Page 101 of Rogue
God. Please don’t be a decomposed skeleton. A bone. Or anything else that has to do with death.
I glare down at the offensive item and gasp.
A box lay in the middle of the tunnel. I quickly scan my surroundings and notice stack upon stack of them, lined up along the wall. But it’s their cherry-red warning label that stands out the most:munitions decombat.“Combat munitions,” I whisper, quickly trying to translate. “Munitions . . . ammunition?”
Holy hell. Is this what that Prick has been doing with those envelopes of money? There are boxes full of ammunition. Enough to arm a small army.
As I pause to consider this, I hear voices.
Heavily accented voices, non-French voices. Speaking in the common language of English. Familiar Prick voices I’m growing rather fond of—yeah, right.
Words drift to me from deep within the tunnel.Ammunition. Fool. Vans. Mexico.
The catacomb goes dark as I turn off my phone. No time to run. With my foot, I kick my satchel over against a stack of boxes, then tuck myself up against a larger stack.
Please keep walking.
I stiffen when one man says, “Let’s pile these boxes next to the others. One day won’t hurt. Until the vans come tomorrow to collect everything.”
“No, no, that won’t do. Novák will be here shortly to take inventory. Only the ammunition is to be left here. No guns. Besides, these weapons are untraceable. The serial numbers have already been sanded off. Follow me. There’s a room where we can safely store them.”
I sink back against the wall, trying to disappear as footsteps approach.
One Prick after another passes me by. Seven in total, cursing the heavy boxes and cursing Novák.
Jaxson was right. Terminating him without knowing what he’s been up to would have been a foolish move. I get that now. Dangerous doesn’t even describe what I’m witnessing. No wonder Hayden’s been worse than a dog with a bone gathering information on Novák. Nothing good can come from this small arsenal of weapons.
Do I call Hayden directly? Or . . . better yet, do I find Jaxson?
I frown. I can still hear them cursing, and their progress through the tunnel has slowed.
Swallowing hard, I hurry back in the direction I came.
I stop just out of sight. Count the six Pricks standing. Then grab hold of the wall to prevent myself from falling as my legs give out beneath me.
Six Pricks standing, because the seventh is on his stomach, pushing a box ahead of him and into the hole at the base of the wall.
Oh no. No. No. No.
Seven goddamn men.
Jaxson will believe it’s another setup. That I am a traitor.
They’ll outnumber him. Cut him. Hurt him. All because of me.
Something slithers across my ankle.
Worms. Detestable bugs. Worse than fire ants. Malaria-carrying mosquitos. South American hornets. Worms like Francis prey off the earth, slithering about silently, unobserved, while they cleanse the bones of their victims.
I push myself off the wall to a full stand. I won’t get to tell the traitor good-bye to his face when I dreamed mine would be the last face he’d ever see.
Hayden will have to figure out what Novák is up to from someone else.
Jaxson will have a fighting chance at escaping.
He’ll hear the truth of what happened.
I’m right on timethis time, baby.
