by L. T. Ryan
He gave her a quizzical look, to which she shrugged.
“Look for a gray BMW.”
Chapter 11
Minutes passed with no new information. Clive’s analysts combed through every news and government report. They tracked trending hashtags on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram, weeded through the garbage and isolated firsthand accounts. A few blog posts already had surfaced. Shocked responses filled the comment sections of pages, posts, tweets, and images.
The room became a living, breathing organism of its own during moments like this. Each person fed off the next. They became tuned in to one another. These were the moments breakthroughs occurred.
Clive chewed his bottom lip as he waited for one of his people to speak those glorious words. I’ve got something. But so far, five minutes—three hundred individual seconds Clive had counted—had passed, and no one had uttered a syllable.
He paced the walkway, winding around the pods. Isa’s workstation always his starting and ending point. He stopped behind the woman again, resting his forearm on the rigid plastic seatback of her Herman Miller chair. She had twenty-two windows open on her monitors that he could count. Probably more tucked away behind them or minimized into the taskbar.
She glanced back at him, offered a forced smile that said we’ll figure it out. He couldn’t find any confidence in it. He took a step back and filled his lungs with the cool air piping down from the wide vent. He exhaled and made his way across the room. When he reached the end, he would tell half of his team to take a break. Get some coffee. A baguette. Bring him back something. He pivoted on the hard sole of his Tom Ford wingtips. It made a slow whooshing sound. He opened his mouth to speak.
“I’ve got something.”
His lips remained parted, though nothing came out.
The click-clack of fingers on keyboards ceased. Not all at once. More like the trailing gunshots as a firefight settled.
Chairs hummed along the carpet. Dull footsteps echoed and died as everyone made their way to the central walkway.
Only Isa remained seated.
Clive made it halfway before she piped footage onto the larger displays of what appeared to be the inside of a hospital.
Pandemonium.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Getting this out of southern France.”
“Confirm that is a hospital, Isa.”
“Yes.”
“What’s happ—” It was all he could say before the image of armed gunmen dressed in tactical black appeared from the far edge of the screen. They carried submachine guns and did not hold back on using them. Muzzle blasts shone obscenely large on the feed like those close-up pictures of sun flares. One of the attackers went to reload, letting the magazine drop to the ground. He kicked it out of his path and it bounced off a lifeless body as he gunned down a nurse who held up both hands and pleaded for her life.
“Why in God’s name are terrorists attacking a hospital in southern France?” Eddie said. He looked back at Clive. Was that fear in his eyes? Couldn’t be. Not Eddie. “There’s nothing important within a hundred miles of there.”
“There’s your answer,” Clive said.
“Gotta be more to it than that,” Eddie said.
Clive nodded; he’d already surmised as much. “Isa, distribute the hospital information and those feeds to the entire team. I need the name of every employee, patient, and visitor in that hospital today, yesterday, last week, and pending admittance for next week. I want the name of every person who lives in that town. I want any surveillance footage we can find from outside the hospital. These guys didn’t walk five miles to get there. Let’s get their vehicles.”
For a moment everyone remained frozen in place, stares glued to the displays. People continued to drop. The gunmen were relentless. Why shoot up a hospital?
“Let’s go, people. Who’s closest in the field?”
Lacy spoke up as she hurried to her workstation. Her limp only slowed her lightly. “Sadie. I can reroute her.”
Months of nothing. Now Noble was within their grasp. And then…this. A shooting at a hospital. Had to be connected. Clive would bet his life’s savings on it.
“Get everyone moving in this general direction. Send Sadie to the hospital. I need her there within an hour, so if you have to call up a heli to move her, do it.”
He heard his blood whooshing in time with the seconds on the bank of LED clocks that stretched along a wall. New York. L.A. London. Calcutta. Beijing. Tokyo.
“Here we go,” Eddie said.
Clive stopped counting the seconds and walked over to his desk.
“Sasha Kirby. MI6.”
“What is MI6 doing there?”
“They’re not,” Eddie said. “Kirby is. Got caught up in the middle of it. Fortunately, she was armed, and managed to take one of the shooters out and lead several people to safety.”
“Any word on how many there are?”
“At this point? No.”
“What do we have on Kirby? It can’t be coincidental that she’s there.” Clive knew her name in passing but had never worked with the woman. What he knew was good, but that meant nothing. Her placement at the hospital raised the proverbial red flag and he would regard her as a suspect until she wasn’t one. He considered making a phone call to one of his former associates at Legoland to see if they knew anything about this yet.
Isa waved him over to her station. When he arrived, she hunched forward, gesturing for him to do the same.
“Should we go to my office?” he asked in hushed tones.
“I can’t leave my computer,” she said. “Are you getting the feeling that this Kirby has something to do with this?”
He gave her a terse nod, then singled out the three analysts who shared Isa’s pod. “Drop whatever you were doing and find everything you can on Sasha Kirby. Banking, family, close friends. I want it all. Isa, you delegate who does what.”
The group morphed into a cohesive unit as Isa put each person on a specific task.
“Sir.”
Clive stepped back and turned. Lacy stood a foot away. Small beads of sweat glistened at the edge of her hairline. She had an Army background, enlisted at first and then a warrant officer, and it showed in the way she stared at him. Rather, not looking him in the eye, but past him. She spent eight years as an MP. An investigator. Her CO recommended her to Clive. Her initial assignment in his organization had been in the field, where she excelled. The job was the perfect match for her skills and temperament. She had a mean streak and a tenacity about her that meant she stopped at nothing to get her man, or woman. The team referred to her as their Pit Bull. A nasty fall from the ledge of a five-story building after she’d miscalculated her jump across an alleyway left her with a femur broken in two places and a shattered pelvis. The accident resulted in a six-month rehab and spelled the end of her time in the field. But she was a damn good investigator, and Clive couldn’t let her talent go to waste, so he brought her inside. Due to her op experience and familiarity with the other operatives, she naturally assumed the duty of handler when the previous team member left.
She smoothed her pulled-back strawberry blonde hair, wiping away the perspiration at the same time. Perhaps she’d caught him looking at it. “Sadie is less than thirty minutes away from the hospital.”
He glanced over at the monitors. “Do we have a live feed from the scene?”
“Coming,” Isa said.
A few seconds later the monitors all appeared to glitch at the same time, and the images were replaced. The scene could have been lifted from Aleppo. Bodies strewn about the hallways. Doctors and nurses with blood-stained scrubs hurried past the fallen to attend to the wounded. No better place to triage, he supposed. Then again, how many of the patients now were their own co-workers?
“Confirmation that the activity has subsided?”
“By all reports the perimeter is secured, but the hospital has not been cleared. It will be some time before the GIGN, the French versi
on of a SWAT—”
“I know what they are.”
“Right, well some time before that team will arrive. No gunshots reported recently, though.”
Lacy lifted her cell phone and raised an eyebrow at Clive. “It’s Sadie.”
“Patch her through.”
The call rang through to his cell. He answered.
“Clive, what’s going on?” Sadie said. “I’m being re-routed to a hospital? Did our mark wind up there?”
“Hardly,” he said. “From what we can tell, someone orchestrated a terrorist attack.”
“At a small regional hospital in France?”
“Doesn’t sit well with me either.”
“Is it still ongoing?”
“We think they’ve got it under control.”
“So, what am I supposed to do there?”
“Find a woman named Sasha Kirby.” He snapped and pointed at Lacy, signaling for her to upload an initial dossier to Sadie. “She’s MI6, or was. We need to know what she’s doing there. I can’t accept that it’s coincidence that the same day we locate Noble because someone tried to take him out, there’s a random attack in the middle of France and Kirby happens to be there.”
“You think she’s involved?”
“I’m not making that leap.” He paused a beat. “Yet.”
“And if she won’t talk?”
“Then I suppose I will be making that jump.” He caught sight of Lacy wincing at his words. He turned his attention back to the call. “We’ll have everything we can on her by the time you arrive.”
Chapter 12
Jack tucked the beat-up little car into a corner of the garage out of reach from the sunlight streaming in through grime-stained windows. The engine ticked after he cut the ignition. Exhaust fumes mixed with the smell of gasoline and oil crept in through the vents. Shadows danced across the concrete structure. More to do with the trees outside the building than any possible inhabitants.
“We shouldn’t stay here too long,” the woman said.
Jack didn’t respond. In part, he wanted to make sure no one else was present in the garage. He also wanted to see how the woman reacted. She’d gone from sleeping in the backseat to offering him a potential getaway. If he had picked her up right behind the hotel, he’d have reason to be more suspicious. But it took work to find the idling car at the end of the alley. Could the hit team have predicted his escape route? Possible. But doubtful.
She exhaled, pulled her knee to her chest and her foot on the seat and shifted to wedge herself up against the car door.
The engine settled into a silent lull. The garage remained still, with only the sound of a wayward tree branch scratching against a window.
Noble pulled the latch slow enough it didn’t click too loud. But the door banged as it fought free from the frame. The sound echoed across the cavernous space. He remained still for a moment, his right hand rested on his pistol’s grip. He caught the woman throwing a glance at the Beretta.
“Would you really use that in here?”
He scanned the three rows of compact and mid-sized vehicles in search of movement. “I’d use it anywhere.”
“You think someone in this building would be a threat to you?”
“Everyone’s a threat to me.”
“Even me?” She arched an eyebrow and tapped that soft spot beneath her pronounced clavicle.
He thought it over for a second, shrugged, and exited the car without answering. A moment later, the other door clicked, banged, and squealed on busted hinges. She cursed in German, a harsh and hushed sound that might as well have been a tirade by a drunk with a megaphone. She fought the trunk hatch open and continued cursing. At least she didn’t slam the lid shut after grabbing a black nylon duffel and tossing it over her left shoulder. The bag rested against her hip. She adjusted the strap for balance. Her footsteps clanked against the concrete and bounced off the walls as she hurried to Jack’s side.
“Wanna take out a billboard and announce we’re here?” he said.
“I think rolling that shitty tin-can through the entrance was announcement enough.” She shrugged the duffel’s strap back onto her shoulder and pointed at the gray BMW. “That’s it. Fob is in the cupholder.”
Jack took in the space again, then turned toward her. “How do you know this?”
Her cheeks turned two shades of red and she glanced away. After a sharp inhale and a couple of false starts, she said, “I met him last night.”
“Where?”
“A club.”
“What kind?”
“What?”
“A strip club?”
“Dance.”
“Drugs?”
She shook her head.
“Drinks?”
She nodded her head.
“Lots?”
She shrugged and looked like she wanted to bury her head.
It all came together for Jack. “You came back with him.”
“We’ve got a real genius here.”
“Never met him before?”
She flashed a hardened glance at him. “Don’t judge me.”
“I couldn’t care less what you do and who you do it with. I’m wondering what this guy’s patterns are. How long we’ll have before he reports his car stolen.”
A slight smile formed on her full lips. “He was into some heavy stuff. I turned it down, otherwise I’d still be in bed. We’ve got at least six hours until he’s back in business.”
“So, there were drugs.”
“Pills,” she acknowledged. “Like I said, I didn’t take any.”
“Wait here.”
Jack noted that the only security cameras in the garage were positioned by the entrance and exit lanes and they faced the street. Everything they’d done since parking had gone unrecorded. It would only be a matter of concealing his face when leaving. Maybe the license plate, too.
He found the driver’s side door unlocked. The fob in the cupholder. A six-pack of bottled water with labels written in a language he didn’t understand on the backseat. The picture made it clear enough they came from some glacier millions of years old, so the water had to be pure.
He slid in behind the wheel of the M5. Looked like any other Beemer, but this one had some power to it. It started with the push of a button. The low growl of its 500-plus-horsepower engine was ready to roll. He eased out of the spot and directed the car toward the exit and offered a quick nod and two-finger salute to the woman whose mouth dropped open as she realized he was leaving her behind.
So, she sprinted forward and jumped in front of the car.
Noble hit the brakes. The car squealed to a stop, the bumper inches from her knees. He pressed the button to roll down the windows.
“The hell are you doing?”
“You’re not leaving me here.”
“You’re not coming with me.”
“Please.” She glanced over her shoulder, licked her lips. “I can’t stay here.”
Jack got the sense that the woman was as desperate to get out of Luxembourg as he was. Her troubles didn’t amount to what he faced, but she was running from something.
“I don’t have time for this shit.”
She jerked her head a couple inches. Her eyes locked in on something. Noble checked the rearview. The door held open for a second, then swung shut. The yellow cone of light turned black. And in the darkness, he saw a figure.
The woman ducked and rushed to the side of the BMW.
He leaned over and opened the passenger door, waited for her to get in.
“We should find your friend,” he said.
She shook her head. “I don’t want to get her in trouble.”
He stopped and waited for the gate to raise. “What kind of trouble?”
She looked toward the window, said nothing.
He took a last look in the rearview. Whoever had entered the garage was out of sight. “You got a name?”
“Ines.” Then she turned her head toward him. “You?”
&
nbsp; “Jack.”
“You look like a Jack.”
“Doesn’t sound like a compliment.”
“It’s not.” The words were not accompanied by a smile or wink or any other gesture indicating what she had said was meant to be taken in jest. Instead, she turned back to the window and stared at the dark corner of the garage. “Can we get out of here?”
They covered their faces as they passed the security camera, then worked their way back to the main road.
She held her hand to her head where it had smacked the dash when the sedan hit them.
“How’s it feel?” he asked.
“Like someone took a sap to my face.”
“Let me have a look.” He switched hands on the steering wheel, then reached over to feel the lump near her hairline. “Feel dizzy? Nauseous? Headaches? Anything like that?”
She shrugged the question off. “I’ll be OK.”
“We should stop once we’re outside of the city.”
“Don’t. Let’s get across the border before the car is reported stolen. We can get a lot further in France or Germany.” She noticed his concern. “They aren’t going to stop this car for a border check. This thing signals middle-to-upper management. Another boring corporate asshole making his way back home to continue his dull life.”
“Who hurt you?”
“Shut up.”
Jack brought up his mental map of the area. He preferred to go to Belgium. Less restrictive. Could get to the coast. Easier to get to England where he had at least one friend. Plus, the beer in Belgium was better there than anywhere else in Europe. But it was also the furthest drive from Luxembourg City. Every minute they were on the road, they risked being found. For the moment they had a vehicle they could take on the highways. The quickest route out was south to France.
He picked up the A3 inside the beltway and made the drive south toward the border. They settled into the traffic pattern, keeping pace with a red Mercedes coupe.
“Why’re you so desperate to leave?” he asked.
She took her eyes off the rolling green scenery for a second. She chewed the corner of her bottom lip. “That guy was an asshole.”