Double Edged Blade - An Action Thriller Novel (Omega Series Book 2) Read online

  “What happens then? What do these people do, who are losing their land and their livelihood? They do what they have done throughout history. They migrate and take their neighbor’s land.

  “So overpopulation means mass and aggressive migration, climate refugees, thousand of millions of people depending on ever shrinking agriculturally productive areas…” He held up his hand again with his five fingers splayed wide. “And that brings us to number five. War. War for resources. War for control of resources. And let me tell you, that war has already begun…”

  He didn’t explain his last comment. He wrapped up the talk and his students started filing out. I made my way down the steps and joined him at his desk, where he was dumping books into an old leather bag. He frowned at me as I approached. His tone was blunt but not unfriendly.

  “Who are you?”

  I thought about the question for a moment while he watched me. “What would you say,” I asked, “if I said I represented Omega, and advised you to refrain from the meeting you are planning.”

  His face flushed and his eyes blazed. “I’d tell you to go to hell and stop harassing me! God damn it! Who in the hell do you think…!”

  I raised my hand. He stopped talking, looked at my hand and then at my face, like he thought I was crazy. I said, “Has she been in touch yet?”

  “What? Who?”

  “Marni Gilbert.”

  “Yes… Who the hell are you?”

  I stepped closer to him and studied his face. He looked sincere. He looked like a pain in the ass, but a good man. “Be careful. These people are dangerous. They will kill you. They killed her father. They are ruthless. Do you understand me? Ask her what happened to her father.” I shook my head. “You’re a smart man, Professor, but you’re at risk. You’re both at risk. You’re both out of your depth. Tell her that.”

  I left. I looked back down at him when I got to the door. He still had a book in his hand and he was still staring at me.

  I went back into the bright glare of the late morning sun and sat in my car for a bit, watching the entrance. I pulled out a Pueblo cigarette, flipped my brass Zippo and leaned into the flame. I was trying to work out if what I had done was stupid or smart. It had been spontaneous and instinctual. I inhaled deeply and blew smoke out the window. I’d seen men like Engels before. They were brave, idealistic loud mouths, and mostly they were dead too. From the way he’d answered my first query, Omega had already been in touch with him. I knew if he kept mouthing off, sooner or later they’d come for him. And if Marni was trying to hook up with him, she would be at risk also. What I needed to do was persuade her, through him, to talk to me. From what I could see, they were both going off half-cocked and had no system, no plan. And they were both going to get each other killed.

  I waited an hour and smoked four cigarettes. Finally, I saw him come out. He stood on the steps and scanned the area for a while, probably looking for me. Finally, he made his way to a Buick and climbed in. I made a mental note of the plate and watched him pull away. When he was almost out of sight, I followed.

  I followed him onto the East Speedway Boulevard. He turned east and kept going straight for about ten minutes, till he came to North Kolb Road, where he turned south. There were low, flat buildings, tall thin palms and pale ochre dust as far as the eye could see, all under a glaring, white-blue sky. He kept going for aout five minutes or more and finally turned left on Stella Road.

  I turned in after him and slowed to keep my distance. He turned left into Cordova and then right into Brooks Drive. I parked and watched him pull into a driveway three hundred yards down the road, beside a gray Ford Focus.

  I waited twenty minutes and saw him come out again, climb into his car and head back toward the university. I waited another ten minutes and moved closer, till I had a clear view of the house. Then I phoned Domino’s and ordered a pizza, to be delivered to her address. I had time to smoke two more cigarettes before the guy on the scooter arrived. She opened the door herself. I sighed. It was a miracle she had survived as long as she had. They argued for a bit. I figured she was telling him she hadn’t ordered the damn pizza. Finally she took it, paid him and he went on his way.

  So now I knew where she was and why she was here. Or at least, I was pretty sure I knew. Now the question was, what was I going to do with that information?

  And I hadn’t a clue.

  Four

  I knew that if I approached her directly, she would bolt. I didn’t know why, but just as in Turret, Colorado, it seemed she wanted to let me know where she was and what she was doing—she wanted me to be there—but she was determined not to make direct contact. For the moment I just had to play her game and accept that was the way she wanted to operate.

  I stared out at the glaring sunshine, at the bizarre cactus gardens and the tall, thin palms against the stark blue sky. The stillness was almost oppressive. I drummed my fingers on the wheel and tried to concentrate.

  What had been the purpose of Engel’s visit? Had I scared him off? Had he come to tell her that he wanted no more contact with her? Knowing his type, I decided that was unlikely. If anything, he would have interpreted my warning as a threat, and that would have spurred him on to greater bravado.

  What then? He had come to pass on the warning; to tell her that Omega knew about her presence in Tucson, about her contacting him. To tell her they had sent somebody to threaten him. Would she guess it was me? Maybe. She was IQ smart, academic smart, but she wasn’t street smart or survival smart.

  For a moment, I felt the impulse to march in, grab her by the shoulders, and try to shake some sense into her, but I stopped myself. Instead, I sat and watched the house for the next five hours. As dusk closed in, I saw her pull the drapes and shut out the light from inside. I got out of my car and covered the distance to her Focus at a silent run. I reached in my pocket and pulled out one of the tracking devices I had brought with me, slipped it under the chassis, heard the satisfying magnetic clunk, and returned to my car. I sat a moment and checked the receiver. It was working well. At least if she drove anywhere I’d be able to follow her. It was a start.

  I turned the car around and headed back to Cissy’s place. I had Marni covered, at least partially and provisionally. Now it was time to go and have a chat with Red. Whatever I had told Cissy, I planned to scare the living daylights out of him. And if that wasn’t enough, I’d break a few damned bones. One thing was for certain. After tonight, he wouldn’t be beating anybody up again in a hurry.

  Cissy and I ate in almost total silence. I guess she had a bad combination of bruising, lack of sleep and a tequila hangover. When we’d finished, she muttered, “Goodnight,” and went up to bed. I gave her five minutes and went up to my room. I put on my shoulder holster under my jacket, slipped in the Sig with the regular magazine and put my Fairbairn & Sykes double-edged SAS fighting knife in my boot. I didn’t figure I’d need any more than that. Not tonight.

  I went down to my car and drove out toward the desert.

  Cissy had told me where the club was. It was called the Hawk’s Nest and it was about two miles south, on Camino del Oeste, on the edge of town. It was a one-storey building set back thirty feet from the road, with a 1950s style neon sign over the door that spelled out the name in green and red, with a picture of a hawk instead of an apostrophe between the ‘k’ and the ‘s’. It looked unearthly against the night sky.

  There were a dozen Harleys parked in the forecourt, and a similar number of pick-ups. I could hear the throb of music from inside: a wholesome woman singing about how she missed her man, to the whine of a slide guitar. I crossed the lot and pushed through the door.

  The place was warm and noisy. It was a basic concrete box, with wooden rafters and a couple of cartwheels on the walls. The air was thick with tobacco smoke, talk, and laughter, overlaid with Lady Antebellum howling about just one kiss. It was full, and as the vehicles outside had suggested, about half the patrons were bikers and Angels, and the other half were rednecks. I
have nothing against either. And if I ever had to trust my life to anybody, I’d sooner pick a redneck than a preacher, any day of the week.

  I pushed through the crowd and leaned on the bar. The guy who stepped up to serve me was six-three and had a face like a roadmap of the dark side of life. He was native American Indian or Mexican, and had long hair tied in a ponytail. It went all the way down to the big knife he had in his waistband behind his back. He didn’t ask me what I wanted, he jerked his chin at me.

  “Is Red in?” The shake of his head was barely perceptible. “Give me a beer.”

  He went away to get a bottle from the fridge. He cracked it and put it in front of me. “What you want with Red?”

  “He said he might have a job for me.”

  His eyes gave me a quick once-over. “Kind of job?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I’m here.”

  He pulled a face and shrugged in a way that suggested he couldn’t even be bothered to pull a face and shrug. Then he walked away. I found a table that gave me a view of the bar and I sat down to wait. It wasn’t long before a pretty Mexican girl came and sat next to me.

  “Hey, I’m Lucia. You all alone tonight?”

  I nodded. “Yup. And that’s how I aim to stay.”

  My tone wasn’t hostile so she didn’t go away. She pouted instead. “Aw, you ain’t real friendly!”

  “It’s nothing personal. I have business tonight.”

  Her eyes lit up at the word and she leaned forward. “What kind of business?”

  I smiled all over the right side of my face. “The kind that’s none of yours.”

  She grinned. “Blow? You got some? We can party for free if you got some blow.”

  I shook my head. “Not tonight.”

  She sagged and suddenly looked bored. “At least buy a girl a drink.”

  “Who’s the guy behind the bar?”

  “Chetan? That’s Red’s partner. He’s a mean son of a bitch.”

  I gave her ten bucks. “Have a drink. We’ll party some other night. Where’s Red?”

  She took the bill without comment. “What’s tonight, Tuesday? He’ll be at the border tonight, and Friday.”

  “What’s at the border?”

  She raised a perfect eyebrow at me. “You ask a lot of questions, mister.”

  “Yeah? Information is power. Didn’t you know that?”

  She pointed a finger at me. “You better be careful. That kind of talk can get you hurt around these parts.”

  I watched her walk up to the bar, looking for somebody who might be looking for her. Then I looked around with more interest. Lucia was obviously part of what was on offer here, and as I scanned the place I began to see more girls who were selling their services. There were maybe six of them, all Mexican, all cute. So Red and Chetan ran a brothel with Mexican whores. Maybe the job he wanted to offer me was muscle to protect his girls. But I couldn’t help wondering, while I sat there and waited, what he was doing at the border. Collecting more girls? How many did he need?

  Then I remembered how Lucia had reacted when I’d said I was there on business. Her automatic response was to assume it was blow. So Red was running whores and cocaine. He was as unoriginal as he was stupid.

  Up at the bar, Lucia was talking to six Angels. They were laughing a lot and a couple of them kept groping her. She was laughing back and slapping their hands. I couldn’t hear her but she was clearly saying, don’t handle the goods till you’ve paid. Things got a little physical and Chetan strolled up. There was some talk. Money changed hands and three of the Angels went out back with Lucia. She glanced at me as she passed and I saw fear in her eyes. Not panic. Just a little fear.

  Shit happens.

  Twenty minutes went by. During that time I saw a few guys snorting coke. I couldn’t see where they were getting it, but it was clear this was a joint where the cops didn’t drop in unannounced. I wondered if Chetan was selling it behind the bar. I guessed he was, but I didn’t see anything to confirm it.

  The three Angels came back in one by one, looking smug, like they’d done something smart that nobody else could do. When the last one was in, Lucia didn’t follow, and from the mimes and the laughter that was going down at the bar I could figure why. She’d made a lot of money tonight, but she’d spend a week nursing the bruises. It occurred to me that these were the people—this was the humanity—that Marni and Engels were trying so hard to save.

  But who was I to judge?

  That was when Red came in. I watched him walk to the bar, slap a few backs, laugh, and then exchange a nod and a couple of words with Chetan. Chetan jerked his head in my direction and Red turned, saw me and narrowed his eyes. He said something to his partner, who gave him a bottle of beer, and he brought it over to my table and sat down.

  “You get around, mister. Every time I look, there y’are.”

  I let him finish and counted to three slowly before I answered. “You said you might have a job for me. I thought I’d drop in and say hello.”

  He shook his head. “I said I’d keep my eyes open. That ain’t the same thing.”

  “Have you got a job for me?”

  “Nope.”

  “Are you sure?”

  His pale blue eyes said he was getting pissed. “I just got through telling you…”

  I sat forward and put my elbows on the table. I looked him in the eye and nodded toward the Angels at the bar. “See those six guys there? They just put one of your girls out of action for a week at least. I don’t know how much they paid her, but I’m willing to bet it’s not as much as she’ll make for you over seven nights.”

  His expression changed. I was talking his language. He shrugged. “Things get hot here and sometimes the girls get hurt. It’s the way it goes.” He laughed like he thought I was stupid. “Besides, those are Angels. You don’t say no to the Angels.”

  “You’re scared of the Angels?” He didn’t like that. I didn’t give a damn. I’d come here to break both his arms, but now I was thinking I might go a little further. “Who else you scared of? You’re doing business down at the border, that means you’re treading on somebody’s toes. I figure you’re treading on Mexican toes.”

  “You got a big mouth, boy.”

  I spoke real quiet. “Pick the most dangerous man in this bar, Red. I’m going to break the fingers of his left hand. Then I’ll break his right elbow. After that I’ll break his left knee. Then I’ll break his neck; and after that I’ll kill his best friend. If I do that, will you give me a job?”

  I could see contempt and fear fighting for dominance on his face. Confusion trumped them both. “You kill anyone in this bar, boy, an’ I’ll shoot you myself, like a mad dog. You want to impress me, get the goddamn Mexicans off my back. Meantime, get the hell out of my club. I don’t like you.”

  I smiled. “You will.”

  And it would be the biggest mistake he ever made. The most dangerous man in the bar, apart from me, was Chetan, and Red was his best friend. And I planned to make good on my promise. I stood.

  “Be seeing you, Red.”

  Five

  I was up at five and went for a run in the desert. It was dark and real cold, and the stars were like shards of ice. I trained for an hour and then ran back. Had a cold shower and went down for breakfast at half seven. Cissy was up and in the kitchen making coffee. She gave me a smile that was as real as canned laughter.

  “Mornin’! You were up early! How’d it go last night? Red offer you a job?”

  “Nope.”

  “Aww…! That’s a shame. Guess you’ll be movin’ on then, huh?”

  “Nope.”

  She looked distressed. “Well, look, Mister. I can get your money back. You really oughta…”

  “Cissy.”

  She sighed. “Yeah?”

  “I am not here looking for work. I am here to do a job. Once the job is done, I’ll leave.”

  She looked sick. “What job?”

  “That doesn’t concern you.”
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  “Has it got anything to do with Red?”

  I smiled and made it look reassuring. “You don’t need to worry about Red.”

  I stepped into the front garden and collected a bundle of newspapers, including the New York Times, from the end of the drive, and brought them back inside. Cissy stared at me as she put a plate of pancakes and a pot of coffee on the table.

  “What’s that?”

  I sat and started going through the classified ads. “Newspapers. You should try them. They’re better than the TV.”

  She sat. I glanced at her. She still looked uncomfortable. “I don’t get no news papers.”

  “I do. I ordered them yesterday.”

  “Sounds like you’re planning on settling in.” She didn’t sound thrilled by the prospect. I smiled to myself as I opened the next paper. “Just a couple of days or three, Cissy. And I promise you’ll be better off by the time I leave.”

  I found the ad in the New York Times, in the ‘Lost and Found’ section. It said, ‘Kyle Rees, you have seen what you came to see. Now go home. Do your reading.’

  I felt a hot pellet of anger in my belly, threw the paper on the table and sat drinking my coffee while Cissy buttered a pancake and chewed her lip. Kyle Rees, the loyal, obedient soldier, pawn of fate, father of the great hero, but destined never to be the hero himself. Born to serve, never to lead. I wondered sourly what that made Engels. Was he John Connor? I dismissed the thought, along with Marni, from my mind.

  “So what does gossip say about where the Mexicans cross?”

  She looked surprised. “Huh?”

  “You don’t read papers, but you must hear talk. What do people say? There some town ’round here where the Mexicans come in?”