Imagine (Black Raven Book 4)

by Stella Barcelona

  Even if I have to go it alone. Even if it proves to be the last thing I do.

  Her cursor appeared, which should be a signal that the line was open–if her commands had worked. Before she could open her mouth for a radio check, an additional video line opened on her laptop screen, providing a view of Follower. As she absorbed the grim details of the weapons on Follower revealed by the video camera, Ace’s voice came through, loud and clear, in a growl that conveyed full-throttle urgency.

  “Goddammit, Leo. Where the fuck are you?”

  From Denver, there was a collective sigh of relief, but Leo frowned as she took in the impatience and frustration in his tone. Those traits were uncharacteristic for Ace, especially in high-stress situations. Yet she didn’t fault him. The situation needed to be resolved. The sooner, the better.

  She replied, in her lowest whisper, “Copy that, Evans. Radio check. Leon to Evans, Marks, Kamin, Branch, Scott. Roll call. Over.”

  “Copy. Evans.”

  “Copy. Marks.”

  “Copy. Kamin.”

  “Copy. Branch.”

  “Copy. Scott.”

  “That’s an affirmative from all agents,” Leo said. “I accomplished the Mayday at 0215 hours. Copy?”

  “Copy.” Ace’s voice had regained cool calmness. “Marks and Kamin are with me. Ling Wen is with us.”

  “Evans, we have Ragno on line with us. Zeus is also monitoring this line, while making calls.”

  “Copy that. Branch and Scott. Give me a status report,” Ace said.

  “Scott was hit,” Branch said. “Upper thigh. Two bullets. Finishing field dressing now.”

  Hell.

  “How is he?” Ace asked.

  “Mobility’s reduced to hobbling, but otherwise he’s—”

  “Irritated that I can’t walk, but fine,” Scott chimed in, finishing Branch’s statement. His voice was strong. Leo’s palms tingled with relief.

  “Nice to hear from you, Scott,” Ace said. “But I’d like to hear that from our medic.”

  “He’ll be fine,” Branch answered. “He’s tough. Doesn’t even want morphine.”

  “Blood loss?” Ace asked, concern apparent in his voice.

  Leo’s breath caught as she waited for the answer. Blood loss was always a worry in the field. Though they’d all signed up for action that included mortal risk, no one liked to have a reminder of it while the job was ongoing.

  “I bleed steel, sir,” Scott said, “and not much.”

  “There’s muscle damage,” Branch said. “He’s in pain, there’s been some blood loss, but no arteries are in play.”

  Leo felt the collective easier breathing from all the agents in Denver who were hanging on every word from the team on Imagine.

  “Position?” Ace asked.

  “Melpomene Deck. Compass Rose,” Branch said.

  Leo knew exactly where they were. Positioning themselves in the Compass Rose Bar was a smart move on their part. The Melpomene deck was the second highest deck. The only deck above it was the Erato deck, where the radio room and the helm station were located. Both the Melpomene and Erato decks were shorter than the full length of the ship.

  The Compass Rose was perched on the stern side of the Melpomene Deck. The bar had floor to ceiling windows, designed to provide a great view of the wide-open ocean and the stern of the ship. From there, someone in the bar could look out to the ocean or, even better for Black Raven’s purpose, watch any action on the wide-open space on the Terpischore Deck that served as Imagine’s helipad. Leo kept working as she listened to Ace and the others.

  “Branch. When Scott’s set,” Ace said, “advance to the theater. Meet us at the rear doors, in the main hallway. We’re gaining access now. By the time you’re here, we’ll have eliminated sentries. You might encounter a Quan or two on the way.”

  “Roger. On my way.”

  “Scott. You’re our eyes on the stern,” Ace said. “You have firing ability?”

  “Yes, sir. Ready. Able. More than willing, in honor of our guys in the casino. I’m in position at the windows. I have my rifle plus the rifles of a few Quan operatives. Plenty of ammo. If action ends up on the helipad, I’ll cover it.”

  “Copy that, Scott. I’ve set a cam with a view, but I no longer have eyes on Follower. I managed to get a visual on their weapons.” Ace’s tone was matter-of-fact as he relayed observations about the firepower he’d observed aboard Follower.

  “We’ve got your camera view.” Leo glanced at IM dialogue, confirming that Denver-based agents were on task with it. “Denver is analyzing the missiles.”

  “Ragno. Leo. Any chance you’ll be able to disable their comms but keep ours intact? Would be good if Skylar had no opportunity to call for help once we advance into the theater.”

  “We’re working on that,” Ragno said. “It’s involving some crafty manipulation on our part, finding the link Skylar’s using for the financials, satellite access, and…you don’t need details at this point.”

  “Keep me posted,” Ace said. “Give me a nutshell on external rescue efforts.”

  With his shift in focus, Leo realized Ace was assuming she was in the crawl space where he’d left her. She’d need to tell him her present position. But there were more important issues on his list, and he wouldn’t be pleased when he figured out that she was on the stage, in the props booth. She’d get to it. For now, she’d let him focus on the other issues.

  “We’ve alerted China, Macau, United States. Zeus is on task. The People’s Liberation Army is pulling together resources and forming an advance team. Aircraft first, boats shortly after. Our contact is PLA Navy Deputy Commissar Linn Ming, the leader of the joint operation,” Ragno said. “Chinese authorities are not communicating clearly with us yet. Zeus is working hard for some positive traction in that regard. We have confirmed that Commissar Ming is not contacting Imagine’s helm at this time, believing that no contact will work in favor of rescue efforts. Advance notice will put hostages at risk. Ming will wait until you have secured the theater and hostages. Copy?”

  “Copy,” Ace said.

  “We’ve reestablished a live GPS link for Imagine,” Leo said.

  “Do we have Follower’s identity?” Ace asked.

  “Remains unknown, though Denver is analyzing it,” Leo said, glancing at thermal images from the video feed of Follower. Men were performing an external check on the chopper. Two others were approaching the helipad. Walking, not running.

  “Evans,” Leo said. “Follower is now readying its helicopter for departure. There doesn’t appear to be an immediate rush. Copy?”

  “Roger.”

  “So far, Skylar isn’t alarmed,” Leo said.

  As Ace and the other agents moved into position, Leo kept an eye on the video feed of the front of the stage from the cam that she’d set in the crawl space. She clicked on her keyboard, remotely adjusting her camera. For the moment, Skylar was still, watching as his men in business suits directed hostages to transfer funds. He stood at center stage, his right shoulder almost touching one of the Christmas trees.

  At most, Skylar was fourteen feet from where she sat. Hostages who’d completed their financial transactions were now being seated at stage right. About fifteen of them were huddled close together in the third, fourth, and fifth rows. Randy Howell sat in the first row, in the aisle seat, with his face buried in his hands. Every now and then, he’d look up. The camera angle didn’t give her a view of the front of his face, but it seemed as if he was looking towards Miranda’s body.

  An agent from Denver sent Leo an IM. ”Scroll slower. Facial rec running. Include hostages.”

  Leo reset the camera as Skylar turned. He touched his earpiece, and then his watch, and started walking across the stage. The camera caught his lips moving. He wasn’t using the PA system and wasn’t talking on line sixteen. Leo changed the comm channel on the watch that she’d taken from the Quan operative. She listened to the bursts of static, pops, and clicks on line four.

&nb
sp; She IM’d Denver, “S.’s using line 4 now. Any progress in decrypting that channel or figuring out who he’s talking to?”

  “Not yet.”

  Leo watched as Skylar’s path across the front of the stage took him in front of Miranda, who was lying, face up. The Blackwells lay next to her. Proving the theory that Skylar considered some of the hostages expendable to his money-making scheme, he had executed the Blackwells without first obtaining money. Their brutal killings had been an effective persuasion tool, and the remaining hostages had complied with Skylar’s demands, without resistance and with the implicit hope that if they complied, he would let them live.

  Yet the weapons aboard Follower confirmed that Skylar’s plan was that there would be no survivors, no matter how much money he stole.

  May Wen, wearing a long, emerald green dress, was in a chair next to Skylar. Mascara, mixed with tears, streamed down her face. Her glossy hair was tangled and disheveled. Her hands were tied in front of her, while her legs were secured at the ankles. Only one high-heeled shoe remained on. Her screams, for the moment, had subsided.

  “Marks to Evans. Ling Wen and I are now in firing position. Crawl space. Above the theater. Leo isn’t here.”

  “Leo—where are you?” Ace asked.

  Before Leo could answer, Ragno broke into the conversation. “Marks. Did you say you and Ling Wen are in firing position?”

  “That’s an affirmative,” Marks replied.

  “Evans,” Ragno said. “Clarify.”

  “He’s on our side and can handle the QBZ-95. He was personally involved in its design,” Ace said. “It’s a team leader’s prerogative to make a call like this, and I’m making it. Having Wen on our side will outweigh the cons of his lack of training as a Black Raven agent. I don’t have time to give you more.”

  “Hold it a second. Someone is working with Skylar, and we don’t know who. We’re analyzing Wen’s data now and haven’t determined that he’s on our side, at least not yet.” Ragno hesitated. “His financials are impenetrable. How have you ruled him out as a co-conspirator?”

  “Personal observation in a situation that left no doubt,” Ace said, his curt tone giving the solid impression that he considered the conversation about Wen over. “Plus, Skylar’s been looking for him.”

  “Innocence could be a ruse,” Ragno said.

  “To what end?”

  “There are potential witnesses in the theater,” Ragno retorted. “Whoever is behind this is damn well planning on getting away with it.”

  “Skylar isn’t planning for these witnesses to live to tell the story of what they’re seeing,” Ace said.

  “And I doubt he’s thinking all his men will die. They could be the witnesses that the boss man is trying to avoid. Would have been simpler to stay off the ship, but we all know gamblers like thrills…”

  Ace’s groan was barely audible, but Leo heard it.

  “No. Ling Wen is on our side,” he said, sounding like he had no doubt. “Leo. Care to share your present position?”

  “Props booth. Backstage area.” Leo braced for attitude from Ace. He was too professional to tell her his real thoughts on the open mic, even if he had time, which he didn’t. “Slightly stage right of center—”

  “Clarify. Did you say props booth?”

  In his clipped words she detected thinly-veiled incredulity, as May Wen let loose a fresh scream.

  “Yes, sir. I left a camera on the vent, so I’d have video feed. It’s a small booth that’s built into the rear of the stage, and…” Leo glanced up, at the nutcracker’s coal-black lifeless eyes, as she let her voice trail. Ace damn well knew the where and what of the props booth, and they didn’t have time for her to waste. “It was the best option for signal strength.”

  “You didn’t get there with your rifle.”

  “Correct.” Hell. He’d comprehended what her position meant, in terms of what she’d had to do to get there. Later, when he wasn’t worried about her safety, he’d appreciate that being in the props booth had meant that, upon her arrival, she was almost immediately able to signal mayday.

  “I have both handguns.”

  “Armor?”

  The rule that agents who were in active fire situations were supposed to wear both a chest plate and a back plate, meant that she shouldn’t have considered the props booth an option. “Had to leave a plate behind. I adjusted. Laptop provides a measure of protection. Have my helmet.”

  “Damn glad to hear that.” Like crimson red warning flags marked beach-going danger, the sarcasm flag flew high in his tone, while anger simmered in his terseness. She’d get an earful from him later, when she wasn’t on an open line with any number of agents in Denver and field agents. “In addition to Skylar, how many Quan operatives are on stage?”

  “Three.” Which meant gunfire was coming her way. To gain control of the theater, all Quan operatives—especially Skylar—had to be taken down. “May Wen is in a chair, on stage, stage left of center. Upon your entry, she will be on your right. Copy?”

  “Copy. Tied to a chair?”

  “Negative, but her ankles are bound.” Once bullets started flying, May Wen’s movements would be anyone’s guess. “Copy?”

  “Copy,” Ace answered. “How many Quans are in the theater?”

  “Twenty, though that number is fluid. It includes Skylar and the three on stage with him. There were more, but a few minutes ago Skylar directed men to fix the hydraulic system.”

  “If you return to the crawl space, how long would it take for you to be in a safer position from which you could fire? Both prerequisites are necessary. Safety and firing position.”

  Leo eyed the rope she’d used to climb down into the booth, which she’d left attached. Ascending would be a bitch, but she’d practiced enough climbs to know she could do it. Problem was, it would eat up time. Another problem was that once she made it back into the ceiling, with the drapes shut, she wouldn’t have a view of anything but the area behind the drapes. To have her eyes on Skylar and the other operatives, she’d need to be at a vent on the other side of the drapes. The nearest vent that had a firing position was back at the original crawl space, where she’d parted ways with Ace and the others, and where she’d left the camera.

  “Three minutes remain on Skylar’s countdown for May Wen. You plan to enter the theater in under three?” She hoped Ace said yes. He’d directed her to stand down when Miranda had been killed, and she’d self-directed herself throughout Skylar’s execution of the Blackwells. She didn’t have it in her to stand by and allow him to kill another person.

  “Yes.”

  “Then I wouldn’t make it to an overhead firing position.” In contrast, if she stayed on the stage, all she had to do was push open the rear sliding door of the booth, run through the crossover area, and get to the wings on either side of the stage where she’d have a great firing position. Even better, she could slip out of the front sliding wall of the props booth, get into position behind the drapes, and cover Skylar from there.

  “Maintain present position,” Ace said. “When M84s go off, get in firing position off the stage, whether you’ve killed Skylar or not. Go right—”

  “Left’s better. That’s Skylar’s shortest route out of here, presumably to the helipad.” She glanced at her laptop screen. “Follower is prepping the chopper. Still not in a rush.”

  “Because Skylar doesn’t realize his control is about to end,” Ace said. “Go stage left. Give us one minute to get in position, then I’ll need your eyes before I give the three-count.”

  “Roger.”

  Notably absent from Ace’s instruction was where her precise position should be when they threw the M84s. Leo took his silence on the issue as implicit trust that, like any other agent, she’d damn well use her best judgment.

  Thinking, she glanced at her watch.

  0236 hours.

  Firing from behind the drapes was the best option for killing Skylar and then pulling May Wen to safety. But an on-stage posi
tion would expose her to enemy gunfire. Except, it was Christmas. Trees were on the stage. The decorative trees, with their gold bows and glass ornaments, wouldn’t make her bulletproof, but they’d provide a measure of concealment for the few milliseconds that she’d need.

  She looked up again, into the nutcracker’s coal black eyes. So far, her life had proved her father correct on most things, including that courage in her own reasoning beat self-doubt every time. He’d taught her to be like a lion. Fearless.

  Decision made.

  She noted Skylar’s position. He’d stopped pacing and stood next to May Wen, slightly to the left of dead center stage.

  Glancing at her laptop before shutting it, IM thought bubbles from Denver caught her eye— “No such thing as coincidences;” “Facial rec says prostitute;” “Double check.”

  There was no time to scroll up and see more of what the agents were talking about. She had to have confidence that Ragno and the agents in Denver, aided by Black Raven’s data assimilation programs, would find answers as they scoured the bits and pieces of information, followed the trails, and sniffed out clues. After shutting the laptop, she reached behind her and slipped it into the pocket of her shirt that spanned her back, where her armor plate should go.

  Inch by inch, she pushed open the sliding door of the props booth. The stage between the booth and the drapes was dark, lit only by the thin sliver of light that ran along the seam where the drapery panels met. Gripping her pistol, she crossed the stage, then stood to the side of the seam in the drapes.

  “Leo. Marks,” Ace said. “Tell us where we’re throwing M84s.”

  Like other field agents, as part of her training and in fieldwork, Leo had been repeatedly exposed to M84 detonation. She was desensitized to the blinding flash of light and deafening bang that came with it. When seconds counted, and with bad guys and innocents so close together, the flash bang produced by the grenade could be an excellent distraction. They risked injuring an innocent if detonation occurred too close.

  Using a finger to part the drapes, Leo scanned the positions of the players. “Your left. Port side. Seats are clear for twenty feet from the center doorway, all the way to the port side wall.”