by Jack Mars
The scruffy man beside her rose from his stool and strode away as the woman in black pulled the crank again. Zero frowned—for someone who had been staring so vacantly just a minute earlier, the man seemed to have some purpose in his stride.
Then he noticed that the black purse was no longer on the floor between the two stools. The man had taken it. And Zero knew beyond a doubt that it was no robbery. This was a plan.
“Better yet,” he said into the phone as he stood quickly from the stool, “why don’t you meet me at the entrance?”
He was witnessing the rendezvous. And he was going to find out what was inside that purse.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Zero trailed the man through the casino, keeping about thirty feet between them and maintaining the pretense of the phone to his ear. “There was a hand-off,” he said quietly. “I’m trailing the guy now—beard, dark hair, mid to late thirties, scruffy. Seems to be heading toward the exit.”
“I can cut him off,” Strickland said through the radio.
“Hang on.” Zero slowed, moving his lips silently and pretending to have a conversation. Ahead of the scruffy guy came a younger man in a black leather jacket—and as they passed each other, Scruffy slyly slipped the purse to him without missing a step, a quick and practiced move. The young man kept on walking, right toward Zero’s location.
“We can have dinner wherever you’d like,” he said into his phone as the guy walked past him. “We just have to find a place that’s open…” As soon as the man was out of earshot he said quickly, “Second hand-off. Young guy, short blond hair, black leather jacket.” Zero started in his direction, careful to appear casual as he did, despite the growing distance between them. “I’ll stay on him. Maria, scruffy guy is heading to your position.”
“On him,” she replied.
“Strickland, find the woman that made the first hand-off. Black hair, black dress, attractive. She should stick out like a…”
“Like a what?” The raven-haired beauty stepped out suddenly from behind a row of slot machines, so abruptly that Zero nearly ran into her. He took a quick step backward.
“Zero?” Strickland said in his ear. “Zero, did you cut out?”
“Like a sore thumb?” The woman stared him down. Her voice was deeper and rougher than he would have imagined—though he was right about her perfume. Her Russian accent was thick. She had her hands clasped in front of her, as if she was hiding something. “Who are you?”
Think fast. Zero cleared his throat, straightened his back, and in his best Russian he said, “I am Alexei Olanov, KGB. We tracked you here. We know you have the weapon. Where is it?”
He was hoping to appeal to the woman’s sense of command, but she only smirked. “You are not KGB. I know this because I am KGB.”
“They must be on him,” Maria said in the radio. “Todd, find him.”
“On it,” said Strickland.
The woman took a step closer, and Zero took another step back. Over her shoulder, the guy in the leather jacket vanished around a corner, and Zero cursed mentally.
“The weapon is already in place,” she told him. “You cannot stop it now.”
His heart skipped a beat. They were right; there was an attack looming. It was Russian in nature. And it was about to happen.
The woman unclasped her hands briefly and Zero saw a flash of silver—a tiny pistol, small enough to fit in her palm. A Derringer, or something modeled after it.
He could only imagine where she’d been hiding it.
“I ask you again,” she said. “Who are you?”
“CIA,” he said candidly. If the woman really was KGB, he wasn’t about to go for his own gun; she had the drop on him. The graphene in the jacket would stop a bullet that small… unless she aimed for his head. “I’ve got a dozen agents with me and the police are waiting outside. There’s nowhere to go. Put down the gun.”
She sneered at him. “A dozen agents, and the police? I do not believe you. Besides… you are too late.”
Too late? How could the Russians have known they were on to them? Did they know the CIA was listening in, and baited them with the rendezvous?
All he knew for certain was that he couldn’t waste time here. He needed to find the blond guy and whatever was in that purse. He tensed, ready to make his move—when Strickland’s voice crackled through his radio earpiece.
“I’ve got eyes on the woman. Coming up on her three.”
Strickland was making his move, coming down a row of slot machines. He wouldn’t be able to see Zero from that vantage point… and he didn’t know she had a gun.
“Todd, wait—”
The Russian woman’s gaze flitted to her right. In an instant she spun, dropped to one knee, and fired off two shots from the tiny pistol.
Strickland yelped.
Gamblers and casino staff screamed. The Derringer was little more than a pop gun compared to the Glock he had in his jacket—but still loud in the enormous room, and still deadly with the right aim.
In the half-second after the second shot, Zero launched himself at the woman, tackling her with his entire body weight. The pistol bounced to the carpet and under a slot machine. They rolled in a heap of tangled limbs, Zero using his inertia to come out on top. But the woman, KGB or not, was as well-trained as she was flexible. She freed one slender leg and snaked it around his neck. With a twist of her hips she threw him to the side and leapt to her feet.
Zero pushed himself up and scrambled to his feet in time to see her kicking off her second shoe, dangerously tall heels. She snatched it up, grabbed the spike of the heel, and pulled it loose.
A concealed knife. A stiletto inside a stiletto.
She flicked it out at him, and then back again, slashing tightly across his chest as he leapt back. A fleeing visitor rushed by him, knocking roughly into his shoulder. He spun as the blade came again, driving for his heart.
He barely managed to sidestep it in time.
The woman kept him on the defensive, maneuvering forward and tightening the gap between them every time he stepped back. He was half-cognizant of people nearby, running for the exit, shouting at each other. He was aware of the radio in his ear and Maria’s voice humming, but he was too focused on the knife to heed her words. As much as he wanted to go for his gun, the two seconds it would take him to reach for it could just as easily be an opportunity for her to open his throat.
The graphene, he remembered. The jacket was reinforced with an atomic-scale honeycomb lattice of nanofiber that could stop a speeding bullet by absorbing and dispersing the impact. But he knew the same science didn’t necessarily apply to blades; bulletproof vests were not impervious to knife attacks.
Yet he didn’t see much of another option. The razor edge of the thin blade sung past his nose, close enough for his breath to catch in his throat.
As the woman twisted her wrist to deliver a thrust, Zero decided to take the chance. Instead of jumping back or stepping to the side, he stood his ground and twisted at the hips, so that his right shoulder was facing her.
The blade tip connected with the fabric. He felt the impact of the stab, stronger than he would have thought the slight woman capable of. He felt the pain of it, spider-webbing out from the impact site. He even felt just how sharp and deadly the knife was, waiting for the moment when it pierced skin and pushed deep into muscle.
But the jacket held. And while his right bicep took the blow, his hand slipped into his jacket and grabbed the grip of the Glock. As he pulled it free he twisted again, and delivered a sharp-knuckled strike to her forearm and the nerve that ran down its length.
The woman cried out. Her fingers opened impulsively and the knife fell to the carpet. Zero kicked it away and aimed the gun at her forehead.
“On the ground,” he growled. “Now.”
The woman slowly raised her empty hands, palms out. “That was a good trick,” she said in English as she grinned. “Let me show you mine.” Her face suddenly contorted into an expression
of sheer terror as she screamed, in a perfect American accent, “He has a gun! Someone help me! He’s got a gun!”
Zero had been so focused on not getting sliced and apprehending the woman that he hadn’t been checking his surroundings… which meant he had not noticed the two men coming up behind him.
Thick, strong arms snaked around him and snapped him into a nelson hold before he could slip away. At the same time, a second man came in and grabbed onto Zero’s gun hand, shoving it and the barrel upward. He saw a flash of a red blazer, a black tie.
Casino security.
Then he was off his feet, being shoved to the ground.
“Oomph!” He landed roughly on his stomach with a knee in his back and two hundred and fifty pounds of Las Vegas security behind that. The Glock slipped from his grip as the second security officer pulled it from him.
“Gun secured!” the man declared, even as the Russian woman continued to shriek in terror. He had to admit, begrudgingly, that she must have worked hard to perfect her American accent.
“Wait,” Zero grunted, “I’m CIA!”
“Sure you are,” growled the security man on his back. “Tell it to the police when they get here.”
The police. He’d forgotten about them. They should have been there by now—had it been five minutes yet? He’d lost track.
A third red-jacketed guard arrived on the scene. From Zero’s vantage point on the floor, he could see a radio in the man’s hand. “Threat averted,” he said into it. Then to the Russian woman he asked, “Ma’am, are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
“No,” she shook her head, breathing hard. “I-I don’t know who he is, I’ve never seen him before in my life!”
“I’m CIA!” Zero tried to argue again. “There is a weapon here, hidden. There’s going to be an attack…”
“Pipe down!” The guard on his back increased the pressure until Zero felt like his spine might snap.
He couldn’t move. The guard had him pinned firmly. Strickland was presumably down. “Maria!” he hissed into the earpiece. “I could really use a distraction right about now…”
There was no reply—at least not with words. He imagined she had her hands full with the other Russian, the scruffy bearded guy. But then two shots rang out, clapping like thunder as they echoed around the casino, far louder than the Derringer. Maria’s Glock, he was sure.
“Jesus, what the hell’s going on here?” the guard behind him shouted in disbelief.
“Stay with him!” the one with the radio commanded. “Don’t let him move! You, come with me!” He and the other security guard, the one that had taken Zero’s gun, sprinted off toward the source of the shots.
Unguarded, the Russian woman slowly backed toward a row of slot machines.
“Hey!” Zero shouted. “Hey, she’s getting away! You need to keep her here!”
“I said pipe down,” the guard threatened. He twisted Zero’s arm painfully around his back. “Or I’ll break it.”
Zero hissed a breath through clenched teeth. A broken arm over a bizarre misunderstanding was the last thing he needed—no, that wasn’t true. The Russian woman making an escape was actually the last thing he needed.
But then he saw a black boot stepping out from behind a tall machine. Zero twisted his neck at an odd angle in time to see Strickland raise his pistol behind the woman, holding it backward by the barrel like a cudgel. With a single swift blow, the Russian crumpled to an unconscious heap, only a few feet from where Zero lay.
Strickland flipped the gun around in his palm and aimed it at the guard. “Off him, now.”
“Whoa, take it easy pal…”
“Now,” Strickland said again. Zero mercifully felt the pressure release from his arm and his back. He rolled over and quickly got to his feet.
“Thanks. You good? Are you hit?” he asked quickly.
“I’m fine, she got the jacket,” Todd replied, not taking his eyes off the guard. “Go find the guy. I’ll clean up here.”
Zero didn’t need to be told twice. He sprinted for the exit, certain that the blond guy would have made an escape once the shooting started. He hit the doors and burst out into the sudden daylight, squinting as he looked left and right. He heard sirens wailing; four police cars were screaming up the street that led to the Mirage.
And beyond them, nearly to Las Vegas Boulevard, Zero spotted a glimpse of a bobbing blond head, striding away quickly.
He gave chase, pumping his legs as fast as they would carry him. One of the police cars careened sideways in the street to block him—perhaps thinking he too was trying to make a getaway—but Zero didn’t stop. He jumped, slid on a hip over the hood of the cruiser, and kept right on running.
The blond guy threw a glance over his shoulder as Zero hit the boulevard and immediately knew he was being followed. He broke into a sprint as well. Zero had been training hard the past month, but he had at least ten years on the younger guy. He’d falter before he caught up.
You have a second gun, he reminded himself. The guard had taken the Glock, but he had the backup Ruger on him… somewhere. Where did you put it?
It was exactly what he’d feared, that his Swiss-cheese of a limbic system would blot out some crucial knowledge in a time of need. He could not, for the life of him, remember actually stowing the second sidearm anyone on his person—and he couldn’t stop and look himself over for fear of losing the blond guy.
So he had to improvise.
“Stop that guy!” he shouted, pointing as he ran. “Somebody stop him! Stop that man!”
Plenty of pedestrians paused, some staring at him curiously and others even looking toward the fleeing Russian, but no one actually tried to stop him.
So much for that idea.
The blond guy threw another brief glance back, and dared to flash a grin at Zero shouting and pointing as the distance grew between them. He did not, however, see the homeless man ahead of him sitting on the sidewalk, who casually stuck out a well-worn brown leather boot.
The young Russian’s foot snagged the boot, and for a full two-count he was airborne. He landed on the pavement with his face and shoulder in an impact that even made Zero wince, rolling twice before coming to a stop on his back and not moving.
“Thanks,” Zero said breathlessly as he trotted up. He reminded himself to drop whatever cash he had in the homeless man’s cup. “Thank you.”
“What’d he do?” the man asked gruffly. “Steal somethin’?”
“…Yeah.” It was easier than the truth. Zero knelt beside the Russian. His cheek and neck were scoured with road rash and bleeding badly. His shoulder was out of joint. But his eyes were half-open and his breath came shallow and pained; he was conscious.
Zero grabbed the small black purse and checked inside. There were only two objects in it. One was a smart phone. The other was a tube of lipstick. But when Zero pulled off the cap, he saw no wax; beneath the lid was a small plastic safety guard with a red button beneath it.
Familiarity sparked within him, followed immediately by dread. He’d seen things like this before; the CIA regularly hid these sorts of devices into everyday objects like lipstick tubes.
There’s a bomb.
Zero grabbed the young man by the lapels of his leather jacket and shook him. “Where is it? Where?!”
The young man’s cracked lips parted slightly as he said in a hoarse whisper: “Go to hell.” Then his eyes rolled back as he lost consciousness.
“Todd?” Zero shouted into the earpiece. “Maria!”
“I’m here,” she said quickly.
“Evacuate the Mirage, now. There’s a bomb. I repeat, there is a bomb somewhere in the hotel or casino.”
“Are you sure?” Strickland’s voice came through.
“Pretty sure,” Zero told him. “Because I’m holding a remote detonator.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Zero zip-tied the blond Russian and gave the homeless man a hundred dollars to keep an eye on him until the police could come pick him u
p. Then he jogged back to the Mirage, where he was denied access due to the bomb threat. At least the fact that he wasn’t attacked on sight told him that Strickland had convinced the police and casino security that they were the good guys.
More cop cars arrived, officers setting up sawhorses to keep gawkers at bay while others quickly escorted people out. Zero spotted Maria and Strickland in the crowd and hurried over to them.
“You okay?” he asked her.
She nodded. “I got Scruffy. He’s sitting in the back of a car over there. The woman is handcuffed in the back of an ambulance. You’re sure it’s a bomb?”
He handed her the lipstick tube and she tugged off the cap. “Dammit,” she murmured.
“Hey, you the CIA guys?” An older cop with a gray push-broom of a mustache trotted over to them.
“That’s right,” Maria confirmed.
“We’ve got EOD en route,” he told them. “Once this place is cleared, we’ll have to do a full sweep, every floor and every room.”
“We may not have that kind of time,” Zero said plainly. For all they knew, this bomb threat could have been a diversion from the sonic weapon.
“Hey, this is Vegas. Ain’t the first bomb threat we’ve had,” the grizzled cop replied. “We’ve got a protocol to follow.”
Maria glanced past him, at the cruiser that held the scruffy Russian. “Sergeant, can I borrow your car for a few minutes?”
The cop frowned. “You know there’s a perp in the back, right?”
“Yes, I do.”
He shrugged and passed her the keys, seeming to know better than to ask further. Maria headed toward the car. “Be back in a few.”
“There’s a third suspect,” Zero told the cop, “about two blocks south of here. He’s not going anywhere, but you should have someone pick him up as soon as possible.”