Next Exit, Pay Toll

by CW Browning

  “Every day until I tell you to stop,” Frankie answered, holding out his hand.

  Marty took it with a shaking hand and then turned to stumble out the door.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Alina glanced at her watch as she moved swiftly through the airport crowds, heading toward her gate. She would be right on time for the last boarding call, barring any delay on the part of the airline. She hated flying commercial flights, but this time it was necessary. Her eyes were never still as she navigated the crowds, noting every face she passed and storing it away in the back of her mind, just in case. The paranoid habit had saved her life on more than one occasion, and she wasn't about to stop now.

  As she passed a group of tourists with hiking gear strapped to their backs, one of the hikers turned and bumped her with his pack. Alina stumbled a step in her stride, throwing the hiker a sharp glare. He shrugged apologetically.

  “Sorry, Señorita,” he apologized in Spanish, reaching out his hands to steady her. “This pack is bigger than I am. I've been bumping people all morning. My apologies.”

  “Esta bien,” Alina murmured, regaining her balance and nodding.

  He nodded and turned back to his group as Alina continued on her way. She weaved through the crowds without further delay and arrived at her gate just as they called last boarding call. She handed over her boarding pass and was striding down the boarding tube a minute later. When she reached the door of the plane, a stewardess looked at her boarding stub and showed her into first class with a smile.

  She had the compartment all to herself. Settling into her seat next to the window, Alina requested coffee from the stewardess and pulled her laptop out of its bag. The stewardess moved away and Alina reached into her pocket to extract the flash drive the hiker had slipped into her palm in the airport.

  Powering on the computer, she plugged the flash drive into the port and started running the files through her decryption program. The stewardess returned with her coffee while it was still running and Alina accepted the tray with the small coffee pot and cup gratefully. She had been up for over thirty hours now and was running low on both energy and optimism. Sipping her coffee, she checked the progress of the decryption and saw that half the files had been completed. Alina clicked them open and started scrolling through the decrypted documents and memos.

  It had begun.

  A statement of cooperation had been issued to the Federal Bureau of Investigation this morning by Charlie, after he had been shown “persuasive evidence” that she had been involved in two homicides and an attack on a Secret Service agent in the past forty-two hours. Alina read the official report, her lips curving humorlessly when she read that she had paid an ex-SEAL to assault the Secret Service agent, shooting him afterwards. Alina paused in her reading to sip some more coffee, her eyes wandering to the window to stare sightlessly at the pre-flight bustle below on the tarmac.

  Obviously, they hadn't discovered his connection to the Jersey mob or she would have been accused of being on their payroll as well, she was sure. There would be no end to the mud-slinging now. Her target had to convince everyone that she was a dangerous rogue operative, a force that had to be neutralized, a shoot-to-kill threat. She would be blamed for anything and everything that happened within a fifty mile radius of Washington now that her agency had lifted their protection. Viper's eyes narrowed slightly. Ten years of service had come down to this, a game of hard ball between a politician and the agency that trained her.

  Had Michael figured out who hired the Engineer? Was he putting it all together yet? Alina hoped she hadn't misjudged her brother's old friend and that he was as smart as he appeared. She needed him to the find the money trail, additional proof that she didn't have access to and that would, hopefully, justify her actions on US soil. If Michael wasn't everything she believed him to be, things were going to get even messier than they already were.

  “We're getting ready to taxi.” The stewardess was at her side apologetically. “May I take this away?”

  Alina looked at her empty coffee cup. She couldn't remember finishing it.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  The stewardess nodded with a smile and took the tray away. Alina returned to the documents. Alerts had been communicated to all the field agents around the world once again, stating that she was believed to be in the DC area but any information should be communicated immediately. Alina skimmed over the rest, pausing only when she got to the copy of her classified file. It had been released to three people in the Secret Service that morning: Michael O'Reilly, Chris Harper, and Art Cosgrove. Alina didn't open the attached copy of her military career. She didn't need to read it. She knew what was in it.

  It was done. By now, Michael would know the truth.

  Alina closed the documents and pulled the flash drive out, dropping it into her laptop bag. She shut the laptop down and put it in the bag as the plane started backing out of its bay. Turning her attention out the window, Alina watched as the terminal slid by slowly. All at once, she felt suddenly alone, and the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach that had been missing the past few days settled in heavily. Alina hadn't even noticed that her constant companion had been missing until now, when it fell into her with a thud.

  She was alone again. She had only herself to rely on now.

  All the pieces were in place. The worst had happened, with her file being released to the very people who wanted her dead, and now it was up to her to make the traitors pay the price for their actions. It was up to her to right a wrong that only a few people knew had even been committed. If she failed, Damon's career would be over. He would be forced into hiding because of his association with her, Michael would more than likely be killed, and her life would be over. Viper held no illusions as to what they would do to her. They didn't want her alive to talk.

  The plane rolled to a stop at the beginning of the runway. Alina stared at the terminal, now in the distance, and wondered briefly what would have happened if she hadn't boarded the plane taking her back to Washington. What if she had run, as both Damon and Harry had urged her to do repeatedly? This whole mission was built on her fury that a member of government, who had sworn to uphold the law for the safety of the nation, had disregarded that very oath and tried to impart a heinous act of terror on innocent American lives.

  Only a few people knew. The nation was ignorant of just how close they had come to another 9/11. What if she left it at that and walked away? It wasn't her responsibility to enforce justice, after all. Viper rested her head back on her seat as the engines on the plane started to ramp up in preparation for take-off. She could have not taken this flight. She could have disappeared.

  The plane started to move forward, quickly picking up speed and hurtling down the runway. Viper watched as the airport terminals flashed by in the distance and knew that she was exactly where she was supposed to be. No one else could do it. No one else was crazy enough to try.

  Viper was pressed back into her seat as the plane approached lift off, and she smiled slightly when the wheels abruptly left the tarmac and the plane lifted into the air. Her stomach dropped briefly as solid ground was left behind and she took a deep breath. There were no more what-if's or maybe's. There was no more time for thinking or regrets. Viper made her choice three months ago in a clearing in Pennsylvania.

  This was where she was supposed to be.

  The airport fell away below her as the plane lifted effortlessly into the sky, carrying her back to finish this, once and for all.

  Michael stared at the screen, his half-eaten sandwich forgotten on the plate beside the laptop. The sounds of the workers cleaning up in the kitchen after installing the new window faded into the background as he read through the email from Ori. The amount of information he had sent regarding the Engineer was staggering. The man had been a psychopath, and a very skilled one at that. Michael read through one incident after another of his exploits while still in Mossaud, and once he went rogue and became for hire, the stories an
d rumors got worse. His notoriety knew no bounds, apparently, and Ori had documented every blessed story he had heard. Michael didn't question why Ori had such good records on the assassin, but he trusted them implicitly. He couldn't help but be relieved that the Engineer was no longer with the living. If even half of the information he was reading was correct, Viper had done the world two favors that night three months ago.

  Michael let out a low whistle when he got to the last known rate that was paid for the Engineer's services. A one hundred percent success rate made people willing to pay fortunes for his services. Michael lifted his eyes thoughtfully for a moment before going back to some of the government files he had been pouring through last night. After a few calculations, Michael sat back, stunned. The financial discrepancies he had discovered the night before added up to the same amount The Engineer was known to charge.

  The money had come from Washington.

  His work blackberry started ringing, jarring Michael from his thoughts. He glanced at the number and sighed, reaching for his phone.

  “Hi Chris,” he answered, clicking Ori's file closed on his laptop and going to his email.

  “Did you get my email?” his boss asked.

  Michael opened the email that had come into his inbox over half an hour ago.

  “Just reading it now,” Michael told him, scanning the email. His eyebrows soared into his forehead and he went back to the beginning, reading more slowly. “Wait...we have Viper's file?!”

  “Yep,” Chris answered with a laugh. “I wondered why you weren't banging on my office door yet.”

  “I was busy with something.” Michael felt his heart rate increasing. “They released it this morning?”

  “Given the circumstances, they weren't left with much of a choice,” Chris replied. “I understand the pressure brought against them to release it was pretty intense. You've been authorized to view it, but it doesn't leave this building.”

  Michael closed his laptop.

  “I'll be there in twenty minutes,” he said, getting up and picking up his forgotten sandwich with his free hand.

  He disconnected the call and bit into the sandwich as he headed out of the dining room and upstairs to change.

  Damon opened his eyes and yawned, blinking in the dim light. He was on a bed in what appeared to be a hotel room, the heavy curtains pulled tight across the windows. Damon stretched and turned his head. The clock beside the bed read 3:47 in big red numbers. He sat up with a frown, rubbing his face and looking around. It was an expensive hotel. The carpet was thick and plush and the furniture was heavy, polished wood. The door to the bedroom was open and, from where he sat, it appeared to lead to another room. It was a suite then.

  Where was he?

  The last thing he remembered was shaving in the tiny bathroom at the cabin, with Alina sitting on the vanity telling him about Regina Cummings. Damon frowned, trying to concentrate. That couldn't be right. Something had happened since then, something bizarre. Memory rushed upon him, and he leaned back against the headboard of the large bed and stared at the opposite wall, stunned.

  He had been drugged!

  He remembered it all now: the disorientation, the lack of control over his body, the strange dreams, the dry mouth, the sensitivity to light...all symptoms of being heavily drugged. He had only experienced these only once before, in training, when Harry had drugged them all so that they would know how to respond in the event that it happened in the field. Hawk scowled. He hadn't been capable of responding at all this time.

  “Oh good! You're finally awake.”

  Harry appeared in the doorway, as if summoned by Hawk's thoughts, dressed in linen shorts and a floral, short-sleeved button-down shirt. His bald head gleamed in the filtered light and Damon shifted his bemused gaze to him. He watched silently as Harry went over to the curtains and pulled them back. Bright sunlight filled the room and Harry turned to face the bed, watching as Damon squinted and raised a hand against the afternoon sun.

  “What the hell happened??” Hawk demanded.

  “You were drugged,” Harry answered calmly, walking over to the dresser and pouring a glass of water from the bottle on the tray there. He carried it over to Damon and handed it to him. Damon took it thankfully and drank it down. “A stronger solution than the one I used in your training, I think. You were completely powerless.”

  “I know,” Damon said, setting the empty glass down on the nightstand. “I remember. I knew I had felt the effects before, but my brain wouldn't focus long enough for me to remember what it was.”

  “We'll have to work on that.” Harry took the empty glass back to the water bottle and filled it again. He brought it back with a slight grin. “We can't have you rendered useless like that again. It was downright depressing.” Damon shook his head when Harry tried to hand him the glass, but Harry frowned. “If you don't drink, you'll stand up and crash into the floor instead,” he said sternly. “After nursing you for the past twelve hours, I have no desire to stitch up a split face as well.”

  Damon grinned and took the glass, responding to the drill-sergeant tone in Harry's voice.

  “So, I was drugged,” he repeated, drinking the water. “By who? And where are we?”

  Harry turned to head out of the bedroom.

  “Why don't you finish that and get up and showered?” he suggested over his shoulder, ignoring the questions. “I'll order room service. You're probably hungry.”

  “Where's Viper?”

  Hawk's sharp question stopped Harry at the door and he turned his head reluctantly.

  “On her way back to Washington,” he answered.

  His eyes met Damon's and he hesitated before adding,

  “We're in Peru. Viper was the one who drugged you.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Regina's heels tapped out a rapid rhythm down the hallway as she made her way to her office, late for her one o'clock appointment. He would be waiting for her and Regina moved quickly, replying to an email from her phone as she walked. The Feds had been in possession of Billy's computer now for almost twenty-four hours. Regina could only assume that the lack of outcry meant that nothing had been found on it to incriminate her. She had been worried ever since she learned that they had taken all his electronics and, while she didn't think he was smart enough to keep anything to use against her, you never really knew for sure with men like Billy. They could sometimes surprise you.

  Regina hit send on the email and raised her head, relaxing slightly as she continued toward her office. Once Viper and Michael O'Reilly were taken care of, there would be nothing left to worry about.

  She and Alex would be safe.

  Regina threw open the door to her office and swept inside. Sure enough, there was her one o'clock, seated in a chair at the small conference table, working away on his laptop while he waited for her. He glanced up as she entered, nodding slightly as his fingers moved over the keys rapidly.

  “Good afternoon!” Regina greeted him, closing the door behind her. “Sorry to have kept you waiting.”

  “That's fine.” Art Cosgrove finished what he was working on and saved it before standing up and holding out his hand to Regina. “I was just finishing up some emails. I have news for you.”

  “That's what I like to hear,” Regina said, grasping his hand loosely before seating herself at the conference table. “Tell me.”

  “We got a copy of Viper's file this morning,” Art told her, seating himself.

  Regina's eyebrows soared into her forehead and her thin lips curved into a feline smile.

  “Fantastic!” she exclaimed. “Where is it?”

  “I'm risking my career giving this to you,” Art said, sliding a thumb drive across the table. Regina's glossy red-tipped fingers snatched it up.

  “Are you kidding me?” she demanded, her lips still smiling. “I'll make sure you get a promotion.”

  “There's more,” he said, going back to his laptop. After a moment, he turned it to face her and clicked play on the media
player. “I also have the camera footage from the parking garage where that FBI agent's car was blown up.”

  Regina looked at him sharply. Art got up and came around to stand behind her, missing the quick look.

  “The footage of Ms. Walker's car is pretty bad,” he explained as they watched the grainy image of a figure loitering near the car. “You can't even tell if it's a woman, although I think the stature is slight enough that it could be.” Art leaned forward and fast-forwarded through the file. “In this footage, the figure never actually approaches the car and there are other images flickering through the frames, like old footage was taped over it. It makes it virtually impossible to tell if that person is the one who planted the bomb.”

  “Who else could it have been?” Regina asked, the thumb drive grasped so tightly in one hand that her knuckles were white. The long nails of her other hand tapped nervously on the table. “It had to have been Viper.”

  “I'm sure it was,” Art agreed, “but based on this, we don't have visible proof.”

  “Then why are you showing this to me?” Regina demanded impatiently.

  “I'm getting to it.” Art stopped fast-forwarding. “Here it is. Watch.”

  Regina glanced at him behind her, then sighed and turned her attention back to the laptop. A black Jeep was driving down a ramp toward the camera.

  “What's this?” she asked.

  “This is from the camera across the street from the parking garage. It was recorded about three minutes after the car exploded,” Art explained.

  Regina stared at the laptop screen, her attention arrested. Her eyes narrowed and she watched as the Jeep stopped at the entrance briefly before turning out of the garage. The driver was the only person in the vehicle. He was wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses and his face was partially averted from the camera.

  “Who is it?” Regina demanded sharply. Art shrugged.

  “We don't know yet,” he answered, “but we have a clear shot of the plates and they're looking for the Jeep. We'll find him.” He reached over to close the laptop and Regina turned in her chair to look up at him. “He may have seen something. The bomb techs said it was a basic ignition charge, set to explode as soon as the engine started. Someone had to have triggered it. If Viper was there, that guy may have seen her,” Art said, straightening up and looking down at Regina. She gazed up at him, her eyes suddenly limpid.