by Dee Davis
“Simon,” she hissed, “get down.”
He shook his head, his eyes never wavering as he took another shot. And then another. And then two more. And suddenly the warehouse was plunged into shadowy darkness. Only a tinge of gold remained in the west windows, the light playing to their advantage since the intruders had come in from the east.
Still, they were outgunned and almost out of ammunition.
“Okay, if we’re going to make a move, we’ve got to do it now,” Simon said. “Before they have a chance to regroup. They have no idea that we’re running low on ammo, so they’ll move cautiously until they’re sure. That should buy us a little time.”
She nodded, waiting for him to elaborate.
“We can either head for the bay doors and hope to hell that we can get them unlocked or go for the entrance to the hallway where we came in. The problem there being that we’d be coming out on the same side of the warehouse as our enemies.”
“Well, when you put it like that, neither option seems all that palatable. Is there a door number three?”
“Not that I can see.” He shook his head. “Unless you want to rush them.”
“Doesn’t seem like the smart alternative. What about the loft? The stairs are just across from us. If we make it, we’ll have a lot more room for maneuvering.”
Simon looked up, his expression calculating. “It might work, especially if we can figure out a way to go out one of the windows.”
“It’ll be a hell of a drop, but it might be worth a try.” She tried to keep her voice steady, but it trembled anyway.
“If I remember right,” he said, his gaze dropping back to hers as he pulled out the extra clip and switched it for the spent one, “there were some crates piled against the wall on the north side near the front of the warehouse. We’ll have to make it the full length of the loft, but if we do, the crates ought to help break our fall.”
“I don’t see that we have a choice.”
The night exploded again with gunfire, this time closer as their enemies took advantage of the dark to close the distance. Then their flashlights went on, the beams not nearly as disorienting, but still preventing clear vision.
“If we’re going,” Simon said, returning fire, “we should do it now. You go first, and I’ll cover you.”
Jillian nodded, already on her feet. She sprinted for the staircase as Simon engaged the gunmen, stopping only when she gained the relative safety of the stairs themselves. Then, using the last of her ammo, she provided cover as Simon ran toward her, bullets exploding at his feet.
“All right,” he said, his breath warm against her cheek as they huddled beneath the stairs, “you start climbing, and I’ll be right behind you.”
Moving on winged feet, she started up the stairs, the metal risers clanging with each step. The shooters quickly readjusted their trajectory, a barrage of bullets slamming into the stairs. Then, just as she neared the top, a face appeared.
Not a friendly one.
She tried to stop, to reverse direction, but the man was already leveling his weapon, the flashlight in his other hand spotlighting her like a frightened ingénue on a Broadway stage. She froze, heart pounding, and then the sharp report of a gun was followed by the man above her tumbling over the railing.
Score one for the good guys.
But then the staircase exploded with light again. They’d run out of time.
“Move,” Simon said, grabbing her arm and yanking her back down the stairs again, bullets ricocheting off the metal with a zinging sound.
As soon as they reached the bottom steps, they jumped to the floor, heading for a group of oil drums located next to what looked to be a generator. Their assailants’ gunshots whizzed alarmingly close to Jillian’s head.
She zagged in the other direction, trying to avoid the continuing gunfire. Then Simon grabbed her arm, pulling her behind the steel expanse of one of the support beams. She dropped to the floor, gulping for breath. It wouldn’t work forever, but for the moment, it provided safe haven.
“I’m not sure that we have any choice but to make a run for it now,” Simon said, his mouth close to her ear, his voice so low it was almost inaudible.
“Bays or hallway?” she asked, still fighting against panic, her quick response earning her a reassuring squeeze on the arm. There was something to be said for screaming in fear, but now wasn’t the time. If they made it out of this in one piece, then she’d fall apart.
“Bays. We can use the support beams for cover. There’s no way we’ll be able to get the big doors open fast enough, but if we head up onto the loading dock, we might have time to get through that door. Unfortunately, there’s no cover. Which means we’ll be sitting ducks.”
“I’m out of ammo. How about you?”
“I’ve got one round left.”
“Well, if you can, save it,” she said, already tensing for their mad dash. “You might need to shoot off a lock.”
“Roger that.” He nodded with the ghost of a smile and then, with a last reassuring squeeze, motioned her to go. She took off at a dead run, not daring to look behind her. The bullets were flying everywhere. Simon might have taken a man out, but it seemed there were plenty more left to give chase.
She made it maybe ten yards before she felt a sharp sting in her left shoulder. Sliding behind a support beam, she checked her arm, her fingers coming away sticky with blood.
“You hurt?” Simon asked, sliding in beside her.
“It’s just a graze. Tore my shirt and scraped off some skin but that’s all. You think we can make it the rest of the way?”
“I don’t see another alternative,” he said, his tone gruff. “I’m sorry I got you into this.”
“You didn’t. I’m the one who came in without backup, remember?”
Another gunman emerged from the shadows almost directly in front of them, but Simon reacted immediately, pivoting so that he could get the shot. The man teetered for an instant and then fell, his body landing hard on the cement floor. Two down, but they were out of ammo.
And worse they were out of options. Their adversaries were closing ranks.
“I still say we make a break for the door,” Simon said, his gaze locked on the advancing tac-lights.
“I’m with you,” she said, her false bravado exposed by the shaky sound of her voice. The enemy lights inched closer, the gunfire resuming, and it took every ounce of strength she possessed to force herself out from behind the support beam. “What was it you said?” she whispered as she tightened her muscles in anticipation. “No guts, no glory?”
She sprinted for the loading dock, the distance seeming insurmountable. Bullets strafed the floor and clanged off the pillars. Then suddenly, one of the bay doors shattered as an SUV rammed through it, metal tearing and wood flying everywhere as all hell broke loose.
Bullets slammed into the vehicle as it swerved to a stop, Nash hanging out the passenger window, firing a machine gun. The back door swung open, Drake shooting over the top of the frame. “Hurry,” he said. “We can’t hold them off forever.”
For a moment, she stood frozen, stunned by the latest turn of events, and then Simon was there, grabbing her arm and pulling her forward. Just as they reached the SUV, something whistled past them, slamming into the loading dock, the whole thing going up in flames.
“Grenade launcher,” Drake said as they slid into the backseat. “Sons of bitches are upping the ante.”
“Everybody inside?” Avery asked, already flooring the SUV as he turned sharply back toward the shattered bay door from which they’d emerged.
“Roger that,” Drake said, slamming the door shut. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Another grenade exploded just to the right of the SUV, and Nash dropped back into the seat, still firing the machine gun out the window. “I second that motion.”
Avery pressed the pedal to the floor, and the SUV lurched forward, wheels spinning against the debris, and then they were flying forward through the bay d
oor and into the New Jersey night. As they roared down the road away from the warehouse, the night sky behind them exploded, fire licking up from the front and sides of the warehouse. The weathered old building shuddered as the flames spread, consuming the building with a malevolent greed.
“What the hell was that?” Drake asked.
“Oil drums,” Simon said. “Fuel for the generator. I’m guessing they must have hit them with a grenade by mistake.”
“You think they made it out alive?” Jillian whispered, only vaguely aware that she was clinging to Simon’s hand.
“Not if we’re lucky,” Simon said, with a twisted smile.
CHAPTER 15
Köln, Germany
It might not have turned out exactly as planned,” Michael Brecht said, as he stood at the window in his office staring out at the Kölner Dom, the spires of the cathedral brightly lit against the night sky, “but we’ve achieved our goal nevertheless.”
“But despite everything, A-Tac survived. And now they know everything about Lester and Isaacs. And probably Rivon’s connection as well.”
“Stop worrying, I’ve already closed that loop. Made it an endless circle, leading exactly nowhere. Rivon has always been problematic. He was never the team player his brother was. We’ll be better off without him.”
“And Isaacs?” Gregor asked.
“He still has a job to do,” Michael shrugged, turning to face his number two. “But make no mistake, my friend. In our business, everyone is expendable.”
“So you’re not worried about A-Tac?”
Michael laughed, the sound bitter in his ears. “I’m always concerned about their involvement in anything we do. But since we can’t seem to stop them, our next best option is to use them. Which is exactly what I intend to do. I’ve managed to stay one step ahead of them thus far, and I’m not anticipating that changing any time soon. Avery Solomon isn’t a fool, but he’s never been a match for me.”
“There are some who think you’ve gone too far.” Gregor at least had the grace to look uncomfortable with the pronouncement. “That your obsession with A-Tac is going to be your downfall.”
“Well, it’s a good thing I’m running the show then, isn’t it?” Michael forced a smile, even as he balled his hands into fists, swallowing his anger. There was nothing to be gained by letting his temper get the best of him. It wasn’t the first time he’d heard the sentiment. And he doubted it would be the last. But he’d be damned if he let it come true.
“Despite A-Tac’s interference, the first two stages went off exactly as intended. And the third and fourth have been carefully planned. All we have to do now is wait. A-Tac will be so busy trying to deal with the fallout from our newest attack they won’t realize it’s not the true objective until it’s too late.”
“All right, everybody,” Avery said, his big voice booming out into the brownstone’s parlor, “I know it’s really late, and that we’ve all been through a lot. But we need to debrief while it’s all still fresh in our minds.”
“I don’t think I’m going to be forgetting any of it any time soon.” Simon sat with his foot propped up on a chair, his leg throbbing with pain that felt like a red-hot poker jamming into his upper thigh.
“No kidding,” Drake said, his gaze shooting over to J.J., who was sporting a new bandage. “How’s your arm?”
“Just a scratch,” she replied. “Bullet only nicked me.”
“Whoever these guys are,” Hannah said, “they’re not kidding around. If Avery and company hadn’t arrived when they did, I don’t like thinking about what might have happened.”
“I just can’t believe I missed all of it,” Harrison grumbled, actually sounding disappointed. Which, Simon had to admit, would have been his reaction as well, had he been stuck in a storage unit while everyone else was off fighting the good fight. It wasn’t the most rational of thoughts, but there you had it.
“Well, I’m glad you weren’t there,” Hannah interjected, her tone fierce.
“Actually, he was sitting on a different disaster,” Tyler said, walking into the room with another filament-encrusted plastic box. “One of my techs found this in the storage unit, sitting in a back corner behind a crate.” She held up an evidence bag containing what was clearly another bomb. “Same setup as the other three smaller bombs. Only this one didn’t go off. The timer malfunctioned.”
“And if it had gone off?” Drake asked with a frown.
“In close quarters like that,” she said, dropping down into a chair, placing the bag on the table, “it would have incinerated anyone in the room.”
“Yeesh, now I really wish I’d gone with them to the warehouse.” Harrison pulled a face, his gaze dropping to the bomb. “Is that thing safe?”
“Yeah, I disabled it.”
“Holy shit. So when was it supposed to have gone off?” he asked.
“When the three of you were all still there,” Tyler said. “It was rigged to start the clock when the door was opened. But one of the wires wasn’t fastened right, so even though the circuit was closed, there wasn’t any contact.”
“So we were supposed to have died before we had the chance to find any of the evidence.” Simon sat back with a wince.
“Not necessarily you per se. I’m guessing that the bomb was rigged as a safeguard against anyone who might have stumbled into the unit. It was wired so that it could be disengaged with a remote. Meaning Lester or Isaacs would have been able to enter without triggering anything.”
“But whether or not it was intended for us,” Nash said, “it was another near miss.”
“Looks like it.” Tyler nodded, taking the bomb back from Harrison. “At least now I’ve got a complete bomb. Which means I’ll be able to take it apart and hopefully figure out a hell of a lot more about the person who made it.”
“What about the explosion in the warehouse?” J.J. asked.
She was sitting next to Simon, her hands on the table, her fingers only inches from his. She’d held his hand all the way back to the brownstone, only letting it go when Hannah had insisted J.J. take off her shirt so that she could bandage the wound. He knew it was just a reaction to everything that had just happened. But hell, he was human, and so he couldn’t contain the small blossom of hope.
“You guys were right about the warehouse,” Tyler was saying, “the explosion started with the oil drums. The hostiles must have hit them with a grenade. Either intentionally to try to kill you guys or to destroy evidence. Or maybe it was accidental—just fallout from the firefight.”
“What I don’t understand,” J.J. shook her head, “is why they waited to use the grenade launcher. If all they were trying to do was take us out, it seems like that would have been a hell of a lot faster than a shootout.”
“They had to know that we’d be sending backup,” Nash said. “Maybe they were holding you guys off until the whole party was on the scene. Then they pulled out the big guns.”
“You could be right. Although, as usual, they sadly miscalculated our ability to evade and survive.” Drake grinned, then sobered. “So where did they come from anyway? I didn’t see any other cars.”
“They were in the rear, near the water,” Simon said. “We shot out the lights. Although I never did figure how they got them back there.”
“There weren’t any cars.” Tyler shrugged. “They were using boats. We found a mooring rope and some broken glass, along with some paint chips and a hunk of fiberglass on the quay. You evidently hit more than the lights. The water’s only about five feet from the bay doors. I’m guessing that’s how they got in and out so quickly.”
“Well, bottom line, we still got out alive, and we found the weapons,” Simon said. “Along with Isaacs and Lester’s apparent ties to the same munitions. And unless I miss my guess, the Russian guns we found were from the same place as the crate we discovered in Afghanistan.”
“Which does seem to tie the two together,” Nash mused. “Now if only we can run Isaacs to ground.”
&n
bsp; “Maybe we’ll get a hit off the prints I found in the storage unit. There were three good sets. We’re running them now.”
“So what’s happened with Yusuf?” J.J. asked. “Have you gotten any closer to connecting Joseph Isaacs with an alias of that name?”
“No,” Hannah replied regretfully, “I haven’t even been able to find a Yusuf that ties to any of our players. And I’ve broadened the search as much as I can. But that doesn’t mean I’ve given up.”
“What about MI-6?” Avery asked. “You said they were sending a photograph. Do they have anything else on him?”
“No. He wasn’t even on their radar. Which makes sense if he wasn’t on ours.” Hannah hit a key on her computer, and a photo flashed up on the monitor. “This is his passport picture.”
The man looked older than the original picture Hannah had shown them. Grayer. He was thin, with a narrow chin and full lips. His hair was black, closely cropped, and curly. His eyes were close set and brown, with thick arching eyebrows. And yet, somehow the parts added up to an unremarkable whole. A man whom no one would notice. Someone who could easily blend into the background. It was a good look for an illegal arms dealer—or a terrorist.
“I ran facial recognition,” Hannah continued. “But nothing popped.”
“What about intersection with Lester?” Nash asked. “We know they both traveled a great deal. Anything that would put them in the same place at the same time?”
“Yes, actually, I was able to find some places where their paths seemed to have crossed,” she said. “We know they were both art dealers so I started with conferences.” She pulled up a document to replace the photograph of Isaacs.
“There were two of them,” Harrison said, as usual working in tandem with Hannah. “One in Geneva and the other in San Francisco.”
“Best we can tell, both of them were registered for each conference, and I verified flights for Lester to both Geneva and San Francisco at the appropriate times. But it wasn’t as easy to confirm for Isaacs. Although I do have a record of him entering the country through New York with a continuing flight through to San Francisco for the U.S. conference.”
