Undercover Soldier

by Linda O. Johnston

  When Brody walked out, heading toward the table, she used her personal cell phone to call Ragar. She’d already jotted down the number for him that she had found on Brody’s phone, never knowing when she might want to contact the powers-that-be with jurisdiction over Brody, if she ever believed the level of danger facing him was ramping up and he chose to ignore it.

  “It’s me. Sherra,” she said when Ragar answered. She explained where she was standing. “I’ve got something I’d like to talk to you about without Brody present. Could you join me for a minute?”

  “What’s this all about, Ms. Alexander?” he growled.

  Sherra ignored the curious look of a woman heading for the ladies’ room and stepped farther into the shadows. “Why don’t you come find out?”

  Before she’d finished her question, there he was. He’d clearly been heading her way even as he interrogated her.

  She pushed the door open more and he followed her into a hallway that would have been the restaurant’s back alley if it hadn’t been in an underground mall.

  “So?” he demanded. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “A proposition.” She looked up into irritated eyes glaring from his narrow face. “I told Brody only part of what I found. There were some threads I followed, emails I read, that made it clear you’re part of the AFD conspiracy and cover-up. That you’re making quite a bit of money from the bribes they’re paying you. If you give me a cut, I’ll keep that from Brody and everyone else.”

  “You’re lying,” he nearly shouted. “I’m not involved. And if you try to manufacture evidence against me I’ll make sure you’re in federal prison for the rest of your absurd little life.”

  He turned and stormed away—but Sherra was interested to see that he headed not for the table, but toward the men’s room.

  Chapter 20

  Brody had listened to the conversation between Sherra and Ragar in shock, his phone pressed to his ear in the moderately noisy restaurant.

  What was she doing? Was she nuts?

  At least she’d been wise enough to call him and somehow hide her phone so he could hear what was going on. But where were they?

  After leaving the restroom, he had returned to their table. He was still the only one there.

  He had been concerned when he hadn’t seen Sherra. He asked the server if he knew where the woman at his table had gone, and the guy had nodded in the direction from which Brody had come, presumably toward the ladies’ room. She must have slipped in there while Ragar and he were engrossed in conversation at the far end of the hall.

  Strange that he hadn’t noticed her. He always had seemed to have a sixth sense that told him when Sherra was around and what she was doing while near him.

  He’d figured that Ragar’s expense account would take care of their meal, so he hadn’t touched the check. But now he prepared to throw some bills on the table and go hunt for them.

  He glanced up as he saw movement out of the corner of his eye in the direction of the restrooms.

  Sherra strode into the dining room and hurried toward him. There was a wry expression on her face, and her lovely brown eyes appeared dismayed.

  “You heard?” she asked as she reached him.

  “Yeah, I did. What the hell were you—”

  Brody noticed Ragar approaching from beyond Sherra. She must have read it on his face, since she stopped talking and turned.

  Her expression now bland, and not apologetic in the least, she said, “It was nice seeing you again, John. Unfortunately, I forgot a prior commitment so we need to leave.”

  Ragar shot Brody a look he couldn’t quite read, but it clearly wasn’t happy. “Right. Time for all of us to leave, and consider what we to do next to prove or disprove what Captain Cortez is up to. My opinion right now? The poor guy is being railroaded. I’ll make sure my staff checks things out carefully. Railroading might be a major pastime around here.”

  “Right. We’ll talk again later, work out what we’re each going to do. Sorry.” Brody tried to sound placating, but he remained puzzled. Sherra wasn’t a kook. What did she have in mind by attacking Ragar that way?

  He confirmed that Ragar was paying the check, and they left.

  Sherra took his arm as they maneuvered out of the still-crowded restaurant. Once they were outside in the underground hallway Brody tried to stop and ask her again what she’d tried to accomplish, holding her hand tightly.

  “I only wanted to narrow our suspect list, Brody. You’ve got to admit that, when we arrived here, yours included Ragar.”

  “Yeah, since I don’t trust anyone. But if you’re wrong this could undermine everything I’ve been doing. Everything you’ve accomplished, too. All you’ve uncovered could now be considered questionable, not genuinely suspicious data seeming to implicate Michael that needs to be checked out.”

  “Maybe.” She sounded both depressed and defiant, and he had to hide the smile that came to his lips. That was Sherra—a highly intelligent bundle of contradictions.

  She sped up as if she refused to act even partially glum, even if she felt it. They still held hands, and he let his gait merge with hers.

  They turned a corner into another part of the shopping area, toward the parking garage. “Where are we going now?” he asked.

  “To the car. I’m ready to leave.”

  “Know what? Me, too.” He also felt frustrated. As if all they’d gone through together had suddenly fallen apart. Would they have to start all over again to try to learn the truth about AFD and its government contacts?

  They? Heck, he was going to find a way to ease Sherra out of this, while still protecting her.

  They had reached the door to the parking lot and Brody yanked it open. “Look, we’ve some thinking to do. And planning what’s next. For now, to stay safe, we’ll go to a hotel tonight. One we haven’t used before, in a different area. I’ll make some calls tomorrow.”

  This whole situation remained bizarre, Brody thought. Twisted, convoluted—and dangerous. Especially since all of those he’d considered his best contacts and allies within the government were now either suspects or had reason to hate him—and Sherra.

  But then, everything had been bizarre from the time in Afghanistan when he had first believed he’d found evidence specific to AFD’s underhanded dealings that seemed even worse than those of other government contractors.

  Entering the stairwell, they began their climb to the next level where his car was parked. Unintelligible voices reverberated above them, and when they opened the next door they were met by two couples also using the stairs. The place was busy that night—not bad for their cover, Brody thought.

  Tugging on Sherra’s hand, he led her toward where he had parked.

  He pulled his key from his pocket with his other hand and pressed the button to unlock the doors as they reached the car.

  “Hello, you two,” said a voice just loud enough to be heard over distant engine noises in the garage. Releasing Sherra’s hand, Brody pivoted.

  John Ragar was behind them.

  And he was aiming a vicious semiautomatic pistol at them.

  * * *

  Sherra gasped as Brody tried to shove her behind him. That wasn’t going to happen.

  “You’re a damned good actor,” she accused. “You almost made me believe in your outraged innocence. Brody heard our conversation, too, and he was mad at me, not you.”

  “You’re too astute for your own good, Sherra. My longer relationship with Brody, my superior position to him, made me believe I could keep him in check by using him—and then you came along. I’d be glad to explain what happened and why to you both, but it’d take a while and neither of you has much more time to live. You’ve both been such damned thorns in my side—you especially, McAndrews, from the time you started poking your nose whe
re it didn’t belong in Afghanistan. I had such a nice, lucrative deal going with AFD there. And then when the team sent to dispose of you screwed up so badly and killed your counterpart, I still figured I could keep you in line if I suggested a special operation. My superiors bought into the idea without knowing that my purpose was to keep you under observation and make sure you didn’t figure out the truth.” He waved the gun toward Sherra. “That was when I inherited you, my dear—and you were more than a thorn. You turned out to be a knife wound because the kind of snooping you did had even larger potential repercussions.”

  “So you were all about covering your butt by murder in Afghanistan?” Brody sounded disgusted, not at all scared.

  “As long as it was done by AFD to cover its butt.” He sounded nonchalant, and his aim now seemed fixed on Brody. “Now, take your weapon out and put it on the floor or I’ll shoot her right now.” He again aimed at Sherra, stepping even closer.

  Scowling, Brody obeyed.

  Sherra was terrified, more for him than for herself. She knew he would try to shield her. Could she get his gun back?

  Why didn’t another car go by now, as a distraction? Even a few diners returning to their vehicles would help—although she didn’t really want to endanger anyone else.

  “Why the hell would AFD protect you?” Brody demanded. “They were paying you, not vice versa.”

  “Because I had enough hard evidence to bring them down if I wanted—although we’d all be hurt if our little deal became public. The guys at the top who knew I further protected my identity by sending emails from a separate address in the name of a subordinate reporting to me—Cortez—well, they thought it was hilarious.”

  “You’re a traitor,” Brody growled. “You and them, too.”

  “It’s all business,” Ragar said with a shrug, once more aiming at Brody. “And in case you’re wondering, it’s expensive paying off the guys dedicated to making sure the whole thing looks legitimate—including our bodyguard Roy and those poor, sad folks, the wannabe Andrewses. Not to mention that masked man I sent. Each of them was instructed to bring dear Sherra in so we could learn what she knew and restrain her—or dispose of her—and they all failed.” He looked at Brody. “Really, what AFD’s been doing is no worse than any other contractor. If you’d stayed out of it, no one would be hurt—not Andrews, and not your pretty but uncontrolled lady friend.” He again waved the gun toward Sherra, who gasped when Brody pushed her aside and took a step toward Ragar.

  The gun moved so it was pointed at Brody’s chest. “Hold it,” Ragar ordered. “I’ll shoot you right now if I have to. I’d rather wait, though. If we go somewhere else, you can even delude yourself that you can get control and kill me instead.” His grin looked so malicious that Sherra wanted to punch it right off his face. “No matter where we end this, you can be sure I’ll set it up to look like a lovers’ quarrel between you.”

  The guy had to be nuts. He was definitely gutsy. They were in a public parking lot, and there he stood, holding a gun on them. He wore gloves, Sherra noticed, so he could leave the weapon after shooting them both, dropping it, no doubt, in a location that would make it appear that Brody shot her, then himself. Or vice versa.

  She would never do that. And she hated the idea that, if this man succeeded, the public would undoubtedly believe his terrible scenario of a lovers’ quarrel gone wrong.

  She had to do something.

  Something that wouldn’t result in Brody’s leaping in front of her again to protect her—and getting shot first.

  * * *

  “That won’t work, Ragar.” Brody casually shrugged one shoulder. “The lovers’ quarrel bit, I mean. Yeah, we used to be a couple, but that was years ago. Right now, I needed to learn who was ruining my undercover assignment, so I found her. And, yes, in case you’re wondering, we did have sex again, a few times. I just took advantage of the situation, that’s all.”

  Sherra would have felt hurt if she hadn’t realized that Brody was lying to protect her. Even so, she hated to hear him say it.

  He was moving slightly, trying to put himself in the better position to retrieve his gun—or be shot. Again to protect her.

  Well, hell, she didn’t need protecting. Even if she did, she wouldn’t let it happen at Brody’s expense.

  “You SOB!” she screamed. “What do you mean you just took advantage?” She made sure her voice was loud enough to attract the attention of anyone else on this level of the garage. Please, if you’re there, look without coming close and call 9-1-1, she thought.

  “Shut up!” Ragar aimed the gun at her chest. She froze, and so did Brody. “Now, we’re going to get into the car and drive somewhere else to play out the end of this lethal little spat. McAndrews, you drive, and Sherra, you sit in the front seat beside him. I’ll be in the back, watching you both.” He waved his gun to show he would be more than observing.

  Sherra knew better than to get into a car with a potential kidnapper. It wasn’t as if there was any question that this man intended to kill them.

  At least here they were facing him. He would have total control if he were behind them, able to choose his time to shoot without their having any chance to escape.

  “I can’t,” she moaned softly, then fell to her knees, wishing she were closer to Brody’s weapon. “I really feel sick.”

  “Get up. Now.” Ragar’s voice was low and so menacing that it seemed to scratch a knife wound into Sherra’s vulnerable throat.

  She gagged and actually felt her stomach heave.

  “I’ll take care of you right here, then.” He held his gun up, aiming it at her.

  Maybe, if he shot her, that would give Brody a moment during the SOB’s preoccupation to get control of him, of the gun. To save himself.

  “Forget it, Ragar.” Brody clearly wasn’t thinking the way she was. He moved to plant himself in front of her.

  She wouldn’t allow it. “No!” she screamed and, maneuvering around Brody, hurled herself toward Ragar.

  She heard the gun go off. Did the bullet hit her? She wasn’t sure. She plowed straight into the man, knocking him sideways. At the same time, Brody rushed him, his hands clasped into a battering ram as he got Ragar square in the gut, then again on the head.

  It worked, didn’t it? Ragar seemed to hesitate—enough that Brody slugged him once more, in the jaw. Ragar went down, and Brody dove for his gun.

  In seconds he stood, aiming it at the SOB. “It’s over, Ragar,” he growled.

  The man shook his head slightly as he lay, looking somewhat dazed, on the ground. He glanced toward Sherra and laughed.

  Laughed?

  Only then did Sherra begin to feel pain. She looked down and saw the blood on her chest.

  “Yeah, McAndrews. I guess it is over,” Ragar said. “Half success is better than none.” He laughed again.

  And Sherra began to lose consciousness.

  Chapter 21

  “You’re going to be fine.”

  Sherra, eyes closed, heard Brody’s reassurance as if it came from the far side of the parking lot—low and hardly audible.

  But she was aware of sirens shrieking nearby, growing closer.

  “I know,” she asserted, although not as loudly as she’d hoped. The cement of the parking garage was hard against her back. “Don’t worry about me. Watch him. Don’t let him get away.”

  “Oh, that won’t happen.” Assurance dripped from Brody’s tone. She opened her eyes to see him standing near her, his muscular frame tense as he aimed the gun downward. She followed it to see Ragar facedown on the cement. She must have lost consciousness since she hadn’t seen Brody tie the guy’s hands behind his back with what appeared to be Brody’s shirt.

  She liked the view of his bare, muscular chest as he stood there. The second gun pro
truded from his pocket.

  She also figured she couldn’t be too badly hurt since she was so turned on by Brody’s hard, sexy appearance.

  She glanced around and saw they weren’t alone. Bystanders stood nearby. One of them, too, was minus a shirt, and when she looked down at herself she realized that a piece of clothing was fastened somehow against her shoulder. There was blood on it, and the area hurt, but she knew she wasn’t dying.

  Maybe she lost consciousness again, but when she next opened her eyes it was to see a lot of uniformed cops around, treating the place like a crime scene. She was asked a lot of questions, managed to answer some, and was then put into an ambulance.

  “Brody?” she asked.

  But he was apparently still being questioned by the cops.

  She wanted to be with him. To make sure the authorities understood what had happened. John Ragar was a government muckety-muck, and his story would be different from theirs. Brody’d had the guns last, and the onlookers wouldn’t have known what happened.

  Were Brody and she in trouble?

  * * *

  Brody strode through the door of the hospital room.

  Sherra lay in bed reading a magazine. She looked up, a little pale against the white sheets but otherwise okay. He couldn’t see any bandages on her left shoulder since she wore a hospital gown, but he had no doubt she had one beneath the sling that he assumed kept her arm from moving much and aggravating the wound.

  “Hi.” She looked beyond him at those who had accompanied him. “So, Michael, you’re not in jail?”

  “No, thanks to you.” Brody watched the man who was still, officially, his commanding officer approach Sherra’s bed and bend to give her a hug. He had a thick body, sparse black hair and a round, swarthy face. Like Brody, he wore a white buttoned shirt and dark slacks—semiformal wear around here since they were accompanied by one of the highest-ranking civilians in the Department of Defense. “You do like to get people in trouble by using technology, don’t you?” He glanced toward Brody on the other side of the bed and grinned.