"Good afternoon, gentlemen. May I help you with something?"
Mouse-brown said, "Major Peel. We wonder if you would come along with us, sir." Not a question.
"If you'll explain who you are and what you want, maybe we can keep this civilized."
"We didn't come to answer questions. We'll send somebody for your car. You'll be riding with us."
"I shouldn't think I'd want to do that," he said.
"Then we must insist," Medium-tall said. "Please step over here, sir. And keep your hands in plain sight."
"Insist all you want. I'm minding my own business, and I don't believe it is any of yours."
The two exchanged glances, and without speaking, split up and drifted away from each other. This was standard procedure if you were facing a man you considered armed and dangerous. Even if he was very fast on the draw, he would have to swing his weapon from one to another with two opponents, and the farther apart they were, the harder that would be--especially if both opponents were prepared to shoot back. They still had not pulled their own weapons, and that was to his advantage.
"Let's not make this difficult, Major," Mouse-brown said.
"Gentlemen, I advise you to stand still and keep your hands away from your weapons."
Medium-tall grinned and said, "Begging your pardon, Major, but either one of us is ten years younger and ten years faster than you. You don't really think you're good enough to take us both?"
"Maybe. Maybe not. It would be more risky if I were alone."
Mouse-brown said, "There's no one else in your car, Peel. How stupid do you think we are?"
"Fairly stupid, I should say. Why do you think I stopped here, sonny? At this particular quiet spot in the country?"
Mouse-brown paused in his sideways drift and shot his partner a quick glance.
"He's having us on," Medium-tall said. "A bluff."
"You think so?" Peel said. He smiled. "You've been behind me since we left London. You think I didn't know that? I've had plenty of time to have a colleague arrive here. You seem like decent lads. Tell me who sent you and what you know, and perhaps you get to walk out of this. Otherwise ..." he gave them a broad, theatrical shrug.
"Forget it," Medium-tall said. "We weren't born bloody yesterday!"
Peel raised his voice. "Mr. Ruzhyo! Are you there?"
The barn door swung up with a creak of rusted hinges and Ruzhyo appeared in the doorway, though he did not step out from his cover. "I am here," he said. He held the silvery pistol in both hands, pointed at Medium-tall.
The two men started, surprised.
Men who had been under the gun, under fire, would have known they didn't have a chance. You could be faster than Billy the Bloody Kid from the holster but that wouldn't be nearly quick enough to outdraw a gun already aimed at you.
The two panicked and went for their guns.
Ruzhyo had Medium-tall, so Mouse-brown was Peel's. But before he could clear his weapon, Ruzhyo fired--pow! pow! pow! the tiniest hesitation, then pow! pow! pow! again. Six rounds at maybe five meters, and it was so quick it sounded like two bursts of fully automatic submachine gun fire. Damn, he was fast!
Medium-tall and Mouse-brown went down like sick-led wheat.
"Shit!" Peel yelled. He finished his draw and hurried toward the downed men. Both were wearing body armor under their jackets, he could see that as he got close. The vests had stopped two rounds each, just as they were supposed to. But the armor had not stopped the rest of Ruzhyo's Mozambique drill: two to the chest and one to the head. Both men had been shot between the eyes, and they were effectively dead before they hit the ground. Peel had never seen the drill performed better, not even in practice, much less in a hot scenario. Ruzhyo was a master shooter.
"Damn, how am I supposed to find out anything if you don't leave one alive to question?"
Ruzhyo gave him a Slavic shrug. He popped the magazine from the pistol, let it fall to the ground, reloaded the handgun with a second magazine from his pocket, then bent to pick up the fallen magazine. When he straightened, he reached up with one hand and pried a silicone ear plug from one ear, then the other, and dropped those into his pocket along with the nearly empty magazine.
Good God. Ruzhyo was so cool as to think about bloody ear protection before he had calmly blasted two armed men as neat and quick as you could possibly please. The man must have ice water in his veins.
Well, there was not any help for it now. Best find out who these two were, if he could. Peel fished in Medium-tall's pocket until he found a wallet. He opened it, then stared at the ID card behind the clear plastic window. "Oh, Lord! These blokes are MI-6! We've just killed two of his majesty's SIS agents!"
Ruzhyo shrugged again, scanning the countryside for witnesses.
Aside from the sheep, who seemed unaffected by the gunshots, there weren't any prying eyes.
Peel shook his head. "Come on, help me move the bodies," Peel said. "We've only got a few minutes before they are missed."
They were in the crapper now, weren't they?
Thursday, April 14th
MI-6, London, England
"We have a problem," Cooper told Michaels. "We've lost contact with the team following Peel."
Howard, Fernandez, and Toni had gone to the cafeteria to grab a quick bite, and Michaels was once again alone with Cooper in the conference room. "Lost contact with them?"
"More than half an hour ago. Their last report was that they had pulled off the M23 near Balcombe and were about to detain Peel. We've been unsuccessful in our attempts to reach them since."
"Do you have a way to find them?"
"Not exactly. The location transponder in their car stopped sending its signal a few minutes after their last transmission. We know where they were. We've sent a military strike team via helicopter to check it out."
"They're either taken or dead," he said flatly.
"We don't know that."
"You wouldn't have scrambled an air strike team if you didn't think it was likely."
She sighed. Put one hand on his forearm. Her touch was warm. "We do fear something has gone awry."
He stared at her hand. After a beat, she broke the contact. "No chance for us, is there?"
"I--it wouldn't be a good idea. I'm sorry."
"But you did enjoy yourself? As far as it went?"
"Ah ... yes. I did."
She smiled, but it was hollow. "The good ones always get away. A pity. Your Ms. Fiorella is lucky, you know."
"I think I'm the lucky one."
She stepped back, out of his space, and glanced at her watch. "Should be hearing from the strike team shortly."
"Can we still stop Peel? If he is on his way to Goswell's estate?"
"Given the current situation, I doubt that DG Hamilton would want to risk another team. It would be safer to bottle him up at The Yews, if that's where he's going, and deal with him later.
In the MI-6 cafeteria, Fernandez swallowed a bite of what looked like Salisbury steak and mashed potatoes drenched by a half gallon of brown gravy and said, "What's with the sub-commander?"
Fiorella had come to the cafeteria with Howard and Fernandez, but had quickly excused herself and left, looking pale.
Howard glanced down at his Thai chicken salad. He wasn't a gossip, but he had known Julio all of his adult life; the two of them didn't have many secrets from each other. And from Toni's face, the nickel had dropped. She had figured out about Michaels' extracurricular activities. Howard didn't need to get that specific, though, so he said, "I think she and the commander might be having some personal problems."
Julio washed another bite down with a glass of water and nodded. "Cooper," he said. "Boss got biblical with her?"
Howard raised an eyebrow.
"She's gorgeous, smart, and she's been giving him looks," Julio went on. "And the boss stares at his shoes every time Cooper gets too close. She looks possessive and he looks guilty. And that looks like a done deal to me. Not that I'm telling you anything you d
on't already know. You picked it up."
Howard nodded. "Yes."
Julio took another mouthful of the brown and steaming goop. "I don't understand what all the fuss about how bad British cooking is about. Nothing wrong with it far as I can tell," he said.
"Spoken like a true meat and potatoes man."
"Yeah, well, Br'er Rabbit, why don't you have some more of that grass and twigs you got."
A young man approached the table. "Colonel Howard? Commander Michaels would like to see you, sir, as soon as possible."
Julio shoveled another mouthful in, hurrying, as Howard nodded once and got to his feet. Now what?
38
Thursday, April 14th
Near Balcombe, England
MI-6 had sprung for a second copter, and it landed with Alex, Howard, Fernandez, Cooper, and Toni. The strike force copter was still on the ground, and a dozen soldiers in Brit camo and berets, weapons at the ready, moved around the big old barn as the Net Force team piled out of the second bird into the dusty prop wash.
Toni had tucked her personal pain away into the box of professionalism and locked it tight. Even so, she hadn't been able to look directly at Alex during the short flight.
A British captain approached and spoke with Cooper. Toni walked around, bent to examine the ground in a couple of spots, then drifted toward the barn. There was a new car parked inside, and it hadn't been there long enough to get dusty. The floor was earth, under a light layer of dry hay. She walked back out and circled the area again. The ground was soft and chalky enough in places to take footprints, but the military force had obliterated a lot of them, their combat boots leaving a distinctive tread. She thought about what might have happened here, given what she knew and what she had seen.
Alex said, "Toni?" He stood next to Cooper and the British captain.
She could do this. She could keep her feelings at bay and do her job.
"This is Captain Ward," Alex said.
Cooper said, "Why don't you bring Sub-Commander Fiorella up to speed on what you think might have happened here, Captain?"
A flash of anger enveloped Toni. Bring her up to fucking speed? Yeah, right. She wanted to smash Cooper's smug face. Instead, she tamped it down and said, "It's pretty obvious, isn't it?"
Cooper blinked. Did she hear the challenge in Toni's voice? "Oh, really? Why don't you tell us, then?" Yeah, she heard it.
"Sure. Peel had a backup man. That's his car in the barn. It will be a rental and won't have a backtrail. Probably some dummy corporation post office box and phony ID used to get it.
"Your agents must have missed the backup. Odds are it was Mikhayl Ruzhyo, who must have some kind of link to Peel. Maybe they were old college buddies or they met in some police action in Africa or SA somewhere. They have history. Otherwise, it's too coincidental.
"Peel led your men here, right into a trap. Ruzhyo sneaked up on them--no, strike that, you couldn't really sneak up on this barn from the road in a car, and it's too far from anywhere to walk, so probably he was already hiding when Peel arrived. How am I doing so far?" She looked at Alex and his face was frozen into a half-grin. He felt her anger, she knew. She nodded at him. I know, you bastard. And now you know I know.
Cooper didn't speak, nor did Alex or the captain, so Toni continued: "There are two small spots of blood on the ground, still visible, though somebody kicked dirt over them, there and over there." She pointed. "Were your men armed? And wearing body armor?"
Cooper just glared at her, and it was the captain who said, "They carried sidearms, and as for the vests, yes, they should have worn them. It's standard for this kind of operation."
"Right. So Peel or Ruzhyo shot them, most likely in the heads. That's where they fell. Then they shoved the bodies into their own car and left here driving that and Peel's. I imagine if your troops haven't stomped all over them, you'll find his tire tracks and those of your men's car leaving. By now, I'd guess they've driven the car with the bodies in it somewhere it won't be found for a while. Two missing agents are a concern, but not as high-profile as two dead ones. If I were in charge, I'd have the local constables drag any big ponds or lakes within a few miles of here. Deep water is a good place to hide a car."
The captain shook his head. "Overall, it's a bit of a stretch, isn't it? Aside from the blood, we found no other evidence. There weren't any shell casings."
"Ruzhyo would have picked his up, and I'm assuming Peel is smart enough to have done the same. By the time we catch up to them, the guns used will be long gone, anyway. I don't know much about your Major Peel, but Ruzhyo is very much a professional. He doesn't leave you much to work with."
Ward nodded, as if confirming that he wasn't as concerned with her explanation as that he wanted to hear her reasoning for it. "The scenario you postulate is not impossible. As soon as he figured out with whom he was dealing, Peel would have known about the transponder in their car and disabled it. We've set up road blocks, but we may be behind the curve here."
We're behind the curve, all right. Toni gathered herself and gave Cooper the sweetest smile she could form. "Anything else you need to know, Ms. Cooper?"
"Not at the moment, Ms. Fiorella." Cooper gave Alex a quick look, and in it Toni saw a measure of what she thought might be concern. Pity, even.
So, Cooper had figured out that Toni knew, too. And the British tart was feeling sympathy for Alex because of it. Great. Now we're all just one big, unhappy fucking family.
Michaels pulled his virgil and put in a priority call to Jay Gridley.
"Yeah, boss, what's up?"
"If I gave you an address, a physical address for where this QC hardware might be, would that help you search?"
"Couldn't hurt. Might be able to spot a trail if I'm close enough to it, though there's no guarantee."
"Stand by, I'm uploading it now. We found Bascomb-Coombs and where he works. We can't lay our hands on him just at the moment, but maybe you can figure out something from your end."
"Thanks, boss."
"Be careful, Jay."
"I copy that, decibel and crystal. Discom."
Michaels walked to where Cooper stood. "Does this change things? Can we go to Goswell's and grab Peel?"
"I can check with the DG, but I'm afraid it won't matter. We have missing agents, but not much to tie them to his lordship or even to Peel. For all we know, Peel drove off before they could speak to him, and our men were coincidentally attacked by sheep rustlers."
"Yeah, right."
"Sorry, Alex, but that's how it is. Our hands are tied."
On their way back to the helicopter, Michaels lagged behind. "Hold up a second, Colonel."
Howard slowed.
"Cooper says MI-6's hands are tied. They can't go traipsing into Lord Goswell's estate without an engraved invitation."
"Wonderful," Howard said. His voice dripped sarcasm.
"Colonel, I don't know how good your grapevine is, but I've put you up for a promotion."
Howard hesitated a second, then said, "I had heard the rumor, Commander. Thank you, I appreciate it."
"I mention this only because an international diplomatic incident might squash your chances. Probably would."
Howard grinned. "If that would let me catch Ruzhyo and this mad hacker, I could live with it."
Michaels smiled back at him. "Somehow I knew you'd feel that way. When we get back to MI-6, I think our crew needs to take a break. Go for a ride in the country or something."
"Yes, sir."
Michaels looked at the copter, squinting against the dust blown up by the prop wash. Most of the time, he colored between the lines. Now and then, he had to go outside the boundaries. There was a difference between justice and the law, and sometimes the end did justify the means. Generally, in his line of work, if you took a risk out in territory where your ass was bare and you pulled it off, you could rationalize it afterward. If you failed, you got skewered. They were hunting terrorists, killers both by remote means and with their own hand
s. The worst that could happen to Michaels if he screwed this up was that they'd fire him in disgrace and put him in jail for twenty or thirty years.
As he watched Toni climb into the helicopter, pointedly not looking at him, he knew there were heavier prices to pay for screwing up--or, in this case, almost screwing somebody.
Maybe, if he was lucky, he'd get killed in this clandestine operation.
Thursday, April 14th
Upper Cretaceous
What will be London
On foot, the rocket launcher slung over his shoulder, Jay sniffed the air. The usual jungle odors were there, and there was another smell that washed over the others, insistent in its demand to be noticed. Impossible to ignore, actually.
Next to him, Saji wrinkled her nose and said, "Lord, what is that stench?"
"Not to put too fine a point on it, it's monster shit."
He pointed.
Ahead of them was another thicket of prehistoric jungle, representing reams of coded packets, an electronic locus, a nexus that, in RW, corresponded to a computer company in London. Upon the path that led to that jungle, forming a rough triangle with two huge footprints, was a mound of scat, a pile of reeking excrement, brown, the size of a dumpster, and beset by a flock of busy flies.
Off to the sides of the path were a dozen or so other mounds, dried and hardened into the beginnings of giant coprolites. Welcome to Feek City.
The two of them circled around the fresh deposit. This close, they could see undigested bits of bone stuck in the pile, could feel the heat coming off it. The stink was so thick you could almost lean against it.
Jay said, "Not to pretend I'm any better at cutting sign or anything, but I'm pretty sure it went this way. And I'd bet it came out here to do its business because it lives in there."
Saji stared at the mound. She shook her head. "I don't much like the idea of going in there after it," she said.
Jay unshipped the rocket launcher. "Me, neither. Stand to the side there," he said. He shouldered the weapon, aimed it at the jungle, and squeezed the trigger. The rocket whooshed away on a flaming tail, arced into the woods, and blew apart in a fiery kaboom that spewed leaves and other bits of trees every which way.
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