by AJ Quinn
“Not really, no.” She blinked, feeling helpless and almost consumed by anger and grief. Her body was trembling and she was uncertain she could say more without emotion bleeding through in her voice. She was faintly surprised when she felt Darien reach for her hand and found herself holding on tightly, almost painfully. Darien didn’t object. There was a real strength in her, and she was clearly willing to let Jessie share some of it.
“How do you do it?” she heard herself asking. “How do you deal with all the blood and death?”
“You try not to think about it,” Darien said with surprising gentleness. “You fight through the emotions until you manage to find some kind of internal distance. And then you go back to fighting the good fight.”
Easier said than done. “I really hate it when kids get hurt.” She stared at the flat screen a bit longer. “I want this all to be a really bad dream. Have they indicated how many casualties?”
“No, but if it’s any consolation, I’d say this time it’s not going to be about a high body count.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s Saturday,” Darien said. “The greatest number of casualties will come from the shopping mall. The good news is it was hit early, just after it opened but before it got busy. As for the other targets—the school and the courthouse—one would expect them to be mostly empty during the weekend. If the goal was a high body count, the bombings would have been carried out later, on a weekday, when the school and the courthouse would have been fully occupied.”
“But they weren’t.”
“Exactly. That would suggest the targets were selected because they were symbolic more than anything else. Like the school.”
“To what end?” Elle asked as she put down her phone.
“Why does any person or group resort to acts of terrorism? Most often, it’s to intimidate. To instill fear. To disrupt lives. And to send a message. The Guild just did what they set out to do. They demonstrated their capacity. They showed everyone they can carry out actions that clearly took months to plan. More importantly, they’ve shown they can reach people where they live—right in the middle of their normal, everyday lives where they least expect to be touched.”
The minutes stretched as Jessie listened to Darien and Elle talk while continuing to stare at the television images. Russia. Canada. Germany. “They’re not just random targets,” she said out loud, even as she continued to process the limited information she had.
“I wouldn’t think so,” Elle responded.
But Darien was watching her intently. “Where are you going with this?”
“She’s now hit six of the G8 countries,” Jessie said. Her mind raced three moves ahead. “The next G8 summit—it’s just a few weeks away. It fits. The US, Russian, and French presidents will be there. So will the chancellor of Germany, and the prime ministers of the United Kingdom, Canada, Italy, and Japan.”
“All those world leaders in one location would be a powerful draw,” Darien said softly.
Jessie nodded. “The Guild’s original goal was to destabilize Russia. That could be accomplished much more easily if they were to weaken all of her allies.”
“And nothing would do that faster that taking out each country’s leader. Short-term, all of those countries would be reduced to chaos.”
“Jesus, it makes horrible sense.”
“And it’s crazy enough it just might work. Where’s the next summit being held?”
“In the US. On Cabot Island.”
“Where’s that?”
Jessie smiled faintly. “Not surprising if you don’t know, since it’s one of more than three thousand islands off the coast of Maine.”
Darien raised her eyebrows in silent question.
“It’s called the Maine archipelago,” Jessie explained, “and it includes everything from small granite ledges to Mount Desert Island, the largest of the islands at just over one hundred square miles.”
“You’re not kidding, are you? That’s really where they’ve chosen to hold the next summit?”
“I’m afraid so. Most of the islands are uninhabited, and federal and state agencies and conservation groups own about fifteen hundred. But the rest are private property. About a third of the islands are ten acres or more. Some have thriving villages serviced by daily ferry service from the mainland, and I believe fourteen are inhabited year round. Mostly in Casco Bay, Penobscot Bay, and south of Mount Desert.”
“It sounds like you know the area quite well.”
Jessie smiled faintly. “I should. My family maintains a summer home there that’s been in the family for generations, and I spent every summer vacation there when I was younger. I can remember spending endless days on the water, sailing and exploring as many islands as I could. My goal was to touch them all before I finished high school.”
“And did you?”
“Lord, no,” Jessie laughed. “But not for lack of trying.”
Darien went very still, her expression suddenly difficult to read. “It sounds like an idyllic place.”
“It was—it is.”
“But you’re also describing a security nightmare for the summit.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Jessie said. “The boating season in Maine typically lasts from the first of July through Labor Day. Between local boaters, tourists, sports fishermen, and commercial fishing boats, the waterways are filled with craft of all sizes and shapes, from kayaks to yachts. I understand the logistics have been driving Homeland Security and the FBI crazy since the location was chosen for the summit.”
“Then why the hell was it picked?”
“I’d like to tell you it’s because the authorities thought the island would make it easier to prevent the clashes between police and protestors that have become synonymous with high-level meetings. And in part, that’s true.”
“What other reason is there?”
Jessie grinned wryly and shrugged. “Because the current US president has a summer home there.”
“Wonderful,” Darien murmured. “Leaving us with a terrorist threat, a logistical nightmare, and a rapidly shrinking timeline.”
*
“Your level of patience is nothing short of amazing,” Jessie said. It was clear that, as far as she was concerned, they’d been waiting far too long for Yuri to make contact with Ari, and her voice was lined with frustration.
Glancing up from the computer, Darien saw the sheen of impatience showing in Jessie’s eyes and ignored her sarcasm. “Patience is my stock in trade, Jesslyn.” She smiled, knowing it was also a fundamental rule of revenge. “Waiting is the first thing a sniper learns to do.”
“So we just wait?”
“Everything happens when the time is right. In the meantime, we wait. Keep busy.”
“Doing what?”
“A little of this, a little of that. For example, come and tell me what you see.” She pointed to the computer she’d been using to familiarize herself with the area surrounding Cabot Island. The screen was currently displaying satellite images of the Maine archipelago.
But unlike Jessie, who would look at the images with a view to protecting the island and everyone on it, Darien had been viewing it through the eyes of a hunter. Looking for weaknesses that could be exploited. Searching out points of vulnerability.
The distraction worked. She watched Jessie’s shoulders relax as she focused on the laptop, staring at the screen. “I see too many places to hide. Too many places from which to launch an attack. Even if Homeland Security clears an island, what’s to stop someone from going in behind them and storing missiles or weapons or whatever they need? ”
“You’re right.” She glanced at Jessie and sensed she’d been waiting for a moment like this. “What is it you want to know, Jesslyn?”
Jessie blinked, appeared to hesitate for a second. “I guess I want to know how you would do it. What would you do if you were hired to take someone out during the summit?”
Picking up a pen and some paper, Darien s
tudied the blank page in silent consideration before she began jotting down notes under Jessie’s watchful eyes. She knew the island itself would be well fortified. DHS personnel would set up a security buffer zone around the island, restricting both airspace and access by water. Soldiers and police officers would form a ring around the island while coast guard gunships with anti-aircraft batteries would circle the waters. Military jets and marine helicopters would perform routine flyovers.
The causeway from the mainland to the island would be closed to all but authorized vehicles for the duration of the summit. Even then, there would be multiple checkpoints to clear, including bomb-sniffing dogs, numerous credential checks, walk-through metal detectors, and X-ray bag screening.
But if she was seriously hunting any or all the heads of the G8 countries while they were on the island…how would she do it?
Clearly there would be opportunities to launch a short-range tactical missile strike from one of the countless islands that made up the archipelago. Or from a pleasure yacht, one of hundreds out on the water beyond the buffer zone.
Both scenarios—the second more so than the first—warranted serious consideration given the Guild’s success to date with missiles and bombs. Adding a distraction would help, possibly a suicide bomber trying to get across the causeway. It would cause chaos and prevent DHS from using the causeway as an escape route.
When she was finished, she laid the pen down and examined her notes. It could work. But as she stared a little longer and let her mind run free, she suddenly found herself contemplating an entirely different possibility.
Before Jessie could say anything, she reached for the pen once again and began writing quickly. Drawing the basics of a plan that called for simultaneous attacks using GPS and computer-controlled airplanes. Miniature jets capable of flying up to four miles at more than three hundred miles per hour. Each replete with electronic jammers and armed with 40 millimeter thermobaric grenades.
Watching over her shoulder, Jessie swore softly. “Baby drones?” When she nodded, Jessie bit back another oath. “All I can say is thank God you’re on our side.”
The comment elicited a brief smile, but that was all. The problem with the exercise Darien had just completed—the problem with considering how she might handle such a job—was she would never take on a job of this nature in the first place. Because no matter how it was handled, there would be no getting away from collateral damage.
Innocent people would die. The fact that many of them would be military and law-enforcement personnel wouldn’t make them any less innocent or any less dead.
Any response she might have considered making would have to wait as her cell phone began to vibrate. She immediately felt a wave of adrenaline flow through her body, but her hand remained steady as she reached for the phone. Conscious of the three people watching her, as soon as she heard Yuri’s voice on the other end of the connection, she got up and moved to stand by the window, creating the illusion of space and distance, if nothing else.
Chapter Sixteen
Jessie’s gaze followed Darien as she moved to the window and stood in the exact center of a nimbus of light. She heard her greet Yuri softly in Russian. Over the next few minutes she watched as Darien fell silent, the phone pressed against her ear, and sensed her withdrawal even though Darien never moved away from the window.
Darien appeared oblivious to everything around her, her concentration fixed exclusively on whatever information Yuri was relaying. She listened with a calm detachment, occasionally acknowledging her understanding while her expression remained solemn.
But as the seconds ticked by and the conversation continued, something changed. Yuri must have said something unexpected, something that caused Darien to stiffen. Tension spread visibly like darkness and appeared to settle somewhere between her shoulder blades. The frown that formed on her face wasn’t encouraging. Neither was the prolonged silence that followed when she finally disconnected her call.
For the longest time, Darien remained by the window as if held there by the dying sunlight. With her eyes closed and her hands locked together, it was patently obvious she was fighting combustible emotions, making an effort to regroup. The tight silence stretched before she opened her eyes again and turned back to the room.
She unclenched her hands and let them fall to her sides. Squared her shoulders. But as Jessie waited and watched intently, she could see there were new shadows in Darien’s eyes, and a bone-deep weariness that hadn’t been there earlier.
Whatever was troubling Darien went deep, and it made Jessie want to reach out to her. But it wouldn’t help. This was neither the time nor the place, and she was not the only one observing Darien. Ben and Elle were staring just as intently, both clearly impatient to know what the next move was going to be in the complicated chess game they were all playing.
Jessie wanted to know but let her silence tell Darien she would wait until she had her thoughts in order. Ben was not inclined to give her time. “What did Yuri say?” he asked. “Are we on?”
As if coming out of a fugue state, Darien nodded stiffly. “The Guild has agreed to meet with Ari,” she said. “They’ll provide a list of the weapons they want, but Yuri indicated thermobaric weapons will be at the top of their shopping list. He says they’re on a short clock, but they’re prepared to pay top dollar to get what they want as quickly as possible.”
Elle leaned forward. “I’m not familiar with—what did you call the weapons they want?”
“Thermobaric weapons. They’re fuel-rich high explosives,” Ben explained. “When dropped from an aircraft or fired from a rocket launcher, the initial explosion injects a fine flammable mist into the air to form a cloud. When it’s detonated, it generates an intense high-temperature explosion that literally sets fire to the air above its target.”
“The fireball creates a vacuum and everything in the vicinity collapses,” Darien added. “It also sends out a shock wave in all directions that lasts longer than more conventional explosives.”
“So whatever doesn’t get obliterated in the blast gets flattened by the shock waves or suffocated by the vacuum,” Elle concluded.
Darien nodded. “That’s what makes them ideal weapons when dealing with tunnels or caves, which is why American Special Forces used them in Afghanistan. But because they deliver massive firepower in a relatively compact size, they’re also considered highly portable and ideal for remote targets…like Cabot Island.”
As she spoke, something caused Jessie’s spider-sense to tingle and left her feeling uneasy. It wasn’t what Darien was saying, which was bad enough. There was something else at play. She could hear it in the tension in her voice.
Thrusting her hands deep into her pockets, she studied Darien’s face carefully, looking for a source of concern. What she saw as her eyes traced over the lines that shaped Darien’s face was the same thing she’d been seeing since their first meeting. Slanting cheeks and a sensuous mouth. Dark unreadable eyes.
But something was off. Something just beneath the surface. She watched Darien turn back to stare out the window, her arms folded over her middle in a stance that was becoming familiar, and sensed she was struggling to contain a surge of unwelcome emotion.
The only problem was Jessie had no idea what was causing it. She just knew it hadn’t been there before Yuri’s call, and she needed to find out what it was before they went too far afield. She weighed the pros and cons, then made her choice and began to probe.
“I don’t know why, but something isn’t sitting right. Maybe it’s happening easier than I thought, I’m not sure,” she said. “But since this meeting is what we’ve been waiting for, I suppose I shouldn’t question our luck.”
Ghost-gray eyes turned in Jessie’s direction. But if Darien was surprised or irritated by her reaction, it didn’t show. “There’s nothing to question. It’s not luck. It’s simply a case that the Guild’s original broker, Ivan Sakharov, hasn’t been returning calls. Rumor has it he’s disappeared.�
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“Really?” Jessie drawled the word out into two syllables.
“Yes, really.” Darien tipped her head in acknowledgment. “It obviously brings to an end the search you’ve been conducting for the broker. But it does prove you were right about the Russians, and according to Yuri, Sakharov’s lack of response has rattled Nadia. It’s caused her to become impatient, and therefore open to using an arms dealer she hasn’t met or dealt with before. Namely, Ari.”
“Who’s Nadia?”
There was a subtle hesitation before she answered. “Nadia Petrov,” Darien said in a curiously flat tone, “is the current head of the Guild.”
The words were measured and gave away nothing but the facts. But Jessie could hear something in her voice. “Do you know her?”
“Not exactly, no.” There was a tense pause during which Darien continued to look vaguely unsettled. “But unless I miss my mark, she’s going to turn out to be related to Dmitri Petrov.”
“And he is…?”
“He was one of the original three leaders whose gangs came together to form the Guild…and the last one to fall.”
The chill in Darien’s words rippled along Jessie’s spine as the picture suddenly became clear. “Oh, Jesus,” she murmured. “Damn, are you all right?”
*
For the span of several seconds, the skin on Darien’s neck prickled as if Dmitri’s hand still held her there. She brought her hand up and rubbed the spot, trying to stay focused on the moment until she heard only the thunder of her own heart, beating in a frantic rhythm. “I’m fine.”
Part of her actually meant it, but she knew she didn’t quite manage to hide the faint edge in her voice. Or the fury that no doubt burned in her eyes. When Jessie continued to stare at her, she finally conceded. “Okay, maybe I’m not entirely fine. But I’ve learned the hard way to take it the way it comes, one day at a time. And I won’t let this get in the way of what needs to be done.”
Ben looked at her and Darien realized she had become the sole focus of his attention. “Are you certain? Dare, I need to know if you can handle this. There’s no shame in admitting it if you can’t. We’ll just find another way.”