by Dan Ames
Gregory cleared his throat. “Independence in contractors can become a liability, which I believe is now the case.”
Bohm turned her back on him and studied his reflection in the window. He didn’t move. She knew he wouldn’t.
“Your next step?” she asked him.
“The best way to handle an issue in the Department, is to let the Department take care of it themselves,” Gregory said. “Under my direction, of course.”
“Is that a logical assumption?”
“I believe it is,” Gregory answered.
She turned and faced him.
“The Collective is not something that does things on hunches and whims. Our actions are direct, concrete, and therefore consistently effective. Only those who demonstrate those same abilities have a place here.”
“My course of action will have the result needed with maximum efficiency.”
Bohm smiled at him.
“Who in the Department are you going to utilize?” Bohm asked.
“Moss.”
Bohm nodded. It was who she would have chosen if she’d been in the same position. Of course, she would never have allowed herself to be in this position in the first place. Gregory hadn’t directly errored, but sometimes errors of omission were the worst kind.
“Timetable?” Bohm asked.
“Immediate.”
“Collateral damage?”
“None.”
Bohm didn’t believe that, and she suspected Gregory didn’t believe it, either. But it was the right answer.
“Deliver your next update twenty-four hours from now,” she said.
The door beyond slid open, triggered by the remote control in her pocket.
Gregory turned to leave.
“One last thing, Gregory,” Bohm said.
He glanced back at her.
“The Department must come out of this situation stronger, not weaker. Any negative effects on The Department will greatly disappoint me.”
He nodded and left.
Bohm slid the door shut and picked up her phone.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Pauling and Tallon left the café.
He was going to check into the same hotel as Pauling and they would join forces.
It only made sense.
They parted on the sidewalk. Pauling walked along the street and while her biscuit had been good, she knew she would have to spend a little extra time on the treadmill during her next workout.
Maybe she and Tallon would work out together.
She smiled at the thought. What kind of workout that might be, who knew?
Pauling allowed herself the thought of how nice a romantic rendezvous with Tallon would be. She found him very attractive and unless her radar was completely off, she sensed that the feeling was reciprocal. Hell, he’d flirted with her on more than one occasion.
As she walked, she glanced in the display windows of stores along the street. Mostly nautical knickknacks and tourist stuff. A local art gallery. A used bookstore. A brewpub proudly featuring craft brews of the Pacific Northwest. Maybe she would try that later.
A little physical affection would be nice, she thought, as her mind returned to Tallon and their shared hotel.
It had been awhile since her last relationship, with an investment banker who spent most of his time on his yacht, sailing the world.
She’d spent a week with him in the Mediterranean, stopping at ports for good food, great wine and beautiful scenery.
Eventually, though, she’d gotten bored with both the trip and the banker. Plus, when she suggested they take things more casually he had responded by proposing to her. A curious reaction and the opposite of what she had just requested.
So that had ended, and there really hadn’t been anyone since.
Now, she checked her phone as she walked to her rental car. There were several messages from friends back in New York, along with some case updates in her email.
She would have plenty of catching up to do when she got home. Maybe she would grind through her email back at the hotel so when this was all done she wouldn’t face a mountain of unresolved issues back in New York.
Pauling unlocked the rental car and slipped inside. She fired up the engine and was about to put it in gear when a cloth was slapped over her face and an arm reached from the back, clamping across her upper body.
She struggled, dropped her phone, and tried to reach her gun.
But her vision blurred and then she saw nothing.
Chapter Thirty-Four
The first to arrive was the only American in the Department. His name was Moss, and as he strolled through the Seattle airport, he looked like a man on a casual business trip. Tan jeans, a T-shirt beneath a lightweight sport coat, with a briefcase and single strolling suitcase.
He looked neither young, nor old. Short, brown hair that may or may not have had a touch of silver.
While his age wasn’t apparent, his physical condition certainly was.
Lean, but powerful. A former athlete, maybe, who’d never stopped competing.
Moss was unhurried, but walked with a purposeful stride. The kind of guy who always arrived at least ten minutes early to a meeting.
The single suitcase was all he really needed, because he knew the Collective had shipped everything he needed ahead of time. The car was already parked short-term, and when he stowed his suitcase, he was satisfied to see two bags already in place.
The Collective was highly efficient.
Having an unlimited budget didn’t hurt, he knew.
As always, though, it came down to intelligence. The more information the better. And the right kind of information.
Moss left the airport, headed toward Whidbey Island.
He’d never gone after another member of the Department.
It was highly unusual and carried with it a great deal of risk. However, the folks back in Zurich had doubled his normal fee. He failed to mention to them that he knew his target, personally.
He smiled.
Moss would have been happy to kill the bitch for free.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Tallon sipped from a small black coffee and wondered where Pauling was.
He’d dumped his gear at the hotel, and ducked around the corner for some caffeine. The carbs from the biscuit had made him feel a little sluggish.
Now, he logged onto the café’s Wi-Fi and checked his phone.
Nothing.
It was a little strange.
They had just talked a few hours ago, and agreed to meet at the hotel. He thought for sure she would either be working out or, more likely, just working. He knew that Pauling’s company was very successful and high-end. He was sure running a business like that placed a lot of demands on her time and attention. Still, it was unusual for her not to communicate.
Tallon wondered where she might have gone.
A man and a woman walked into the coffee shop, vehemently discussing what sounded like a pending real estate offer. Something about a condo and whether or not a chandelier was included. It seemed like, according to the woman, if the chandelier wasn’t included then the deal was off.
Tallon watched the street, waiting.
He considered his options and how long he was willing to wait.
When his phone rang, he saw the blocked number.
“Tallon,” he said.
“I’m with Lauren Pauling,” a woman’s voice said. “Join us in an hour at the address I’m about to text you.”
The call disconnected and then beeped with the incoming text message.
Tallon clicked on it and it automatically opened his map app. The address was forty-five minutes away, near Deception Pass, but in a remote location, far from any town.
He left the café, retrieved some items from his room and soon had the SUV pointed toward the address he’d been sent.
Tallon knew that voice.
He couldn’t quite place it.
But it was someone he knew.
As
he drove, he tried not to concentrate on it too much.
He hoped it would come to him.
And soon.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Pauling came to and quickly realized two things. One, her arm was numb because it was handcuffed to an iron pipe.
And two, her ass hurt.
She was sitting on a cement floor and from the musty smell, she assumed it was a basement.
There was no one around.
Her cell phone was gone. Her head hurt, but she knew it was from the chloroform and not because she’d taken any blows to the head.
It was important to stay positive.
She wasn’t scared. She’d been taken hostage once before, but that was totally different because Jack Reacher was involved.
Now, she didn’t have Reacher to rely on.
A door opened above her and two people descended, pushing a third in front of them.
Both of them were small.
One man.
One woman.
In front of them, was a girl.
Pauling instantly knew it was Figueroa’s real sister, not the imposter who’d no doubt been working for the man in front of her.
The woman was small, but wiry. With bright red hair and pale skin. Her eyes passed over Pauling and registered nothing.
The other person was a tiny man with dark skin and jet black hair. Mexican, if she had to guess.
Two heavyset men descended the staircase and used a set of handcuffs to chain the girl next to Pauling.
“This is her?” the Mexican said, pointing at Pauling. “She’s old!”
“Screw you, pal,” Pauling said.
The little Mexican walked toward her and kicked her in the stomach. She saw it coming and managed to twist enough to block some of the kick.
“You trying to hurt me with those size 5s?” she asked.
A small smile tugged at the red-haired woman’s mouth and then it was gone. She glanced over at the little Mexican man who looked like he was going to try to kick Pauling again.
“So much bait,” the man laughed. “I’m glad you agreed to doing it here. I think it’s for the best. Still, all this for one man. Overkill, no?”
The red-haired woman didn’t answer.
The little Mexican man walked over to an opening in the floor and looked down and then he looked at Pauling.
“They’re going to love a taste of you,” he said. “After my men have had their fill.”
“Whatever, oompa loompa,” Pauling said. The same little smiled showed briefly on the red-haired woman’s face.
The Mexican looked confused. “Oompa lompa? What is this?”
He looked at the red-haired woman who didn’t answer.
“Google it, asshole,” Pauling said.
The pair left then, climbed the stairs and Pauling heard the click and lock of the door.
She turned to the young woman beside her.
The girl was unconscious. Pauling wished she could lift her hand and check her pulse, but it was impossible.
“Hey, it’s okay,” she said.
The girl didn’t respond.
Pauling struggled to maintain her breathing, admitting the kick hurt a lot more than she let on.
The little man had said the bait was all for one man.
She knew what he meant.
And wondered what Michael Tallon was doing.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
There was a time for planning.
And a time for action.
Tallon believed strongly that the moment called for less planning and more action.
Of course, instinct told him what he was going to find. Pauling had already figured out the situation. She had started to uncover it when they were at the café.
While it was true Pauling had been lured out here, it wasn’t the end game. They had used her as insurance to get Tallon in their crosshairs.
And he thought he knew why.
The thing that tied it all together was Figueroa.
And Sica.
Not Alberto Sica. Because he was dead. Gunned down by Tallon, Figueroa, and the rest of their crew.
Unfortunately, they’d killed Alberto Sica’s daughter, too. Firefights have a way of getting out of control.
That one had been no exception.
There had long been rumors that Sica had family who’d fled to the United States. Tallon was now sure that they were the ones behind this. They had somehow managed to poison Nate Figueroa, and figured it would be easier to kill Tallon by luring him into their territory.
Now they had Pauling.
And probably Maria Figueroa.
Tallon knew what was in the compound he now faced. A gate. Multiple bodyguards. Sica himself. And probably a hired killer or two. Maybe even the same one who’d shot the Reacher lookalike.
No, the time for planning was over.
The next step would be a direct approach.
Literally.
His SUV was reinforced with a crash bar at the front, as well as a rear guard. But the crash bar in front was connected to the entire frame of the vehicle. With a full tank, it was a heavy vehicle.
And he put the big vehicle in high gear, four-wheel drive, and pressed the accelerator to the floor. The road leading up to the gate was slightly downhill and it helped him reach nearly eighty miles per hour before he hit the gate straight on.
No airbag deployed because he’d removed it during the vehicle’s customization. The gate was blasted off its hinges and one of the sections screeched down the side of Tallon’s SUV as he plowed through it and straight toward the front door of the compound’s main building.
He continued straight ahead, the SUV pulling hard to the left because either there was something pinned to the vehicle or because the frame itself was knocked out of kilter.
It didn’t matter because the engine was powerful enough to drive straight up onto the front porch and barrel right into the front door.
Not surprisingly, the door didn’t hold and the SUV was in the middle of the building’s main room where gunfire erupted.
Tallon flung his door open and rolled from the truck immediately after the front door gave and the SUV skidded to a stop, its engine smoking and transmission grinding to a halt.
He rolled away from the vehicle as it shuddered on, and he came up with his gun in hand.
The first targets were easy.
Mexican gangbangers, Sica’s men, no doubt. They were not trained to be attacked and they were in the process of directing their fire toward the vehicle.
They sprayed it down with hundreds of bullets.
Complete overkill.
Only one of the men seemed to realize the driver was no longer in the vehicle.
He was the first man Tallon killed.
His own gunfire was lost in the thunderous noise.
After Tallon dropped the first of Sica’s men, he took out three more in quick succession. None of them had seen him and their attention was on the vehicle or their weapons as they paused to reload.
When all three dropped, though, attention turned to Tallon.
By then, he had already scrambled to the left of the entrance, taking cover behind a metal bin containing firewood ready to be burned in the fireplace.
Bullets dinged off the metal. Metal shards combined with wood chips rained down on him.
Tallon crawled to his left again and spotted two of Sica’s men trying to flank him around the crashed SUV.
He shot both of them, two sets of double taps to the chest.
And suddenly, the cabin was silent.
Tallon ran to his right, around the back of the SUV and came face-to-face with Sica. The little man had a huge machine gun he was trying to bring to bear.
Tallon was much faster.
He knocked the gun down, placed the muzzle of his pistol against Sica’s forehead and pulled the trigger.
The little man dropped to the floor and suddenly, Tallon was facing a woman with bright red hair and an arm around Paulin
g’s throat.
She had a gun to Pauling’s head.
“Hey,” the woman said. “Tallon. Long time no see.”
“Nowhere to go Grace,” Tallon said.
“We miss you in The Department,” she said. “It’s not the same without you.”
“That was a long time ago,” Tallon said. “Besides, it was hard to know who you were working for.” He nodded his head. “No amount of money is worth being employed by scum like that.”
“Speak for yourself,” Grace said.
Tallon looked at Pauling. She returned the gaze with a frank expression. Not scared. Just waiting.
“You going to kill her?” Tallon asked Grace. “And Nate Figueroa’s sister, too? Two innocent women? That’s what you’ve become?”
“The girl’s downstairs,” Grace said. “Alive.”
“How magnanimous of you,” Tallon replied.
“A contract is a contract, though,” Grace answered. “I honor all of my contracts, which includes you, and her.”
Tallon saw Grace’s finger tighten on the trigger but he knew there was no way he could pull his gun in time.
And then suddenly, he didn’t have to.
Because Grace’s head exploded in a shower of blood and brain tissue.
Moss stepped out from behind her, holding an automatic with a silencer attached. Smoke curled from the weapon’s muzzle.
Pauling had fallen to the floor alongside Grace, but now she scrambled forward, toward Tallon who lifted her to her feet.
He looked her over.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yeah. Jesus, who was that woman?” she asked, glancing down at what was left of Grace.
“She was bad news.”
The man with the gun stepped over the dead body.
“Pauling, this is Moss,” Tallon said. “Moss, this is Pauling.”
“Can’t believe I had to bail you out again,” Moss said to Tallon.
“I’m getting Maria,” Pauling said.
Tallon looked at Moss.
“They sent you here?” he asked.