Troubleshooters 08 Flashpoint

by Suzanne Brockmann

  There were only two soldiers in here, but twelve others right outside and somewhere between five and ten hanging out in a nearby room that looked like it might be a cafeteria.

  It was just off a corridor to the left of the front gate. Another hall led right. Decker had told her with his eyes that that was the route they’d take when heading for the garage.

  Sophia wanted to flee, despite knowing that no one could outrun bullets.

  Except Padsha Bashir wasn’t brandishing a gun as he limped around the corner and into view.

  He held his sword, the sword that had killed Dimitri, the sword she’d used to try to kill Bashir. He held it high as he came at her, roaring his anger.

  He had the strength in his arms to separate her head neatly from her shoulders—her worst nightmare come to life.

  Except, in her dreams, Sophia hadn’t clutched a weapon of her own in her hands. And, in her dreams, she’d always been alone.

  With Decker on her right and Dave on her left, they opened up on him all at once, and Sophia knew that the shock and surprise on Bashir’s face, and the blood that bloomed on his white shirt and vest would replace the visions of Dimitri that haunted her dreams.

  One violent end for another.

  And no guarantee she would sleep any easier at night, ever again.

  Jimmy moved silently down the stairs. Tess followed several steps behind, serving tray in her hands, 9mm hidden beneath her robe.

  She’d read his Agency file. Shit, she was good.

  What was she doing, wasting her time with him? She had to be crazy, knowing what she knew, to fall in love with him.

  You might want to check in with people every now and then before you decide how and what they should feel.

  “I think you’re crazy,” he told her now, talking even though he knew he should keep his mouth glued shut. For many reasons.

  She didn’t say anything as they went down another flight of stairs. They were on the ground floor now. But then she laughed softly. “Is that really a problem for you?”

  Jimmy didn’t answer—it would have been hard to talk over the tearing sound of machine-gun fire.

  Tess dropped her tray and followed as he ran for the lobby.

  Decker grabbed Sophia and pulled her toward the corridor while Dave, running backward, created a wall of suppressing fire.

  Shit, someone was running toward them. He raised his weapon and—

  Nash. And Tess.

  “Go!” Nash shouted, covering the lobby so Dave could move forward.

  They’d leapfrog like this, running and shooting and running and shooting, all the way to the garage.

  Tess came to help him with Sophia.

  “Upstairs,” she told Decker as they ran down the hall. “Tom’s got a chopper coming—comm system’s up.”

  “No way!”

  “Yes, way. Should be here any minute, sir.”

  “I love you,” Decker said. “Tell Dave!”

  Dave loved her, too.

  Tess watched as Decker and Dave tossed Sophia into the helicopter. The racket of the blades drowned out the sound of Jimmy’s weapon firing, as he laid down what was called in the military “a field of covering fire.”

  Basically the theory was if you fired an automatic weapon in a general direction, everyone in that area would hit the deck. With their heads down, they were thus unable to fire their own weapons in return.

  Tess squeaked as Decker grabbed one of her arms and Dave grabbed another and then she, too, was on board the chopper.

  Her landing wasn’t as rough as she’d imagined, since she was caught and held quite securely in the strong arms of a very young man in a desert-print camouflage uniform, streaks of black and green on his otherwise freckled face.

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” he shouted politely, as if they’d bumped into each other by accident on the street.

  SEALs.

  There were four others on board. One, with some kind of medical insignia on his uniform, had helped Sophia into a seat and was checking to make sure she hadn’t been hurt.

  Her SEAL—it was hard not to think of him as hers, he was just too cute with that choirboy face—pulled her toward Sophia and out of the way of the door.

  The others helped Dave, then Jimmy, then Decker on board.

  “Go, go, go!” one of them—brawny, with blond hair and a face like a boxer—shouted to the pilot.

  Tess had just sat down, but now she sprang to her feet. “Wait!” Oh, God.

  She looked at Jimmy, who knew exactly what she was thinking. “Will Schroeder,” he shouted.

  She’d forgotten Will Schroeder.

  The helicopter was already up and moving out of range of the guards and their weaponry.

  They were safe. They were heading for home.

  “They’ll kill him,” Tess shouted, and Decker spoke to the SEAL who’d given the order to go.

  Whatever Deck said seemed pretty persuasive, because the SEAL spoke into the lip mike he was wearing, and the helicopter circled back.

  Jimmy had made his way to her side. “Where is he?”

  “Lowest level, east wing,” she said. “There’s a second row of cells that you might not see if— Look, it’ll be easier just to show you.”

  “No,” he said. “It won’t. Deck and I are going. I’ll see you in a couple weeks.”

  A couple of . . . ? “Jimmy! This is my mistake!”

  “You told me you’d found Will,” he argued. “I forgot him, too.” He kissed her hard, a swift good-bye. “This isn’t about me wanting to keep you safe. This is about me and Deck being unstoppable together. Isn’t that what you said?”

  Tess nodded.

  “We’ll go back inside, we’ll get him, we’ll vanish,” Jimmy promised her. “And I’ll see you in a few weeks.”

  Because it would take them that long to cross the mountains.

  The helicopter came in for a brief landing on the east lawn of the palace.

  And Decker and Jimmy were gone.

  Sunrise lit the sky to the east as the helicopter raced away from Kazabek. Sophia watched as Tess sat and clenched her teeth, her back to the splendor of the pink and orange clouds.

  She watched Tess watch the uniformed men—the SEALs—as they spoke to one another over their radio headsets. There was quite a discussion going on. She couldn’t hear what they were saying over the roar of the chopper blades, but every now and then she could read their lips. “Decker.” They kept saying, “Decker.”

  Dave had told her that Decker had once been one of them—a SEAL. Apparently they knew him and weren’t any happier about leaving him and Nash behind than Tess was.

  Tess was closer and apparently could hear what they were saying, because she sat up, leaning forward.

  “We have to go back,” she shouted. “I just realized—Decker’s got the laptop!”

  The SEALs all turned and looked at her, almost as one.

  They looked at Sophia, and then at Dave, who was cradling his bag with its important cargo on his lap. He tried to hide it within the folds of his robe.

  It was so obvious that Tess was lying that several of them laughed out loud.

  Sophia couldn’t read their stripes and pins—she didn’t have a clue who was officer and who was enlisted—but one of them was older than the others. He was ripped, with an upper body that looked as if he could bench-press this entire chopper. His eyes reminded Sophia a little of Decker. Not so much the color or even the shape, but the calm that lay within them.

  Tess spoke directly to him.

  Good choice, Sophia wanted to tell her. She moved closer so she could hear, too.

  “Look, Senior Chief,” Tess shouted “Obviously Decker’s not that stupid. You know it and I know it. But whoever’s in command doesn’t necessarily know it.”

  “That would be Admiral Crowley,” the SEAL with the freckles said. “His nickname is God. And he does know Deck. He probably knows you, too, ma’am.”

  Tess ignored him, refusing to give up.
“We can turn this thing around and create a diversion, and Decker and Nash’ll be out of there in ten minutes. I can call them, let them know—”

  “You have working phones?” The senior chief cut himself off and sighed. “We cannot leave this helo,” he told her. “The risk of creating an international incident is already—” He swore. “As much as I would like to, ma’am, and I would . . .” He clearly felt Tess’s pain. “We can’t fire any weaponry. None at all. I don’t know what kind of diversion we could—”

  “I do,” Sophia said. Deck had thrown his backpack onto the floor near her feet, and she picked it up now. She unzipped it, showing the contents—the stacks and stacks of money that Decker and Nash had taken from the safe in Sayid’s hotel room—to Tess. “It’s counterfeit, but it would fool me at first glance.”

  Tess looked at the senior chief, who started to laugh.

  He spoke into his microphone. “Turn this thing around.”

  Decker felt his phone buzz in his pocket, and he pulled it out.

  It was Tess. Nash clearly knew it, too, even before Decker spoke to her. Like Deck, he’d heard the chopper coming back.

  “She better not be calling to tell you she talked them into letting her onto the ground,” Nash told Decker through gritted teeth.

  “Where are you?” Tess said. He could hear the thrumming of the helo’s blades through the phone.

  “Almost at the garage. We’ve got Will.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “Thank God. Come out toward the back of the building, north side. Give us a couple minutes to get into range—lay low till then. I’ll buzz you when it’s clear for you to move across the open area and back behind the garage. Again, north side. There are no guards positioned back there. We’ll scoop you up as close to the building as possible.”

  “Will do.” Decker pocketed his phone and got a better grip on Will Schroeder.

  Jimmy couldn’t believe his eyes when they carried Will Schroeder out across the driveway toward the free-standing garage.

  This part of the palace was usually heavily guarded—all those vehicles—but everyone had abandoned their posts and run to the front of the palace.

  Where thousands of twenty-dollar bills were fluttering down from the open door of the chopper.

  The pilot had that thing way up high, out of semiautomatic range. He was using evasive maneuvers, too, in case anyone got the idea to take a shot at them with a longer range rifle.

  Not that any of the guards were paying any attention to their weapons. They were all dashing around, grabbing the cash.

  Apparently, Padsha Bashir hadn’t paid his men all that well.

  The chopper zoomed overhead, coming in low. Jimmy and Deck ran out to meet it, carrying Will, who’d opened his eyes, seen Jimmy, and muttered, “You better not fucking try to kiss me again.”

  And there was Tess, helping him into the helicopter, holding him so tightly as they launched back into the sky.

  Decker met his eyes across the chopper’s crowded cabin, and smiled. Dave was laughing and joking with the SEALs from Team Sixteen. Even Sophia didn’t seem quite so brittle. And Tess . . .

  Tess loved him.

  He looked down at her, still in his arms, as they sat down and buckled themselves in. She was exhausted, and she rested her head against his shoulder.

  That was nice. It was very nice. A good fit.

  Jimmy sat back, trying this odd feeling—was this actually happiness?—on for size.

  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-SIX

  KAISERSLAUTERN, GERMANY

  Sophia went into the hotel bar in Kaiserslautern, just outside of Ramstein Air Base.

  “May I help you?” a young woman at the hostess station said in perfect, nearly accentless English.

  Sophia hadn’t heard more than a few words of German since she’d arrived just a few days ago. And it was James Nash she’d heard speaking it. He and Decker had referred to Kaiserslautern as “McGermany,” and it wasn’t until she went out shopping for new clothes that she’d understood why.

  There were so many Americans living in this part of the country—military personnel and their families—that everyone working in the shops and restaurants spoke fluent English.

  Across the room, Decker had been watching for her. He was already on his feet.

  “I’m meeting a friend,” Sophia told the hostess, who turned to glance at Decker.

  Dressed in an oversized sports jacket and tie, he looked small and nondescript. Unremarkable. Not at all worthy of a second glance, which the hostess didn’t bother to give him.

  But he smiled as Sophia came toward him. The transformation was instant.

  “How are you? Nice haircut.” He didn’t try to air kiss her, he didn’t even reach out his hand for a shake. His no-contact rule was apparently still firmly in place.

  “Thanks,” she said, self-consciously touching her short hair, recently returned to her natural shade of blond. She also wore makeup, lots of it, to cover her bruises. She wasn’t sure which was worse, looking battered or looking as if her face might crack. “May I?”

  “Please.” He’d gotten a small table in the corner, and they now both sat.

  The waitress was upon them immediately. “What can I get you?” she asked. Her English was even better than the hostess’s.

  “I’ll have a Coke,” Decker said. He looked at Sophia. “Beer? Wine?”

  “House wine, please.”

  When the waitress left, he smiled at Sophia again. “Thanks for meeting me on such short notice.”

  Like she was doing him some big favor. He’d only saved her life about two thousand times. And he’d been instrumental in expediting the paperwork for her new passport. Not to mention . . .

  “Tom Paoletti called,” Sophia told him. “I’m heading for San Diego next week for a job interview.” She paused. “He told me you gave me a glowing recommendation.”

  “Yeah, I did. You deserved it.” Deck took an envelope from his pocket, pushed it across the table. “That’s for you.”

  She opened it. It was a check, made out to her. For fifty thousand dollars.

  She pushed it away. “I know this is your money, and I don’t want it.”

  “We made a deal,” he said.

  “I changed my mind.”

  “Change it back.” He pushed the envelope back toward her, leaned forward, and lowered his voice. “The client should have paid you, Sophia. Forget about what you did to help us get Tess out. The information you provided was instrumental in finding the laptop.”

  “I don’t want your money, Deck. It feels too much like you’re paying me for . . .” Sophia took a deep breath and said it. “For going down on you.”

  She hadn’t heard the waitress approach. The young woman put their drinks on the table and practically ran away. No doubt to tell her friends back in the kitchen what she’d overheard.

  Decker sighed.

  “Sorry,” Sophia said.

  He briefly closed his eyes. “I’m the one who’s sorry. It never should have happened.”

  She took a sip of wine. Cleared her throat. “Are you absolutely sure you want us to work out of the same office?”

  “Yes,” he said, looking up at her. “I’m sure. Sophia, you’re good. I mean . . .” He laughed, embarrassed. “Jesus, this is hard—” He put his hand up right in front of his face, palm outward, as if to say Stop, and he closed his eyes again. “I’ll just stop talking now.”

  Sophia laughed, and he glanced at her, chagrin in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know you don’t think it’s funny, but . . .” She laughed again. She couldn’t help it.

  “It’s nice to hear you laughing,” he told her. “I mean, really laughing—not that fake thing you do.”

  She nodded. “I do that too much, I know.” She looked at the envelope on the table. “Do you think I could . . . borrow that money? Take it a
s a loan, until I find a job—”

  “Tom is going to hire you, I know it.”

  Sophia took another sip of wine. “I don’t think I’m going to have that interview. I think . . .” She shook her head. “It’s a bad idea.”