Chasing Fire

by Brandt Legg

  “What if we say no?” Chase interrupted. They returned to their brisk pace through the terminal.

  “Now, why would you say no?” Tess asked. “Don’t you want to help your country? Stop violence? Save lives?”

  “I thought no one has been injured yet.”

  “How long do you think that will last?” Tess asked, clearly irritated.

  “What’s the connection between the sites?”

  “I’m hoping you’ll be able to tell me that.”

  “You’re way overestimating me,” he said.

  She stopped and turned to face Chase. “You owe me.”

  He glared back at her. “Why?”

  Flint stepped between them. “Chase, you’re not in jail. You’re alive. Tess is the reason.”

  Chase shook his head, appalled, recalling the many deaths that had occurred around him months earlier. Ultimately, none were his fault, yet he wore the responsibility around his neck like a noose.

  “Vancouver, Edmonton, San Francisco, Seattle,” Tess listed. “Do you want to try to explain all that?”

  “Do you?” Chase asked. People had died in those cities—some trying to protect Chase, some trying to kill him. “You’ve got more invested than me. You and your screwed up secret CIA—”

  “Careful, Chase, you wouldn’t want to offend me.” Tess began walking again.

  “I seriously doubt you can even be offended,” Chase said, rubbing the stubble on his chin. “You had a chance to stop at least some of those deaths, but you chose corporate greed over common good.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tess said, sounding as if she were addressing an errant pupil. “The world is more complex than a tropical island.”

  She knew where we were, Wen thought.

  “I’m not interested in helping you do whatever you’re trying to do.”

  “I’m trying to save lives,” Tess said sharply. “And you will help, because you’re a very bright man, and I’m certain that once you’ve had a calm moment to consider the situation, you’ll change your mind.” She paused, her blue eyes connecting with his. “And I’m sure you don’t want me bringing up your girlfriend to our friends in the MSS.”

  “Friends?” Wen asked.

  “These are strange times,” Tess said. “We do what we have to do.”

  Flint gave Chase a pleading look, and a slight nod.

  “I’ll give you three hours to say yes,” she said, smoothing her jeans. “But by the time I land in Washington, you need to be on the team.”

  Before Chase could respond, Tess stopped again, this time in front of a door marked: Authorized Personnel Only.

  “I’m not saying yes, but if I did,” Chase began, “where would I even start?”

  Travis entered a code into the keypad above the handle and the door opened.

  The bluetooth man, now close enough to hear, fidgeted with a device in his pocket and looked around as if lost. No one noticed him.

  “Try your friend, the Astronaut,” Tess said, turning abruptly and entering the door. Before disappearing into the corridor, she announced one final warning. “Three hours, Chase. I’m not a patient woman.”

  The door closed, and she was gone.

  Wen, standing amidst the rushing crowd, looked at Chase as if he was out of his mind to even be considering cooperating. A man bumped into Chase. Wen yanked her weapon out, but quickly hid it again as the person kept going.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Chase said.

  “Where to?” Flint asked.

  Chase eyed Flint suspiciously. “Maybe I should ask you.”

  The bluetooth man suddenly rushed toward Chase, raising his gun.

  Being a weapons expert, Wen involuntarily identified it as a Sig Sauer P226 pistol with a suppressor. In the instant blur of the confrontation, she pulled her Glock 19 and launched into a spinning round kick. But before she could fire her gun or reach the assailant, a shot rang out.

  Seven

  Lenny couldn’t just ring up “the convict dude,” as Bull called his contact. “Guy’s in the joint,” Lenny told her. “He ain’t got an iPhone.”

  “You make the deals,” she reminded him for the sixth time. “Find a way.”

  So he did. As good as Bull was at extracting valuable bits and pixels from the net, he was equally talented at working contacts. Lenny knew people. Lots of them—the good, the bad, and mostly the ugly.

  Sixteen hours after Bull gave him the green light, Lenny had the convict on the phone. Turned out the guy did have a hidden iPhone.

  “Don’t tell him what we got,” Bull had warned.

  “Then what am I going to say?”

  “Tell him without telling him. Damn, what do I need you for?”

  “I got this. Don’t worry.” As soon as he’d uttered the words, he’d regretted them. She did worry. That’s all she did, and him telling her not to meant she would only worry more.

  Bull hadn’t responded, only killed him a few times with a glance that instead of insulting him as she’d intended, had actually turned him on. Maybe if they got this deal done, if they got some large cash, she’d relax long enough to realize he was the king to her queen, he was worthy of her. Maybe if . . . maybe if they lived long enough, survived the damned drama, actually pulled off the deal of a lifetime, they could get a place in Spain. She’d always wanted to go to Barcelona.

  “I’m short on time,” the convict said, then, realizing the irony, added, “For the call, not my sentence. What do you have, or need?”

  Lenny had only dealt with him once before, when Bull had dredged up reams of security questions from a major California Internet firm. A friend of a friend of a friend connected him to the convict—said he knew everyone on both sides of the law. It seemed true. The convict arranged for the company to outbid another scam-organization to buy back their own data before they had to make an embarrassing public disclosure. Neat and tidy.

  But then the whole thing went bad. FBI came in as part of some larger embezzlement investigation and traced the security questions sale back to the convict. Instead of giving up Lenny, he’d sat firm. He could’ve gotten time off his sentence if he’d rolled on Lenny and Bull. Instead, he took a new charge and got more time. And he’d never mentioned it, never asked for anything in return. That, and the depth of his connections, as well as her own desperation, was why Bull had decided to go to him.

  Lenny, while walking down a seedy street in Atlantic City, New Jersey, continuously looked over his shoulder as he explained the product in loose and hypothetical terms.

  The convict, an expert at reading between the lines, with a special understanding of threats and profits, caught on quickly.

  “You’re in a world of danger.”

  “Yeah, we sort of know that,” Lenny said weakly.

  “Sort of?” He laughed. “You don’t have a clue. If we talk another few minutes, I might actually still be on the line while they kill you.”

  Lenny jumped as a homeless man stumbled from the shadows of an alley. “Can you help us move it?”

  “Are you joking? Why are you bringing this to me?”

  “We trust you.”

  “Stupid mistake number three for you. You want my help? Leave it alone. Bury it and then disappear. Get far away. Not Mexico or anywhere easy. I’m talking Pakistan, Somalia, or some place where civilized people aren’t likely to go. If you’re alive in a week, you’ve won the lottery. If you make it a month, then you must have found God. Still breathing in a year, you might be able to come home . . . ”

  “We can’t go,” Lenny said.

  “Why the hell not?”

  “They know.”

  “What?” the convict asked.

  “That we have it.”

  “They can’t possibly know.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not a dammed psychic! I don’t talk to the deceased. And if they know, then you’re already dead.”

  Eight

  Screams filled the air
as the echo of a gunshot rippled across Denver’s busy Jeppesen Terminal. Panicking people fled in every direction.

  Less than three feet from Chase, the bluetooth man fell dead. His Sig Sauer pistol clattered to the floor. Blood instantly pooled.

  Flint grabbed Chase. “We gotta get you out of here!”

  “What happened?” Chase asked as Flint and Wen pushed him into the fleeing rush. “Who was that?"

  Wen searched for more threats while Flint navigated their escape route through the frantically stampeding crowds.

  Chase, realizing that either the bullet that had killed the man on the floor, or one from the dead man’s pistol, was meant for him, broke loose from Flint's grip and stopped. The flow of travelers plowed into him. If Wen hadn’t shoved him toward the wall, he would have been knocked down.

  “What are you doing?” Flint shouted, fighting back through the surge to reach Chase. “It’s too dangerous to stay here!”

  “Who was that?” Chase repeated angrily. “How did he know I’d be here?”

  “I don’t know,” Flint said, looking around nervously. “But I know we’re not safe. We need to keep moving.”

  “Are there more?”

  “Exactly why we need to go!” Flint urged. “We’ll figure it out later.”

  “Who killed the shooter?” Wen asked. “The man had communications on, a Sig Sauer P226 ready to take out Chase—”

  “My guy,” Flint said, clearly frustrated. “My guy hit him, okay?”

  “Your guy?” Chase asked.

  “Did you really think I’d bring you two into a busy airport without backup?”

  “But how did the dead man know?” Chase asked again. “Only you and Tess knew I’d be here.”

  “Why do you want to do this now?” Flint asked, making eye contact for a second before continuing to scan the area. “Are you trying to get killed? Whoever that guy worked for is still out there. The pros know that it’s the second shooter who’s most dangerous.”

  “He’s right,” Wen said. “We can argue and accuse later. We need to move and get to the plane.”

  “How are we even going to get out of here?” Chase questioned, motioning to the chaotic scene.

  Flint worked his cell phone. “We’ve got a powerful friend,” he said as they all began moving again. Flint explained their plight to the person on the other end of the phone, who could only have been Tess. “Back the way we came,” he announced, abruptly halting. “They’re locking the airport down. We have to get back to the secure door where we left Tess and Travis.

  As they pushed through against the desperate travelers, Wen spotted an armed man on the level above them and pulled her Glock.

  A passing woman saw Wen’s weapon and screamed, “She’s got a gun!”

  The crowd parted away from them in a fresh wave of terror. The armed man above them used the pandemonium to vanish, and Wen lost her shot.

  “Is this a good idea?” Chase asked Wen as they jogged. “Walking back into Tess’ web?”

  “If you want to question my relationships,” Flint shouted back from ahead of them, “perhaps you should start with my relationship with Mars.”

  “You have to admit this looks bad,” Chase said breathlessly.

  Flint turned and forced Chase into the wall. Wen pointed her Glock at him, but in a fluid move only possible with years of training and experience, Flint pinned Chase to the wall with one arm and held his gun toward Wen with the other. “Don’t do anything stupid!” Flint said to Wen.

  “What, like you just did?” Wen said, moving closer.

  “You need me to get you out of here alive.”

  “We wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for you.”

  “Think about it, Chase. If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”

  Wen, ignoring the shouts of passers-by, now had her Glock inches from Flint's, which she’d identified as a Beretta Model 96D Brigadier pistol. He had at least an eight inch height advantage on her. “Back off!” she barked.

  “Put the guns away!” Chase said.

  “We’re all history if you two don’t start trusting me,” Flint said.

  “I don’t normally trust people who point guns at me,” Wen replied.

  Flint stared into her eyes, relaxed his grip on the Beretta so it spun back on his finger with the barrel pointing up, and handed it to her.

  Wen cautiously reached forward and took it by the barrel.

  “Follow me or not,” Flint said. “I’m just trying to do my damned job and keep you alive.”

  He released Chase and resumed his attempt to jog back to the secure door.

  Wen, now holding three handguns, looked at Chase, then stuffed one in her pack. “We need to get to the plane.”

  Chase nodded and ran after Flint, noticing the crowd had thinned considerably.

  Suddenly they were back at the bluetooth man’s body. Security officials had only just arrived. Five Colorado State Police officers appeared behind Wen and quickly surrounded them.

  “Drop your weapons!” one of the officers demanded as all five pointed revolvers at them.

  Chase slowly pulled the pistol out from his waistband, imagining they would shoot him as soon as they saw it. He carefully placed it on the floor, immediately raising his hands as he’d seen in countless movies.

  Wen, being the only one of the three now holding, scanned the area, not wanting to relinquish control. More officers approached. There would be no escape.

  “Now!” the man repeated. “Do it now!” He glared, a bloody body behind him on the floor, an airport brimming with tension and fear. Wen had no doubt the man was about to pull the trigger.

  Nine

  Wen, facing overwhelming odds, stole one last glance around the upper reaches of Jeppesen Terminal for additional threats, took a deep breath, knowing she would be deported to China, and slowly let the Glock and her QSZ-92 semi-automatic pistol fall to the ground. Instantly, someone shoved her to the ground, and rough hands were patting her down. She struggled to see Chase, face down just a few feet from her and receiving the same treatment.

  Other than Chase, all she cared about was the Antimatter Machine in her pack, where they’d also discover Flint's Beretta. Wen knew that three guns in the hands of a former MSS agent, at the site of an airport killing, all spelled terrorist. She’d be going to some secret CIA prison forever.

  A few minutes later, they were in handcuffs, being ushered into the bowels of the airport. Wen continued to calculate the odds, looking for any angle. There were eight, maybe nine cops escorting them. They were likely not trained beyond straight academy tactics. Even cuffed, she and Flint could take them. But would he act? Two uniforms had him in front, two more flanked Chase, then there were three on her, and one or two taking up the rear. Wen looked for a choke point where she could do a backflip off a wall, come crashing round, grab a weapon, and tear through a few, but then, unless Flint joined in, the cops would regain control, and probably kill her in the process.

  They turned a corner. To Wen’s disappointment, the corridor opened wider, and up ahead more officers headed toward them—three in uniform, four plain clothes. The odds had collapsed, but facing deportation and certain death in China, Wen looked for any advantage while scheming another plan.

  If it was just me, she thought, these three would already be on the floor and I’d have a weapon.

  But Wen couldn’t risk Chase getting killed in the crossfire.

  I can’t count on Flint since there’s no way to be sure if he’s on our side, is loyal to Tess and the CIA, or working for someone else.

  The approaching men reached them and everyone stopped. An officer who’d been behind Wen made his way to the front of the group. “We need to release these three,” one of the plain clothes said.

  “On whose order?”

  Plain-clothes held up a computer tablet for the officer to read.

  Wen held her breath, unsure how this could be possible, alert for another trap.

  “But they
were right there,” the officer protested after finishing with the tablet. “They were in possession of four handguns!”

  “The attack was directed at them. He was the target.” Plain-clothes pointed to Chase. “We’ve got seven different camera angles backing that up.”

  “Even if that’s true,” the exasperated officer began, “we need to question them.”

  “Not today. You read the order. That comes from way above our pay grade.”

  Wen guessed Tess had pulled the strings. Amazing she has the clout to get us released when we’re in the middle of an event like this.

  “But this is our jurisdiction,” the officer argued.

  Plain-clothes shook his head. “Let them go . . . right now.”

  The officer let out a moaning expletive. “You do it. I’ve got a homicide to investigate and a shooter still on the loose.” He grabbed two other officers and headed back the way they’d come.

  “You’ll be in my report!” Plain-clothes, shouted at the officer.

  The officer waved him off without bothering to turn around.

  Plain-clothes motioned to one of the men he’d come with. “Release them, return their weapons, and make sure they get safely to their plane.”

  “But all flights are grounded,” another cop said.

  “Not theirs,” Plain-clothes said.

  One of the officers removed the cuffs from Flint, Chase, and finally Wen. Someone gave their weapons and Wen’s pack containing the Antimatter Machine to Plain-clothes, who handed them to Flint.

  At the same time, in a nondescript aircraft hangar at a Virginia military base, an elite group of highly trained ‘secret agents’ readied themselves to launch a massive covert operation. On any given day, every day, in as many as seventy countries around the globe, US Dark Ops commandos routinely took part in an undeclared global war, a fact ignored by the mainstream media and unknown by the American public.

  However, this team was different. They were not SEALs, Green Berets, Rangers, Night Stalkers, or any of the other special units regularly deployed by the Pentagon. These one-hundred and eighty-four highly trained men and women belonged to the NSA, and while they were armed with HK MP5N 9mm submachine guns and HK Mk 23 SOCOM .45 ACP pistols, they rarely used them. Their preferred tools were the highest tech the US intelligence community had in its arsenal. These IT-Squads had one purpose—obtaining and disseminating the most powerful and dangerous weapon of all: information.