Fight Fire With Fire.

by Amy J. Fetzer

  “Male, at least six feet, fit,” she said.

  The figure returned to the car, sliding in and driving away in under a minute. Max tapped keys, another view came up, and she watched it play from a different angle. She nudged him. “What do you really want me to see, Max?”

  He sighed, and showed the last stream. It was a police camera positioned at a street post. The local police kept a handle on crime, or at least tried with little shacks for the cops all over the city. She’d seen them abandoned more than occupied, but she’d forgotten about the cameras.

  “This is from the mall camera.” Max slowed the video down and when the same man hurdled the stone wall, he dropped to the other side and straightened. Then he swept his hair back with his right hand and the street lamp gave off enough light for her to recognize the contours of his face. Max froze it and digitized it for clarification. But she didn’t need it.

  Recognition was instant and she stepped back suddenly. After a moment, she looked at him, a little pale. “Keep this between us. He’s mine.”

  He frowned.

  “Search his personal phone records for that disposable’s number. Can you get in a back door?”

  “Logan can.”

  “Go under the wire and give him some rope. If I’m right, he’s made calls to Bridget’s captor.”

  Max’s features pulled tight as he understood. The CIA asset held Bridget captive, and if the Mole panicked, he could give orders to kill her in the clean up. Barring that, they needed proof for a trial.

  “This Op is blacked out so he won’t have any way around it. It takes several officials to sign off and then they’d want to know why. He’s out of the loop, at least.”

  “You’ve every right to be pissed off, ya know that.”

  She patted his shoulder. “Oh you haven’t seen angry yet, Max, but I’m going to love bringing him in.”

  Deep Six and the JCS were calling. Safia stood on the X for the video feed. Around her, Dragon One and the Marines moved in. She glanced back at the men in Black Ops gear, their faces painted, most rechecking their weapons. Sam winked at her, then slipped another weapon in his leg pocket. Riley, on the other hand, was stashing knives everywhere.

  She faced the screen. Several thousand miles away, General Gerardo and Colonel Jansen were clear as a TV show.

  “Agent Troy,” Gerardo said. “Status to launch?”

  “We’re on tap, sir. Thank you for the teams.” She gestured to the Marines with Max and Sam now bent over a table going over the assault again. They’d split into two teams, Safia, Riley and two marines, Sam, Max and two more. Launching with a full squad would take two aircrafts and frankly, they didn’t have the time. A storm was rolling in.

  “If I didn’t send them,” Gerardo said, “I figured you go in alone.”

  “Not quite, sir.” She smiled, then gestured to Riley beside her. “However, in the best interest of this Op, I’m turning over command to Agent Donovan,” she said and the colonel frowned. “He and the teams are more experienced in this type of operation.” She flashed a smile. “I’m the watch and snoop type.” And the last time she jumped out of a plane was in training. She was not looking forward to it.

  “Donovan,” the general asked.

  “We’re good to go, sir.”

  “I realize this puts an emotional strain on you, Donovan, but the priority is the canister and the dish.”

  “Understood, sir. But I won’t be leaving without her.” This was their one chance, Riley thought. The weather and the moon would play a role when they dropped from thirty-five-thousand feet onto the island. Intel reports showed the island was wired, including the airstrip. Electrified fencing and armed guards. It didn’t make a wit of sense. He expected trouble.

  “Thermals are off the map and from what we’ve seen,”— he gestured to include Safia, “there are more on the island. We believe they are children.”

  Gerardo frowned. “They are his, all legally adopted.”

  “Over fifty, sir?”

  His brows shot up. “Good grief. An orphanage?”

  “An army of detonators, sir. No one would suspect a child, and they could get in anywhere. Agent Troy witnessed a child entering the Sorbonne when guards were turning everyone else back. She never came out.”

  “Do what you can for them. I don’t suggest confronting Thibaut. He’s a sociopath.”

  “Yes sir, off the map. But he’s also brilliant. He has a contingency plan. He will detonate. Given the profiler report and the guy’s history, he’s been fixated on this for decades. Despite all we’ve done, he’s exactly where he intended to be, in complete control.”

  Gerardo nodded and Riley’s gaze dropped to the quarter he flipped over his knuckles. “It’s never an easy decision,” he said, a little philosophically. He looked up. “I’ve spoken with the president. If you cannot recover the canister, we’ll level the island.”

  Riley didn’t question it and nodded. Tagging the canister for detonation was a lot more comforting than trying to transport it. They needed to be far away before the jets dropped their loads. He signed off and the image softened to a blur.

  Max and Sam were on another link speaking with Beck-ham. At Deep Six, he would monitor the incursion and feed Intel. Riley did a time hack with Beckham and the teams, then he glanced at Safia. She stood off to the side, staring at the floor, her arms folded over her middle. The stance was familiar now and he knew she was battling something. The man who’d tortured her held Riley’s sister and his worry was right up there with hers. Bridget was not equipped to handle it and he prayed she was bound and gagged somewhere and left alone.

  He crossed the hangar as a door screeched open. Around the jet, crewmen rushed to remove chocks and blocks, preparing to roll out. “Hey,” he said and she looked up. “You okay with this?”

  “Oh God yes,” she said, grasping his bicep. “I don’t speak commando.” She waved at the men just finished loading parachutes and gear into the aircraft. She leaned in. “Last time I jumped was in field training. I’d hoped it was the last. Guess not.”

  He smiled. “Five years for me, Amianan Islands, ballistic missiles pointed at South Korea and a NATO delegation.”

  Her eyes widened, and she patted his shoulder. “I made a good choice then. Clearly, you’re the one wearing those smart trousers today, Irish.” He chuckled lowly and Safia felt something give inside her, fade the tension locking her spine a little bit. “We both have a lot of payback in this, huh?”

  “I’ll ghost him for you.”

  She laughed shortly. “Ah my knight, the masked man is not a priority.”

  “It is if it will wipe that look off your face.”

  She frowned softly.

  “He scares you.”

  Her expression fell and she turned away. Riley drew her into privacy, but the noise around them made him lean in.

  “I scare me more,” she said. “I think of those days and I want to torture him back so much it fills me with nothing but this ugly rage.”

  “You’re stronger than that and him. You survived.”

  “Sometimes I wonder. It changed me. I should have walked away from the Company right then.”

  “But it taught you not to trust Price.”

  “Yes well, Price didn’t hire the asset to do that to me, Riley. Adam Kincade did.”

  His features pulled tight. “Why didn’t you say anything? I don’t know him, but the team does.”

  “He’d arranged my incarceration. It was his asset. Still is. That’s why I was getting all the tips. For every arms dealer I brought in, another got away. The asset was committing the crimes we were fighting.”

  “The station is one thing, but the car?”

  “I thought so too. But not passing information that D-1 was in the area? That I survived the station explosion? Putting a block on forensics with Ellie?” She shook her head. “I’m betting he rigged the car.”

  “That took talent.”

  “Oh yes
. I checked his record. Adam was a specialist. Like Sebastian.”

  “I recall something Sam said, in Thailand. Adam wouldn’t go in to rescue a diamond cutter’s kids held hostage until we did. He wanted to ghost the captors, we gassed them.”

  “His asset was probably in the middle of that. Ya know, there are so few people I could trust,” she said sadly. “With Lania, Kincade was the lesser of two evils.” Safia held his gaze, then moved closer, loving that his arms opened and trapped her in warmth. He rubbed her spine and she softened, laid her head on his shoulder. “They give us all a bad name, ya know?”

  His short laugh vibrated against her cheek. “But you give the CIA a good one.” She looked up and he smiled, kissed her.

  “Time to fly,” Logan called, tapping his watch.

  Riley grabbed his helmet off the rack, Safia behind him, their jumpsuits swishing with the stiff fabric. At the doors, he spared a glance at his brother-in-law sitting at the weather desk. Travis nodded, offering a half-hearted smile, then turned back to the screen. But Riley caught his sad expression. He felt the same, a guilty chill tight over his skin. He pushed it down as best he could. Once the storm was on them, it would get a little dicey. They had to do this fast before the weather grounded the jets.

  He jogged across the flight line to the jet, the engines screaming. He cast a glance at the darkening skies, then stepped onto the lift. The storm would provide cover, but it’d be hell getting off the island. As the hydraulic lift rose and closed, Riley hoped Jansen had some tricks up his sleeves.

  Over the Sonsoral Islands

  Thirty-five thousand feet in the sky, the unpadded walls magnified the noise. The temperature dropped rapidly at this altitude, and she could see frost forming on the crew chief’s window near the hatch. Safia tested her oxygen, then eyed Riley back when he reached to help hoist the chute higher on her back. The only woman, they were being chivalrous, and she understood that, especially with these guys, but this ritual steeled her nerves. She wasn’t crazy about jumping from a perfectly good aircraft. Not from nearly seven miles up.

  Safia cinched the nylon harness, then gripped her helmet and wedged it on. “I hope I remember how to do this,” she mumbled, the sound going through the PRR mic sets they all wore.

  Riley pointed to himself. “Five years,” he said. She took little comfort in that and backed up against the bulkhead as Max shifted past, holding his load bearing vest so they wouldn’t catch. He wore a ring of Centex. She didn’t want to be anywhere near him, though she supposed jumping onto an island that had enough RZ10 to level Texas wasn’t any smarter.

  Riley met her gaze and she saw the worry in his expression. “We’ll do it and get her. Ellie’s got thermal on isolated locations.” She patted her pocket, her Recon inside.

  They were out of time. While law enforcement searched for the bombs already planted, Thibaut and Odette could fly out on his jet at any moment or set bombs off from their easy chairs before the teams could get close enough to take out the satellite dish. The islands were in the U.S. strand. Interpol would have no recourse except to shoot the jet down before they could ignite an Icarus. Satellite Intel could only jam so many signals in so many parts of the world at once. Safia knew Ellie and Deep Six would go right to the source, and block the island. That included the team’s communications.

  She’d memorized the island geography, but none knew what to expect. Bridget’s exploration team confirmed that the bones collected were human, with animal DNA—and all children. Safia glanced at the photo encased in plastic and neoprene. Riley’s sister. She’d memorized her face, listened to a recent recording of her voice. This wasn’t the way she wanted to meet his family. Riley snapped his static line, and she looked up. He tugged at her gear, double-checking and duplicating the others doing the same. She’d hate to have the parachute pop off before she had to pull the rip. This was their one shot, the last moonless night and to be a success, they had to breach the island security without setting it off. Why Thibaut needed it this far out in the ocean gave her the willies.

  Thibaut had the entire island wired with defense systems she was sure they couldn’t break. The man was as dangerous as Vaghn, and they’d learned to circumvent intelligence and be extremely methodical. She expected as much complication on the island as she did anywhere else.

  The buzzer screamed inside the aircraft, the green light blinking brightly. Jumpers lined up and she tightened her chin strap, then clipped her jump line to the static line. An Air Force crewman opened the hatch. The icy wind screeched inside, beating the lines. Riley was ahead, lead man out, and he glanced back once, wiggling his eyebrows, his smile cartoonish before he bit down on his oxygen regulator, then vaulted into the darkness.

  At the hatch, Safia stepped up and held onto the frame, the wind threatening her grip. Endless black lay below, and she thought, I am such a dumb ass.

  Then she jumped.

  Wind streaked past as she fell to earth. Like Icarus, she thought, feeling her skin and muscles flap like paper with her speed. This is so not fun, she thought and focused on the marker topping Riley’s helmet. When it kept flashing, she realized he was spinning in the air, then flattening out, tucking and rolling. Oh for pity sake, he’s playing.

  She had her hand on the rip, watching the altitude meter on her wrist because she couldn’t see the ground. A good thing, she thought, her stomach rolling. The altimeter ripped off feet-per-second too fast to see. She watched it anyway, thinking this is a long time to drop into hell. Then it stopped and blinked. She pulled, the chute yanking her back up and filling. She let out a long breath, controlling the lead lines and guiding herself past the shore. But not in the jungle, she thought, jerking on the line. Night vision showed her the target.

  Her boots hit the ground and she tucked, rolled, then on her knees, she drew the chute in fast and tight, then raced to Riley. He was several feet from the jungle, already out of his jumpsuit and burying his gear. She released her harness, then removed the oxygen and her helmet. Riley cracked a chem-lite. Safia peeled off the jumpsuit, then replaced her load-bearing vest and weapons. Riley eyed her dull black skinsuit and vest doubtfully, but didn’t have time to reassure him she was well-armed.

  Intel said the security fence was deeper inside, and just short of landing in the center of Thibaut’s little town and risking exposure, this was their choice. There were sensors in the water. Mirroring her, Riley had cyborg-looking night vision goggles on his forehead, his weapon forward, ready to fire. The NVG’s would record the Op, yet their only communication were the PRRs, Personal Roll Radios that were always on, voice activated. If Thibaut had detectors, they wouldn’t catch the PRRs. They had to memorize the island. Any device with a satellite connection could be tracked by Thibaut’s dish. The idea was use the PRRs till he found out they’d stopped in for a visit.

  Safia kept a vigil on the jungle as they waited for the rest of the team to draw close. Sam and Max were on the other side of the island beyond the runway.

  The Marines hustled near, kneeling, facing the opposite direction, watching their six. The fence was further in the jungle, bordering a section of the village of the damned rather than the island itself. Outside the barrier was dense and inhabitable. There was no path from the sea to the land. No docks. The only people welcome were flown in. Crossing the security fence and doing it silently would take timing. There was no record of the construction, and reception was blocked. A scramble tower, they assumed. Intel couldn’t give them more than that.

  Riley signaled and they moved forward, two more teams on the east side of the island and mirroring them. They had under two hours to take out the satellite, find and tag the canister—and Bridget—then get off the island. It had taken them forty minutes to get to the ground. Safia felt Bridget was the priority. Get her out and bomb the place. Only Dragon One was in agreement. The JCS, not so much.

  Riley advanced, Safia moved to his right, parallel, exchanging places once, then overlapped. T
he Marines mirrored them, constant new eyes with each step. They checked their bearings with the other teams. Max’s team would target the airport and Sat dish. Riley’s team would search buildings to find the canister. Slow and dangerous when they didn’t have much time. Riley signaled her and she moved to his side, and they progressed in short increments.

  “We’ve got movement,” Sam said, his deep voice gone to a rumble through the mics.

  Safia adjusted her night vision lens. Riley took position beside her. She searched for the movement, but couldn’t see beyond. She shook her head.

  “Guards?” Riley said.

  “Yeah, decked out for the rodeo,” Sam said. “No pattern. Close quarters.”

  “Even the odds, D-3,” Riley said. “Draw back, take it down by the water. Buzz me when you’re at the fence. We’re heading in.”

  Timing was crucial with the advancing storm. The winds were pushing it faster. On the northwest side of the island, they advanced. There were three buildings ahead, she recalled, then two more several yards further in. They were about fifty feet from the fence when the air suddenly changed, grew heavier. Another step and a putrid odor rose from the ground.

  Riley glanced at her, frowning. She nodded. He signaled his team, but didn’t have to ask if they smelled it. Two more steps, and she frowned as the ground shifted beneath her feet, cushiony. Her boot soles slipped on something slick and soft. She gained her balance, then cracked a chem-light. She held it low, sweeping it, then staggered back.

  “Look at your feet.”

  Riley bent, slipping a chem-light from his pocket, and swept its green glow slowly over the ground—exposing a severed arm.

  “Oh God.” Safia moved her light around. “There’s more, oh Jesus.” She stepped back, Riley beside her. The foulness of decay rose up in heavy waves with each step, and she pressed the back of her hand to her nose. He tossed the chem light and Safia tried not to vomit. There were more, many more.