Chasing the White Lion, James Hannibal [ebook reader macos .TXT] 📗

so surprising to see a pair of women outsmart Atan, Rudenko, and Jafet, or best the White Lion at his own game?”

“I like your confidence, but no. I’m intrigued by your strange mash-up of do-wrong and do-right. You killed Bi Fan and Larson. You shot—” He laughed. “Forgive me. You executed Orien Jafet on behalf of Marco Calafato.” He threw his arms out to the sides. “The Marco Calafato. Word on the Jungle net is you and your sister are his daughters, and I believed that word. But then I heard a different rumor.” Boyd glanced at the foliage near Talia, as if another big cat might appear, stalking her.

But it wasn’t a cat.

The huge bodyguard who’d killed Riku Ishimoto emerged from the trees and fake boulders, leveling the same Desert Eagle .50-cal.

Boyd made a simple hand gesture, as if introducing an old acquaintance to a new one. “This is my associate Mr. Gorev. A friend of his told us you’re a CIA spy.”

CHAPTER

SEVENTY-

FIVE

GRAND BAZAAR

TWIN TIGERS COMPLEX

BANGKOK, THAILAND

VALARRIVEDATTHE GRAND BAZAAR with ten minutes to spare. Atan and Rudenko were already in place, putting the final touches on their bays, and Boyd’s master of ceremonies had all his people and decorations set just so, ready for the incoming flood of wealthy customers.

The fountain flowed with a spattering rush. The catering carts sizzled. The air hung thick with the scent of Mediterranean delights. On any other night, Val might have reveled in the glittering gold of this high-end den of thieves. But Aladdin’s Cave had lost its luster. A new awareness in her heart peeled back the veneer to show the gold for rusty, painted tin.

The night had lost its luster for Rudenko too. Val stayed out of his sight line, but she kept tabs. Confused workers ducked and dodged around his bay, shielding themselves against a torrent of abuse. Every so often, she heard a sad, airy squeak.

“Eddie, why are Rudenko’s bay workers holding armloads of chew toys?”

“Yeah, that.” The geek came through with static, but readable. “I swapped the registry numbers in the cargo database as a backup to the train heist. Don’t worry. When this is over, I’ll make sure”—he paused as if reading from his computer—“Beikbān Happy Pooch Dog Toys . . . gets their delivery.”

The Bluetooth signal from Eddie’s damaged hockey puck had faded to nil as Val reached the Grand Bazaar. But he had provided a solution. While the cell jammer in the maze was still up, Boyd had shut down the one in the Grand Bazaar to accommodate his guests. Val had found her original SATCOM earpiece taped to one of the many hard-shell cases delivered to Talia’s bay. She’d found something else as well—a remote detonator.

Boyd’s MC, wearing a sequined tux, stomped into the bay, surveyed the empty eight-by-eight cages, and jiggled the lock on one of the cases. “Open these crates. Fill your big empty cages with whatever it is you are selling. My guests are arriving soon.”

“You mean the White Lion’s guests?”

“Yes, yes. Whatever.” Gone was the goodwill earned by the tips she and Talia had given him. In the elevator the day before, if he really had expressed a hope the two would survive the game, he certainly regretted it now.

“I can’t help you. My sister and I dissolved our partnership. This is her bay, and these are her wares, not mine.”

This bought her a one-eyed squint. “Really. And where is your sister, may I ask?”

“With the White Lion. Go ahead and disturb them. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

His mouth fell open and snapped shut again. After another heartbeat of glaring, he marched away, thrusting a finger at one of the caterers. “Leave the champagne alone, you idiot! We start with the red. Always the red!”

She watched him stomp past Atan’s bay, and the Albanian caught her gaze. He grinned and waved a hand over his central display, a red table with a pile of gold coins.

“Atan has our spare change on display along with his pharmaceuticals. Talia’s cargo is in place. We’re all set.”

“COPY, VAL.” Tyler kept vigil at the edge of the plaza below, waiting in the shadows with Finn, Mac, and a Thai army colonel dressed in black body armor. “Hang tight.” He turned to the colonel. “Wait for my signal as well. If you and your men rush in early, you’ll blow the whole thing.”

CHAPTER

SEVENTY-

SIX

JUNGLE ATRIUM

TWIN TIGERS COMPLEX

BANGKOK, THAILAND

BOYDFINGEREDTHEWAXYLEAF of a rubber plant. “The reach of my Jungle syndicate is unending—a product of limitless crowdsourcing and years of acquisitions unchecked by laws.” Without taking his gaze from the foliage, he tilted his head, indicating his bodyguard. “I acquired Mr. Gorev, for instance, from a former client. Mr. Gorev had a unique skillset and one excellent contact which I desired. Now he works for me.”

“How efficient.” Talia shifted her weight, a subtle movement to keep Boyd in sight but refocus her energy toward the bigger threat—the bodyguard and his hand cannon. “And I suppose you had this former client liquidated to make Mr. Gorev a free agent?”

“Oh no. According to Mr. Gorev—the horse’s mouth, as it were—the credit for his previous employer’s liquidation belongs to you. Isn’t that right, Anton?”

“Da. Back then she was Natalia Wright, security consultant.”

The pieces slammed together in Talia’s eidetic mind, drawn by the cover name she’d used in the mission to stop Pavel Ivanov six months earlier. The Russian’s unmistakable voice. His stance. The slight cant of his Desert Eagle—unique to Airborne Spetsnaz. Talia hid her shock behind a flat expression. “Alexi Bazin. You changed your face. It didn’t help.”

The bear growled.

“Aww, friends reunited,” Boyd said. “This is . . . special. Unending reach, Miss Macciano. Or should I say, Miss Inger?”

The use of her real name cracked Talia’s hard stare.

Boyd saw the change and grinned. “Yes. Talia Inger. CIA. You changed your appearance, but not enough. Suspicious, Anton put out some feelers. A Jungle cobra in Volgograd linked you to the CIA cover name