
"What the fuck?"
"Out of my car," he repeated.
Brick got out slowly, his eyes never leaving Niko's face. It was clear that the man didn't trust Niko, but Niko didn't care.
"Get down to the water and wash that stink off," Niko growled, handing the man a toiletry kit. "I can't see to drive because my eyes are burning."
"That's mountain water," Brick growled. "I'll freeze my nuts off. No fucking way."
Just then, Olan got out on the passenger side, holding a handful of paper money over the roof of the car.
"I'll give you $500 if you go wash right now," he said, waving the money back and forth. "And it's worth every dime."
"Pansies," Brick muttered, snatching the money.
"And don't put those filthy rags back on either," Niko added.
"What the hell am I supposed to wear?"
Reaching into the car, Niko pulled out the package from the surplus store, tossing it at Brick.
"Try those on for size. They're just your style," Niko laughed.
With a smirk, Brick followed the beams of the headlights to the water's edge. He shucked his clothing, tossing it all in one pile and his weapons in another.
"Scrub yourself good," Olan yelled, "or you ride in the trunk."
"Fuck you."
The big man seemed to take forever. When he finally returned, he was grinning widely. His new clothes were clinging to his wet skin, his shotgun propped carelessly over his shoulder.
"You did all right, Pavli," he said, indicating his new clothes. "The shirt's a little big, but I'll manage. Smells funny though."
"Yeah," Olan laughed. "They're clean."
"Get in," Niko said as he yanked the driver's door open. "We wasted enough time."
"I feel like I'm on a date with you guys buying my new clothes and taking me to exotic locations," Brick said, folding himself into the back seat. "Just hope you two don't expect me to put out."
They drove through the night, cutting across the corner of Idaho, into Utah and finally, Nevada. Near dawn Niko pulled over, telling Brick to take the wheel to give himself a chance for some much-needed sleep. When he woke again, Brick was pulling the car to a stop in front of what looked to be a fenced compound.
Niko was alert instantly. Judging from the sign at the gate, they'd reached their destination, Johnny's Love Ranch.
"We're here, Pavli," Brick said, cutting the engine.
"Yeah, I kinda figured that out. How well do you know this Johnny?"
"Good enough to make him shit his pants when he sees me. I better go in alone."
"Not on your life," said Olan, checking his handgun.
Niko was already exiting the vehicle, looking the area over carefully. It was still early in the day with few vehicles in the parking lot. That suited him just fine. The lack of customers meant few witnesses inside.
"Let me do the talkin' then," said Brick, his voice laced with frustration. "This guy can get a little jumpy."
"Define 'a little jumpy'," Olan returned.
Niko tuned them out, intent only on his purpose. The sooner they got this business over, the closer he would be to finding Camille. Brick left his shotgun behind, removing the knife from his hip and tossing it on the car seat with his gun. He approached the gate, stopping to push the button that would announce a customer entreating entrance.
There was a sharp buzzing noise, followed by the gate unlatching. They were escorted in by a large man who sized them up, clearly not liking what he saw. After ordering them to wait in a room with garish furnishings, the man hit a button on the wall.
A minute later, a line of scantily dressed women entered, each smiling and preening for their inspection. Brick stood, walking down the line, smirking at each woman in turn.
"These won't do," he barked over his shoulder at the host. "Where do you hide the pretty women?"
Some of the women bristled visibly while others were approaching Niko. A tall brunette ran a hand down his chest, licking her lips provocatively.
"You don't see anything you like, get out," the host barked as he took a step forward.
"You're not being too friendly," Brick sneered. "I think I wanna see the manager."
"I'm the manager, asshole," he replied. "Girls, get out."
"Who would put a pantywaist like you in charge?" Brick chuckled.
The man advanced, his fists doubled as he launched himself at Brick. There was a collective gasp from the women when Brick's hand closed around the man's throat, effectively stopping him cold.
"Where's Johnny?" Brick snarled.
Brick increased the pressure, slamming him backwards against the wall. The man's face began to turn blue, his eyes bulging.
"I'm not going to ask again," Brick whispered. "I'm just gonna snap your neck like a twig."
The man raised one hand, pointing a shaking finger at a closed door. Brick released him, ignoring his wheezing gasp when the large body crumpled at his feet. He turned, nodding his head at his companions.
They marched past the shocked prostitutes, through the door and down a hallway to another closed door. Brick put a finger to his lips, signaling for quiet as he bent his head to listen. From the sounds of the moans coming from inside, it was pretty obvious that someone was getting serviced.
Turning the doorknob slowly, he stuck his head inside. With a malicious grin he signaled the others to follow as he stepped quietly through.
A man sat at a desk, his head back on the chair, his eyes closed. In his lap was the busy head of a woman, bobbing up in down.
Brick grabbed a handful of her hair. Her head was yanked back, causing her to scream. He left her scrambling to cover her nudity on the floor of the dank little office when he suddenly released her.
The man in the chair jerked upright, cupping his hands over his exposed sex organ. His face was a study of fear and surprise. When his eyes lit on Brick's face, he looked as if he wanted to vomit.
"Hello, Johnny," Brick said with a smirk. "Sorry to interrupt your play time."
The man, Johnny, glanced at the other two men and back at Brick. He tried to recover his composure, stuffing his shriveling manhood back in his pants. When he stood to zip up, Brick pushed him back down in his chair.
The woman managed to get to her feet, wrapping a thin, short robe about herself. When she tried to slink out, Brick snagged her arm, pointing her toward a chair.
"Have a seat, darlin'. I'll get to you soon enough," he ordered.
She sank into a chair in the corner, her eyes never leaving the big man's face.
"Well, Marion Brickler," the man said, having finally recovered his voice. "To what do I owe this surprise? I thought you were dead."
Olan snorted, coughing lightly in an attempt to recover.
"Marion?" he whispered, catching a warning glance from Niko.
"It's been awhile," Brick said.
"I assume this isn't a social call," Johnny said, still trying to zip his pants. "You look different. Did you take a bath or something?"
"I want some information."
"How much you got to offer?"
Brick grabbed the front of the man's shirt, dragging him from the chair and holding his face just inches from his own. An expression of abject fear crossed Johnny's face. He looked like a rag doll in Brick's large grasp.
"I ain't payin' shit," Brick snarled, spraying the smaller man's face with spittle. "If you're lucky, I'll let you keep your cock and balls."
"You still sore over that business in California?" Johnny asked. "Come on, Marion. It's all water under the bridge."
"Fuck you, Johnny," Brick said, tossing him back in his chair.
"What do you want to know? Tell you what; I'll give you what you want, free of charge."
Brick smirked, stepping back to let his partners have the floor. Niko sized the man up. This Johnny looked like everything Niko despised about the slimy underworld. His hair was oiled and slicked back, his frame skinny and soft from overindulgence in corruption and drugs.
Reaching across the man, Niko picked up a small mirror lined with streaks of white powder. He looked from Johnny to the face of the young woman in the corner and back again.
"I want information on another scumbag," he said quietly. "He goes by the name of Oleander. His people are marked by tattoos of..."
Niko stopped when he saw the horror on the man's face. Johnny glanced around, seeming to search for an escape route.
"I don't know anything," Johnny replied, not meeting his eyes. "You came to the wrong place."
"Then why do you look like someone just grabbed those diseased balls of yours?" Brick asked.
"I swear I don't know anything."
"Jog his memory, Brick," Niko said.
Brick hauled Johnny from the chair, slamming the man down face up on his desk. While holding a large arm across his throat, Brick pulled the knife from his boot, dangling it in front of Johnny's face.
"You know me, Johnny. You know what I'll do with this blade," Brick said softly, slowly moving the knife down the man's body. "I'll slice off your cock and balls and laugh while you bleed to death."
"I swear...," Johnny whimpered. "Please."
"Pull his drawers off, boys. Gonna have to get bloody on this one," Brick said, pressing the blade low on the man's belly.
"No," Johnny gasped.
"Christ. He just pissed himself," Olan said in disgust.
"Better talk, Johnny," Niko said. "You know how he gets when he smells fear."
"Wha... What do you want to know?"
"Just start talkin'," Brick said, pressing the knife a little harder. "We'll tell you when to shut up."
"Okay, okay. He's a dangerous man. If he finds out I talked, he'll have me killed."
"Too bad," Brick growled. "You lay down with dogs, you get up with fleas. Talk."
"He owns half the world," Johnny began. "He's the one that starts wars and causes disease and famine. He creates chaos."
"Who is he?" Niko asked.
"I don't know. No one does. Some say he lives on some island somewhere, but I swear I don't know where. I heard he's got some great scientist working for him. They say he's forcing the man to create bigger and better ways of killing people."
"That's all real interesting there, Johnny," Brick growled, "but it don't tell us shit. What else you got?"
"All I know is he brings in huge shipments of drugs, floods the streets with them. He's the guy that keeps the law busy with crime. It's how he keeps the rest of the world distracted. He feeds on corruption."
"And he keeps you supplied," Niko said, dumping the cocaine on his face.
Johnny gagged, choking when he inhaled a mouthful.
"You better come up with something," Brick said. "These here boys would like to stake you out and burn your ass alive."
"I don't know anything else, I swear. But... but there might be a guy. His name is Lansky. He's down in New Mexico."
"Never heard of 'im," Brick said, showing Johnny the gleaming blade of the knife again.
"Y... you been away a long time. Lansky is the new man. He controls most things out here. Just go see him."
Brick finally let Johnny up, telling him that he'd be back if the information turned out to be a lie. As they left, the big guard stepped out of their way, giving them a wide berth.
"You don't look much like a 'Marion'," Niko commented as they stepped into the bright desert sunshine.
"Just forget you heard that, huh?" Brick replied. "Hated that damned name all my life. That's why I shortened my last name to Brick."
"I thought you were called 'Brick' because you're built like a brick shithouse," Niko laughed.
Brick's grin was only momentary, turning to a scowl when Olan said, "I thought it was because you smell like a brick shithouse. I mean, damn. You just had a bath a few hours ago. How does one man produce that kind of smell so quick? Ever heard of deodorant?"
"Man, that was harsh," Brick muttered. "You think just because I live in the wilderness I ain't got feelings?"
"Yes," Olan laughed, opening the door to the car.
"Well, you're wrong."
"Boys," Niko interrupted. "Save it for the enemy. We got a long way to go yet and we're running out of time."
"Friend of mine has an airfield about a hundred miles south of here. We can snag one of his planes," Brick offered.
"You drive," Niko said. "Just get us there fast."
***
"I look like a whore in this," Camille complained, plucking at the skirt of the form-fitting evening gown.
Alma led the way, ignoring Camille's outburst. Gerhardt had chosen the gown himself, had ordered her to see to it Camille wore the damned thing.
"You just mind your manners when we get in here. Oleander wants to have dinner with you and that's what you're going to do," Alma hissed.
"Nervous, Alma?" Camille mocked.
"Just shut your mouth," Alma said, pinching Camille's arm. "Oleander won't stand for rudeness. He'll have you cut up for shark bait if you talk to him like that."
"That would be preferable to suffering through a meal with him," Camille said.
"Just remember I warned you."
They entered a large formal dining hall, complete with a ridiculously long table. At one end stood a man that Camille had never before seen. When his eyes lit on her face, she knew she was looking into the cold, soulless eyes of pure evil. His hair was iron gray, his frame solid-looking beneath the finely tailored tuxedo he wore.
"Hello, my dear," said the man. "I trust you found our accommodations pleasing."
"Go to hell," Camille whispered, her voice lacking conviction. "I demand you release me at once."
The few people in the room fell into a dead silence, waiting for the man to react. A moment later his head snapped back, his voice erupting in softly controlled laughter.
"Gerhardt," the man said, "you didn't tell me what spirit she has. Charming. Very charming. Allow me to introduce myself, Mrs. Pavli. I'm Oleander."
"I don't give a damn who you are," she hissed, bristling under his amusement. "You have no right to keep me here."
"Oh, but I do. It seems the only way I'm going to be able to get control of that husband of yours. He's been a thorn in my side for some time. Now, with you here, he'll be too busy trying to find you to interfere with my business."
As the man spoke, he walked to Camille, offering her his hand. She slapped it away, spitting in his left eye. He drew his hand back, slapping her hard enough to send her flying backwards.
"Such a pity," Oleander said as he wiped his hand on his handkerchief. "I had hoped you would be reasonable. Perhaps a few days in my little dungeon will teach you some manners. Olaf!"
Out of nowhere, a man appeared, moving so quietly and quickly that Camille had to blink to be sure she'd seen him. The man reached a white-gloved hand for her, gently pulling her back to her feet. He led her away, his grip on her arm telling her there would be no mercy from him.
He pulled her onto an elevator, pushing a button that started the lift moving. It descended for several minutes, and when it stopped, the air on the other side of the door was fetid and damp. Without speaking, the man pulled her along a dark corridor that seemed to be carved from solid rock, stopping in front of a narrow iron door.
"Please," she begged. "Let me go. I have to go."
The man acted as if he hadn't heard her, opening the door to shove her gently inside. When the door closed, she was closed into the darkness of a clammy little cell, the only illumination being from the small slit near the top of the door.
"Damn it," she hissed, hugging herself against the cold.
"Are you real?" a voice asked from deep within the darkness.
"Who said that?"
"Me," the feminine voice answered. "I'm sorry if I scared you. I've been alone so long."
As Camille's eyes adjusted to the dim light, she could just make out a shadow moving near the far wall.
"Who are you?" Camille demanded.
"I'm Lorette. I'm sorry you're here, but I'm glad I don't have to be alone anymore."
Olan was at a loss in the face of a pain so raw. He could only stand and watch as Niko shattered right in front of him. Walking around the front of the vehicle, Olan went to his friend to lend whatever support or strength he could. He no more than put a hand on his shoulder when Niko took off at a dead run, heading for the forest and presumably the spot where Camille had landed.
Muttering a stream of oaths, Olan ran a hand through his shaggy red hair, turning to see several curious on-lookers approaching. Years of training and his need for self-preservation kicked in, galvanizing him to action.
As quick as his injured body would allow, he slid behind the wheel of the car. He hoped that the narrow road he was on would take him through the woods and close to the spot where Camille had landed.
He feared what Niko might do in his current state. A man with that kind of love and passion for a woman could very well lose his mind, go on a rampage or even kill himself. He only hoped he got there in time to stop Niko before he did anything crazy.
Given the trajectory of the fall and the distance of the helicopter, it was difficult to say where Camille's body had landed. Olan did his best to estimate the distance and tried to get the car as close as possible, but eventually was forced to abandon it. He'd long since lost sight of Niko in the crowding trees.
Calling out, Olan made his way through the thick undergrowth, stumbling from time to time in his weakened state. Just when he was afraid that he'd never find his partner, he heard a voice call out to him. He had to wait for a second call before he figured out the right direction.
When he finally found him, Niko was sitting on a fallen tree, his head in his hands. Not far from his feet lay a shattered body, the blond hair the only distinguishable feature by which to identify her. The remains were so badly broken the only word that came to Olan's mind was "pulverized."
"Niko...," he said, reaching a shaking hand to his friend.
"Nothos," Niko cursed, raising bleary red eyes to Olan. "The bastard wanted me to think he'd killed her."
"Huh?" Olan grunted, confused.
"That's not Camille," Niko replied. "I don't know who she is, but she's not my Camille."
Olan was convinced that his friend had lost his mind. Her body lay at their feet. What more evidence did he need?
"Niko, just hang in there, buddy. We'll get through this."
Shaking his head, Niko reached down to lift the shattered leg of the body, pulling the tattered, bloodied cloth of her slacks away to reveal a small tattoo of three small white flowers clustered together.
"White Oleander? She's one of them."
"Yeah," Niko said, his voice shaking. "She's a decoy to make me believe my wife is dead."
"They're trying to draw you out."
"Makes no sense. He could've just set that copter down and killed me."
"They want you alive, I'd say. Question is, why?"
"I don't give a shit. All I want is Camille. We have to get to her before they..." Niko said, letting his voice trail off.
"I know, pal. We're going to have to come up with a plan. That woman of yours kept me alive. She saved my life, Niko. I want to save her as badly as you, but we have work carefully."
"I know," answered Niko, "and we're going to need a little help."
***
Pain was Camille's first conscious thought upon waking. It throbbed in her skull, radiating downward through her torso and limbs. Some piercing source of light was shining in her eyes, each in turn, while the sounds of voices echoed around her.
She moaned, trying to move her head away from the light. Too late she realized her mistake. The sudden movement shot a wicked spasm of white hot pain through her head. Someone slapped her face lightly, telling her to wake up and be done with it.
Another voice, angrier than the first, came to her defense, while still another spoke to her with a slight accent. None of them made any sense and only one of them sounded familiar; the one that had belonged to the man who had slapped her.
The fog began to lift from her brain, allowing some of the chaos to form coherent thoughts. It was Doug's voice that spoke to her now, cold and cruel, telling her to pull herself together.
She opened her eyes, blinking against the harsh light overhead. As her vision cleared, she could make out the faces of the people around her. None of them was friendly, eyeing her with frosty scrutiny, seeming to size her up for some reason.
"Wake up, Camille," Doug said. "You've had long enough to recover. Snap out of it."
"Fuck you," she whispered, the sound of her own voice making her wince.
She heard his hand connecting with her face before she felt it. He had backhanded her hard, setting her mind to reeling again while the other man yelled at him.
"Christ, Gerhardt," the man said, "she has a concussion. You'll put her in a coma. Get out of here. At least let her heal up before you beat her to death."
"You stick to medicine, Doctor. I'll take care of interrogations," Doug shot back.
"Get out," the doctor ordered again, "or there won't be anything left to interrogate. I'll call you when she's fit."
The third person, a woman, waved Doug toward the door, saying, "Let Dr. Mark do his work, Señor Gerhardt. The woman goes nowhere. She talks soon enough."
"I'll handle this, Alma," the doctor said before turning back to Doug. "Leave here at once or I'll report you to Oleander."
Camille tried to sit up on the bed, discovering that her left wrist was manacled to the bed frame. To make matters worse, she was naked with no more than a sheet between her and the other people in the room.
"Where are my clothes?" she demanded, clutching the sheet to herself. "Get this damned thing off my arm."
"I disposed of those rags, Princess," Doug answered. "You never did have any taste in clothing."
"How dare you," she screamed, ignoring the pain in her head. "Get me something to wear."
"I prefer you this way. It will be so much more convenient for what I have in mind."
Camille screamed again, pulling so hard on the shackle that the steel cut into her flesh. He drew back, laughing at her attempt to kick him.
"I told you to get out," the doctor yelled. "You'll kill her."
Doug finally relented, flashing a chilly smile at Camille. He left the room without another word.
Shuddering uncontrollably, she held the sheet up tighter under her chin. She watched the doctor closely as he handed a bottle of pills to the nurse.
"Give her two of these every four hours," he said, picking up his stethoscope.
"Wait," Camille said as he headed for the door. "Why am I here?"
"That, young lady," the doctor replied coldly, "is none of my business. I'm sure the man has his reasons."
"What's wrong with you people? You have me chained like a dog. This thing hurts."
Camille fussed at the steel cuff that chaffed her wrist, smearing blood on the sheets. She flinched as the man stepped forward suddenly, seizing her arm in his harsh grasp. He slipped a key into the lock, releasing the shackle and giving her wrist a cursory examination.
"Bandage this wound, Alma," he barked, dropping her arm. "Where'd you get that scar?"
"What's it to you?" she snapped, gingerly rubbing at her swollen flesh.
"I don't really care, young lady. Looks as if it's self-inflicted though. We'll have to make sure that Alma removes any dangerous objects before she leaves you alone."
The doctor left the room without a backward glance. Eyeing the other woman, Camille wondered what was happening to her. Worse yet, she wondered what was happening to Niko.
Was he all right? She had a vague memory of gunshots and fear for his safety. Beyond that, she couldn't remember a thing.
"Chu give me arm," the woman, Alma, said.
Hesitating, Camille complied only after seeing the roll of gauze in the nurse's hand. As Alma started wrapping the injured wrist, Camille sized her up. The woman was tall with a pale olive complexion. Her dark hair was pulled up in a tidy bun under an old-fashioned nurse's cap. With her chocolate eyes, it would be easy to believe the woman was of Hispanic origin.
"What is this place, Alma?" Camille asked, glancing about the room.
It was a huge room, not at all like any hospital room she'd ever before seen. The walls were expensively paneled with a door made of the same dark wood and seemed almost invisible when it was closed. The furniture looked as if it belonged in a palace or a museum.
"Señor Oleander's mansion. Chu lucky girl. Thees ees luxury."
"You can drop the fake accent now," Camille said, fixing the nurse with a blatant stare. "It's really awful, you know."
"Que? Wha'chu mean?"
"Give me some credit for having a brain," Camille snorted. "I'd say you came from some place in the southern states. I doubt your heritage is even Hispanic."
"Yeah. You're so smart, huh?" Alma said, dropping all pretense of an accent. "Gerhardt thought it would be cute if I acted like a sweet little Mex. At least I can take off this crappy uniform now. I hate to wear white."
"Why do you call Doug 'Gerhardt'?"
"That's his name, stupid. Emil Gerhardt," Alma sneered, finishing the bandage. "He's one hot tamale, huh?"
Leaning against the mahogany headboard, Camille ran a hand through her hair, finding the tender lump on the back of her head.
"How long have I been here? What happened to me?" she asked.
"You were out about two and a half days. Gerhardt's girlfriend did that. Don't worry. You got her for it. He was pretty pissed off at you."
"What do you mean? I didn't do anything." Camille asked, afraid of what the response would be.
"You don't remember? You pushed her off the helicopter. Of course, I should be thanking you. With her out of the way, he's fair game," Alma answered, smiling knowingly. "Oh, yeah. That's right. You thought you were going to marry him. Tell me, is he as good as he looks?"
"How the hell would I know? You're welcome to him. He's a lying sack of shit."
"You're not exactly his type," Alma laughed. "He likes women who know how to please a man. Marissa once told me that sex with him was a battle. I'd like to fight a battle like that. The only reason he paid attention to you was the job."
"So I gather," Camille scoffed. "Believe me when I tell you he's not my type either. I prefer a real man."
"Jealous?"
"Hardly. Why am I here, Alma?"
"You'll find that out soon enough, girlie. Doc says you're to take two of these," Alma said, thrusting out her hand. "Swallow 'em down, or I jam them down your throat."
Camille obediently put the unknown pills on her tongue and took a sip from the glass that the other woman held. With a smirk, Alma left, the resounding click of a lock echoing throughout the room. As soon as she was gone, Camille spat the pills onto the floor.
She was mystified. Had she really killed someone? She was turning into one of them, the killers that had helped to ruin her life.
It took her a minute to work up the courage to try her legs, and when she did, she had cause to regret it. The room whirled around her ominously as the rush of blood drummed a cadence in her skull. She grabbed the bedpost, gulping air while she waited for the pain and dizziness to subside.
Once her body had settled down and her mind cleared she pulled the sheet off the bed, wrapping it about her naked flesh like a toga. With her modesty somewhat restored, she began to explore her surroundings. The first thing she did was try the door, which only confirmed what she already knew. It was locked.
Next she staggered to the windows only to discover them covered on the outside with steel bars reminiscent of a jail and more than three stories off the ground. She managed to get one of them open, allowing the surprisingly cool fresh air to cleanse her lungs and brain.
There was another door that she discovered led to a marble-lined bathroom. Splashing water in her face seemed to help wash away some of the fatigue and nausea she felt, but the image in the enormous mirror only served to disgust her. Her face was bruised and swollen, little resembling the woman she used to be.
Back in the cavernous bedroom, she took time to inspect things more thoroughly. The mahogany bookcase that spanned one wall contained an expensive array of first edition classic literature and assorted art work.
The carpeting underfoot was thick and plush and the furnishings were the best that tasteful money could buy. Everything around her bespoke luxury and refinement and reminded her of the proverbial gilded cage. No matter how much they dressed it up, it was still her prison.
Her curiosity was piqued when she discovered something that just didn't fit in the room. It was a ceramic piece that would have looked more comfortable in a souvenir shop than the sumptuous confines of this room. Picking up the little statue of a geisha girl, she noticed something tiny shining from the center of its chest. To her dismay, she realized it was the miniature lens of a camera.
Glancing about the room, she wondered how many more such cameras existed. She sprinted to the large wardrobe on the far side of the bed. Throwing the doors wide, she found it empty, dashing her hopes of finding suitable clothing.
Her pride came to her rescue. She'd be damned before she allowed them the satisfaction of seeing her crack. Taking a seat in an over-stuffed chair, she sat quietly, unmoving, her eyes staring straight ahead. Although her face was void of all emotion, inwardly she was a tempest of chaos.
***
"What do you think Brick will do when he sees us?" Olan asked, rubbing his aching shoulder.
Niko shot him a withering expression before turning back to squint through the windshield at the setting sun. It was a question he'd asked himself often enough during the long miles they'd crossed.
"I imagine the bastard will shoot first and not bother asking questions."
"That's what I was thinking," Olan agreed. "You think you'll be able to talk your way in?"
"Either that or I'll have to shoot my way in."
"That'll be a neat trick considering he's got more firepower than the US military. What if he's not there?"
"He'll be there," Niko said, slowing to turn off the steep mountain highway onto a narrow dirt road.
"Maybe we should wait till morning before we go wandering in. I'd hate to trip one of those damned booby traps of his in the dark."
"Loosing your nerve, pal?" Niko asked, watching the landmarks that he passed. "Damn. Everything looks different."
"You sure you can find the place?"
"Not a problem," Niko smirked. "All you have to do is get downwind of him. You can smell his stink from a mile away."
Twenty minutes later Niko pulled the vehicle to a stop, having finally found the single crooked tree that marked the path he needed.
"Stay here," he said, pulling out his gun and checking it. "I'll come get you after I talk to him."
"Nothin' doin', partner," Olan growled, pulling out his own handgun. "We're in this together."
"Christ. You sound like my wife."
"I knew I liked her for a reason," Olan laughed, hauling himself from the car. "You lead."
"Just stay low," Niko said, exiting the car. "He starts shooting, hit the dirt."
"You think he still has that mangy wolf?"
"Yeah. It's the only thing that can stand the smell of him."
Niko stepped carefully into the thicket, peering through the lengthening shadows, looking for anything that didn't belong. Brick was a careful man, if "man" was what he could be called. He lived like an animal and was more dangerous and unpredictable than a rabid coyote.
"Easy," Niko whispered, putting out a hand to stop Olan. "Trip wire."
"What is it with this son-of-a-bitch?"
"He's got good reason to be paranoid," Niko said, stepping carefully over the wire. "Half the world is trying to kill him and the other half wants to hire him. Let's get moving."
The Rocky Mountains were not high up on Niko's list of places he wanted to be, and certainly not this particular mountain after dark. They'd driven for two days to get to this place. He damn sure didn't want to get blown up before he even reached his destination.
They wound their way through the thick underbrush, avoiding a number of wicked-looking traps until the ramshackle cabin came into view. The brush and trees had been cut back, forming a clearing around the cabin fifty yards wide. It was those last fifty yards that worried Niko.
Both men hunkered down in the thicket, surveying the area around them. Deciding the coast was clear enough, Niko straightened to his full height, preparing to take his first step into the open.
"He's there all right," Olan whispered. "Stinks to high heaven."
"You'd think the asshole could take a bath once in a while," Niko returned.
There was an explosion of sound that sent both men diving into the dirt as bullets whizzed and ricocheted around them. The shots came in rapid succession, bringing tree branches raining down on them.
"Jesus Christ!" Olan hissed, trying to protect his head with his one good arm. "That crazy bastard's gonna kill us."
As suddenly as the volley had begun, the shooting ceased, leaving an eerie silence and the acrid smell of burnt gunpowder. Neither man was in a hurry to stick his head up, lest the shooting start again.
"You, out there," a voice yelled from the cabin. "Show yourselves."
"Not if you're gonna shoot at us again," Niko yelled back.
"You're trespassing," came the reply.
"How the hell else we gonna see you? God damn, Brick. Put down the gun."
"Portello, that you? Come out where I can see you."
It had been a while since anyone had called Niko by his agency name. It sounded strange after the time spent with his wife and his real identity.
"You gonna put down that gun?" he asked.
"Hell, no."
"Then I ain't coming out. I came here to talk, not get my head blown off."
"Get your ass off my mountain then," Brick growled.
"I need to talk to you, you dumb son-of-a-bitch."
"Good luck," Brick laughed, firing a short burst into the trees.
"Cease fire, God damn it!" Niko yelled once the shooting stopped. "Don't make me regret saving your sorry ass back in the desert. I should've known I was making a mistake. Shoulda let those Arabs cut you up for bait."
There was a stream of curses that would make a sailor blush, followed by a lengthy silence.
"Well, come on ahead," Brick finally yelled. "I'll put the gun down and leave the door open."
Olan raised an eyebrow when Niko looked at him. The smirk Niko returned was more like a gnashing of the teeth than a smile. Both men stood cautiously, glancing at the house and approaching slowly with weapons drawn. Just because the man told them he would put the gun away didn't mean he actually would.
"I don't like being in the open like this," Olan whispered, stepping over the rotting hide of some long-dead animal.
"Me neither, but it's the only way in," Niko replied, his nose already starting to burn from the foul stench that wafted from the cabin.
"God, he stinks."
"I heard that," Brick yelled from the darkened interior. "You don't like my perfume you can leave."
"Perfume?" Niko said, peering cautiously through the open door. "Smells more like a dead skunk. When's the last time you washed? You reek."
"Got caught in the rain just last month," Brick grinned as the men entered. "What the hell brings you two up to my cozy little nest?"
"Got a problem," Niko blurted, watching Brick through watery eyes.
"Figured as much. Pour yourself some coffee and have a seat."
"I'll pass," Olan said, glancing about the filthy room. "Christ, Brick. How the hell can you stand to live like this?"
"There's the door," the big man said from his seat at a rickety table.
As his eyes adjusted to the dim interior, Niko looked around for the source of the low growl in the far corner. Sure enough, Brick's one and only companion, a mangy, three-legged wolf stood with its head hung low and its hackles up. The animal looked as crazed as the man that it lived with.
When Niko took a step, the animal lunged forward, snarling viciously in warning.
"Shut the fuck up, Rafe," Brick snapped, sufficiently quieting the wolf. "You boys have a seat and tell me what's on your mind."
Niko pulled out a chair, inspecting it closely before perching himself on it. Olan remained standing, his disgust barely concealed.
"I need your help, Brick," Niko began.
"Someone shoot me," Brick laughed. "The great Anthony Portello asking for help. Now I've seen it all."
"This is serious, Brick. I need your help. My wife..."
"Your wife? You got a wife? Where is she? I'd like to meet the sorry bitch dumb enough to marry you."
"Watch your mouth," Niko growled, leaning forward.
"Didn't mean nothin' by it," Brick laughed again, holding up his hands. "Damn. She must be a hell of a woman."
"She'll be a dead woman unless I can get to her in time."
Brick's curiosity was piqued. Niko could see it in how the man's eyebrows shot up and the twist of his filthy face.
"What kinda trouble did she get into?"
"My trouble," Niko admitted, his eyes showing the sadness he felt. "I put her in danger and now... What do you know about tattoos?"
"Got plenty of 'em back in my Corps days. Needles and ink, not much else to it."
"The tattoo I'm interested in has a cluster of small white flowers – white oleander. Know anything about it?"
Brick frowned, leaning forward with his elbows on the rough table. He dropped his eyes for a moment, lost in thought. When he raised them again, his expression had taken a far-off appearance.
"There was a rumor going around some years ago. Talk was about this guy with no name, no past. He was collecting an army of sorts and has more money than the national treasury. People call him 'Oleander', but no one knows anything about him or if he even exists. One thing's for sure. If you try to find out, you get dead quick."
"And the tattoo?" Niko asked, leaning forward again.
"It's supposed to be some kind of symbol. If you see someone with that tat, you wanna get away quick. Saw one myself, back in the desert. Man come to me and asked if I wanted a job. Didn't like the look of him, so I stepped away."
"What did he look like?"
"Average, I guess," Brick said, standing to reach for the coffee pot. "Tall fellow with brown hair. Coldest set of green eyes I ever saw. He offered me a lot of money, but..."
"I thought mercenaries hired out to the highest bidder," Olan interjected. "Didn't know you could afford to be so choosy."
"What the fuck do you know about it?" the big man spat back. "One of the benefits of my line of work is that I can refuse a job if I don't like how it feels. And I didn't like the feel of that one."
"Why not?" Niko pressed, watching the man's face closely.
"Something about it was just wrong. He was offering a king's ransom just to join ranks. No mention of what I would be doing, just join up and be one of the crew. When I asked questions, he got all sullen. But that was a few years ago."
"Have you seen him since?"
"Nope. Ain't heard much about Oleander since then either. What's this got to do with the trouble your wife's in?"
"We go way back, Brick," Niko said carefully.
"Yeah. So?"
"So I'm about to let you in on a secret."
"Spook stuff?" Brick asked, taking his seat again. "Don't look so surprised. I know a government spook without looking. I can smell their shit."
"Yeah," Niko answered, wondering how the man could smell anything over his own stench. "My real name's Gregorios Nikodemos Pavli."
"The hell, you say. Now that's a handle."
"That's why people just called me Niko in my old life. Anyway, I sort of got drafted into this mess about eight years ago. The bastards took my life from me. I lost my wife, my home, everything, so that they could send me on a wild goose chase. Now this Oleander has my wife. He's going to use her to get to me."
"Sounds like a real problem, all right. I guess she should've known about the danger goin' in, though. Them's the breaks."
Niko felt a surge of white-hot rage. He wanted to wrap his hands around the man's throat. The old wolf, sensing Niko's mood, got to its feet again, growling out a warning.
"Shut up, Rafe," Brick snarled, tossing the animal a scrap from one of the dirty plates strewn about.
"She's a civilian," Olan said, taking a step forward. "She thought Niko was dead all these years. She's a good woman, Brick."
"Shit. Ain't no such thing as a good woman," Brick growled. "They're all bad, but if you're lucky, you get one that's bad in the right way. So what do you want from me?"
Niko stood, looking the mercenary in the eye as he said, "I want you to help me get her back."
Brick pulled himself to his feet, meeting Niko's gaze unwaveringly.
"No."
"I need your help on this, Brick. I need all the help I can get."
"Call the CIA. Call the State Department. Call anyone, just make it someone besides me. I'm retired, and I damn sure ain't gonna get myself killed for some piece of tail of yours."
Niko got hold of his anger, jammed it down deep inside to use later. Brick was a crazy, unpredictable merc, but he also had a certain code that he lived by, warped though it was. Niko knew just exactly which buttons to push.
"I was thinking something along those very lines when I found you in that hell, my friend," Niko said quietly. "I was on the job, had a mission to complete when I saw what they were doing to you. Remember how they had you strung up? I told myself to keep moving, to not jeopardize my mission.
"What they were doing to you was a crime, but none of my business. You knew what you were getting into when you entered that world. The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that I should just keep going and ignore it all. But then you screamed. You screamed like a woman."
He stopped a moment, watching the way Brick's eyes clouded at the nightmarish memories. Niko had to hide his triumphant smile before he continued.
"They had you hanging there, strung up by your thumbs, beating you, burning you, cutting you. Remember how they laughed when you screamed?"
"I remember," Brick growled, his eyes glittering with suppressed rage.
"You were more dead than alive by the time I worked my way into their camp. They'd gotten bored with toying with you, left you hanging there to bleed to death. I nearly got myself killed, but I got you out."
"And now you come to collect the debt," Brick snarled, advancing a step. "You think I owe your ass. Well, no one asked you to help. That was your choice."
"Yeah, and if I hadn't, you'd still be hanging there with your bones bleaching in the sun."
"You're a bastard, Niko."
"I know. Heard it before," Niko said, grinning widely.
"From that wife of yours, no doubt. Say I do help you. What's in it for me?"
Niko picked up a cup, poured a small amount of coffee into it and swirled it around. He tossed the dirty liquid into the dark fireplace and poured more into the cup. Taking a swig of the cold, bitter drink, he took his seat once more.
"Just a thought here," Niko said, staring into his cup, "but it just may be this Oleander is the guy we've been looking for. He may be the one who's been financing all this chaos and ultimately, may be the reason you were captured. How does a little revenge sound for compensation?"
"You must be in a buttload of trouble if you're coming to me for help. Why don't you just ask old Uncle Sam to call out the troops?" asked Brick. When Niko didn't respond, the merc grinned knowingly, laughing as he continued, "You're on the run, huh? Got in dutch with the boys at the Pentagon, didn't you? Now you come to ol' Brick with your hat in your hand."
"If this Oleander's as rich as you say he is, a man could live a pretty comfortable life on what he could steal. If we find him, you can keep anything you can carry out."
Niko knew he had the man. Brick's eyes glittered with greed and retribution. All he needed now was to hear it from the big man's mouth. But Brick surprised him.
"They say he's a cold son-of-a-bitch," Brick said, returning to his seat. "They say the man ain't got no feelings at all. He doesn't get angry and he doesn't feel pain. He just goes forward like a robot. I heard he even cut off his own nuts so that he didn't have to deal with basic urges. If that's true, you're dealing with a real sociopath here."
"I didn't think you were scared of anything, Brick," Olan said. "I thought you were the stuff that other men feared."
"A man'd have to be a fool not to be afraid of that one," Brick growled. "Besides, no one knows where he is. How you gonna find him?"
"I'm sure you'll think of something," said Niko, shoving his cup away.
"Me, huh? How the hell am I gonna find him?"
Niko smiled, hauling himself to his feet again.
"A man in your line is very resourceful," he said. "I'm sure you know exactly where to find the information we need."
"You mean a man who crawls around in filth, don't you? You calling me a dirtbag?"
Niko saw Olan biting his own tongue and understood his friend's predicament.
"Not at all," said Niko. "I'm just calling you resourceful is all."
Brick grunted, scratching his beard, staring off thoughtfully.
"I might know a guy," he said, looking at Niko again. "He owns a whorehouse in Nevada. Real scumbag. Uses his whorehouse as a front for a lot of illegal business. The man's got his hands in everything. Maybe he could shed some light."
"Let's get going, then," said Niko, heading for the door.
"Now? It's getting dark out there. We'll leave at first light."
"Afraid of the dark?" Olan scoffed. "A big guy like you? What will the other soldiers of fortune think?"
"Why don't you just shut the fuck up?" Brick snarled. "I can't just leave Rafe. He's got no one to look after him."
"He's a wolf, Brick," Niko returned. "Wild animals do for themselves."
"Shit," Brick hissed, casting the wolf a glance. "Keep an eye on the place, boy. I'll be back in a few days."
Brick opened a chest near the door, pulling out several items. Within minutes he had a lethal-looking blade and scabbard strapped to his hip, another in his boot, a holstered gun at the small of his back, a pack full of grenades over his shoulder and a Benelli M4 semi-automatic shotgun over his other shoulder. A vest loaded with ammunition completed the ensemble.
"That's the spirit," Niko said patronizingly as he stepped into the fresh air.
"Stay behind me," Brick muttered, walking through the door and leaving it open. "Step where I do and stay in a single file. Don't want you boys to get your balls blown off before we get to that tasty wife of yours, Portello. Or Pavli, I guess it is."
"Just get us out of this death trap," Olan demanded.
They followed Brick's winding path back to the road. Once inside their vehicle, Olan and Niko opened the windows, nearly gagging from the man's body odor in the close confines.
They'd driven for a couple of hours when Niko detoured through Grand Junction, finding a military surplus store and stopping.
"Stay here," he barked after putting the car in park. "I'll be right back."
Olan glanced at Brick on the back seat. Both men shrugged, waiting as told until Niko returned. He was quick, returning with a large bag that he set on the seat between him and Olan. He hit the highway again, looking for a likely spot to pull off. Following a sign that pointed the way to a scenic river drive, he found a spot with easy access to the water. Pulling the car over, he jammed the shifter into park and got out.
"What's up, man?" Brick yelled.
Ignoring him, Niko moved to the rear of the car, opening the trunk to remove something. When he finished, he slammed the lid down before walking back to the side of the car.
"Out," he ordered, yanking the back door open.
"What the fuck?"
"Out of my car," he repeated.
Brick got out slowly, his eyes never leaving Niko's face. It was clear that the man didn't trust Niko, but Niko didn't care.
"Get down to the water and wash that stink off," Niko growled, handing the man a toiletry kit. "I can't see to drive because my eyes are burning."
"That's mountain water," Brick growled. "I'll freeze my nuts off. No fucking way."
Just then, Olan got out on the passenger side, holding a handful of paper money over the roof of the car.
"I'll give you $500 if you go wash right now," he said, waving the money back and forth. "And it's worth every dime."
"Pansies," Brick muttered, snatching the money.
"And don't put those filthy rags back on either," Niko added.
"What the hell am I supposed to wear?"
Reaching into the car, Niko pulled out the package from the surplus store, tossing it at Brick.
"Try those on for size. They're just your style," Niko laughed.
With a smirk, Brick followed the beams of the headlights to the water's edge. He shucked his clothing, tossing it all in one pile and his weapons in another.
"Scrub yourself good," Olan yelled, "or you ride in the trunk."
"Fuck you."
The big man seemed to take forever. When he finally returned, he was grinning widely. His new clothes were clinging to his wet skin, his shotgun propped carelessly over his shoulder.
"You did all right, Pavli," he said, indicating his new clothes. "The shirt's a little big, but I'll manage. Smells funny though."
"Yeah," Olan laughed. "They're clean."
"Get in," Niko said as he yanked the driver's door open. "We wasted enough time."
"I feel like I'm on a date with you guys buying my new clothes and taking me to exotic locations," Brick said, folding himself into the back seat. "Just hope you two don't expect me to put out."
They drove through the night, cutting across the corner of Idaho, into Utah and finally, Nevada. Near dawn Niko pulled over, telling Brick to take the wheel to give himself a chance for some much-needed sleep. When he woke again, Brick was pulling the car to a stop in front of what looked to be a fenced compound.
Niko was alert instantly. Judging from the sign at the gate, they'd reached their destination, Johnny's Love Ranch.
"We're here, Pavli," Brick said, cutting the engine.
"Yeah, I kinda figured that out. How well do you know this Johnny?"
"Good enough to make him shit his pants when he sees me. I better go in alone."
"Not on your life," said Olan, checking his handgun.
Niko was already exiting the vehicle, looking the area over carefully. It was still early in the day with few vehicles in the parking lot. That suited him just fine. The lack of customers meant few witnesses inside.
"Let me do the talkin' then," said Brick, his voice laced with frustration. "This guy can get a little jumpy."
"Define 'a little jumpy'," Olan returned.
Niko tuned them out, intent only on his purpose. The sooner they got this business over, the closer he would be to finding Camille. Brick left his shotgun behind, removing the knife from his hip and tossing it on the car seat with his gun. He approached the gate, stopping to push the button that would announce a customer entreating entrance.
There was a sharp buzzing noise, followed by the gate unlatching. They were escorted in by a large man who sized them up, clearly not liking what he saw. After ordering them to wait in a room with garish furnishings, the man hit a button on the wall.
A minute later, a line of scantily dressed women entered, each smiling and preening for their inspection. Brick stood, walking down the line, smirking at each woman in turn.
"These won't do," he barked over his shoulder at the host. "Where do you hide the pretty women?"
Some of the women bristled visibly while others were approaching Niko. A tall brunette ran a hand down his chest, licking her lips provocatively.
"You don't see anything you like, get out," the host barked as he took a step forward.
"You're not being too friendly," Brick sneered. "I think I wanna see the manager."
"I'm the manager, asshole," he replied. "Girls, get out."
"Who would put a pantywaist like you in charge?" Brick chuckled.
The man advanced, his fists doubled as he launched himself at Brick. There was a collective gasp from the women when Brick's hand closed around the man's throat, effectively stopping him cold.
"Where's Johnny?" Brick snarled.
Brick increased the pressure, slamming him backwards against the wall. The man's face began to turn blue, his eyes bulging.
"I'm not going to ask again," Brick whispered. "I'm just gonna snap your neck like a twig."
The man raised one hand, pointing a shaking finger at a closed door. Brick released him, ignoring his wheezing gasp when the large body crumpled at his feet. He turned, nodding his head at his companions.
They marched past the shocked prostitutes, through the door and down a hallway to another closed door. Brick put a finger to his lips, signaling for quiet as he bent his head to listen. From the sounds of the moans coming from inside, it was pretty obvious that someone was getting serviced.
Turning the doorknob slowly, he stuck his head inside. With a malicious grin he signaled the others to follow as he stepped quietly through.
A man sat at a desk, his head back on the chair, his eyes closed. In his lap was the busy head of a woman, bobbing up in down.
Brick grabbed a handful of her hair. Her head was yanked back, causing her to scream. He left her scrambling to cover her nudity on the floor of the dank little office when he suddenly released her.
The man in the chair jerked upright, cupping his hands over his exposed sex organ. His face was a study of fear and surprise. When his eyes lit on Brick's face, he looked as if he wanted to vomit.
"Hello, Johnny," Brick said with a smirk. "Sorry to interrupt your play time."
The man, Johnny, glanced at the other two men and back at Brick. He tried to recover his composure, stuffing his shriveling manhood back in his pants. When he stood to zip up, Brick pushed him back down in his chair.
The woman managed to get to her feet, wrapping a thin, short robe about herself. When she tried to slink out, Brick snagged her arm, pointing her toward a chair.
"Have a seat, darlin'. I'll get to you soon enough," he ordered.
She sank into a chair in the corner, her eyes never leaving the big man's face.
"Well, Marion Brickler," the man said, having finally recovered his voice. "To what do I owe this surprise? I thought you were dead."
Olan snorted, coughing lightly in an attempt to recover.
"Marion?" he whispered, catching a warning glance from Niko.
"It's been awhile," Brick said.
"I assume this isn't a social call," Johnny said, still trying to zip his pants. "You look different. Did you take a bath or something?"
"I want some information."
"How much you got to offer?"
Brick grabbed the front of the man's shirt, dragging him from the chair and holding his face just inches from his own. An expression of abject fear crossed Johnny's face. He looked like a rag doll in Brick's large grasp.
"I ain't payin' shit," Brick snarled, spraying the smaller man's face with spittle. "If you're lucky, I'll let you keep your cock and balls."
"You still sore over that business in California?" Johnny asked. "Come on, Marion. It's all water under the bridge."
"Fuck you, Johnny," Brick said, tossing him back in his chair.
"What do you want to know? Tell you what; I'll give you what you want, free of charge."
Brick smirked, stepping back to let his partners have the floor. Niko sized the man up. This Johnny looked like everything Niko despised about the slimy underworld. His hair was oiled and slicked back, his frame skinny and soft from overindulgence in corruption and drugs.
Reaching across the man, Niko picked up a small mirror lined with streaks of white powder. He looked from Johnny to the face of the young woman in the corner and back again.
"I want information on another scumbag," he said quietly. "He goes by the name of Oleander. His people are marked by tattoos of..."
Niko stopped when he saw the horror on the man's face. Johnny glanced around, seeming to search for an escape route.
"I don't know anything," Johnny replied, not meeting his eyes. "You came to the wrong place."
"Then why do you look like someone just grabbed those diseased balls of yours?" Brick asked.
"I swear I don't know anything."
"Jog his memory, Brick," Niko said.
Brick hauled Johnny from the chair, slamming the man down face up on his desk. While holding a large arm across his throat, Brick pulled the knife from his boot, dangling it in front of Johnny's face.
"You know me, Johnny. You know what I'll do with this blade," Brick said softly, slowly moving the knife down the man's body. "I'll slice off your cock and balls and laugh while you bleed to death."
"I swear...," Johnny whimpered. "Please."
"Pull his drawers off, boys. Gonna have to get bloody on this one," Brick said, pressing the blade low on the man's belly.
"No," Johnny gasped.
"Christ. He just pissed himself," Olan said in disgust.
"Better talk, Johnny," Niko said. "You know how he gets when he smells fear."
"Wha... What do you want to know?"
"Just start talkin'," Brick said, pressing the knife a little harder. "We'll tell you when to shut up."
"Okay, okay. He's a dangerous man. If he finds out I talked, he'll have me killed."
"Too bad," Brick growled. "You lay down with dogs, you get up with fleas. Talk."
"He owns half the world," Johnny began. "He's the one that starts wars and causes disease and famine. He creates chaos."
"Who is he?" Niko asked.
"I don't know. No one does. Some say he lives on some island somewhere, but I swear I don't know where. I heard he's got some great scientist working for him. They say he's forcing the man to create bigger and better ways of killing people."
"That's all real interesting there, Johnny," Brick growled, "but it don't tell us shit. What else you got?"
"All I know is he brings in huge shipments of drugs, floods the streets with them. He's the guy that keeps the law busy with crime. It's how he keeps the rest of the world distracted. He feeds on corruption."
"And he keeps you supplied," Niko said, dumping the cocaine on his face.
Johnny gagged, choking when he inhaled a mouthful.
"You better come up with something," Brick said. "These here boys would like to stake you out and burn your ass alive."
"I don't know anything else, I swear. But... but there might be a guy. His name is Lansky. He's down in New Mexico."
"Never heard of 'im," Brick said, showing Johnny the gleaming blade of the knife again.
"Y... you been away a long time. Lansky is the new man. He controls most things out here. Just go see him."
Brick finally let Johnny up, telling him that he'd be back if the information turned out to be a lie. As they left, the big guard stepped out of their way, giving them a wide berth.
"You don't look much like a 'Marion'," Niko commented as they stepped into the bright desert sunshine.
"Just forget you heard that, huh?" Brick replied. "Hated that damned name all my life. That's why I shortened my last name to Brick."
"I thought you were called 'Brick' because you're built like a brick shithouse," Niko laughed.
Brick's grin was only momentary, turning to a scowl when Olan said, "I thought it was because you smell like a brick shithouse. I mean, damn. You just had a bath a few hours ago. How does one man produce that kind of smell so quick? Ever heard of deodorant?"
"Man, that was harsh," Brick muttered. "You think just because I live in the wilderness I ain't got feelings?"
"Yes," Olan laughed, opening the door to the car.
"Well, you're wrong."
"Boys," Niko interrupted. "Save it for the enemy. We got a long way to go yet and we're running out of time."
"Friend of mine has an airfield about a hundred miles south of here. We can snag one of his planes," Brick offered.
"You drive," Niko said. "Just get us there fast."
***
"I look like a whore in this," Camille complained, plucking at the skirt of the form-fitting evening gown.
Alma led the way, ignoring Camille's outburst. Gerhardt had chosen the gown himself, had ordered her to see to it Camille wore the damned thing.
"You just mind your manners when we get in here. Oleander wants to have dinner with you and that's what you're going to do," Alma hissed.
"Nervous, Alma?" Camille mocked.
"Just shut your mouth," Alma said, pinching Camille's arm. "Oleander won't stand for rudeness. He'll have you cut up for shark bait if you talk to him like that."
"That would be preferable to suffering through a meal with him," Camille said.
"Just remember I warned you."
They entered a large formal dining hall, complete with a ridiculously long table. At one end stood a man that Camille had never before seen. When his eyes lit on her face, she knew she was looking into the cold, soulless eyes of pure evil. His hair was iron gray, his frame solid-looking beneath the finely tailored tuxedo he wore.
"Hello, my dear," said the man. "I trust you found our accommodations pleasing."
"Go to hell," Camille whispered, her voice lacking conviction. "I demand you release me at once."
The few people in the room fell into a dead silence, waiting for the man to react. A moment later his head snapped back, his voice erupting in softly controlled laughter.
"Gerhardt," the man said, "you didn't tell me what spirit she has. Charming. Very charming. Allow me to introduce myself, Mrs. Pavli. I'm Oleander."
"I don't give a damn who you are," she hissed, bristling under his amusement. "You have no right to keep me here."
"Oh, but I do. It seems the only way I'm going to be able to get control of that husband of yours. He's been a thorn in my side for some time. Now, with you here, he'll be too busy trying to find you to interfere with my business."
As the man spoke, he walked to Camille, offering her his hand. She slapped it away, spitting in his left eye. He drew his hand back, slapping her hard enough to send her flying backwards.
"Such a pity," Oleander said as he wiped his hand on his handkerchief. "I had hoped you would be reasonable. Perhaps a few days in my little dungeon will teach you some manners. Olaf!"
Out of nowhere, a man appeared, moving so quietly and quickly that Camille had to blink to be sure she'd seen him. The man reached a white-gloved hand for her, gently pulling her back to her feet. He led her away, his grip on her arm telling her there would be no mercy from him.
He pulled her onto an elevator, pushing a button that started the lift moving. It descended for several minutes, and when it stopped, the air on the other side of the door was fetid and damp. Without speaking, the man pulled her along a dark corridor that seemed to be carved from solid rock, stopping in front of a narrow iron door.
"Please," she begged. "Let me go. I have to go."
The man acted as if he hadn't heard her, opening the door to shove her gently inside. When the door closed, she was closed into the darkness of a clammy little cell, the only illumination being from the small slit near the top of the door.
"Damn it," she hissed, hugging herself against the cold.
"Are you real?" a voice asked from deep within the darkness.
"Who said that?"
"Me," the feminine voice answered. "I'm sorry if I scared you. I've been alone so long."
As Camille's eyes adjusted to the dim light, she could just make out a shadow moving near the far wall.
"Who are you?" Camille demanded.
"I'm Lorette. I'm sorry you're here, but I'm glad I don't have to be alone anymore."