The Hunter (3 page)

Dilaver made a rude noise. “Afraid? I’m afraid of no one. And unlike in Asia, I’m the one who speaks the local languages around here. You and that UN puppet are the foreigners. He’s like a fly, this new man in town. Not worth my time.”

“A bothersome one,” one of Dilaver’s men chimed in. “I suspect he’s behind our trouble, boss. He would like nothing better than to have a showdown with us so he can put us out of business.”

Dilaver nodded, a speculative look entering his eyes. “Yes, I suppose when you’re new, you want to make some big catch, and…” He paused to take a swig from his mug. “I’m the biggest in Macedonia.”

“So why not kill him?” Hawk asked, curious about how the other man’s mind worked. He had made it a point to study all of Dilaver’s moves and motives.

“I would, but the UN has done so much for the Balkans,” Dilaver said, with a smile like a satisfied devil. “It’d be ungrateful to start killing their law enforcers when they are all providing such a safe haven for business.”

His roar of laughter was joined by the rest in the room, mockery-filled and contemptuous. Hawk didn’t join in, but he understood the sentiment, and his heart filled with resigned anger. The Balkan wars had gone on for centuries. In many ways, the recent UN intervention had freed the thugs, arming many of the fighting factions. The Kosovo Liberation Army was one of them, a brutal group of mercenaries that had nothing to do with liberation. Now that they had solidified their power base, the KLA had become the crime syndicate in this part of the world in drugs, sex, and arms trafficking. Dragan Dilaver headed one of its powerful factions.

And he, Hawk McMillan, was in this nest of human trash. He felt dirty among them because, for the first time, he couldn’t come to the defense of things he held precious. He had to stand by and watch these scumbags hurt women, children, and helpless people. And his anger had expanded more each day till his own self-control was tested.

He swallowed it in, accepting a mug of beer from one of the men. He waved it at Dilaver. “Maybe you can buy him off?” he asked, affecting a cynical expression.

“No, he’s still in the fresh stage…has already refused some tactfully worded bribe offers. No, no, this man—his name is Sun—is going to have to learn the hard way. Besides, with him being interested in that restaurant owner, I can keep an eye on him and his activities. Her information has been good so far.” Dilaver shrugged. “She keeps him happy and me happy. Very smart businesswoman. I think you’ll like this American chick.”

“But an American woman alone in Velesta? What do you think of that?”

“Suspicious, I know, but she’s still useful. I’m sure you’ve already found out that everyone around here has hidden motives, Hawk.” Dilaver’s eyes narrowed. His lips curled into a sneer. “She’s been here for four or five years, building her little café restaurant into quite a gathering spot for the UN peacekeepers. I guess, like you, they all want real hamburgers.”

“What’s her name?” Hawk asked. How odd—to have thought of hamburgers and now his wish was granted.

“Amber Hutchens. The restaurant’s called The Last Resort.”

The woman on the other end of the line sounded professional and pleasant.
“Hallo, dobar dan.”

“Dobar dan. Jeste li dobili moje pismo?”
Hawk asked the question to signal the request to speak to Jed. He had been instructed to dial this number the moment the source established contact. To ask whether the person received his letter was a clue for Jed.

“Kada ste poslali pismo?”

“The letter was sent late,” Hawk replied in Serbian. Late. In the dark. Tied to his—

“Are you positive it’s the right communication?”

“Oh, quite,” he said, barely keeping the sarcasm out of his voice. The
communication
was very obvious.

“Please hold.”

He knew they were making sure his line was secure before putting Jed through. The man was an enigma—the last time he’d called this number, the woman had spoken Vietnamese. And the time before that, Jed had picked up on the first ring.

The woman came back on the line. “I’m sorry, but the letter isn’t here. You must have sent it to the wrong address.”

The line went dead.

“Shit.” Amber immediately turned off her laptop.

“Got caught, huh?” Her back against the wall, Llallana crossed her arms. “Can they trace back to us?”

Amber shook her head. “Don’t think so.”

“How do you think they know about the chip you put in our American boy’s cell phone?”

“It was a gamble,” Amber admitted. “Jed McNeil has some of the most advanced tech toys on his side. But as tests go, we’re getting plenty of answers.”

Llallana cocked her head, her eyes thoughtful. “They sure were being very careful. Coded conversation. Tracer satellite signals.”

“Not to mention an intermediary. That woman who answered him wasn’t just some secretary. She was probably at a different location with her own satellite tracer just in case someone was trying to locate Jed’s current position.” Amber reactivated her laptop. “So even if he’s been compromised, no one would have found him.”

“But now he knows someone has bugged their man’s phone. Now what?”

“He’ll know it’s us,” Amber replied dryly. There was very little that escaped Jed.

“No, everything points to you, my dear,” Llallana retorted. Straightening from the wall, she sauntered to the door. “Can’t say I didn’t warn you. You’re the one who wanted to test the guy.”

Amber swung her chair around, watching her friend as she headed for the door. Lily was in a strange mood. She had been reluctant about this particular operation since Amber hatched the idea of testing the new man in town. “So you just want me to help him and then what? What do I get for my generosity?”

Llallana stopped and turned back, combing her hands through her short jet-black hair as she stared at the computer screen for a few seconds. Amber let the silence draw out. Something was definitely troubling her friend.

“It’s up to you,” she finally said. “Why do you want to help this man out?”

“It’s Jed’s man,” Amber explained. “Jed did me a favor and I owe him one. Besides, I’m curious…what’s the hot stuff this time that is so damn secured?”

“Hot stuff” was their code for a wanted item, be it goods or information. It was their way to finance their own personal operation. The non-CIA-sanctioned one, that is.

Amusement entered Lily’s dark eyes. “Are you sure it isn’t because you saw this man’s hot stuff?” Her voice was teasing. “You practically felt the entire package.”

Amber felt her cheeks heating up. She was never going to live that down. “I don’t need that kind of hot stuff.”

“Oh yeah, I forget. Your love life’s so full. How’s Mr. Sun?” There was a studied casualness in Llallana’s voice.

Amber raised an eyebrow. Bradford Sun, a powerful man working for the UN peacekeeping department, was a friend, nothing more. But sometimes it helped to let the local thugs think she and the tall striking man had a closer relationship.

“Brad’s fine. Busy as always. Anything else you want to know?” She studied Lily closely, but her friend was very good at hiding her true feelings. “You can join us for a late dinner tonight if you like.”

Llallana shook her head. “I’m busy.”

“Uh-huh. Why do I get the feeling you’re avoiding Brad?”

Llallana gave her a bland look. “Me? Let me get the facts right. I just came into town, remember? You called to tell me about the new CIA guy.”

“I also called to tell you that Brad has found a few more girls in need of help,” Amber reminded her soberly. “You have to find time to talk to him about them.”

Without warning, Llallana swung around again and headed for the doorway. “Get some info for me at your dinner tonight if I don’t show up, Amber,” she called over her shoulder.

Amber settled back in her office chair, biting her lower lip thoughtfully. Llallana steadfastly avoided Brad. If she didn’t know her friend, she would think Lily was afraid.

Hawk frowned. That had never happened before. Being cut off so abruptly could only mean one thing. He had been compromised—someone was tapping into his conversation with Jed’s personnel. Dilaver? He dismissed the suspicion.

No, it had to be last night’s assailant, of course. Leaving that note was just a distraction. The real intent had been to tap his phone. Hawk looked down at the small cell phone in his hand. Radio frequencies were easy to capture, but his had a built-in voice modulator that automatically changed frequencies to avoid being captured on radio. To trace calls from his cell, one would need a microchip specifically made to send wireless frequencies to a satellite source that would then send the signals back to the motherboard. Not an easy thing for the layperson, which meant his attacker from last night was not only good at martial arts but at electronics and, no doubt, computer programming.

Hawk unscrewed the top of the antenna, pulling it out of the phone. He inspected it closely for a minute and slowly, with thumb and forefinger, lifted a sliver of hairlike material attached to it. Some kind of fiber optics. His lips quirked, part of him filled with astonished admiration. That was one small delivery guy. Where would the tracer chip be hiding?

Carefully laying the sliver onto a piece of white paper, he returned his attention to the cell phone, flipping it open and closing it, trying to figure out what was done to it. For the tracer chip to copy and relate the dialed numbers to the thief-antenna, it would need to use energy for power. Stored memory. Of course, the battery.

He turned the phone over and pressed on the release button to the backing. Pulling out the battery, he found another, longer sliver of fiber optic, following it to the SIMM chip which stored the information for his phone. They had his number now, of course, and perhaps the number he had dialed. He wasn’t sure whether Jed had pulled the plug quickly enough to escape being traced.

Hawk cursed softly. His fault. He had let his guard down somehow and could have put Jed in danger.

He had been in Macedonia for a few months and hadn’t been challenged mentally or physically quite this cleverly till now. Being a friend of the top gangster had given him a measure of freedom that few foreigners here had—he had gone in and out of places that would have gotten other people into trouble with local KLA members.

This was his first visit to Velesta and he had been warned, even by Dilaver, to be on his guard. And look what had already happened on his first night here. Not only was he attacked at night, in his own bedroom, but he’d been assaulted and compromised. He thought of the note in his pants pocket. Sexually assaulted, he corrected grimly. He was damn lucky it wasn’t more than a note tied to his dick. Except that it was.

Fuck. Disgusted at his own carelessness, Hawk stared at the pieces of fiber optics, barely visible against the whiteness of the paper, weighing his options. He could get to Jed from another phone; that wasn’t his immediate problem. What he really wanted to do was get out of Dilaver’s crowd for a day and track down this
problem
and exact revenge. Hell, he was alone in Macedonia. He didn’t have to follow team protocol and wait for instructions for every move.

What happened last night made it downright personal. Hawk pinched his chin thoughtfully. He was looking forward to making it even more so.

Bradford Sun unclipped his official badge
as he exited the UN security offices. He walked at a quick pace, unruffled by the knowing side glances and questioning looks from those outside the meeting who had heard the muffled but obviously heated exchange of words between the head of CIVPOL’s Trafficking and Prostitution Investigation Unit, the operations chief of CIVPOL’s Terrorist Unit, the general accountant of CIVPOL UN funds, and various other department heads.

“Too many damn heads,” muttered Brad.
Speaking too many damn languages,
he silently added. The trouble with assigning personnel from different countries to be in one department was that there was no way to achieve the world peace the United Nations hoped for. Too many different opinions, too many ideological motives. Everyone was still working their own agenda to move up the diplomatic rung of their government. After all, no one wanted to be stuck in Macedonia. Not his predecessor, for sure.

His lips twisted wryly as he punched the elevator button for the garage level. He was the new head of the drug-and sex-trafficking department and technically held quite a bit of power. But he was also considered the new boy in town, and had to be “shown the way.” Words like “protocol” and “procedure” had the same meaning in English, French, and German. He spoke all three languages like a native, and he knew meaningless shit when he heard it.

He gave a short bark of laughter. Meaningless shit indeed. Four hours of debating whether to take down the biggest piece of human garbage in town, and his hands were tied because three out of five votes were against him. All he needed was one more person on his side, and he’d thought he would get Cezare’s, but something had happened between the meeting and the last time they’d talked at his office. Something had frightened the man badly.

Brad sighed. Probably a threat. Everyone was living under a threat of some kind in these parts. The man he himself replaced had survived two car bombs during his tenure.

The elevator doors opened and he stepped into the underground garage, half filled with cars. Out of habit, he looked around, checking for signs of trouble. One couldn’t be too careful, especially in this war-torn climate.

The vote against action forced his hand. He wasn’t going to sit back and let those animals continue any longer. He was going to call the newspaper reporter first thing tomorrow morning and give that interview. It would be interesting to see what happened after that.

He strode toward the section where his car was parked. He needed some food and drink. Having missed lunch today, he was hungrier than usual, and a few glasses of wine sounded like heaven right now. Good conversation, with classical music playing in the background, a friend and confidante he could trust—all very rare things in Velesta. He smiled for the first time that day as he climbed into his vehicle. He knew where to find good company and excellent food.

Once he passed the security booth, he activated his car phone’s remote dial, which allowed him to speak hands-free while he negotiated his way around the notoriously fast traffic in town. The evening sun was almost gone, and he turned the heater on higher.

“Hi, Brad.” Amber Hutchens’s voice was smooth and low.

“I’m thinking of dropping by earlier, if that’s all right with you,” he said.

“No problem. Hungry?”

“I haven’t eaten,” he confessed.

She laughed. “Sometimes I think you just come here for the free meals,” she teased.

“And the company,” Brad said with a smile. “There’s no lovelier lady in town.”

“Ah, a compliment. Definitely looking for a big meal.”

That was what was attractive about Amber Hutchens. She could put anyone at ease with a few teasing words. He’d seen her doing it with the peacekeepers who went to her café for her home cooking. Most of them were men who led stressful lives, trying to be policemen when they were soldiers, tiptoeing the gray line between law and lawlessness, and the small café right in the middle of town was like a haven, giving them a quick break while its owner cajoled them back into good humor.

“Do you need me to bring anything?” he asked.

There was a slight pause. “Flowers would be nice.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “The café was busy today, so I can afford a free meal.”

She was also a very smart woman, Brad mused. No other café was more fiercely guarded by the foreigners here. The local gangsters knew if they messed with Amber Hutchens, they would have several dozen peacekeepers messing with their illegal businesses that had been previously overlooked. Thus, the safest place to hide in town was a coffeehouse appropriately named The Last Resort.

“I’ll be there soon,” he said, “with flowers.”

“Looking forward to it.”

Picking up fresh flowers at this late hour wasn’t an easy task and he had a feeling that Amber knew this. He wondered what she was actually doing when he called. The woman wasn’t always cooking; that was just a façade. Amber’s thing was information—hot, up-to-the-minute information—that she used to finance her side business.

Brad rubbed the back of his neck. Gray line between law and lawlessness—he straddled it himself. He was aware that he was a source of information for Amber, that her easy questions were more than general interest in his job. His answers were carefully crafted, but he also knew that he had given her many clues, sometimes unwittingly. Her skill had raised his suspicion. He had checked with some of his sources and had found out she was a CIA contractor. A CIA contractor in Macedonia in the guise of a café owner, to be exact. For four years.

He had only been at his job as department head for barely a year. He knew he had quite a bit to learn, even though he was given a big file to study by both his predecessor and the UN source. But the file never mentioned Amber Hutchens or the operation she was running. He had only found out because he followed his own instincts, and when he had confronted her with it a few months ago, much to his surprise, she hadn’t denied it. And now that he knew what she did, he approved. He sighed. Sort of.

Which brought up the subject of Llallana Noretski. Of which he didn’t approve. The woman was trouble, what with her criminal record and…the way he always responded to her whenever she was present. She was Amber’s close friend and partner-in-crime. From what he could gather, she did all the dirty work while Amber got together the information and packaged the jobs.

The woman didn’t trust him. From the first moment they had been introduced, she had been alternately rude, sarcastic, and aloof. He understood the reason—she was a criminal and he was the law. They would always be on the opposite sides.

Brad released another frustrated sigh. This was Velesta, damn it. Opposite sides were a joke. Everything merged into a grayness that bothered his belief in what was right and wrong. That was why it was essential to step up and do something with the rampant drugs and prostitution going on. He was determined to draw a line somewhere. His jaw set at the memory of some of the
kafenas
he had raided. Girls under sixteen enslaved by drugs and force. He wasn’t going to let fucking red tape stop him from saving those kids.

He swung into the parking spot in front of the florist, taking a moment before getting out of the car. Every time he thought of the scenes he had witnessed at those darkened
kafenas,
a raging anger took over that made him want to bash someone’s face in. Especially anyone working under that scum Dragan Dilaver.

With limited help from his own department, Brad needed all the allies and help he could get. That’s where Amber and Llallana came in. They might be playing both sides of the legal line, but they both detested Dilaver, providing Brad with needed information to get the man where it hurt him most—his bank account.

The cold air outside calmed him down somewhat. Flowers. He’d take his time choosing a nice bouquet and let Amber finish whatever she was doing. Maybe she would have some valuable information about the next Dilaver truckload of kidnapped victims coming in. It would make his week to squeeze the bastard just a little harder.

Hawk replaced the back panel of his cell phone. One thing he had learned from Jed about wireless connections—how to convert a laptop into a hacking device of those tapping into the same airwaves. Someone had hacked into his phone line, stealing his directory. They were still connected through that tiny device planted in his cell, so all he needed were a few adjustments. He wasn’t a computer nerd, but he’d learned a thing or two from Jed’s people. His laptop, unremarkable-looking, was no standard notebook. He punched in the code and password to access the shadow hard drive, the one with the programs he needed for his task. It was going to take some time and he didn’t want any interruptions.

He locked the door to his bedroom, then picked up the old black telephone next to his bed. It was one of those rotary-dial ones from another era, the numbers on its face faded from use.

“This is Hawk. Where’s Dilaver?” His lips quirked. “Furniture-shopping? How long will he be gone? Let me know when he’s back, please. I’ll be working out.”

That should make them think he was doing his usual exercises. He had been very careful about explaining his tip-top shape, citing an interest in weight-lifting and body-training. He had exercised in different ways every week to get them used to his unusual program.

“I’m a guide,” he had told Dilaver with a shrug. “Being in shape comes with the job.”

“Don’t smoke, don’t have sex, what a boring fucker you are,” Dilaver had said. “What do you do for fun—pose naked in front of a mirror and admire yourself?”

Hawk had nodded gravely. “Yes.”

That had given Hawk the distraction he needed as the conversation moved on to more lewd topics.

Hawk remote-connected his cell phone to his laptop, making it easier to type text. Then he carefully screened off all the other programs behind a firewall. He unfolded the note from last night and read it again. It was written in English.

Looking for something?

Three words with a wealth of meaning. One, he needed all the locations where Dilaver hid his weapons. Two, he had to find out the latest delivered cache. Three, he had to find a specific weapon in the collection. And yeah, four, he was looking for the person who hung this note on his dick—the CIA tracker Jed had told him about.

It was just like Jed not to mention the sex of the CIA contractor working undercover. All he had said was that the contact would be in Velesta and that Hawk was not to make a move until Dilaver went there. Not that working with a woman bothered Hawk. Some of the women he admired had been very capable covert agents. In fact, now that he thought about it, he wondered whether this woman was another GEM operative.

His eyes narrowed. But of course. Hell, why hadn’t he thought of that earlier? The American woman who ran a café. Jed had told him the password between him and the contractor was
ambrosia. Amber Hutchens…ambrosia.

His instincts told him he had just hit the right conclusion. All he had to do was prove it to himself. He got up and picked up the black telephone again.

“What’s the phone number to The Last Resort?” he asked.

Amber stared at her computer screen. Sending Brad to pick flowers at this hour should buy her some time. She needed it. Someone had called on her business phone just before he had reached her on the private line.

“Ambrosia,” a masculine voice had said over the phone. “Check your computer.”

He had hung up before she had recovered from her shock. That had to be—and Brad had interrupted with his call about dinner. She was dying to get back to her laptop and when Brad gave her an opening for some time, she had quickly thought of a way to delay him. She knew he would get the hint.

Brad and she had a very pleasant relationship, and their dinner dates were like a public stance and a private friendship both at the same time. She had cultivated this from the start and had been surprised by his silent agreement, even when he had found out what she was. They had an understanding—he didn’t ask her how she got her information, and in return she would give him some data that he might find useful.

Right now, though, it was another new person in town on her mind. He had found her in record time, way faster than any of the previous agents sent here.

She sat back at her desk and considered briefly, then shrugged. Why not? If he was that good, she would reward him. She reached out and turned her laptop on. Her tracer beeped, indicating that one of her tapped lines was active. She didn’t have to check to know it was Hawk McMillan’s cell phone. He had just called his online service. That meant he was using his computer with his phone.

Oh, trying to trace her, was he? She smiled. It wasn’t that easy to bypass her firewalls. Intrigued, she typed a few commands, bringing up a window to show what he was doing. From the size, he appeared to be downloading a rather large file over the net back to his laptop. Whatever it was, she could get it, since he was using his cell phone as connection. Since he already knew she was watching, she suspected that he wanted her to zap it.

Her finger hovered over the command to pull the file. She had ample protection and safeguards from hackers who might try to infect her system. But he wasn’t hacking into her system; he was luring her into his. That was just too much for her to resist. She clicked on the command key, then sat back to watch as her computer pulled in the program he was using.

Amber laughed in disbelief.

The man had connected with some sort of instant messenger and was…typing a note to himself—okay, really, to
her,
if she cared to reply, now that she had loaded the damn program into her network.

Hi Ambrosia. Found your note. Found you.

Oh, this was just too hard to resist.
Good to know you checked yourself. You couldn’t have possibly missed my note, Mr. McMillan.

I’ll have to return the favor sometime, Miss Hutchens.

A shiver ran through her. She had a feeling Hawk McMillan hadn’t liked being the victim last night.
You were careless. I was merely pointing out the dangers of being caught off guard. You want my help, you’d better be a lot more alert.