“Copy. We will have what you want soon.”
Nasir set down the radio. Now that he had done all he could do for the night’s little confrontation, it was time to focus on tomorrow. He was ready to deliver a Christmas present the United States of America would never forget.
7
Nick had his hands on the reins, but it wasn’t necessary. Like a GPS, the reindeer already knew the coordinates. The sleigh was on autopilot and had just dipped below the clouds enough to see the lights of London shimmering through the rain. Every time Nick came out of a cloud like this, it reminded him of when he first saw the sleigh falling from the sky a year ago. After learning about the space-age cloaking device, he didn’t understand why he’d been able to see Santa fall that night in the desert. When he asked Jack about it, he didn’t have a good answer for it. Mrs. Claus, of course, in all her positivity, told Nick she believed Santa had done it on purpose. Saying that she thought Santa had chosen Nick. Nick thought that sounded nice, and it probably made Mrs. Claus feel better, but if Santa’s objective was to choose someone to carry on delivering presents and being jolly, there wasn’t a chance in hell he would have chosen Nick.
Whatever the case might have been, there was Nick, flying through the air on the “present plane”, two days before Christmas, with a sack full of the best weapons money could buy and a mind full of violence. The lights of the city below were behind him now, and the reindeer pointed their antlers toward the ground. Nick checked his belt. All of his weaponry was there. Out of habit, he pulled his Beretta, and ensured that a round was waiting in the chamber. It was, and the suppressor was twisted tight at the end of the barrel.
“Okay, Nick, looks like you’re getting there just in time,” Zeke’s voice came through Nick’s earpiece. “Agent Kimber has just climbed over the back wall. He’s ducked behind two garbage bins and is staring at the back door. He might be ready to make a move. You’d better get in there.”
“What’s going on inside?” Nick said.
“A man at the front and back door. Two at the windows on the left side of the house, and two on the right. One guy in the—oh god! That’s disgusting!”
“What? What is it? Is someone hurt?” Nick felt for his phone in his pocket so he could take a look at the ASE himself.
“Ewe, no! The seventh guy is in the bathroom and I saw the massive—”
“Zeke!”
“Thank god there’s no smell on the ASE. Oh god that is—”
“Zeke! This isn’t playtime. People’s lives are on the line. Put Brooke on the mic and help her navigate the ASE. You aren’t ready for this.”
“But—.”
“Put Brooke on now, or I’m putting you back in the toy assembly line.”
Nick knew this wasn’t going to be like working with the Rangers, but he hadn’t realized just how unequipped he’d left Zeke to handle this. Training on the COMS was never something Nick had done in the Army. He was always in the field. Thank god he had Brooke there. She’d been a cop before she moved to the FBI.
“This is Brooke. How can I help?”
“You’ve done some tactical training, right?”
“You mean you don’t already know that, Santa?”
“Really, Brooke? You’re going to do this right now?”
“No, just trying to relax you.” Her tone switched into FBI mode. “The seventh man in the house is walking upstairs. I think that’s where you should start. Zeke, show me the outside of the house. Nick, I’ll find you a way up.”
“No need,” Zeke’s voice came through. “He can just land on the roof.”
For a moment, Nick’s mind was blown. This entire Santa Claus setup was perfect for taking down criminals. The slightest trickle of something he couldn’t put his finger on seeped into his consciousness. The words of Mrs. Claus saying Nick had been chosen replayed in his head.
“Nick, you have to get down there. Agent Kimber is about to move.”
Nick shook the odd feeling and stood on the sled to see over the reindeer. “The roof,” he told them. Then the sled dipped even farther, like they were going to crash headfirst into the ground. They were still moving at breakneck speed, and the ground was closing in. Nick’s stomach began to turn as his grip became so tight around the reins that if felt as if his flesh would rip. Just as he was about to shout something, anything, at them, the reindeer leveled out and practically floated onto the roof of the house.
Nick took a deep breath to calm his nerves. “Really, guys?” he said to the reindeer. He only got a few snorts back in return.
“Nick,” Brooke said. “The agent has moved to the side of the house. If you don’t hurry, he’s going to walk right into a hailstorm of bullets.”
Nick stepped down from the sleigh and focused Brooke. “Where is the man upstairs?”
“Top floor. It’s a bedroom. How are you going to get in the house?”
Nick walked over to the edge of the roof and looked down. There was a window just below him. Then he looked back to the roof, over to his right. Brooke must have been looking at the same thing with the ASE. “Nick, you’re not actually going to use the chimney, are you?”
The thought had crossed his mind on the ride there. Or at least the thought of how it might actually work. “I feel like it’s a right of passage,” he said.
“Nick,” Brooke chided.
“Come on, Brooke. Didn’t Jim ever let you have any fun when you were running down bad guys?”
“Nick!”
“All right. No. I’m not taking the chimney.” He looked back over the edge of the roof. There was a ledge protruding from the window. “And noted. You never had any fun while doing your job.”
8
Nick bent down, got a solid grip on the gutter that ran along the underside of the roof above the window, and lowered himself down. The rain had picked up a bit since landing on the roof. The drops were cold against the back of his neck. Despite the wet conditions, he was able to get good footing on the ledge with the balls of his feet. With his left hand gripping the shutter, he tested the window—locked. But he’d been planning to break the window from the moment he saw it, so this didn’t deter him. He wanted the attention of the seven cowards awaiting the American agent to be on him upstairs instead.
As if Brooke knew exactly what he needed, she chimed in through the earpiece. “One of the terrorists has just sat down on the bed in the room. He’ll be a little to your right when you make it through the window. Now would be a good time to go.”
Their working relationship might actually have a chance to succeed.
Nick readied his pistol. He was going to kick in the window, front-roll with his arms out in front of him, then crouch on a knee to take his shot. He pulled his boot back—
“Wait, Nick!” Brooke said.
Nick was mid kick, but was just able to stop his boot from making contact with the glass. He was breathing heavily from his heightened adrenaline, but he held position and waited for Brooke’s instruction.
“He’s off the bed and walking toward the window. Nick, he’s headed right for you!”
Nick put his foot back on the ledge. He let Brooke’s voice fade and his instinct take over. He crouched down and moved the tip of his pistol to the center of the window.
“Nick!”
The curtains on the other side of the window that kept Nick from seeing inside began to move. Nick squeezed the trigger twice, rose up, and smashed his boot through the window. The crash was loud in the quiet house, and tiny shards of broken glass tap danced across the hardwood floor below him. The glow from the streetlamp behind him shined through the window, illuminating the man writhing on the floor holding both hands to his neck.
Nick stepped inside and bent down beside him. For a moment Nick forgot the man couldn’t see him as the man looked to the broken window for who had shot him. The cloaking device was deceiving to Nick’s eye. He could still see himself, so it was easy to forget that no one else could. Jack had mentioned this was the
way Santa was able to place presents under the tree without ever being noticed. Nick once again was baffled that the fat man hadn’t shared any of this technology with the US military. Regardless, he was certainly happy to be wearing the invisibility now. He could move down the stairs as if he were a ghost.
The footsteps coming up the stairs refocused Nick, and so did Brooke’s update. “Two men coming your way. Agent Kimber has just picked the lock. He’s going in. They’ll kill him if he doesn’t get help!”
Nick left the dying man to wonder about the ghost of Christmas present that had just put a hole in his throat and moved to the open bedroom door. He could hear the two men plodding up the stairs.
“Jalal!” one of the men screamed. Then he shouted something else Nick didn’t understand. But it didn’t matter what he said, because they were the last words he ever spoke.
Nick dropped to a knee and shot both men dead as they ran into the room. It was like shooting balloons at a carnival. Nick almost felt bad about the invisible advantage he had. Almost. The gunfire that erupted downstairs stripped those feelings completely.
He stepped over the men. Each had taken two in the chest. As he rushed down the stairs, he swapped for a fresh magazine. His first one wasn’t empty, but a long time ago, when Nick and his tactical team were clearing a house in Iraq, he’d made the mistake of trying to finish a magazine before reloading. When the slide locked back on his pistol after only four spent rounds, he took a bullet in the shoulder for his mistake. When the medic was shoving tweezers down into his soft tissue an hour later to retrieve the embedded bullet as he bit down on a leather belt, he vowed to not be so careless again.
Brooke said, “There’s a man on your right at the bottom of the stairs. He’s getting ready to walk into the hallway and surprise the agent!”
With a fresh magazine locked and a round in the chamber, Nick came around the corner of the stairs, and shot the man on his right twice in the arm and shoulder. He scanned to his right, but when he turned back to the hallway agent Kimber was wearing a look of shock on his face as he kept his gun trained on the bottom of the stairs, right where Nick stood. Nick might have been invisible to the human eye, but a bullet would still tear right through him.
“That’s everyone. Nick, you did it!” Brooke said.
Nick heard her, but he was focused on Agent Kimber. Kimber’s finger was caressing the trigger. Nick backed up to the landing halfway up the stairs and moved around the corner of the wall. Just in case.
“Army Ranger Nick Campos,” Nick shouted. “Put your weapon down.”
“Bullshit,” Kimber shouted. His voice was shaky. “CIA, come out with your hands up.”
Nick peeked around the corner. Kimber’s weapon was still fixed on the stairs. He was a fairly young man—maybe thirty—dark hair and wide eyes. He was dressed in all black tactical gear.
“The house is clear, son,” Nick said. “I’ve got three down upstairs. You were sent into an ambush.”
“Impossible.”
“What the hell do you think happened then? You think these armed men were here to help you get the job done?” There was a groan from the man Nick shot in the arm. “He was going to kill you, you know. I made sure he didn’t.”
Agent Kimber moved over to the man down and picked up his weapon. “Just stay right there. Do not move, or I will shoot you.”
Nick moved onto the landing to get a better view. Now that Kimber had moved out of the hallway, Nick was clear at the top of the landing. Kimber was holding the gun to the injured man’s head.
“Don’t shoot him,” Nick said. “I need to know who set you up. Maybe he’ll talk.”
Nick eased his way downstairs. The steps creaked under his feet, and Agent Kimber reacted by swinging the gun toward the stairs.
“I said don’t move!”
It was hard for Nick to keep moving with the gun pointed straight at him. But he had to trust that when the agent saw nothing, he wouldn’t shoot.
“And it’s not your business what I do.” Kimber pointed the gun back at the injured man, who let out another grunt of pain. “I’m CIA. Whatever reason you’re here, you don’t have clearance.”
Nick now stood right in front of the agent. He reached up, bent his wrist back, and twisted the slide of the pistol as he pulled it free. The agent leapt back in fear.
“You’re right, I don’t have clearance. I have carte blanche.” Nick pressed the button on the fob in his pocket, and the agent’s face went white when Nick appeared with his gun pointed right at him. “Freaky, right?”
The agent reached for his pocket where he had stashed the injured man’s gun.
“Don’t,” Nick said. “I’m not here to kill you. If I was, you’d already be dead.”
9
Nick wasn’t sure about a lot of things in life, but as he steered the reindeer back down to the North Pole, he was a hundred percent certain that until now, there had never been a half-dead terrorist riding in the back of ol’ Santa’s sleigh. Mrs. Claus was not going to be happy about this. And neither was Jack. Jack was already upset that Brooke was there. He said the entire point of operating from the North Pole was to keep the mystique, and the more people that had actually seen it, the more the romance of the story died. Though Nick thought Jack—the king of the elves—was being dramatic, he also supposed it was true. The two new fresh faces coming down with the sleigh were going to really set him off. Nick had always had a knack for causing trouble. Why would things change now?
“What the actual f—” Agent Kimber would have finished his sentence, but just like everyone else, the sight of Santa’s village took his breath away.
The novelty had already worn off for Nick. He wasn’t going to explain the magic of the North Pole to anyone else. Agent Kimber would have to fill in the blanks himself sometime later. There was too much to do. The sleigh pulled in over by Warehouse Z this time. Nick didn’t have time to explain things to Jack and Mrs. Claus either. It was clear from Nick’s brief conversation with Agent Kimber––after he finally calmed down from seeing the invisible man earlier––that the US intelligence community had some serious holes in it. More importantly, Nick was still reeling from the revelation that Nasir Samara had been Kimber’s target back at the house outside London.
Nick was all too familiar with that name. Nasir had come across his path on more than one occasion while he’d hunted terrorists as a Ranger. The last time it had, Nick’s closest friend ended up dead. Nick was seething as he hopped off the sleigh. He grabbed the injured man from the back and ripped him from his seat down to the snowy ground below. Agent Kimber was trying to talk to Nick, but Nick wasn’t paying any attention. Instead, he hoisted the terrorist up—practically carrying him to the warehouse—shoved open the door, and threw him inside.
Brooke and Zeke jumped up from the ASE station and rushed over.
“Everybody out!” Nick shouted. His voice echoed through the warehouse.
“Nick—” Brooke started, but the look Nick shot her cut her off.
The playfully bantering fun-time-guy Nick had been with Brooke up to that point was gone. And she caught her first glimpse of the man Nick had grown to be over the last twenty years of service. Brooke patted Zeke on the shoulder. Zeke made a happy ALL RIGHT! face at Nick and gave him two thumbs up as he moved with Brooke toward the exit. Nick looked over at Agent Kimber, who was taking in all of the gadgets in the large open room.
“You’ve been studying these guys,” Nick said. “Snap out of your fairytale trance and get this asshole to talk. If I do it, I’ll kill him. Interrogations aren’t my forté.”
Kimber was still fixated on the Iron Santa suit a few feet away.
“Agent Kimber!”
Nick’s shout finally snapped him out of it, and Kimber’s CIA mind finally kicked back in.
“Right, sorry. My brain is still playing catch up.” Kimber circled around the man on the floor, putting his back to the things in the warehouse that were distracting him. “I’v
e been watching Nasir’s movements for over a year now myself. Well, trying to. He’s rather elusive.”
Not for long, Nick thought as he glanced over at the ASE.
Kimber continued. “Intelligence has shown a lot of movement into the outskirts of London. Some of his known associates had been spotted near where we were earlier. A fellow agent captured part of a conversation saying that something was planned . . .” Kimber pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the clock. “. . . for today. Now. Christmas Eve. Then my handler made contact just a bit ago saying they had Nasir alone in the house we just came from.”
“Kill order?” Nick said.
Kimber nodded.
“Your handler’s a double agent.”
Kimber’s head swiveled to meet Nick’s eyes. “No chance.”
“How else do you explain the ‘intel’ being so far off base? You were setup, Bub.”
Kimber circled back around the man on the floor, who was going in and out of consciousness. “Not Andrews. He’s a weasel, but he’s not a traitor.”
Now it was Nick who was shocked. “Andrews? Donald Andrews? He’s your handler?”
“What, you know him?”
“Know him? He’s my liaison with CIA Director Simpson.”
Both men were quiet for a moment. Nick’s mind was racing. It was juggling his anger at the man responsible for his friend’s death and Andrews betrayal of his country. His betrayal of Nick. Nick wasn’t sure who he was going to swoop down and kill first, but he was positive that both his enemies would get theirs before the night was through.
“I don’t understand,” Kimber said. “Why would Andrews do this?”
“Why does anyone turn? It happens every day.”
“Not in the CIA it doesn’t.”
Nick raised an eyebrow when Kimber looked his way. Then when Nick looked down at the terrorist, a bolt of anger flashed through him, and so did the face of his fallen friend. Nick pulled his strap, took a knee beside the man on the ground, and squeezed his throat with his left hand while he put his Beretta to the man’s temple with his right.
Saint Nick Page 5
