Ring of Lies by Roni Dunevich

Author:Roni Dunevich
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2016-06-17T04:00:00+00:00

BARCELONA | 22:30

Alex went back to the alley. She couldn’t have disappeared into thin air. Shit. He had to figure out what had changed.

The guitar players were gone. What else?

He’d seen them move aside to make room for a truck backing in. Where was the truck?

He found the restaurant manager near the door. “There was a truck in the alley before. Who does it belong to?”

“We only take deliveries before noon,” the manager answered with a worried look. “Why?”

Alex returned to the alley and scrutinized each of the buildings from the ground up. No security cameras.

“Can I be of help, sir?” the manager asked behind him. Alex ran down the alley to the other end, where it was blocked by a low post. He pulled on it, and the post came out in his hands.

The picture was becoming clearer. The motherfuckers were using trucks.

He needed backup, urgently. He couldn’t do it on his own. He considered calling Barcelona in El Papiol. She was a tough, well-trained operative. But it would take her too long to get here.

He called HQ in Glilot and instructed them to contact the Madrid station. “Give me your precise location,” the female voice at the Operations Center said. He gave her the address.

“Just a second.”

After a short pause, she was back. “A mile and a quarter to your southwest, at the old port, there’s a point jutting into the sea. On the beach at the far end is a bare tract of land about two hundred feet square. A medevac chopper from El Prat will pick you up there in twenty minutes. It’s red and white. The pilot’s name is Pepe. He’s one of ours. He’s not allowed to land there, so he can’t be on the ground for more than two minutes.”

Alex steeled himself and took off at a run. His chest was tight, and his head throbbed. The lights spun around him. A cold sweat ran down his back, and his face was icy. He glanced at his watch: no time. Finally he reached the port, where the colored lights of the city rippled on the black water. The air was warm and thick with oily fumes.

A light drizzle began falling. He couldn’t afford to be late.

He found the empty tract of beach. Nothing there. He called Parsifal, but his phone was still off. His tiny window of opportunity had been sealed shut.

The wind was carrying the faint beat of a rotor. The noise got louder. Lights suddenly appeared in the sky, coming closer. The pilot turned on a bright spotlight that lit up the beach below, and he began maneuvering the aircraft into the middle of the square landing site. The rotor shrieked in the salty air.

Pepe’s chin was flanked by long black sideburns. A diamond winked in his earlobe. Within seconds the helicopter was off the ground again, the rain spattering the windshield as it rose.

“We’re looking for a light-colored refrigerated delivery truck that left Barcelona and is probably heading for central Europe.

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