by Darren Swart
“This conversation did not occur. No leaks on this and maybe you’ll be here for another three years. Are we clear?”
“Crystal.”
The line clicked and went dead. Her gut told her that the orders were from higher up—possibly even from the Secretary himself.
De La Hoya fidgeted, trying to get caught up on the paperwork covering the gunmetal gray desk. It had been two hours since the phone call. She had to call her neighbor to pick up her daughter from school. She was starting to get irritated. She had three years of combat experience, spoke four languages and was respected by some of the top intelligence officers in the Army. Now, she was in a holding pattern because some bureaucrat was nervous about travel arrangements. Her patience began to wane when the knock came at the door.
Gillian looked around, making sure she was out of camera range. She unloaded the Sig and wrapped it in a clean towel, while her fledgling team kept a look out. Placing it in the spare tire well, she lifted three matching overnight bags and handed them back one-by-one without looking. She slammed the trunk shut, as she called Franz. “We’re at CLT and proceeding into the main terminal building.”
After a minute of silence, she hung up the phone. “We’re to go straight to the TSA supervisor’s office.”
Both young men blinked at her and then at each other. Marty found his wits first and asked, “You’re sure that’s what he said?”
She was only partially successful at not giving him a dour look. “I know it sounds insane, but the TSA will be assisting us.”
Digger shook his head. Having escaped capture only a short while ago, the thoughts of walking straight into a paranoid stronghold and turning themselves in seemed nutty. In retrospect, he concluded that talking to rocks was as well, so he held his tongue. Gillian patted herself twice for hidden weapons. A concealed weapon in an airport would make this a very short trip.
She took point in the airport and wasted no time in finding a uniformed officer. After a few indecipherable radio exchanges, the screener personally escorted them to the office. The screener rapped on the door waiting for her superior to acknowledge.
De La Hoya barked through the door, allowing the screener to hold it for them upon arrival. She regarded the trio severely because for their beatnik college appearance, but said nothing disparaging. When only De La Hoya could see her, their escort rolled her eyes as she backed out of the room. De La Hoya concentrated on maintaining her icy exterior.
Gillian extended a hand. “Kelly, Gillian Kelly.”
“De La Hoya.” She was greeted by a confident handshake and she returned it. It was one more suited to a soldier than a student.
Maria quickly sized up Gillian. She had the earmarks of a professional: quick eyes, physically fit, strong, callused hands; the kind of professional you wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of. She looked Gillian in the eye. “I was informed by my superior to provide any necessary support until you board your flight. I was also instructed to provide you with the contents of this packet.” She handed Gillian a freshly sealed manila envelope.
Gillian regarded the packet for a moment and asked, “Would you happen to have a place in private where I can examine the contents with my colleagues?”
Maria smiled inwardly at the term colleagues. “Feel free to use my office. I’ll step outside. Let me know when you’re ready.” She paused for a second before finishing with, “Let me urge you to expedite your evaluation of the material. There is a plane waiting for you.”
Gillian smiled, unruffled. “We’ll only be a moment.”
Maria returned it with a tight smile of her own. She was going to be a lot happier when these people were on their way. She stepped out of the office and waited just outside the door.
Gillian ripped open the package and dumped the contents onto the now clean desktop. She thumbed through the contents, jabbing out passports and money as she went. Marty stared at the cash. “What’s this?”
She smiled. “Traveling money.”
Each stuffed documents and money into various pockets, as Digger cracked the door. “Officer De La Hoya?”
She walked past Digger and Marty, regarding them for a moment with cool disdain. Neither was military and both seemed like nice kids. She wondered how they got hooked up in all of this. With a mental shrug, she looked at Gillian, “Okay, Ms. Kelly, if you and your friends would follow me, and please keep up.”
De La Hoya managed to stay to the side of the trio. She never exposed them to her back. Gillian admired the officer’s poise. She clearly had professional experience. In fact, they weren’t that dissimilar. In and out of twists and turns, De La Hoya walked quickly and confidently through the winding terminal. Never once going back through the main terminal, they navigated through the bowels of the airport. There seemed to be a cipher lock at every turn. It would be impossible to go back the way they came in. Gillian kept track of the turns as a habit. Still, she didn’t think it would do her any good. They followed narrow corridors that were dotted with cramped antiquated offices full of disillusioned masses of schedulers, planners and logistics people of every type—none of which even acknowledged their presence. They felt invisible.
Gillian stopped, as they reached another cipher at the end of the narrow hall. De La Hoya coded in the cipher and allowed Gillian to enter, only to have Marty place a hand on her shoulder. “Hold up.”
Gillian looked at him. “What’s the matter?”
“Something’s wrong.”
She glanced sharply back at De La Hoya. He shook his head. “Not her. There’s someone out there.”
De La Hoya bristled at him, “Sir, I assure you that there are no boogey men on the other side of that door.”
She pushed past them into a dimly lit baggage cavern. There appeared to be no one else in the room, but there were hiding places at every turn.
Maria was now ahead of them. She waved them on and said, “Come on, people. Let’s go. We’ve got a plane waiting.”
Gillian let De La Hoya get a few steps ahead before she paced herself beside Marty. Instinctively, she trusted Marty’s instincts. Quietly, she inquired, “What’s up?”
He looked at her, gravely. “We’re walking into an ambush. I can sense it.”
Digger listened but said nothing.
A hulking baggage handler popped up out of nowhere. A startled Marty jumped. Digger nearly wet himself and Gillian was two seconds away from taking him out when De La Hoya looked back and said, “Hey Ernie. What’s shakin’?” She kept walking, without waiting on a reply.
Ernie raised his hand in a silent acknowledgment. His crush on Maria was evident to everyone except her. He smiled at the three behind her. They must be important friends for her to bring them through this area. No one is allowed back here. All three smiled and waved back. Ernie thought, They seem like nice people. He went back to loading luggage for US Air to Philly, making sure he checked each tag for the TSA seal. The auditors wouldn’t catch him on that again.
Using another code key, Maria opened the gate in front of them, which led out of the baggage area. She moved ahead down the narrow sheet metal corridor to the hangar complex. She didn’t wait to hear the door click behind them. Without stopping, she did a brief look to the rear to ensure that all of her little ducklings were still in tow. Satisfied all three were with her, she continued down the tin hall at a deliberate pace. She had things to do, and they appeared to be keeping up. She stopped for a moment at the end of the tunnel, so they could catch up. The sudden burning sensation above her right breast felt painfully familiar. It had been years since she’d felt that kind of pain.
She looked down to see the broadening red stain across her white uniform shirt. She staggered back a step before crumpling into a heap. It was like all the energy left her. Her eyes began to blur, as everything seemed to slow down around her. Her mind drifted for a moment. She looked down at the blood stain. It covered half her uniform now.
She stared at the red, wondering how she would
get the blood stain out. They were only issued four new sets of uniforms a year now. They had to keep them up. Budgets were tight this year.
Armand waited patiently in the hangar. Quite honestly, he was a far better thief than an assassin, but times were tough for a hired gun. He took any work he could get these days. With all the expatriate terrorists running amuck, there were too many free agents in the field. The labor market was flooded with cheap killers willing to blow up a school bus of kids for a pack of smokes. Accessing the hangar, stealing a size fifty-two coverall and making himself look like he belonged was easy. Shooting the dishy broad in uniform was a bonus. His instructions from the Scot were clear. Follow and observe. If any of the kids appeared to do anything weird or supernatural (whatever that was), eliminate them and bring the gem to his boss. It seemed simple enough, though he had trouble deciphering what he had meant by supernatural. He had watched from a distance as the gun blew up in the Frenchman’s hand. All the while, she stared at him like she were willing it to happen. It was at that point that he decided that the situation was supernatural enough. It was time to collect the gem and cash in.
Digger headed back to the door to the baggage area. The door had a code key on both sides. He turned to face the others, his face a deathly shade of pale. They were trapped.
Chapter 23
Gillian grabbed De La Hoya by the collar and pulled her back, scanning as she moved. She looked back at Marty and said, “Get her out of here.” She watched as Marty struggled under the load of De La Hoya’s dead weight. She didn’t have time to worry about that.
Gillian popped her head out, trying to survey the scene without compromising her position. This was urban warfare. This she understood. he called back to Marty. “I need some eyes here, Pal.” She made small cat-like movements up the corridor.
Marty moved in close behind her, trying to follow her example. Halfway up the length of the corridor, he stopped and slid down the wall to the floor. He relaxed, as he eased onto the concrete floor. Gillian stopped and gave a quick backward glance. She watched as his eyes had begun to glow. She turned her attention back to the front of the tunnel. She hissed back to Marty, “Are you picking anything up yet?”
She noticed the change in the tone of his voice, “You’ll have your visual in a moment.”
Forty-eight hours ago if someone without electronic surveillance equipment had told her that, she would have thought them insane. Right now, she was happy to have him. “Let me know when you have something.”
“Will do.” His voice was detached and ethereal.
Marty called out to Gillian. “It’s an older man in a gray maintenance uniform. He’s walking toward us.”
Gillian nodded. The older gentleman seemed to be in no hurry. In fact, he looked almost nonchalant.
“Are you sure it’s him? He doesn’t look like he has a gun?”
“He’s your shooter. He has a pistol in his right pocket.”
She stepped out and faced the man directly. He didn’t seem concerned nor, did he react like she would have expected a trained killer to. He didn’t try to hide or conceal himself. He was either the most confident hitman she had ever met, or the most stupid. He looked at Gillian and smiled. Removing his hand from his broad coverall pocket, she saw the narrow frame of an older Walther PPK slip from his pocket. The long tube of a silencer pointed straight at her. “That’s quite far enough, Missy. Why don’t we go back down to the ally for a little privacy? I’ll make it quick and painless for you and your friends.”
Gillian considered him carefully. She wasn’t in a practice of underestimating her adversaries. It was unfortunate that her adversary was. She responded, civilly. “Look, I know it seems like the odds are in your favor at the moment, but believe me it is in your best interest to just walk away. Don’t ask any questions. Just leave.”
Armand snickered. She must think I’m stupid. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Honey, I’m holding the gun.”
Her eyes turned to ice. “So, do you plan to talk me to death?”
“I hit the security chick over there at a hundred and fifty feet away. Unless you can cover forty feet in two seconds, I don’t think you have a chance.” Screw it. She’s not going to talk her way out of this. She must think I was born yesterday. He stopped, and leveled the gun at her chest.
She spoke, calmly. “This is your last chance, Mister.”
“See you in Hell, Sister.” He squeezed the trigger. It seemed to be stuck. He squeezed harder. His finger was beginning to hurt. Beads of perspiration began to pop out from his forehead. She seemed to be getting closer, but she wasn’t moving. He was. Unnoticed by him, a large vent fan in the garage behind him began to slow. Slowly, his feet dragged along the rough concrete. He placed his other finger on the trigger and squeezed harder. His hands began to shake from the strain. He tried to back up only to find that he couldn’t. As he moved his feet backward, he seemed to move toward her faster. He began to panic. The woman was as serene as an alpine lake.
Digger stared at Maria, trying to control the panic and remember the only first aid course he had ever had. His memory struggled with the data. He recited the treatment for bleeding to himself, Direct pressure, pressure points, elevation. There was no mention of sucking chest wounds in Mrs. Tannenbalm’s fifth grad Health Class. He searched his pockets for anything. His fingers closed around the money and several napkins from last night’s restaurant. Napkins ought to do it. He pushed the wad of napkins over the wound. The blood seemed to slow its christening effect on her uniform but was beginning to pool beneath her. He eased her up and found a much larger hole in her back. The bullet must have gone straight through. Oh well, it’s only money. Maria stirred. Her face was turning an ashen color. Her eyes lolled back. He swallowed back the fear.
Rolling her onto her side, he tore the back of the shirt open. Wiping his hand on his pants, he put his palm over the wound. It slowed the blood flow considerably. The waded-up napkin fell off her chest. He placed his other hand over the wound. With one hand on each side of her body, he seemed to slow the flow of blood. However, even with the wounds covered, she seemed to be slipping from him. He was going to lose her. He looked up for Marty and Gillian. They were doing what they could to keep the shooter at bay. There was no other help. He was alone in this. It was in desperation that he closed his eyes and reached out. Rachel?
Nothing happened. He concentrated harder. Please, I need your help.
Silence.
Rachel, please!
The response was calm. I’m here, Digger. The blackness began to lighten. He was in a vast empty void, filled with a soft glow of golden light. In the distance, someone was approaching him. It seemed to take no time and she was with him. Now she was in front of him, smiling. Yes?
In desperation, his thoughts tumbled out. The girl I’m with. She was trying to help us. She was shot. I think she’s dying. I don’t know what to do.
Rachel pouted. In the arms of another woman and you want my help. Honestly, Digger, how am I supposed to trust you?
He cut her off. She’s going to die!
She placed a soft hand on his face. She’ll be fine. Trust me. Let’s have a look see, shall we?
Digger opened his eyes. Maria’s breath was rapid and shallow.
He could hear Rachel in his mind. Hmm. I like her hair. Maybe I ought to change my look. What do you think?
A little aggravated, he thought, Can we focus here? Please?
For Heaven’s sake, Sweetie, it’s just a bullet wound. It’s not a bad one, at that. It missed a main artery by a mile.’
Without warning, Digger could feel an odd warmth coursing through him. It followed his arms to his hands. As he looked at his hands, they began to lighten and glow, as did Maria’s wound. The bleeding seemed to stop immediately. Maria’s color began to improve.
See? She’ll be as right as rain in no time. Is that all you needed?
Yes. Sorry. I just get excited when people are dying on me.
He close
d his eyes and she was there. She placed the tips of her fingers under his chin and drew him near. She kissed him ever so lightly on the lips. The scent of flowers followed her. It’s okay, Sweetie. It just means you care. I wouldn’t want you any other way. She winked and was gone.
Digger smiled. She was so cool. He cradled Maria’s head on his leg,
Maria’s eyes fluttered open. Her head was splitting and her mouth was as dry as a Baptist church social, but she was alive. The blonde kid, Delgado, she thought—was hovering over her like an expectant father. He smiled. That’s good, she guessed. He asked her something. She didn’t understand at first. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. Her chest was sore, but the burning was gone. She closed her eyes again and rested.
A few moments later, her eyes flew open. It had been a horrible dream. She stared down at her chest. The uniform was covered in blood, but the place where the bullet had entered had a round white scar, but nothing more. It wasn’t a dream. It had really happened. This can’t be. She looked up at the blonde kid again. He was kind of cute. He spoke again. This time, her brain registered the question through all of the ringing. “How are you feeling?”
“Like the floor of a cross town bus. Other than that, I’m here. Do I have you to thank for that?”
He evaded answering the question. “I’m just glad you’re back with us. You gave us quite a scare.”
He seemed sweet and quite clueless. She had knocked on death’s door before during the Gulf War. She knew the score. She also knew that there was no Corpsman alive that could spontaneously heal a wound.
Digger looked at her, earnestly. “We need to get you to a doctor. You need fluids.”
“Give me a Dr. Pepper and some ibuprofen, I’ll be fine. I’ve got to get you on that flight.”
“One thing at a time, Officer.” He smiled again.
Armand tried fervently to get the weapon to fire. The harder he tried, the less effective he seemed to be. His ice calm demeanor melted as a rising tide of panic washed over him. His feet seemed to be floating now. He could stop himself from getting dangerously close to the girl. Hand-to-hand combat had never been his forte. It looks like it’s was time for Plan B. Giving up on the pistol, he opened his hand and let the Walther fall to the ground. He tried to ignore the pain in his finger. Reaching into the opposite pocket, his hand closed on a compact stun gun and waited to get closer. Suddenly, he stopped moving. He didn’t care. He was going to finish this. He started running toward the girl. After all, she was half his size. How tough can she be? When he was only a few feet from her, he yanked the stun gun free and leveled it with her neck.