The Finish Line r5-5

by Cliff Ryder

  "Gorn, it's me, Katt."

  The avatar's eyes lit up at seeing the guest avatar, but his expression quickly turned suspicious. "You sure you got the right guy, newbie?"

  "If I got the guy who went to juvie for eighteen months because of that Pentagon prank, then yeah, I got the right guy."

  The handsome blond head snorted. "Lots of people know that story. How do I know it's really you?"

  Marlene tamped down on her anger, knowing that the situation was making her edgy. In his place, she'd do the exact same thing. "Because when we both got drunk one night, you showed my your tattoo, and made me promise never to tell about Betty B…"

  "All right, all right, I believe you — no need to be spreading those vicious lies. That really you, Katt? What are you doing running a clone?"

  "I'm incognito at the moment. I need your help. Can we continue this somewhere else?"

  "Well, that's certainly intriguing. Your wish is my command." Marlene tried not to roll her eyes at his inane chivalry, but simply followed him through what looked like a blank stone wall. Remember, like him all you want, but don't trust him, she told herself. For all his lofty airs and patronizing demeanor toward the newbies, she knew Aragorn trusted one thing above just about anything else — cold, hard cash. Now that Ray was gone, he was the only one Marlene could turn to.

  The encrypted entrance led into a lush sitting room decorated in some kind of strange mishmash of Victorian and baroque style, with cut-glass lamps and heavy, ornate, overstuffed, claw-footed furniture everywhere.

  Aragorn shrugged out of his coat and slung himself onto a crimson-and-mahogany chaise longue, his appearance totally at odds with the room. He noticed her stare. "Oh, this. Just a moment…" His avatar flickered for a second, and just like that he was dressed in an elegant suit, complete with a dove-gray, cutaway coat with tails and matching trousers, a top hat on the seat beside him, and a raven-headed silver cane in his silk-gloved hand. "Is that better?"

  Marlene shrugged. "It'll do. Are you sure we can't be seen or heard in here?"

  Aragorn raised his hand and dragged it across the wall in answer. Where his fingers touched, the plush draperies and maple wainscoting faded away, replaced with an endless string of numbers and computer commands. She could read the code that swirled and ran in endless lines along the walls.

  "Neat, huh? It's a shifting 128-bit encryption code, with a few tweaks inserted by yours truly, of course." His pixelated expression turned grave, as if he had actually noticed her demeanor, even in here. "Hey, Katt, what's up?"

  "Ray's dead." She hadn't meant to blurt it out like that — indeed, her hands resisted typing out the words, fingers unwilling to press the keys, as if by not telling it to someone else, she could somehow will him back to life. But that's not an option — keeping myself alive now is.

  "OMG! Really? What happened?"

  She gave him an overview of the deal gone wrong and the carnage that had followed. "After I escaped, I holed up, then got in touch with you. I need somewhere safe to hide for a while, until I can figure out my plan."

  "What's in it for me?"

  "Since I still have what they hired us to get, I still want to complete the deal — the original payment in exchange for the program."

  "That doesn't sound like the brightest idea you've ever had."

  "Maybe not, but the money to be gained will set me up for a while, and I need it. Ten percent is yours if you help me out."

  "Thirty-five."

  "Fifteen."

  "Thirty."

  "Twenty."

  He paused, and she knew she had him.

  "Twenty-five, not one percent less."

  Marlene knew she could have dickered him down a percent or two, but decided not to bother. She'd still call the shots, and once she was safe, there were plenty of ways to give him the slip, too. He was nothing compared to the people on her trail. "Deal," she offered.

  "So, who'd you cross?" he asked.

  "I'd rather not say at the moment."

  Aragorn didn't like that. "Not a good way to begin our business arrangement, dear."

  "Just bear with me for now. I have a pretty good idea who's behind this, but I'm not one hundred percent sure at the moment. I can tell you it's no one you've ever messed with — they deal with security in a more direct fashion."

  "Kiss, kiss, bang, bang, eh? Hmm, all right, fair enough. You're near the station for the Chunnel — what a nasty name, sounds like some kind of venereal disease — so all aboard, my dear, and head to the City of Lights."

  "All right, what happens there?" Marlene asked.

  "It's best if you don't know. That way they can't get it out of you," Aragon replied.

  "Oh, please. You don't have anything lined up yet, do you?"

  "Give me a break! I don't have rescuers standing by at a moment's notice, ready to spring into action. Once you're out of the country, I'll contact you with more details, but until then, you're on your own. Suffice it to say that I will have a safe place for you prepared by the time you arrive. Now get going."

  "I'm there. Thank you, Aragorn."

  The avatar seemed to swell a bit at the mention of his name. "You're welcome — anything for Ray's sister. Now get going."

  Marlene logged off, packed up her computer and hit the street. The city was waking up around her, and soon the sidewalk would be packed with people heading into or out of the train station. She strode toward it, as well, trying her best to be just another ordinary commuter in London.

  10

  Anthony sat in the passenger's seat of the dark gray SUV, dividing his attention between the morning London traffic and the open case in his lap. Every few seconds the LCD screen sent out its quiet, steady beep as it searched for the one signal that would lead them to their quarry.

  As Liam wove through the narrow streets, maneuvering up and down car-and-truck-choked lanes, Anthony resisted the urge to glance back at their two replacement men. Headquarters had informed him that he would have to make do with the pair, as there were no other available personnel at the moment. The voice in his ear had silkily informed him that when additional personnel were available, they would do their best to send some along. Anthony read between the lines well enough. You fucked up, so make do with what you've got.

  Fortunately, the replacements looked to be more than adequate. Right behind him, his knees pressing into the back of Anthony's seat and the top of his head brushing the SUV's ceiling was a giant of a man. He wasn't overly muscled, but solid from feet to his broad shoulders, with every economical movement combining the best of both agility and strength. His face was narrow, framed by black hair cut high and tight, a jutting beak of a nose and expressionless gray eyes. He was also the quietest team member Anthony had ever worked with, limiting his replies to nods and shakes of his head. The two original team members had thought the menacing man was mute, until he had given his name in an accented deep voice — Gregor Petrov.

  The other one was a lanky American named Carl Teppen, with a New Jersey accent that Anthony hadn't heard in several years. Shorter than the Russian, he was leaner, too, almost rawboned. Despite his lanky, almost country-boy appearance, he knew the business. His light blue eyes roved the streets constantly, always checking to their left and behind them for possible trouble. Next to him, the hard-edged Petrov did the same on the right. Both men's hands were always near their waists, ready to draw whatever was necessary to accomplish their job.

  Anthony had received and reviewed both their files, and was generally pleased with what he'd seen. Petrov was a former senior sergeant in the Russian army, and Teppen had made lieutenant in the United States Marines before receiving an under-other-than-honorable-conditions discharge for assaulting a civilian while on duty. Anthony wasn't too worried about that; working in the private security sector gave employees a lot more leeway in that regard. Besides, the other guy might have been asking for it, he thought. God knows I run into plenty of assholes every day of my life. As long as these two could
take orders and do whatever they had to do to get that girl, then everyone would get along just fine.

  He kept a wary eye on Liam, who often took pride in hazing the new team members. But either he understood the importance of not screwing around at the moment, or else the big Russian had intimidated him enough not to try anything. So far, so good, he thought.

  They'd been driving around town since 3:00 a.m., making a circuit between Heathrow Airport, the train station and various bus terminals, hoping to pick up the signal from the homing device the company buyer had planted on her a few days ago. Starting at the Wyvil Road location, they had driven carefully past the scattered police cars at the scene, then spent a good hour doing a spiral search pattern with the house as the center, but had come up empty so far. Now, after four hours of fruitless searching, Anthony was finding it hard to contain his impatience. "Goddamn it, did she just vanish off the face of the fucking earth?"

  "It still ain't that hard to disappear, if you know what you're doing," Liam opined from the driver's seat.

  "Just keep your eyes open. The last thing we need is any more interference." Right as he finished speaking, he heard a faint chirp from the tracker. "Turn left," he said.

  "Where?"

  "Turn left now!"

  Liam cranked the wheel over, garnering a chorus of angry honks from oncoming traffic, which he replied to in time-honored fashion by flipping them the bird. They found themselves on a narrow avenue that wound through a working-class neighborhood, with houses crowding in on both sides of them. Except for an occasional glance ahead, Anthony's gaze remained glued to the screen, with occasional directions given to his driver as the signal grew stronger.

  "We should be getting close now." They rounded a curve and came out in front of a train station with yet another odd English name — St. Pancras.

  "Clever girl. She's heading for the Chunnel rail link, I'll bet. Find us a place to park — we might be going on a train ride."

  11

  Kate pushed the remains of her surprisingly good sole meuniere around on her plate, then speared another asparagus stalk and crunched into it, relishing the springy texture and hint of lemon it had been steamed with. Not quite as good as Mindy's cooking, but it'll do.

  The thought of her live-in housekeeper made her smile. Mindy Todd was a college student and crime-TV junkie who served as her girl Friday when necessary, which was pretty much all of the time. Kate had wanted to take her to London, as the bubbly, dark-blond-haired girl had never been to the city. But the board had already put up such a squawk about Kate coming over in the first place, and Mindy's next school term had been about to start, so they had both reluctantly shelved the plans.

  She was just coming up for air and a bite or two after a frenetic eight hours of logged-in work, overseeing the sifting of evidence and intelligence and also keeping up on the various other investigations that Room 59 had ongoing around the world. When Kate traveled, the agency traveled with her, and today was no exception. In between keeping an eye on the business at Wyvil Road, she had reviewed after-action reports, interviewed two operatives about a completed mission in South America for potential follow-up and written several dozen memos, addendas, order forms, and signed her name — electronically only, but it still felt like a lot — to more documents than she could count. In the end, while we may all pass on to whatever lies beyond this world, the bureaucracy will continue, implacable, unstoppable. Kate was trying to figure out whether she had just made that up or read it somewhere when her computer chimed.

  "Call from — J. Burges. What does she want?" Kate muttered to herself before she hit the button that activated her computer's telecom program. She saw a severe-looking woman with every hair in place, dressed in an almost schoolteacher-plain black business suit, with half-moon glasses perched on the end of her aristocratic nose. "Judy, what a pleasant surprise."

  Judy Burges was Kate's liaison to the men and women of Room 59. In theory, she was supposed to handle much of the day-to-day operations, leaving Kate free to handle the IIA Board when necessary, and to keep an eye on the other directors and the big picture. In reality, since Kate loved to get her hands dirty as much as the board would allow, she often stepped in to handle certain ops personally, which irked Judy to no end. Although Judy was an excellent liaison — which was one of the reasons that Kate was able to go on this trip in the first place — she had a tendency to overreach, and Kate was still working on keeping her in line.

  Much like I'm probably about to do right now, Kate thought upon seeing the other woman's stern expression. Although she steeled herself for the confrontation she knew was coming, Kate let no trace of it into her face or voice. "How can I help you?"

  "Kate, this AA report just crossed my desk — are you really meaning to keep this Midnight Team on duty for the duration of this op?" Judy's upper-crust tone spoke volumes about what she thought of this decision.

  Kate bit back the response that sprang to mind — which would have involved a physical impossibility — and tamped down her anger at being second-guessed. "Good, I'm glad that arrived so quickly. Yes, as I outlined in the report, there are several excellent reasons to keep them on the job, not the least of which is the fact that they are familiar with the situation, and are already on-site."

  Judy shook her head. "Surely we have other Midnight Teams that could take over. If possible, I'd suggest plenty of downtime, evaluation and perhaps even some retraining. This Southerland operative — it sounds like he's got a definite problem with authority — not what a team leader needs in this kind of situation."

  Kate resisted the urge to duck out of sight for a moment to massage her temples. "Judy, you know I like to have team captains police their units unless more drastic action is necessary. After all, they did stop the terrorist plot, recovered the bioweapons and took out two of the hostiles, as well. All in all, a good day's work in my book. And since M-One didn't request any kind of replacement, I am accepting his willingness to go forward as an indicator that his team is operating at full readiness."

  "Be that as it may, it's how they did it that is of some concern, on-site or not…"

  Kate decided to cut to the chase. "Judy, we have an unknown force running, who is willing to kill anyone in its path to get what it wants. I've made the executive decision to place a team in the vicinity and try to recover this missing person first to see what they're after. Rather than risk an operative, I'm using a Midnight Team because they stand the best chance of taking these people on again and coming out alive. I'm using this Midnight Team because they've faced these hostiles before and won, and they will most likely do it again. End of discussion."

  Judy's lips pursed for the briefest moment, and Kate knew she had won. "I see. Rather like using a chainsaw to cut up a birthday cake, but I expect they'll manage without causing too much collateral damage. I'd hate to see more news reports like what the tabloids reported this morning."

  "Yes, I saw it, too. Typical Fleet Street nonsense." Kate glanced at the front page of a prominent British rag, its headline screaming Joint U.S.-U.K. Anti-Terrorist Squad Loose On London Streets. If they only knew the real story, they'd crap all over their keyboards, Kate thought. "Just reporters grasping at straws to sell more copies. Besides, that's probably Samantha doing a bit of counterpropaganda. Hard to confirm anything when all of your sources refuse to be identified."

  Judy barely nodded. "I suppose so. There are several other matters that require your input — if you're not too busy."

  "Not at all." She should already know the words "I'm too busy" aren't in my vocabulary, Kate thought, but she merely smiled. They spent the next twenty minutes going over other matters, keeping their interaction at its usual, barely cordial simmer. Kate wanted to draw the call to a close as soon as she could, planning to get up and take a walk around, even if it was just up and down the hotel hallway. But to do that, she had to extract herself from middle-management hell.

  "All right, Judy, launch the Vanuatu operation — sh
ould be interesting, given its location. Our operatives may be interviewing the local fauna for details about what's going on there. Also, please handle the debrief for the operative who just returned from the Yucatan — if that illegal-immigrant-smuggling pipeline is still there, I want to know the reason why. Thanks, but I've got to run, Judy, I have an important conference that's going to be starting here soon."

  The British woman's face wrinkled in a frown of seeming concern. "What? I have your schedule up here, and I don't see anything posted for the next…"

  "It just came up, and I'll send you the details afterward. Postop on the law-enforcement conference." Over Judy's surprised protests, Kate terminated the connection and leaned back in her chair with a sigh.

  "It's a good thing I don't bother you that much." The low voice in the doorway made her spin around to see Jake leaning against the frame, both hands held up in reassurance. "Whoa, boss, calm down, it's just me."

  Kate sighed. "I should be mad, but I guess sneaking up on me means you're doing your job well. How'd the training go?" Seeing as how she was going to be stuck in her hotel room, she had let Jake go for the assignment Samantha had discussed the night before. He had left without a word, leaving her to wonder when he slept.

  "These guys are on the ball. Didn't have to show them too much. They were already well versed in most of the fine arts. We swapped a few tricks on covert surveillance and shadowing, and then spent a good hour on tactical driving." A grin split his serious visage for a second before vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. "That was fun. On the way back, I checked with the lab about that pistol — no luck there. The serial numbers have been removed. It did have a fairly rare threaded barrel to accept a silencer, but they removed the numbers on it, as well. Looks like another dead end. How you doing here?"

  Kate pulled off her headset and tossed it on the desk. "I'm about ready to climb these very nice hotel walls. What say you to a couple of hours of sightseeing?"