Bound by Steel

by J. B. Havens

  Nickoli nodded in acknowledgment, but didn’t speak.

  “What now?” Rook asked from where he was leaning against the doorframe.

  Colette responded. “Now we wait for the surveillance team to give us an update. We believe the Russians are still in their hotel, but we need a positive confirmation on their location. Then we will move in with the arrest.”

  “When will that be?” Jordon was tired and annoyed, which showed in his tone.

  “Any moment they are due to check in.” Colette looked at her watch and took a seat to wait.

  The command center was dominated by the table in the middle. The walls were lined with consoles and work stations. One wall was covered with a whiteboard and a pegboard. Walking closer, I studied the pictures there. At the top of a pyramid of photographs was Dimitri. The bastard. A thought struck me suddenly. “Collette?”

  “Yes?”

  “How do you have all this? I thought you were just doing Liam a favor, yet you have all this information, the profiles, and police records. Did you gather it this quickly or were you already working on a case?” Turning toward her, I stared her down. Anger rose up within me and I tightened my fists. “Are you using us?”

  “No more than you are using me. What matters here, Staff Sergeant, is that we all want the same thing—the Bratva taken out and destroyed. I think I need to remind you that you are here as civilian consultants only. You have no authority. You can be sent back to Scotland as quickly as you arrived. Professional courtesy alone is all that is keeping you here. Now, can we get to work or do you have any more problems you wish to discuss?” With a defiant flip of her hair, Colette went back to looking over Jones’s shoulder at the monitor.

  I hated the position I was in—not being in command, nor having the ability to lead my men the way I saw fit. Everything in me was screaming to get a taxi, go to that hotel, and put a bullet in the brain of each of those fuckers. This was the first time since the disbanding of Steel that I chafed under the yoke of civilian life.

  Chris came over to me, slipped his arm over my shoulder, and spoke softly in my ear. “Babe, if you don’t chill, smoke is going to start pouring from your ears. Sometimes you just have to take the beating to get what you want. Who cares why she’s helping us? The fact that we’re here and get to have a hand in icing these fuckers is all that matters.”

  “I hate it, but you’re right.” A shrill ringing snapped me to attention. Colette had her phone out and pressed to her ear in seconds.

  “Right. Got it. We’re on our way.” Hanging up and getting to her feet, she waved us out. “Let’s go. That was my surveillance team. They had an agent pose as a hotel employee. The room is empty. They’re not in the hotel.”

  “Jones, you and Nickoli stay here and get Brody on the line. Find a way to track these bastards. I know Trident has access to things we don’t.” I gave the command without thinking and didn’t really give a fuck what Ms. Secret Agent thought of it.

  Colette nodded at me and led us out to a single SUV. Speaking rapidly in French, she gave orders to the driver.

  While we swerved and dodged our way through traffic, I pulled out my phone and opened a live chat with Jones. “Report,” I demanded while holding onto the oh-shit handle as we were being flung side-to-side, speeding at a rate that I didn’t want to know.

  “Brody got their vehicle. The beauty of technology is that if it’s hooked to the internet, it can be hacked. They are heading south; you guys aren’t that far behind them. Look for a blue Mercedes.”

  “Dude, we’re in Paris. Do you have any fucking idea how many Mercedes there are?”

  He rattled off a license plate number and the street they were on. The driver nodded upon hearing it. I didn’t know that it was possible to go any faster, but this guy did it. I looked out the window and saw a midnight blue Mercedes E-Class sedan up ahead. It was sleek and gorgeous, and damn fast to boot.

  “Jones, talk to me!”

  “Brody is almost there. We’re waiting to get to a better position.”

  “What exactly do they need a better position for?” Colette turned around to face us in the backseat, a pissed-off expression on her face.

  “No idea. I try not to ask too many questions when Jones and Brody are working together.” My body was sliding back and forth, smashing between Chris and the door.

  “We have confirmation on the driver and a passenger. It’s Dimitri in the front passenger seat; the driver is Peter, one of his flunkies. No one else in the car.”

  “How the fuck did you get that info?” I was astounded; even for us that was fast.

  “All these cars have WiFi now; GPS, you name it. I hacked into it and turned the microphone for the hands-free calling on. I can hear them, but they don’t know that.” I heard Brody reply from off-screen.

  “Where are the others? He didn’t come to Paris with just one man,” Rook asked.

  “Don’t know. We have Nickoli running facial recognition software with the CCTV; we’re hoping to pick one of them up on the street.”

  We were leaving the city, flying down a highway in pursuit of the Mercedes. “This bucket is never going to catch them.” Chris leaned forward. “What are we doing here? Do you think they’re going to pull over or something? What’s the end game?”

  “I’ve got the end game covered,” Jones mumbled from the phone screen.

  The further we got from the city, the lighter the traffic became. The cars thinned out until we had nowhere to hide. They had to have seen us by now. “Mic, let me know when traffic is clear.”

  “Jones, what the fuck are you two up to?”

  “Plausible deniability, Mic. Just watch the road. Let me know when he’s got at least eight hundred yards with no traffic around him.”

  The seconds crawled by as we followed and waited.

  “Mic, what the fuck is he going to do? I’m the lead agent on this and I need to know!” Colette was shouting from the front passenger seat. There was a slight curve in the road which allowed me to see beyond it and far ahead into the distance. No other cars.

  “Now, Jones.” I didn’t look down at the phone screen; I kept my eyes glued to the Mercedes carrying the mob boss. Suddenly, its brake lights lit up an angry red, smoke billowed from the tires, and it began to swerve. In a flash, it was flipping, turning over and over again in a barrel roll. Colette was screaming and our driver slammed on the brakes to avoid a crash, throwing us all forward against the seat backs. Shattered glass and smashed fiberglass littered the highway with every flip the sedan made. The crunching of steel and plastic was incredibly loud. The car finally came to a stop on its roof. The tires spun uselessly and smoke poured from the engine as fluids leaked onto the pavement.

  “Mother fucker!” Colette threw open her door almost before the SUV came to a full stop. She was running toward the crash, gun in hand. We followed at a more sedate pace. My phone was still clutched in my left hand, my M9 in my right.

  “Jones? How?”

  “Brody and I activated the autonomous emergency braking. At that speed, an accident was inevitable. Is he dead?”

  “Give me a few.” Rook was in front of me; he’d run up behind Colette to the car. Chris and I were still about fifty yards away, while Pierce and Flynn watched our backs. We were pretty sure there had only been one car, but pretty sure was not good enough. Rook leaned close to the shattered driver’s side window and quickly stood back up. Looking at me, he shook his head and gave a thumbs down.

  “They’re toast, Jones. Thank Brody for me. Get back onto the CCTV; we need to find anyone else who was with Dimitri. Colette is about to give me a royal ass chewing.” I ended the chat and pocketed my phone. I stood there, patiently waiting for the agent to rip me a new one. All the while, I smiled. Maybe I wasn’t a good person, taking such joy in the death of fellow humans, but I refused to feel bad. My men, my family, were safe now. I’d take on a hundred Interpol agents if it meant my family was secure. I tucked my hands into my pockets and rocked b
ack and forth on my heels as the sound of sirens and Colette’s shrieking grew louder. Her face was red and a vein popped out on her forehead; I just grinned.

  I stared at the smashed Mercedes as the smoke grew thick and inky black, followed quickly by flames. The scream of the fire trucks grew closer and I turned on my heel and walked back to the SUV, leaving a sputtering Colette standing in the middle of the road. With a thunderous boom the car exploded, the shock hitting us all with a wave of heat and smoke. Luckily, we’d gotten far enough away that we were not in any real danger. I coughed and fanned smoke out of my face. There was nothing quite like the smell of melting plastic and burning rubber.

  “Anyone have any marshmallows? S’mores sound pretty good right now,” Flynn joked, or at least I think he was joking.

  “Yum. Toasted marshmallows with a chaser of burning bodies. Sounds like just the thing for a little psychopath like you, Flynn.” Pierce shoved him, earning one in return.

  Rook opened the door to the back of the SUV and motioned us inside. “Colette is really pissed off.”

  “She sure is.” I shrugged, completely unconcerned with her at the moment. My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was Jones.

  “We got them. They’re headed to the airport. Orders?”

  I looked up to find Colette still standing outside of the SUV. I rolled the window down and relayed the news. Glaring at me, she jerked open the driver’s door and took the wheel. “I think we’re headed to the airport.”

  “Yes. We are. I will call ahead and have them followed. They will not be getting on a plane today. After this is over, Mic, you and I are going to finish that conversation.”

  “Whatever you say.” If I laid the sarcasm on any thicker, it would be walking, talking, and asking who its mommy is.

  Colette’s nameless driver climbed into the passenger seat, speaking rapid French as we turned around with a screech of tires. She barked orders at him, none of which we could understand.

  “Well, that’s rude. Speaking a language we don’t understand in front of us.” Flynn leaned over and spoke softly.

  “You know what’s fucking rude?” Colette snapped from the front. “Causing a massive car crash and killing the suspect of more than a dozen murders, kidnappings, extortion, and every fucking thing else. That bastard could have helped us take down the entire Russian mob. But no, you had to go and fucking kill him! If I have anything to say about it, you’re going to be brought up on murder charges. All of you.”

  “Wow, she’s really mad,” Flynn whispered to Pierce.

  “Yeah, Mic has that effect on other women,” Pierce replied. I glared at them both, shutting them up.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We didn’t kill them. You saw it, Colette; we didn’t fire on them; we didn’t do dick. They crashed. That is not our fault.” We orchestrated the crash; she knew that. But the law isn’t about what you know; it’s what you can prove. Just ask O.J.

  “You’re full of shit,” Colette snapped, swerving around a minivan. The traffic was getting thicker by the second, but she wasn’t slowing at all. Her driver/flunky was on the phone, relaying her orders to whomever was at the airport.

  “Jones, update.”

  “I’ve gotten into the security feed at the airport. We see them. Tell Colette their tail is too fucking obvious; they’re going to get made. Both ass hats look like they’re packing. I have no idea how they think they’re going to get their weapons past security.”

  “Maybe they’re not,” I said, as a horrifying idea hit me. “Jones, is there any way these two know that their boss is crispy-crittered?”

  “They might. If they tried to call him and got no answer. They didn’t communicate with him while I was hacked into the car.”

  Colette glared at me from the rearview. I ended the video call and switched to texting.

  Mic: Wipe any evidence of the hack. Colette wants us arrested for murder.

  Jones: One step ahead of you. Already done. When you’re done at the airport trash your phone.

  Mic: Understood.

  “What are you thinking, Mic?” Rook’s look of concern told me that he was on the same wavelength as me.

  “If they have nothing to lose…” I let my thoughts trail off. We’d all been to war; we knew what happened when desperate men had nothing left to live for.

  Colette began driving faster and more recklessly. “Hey lady, we’d like to get there alive!” Flynn shouted from behind me.

  “Because of you fucking people, we may have an active terrorist on our hands at the busiest airport in France!” Colette’s hand gripped the wheel so hard that her knuckles were white.

  “At least you have us. We excel at taking care of terrorists.” Flynn was as cheerful as a child at Christmas. It had been a while since we were in the field taking care of bad guys.

  “You’re insane. A lot of innocent people could die.” Rook was worried.

  “They won’t have a chance. Steel is here to save the day!” Bouncing in his seat, Flynn began to sing The Boys are Back in Town.

  I tuned them all out and watched the scenery outside of my window fly by. My sense of déjà vu was strong; again we were rushing toward a destination that would include bloodshed and violence. It had never bothered me before; I followed my orders and carried out the mission, no matter the cost. But now that I was no longer active duty, I dreaded the idea of more killing. People like me, with such a specialized skill set, would forever be called upon to defend liberty and people. It was not a calling that I could ignore. Even as the pit of my stomach sank further, I readied my weapon and geared myself up for the events to come.

  Chapter 15

  We arrived at the airport to a scene of chaos. People were scattering in every direction—mothers dragging children by their arms, businessmen in shiny dress shoes rushing with their briefcases, and police running into the terminal with weapons drawn.

  “Colette, I need a sit rep, right now.” I had my door open and was halfway out before the SUV even came to a full stop. Colette, her man, and the others all stepped out after me. I yearned for my rifle; all I had with me was the M9 and one spare magazine.

  The agent with Colette hug up his phone and spoke lightning-fast French. Her face went ashen and she spat on the pavement near our feet. “Three men forced their way through security using hostages as cover. They made it to a gate, where they have more hostages, including children. They are demanding you give yourself over to them.”

  Without a second thought, I headed inside at a jog. “Bea, wait!” Chris ran in front of me and jerked me to a stop. “This is a trap. They are going to kill you the second you show your face.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. We don’t have time for this.” I shoved past him and pulled out my phone as I ran. I looked up, noticing the security cameras spaced every ten or fifteen feet. The entire airport was wired for video and sound. “Jones, I need eyes on the enemy.” I relayed the gate information and waited while he did something on the computer.

  “I see two men, both armed with two pistols each. There are twelve hostages; four are children.” His voice was deeper when he was angry. There isn’t much that pisses soldiers off more than some whack job threatening kids. We’d seen plenty of it overseas, but it was something we would never get used to.

  “Sit rep says three men. Where’s the other fucker?” I was almost to the gate, the footfalls of the others sounding behind me. I wished Jones was here, so he could set up outside and shoot these bastards from a safe distance.

  “Working on it. What’s your twenty?”

  “We’re almost there. I can see the gate at the end of this wing.”

  “Get some cover. I need a few minutes.” I could hear Nickoli swearing in Russian off-screen.

  “Jones, does Nickoli know these fuckers?” The restrooms were to my left and I headed inside. The team hung back with confused looks on their faces. “What the fuck are you waiting for? This is good cover and easily defended. Get in here.” I didn’t pay
attention to which side I’d chosen, but the urinals on the wall answered that question.

  “Yes, Mic. I know these men.” Nickoli’s face filled the screen, deep lines of worry and stress carved into his skin.

  “Don’t keep us in suspense, cupcake; spill the beans.” Flynn was looking over my shoulder at the small screen in my hands. I elbowed him back and waited for Nickoli to reply.

  “I don’t know them personally, but I know of them. They were high-ranking members before we took out Yusef. I thought all those bastards were locked up in Siberia. I don’t know how these men are free.” His distress was obvious, but I didn’t have time to hold his hand.

  “I need information now, Nickoli.”

  “Alyosha and Grisha Ivankov. They are brothers. Twins, in fact. They are called the Twin Hammers, a name they earned in prison for their exceptional brutality. They are suspected in the murders of entire families. Their signature MO is that they smash the faces of the victims with hammers, knocking out their teeth and pulverizing their faces. Rumor has it they do this so no mother can grieve over an open casket. They want their victims ruined in this life and the next. These two men are as bad as they come. I have no information on the third man. Not all of the Bratva is known.”

  “Twin Hammers? Seriously? What the fuck is wrong with these people?” Pierce showed uncharacteristic impatience as he paced back and forth across the tile floor.

  “A lot, my friend. A lot.” Flynn’s energy was refocusing; he had his sidearm out and was standing perfectly still. I could see the cords in his neck and his muscles were tensing and relaxing. His normal joking demeanor was gone; in its place was a deadly professionalism.

  “Colette, what do your people have? Do you have a sniper team on them?”

  “Yes.” She turned her phone from her mouth when she spoke, not even looking at me. “They are working on it. These two seem to be in charge; they have hostages lined up against the windows, blocking any shot. We’re trying to get information on the third man.”