Athena Force 7-12

by Carla Cassidy, Evelyn Vaughn, Harper Allen, Ruth Wind, Cindy Dees

  Like the elevator shaft access, the closest stair entry jutted out of the roof, a much sturdier hut made of brick. Not the one she wanted, though—she’d head across the roof to the other side of the building, where a second brick structure waited—one that she would exit much closer to her room. But she had a choice—tiptoe over and hope no one spotted her, or spot the Kemenis first and do something about them.

  She could almost feel the impact of 39 mm bullets into her back. She pulled the metal strip from her waistband and headed for the closest stair access, putting her back to the wind. They’d be on the other side, sheltered. And she’d really, really like to have one of their guns. Best chance she had for one, all things considered.

  On the other hand, the element of surprise notwithstanding, she didn’t think much of the odds right now. Time to improve them a little. She reached the back of the brick structure, peeked around to check the side, and sprang up to grab the roof overhang.

  Her right arm still wasn’t doing its share. No surprise. But the dovetail of small decorative limestone blocks at the corner gave her plenty of footing, and within seconds she swung a leg over the edge and rolled to the roof. Wind gusted in her ear, obscuring the sound of her own movement. She crawled over to the south edge of the gritty roofing. After all this, you’d better be there.

  Ah, yes. Two of them, bundled in warm parkas that clashed with their yashmagh headgear. One of them checked his watch, and Selena’s mouth dropped open slightly as they set the rifles aside, aimed themselves southward to face the Ka’aba in Arabia and knelt in prayer. Compromised prayer—there’s no way they didn’t need ablution, and no way to perform it in this place—but she supposed they were doing the best they could.

  And how could she jump them in the middle of prayer?

  Oh, just do it. They’re terrorists, for God’s sake. She inched closer to the edge, bringing her feet up under her, ready to leap. She targeted the smaller one, figuring he’d be easier to stun, judging the rifles easier to kick aside from that position.

  Except of course she couldn’t do it. She rolled her eyes at herself as the wind cut through her clothes and she silently hit the heel of her hand against her forehead, but she couldn’t do it.

  But as soon as they straightened, the moment they reached for the rifles…

  She dropped down on them. She kicked out at the jaw of the big guy as she landed on the smaller one, taking them both down. The small one grabbed at her; she slashed at his wrists where the gap of jacket and glove left them exposed and then she grabbed up his rifle by the muzzle, swinging it to around to connect with the other man’s face. There was enough momentum left to pivot around at the small one as he scrambled to his feet—to connect hard enough that the man fell back hard, cracking his head against the limestone brick corner of the stairwell hut. He went limp, sliding down to leave a smear of blood on the light stone.

  The second man roared a Berzhaani curse and she snapped around to face him. “Temper, temper,” she told him, which only made him snarl. If he had a hand weapon, it was buried beneath his coat; he rushed her, aiming to crush her up against the brick wall. She dropped down into a balanced crouch, slashing across both his knees with her improvised blade. It wasn’t sharp enough to cut the tough khaki but it startled him and he leaped back. Selena stayed down, flipping the rifle around to bring it up to her shoulder. No more games. No more leaving men stashed around to recover and go back into action. Not if she was the one with the gun.

  As soon as the rifle came into position, she snugged it back against her shoulder and fired.

  The rifle responded in its unique two-stutter setting, firing off two rounds before the kickback of the first threw her out of position. The man cried out in surprise as tiny feathers puffed from the new holes in his jacket, and he staggered backward and—

  Damn. Who knew the edge of the roof was so close?

  Selena let the rifle tip down to rest against the gritty surface, wiping rain from her brows and lashes and giving her suddenly upset stomach a moment to settle.

  As if it would. As if she’d killed men so frequently before, and could so casually walk away from this one.

  But she had no time to linger. No telling when the relief watch would come up—Ashurbeyli probably had a frequent rotation going in this weather. She turned to check the smaller man, found him staring blankly at the scudding clouds.

  Two. I killed two of them.

  And she’d deal with it later as she could. For now she wouldn’t leave this body around for easy discovery. Let the replacement watch wonder why the roof was deserted—let them waste manpower searching the building for delinquents. She frisked the remaining Kemeni, unable to find a hand radio—if they’d had one, it had gone over the side with the first man. She hunted for and found a handgun, grimacing at the clumsy Luger. A quick check revealed five of seven 9 mm rounds left in the magazine. More than she’d had…not nearly enough. She made sure the safety was set and jammed the semiautomatic in the back of her waistband, reminding herself she couldn’t count on it to come free as neatly as her Beretta under the same circumstances. No pause for breath or to wipe her lashes clear again; she dragged the second man closer to the edge and then crouched to roll him off. With any luck, no one from inside had any idea. Those on the outside…let ’em speculate.

  She headed across the roof, fully intent on hitting the stairs and heading for temporary respite—but stopped short as she passed the abandoned assault rifles. Just because she didn’t want them herself—the Luger was a better tool for her purposes and she needed to travel light right now—was no reason to leave them lying around for Ashurbeyli. First one, then the other—she whirled around for momentum, flinging them off the roof in wide flight arcs that would no doubt surprise someone as they landed. She hoped a news camera wouldn’t catch them tumbling down—no doubt Ashurbeyli had at least one television tuned to an international news station.

  But it wouldn’t change anything if he did see. It just meant she had to get off this roof, and now. Selena ran across the flat expanse, her footsteps crunching…until a flicker of movement in the low clouds caught her eye, stopping her short. She looked upward, examining the clouds, unable to squelch a foolish surge of hope that help might actually be on its way. For an instant she envisioned a stealth-enabled chopper, swooping in to drop SEALs on the roof, taking advantage of the opening she’d just provided.

  But no. Of course not. Just clouds.

  She cursed at the delay and ran for the stairs.

  Cole skirted the edges of the airfield grounds, heading for the ratty, weed-infested strip of ground at the fence line. Old airfield, old fence…leaky, leaky security, especially to a small group of U.S. forces who were doing their best to be inconspicuous. He eyed the fence again. His Leatherman would provide a quick enough exit—and if push came to shove, the shearling coat would protect him in a trip over the top of that barbed wire. But for the moment, he waited quietly along the back wall of the shabby maintenance building closest to the fence.

  Not that he was truly worried about being followed—not from here. Just…

  Habit.

  Seth—CIA Technical Services officer, and someone Cole knew well enough to think of in terms of his real name instead of his station name—would send a taxi to meet him on the road to the airstrip. Seth spent his time devising strategies and disguises to exfiltrate foreign agents when their situation became too precarious, and to allow high-profile foreign officials to make meetings with their CIA case officers. In essence, he helped people move from place to place with disguises that were the stuff of Mission Impossible.

  Just what Cole needed. With the loyalty and understanding Cole needed, as well. It’s not agency business, he’d said. And at Seth’s silence over the phone, on the other side of the small hangar from Josie and Diego Morel, Cole had asked if Seth was watching UBC along with everyone else in this corner of the world. And Seth had seen, of course. That was Selena.

  He didn’t have to off
er any more details. That was Selena. Because there had been only one woman on UBC to capture the airwaves with her narrow escape—to capture hearts with her daring. Cole closed his eyes, wishing he couldn’t see it so clearly—the look on her face as the terrorist pulled her head back slightly, into the gun Cole knew was there. The uneven nature of the image as Morel compensated for the Predator’s movement. And then Selena in action, all swift, wicked consequences. He didn’t know what she’d used against the man, only that it glinted of metal. That she’d freed herself and run, showing the world her heart. Reminding Cole of what he’d always known, of how bright and hard her soul burned beneath the coolness of her poised exterior.

  Reminding him how much he had to lose.

  And now Seth knew, too. And Seth had sent a taxi—although Cole doubted it was merely that—and Cole needed to make his great escape so the man wasn’t kept conspicuously waiting.

  Not that he didn’t trust Josie and Diego, who could probably walk him straight out to the road with no challenge. Just that the fewer people who knew, the better. Need To Know. Great operational policy, and one he’d had to keep, even with Selena.

  He found a seam in the high chain-link, a spot already half separated. The wire cutters on the Leatherman swiftly created a gap big enough for a medium man of agile nature, and Cole trotted away into the brushy winter wood that had crept up on the place. Nothing grew strongly or tall in this rocky land, it seemed, except the unrest that had brought Selena here and now might kill her.

  He intercepted the taxi easily enough, not surprised to find that the driver spoke perfect English. They ascertained that Cole’s departure had been clean, and then started off in a series of routine course changes meant to expose anyone following. It was a process that might normally take hours…but Cole didn’t have hours. Selena didn’t have hours. He said as much; the man only nodded. The flushing process wasn’t for Cole or Selena…it was meant to protect Seth. It could be shortened under duress…but not eliminated.

  His cell vibrated in his pocket. Cole fumbled for it, thinking Selena!—and found himself caught off guard by Diego Morel’s deep voice. “Damn good thing I thought to get your number,” Morel said, “if you’re going to pull spook tricks on us. I thought we were on the same side.”

  “We still are, as far as I know.” But Cole winced at the phone. “I’d say call it habit, but—”

  “Yeah,” Morel said. “I guess I wouldn’t just sit around on my ass watching UAV footage if I had an option to move in, either.”

  “I don’t,” Cole said, because this was a cell phone and enough had been said already. “I’ve got a meet with Tory.” And now he’d have to see if she’d cover him—not because Morel would check, but because someone else just might. Not that his unofficial status here was a threat to anyone, just…

  Habit.

  “Okay.” Morel responded easily enough so Cole knew he’d gotten the drop it vibes. “Look, you left too early. You missed a good show.”

  “On television?” Cole said, purposely inaccurate.

  Again, Morel let it slide. Better than that, he played right along. “Action scene,” he said. “Gorgeous woman on a roof, taking out a couple of bad guys and getting away clean.”

  Cole stiffened with hope. “Down the fire escape?” He didn’t even know if the building had one, or if the Russians, during the occupation in which they’d built that stolid structure, had deemed them necessary. But he figured Morel would get the message. Did she escape them? Is she free?

  “Nope.” Now the deep voice held regret. “Back inside. Woman with a mission, you know? But there’s more to it. We took a close look at the setting and found some devices up there.”

  Devices. Cole had a crystal-clear image of Selena at the head of the Death Stairs, cupping her hand in the signal for booby trap. “Enough to be significant?”

  “Hard to tell until we watch it again—” study and analyze and enhance, he meant “—but I’d say not. Only to that immediate area.”

  So there might be more.

  Or not. Selena could simply have been trying to warn off a roof approach.

  “I’ll share the tape,” Morel was saying. “But I thought you should know. Plus the news about the hot action babe, of course.”

  “Of course,” Cole murmured, wishing he’d seen it with his own eyes—but it was time to quit watching.

  It was time to start playing the game.

  He wasn’t going to answer.

  Selena wasn’t prepared for the heavy wash of disappointment as Cole’s phone did the little double ring that meant it was switching to voice mail. She let her head drop to her knees, shifting back against the bed that hid her from anyone who came to the bedroom door, and thumbed the phone off.

  Here she was, back where she’d started not so very long ago. In the guest suite where she’d left her briefcase and in which she hoped for a chance to clean up and ponder her purpose here.

  Save the hostages.

  Simple enough. Except she was no longer sure just how to go about it. If the building was as compromised as she thought, the Kemenis were only waiting for someone to make a rescue effort. A little token resistance, a hasty retreat, and the building would become the weapon. Dead hostages, dead SEALs or Berzhaani Elite Guards or both. In which case she needed to…

  For a moment, Selena’s mind went blank. Utterly blank, clogged up by fatigue and reaction and not a little despair. I’m one person. One. What can I do against an army?

  Except maybe she wasn’t just one person. Maybe she was two. Maybe she had within the smallest spark of life, tugging at her body just enough to turn her stomach inside out now and then. A little piece of herself…a little piece of Cole.

  Then protect it. Run. Or hole up somewhere.

  But holing up wouldn’t do her any good if the Kemenis had plans for this building. And as for running…

  If she had a child, one day she’d be answering questions. And she needed to be able to look her child in the eye when she answered.

  Because she could do quite a lot against an army. She might not destroy them, but she could pester them. She could make things difficult. She could distract them.

  So she dredged up the trailing end of her thoughts and put her mind back to work. If the building was compromised and the Kemenis planned a hasty retreat, then she needed to locate that avenue of retreat and block it. Or simply block all of the first-floor exits other than the main doors at the Death Steps. Something—anything—that would at least slow them down. And she’d have to make sure they knew it. She’d gain nothing if they initiated a plan to bring the building down and then found out they couldn’t escape.

  The problem was…if she was wrong, if her intuition had sent her in the wrong direction, misled by stray comments and an adherence to logic and reason the Kemenis might well have chosen to ignore, then she couldn’t waste time with exits. She needed to concentrate on thinning their ranks by any means possible, on making it easier for any rescue teams to swoop in and save the day.

  She didn’t think she had the time to do both. Or even the physical wherewithal—not with kill-on-sight almost certainly hanging over her head. No second chances from here on out.

  Selena snorted into the afternoon gloom. Second chances? She’d had them. She’d been caught; she’d gotten away. She’d been hurt, but not badly. She’d been betrayed, and overcome it. She was going on third chances…maybe fourth.

  You’ve given them hints. You’ve given them help. And now she’d just do her best. She couldn’t do it alone, but she’d do her best.

  The phone gave a plaintive beep. She’d disconnected it, but left it on…and now the last vestiges of the battery were trickling away. No time even to berate herself; she hit Redial and waited for Cole’s phone to ring, hoping against hope that this time he’d answer it. Who else could he be talking to?

  He’s trying to fix this. Of course he was. He wouldn’t just sit around the apartment, not all this time. He was here, somewhere. Or on
his way. And he might only be one man…but so was she only one woman. Neither of them had a reputation for taking no as an answer.

  Still, she bit her lip when the phone gave that little double ring and switched to voice mail. She bit it hard. But she was ready, talking right over another low battery beep. “It’s me. Battery’s dead, babe—this is my last call out. First thing…I don’t know for sure, but I think the Kemenis have a surprise planned for anyone who comes in—I think they’re planning a grand exit, and that what they’re asking for here isn’t really what they want—they sure don’t expect to get it.” Beep. One more warning, maybe two, and she’d be cut off. “The other thing…why I left. I saw you. In D.C. And…you weren’t alone. I couldn’t get the answers I needed then. Desk work…it wasn’t distracting enough. So yeah, I ran. But—” beep “—I’ve had a lot of thinking time on my hands here, and I need you to know…I know we still have to talk, but whatever happens here…as far as I’m concerned, I’m already on my way home again.” She thought about the potential life they might well have started together and hesitated. Not too long, or the voice mail would cut her off, thinking her message completed, so when she spoke again her thoughts were unformed. “There’s something else. I think. That is, I could—”

  And of course the phone cut off. She stared blankly at it, surprised to see it become splashed by tears. And then she snorted. Hadn’t she already decided Cole didn’t need to know? At least not until she emerged from this building safe and sound. Not unless.

  She used a few more precious moments on silence and composure. She thought about all the things she wished she’d said, and planned out all the things she would say if she ever had the chance to look into Cole’s striking blue eyes again. She gathered memories in around herself, a collection of reasons she would and could do this thing set out before her. She thought of the hostages. Just kids. Someone’s children. Innocents whose lives should never be torn apart by the grownups fumbling through this world.