by J. M. Madden
The chances of this panning out, though, were pretty slim.
Deputy Director Brown would be so happy when she reported back that another cold case was going to stay cold.
Something niggled at her about this one, though. This was the big botched transport job that had sent shock waves through the department. They’d managed to keep it fairly quiet at the time, but a lot of managerial paperwork had come out of it. The CIA was basically trying to cover its ass, because it had been one of the worst ops in history. They had lost one of the world’s worst homicidal maniacs.
Amberly would hope that after almost three years she had enough emotional distance to not be swayed one way or the other by the outcome of whatever the informant had to say, but that would be stupid. She was five hundred percent invested in the information the CI had.
When she thought about that time, when her life had quite literally fallen apart, it was full of sadness and betrayal. Loneliness. Regret. The way things had gone down had been so fast, and she’d regretted her reactions for years. It had shaped the way she did her job now, and it had been a hard lesson to learn. Be patient, and listen more than you speak. As a woman in a predominantly male world, it had been difficult to throttle her voice, even when she’d been right in her deductions. She worked with a lot of emotionally compromised men that equated a loud voice with being right.
Like her boss, Mark Brown.
The man was a letch and an asshole and every other disgusting thing she could think of. He’d made his reputation by being in a good team and taking the credit for their work. He was young for a manager, but the people who hired him seemed to love him. She just didn’t understand it. The man had a line of bullshit ten miles long, but it seemed to work for him.
It was why she was here. The asshole was trying to put her off her game, so when he’d tossed the file on her desk of the botched transportation of Cole Regent and told her to figure out what had gone wrong, she’d understood he was prodding her. Brown knew exactly who her husband was, and the part he’d played. Maybe he was testing her loyalty. Again.
Operation Quicksilver had been a botched op from the beginning. She didn’t understand why the Navy SEAL team had been attached as transports, because they had their own people to do that. And she didn’t know why Devlin had tried to take the man out. If he’d been given orders, he would have said so. Officially, his team had been ordered to escorting the target to the airport. But somewhere along the line, Devlin had chosen to take Regent out. The folder had been anemic in details, and there seemed to have been whole pages of missing info. Who had put together the op? She only knew it had come from the top levels of the CIA, which could mean any one of about twenty people. There were no orders in print. It all seemed to have been word of mouth. There should have been some kind of documentation.
Amberly doubted she would be able to magically solve the case, but she would do her best to dig up more details. Things had never settled in her mind, despite the supposed proof she’d been shown.
Most importantly, they needed to get a handle on Cole Regent. He was psychotic, literally, but he had a way about him that made him friendly and likable, and he sounded sane as he talked about the myriad government conspiracies cluttering his mind. Amberly had watched interview tapes of him, and even being in the position she was, she could understand why he would be able to sway people. Charismatic and handsome, he was capable of wreaking incredible damage. He should have been dead months ago.
When was the damn informant going to show up?
The server approached her again, a broad smile on his face. “Ma’am, I’ve been asked to tell you that your companion will meet you in the back courtyard.”
Her stomach twisted. She wasn’t sure she liked this turn. “Is the back courtyard public?”
The smiling server waffled his hand. “A little more private.”
Amberly gathered her things and stood from the table, then she followed the man as he wove through the tables. In her mind she was mapping out exit strategies as she waded through people, scanning for danger. She was armed, her Springfield nestled beneath her left arm, but that would only get a single person so far, and the thought of trying to shoot her way out of a Chicago restaurant was not cool.
Following the young man through the back door, she stepped down onto a bricked floor. Immediately, her skin began to prickle, and her steps slowed. This didn’t feel right. Her gaze scanned the brick walls surrounding her. There was an interior balcony along all four walls that reminded her of a place Devlin had taken her in New Orleans years ago. It was even painted white like that place. She couldn’t see anyone in the depths of the rooms beyond, which was what was putting her on edge. Anyone could be standing up there, watching. Was this a kill box?
Plus, the tables were set, but not one was filled. It was as if the area had been kept witness free for a reason.
Had the CI set that up?
The man she’d traveled 700 miles to see sat in the back corner, in a shaded alcove. The table was under the balcony and in one of the most protected locations, so she appreciated that. She didn’t, however, appreciate having her back to the open room. Amberly wanted to see what was going on around her at all times.
Necco, her contact, was not a very big man. Their heights were probably about even. 5’9” ish. But he was a lean man, with stringy muscles honed with strength. Brownish gray hair, with a straggly mustache. There was a hardness to his expression. Amberly knew she would not want to scrap with him because he would probably take her down.
His watery eyes darted around the space as she joined him. “You’re alone, right?”
“I am,” she confirmed, sliding into the seat opposite him. “Just like you told me to be. Now, what is it you made me travel up here for?”
Necco glanced around, rubbing his hands together. Then he ran his palms down the fronts of his thighs, obviously wiping sweat away. “Let me see your belly. Are you wearing a wire?”
Frowning, she lifted her shirt enough for him to see the bare skin of her belly. “Why would I wear a wire to talk to you? I never have before.”
“Because I have information that will destroy your department,” he hissed.
Amberly blinked, keeping her breathing steady. She’d heard things like this before, and it rarely panned out. This was likely a wild goose chase, but he had sounded determined on the phone. “Okay. I’m ready.”
Amberly knew she had to wait for him to come up with the words himself. If she pushed him too hard, he would clam up and disappear. The fact that he was here now was amazing to her, because he had been the one to make contact.
Finally, he leaned toward her, over the table. “You remember Tango 11?”
Amberly’s blood chilled in her veins, but she made sure there was no reaction on her face. No civilian should know that tag. “Everyone in the department remembers him. It was one of the worst black eyes the CIA ever received.”
Necco cackled, nodding his head. The manic way he was reacting made her think he was high, and the pinprick pupils seemed to back up that assumption. Everything he told her would have to be suspect.
“And?” she prompted, leaning back in the seat.
“And, he’s mobilizing his paramilitary group,” Necco said. “There was a small detonation outside of Bozeman. He has a new recipe, and he’s sure it will work better than anything else he’s had before. And he has new partners. Once he refines it, he’s going somewhere east. 9-11 is next week, and he’s bragging that he’s going to make an even bigger impact than that.”
Amberly sighed. “Necco, the man lives in Montana. All worthwhile targets are east of him. You’re not telling me anything.”
Necco chopped a hand in the air. “You know what I mean. He’s always had it out for Washington. But he’s not going there directly. He has wild ideas, Temple, and I’m not taking part in it. Something is going to happen next week, probably on September eleventh, and I’m out.”
“Wild ideas like what?”
> Necco blinked and glanced around. “I’ve done my time in prison, so I know what it’s like to be without my family. Cole wants to steal families. He’s looking at schools and churches, bridges, even a hospital. I ain’t into that. Those people are innocent.”
Amberly blinked, wondering if Necco had actually seen plans or what? “Is this written somewhere in black and white? Or are you guessing?”
He slid a blue envelope across the table to her. Amberly was surprised because she hadn’t seen an actual photo envelope for a long time. It had the name of a big box store on the front. She lifted the front flap to find a stack of grainy photos. Some were not too bad to read, others were almost useless.
“I was in a hurry,” Necco said defensively, obviously understanding her scowl. “Cole stepped out for moments and I had to get the pics as quick as I could. Your fancy tech guys should be able to figure some of it out.”
Amberly kept the photos in order, in case it made a difference. She stopped at one name that was actually legible. “William Taft Elementary.”
“It’s some random little school outside in Fort Collins, Colorado. I don’t know why he picked it.”
She straightened the pictures and put them back into the envelope. “Okay. And who are the new partners?”
Necco glanced around again, shaking his head. “I don’t know. He talks to one on the phone all the time. Whoever this person is, though, they’re ramping him up more than I’ve ever seen him ramped up before. It’s like this guy knows exactly what buttons to push. And he has contacts with the Russians. They helped him with some of the mechanics last time.”
Great. That’s just what they needed. Some faceless secondary character even harder to catch than Regent. “You haven’t seen the individual at all?”
Necco shook his head, which meant it probably wasn’t a local boy helping out his buddy Cole. It was someone further afield.
“I need you to…”
There was a click from above them, a very distinctive click, and they both froze. Necco’s eyes went wide, and he started to slide out from the table. Amberly almost told him to wait just a second, but he was already moving.
A bullet hole bloomed in the center of Necco’s forehead and he went down.
Amberly dove for the brick floor, even as someone opened fire on her. He had to be behind her, toward the front of the restaurant. She’d had a perfect view of the hole in Necco’s head. There was probably more than one attacker, though. It was how they usually worked.
She pulled her own weapon, then stuffed the photo envelope as far down her bra as she could. Scanning the area, she tried to see where the shooter was, then she lunged out from the alcove. A line of bullet holes appeared in front of her across the bricks, sending chips flying. Obviously, the shooter was using a silenced weapon. Crawling toward the back, she prayed she didn’t get hit in the ass.
What a great story that would be at the water cooler, she thought. Shot in the ass chasing down a wild hare.
There was a door to the back, but it seemed to be locked. Of course it did. And too sturdy to break through. She swung her weapon around, praying that the envelope of pictures stayed where she’d put it. Necco was dead now, so those pictures might be the only proof she had of anything.
The doorjamb to her right splintered and she ducked, then returned fire. Her weapon did not have a silencer, though, and the shots rang loud in the Chicago restaurant. She heard people scream out in the front of the building and she prayed she hadn’t struck an innocent bystander.
Then a line of blazing heat seared down her left arm, spinning her around. The pain was stunning and chilling, and it took everything she had to keep her weapon gripped in her other hand.
Something moved on the balcony across from her, so she aimed and fired. There was a huff of air, like someone had been hit, and the movement stopped. Amberly took that moment to get out of the restaurant, escaping with the other screaming patrons. Glancing around, she caught sight of two hostiles. They were obviously watching for her, because as soon as she hit the street, they began tracking her. Even from the other side, they felt too close, and she hurried down the sidewalk, trying to hide her bleeding arm.
It was going to be obvious in a minute, because she felt the blood running down her arm. She scrambled for her phone in her hip pocket. “Fuck,” she hissed, seeing the shattered screen. Useless. She shoved it back into her pocket, praying that it wasn’t as bad as it looked, then looked around.
The taller man was gone.
One of the most important traits to being in the CIA was keeping a sense of calm under pressure. Her calm was unraveling, though, as the noose tightened around her.
Should she stay on the street or duck away? Listening to her gut, she ducked into the next alley, jogging along the length and to the back. There were doors along the way, but she was sure they were locked. One was open and a guy stood outside smoking. Avoiding his look she passed on. Glancing behind, she looked for her followers, but she didn’t see them. Maybe they were tracking her street-side.
Then she heard two soft pffts of air, one right after another. A man slumped down from between two giant dumpsters, where he’d obviously been hiding, waiting for her. She looked up the height of the building, scanning for the shooter, trying to sort out in her mind who was trying to shoot her or what the hell was going on.
Her arm throbbed as she rounded a corner, bracing her back against it. If the shooter on the roof was after her, she doubted he could shoot straight down the wall. She needed an out, though. Just then, she heard the screech of one of the L lines rumbling by. Lurching into motion, she headed for the sound. Maybe she could lose them there.
3
Dev broke into a jog, running along the roofline as he shadowed Amberly’s progress.
Looking ahead, he tried to find an easy way down, because there was one more shooter he needed to get rid of. The Gods must have heard him, because within moments he found a wrought iron fire escape. He pounded down the landings, jumping when he could, until his left knee began to protest. It had been a while since he’d used it this hard. Yeah, he went jogging to maintain and he worked out, but combat situations tested you differently.
And he thought he’d been done with combat situations. He was no slouch, by any means, but he definitely wasn’t in top fighting form. At his age, he didn’t think he needed to be.
Amberly’s life was in danger, though, and he would save her.
Scanning the area, he took off in the direction he’d last seen her running. Then he spotted the blood. It was in a long scrape, and bright red. It was obvious she’d bounced against the wall. It gave him a definite direction of travel, though. She was heading toward the L. Good girl.
The distinctive sound of the elevated train was straight ahead. Dev wasn’t sure which line it was, but it didn’t matter. It would get her out of the proximity of danger, and she could recoup her losses.
As he jogged along, he tried to imagine what it would be like to look into her silvery eyes again. It had been a long time.
Up ahead, there was a flash of movement. Picking up his speed, he headed for it. Dodging puddles of unknown substances, he did his damnedest to catch up with Amberly, but she was literally running for her life. And she’d always been faster than him. He could do longer distances, but in shorter bursts, she had the advantage.
Then the movement stopped. Dev glanced around, but he continued to move forward. Had she ducked into a hole or open door somewhere?
A garbage truck rumbled into the alley behind him, and he glanced back at it. When he looked back, Amberly stood less than fifteen feet away, the barrel of her gun pointed steadily in his direction.
Fuck.
He watched the emotions cross her face and felt like shit. Obviously, she thought he’d come after her. “Amberly,” he said softly, refusing to raise his own weapon against his wife. Paperwork or not, he still considered her his wife. “I’m not here for you. I’m tracking who shot you.”
; She blinked, her pale eyes going hard. Her arms didn’t waver in her stance, and he knew how much pain that had to cause. Fresh blood dripped from her left arm through the jacket.
“Right. Do you seriously expect me to believe that? I’m sure you were just waiting for a chance…”
Movement flickered beyond her, and Dev knew he was about to die, but… Raising his own rifle, without even lining up the scope, he fired over Amberly’s shoulder, taking out the second man with a shot through the heart. He waited, breath held, for her to shoot him, but there was no sudden, sharp, burning pain. Instead, she turned to look behind. When she saw the man on the dirty alley pavement, her entire body sagged. Then she spun to look at him again.
Lowering his rifle, Dev moved to go through the man’s pockets he’d just killed, and he found a wallet almost immediately. When he flipped it open and saw the CIA badge, he wasn’t surprised. Amberly gasped, though, a sound she very rarely made.
“What?” she asked, faintly. “They were CIA. Were they after you?”
Dev gave her an incredulous look as he took out his cell phone and took a picture of the man, as well as the ID. “You know they weren’t, babe. They were after you.”
Dev twisted the barrel of his rifle, removing it from the receiver. Swinging his backpack down off his shoulders, he pulled out a hard metal case and fit the separate pieces down into the shaped foam. Close quarters like this required a smaller weapon. He snapped the lid closed, then fit the hard case into the backpack. His Beretta was in a shoulder holster, but he left it concealed under his jacket. Amberly was already spooked and he didn’t want to spook her any further.
“Come on,” he said, walking forward with his hand out. “Let’s get out of here before someone realizes that was a gunshot and not the garbage truck making noise.”