He shook out his shoulders to loosen up and then started walking casually toward Malse. The man separated himself from the wall he was leaning against but didn’t make a move for his sidearm.
If there was one thing the African didn’t lack, it was confidence. And that conviction didn’t just come from his freakish bulk and the terror he instilled in everyone for five hundred miles around. He was also in the habit of kidnapping and eating albino children. When Black had first heard the stories, he’d thought they were just a bullshit legend. It turned out that they were true. Malse believed that his unusual diet made him invincible in battle.
The African said something and Black just pointed to his ear in a way that suggested he couldn’t hear. It wouldn’t register as being unusual. A significant percentage of the rebel population was about half deaf from the constant shooting and explosions.
His heart felt like it was trying to fight its way out of his chest by the time he got within ten feet of the man. Malse still hadn’t recognized him or made a move for his weapon, but he did speak again. Black nodded vigorously at whatever the fuck he’d said, hoping to draw attention away from the knife appearing from his pocket. When he got inside of five feet, he lunged, driving the eight-inch blade into the man’s stomach. Malse looked surprised, but other than that the knife didn’t seem to make much of an impression. He grabbed Black by the front of his fatigues and lifted him off the ground, throwing him into the church’s perimeter wall. The former Ranger managed to keep his head from impacting but still hit hard before dropping gracelessly to the ground. He’d barely managed to get to his knees when Malse grabbed him again—this time with one hand on his throat and the other on his thigh. Black found himself being lifted again but managed to grab hold of the hilt of the knife protruding from Malse’s stomach on the way up. He yanked it sideways, opening a long slit that poured blood down the front of the African’s grimy blue jeans. He still didn’t seem to notice.
This time Black hit the wall upside down and almost seven feet up, impacting the ground a moment later face-first. He saw Malse coming for him again but was too dazed to do anything but lie there wondering if the magic really worked. If all those murdered children really had made him immortal.
A human figured appeared from the shadows behind the African and Black squinted at it, trying to make sense of what was happening. A hand clamped over Malse’s nose and mouth and he was dragged out of sight. After that, there was a quiet crunching sound and then nothing.
Black tried to push himself to his feet, failing the first time and then managing to regain enough equilibrium to succeed on his second try. When he did, the dark figure was standing in front of him, backlit as he had been before. Not Malse. Way too small and straight. Still fuzzy, there was nothing Black could do when the man grabbed him by the hair and dragged him into the same dark alcove he’d dragged the African.
Black fell to his knees and looked down at Malse. His previously good leg was bent sideways at a ninety-degree angle and his head was twisted all the way around backward. Somewhere, there was a witch doctor who owed him a refund.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
The quiet voice sent a surge of adrenaline through Black, bringing him back to full alertness.
“Mitch? What are you doing here?”
A gun appeared and a moment later there was a silencer pressed to Black’s forehead.
“I was about to ask you the same thing.”
A thousand lies passed through his mind, but he knew that every one of them would end with his brains splattered over what was left of Malse.
“There’s information on you and the others inside the church, Mitch. I don’t think anyone would be able to find it, but I didn’t want to take chances.”
“I asked you about this a few days ago. You told me the place was clean.”
“That wasn’t entirely accurate.”
“What kind of information?”
Black didn’t answer.
“You have one chance to convince me you’re just an idiot, Kent. Because if I start thinking that you’re playing both—”
“It’s an entire dossier on everyone involved and what we’re doing,” Black blurted. “I’m sorry, Mitch. I told an old friend that if I were to disappear, he should come get it and release it on the Internet.”
“Why would you think that you were going to disappear?”
“I don’t know, man . . . Because why would someone like you give a shit about someone like me? Particularly when you’ve got Donatella and the fucking Russian terminator to watch your back. I’m pretty sure that next to the word ‘expendable’ in the dictionary, there’s a picture of me.”
“No one on any of my teams has ever been expendable, Kent.”
“I understand that now. That’s why I’m here. I was going to get the stuff and destroy it. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to think . . . you know . . .”
“That you’re an idiot?”
“Yeah. That.”
As much as Rapp wanted to put a bullet in this little dipshit, there was no point. When he’d started out, he’d made similarly boneheaded moves that Stan Hurley would have been justified in burying him for.
“What exactly are we talking about?”
“A single eleven-by-fourteen envelope.”
“No electronic files? Nothing on a server somewhere?”
“No way, man. I swear. That shit’s too hard to control.”
He lowered his weapon. “Okay.”
“What do you mean, ‘Okay’? That’s it?”
Rapp didn’t answer. The ringer on his phone was turned off, but he’d felt it vibrate three separate times over the last few minutes. When he pulled it out, he found multiple messages from Claudia. Not a great sign. She wasn’t a woman prone to calling repeatedly to deliver good news.
He dialed and, not surprisingly, she picked up immediately.
“Mitch! Where are you? I’ve been trying to get in touch.”
“I’m at the church. What’s up?”
“I found Joel Wilson.”
“Where?”
“I’m sorry, Mitch. My man at the airport let me down. Wilson’s on the ground and bearing down on your position with four cars.
“ETA?”
“Call it five minutes.”
“Can you slow him down?”
“I have people along every route to you. We can probably improvise something.”
“Do what you can. Kent and I are going into the church—”
“Going in? Why would you—”
“Don’t talk, Claudia. Listen. Put Grisha on the north roof with a rifle. Put Donatella east.”
“Okay,” she said reluctantly. “I’ll do it.”
“And don’t worry. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
Black, still on his knees, started to protest before Rapp could even disconnect the call.
“Donatella on the east roof? That should be me, Mitch. She’s crap with a rifle. She says it herself.”
Rapp shook his head. “You’re coming with me.”
“What, to help you find the envelope? I can tell you right where it—”
“No, so I can use you to stop bullets when this thing goes to shit.”
CHAPTER 46