Hunting The Kobra

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  She would be a fool if she stayed. Dima must find another way to learn about the Kobra. Quinn would face whatever the consequences were for her actions in Washington. Anything, even jail, was better than this insanity.

  She almost ran along the passage to the outer door, wrenched it open and staggered out onto the carpeted corridor. She didn’t want to turn right and head toward the board room. It would take her back to the same madness.

  She turned left instead and found herself at the blank end of the corridor, looking through the feature window. There was nowhere else to go.

  She pressed her hand against the cold glass, leaning against it, breathing heavily.

  A hand patted her back, in sympathy. Quinn swiveled her head to the side, to see who it was.

  Mitchell put his back against the wall, his elbow brushing up against the window. He wasn’t smiling anymore, although warmth showed in his eyes. “You need anything, kiddo?”

  The “kiddo” bothered her. She was older than Mitchell and she was taller, especially in heels. Right now, though, she really was a babe-in-the-woods. She clamped down on the need to laugh because it wouldn’t be a healthy expression of humor.

  The hysteria pushed at her. It would be much easier to let go, to vent her despair and horror, to fling it from her and let it fall over everything in the vicinity, careless of how it made her appear, or the danger it would put her in.

  Just for a moment, she longed for a padded room where, for five blissful minutes, she could let herself react to everything she had seen and heard. Only she couldn’t do that. If she let go now, she would die. She knew it as surely as she knew the notes of Mozart’s Fifth Symphony.

  Quinn dug her fingernails into her palm, accepting the pain and the orientation it gave her. She stared out the window. “I thought I was beginning to know Noah. I wasn’t even close. I don’t understand how I was so wrong.”

  Mitchell’s reaction was also unexpected. He snorted in derision. “Poor you. You have no idea what lost faith means.”

  Quinn was beyond any capacity for surprise. She just raised her brow because she knew how effective it was in coaxing someone to continue speaking.

  “I was in Afghanistan,” Mitchell said. “Four tours. I was the only one who came back from the last one. Twenty-five of us in the unit and here I stand.”

  “What happened?”

  “What always happens. We were let down.” Mitchell rolled his eyes. “There were a lot of explanations. Administrative error. Computer failure. Networks hacked. Intelligence analysts guessing wrong.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. We were left out there with our asses hanging in the wind.” His gaze met hers. “Don’t speak to me about people letting you down. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “How can you work for Aslan, after that? You know what his products do. You’ve probably seen it for yourself. How can you say people let you down, then turn and hand the same people even more of the weapons which destroyed your team?”

  Mitchell’s face tightened. His brow came together. It was the first time she had seen him scowl. “Aslan does more to protect the world than anyone out there. Military leaders have to deal with political bullshit, budgetary restrictions and leadership by committee.” His mouth turned down. “Aslan makes sure the right people get the right tools and makes sure the wrong people never get their hands on this stuff.”

  Quinn was astonished. Mitchell honestly believed it. His words were energetic, his face fired up with genuine enthusiasm. He was as warped as everyone else here and all this time she believed it was a cover.

  “You’re insane,” she breathed. “You must be to believe that.”

  “I was stupid, then I woke up.”

  “Aslan is the sickest son of a bitch I’ve ever met. So is Noah.”

  Mitchell laughed. “You have no idea what real power is. The people I work for—” He cut himself off so abruptly, it was as if his voice had been chopped by a guillotine. The expression in his eyes and the way he worked his mouth was what people did when they wished they could take something back.

  Quinn drew away from him. Only, there wasn’t anywhere to go. The other wall of the corridor pressed up against her back. She found herself hemmed in by the glass window on her left and something attached to the wall on her right. She didn’t dare take her eyes away from Mitchell to see what it was blocking her way. “You work for Aslan—or is that all a lie, too?”

  Mitchell shook his head. It was an expression of regret. He moved toward her. “See, you had to be all doe eyes and stupid.” He reached for her.

  Quinn lurched to her right. The object attached to the wall jammed her shoulder and slowed her down. It was solid, green and heavy.

  Mitchell shoved her back against the wall. He shook his head again. This time it was an order to stay still. “Why didn’t you just die when you were supposed to?” He reached behind him as he spoke and withdrew a matte black knife with holes in the handle and a short sharp blade. Even the blade was black. It looked lethal. “You fucked everything up from the beginning.”

  Quinn reach to her right and felt out the shape of the thing blocking her escape.

  “Of course I don’t work for Aslan!” Mitchell ground out. “He’s just another soft fool. He wouldn’t deal with Denis when he should have.”

  Quinn moaned. “You killed Denis…”

  “I gave the order. Someone had to. He was talking to the wrong people. Known CIA contacts. Aslan didn’t believe Denis would betray him when the man was already doing it. Denis would have destroyed everything.” He hefted the knife. “Sorry about this. It’s nothing personal.” He swung the knife.

  Quinn ripped the funnel off the top of the fire extinguisher on her right, slid her fingers through the ring at the end of the pin and yanked it out.

  She felt the blade of the knife slice past her hips, for she had twisted out of the way. The blade jammed in the long peplum of her jacket. The material ripped.

  She slapped the silver handle of the extinguisher. Immediately, the air filled with white fog. It enveloped Mitchell’s face. He staggered back, waving his arms. He cried out, covering his eyes. The knife dropped.

  Quinn knew it wouldn’t be enough to stop him. She had learned something about ruthlessness in the last few weeks. She gripped the handle of the extinguisher, unbuckled the harness holding it to the wall and swung it with all her might.

  It whistled through the air, dispersing the fog, and slammed into the side of Mitchell’s head. She heard a wet crunching sound. His hand dropped from his face, the fingers at odd angles. She had broken his hand.

  He lunged for her, his good hand scrabbling at her throat. Quinn swung the extinguisher one more time, feeling sick. This time it hit the back of his head and he fell forward against her.

  Quinn gave a breathless cry and shoved him away. Mitchell dropped. He didn’t slither to the floor—he fell like a chopped tree.

  Quinn dropped the extinguisher and rolled him over. His eyes were open. He wasn’t breathing.

  She fell onto her ass, coldness filling her. At the same time, the glass of the big windows shivered and cracked. Something buzzed by her cheek, with the low sound of a heavy bee.

  A sour whine followed. The window of the laboratory, five paces away, billowed and shifted in its frame. A white streak speared across it which hadn’t been there before.

  Quinn fell back on her elbows, shock stealing her strength. She turned her head and saw a star-shaped streak on the big picture window. A hole appeared in the middle.

  Someone was shooting at her.

  Quinn rolled onto her hands and knees and scrambled up the corridor. She was panting and making little sounds in her mouth which might’ve been screams as if she’d had enough strength for it.

  She lurched to her feet and staggered. She couldn’t run, her legs wouldn’t cooperate. She reached the end of the corridor, where it branched to the left and right. To the right led to the warehouse. Straight ahead was the catwalk to the
administration building. Would Aslan and the others still be in the boardroom? Were they still waiting for their Russian guests?

  The administration building had an exit out to the street. If she could slide past the boardroom and go down the stairs, she could escape.

  Quinn made herself walk as normally as possible. She wanted to run, only that would imply panic to anyone who saw her. If she walked normally, they wouldn’t take any notice.

  She strolled across the catwalk, trying to get her breath under control. She remembered how her face had looked in the bathroom mirror. She needed to get her expression under control, too. She made herself breathe deeply, to flood her body with oxygen, which would calm her. It would return color to her face.

  White powder splattered her suit. She brushed at it and straightened her jacket. All she had to do was seem normal enough to get out the front door, then she could escape into the streets of Vienna.

  She stepped off the catwalk and turned right to head toward the stairs which went down to the foyer.

  The boardroom doors were open. The room looked empty. She moved along the corridor, keeping her gaze on the top of the stairs and the escape they represented.

  Then Aslan moved into view in the boardroom. He carried a heavy crystal glass, filled with ice and a dark liquid she presumed was scotch or something similar. He looked toward the door. When he saw her, he waved her into the room.

  Quinn debated bolting down the stairs and running. Only, there were too many people in this building with guns and ways to get rid of bodies. She would have to bluff her way out of this. She had to pretend she was the new Quinn just a little while longer.

  She maintained her strolling pace and moved into the boardroom. She even managed to give Aslan a shaky smile.

  He studied her. “How do you feel now?” His tone was warm. “I’m sorry if I was abrupt. There is a lot of money riding on this deal. We have it under control now, though.” He tilted his head, his face filling with warm empathy. “Mitchell said you reacted badly. I should apologize for that, too. I could have eased you into it better.” He turned and took his glass to the buffet against the wall, where trays of decanters sat. He made himself another drink.

  Quinn stared at his back, appalled. He made getting used to dead bodies and murder sound like swimming lessons. As if it was the difference between the paddling pool and throwing someone in the deep end.

  Quinn shifted her shoulders uncomfortably. The movement rubbed her jacket against her neck, which stung. She put her hand up to her neck, sliding the tips of her fingers under the lapels of her jacket. She winced as her fingers pressed the flesh there. She pulled them away. There was a smudge of blood on them.

  Quinn groped at her neck. Her necklace was missing.

  Shouts sounded from the catwalk. She heard running feet on the thick carpet. Quinn whirled to face the door as Giorgio and Johnson ran into the room.

  “Mitchell is dead,” Johnson said.

  Aslan put his glass on the buffet. “What happened?”

  “Someone took him out with a fire extinguisher.” Johnson shook his head. “There’s something else you should see.”

  “Where is Noah?” Aslan said. His tone was suspicion-laden.

  Quinn rode out her shock and kept her face stiff and neutral. Did Aslan think Noah killed Mitchell? Did he not trust Noah that much?

  “Noah is in his lab,” Giorgio said. “Cooking things.” He grinned.

  Aslan took a deep breath. “And where is Mitchell?”

  “In the labs. I can show you,” Johnson said.

  Aslan glanced at Quinn. “Stay with me. It’s the safest place in this building until we figure out what is going on.” He glanced at Giorgio. “Call in your men. Set up a perimeter. I don’t know what is happening yet, but something is going down. Let’s assume we’re under attack until we know better.”

  Johnson headed for the door. Aslan followed. Reluctantly, Quinn trailed after them. She glanced at the stairs as she passed them and considered hurrying down the steps before Aslan realized she was no longer behind him.

  Giorgio was only halfway down stairs. He would spot her, for sure.

  Not yet, she told herself. She continued after Aslan instead. Both men set a fast pace which forced her to keep up. The exercise helped disperse the adrenaline and restored some calmness. She could think better.

  Mitchell was where she had left him. He was covered in white powder. So was the surrounding carpet. Footsteps showed in the powder, although they were not distinct. The fog had settled after she left. Her own distinctive footsteps did not show.

  As Aslan and Johnson moved closer to the body, Quinn’s heart raced. Was her necklace the other thing Johnson wanted to show Aslan? She peered at Mitchell’s broken hand, then at the other one, which laid with his fingers curled in a relaxed position. The necklace was not in either hand.

  “Don’t get too close,” Johnson warned.

  Aslan stopped ten paces away and let out a heavy breath. “Christ.” He glanced at the green extinguisher. “Halon. It would have blinded him.”

  “While he was blind, they hit him in the temple and the back of the head with the extinguisher,” Johnson said. His tone was gruff. He pointed at the window. “Someone shot through the window, too.” He turned and pointed at the laboratory window. “It bounced off.” Then he moved over to the opposite wall and put his finger against a deep furrow there. “Bullets buried itself in here. We can dig it out if you want, although I can tell you now it was a large caliber.”

  Aslan glanced at the big picture window, with its star-shaped crack. “Sniper…” He looked at Quinn.

  She shivered. “Are they still out there?”

  “The only way to find out is to stand at the window and I’m not doing that,” Johnson said.

  Quinn glanced at the window then let her glance drift downwards, looking for a glitter of gold anywhere beside Mitchell’s body. Perhaps it was under him?

  “Johnson,” Aslan said. “Find Noah. Bring him here. I want to see his face when he looks at Mitchell. I want to look into his eyes as I ask him about this.”

  Johnson nodded and moved up the corridor to the heavy armored door which gave access to Noah’s laboratory. He punched in a code on the phone and the door unlocked with a heavy thud.

  It was how Mitchell had followed her in, Quinn realized.

  Aslan stood with his hands by his sides, studying Mitchell’s body. He had no expression, yet Quinn felt the anger building in him. He was winding himself up to deliver justice.

  Only, he would be punishing the wrong man.

  A tiny voice in her mind said to keep her mouth shut. What did it matter if Noah carried the blame for this? Noah was as sick as Aslan and as ruthless as any of them. He wore a nicer facade, although it didn’t change who he was.

  Only, if Aslan punished Noah for this and she said nothing, it would make her as bad as everyone in this nuthouse. It would make her as guilty as Noah.

  She could face the consequences here, or she could face the outcome of her actions in Washington. Either way, she must face them.

  Quinn raised her chin. “Aslan.” She waited until he looked at her. She took a deep breath and said the words, even though it felt as if every word was being torn from her. “I killed Mitchell.”

  [26]

  And after…

  Aslan didn’t move a muscle. Despite the lack of motion, his face changed. As the awareness filtered through him, as he understood the truth, she could see him reassess her and realigning everything he knew about her.

  The most surprising emotion on his face was disappointment.

  “Why?” he demanded. “Why?” He seemed bewildered.

  “Mitchell killed Denis. He tried to kill me, too. Maybe it was his order behind the sniper shooting in Boston. I don’t know.” She hesitated. “Mitchell wasn’t working for you, Aslan. He boasted about it. He called you a soft fool. He takes his orders from someone else and they directed Mitchel to arrange for Denis to be kil
led.”

  As she spoke, a single tear slipped down her cheek. She wasn’t aware of the buildup of the tears, for she felt no great upset. She was afraid and she was sad, for now she knew the truth and it changed nothing.

  Aslan turned on his heel. He walked a few paces up the corridor, then back. His face worked. “I helped him. He was drowning, running from demons. I took him in.”

  “Maybe he changed allegiances later,” Quinn said. “Perhaps he fooled you all along.”

  Aslan’s fists worked. For a man like him, being told he had been systematically betrayed for years would be a blow. He spun again to face her. “Why did he have Denis killed?”

  He had not questioned what she said. He believed her, at least for now.

  “Mitchell said Denis was speaking to the wrong people.” She hesitated again. “Mitchell said Denis had been seen talking to known CIA operatives.”

  Quinn had figured out the operatives Denis had been seen with were Leela and Lochan. They had presented themselves as a couple whom Denis and Quinn had got to know socially.

  Aslan shook his head. “Impossible. Denis would not betray me that way. Not Denis.”

  “Perhaps Denis didn’t know they were CIA,” Quinn said. “I don’t know anything about that business, except what I see in the movies. Spies always disguise themselves as ordinary people. Maybe it’s what they did to Denis. Only the wrong people—Mitchell’s people—saw them talking to Denis and didn’t like it.”

  Aslan continued his restless pacing. This time in the opposite direction.

  As soon as he drew close to the window, a soft crack sounded, along with another whining sound. A cloud of dust rose from the wall close by where the last bullet had buried itself in the plaster.

  Aslan threw himself backward. “Who is that?”

  Giorgio came pounding down the passageway. His face glowed red from exertion. “We’re under fire! Both sides! All exits! Warehouse too!”

  Quinn could hear firing muffled by bullet-proof walls and windows. The heavy metallic rattle of machinegun fire sounded.