by Bob Mayer
“A hard drive cost half a million?” Stone-face shook his head. “I think Winslow skipped town with my boss’s money. Where is this hard drive?”
“Doctor Winslow has it.”
“Then he either ran with it or the Feds have it. How can a hard drive cost so much?”
“It wasn’t the drive, it was what was on the drive,” Ivar said. “A program.”
“What kind of program?” Stone-face cocked his head, and for the first time Ivar noticed he had a little white wire running from inside his coat to his ear, like the Secret Service. “My boss is coming. He will not be asking as politely as I am. He is in a very bad mood.”
Stone-face stared at Ivar. “What kind of program?”
“You’ll have to see it,” Ivar says. “I can’t explain it.”
“Where is Burns?”
“Downstairs in the lab. The program is running.”
He waved with the barrel of the gun. “Sit down.”
CHAPTER 26
Ms. Jones took Moms’s report on the Killing of the Unlucky Horseshoe without comment. When Moms ground to a halt, an uneasy silence wavered over the radio waves for almost thirty seconds, then all Ms. Jones said was: “You have one more Firefly. Good hunting.”
Ms. Jones opened her eyes and looked at Pitr. “I wish you wouldn’t hover over me like that.”
Pitr shrugged. “You can wish all you want. I am here.”
“Winslow’s notes?”
“Nothing new there. He made some adjustments on the Rift algorithm, but he actually changed it back to an old version. Of course he didn’t know that. Whatever direction it was going in Tucson, he actually reversed, so either he was smarter than Craegan or—”
“More old-school with his physics,” Ms. Jones said. “And the phone? I want to know how he contacted Mister Burns or, more likely, Mister Burns contacted him. It could have been a call or an e-mail and it would be on that phone.”
“I’ll check on that,” Pitr promised.
“The team is changing,” Ms. Jones said.
“I know. Do we need to start looking for a new team leader?”
Ms. Jones surprised Pitr with her answer. “No. The Rift in Tucson was different. The backhoe was taking out probes, showing a plan and intelligent behavior. The horseshoe bothers me, because the team was misdirected. They would have known it wasn’t in the horse once they killed and flamed it, but they might not have flamed it enough to melt the horseshoe.”
“What damage could a horseshoe do on an incinerated horse?” Pitr asked.
“That’s not the point,” Ms. Jones said. “We’ve always considered the Fireflies random in the way they occupied. But what if they’re just trying different things? Experimenting?”
“To what end?”
Ms. Jones shook her head. “I don’t know, but I don’t like it. But that is why we will leave Ms. Moms in charge of the Nightstalkers. She, and the team, are evolving also. They killed the pool and saved the horse. Change can be good.”
* * *
“Thank you, thank you, thank you, for saving Comanche.” Scout’s skinny arms were clinging to Nada’s neck.
“Yeah, yeah,” Nada said, prying her loose as they unloaded the gear in the garage. “Could you open the door?”
Scout ran over and did so as the team hauled their weapons and other gear into the house. The interior of the Winslow place was beginning to show the wear and tear of serving as a base of operations.
They’d seen a lot of action, one right after another, and everyone was tired. Moms could read it in the way they slumped onto the sofas and chairs.
“Good call out there, Kirk,” Moms said. “Take over-watch and try not to move too much.”
Kirk just nodded and checked the readings on his PRT before heading up the stairs. The lack of chatter bothered Moms. They’d done a good thing, killed a Firefly and kept the horse alive, even given it an entire set of new horseshoes courtesy of the well-compensated and confused blacksmith, but everyone just seemed done in, and Scout’s squeals of happiness were putting everyone on the edge of whatever abyss they were staring into. Too much change, Moms realized. And also, there was the unspoken next and final op that they’d all been avoiding.
Scout ran upstairs and Moms relished the moment of silence. She powered up the laptop but had no desire to write the after-action report. Because no matter the fact that Ms. Jones had asked nothing during her verbal report, Moms knew she’d have to report the plan to resuscitate the horse, which violated Protocol. Telling the truth, after all, was in her own Protocol.
Instead she sent an RFI: Request for Intelligence.
Scout came running downstairs with a plastic bag full of something. “I found Mrs. Winslow’s stash in the fridge in her closet!”
She proceeded to go around the room, passing out Fudgesicles. No one refused the offer and soon everyone was peeling back the wrappers. Moms ignored her laptop and just bit into the frozen stick.
“Doesn’t that hurt your teeth?” Eagle asked.
Moms shook her head. “Good enamel. I used to chew ice when I was a kid.”
Everyone stared at her, not because of the ice chewing, but they had never envisioned Moms as a kid. She was Moms.
“Moms chews ice!” Scout said. “Lots of women do. No calories.”
Moms wanted to tell the girl that wasn’t why she’d done it, but decided to let Scout have her moment. She’d chewed ice like Roland’s mother had made pine bark and needle soup. Because sometimes you make do with all you have.
Moms watched Scout licking her Fudgesicle and the way everyone on the team was working on their own, and was a bit amazed that this girl had taken them all, even Roland, over so easily. In a few years she’d be very dangerous. Right now she was like a frolicking puppy to them, but one day she’d be a woman. Moms experienced a momentary pang of jealousy for a girl who could so easily win over her team with just her spirit and gumption.
“What are you thinking?” Scout had noticed Moms’s scrutiny.
Moms bit off the last piece of Fudgesicle and swallowed it. “What are we going to do about the house?” Moms said, not to Scout, but the team.
But Scout didn’t realize what she meant or to whom she was talking. “You can hire a cleaning team. You get a good one and—”
“Going to be tough,” Nada said. “The cameras have been tracking us every time we come and go. I think the yard is mined. And I bet there are a lot more surprises inside.”
“I wonder what the owner is up to in there,” Eagle said.
“I wonder what the Firefly is up to in there,” Roland said.
“It’s had time to adjust,” Doc said. “You have to wonder if the dog was doing a recon of us.”
“And testing the Wall,” Nada added.
Scout’s head went back and forth, like at a tennis match. “You mean Bluebeard’s house?”
Moms nodded. “I suspect the last Firefly is in there.”
“In there where exactly?” Kirk asked over the net.
“I’m afraid in the defenses,” Moms said. “From what we’ve seen there’s a very complex alarm and defense system built into the place. If the Firefly got into the computer system that controls it, then it controls everything.”
“Fuck,” Roland muttered. “An entire house?”
“An armed house,” Nada corrected. “Just from what I’ve seen, there are steel shutters on the insides of all the windows. Motion and heat sensors backing up the cameras. I think there are Claymores on the lawn. Automated guns in some second-story windows.”
“Who is this guy?” Eagle asked. “Why does he need that much security here, in the middle of a gated community?”
“Wrong question,” Moms said. “The real question is why would someone pick a gated community to put their stronghold in?”
“Someone with something to hide,” Kirk said.
“Drug dealer,” Eagle said. He looked at Scout. “You said he had SUVs coming and going in the middle of the night.”
“
Not a drug dealer,” Kirk said with conviction.
“How do you know?” Eagle asked.
Kirk’s voice echoed out of the speaker. “My father cooked meth. This might be Senators Club and high and mighty, but from what I’ve seen, it’s not operating like that. There’s a pattern to things, and the issue with drugs is you can’t control when you deliver, because when people need, they need.”
“Could be a distributor,” Nada said. “He’s using the gated community as his outer defense.”
“Like ‘The Purloined Letter,’” Scout said.
Eagle shook his head. “Have you read everything?”
Scout pointed at the books behind glass. “I haven’t read the book on bird watching in Bolivia.”
Everyone laughed and the tension in the room evaporated just like that.
Moms nodded. “She’s right. Best place to hide something is right out in front of everyone. Hell, nobody’s come knocking on our door and we’ve destroyed part of the golf course and a pool.”
“Nice neighborhood watch you’ve got,” Roland said.
“Thanks,” Scout said. “We like it.”
“Let’s just blow the house up,” Roland said. “We could Excalibur it. Two ought to do the job.”
“If the Firefly is in the security computer and has Internet access,” Doc said, “it could escape. After the horseshoe, I think we need to be very certain of our target and guarantee the kill.”
Moms wasn’t keen on the idea either. “We blast it, we don’t know whether the Firefly goes. We’ll have debris all over the place. Concealment will be a bit hard.”
Kirk’s voice cut in. “We’ve got company rolling in.”
Everyone started reaching for weapons.
“Friendlies,” Kirk added. “Mac is back. I’m opening the garage and coming down.”
Everyone went into the garage. Mac was not only back, but he was back in style, riding with Emily from the golf course, sitting next to her on her bar-cart. The door slid down behind them.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Moms demanded.
Mac gave his trademark smile. “AWOL, Moms.” He held out his hands, wrists together. “You can arrest me if you like.”
Moms went around the cart and put a hand on Mac’s shoulder. He didn’t shrug it off. “We’re glad to have you back. We need you.”
Mac got out of the car, but couldn’t hide the wince of pain.
“I told him he needed to go back to the hospital,” Emily said. “He called me from outside, needing a ride. I picked him up at the service entrance.”
“I couldn’t trust that Support wouldn’t send me back to Womack,” Mac said. “I remember Eagle told us he’d met another Asset,” he smiled at Emily, “and, well, I’m back.”
Moms stuck her hand out to Emily. “Eagle told us about meeting you. We’re so sorry for your loss.”
Emily shook Moms’s hand. “My husband believed in the Corps. A person’s got to believe in something or life isn’t worth living.”
Nada put them on task. “We gotta kill a house, Mac.”
“Let me take a look at it,” Mac said, and they all trooped inside.
Moms was the last out of the garage and she paused for a moment before entering the mudroom. They had a sixteen-year-old girl as their Asset and a war widow bringing back their demo man, AWOL, in a golf cart loaded with booze. Moms knew she should send both Scout and Emily packing, but Scout had shown her value over and over again. And Emily had brought them the man they most needed right now to take down a house. Moms was beginning to understand that once you broke Protocol a single time, it got easier and easier to break.
She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
“Nada,” Moms said, “tell us your thoughts about the house.”
Nada pointed and began explaining their suspicions about the house being armed.
Nada ended, “We’re going to have to go in.”
“How the hell—” Eagle began but was cut short as Moms’s computer dinged, indicating incoming e-mail. Ms. Jones was nothing but efficient, and she also had access to every intelligence apparatus under the umbrella of the United States government as well as overseas connections.
Moms scrolled through the intelligence summary.
“Bluebeard’s name is Octavio Forrenzo.”
“Fucking mafia,” Roland said.
“Not,” Moms said. “It’s a cover name for a Russian, former KGB. Arms dealer.”
“Worse than the mafia,” Eagle said.
Roland was excited. “I bet he’s got some good stuff in there.”
“Yeah,” Eagle said, “and it’s all pointed at the windows and the doors, ready to blow your big head off when you stick it in.”
“Any more Fudgesicles?” Nada asked Scout.
She shook her head. “Just a box of Creamsicles.”
“Get me a couple,” Nada said.
She looked at him and he said, “Please?”
“Me too,” Moms said. “Please.”
“Yeah,” Kirk chimed in. “Please.”
“Please?” Eagle said.
“Pretty please,” Mac said. “And one for Emily?”
“Of course Emily gets one,” Scout said. She headed for the stairs and paused, looking at Roland. He nodded his big head. She waited.
“Please,” Roland said.
Scout scurried up the stairs.
Emily looked worried. “You aren’t putting Greer in danger, are you? She’s a good kid, and there’s not many around here I can say that about.”
“Scout’s fine,” Moms said.
“She’s part of the team,” Roland added, which caused everyone, especially Mac, to look at him in surprise.
Roland held his hands up. “She’s, like, you know, uh, a mini-Moms.”
“Not sure I like that,” Moms said.
Nada brought them back to point. “What do you think, Mac?”
“Have you cut power to the house yet?” Mac asked.
Moms and Nada exchanged a glance. Moms looked at Kirk. “Get me Support.”
Three minutes later, power was off to the house. They waited for a bit, and then as a car rolled down the street, a camera followed it.
“Firefly,” Nada said.
“Or a generator,” Mac said. “They cut in automatically. Still, though, I go with Firefly.”
“Boots on the ground,” Nada said. “We have to go in.”
“It’s always boots on the ground,” Roland said, still excited about the idea of seeing the inside of an arms dealer’s house. Sort of like a gingerbread house to him.
Moms was looking back at her computer. “The owner, Forrenzo, has been on Interpol’s radar for a while. He was working out of Spain, but bolted before they could get to him. Three Interpol agents died getting into his house there and he wasn’t even around. And there was no Firefly involved. He went off the grid for eighteen months.”
“While his house got built here,” Nada said.
“Apparently,” Moms said.
“If the Firefly is in there,” Kirk said, “what do you think has happened to Forrenzo?”
“Let’s hope something very bad,” Moms said.
“I could HALO onto the roof,” Roland suggested. “Blast through, work my way down.”
“You always want to land on roofs,” Mac said. “Got a secret Santa fetish?”
Kirk was standing by the window, peering through his binoculars at the target. “You could die.”
“How so?” Nada asked, joining Kirk.
“See the chimney?” Kirk asked. “It’s not real. If this guy is that badass, he’s looking in every direction, including up. Professionals know to look up.”
“He had a Russian antiaircraft gun with a targeting radar on his roof in Spain,” Moms said, looking at the screen.
“Man, that’s cool,” Roland said, ignoring the fact that it would have killed him if he’d gotten his way.
“What?” Scout was way behind on the conversation,
with her bag full of Creamsicles. She passed them out. Emily was standing in the background, just watching.
“A Firefly is in that house somewhere, and a Russian arms dealer with an Italian cover name built it and lives there,” Eagle summarized.
“I knew Bluebeard was weird,” Scout said.
“Use the FedEx truck,” Eagle suggested. “Pull right up, past the Claymores to the garage door. Ram through.”
“What if it’s rigged to blow?” Nada said.
Moms nodded. “Biggest worry ST-6 had taking down Bin Laden was whether he had a dead man’s switch on him. After all, he sent plenty of other people out there to suicide themselves while taking out others.”
“They’re homicide bombers,” Eagle said. “I hate when they call them suicide bombers. If they were suicide bombers, they’d go out into the middle of the desert and blow themselves up. Don’t take others with you.”
“We hit it from several directions at the same time,” Nada said, nodding at Eagle’s statement, but getting the team back on task. “Kirk takes out the chimney from here with a Javelin, while Roland does come in from above. Eagle in the FedEx truck through the garage with Mac in the rear with charges to destroy the house. I’ll come through the back. Kirk, you follow up Eagle once he secures the—”
“You could use the tunnel,” Scout said.
“—fuses for the Claymo—” Nada ground to a halt. “What tunnel?”
“Told you,” Scout said. She nibbled a piece off the end of her Creamsicle and made a face. “Ow. That hurts my head. Don’t know how you can do it,” she said to Moms.
“Told me what?” Nada said.
“This guy, Forrenzo, he’s, like, the, what do you call them, the meerkats? He built a getaway tunnel, so if someone comes in the roof or the garage or the front door, or all of the above, he can get out. I saw them build most of it one night. They put a tunnel in.” She walked over to the window and pointed. “The rear right corner. He has a golf course lot, like my folks do. The tunnel runs from that corner to the sand trap just short of the eighteenth hole.”
Everyone stared at her. “You saw them build this?” Mom asked. “How could he get away with it?”
“How did you get away with blowing up the eighth hole?” Scout asked. “I bet he paid off a lot more people than you guys are.”
