The sun was warm on cain's face. above him, a yellow- and-white-striped awning dotted with dried insects?apped on a lazy breeze. He was quite at home sitting outside a cafe overlooking the boardwalk in an exclusive part of Marina del Rey. He could see himself living in a place just like this. Then again, seven hundred grand wouldn't buy him a toolshed here.
Beyond a six-foot wall was a yacht valued at more than?ve million bucks. In keeping with the area, even the concrete wasn't tacky. For its entire length, there was a bright mural lovingly painted in azure, emerald, and stark, brilliant white. Beyond it, he could hear the lapping of the water, the groan of boats as they moved against the pilings of the dock. Gulls wheeled above the masts that heaved like a forest in a gentle breeze.
Against his better judgment, Cain had allowed Telfer to enter the private harbor alone. Before agreeing, he'd?rst made sure that the only exit-apart from the open sea-was through the wrought-iron gate thirty yards to his right. It was of course the only way the deal could be struck. Telfer had argued that his buyer would panic if he saw a stranger tailing him onto the boat. In that case his likely assump tion would be that Telfer had set him up, and he would do one of two things: refuse to negotiate or, worse, have Telfer and Cain sunk to the bottom of the sea at the next high tide.
Cain had to agree. Though he wasn't happy about relinquishing either the bag of goodies or Telfer, had he walked aboard the yacht with a gun trained on Telfer, he could say good-bye to the promised riches and to the reckoning he still planned for him.
A waitress brought Cain an espresso in a cup hardly bigger than a thimble. He drank it in one gulp and ordered a second. The woman gave him an odd look that he greeted with a sour expression of his own. She went off to fetch another.
"Make it a double," Cain called after her, as though ordering whiskey at a Wild West saloon.
When she returned, she placed the cup-more like a teacup this time-on his table, then hurried off before he could tie up any more of her precious time. Service, it appeared, was not customary for those who came to ogle the rich dudes' yachts.
Fifteen minutes passed without any activity. Cain was sure that Telfer hadn't slipped away undetected, unless he'd snorkeled his way to freedom beneath the waves.
Still, he was beginning to grow uncomfortable.
Fifteen minutes wasn't a long time for someone to make a deal for seven hundred thousand, but it was?fteen minutes too long for Cain. Scenarios were beginning to play out in his mind, and he knew he couldn't wait another five minutes. His inner pessimist was working overtime.
What if Telfer had done the deal, but then appealed to his business partners to help him escape? What if they'd already called the cops, telling them that a self-confessed killer was sitting outside, sipping bitter coffee at the harbor side? What if, even now, plainclothes detectives were creeping up on him, disguised as rich men in Armani suits?
He surreptitiously scanned the boardwalk. Could there be police posing as tourists who, like him, feigned interest in the elegant yachts? Are they moving on me now? he wondered.
It was enough to make him squirm. Cain didn't like squirming. He liked to make others squirm.
"Enough is enough," he told himself.
Telfer had too much to lose if the police became involved. Okay, his life would be back in his own hands, and likely he would get the money, but chances were that the police would be onto him and his business associates as thick as stink on a mangy goat.
Knowing the way a thief's mind worked, Cain believed that Telfer would do the deal, then return to him with the hope of escaping and relieving him of the money when a healthier opportunity presented itself. If the tables were turned, that's exactly what he'd do. So he could do nothing but bide his time and take charge again when Telfer returned with the money.
He might as well enjoy the sunshine and his coffee.
Then he saw the two men.
They were both dark, with wavy hair and thin mustaches. Both wore silk suits and tooled leather loafers without socks. They were alike in so many ways that they could be brothers. The only thing that differentiated them was that the slightly taller of the two wore a gauze dressing on one ear. The bandage stuck out like a blind cobbler's thumb.
Something else; they carried guns. Not out in the open, but pushed down the backs of their trousers. He could see the telltale bulge in their lower backs as they sauntered past. He couldn't make out what they were saying; not only were they conversing in hushed tones, but they were speaking in Spanish or Portuguese. Cain could speak?ve languages, but-unfortunately-none of them of Mediterranean descent.
Ordinarily the men's presence wouldn't have alarmed him. It wouldn't be unknown for armed security to prowl the harbor side.
But there was something about these men that rang his inner alarm. Their furtive approach to the gate was untoward, as was the way they glanced up at the rigging of the yacht Telfer had boarded and nodded to each other in af?rmation. Then there was the way they sauntered along while unconsciously glancing over their shoulders every couple of steps. They were so obviously trying to remain inconspicuous that their presence screamed at high volume.
Cain couldn't sit on his thumbs any longer. He rattled a handful of coins onto the table and stood up, gulping down the remains of his espresso. After he'd stretched and rolled his neck, he fell into step behind the two men. Unlike them, he stayed close to the entrances of the cafes and boutiques lining the harbor, using his cover as a browsing tourist to mask his interest. Without alerting them, he got to within?ve yards of them.
They still conversed in whispers, but one word stood out. He heard it mentioned twice. A name. Telfer. And he knew that the men Telfer was running from had?nally caught up with him.
Oh, such a dilemma. But oh, what a challenge. Cain smiled to himself, slipped his hands into his pockets, and caressed his keepsakes. Pretty soon, he decided, more bones would be joining his collection. Happy with the thought, he watched as the two men approached the pier gate that Telfer had passed through to get to the boat. One guy hailed the security guard sitting in a booth on the other side. The guard walked over, looking ridiculous in pale blue shirt, knee-length Bermuda shorts, and deck shoes, with a peaked cap perched jauntily above his sun-weathered face.
One of the men flashed something at the guard. Just a brief glimpse, but Cain got the impression of a badge in a leather wallet. The guard looked impressed, and not a little excited. He nodded vigorously as he bent to unlatch the gate. All that was missing was a tug of the forelock.
Cain's smile grew sour. Anyone worth their salt could get hold of fake credentials; the guard needed a good kick in the ass for not pay ing more attention to the man's ID. Likely he was a frustrated wannabe cop who couldn't help but worship those who carried the badge for real. His fawning was almost sickening.
The two Latinos were admitted to the inner compound. One of them rewarded the guard with a pat on the shoulder and the guard looked like he was ready to salute. He was still standing with a hand on the open gate, watching the two men walk along the pier toward the boats, when Cain stepped up behind him.
"Excuse me," Cain said, and the guard turned to him.
"Yes, sir, how may I help you?"
"I'm Special Agent Kennedy. FBI. First off, you can keep your voice down," Cain said. He used a tone like he was about to reward the man with a message of great importance. Hooked, the guard looked at him expectantly. Cain leaned in close and whispered, "This is a matter of extreme sensitivity."
Cain steered the guard back toward his booth. "Can we speak inside?"
Caught up in the mystery of the moment, the guard allowed himself to be propelled toward the booth. He even opened the door and allowed Cain to press inside the booth with him. The enclosed space had the locker-room smell of sweat.
The guard was pressed up against the single chair, almost buckling at the knees. He didn't object. He accepted this invasion of his personal space as simply one aspect of the clandestine encounter.
Cain asked, "The two men who just entered, what did they say to you?"
"They said they were with the government," the guard answered quickly. "Agents Ramos and Esquerra. They wanted to know the location of Mr. Carson's boat. Why do you ask, sir?"
"Because I'm a real government agent and those two aren't," Cain said. He tipped a nod toward Carson's boat. "You mean their badges were fake? Damn."
"As fake as Pamela Anderson's breasts," Cain told him.
The guard appeared stunned at Cain's choice of words. "I didn't know," he?nally said, as though in apology. Cain couldn't decide if he meant the men's badges or Pammy's main assets, but he let the notion pass without smiling. He said, "They're a pair of international drug traf?ckers, and I'm about to bust them wide open."
"You are? All alone? Don't you have backup or something?"
Cain shook his head in mock disappointment. "Me and my partner got separated. I don't even have my goddamn walkie-talkie with me to get in touch with him. These guys are real good. We've been after them for months. When I spotted them, I had no option but to follow them."
The guard was nodding along with each new nugget Cain fed him. "You want me to telephone for help?"
"I'd appreciate it if you would," Cain said.
"No problem," said the guard, turning to sit down. As he picked up the receiver and brought it to his ear, Cain was happy that the guard was suf?ciently distracted. Plus, sitting in the chair, he was out of sight of any passersby. Pretending to spy out the window at the receding men, Cain leaned over him. He pulled out his scaling knife.
"Who should I call?" the guard asked. "The FBI?"
"No, 911 will do," Cain told him. "Maybe you'd best call for an ambulance."
The guard didn't detect the change in tone. In fact, he didn't detect anything more than the pressure of Cain's hand on his shoulder. He glanced up and back, and as he did so, Cain drew the knife across his exposed throat. Re?exively the guard dropped the telephone receiver, reached toward his throat, but already he'd lost control of his extremities and his palms?opped uselessly against his upper chest. Blood spurted from his severed arteries. Cain held him, placing steady pressure on the guard's shoulders to keep him from rising out of the chair. The guard's feet kicked and skidded in the blood pooling beneath them.
It didn't take long.
He was dead before the two Latinos made it to Carson's yacht.
"Totally inept," Cain told the unhearing guard. "No wonder your application to the LAPD was denied."
With no time for keepsakes, he paused only to pull down a screen that closed off any view into the interior of the booth. He felt around in the guard's pocket and found a bunch of keys, which he used to lock the door behind him.
The two bogus agents were poised at the base of a gangway that led to Carson's yacht. There was a third man on the boat itself, and he had a radio pressed to his ear. As Cain began walking toward them, he saw the third man nod, and the two Latinos began the ascent of the ramp.
"What's going on here, then?" Cain wondered aloud. Telfer had said that the man he'd stolen the litho plates from employed the men following him. The guy on the boat, Mr. Carson, was a rival of their employer. So how come the two Latinos were given unchallenged access to the boat?
Only one conclusion: double-cross. Couldn't be anything else. Telfer had been set up. And by association, so had Cain. And that made him angry. He began to walk faster, his shoes squeaking on the boardwalk. He slipped his hand into the small of his back, came out holding the gun. With his other hand, he drew the Bowie.
Only twenty yards away he heard raised voices, and he began to hurry.
Ten yards from the yacht he heard harsh laughter, then, "You think I'm about to go to war with Hendrickson over you, you goddamn asshole?"
Then Telfer's voice: "You bastard, Carson. I trusted you." "Shame," said Carson. "Let that be a lesson for you. Money talks and shit walks, my friend."
"You-"
"Quiet!" someone barked. One of the Latino men. "You're coming with us, Telfer. Dead or alive, I don't really give a shit."
Then Cain was at the bottom of the gangway. Without pause, he went up it in two bounds. Stepping onto the deck, he saw the man with the radio. Minder, Cain decided. Probably one of a number of guards on the boat. Cain's arrival caused the man to turn. Before the surprise could even register in his face, Cain was chest to chest with him. The man grunted, looked down, and saw the handle of the Bowie knife jutting from beneath his breastbone.
"Quietly does it," Cain hushed him as he tugged down on the handle. By the law governing leverage, the blade's tip sawed upward. Eight inches of honed steel easily found the lower chambers of the man's heart. He was dead before he could make a further sound. Cain lowered the man to the deck, then tugged loose the blade, wiped it clean on the man's trousers, and turned toward the cabin door.
The yacht was huge, and the living area was about as plush as any?ve-star hotel Cain had ever seen. Wide sliding doors led to an elegantly furnished sitting area. It was all cut glass and sumptuous leather. Even chandeliers. A massive plasma screen satellite TV dominated the forward wall. Then there were the six men.
John Telfer was sitting in a chair across a glass table from an older man in an open-neck shirt and tan slacks. His hair and the tufts that poked from his chest were white, standing out against his deep tan. That'll be Carson, then, Cain decided.
On the table was Telfer's backpack, open to show the spurious treasure within, and a briefcase that was shut tight. Inside it, Cain guessed, was the seven hundred grand. The two Latinos were there, their backs to Cain. He noted that they hadn't yet drawn their guns, but the two other men in the room had. These were minders, like the man Cain had just stabbed. Hard-faced men who crowded Telfer yet wore cautious expressions in front of the Latinos.
Cain detected movement on the deck above him. He glanced up, ready to lift the gun, and saw a young bikini-clad woman move hurriedly away.
One of two things was about to happen. The bitch would have the good sense to get the hell off the boat, or she was going to set up a racket to alert her sugar daddy in the cabin. Cain couldn't take the chance it would be the second option. He had to act now, while he still had surprise on his side. And with the decision came action. He only had six bullets and he had to make them count. The minders first.
Cain stepped up to the doorway. One of the sliding partitions was open, so he stepped inside. He was only ten feet away from the?rst minder when he lifted the gun and?red. The man's head erupted in cherry-red fragments.
Then chaos ensued.
Chaos was fine with Cain. He loved chaos.
Telfer's face came up, registering shock, and not a little relief in a mad sort of way. The Latinos were spinning, both going for their guns, the second minder already rounding on Cain. Only Carson had the good sense to throw himself to the?oor and attempt to escape beneath a nearby counter.
Cain snorted, and shot the second minder. He hit the man in the right arm, the bullet passing through it into the?esh of his thick chest. The man went down, though Cain knew immediately he wasn't dead. Didn't matter, he'd dropped his gun, and he saw that Telfer had the presence of mind to snatch it up.
The two Latinos were next. Cain shot the one with the bandaged ear, hitting him in the thigh as the man leaped away. The bullet spun him, and the man went to the?oor at the feet of his friend. The second Latino was already bringing up his gun to?re, and Cain realized it was time to move. But instead of bolting for cover, he leaped farther into the room, shouting, "Move your ass, Telfer!"
The second Latino?red. Not at him, as Cain had hoped, but at Telfer. The bullet struck the back of Telfer's chair. Directly where his head had been an instant earlier. Telfer was already bent double over the glass table, reaching for the briefcase. As the Latino tried to draw another bead on Telfer, Cain shot him. Twice, once in the gut, then higher up at the jawline. The man went over backward, trailing a ribbon of blood that was stark against the chandeliers' twinkling lights.
Cain turned on Telfer. "Get a freakin' move on!"
Telfer snatched the briefcase to his chest, rising up at last. Cain stepped toward him. The gun trained on him. "Give me the gun."
Telfer shook his head. Lifted his own gun and pointed it at Cain.
"We haven't got time for this now," Cain warned him.
"No," Telfer said. "We haven't."
They both eyed each other over the ends of their guns.
"Let's get the hell out of here and worry about the rest later," Cain offered.
Before Telfer could accept or decline the invitation, a door burst open at the front of the cabin and another man skidded through. He had a compact Uzi submachine gun in his hands. He made a quick scan of the living area. To give him his due, the chaotic scene didn't appear to faze him much. He lifted the Uzi and let loose an arching stream of bullets as he thudded over to cover Carson. In the same instant the injured Latino rolled over, grabbing at the gun he'd dropped on the?oor. Two targets, one bullet, more coming his way. Cain decided the best course of action was to get out as quickly as possible.
As bullets churned the decor behind him, he?ung himself through a side window, crashing through glass to sprawl on the deck. Shouts came from inside the cabin, then Telfer was sprawling on the deck beside him, the briefcase clattering away from him. Telfer's shirt was bloody and he groaned as he rolled to his knees. Cain grabbed him, checking his hands.
"What the hell're you doing?" Telfer demanded.
"Where's your gun?" Cain snapped.
"I dropped it," Telfer said.
"Jesus Christ," Cain said. He slapped Telfer's shoulder. "Get the briefcase. We're out of here."
Telfer went on hands and knees, grabbing at the Samsonite case. He came back to Cain, the case against his chest. "That better be real money," Cain said.
"Course it is. I'm not a friggin' idiot."
Cain nodded, indicated the front of the boat. "That way. Now."
They both lurched up as the fourth minder appeared at the window they'd recently crashed through. He gave an angry shout, twisted so he could bring the Uzi into play. As he did, Cain sprang toward him with his Bowie knife. The knife connected before the man could depress the trigger, severing his thumb. The man screamed and the gun?opped sideways, bullets splintering the wooden deck next to Telfer. Cain chopped again, this time deep into the man's wrist and the man withdrew his seriously wounded arm from further harm.
Telfer was up and running. Cain glanced at him, then down at the deck. He paused in his?ight to retrieve the severed thumb, popping it into his pocket alongside his other mementos.
The bodyguard was back at the window again, but only to scream in abstract terror while he attempted to replace his drooping hand in its rightful place. Cain grinned at him, then charged after Telfer.
He caught up with Telfer at the helm of the yacht. Telfer was wide-eyed as he looked down at the seemingly bottomless gulf below them. The water had a turquoise sheen from the thin layer of diesel oil on its surface.
"Jump," Cain told him.
"No," Telfer said, the briefcase clutched tightly to him.
"Jump, Telfer."
"No way. I can't swim."
"Jesus Christ on a freakin' bike! You can't swim?"
Again Telfer shook his head.
"I don't believe it," Cain said. He grabbed at Telfer and propelled him toward the rail. "Get the hell over the side. If you think I've gone to all this trouble to let you drown…"
Telfer resisted, though he knew it was his only chance of survival. Even as he dithered, he could hear the slap of running feet from inside the cabin.
"One of them spicks is still alive," Cain snapped at him. "So are two of the guards and Carson. Any second now, they're going to be out here and we'll be dead. You got that?"
Telfer nodded but still held back from jumping.
"Oh, Holy Christ!" Cain said as he grabbed him and?ung him bodily over the railing. Telfer hit the water like a stone and sank immediately. Cain lifted a leg to the railing, just as the minder he'd shot in the arm rounded the deck. Blood had made a patchwork of his chest but he was still in the game. He had the Uzi and was already searching for a target.
Cain lifted his gun and fired.
Not at the man, but at the scuba-diving tanks he saw stacked neatly along one wall of the cabin. It was a desperate shot, one he hadn't time to calculate, but even as he plunged head?rst into the sea he felt the concussion of the explosion send shock waves through the water around him. Cain hit the water and swam deeper, his ears thrumming with the concussive blast, until his clawing hand found Telfer's shirt. Telfer twisted and tugged, in the throes of panic.
Cain cursed, letting loose a stream of bubbles. He couldn't get a grip on Telfer because he was also holding on to his Bowie. All the trouble he'd gone to in order to regain his knife and now this? He let the blade drop from his hand, watched it sink with a wistful look on his face until it was lost in the murk. Then he angrily grabbed hold of Telfer's clothing and kicked upward.
They broke the churning surface, Cain behind Telfer with an arm looped around his neck. Telfer gagged, spat, and sucked in great lungfuls of air as he cradled the briefcase to his chest like a baby. Cain guessed his death grip on the case had nothing to do with what was inside, but rather that the sealed case was a handy?otation device.
Twenty feet away, the yacht was on?re. When the tanks had gone up, they'd taken the minder with them, not to mention a good portion of the deck and cabin. Cain spied a bikini-clad?gure leaping from the boat into the water. Another?gure hobbled down the steps onto the pier, a white patch on the side of his head. Even from here, Cain could tell it was the remaining Latino.
Of the remaining minder and Carson, there was no sign. Perhaps the Latino had turned his gun on them before making his escape. But Carson appeared, staggered to the railing, and?red a handgun at the limping Latino trying to escape. His aim was useless, and the Latino made it to the shelter of a second boat. The Latino proved a better shot,?ring back at Carson three times in quick succession. Carson folded, somersaulted over the rail, and sprawled face?rst on the boardwalk. Didn't look like he'd be getting up again.
Cain paid them no further heed. He kicked with his feet, trawling Telfer and his precious cargo backward. They'd just made it to the ladder of a yacht about a hundred feet away when the air turned inferno hot around them. Cain held Telfer down, following him beneath the water as Carson's yacht erupted in a churning?reball that scattered steaming chunks of metal and wood across the harbor.