St Kilda Consulting 01 - Always Time to Die

World Bank could pump in enough legal money to keep things afloat for a while.
    But nothing would replace the middle-class professionals and the upper class whose wealth and talents were hemorrhaging out of the country at a chilling rate.
    Greed, the engine of the global train wreck.
    He hoped his report made a difference in the speed of U.S. and world reaction to Colombia’s rapidly developing crisis. Nobody needed another failed state. Nobody benefited from it but the crooks at the top, the ones that rode the body politic right into the ground, murdering the competition and grabbing money with both hands as long as the ride lasted.
    Thinking about it didn’t make Dan’s leg feel any better.
    So think about Gus’s kids smiling and laughing. Soon they’ll be over the flu and running around, bursting with health and intelligence, well fed, well loved, well educated, and ready to take on the world.
    Fuck the politicians.
    It’s the kids that keep me trying to salvage something from the train wreck.
    Quietly, efficiently, Dan shut down the computer, disconnected the box that automatically encrypted outgoing material and decoded incoming messages, and stored the machine in its titanium nest.
    There was no sound from beyond the closed bedroom door, where Carly slept. At least Dan hoped she was sleeping. Thinking about her lying awake and alone in the living room would keep him awake and restless.
    Don’t forget the bone.
    How could I? The evidence is right there in front of me.
    Two dogs barked in the darkness, from the direction of the Rincon house. The barks rose in savagery and then shut off at a shout.
    Dan waited, listening for whatever had set off the dogs. He didn’t hear anything but the settling of piñon logs in the fireplace beyond the bedroom. Wind sighed over the roof and cried in the cottonwood’s massive branches. Moments later the dogs started barking again, drawing another irate shout from their owner.
    Something is upwind of the house. The dogs bark every time the wind blows.
    Suddenly glass shattered in the living room and something thumped to the floor. Alarms went off everywhere.
    Dan was on his feet and in the living room before the missile stopped skidding across the wood floor. He saw instantly that it was an adobe brick, not a gasoline or pipe bomb. An envelope was tied to the brick.
    Ignoring it, he went to the alarm panel in the living room and shut off the noise.
    The neighbor’s dogs were going nuts.
    “What’s going on?” Carly’s voice was hoarse with adrenaline and being yanked out of deep sleep.
    “Don’t get up. I mean it, Carolina May. Stay put.”
    She didn’t move, held in place more by the quality of his voice than his words.
    He crossed back to his bedroom, knelt by the titanium case, and quickly went through the locks. This time he didn’t pull out a decoder.
    The Desert Eagle didn’t shine with chrome. It was matte finish, dark, and all business. The weight of the weapon told Dan what he already knew—it was loaded. With automatic motions he released the safety and held the gun down along his leg. Quickly, silent but for the faint crunch of glass beneath his shoes, he went back across the living room and stood to the side of the broken window.
    Moonlight poured into the living room through the torn curtains. He stared out at the front of the property. Nothing moved except a black shape speeding away down the road.
    Someone was running without lights.
    “Dan?” Carly’s voice was a whisper.
    “Not yet.” His voice was low, pitched to reach only her. “I think he’s gone, but I want to be sure. Don’t move from your bed until I get back.”
    “But why should you be the one to…” Her voice died as she spotted the gun held against his leg. “Oh.”
    He tossed his cell phone to her. “Call 911. My house is in the county’s jurisdiction.”
    She grabbed the phone out of the air and began punching in numbers. “You’re really going to have to tell me about your job,” she muttered.
    He went out the kitchen door without saying anything. The night was bright and clean and icy. The faint smell of a badly tuned gasoline engine lingered on the air.
    If Dan had thought he was the target, he would have taken a long, careful time going around the house and narrow lean-to. But Carly was the target and he wanted to wrap his fingers around someone’s neck. He went through the motions of a search with a speed that would have appalled his Special Ops trainers.