by Ronie Kendig
Dear God . . .
Gut tight, Leif shoved aside his panic and the bile climbing his throat. “Overwatch, we have a situation. The barn is full.”
“This is Overwatch,” Iliescu replied. “What do you—”
“It’s full.”
“Magpie’s on-site,” Saito said, indicating the Taiwanese president had arrived.
No time for panic. No time for anger. Focus. Solve it. At the parking garage, Leif was elevated but with a limited view. He had to get farther in. Had Iskra and Andreas made it yet?
“Runt, how many innocents?” Iliescu asked.
“Hard to count everyone in twelve acres, but Samurai suggested four hundred.” Recalling what Hermanns had told him, he glanced at the surrounding buildings. “Badge, Coriolis, watch the rooftops. ArC could have an eagle, too.”
“Roger that,” Lawe replied.
“Can we do an emergency evacuation?” Mercy asked quietly. “There’s a lot of kids.”
“Negative,” Leif said. “Doing that could trigger early initiation or whatever delivery device they have. People clogged at the exits would be prime targets.” He mentally turned to where Devine was nested atop the National Taiwan Science Education Center, another nearby building filled with kids. “We have to find the delivery device or source. Huber wouldn’t be here unless he has to manually deploy it.”
“That or he wants to go down in glory,” Lawe suggested.
“I have eyes on target,” came Devine’s voice. “Am I cleared hot?”
“Negative,” Leif barked again. “Not until we know the location of that gas and have it secured.” Holding his breath, he scanned the crowds, trying to put eyes on the target, Huber. Nothing abnormal and nobody moving fast, drawing attention. No, he would be too good for that.
Think like him.
“Target has entered the children’s theater building.”
Frustration soaked Leif’s muscles. “Copy that. Samurai, Smiley, Kitty, tighten up on Magpie and his daughter.” He had to get in there.
The sun glinted off something—a monorail. It ran the circumference of the park, elevated, loading and emptying right here at the garage. Perfect.
***
“I hated theme parks when I was a kid,” Adam said, stretched out beside Peyton on the roof of the science education center with his binoculars at his eyes. It had been interesting getting onto the roof without drawing undue attention. “Too many people, too expensive, and I could never win one of those stupid shooting gallery stuffed animals for my girl.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Peyton said, scanning the amusement park with her scope. “You’re not a very good shot.” A familiar shape bobbed into her scope.
“Baby—”
“Reaper, seven o’clock, Dragon’s Pearl,” Peyton said into her comms. They’d memorized the layout of the park to be able to talk quickly and accurately about locations. “Target is OTM toward the six of the Fun Hub.”
“Copy. Got him.” That was Culver, hesitating on the far side of the hub in gray work coveralls and a baseball hat set low over his eyes, posing as a park worker. He waited until Huber passed him, then lumbered behind the large gray trash bin he pushed that concealed weapons and a set of antidotes. “No obvious weapons. Engage?”
“Not yet,” Leif said. “Unless you see him about to deploy the chemical agent, we need him alive and ignorant. Track him. If he makes a move you find threatening, take him. I’m boots down and en route to you, Tabasco.”
“Understood,” Culver replied.
“I have eyes on Huber and Tabasco moving north toward the Telecombat,” Peyton reported. What an odd name for a ride with airplanes swinging in a circle, lifting and descending as children adjusted the controls.
Concrete and rocks dug into her as she stretched out behind her rifle, which was tucked against her shoulder, her cheek resting on the stock. Her left hand remained free to adjust dials, while her right stayed near the trigger.
She tracked Huber until he slipped into a building. “Target entered the ice cream parlor. I have no joy on the target.” Meaning she could not assist at this point. However, she kept the reticle trained on the doors.
“Got the entrance near the gate,” Adam said, observing with his own scope.
“Monitoring the north,” Leif said.
Quiet draped them as they waited, nerves wound tight, for Huber to emerge. There was no way to know what he was doing in there.
“Eyes on target,” Leif reported.
“So,” Adam said to Peyton, expelling a breath after that tense moment, “you going to give it back?”
She nearly smiled. “You bought it for me, right?”
He huffed, which she always found adorable. Funny how a 110-pound woman could bring down a beefy, brawny 210-pound guy. “Yes, I bought it for you, but I didn’t give it to you. And you didn’t answer the question.”
“As I recall that moment on the dance floor, you didn’t ask one.”
“You didn’t give me the chance. You just took the ring!”
Peyton smiled. She had the ring on a chain tucked beneath her shirt and tac vest. “Why was it in your pocket in The Hague?”
“It’s always in my pocket.”
That didn’t make sense. “Why?”
“You know, I’d really prefer to have this conversation when you can look me in the eye, not in your scope.”
“You brought it up.”
“You stole it.”
“Can’t steal what belongs to me.”
“Woman, you drive me nuts.”
“Mutual.”
Never had she intended to end up in love with a Special Forces operator. She’d gone into the military to be an operator, not love one. Somehow, falling for Adam felt a little like betraying the women she represented. But fall, she had. Hard and fast. Things had gone wonky for a while, but lately it seemed like maybe they could sort things out.
She hoped so. That ring would look really sweet on her finger.
***
The things she did on ops.
Sitting in the children’s amusement park, Mercy tried not to think too hard about the fact that Baddar was with her, his arm stretched behind her, across the back of the bench. She glanced at him, like they were talking. But they weren’t. They were watching for a terrorist, trying to figure out how he planned to unleash a toxic chemical.
And she’d done really well for the first little while. Until without the use of her brain—obviously—she’d slipped her hand into Baddar’s. He was surprised but just smiled at her with that thousand-watt smile and gentler-than-she-deserved gaze. It had been a mistake. She hadn’t been thinking. It had just happened.
He hadn’t yet released her hand. He seemed to enjoy it.
And laser beams and superpowers, so did she. Which scared her. So what if she was one of those people afraid of commitment? It wasn’t the commitment. It was losing the person to whom she committed. Like Ram. Baddar had a different name and face, but he represented everything she swore she’d never do again—patriot, commando, active missions.
No can do.
But just try looking into those chocolate-truffle eyes and saying that. She’d break his heart. Admittedly, it was strange to be on this side of the breaking power.
She freed her hand to brush invisible strands of hair from her face, then shifted on the bench. From their location, she could see the front gate, where the president was having terse words with his detail. Apparently he’d finally figured out he wasn’t safe.
“Looks like the president isn’t too happy,” Mercy muttered into the comms as if she were talking with Baddar.
“Huber seems a bit tense,” Leif answered, his voice thick, probably from having to be surreptitious. “I’m going to back off and give him room. If we upset him, he could lash out and kill these kids. Slow and steady wins the race.”
“Copy,” Mercy replied.
Silence stretched as they waited, a nerve-numbing activity.
“The
re is so much,” Baddar said, his comms off, “about you that reminds me of my sister.”
Her heart did that trippy thing—tripping up her brain so she couldn’t think. They had to sit here and blend in, and that required talking. Small talk, which Mercy really hated. It was pointless. But learning about his family . . . She had a strange, nearly morbid curiosity about his life before they met. “Armineh, right?”
He smiled. Really, she should just give his smiles ratings, because when wasn’t he smiling?
“You’ve mentioned the resemblance before but never said how,” Mercy noted, peering over his shoulder toward the front gate, where the president seemed to have been placated. What deal had been made?
“She was very tenacious,” Baddar said, glancing around, “always make our mother very frustrated. But Armineh had sweet heart.”
She loved listening to him talk. His English wasn’t perfect, but it was far better than most Americans could do with a second language. There were small hiccups where he didn’t pluralize a word or didn’t use the correct tense or missed an article, but he was crazy intelligent.
“And she was beautiful,” he added.
Cue the flaming cheeks. “Thank you,” she said, tucking her head. She wished she wasn’t prone to blushing, but with a gorgeous Afghan commando grinning at her like that . . .
His expression changed, locking on to something behind her. “Newcomers at the gate,” he said, still smiling. “Suits.”
“ID?” Leif commed. “Coriolis, you got anything?”
“Negative,” Peyton reported. “They’re under the awning. No joy.”
Mercy considered the casual manner of the foursome. And something . . . else. A couple and their children walked over to them. “They might be joining friends,” she guessed.
“Do you have family?” Baddar asked.
Man, she hated that question. “Doesn’t everyone?” Somewhere. “But my parents are dead.” She used to add sadness to the way she said that, but she hadn’t really known her parents.
His dark eyes held hers as sorrow dug in. “I am sorry. No brothers or sisters?”
“Nope.” She shifted her attention around the park, the front gate, the children with balloons skipping along. Determined not to fall down that well of darkness she’d climbed out of almost ten years ago.
When she checked the gate again, Mercy hesitated. The foursome was now talking to members of the park security who had broken away from the president’s main entourage. Security agents swung their gazes toward Mercy.
Her stomach plummeted. “Time to move,” she muttered. “We have either been made or reported.”
“Come again?” Leif asked.
She kept her face neutral. “Security is headed our way.”
CHAPTER 34
TAIPEI, TAIWAN
Leif paced Huber, pretty certain the Neiothen knew he’d been tagged by the team. But Leif would not give him room to move or kill hundreds of kids. Maybe it was time to call it. At least they wouldn’t be sitting here waiting for the toxin to kill them. At least some people would make it out uncontaminated.
What if they didn’t? What if the toxin somehow carried with the people and infected more?
Crap.
Leif had no idea what he was doing. He’d been on-site more than an hour and visually traced every pole for signs of tampering or devices. Cameras had been double-checked—all legit. Culver had checked all the trash receptacles for a device or canister. He had a handheld that detected noxious gases in his jacket pocket, but it hadn’t registered trouble.
Twelve acres of property. But this wasn’t like a theme park in Florida with tens of thousands packed in. Granted, kids would die and that was a heinous thing, but it’d be contained.
Hopefully.
“You know. You know what I would say to you.”
“Don’t.”
“I feared as much,” Rutger Hermanns said with a grieved sigh. “This is not something you can continue to hide from. As the saying goes—ego semperer—”
“Ex profundis.”
Rutger nodded. “‘From the depths I will always rise.’ It was a catch phrase ingrained in you to lure you back. To remind you of what you are. It’s like a smell that triggers a memory.”
Augh! Why couldn’t he get the memory out of his thoughts? He just wanted himself in his head. Not the fragments he couldn’t quite pull together. He’d tried to shove it aside. Bury it. Hermanns hadn’t told him anything he didn’t already suspect, but they were ideas Leif had refused to embrace.
But he couldn’t run from this anymore. Couldn’t let the bad guys win. Not this time. Enough people had died on this sick quest of ArC’s.
Andreas’s lanky form swaggered into view, Iskra at his side. Though she had her arm around him, she seemed ready to kill. And he just looked bored.
Leif hadn’t wanted her here—tried to convince her to act as part of Overwatch. Tried to leverage Taissia, but it had only made her angry. She hadn’t come this far to sit out the big confrontation.
“Heads up,” Culver said in his thick drawl from the Fun Hub. “Something’s happening. Shops and rides are closing. Still no sign of a device or canister.”
Leif blinked and checked Huber . . . who wasn’t there. He cursed his distraction. “Huber slipped me,” he growled, noting Iskra break away from Andreas and go to a refreshment stand. “Find him, people.”
“You know what he’ll do,” came the very soft, very calm voice of Andreas as he joined Leif.
“Drive them into the open.” Leif’s gaze shifted out of the building to the park. The children.
“And there’s only one way you know that.”
Leif ignored Andreas. Keyed his comms. “Reaper, he’s driving them into the open. Means his toxin will likely be gas. Anyone have eyes on him?”
“Negative,” Culver reported.
Then the others. No one had Huber in sight.
Leif balled his fist, moving quickly, searching frantically.
Andreas stayed with him. “Stop panicking. Think like him.”
Pulling up short, Leif glowered at him. “Get out of my head.”
“No,” Andreas said in a low voice. “Get in his.”
***
Peyton peered through her scope, scanning the park, trying to reacquire the target. With no joy, she adjusted down and spotted Leif with Andrew.
Then she saw someone dodging through the park in a bound-and-cover move. “Runt,” she commed.
“Go ahead.”
She watched the man lift a weapon. “Unfriendly, two—”
The man pitched forward, stumbled. Collapsed.
Someone cursed.
Peyton scanned the bloody body, the area, the preternatural silence gaping as she sorted the scene. Leif hadn’t shot the guy. But . . . “Andrew.” He was moving the body out of sight.
Crack!
“Down! Down!” Adam shouted, his hand on her head and shoving her face down. Her cheek rammed the rifle. She grunted. “Taking fire! Coriolis is taking fire!”
Peyton’s face stung, and she knew something had sizzled her skin. She dragged her weapon and low-crawled to another position.
“You okay?” Adam shouted, his tone wild with fury and concern.
“Coriolis, talk to me!” Leif barked.
“I’m fine,” she gritted out. “Ticked. The shot came from the west,” she said, mind pinging. Another sniper sniping at the sniper. “Find him.”
“Coriolis, this is Overwatch,” Command said a moment later. “Shooter to your three, nearly fourteen hundred yards.”
Peyton widened her eyes at Adam. “Three-quarters of a mile.” Resting her face on the stock, she ran through options. There weren’t many. “If we leave this nest, we leave Reaper vulnerable. And the Neiothen.”
“If you don’t, you could get killed.” His hand crept to her elbow. “We can move. Relocate.”
“It’d take too long. The attack’s happening now. The team needs me.”
“You d
on’t have to.” He only said that because he was afraid she’d get hurt.
She was afraid she’d get hurt. Or killed. “Yes. I do.”
“All right.” Anger chewed his expression and lit his blue eyes until all that was left was fierce determination. “What d’you want to do?”
Her resolve hardened. “We have to eliminate that sniper.” Amazed he didn’t argue, that he chose to stuff what she saw in his face—desire to protect her, urge to insist she leave now—she knew she’d marry him if he asked. “Fourteen hundred yards—that’s . . . that’s luck.”
Adam nodded, lying flat with her. “Slightest variation in wind or aim and you miss—by inches.”
She nodded, her thoughts rapid-firing. That was why she was still alive. Variance altered the trajectory of his shot.
“And he’ll return fire.” Grief tangled up his features, tweaking his beard, fear that he’d lose her.
She slid her left hand to his beard. “I’ll just have to trust I’m the better sniper.”
“You are.”
Her breast swelled from his unwavering confidence in her. His belief. Though she tried to smile, her body wouldn’t let her.
Peyton keyed her comms. “Overwatch,” she said, holding Adam’s gaze. “I need your eyes. Tell me what you can on this sniper.”
“Understood. Analyzing SATINT now,” came a controlled voice on the other side of the world. They provided GPS coordinates.
Adam pulled them up on his device. “Far corner. Atop an industrial unit on the roof.” He showed her the screen, and she familiarized herself with the building.
Peyton took a deep breath. Snugged the rifle into her shoulder. Still beneath the ledge that protected them, she lined up the trajectory, imagining the building out there. Readied herself—low enough not to lose her head—so she could simply push upward. The other sniper would have the advantage, not having to move. Would probably anticipate her revenge.