Agents Under Fire

by Dana Marton

  “Check every panel. See if any of the drawers have double bottoms,” Troy suggested, and she spent half an hour doing just that.

  She brimmed with frustration by the time she finished, having gone over every possible hiding place and finding nothing.

  “I’m going to the offices,” she told Troy. The Congressman and his wife had separate workspaces at the other end of this floor.

  Troy had already checked the Congressman’s when they’d broken in the night before. Nothing there. The wife’s had even less potential, but what did they have to lose at this stage?

  She turned off the flashlight before she opened the door to the bedroom, and found herself in the pitch dark. Someone had lowered the blinds while she’d been searching the closet.

  She went for her gun, but too late. Hands grabbed her, wrested the weapon from her at the same time as others yanked the headsets from her head, disconnecting her from Troy before she could have warned him.

  Her mouth was taped the next second, her hands and feet bound. Then she was picked up and carried out, down the stairs. They took her to the same cage where they’d kept Troy before.

  The overhead light flickered on. The men tossed her to the cement floor, the impact knocking the air out of her.

  “I’m very disappointed,” Nick said.

  She looked from man to man, but the expression on their faces was cold and hard, even Jason’s. She was nothing but the enemy to them now.

  “What were you looking for?” Nick demanded.

  “Jewelry. I need money to cover some gambling losses.”

  He kicked her where she lay. “Where’s your buddy?”

  “I work alone.”

  “Who were you talking to on your headset?”

  “Go to hell.”

  He bent, grabbed the front of her shirt and picked her up by the fabric, pulled her face close to his. “You don’t want to play this the hard way.”

  Since she couldn’t kick him with her feet tied, she spit into his face.

  He slammed her to the ground, jarring her bones. “Where is he?”

  But she remained silent, no matter what they did to her. Pain sliced through her spine, her ribs.

  Then, fairly quickly, she went past what pain she’d thought she could endure. Still she said nothing.

  * * *

  Their radio connection had gone dead, but not before he’d heard her gasp.

  Troy put the car in gear and stepped on the gas, drove until he was just a block from the mansion, then parked the vehicle. His phone buzzed as he ran through backyards, one after the other.

  “Hey,” Gabe said. “Jake and I are back in D.C. Heard you got hurt. Want to get together for a cold beer?”

  “I’m busy rushing the mansion,” he bit out the words without slowing down. “Wharton’s goons got Claire.”

  “I’ll let the Bureau know. And we’ll be right there.” With that, the line went dead.

  Troy pushed forward, keeping to the bushes until he reached the wall. He ran to the corner and scaled the stones where he could slip through between two security cameras pointed away from each other. Both the climb and thumping down to the grass on the other side made him see stars, his broken ribs jabbing into flesh.

  They could fix him later.

  His only priority now was Claire.

  He made it to the ten-car garage bay before the dogs discovered him--more curious than threatening. Maybe they smelled Claire on him, and responded to the familiar scent. She’d been on his boat, in his car, had bandaged him. Or maybe he somehow still carried their scent, on his boots perhaps. He’d spent hours in their enclosure in the basement.

  Earlier he had stashed a couple of Slim Jims in his pocket to hold him through the night. He gave those to the dogs, signaling to them to sit first, taking the alpha role, not letting fear show, not for a second. They took their lead from him and obeyed.

  Two guards stood in front of the main entry. Troy rounded the building as his phone buzzed.

  Gabe again. “There’ll be an official FBI inquiry in the morning.”

  Troy bit back a curse. “It’ll be too late by then.”

  “The op was for surveillance. The office said you never had a search warrant. And no judge will issue a warrant based on Claire being missing for half an hour.”

  He let the next curse fly, not very impressive, when he had to keep his voice to a whisper.

  “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. Good news is, Jake and I thought we’d come and see how you’re bungling all this. We’re here.”

  “The guard dogs are having a snack at the east wall. Come in from the west. She’s inside the mansion, probably in the basement. Expect about a dozen armed guards.”

  “Copy that, captain,” Gabe mocked him then ended the connection.

  Twenty feet of open driveway stood between Troy’s current cover and the back of the house. Luckily, a Lexus sparkled darkly in the night halfway in-between. He made a short dart to the car without being seen by the guard at the back door. Then he fitted the silencer onto his gun. The kill had to be instant. The man couldn’t be allowed to as much as grunt into his mouthpiece and alert the others.

  He aimed at the guy’s temple, and was there to catch him by the time he soundlessly folded. He took the headset and the key card, then dragged the man under the nearest boxwood topiary where the shadows swallowed his body.

  Troy went through the door and found himself in a back hallway. Claire had sketched the layout of the mansion for him earlier, so he knew where he was and how to get where he was going.

  The lights on the motion alarms were green, which meant they were disabled, probably to allow for the movement of the men who would be searching the mansion even now to see if Claire had a partner. He cut through the exercise room, gun ready. Heard noise up ahead so he turned into a hallway on his left and took the narrow corridor to the kitchen.

  He ducked in there, waiting for the men to pass, but they didn’t. They came right after him. He glanced around and went for the nearest hiding place that could accommodate him: the industrial-size oven.

  The men did a good job of searching the kitchen, but didn’t look inside ovens or cabinets. He crawled out when they left, his breath ragged from the pain of having to fold his large, broken body in there. He smelled like grease, he registered as he stole forward. That should help with the dogs on his way out. The worst thing that could happen—they might try to lick him to death.

  He resumed moving toward the basement stairs, and lucked out there. The guard had his back to him, listening through his headset to the progress report from the sweep team. Troy stole up right behind the man and put a bullet into the back of his head.

  He didn’t bother shoving the body into the coat closet. The blood splatter on the wall gave the whole thing away, anyway. Outside, the first man’s blood was camouflaged by the gravel it had spilled on, but the white walls inside hid nothing.

  He padded down the stairs. Then reached the point where he could no longer move forward using stealth. He kicked the door in and started firing.

  Four men shot back at him. He took out three, while taking a bullet to his left thigh, and was still shooting when the fourth, their head of security, grabbed a bruised and bloodied Claire and held her up in front of him like a shield.

  “How did you know she was in the house?” Troy played for time, hoping Gabe and Jake were somewhere near.

  The man puffed his chest out. “After the hit on the SUV that took out the recycling, I knew we had someone on the inside who couldn’t be trusted. I put a bug in every security headset. They feed to the computer at the gatehouse. Every single thing anyone on my team said was recorded. I was hoping to catch a cell phone conversation.”

  But Claire took a headset tonight so she could be alerted if they spotted her, Troy thought. Except, the bug picked up her status reports to him. “You never trusted her anyway. You searched her apartment. You messed with her earpieces.”

  “She was supposed to
be the token Army vet on the team. Good for photo ops, too burned out to notice anything or cause much trouble.” The bastard pressed the barrel of his gun hard against her temple, while addressing Troy. “Drop your weapon.”

  Here we go again. A stand-off with a woman he cared for in the middle of it all. But this time he didn’t hesitate. He didn’t wait for backup, either. He took his shot, the bullet slamming right between the man’s eyes.

  Then Claire was in his arms the next second, clinging to him. He inhaled the scent of her cheap shampoo, and never wanted to let her go.

  But they weren’t in the clear yet. The majority of the Congressman’s security force was still out there.

  He pulled back. “Are you hurt?”

  “Mostly surface damage. I don’t think anything is broken.” But her voice sounded tight with pain. “I got nothing before they caught me.” Her eyes held misery.

  Sirens filled the air outside.

  She shot him a questioning look.

  He shrugged. “As far as I know, the FBI couldn’t be bothered.”

  She grabbed Nick’s gun, then they headed up the stairs, covering for each other.

  They ran into Jake at the top of the stairs. “Took four guys out,” he reported.

  “Who’s coming?” Troy jerked his head toward the window. Outside, cars with flashing lights were pulling into the yard.

  “Someone reported shooting at the Congressman’s home to the FBI. I guess they had to come to check it out. Search warrant or no search warrant.” He grinned.

  “Gabe?”

  “Out there, somewhere.” He gestured behind him. “He ran into dog trouble.”

  They were immediately blinded by floodlights as they exited through the front door.

  “Drop your weapons!” a dozen shouts rang out from various directions.

  They complied, even as they identified themselves as FBI agents.

  Men rushed in, guns aimed until their identity was confirmed.

  “What in hell happened here?” Troy’s FBI handler yelled as he moved forward, just as the Congressman’s limo rolled through the gate.

  Men immediately ran to cover the vehicle.

  More men rushed inside to clear the building.

  “I was driving by on personal business when I saw several men attacking this woman on the front lawn. I had no idea who the residence belonged to. As a law enforcement agent, it was my duty to interfere,” he practiced his official cover story, even though the man would know better.

  “You realize you single handedly messed up this op beyond repair?” the agent asked under his breath.

  No denying the words, yet Troy couldn’t regret anything he’d done. He’d saved Claire’s life, which was the only thing that truly mattered.

  Because she did matter to him. He looked her way and his pulse sped a little. He blinked. When did that happen? They barely knew each other, yet he felt he knew everything truly important.

  “All clear.” An agent came through the door behind them.

  His words were passed on. The agents around the limo helped the Congressman, his wife and his brother out and escorted them to the mansion.

  “I want an explanation!” Wharton was practically foaming at the mouth as he passed by them in his thousand-dollar suit.

  “Right away, sir.” Troy’s handler just about bowed as he followed in after the man, motioning to Troy, Jake and Claire to follow, mouthing, “keep your mouths shut,” to them.

  They went to the conference room. The two personal guards who’d escorted Wharton to tonight’s function remained standing behind him, while the rest of the people in the room seated themselves.

  “What is the meaning of this? Why is my house under siege? You better have an explanation,” Wharton shouted at no one in particular.

  Troy glanced over at Claire who had blood running down her jaw from a split lip, a bruise darkening on her cheekbone. She held her arm, wincing with pain. And his tolerance for the Congressman’s bullshit ran out all of a sudden.

  They had no evidence, which burned him beyond belief. But he wanted the man to know that they knew what he really was behind the smarmy politician façade. He needed to wipe the smug look off Wharton’s face. He shoved his chair back and stood before his boss could have said anything.

  “A couple of months ago, your yacht was impounded in Italy for transporting stolen goods. Isn’t that true, Congressman?”

  “Those crates were snuck on board. I had no knowledge of them.” The man bristled.

  The boss tried to cut Troy off, but he wouldn’t let him.

  “That’s not what the man who put them there said before he died. He, in fact, indicated that you had full knowledge of the smuggling and you agreed to it because he was blackmailing you with something.”

  “I want my attorneys,” the Congressman roared at one of his guards who ran off to make the call.

  Troy turned to Mitch. “You were in Afghanistan eight months ago.”

  “A quick business trip.” The man swallowed hard.

  “So you had nothing to do with combat tourism while you were there?”

  Mitch paled.

  The Congressman continued to shout for his lawyers.

  Gabe slipped into the room behind Troy and gave him a nod.

  “Tell me, Mitch,” Troy asked mildly. “How much did it cost you to play the ultimate action game and shoot real people?”

  “I never shot anyone.” Mitch jumped to his feet. “I swear. I just wanted a feel of what was going on over there. The experience. I couldn’t kill a man.”

  “Shut up, you idiot.” Wharton turned on his younger brother, warning flashing in his bulging eyes. “Keep your stupid mouth shut.”

  “So you admit that you participated in combat tourism and that your brother, Congressman Wharton had full knowledge of it.”

  But Mitch was more scared of his brother than the FBI, it seemed, because he pressed his lips together and didn’t utter another word.

  “We have nothing to say,” Wharton practically growled the words. “You will all regret this. I swear to that.”

  “If you don’t want to talk, how about you listen?” Gabe stepped forward with a laptop, turned it on, then plugged in a pen drive he’d pulled from his pocket. He ran his fingers over the keyboard. “I found this on the security computer at the gatehouse.”

  The Congressman’s voice came from the laptop as the audio file opened.

  “Fix this,” he demanded of someone. “This whole mess has to go away, and go away now. I’ll be announcing my run for presidency in less than six months. I don’t want this hanging over my head another minute.”

  “Yes, sir,” came the response.

  “Everybody who knows about this insane business has to be silenced.” A sharp sound came through the recording, as if someone had slapped their palm on a desk. “I thought the trip would solve everything. He’s out of control with his thrill seeking. He’s bent on embarrassing me, and he will succeed sooner or later.” He cursed. “My idiot kid brother was supposed to go to battle over there and get a bullet to the head. We would have said that he’d been over there conducting a humanitarian mission on my behalf.”

  Mitch went white.

  Troy glanced at Gabe. How did he know the file existed and where to look for it? Then he saw the headset he wore. Gabe had broken into the gatehouse, probably to escape from the dogs, secured the single guard there and took his headset so he could figure out what was going on in the mansion. And he’d heard Nick talking about the bugged headsets and the recordings.

  Well done. He shot his friend a grin as the voice file continued.

  “I was supposed to get the sympathy vote. And when father’s estate finally cleared, I would have gotten the full amount. It would have financed my run for office. That money could have made a difference in how this country is run. It shouldn’t be squandered away on wild adventures.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But the stupid idiot can’t even die.” The vo
ice growled. “That’s what you get for working with coded messages. Some friend of his got shot instead--”

  The congressman jumped to his feet. “It’s a fake! That file is manipulated. That’s not me!” He knocked over his chair as he rushed for the door. “I want my damn lawyers!”

  Two FBI agents stopped him, as Gabe turned off the recording.

  Mitch stood, his face bloodless, his hands shaking. “I’ll tell you whatever you need to know,” he said.

  ~~~***~~~

  Chapter Seven

  Three months later.

  Claire turned the burgers on the grill, standing steady on the gently swaying deck.

  Jasmine stirred the home-made lemonade. “What time is it?”

  “They should be here any minute,” Allison said as she set the table.

  Three familiar black SUVs pulled in by the dock before she was finished. Jake, Gabe and Troy jumped from the cars, and the women gave a collective sigh of relief.

  Hearing on the phone that the mission had gone well was one thing. Seeing them all uninjured—or mostly uninjured, Gabe did limp—was what they’d been holding their breaths for.

  Jasmine ran into Gabe’s arms, and Allison dove into Jake’s. Claire waited awkwardly by the grill.

  After the Congressman’s takedown, she had gone home to Montana to settle things with her family. She wanted to make a new life for herself and part of that process was reconciliation. She’d made some progress, and her mother was beginning to accept that Claire’s life was her own.

  By the time she came back to D.C., her apartment had been rented out to someone else. Good riddance. Troy offered her the use of his houseboat while she looked for a new job. He didn’t need it.

  The three men had decided not to sign on for any further FBI stints—to the great relief of their handlers. They went into business together, instead. Once Troy’s injuries had healed, they had gone to Yemen to track down and rescue a kidnapped businessman whose father offered them a generous contract. For the past three months, they’d been keeping in touch via the internet.