Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,146
meant to say as she landed against another warm body. Her phone slipped from her fingers. Something stung her neck. Something very sharp. And she tumbled into darkness.
Walker ran into Izza first, standing in front of a busy fruit stand, a colorful cloth bag hanging off her shoulder as she stretched on her toes to see over the crowd. “Have you seen Persia?”
“No, and I’ve been looking for her. She left me a voicemail, said she was waiting here. You’re taller than me. Can you see another watermelon stand around here? Do you see her?”
While Izza dialed Persia again, Walker did a quick three-sixty. Nothing.
“This can’t be happening,” Izza whined as she stuffed her sat phone in her rear pocket. Leaning into the watermelon stand, she ripped off a string of Spanish at the young girl.
The girl nodded, then bent over and pulled an orange and pink bag from beneath her table. With a few words, she handed it over, then pointed to a monster palm tree and the alley hidden in the shade behind it.
“Gracias,” Izza said, as she examined the bag. “Yup. This is Persia’s. Three papayas. A bottle of rum. But no phone. Damn. She couldn’t have gone far. Maria said she was just here. She dropped the bag when she ran into some guy. She sounded angry, but the guy grabbed her and wouldn’t let her go. I asked what he looked like. Maria said he was tall and old. He had gray hair. He and another man took Persia this way. Follow me.”
“It’s Peckering,” Walker growled as he followed Izza through the crowd, around more fruit and vegetable stands. “He docked behind us. He knew right where we were.”
“How the hell’d he find us?” Izza muttered out of the side of her mouth. “Thought Alex scanned your boat for bugs.”
“Only after we were at sea. Peckering must’ve had someone watching the marina.”
“All this time? You think he’s behind this? Really? A Navy admiral?”
“I know damned well he’s behind it,” Walker replied as they hurried into the alley. “Are you armed?”
“Always.” Izza pulled a pocket pistol out of her bag. “You?”
“Yes.” Reaching under his arm, he loosened one of the two SIGs he’d requisitioned at Murphy’s from its holster. Lowering its barrel, he kept the weapon alongside his thigh and out of sight. No sense scaring the locals.
“I’ll kill him,” Izza promised, her piece hidden as well. “If that’s who’s got Persia, I’ll fuckin’ kill him.”
“We have to find him first.”
The narrow alley was crowded with more kiosks, more people, and plenty of shadows. Little sun filtered down between the twenty-plus-story hotels on either side of the alley. There were no cutesy outdoor cafes here. No welcoming lights or dapper entertainers hawking their next street performances. Just the raw, untamed side of a tourist destination.
Garbage was everywhere, some in overflowing waste receptacles, some scattered underfoot. The farther into the alley they went, the darker it became. Yet Izza walked as if she knew where she was going, so Walker let her lead.
Until he caught sight of the tall, gray-haired man up ahead. “I see Peckering,” he told Izza as he dodged back and forth, straining to catch a glimpse of Persia past the crowd. “Can’t see her yet. We need to split up. Take the next backdoor we come across. Go through the hotel and cut him off. Hurry!”
“Copy that,” Izza replied. Turned out another, narrower alley branched off within seconds. She disappeared into the dark.
Walker dodged couples and families in his way, keeping his eye on the back of Peckering’s well-trimmed haircut. Another man walked quickly at his side, but Walker couldn’t tell if Persia was with them. There were too many people in the way. Apparently, the locals used this alley to avoid the congested plaza. He couldn’t risk taking a shot.
In a dozen steps, Peckering would be lost, Persia with him. Walker took a chance and called, “Admiral! Is that you? Wait up!”
Like an idiot, he stopped just long enough to glance over his shoulder.
But that split-second distraction was enough. Instinctively, Walker’s pistol came up. “Stop, or I’ll shoot!”
The crowd parted like the Red Sea did for Moses. And there he was, in plain view. Admiral Fuckin’ Peckering. The shorter, stockier, olive-skinned guy with him had one arm around an unconscious Persia. She appeared limp, draped against him. Drugged. A helpless beauty in nothing but her damned skimpy bikini top and shorts. I’ll kill him if he’s hurt her.