by JL Terra
Mei shrugged. “I can handle myself.”
Ben didn’t doubt that. Her mother was deadly, and she’d taught Mei most of those skills. What she hadn’t taught her to be was cocky. It was going to get them in trouble.
Daire’s attention shifted away from them. Listening. “Shadrach hears cops.” He glanced at Ben. “You have the flash drive?”
Ben shot his friend a look.
“It was just a question.”
Mei trailed back into the kitchen. “I got the money,” she called out.
“I’m going to take our friend from the state department home.” Ben turned. Pain flared in his hip with the movement.
“You okay?” Mei said, back in the hall with the briefcase in her hand. “I thought he might’ve hit you.” She surveyed him. Making sure he wasn’t lying?
Ben shrugged. “Guess I was lucky.”
Each step shot fire into his hip. Not more than a graze. When he settled in the front seat of the Jag he took off the suit jacket. If he hadn’t had his left hand raised to hold the gun, the bullet would have torn the material of his suit jacket as well as his pants. He’d never have been able to hide that from Mei or Daire.
He used a handkerchief to wipe away what blood had pooled across the graze. Not bad at all. It was little more than a hot scratch of raw skin. The foreign particles that had travelled with the bullet burned in the wound with infection. A second or two later, it returned to normal temperature.
A bead of sweat dripped down his forehead. Ben wiped it away with his shirt sleeve and watched the edges of the scratch knit themselves back together. The wound turned to dark red, raised skin. Then lightened.
Moments later it was gone completely. The only evidence he’d been injured was the rip in his pants. A few drops of blood soaked into the threads.
He started the car and pulled away.
**
Nine hours later he stepped off a Greyhound into the heat of the New Mexico sun, dressed in jeans, boots, and a T-shirt. If it was this hot already, today was going to be a scorcher. Ben rubbed a hand down his face. Rolled his shoulders beneath the weight of the backpack.
No one gave him a second look. He might return it, and these people didn’t invite attention.
Ben headed east on foot toward Central Ave. Crossed under the freeway, then checked into the motel under the ID Alex Boudreaux.
He slept for a solid six hours before he went out for a loaded omelet and coffee. Paid for a day pass to a local gym to run twelve miles in an air conditioned environment. A pair of college girls came in around mile four and stared at Alex until mile seven. Eventually they gave up and moved to the recumbent bikes, where they pedaled at one-mile-per-hour and stared at their phones.
Alex Boudreaux showered at the motel before he checked out and, under a different ID, took a flight to Chicago with a layover in Denver. He walked out to the taxi stand at O’Hare just after eleven in the evening.
His office was less than two blocks from the airport, but he gave the cab driver an address downtown. He got out and walked four miles south. There Ben checked into another hotel—a nice one this time—under the name Emmett Pierce.
Emmett had trouble sleeping.
Chapter 6
Pointe du Hoc, Normandy. Sunday, 13:14hrs CEST
The sound of gunfire rang in his ears. Brian Pilsen didn’t dare close his eyes. If he did, he’d see that slippery rock face. Each grasp, hand-over-hand on the rope ladders, as the men of Dog Company scaled the cliff only to find the machine guns had been moved further inland. They’d completed the mission, but at great price.
Brian glanced at the hillside to the east, where Omaha beach stretched along the shore. So beautiful now. Not a trace of the blood and death that had rolled in with the tide on the sixth of June, 1944.
He glanced to the west, where Utah Beach stuck out. Yes, this was the spot. He pointed. “That’s where we came ashore.”
Brian stood at the peninsula, now a look-out spot. A memorial. The whole area looked like a lunar map, only covered in grass. His old body protested as he trudged down the steps of the observation bunker. The cane clicked the stone with every footfall. Concrete pitted with holes left by bullets surrounded him, along with machine gun turrets, now empty.
The young man kept pace beside him as he walked, listening intently as Brian told his story to this stranger.
He hadn’t spoken yet, content to let Brian ramble. When had he become that old man? He stumbled on a step as he ascended again, and the young man clasped his arm to steady him.
“Thanks.” Brian sighed, glad he’d come. Despite how difficult the trip had been, this was his one last chance to see the land he’d trod upon when little more than a boy and wearing the boots of a soldier. A war he’d fought both inside himself and on this hillside. Brothers, dead. His father, brokenhearted. Even Ellie didn’t want to know. She’d elected to stay behind and let the kids take care of her rather than come all this way.
And for what?
The beach was so…clean. No evidence of the blood spilled here. So much blood. Now the scent of salty ocean on the breeze ruffled his collar and the remaining strands of gray hair on his head.
Brian wasn’t sure what he’d thought to find here as his old eyes surveyed the landscape. Last time it had been little more than a sea of death, the stench so strong it was overwhelming. Only the beginning of the journey he’d undertaken through this wretched land. Nothing noble about it. He’d hated every second, sickened by what he’d seen and done.
Now it was almost as if that time never existed.
He gritted his teeth, electing conversation so this young man didn’t think he was a crazy old coot. “It’s certainly beautiful. Hard to believe I was here and that it all really happened.”
The young man said nothing.
Another called out, “Come on, Pops. Time to go.”
Brian turned. The young man he’d been speaking with had gone now, and his son, Frank, stood there. Hands on his hips.
“Okay, kid. I’m coming.”
He trudged beside his son toward the parking lot. As he walked the path, a lump grew in his throat. Brian’s eyes watered and he swallowed, but the lump didn’t go down.
“Dad?”
He coughed twice as the world swam around him.
He reached for the car door, but his fingers found only air.
Brian Pilsen collapsed on the ground beside the rental.
Dead.
Chapter 7
Chicago, IL. Monday, 08:23hrs CDT
Ben used a rear entrance and walked up six flights of stairs. The hall was dark, beige walls and gray carpet. Empty except for a single plastic plant, three feet tall, and a framed photo of the Wrigley building.
He pulled on the corner of the frame. It swung out like a door. Ben pressed his hand to the scanner and waited while the light moved across his palm, along his fingers, and settled on each pad. Four lights for fingers, one for his thumb.
“Access granted.”
As fast as it had come, her voice fell silent. Leaving Ben alone in the hallway wondering what had just happened. It wasn’t the voice of the girl he’d known, but the voice of a woman. Her. Ben clicked the frame back into place and pulled open the door. Short staccato barks greeted him, and the German Shepherd raced through the office.
The dog stopped two feet from him, body leaned toward Ben. Ears pricked. Tail still. He barked.
Remy raced around the corner wearing skinny jeans and an oversize flannel shirt he’d seen Shadrach wear. She slid down the tile hall in her socks. Ben held out one hand to catch her. She faced the dog. “Good boy. Bed.”
The dog took two steps back, still eyeing Ben. Then he obeyed.
“He speaks English now?”
“Turns out it is possible to learn new tricks, even when you’re an old dog.”
Ben chuckled, deep in his chest. The sound didn’t come out of his mouth. He liked dogs. They just didn’t like him.
Remy frowned.
“What?”
“The voice, Access Granted? Change it.”
“I thought—”
“I have no idea how you got it, and I don’t wanna know. Get rid of it.” Ben didn’t need her doing him any favors, or trying to help him for crying out loud. He handed her the flash drive he’d obtained in Oklahoma. “The usual, please.”
She nodded and started down the hall. Her eyes were dark and her tone softer when she said, “I just made a pot of coffee.”
The office space they rented could’ve housed a business of fifty-plus people. It was only five of them, and the dog. Most of the rooms were empty of furniture. A couple of main area cubicles had been stacked with printer paper, ink cartridges, and 5 lb. bags of Sorbenots coffee. Plus a box of the wrong size cone filters Remy hadn’t returned yet. She rummaged across the conference table, a sea of cables and papers. Dug out an iPad only he used, and handed it over. Then stuck the flash drive in the port on the side of her computer monitor.
His fingerprint unlocked the iPad. After he entered a series of codes, Ben sat in one of the cushy chairs Daire had insisted they order and started to read the new files. Across the room, Dauntless sat alert on his bed, intermittently sniffing as he watched Ben. He didn’t let it bother him. That was the way Shadrach had trained him, and it made everyone feel better that the Marine canine stayed with Remy while she was alone.
First file was for a missing former Interpol inspector. Imprisoned in a Russian gulag after he’d attempted to bring down a conglomerate of businesses in Russia and overstepped his bounds. Interpol had written him off for whatever reason—the guy had probably been a problem. They’d seen this as the solution. He’d escaped a week ago, presumed armed and dangerous. Two of the business CEO’s were dead since, a result of suspicious accidents. The businessmen who were still alive wanted the guy brought back to prison. Condition didn’t matter, no questions asked. They were pulling out all the stops to get the man back before more of them died.
Remy slid on her office chair across to him and lifted a stethoscope to her ears. Ben glanced out the corner of his eyes as she pressed the end of the device to his chest and listened.
He waited a beat then whispered, “Am I still alive?”
“Shh.” She frowned, while a smile played at her lips.
Ben took a deep breath. He’d been to the doctor so many times through high school and college, then in the army; it was a reflex now. They pressed that thing against your chest and you breathed.
She pulled the earpieces out. “Slow and steady, just like always.” Still, she frowned.
“So why the physical?”
The corner of her mouth curled up. “You’d have to buy me dinner first if you want an actual physical. But I’ll warn you, Shadrach isn’t gonna like it.”
That was an understatement. Ben held up one hand. “I’m not one to encroach on another man’s territory.”
Her cheeks flushed to match her red hair. “I’m not his territory.”
He shot her a look and then pointed at Shadrach’s dog. Then at his shirt that she was wearing. Remy blushed and glanced at Dauntless. “It’s what we do when he’s gone.” She waved at his watch. “Give it to me. There was a spike in your vitals, and I want to check everything is working properly.”
“I’m sure it was nothing. Just a glitch.” Right at the moment he’d been shot.
Ben took the iPad and wandered to the coffee pot. He poured two cups.
“There’s almond milk in the fridge. Grab me a yogurt, I didn’t eat breakfast.”
Ben poured some of the milk into hers and got her the snack. She was slender in a gangly way. Like she’d never passed that teenage growth spurt which had left her knobby-kneed.
With everything that had happened since the attack, she dressed for comfort now. The only time she made any effort was when Shadrach would be around, which was why she was currently wearing mascara.
Remy picked up a tiny screwdriver in one hand, and the watch she’d made Ben in the other. “I don’t do glitches.”
Ben figured she was mostly talking to herself, and swiped through to the second file. He got a look at the personnel photo and swallowed a mouthful of scalding coffee. He held in the cough.
A CIA agent was missing.
The mission had been completed, and the agent had checked in. She was on her way home. After that, nothing. No word in the past two weeks and no activity. The CIA wanted the agent found quietly. Thought she might be in the US somewhere. Not Ben’s typical assignment. So why had they sent it? They couldn’t know the connection between the two of them.
Ben flipped to the personal details. Name and address, financial information they’d need to track her. As if she was dumb enough to use her own credit card. It was the photo that stopped him, though.
It really was her.
He looked up at Remy, but she was working on the watch. She didn’t know the target’s identity unless he pulled her in on the mission. She didn’t have the authority to open files that came in—just authority to pass them on. There was no way he would tell her, or any of his team, about this.
Mei would flip out if she thought her mother was missing.
The front door buzzer sounded. Dauntless trotted out to investigate, and Remy wheeled her chair sideways to look at her computer screen. “It’s Daire. Mei and Shadrach were a couple of minutes out each. He’s getting breakfast so their arrivals are staggered.”
Ben didn’t lift his gaze from the photo. She looked so young, it had to have been taken years ago when she had first become a CIA agent.
“Good morning—”
Ben locked the screen.
“—all.” Daire sauntered in with a box of donuts. He set them on a stack of shipping envelopes and headed for the coffee pot.
“You’re in a good mood.” Remy motioned with her fingers, and he tossed her his cell phone. She plugged it in on the table.
Daire slipped into the chair beside Ben. “Good?”
Ben shook his head like, why not?
“Just checking.” He studied Ben, but it didn’t last long. Daire lifted his hands above his head and stretched.
Ben said, “Sleep okay?”
“Came the long way home from Kansas. Took a red eye from Reno last night.”
He had to have pushed it to get to Nevada just to stop in the bed and breakfast and see his niece. “How is she?”
“All good.”
“Incoming,” Remy said.
Dauntless barked once, and Mei strode in. “That coffee had better be hot.”
Ben swiveled around in his chair. She poured a cup and held it to her lips, inhaled the scent of the black brew, and closed her eyes. When she opened them, her eyes met Ben’s. “What? I know it’s a vice, okay?”
Daire smiled. “Admitting you have a problem is the first step.”
She swatted the back of his head. “I’d pour this scalding brew all over you, but that would be a waste.” She sauntered around the table and plugged her phone into an open port.
The computer chimed. Remy said, “You-know-who is here.”
Ben glanced over at Dauntless. He’d watched each of them enter and knew precisely which team member was missing. Whether Remy used his name or not. The buzzer sounded, and out in the hall the door clicked.
Dauntless lifted up, back on his bed now. Ears pricked. Body so tight he almost vibrated with it. A full minute of silence passed.
Then the call came from the hall. “Hier!”
Dauntless launched from his bed so fast it curled in half. The dog tore out the door and down the hall.
“Good boy.” Shadrach’s laughter rang down the hallway.
No one missed the look that arced between Remy and Shadrach. The sniper took the seat closest to her and plugged in his phone. Dauntless laid down by his feet.
Daire swallowed a bite of donut. “Cone of silence activated?”
“You’re such a nerd,” Remy said. “And coming from me, that’s saying something.” She studied h
er screen. “Phones look clean. No bugs, no viruses, and no clones. Although, Daire...those photos you took?” Her eyes widened, and she shook her head.
Shadrach leaned to see her screen. “What…oh.”
Mei’s gaze met Remy’s, and they both laughed.
Daire didn’t join in. “Don’t check my recently deleted, okay?”
“That’s nasty.” Shadrach shook his head.
Ben picked up his iPad and unlocked it. Her picture was still on screen. Daire glanced over. He ignored his friend’s pointed look and swiped through to the Interpol file. “Shadrach, I’m sending you a file.” He shared it using their wireless connection, which Remy had secured. Firewall on top of firewall she said was more secure than most nations’ government systems. Ben preferred low tech. No cell phone, and only Remy could track his watch.
Ben said, “Pick up Malachi. Take him with you.”
“Malachi?” Mei lowered her mug from her mouth. “That’s what we’re calling him now?”
“It’s his name,” Daire said.
“Except for introducing himself as Colt,” she fired back.
“Using the name of an American gun.” Daire’s response was based on the report Grant had passed to them from the US Marshals. “Kind of cool, actually.”
“He is American,” Ben said. “Sort of. Anyway, we need a solid read on the guy. Locate the missing prisoner, but I want a full report on Malachi.”
Shadrach nodded. “Will do.”
The report they’d received indicated Malachi had lived in both Russia and the US growing up. He spoke both languages, and had worked in the private security sector.
“Are you really going to hire him?” Mei’s question was directed at Ben.
He didn’t answer right away, because she already knew what the answer was.
Daire said, “You realize we had almost this exact conversation about hiring you, right?”
Same conversation, different office. Different state. It had been Shadrach who’d hesitated, but Ben had vouched for Mei. Still, they hadn’t hired her without the lengthy assessment process they were now subjecting Malachi to. It would take another few months. If he performed, then he’d get the job.