by Zoe Dawson
He moved off her.
Show time.
After they had cleaned up and gone to the street, a sleek black town car slid to a stop at the curb. They were driven to Vauxhall and entered the SIS offices. His team was already assembled when he and Scarlett entered the conference room.
Sir Rodney was at the front of the room. He nodded to Scarecrow in a greeting of honor. Scarecrow nodded back. He scowled at Scarlett, but she never missed a beat. She pulled out a chair and sat down.
Scarecrow glanced at Hollywood. “Pick your jaw up off the floor. Professionalism, man.”
He met Wicked’s eyes and smiled. He clasped Scarecrow on the shoulder. The other guys all offered their greetings, and it felt damn good to be with them again.
Kessler and Stone were also there and the commander of the British commandos who would relay the information to his team when they were done.
“Thank you to Lieutenant Cooper and his team for assisting us today. We have solid intel that the shipment will be smuggled into the Port of Tilbury.”
Scarecrow was aware the Port was located on the Thames in Essex about twenty-five miles from the London Bridge. It was the largest deep-sea port and handled all the container traffic into London.
“We have undercover agents who have infiltrated the group, and we will be using those assets in these proceedings.” Someone passed out literature.
The room darkened and the screen in the front illuminated. A picture came up. It was of a dark-haired, blue-eyed man in a leather jacket. “The buyer is this man, Sean Duffy, and he runs the MBFF. We have the added satisfaction of snagging him in this dragnet.” Another picture came up, and Scarecrow recognized him. “This is the seller, Ivan ‘The Terrible’ Bure. He’s an arms dealer out of Kirikhanistan.”
Scarecrow knew the bald man who seemed to have a permanent scowl on his face. He’d interrogated him for information on Blue’s whereabouts.
After he studied the layout of the port and the location of the ambush by the joint British and American teams, they went to see a 3D construction of the area.
Sometime between the briefing and the model, Scarlett disappeared. He went to Sir Rodney. “Where’s Agent Kozlov?”
“She’s preparing for the mission. We will be shipping out soon.”
Scarecrow nodded. He went to turn away, but Sir Rodney clasped his shoulder. “A moment, Petty Officer Porter.”
“Yes, sir?”
“I wanted to thank you for your selfless act when you covered that grenade with your body, risking your life for your men and ours. It was well done.”
“You’re welcome, sir.”
“Crow,” Wicked called out. “We’re moving.”
Sir Rodney looked like he wanted to say something else, but he waved Scarecrow away. “Best of luck.”
“Thank you,” Scarecrow said, wishing he’d had a chance to talk to Scarlett before this operation got underway. He entered the hall, following his teammates, and there she was. She pulled him out of line into a sheltered part of the hallway. Without preamble, she kissed him hard on the mouth.
“Stay safe,” she whispered, then she was gone. It made him wonder what part she was going to play in this shindig.
They boarded a transport, and the truck rumbled along as Scarecrow checked his weapon. The SEAL team navy liaison, who was responsible for all their gear, had brought all the stuff he would need. The M4 was in excellent condition. Just the way he’d left it.
He thought of his mom back in Bellise. He’d called her and she’d been disappointed, but he assured her it would only be for a few days. Unwilling to leave her alone, her friend Susan had come to take her back to her place to stay until Scarecrow returned. He was thankful for the woman’s help in caring for his mom.
He knew Scarlett needed him. He was the one who had talked her into doing this. If anything happened to her… He pushed that thought aside.
“That’s one hot double-o-seven,” Hollywood said.
Scarecrow met his gaze across the transport. “She’s more than that, you hound dog,” Scarecrow said.
Hollywood howled, and everyone laughed. He turned to Kid, and they howled together. “She can do espionage on me anytime.”
Wicked nudged him. “How goes it? Your mom feeling better?”
“It comes and goes, but I took her to the doctor and they can’t find anything wrong with her. No stroke, no heart issue, no artery issues. All her labs came back clean. But she has these episodes where she can’t remember anything and thinks my dad is still alive.”
“Damn. What does your gut say?”
“Something’s off, but I can’t figure it out. She gets really agitated if I go up into the attic. But it could be because she doesn’t want to move to San Diego.”
“That’s understandable. She’s set in her ways. It’s her home and yours, too. It can’t be easy.”
“It’s not.”
Wicked grunted as the transport came to a stop and they all filed out. “Spread out and cover the perimeter,” LT said as he followed Wicked. They were in a warehouse district, the flat building surrounded by a parking lot, but there was plenty of cover. He pulled out his binoculars. In the distance, he made out a truck that turned toward their location. It pulled up moments later, and several men got out along with a car full of MB Freedom Fighters. They milled about until he heard motorcycles off in the distance. Their engines got louder as he made out two slight figures on each bike.
They came to a stop even as the sellers and MBFF turned to face them.
First one dismounted the bike, then the other. Guns bristled as Sean walked across the pavement. He stopped dead and stared. Scarecrow could see the obvious shock on his face when, in unison, they pulled off their helmets. Tresses spilled out, caught on the wind that tossed the strands around like the tails of a kite. It was Kat and Scarlett, only her hair was now as red as Kat’s.
His jaw dropped open. No wonder they needed her for this mission. She and Kat were the undercover operatives. Yana Kozlov. He rolled her name around in his head. It seemed surreal that he’d gone home to take care of business and he had somehow ended up back in the UK in the company of a British spy who was searching for a war criminal.
She was dressed in black leather that gloved her tight body, accentuating every curve, the red of her hair stark against the black. That alone was enough to distract the terrorists and the arms dealer. He immediately recognized Ivan the Terrible. All the players were in place.
He saw Kid raise his rifle and sight down the scope. Scarecrow, his body thrumming with the inactivity, waited for the word from Scarlett.
Scarlett had to hand it to the man, Sean Duffy was a brash son of a bitch. The meeting at the Tilbury docks, a vulnerable position, yet one of power. He had to know he was being watched.
“What the hell is this? Maeve? I thought you were dead.”
“Ta Sean, do I look dead,”
“You don’t.” He moved across the pavement and caught her up in an embrace, then planted a kiss on her lips. He turned to Kat and said, “You be keeping this information tight to the vest, I’d say, Bridget O’Toole.”
“With my sister’s life hanging in the balance, I’d say that was my secret to keep.”
“It is indeed.”
Scarlett eyed the shipment. “Are we going to be here all day? Let’s get to it.”
The report had listed quite the arsenal, including AK-47s, grenade launchers, Uzis, Centex, and some crates that were too well guarded to get near.
Bure reached in and pulled out a weapon and handed it to Sean. He immediately handed it to her.
Her awareness sizzled as she inspected the weapon, throwing the bolt, checking the sight. Yeah, these were the ones stolen from Coronado. She thought most of the weapons had been found and seized by the Americans.
It was a surprise that Bure had them.
“Ammo?”
Bure raised a brow in a practiced motion. “You did not request it.”
“Patro
nizing me, are you, Bure? Sure as I’m not in the mood.” Scarlett tossed the weapon into the crate. “Test firing is what I’m after or the deal is off.”
Bure’s eyes narrowed. His men inched forward like trained dogs. A look passed between her and Kat. Just what they needed—a bunch of trigger-happy blokes with enough firepower to start a small war. It’d be a bloodbath she had no intention of starting.
A few feet away, Sean, leaning against the side of the truck with his arms folded, waited with the patience of a man who knew exactly what her alter ego Maeve was capable of. “She’s after it now.”
Scarlett waited a moment, meeting Bure’s pale blue gaze, and when the man said nothing, she turned toward the bikes. Kat trailed behind her, the American operative looking her mean-assed best, and Bure’s men were working at not succumbing to the distraction of her beauty. Kat might look like a runway model, but she exuded the kind of edginess that kept the index fingers of Bure’s men close to their triggers.
“O’Toole.”
She stopped, glancing over her shoulder with a look that said she’d get her weapons somewhere else. Bure flicked a hand, and one of his men, a hulking giant with caveman features, moved to a crate and produced the ammo.
Scarlett was on Bure in an instant, gripping him by the throat with one hand and squeezing. Bure choked and clawed at her hand. Kat drew her weapon on the hulk before the man could move toward his boss.
“Didn’t I warn you not to screw with me?” Her rage was staged. She’d expected Bure to make a show of power. But Maeve O’Toole had a short, nasty temper.
Bure’s face turned a darker shade as he grappled at Scarlett’s grip. His legs softened. The giant growled.
“Maeve,” Kat said tiredly, her weapon to the hulk’s temple. “Wait until this is over if you want to kill him. He’s no use to us dead.”
After a moment longer, Scarlett released his windpipe. Sean hadn’t moved, his reaction no more than lifting an eyebrow. Bure swore in Russian, rubbing his throat and coughing. He’d have the imprint of her fingers to remind him not to be so stupid.
He righted his clothing, then cleared his throat. “Forgive me, O’Toole,” Bure said easily.
Scarlett glared as she turned back to load the weapon. Kat blocked the giant from getting closer as Bure led them to where a target dummy was already set up. Scarlett didn’t waste a moment and opened fire. The others flinched and lurched back, cursing.
She inspected her target. “The sight’s off.”
Bure looked at the dummy. The head was gone. He turned his gaze on Scarlett.
“Don’t scew with me again.” Scarlett tossed the weapon at him, forcing him to catch it. “Load them up.”
Scarlett whipped out a cell phone and made a call. Within a minute, two trucks rolled onto the acreage. Undercover SIS hopped out.
“Payment?” Scarlett asked.
Bure put his hand on the crate, meeting her gaze head on. “Cash. Now.”
Scarlett inspected him from head to toe. Bure’s jaw was square, and he dressed rough, but this man was no pushover. Getting a few hundred assault rifles out of his and MBFF’s hands was significant, but these weapons had cost two American Marine military police their lives, and Scarlett wanted the lives to mean something by getting them back. It wouldn’t make up for what had been lost, but it was a victory.
Scarlett waved. SIS agents hustled forward with her payment. Bure laid the case on the creates, opened it carefully, then flipped through a stack of bills before shutting it and handing it over to the giant without a glance. It would take a currency expert to figure out it was all counterfeit.
She examined each crate. She wouldn’t put it past the jerk to fill the others with rocks. The last of the crates were loaded, and her gaze went to the armed guards on top of the buildings, in perches that were made for surveillance. The bustling area of Essex was to the left, the sea to the right. The port was in constant motion.
“Tell me, O’Toole. What was it like to be dead?”
“Peaceful.” Scarlett gave the man a smug look that was sinister and real. Bure’s expression didn’t change.
An uneasy feeling made the hair stand up on the back of her neck; her attention narrowed.
She exchanged a look with Kat, who had gone suddenly tense.
Sean pushed off the truck and walked slowly across the pavement. When he got to her, he grabbed her violently by her jacket. He jerked her against him. “Maybe you could explain to me why it’s taken you so long to resurface and why there’s a rumor among our ranks that you’re an undercover double-o.”
She heard Bure chuckle, then say in Russian, “Kill them all and take the shipment.”
She could only think to stall for time. Kat went to raise her weapon, and Scarlett shook her head. Kat knew what was said and Bure’s intentions.
“Are you crazy, man? I had to lay low, and I ain’t no stinking government toady.”
“Is that so? Well, we’ve got something planned that I think you’ll be interested in. When I’m done with you, you will beg me for death. Today, the elitist parliament will be reduced to rubble.”
“What are you going on about?”
“There’s a bomb beneath it, love.”
“I thought we lost the warhead.”
“Ha, that was just a decoy. After what they did to those Kirikhanistan rebels, we knew the Americans would send a team in for the warhead. So Bure provided us with another one that he generously obtained from the Chinese.”
Oh, God. She could only be thankful that everyone was hearing this through her comm. “Where is the bomb, Sean? You’re never going to get out of here alive. You might as well give it up.”
“These are the last words you and your sister will ever hear. I’ll make it quick.”
She didn’t wait for him to follow through. “Now,” she shouted and both she and Kat hit the deck. He pointed the gun at her, and she squeezed her eyes closed.
That’s when all hell broke loose.
14
A high velocity round hit Sean dead center of his forehead. He dropped to the pavement, his face only inches from hers.
Thank God for the good guys.
Bure shouted, and men ran for cover, a hail of bullets above them. She and Kat were out in the open and exposed.
“Move, ladies. Covering fire incoming.” It was the sound of Scarecrow’s LT, Cooper.
“Evacuate Parliament and everyone in a five-block radius. There’s a bomb somewhere in one of the disused tunnels.”
“Copy that,” came the reply. “In the works, now stop jawing and move your asses.”
“Copy that loud and clear. Moving our asses,” Kat said as she started to crawl toward the motorcycles and the corner of the warehouse. She had her weapon in her hand, and she took out two gun-toting smugglers.
All Scarlett could think about was the number of people that had to be moved. The devastation of a bomb. She had to get to it in time.
She flipped to her stomach and crawled after Kat. She inched closer and closer. Kat looked back and shouted. Bullets chipped the pavement near her. Kat squeezed off a succession of shots. “Move!” she shouted.
“To hell with this crab walking,” Scarlett muttered under her breath.
She got to her knees, then her feet and sprinted for the bike. She scooped up the helmet and slammed it on her head. A hail of bullets peppered Kat’s bike.
The whooshing sound was all she heard before the explosion hit, shaking the ground and shattering glass and wood. Something solid hit her and drove her to the pavement. She landed hard on the ground, pain driving up through her hip.
“Got you, darlin’,” he said just as the motorcycle’s gas tank exploded, sending out fragments of metal. It shot straight up in the air, spewing fire, and came down in a huge chunk of burning, twisted metal. She felt the burst of hot air on her exposed skin and turned to look. Chunks of concrete, dirt, and debris burst around her, the visor of the helmet protecting her eyes.
She im
mediately looked for Kat, but she had already sprinted beyond the kill zone and was safe.
She rolled out from underneath Scarecrow and straddled the bike while bullets continued to fly around her. “Get on!”
He complied without hesitation, his arms wrapping around her waist. “We’re going for the bomb,” she said into her mic. “Hold on.”
She leaned the bike into her right hip and found the balance point. She gunned the throttle and popped the clutch. The back wheel spun and rotated the bike around her in a tight one-eighty. She clutched, opened the throttle, and took off.
“We’ve got company,” he shouted, and she heard his sidearm discharging as she raced the bike across the dock going around slow-moving vehicles and obstacles.
“They’re still on us!” Scarecrow said, the sound of bullets mixing in with the roar of the engine.
This was a high-performance machine, and by God it was going to perform. She glanced back to see a black SUV gaining on them. She opened the throttle and blew through the gates, braking hard to spin the wheels onto the road. Scarecrow held onto her like a limpet.
“To the right,” she barked. She braked hard and threw her body to the right, the motorcycle burning rubber and sliding like it was on butter. She reached back and grabbed her firearm.
She could feel every muscle as he flexed his big body and open fired. She aimed for the SUV’s right front tire, and it exploded. At the high rate of speed, it was all over. The vehicle flipped.
It landed on its side and kept skidding. Windows shattered with a pop, the sparks of metal to asphalt spraying like fireworks till it stopped sliding and smashed into the guard rail a good forty feet from the impact. She set the stand with the heel of her black boot and swung off the bike. The men in the truck had no intentions of giving up. A shooter kicked out the windshield, weapon first, and another one of them crawled through the back like a worm, blood from a gash at his temple rolling down his face.
Scarlett ejected the magazine, jammed in a fully loaded one, and racked the slide as she strode toward the hunk of useless metal.
They had picked on the wrong double-o. She put several bullets in each. Scarecrow double tapped them, headshots for extra insurance.