“Sit rep,” Vanessa said, requesting a situation report, as they entered the back seat.
“We’ve acquired an admirer,” the officer said. “The green sedan again. New license plate. Also stolen. St. Gabriel has put two vehicles on them.” Why the nickname St. Gabriel, for Gabe Harris, who usually coordinated their escorts? But Nick said nothing.
Snow signaled and waited for a break in the traffic lane.
“Maybe DARK can snag a couple more New Dawn warriors,” she said. “Someone who will blab.”
He pulled onto M Street. “We’ll all have trouble in this traffic. Thick as grass on a putting green.”
Antique and decorative arts shops lined the wide street. Shoppers and tourists crowded the sidewalks. Modern buildings stood shoulder to shoulder with quaint old brick structures.
Snow stopped for a red light at the next corner. “Keep an eye on them. I have this alternate route planned out.” He handed Vanessa his tablet.
“You going to try to outrun them?” she asked, scanning the screen.
“Enough to let our guys cut them off. Here we go,” he said as the light turned green. The powerful German car zipped across the intersection, leaving the sedan lagging behind. Snow hung a sharp left onto the next street.
Nick looked back. As the sedan followed up the narrow one-way, two SUVs boxed it in. “Got ’em!”
Home, Jeeves,” Vanessa said. “Well done.”
“Thanks, ma’am.” He tipped a nonexistent chauffeur’s cap. “My day would be complete if I could get in nine holes later.”
“How’s New Dawn doing it?” Nick asked. The import staff knew of his meeting, but not the location. No one but DARK personnel knew. Vanessa wore a GPS button, but it was on a secure frequency. “My car bugged? GPS or something else?”
Snow stopped at an intersection. “No way. I swept her this morning before we left the house, and she hasn’t been out of my sight since.”
The narrow, potholed street backed onto shops and restaurants. It curved uphill as they proceeded. On the left a jumble of trash cans and larger metal containers beside rear doors. On the right a line of parked cars.
Both could hide an ambush.
Vanessa’s index finger tapped her lips, a gesture that spoke of her apprehension. It obviously bugged her that she couldn’t carry a weapon.
Unease prickling his scalp, Nick started to suggest they find a more populated street.
Ahead a car door opened. A bearded man wearing a baseball cap pulled low stepped out into the street.
Adrenaline buzzed Nick’s system. He tensed for tricks not treats. He sensed Vanessa doing the same.
The man leveled a semiautomatic pistol at the windshield.
“Get down!” Snow stomped the accelerator and yanked the steering wheel to the left.
Bullets shattered the passenger-side windows.
The Mercedes slammed into a row of trash cans, scattering them into the street like tenpins. Bags of garbage split open and disgorged their contents across the brick pavement.
“A trap!” Vanessa smacked a hand against the console. “They used our trap to funnel us into their damn trap. We’re cut off from our escort cars.”
She spoke into her miniature microphone. “Harris, come in. We’re under attack.” Tersely she explained.
“Keep going. Get us around this big trash bin,” Nick yelled.
“Backup’s on the way,” she said. Training and experience focused Vanessa as adrenaline revved her heart.
The car rolled to a stop against the heavy steel bin. Snow slumped against the steering wheel.
Chapter 14
“HE’S BEEN HIT!” She reached over the seat. “Nick, help me drag him into the other seat. I’ll drive.”
Pushing between the front seats, he muscled the other man, about his size, across the console and into the passenger side. Pebbles of window glass littered the leather seat, but it couldn’t be helped.
Snow clutched the side of his neck at the right shoulder. Blood trickled between his fingers and stained his shirt. He was silent in his pain, but Vanessa groaned at the sight. They had to stem the flow of blood long enough to get medical help. She snatched Snow’s jacket from the driver’s seat and pressed it to his wound. “Hold that tight.”
She could see no sign of their attacker, but heard an engine fire up. Beyond the steel bin, trash cans clattered as someone rolled them out of the way. “We have to move fast.” She started to climb into the front.
“I’ll drive.” Nick shook his head. “It’s my car.”
“You don’t know the streets. I do.” She wriggled across and into the driver’s seat. “Trust me.”
“M-Markos,” the injured driver mumbled, “take … my gun.”
Vanessa watched as Nick hesitated. She knew how he felt about just this sort of ambush situation.
“I haven’t fired a gun in years,” he said, anguish and uncertainty in his eyes.
“There’s no time. I need you. We need you.” Fear, regret and recriminations could wait. “Shoot back only if you have to.”
Like clicking a camera lens, he shuttered his expression. His face hard granite and his eyes blue ice, he palmed the Sig-Sauer P-226 with assurance.
Grant Snow slumped lower. Probably passed out. At least the bleeding seemed to have slowed.
“Get us out of here,” Nick shouted.
She started the ignition. The engine roared to life. Automatic. Not as much control as with manual. She slammed the gear shift into Reverse and backed up.
Pulse pounding in her ears, she swung the car around the left side of the metal barrier, between it and the building. The fender left sparks and silver paint as it scraped by the masonry. The car roared away from the doorway, and a man in a chef’s hat waved a long wooden spoon and yelled.
They made it to the corner before their pursuer could pull his sedan from its parallel space.
“Three men,” Nick said. “Can’t tell how many weapons.”
She stomped the accelerator to the floor. The tires shrieked as they sought traction against the bricks. The car fishtailed. She steered into the spin and controlled it. She zoomed ahead.
The attackers sped up behind them. Parked cars and trucks were the only other vehicles on this quiet back street.
Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
The sound of bullets penetrating the car’s rear scrambled her heartbeat. She’d never forgive herself if this operation resulted in harm to Nick. She shoved away the emotion. “Are you all right?”
“A-OK, honey. Just drive.” His voice was tight, but sure. “I’ll buy you some space.”
He lowered the rear side window and fired several rounds at the other car. “They’re backing off. Step on it.”
A delivery van labeled with a cartoon fish had pulled out behind her. That would help.
“They’re passing the van. Can you evade?” He fired another shot that caromed off the street.
The tan sedan hung back. So did the van.
“Roger that. Hold on!” Every muscle and nerve in her body twitching at the reins, she hung a right at the next corner, a left after that. Tires squealed, and pedestrians on the sidewalks jumped and pointed.
In the rearview mirror, no tan sedan. Two other cars pulled behind them, inadvertently running interference. Four blocks ahead the street ended in a T intersection. The cross street was a one-way left. If she could get there far enough ahead of them…
The buildings at the end loomed closer. She approached the stop sign. A huge delivery truck came from the right. As it entered the intersection, the driver gaped at the fast-approaching Mercedes. He braked and stalled his engine.
The delivery truck, as big and solid as a steel building, blocked their exit.
Adrenaline coursed through Vanessa. If she miscalculated, they would be a humongous bug splat.
Only a newspaper-vending machine on the sidewalk. No pedestrians. All the winters she and Jason ha
d spun around on that frozen lake and the E&E driving learned at Quantico would pay off. She could make it.
She tapped on the brakes and whipped the wheel to the right. The car skidded before the four-wheel drive caught purchase. It grazed the vending machine. The device wobbled, but stayed in place. The car bounded across the sidewalk.
On the cross street, she powered the Mercedes the wrong way on the one-way street.
Horns blared and brakes shrieked as vehicles swerved to avoid the crazy lady. At the next corner, she hung a sharp left and zipped up a residential, tree-lined street. She didn’t know or care which direction it went.
“We’re out of sight now.” She gulped air as she slowed. “They won’t know which way we headed.”
“Impressive,” Nick said. “You ever do any stunt driving?”
She laughed, albeit a little nervously. “I’ll tell you all about it sometime. First we need to get Snow to a doctor.”
She punched her mic. “We’re clear, Harris. Direct me to the nearest hospital. And where’s our damn backup?”
***
They delivered the wounded Grant Snow to the Georgetown University Medical Center emergency room. They paced the waiting room until they got word that he’d regained consciousness after surgery. His condition was pronounced serious but not critical. The bullet had damaged muscle, tearing through his neck within a millimeter of an artery. He’d lost a lot of blood, but would recover.
Three DARK officers arrived to stand guard. Once stabilized, Snow would transfer to Walter Reed Army Medical Center to recuperate.
Under escort, Nick drove his abused silver Mercedes to Chevy Chase. By the time they pulled into the garage, darkness had fallen on the dreary day.
When they exited the car, Vanessa clicked her tongue at the scrapes and dings. “Sorry about your baby.”
“She’ll heal.” He scratched his head. “Don’t know exactly how I’ll explain this to my insurance company.”
“Don’t. DARK will cover you.”
“Like they did this afternoon?” He still simmered. DARK hadn’t detected a trap. Backup had arrived too late to do anything but escort them to the emergency room.
“The CO will knock some heads together over that one. The traffic on M Street held them up. We had cars waiting on three different routes. Nobody anticipated the bad guys would have the same strategy. They haven’t hacked into my tracking device or bugged the car. Low-tech surveillance, but thorough.”
A DARK officer opened the door. After assuring them the house was clear, he vanished. Janine had left hours ago.
Nick led the way to the kitchen. “I’ll make some coffee.”
“Good idea.” Vanessa lifted a note from the countertop. “Janine left a main course and salad in the fridge.” Her hand rested on the refrigerator door handle. “I’d expect a restaurant supply magnate to be a chef, but Janine creates all the meals.”
“That sounds like a challenge. I know my way around every kitchen from a greasy spoon to five-star dining. I’ll cook for you one evening. My specialty.” A nice candle-lit dinner would be a good break for them both.
“It’s a date.” She opened the door and ducked inside as if to conceal the blush heating her cheeks. “Yum, looks like shrimp scampi. Ready for nuking.”
For the next few minutes, only the clatter of cutlery and dishes being set on the table broke the silence.
Nick retrieved coffee beans from the cupboard. His hands were thankfully steady, and he exhaled slowly. He’d held up through the attack, even put a few slugs in the sedan’s grill. Afterward the shakes hit, racking him like an influenza fever. He’d surfaced before the drive home.
He measured out the beans into the grinder and pushed the button. The coffee’s rich fragrance soothed his senses.
“You all right?” She set the salad bowl on the breakfast bar, then took the two steps to stand beside him.
“I’m fine. No problem.” He didn’t want her hovering, babying him. Or did he? Ground coffee and water went into the drip machine. He starting the brewing and set out mugs.
“Snow nearly died. You both could’ve been killed.” She looked up at him, the concern in her candid gaze turning to anguish. “You did an ace job, but you shouldn’t have had to pinch-hit for DARK today.”
She could’ve died too, but she wouldn’t appreciate his reminding her of that possibility. He swallowed. He schooled his expression and voice not to give away his emotions. “Someone had to step up to the plate.”
She smiled. “The rust on your Special Forces skills didn’t show. From where I sat, I saw a confident sortie.”
She was partially right. Their success at escaping the ambushers gave him another measure of confidence. But…“False confidence. Put me in combat, and I’m in the zone. Training and instincts kick in. But only as a low-level grunt.” No one should trust him to set up an operation.
Before she could object, he added, “You were the real heroine this afternoon, Ms. NASCAR. Your battery must need recharging.” He handed her a mug of coffee.
“Thanks. I was in the zone too.” Falling silent, she sipped her coffee at the breakfast bar. She’d pulled her hair on top her head with one of her doodads.
The microwave beeped. He checked the temperature of the shrimp dish and carried it across the kitchen. They served themselves and ate in silence side by side. He smiled. With her, even the silence was companionable, comfortable. Damn. Besides all the turmoil surrounding them, he had a new problem to contend with. Vanessa.
The woman, not the government officer. This thing between them was more than casual. More than sexual attraction. Although he hadn’t been this obsessed with sex since he was a hormonal teenager. Every day she slid more under his skin. He found himself thinking about her at odd moments, picturing her face or recalling her laugh or the way she knew to offer comfort and understanding with a touch on his arm.
Maybe her empathy was part of the undercover role. Maybe it didn’t matter. After his aborted engagement, he didn’t want anything serious. Or even long term. She was right about his family issues, family honor, but wrong about what it meant for his life. He worked fourteen hours a day in his business because he had to. A family was out of the question.
But not a brief liaison. After this operation ended, she’d leave and so would he. They’d never see each other again. A blazing affair that scorched those silk sheets was what he needed. What she needed, if he read her signals right. Their having sex couldn’t be any more of a distraction than the frustration of not having sex. She’d see that too. Her professional barrier crumbled more each time they kissed.
Looking up from the temptation of her elegant neck, Nick observed her frown. He knew what was bothering her. “So if they didn’t track you and didn’t follow us to Georgetown, how did New Dawn know where we were?”
“If I could answer that,” she said through a bite of cucumber, “we’d have a prime lead to Husam Al-Din.”
“Our lunch companions all have ties to Yamar.”
“Prince Amir is reported to have led Yamari troops when New Dawn guerrillas tried to disrupt the presidential election. Do you suspect Nadim or Ambassador Khalil?” She rolled her shoulders. Her muscles were probably stiffening after her strenuous stint at the wheel.
“Nadim? Not a chance. He’s the ultimate Western capitalist. But Khalil is an enigma. Remember, he lost the election. He could’ve been president.”
“You’re thinking he might have changed allegiance?” When he nodded, she said, “It’s worth looking into.”
The telephone jangled. Nick’s pulse jumped. He knew who it was before he picked up. “Markos here.”
“Arrange for a transfer of funds,” said the accented and still-unidentified voice, “and your woman will be in no more danger. Nor will you. I will be in touch again soon.” A click terminated the call.
Nick regarded Vanessa expectantly.
After listening intently to her earpiece, she sho
ok her head. “Cell phone again. Different number.”
Good thing they hadn’t found the ten million yet. He’d be tempted to give it to New Dawn just to end the threat. “Al-Din won’t quit. You’ll sleep in my bed again tonight. And every night until this is over.”
Her gaze flitted away. “We’ll see.” She rubbed her shoulder, the one she’d fallen on the previous night.
He turned and kneaded her shoulders. “Your muscles are tight as sailors’ knots. Later I’ll give you a good rubdown.”
The thought of massaging her soft flesh tightened his body. Tonight. It was time.
She stiffened, then slipped off the stool and ducked away. “Debriefing’s starting in a few minutes. Don’t wait up for me.”
She hustled out the kitchen exit and toward the house next door.
His mouth tightened, and other parts of his anatomy. Removing her barriers might take a little more doing than he’d thought.
***
By Sunday evening Vanessa was as tightly wound as the space robot her brother had years ago. He tinkered with it and powered it up to the point of critical mass. Metal and plastic limbs and stalk eyes and internal winky-dinks had cannoned all over the living room. If her nerves didn’t give soon, she’d explode like that juiced-up robot.
The high-priced artwork on Alexei’s sale list had indeed come from the Vienna robbery and two other gallery thefts, but the black-market sales were so far untraceable.
DARK had made no gains in tracking down Husam Al-Din. His captured goons would say only that New Dawn would prevail. The two burglars had entered the U.S. on student visas, and the other two, picked up in the initial stage of the Georgetown car chase, possessed no papers. All were dead ends, yielding no clues to their esteemed leader. The other DARK unit compiled a list of possible targets for the Veterans Day attack, but nothing firm.
November second. Veterans Day was only nine days away, and they had no idea where New Dawn would strike.
She and Nick hadn’t located the ten-million-dollar dingus. And she’d made little headway in peeling off the layers of the military’s cover-up of his Somalia mission.
Dark Cover (The DARK Files #2) Page 14
