Page 4 of The Primary Pest (Iphicles Security #1)

CHAPTER FOUR

Dmytro

Ajax Freedom. There is no freedom in sin. There is no rest for the wicked. Prepare yourself for the torment of eternal damnation. I am the Bringer of Justice, and I will end you.

Boom. Dmytro thought the sound was part of his regular nightmare.

The one where his apartment building was coming down and he had to find a way to get Yulia, Pen, and Sasha out of the rubble through a thick haze of smoke and choking dust. On waking, he needed several disorienting seconds to figure out where he was, who he was with, and why.

As always, the pain of losing Yulia consumed him.

“What’s happening?” He unbuckled his belt and retrieved his weapon in a single practiced motion.

“Stand down, Mitya.” They’d come to a rolling stop along a road he didn’t recognize. “The engine blew.”

“I thought we’d been attacked.” He sighed with relief.

“This is California, not Kazakhstan. I’d have woken you at the slightest sign of trouble.” Bartosz laid a comforting hand on his arm. Since they’d met as young mercenaries, Bartosz, better than most, understood the shitshow behind Dmytro’s closed eyelids.

“The engine is dead?” Dmytro asked.

“Looks like.” A frown drew his lips down. Bartosz was hot, even when he was angry. Women loved him. Men wanted to be him or fuck him. Everyone liked a dangerous man, Dmytro guessed.

“Where are we?” Dmytro couldn’t tell because a bisque-thick fog obscured everything except the closest sign—a flickering, old-fashioned, neon job that read SeaView Motel, on which the v and the i had burned out. The red vacancy sign flashed its welcome.

It was on the other side of the highway. They would have to cross in the void.

“I don’t like this,” Bartosz admitted. “Do you think someone sabotaged the engine?”

“Why bother to tamper with it if they weren’t going to blow us up?”

“Signal’s weak.” Bartosz held his phone up.

Dmytro checked. “Mine too.”

One or two cars whizzed by theirs at a high rate of speed. Dmytro didn’t like that either. Disabled car plus fog plus the possibility of fast traffic was an equation for disaster.

“I’ll bet you’re rethinking the decision to change plans at the last minute.”

“Not really.” Dmytro was rethinking the job, not that he’d been given much of a choice.

He was the best, so Zhenya and Peter had decided he’d be the best man for it.

Plus, he had children of his own, and they believed he’d be able to make Ajax cooperate.

But his kids were girls. They were sweet and only wanted hugs and rainbow ponies and to watch a hundred movies with him whenever they had him to themselves.

Ajax was… not that.

Dmytro glanced back. “We’ll have to cross to the motel and call Zhenya about the vehicle from a landline.”

“We’re sitting ducks here.” Bartosz narrowed his eyes. “When we cross the street, we’ll be ducks in a line at a shooting gallery.”

“I’m not fond of the situation either.” This came from Ajax. “My parents usually get the best security money can buy, but so far you guys aren’t filling me with confidence.”

“ I am the best that money can buy.” Dmytro was confused about many things but not that. “As for the car…”

Smoke had started to pour from beneath the hood. Some of it seeped through the dash vents. It didn’t smell like burning insulation or charred plastic—or like C-4 and gunfire—but Dmytro’s mind reeled with shock and panic, and he couldn’t stay inside the car. Not for anything.

He opened the door, leaped out, and then opened the rear door for Ajax. When Ajax didn’t move fast enough for him, Dmytro caught him by the arm and hauled him out.

“Hey.” Ajax yanked his arm away. “No touchy.”

“Take all the time you want inside a burning car.” Bartosz gave an indication they should get their bags. “I’ll wait and haul your roasted flesh outside later.”

“ Mitya .” Bartosz went to the rear of the car and opened the hatch. He shoved Dmytro’s go bag into his arms. “Which bag has what you need, Ajax?”

“All of them.”

“Pick one.”

“The duffel.” Ajax pointed. Bartosz shoved it into his chest.

“Go. I’ll catch up with the rest in a bit.”

This time, Dmytro got a solid grip on Ajax’s arm and pulled. “Come with me. I don’t like being in the open.” They had to dodge two cars, but they made it across the highway without accident.

Ajax gasped with pleasure once he saw the motel. “It’s a real-life midcentury motor court!”

“No choice now.” Dmytro gave him another little tug. “Come.”

“I’m not your pet.” Ajax fought him. “You get that, right?”

Dmytro eyed him. “If you were my pet, you would come when I say.”

“Oh, I’d come when you say.” Ajax smirked before yanking his arm away again. “But only in bed.”

“That’s harassment,” Dmytro complained. Plus, it was Ajax Freedom talking, not the almost bearable Ajax Fairchild. Dmytro gave him a sour glance before pulling on a door that clearly said Push.

Ajax said, “Um—”

“I see it.” When the door opened, Dmytro congratulated himself for finally winning a battle, even if it was against a door. “Get inside and wait while I help Bartosz with the—”

“No need.” Bartosz said from behind them. Somehow he had followed them burdened with every bag and box except the ones Dmytro and Ajax carried. “I’ve got everything.”

“Thank you.” Dmytro turned back to the front desk where the night manager sat on a barstool behind the counter.

The place was old, the furnishings dated. The clerk was a senior citizen with a head of grizzled curly hair and half-moon glasses perched on the end of his nose. He was not in any hurry to serve them.

Dmytro cleared his throat. “ Ahem .”

The man glanced up. “Let me just finish this game.”

“Take your time.” Ajax smiled warmly at him.

Bartosz glanced toward Dmytro as if to say Do you see this guy? Bartosz had a quick temper, and none of them were happy to be there. Still, there was no point in harassing someone who might possibly help them. Dmytro put a hand on Bartosz’s shoulder to defuse the situation.

“Whatcha playing?” Ajax asked.

“ Sea Hero .” The old man didn’t glance up.

“That’s awesome.” Ajax’s soft brown curls bobbed. “You like it?”

“So far.”

“Game on.” Ajax’s happy expression changed his whole face. At Bartosz’s blank look, he said, “ Sea Hero is the world’s largest crowdsourced data set with the eventual goal of helping the scientific community understand dementia better.”

Bartosz still stared at him blankly.

Ajax glanced up as if there were a better answer written on the ceiling. “People from all over the world play the game, and scientists track their progress to learn from it.”

“That’s the idea,” their host said. “I haven’t played a video game since Pac-Man , but I saw what they were trying to do and why, so I hopped right on board to do my part.”

Bartosz lifted a brow. “We’ll need two rooms for the night, connecting, second floor, by the back stairs.”

The man wrapped things up with a sigh and put his tablet aside. “And I’m supposed to just have that setup available without any reservations?”

“Oh, I have plenty of reservations.” Bartosz glanced out toward the nearly empty parking lot. “Is everyone at the movies?”

“You got me.” The man grinned. “We don’t get folks stopping like we used to. Not since the chain place opened twenty-five miles up the coast. People will do anything if they think they’ll get a waffle out of it.”

“I like waffles,” said Ajax.

“Who doesn’t? My point is their room rates are seventy-five dollars more than ours, and I couldn’t look at a seventy-five-dollar waffle, much less eat one.”

“Are you on duty here all night?” Dmytro wanted to nail down some sort of security plan. He wanted to meet the person who’d be keeping an eye on the front desk and find out whether they had an electronic surveillance system.

“Nah, I go home from midnight to six, but I have someone who comes in. They’ll be around if you need anything.”

Dmytro met Bartosz’s gaze. “We need our car fixed. It’s across the street. Can you give us the address here and the use of a landline so I can call for a tow?”

“Sure. You should get it off the road.” He handed over a motel postcard. “Pea soup tonight. You’re lucky you didn’t get hit from behind. A stranded car is dangerous as hell in that fog.”

Dmytro asked, “Is it usual for cell phones to lose signal here?”

“Usual? No. We have signal boosters, but sometimes when the fog gets this bad, they don’t work.” He glanced out the window.

“The fog,” said Dmytro, disbelief in his tone.

“He’s right.” Ajax bobbed his head. “Since cell phones use electromagnetic RF, thick fog and bad weather can cause propagation delay. The signal might bounce, get weak, or disappear altogether.”

Bartosz said, “I thought cell phones used microwaves that give you cancer.”

“Uh, no. The signals from your calls get sent to the tower where they get routed to a wire or fiber optic line.” Ajax’s long-fingered hands described a shape.

They were soft with bitten-down nails and flew like birds when he talked.

Dmytro found it… disarming. “Occasionally, if that underground system doesn’t exist or it runs like a fat dachshund with a headache, they’ll use a microwave line-of-sight transmitter. ”

“So, microwaves.” Bartosz took the word as a win. “That’s what I said.”

“Not really.” Ajax grimaced.

“You’ve got a smart one there.” The old man grinned. “My son’s an EMT, and he’s pretty smart too.”

“This man is not my son.” Dmytro’s loud, unambiguous statement caused everyone to look at him.

“Okay, well. I don’t judge.” The desk clerk turned to Ajax. “As long as you’re of age.”

Ajax put his elbows on the counter and rested his chin on his hands. “Oh, I am. I’m old enough for you too, silver fox. You got room at the inn for me?”