That feeling returned and she stepped away from the forest. Her gaze ripped over the darkness beyond, wanting to see something and almost hoping she didn’t. Nothing moved and on impulse, she pulled her energy bar from her belt and hurled it into the forest, then turned away, hurrying toward the boat and the man on the shore who couldn’t seem to get in it without putting down his precious cargo.
Some people should remain indoors, she thought, and under supervision.
Singapore
The afternoon sun blazed in a cloudless sky. Citizens rushed to grab a meal and head back to work, the hustle stopping for no one. The tall buildings stood close, blocking any breeze and lit to the top with flashing advertising. Riley leaned his shoulder on the wall of a brick building and watched the street traffic. He and Safia had bought clothes downtown, changing in a bar bathroom. In jeans, soggy boots and a sleeveless tee-shirt, he wasn’t going to blend well in a crowded city of Asians, but while he was glad to be dry, it was Safia he didn’t recognize.
“I like being your backup,” Riley said, watching her.
Over the comm-link her voice was soft. “Takes a big man to be second fiddle.”
“Not if they had the view I do.”
She didn’t stop walking, but put more swing in her step. He chuckled and looked ahead of her. She was going after an asset, someone she’d tapped before. Men stopped to watch her and she moved in, teasing them. They had wood before she got close. It was all that cleavage, he thought. She wore a deep blue bustier thing that shaped her like an hourglass, not that she wasn’t there already, but her tight jeans were a thing of fantasies. He wanted to peel them off her. She’d applied makeup to give her that Asian look, and pulled her hair tight on the top of her head to slant her eyes a bit. To him, it just looked painful. She was trying to attract the wrong kind of attention and the throwing knife strapped to her thigh wasn’t much of a deterrent to the idiots trying to cop a feel of that incredible behind. One tried and got his elbow smacked in the wrong direction.
Gotta love a woman who can kick ass, he thought and followed, his tee-shirt already soaked with sweat. The bandage on his arm wasn’t any better. Safia walked by a group of men being useless near a movie theater. Asking after her asset, he heard the response through the personal roll radio and Riley followed as she hurried toward a shabby storefront with blackened windows. A bar, he thought, closing in. She didn’t go in but walked past.
“Target acquired,” she said.
Before Riley knew what she was about, she disappeared down a side street.
“Dammed impulsive woman,” he muttered, but he’d already learned when she was determined, get out of the way. This was the second source she’d tried to question. The first, a cracked out map seller, ran when he saw her, but didn’t see the truck coming. Safia was thirty yards away when he flew through the air and landed at her feet. Coincidence? Hardly. Especially when the driver never stopped.
Riley jogged, turning down a side street to head her off. He passed the road and saw her gaining on her source, but the man was the size of a linebacker, and he plowed through the narrow corridor, yanking down clotheslines and tossing trash cans to block her path. Safia wasn’t letting up, God love her, and she vaulted the heaps, then disappeared from his sight. He ran south to cut them off and made the next block in time to see her target rush into the cross street.
Safia appeared from the alley, leapfrogging on cans and crates, then jumping. She hit her target’s back and they both smacked the ground. She recovered swiftly and pushed her knee in his spine, yanking his hand back and twisting his wrist. With the other hand, she gripped a handful of hair and pulled his head back. Webber cried out, cursing foully.
Riley came to her, glancing around at the spectators, then down at her. “Well that was discrete.”
“We don’t have time for it.” She pulled on Webber’s hair and leaned close. “Why you running, Web?”
“Fuck you, bitch.”
She knocked his forehead into the ground and Webber howled. “You speak to your mother with that mouth?”
“Mom’s dead and you’re going to join her. Get the fuck off of me!” He tried to roll over, but Safia put her weight into his spine.
Riley stepped on the back of Webber’s knee. “Clean up your act, dirt bag.”
Webber spat. “Fuck you too. Who is he? Your bodyguard?”
“Do I look like I need one?” She glanced at Riley, then meaningfully at the spectators and knew the police would nose too close if they weren’t careful.
She slipped off, and Riley pulled Webber to his feet. Webber struggled and Riley dug his fingers in his elbow joint. The man howled and folded a little.
He leaned in to say, “I won’t be nice if you keep pissing off my girl.”
Safia tried not to smile, but Web tipped his head back and snarled, “She’s an ice cold bitch, man, and you need to run in the other direction.”
“Ahh, laddie, you should have quit while you were ahead.” Riley drove three fingers into his carotid artery, and Webber staggered, his eyes rolling. He helped him into the alley. In Malay, Safia shouted at people to get lost, pulling out her knife to push it home.
Webber coughed, rubbed his throat. “What the hell do you think you’re going to do to me? I know people.”
“So do I,” Safia said, nodding to Riley.
“I’m not telling you dick. You know what will happen to me?”
“I’ll kill you,” she said, suddenly in his face and her knife under his chin. “Don’t think I won’t. Thousands of people died yesterday and I want the trigger.”
“How the hell should I know?” He flipped her a quick angry glance, but his attention remained on Riley standing back, his face impassive. “I’m just trying to make a living.”
She stepped back. “I know you’ve transported for Barasa. Where is he?”
Chris Webber was a black market antiques dealer. He’d been a shovel bum archeologist in his youth, but the money in illegal trade was far more lucrative. It showed in the jade ring he wore. From the third dynasty, she decided. But Webber was closed mouthed, his reputation of never giving up his sources making him rich with black marketers. He was a big man, thirty-five maybe, decently attractive, his goatee perfectly manicured. He might work with the worst, but he didn’t dress it, his clothing evenly matched in khaki. It was a contrast to the frayed Chicago Bears ball cap with sunglasses over the brim like an extra pair of eyes.
“Ya know . . . there was a shipment highjacked from a dig in China last month,” she said. “They’d unearthed terra cotta warriors. One was outfitted in the armor of the king.”
“What of it?”
“That ring was in the first discovery.” She whipped out her cell phone and before he could stop her, she photographed him and the ring. “I’m sure Interpol and the China Ministry of Antiquities would love to know where the rest of the relics went? What’s the prison term for that?” She glanced at Riley. “Fifty years with fish heads and rice?”
Riley nodded, his gaze never leaving Webber.
“Like you would do a damn thing. You need me.”
“Not really,” she said with a shrug, then inclined her head to Riley. “But he does and as you’ve experienced, he’s not nearly as nice as I am. Where is Barasa?”
Webber shrugged. “I hope he’s dead.”
Safia frowned, waiting for the explanation.
“He hired me to get a guy across a few borders, but reneged on the deal.”
“What did you do with this man?”
“I dumped him in the projects.” Webber dusted his clothes, swiped at the grit on his forehead and came back with blood. “He wasn’t exactly grateful, but I wasn’t paid.”
Safia glanced at Riley and knew he’d helped Vaghn get from the U.S. to Singapore.
“Answer the lady’s question.” Riley’s tone sent a chill across the back of her neck. He looked ready to tear into the guy.
Webber’s face pulled taut
. “I snitch and I won’t live to see tomorrow.”
In three strides, Riley was on him. “Don’t, and you won’t live to see the sun set.” He struck quickly and so lightly, Safia wasn’t sure he did, hitting Webber in the solar plexus and a spot near his hip, then cuffing his ears. Webber folded to the ground, gasping for air and clutching his side, but Riley grabbed his shirt and hoisted the two hundred pound man to his feet, then shoved him against the wall. Webber’s head lolled on his shoulders as if he was drunk. Riley hovered close, threatening. That was just so cool, she thought, and tried not to smile.
Webber groaned, rubbing his stomach and blinking as blood rushed back into his body. “Okay, okay! Christ! Keep him away.” He rubbed his throat. “The Philippines.”
Safia frowned.
“I got a guy at the airport.” Webber blinked, scowling at Riley. “Heard stuff.”
“Expand,” Riley said, unimpressed.
“They had a prisoner in a wheelchair.”
Riley didn’t glance at Safia, but both knew he’d shot Vaghn in the leg.
“They loaded him in and took off, without a flight plan.”
“Impossible,” she said. “They wouldn’t get clearance to take off.”
“Helps if you grease a few palms. He’s got a parliament member on his payroll.”
“Tell me something we don’t know,” Riley said, and Webber flinched, eyed him for a moment before he said, “He’s waiting for some go ahead. Like a scavenger hunt, go here, wait, go there.”
Riley inched in and Webber threw his hands up in surrender. “Mindanao!”
Safia leaned into Webber’s face. “You screw me, and I’ll come after you,” she warned.
“Yeah, yeah, and you’ll bring your muscle.” He rubbed his armpit, scowling at Riley.
Safia was too pleased. Webber’s cockiness was all show, and she walked away, but when Riley didn’t follow, she glanced back.
The antiques dealer let out a long-suffering sigh, and said, “The Crown Hotel.” He pulled off his cap, his arm shaking and he switched hands, flexing his fingers.
“The feeling should come back in an hour or so,” Riley said, then stuffed a few dollars in his shirt pocket. “You look like you need a drink.” He turned away as Webber called out.
“You see Barasa, tell him I’m still waiting for my money.”
He waved over his head. “First on my list.”
Safia waited at the end of the alley, the neon lights of the bar glowing down on her with the afternoon sun. “I love it when you get all Benihana.”
He chuckled. “Speaking of food . . .” “The airport comes first.” “Let Base watch him,” he said and slung his arm around her shoulder, then kissed her temple. It constantly amazed her at how comfortable she felt with him. The car was three blocks away and when the BMW was in sight, Safia hit her key remote to start it and turn on the air conditioner.
A second later, it exploded.
Thirteen
The blast knocked them off their feet and sent the flaming car into the air like a fiery geyser. Riley scrambled to Safia, covering her as the car hit the ground and exploded again, metal debris shattering windows and crashing into nearby walls and people. Car alarms buzzed the air, mixed with screams of pain. He shielded her head as more debris fell, then he rolled, taking her with him as a chunk of engine hit the ground and tumbled along the street.
“Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m okay,” she said into his chest. “—all those people. God, there was a mother pushing a stroller right beside the—” She choked, squeezed harder, then she tipped her chin up. Tears welled but never fell, and the fracture in that iron will broke his heart. He swept his hand over her head to her nape and pressed his forehead to hers. She’d spent her adult life fighting and now it was aimed at her, at her doorstep. She sniffled and he eased back, then helped her to her feet. She leaned into him, rubbed her scraped knee.
“Raven, report. Raven!” blasted in their comm-links.
“We’re okay. All emergency services to my position. We need ambulances.”
She stepped away from Riley, stunned at the damage. The remains of the car were hunks of twisted metal. The people unfortunate enough to be nearby littered the ground like bloody trash, survivors staggering to their feet, clutching wounds. Safia strode to a man staggering from the blast and helped him find a place to sit. Riley pulled a sheet from a drooping laundry line and wrapped it around the stump of his arm.
She went to the next person as Riley moved down the street, checking under debris. He heard a squeak, and when he neared the buildings, the frightened cry grew louder. He rushed to lift a fallen fence and smiled when a little black dog scrambled out and ran to find a new place to hide. He walked toward the explosion. There was little left of the car, the inside hollowed by the blast and fire. He couldn’t tell the type of explosive, but knew it was rigged on the car’s starter. That meant the rigger had to know how to get around the computer system and Safia’s key code. Not good. In the short time they were in this part of town, someone set it. Likely still near, probably watching, the sick bastard.
Riley looked to the rooftops, expecting the sniper, and then down along the length of the street. Bastards will kill anyone, he thought, then turned back. Ambulances arrived, the sirens winding down to a groan. Safia stood near a police cruiser, talking with an officer. She discretely waved Riley on and he kept walking, wondering what story she was giving the officer. With subtle hand signals, Riley told her to ‘follow, still watched,’ then headed away from the blast area and toward the metro rail station.
People ran past him to view the explosion, and he stopped at a vending machine, shoving in coins and in the dented surface, watched his back. He punched a selection, waiting. The soda dropped, but his shoulders didn’t relax till she rounded the corner. He grabbed the can, and she headed straight for him, grasped his hand, pulling.
“It’s a turn on, this bossy side of you.”
She flicked him an apologetic glance. “We’re witnesses, nothing more right now.”
Riley opened the soda, offering it to her.
“Thank you,” she said with feeling and drank in big gulps, then handed it back.
He finished it off and pitched it in the trash as they hurried away from the chaos. “We need to get out of sight, now.” She met his gaze. “They knew what you drove, Safia. That’s too close for my comfort. They’ve been watching since we left the docks and the sniper’s gone, so that means a relay team, a new hitter, or they have the ability to triangulate.” Riley opened the phone, then popped out the battery. “Maybe it’s all three.”
She agreed, then hailed Ellie. “Base, sever all communications.”
“Repeat last?”
“Cut off all contact, and block any tracking on us.”
“Roger that. Executing. Now tell me why I just broke the rules again?”
“We have an Eye. We were lured to the docks, but there’s no way anyone could have known where we were today.”
“Roger that. Go under until I can check for tracking.”
They arranged a time to contact, then Safia shut off the phone and the comm-link, but Riley took them before she dumped them in the garbage. “We don’t want anyone else being the target either.” Leaving them in the trash was just as dangerous and he opened her phone, removed the batteries, then searched the ground.
“I need something small and sharp.” She dug in her bag and handed him a barrette. He used the cleat to pry out a small piece, then crushed it under his boot. “GPS chip. I’ve had to replace that sucker a couple times.” He turned the TDS Recon back on and it worked. “We can’t track on it, though. Base can send data to us. It pretty much turns it into a cell phone.” He shrugged, still wondering which communications device they’d traced or if it was only visual. “We still need clean gear. Untraceable since they’re right on our backs. Max can get anything, I just need to call him.”
She walked faster. �
��Takes too long.”
“Ya know, for a spy, your patience is dammed thin.”
“See why I didn’t stay a NOC for long.” She hurried toward a small bus station on the corner of a busy street and pushed through the doors. “Give me a minute.”
Riley remained near the entrance, grabbing a newspaper as she crossed to the ticket counter, rising up on her toes to speak to the attendant. Her hand slid under the glass partition separating her from the man, a Singaporean and maybe forty, and he gripped her hands with both of his, smiling so hard his cheeks bulged. Then the man disappeared, and a second later, the employee door flew open and he swallowed Safia in a hug. She laughed and patted his shoulder, then kissed each cheek. Something worked inside Riley to see her smile like that. The attendant let her go, and they talked briefly before she pressed something into his palms. He went back to his cubicle, then slid a black case across the counter. She slung it over her shoulder, waving before she hurried to Riley.
“Prizes,” was all she said as they slipped out and walked down the street.
Riley eyed her and reached to unzip the bag for a peek. Inside, it was padded and filled—with weapons, communications, passports, and money. A backup stash, he thought, zipping it. “He keeps this for you?”
“In a locker, I have the only key.” She zipped it shut. “Li is a friend.” She glanced at him and shrugged. “A couple years ago, his ten-year-old daughter went missing. I saw him on the news pleading for people to look out for her.” Her shoulders moved uneasily and Riley understood that Safia wasn’t comfortable with her own valor. “I talked with him, learned about her friends. I found her and two others in a slave ring in Thailand and brought them home.”
Like the one Sam’s wife Viva was caught in. “Bet that was a big story. The news media didn’t get you?”
She shook her head. “I worked with the Thai police and a policewoman did the face work.”
“A wee bit outside weapons dealers, isn’t it?”
Fight Fire With Fire. Page 20
