Lear

by Jasinda Wilder

  Alice’s work, for sure. She’d taken into account a wide variety of factors, crunched probability ratios, and had narrowed our potential location to an admirably small area, all things considered. I’d have done better, but this was pretty good considering I was a one-of-a-kind talent.

  The airport—or rather, airfield, more accurately—was nothing but a strip of grass in the middle of a massive cattle range outside Green Bay. I didn’t like our chances, but I saw little choice other than to trace the mercenaries’ trail backward as far as I could, all the way to Cain, if possible.

  God, I wished I had backup. I knew the crew was mobilized, and I knew they were now alerted to the threat. I also knew Alice was watching and listening, and if I contacted any of them directly, it’d lead her and thus Cain’s mercs to me and my team.

  Don’t be a cowboy, you nerdy little twink. I heard Harris’s voice in my head, growling at me. He’d be almighty pissed that I wasn’t coming in out of the cold, but I wasn’t going to risk leading Alice to Harris, Layla, and the rest.

  I had Cuddy with me, and that evened the odds out considerably.

  I knew my boys would make their play; I just had to stay alive until then.

  I memorized the route and location, took screenshots of the airfield location and a few other bits and pieces of the thread, sent them to an email address—it was an email that would then forward it to another address pinging an IP address in China, which would then forward it to another in Tokyo, and then to one in Riyadh, and then to Seattle, and so on dozens of times, pinging all over the planet in a complicated web, each IP address with its own impenetrable firewall—eventually the digital package would end up in Harris’s phone, and if I’d done things right, there would be no way for anyone to trace it from this phone to Harris.

  I tossed the phone back on the corpse, and dragged the BDU jacket full of weapons and ammo back to the cabin. I entered to find Cuddy tossing a wet wipe pink with blood from her face into the trash can, along with a sizable pile of others. She was otherwise clean, geared up, and ready to go.

  “Get what we need?” she asked.

  I nodded. “I know where we’re going. I sent the information on to my boss, so hopefully we’ll get some kind of backup by the time we get there.”

  She indicated the haul of weapons. “I think we’re covered in the weapons and ammo department, babe.”

  It sounded like a slip, that term, babe. She paused, waiting for me to call attention to it, but I didn’t. Just shrugged. “Probably. But shit, can you ever have too much gear? The kid tied to the tree out there said there were a lot of them at the field, so I’m guessing we’re going to have to go in heavy and loaded for bear.”

  Cuddy nodded. “Agreed.” She glanced at me. “I had an idea, by the way.”

  “Okay?”

  “You probably won’t like it.” She gestured at the front door. “We leave your Bronco here. Split the load of extra rifles and ammo between the two Suburbans, and take those. It may give us a slight advantage, if they see those trucks coming they might think it’s their guys. Or we can rig one to blow and send it in at them.” A pause. “Of course, when they don’t hear from their guys, they’ll probably know something’s up, but not much to do about that.”

  I scratched my jaw. “I do have some extra explosives under the cabin. And a couple other goodies.” I nodded. “Good plan. I don’t like being in separate vehicles all the way to Green Bay, but it makes sense.”

  She grinned at me. “You just like that it doesn’t risk damage to your Bronco.”

  I nodded, snickering. “Yeah, I’ll admit there’s a certain amount of truth to that.”

  Cuddy just smirked. “I mean, I don’t blame you. That’s a sweet truck.” She eyed me with an expression that said she’d just thought of something. “You don’t have any comms gear, do you?”

  I shook my head. “No, unfortunately. One of the things I didn’t see much point stocking.”

  “Any way you can do some sort of computer magic and make it so your lovely ex Alice can’t triangulate our position from cell signals, so we can use the burner phones our dead friends have on them?”

  I scratched my jaw. “Eh, not anything that would be a hundred percent effective, and Alice is good enough that she’ll find us if we use communication that’s anything less. I also just don’t have the right gear for that kind of work. I could do it, but not while I’m also out in the field. It would require special equipment, rotating SIM cards, encryption software, multiple devices, and constant monitoring. She’d definitely have access to a Stingray, and even burners use towers which is a quick and easy ping back to our rough location.”

  “How’d you send the airfield location to your boss, then?”

  I smirked, a little cockily, I must admit. “A preplanned arrangement. Basic idea is I set up an email address slaved to a specific server which reroutes the package through a web of redirections and firewalls and such so complicated as to be well-nigh untraceable, which eventually lands it in Harris’s phone, which is an encrypted satellite device…a satellite, I may add, which I have effectively stolen for our dedicated use.”

  “You hacked a communications satellite?”

  I shrugged. “Yeah. I hid my tracks so the owners are not exactly aware that that specific satellite has been slaved to a network dedicated for A1S.”

  She just shook her head. “Amazing.”

  I indicated the world beyond the cabin with a sweep of my hand. “What you did out there was amazing.”

  She grinned. “Thanks.”

  An odd silence.

  “So. We cart the gear to the Suburbans on foot?” I asked. “Do we leave the bodies, you think? And what about our little friend out there?”

  She grimaced. “I don’t like leaving bodies around, especially if they could be tied to me. But I don’t see much choice. As for the loose end…I’m not sure I’m at the point where I’m willing to just pop him in the face in cold blood. Combat is one thing, but tying up loose ends like that…I’d rather not have it on my conscience.”

  “Understandable. Hopefully my team will meet us at the airfield and I can ask Harris to schedule a cleanup.”

  “A cleanup?”

  I nodded. “He has a crew he hires for things like that. Crime scene cleanup specialists, for the most part, with a pair of security operatives to keep watch and…tie up loose ends, if needed.” I paused. “He calls them his scrubbers.”

  I laughed. “Johnny calls them his bleach team.”

  I dug in the chest at the foot of the bed and tossed a pair of basic black duffel bags on the floor. “Why don’t you load these up—split the weapons evenly so we each have a bag with a full complement of rifles, sidearms, and ammo. I’m going to retrieve my other goodies.”

  She gave me a curious grin. “What kind of goodies would those be, Lear?”

  I just grinned back. “Oh, you’ll see. Some things I stocked here just in case, but never really figured I’d use.”

  “Do these things go boom?”

  My grin widened. “More of a whoosh, whistle, pause, boom.” I used my hand to mime a rocket being fired, complete with a little boy playing pretend sound effects.

  “RPGs?”

  I shook my head. “Oh, no. Nothing so antiquated.”

  “Stinger?” Her voice rose an octave from excitement.

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “AT4, baby.”

  She went giddy. “You seriously have an AT4 under this cabin?”

  “I have three.” I grinned. “My boss, Harris, was previously employed by a man named Valentine Roth. Who was, before becoming a legitimate businessman and billionaire owner of like a couple dozen different companies, was an arms dealer. And he still has access to heavy arms. Not black market, per se, just…I wouldn’t want to go advertising how I got them, precisely.”

  She laughed. “So, black market.”

  “More like brown market. Or maybe a nice medium gray?” I laughed, shrugging. “Call it what you will
, we’ll need them, I have a feeling.”

  She nodded. “You won’t hear me tattling on you for your illicit heavy weaponry.” A mischievous smirk. “Mainly because I may or may not have some illicit items of my own.”

  “Such as?”

  She shrugged, the picture of demure innocence. “Fully automatic assault rifles, switchblades, explosives, a ’99 Skyline, a ’90 Porsche Carrera 4 Lightweight…a couple other banned sports cars.”

  I arched my eyebrow. “Damn, girl. You like your cars, don’t you?”

  She nodded seriously. “Oh, yes. The rarer, the faster, the better. I have some cars that would make Jerry Seinfeld and Jay Leno drool.”

  “I’d like to see your collection, sometime.”

  Her eyes went serious. “I’ll show you, once this is over.” She hesitated. “I just want you to understand how significant that is, to me. I’m rabidly paranoid about my privacy, about my personal life being totally separate and sacred. No one sees my home, my collection of favorite things, none of it.”

  “I understand, and I don’t take it lightly.” I smiled. “But let’s get this shitshow on the road, shall we?”

  She nodded, and began collecting firearms, breaking them down to fit into the bag; I headed outside to the crawl space entrance around the side—I’d expanded the crawlspace by hand over a long, grueling, filthy, exhausting weekend, making room for the items I wanted to hide and protect. Namely, three AT4s and the appropriate ammunition, and a crate full of various kinds of stable explosives and the requisite mechanisms for making them go boom in various ways.

  I hauled out the entire contents of the crawl space, and then considered the problem of getting an AT4, ammunition, and a crate full of explosives through the forest to the vehicles. We’d just have to hump it, I decided.

  First, though, I needed to hide the Bronco. Fortunately, I tend to deal in eventualities, and had prepared a hiding spot—a little gully a few hundred yards from the cabin, just big enough to accept a full-size SUV, with a camouflage tarp and plenty of cut branches. I pulled the Bronco into the hiding spot and camouflaged it until I was sure it wouldn’t be found unless you knew where to look—you could walk inches from it and not know it was there, not to pat my own back.

  That done, I went back to the cabin where I rigged a travois—two eight-foot-long branches, each several inches thick, crossed behind my back and tied with zip ties where they met, with several shorter branches running across the span to form supports. I could place the various supplies on the support beams, grip the ends and drag it behind me.

  The hike out from the cabin to where Cain’s mercs had parked was a long grueling slog, dragging the weight of two bags full of weapons and ammo, three recoilless anti-tank weapons, and a crate full of explosives.

  Eventually we made it, and by that time the day was half gone.

  We loaded the gear into the Suburbans—they’d left the keys in them, fortunately for us.

  And then we stood between the bumpers of the nose-to-tail parked SUVs and…well, for lack of a better description, gazed at each other with something like wistfulness.

  “So, I’ll follow you?” Cuddy asked—although, the soft look in her eyes was pure Dani, none of the iciness or hardness of Cuddy at all.

  I nodded. “Yeah. It’ll take about two and a half hours to get there, but we’ll have to stop away from here and plan our assault.”

  “And hope we get some backup.” She hesitated. “I, um—I really oughta call Johnny.”

  I nodded. “Okay.” I pulled one of the burner phones from my backpack, slid a SIM card in, inserted a battery, and handed it to her. “Make your call, and keep it short. No specifics, so if you guys have some sort of code, use it. Hand it back when you’re done.”

  She took the phone and dialed, her eyes on me. “He’s going to pissed I didn’t call sooner.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  She shrugged as it rang, once, twice. “I was hoping you were exaggerating and that we could handle it—that I could handle it myself. But the scale and speed of this last assault, and how fast they found us, makes it obvious this is beyond my skills to end it by myself.”

  The ringing stopped as the other end picked up the call. “Cuddy.” I heard the growl—and he did sound very unhappy.

  “Johnny, I…” She sighed, a shuddery sound. “I need help.”

  A long, telling pause. “Six-nine-alpha-romeo-four-seven.”

  She blinked slowly. As if regretting what she had to do. “Two-two-seven-Echo-Tango-Alpha-seven-two-two.”

  “Fuck.” His voice was tinny and muffled, but clear. “You bitch.”

  “Sorry, Johnny.”

  “I’ve got you, girl.” All business, then. “Situation code Foxtrot Zulu nine-nine-five.”

  “Confirmed.” Another hesitation. “Supplemental—Alpha-Hotel-zero-zero.”

  “For real?”

  “Have I ever called it in, Jonathan? Ever?”

  “Confirmed. You’re okay, though?”

  “For now.”

  “You’re alone?”

  “Negative.” She eyed me. “This is a highly unsecured line. Gotta go. Cross contact A1S.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  “Fine. I’m on it. Mobilizing as we speak.”

  “Thanks, Johnny.”

  “Cuddy—stay frosty, yeah?”

  “I’m making frost look positively toasty.”

  A laugh. “You always do, Little Trouble.”

  “Shut up.” She laughed. “Cuddy out.”

  She clicked off, took out the battery, withdrew the SIM card, and handed the pile to me.

  I eyed her. “Quite a code system.”

  “Johnny is paranoid. We’ve got codes for every situation, and codes for those codes.”

  “What was it you called in?”

  “Basically a situation FUBAR code. It means I’m totally off the rez, out of contact, under fire, and without access to my usual resources or network. He was pissed because it means he has to call all units off all contracts and reroute, costing him big money.”

  “So how will he find you?”

  “We call again, and this time leave the phone connected and within a mile of our location.”

  “That’ll bring Cain right to us, though.”

  “Exactly. F-Z-9-9-5 is code for what he calls the Bait-and-Hit. Draw them in, and all teams go weapons-free.”

  “And A-H double zero?”

  “Means all hands. Not just a fire team or two, but literally everyone, loaded for bear.”

  “I’m guessing all codes are one-time use?”

  She nodded. “Now that I’ve used the codes, they get regenerated, and I have to memorize the new ones.”

  I grinned. “So we have the combined might of Nick Harris and Alpha One Security, and Johnny Raze and Raze Mercenary Industries gunning for Cain.”

  She grinned too, realizing the full scope of what that meant. “I almost feel sorry for him.”

  I shook my head and spat on the ground. “Don’t. He deserves what’s coming to him and then some.” I reached out and touched her cheek, once, softly and swiftly. “Stay on my six no matter what. If I tap my brakes twice, it means slam on yours and cut a hard left while I go right. If I put on my emergency flashers, it means pull a hard U-turn into traffic and gun it, don’t wait for me, just fucking burn it back the way we came, pedal to the metal.”

  “You’re anticipating trouble en route to the airfield.”

  I nodded. “I’m anticipating trouble every step of the way, and hoping it’s clear sailing. Best to be ready, though.” I smirked at her. “Am I allowed to call you Little Trouble, too?”

  She faked a glare. “No. That’s Johnny’s nickname for me.”

  “Fine, fine.”

  She surprised me by lifting up to kiss me on the lips, a soft wet quick touch of her lips to mine. “You get to call me Dani, though, so feel special. Even he doesn’t get that.”

  I went all shivery
and aroused. “Careful with those kisses, woman. I’m liable to push you over the front of this truck if you keep that up.”

  A slow, wicked smile spread across her face. “Is that so?”

  “Sure is.”

  “You best be careful with those promises then, because I’m liable to test them out.” She lifted up again and kissed me, softer, deeper, and with more tongue.

  I growled and pressed her backward against the hood of the Suburban, kissing her hard and palming her ass with both hands. I forced myself to let go and back away, after a hard-won fight against my libido and lust.

  “We have to make tracks,” I growled. “Been here too long.”

  She just grinned at me. “Tease.”

  “Don’t you bait me, woman,” I said, trying to keep a gruff growl and failing, transitioning helplessly to a laugh. “I want to stay alive so I can tie you up in my bed and keep you there until my dick falls off.”

  “I love it when you threaten me with a good time.”

  I snarled again, as my lust for the woman rode my better sense for all it was worth. “Dammit, Dani.”

  She just smirked. “Fine, I’ll cut you a break…this time.” She stepped up to me and rubbed a hand against my groin. “But the next time we have a few extra minutes to spare, you’re mine.”

  Before I could respond, she pivoted on her heel, yanked open the driver’s door, and swung in, tossing her HK on the seat beside her. Cranking the engine, she lowered her window and winked at me. “Well? I thought we had to go? Unless you’ve changed your mind and we suddenly have time for a quickie up against the hood the Suburban.”