They made no sound as they moved through the grass, brush and rocks toward the tunnel entrance. Maestro was lead. Two guards were stationed on either side of the entrance. Neither wore the security company jackets with the logo that would have told him they were recently hired. The Billows brothers hadn’t taken any chances with their tunnel. They were using their own men to guard it.
Two guards outside, and they’re on full alert. They’re not rentals, he warned the others.
Keys, get close enough when the guards are taken down to vet the tunnel entrance inside, Steele cautioned.
Maestro detested that Keys would be in harm’s way. As an asset, he was worth his weight in gold. But he was also Maestro’s closest brother.
Maestro went down onto his belly and dug his elbows and toes into the ground to propel himself forward, staying low as he stalked his prey through the brush. He’d learned the maneuver from his childhood, when it was always life or death if there was a whisper of sound. A grass blade moving or a rock disturbed could earn a vicious beating with a whip, not just for him, but for the other members of his team. As children without medical aid and living in dirty conditions with rats and insects, always cold, the more they had open wounds, the more likely it was that someone would die. Maestro, like his other team members, had learned to move through the brush without detection.
He used the stalk of a leopard, moving and then freezing if his prey had looked toward him. The guard was a fairly large man, bulky in his oversized jacket. He carried a semiautomatic and had extra magazines strapped to his waist. A knife hung from his belt, blatantly large, the blade slightly curved. It was clear he meant business. He didn’t smoke or pull out his phone. He was very much on alert.
“All clear, Dwayne,” he reported to someone.
Someone has surveillance on these guards, Maestro said. Ink, we need eyes in the sky. He was frustrated that he couldn’t just take the guard out. He was only a few feet from him, but someone was watching over them. The moment he killed the first guard, the Billows brothers would be alerted, as would any other guards on the property.
“Check in with Bam-Bam, Conway,” came the terse reply.
Ink was their go-to man if they needed aid from birds or other animals. He had a way of connecting with them that, again, like Keys’ talent, Maestro had no understanding of how it worked. But his gift was valuable and had saved them many times as children. He’d been instrumental in shielding Steele’s young son, Zane, during their rescue of the child.
The flutter of wings heralded an owl swooping low, skimming along the grass, talons stretched toward the earth. The bird seemed to come out of nowhere and was large, like most of the great horned owls. With its four-and-a-half-foot wingspan and the shape of its wings and softly fringed feathers, the bird could fly in near silence. This great horned owl was gray and white in coloring, making it appear to materialize out of the San Francisco fog, looking for all the world like an apparition. With the large tufts on its head resembling horns, round yellow eyes and wicked beak, the predator was unnerving.
The owl streaked, talons outstretched, looking to lock on to prey hidden in the grass close to Conway’s feet. Conway swore, stumbling back as the owl pulled up and seemed to fade into the fog.
“Did you see that?” The guard sounded shaken.
“Yeah, what the hell just happened?” Dwayne demanded.
The team leader is sitting in the oak tree, the tallest one, with the bent, twisted branches, Ink reported.
I’m on it, Preacher said. Give me a couple of minutes.
“Did you see that owl, Bam-Bam?” Conway asked, apparently shaken. He rubbed one hand up and down his thigh. “I nearly pissed myself.”
The second guard, pacing just outside the entrance, gave a sneering laugh. “You sound like a girl, Conway.”
Conway swore at Bam-Bam but then laughed. “I wish I had my phone out and got a picture of it coming out of the fog.”
Dwayne is down, Preacher advised. You’re clear to go.
Maestro didn’t wait. On three. He didn’t have to look. He knew Keys was in position. They’d run this particular drill hundreds of times. He rose up, slashing with his knife, severing the arteries in the thighs, groin and under the arms in less than a second, slamming one hand over Conway’s mouth to prevent him from crying out. Maestro lowered him to the ground, stripping away the gun. Keys had mirrored his actions with Bam-Bam and was already hurrying away from the body to approach the actual entrance to the tunnel.
Maestro covered him as Keys ducked inside the darkened passageway and approached the door that had been built to block entry. Keys held up his hand and then held up two fingers.
Two just inside, but I feel the presence of more. We’re going to have to take them down fast, so the others hidden along the corridor won’t be alerted.
Maestro swore under his breath. It stood to reason that the Billows brothers had secreted their own men inside the tunnel rather than have them patrolling the grounds of the club. The rented security was for show only and to create a distraction if any rescue party showed up.
The second we go through that door, we’ll have to kill them both, Maestro said. Give me the exact position of both men. They can’t have time to get a warning off.
Keys stood in silence for what seemed an eternity to Maestro before finally nodding. One is taller than the other by quite a bit. He’s on the left side of the corridor leaning against the wall. His back is to us. The other is sitting, but I can tell he’s very slight. His chair has been turned partially toward the other man. The one sitting is older, and he keeps moving like his hip hurts. He’s the one I’m worried about. If he moves when we go through the door, you’re going to miss.
I won’t miss. Azelie’s life depends on a clean throw. Maestro was confident because he had to be. This would be the most important throw of his life. He had to make that blade fly true. There was no room for error. He had no doubt that if Billows was sent an alarm, he would kill Azelie. Give me the exact coordinates again. Once I have them, we go in fast. No hesitation. He couldn’t afford for his target to shift positions.
Keys waited, hands toward the door, and then he told Maestro exactly at what angle the guard was leaning. Maestro had already unlocked the door in preparation. He shoved inside and threw three knives in rapid succession. Simultaneously, Keys rolled into the tunnel to come up directly behind the taller guard. He slammed his blade hard into the back of the guard’s neck, severing the spinal cord.
Maestro followed his knives to his target to ensure the man was dead. He was gone, his eyes wide open. Maestro retrieved his blades, wiping the blood on the guard’s clothing. Keys was already moving down the tunnel at a rapid pace but stopping at each door along the way, checking either side. They were halfway to the room where McGrady had died when Keys signaled that the rooms on either side of the corridor were occupied.
Another delay. Another possible alarm for Billows. Maestro shared a long look with Keys. He indicated the door on the left side of the hall. He held up three fingers, bent down and drew stick figures in the dirt, marking the position of all three precisely. He drew them in chairs seated around a small table.
Cards. He circled one of the chairs and the stick figure. I’ll take this one. You take the one on the end. We’ll both go for the guy in the middle.
Three. That would take precision kills. Maestro’s target was the farthest from the door, but he had skills when it came to throwing a knife. He planned out his attack, going through the moves in his mind. It was imperative to take out his first target immediately and hit the second one before he could react. He had to be fast. Very fast. There were men in the room directly across the hall. There couldn’t be a sound, certainly not a gunshot. That meant the men at the card table had to die before they were aware they were under attack.
Once more, Maestro went over each move in his mind before he signaled to Keys it was a go. It was Keys who shoved the door open, giving Maestro the momentum of his throw. The easiest and best results when throwing a knife came from being square with your target, stationary, feet planted, shoulders pointed toward the target, elbows tucked and wrist locked. Follow-through was extremely important.
Maestro had practiced thousands of hours, throwing on the run. Each step was calculated, his feet squaring his shoulders in the perfect placement to his target. He had force behind his throw, so the blade penetrated the neck, slicing through the artery. He was throwing the second knife before the first had struck his target. He hadn’t dared to slow down; he had to reach his prey before either could recover from their shock enough to attempt to raise a gun or shout for help.
Normally, if the carotid artery was severed, it would take only five to fifteen seconds for death to occur. It was the one target Maestro practiced nearly daily to hit with efficiency. The artery was only one and a half inches below the skin. He didn’t have to carry huge knives to get the job done. He simply had to be accurate and extremely fast.
Keys had taken his man out as well, and the two of them left the dead behind, closing the door after themselves. Keys immediately went to the door across the hall, holding his palms close to the wood and dirt.
Code fed them information. I had to dig deep to find evidence of triplets. They weren’t born in the United States. Their parents were from here, but their mother went to Haiti to have them. She left their father and joined a cult, very enamored with the leader of the new religion. Her husband fought for the children, but he had ties to the local Mafia, and she claimed he beat her. She stayed in Haiti with the cult leader, a man who called himself Seradieu, which means “will be God.”
You can guess how those kids were treated, and the mother allowed it. She died under suspicious circumstances, and they came back to live with their father. That’s how they got into this business they’re in. By the time they came to the States, they were in their teens and already pretending to be one person. Their father left his estate to Alan Billows, his only son. He went along with their deception.
Keys held up his two fingers. Again, he drew stick figures in the dirt, positioning them exactly.
Maestro didn’t care about the information Code had given him on the Billows brothers. He didn’t need to know what had made them into monsters, he only knew they were monsters. Every member of Torpedo Ink had been tortured, had had family members murdered, had been subjected to physical, emotional, mental and sexual abuse. They didn’t traffic other human beings for money. They didn’t harm children. They were men and women who could shut off emotions and kill, but they didn’t kill indiscriminately. They had a code and they stuck to it. What Maestro cared about was getting to his woman and freeing her from monsters.
