Sleeping With Danger

Melita glanced at the lighter on the table. He’d had it a long time, and she’d watched him finger it and stroke it like it was something special. He did it many times a day. “What do the initials P.C. stand for?”

He slipped the lighter back into his pocket. “It’s the name of an old friend. Before he died, Paavo Creon gave it to me. He was generous, that way. He shared everything he owned with me before he died.”

“And how did he die?”

“Tragically.”

“Was he also in the business of torturing and killing?”

“Be careful, Melita.”

“I don’t believe he was a friend. The devil has no friends. All he has is enemies, and you must have more than your share. More enemies than rocks on this island. If your own children hate you, then—”

“Enough!”

It would never be enough. The vision of Nemo tied to a wooden stake on her father’s yacht flashed in Melita’s mind. She would have given her own life to save him, but nothing she had said had made any difference.

“Reminiscing, Melita? Are you seeing Nemo screaming for his life, or is it all the blood you can’t forget? You were the cause of that, just as you were the cause of Hector’s suffering this morning. We’ve had this conversation a dozen times. As I told you, your betrayal killed your lover, just like your foolish trip to the village this morning has scarred Hector for life.”

“Stop it.” Melita covered her ears.

Her father stood quickly and jerked her hands away from her ears. “It’s time to grow up and embrace the life I’m prepared to offer you, Melita. Agree to surrender to me and we’ll begin again.”

What he offered she wanted no part of. To live a life controlled by him would be worse than death. The only thing she wanted was to forget she was Cyrus Krizova’s daughter.

“Punishing Hector today served a dual purpose. It was a warning to my men that I don’t tolerate failure, and it was also a reminder to you that your selfish actions hurt other people. We both know how much you hate being the catalyst to a disaster. Next time you slip out of your bedroom before dawn think about Hector dangling from a rope in Holic’s iron sights.”

“I’ll never surrender.”

“I can wait you out, Melita. Your life here does not alter mine. Surrendering to me might seem like a prison cell itself, but it can also be the key that unlocks the door. Your brother learned that. As imperfect and weak as Simon was, eventually he learned that fighting me hurt him more than accepting his birthright.”

“Simon’s sick. He can’t fight back or choose for himself.”

“You’re not listening. I choose for all my children.”

“Then choose for me to go back to Mykonos. I’ll live there quietly with Simon and take care of him. You can forget us and we’ll forget you.”

“That’s not an option.”

“Why? I loved living at Lesvago. I wouldn’t leave. I wouldn’t ever leave. And Simon needs—”

“Peace and quiet.”

“What does that mean? Has he contracted another blood infection?”

“No, that’s not what ails him these days, but it’s nothing for you to concern yourself with. Enough about Simon. I’ve decided that starting tomorrow you will spend every afternoon with Barinski in the lab. His lack of organization is affecting his productivity. You like to organize things.” He touched the flowers on the table. “While I’m gone you can keep his records orderly.”

“Take me along with you. I miss Callia and Erik.”

“No. That would be rewarding you for going to the village against my orders.” He bent and sniffed the lavender in the vase. “Remember you have the power to keep Hector and the villagers healthy. You don’t need another death on your conscience to send you off the balcony, or slitting your wrists again.” He angled his head and blew smoke into the air, then he sent his eyes slowly over her from head to toe. “There’s something else. I’ve ignored this ridiculous costume far too long. You will start wearing the clothes in your closet, and shoes on your feet.”

Melita raised her chin. “If you want me to dress like your daughter, I will…for your promise to stop killing the goats.”

He sighed heavily. “So we’re back to that, are we? The goats on this island are raised for food, Melita.”

She turned and gazed out over the balcony, the wind lifting the hem of her peasant-style red cotton skirt. The air was fresh and balmy, and she could smell the wildflowers that grew randomly along the rocky path. The goat herd was there munching on the foliage in the sunlight.

She turned and faced her father. “Make this place a refuge for the goats. You could demand it. Do it father, and I will…consider surrendering my life and my soul to you.”

“And what would the villagers eat for meat?”

“The villagers are fishermen. They can eat fish.”

“Despotiko, a refuge for those shaggy beasts?” He laughed. “It’s unfortunate that your pets are weekly turned into steak, but that is the life of a goat. Perhaps it would be wise to refrain from naming them.”

“My loyalty in exchange for the lives of a herd of goats,” she promised, sure she had lost her mind.

He stepped forward and brushed the back of his hand along her cheek, then just as quickly he sent his hand into her hair and grabbed on. Melita cried out in pain and dropped to her knees at his feet.

He said, “You have never been, and never will be, in a position to make a deal with me.” He let go of her and she slumped forward. “Ask me for your forgiveness. Say it, damn you, or I will slaughter that herd of hairy beasts within the hour.”

She knew he would do it. Would make her watch.

Tears began to fall and she couldn’t stop them. She gulped air, whispered, “Forgive me, father?”

“I didn’t hear that.”

Melita cleared her throat. “I said, forgive me, father.”

He reached down as if he were going to touch her head, the act of a caring father who was sorry he’d lost his temper. Instead he grabbed her arm and hauled her back to her feet.

“Pick flowers. Play with your goats. Name every damn one of them. But if you want to save Hector a bloody ending, you will keep yourself within the boundaries of Minare. And when I return to the island, I will expect you to greet me wearing shoes and looking like my daughter, not some island waif.”

When he let go of her, Melita stumbled back into the balcony railing. Righting herself, she heard voices in the distance. She scanned the trail that lead to the sea, and saw one of her father’s guard patrol cruisers had docked.

“Are you expecting company?” she asked, drying her eyes with the back of her hand. She prayed it was Simon. She needed to see him. Needed to make sure he was all right, and to tell him she forgave him for his part in Nemo’s death.

“Inside, Melita. You are to stay up here the rest of the day.” When she didn’t move, he pulled her away from the balcony. “Inside.”

Melita obeyed her father, but the minute he left the tower, she was back out on the balcony straining her neck to see who had arrived.

There had been no visitors to Minare for months except for Holic Reznik. Please, God, she prayed, let it be Simon.

To her disappointment, the man who came ashore looked nothing like Simon. But then no one looked like her white-haired, albino brother.

The stranger wore his black hair to his shoulders, and he was being escorted by two guards. He walked ahead of them shuffling forward like an old man. Or maybe he was crippled.

As she continued to watch from the tower, Melita realized that the man was neither old, crippled, or a friend of her father’s.

What hindered his normal stride was a pair of iron manacles around his ankles.

Chapter 3

The double-agent scenario wasn’t a new idea. Regeneration, better known as brainwashing, had been around in the spy world for decades. But a year ago Cyrus had decided to take the theory a step further. He’d spared no expense on the latest technology—the bowels of Minare now looked like a space-age conspiracy.

Every genius plan had problems to iron out. A week ago those problems had allowed his guinea pig to slip through his fingers. But it wouldn’t happen again. He knew what had allowed Jazmin Grant to escape him.

Human nature, or what he referred to as the lust factor, could be a secret weapon or could short-circuit a double-agent’s brainwashing at a crucial moment. But not this time. With Sully Paxton, he planned to take the problem out of the equation.

Cyrus stepped into the lab and stopped in the doorway. He had come to tell Barinski that Sully Paxton had arrived and that they would begin the regeneration procedure again. The idea of snatching up Merrick’s elite agents and regenerating them one by one put a smile on his face.

“Barinski?”

When the doctor didn’t answer, Cyrus walked into the animal room where all the research and theories were tested out on lab rats. He found Barinski coddling one of the rats, talking to it like the damn thing understood every word he said.

“Perhaps you need to invest in a hearing aid, or I should install a bell on your door,” Cyrus said by way of introduction.

Unaware that anyone had entered his sanctum, Barinski jumped and let out a startled cry. His squawk of surprise frightened the rat. The rodent clamped down on Barinski’s finger. The doctor squealed again and dropped the rat, allowing it to scurry out the door.

Cyrus swore. He hated rats. Hated everything about them. He’d existed on a steady diet of rodents in Prague for months after Merrick left him to die. Since then he hadn’t been able to look at a rat without remembering his desperation.

“I want that thing found. You know what I’ll do to it if I find it first.”

Barinski winced at Cyrus’s words, then at the blood dripping from his finger. He pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his baggy pants and wrapped it around the injury.

“Is there something you came to discuss with me?”

“Paxton’s here.” Cyrus tossed a file on Barinski’s worktable. “Everything you need is there.”

“What kind of shape is he in?”

“Better than I expected. There’s a picture in the file of him when he was pulled from the pit. It’s not the same man who came off the boat today. But I’m not surprised. Adolf Merrick scoured the countryside to find Paxton and five others just like him. They are the toughest bastards alive. Adolf Merrick’s pride and joy. And because they are, I want them. All of them, starting with Paxton.”

His latest plan was perhaps one of his most ingenious. The concept of Sully Paxton’s allegiance being stripped from Onyxx was perfect revenge. It would also aid him—a man in his line of work could always use an elite private army ready to serve his cause. They would kill whomever he needed silenced, and his shipments would always be delivered on time, whether it was guns, drugs, or the blueprints of the latest, most indestructible submarine.

Yes, Paxton would be the first. After he’d seized control of Merrick’s elite fighters, he would poach both government and private agencies all over the country.

“I’ve gone over your notes concerning the emotional malfunction of Jazmin Grant. Our success in converting these agents is contingent on complete surrender, both body and mind. Physically it won’t be hard to bring Paxton back to the iron man he once was. He’s halfway there.”

Cyrus had instructed his men at Vouno to put Paxton through hell. From the day he’d captured Sully Paxton at Castle Rock he’d had him beaten and tortured, and anything else he could do to him to make him scream.

From personal experience he knew that what didn’t kill a man always made him stronger. And now Paxton was even more indestructible than ever before.

“Your job will be stripping his memory and reprogramming him. But before you get started I want to ensure that he doesn’t end up like Grant.”

“Grant’s problem was—”

“I know what the problem was. The lust factor made her vulnerable. It got in the way of her loyalty to me.”

“Lust factor?” Barinski was staring at him like an idiot.

“She surrendered to her sexual attraction for Ash Kelly if you remember,” Cyrus reminded him. “I don’t want the same thing happening again. That’s why I’ve decided my army of stallions are going to be gelded. Starting with Paxton.”

Barinski was hesitant in his response. “I’ve never performed a surgery like that.”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to figure it out.”

“Yes, of course, but—”

“You have two months to turn Paxton into a human robot.”

“Two months. If I worked day and night it would take me twice that long.”

“You’re selling Paxton short. He’ll be ready in two months.”

Barinski found his glasses on his forehead and slid them onto his bulbous nose. It helped his squinting, but magnified his fish eyes to the size of a giant sea monster’s. “Where is he now?”

“He’s in a cell down the hall. Remember, your future is dangling by a thread, Barinski. I usually don’t reward failure with a second chance. And I do see Jazmin Grant as your failure. Not mine.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Let’s hope your best will keep you alive at the end of two months. To help you, I’ve instructed Melita to be your second pair of hands.” Cyrus’s eyes drifted to the open door of Barinski’s office. It looked like he’d turned his rats loose in there. “She can keep your files in order to help speed things up, but I don’t want her anywhere near Paxton.”

“It would be a pleasure to work with the angel.”

Cyrus rolled his eyes and grunted. “I have no use for angels, Barinski. Melita has more of the devil in her than anyone knows. That’s why she is so important to me. Remember, two months. Disappoint me and I’ll have you digging your own grave before I plant you in it.”

That said, he left the lab and headed down the corridor to the holding cells. He saw Barinski’s rat as he rounded the second turn in the hall. It was wedged into a corner trying to be as invisible as possible. He pulled a switchblade from his pocket and flicked it open. Then, before the rat had a chance to take its next breath, the blade was in the air moving toward its target.

The rat never knew what hit him. As he lay on his side twitching and dying, Cyrus put his foot on the rodent’s narrow head and crushed it beneath his foot. Then he reached down, picked up his knife with the dead rat still impaled on it and continued down the corridor to welcome Sully Paxton to Minare.

Sully was dozing on the cot in his cell when he heard heavy footsteps. The cell where he was incarcerated was dry, and it didn’t stink like the dungeon on Hell Island. There was fresh air coming from somewhere, and that told him that the tunnel was open-ended. If he managed to get free, there would be a way out of the monastery other than through the front door he’d entered.

He sat up, but before he could get to his feet, the Chameleon was standing on the other side of the iron bars grinning at him.

“You’re not surprised to see me?”

“I don’t surprise easy.”

“But you must be curious why you’re still alive, and why I’ve decided to change your address.”

“I figured you’d tell me when you were ready. No sense losing sleep over what I can’t change.”

“That’s what I like about you, Paxton. You’re a man who says what he thinks, and believes what he says. That’s why I’ve taken such a special interest in you. I hate to admit it but Merrick has a talent for picking winners. Normally when recruiting a team of special agents, you would look for sterling military jarheads. But Merrick being Merrick went looking for the wildest vigilantes alive. Truly the name rat fighters fits the M.O. of his most elite.”

Sully glanced at the rat impaled on the Chameleon’s knife and wondered if the rodent was a visual aid. “Am I supposed to conclude that I’m going to end up like that rat?”

The Chameleon laughed. “Not if you’re smart. And we both know how smart you are. A street-smart Irish gunrunner.”

“Is that it? Need a gunrunner?”

“Perhaps. You know, Paxton, I find it fascinating that you’re still alive. That your mind is still processing rational thoughts and you’re on your feet. It’s a testimony to your endurance. My screening process is a bit barbaric, and more often than not the result is disappointing, but you haven’t disappointed me at all. That’s why I’ve decided to reward you.”

“And this is my reward, more iron bars? I vote for a room with a view and a beautiful woman for a few hours.”

“The cell is only temporary. A few tests to ensure you haven’t contracted any contagious diseases, and you’ll be moved. However there will be no view in your new quarters, and I promise you that very soon women will be the furthest thing from your mind once you begin working for me.”

“You can’t believe I would ever agree to work for you.”

“Not willingly, no.”

“I could kill myself in here. Snap my own neck. That would flush your plans down the toilet.”

“If that was your intention you would have done it at Vouno.”

Vouno…. Was that the real name of Hell Island? Sully wondered.

“No, already you’re in survival mode…again. Death at your own hands would mean you had failed Merrick, and more importantly, make you a coward. What I’ve observed over the years about the Onyxx six is that each of you have a private code of ethics that demands survival at any cost. That’s what Merrick saw in each of you. Why I knew no matter what I ordered done to you at Vouno you would survive.”

The Cameleon spoke of Merrick as if he knew him personally. Sully sized up his jailer. At Onyxx the Chameleon’s identity was unknown. But that hadn’t altered the fact that he’d topped the list as the most wanted international criminal for over a decade.

“Who are you?” he asked, never expecting to get a straight answer.

“You don’t recognize me? That’s right, you wouldn’t. Not unless you knew my history, or you’d talked to Merrick recently. Which we both know you haven’t.”

Was he saying that since his capture Merrick had uncovered his identity?

“Your boss and I go way back. We were friends before he betrayed me.”

“Before Onyxx?”

“No. We were both recruited by the NSA. We were the first team of Onyxx operatives at its conception.”

There had been talk at the Agency that the Chameleon could be a rogue agent. Sully said, “Long time to hold a grudge.”

“I assure you it’s more than a grudge. I believe my file at Onyxx states that I died just outside of Prague in a minefield. As you can see, Mr. Paxton, Cyrus Krizova is very much alive.”

So the Chameleon finally had a name. Cyrus Krizova.

“You and I have a lot in common. We were both left for dead by our comrades, and we have both survived.”

“You’re saying Merrick deserted you? Not a chance.”

“You find that hard to believe?”

“I know Merrick. That’s not his M.O.”

“Like your team, there were six of us. Merrick was the field commander, Briggs was point man, Paavo Creon was the typographer and, like you, I was the weapons expert. The others…well they’re not important. Like you, Paavo was a regular pretty boy. That’s why, when I needed some repairs done on my face after I stepped on that mine, I decided to take his. He wasn’t going to need it anyway.”

The smug look on Krizova’s face told Sully that Paavo was probably dead.

“You killed Merrick’s wife?”

“What I did was save her from wasting her life with a man with no honor. He didn’t deserve a woman that flawless.”

“Johanna Merrick wasn’t a part of your war with Merrick.”

“As you know there are always casualties in wartime. Like me, your Onyxx team left you for dead at Castle Rock. Are you telling me you don’t harbor any resentment?”

“I was caught behind enemy lines. Fallen comrades are left for dead. It’s standard policy at Onyxx.”

“That’s noble of you, Paxton, but while you were left for dead, Sly McEwen was carrying out Jacy Maddox. A fallen comrade at death’s door. He should have been left behind, too, but he wasn’t. They didn’t even try to look for you.”

So they had all made it out alive. It was the first Sully had heard. But instead of resenting Sly for getting Jacy out, all Sully felt was relief. His teammates had survived Castle Rock. That was good news.

“You’ll be in good hands with Dr. Barinski.” Cyrus looked at his watch. “Before I say goodbye, do you have a meal request for dinner? I have an excellent chef. Whatever you’re craving, I’m sure Cosmo can accommodate you. And of course as much as you want. You’re still underweight.”

“In that case, how about your heart on a silver platter,” Sully replied, “and a six-pack of Killian’s Irish Red.”

Cyrus chuckled, then stepped forward and slid the rat off his knife and tossed it between the iron bars to land at Sully’s feet. “An appetizer while you wait for your meal to arrive. I ate rats in Prague to stay alive. I know in the pit you did, too. You see, Paxton, you and I have even that in common. And I’m sure there is much more.”

An hour later a guard delivered Sully his supper. To his surprise it was served on a silver platter, and beneath the domed cover was an animal’s heart and a six-pack of beer. It wasn’t Killian’s, but the brand could have been from Tasmania and two-thirds dog piss and Sully would have drank it.

It was the first time in days that he had passed on a meal. He picked up the dead rat, tossed it next to the heart and covered the tray. Then he carried the six-pack to the cot and fell asleep nursing his thoughts with a liquid meal that went straight to his head.

In the morning Sully woke up with a screamer of a headache. The beer had tasted good going down, but he was paying for it now. His tolerance to the booze wasn’t what it used to be.

The urge to relieve himself forced him to his feet, and he staggered to the toilet. Normally he could handle drinking all night, but being out of practice had given him a helluva buzz.

He moaned as he put one foot in front of the other. The toilet was five feet away but it felt like five miles. He unzipped his pants, took a stance and let it flow.

He was in the middle of a heavy sigh when he heard a noise behind him. He looked over his shoulder as he continued to perform his normal morning bodily function and stared at the woman standing in front of his cell—an exotic island nymph with the face of an angel.

No way. He was either more drunk than he thought, or he was still asleep and in the middle of the same dream he’d conjured up after midnight. Oh, yeah, this was the little honey he’d been sucking on in the dream, his hands tangled in all that black hair. She had the same sexy dark eyes. The same pouty lips.

Sully felt his body jerk to attention. Wanting to continue down that horny road he’d traveled all night, he left his fly open, flushed the toilet and staggered to the cot.

He looked back, saw she was still peering at him through the bars. Grinning, he muttered, “Come on, baby, climb on in here and we’ll start the party all over again.”

He was two steps from the cot when his sexy dream-lover spoke and stopped him in his tracks.

“If I were you, I would be thinking about a way out of here instead of having a party. The men who visit this cell don’t usually live very long.”

Sully turned slowly. “You’re real?”

“If I’m not, why are you talking to me?”

Sully rubbed his unshaven jaw, studied the woman as she studied him. He decided she was real—his dream-lover had been naked. The only thing naked on this little beauty was her feet. She wore a white peasant blouse and a bright blue skirt.

“Are you the nun who drops by to pray for the lost souls, or the monastery whore who guarantees the condemned die happy?”

He saw her chin jack upward. It was obvious she wasn’t amused by his prison humor, and didn’t find him as appealing to look at as he did her. She was taking him apart a piece at a time, as if he was some side show at a carnival.

For a month he’d been eating and sleeping and pissing center stage. It had given new meaning to the words caged monkey.