Frozen Conflict (Brannigan's Blackhearts Book 4) by Peter Nealen

Author:Peter Nealen [Nealen, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-05-14T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

The back of the five-ton was crowded, with both hit teams and Codreanu crammed in under the canvas, on uncomfortable bench seats. At least, the shooters were sitting on the bench seats. Codreanu was sitting on the floor, his back to the cab, his hands flex-cuffed behind him. He couldn’t be comfortable, but he hadn’t made a sound in protest since he’d been dragged out of the dacha, over the bodies of several of his henchmen.

“Hey,” Redrum said, having to raise his voice to be heard over the rumble of the truck and the alarming creaking coming from its undercarriage, “Old man.”

Codreanu looked up at him, or at least he lifted his head. It was dark under the canvas, with the only light coming from just over the tailgate. Redrum was sure he was little more than a slightly darker silhouette against the canvas top, himself.

“You know who we are?” he asked, then almost kicked himself. Stupid question. Of course he doesn’t. Nobody’s supposed to know who we are.

Codreanu didn’t say anything, but he might have shaken his head in the negative.

“You sold a submarine to some friends of ours, a few months back,” Redrum said. If there had been more light in the back of the truck, he would have seen a flicker of expression cross Codreanu’s face. The light of recognition, followed by a combination of assurance and horror at the fact that his earlier guess had proved true. And finally, resignation. He knew he was probably dead.

“It’s taken us a little while to find you,” Redrum said, with some genuine admiration. The fat, balding man crammed into the front of the truck bed was canny, there was no denying that. He’d been a hard man to pin down. “But our employers can’t afford to have you running around on your own. You’re a loose end. And the people we work for don’t like loose ends.”

Knowing a few details about some of the dead bodies left behind in the wake of a few of Codreanu’s business deals in the past, Redrum was sure that the arms dealer could understand that sentiment.

“The only reason you’re still alive is because my employers consider your network and your contacts to be more valuable than your permanent silence,” Redrum continued. “You understand me?”

Codreanu might have nodded. Redrum suddenly realized, to his chagrin, that the old man might not even speak English. He’d assumed that he did, but couldn’t remember whether the briefing materials had said. He might have just been jabbering in meaningless nonsense words to Codreanu in the dark, unable to tell that he was just wasting his breath.

But Codreanu spoke in accented English. “I understand you,” he said heavily. “What I do not think you understand is that while you might have powerful friends, so do I. And some of them will be looking for me.” The faint gray light coming from outside the truck might have glinted off his eyes as he looked up at Redrum. “And they will be keeping an eye on the border crossings.

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