Die Run Hide

by P. M. Kavanaugh

  “What?” Anika asked. If Gianni had left, if Mac were going to Lyon …

  “Bender,” Evan said. “You know, what one does at places like Amnesia. You do remember our little talk from yesterday?”

  The day before, Anika had confided that she needed to borrow money for some major downtime. Evan, who understood the critical importance of memory-impairing drinking sprees, had agreed to the loan. She had transferred five thousand world currency notes into an account in Anika’s name by tapping secret funds skimmed from terrorist and drug raids.

  “I remember,” Anika said. “Couldn’t get there last night.”

  En route to the agency that morning, she had stopped at a banking kiosk to collect the money. Contingency funds in case the solo didn’t go exactly as planned. Like Gianni being called away right before the official briefing. Like Mac going to Lyon disguised as a Brazilian.

  “Maybe tonight, then,” Evan said. “We could both go. Do some serious damage to our brain cells.”

  “Maybe,” Anika said. “If I get back from the mission in time.” If I get back at all. “Who’s doing the briefing?”

  “Second. Cheer up, my sweet. Gianni will be back soon. Before he left, he gave me a message for you.”

  “A message?” A jolt shot through her stomach.

  “And I quote, ‘Bar. Truck stop. Later.’ Man of few words, isn’t he?”

  What the hell kind of message is that?

  “The Truck Stop’s that new place on Melrose, isn’t it? Very posh.” Evan’s eyes flicked a glance at the room’s entrance. “Looks like the fun’s about to start.”

  Chapter 7

  Three operatives entered the room and took seats around the curved table. Anika nodded a greeting to Salazar. She had gone through training with him.

  Wiry, medium-build, he had a scar that ran from the middle of his left cheek to the corner of his mouth. Clinic could easily have removed it, but Salazar believed it enhanced his reputation as a scary son-of-a-bitch.

  “I heard the Seattle mission went well,” she said. “That was your first as team lead, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah, the first of many,” Salazar boasted, lounging in his chair.

  Salazar’s elevated opinion of himself and his abilities wasn’t shared by most other operatives. Except for Lo, who grinned and bobbed his head in agreement. Kiss ass. Kent kept silent. A newer recruit, she had already earned a reputation for doing good work while keeping a low profile. Anika liked that about her.

  “I may even be up for a promotion,” Salazar said.

  “Is that so?” Anika drummed her fingers on the table.

  “Yeah.” Salazar leaned forward and crossed his arms on the table. “Because I don’t miss my target.”

  Anika’s fingers stilled.

  “Blowhard,” Evan said.

  “Kiss my — ”

  Second stalked into the room on stilettos the shade of matador-cape red.

  Salazar straightened in his chair.

  “Good morning.” Every strand of Second’s hair lay in perfect order. “Monitor on.” A world map dominating the front wall dissolved into the image of a multi-building compound. “The former Midway Airport, outside of Chicago … ”

  Anika tried to focus on the words even as her mind continued to swirl with questions.

  Why was Gianni called away? Is this new mission a solo, too?

  “Jackson Palmer.” Second identified the man with silver-gray hair and an arrogant expression on his surgically enhanced face. “Self-made businessman holding interests in a variety of activities, some legitimate, some not. His ties to the terrorist organization New Day are well known by the Chicago authorities. But because of his philanthropy and his political connections, they won’t touch him … or his prized asset.” Second called for the next image and a blueprint appeared. “Their weapons production takes place here, in what used to be Concourse G. Go in, collect the evidence, plant the explosives, get out. Questions?”

  Anika’s mind raced with ones she couldn’t ask. Where was Gianni? Did he know about this switch?

  At the group’s silence, Second nodded. “Salazar is team lead.”

  He and Anika exchanged a look.

  His said, I told you so.

  Just like the teenage boys at the orphanage. She half expected him to follow up with a punch to her shoulder.

  Salazar pointed out each operative’s ingress points and locations for setting the explosives.

  Anika studied the map. “Where are the egress points?”

  “We all backtrack the way we go in.”

  “I have the longest route. How many minutes before detonation?”

  “Ten.”

  “It looks tight. You’re sure that’s enough time?”

  “I’m sure. Especially with those long legs of yours.” Salazar’s scar dimpled as he curled his upper lip. Lo smirked into his fist.

  Second stared at Salazar with eyes like ice chips. When Salazar noticed, he sat up straighter and neutralized his expression. Lo and Kent shifted in their seats. Only Evan seemed to be unaffected by the tension, leaning back, thumbs tucked into her front pockets.

  “Image off.” The blueprint faded and the map reappeared. “Transport leaves at oh-eight-thirty hours. We’re done here.”

  As soon as the words were out of Second’s mouth, Anika bolted from the room and ducked into a deserted office.

  “Lights off,” she hissed as the sensors brought up the lights. She pulled out her handheld and punched in Gianni’s private code. Pacing, she stared at the lit screen.

  Come on, come on.

  She and Gianni had never been to the Truck Stop, never talked about going there. What did his message mean?

  She pressed more buttons and listened to the restaurant’s automated greeting and promise to return all calls later that afternoon. Visual confirmed its location on Melrose, as Evan had said.

  Had Gianni left something for her at the bar? It was too far to get there and back before the mission went live. He had to know that. Should she risk it anyway?

  Maybe it was his way of warning her away from this mission. But if she didn’t learn anything more at the restaurant, how would she explain her behavior? If she didn’t report to Transport on time, it would be another mark against her.

  She needed a solo to win her freedom. If it wasn’t the one in Lyon, there would be another. There had to be.

  • • •

  One kilometer from the airport, Anika stood with the rest of the team in a tight cluster down an embankment, out of sight from the main road. The noon sun blazed overhead as Salazar took them through a final review.

  “New intel just in. There’s been a change in your egress, Anika. Twenty-five meters further down from where you’ll plant your explosives. That’s your new exit.”

  The hair on the back of her neck stood up. “Let me see.” She reached for the handheld strapped to Salazar’s waist.

  “Back off.” He clamped his hand over the device. “You’re not going to fuck up this mission like you did your last one. Not while I’m team lead.”

  Underneath the anger in his voice, Anika heard the fear.

  “You’ll rendezvous with the rest of us at the truck stop ten kilometers south of the terminal,” Salazar said. “Transport will wait for us there.”

  “Truck stop?” The words throbbed in her head.

  “Yeah. Now move out.”

  Had Gianni meant an actual truck stop? Had he known it would be the rendezvous point?

  She eyed Salazar, who had advanced four meters to her right. His scar glowed bright purple in the sunlight.

  You may be team lead, but I’m going to make damn sure my new egress is where you said it is. Before I activate the detonator.

  They walked in silence, scanning left and right. Thirty meters from the building, the team separated. Anika found her assigned ingress and waited for the go-ahead to enter.

  “Security system disabled.” Evan’s clipped tones came through her ear comm
.

  Anika acknowledged, pushed open the heavy door and stepped across the threshold into a dusky interior. The door clicked shut and an eerie silence shrouded her. The questions that had raced through her mind since Salazar mentioned the truck stop quieted. She focused on the task ahead.

  Verifying the new egress meant she would have to pass the explosive location point and then backtrack to it before setting the detonator. A padded case containing the saucer-sized bomb lay against her back, its thick strap heavy across her neck and chest.

  With one hand on her laser, she moved to her assigned location. If Salazar were right, then her egress would be twenty-five meters further along. She peered down the corridor. Instinct told her no door existed, but she had to be sure.

  She took another step. A high note beeped inside the case and her heart leapt into her throat. She swung the case around, lifted the flap and pulled out an inch-thick disk. The timer read two minutes fifty-seven seconds. The explosive had been remotely activated.

  God, no.

  She set the explosive down and sprinted for the egress. At twenty-five meters, she stopped. No exit.

  “Salazar.” The deserted space swallowed her voice. “Salazar. There’s no egress. Repeat, no egress. Do you copy?” She switched channels and tried again. “Salazar, Evan, I need an exit. Repeat. I need an exit.” No response.

  She dropped the case. It thudded on the concrete.

  There wasn’t enough time to get back to the ingress, but she wasn’t going to stand here and wait to be blown to dust. She wasn’t going to die like that.

  She charged back the way she had come, legs pumping like pistons. The timer faceplate ticked down. 2:12. She flinched from the numbers as if they had scalded her eyes.

  The sign on the opposite side grabbed her attention. Not a gate sign. Most of the letters were broken, but the final three were still in place. B-A-R. Hope exploded in her chest. 1:53.

  She raced toward the counter and leapt on a barstool. It wobbled under her weight. She slammed down on her wrist and a jolt of pain surged up her arm. She bit back a cry, tucked her legs in, and rolled over the counter top. Something sharp sliced through her leg.

  She landed in a crouch on the other side. A wet stickiness oozed from her upper thigh.

  Focus.

  There, by her right foot, a dull metal glint. She grabbed the circular ring and pulled. Nothing.

  She gulped back fear and ran her hand over the floor. The security door had to be there. Her fingers dipped into indented grooves that surrounded the ring.

  Yes.

  She pulled the ring again. Still nothing.

  Swearing, she swiveled her head and searched. A green reflective knob stuck out from a shelf. She punched the knob with her fist. Click. She pulled on the ring again and the door swung open.

  A dark circular tunnel with a steel ladder attached to one wall ran straight down.

  She hopped on her good leg down the first few ladder rungs and started to pull the door shut behind her. Then stopped.

  Shit.

  She couldn’t take anything that could be traced back to U.N.I.T. Her laser and transmitter had to be destroyed in the blast.

  She hauled herself back up with her good arm, yanked out the black earpiece and threw it and the laser over the counter.

  She grabbed for the door again and pulled it shut. Wrapped her arms and legs around the outside of the ladder and slid into pitch darkness. Whatever risks waited below couldn’t be any worse than the threats above.

  A blast shook the tunnel. Her limbs tensed in anticipation of impact, but the tunnel held. She kept sliding until her muscles burned from the strain of holding on.

  Finally, her feet hit solid ground. A spray of water shot up to her knees.

  She backed up against a side wall and cocked her ear. Over the pounding of her heart, she heard only silence.

  She half-stood and rested her right hand on her good leg.

  She was standing in some kind of passageway. In her first year of training, she had learned about the security corridors that major urban airports had built at the beginning of the century in defense against possible terrorist attacks. This must have been created when Midway still operated as an airport.

  She rotated her left wrist in a slow circle. Hot sparks shot up her arm, but she could flex her fingers. Not broken.

  Her left leg throbbed. She ripped off a section of her undershirt and wrapped the cloth around her thigh. She pulled it tight, sucking in her breath against the sudden sharp pain.

  The skittering and squeaking of rodents broke the silence. Anika was glad for her thick-soled, mid-calf boots. She could handle the dark, but she didn’t much care for rats.

  She sniffed the air. Damp. Not too moldy. Definitely fresh air coming in from somewhere. A faint light appeared far down the tunnel. It hinted at the source of the air and a way out.

  When she emerged into daylight, the slant of the sun gave her the time. 1300 hours. Less than an hour since she and the others had stood together and listened to Salazar’s final instructions.

  Less than an hour, but now, a lifetime ago.

  She stared back at the smoking ruins of the building and an uncontrolled shudder ran through her. Her survival meant Gianni had failed the agency’s loyalty test.

  Gianni.

  Longing pulled at her, like hot quicksand. She wanted to see him. One last time. She turned and began the ten-kilometer hike to the truck stop.

  Will you be there?

  Chapter 8

  Anika lay down in a patch of dead grass and shrubs within viewing distance of the truck stop. Her perimeter search of the area had confirmed no sightings of either her U.N.I.T. team or Gianni.

  Relief battled with disappointment. Where are you?

  She took one slow breath as a drop of sweat rolled along her hairline, down her temple and past her ear. Twelve seconds.

  The ground grew harder underneath her sore muscles. The endorphin patch had stopped working three kilometers ago and a deep throb in her thigh reminded her that she’d need medical help soon. She resigned herself to waiting until Gianni showed or the sky grew dark enough for her to risk looking for a dead drop.

  She concentrated on another slow breath in and out. Another twelve seconds of in-between time. If she were running or fighting hand-to-hand, the same amount of time would take five fast breaths. The technique of counting breaths to track time in the field had required a lot of practice in her first year of training. It was like dividing her brain into two sections: one section counted while the other directed her eyes and hands and feet to unlock sealed files, scan crowded rooms, fire lasers, chase down runners.

  Ten breaths later, each one accompanied by a painful stab in her leg, she conjured an image to distract her. Gianni’s tall lean body, graceful and silent as a dancer, lay down beside her. He reached for her hand, wrapped it in his, and held it against his chest. Her fingers picked up the steady beat of his heart. He was here, right next to her. No longer distant or angry. The ground softened and a breeze cooled her cheeks. She relaxed into the sweetness.

  When the sky turned a protective shade of blue-gray, she stood and stretched her stiff limbs. As they had throughout the afternoon, husky drivers ambled toward the main building and a rail-thin woman with brassy red hair scrounged the garbage chutes and approached the drivers for handouts.

  On a hunch, Anika decided to start her search in a storage cylinder that the service droid had entered and exited a couple of times in the past three-and-a-half hours. The spot was far enough away from the more trafficked pathways to lower the risk of an accidental find, but close enough to avoid a suspicious-looking search.

  Along the wall of a waist-high cement barrier separating the cylinder from a row of trucks, Anika spied vibrant blue chalk marks. Her pulse jumped. To the untrained eye, the marks looked like the random scratchings of a child. But she recognized the signs of a dead drop. She studied the marks more closely: five hash marks, space, three marks, space,
one mark … What did they mean?

  She proceeded to the cylinder door, secured by a keypad. She tested the door. It beeped a warning. She visualized the blue hash marks. A numeric code, maybe? She pressed the numbers on the pad in the order of the marks and the lock snicked open.

  She stepped inside the cool interior and scanned the shelves of paper products, cleaning supplies and dispenser refills. Something glinted on the floor near the edge of a bottom shelf. She bent down and reached for the object. Her breath caught in her throat as her fingers closed around an oval medal with the raised outline of St. Jude. She searched for and found the nick along the edge. She pulled the medal out from under the shelf, bringing with it the links of chain wrapped around the strap of a black knapsack.

  She could hardly believe Gianni had parted with his most prized possession. He had risked so much to help her win her freedom. What price would he pay for choosing her over U.N.I.T.? She slipped the chain over her neck. The medal felt warm and heavy against her skin. A fist squeezed around her heart. How could she have agreed to their plan?

  She did a quick check of the knapsack. Typical “go bag” items: energy pellets, extra clothes, med kit, camouflage. The start to a life on the run.

  She exited the storage cylinder, brushed away the blue chalk marks and headed for the nearest bathroom. With every step, fiery sparks shot up her leg. Once inside the single-occupant room, she sank down to the floor and elevated her leg.

  She made herself swallow a few of the tasteless pellets, then reached past the clothes, the oxygen nosegear, and protective eye patches to the med kit. Rifled through the Numb-It gel and dissolving staples until she found — thank God — pain blockers. She set the dial on the inhaler to a quarter dose, enough to blunt the pain, but not to glaze her mind or senses.

  While she waited for the medicine to kick in, she fingered Gianni’s chain and medal. Maybe it wasn’t too late to change the scenario. If Gianni had deactivated her tracking chip, her status would be KIM, killed in mission. As long as she didn’t report in at the nearest safehouse, the agency wouldn’t know she was alive. Command and Second wouldn’t know that Gianni had helped her survive.