The Edge of Armageddon

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Marsh laughed and hung up the phone with a flourish. Zoe cuddled in even further. “You sure showed him,” she purred.

“Oh, yes, and now I’m going to show him even more.”

Marsh plucked out yet another burner cell and checked the number he’d already saved to the memory. Convinced it was the right one he quickly dialed and waited. The voice that answered, all gruff and imposing, confirmed his expectations.

“You know what to do,” he said.

“One? Or two?”

“Two, as we agreed. Then move on in case I need you again.”

“Sure boss. I’ve been keeping up with events through my cellphone’s app. Would sure have loved me some of that action.”

Marsh huffed. “Are you a terrorist, Stephen?”

“Well, no I wouldn’t put myself in that class. Not exactly.”

“The do the job you’ve been paid to do. Right now.”

Marsh flicked one of the screens to a city camera, just a mini-surveillance unit the neighboring businesses used to keep tabs on the comings and goings along the sidewalk. Stephen would cause havoc along this particular street and Marsh wanted to watch.

Zoe leaned across, trying to get a better view. “So what else are we going to do today?”

Marsh stared. “Isn’t this enough for you? And you do suddenly seem a little soft, somewhat malleable, for a woman invited to join the big bad Pythians, Miss Zoe Sheers. Why is that? Is it because you like the mad in me?”

“I think so. And more than just a little. Maybe the champagne is going to my head.”

“Good. Now shut up and watch.”

The next few moments unfolded as Marsh wanted them to. Normal men and women would flinch at what they saw, even tough ones, but Marsh and Sheers viewed it with cold detachment. It then took Marsh only five minutes to save the footage and video-message it to the Englishman with the attached note: Send this on to Homeland. I’ll be in touch shortly.

He wrapped Zoe up in one arm. Together they studied the chase’s next scenario, which would have the Englishman and his three stooges actually knowing they would arrive too late before they even began. Superb. And the mayhem at the end… priceless.

Marsh remembered then that there were other people in the room. Ramses’ primary cell and its members. They were sitting so quietly in a far corner of the apartment that he barely recalled their faces.

“Hey,” he called. “The lady has run out of champagne. Would one of you drifter types be able to freshen her up?”

A man rose, his eyes filled with so much contempt that Marsh squirmed. But the expression was quickly masked and became a fast bobbing of the head. “Sure can.”

“Excellent. One more bottle should do it.”