Chapter 12

 

There were twenty-seven power sockets in their suite. Thirty-two light switches. Seven lamps…

“Julia,” Patricia snapped. “Stop pacing.”

Julia dragged her eyes away from the lamp. Seven. There were seven. She’d stopped beside the desk. The notepad didn’t line up with the corner. The pen wasn’t parallel to the pad. Julia fixed it. Still wrong. It was still wrong. No balance. That was it. She pulled open the drawer, took out a second pad and pen and placed them in the opposite corner to the ones that were already there. Better. She turned the pens so that the hotel logo faced upwards. Her fingers twitched to switch the lamp off and on. Three times. It needed to happen three times. She spun and paced to the window while she could still resist the urge.

She placed her palms flat on the glass and rested her forehead between them. Cool. Hard. Somehow soothing. With eyes closed, she rolled her forehead, feeling the pressure against the bone. It helped.

A hand rested on her back. Julia jerked out from under it and gave her gran a strained smile.

“I’m trying,” she said.

“I know.”

Patricia folded her arms, aware that Julia couldn’t bear touch. Not right then. She felt like her skin had been sensitised. The air in the room acted like tiny knives against it. Even her hair rasped against her skin. Julia dug around in her bag, which was still across her body, and pulled out a hair tie. She tied her hair up in a messy bun at the back of her neck.

Her eyes drifted to the window. The canyon bowl La Paz sat in was lit up in the darkness. All around them were walls of blinking lights, stretching up into the night sky. Joe was out there. Somewhere. Pain speared through her stomach at the thought. They should never have left him. Never.

It was wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong…

“Julia.” Her grandmother’s voice was firm, pushing through the tight band of panic squeezing Julia’s chest. “I have medicine for the altitude sickness.” She held up a pill and a glass of water.

Julia didn’t know where the water had come from. She wanted to tell her gran, remind her that she needed the water in a bottle. A sealed bottle. Joe would have remembered. Her eyes drifted towards the lights again. Where was he? Was he still alive?

No. No. She couldn’t think like that. No.

“Pill, Julia. You can’t afford to get sick again.”

Her eyes snapped to her gran. She was right. She had to stay well. To help Joe.

“Thank you.” Julia took the pill and the water. But she walked over to the bar fridge and took out a bottle, leaving the glass on the bench.

The pill stuck in her throat.

“Still no answer.” Ed’s voice was grim.

They’d been trying to call Joe since arriving at their suite.

“I have to think,” Julia announced, drawing confused looks from both of them.

What she wanted to do was sit in the closet while she did it. But that was one step shy of being completely insane, and she wasn’t there yet. Instead, she pulled an armchair over to the corner where the window met the wall. She put the chair at an angle, so her back was facing the corner. Then she sat in the chair, her feet on the seat. She reached into her bag to get her iPad, and her fingers hit the laptop she’d taken from Juan Pablo. In her fear for Joe, the items she’d taken from the dealer’s shop had slipped her mind.

“Ed?” She called over to the man who was busy whispering to her grandmother. Neither of them did a good job at hiding their worry.

“What can I do for you, querida?”

“Can you go through this computer? I need you to look for the sale of the mummy. If you start with transactions on the date Marcus sold it to Juan Pablo, that would be good. We’re looking for a name, or a way to track down the person who has the mummy.”

“Of course.” Ed took the laptop from her and headed for the desk.

“After you’ve had a look, I’ll see if we can set up a remote connection for Elle. If there’s hidden information on that laptop, she’ll find it.”

He nodded and pulled out the chair. A moment later he was hunched over the machine, with Patricia looking over his shoulder.

Julia took out her iPad and started to go through the copious amount of notes she’d made since her grandmother called her for help. Patterns. She was good at patterns. Good at planning. Good at making things fit a schedule. Good at seeing details nobody else could see.

A thought. “Ed?” He instantly looked over at her. “Did you call the police? There were sirens. Maybe Joe is in custody.”

“Of course.” Ed reached for his phone. Then paused. “I’ll try the hospitals too.”

Julia focused on breathing. Slow in and out. She tapped out a rhythm against her leg. Three times through the rhythm. That was enough. Back to the notes.

Focus. She had to focus.

 

 

 

“It’s gorgeous here.” Elle was bubbling with so much enthusiasm that it hurt Callum’s head.

He glanced over at the blue-haired tech as she rubbernecked out the car window on their drive from the airport into central La Paz.

“Why doesn’t she have altitude sickness?” Ryan complained, clutching his stomach.

“Look at all the lights. They go right up the mountains. Oh, I can’t wait to see the mountains in daylight. Can you believe how many skyscrapers there are here? Does Bolivia get earthquakes? If they do, those buildings wouldn’t be good in an earthquake. Oh, look at the women in their traditional dress. I want a skirt like that.”

“Make it stop,” Ryan wailed, and Callum had to agree with him.

He turned the wheel and swung their car out into an even busier road. Half the cars on the road should have been sold for scrap years earlier. His phone buzzed, and Callum reached onto the dash for it, hitting the speaker option.

“I need help. Who do you know in La Paz that you can call now? Right now.”

Joe.

“What’s going on?” Callum snapped.

There was silence in their car. All attention on the call.

“Got jumped. Julia, Patricia and Ed got away. I hope. We got separated. The cops came. We scattered but I was chased. I’m holed up in a basement. I can’t see a way out.”

“Why the hell didn’t you call Ed?”

“I lost my phone and stole this one. I can’t remember Ed’s number and I don’t want to freak Julia out. Basically it was call you or Grunt. Consider yourself honoured. I called you first.”

“Guess this means you two are going steady,” Ryan said, earning a glare from Callum.

“What do you need?” Callum said as he navigated the traffic.

“I need somebody, anybody, to take out the assholes who’ve got me pinned. Tell me you’ve got somebody you can call. Hell, pick a name out of the yellow pages, I don’t care, but I need someone now.”

“Where are you?”

Joe rattled off an address and Elle typed it into the GPS on the dash. She gave Callum a nod once it was loaded.

“That’s an approximate location,” Joe said. “But these guys shouldn’t be that hard to miss.”

“Description?” Callum took the turns indicated by the GPS.

“Short. South American. Armed,” Joe answered.

“Helpful,” Elle muttered.

Callum turned a corner fast, making Ryan moan as he reached for the panic handle. They drove into a cobblestone road that seemed to head straight up the mountain. It was crowded, with everything from women selling chewing gum, to guys loitering for no reason at all.

“You made that call yet?” Joe sounded strained.

“No need,” Callum said. “You already have somebody coming your way.”

“Who?”

“Me,” Callum said.

“And me,” Ryan and Elle chimed in.

“How?” For once, the American sounded stunned.

“We just flew in on Rachel’s jet—”

“Her dad’s jet,” Elle interrupted.

“—heading here to save your sorry backside,” Callum continued.

“We just didn’t know it’d need saving this soon,” Ryan added.

Callum blasted his horn to get people off the middle of the street.

“Damn it, they’ve lost patience,” Joe whispered. “Somebody’s trying to sneak in.”

“Don’t hang up,” Callum ordered. “I’m hitting mute; we’ll hear you but you won’t hear us. Tell me when it’s safe to talk again.”

“Copy.”

Callum’s attention was split between the narrow road, crowded with people, and the noises coming from his phone.

“I hacked the local CCTV,” Elle said from the passenger seat, her fingers flying over her ever-present laptop. “There are literally no public cameras in the area Joe’s holed up in.” She snapped her computer shut in disgust.

“So we’re going in blind,” Ryan said.

“The end of the street he mentioned is up here on the left.” Elle pointed to the darker end of the street where houses were smaller and the crowd had thinned.

Callum pulled the car over and climbed out. “You drive,” he told Elle, who scooted across to take the wheel. He hesitated. “Do you know how to drive this?”

The car had been modified for disabled users, with the accelerator and brake as levers instead of pedals.

Elle gave him a look of disgust and revved the engine.

Callum left her to it and strode to the back of the car. He popped the boot and took out their weapons bag. He handed Ryan a Beretta with an extra clip and took one for himself. He was just about to close the trunk when he realised that once Ryan and he had gone in to rescue Joe, Elle would be left vulnerable. He gritted his teeth. This was why he should have stayed with the military—no civilians to worry about during an op. But then the SAS hadn’t wanted him when he’d lost his legs, so his choice of teammates had been greatly reduced.

“At the first sign of trouble,” Callum told Elle when he climbed back into the car, “leave and head for the hotel where the others are staying.”

Elle eyed the gun in his hand. “Why don’t I get a gun?”

“Because you’d probably shoot yourself,” Ryan said. “Or worse, one of us.”

“What makes you think I don’t know how to use a gun? I work for a security company.”

Callum turned to stare at her. “Well?”

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know how to fire a real gun, but I’m freaking awesome with one in Grand Theft Auto.”

Callum turned to look back out the windscreen while Elle took the corner into Joe’s street.

“Fantastic,” Ryan said to Elle. “Next time we’re in trouble in an online game, we’ll call you for help.”

“Slow down,” Callum ordered.

For once, Elle did as she was told. They scanned the dimly lit street. Unlike the crowded area they’d left a moment ago, this was deserted.

“There.” Callum pointed, and they craned to see.

Peeking out of a doorway about two-thirds of the way down the street was a huge guy. With a gun.

“I thought he said they were short?” Elle said. “How did he miss this guy? He’s Goliath around here.”

“He isn’t even trying to blend,” Ryan said in disgust.

“He doesn’t need to.” Callum scanned the street. It was shut up tight. “The locals have scattered. Ryan, you get out. Take this side. Elle will drive past and drop me at the other end. Then you park around the corner and wait. Got it?”

He got a round of agreement. Elle pulled over, long enough to let Ryan slip out before she was back in motion. As they passed the house Callum suspected held Joe, he spotted three men. Two flanking the building, hiding in doorways and aiming at the house. The third was sneaking along the perimeter wall, aiming for a window low in the building.

“There.” Callum pointed to a particularly dark section of street.

Elle slowed for him to get out. “Don’t die,” she said cheerily before he shut the door and the car continued down the street into the darkness.

Callum wondered again what the hell he’d been thinking when he’d bought into Benson Security, then he put all of that out of his mind and made his way towards Joe.

 

 

There was one window into the basement. The one Joe had been forced to climb through when he’d been cornered. The interior door had been barricaded from the other side. Judging by the locks on the door, the barricading was a standard security habit of the homeowner. Great for the guy who owned the house; not so good for the idiot trapped in his basement.

This whole thing was one huge screw-up. He should never have taken Julia and Patricia to talk to Juan Pablo. He’d buried his damn primitive streak, the one that screamed he had to protect Julia, just so he wouldn’t freak her out. And where had it gotten him? Yeah, he was trapped in an empty house, with a knife wound in his side and a busted lip. Not to mention the bruises that would hurt like a bitch in the morning. But the worst part, the part that was driving him insane, was that he didn’t even know if Julia was safe.

He heard a scraping in the courtyard outside the window. Courtyard. He silently scoffed. It was a strip of dirt between the perimeter wall and the house. The guy attempting to sneak up on him wasn’t trained worth a damn. Experienced, yes. Trained, no. A rookie marine would make less noise than this asshole.

Joe scanned the room behind him, looking for something to board the window, or to hide behind. There was a sink in the corner, piles of woven cloths and a tonne of rodent droppings, but not a whole lot else. He was a sitting duck.

He inched across the room and crouched beneath the window, aiming his gun upwards. If this guy had any sense, he’d hold steady at the window and let his friends creep in to cover him. That was the only way they’d get Joe, if they worked as a team. Otherwise, he planned to pick them off one at a time until Callum arrived.

A stillness overcame him as he waited for his prey. Unlike the men after him, Joe had been trained for this. Not only trained, he’d lived it. Day in, day out for over a decade. He felt emotion drift away and logic take its place. He was ready. He would get out. He’d get back to Julia, and then they were going to have a long talk about following orders in the field. He’d heard her shouting for him. Heard her fighting to get to him. Heard Ed drag her away. As much as her actions warmed his heart, they made the rest of him turn cold. What if she’d been hurt? No. He couldn’t think about it. Not now. Later.

A noise above him. Joe looked up and saw the idiot’s gun poke through the window. He almost shook his head at the stupidity. Reaching up, he grabbed the idiot’s arm and, using all of his upper body strength, pulled his pursuer into the room.

His gun went off. There was shouting outside. A scuffle. Joe noted it in an academic sense. He had the guy disarmed and unconscious in seconds. Amateur.

“You all right in there?” Callum’s deep Scottish brogue cut through the silence.

“Yeah.” Joe looked up at the window as Callum’s head appeared. “Took you long enough.”

“Had to come all the way from London,” the grumpy bastard said. He nodded at the guy at Joe’s feet. “He dead?”

“Not yet.” The asshole had tried to kill him. Worse, he’d tried to kill Julia. It was only a matter of time before Joe returned the favour.

“What do you want to do with him?”

That was the sixty-four-million-dollar question. “Probably a good idea to question him. Make sure more of Juan Pablo’s crew won’t come after us.”

“Then he’s coming with us.” Callum turned and whistled. A moment later, Ryan appeared.

“You couldn’t have got yourself in a mess at sea level, could you?” He looked a bit green around the gills.

“Lift your guy up and feed him out to us,” Callum said.

“What about the other guys?” Joe said. “Can’t we use them? This son of a bitch looks heavy.”

Callum’s eyes were flat. “That isn’t possible.” In other words, they weren’t alive enough to talk.

“Damn it.” This was going to open the knife wound in his side again, and it had just stopped bleeding.

He bent over and lifted the guy with a grunt, throwing him over his shoulders in a fireman’s hold. Joe backed up to the window and aimed the guy through the opening. There was a thud. Joe looked around, but didn’t see anything. He angled the guy at the window again and shoved. Two more thuds. This time Joe realised what it was. The guy’s head had hit the wall. Hell.

Joe looked up at Callum, who was staring down at him as though he was completely incompetent. Ryan was trying not to laugh.

“I’m injured,” Joe said. “One of you want to climb in here and heave him out the window?”

“You’re doing great.” Ryan choked the words out.

“Asshole.”

Joe thought the guy’s head had probably suffered enough, so he turned and tried to angle him out the window feet first.

“Somebody reach in and pull his ankles,” Joe ordered as he lifted the guy’s legs to the window.

It was too high. The angle was off. The guy slipped right off Joe’s shoulder and landed on the concrete floor. Head first.

“Well, hell.” Joe looked down at him.

“He still alive?” Callum said.

Joe knelt and felt for a pulse. Nothing. There went their informant. He stood, hands on his hips, and stared down at his now-dead attacker. When he looked back up at Ryan and Callum, Callum was shaking his head and Ryan was staring at the sky while biting his lip.

“We never mention this again,” Joe said.

“Scout’s honour,” Ryan said.

Joe crouched over the man, rolled him on to his back and checked his pockets for ID. There was nothing. But he did recognise him as the guy who’d used a knife on him in the alley.

He stood and reached for the ledge, ready to pull himself up.

“Mind the walls,” Ryan said. “Wouldn’t want you to hurt your head.”