No Good Options

by Alex Ander

  Chase affirmed his assumption. “Apparently, they think only intimate partners rent these places.”

  “Okay.” Randall started for the room. “First, I need to take a lea—” he stopped and regarded the women, “I mean...freshen up a bit.”

  Devlin smiled at his attempt to keep the dialogue a little cleaner.

  “Take a leak seems,” engrossed with something on the mobile she was holding, Faith stood, “pretty accurate to me.”

  Randall snickered at the younger woman’s words before skirting around the sofa and making his way toward the bedroom.

  Chase headed for the refrigerator.

  Faith handed over Devlin’s phone. “Can you send me a copy of that?” She quickly followed up with the reason for her request. “I want to get familiar with the layout of the property.”

  The marshal peeked at the photo on her screen, a photo of Randall and Faith hugging and smiling while posing as tourists, the cabin in the background. Devlin scrunched her eyebrows at her sister. “Don’t you want all of the pictures?”

  The sensation of being caught flooding her body, Faith faltered, “Uh,” before gathering her composure. “Yes, that’s...that’s what I meant. Send them all to me. So, Chase,” she hurried toward the kitchen, “what other grub did you pick up for us?”

  ∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞

  .

  Chapter 25

  Uh-Oh

  FIFTEEN HOURS LATER

  13 MAY—12:29 A.M.

  Standing at the edge of a cliff near the top of the resort mountain, Devlin leaned left and peered over the side to see snow below, a quarter-moon’s faint rays reflecting off the whiteness. Her body tingled. “That,” her stomach muscles convulsed, “looks a lot further than seventy-five feet.” She cranked her head toward Randall. “You said it was only going to be seventy-five feet.” She peeped down at her destination again. “That has to be more than seventy-five feet.”

  Thirteen hours ago, after having spent the previous two hours discussing options on how best to sneak into the cabin housing Michael Crane, Devlin, Randall, Faith, and Chase had gone separate ways. While Chase had left the chalet to gather equipment and make extraction arrangements for the assaulters, the others had gotten several hours of sleep, Devlin and Faith claiming the bed and Randall crashing on the couch.

  Upon awakening at the sound of Chase’s return, the still-groggy trio had joined the CIA man to go over the items he had obtained as well as the parameters and timing of the forthcoming mission.

  Having completed the preparation work a few hours later, all that remained was to wait for the ski resort’s last lift of the night, 11:45, which Devlin and Randall had taken to the top of the mountain. They had then skied to the orange snow fence he had spotted earlier, where they then scaled the barrier and hid in the trees until the hill’s high-powered lights shut off thirty minutes later.

  Now, having discarded the oversized winter jacket that he had requested from Chase, and subsequently used to hide a backpack, weapons, climbing equipment, and other gear on his person, “I believe I said seventy-five feet...” Randall tugged on a rope he had tied to a tree before approaching Devlin while uncoiling the rope, “give or take.”

  She confronted him. “Give or take usually means a few either way, not a hundred.”

  “You’re exaggerating. It’s not that far down.” He stopped undoing the rope and squinted at her. “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

  She swallowed. “No. But I do have an aversion to cracking open my skull on jagged rocks.”

  He chuckled while affixing the rope to the rappelling harness secured to his waist and upper thighs. “I imagine most people would.” He tossed the rest of the 150-foot rope over the cliff and took the next few minutes to triple check his and Devlin’s descending apparatuses.

  The duo had ditched their jackets, skis, boots, and poles and were now decked out in a combination of black tactical gear and climbing equipment—ski hats under helmets, thigh-holstered pistols, rifles slung across their backs, chest rigs, hiking boots, leather gloves, rappelling harnesses.

  Satisfied with his work, Randall stood on Devlin’s left. Both faced the orange snow fence. “Once again,” he held a brake in his right hand, “hook the rope with your left thumb...”

  She followed his instructions.

  “...then grab the brake handle with the same hand.”

  She did.

  “Pull back to release when you want to,” he paced backwards, “go down.”

  She mimicked him.

  “When you let go of the brake,” he let go of the brake handle, “the rope will catch automatically and,” he tried to move but was unable to take another rearward step, “you’ll stop.”

  She practiced the maneuver a couple times and nodded at him. “Got it.”

  Randall powered up the Armasight PVS-7 3P night vision goggles attached to his helmet and lowered them over his eyes. “Any questions?” He put his back to the terrain below, positioned the balls of his feet on the lip of the cliff, leaned back, and squatted a bit.

  Devlin adjusted her own Armasight NVGs, “Just one,” before assuming a stance like his.

  “What’s that?”

  “As you know, I’m a fairly headstrong woman.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “With that being said...how in the world did I,” she cast a quick look down and faced him, “ever agree to something like this?”

  He snorted out a laugh. “I thought you told me rappelling was number one on your bucket list.”

  “Nope. This never crossed my mind.”

  “Well, now you can say you’ve walked down the side of a mountain. Anyway, this is easy. Wait until you and I are jumping out of an airplane together and parachuting into hostile territory.”

  She dragged out her next word. “Yeah. That’ll never happen.”

  He smiled, “Never say never,” and poked his chin at her. “Go slow getting over the side.”

  Devlin worked the brake, listed backward, and took a first, awkward step down the cliff.

  Randall did the same, only his initial drop was much more graceful that hers was.

  After a few tentative paces, she picked up speed.

  Ten feet on her port side, he stayed even with her.

  The twosome navigated fifteen feet of near-vertical terrain.

  “You’re right.” Her right hand on the rope above the brake, Devlin work the device with her left hand while walking backwards and scanning the green, artificially illuminated landscape below through her NVGs. “This isn’t so bad.”

  Randall gave her a quick peek before returning his attention to his footholds. “I told you. It’s fun.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t exactly say that.”

  Twenty feet down, the angle of descent steepened.

  Her thigh muscles tightened while she traversed the change.

  He looked over at her. “Just stay calm and take it one step at a time. You’re doing great.”

  Seeing the rope tangled fifteen feet down, she stopped and whipped the line twice.

  He pulled up. “Trouble over there?”

  “It’s caught on something.”

  “Hold on.” Randall shoved his body away from the rockface, swung over to her in one bound, took control of her rope, and snapped it a few times.

  The tailing end straightened.

  “There you go.”

  A loud crack came from above.

  Devlin and Randall looked up.

  A large rock bounced off the cliff.

  He pushed her. “Get against the wall!”

  She pressed herself to the rough rocks and tucked her head.

  He scaled the rope, covered her body with his, and tucked his head.

  The chunk from the mountain hit again...

  Randall felt his rope shudder.

  ...lifted into the air and sailed over the agents, grazing Randall’s helmet before continuing its downward trajectory.

  Randall glanced up before get
ting off Devlin. “You okay?”

  She cast upward and downward peeks. “What the hell was that?”

  He scanned the area above. “A rock.”

  “I know it was a rock. But where did it come from?”

  “I’m not sure. My best guess is my rope knocked it loose when I swung over to you.”

  “Does that happen often...boulders coming loose?”

  He sidestepped back to his original place, ten feet on her left. “I’ve heard of it happening, but never before experienced it. Come on. Let’s just keep moving.”

  Devlin settled her nerves with a couple deep breaths, got into position, released the brake, and eased herself down the cliff.

  At thirty feet, seeing the cliff go completely vertical, her foot in the air, she hesitated before swallowing and making the transition.

  Forty feet down, noticing he had eclipsed his climbing partner, Randall stopped.

  Devlin drew even with him.

  He gestured. “Probably only another sixty or seventy,” a tremor from the rope raced through his right hand, up his arm, and registered in his brain, “feet.” He looked up. “Uh-oh.”

  She let go of her brake and spied him. “What do you mean uh-oh? I don’t like to hear—”

  He cursed and headed down the mountain, picking up speed. “I think my rope’s been cut.”

  “What? How do—” trying to keep up with him, she worked the brake handle and lowered herself as fast as she could. “How do you know that?”

  Tossing upward and downward looks, his heart rate tripling, his mouth going dry, he quickened his pace. “Trust me. It could break at—” he felt a second spasm in the line and let out a vulgar term.

  Hearing the tone in his obscenity, Devlin faced him.

  Randall was five feet below her, ten feet over, and still moving.

  She gritted her teeth. He’s too far away. I’ll never get... she looked down, found an open area, and gulped. You got this. Squatting closer to the mountain, she pushed off with her legs and squeezed the brake at the same time.

  He felt another jerk.

  Fast-roping fifteen feet in a single bound, Devlin let go of the brake handle. Her body wrenching at the sudden stop, her head rocking backward, she threw out her legs and touched down at the spot she had eyed earlier.

  Sixty feet from the ground, observing his partner zipping by him, Randall frowned. What is she do—

  His lifeline broke.

  ∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞

  .

  Chapter 26

  Heroic Acts

  Hearing a snap from above pierce the tranquility of the night a split-second ahead of spotting Randall surfing through the air, Devlin crouched, pushed off again, and leaped toward him.

  Free-falling backwards, his hands grasping at nothing, he cranked his head toward his three o’clock.

  Her right hand on the rope, Devlin landed, leaned, Only one chance at, stretched out her left hand, and got five fingers around his shirt sleeve near his elbow.

  Randall clutched her forearm, contorted his upper body, and managed to get his left thumb and two fingers on the line above her right hand.

  Their bodies collided.

  His legs flung away from the rockface.

  Her torso and left arm absorbing the force, her grip on his shirt slipped an inch.

  They spun counterclockwise and slammed into the cliff, his helmet smacking off the hard surface.

  “I can’t,” grunting, Devlin made a face while clenching her teeth, “hold on much...”

  “Let me go.”

  “I’m not,” she dug fingernails into fabric, “letting you,” another groan, “fall.”

  “No. You’re keeping me from using my arm. Trust me, Devlin. Just let go.”

  Two ticks later, she released his arm.

  Randall dropped a few inches.

  She latched on to his collar.

  He grabbed her chest rig, hoisted himself higher, got two hands around her rope, wrapped his legs around her hips, and locked his ankles behind her back. “I got it. I’m good.”

  Devlin grabbed the rope with both hands.

  Fifty feet from the ground, both breathing heavily, they took a few moments to replenish their oxygen stores.

  She tipped her head backward and stared at the sky through intermittent visible clouds coming from her mouth. “Now what?”

  “Now,” he drew saliva into his parched mouth, “now we descend to the bottom.”

  She expelled a blast of air. “How?”

  “As one. You keep going like I taught you, and,” he filled his lungs, “I’ll go hand over hand.” He exhaled. “That way you won’t have to support my full weight. Just let me know when you’re releasing and braking. Got it?”

  “I think so.” Facing his chest, she walked her boots up the cliff to maneuver into a squatting position. “You ready?”

  Randall squeezed the rope. “Ready.”

  “Releasing.” Devlin pulled on the brake handle and stepped backward.

  Tightening his legs around her body, his hands alternating down the rope, he moved with her.

  Forty feet from the ground, she faced him. “Braking.”

  “Braking.”

  They spent thirty seconds sucking wind and letting their muscles recharge.

  She gripped the brake handle. “Releasing.”

  “Releasing.”

  She walked down the hill.

  His legs around her butt, his groin mashed against hers, Randall kept pace with her.

  They repeated this procedure, stopping every ten feet to rest, until Devlin’s boots touched down on a barren-of-snow patch of horizontal terra firma. Her rubbery legs buckled, and she fell backward.

  Off-balance, Randall caught her, but ended up toppling to the ground with her, his knee sinking into her midsection before he rolled onto his left hip.

  She gasped and hugged her belly. “I don’t know which was worse...the flight,” she coughed, “or the landing.”

  “Sorry.” He laid down on her right and lifted his NVGs away from his face. “You okay?”

  After doing the same thing with her goggles, she patted the earth beside her left hip and coughed again. “Never felt better.”

  A minute of gazing at the sky passed.

  He glimpsed Devlin out of the corner of his eye and went back to staring at the spot where she had rescued him. “That was one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen, fast-roping down and jumping over to snag someone out of midair.” He paused. “And one of the most foolish I’ve seen, too...as most heroic acts usually are.”

  She huffed. “Um, thank you?”

  “No.” He rolled his head to face her. “Thank you, Devlin.” He went back to gawking at the spot on the cliff. “I’ve had my fair share of intense firefights and frightening moments. And I’ve even almost come up on the losing end in a couple of hand-to-hand battles. But,” he shook a finger at the mountain, “that up there was the first time I actually thought I was going to die. So yeah...thank you, Jessica.”

  “You’re welcome.” A second later, her eyebrows came together as she replayed in her mind the events that had just transpired. “We’ve only been working together on two separate occasions so far, right?”

  He dipped his chin once. “That’s correct. Why do you ask?”

  “Then answer me this...how is it I always end up in some sexually compromising position with you?”

  He faced her, a scowl overtaking his features. “Sexually compromising position?”

  “In Mexico...that tiny little raft we used to get across the river?”

  “I remember it. What about—” he slowly nodded his head, “oh yeah,” while envisioning the scene she had referenced...

  Staring at the night sky, going by feel, Devlin fed another magazine into the 45 ACP. Running the slide forward, she performed a partial sit-up, pressed her left ear against Randall’s manhood, and rested the Colt on the raft’s port side.

  Feeling a tingling sensation in his priva
te area, he glimpsed himself and continued pumping his arms. “I thought you were married.”

  “Just shut up and keep paddling. I’ll take care of him.”

  Delivering fast and powerful strokes, he let out a quick snigger. “Aye aye, Captain.”

  “Oh yeah is right.” Devlin lifted an arm ninety degrees and pointed. “And up there, it looked like you had me in some sex swing.”

  He sniggered.

  She sat upright and undid the rope from her harness. “You do know I’m a married woman, right? I believe I’ve mentioned that once or twice.”

  His laughter fading, “I believe you have, yes,” he rolled to his knees, sat on his haunches, and offered her a hand.

  She took it.

  Standing, he helped her get to her feet, and they went to work on removing their rappelling gear.

  Randall flicked his eyes her way before focusing on his task again. “So,” he paused, “are you going to bring that up to your husband in your...after-action report shall we say?”

  She glimpsed him. “Bring what up?”

  “You know...the sex swing thing...and the incident on the raft.”

  She chortled. “Are you crazy? I know I’ve told you Curt’s a good man, but even good men,” she dropped the descending contraption onto the ground, brought her sound-suppressed Heckler & Koch MP5 rifle in front of her body, and eyeballed Randall, “even good men have their limits on how much they can take.”

  Randall tossed his rig onto hers, extended the collapsible stock on his own MP5 rifle, and checked the weapon’s status. “Glad to hear that. I’m already starting behind the eight-ball when it comes to him.”

  “No. You’re not.” Letting the nine-millimeter submachine gun hang from its sling, she tucked loose strands of hair under her black ski hat.

  He inserted a tiny communication device into his ear and turned on a wireless transmitter/receiver attached to his chest rig. “We’ll use comms from this point on.”

  Devlin nodded and made ready her equipment.

  He tapped his earbud. “Comms check. This is King. Do you read...” his words hung in the air while he cocked his head at her. “You don’t have a call sign of your own, do you?”