Except . . . the tattoo. It was in the wrong place. The sword-bearing winged arm was on the back of his gun hand instead of his forearm.
But it was the face of the shitbird who killed Liliana.
Wasn’t it?
Not quite. Nearly the same face. A fraternal twin or maybe a cousin.
“No, we haven’t met. How do you know me?”
The man—also named Cluzet, like his younger brother—said, “Your friend Sands ratted you out.”
Cluzet saw Jack’s reaction. “Don’t be angry with the old drunk. He saved your life, actually. My men were sent to kill you, but Sands said you were an American tourist with curious and important friends. Too bad you didn’t go away.”
“I’ll be sure to thank him when I see him.”
Cluzet grinned. “I doubt it.”
“That tattoo. Where have I seen it?”
Cluzet twisted and turned the loaded pistol in his hand to flash the tattoo. “French Foreign Legion, Second Parachute Regiment.”
“Is it a rub-on from a cereal box? Or did your boyfriend buy it for you?”
Cluzet roared with laughter. “So funny, and such a killer, too! You wasted some very hard men tonight, Jack. No easy feat. I’m impressed.”
He stepped closer to Jack. Rain poured off his nose and chin. “You’re a real badass, aren’t you, Jack?”
He stepped even closer. Almost nose-to-nose.
“You think you can kill me?”
Jack threw a punch, but he was totally spent. The adrenaline rush of the last fifteen minutes had completely exhausted itself, robbing him of any strength.
Cluzet easily sidestepped the weak jab and returned the favor with a hard fist into Jack’s gut, doubling him over.
Jack’s knees splashed in the mud.
The crown of Cluzet’s pistol pressed against the top of Jack’s head.
“I’m sorry,” Jack whispered.
Sorry for the girl down the hill, and Liliana, and all the others he had failed over the years.
Especially his father.
Cluzet laughed and pulled the trigger.
* * *
—
The pistol report near Jack’s face stabbed his eardrum like a hot nail. His throbbing headache only worsened, and a high-pitched whine screamed inside his brain like a bad radio wave.
The nine-millimeter bullet splashed harmlessly next to Jack. To his credit, he didn’t even flinch, but mostly because he was too damned tired.
“Tie him up,” Cluzet said to the two men who approached. Jack glanced up and saw that he had miscounted. There were five men left, not three.
“What about them?” Jack asked, nodding at the miners still kneeling in the mud.
“They have work to do tonight.”
Cluzet leaned close to Jack’s other ear. “But in the morning, they shall all be killed. We’re starting a new mine tomorrow because this one is all played out, just like they are.”
He grinned in Jack’s face, daring him to do something. But Jack’s eyes focused on Cory’s hollow wooden amulet hanging around the man’s neck.
80
Jack lay soaking wet with his back against the cave wall, hands tied behind him, ankles bound with rope and legs stretched out in front. A Coleman lantern lit the space. Rain still fell in sheets outside. One of Cluzet’s four remaining guards stood at the entrance, facing out.
Cluzet had told Jack that in the morning the Russian heavy hauler would arrive to take him out to the ship in international waters that was carrying the precious cargo mined in these mountains.
“And after that?”
“You will either travel a very far distance or, because of the trouble you caused tonight, a very short one,” Cluzet said, grinning, as he headed back out into the rain, leaving the American to ponder his fate.
Hog-tied and humiliated, Jack was out of cards, his hand played out.
He called to the guard, a narrow-shouldered, five-foot-eight Che Guevara wannabe with a scraggly beard and a short-man’s complex.
“Hey, I gotta piss.”
“Then piss,” the guard called back over his shoulder.
“C’mon, man. You got the gun. I ain’t going anywhere.”
The man turned around. Hatred dripped from the guard’s exhausted eyes. Jack had killed several of his friends tonight.
“Piss yourself, singao.”
“Look, help me up. I can’t run away tied up like this.”
“Even if you are standing up, how are you gonna piss with your hands tied?”
Jack shrugged. “Well, if you’re nice, you can hold it for me. But you’re gonna need both hands, if you know what I mean.”
The man charged over and swung a heavy boot at Jack’s face to kick it like a soccer ball. Jack barely managed to duck out of the way. The guard’s boot crashed into the rock wall, knocking him off balance. Jack saw his chance.