by CW Browning
“The blood is still trickling out,” he said grimly, straightening up. “We just missed whoever did this.”
“It couldn't have been Kwan,” Stephanie said, checking the man in the other chair. She frowned at his youth, placing him somewhere in his early twenties. “He wouldn't have the skill to do this.”
“No,” Blake agreed, looking around. “This was a professional hit. Clean and quick.”
“Did you see anyone when we came out of the elevator?” Stephanie asked, glancing up.
Blake shook his head.
“Nothing,” he answered.
“They had to have left through the door,” Stephanie said, straightening up and looking around. “There are no other exits and the windows don't open.”
Blake nodded, staring at the bodyguard with the wound in his throat.
“Definitely professional,” he murmured. “They left Moon for last.”
“How do you know?” Stephanie asked, watching as Blake moved to the entrance of the living room.
“By the way they were killed,” Blake told her. “The killer entered through the door, surprising the bodyguard and snapping his neck. He moved into the living room, where he met the second guard and did the same thing.” Blake moved forward to where the second bodyguard stretched out, then he pointed to the third guard. “By this time, someone, probably Moon, alerted the third guard, who came from that room with his weapon drawn. The killer didn't even have to move from this spot. He threw a weapon, cutting off any sound the guard was making. Judging by the size of the wound on his throat, it was probably a heavier knife with a wide blade. Once the bodyguards were down, the killer moved forward and killed the kid with the laptop the same way he had the first two guards.”
Stephanie stared at the bodies, impressed despite herself.
“And all this would have taken...how long?” she asked.
“Less than a minute,” Blake answered.
“And Moon?”
Blake looked across the room at the dead terrorist.
“The killer pulled out his gun and went over to him. Moon tried to get up, note the hands on the chair, but the killer shot him before he had time to move.”
Blake went over to Moon's body and bent down to examine it. While he did, Stephanie looked at the laptop laying on the floor next to the chair. She pulled on gloves and bent down, turning it over. There was no flash drive plugged into the USB port. Frowning, she looked over to Moon.
“Hey, check his pockets,” she told Blake.
Blake looked up, startled.
“What?”
“His pockets!” Stephanie repeated urgently. “Kwan gave him the virus not twenty minutes ago on a flash drive. There's no flash drive over here with the laptop, so check his pockets.”
Blake pulled out a pair of gloves from his jacket pocket.
“The things I do for you,” he muttered. “You're lucky you're cute, Agent Walker.”
Stephanie just grinned and quickly went through the pockets of the kid in the chair.
“It's not here,” she said, glancing at him.
Blake went through Moon's pockets quickly.
“Nothing here either,” he said.
“That's not what I want to hear,” Stephanie exclaimed, looking around the room. She glanced at the wine and cheese basket on the table and lifted it up, looking inside.
“You think he dropped it in the basket?” Blake demanded, his lips twitching.
Stephanie replaced the basket with a sigh.
“Do you think he had time to leave the room before our killer came in?” she asked.
“Doubtful,” he said thoughtfully, still crouched next to Moon's chair. “Kwan left and we saw him as soon as he got to the front door. It couldn't have taken Kwan more than five minutes to get down the elevator and through the lobby, and that's being generous. It probably took less.”
“So, Kwan left and the killer came in,” Stephanie said thoughtfully. “The killer would have been in here while we were tackling Kwan downstairs.” She shook her head. “You're right. Moon wouldn't have had time to leave the room, hide the flash drive, come back and sit down in the chair.”
“The flash drive should still be here,” Blake said, turning back to Moon.
He slid his hands down the sides of the cushions on the chair, careful not to move Moon's body too much as he felt between the cushion and the chair, checking to see if it had slipped down there. Blake quickly checked one side, then the other.
“Nothing,” he said in answer to the question on her face. “It's not here.”
“Shit!” Stephanie spun around and stalked a few feet to the door angrily. “The killer must have taken it!”
“At least you have Kwan,” Blake remarked. “He can recreate it, with the proper encouragement.”
“That will take weeks,” Stephanie muttered. “I don't have weeks.”
“Kwan should be able to tell you where the money went,” Blake said, glancing at her. “But the thought of that virus out there in the open market makes me want to take all my money out of the bank and put it in my mattress.”
“Tell me about it,” she agreed, pacing in frustration.
Blake started to straighten up, then paused and looked again at the hole in Moon's temple. He leaned forward, taking a closer look.
“Looks like the same caliber that killed our Cartel friends,” he murmured.
Stephanie stopped mid-stride and stared at him, her blood pounding in her ears.
“What did you say?” she demanded breathlessly.
“The bullet,” Blake repeated, glancing at her. “It looks like the killer used the same caliber as whoever killed Lorenzo and Ramiero. Looks like a .22.”
“Oh my God!” Stephanie breathed. She spun around and headed for the door.
“What's wrong?” Blake called.
“I have to make a call!” Stephanie shot over her shoulder and disappeared out the front door.
Blake watched her go, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Turning, he went over to the third body guard and crouched down. He gently turned the guard's head and examined the wound in the neck closely. After a moment, he released the head and stood up, a thoughtful frown on his face.
Blake looked around slowly at the five bodies, killed with accurate precision. Only a professional with special training and nerves of steel would have been able to pull this off with such speed and accuracy.
Someone like a government-trained assassin.
“Oh Mikey, you really can pick them,” he murmured under his breath, shaking his head slightly and turning toward the door.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Stephanie strode through the lobby, her phone pressed to her ear. The other end rang a few times before switching over to voicemail. She pressed end with a low curse and dropped the phone back into her pocket. John, standing inside the door talking to another agent, glanced up and saw her coming. He frowned at the thunder on her face and started forward, meeting her halfway.
“What happened?”
“Moon's dead,” Stephanie said shortly, “and the virus is gone.”
“Where's Blake?” John asked, pulling out his phone and hitting speed dial to call it in.
“He's still up there.” Stephanie stopped and faced John. “Where's Kwan?”
“In the back of Blake's car, under guard,” John told her.
“And the mystery attackers?”
“No ID yet,” John said. “Their prints aren't in our database.”
“Of course not,” Stephanie muttered, turning and continuing toward the door. She paused, then turned back. “The killer's long gone, I'm sure, but let's keep the building sealed off anyway. No one gets in or out until we sort this all out.”
John nodded, turning away to give the report on the phone. Stephanie continued out the door of the hotel without looking back. Neither of them noticed the slim musician get up from a chair behind a potted fern nearby. He moved across the lobby, his soft guitar case over his back, heading for the
hotel bar. As he walked, his head bent over the phone in his hands and he typed away on the screen. Anyone watching saw a sight they saw hundreds of time a day: a young man engrossed on his phone, oblivious to everything around him. The musician hit send and slipped the phone into his pocket as he wandered into the bar.
A few seconds later, 140 miles south of Philadelphia, a secured message came through on a tablet.
FBI have custody of Kwan. Moon is dead, and virus missing. Two agents down. Awaiting instructions.
The message elicited a soft curse and then long, deadly silence as the reader stared at the tablet, lost in thought. Finally, slowly, they answered:
Abort mission.
Viper was waiting for Hawk when he returned to his white electrical van in a parking garage a few blocks from the hotel. She was leaning against the side of the van, the hood of a black sweatshirt pulled up over her head and her arms crossed over her chest. One ankle was crossed over the other, and as he moved across the parking garage, she raised her head slowly, her face cast in shadows.
Damon didn't need to see her face to know she knew the truth.
Suppressing a sigh, he continued toward the van, watching her as he approached.
“Mission accomplished?” she asked when he came within feet of her, her voice a chilling caress on the breeze.
“How long have you known?” he asked.
“Does it matter?” Viper asked, her eyes glittering dangerously.
“I guess not.”
Hawk pulled out his keys and beeped the van unlocked, moving to the back. Opening the back door, he tossed the guitar case inside and closed the door. Viper was on the other side, inches from his face. He hadn't heard her move from the side of the van.
“What's the story with Kwan?” she asked him, blocking his path to the driver's door.
Damon sighed and leaned against the back of the van, his blue eyes shuttered as he looked at her.
“I don't know,” he told her. “I was sent for Moon. I didn't know anything about Kwan until I got here.”
Viper stared at him for a long moment, her face unreadable.
“How long have you been tracking Moon?” she finally asked.
“Four weeks.”
Alina's eyes narrowed and she shook her head slightly.
“Any ideas who was running Kwan?” she asked.
Damon shook his head.
“No,” he said. “Do we know someone was?”
“Well, two spooks with government written all over them tried to kill him tonight,” Viper told him, leaning next to him and crossing her arms over her chest again. “So, someone was watching him.”
“You were there?” Hawk asked sharply, glancing at her. He encountered a cold smile.
“Yes.”
“You weren't...” Damon started, then stopped, his blue eyes searching hers.
“No.” Alina dropped her eyes from his. “Your little speech about Moon not being my target did its job, even if it did have a hidden agenda.”
Damon winced inwardly at the razor-sharp tone in her voice.
“Then what were you doing there?” he asked, ignoring the underlying barb for the time being.
“Kwan dropped off the grid after he extracted the virus,” Alina replied. “I knew the only person he would sell the virus to was Moon. I also knew someone in the CIA was protecting him. I promised Stephanie I wouldn't let Kwan slip through the cracks.”
“So you came to make sure he didn't disappear after giving the virus to Moon,” Damon finished. He smiled reluctantly. “I hope the Fearless Feds realize what an asset your friendship is.”
“They might not see it that way just now,” she murmured ruefully. “I gave them two extra bodies.”
“The spooks after Kwan?” Damon asked.
Viper nodded.
“They went for him in front of the hotel,” she said. “The Fearless Feds seemed paralyzed, so I took matters into my own hands. There were three of them. I got two, but the third went into the hotel and never came back out.”
“Any scouts?”
“Not that I could see,” Viper said. “If there were, they were in the park with me.”
Hawk stared across the garage thoughtfully.
“You think another section of the agency wanted the virus?” he asked.
“I can't image what else they would have wanted with Kwan.”
“Well, they didn't get it,” Damon said softly, pulling a flash drive from his pocket. “I did.”
“Did Charlie ask for that?” Alina asked, glancing at the flash drive.
“No.” Hawk tucked it back into his pocket. “But it was too dangerous to leave it behind.”
“If Stephanie's basement gnome is as smart as they think he is, he could probably use it to find out where the money went,” she commented thoughtfully. “Lord knows Stephanie could use a break right now.”
“I'll consider it.”
Alina nodded and fell silent. Her phone vibrated against her thigh, but she ignored it. Damon glanced down at her, his eyes dark and unreadable.
“It wasn't all a lie, Viper,” he said softly.
She raised her head and Damon caught the flash in her eyes before they became guarded again.
“We both lie,” she said with a slight shrug. “I guess now we're even. At least you didn't drug me.”
“Lina...” Damon turned toward her, but she held up her hand, stopping him.
“It's done,” she told him flatly. “There's no point in discussing it.”
“I think there is,” Damon muttered, his blue eyes glinting dangerously.
“You're entitled to your opinion,” Alina retorted, straightening up. Her entire body hummed with warning, making him think twice about trying to pursue the subject. “Are you leaving town now?”
Hawk studied her for a long moment, his face suddenly unreadable.
“That depends on you,” he finally said.
Viper gazed back at him, her eyes cold and shuttered.
“No, Hawk,” she said quietly. “It never depended on me.”
Michael sighed and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He was sitting on the deck in the darkness, drinking a beer while Angela was still pacing around the living room on her Bluetooth, trying to put out fires at work. Raven perched on the roof of the garage, settled down and watchful, keeping one eye on Michael and the other eye on the trees. He had been there since Michael came outside half an hour before, trying to escape Angela's level of stress inside the house.
Michael glanced at the name on the incoming call and raised an eyebrow.
“Hey,” he answered. “Kind of late for you to be up, isn't it?”
“Look who's talking, old man,” Blake retorted good-naturedly. “Some of us have work to do, you know.”
“Or the appearance of,” Michael shot back with a grin, drawing a chuckle from his friend. “What's up?”
“Your girlfriend around?” Blake asked, his voice turning serious.
“Why do you want to know?” Michael answered, frowning.
“Moon's dead,” Blake told him. “Someone went in and took out him and his entourage. They had a window of maybe eight to ten minutes to get in and out.”
Michael stared across the dark lawn.
“And you think it was her,” he said, rather than asked.
“She's the only professional I know of in the area,” Blake replied. “Not saying it was her, but it's a pretty big coincidence.”
Michael sighed, rubbing his forehead. Viper wasn't the only professional in town, but Blake didn't need to know that. Blake already knew too much as it was.
“Even if it was her, and I'm not saying it was, what are you going to do about it?” he demanded. “You can't touch her. She's got protection at levels higher than mine!”
“Hell, Mike, I don't want to do anything about it,” Blake protested. “As far as I'm concerned, whoever did it should get a medal. This guy was an asshole and no one could get near him. I'm not shedding any tears over here.�
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“Then why are we having this conversation?” Michael asked, lifting his beer to his lips.
“I just thought you'd be interested,” Blake told him. “Look, Mike, your business is your own. God knows I'm the last one to judge and give advice. But, if you find out it was her, do me a favor? Tell her to stop getting involved in FBI investigations. Trying to keep track of the bad guys is hard enough without having to juggle a scary-ass, highly-trained, bad good-guy!”
Michael chuckled.
“You're just pissed that you have paperwork now,” he accused him.
“Damn straight I am!” Blake retorted. “I have to go. Stephanie's giving me the evil eye. I'll catch up with you tomorrow.”
“Ok,” Michael agreed. “Blake?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for calling.”
After a brief silence, Michael could almost see Blake nod his head.
“No problem, gunny,” he replied.
It was nearly three in the morning when Stephanie finally rode the elevator down to the parking garage beneath the FBI building. John had left about half an hour before, unable to keep his eyes open any longer. She shook her head tiredly as she leaned against the side of the elevator.
Splitting her time evenly between the two crime scenes, she had spent most of the time at the hotel running between the Parkview Suite and the roped off driveway. The two musicians had been shot precisely in the head, from the direction of the park. Agents sent into the park reported two light posts were shot out in a corner of the park with a clear view to the front of the hotel. Beyond that, they found no other trace of the shooter.
Up in the Park Suite, the situation was similar. Five dead bodies were the only pieces of evidence to say that a killer had ever been there. Stephanie thought they caught a break when one of the techs found a wireless camera in the wine and cheese basket on the table, but the excitement was short-lived. The camera had already stopped transmitting, making it impossible to find the wireless signal source. Blake had bagged it and tagged it, but Stephanie didn't hold out any hope. Matt wasn't a miracle worker, no matter what they all liked to think. After discovering the miniature camera, Blake went through the suite again, looking for more, and came up empty.