by Brad Taylor
Taking a seat on the outside deck, the tables around me full of FBI agents, I honestly hoped that Lannister wouldn’t show. Praying he’d decided his career wasn’t worth treason.
But he had.
I saw him at the entrance and felt a little sadness. He recognized me from the parking garage and had come right over. He’d said, “Okay, I couldn’t get much, but I got some stuff.”
I’d said, “Where is it?”
He’d passed across a thumb drive and said, “That’s the maintenance records for the last six months.”
I palmed it and said, “This had better not be a bunch of shit from the motor pool.”
He glanced left and right, then looked at me, saying, “It’s not. Trust me. We’re done now, right?”
I nodded and said, “Oh yeah, we’re done.”
I stood up and walked away. Twenty agents descended on him, slamming him into the table. I passed the thumb drive to the lead agent at the door and he said, “Thanks. We appreciate it.”
I said, “No problem.”
He palmed the thumb drive, paused, then said, “If you don’t mind me asking, who do you work for?”
Seeing Lannister McBride facedown on the table, a flurry of agents around him, and feeling the sleaze of the last three days, I said, “A Syrian refugee. That’s who.”
I saw his eyes cloud in confusion and left him there, walking to my car. Inside were Jennifer and Amena.
I got in the passenger seat feeling tired and dirty. I said, “Let’s go. Take me away from here.”
Jennifer did so and Amena said, “So you got the bad man?”
I said, “Yeah. I got the bad man.”
“Beth will be happy.”
And that brought a smile. Because she was right.
After the assault, we’d returned to the sleazy hotel and had rapidly packed up, cleansing anything that could point to us. Amena had asked a ton of questions and Beth had acted like she was unsure of her fate. We didn’t have the time to sort out anything right then because we’d left a houseful of dead people that was about to be ground zero for the greatest news story Folly Beach had ever seen.
I’d taken Beth in my car, and Jennifer had taken Amena, both of us driving back to our house on the peninsula.
During the drive, Beth had asked, “What are you going to do with me now?”
I’d passed her my cell phone and said, “Quit that. We already talked about what’s next. Call your father. Tell him you’re coming home.”
Stunned, she’d just looked at me. I said, “No tricks. Call him.”
She’d picked up the phone like it was going to explode and said, “You’re going to let me call whoever I want?”
I’d said, “Yes. As long as it’s your family. If he’s like me, he’s begging to hear from you. Like I was with Amena.”
She said, “I haven’t been allowed to talk on a phone that Slaven didn’t own since forever.” She dialed, but I could tell she was afraid to speak. When someone answered, she said, “Daddy? Is that you?”
And then the waterworks had started. By the time I’d reached my home she was blubbering so hard I doubt anyone on the other end could understand what she was saying. I’d parked behind Jennifer, and Beth hung up, staring at me.
I said, “We have a couch for you tonight. Sorry, I don’t have a spare bedroom.”
She wrapped her arms around my neck and squeezed, saying, “I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to give you.”
I hugged her back and said, “You gave me Amena.”
She’d sniffled, then nodded, unsure what to do next. I said, “But if you really want to pay me back, maybe you can give Misty a little help. I don’t think she has a family like you do.”
She’d nodded her head so hard I thought she was going to break her neck. She’d spent one night in Amena’s bed—Amena saying she’d sleep on the couch—and we’d taken her to the airport with a ticket I’d purchased for Colorado.
It had been a little emotional at the drop-off, with her breaking down yet again and Jennifer beginning to do the same. I’d hugged her and said, “Remember what we talked about. Just like Misty, you can say whatever you want, but don’t give away our identity. Just say you escaped from the motel.”
Beth had asked not to be identified to the police right away, and I’d honored that request. She’d said she’d contact them after she was home and I didn’t see a problem with it. After all, it wasn’t like there was anyone left to prosecute, and Misty had been in captivity longer than Beth. All Beth would be doing was confirming the information Misty told them.
She’d laughed through the tears and said, “I don’t even know your real name. I don’t know anything about you.”
I said, “You know enough to cause problems.”
“Why is saving me a problem? You should be on the news as a hero.”
Amena said, “He doesn’t like the spotlight. I don’t know why, either.”
Beth bent down and hugged her, saying, “He’s a pretty cool guy, huh?”
Amena took Jennifer’s hand and said, “Yeah, they’re both pretty cool. For old people.”
Beth grinned, then turned to me a final time. She hugged me, squeezing hard, and said, “I’ll keep in touch with Misty and Tess. They’ve got the police stuff to sort out here, and Tess will be in the hospital for a few weeks. but my dad says they can come stay when they’re done.”
I said, “I appreciate you helping them out. I’m sure they do as well.”
She said, “My dad’s starting a nonprofit to help people like me.”
“He is?”
She shyly smiled and said, “Yeah, I didn’t tell you before, but he’s sort of rich. He asked me to help.”
I grinned and said, “I think you’ll be perfect at that. Better than perfect. You’re the only one who knows what happens. You can save others who are lost.”
The shyness dropped away and she nodded fiercely, saying, “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
I was surprised at how quickly her courage had returned, given what I’d seen in the motel. It was a good sign. Jennifer pulled her close and said, “You can free more of them than we ever did, that’s for sure. Tell your dad that. Don’t quit.”
She said, “I’ll never, ever quit.”
And I knew she meant it.
She’d hugged Jennifer and then was gone, inside the airport and on her way to restart her life.
Two days later, I was being forced to watch a series about medieval folks on an ice wall bitching about the winter coming. But I had to admit, I liked Amena’s fascination with the show. I pulled Jennifer into me and felt content.
Then I saw some guy having sex with his sister next to a dead body, right on our television.
I snapped upright, flinging Jennifer off of me, and said, “What the hell are we watching?”
Amena turned to me and said, “What?”
I snapped up the remote, saying, “No, no, no, no.” I looked at Jennifer and said, “Did you know that stuff was happening on the show?”
She shook her head, saying, “I had no idea.”
Amena said, “Put it back on!”
I said, “No, that’s not going back on. You can see it when you’re older.”
She leapt up and said, “Pike! Put it back on.”
“No. It’s not going back on. You’re done with that series. Winter has come and gone.”
She scowled, crossed her arms over her chest, and I saw the war coming, like had happened six days ago. Jennifer gave her a gentle look and the scowl fell away.
Amena smiled and said, “Okay, Pike. Okay.”
Surprised, I said, “Really?”
She’d never wanted to listen to me before, always fighting anything I’d asked, like she was an outsider being forced to bend to my will. Now, she was bending all on her own. It was a breakthrough.
Amena looked at Jennifer, then me, and said, “Yes. Because you’re family. And I’ll never fight my family again.”
If you enjoyed Exit Fee, keep reading for a sneak peek at the next action-packed thriller by Brad Taylor,
Hunter Killer
Available in hardcover Winter 2020 from William Morrow
Chapter 1
The road in front of me was empty. Just a narrow alley leading to the entryway I intended to penetrate. A fetid, cobblestone lane built centuries ago, it was dimly lit, with more shadows than light and piles of trash hiding what may lie within.
Anywhere else in the world I would have silently cheered at the luck, but here, in Salvador, it raised the hackles on my neck. Empty roads in Brazil were like hearing the wildlife in a jungle suddenly go quiet, all the birds and monkeys realizing there was a predator afoot.
I was in the historical section of the old capital city, with plenty of folks less than a hundred meters away at restaurants and bars, but nobody was walking down this alley. Meaning there was a reason for the lack of activity. It was counterintuitive to anything I’d felt before, where the bystanders were most often the threat. Crowds allowed camouflage for individual hostiles, like pickpockets, but more important to me, they prevented offensive actions by a team.
There were just too many cameras and cell phones in today’s world, devices that recorded an event no matter how careful one was, so an empty alley was the perfect approach for me, and yet, I’d learned in my short time in Brazil that empty meant dangerous. For some reason, the humans here knew not to enter, an instinct that I should pay attention to.
Unfortunately, that was out of the question because a bad guy, my target, held my best friend’s life in the balance.
I turned to Aaron, and said, “That damn alley is going to be trouble. I can feel it.”
He knew what I meant. We didn’t worry about the “trouble,” per se; we worried about the mission, and whatever was waiting for us there could hinder that.
He said, “Hey, we only have twelve hours before the clock is up. That’s a blink of an eye for hostage rescue. We need to go tonight, or we’re not stopping what the police have in motion.”
I said, “Shoshana seems to think this is bad juju because of the monks. Maybe she’s right.”
He chuckled and said, “My wife is a little off. Like you.”
I nodded, but still hesitated, running through my options. He squinted his eyes and said, “You believe her. You think this is going to go bad because of what she felt.”
I said, “Aaron, cut the crap. She’s crazy all right, but sometimes she has a point. That’s all.”
He withdrew a Glock pistol, press-checked the chamber, and said, “One way or the other, we need to make a decision. And I think you’re afraid of her saying ‘I told you so’ because of this alley.”
I grunted a laugh and said, “Yeah, something like that. But you’re right. Too late now.”
I clicked my earpiece and said, “Koko, Koko, I’m about to penetrate. What’s your status?”
Koko was the callsign of my partner in crime, Jennifer, so named because she could climb like a monkey. She said, “I’m good. On the roof over the balcony. The OP is in position, and I have a clear shot.”
“Roger, all. Carrie, Carrie, you have lockdown of the front?”
Carrie was Shoshana’s callsign. Because she was bat-shit crazy just like the Stephen King character.
Ironically, the man I was working to save had anointed both of them with their callsigns. Which is why they were both willing to risk their lives to free him. They loved him as much as I did.
She came back, “This is Carrie. Front is secure. But I still think this is a mistake. We should not be assaulting a church. It’s bad. Bad all the way around.”
I looked at Aaron and said, “Yeah, I agree, but I don’t get to pick where terrorists stay. I just wipe out the nest, wherever that ends up.”
She said, “It’s not the church itself. It’s something else.”
I took that in, then looked down the alley. I said, “You want to help here? I think I have your bad feeling, too.”
She said nothing on the net. Aaron whispered, “Good call. The front is facing the tourists. She’s not needed out there. Get her in play.”
Through a combination of means, we’d tracked our target to the back of an old convent tacked on to a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Called the São Francisco Church, it had existed since the sixteenth century, with an ornate Gothic façade that now was the anchor of a square housing outdoor cafes and art galleries.
The front of the church—and the square it faced—was a completely safe place for tourists in the old capital of Salvador, but just outside the light, down the cobblestone streets we were on, the predators prowled, waiting on a stray lamb to leave the lights and laughter.
I took a look down the dimly lit alley, seeing the narrow confines of the ancient street snaking down the left-hand wall of the church, reconsidering whom I was asking for help. I’d left Shoshana to pull security within the crowds of tourists for a reason.
Off the net, to Aaron, I said, “I’m not sure that’s so smart. She’s better protecting us defensively. Out front. Away from the action.”
Aaron said, “Because you don’t trust her offensively?”
“You’re damn right. She’s a walking disaster. Better for Jennifer to do it.”
“Jennifer’s on the roof. Shoshana’s perfect for this and you know it. Jennifer would be better as bait, with her blond hair and innocence, but Shoshana’s the next-best thing.”
He turned away for a moment, then looked me in the eye, saying, “Shoshana’s a killer, but she’s pure. She won’t do anything if it’s not warranted. Honestly, I’m more concerned about you.”
Aaron had seen what I was capable of, and he was hitting at the core of the mission. Could I maintain control? It was a good question, because in an earlier life, he’d almost killed me, and in so doing, he’d killed a friend of mine. The results hadn’t been pretty. He’d seen what I was capable of when I was walking the edge, leaning way over, and now I was operating in that same zone. Something he knew about.
I said, “I’m good. Don’t worry about me. Just worry about the threat.”
He nodded, but I could see he wasn’t convinced.
Shoshana came back on the net, whispering with an urgency neither Aaron nor I understood, “You feel something too, Nephilim?”
Aaron grinned, and I returned it, holding up a finger before he got on the net. I said, “Yeah, but it’s not because of some damn ancient church. It’s because I can’t get to entry. I don’t want a gunfight. I need quiet, which means I need you.”
“So you want me to do what?”
“Walk down this alley from the back. Expose any threat that may prevent our entry.”
She said nothing for a moment, then came back, “That’s what you want? Me as bait?”
Aaron’s eyes widened, and I saw him reaching to key his mike, him saying, “That’s not how to get her to execute.”
I held up my hand again and beat him to the punch, saying, “Carrie, this is the threat. This is what I feel. And this is what I need.”
Aaron and I looked at each other, and I felt my cell phone vibrate in my pocket. Shoshana came back on and said, “This is Carrie. I’m moving to the south of the alley. I’ll be coming south to north. I’ll have the light on my phone going.”
I pulled out my cell, saw it was Jennifer, and realized she didn’t want to talk on the open net. I held it up, then whispered to Aaron, “Tell Shoshana that all we need is to flush out any threats. We’ll handle it. I don’t need any crazy shit here. She just walks toward us until someone triggers. Or until she reaches us without a trigger.”
Aaron nodded and I answered the phone, saying, “What?”
Jennifer said, “You’re going to let Shoshana loose in that alley, after you felt a threat? Let’s back off. Attack a different way.”
I saw a pinpoint of light at the back of the alley and said, “Too late. She’s in.”
&nb
sp; Jennifer said, “That’s a bad call. She’ll kill anyone who threatens her.”
I said, “If it’s the guys that we’re hunting, I don’t give a shit.”
She said, “Pike, don’t go there—”
And I hung up, watching the light. Not wanting to think about what I’d just said. Not after what had happened to my friend. She knew where I was headed, because she’d seen it once before. I knew it, too.
The difference was I wanted it.
The light bounced down the alley until it was abreast of our entry point, and Aaron and I began slinking down the lane, hiding from the streetlights behind us, stepping over the trash to avoid the noise. We closed the gap, both wound as tight as a tripwire, waiting. And it came.
Two men assaulted Shoshana from both sides of the alley, one from behind a dumpster and the other from a gap in the bricks.
They slammed into her in a synchronized assault, and we took off running, reaching them just as they gained the upper hand. I saw one man cinch his hand into Shoshana’s hair, then bash her skull into the cobblestones. The second had his arms wrapped around her legs, pulling out a blade that glinted in the moonlight.
They were in total control, right up until we reached them. Aaron slammed his boot into the man holding her hair and I jumped on the man holding her legs. I caught a glimpse of their fight, and then was subsumed with my own.
He began attacking me, attempting to hammer my face with elbows and fists, and then hit me with the knife in my forearm. I blocked the initial blows, returned them with my own, then felt the blade slice through my jacket, nicking my flesh.
The wound he caused split open the blackness, the anger inside me boiling out. I gave him everything I’d bottled up over the last week. I abandoned my “team leader control” and let the beast run free, looking for vengeance.
I battered his face, trapped his wrist against his torso, the blade now useless, circled around his body, and wrapped him up in my arms, pressing his head forward into his chest. He began frothing at the mouth, flailing his one good fist, and then gave up, dropping the knife and raising his other hand in an effort to surrender. It did no good. I wanted a release, and I worked to achieve it. I pressed him further, going deeper, until I felt his neck snap.
