The Omega Team: Precious Cargo (Kindle Worlds Novella) (8 page)

Jesus, he was an idiot. A dangerous idiot.

He’d been so caught up in quickly removing Mila from their original hotel after the shooting, he’d forgotten to dump her purse. A simple check of its contents would have been enough to prevent anyone from easily locating them. He would have seen the phone Mazure had given Mila and would have left it at the railway station. If Mazure bothered to track the device, he would have seen the cell was there and thought they were waiting for a train. Damn it.

He didn’t even think about the fucking phone. He’d left his on the table in the conference room and hadn’t thought of it since their meeting.

In his twenty years in the service, he’d never made a mistake like this. Mistakes got people killed. In the high-stakes worlds of war and espionage, there simply was no room for errors.

If they were lucky, Major Mazure was a good guy on the up and up, and dedicated to protecting Yure. That being the case, Mazure wouldn’t overly concern himself with Mila’s leaving. She wasn’t his problem. Yure was. If Mazure was on the take, the situation was entirely different. The level of threat the Major might be was based on who he worked for.

The Major was retired Ukrainian military, and the Ukrainian government was in financial straps. If he was dirty, chances were he was taking money from more than one source. Why not? The more behind-the-scenes employers, the more money. Finance 101. As long as the people paying the bills didn’t have competing interests, Mazure had no problem. But in cases such as Yure Bartosh’s, there was a definite conflict. Mazure would need to keep things very much on the down low.

A potential employer for the Major included Ivanov. The mobster’s men had all too easily gotten into the conference room at the hotel. Although Mazure had lost three of his own men during that attack, he had plenty more. Finding young men wanting to work with guns in Ukraine for a decent wage was not a problem. With employment in the country so low, those types of guys practically lined the streets.

The Russian government was another contender as a source of revenue for the Major. They had deep pockets and wanted Ukraine back. There was a good possibility there were many other people and organizations who would be interested in or wanting to influence someone with Mazure’s skills and connections.

No wonder Yure didn’t completely trust him.

Duke checked the magazine on his gun and palmed it back into place. He had sixteen rounds ready in the chamber and another sixteen in his back pocket. Hopefully he wouldn’t need any of them. He checked his front pocket. His fingers brushed his knife and the key to their borrowed car.

While Mila dressed, he inspected her bag. Two cell phones. A book of matches from a local club. Possibly the club where she ran into Ivanov. A small pistol with six bullets. A wallet. Her passport. Various types of makeup. A travel-size can of hair spray. Hair ties. Tissues. Gum. Junk. And more junk. Her purse weighed at least ten pounds and most if what she had was unnecessary crap.

He hiked up his jeans, removed the hair spray, and dropped the small can in the available space between his calf and the side of boot. He’d snuck enough liquor into events to know that few people thought about looking in a man’s boot for contraband. He didn’t know if he’d need the spray, but at this point, anything was a possible.

“Why are you putting my hairspray into your boots?” Mila asked, stepping into the small parlor.

“In case we need it.” He lowered his jeans over the boot. “If you ignite the spray, it becomes a torch. I don’t know if we’ll need a torch, but I learned real quick in the Army that you take advantage of every resource you have. Sometimes those resources can be used in ways you never imagined and may end up saving your life.”

He grabbed the hair ties and snapped them onto his wrist. Then he removed the pistol, slid it in his waistband, pocketed the matches and took out the wallet and her passport.

“Here.” He handed the passport and wallet to Mila as she sat on the chair to put on her shoes. “You’ll need this to fly in the morning. There’s nothing else in your purse worth taking. We’re traveling light. I want you to be able to move with little restriction.”

She stuffed them into the back pocket of her jeans, and then held out her hand.

He gritted his teeth, but handed over her weapon. She’d shown she could use it and had saved his life in the process. Another capable gun might be useful if they found themselves in a fight.

“Where are we going?” she asked, slipping on her loafer.

“No idea. Just away from here. Maybe we can find a hole-in-the wall restaurant and get some food and coffee. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night.”

He moved to the side of one of the French doors and peeked out into the night. Their room was at the front of the building on the second floor, which he always considered the third, as most Americans would. In general, Europeans didn’t count the ground as a floor number, which sometimes led to confusion.

Directly below, a large striped awning covering the entryway to the hotel was lit with small spotlights. If they needed to jump, the canopy would help break the fall. How much it would help, he couldn’t be sure. The fabric looked old and worn. Easily ripped. They could fall straight through it and break their necks.

A small but manicured stretch of grass and flowers separating the hotel from the street could be seen in the dim light of nearby streetlamps. A paved driveway curved in from the street and then forked, providing access to the back parking lot and the front desk area for checking in. Their car was parked in the back, away from direct view from the street.

Mila slipped up from behind and wrapped her arms around his middle.

“What’s the plan?”

“We take the stairs down, get in our car and drive away.”

“Sounds simple enough.”

He spotted two black American-built SUVs pull into the driveway. One continued to the registration area. The other wound its way to the back.

“Don’t count on it. We may have company.”

She poked her head around. “Can you see who’s in them?”

“No. But vehicles like that are hard to come by in these parts, and I can’t imagine there are too many rock stars staying at a place like this. We gotta move. Stay close.”

Duke went to the door and looked through the peephole. The fisheye view didn’t provide much of an angle. From what he could tell, the hallway was empty.

Pulling his hair back, he removed one of the ties from his wrist and secured it around the thick bundle several times. The end result was a relatively secure bun.

Mila’s brows shot up.

“If people are looking for us,” he explained, “they’ll be looking for a guy with long hair. If they take a second or two to figure out I have my hair in a bun, I may be able to use those seconds to my advantage. Plus, it helps keep my hair out of my face.”

“Okay. But for the record, I am not a fan of the man bun.”

“So noted.”

He pulled out his firearm and opened the door, then inched his head around the frame. The elevator dinged down the corridor. A couple got out, hand in hand. Duke slipped back to avoid being seen. Keys jingled. A door opened and closed. Then silence.

He poked his head out again. He saw no one. He heard no one.

“Come on. Keep in the back of your mind that we have no idea if there are bad guys here. I don’t want to hurt innocent people.”

She nodded.

They walked quickly and silently down the hallway toward the stairwell, their guns in their hands at their sides. He stopped when he passed by the maid’s cart.

“Hold on,” he whispered over his shoulder. A strong whiff of soured towels filled his nose. “I have a better plan.”

Reaching into the closet, he pulled out one of the blue coats hanging from a row on the wall. Lightweight and cut short, the coat resembled something a doctor might wear. Perfect. He handed the jacket to Mila and pointed back to their room. She gave him a dubious look, but headed back. He clutched the side of the cart and followed, pushing it with him.

Inside the room, he instructed Mila to apply a heavy layer of makeup and to pull her hair into a bun on the top of her head. She nodded, grabbed the purse they’d left on the chair and headed into the bathroom.

He pulled the knife from his pocket and flicked it open. The blade was clean and sharp, and easily cut into the sides of the canvas cart with no problem. After making several small holes, he returned the knife to his pocket.

Mila stepped out from the bathroom. If the situation weren’t so serious, he would have laughed. Dark purple shadow shaded the lids of her eyes, the rims smudged with thick liner. Her lashes looked heavy under the weight of several coats of mascara. Bright splotches of blush stained her cheeks. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun.

She picked up the maid’s coat from the back of the settee and pulled it on.

“How do I look?”

“Awful.”

“Then my work here is done.” She examined his handiwork to the cart. “Want to fill me in on the new plan?”

“I lay in the cart. You push the cart to the elevator. We ride down to the ground floor. You push the cart out the back door and keep going until you get to the dumpster. I climb out. We make a run for it and we don’t stop until we find a safe place or a taxi. Whichever comes first.”

The corners of her lips dipped to a frown. She looked into the cart. Her nose wrinkled. “You’re going to get into this thing with these nasty towels?”

“That’s the plan.”

“You know you’re going to smell like hell when you get out.”

“I do. We’ll be the perfect pair. Clown lady and smelly guy. Our cab driver is going to love us.”

“Won’t he though?” Mila pulled her gun from her jeans and dropped it into the pocket of the jacket. “You think this will work? Shouldn’t we try to get away in our car?”

“Darlin’, in all honesty, I’m not even sure we’ll make it to the dumpster without the guys in the SUV stopping you. If they’re looking for us, they’ll probably question everyone. But unless we wait here and possibly get trapped in this room with no way out other than jumping from the window, then we’ve got only two options. We leave through the front door of the hotel or the back. Either way, I sincerely doubt we’d be able to get to the car, unlock the doors, get inside, start it up and take off before they try to make Swiss cheese of us.”

“And if the guys in the SUV stop me?”

“You convince them you’re really a maid doing your job. I’ll be there too, remember. And I’ll take out anyone I feel means to do us harm.”

She blew out a breath and nodded. “Okay then. I’m ready. Let’s get you stashed.”

It took only a few minutes to get him arranged inside the cart beneath a layer of towels. The position of his body in the small space was awkward, but he was able to keep his gun in his hand.

Mila was right. He was going to smell like hell when he finally got out. The available air where he lay was almost un-breathable. His nose, mouth and lungs protested each time he drew in a breath. Could he get black lung from a short ride with moldy linens?

Mila followed the plan, pushing the cart to the elevator and getting out at the ground floor. When the elevator doors opened, he could hear voices. Though he couldn’t make out what was being said, it was clear two men were talking where he assumed the front desk would be. From the sound of the conversation, one man was asking questions and the other was on the defensive.

Duke peeked through one of the holes he’d cut in the front of the cart while Mila headed to the door leading to the parking lot. She opened the door and pulled the cart over the threshold. The cart, Duke and all the towels bounced.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

His view was better than he’d expected. He could make out the black SUV parked front-forward into a stall a few slots down the sidewalk. Unfortunately, because of the layout of the building and the parking lot, they would have to go in front of the SUV or behind it to get where they needed to go.

Duke quickly assessed the scene. Two men were with the SUV. A driver, who had to be at least two hundred and ninety pounds of pure muscle, sat behind the wheel, checking his phone with his thick fingers. A cigarette dangled from his bottom lip. The driver-side window was rolled halfway down, and smoke billowed out.

The other man had gotten out of the SUV. He leaned his butt against the front grill of the vehicle, one foot resting on the bumper. He too looked big, but more along the fat side rather than muscle. He also held a cigarette in his mouth. Evidently Ukrainians could give a shit less about lung cancer.

The poor lighting made it difficult to make out much more. If either man carried weapons, he couldn’t see them.

Both men turned their attention to Mila and the cart as she rolled along. She didn’t stop or alter the pace of her steps. She pushed the cart to the edge of the sidewalk and over the lip to the parking lot asphalt and kept moving. Duke was prepared for the resulting jolt. While the cart bounced, he shifted, moving his head to a hole he’d created on the side.

The man in the driver’s seat resumed looking at his phone. The man at the front of the SUV straightened.