Capitol Danger

by J. D. Tyler

  The door opened with a slightly louder click. He followed her through and into darkness. She gently pushed the door shut, making the darkness absolute.

  “Hang on,” she whispered.

  Faint sounds the implied she was digging in her pack. A few seconds later, a light clicked on. The tightly focused penlight beam wasn’t an inch wide, but it was powerful.

  “Do you know how to do this?” she asked, fishing out the phone they’d borrowed from the kitchen. “Y’all do wiretaps, right?”

  “Other people generally do those, but I know how to patch this in.”

  “Great.” She passed him the flashlight. Instead of heading back to the door, though, she laid a hand on his arm.

  The contact flashed through him and heated his blood. Her breath gave an audible hitch, and she jerked her hand back.

  That was something, anyway. He took a deep breath to steady his control.

  “When you get through,” she said, “tell them my name and give them verification code seven three able foxtrot able.” She hesitated. “Give them my real name, too. It’s Kelsey Mitchell. I was here undercover as Jane.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “If this is a game—”

  “Much as I enjoy sparring with you,” she said, “I need you to trust me. I’m absolutely serious about this.”

  In the weird, indirect glow of the flashlight, she regarded him steadily.

  “Okay,” he said.

  “Also, while I didn’t see Fee in Renaissance, there’s good news from the main ballroom, Botticelli. It looks as though the people in there have turned the tables.”

  “That would be great.” If a bit hard to believe.

  “If they can hold out,” Jane reminded him.

  In the dim light, her grim expression reflected his misgivings.

  “There is that,” he said, “but I’ll pass the news on. Thanks.”

  She knelt by the door with her snake scope.

  Greg slung the AK over his shoulder and opened the panel. It squeaked. He froze.

  No warning came from Jane, though, so he opened it the rest of the way.

  There were a lot of wires—guest rooms, administrative offices, house phones. No jack, though. He was going to have to hotwire this, as it were.

  Holding the penlight in his mouth, he pulled the combat knife off the tactical belt and cut the phone wire. Scraping one of the wires in the box clear took only a moment. His fingers seemed unusually unsteady as he manipulated the wires. It had been too long since he’d done this.

  But it seemed done now. Holding his breath, he picked up the receiver.

  Dial tone. Oh, yeah!

  He punched in the direct line for the Bureau’s Strategic Information and Operations Center. The phone rang on the other end twice before a woman picked up. Greg identified himself, told her this was an emergency, and asked for the Special Agent in Charge.

  A moment later, Ed Haskell came on the line. “Reed, what kind of trouble have you gotten into on medical leave?”

  “I’m not sure yet. It’s somewhere between a shitstorm and a potentially epic disaster. Epic like Waco or Ruby Ridge. I’m at the Fierenze Hotel, the inaugural celebration ball for the Stand Together PAC.”

  “The Fierenze? We’ve already been alerted by an agent who was inside the group responsible. POTUS planned an unscheduled stop there, but the agents who went in ahead to sweep got a bad feeling. There was a shootout in the lobby. Presidential party got away clean, but they lost three agents.”

  “So who are these Red Mantle guys?”

  “They’re religious fanatics in an Old Testament vein.”

  “Sexist and authoritarian,” Greg guessed.

  “Exactly. They want to stamp out what they see as corruption and godlessness in the modern world, specifically in this country. No history of violence until tonight, but now they have hostages and are demanding that Nina Evans, the anchor of Washington Watch, come in and interview them. Apparently, she did a piece slamming them last month and they want her to recant.”

  “Well, shit.” No way would the Bureau let that woman in.

  “Too right. What can you tell me?”

  “Not much, I’m afraid.” Greg made his report concise and fast. “I thought I should let you know there’s trouble before we do recon in case the recon doesn’t go well.”

  “Who’s we?”

  “I’m with a Kelsey Mitchell who says she was undercover as a waitress named Jane Wilson. Five nine, brown and blue, looks to be in her late twenties.”

  “You sound like you want me to run her.”

  “I do. With this authentication code.” Greg rattled it off.

  “Stand by.”

  Keys clicked. After a moment, Ed softly said, “Well, do tell.”

  “Spill.”

  “Can’t give you specifics, but I can tell you she’s legit.”

  “She’s a spook?” His soft voice wouldn’t carry far, but his erstwhile partner should have heard it where she lay prone by the door. In the dim glow from the flashlight, nothing about her barely visible silhouette implied that she’d reacted to his question.

  “I can’t confirm or deny, but she’s unlikely to shoot you in the back.”

  Despite the reassuring words, Haskell’s voice had a disturbing edge to it. What was Jane—uh, Kelsey? Who did she work for?

  Haskell paused. “You haven’t requalified on the range or in simulation. You sure you’re up for this?”

  ”I’m good.” There was no alternative.

  “Then consider yourself reinstated. Get out there, get me intel, and report back. We can see the main lobby with binoculars. We also have people headed to the rooftops with NVGs and infrared to see what we can spot that way.”

  “Roger.”

  Haskell disconnected. Quietly, Greg asked, “Kelsey, are we clear?”

  “So far,” she answered, barely louder than a whisper.

  “I’m going to disconnect this and hide it so we don’t have to carry it around.”

  “Works for me.”

  He disconnected the naked wires and tucked the phone behind some storage crates. Carefully, cringing at the squeaks, he shut the panel.

  He lined himself up with the door and flicked off the flashlight. Silently, he joined the mystery woman in the dark.

  “So you really are Kelsey,” he said quietly. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise. And we’re clear.” Judging by the faint rustle of fabric, she’d pushed herself up fast.

  Yeah, a lot of things were clear now.

  He would have to tell her he wasn’t a hundred percent. As his partner, now vouched for, she had a right to know that. But this wasn’t the place to have a discussion, not with HTs, or hostage takers, in the security station a short distance away.

  “I guess we should start with stairwell recon,” she said.

  “That’s a slow process, and we don’t know how long the people in the ballrooms have.” How long Fee had.

  Gritting his teeth, he pushed that thought away. “We’ll do one stairwell,” he decided, “and then the ballrooms, then see where we are.”

  “And hope nobody’s coming down the stairs,” she added.

  “Right,” he said in a dry voice. “Let’s go.”

  * * * * *

  During Kelsey’s service in the US Marines, they’d called staircases fatal funnels. There was no side-to-side maneuvering room to speak of and no way to advance under cover.

  Which there was no point in fretting about since she and the too-hot Fed had to do this. Silence would help more than worry.

  Creeping up the stairs behind him, Kelsey felt as though her heartbeat must echo through the building. It was pounding in her ears.

  They reached the kitchen level, as expected, without meeting anyone. He held up a finger, indicating one more floor to go before the ballroom level. There were two flights between floors. She nodded and followed.

  Greg Reed knew how to clear a stairwell, leading with his weapon, always focus
ed upward and ready to shoot. Meanwhile, she focused on the stairs behind them.

  That was so much safer than focusing on the intriguing way the muscles in his ass moved under the fine broadcloth trousers as he climbed the stairs.

  If the HTs came through, they would have no need for silence. Kelsey and Reed should hear them.

  They reached the lobby level and eased up one more flight, so they were on the landing directly below the door to the ballroom level. Leaning back against the wall, they stopped to listen.

  Seconds ticked by. Then, from higher up, about the level of the first guest-room floor, came the sound of something banging into cinderblock.

  “You break that, you’re in deep shit,” a man’s voice said. Young, by the sound of it, and smug.

  “Nobody’s come out but that old lady.”

  “You gave her a heart attack, brother.” Two men laughed.

  Kelsey and the hot Fed shared a grim look. Was the guy serious?

  “She was gasping like a fish when I shoved her into the ballroom,” the guy continued.

  Reed’s grip on the AK turned white-knuckled. He glared upward.

  Only her Glock had a suppressor. The sound of his gun would reverberate in the stairwell. It would bring any bad guys within range, as well as anyone they could summon.

  If one of the men up there got off a shot, it would echo, too.

  Reed’s lips tightened, as though he’d reminded himself of that. Kelsey touched his arm. “Later,” she mouthed.

  He responded with a curt nod, and they crept upward to the ballroom level. There, she checked with the snake scope before stepping into the hall. Reed eased the door shut behind them.

  “We’ll start with whichever ballroom is closest,” he murmured.

  “That’d be the main one, Botticelli,” she answered softly. “It’s the one where the HTs had such bad luck.”

  “We’ll see if that held. Lead the way.”

  Kelsey swallowed hard and wiped her sweaty palm. Action was more her forte than prolonged stealth.

  Steady, she chided herself. If you can’t handle this, you’re in the wrong line of work.

  If only patience were her strong suit.

  They stepped into the hallway.

  From the long corridor to her left, the one running behind Renaissance, Michelangelo, and Donatello, came the sound of heavy footsteps, more than one set.

  Kelsey and the Fed wheeled, but other footsteps were coming down the parallel corridor on the other side of the building. Shit.

  She grabbed his arm, tugging him toward the janitor’s closet by the stairs.

  He stood watch while she tapped in the access number and opened the door. A janitor’s cart kept it from opening fully. Damn it. Sucking in her breath, Kelsey squeezed past it. Reed followed and shut the door softly.

  They stood facing each other, barely an inch between their bodies, and awareness of him crackled through her. Their gazes caught and held. His eyes darkened.

  Booted feet tramped down the hall, breaking the moment. Despite the heat rising in her cheeks, Kelsey shared a grim look with her companion. They were both back to business now.

  He swung back toward the door, the AK pointed toward it. Kelsey tapped his arm and pointed to the suppressor on her gun. If they had to shoot somebody, she could do it quietly.

  Reed nodded and squeezed between the cart and the door, so he stood by the hinges. Crouching behind the cart, Kelsey had a little cover and a clear line of sight on the doorway. She leveled her weapon.

  “What’s the word on the news crew?” came through the door. “Still negotiating?” A snort, and then “Bullshit. Still, if Brother Kerlin can make something out of this…Yes. Over and out, brother.”

  More footsteps as someone else joined the group.

  “Did you find our missing brother?” a man’s voice asked, directly in front of the door, by the sound of it.

  “Not yet,” the first man replied.

  Kelsey traded an Oh, shit look with the Fed.

  “No other signs of trouble, though,” the second man said. “We’ll look again, but maybe he overindulged and passed out somewhere. Not everyone shares our level of dedication to the cause.”

  “Indeed. Maybe he’s cowering in some guest room.” Disapproval laced the words. “Until we know for certain, though, we should give our brother the benefit of the doubt.”

  “Of course.” The second man sounded chastened. “The kitchen is locked down. The employee locker room camera connection was loose, but we’ve fixed that. Not that there’s anything to see.”

  “Don’t bother with the guest hallways, brothers, but check all the stairwells down to ground level. It’s possible he was taken ill somewhere.”

  “What if he ran into trouble?”

  “Find it. When you do, shoot to kill.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Shoot to kill.

  Greg’s mind flashed back to the brightly lit bank lobby, the people diving for the floor. Tellers ducking out of sight.

  His hand going for his Glock.

  The bullets slamming into his shoulder.

  Remembered pain roared down his arm and into his gut. His breath caught. Sweat beaded on his temples and upper lip.

  Damn it, he didn’t have time for this shit.

  In the hallway, footsteps faded away. Jane slowly stood but kept her gun barrel trained on the door.

  Greg swallowed a curse. He was not going to lose it in front of a spook. The Bureau expected better of him.

  Hell, he expected better of himself.

  He swallowed hard. His breathing had gone shallow. He made himself inhale to a four-count and exhale the same way.

  Kelsey waved at him. When he forced himself to meet her concerned gaze, she raised her eyebrows and mouthed, “Okay?”

  He nodded. The breathing bit was part of his system for dealing. Step one, ground in the present. Check.

  She slipped to the door and knelt, with her front to him this time. If he could notice, and be disappointed, that he wasn’t getting a look at her butt, the flashback was losing its grip. Good.

  She slid her scope under the door’s edge.

  After a few seconds, she stood. “Hallway’s clear. For now.”

  “Then let’s hit it.” He pushed away from the wall. Step two, take action. Check.

  Her clear, blue eyes studied him. A tiny furrow formed between her brows. Softly, she asked, “You sure you’re okay?”

  He hesitated. But she’d checked out, and her life was as much at risk as his. He owed her the damning truth.

  “I was shot during a bank robbery a few months back. I have flashbacks.” The words felt like ground glass in his throat. “I’m mostly over them, haven’t had such a bad one in over a month.”

  “I don’t imagine you’ve been in too many situations where bullets could start flying in the last month, either.”

  “No. It was probably the stress, maybe even the adrenaline.” He gave her his best level, resolute look. “I’ve run a few simulations with friends. I can handle it if I’m prepared. I won’t wig out on you.”

  Kelsey nodded, but her grave eyes stayed on his face. “And you’ll tell me if you feel like you’re slipping.”

  “I will.” He would rather drink acid, but he would.

  “Then let’s see what’s going on out there.”

  * * * * *

  While Reed stood guard by the elevator, Kelsey checked the main ballroom’s peephole. Lucky thing this corridor ran behind it and across the building. In the ballroom, no one in tactical gear was standing, though she counted seven down, and barricades made of tables, chairs, and even the portable bar still blocked the doors.

  As she’d seen on the security monitor, the room was a wreck, with bodies scattered around it, some covered with tablecloths, and people wearing makeshift bandages made of hotel linens.

  She relayed her findings to Reed in a whisper.

  “I’ll go talk to them,” he said softly. “Keep watch.”


  Kelsey moved to the next intersection, where the long corridor ran down the side of the building and behind three of the smaller ballrooms, including Renaissance.

  When she glanced down toward the ballrooms, her stomach clenched. Two bodies on the floor. She hurried to check them, but they were both dead. And one of them was Manuela.

  Kelsey’s throat went tight, and tears stung her eyes. Furious, she blinked them away as she hurried back to the corner. Fucking bastards.

  A moment later, Reed moved silently toward her. “I talked to a fellow agent with creds,” he reported softly. “They’re good. Sheltering in place, situation under control. So let’s move on.”

  Before she could reply, his eyes narrowed.

  “What?” she asked.

  He pointed at the radio. “Searching,” he muttered.

  For Jason, he meant. Nothing they could do about that now, though.

  Silently, they headed for the long corridor that ran behind the smaller ballrooms.

  Kelsey checked through the Renaissance ballroom peephole to be sure no HTs were near that end of the room. It was clear, so she nodded to Reed.

  Drilling through the ballroom’s back wall took only a few moments and made very little noise. This would give a better view than the other scope under the door.

  The drill broke through. She stopped it when the lens was flush with the wall. In the patterned wallpaper, it shouldn’t show. The wide-angle lens gave her a good view of the ten-seat tables nearby and the high-tops around the dance floor.

  The tables were empty, though. Four men in tactical gear held weapons trained in the direction of the dance floor. One stood in the corner by the main door.

  The guests, a mixture of tuxedo-clad men, exquisitely gowned women, and uniformed military personnel, bunched on the dance floor. Given a chance, those military officers might be helpful.

  Some of the women were crying. Pretty much everyone looked terrified.

  The fury Kelsey had choked down to keep her brain clear roared into her throat. A haze of red washed across her vision.

  Stopping predators like these, like the ones who’d killed Todd, was the main reason she’d bought the Arachnid recruiter’s pitch. Besides that, being an operative of an agency few people knew existed let her cut corners where Special Agent Reed could not.