by R S Penney
“I have no intention of doing that.”
Those words took the wind right out of her. This woman couldn't possibly mean what Jena thought she meant. Could she? Jack had said that Aamani Patel was a very reasonable woman. Stern but reasonable. “You can't honestly support your government's anti-Leyrian policy.”
“Support it?” Patel shot back. “I authored it.”
Licking her lips, Jena stared down at the floor. “This hostility will get us nowhere,” she said, shaking her head. “Like it or not, my people have the tools to track and capture this man. Without us, the situation will get worse.”
The other woman looked up at her with a scowl, clearly unmoved by the appeal to reason. “You also have the tools to force our compliance,” she said. “I see no reason to believe that we will be any more successful with your help than we would be without it.”
Jena turned around.
She marched across the room with arms folded, pausing at the door. “What exactly happened to make you hate Leyrians?” she asked. “Jack once told me that you were open to cooperation with my people.”
Patel leaned back in her chair, looking up at the ceiling. She blinked slowly as she considered her response. “I do not hate Leyrians,” she said. “And the one small thing that Agent Hunter likely forgot to mention is the fact that he and Lenai used the threat of your people's displeasure to motivate my cooperation.”
Jena winced, pinching the bridge of her nose. A painful moan was her first reaction to that juicy little tidbit. “Yes, I can see why that would upset you,” she said. “But Jack is not a master negotiator.”
“On that, we can agree.”
“And from what I understand of the situation,” Jena went on. “You and the entire squad that invaded Wesley Pennfield's building owe your lives to a Leyrian. You'd think this would earn us some trust.”
“Oh yes, Wesley Pennfield,” Patel said. “The man who mysteriously vanished from a Leyrian holding cell a little over three years ago. I would very much like to know what happened to him.”
Jena would as well. The small bit of information she'd extracted from Reena before hauling that bitch's ass down to the detention cells suggested that Pennfield had been in Antauran Space when he put a hit on her.
Why he wanted her dead was still a mystery, but odds were good it had something to do with what she'd seen on that troop carrier. A shiver went down her back. That meant Pennfield was working for the Overseers, which would explain how he got out of his cell. “The investigation is still ongoing,” she said. “Rest assured, we'll find him.”
“It seems to me your people make a lot of assurances that they can't follow through on.” The calmness in Patel's voice was in and of itself a source of frustration. “Pennfield, Leo…Your people have a remarkable track record.”
Clenching her teeth, Jena shut her eyes tight. She let her head hang. “I'd be the first person to admit there have been setbacks,” she began, “but you're demanding a level of performance that is simply unattainable.”
She turned.
Patel was as cool as a block of ice, watching her with that implacable gaze. “No. I am saying that this many discrepancies, this many lapses in Leyrian security suggest that some of your people can't be trusted.”
Jena had only a brief moment of warning before a man stepped into the door behind her. The silhouette was one she knew quite well: Peter Tombs. “In the same way that you can be trusted, Aamani?”
She turned to find him standing in the doorway with arms crossed, shaking his head in frustration. “I don't like it when people try to rearrange my schedule,” he said. “I don't like it when they tell my assistant that the woman I was scheduled to meet had cancelled, and then I find her standing in my office.”
“We cannot trust-”
“Enough,” Tombs said. “I have a few contacts at CSIS. You can rest assured that they will hear about this. Now, get out of my office so that Director Morane and I can discuss her plan.”
Chapter 20
The motel room was a dark and dreary place, with only a little sunlight drizzling through the window onto a bed with red blankets pulled up to the pillows. The brown carpets looked a little worn, and the round wooden table had cracks in its surface.
Ben felt a little worn out himself.
After quite a bit of coaxing from Director Morane, the Earth politicians had agreed to proceed with their plan. Undercover operatives had put the word out that they were willing to sell Amps to whomever would buy. This very morning, the police officer that Jack had befriended sent a message that they had a taker.
Ben wore a pair of dark green pants and a black shirt that felt a little snug. “So this is where your people conduct nefarious deals,” he murmured. “I have to admit the setting is right.”
The only other person present was a man in blue jeans and a leather jacket who stood with his arms folded. Officer Darrel Smith had a stern face with a dark complexion and hair that he kept buzzed. “They usually want someplace quiet, out of the way,” he said. “Someplace a little less cliché than a parking garage.”
Sitting in a chair with one elbow resting on the table, Ben frowned as he took in his surroundings for the fifth time. “I feel boxed in here,” he said. “Get a sniper on the roof of the bar across the street…”
Smith shut his eyes, shaking his head slowly. “You are a paranoid guy, aren't you?” he asked, approaching the window. He drew aside the curtains to peer through the glass. “I guarantee you that no one but the mark knows we're here.”
Static in Ben's earpiece was followed by Jack's voice coming through with a slight crackle. “Hey, can you guys hear us?” he asked. “We're in position. If you need backup, we'll be there in a heartbeat.”
“A heartbeat is all it takes to fire a killing shot.”
“Ever the optimist.”
Darrel Smith shot a glance over his shoulder, squinting at Ben in response to that last comment. “You are paranoid,” he said. “I approve. You'd fit right in with the rest of us narcs.”
Ben smiled, then lowered his eyes to stare into his lap. “I work in intelligence,” he said softly. “Paranoia and pessimism are something of a prerequisite for a job like that. Agents who think otherwise don't last long.”
Smith grunted.
“Okay, guys,” Jack cut in. “Can you both hear me?”
“I can,” Smith confirmed.
“Then let's review the plan.”
Ben turned his attention to a metal briefcase that sat in the middle of the table. “It's fairly simple,” he said. “The case contains a tracking device that will allow you to keep tabs on our buyer. We make the exchange, and then you follow him back to wherever this Leo is hiding.”
It was a little more complex than that, of course. The case also contained a genuine sample of Amps that would almost certainly be a source of temptation if the buyer had even the slightest clue what it did.
Providing an actual sample of the drug was an unfortunate necessity. Leo was sure to open the case the instant his minion returned, and finding nothing inside – or worse, a fake – would alert him to the fact that this had been a setup. The element of surprise was essential if they wanted to bring him in with minimal casualties.
The problem was the buyer. A crafty minion might get it in his head to keep the drugs for himself instead of returning them to Leo. “Our part in this is simple, Jack,” he said. “You just stay out of sight.”
“Embarrassed to be seen with me?”
Ben felt his cheeks heat up. He closed his eyes and shook his head with a sigh. “It's hard to keep a low profile when you're around,” he said. “It's getting to be so that I can't take you anywhere.”
Darrel Smith was standing by the window with arms crossed, smiling down at the floor. “Listen to the two of you,” he said. “If I didn't know better, I'd swear you were an old married couple.”
“Jack's not interested in men.”
Smith chewed on his lip, nodding as he mulled that
over. “A pity,” he said, turning back to the window. “He's hot.”
“Thank you,” Jack said over the comm.
Ben was not about to comment on that, and the fact that he agreed with Smith was only one reason why. Flirting with a friend who did not share your orientation was a good way to make things awkward.
On top of that, he was a little surprised to learn that Smith could also appreciate the beauty in the male form. It was so hard to tell with Earth men. Those who might actually be open to a relationship with another man were often so repressed. Ben couldn't say that he blamed them. Not in light of this world's history.
He hadn't been paying much attention to Darrel Smith – when he was on the job, Ben preferred to put thoughts of romance out of his mind – but now that he knew the other man might be receptive…Well, there was no denying that Smith was handsome.
“Look alive, guys,” Jack said. “Someone's headed your way.”
Ben grew tense.
He checked his accouterments for the fifteenth time since setting foot in this room. His force-field generators were fully charged; his multi-tool was loaded with weaponized nanobots, and his pistol was carrying a fresh clip.
Knock, knock, knock.
Ben closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I told you, we don't need any god damn room service,” he said, standing up. “Now get the hell out of here before I decide to call your supervisor.”
“It's Paul,” a muffled voice said through the door.
Darrel marched over to the door with a grunt, pausing with one hand on the knob. “What the hell took you so long?” he snapped. “Never mind. Get your ass in here before someone sees you.”
He opened the door.
Paul turned out to be a young man with noticeably pale skin and a scraggly beard of dark stubble. His black hair was a mess, and he looked like he hadn't slept in days. “You got the stuff?”
The kid wore a pair of blue jeans and a leather jacket zipped up to the collar. That left Ben feeling uneasy. There were too many places to conceal a weapon. “My boss is getting antsy,” Paul went on. “Let's get this over with.”
Ben opened the briefcase.
He spun it around atop the table to let the young man have a look at the vials of blue liquid contained therein. The kid frowned, shaking his head as though displeased by what he saw.
Darrel took a place on Ben's left, facing the young man with arms folded. “So you like what you see?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow. “If your boss doesn't want it, I'm sure we can find someone who does.”
Paul looked up with a stony expression, suddenly as determined as a veteran on the battlefield. “Leo asked me to give you guys a message,” he growled. “He says he doesn't deal with Leyrian scum.”
The boy unzipped his coat to reveal a bomb strapped to his chest. Companion have mercy! Ben had been afraid of the prospect of concealed firearms, but he had never once considered the possibility of a suicide bomber.
“Get down!” he bellowed.
Ben dropped to his knees, unclipping both force-field generators from his belt. He lifted them both and triggered each one, creating two consecutive walls of white static that would last fifteen seconds at most.
The explosion that followed was blindingly bright but almost totally silent as the force-fields blocked sound waves. Fire splashed against the screen of electrostatic energy, dissipating in clouds of black smoke.
Ben squeezed his eyes shut, turning his face away from the blast. He felt tears leak from his eyes and roll over his cheeks. Sweet Mercy! he screamed inside his own head. The man had been expecting us to try something like this.
Darrel was on his knees with fingers laced over the back of his head, gasping for breath. “Jesus Christ,” he whispered. “Is it… Is it over?”
The initial blast had died down, leaving only thick smoky haze in its wake. As the force-fields died, Ben was assaulted with painful heat and air that he could not breathe. He grabbed the back of Darrel's shirt.
Pulling the man to his feet, he turned and ran for the bathroom. The wooden door flew open with a squeak, and he found himself in a room of ugly green tiles with a small window that he might be able to wiggle through.
Ben returned the force-field generators to his belt.
He drew his pistol, pointed it at the window and fired. Frosted glass shattered in a hundred jagged shards, dropping to the floor. “Go!” Ben ordered. “Get yourself through. I'll be right behind you.”
Darrel dove through the opening, wiggling like a worm as he tried to reach the safety of the other side. The smoke had already found its way into the bathroom, and Ben heard the crackling of flames.
The other man's shoes vanished from sight.
Ben followed, grabbing the windowsill and pulling himself through the gap. It was a tight fit – jagged pieces of the shattered pane sliced at his belly – but he managed to get through and fall hard onto the asphalt of the back parking lot.
Ben shut his eyes tight, lifting his head to squeal in pain. “Damn it!” he said, trying to ignore the stinging in his belly. “Smith, you okay? Come on, man. Don't tell me a little smoke is gonna do you in.”
Darrel was lying on his stomach and panting. He turned his head to look at Ben. “If anything was gonna bring me down,” he gasped. “I'm pretty sure it would have been the heart attack I had when that guy unzipped his jacket.”
“Ben!” Jack's voice rang inside his skull.
Clenching his teeth, Ben hissed like a striking snake. “We're okay,” he said, getting to his feet. “The guy had a bomb under his coat, Jack. Leo must have seen right through the ruse.”
Ben felt tears running over his burning face. He rubbed the tip of his nose with the back of his hand. “We both need medical attention,” he added. “Nothing serious. Minor cuts and abrasions.”
“Okay,” Jack said. “Help is on the way.”
Darrel looked up at him with soot stains on his reddened face. “So, uh…Quick question,” he said before shaking his head to get his bearings. “When this is over, do you think you'd like to go for a drink?”
“Yes,” Ben said. “Yes, I think I would.”
Just over a dozen people stood in a line at the edge of the property, watching the activity with sad or frightened expressions. Some were staff, others guests. Fortunately, there hadn't been anyone nearby when the explosion happened.
The quaint little motel near the edge of the city had blue aluminum siding and cute little shutters next to every window. Each unit looked homey and inviting except for the one at the very end.
There, only a mass of blackened rubble remained where the room's front door and window should have been. The fires had been put out but thin wisps of smoke still rose into the air.
Jack moved through the parking lot in jeans and a brown trenchcoat, keeping his head down. “Poor souls every one,” he muttered. “Most will probably start looking for other jobs tomorrow.”
Ali Layson stood with her back turned, facing a pair of forensic investigators who nodded at her every word. Her knee-length blue dress looked a little out of place here, but Leyrian fashions were different.
She turned around as he approached.
Facing him with a tablet held to her chest, Ali studied him through the lenses of her glasses. “We found traces of Tezarine in the rubble,” she said softly. “That's an Antauran-made explosive commonly used by their military.”
Chewing on his lip, Jack looked up at her. He blinked as he considered her words. “Antauran-made?” he inquired. “Doesn't that go against Leo's M-O? I thought he liked to use Leyrian weapons.”
Ali frowned and bowed her head to him. “It's hard to say for sure,” she replied with a shrug. “So far, he's used a hodgepodge of technology. He seems to take whatever he can get his hands on.”
Jack forced a small smile. Shutting his eyes, he gave his head a shake. “So we're right back at square one,” he said. “No leads on Leo's whereabouts, and we can't try the sting again.”
�
��Not exactly.”
Ali produced a small plastic card that she had been hiding behind the tablet. It was scorched and blackened in several places, but a cursory glance made it clear that he was looking at the remains of some guy's driver's license. “We found this on the corpse,” she said. “I believe you might be able to locate the bomber's address.”
As he checked the card, Jack found an address in Nepean. Well, half of one. Part of the street name had been singed, but he figured he could reconstitute it with some careful Googling. “Thanks, Ali.”
He turned and made his way to the line of people standing the edge of the parking lot. Guilt gnawed at his insides when he saw them waiting there. He had been the one to suggest using this place for the sting. Talking Mr Watz, the motel's owner, into granting them the use of a room had been a hassle.
At the time, Jack had expected nothing more than a simple exchange of drugs for cash. The buyer was supposed to have taken the briefcase back to his boss and let that be the end of it. Instead, things had gone straight to Hell. By the grace of good fortune, there had been no one in the adjacent room, but if there had been…
Never mind that, he told himself. There's plenty to feel guilty for; blaming yourself for the things that could have gone wrong will get you nowhere. It was a reminder that any plan could spontaneously fall apart. Every time he set a plan in motion, he gambled with people's lives.
Mr. Watz was a short little guy with thinning gray hair and a shirt that was marked by stains. The man looked up as Jack approached, blinking at him. “I was an idiot to even consider listening to you. You should have found some other location for your little mission.”
Jack felt his face redden. Closing his eyes, he nodded his agreement. “Thankfully, no one was hurt,” he said. “We will compensate you for the damages, and we will bring this man to-”
Watz punched him in the gut.
Gritting his teeth, Jack forced his eyes shut. Hot tears rolled over his cheeks. “That was not nice,” he rasped. “Mr. Watz, I'm sorry your property was damaged, but there's no-”
