Deuced looked at the hand, then shook it with far less enthusiasm than McElroy.
“This is my associate, Shane Cooper,” McElroy said. “He’ll be working with both of you on this project.”
After Cooper and Deuce shook, the uniformed man removed two lanyards from his pocket, each with a plastic ID badge attached. “Please wear these at all times,” he said, handing them to Alex and Deuce. “They’ll grant you access as your clearance allows.”
Deuce slipped the lanyard over his head. “And what does our clearance allow? The commissary and the restrooms?”
“Mr. McElroy will make that determination.”
“Will I have to take some kind of oath first?”
Alex shot him a look. “Deuce, lighten up. We’re all on the same side here.”
“I just want to get the rules straight,” he said. He grabbed his badge and waved it at the man in uniform. “What if I lose this thing?”
“Don’t,” the man told him, his face stone.
Deuce, however, wasn’t intimidated by authority, nor, Alex knew, was he a huge fan of corporate rules. But before he could say anything else, she put a hand on his forearm and squeezed. “Play nice, big guy.”
“I’m just asking a question.”
“There’ll be plenty of time for questions. How about if we get inside first?”
She saw the other three men exchange a look. McElroy said, “That sounds like a very good idea. Why don’t you both follow me?”
*
JUDGING BY THE wall of glass outside, Alex had been expecting some kind of swanky lobby with cushy chairs and a Barbie doll receptionist. But the lobby was not a lobby at all, just a long white corridor intersected by other hallways and lined with several doors.
McElroy led them through the maze and into a large conference room. A long glass table surrounded by more than a dozen black leather chairs took up the middle of the space.
On the walls were several framed photographs. On first glance they looked like vacation shots from around the world, but Alex knew that the gray-haired man in the photos was Stonewell founder and Chairman of the Board Thomas Greer. In each shot he was with someone different—a US president, a prime minister, a powerful political figure.
“Have a seat,” McElroy said, motioning to the chairs.
Deuce dropped into one of them and spun it around. “Hey, cushy.”
Alex rolled her eyes. One minute he was playing hardball, the next he was acting like the class cutup. She wished he’d make up his mind.
She sank into the chair next to him as McElroy said, “All right, first things first. Contract?”
Alex pulled the contract out of her pocket, unfolded it, and placed it on the table. “I could use that pen now.”
McElroy happily provided it, and she signed at the bottom of the page.
“Excellent,” he said, then set it next to one of the three folders that were lying on the table. He slid the nearest one to Deuce. “And this is yours.”
Deuce eyed it dubiously for a moment, before taking out the contract and giving it a quick scan. “Same as Alex’s?”
“Yes,” McElroy said. “Exactly the same.”
“What do you think, Alex? Should I sign it?”
She sighed and spun the pen toward him. “Deuce, if you don’t quit acting like a jackass, I’ll kick your butt out of here before they have a chance to. Now sign the damn thing and shut the hell up.”
“All right, all right,” he said. He picked up the pen and signed. “Happy now?”
McElroy smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Jones.”
“Deuce. Call me Deuce.”
“All right, Deuce.” McElroy put his contract on top of Alex’s, then picked up the remaining two folders and put one in front of each of them.
Alex opened hers and found a small stack of documents. “What’s this?”
“Just a formality,” he told her.
She looked through the papers. There was a medical questionnaire, something about next of kin, and several other informational forms. “We already signed our contracts.”
Another McElroy smile. “Yes, you did. These are simply documents that all contract employees fill out before they’re allowed to work for Stonewell.”
“So if we don’t fill them out,” Deuce said, “we don’t get the job?”
Alex couldn’t help but notice the hopeful tone in her partner’s voice.
McElroy spread his hands. “I don’t see why that would even be an issue. Just look through the forms. If there’s anything either of you have a problem with, we can talk about it.”
Alex returned her gaze to the top document. She liked her privacy as much as Deuce did, and any other time she might have decided his instincts were right—that it was time to walk. But considering what was at stake, she couldn’t do that.
She picked up the pen and started to fill in the blanks.
“She took my pen,” Deuce said.
McElroy produced another, and Deuce started in on his stack.
They were only halfway through when McElroy’s cell phone rang and he stepped outside to take the call. When he came back in, he said, “You’ll have to excuse me for a bit. Cooper will take you around, and I’ll catch up with you at the briefing.”
As he turned to leave, Alex got to her feet. “Wait a minute. Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“I don’t think so. Why?”
“You said that after we signed our contracts, you’d tell me where the woman is.”
He nodded. “And I will. All your questions will be answered at the briefing.”
Before she could protest further, he was out the door.
Annoyed, Alex sank into her chair and went back to the forms. It took another five minutes before she finally closed her folder.
Deuce was still scribbling away when he turned to her. “Who’d you put for your emergency contact?”
“You,” she said.
He grinned. “And I’m putting you. Sure gonna suck for them if we both die.”
He finished his last sheet, closed his folder, and slid it next to Alex’s.
She looked at Cooper. “Now what?”
“Now we get you certified.”
“For what?”
“Weapons.”
“Are you serious?”
A shrug. “Company policy.”
Alex felt anger rising. “Come on, Shane, what is this bullshit? Am I being jerked around or what?”
“No more than any other recruit. I told you, it’s company policy.”
Grinning, Deuce said, “So do we get to shoot?”
“That is the general idea,” Cooper said.
“Hell, if you’d told me that earlier, I would have filled these things out a lot faster. Let’s rock and roll.”
*
THEY USED ONE of several all-white golf carts parked behind the main building to drive out to the range, Cooper behind the wheel.
As they drove, Alex looked out at the maze of roadways and clusters of buildings, which reminded her of a trip she and Danny took with their parents to Universal City, back before all the shit came down. This facility had the feel of a Hollywood backlot. “How big is this place?”
“Couple hundred acres,” Cooper said. “Give or take.”
Deuce frowned. “What do you need all the room for?”
“Research and development. Training. That kind of stuff.”
As they passed the last cluster of buildings, they came upon an elaborate obstacle course to the right that looked as if it had been plucked directly out of a war-torn, Middle Eastern city, complete with bombed-out buildings and makeshift hidey holes.
“Jesus,” Deuce murmured. “This is like a mercenary’s wet dream.”
“Or a combat vet’s nightmare,” Alex told him.
They heard intermittent gunfire long before the firing range came into view—a pair of shooters, maybe three at most. The firing range itself was in a rectangular clearing surrounded by twenty-foot-high mounds of
dirt meant to catch any stray bullets. It was long, eight hundred meters at least, with half the firing line covered to protect shooters from the sun and elements, and half not. Behind the firing line was a long, thin building that Alex assumed served as the armory.
Once out of the cart, they passed through a gate into the range. The shooters were down at the other end under the roof. There were three targets set up down range, two at fifty meters, and the last at three hundred.
Another shot echoed off the embankment. Though there was no way to see exactly where it had hit, Alex did notice the far target jerk with the impact of the bullet.
As they turned down the wide concrete walkway that ran between the building and the firing line, a man who was standing at the far end watching the shooters looked over and started walking toward them.
He was tanned and toned, with cropped hair and a purposeful walk that bespoke yet another military alum. Stonewell seemed to be crawling with them.
“Coop,” the man said. “These them?”
“Yes, sir.” Cooper motioned to his two companions. “Alexandra Poe. Deuce Jones.” With a glance at them, he said, “And this is Carl Dugan. First sergeant, retired. He’s the range master.”
Alex had a momentary urge to jump to attention, but it passed quickly and she held out her hand. “Mr. Dugan,” she said.
He gave her a once-over, then took her hand as a smug little smile creased the left side of his face. “Ms. Poe.”
Alex knew immediately what that smile meant. There had been guys like him in her unit in Baghdad, guys who thought she belonged at home making snacks for the boys, or down on her knees worshipping the great god Johnson.
When Dugan shook Deuce’s hand, most of his disdain had disappeared. He focused back on Cooper. “Standard checkout, right?”
“Right,” Cooper said.
Dugan turned to Alex. “So, ladies first? Happy to give you a little lesson, if you like.”
Alex stared at him, expressionless. “Deuce will go first.”
Dugan smiled again. “Whatever you’d prefer, ma’am.”
The standard check involved shooting a Beretta 92A1 9mm pistol at a target twenty-five meters out, and an M16A4 military-grade rifle at a target two hundred meters down range. To pass, the shooter had to hit within the outer boundaries of the target eight out of ten shots.
Dugan led them down to one of the empty lanes under the roof, then retrieved the weapons and ammunition from the armory.
“You load,” he told Deuce after he set the pistol and box of 9mm ammo on the counter.
Deuce popped the mag, filled it, and jammed it back in. While he was doing this, Dugan clipped a target to the auto-positioning wires, programmed in the required distance, and set the target on its way. He handed out adjustable earmuffs, and clear shooting glasses.
“You want to take a few practice shots?” he asked Deuce.
“Sure.”
“Have at it.”
Deuce stepped up to the line, pulled on his earmuffs, and raised the pistol. He held his position for several seconds, then let off five quick shots.
“More?” Dugan asked.
“No, I’m good.”
Dugan brought the target in and changed it for a fresh one. Alex was happy to see that Deuce had landed all five shots within the large circle. Once the new target was in place, Deuce took aim again. This time he shot in bursts of two, until he finished the needed ten.
The target whizzed back. Nine shots within the circle, the tenth just barely outside.
“Dammit,” Deuce said. “Can I try again?”
“Nine’s passing,” Cooper told him.
“Yeah, but ten’s better.”
“Let’s just keep moving, shall we?”
Deuce took longer between shots with the rifle. This time he got credit for all ten.
“All right, you pass,” Dugan said. “Congratulations. Though you could use some work on tightening things up.”
Deuce grunted dismissively, but Dugan ignored him and gestured to Alex. “All right, ma’am, your turn.”
Alex switched places with Deuce, snatched up the nine, and reloaded. Once the target was twenty-five meters out, she moved into position and aimed down the barrel.
Dugan came up beside her. “Take as many practice shots as you want, ma’am.”
“That won’t be necessary,” she said.
“You sure? Don’t forget, it’s eight out of ten or you fail.”
She looked at him. “I’ll take my chances.”
That rueful smile came out again. “Just trying to be helpful.”
Alex eyed the target and immediately slipped into the zone, waiting for that moment when instinct and training became one—just as her father had taught her when she was thirteen years old. Then she pulled the trigger in steady succession—bam, bam, bam, bam, bam—until she finished her tenth shot.
Dugan was still smiling as he pushed the button to retrieve the target, but his condescending expression disappeared the moment he got a good look at what she had done.
Not only had she placed all ten shots within the large circle, every single one of them was contained within the much smaller circle in the center.
“I’d call that a pass,” Cooper said.
Dugan, looking considerably less cocksure than he had a moment ago, mounted a new target and sent it rushing down the range.
“It’s a combined test,” he said. “Still gotta pass the rifle.”
Alex picked up the M16. Though it had been years since she’d held one, its heft was familiar. She sighted down the range, and let off a single shot. Even at this distance, she could tell that while it was in the smaller circle, it had hit slightly off center. She compensated for the discrepancy with the sight, and shot off another round. This one was near perfect.
Eight shots later, she was done.
Once the target was back, Dugan looked at it, then at her. “I take it this isn’t your first time out.”
Alex removed the magazine from the rifle and popped the remaining bullet from the chamber. “I’ve had my share of practice. But most of the targets were shooting back.”
“She was also brigade champion for two years running,” Cooper told him. “Did I forget to mention that?”
Dugan leveled his gaze at Cooper. Without looking at Alex, he said, “You pass.” He folded up the target and walked back to the armory.
Deuce watched him go. “Guy’s kind of a prick, isn’t he?”
“Pretty much,” Cooper said.
Despite herself, Alex was smiling now. “I have to admit that was worth the trip. What’s up next?”
Cooper gestured toward the exit. “Time for your briefing.”
Chapter Seven
They went to a different building, about a quarter of the size of the previous one. It looked more like a cement bunker, and was tucked away in the trees, accessible only via a narrow path.
Inside, Cooper took them down to a room in the sub-basement two levels below ground, where McElroy and a young woman were waiting.
Though it was clearly a meeting room, it was nothing like the one they’d gathered in earlier. If the Stonewell property was, as Deuce had so delicately put it, a mercenary’s wet dream, then the room they had just entered would undoubtedly produce a similar sense of euphoria for someone obsessed with technology.
One entire wall seemed to be a monitor screen that could be divided multiple ways into sub-screens of various sizes. At the moment, a large portion was dedicated to a looping animation of the Stonewell Associates logo, while charts and graphs filled up rectangles along the sides and partially across the bottom.
The conference table was made of wood, and inset in front of each chair was a screen where more data could be displayed. By the way the young woman was tapping away at her screen, Alex realized each had touch control, too. Finally, there were computer stations along the shorter, far wall, each with an oversize monitor.
“So?” McElroy said to Cooper as soon as they ente
red. “Pass or no pass?”
Deuce looked indignant. “Really, dude?”
“Pass,” Cooper said. “Both.”
McElroy smiled. “Excellent. But I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“That’s more like it,” Deuce told him.
“Is anyone hungry or thirsty? There are drinks in the fridge behind you, and some small sandwiches there on the counter. Feel free.”
Deuce grinned and headed for the counter. “I could use a bite. Alex, you want something?”
But Alex was barely listening. Now that they were about to get down to business, her mind was once again on her father, and the real reason she was here.
“Alex?”
“What I want,” she said, locking gazes with McElroy, “is to know where Fadilah El-Hashim is. You’ve dangled that carrot long enough.”
McElroy nodded and took a seat. “Then perhaps we should get started.”
The young woman touched the screen in front of her and the lights immediately dimmed. On the wall, the logo animation faded, as a map of the Black Sea took its place.
“Seriously?” Deuce said. He was standing in front of the now darkened table of food, an empty plate in his hand.
Ignoring him, McElroy launched into his presentation. “As I mentioned yesterday, Ms. El-Hashim is in Ukraine. Specifically, Crimea.”
Crimea was a bulbous peninsula in the Black Sea that was connected to the rest of Ukraine by a comparatively narrow spit of land. A yellow dot appeared on screen, along the north end of the peninsula, then the map zoomed in.
At first it looked like the dot was right on top of a small town labeled Slavne, but as the image continued to enlarge and more details emerged, the dot began moving southward out of the village, until it stopped at a point roughly halfway between Slavne and a town called Ryljejevka. The map switched from graphic representation to satellite view, and the dot faded until it was a barely ghosted circle surrounding a group of seven buildings.
Central in the group were three identical rectangular structures lined up side by side. South of them, on the other side of a gap that Alex judged to be about fifty yards wide, was another building similar to the others, but set at a ninety-degree angle. Running from each end of this building, all the way around the other three buildings, was a thin line that could only be a wall. Beyond the north end of the enclosure was a fifth, smaller building. It was walled off like a pimple on the larger fortress.
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