by Ronie Kendig
Leif patted Iskra’s arm and pointed to the end of the alley. “Cover me.”
After she gave an acknowledging nod, he sprinted toward Spill and grabbed his drag strap.
Fire blazed a trail down Leif’s shoulder as he scrabbled backward. He growled but kept moving. Amid the report of Iskra’s weapon, he hauled Spill to safety. The loss of heat and light as they fell into the shadow of the alley seemed strangely promising. He dropped next to RTB’s chief and probed his wound—a round to the back had probably punched the breath from his lungs. His leg had eaten a bullet that struck his knee.
“Team’s en route,” Leif said, tearing off a sleeve to wrap the wound. “Just hang in there.”
Spill nodded. “Dini?”
Leif hesitated. Glanced around. “Gone.”
Scurrying back to them, Iskra looked distressed. “They’re coming up the alley.”
Crap. They had to get out of here. But without a vehicle and with Spill’s leg messed up, they weren’t going anywhere.
Unless . . . Leif eyed the roof. The wall. The dumpster. He turned back to Spill. “Keys to the SUV.”
Spill considered him but dug them from his pocket.
Keys in hand, Leif said, “Stay here.”
He launched himself at the dumpster a couple of yards away. Toed it. Bullets sprayed the building, chasing him up the corner he tic-tacked. He caught the lip of the roof and hauled himself over, rolling into a flattened position. He shimmied across the rough surface, tarred and dirty. Low-crawling, he avoided the section missing thanks to the grenade, and made his way to the front of the shop.
“Runt,” came the preternaturally calm voice of Devine. “Two hostiles to your ten.”
Frustrated, he stilled. “Need the truck. Spill’s down.”
“Hold position,” she said.
Anticipating some Devine intervention, he lay there, tense about being out in the open on the roof, but also knowing that few people thought to look up when they were pursuing a target.
He heard booms seconds apart, and then came the telltale thump of bodies hitting the ground.
“Light and fast. More incoming, but you’re clear for now,” Devine said.
“Roger that.” Leif rolled over the lip of the roof, dropped to the ground, and scurried to the SUV. Instead of using the fob, he unlocked the armored Suburban with the key and slid in through the front passenger side, staying below the windshield, and drew the door closed. He jammed the key into the ignition slot and cranked it. Rammed the shift into drive and punched the gas. Giving himself no more than an inch to look over the steering wheel, he gunned for the alley. Struck the wall. Righted the SUV and again nailed the gas. The SUV rushed to the end. The wheels groaned to a stop next to the dumpster.
Through the sliver of space, he saw Iskra look at the Suburban, startled, then smile. She came up. Her eyes went wide—her gaze locked on something else. He glanced to his nine. A man stood in the alley with a rocket launcher on his shoulder.
Oh crap!
Leif threw himself out of the truck just as a heated whistle streaked through the blazing afternoon. He dived into a roll and came up, sprinting for Iskra and Spill.
Fire erupted. He was lifted into the air. Suspended like some sick dream as the concussion whipped him around and flung him at the far wall like a toy soldier. Air punched from his lungs, he dropped hard. Groaned. Came up. Fiery daggers shot through his shoulder.
Across the alley, Iskra watched him, eyes a mixture of rage and worry. But she stayed with Spill, as she should.
Leif righted himself, growling and holding his injured arm close to his body. He staggered to his feet. Stumbled toward them.
Shots spit dirt and rock at him.
“Augh!” He shoved back. Flattened himself. Grabbed for his weapon, only to find it wasn’t there. He cursed. Realized the futility of his situation, trapped on the opposite side of the road from Iskra and Spill. And shooters closing in on Iskra, who was out of ammo.
Rocks crunched. Whispers carried on the oppressive air.
Move or die. Leif rolled around the corner of the building. Eyed the ledge above. A bit high. He could do it, but his shoulder was dislocated.
Dislocated shoulder or dislocated head?
He hopped and grabbed the ledge. Strained as he drew himself up. Tried to reach with his bad arm—agony exploded. His grip slipped. He dropped. Stumbled back, grabbing his bad arm to keep it immobilized. Looked up.
Right into the business end of a rifle.
CHAPTER 9
DJIBOUTI CITY, HORN OF AFRICA
Though he knew he shouldn’t, Leif threw himself at the guy. Dove into his stomach—shoulder ablaze—and drove him backward into the open street. A shot fired, but Leif had one objective: take the enemy down.
The gunman cried out and struggled. Pain rocketed through Leif, blinding him to anything but his injury. He slumped, growling, unable to think past it. When he rolled over, he again found himself staring at the man’s weapon. Only this time the guy had a new addition—a dark stain on his shirt.
Shouts peppered the street. The gunman glanced toward his buddies.
Another report echoed through the steamy air as Leif reached for the weapon, unwilling to die like this, on his back.
The gunman dropped with a meaty thud near Leif, who scrambled up against the building seconds before he saw the hulking approach of an MRAP. It roared down the street and screeched to a stop. Leif tensed but then saw the rear door fly open. To his left, he heard another peal of tires and saw a second armored vehicle blocking the street.
Lawe and Baddar rushed to him and helped him to his feet. At the door of the MRAP, he searched for Iskra, relieved to find her hurrying toward him. He urged her inside first, then climbed up after her, moving aside as the others assisted Spill onto a cot they snapped into place over the seats.
Soon they were thrashing through the city and back to RTB.
***
“On three,” Saito warned, holding Leif’s arm with one hand and bracing his shoulder with the other.
Leif balled his fist and clenched his teeth.
“One, two—” Saito wrenched the arm back into its socket.
“Augh!” Leif went to his knees, growling. The pain slowly abated, leaving an angry reminder. Rubbing his shoulder, he lumbered to his feet. “You said three.”
“Man up.” Saito grinned.
Nursing his aching joint, Leif glowered, then turned his attention to Ghillie. “Where’s Spill?”
“Getting stitched up now, but he’ll be fine. He’s had worse.”
“And Dribbler?”
“He’ll be back. I’ll send him your way.”
“Thanks.” Leif spotted Iskra in the conference room near the windows. He went to her, slipping a hand onto her waist. “You okay?”
“We could have died.”
There were, of course, measures in place for just such a situation, but that wasn’t her point. He slid his hand behind her neck. “I’ll get you home.” When she looked up at him, he felt his gut clench again, followed by a strange warmth. “I promise.” He kissed her, as if that sealed the deal.
“Runt?” Mercy hung just inside the door. “Got a minute?”
“Sure.” He gave Iskra’s arm a reassuring squeeze, then focused on Maddox. “Did you find anything?”
“I haven’t cracked it, but there’s a file buried in there.” She glanced back at the hub. “But I think we have a problem.”
He waited.
“I think Jeeves is not who he claims to be.”
Unsettling. “How’s that?”
“He was able to track my every move, even piggybacked me. If I open that file, he’ll see it—possibly destroy it—before I can download and back it up.”
“Get it on your system, then—”
“No,” Mercy said, her face pale. “That’s just it. I think he managed to slip into my system.”
Leif stared, unable to process that.
“Exactly.” Her ha
zel eyes roared with indignation. “You can’t do that unless you’re really good. Remember how long it took DIA to even detect me when we were storm chasers?” She hooked her hands in her back pockets. “He did all that in less time. He plays dumb, but”—she shrugged—“he’s not. And I’m worried about what this file contains. Worried it’ll vanish.”
“Then just hold it for now. We’ll figure out—”
“Figure out what?” Dribbler asked with a smirk as he joined them. But when nobody answered, he backpedaled with a nod. “Understood.” He trained his gaze on Leif. “You asked for me?”
“Yeah, wanted to get your take on Fuji. Spill said you knew him best.”
Dribbler gave a lazy shrug. “I guess. Shared a bunk room with him for a few months until things leveled out with the change of duty stations.” He lifted a ball from his hoodie pocket and started snapping it against the wall, then catching it. Floor. Wall. Hands. Floor. Wall. Hands. “He was weird, if I can say that.”
“How so?”
Another shrug. “Just all into that Jesus stuff.” Dribbler wiped a finger under his nose. “I mean—nothing wrong with that, know what I’m saying? He was always watching preachers online and listening to that music.”
“Hymns?”
“Nah,” Dribbler said. “That’s what was weird—it was pop songs or something. Had a beat. Good ones,” he allowed, bouncing the ball over and over, “but it just seemed wrong for church and God. I mean, I can’t see God rocking out, ya know?”
Leif wanted to smile. Dribbler probably had never been to a nondenominational church. “Was he acting weird in any other way before he went missing?”
“Nah. Same old Fuji. God, family, and country.” Dribbler caught the ball. Looked at Leif. “Which is why this doesn’t make sense. Why would he up and leave?”
“That’s what I hope to find out.” Leif decided to change tacks. “What about this Dini who ambushed us? Know anything about him?”
“He’s always been this side of traitor. He’ll sell you anything if it feeds his kids. But this—going all Rambo on Spill?” Dribbler scratched his head. “That’s a new one.”
It begged the question of whether Dini was just a local protecting his own against the evil West, or if he was colluding with ArC. Leif would need to work that out, but right now . . .
Christian. Jesus.
“Excuse me.” Leif stalked out of the room, bugged about Dribbler’s description of Kurofuji’s faith. When a guy couldn’t decide which god he served, was he playing it safe? Or . . . ?
“What’s up?” Lawe trailed him down the hall to Fuji’s room.
Leif stepped inside and eyed the bookshelf, wishing whatever was nagging at the back of his mind would just come forward and out itself. He strode over and grabbed the Bible again. Fuji had studied it. Even watched online sermons, according to Dribbler. The Bible had been a gift from his fiancée, which meant it was important. Right? Yet . . .
He shelved the Bible and moved to the tapestry. Strange. Buddha at the middle. A journey. Pilgrimage. And the surrounding images or whatever they were called seemed . . . familiar.
How could it be familiar? No, it was just that something about this bugged him. He touched the tapestry. All four corners were secured, firm. In fact, the entire perimeter was taut. Hard. He tugged it. The left corner swung toward him. He flinched as it shifted and began to drop. He caught the edge, muttering an oath at the weight.
“Holy secret ciphers, Batman,” Maddox muttered, rushing up to him. “Look!”
Leif struggled to hold the tapestry, which felt more like a giant wobbly picture frame, then set it aside. He glanced back up and stilled, stunned. “It’s a data wall.”
Saito eyed it, too. “Most of that is Chinese—a festival, an article on Beijing, the People’s Liberation Army.” He motioned to a piece of paper. “That’s an article on the spring festival.”
“Those are blueprints,” Lawe said, pointing to another pinned item. “For what?”
“No idea.” Leif examined the corners of the schematic, looking for identifiers, but there were none.
“It’s all related to China,” Saito said, his tone heavy.
“So he went to China,” Leif muttered, piecing it together. “His target is probably there.”
“Whose target?”
Leif pivoted to Spill, who leaned on a crutch in the doorway. “You’re up—”
“What’s happening?” Spill’s tone was hard, businesslike.
“Found this behind the Buddha tapestry,” Leif said, nodding to the wall. “Articles, features, profiles, schematics.”
“For China,” Spill said. “That’s what your guy said.”
“It appears so.”
“Why would Fuji have a target?”
Leif shrugged. “We don’t know. Intel provided his name as a possible operator tracking a target. After learning he was MIA, we came here to find out who and why.”
“What else?” Spill demanded.
Not answering, Leif stared back. No way could he divulge more, and the RTB chief knew that.
Spill’s jaw muscle jounced. “I think it’s time you and your team left.”
“Agreed.”
***
32,000 FEET OVER AFRICA
“Okay,” Maddox said, adjusting in her seat aboard the jet, “to prevent any blowback compliments of Jeeves, I isolated the file from Fuji’s system at RTB and offloaded it to a separate, contained server and system.” She bounced her gaze to Leif. “Oh, and I’m totally digging up his bio. That man is not just an analyst.”
“Neither are you.”
“Maybe, but while I’m HackerGirl, he’s the Braddock Supercomputer. It was evil—tried to kill its own creator.” Her lip curled. “Jeeves is sick enough to do that.”
“Why? Because he managed to get that packet on your system?” Cell asked.
“Yes,” she hissed. “His intentions were malicious, and that ticks me off. There was no call to try to crash my system.”
“Maddox,” Leif prodded. “What did Fuji hide?”
Her eyes hit Leif. “You realize he violated me.”
“Violated your computer.”
“Same thing,” she insisted. “Opening the packet now.”
Shifting his gaze from her to the wall, Leif watched the screen populate with a couple dozen icons.
“I’ve created a subroutine to send each of these to Command as they open,” Maddox said quietly, “but I’m waiting for one to nuke my system.”
“You said you moved this to a different system.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean it won’t tick me off if it blows.”
“Understood. Open them up.”
Maddox went to work with the keyboard, then glanced at the wall screen. “That’s . . .”
“Mandarin,” Saito offered. “Looks like a list.”
Leif had no knowledge of the language, so he’d have to get read up.
“Uniform, badge, rubber shoes,” Saito read. “It’s a supplies list.”
“Print it,” Leif said. “Next one?”
A document with an image of a man and a record of some kind. Again, all in Mandarin.
Saito lifted his chin. “It’s the military personnel file for a Lieutenant Li Chongyang in the People’s Liberation Army.”
Four documents were extensive articles on the spring festival.
“Next,” Leif said, a dead weight settling into his gut. They knew where they had to go, but this wouldn’t be pretty, inserting into Communist China to stop an assassination. If caught, they’d likely get charged with attempted murder, not with interdiction of said attempt, and vanish like so many others into a prison camp.
Maddox clicked the next file. A collective gasp sped through the room as dozens of files filled the screen. “They were all in one folder,” she said. “All pictures.”
“Well, well, well,” Saito muttered. “That’s General Chang Xi.”
Leif glanced at the image. “Who?”
�
��The executive of the Ministry of National Defense.” Saito eyed them, looking a bit green. “He holds one of the most powerful positions in China’s political system. He is an active military officer, a state councilor, a member of the Communist Party’s Central Committee, and vice chairman of the Central Military Commission. Very influential in PLA decision-making.” His expression darkened, and even though he was sitting down, he seemed to stagger. “If that is who Fuji is after, we must stop him. The wrong man in that position could be disastrous!”
“Let’s get the director and Braun on the line.” Leif nodded to Maddox. “Once you’re confident those files are safe, send them to us. We’ll divide and conquer before going in, so we know what Fuji knows.”
“Leif,” Iskra said from the side, “if Jeeves was really that advanced, if he was that determined to stop Mercy from recovering the files, do you think he is part of the Neiothen?”
He huffed. “Maybe. We’ll send word to Iliescu, who can have him monitored, but we don’t have the resources to spare on him right now.” He tightened his jaw. “It’s going to take a lot more than a potentially destroyed computer to stop us from getting ahead of these assassins. We can’t be distracted and miss the chance to prevent the next murder.”
***
“Have a minute?”
At the sound of Iskra’s voice, Leif looked up from his device, then stood. “Yeah. Sure.” He checked the tarmac beyond the hangar for the chopper they’d been waiting on for the last sixty-three minutes. “What’s up?”
Iskra touched her forehead. “The explosion at the shop. It sort of worked me up.”
Her voice had a strange quality that unseated his nerves. “Me too.” Like time was short, and he needed answers now.
“I want to help the team, but I want to stay alive for my daughter even more.”
He wanted to curse. He knew exactly where this was going.
“I’m going back,” she said softly.
He felt his mood and expression darken, but couldn’t stop it. Didn’t want to stop it. “I thought—”
“Your family was brilliant to take Taissia, but I can’t leave her indefinitely. She needs me. And I need answers of my own about my brother.” She winced. “Besides, China has me on a kill-on-sight list after a botched mission.”