Tom Clancy Under Fire by Grant Blackwood Read Free Book Online

Three.”
    “Any idea where they were taking me?” Jack asked.
    “You mean aside from a shallow grave?” Ysabel replied. “No idea.”
    “Do you know who they are?” Even as the words left Jack’s mouth, the word
wallet
popped into his head. In the commotion, he’d forgotten about the second American’s wallet. He patted his crotch; the wallet was still here. Thank God for bad frisking technique.
    “Do you need some alone time?” asked Ysabel.
    “Funny.” Jack pulled out the wallet and opened it.
    Ysabel glanced over. “Where did you get that?”
    “Off one of them back there.”
    “What about yours?”
    “They’ve got it.”
    Inside the man’s wallet was a driver’s license and two credit cards. He stuffed it into the back pocket of his khakis. “Where are we going?” he asked.
    “My apartment. We need to talk. Plus, you’re a mess. Your arms, your face . . .” She grimaced and said, “You look awful.”
    Jack checked his forearms; below the sleeves of his polo shirt, his arms looked like they’d been worked over with a belt sander.
    “It’ll have to wait. I need to go back to Seth’s.”
    “Why?”
    “Steaks.”
    Ysabel paused, then with a flash of revelation in her voice, echoed Jack: “Steaks.”
    •   •   •
    YSABEL PICKED HER WAY through the city, taking a circuitous route to Seth’s apartment, skillfully doubling back and traversing alleys until she seemed satisfied they weren’t being followed. She had tradecraft, Jack realized.
    “Who taught you?” he asked.
    “Seth. Just a few things, really.”
    She pulled to the curb a block north of Seth’s building and across from the café in which Jack had sipped tea earlier that evening. The café was closed, its wraparound windows dark. The Mercedes’s dashboard clock read 12:09. Almost three hours since they’d taken him from the apartment. He and Ysabel sat in the darkness, listening to the car’s engine tick as it cooled.
    After ten minutes of watching, Jack said, “Nothing. You?”
    “No. This is a bad idea, Jack.”
    “I don’t see how my night could get any worse. There’s something I need in there.”
Providing it’s still there
, he thought.
    “We,” Ysabel said. “
We
need.”
    “Slow down. We’re not quite there yet,” Jack grumbled.
    “Suit yourself. Let’s go.”
    •   •   •
    THREE MINUTES LATER they were standing before Seth’s apartment door. Ysabel reached into her shoulder bag and pulled out a hammerless .38-caliber snub-nosed revolver.
    Jack opened his palm and whispered, “May I?”
    “Why?”
    “Please, Ysabel.”
    She frowned at him for a moment, then placed the revolver in his hand.
    Key,
he thought abruptly. He patted his pockets. He said, “Damn, the key. They must have taken it.”
    “Hold on,” Ysabel murmured. She rummaged in her purse and came out with a bronze key. “Try this.”
    Jack took it. “Where’d you get this?”
    “Seth gave it to me along with the one to his Pardis condo. I assumed it was for something there. It’s worth a try.”
    Jack slipped the key into the lock and turned it; the dead bolt slid back. Using the knuckle of his index finger, Jack swung open the door until the knob touched the inner wall. The room was dark, the window shades still drawn. The attacker he’d left unconscious on the floor was gone, but the blood smear where his head had lain was still there.
    Jack waited a few beats, then peeked left around the jamb. Nothing. With the revolver at waist level and tucked close to his body, he stepped into the apartment. Ysabel followed, then shut the door and locked it. On flat feet, Jack walked into the kitchenette, cleared it, then went down the hallway and cleared the bathroom and bedroom in turn.
    He returned to the main room to find Ysabel staring at the blood. “What happened here?” she murmured.
    “I got ambushed.”
    “Did you kill him? Was he one of the men from the van?”
    “No, and maybe. Follow me. The quicker