Dark Salvation (DARC Ops Book 7)

by Jamie Garrett

  “Stay at her house.”

  “Nah,” Tommy said.

  “It’s a good excuse. And she might think it’s exciting. You know? Assassins and everything? Might get you laid.”

  “Nah,” he said again, this time sounding even more dejected.

  Cole wouldn’t press the issue. Instead, he sipped his beer quietly while listening to the sudden barking of a dog. Their neighbor’s Chihuahua who, day or night, could smell and hear just about anything in a two-mile radius. What was it so upset about this time?

  Tommy tried saying something else about the inconvenience of moving, but Cole quickly shut him up.

  “What is it?” Tommy whispered.

  “Lil Gordie,” Cole said. “He hears something.”

  “So?”

  “He hears someone,” Cole said.

  “Yeah, he hears us.”

  “No way. When was the last time he barked for us? He knows us.” Cole got up off the ground, his eyes trained through the little spaces of the wood-slat fence. “He doesn’t bark like this anymore, unless . . .”

  Fuck it. He had to go look. Leave Tommy to his wobbly chair, and his beer, and his complacency. Cole knew in his bones that the raspy barking from the little Chihuahua was the harbinger he’d been waiting for. What lay behind it, he’d have to find out by creeping along the fence line, gun drawn, eyes tracking what he believed were a set of shadows moving just underneath. Movement.

  What was it?

  Feet? An intruder?

  The Captain might have just sent someone by, as a formality more than anything else. Just to check that box and cover the most obvious place to look. Who would have guessed Cole would be dumb enough to stick around his own home, to relax in the backyard with beers and his roommate?

  Fuck it. Again. If there was going to be a showdown, it might as well happen now.

  He lined himself up to the privacy fence gate between the houses, took one last breath, and then kicked it open. He aimed the gun and was ready to fire . . . at what appeared to be a power meter inspector.

  “Hi,” Cole said, still pointing his gun at the man. “Can I help you?”

  The man from the power company was speechless, though not exactly scared. Instead of cowering, or even just bitching about having a gun pointed at him, the man eased back into his lean against the neighbor’s house. He wore clothes that seemed a little too formal for a meter reader, a neatly ironed dress shirt and pants. Though he did have a name badge of some sort. Cole stood too far away to read it. He read his face instead, an expression cool and loose enough to give Cole some cause for concern. Eye contact, also, which was held a little too firmly, given the situation. Finally, the man replied with, “Can I help you?”

  “Yeah,” Cole said. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m not on your property.”

  “You’re close enough.”

  “Yeah.” The man pointed to the power meter. “Close enough to read this thing.”

  “Let me guess, you’re doing your job.”

  “What else? You think I do this on my free time?”

  Cole lowered his gun off the target while Gordie the Chihuahua brought the barking to a whole new level, sounding between snorts. “Who do you work for?” Cole asked.

  “The power company.”

  “Who’s the power company?”

  “Hawaiian Electric.”

  It sounded somewhat legit.

  The guy said, “You should put that weapon away.”

  “Yeah,” Cole said. “You get your reading?”

  “Yeah.”

  He holstered his gun. “Then you should get the hell out of here.”

  “Maybe I’ll do that right after I call the cops.”

  Cole had been watching his hands for any sudden movements. There were none. Nor were they in the least bit shaky, as someone’s would be if they’d just had a gun pointed at their head. He’d seen it before. He may have even seen some action. What was he? Former military? A goon like Cole, himself? He was clearly a professional. And not a power-company professional.

  “Do what you gotta do,” Cole said. “Just don’t come around to the wrong house.”

  And that was that. He’d left him still leaning against the neighbor’s house, still outside his own home, possibly calling the police as Cole made his way back to Tommy and his beer cooler.

  So what if he’d call the cops. They were nothing compared to what was really after him. Cole knew, also, that he’d be long gone before the next visitor came sneaking around for him. He only hoped that Tommy would do the same.

  Cole was shaking his head on his way back. “You see what happened there?”

  “Yeah.” Tommy threw his last empty can into the cooler and shut the lid.

  “I told you,” Cole said. “I’m not fucking around.”

  “Clearly.”

  “With him, or about you sticking around here.”

  “Trust me,” Tommy said, “I’m already gone.”

  It had only been about ten minutes since his friendly exchange with the meter reader—or whoever the hell that was—and Cole had already packed his things into an army surplus backpack. At least enough things to survive on the road for a few weeks. He was in the backyard again, digging his old dirt bike from the shed when he heard the signature sound of a utility van’s heavy side door sliding shut. He’d spotted it across the street during his confrontation, an all-white van devoid of windows and any discernible power-company logos. It looked more like a rental than anything else. The meter reader, too. Another rental. An assassin for hire.

  Captain must have gone outside the company, since Cole knew all of their internal hired guns. They’d all been friends, and they’d all probably politely declined the job. Either that or Captain just couldn’t trust them. It was probably the latter.

  He was able to crank his bike to life right after he heard the van doing the same. Despite being all packed up and ready for the road, and saying his quick goodbye and good luck to Tommy, Cole forced himself to take his time navigating through the backyard. He paused at the gate, taking his time hitting the road. Just slow enough not to be noticed by his target, whom he caught view of at the last moment before the van turned off his street.

  It was time to pick up the slack. He raced up and gained a little ground. He rounded that same corner fifteen seconds later, in perfect position to spy and follow—and perhaps intercept. Cole was just happy to tag along behind, always several cars back, always checking his mirrors for his own tail. One could develop at any moment.

  Just when he’d caught himself staring back at that same black pickup truck, through several turns and lane changes, and just when he’d felt the sneaking suspicion that he was being followed, the truck finally went another direction. He could refocus on the moving van now. The meter reader.

  Cole tailed him through a few more intersections, gaining minute ground before he’d have to drop back again. There was less traffic, and less cover from an already suspicious meter reader. Being on a dirt bike didn’t help with issues of stealth and concealment. The driver, if his window was down, could have likely been listening to the distinct whine of the bike for the last ten minutes. It would certainly be a big tip-off to Cole if he’d been the one in the lead. But then again, his training went beyond home meter checks. Who knew what this guy’s training would prepare him for. He hoped not much. The faster Cole could establish that, the faster he could get on with his next moves: finding a provisional safe house for himself and his bike. A base from which he could conduct some surveillance counterattacks. Find out what the company knew, and what they’d be willing to do about it.

  A surge of adrenaline brought his mind back into focus. The van had slowed to a crawl, and then turned into the gravel parking lot of a self-storage facility. Aside from the rows of storage bays, the lot was sparse and totally devoid of other cars and people. Cole wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. But at least now he’d get to find out.

  His first priori
ty was stealth. He parked his bike on the road and then walked the rest of the way up into the storage facility—to what appeared to be three long strips of concrete. An empty front office was attached to the first strip, glass windows on both sides allowing for a momentary view of the van before it crawled out of sight between strips. Cole raced across the lot on foot, checking behind him one last time before slinking around the first row’s corner.

  The van was parked midway, still idling. Still very unusual.

  It got even more unusual when the driver’s side door opened, a woman stepping out and turning in his direction, squinting against the sun. Was she smiling? It was as if she’d been expecting him.

  He hated being expected.

  “Hi,” she called in a cheery voice.

  She wasn’t dressed like a meter reader. Or a professional mover. She certainly didn’t look like a killer. That fact alone got his hackles rising up, a tingle of fear. An urge to turn around and face the opposite direction of what surely was another wall of their trap.

  He checked the lot but saw no one else. From behind he could hear her voice, echoing along the narrow space between storage rows. “Looking for someone?”

  Yes, he was. That was the problem, waiting for his surprise. He’d deserved it, too, walking in like this. He turned around to see the woman sitting on the tailgate of the van, hands on her jeans, ripped at the knees, still that smile on her face. She kept up with the same cheerful tone. “Someone looking for you?”

  “You tell me,” Cole said, walking back toward her. “Where’s your buddy? The meter reader.”

  She smiled. “He’s right around that corner.”

  “I just checked.”

  “Check again.”

  His hand immediately fell to his holster, his legs widened in a proper shooting stance. Though it seemed to have no effect on the woman. He didn’t like how calm she was, just like her “power company” associate. She just sat there, her smile fading to a bored, almost tired expression.

  “Do meter readers often get guns pointed at them?” he asked. Maybe they did, trespassing the whole day onto private property. But in Hawaii? Who could be grouchy about anything on Hawaii?

  “Who do you work for?” he asked her.

  She stayed silent.

  Cole asked again, this time with the added gesture of drawing his gun. He drew and aimed it low, just under her feet, holding it steady and ready for any further escalation. But the escalation came from the opposite direction.

  “Freeze!”

  He had the woman trained in his sights.

  “Drop the gun!”

  It sounded like a cop behind him, and so the last thing he’d want to do was to make any sudden movements—especially turning around to face him with a gun. He decided on no sudden movements, just verbal ones, calmly asking the woman, “Who is that?”

  “Just lower it,” she said. “Everything’s gonna be alright.”

  He lowered it, slightly.

  “Drop it!” came from behind.

  Cole said, “Is that a cop behind me?”

  “No,” she said, still sitting there, hands on knees.

  He lowered his gun even more, and then turned his head, slowly, to find the meter man, in plainclothes now, armed, and using the edge of the building for cover. When Cole turned back to face the woman, he was met with the barrel of her gun. She had somehow drawn it in the split second he’d looked away, and now Cole had two sights on him, from both sides.

  “Drop it,” she said, firmly, but still with politeness. “Drop it.”

  He did.

  11

  Annica

  She tried tapping Ethan’s thigh again with her cross-legged foot, another attempt to steal his attention away from Jackson as the DARC Ops leader walked out of the living room. Though she somewhat understood the attraction. Even his exits were exciting, especially to women. But she couldn’t figure out what had captured Ethan’s attention. Unless . . .

  “What?” he finally said to her, glancing down at his notes again.

  “You don’t have to take notes on everything he says.”

  “I’m not.”

  “It’s not a press conference,” she said. “It’s a party.”

  “A party?”

  Mira entered the room with, “Annica?” and with another tray of cocktails in her hand. “Are you giving him a hard time again?”

  “Always,” Ethan said.

  “I’m trying not to,” Annica said. “It’s just, uh . . .”

  Ethan frowned. “It’s just what?”

  “Well, I think I should warn you, Mira. I think he’s in love with your husband.”

  Ethan dropped his pen flat on his notebook.

  “Well, he’ll have to get in line,” Mira said, her laugh caught short when Annica made the mistake of eye contact. The mistake of thinking too much, of reading too much into what should have just been a stupid joke. Both women suddenly looked away, one looking guilty and the other feeling wounded.

  “Um . . .” Annica just had to fill the silence with something. Even with nonsense, any type of inanity to push away the awkwardness of a shared past with Jackson. “So . . .”

  “So, a drink?” Mira offered her another one off the tray. They had moved on to overly stiff Tom Collins, an attempt, or so Annica thought, to dull their tongues as well as memories.

  “Please,” Annica said, clutching the glass with relief. Having still some more dulling to do, she bent the straw to her lips.

  How many more of these awkward moments would they have to endure? How many more drinks and years would it take for some normalcy?

  And where the hell were Jackson’s other two agents?

  While they continued waiting, she looked around, her thoughts racing through what was coming next. If she had to make any more small talk, it might kill her. That was saying something, given the day she’d had. Still, everyone seemed quietly overjoyed when Jackson returned. Ethan, especially.

  “So you were saying,” Ethan said, “about working for the government.”

  “Huh?” He smiled, taking his seat snug next to Mira in that goddamn love seat. “I was saying what?”

  “About working for the government, as opposed to under it in the form of military service?”

  Jackson said, “Well, yeah, there’s a huge difference. For one thing, there’s way more leeway, I mean, and that goes without saying, I’m sure.” He leaned forward to pick up his glass from the coffee table. “Is that what you mean?”

  “Sure. But what goes without saying?”

  “Okay. Another difference is that you can break the law.” He pointed at Ethan. “But don’t write that.”

  “Don’t,” Annica said, with another tap of her shoe.

  “Better yet,” Jackson said, “How about I ask you some questions? Or rather, Annica.”

  She and Ethan both slumped imperceptibly, one wanting to talk, the other wanting to stay clammed up until she could hear back from Cole, Sharky, whoever the hell he was. No, she’d found Cole. She was sure of it. He’d known who she was. She was sure of that, too.

  “What do you think now,” he said, “given your . . . experiences, in one of the Khan facilities?”

  “What do I think about what?”

  “Do you think we’ll be able to gain access without attention? I know it was easy to get in, but getting out . . .” Jackson laughed. “Well, it was easy for you, Annica. But if that happens again, to any of us, I’m guessing they’ll make sure we go dead down that chute.”

  “So you are planning on it,” she said.

  “Planning on what?”

  “Going back to the facility,” Mira said, moving her glance from Jackson to Annica. “It was my idea. He hasn’t been too happy about it.”

  “Oh.” Annica couldn’t let on how shocked she was to hear that. She would have thought the roles would be reversed. Learning that it had been Mira’s initiative made Annica see her in a different light. It was either that or the booze.

&nb
sp; “I mean,” Mira said, “why not just get it over with?”

  Jackson rolled his eyes at her. “It’s not something you just get over with.” And then to Annica, he said, “She wants to get back to her vacation.”

  “He takes me around to these ‘vacations,’” Mira said with her own eye roll. “And those other two . . .”

  “They’re fine.” Jackson finished his drink.

  “Who?” Annica said. “Your other agents?”

  “One is an agent. The other just owes me a favor.”

  “See how he ropes us in?” Mira said.

  “Oh, come on.” Jackson draped his arm around her, a python wrapping around a bunny rabbit. “It’s been good. Everyone’s enjoyed themselves.”

  “Annica hasn’t,” Mira said.

  She almost started to wonder what she’d meant by that . . . until she took another sip of her drink and said, “That was my fault. Jackson never approved of breaking in there like that.”

  “I wanted to kill her myself when I found out,” Jackson said. “They could have hired me to finish the job for them.”

  Mira chewed on her lip for a moment. “But that guy, Annica. From the facility . . . what do you think his deal was? What didn’t he . . . I mean, well . . . Why didn’t he kill you?”

  “First of all,” Annica said. “I’m not even sure if that’s what they intended to do.”

  “Really?” Jackson said, bug-eyed. “You think that’s customary? That’s just how they usually kick people out of their facility? Down the garbage chute like that?”

  “I know they were definitely trying to scare me.”

  “Right,” Jackson said. “Well, I think they accomplished that. Scared the fuck out of me.” He looked at her dead-on. “Don’t ever take a risk like that again.”

  She held her glass in both hands, looking down at it to wipe the condensation with her thumb. There was nothing really to say in response. Yes, she was scared. Of course she was.

  “Knowing what I do now,” Jackson said, shooting Annica another glare. She ignored him. “These guys aren’t messing around.”

  “So what do you know?” Ethan said, his pen against the notepad and poised to take off writing.