Not that it mattered. If they didn’t hear that, they were going to hear it when she kicked down the door.
Adriana pulled out her compact 9mm Springfield she’d kept tucked away under her hoodie. The French wouldn’t approve of the firearm, much less the small arsenal she had back at her hotel. They were sticklers about that sort of thing. Most European cops were.
She knew bad people were armed. Adriana figured it was imperative that the playing field be leveled.
She made it to the last door and held her weapon to the side as she took a step back and sized up how much force it would need. Some people made the mistake of driving their shoulder into doors to knock them down. Doing so had caused more than a few shoulder separations, dislocations, and even a broken clavicle or two. She’d heard the stories and had no intentions of being so careless.
They were probably the standard deadbolt-and-doorknob lock, which gave two points of resistance. The three hinges on the left were older and thin, probably just as likely to give way as the locks on the other side.
Either way, Adriana had to make sure the door caved on the first blow.
She reared back, took a big step forward, and drove the heel of her boot into the center of the door.
It shuddered and then blew open with a heavy thud, swung around hard, and slammed into the wall on the other side. Adriana burst through and into the apartment. She didn’t bother taking in the bare white walls, the sparse furniture, the kitchen, or what kind of faux wood flooring was under her feet. The only thing she cared about was the guy in the corner window, holding a rifle with a scope on the top and a suppressor on the barrel’s end.
She aimed her weapon, but her entrance had startled the shooter. He jumped away from the window and rolled behind a small wooden table as Adriana fired.
The bullet thumped into the wall just beyond his left foot. A second later, he returned the favor, firing two shots just over her head as Adriana dove to her left behind the kitchen counter.
She’d only caught his face for a second, but it was easy to tell the gunman was of Middle Eastern descent. It was all too clear now. This was a massively coordinated terrorist attack. One bomber takes out civilians. Then a sniper picks off anyone coming to help.
Both were suicide jobs. Once the authorities realized what was going on, they’d track the sniper down and kill him. Arrest wasn’t something this guy would allow. It was a one-way ticket.
His rifle popped again, shattering the corner of the counter near her left shoulder into a dozen pieces.
She slid to the right, stood up, and squeezed the trigger. Her first shot didn’t have to be on target. It just had to be close enough to scare the guy. It did the job, and he ducked back behind his table. The next three shots plunked into the makeshift shield’s surface.
The guy rolled around to the other side and whipped the long barrel around, letting loose another two rounds that narrowly missed their target.
Adriana ducked down again, counting in her head how many shots she’d fired and how many the sniper had used.
Based on her quick observation of his weapon’s magazine, he still had several rounds left. She did as well. The problem wasn’t ammunition. It was the power. His gun could blow through weak points in the counter’s wall with devastating effect. He didn’t have to be accurate. He just had to be lucky.
Another blast came from the other side of the apartment, and a bullet smashed through the counter door a foot from her shoulder.
She made a quick decision, got down on her belly, and crawled back to the corner of the kitchen counter. She slid across the floor and waited for a second. Another deafening shot thundered through the confined space. A huge chunk of the cabinet exploded, sending wooden splinters all over the floor.
Adriana rolled out from her place of refuge and unloaded six rounds at the overturned table. The gunman ducked for cover again, but this time Adriana pressed the issue, striding toward him with every trigger pull until she was nearly on top of him.
He sensed what was happening, slid out from behind his hiding spot, and whipped the barrel of his weapon around for the kill shot. In an instant, he knew there was no way he could get the aim right before she fired first, so he changed plans and kicked the corner of the table.
The furniture swung around, catching Adriana off guard. She jumped to the side and fired again at the same time the gunman did. Their rounds missed wildly, but now they were both in the open. They both squeezed their triggers simultaneously. The weapons clicked.
Adriana’s eyes blazed as she glared at the killer. His eyes had a different look. It was distant, lifeless, set on one purpose.
She was first to her feet and rushed toward him. He rolled up to a standing position and braced himself as she launched through the air and planted her sole into his chest.
The blow knocked him back against the wall in a jarring thud, but he quickly recovered and blocked her right hook, then countered with a jab to her chin. Her head snapped to the side, and she reset quickly, just in time to take a hook to the jaw.
Adriana stumbled backward a few steps, partly from the dizzying shots she’d just taken and partly to regroup. She shook off the dazed feeling and raised her fists, twisting her body sideways to narrow the target area.
The killer sneered and reached behind his back. His hand returned to view with a large knife like those she’d seen military men carry. What she’d give for her tomahawk. He lunged forward, slashing the knife through the air to the right, left, and back to the right again. His balance was solid but not the best she’d seen. She jumped back, arching her spine to avoid the sharp metal tip. After avoiding the blade three times, she ran out of space and found herself backed up against the kitchen counter.
The guy sneered and stabbed the knife at her neck, but she ducked out of the way, grabbed his arm, and pulled with all her strength. The guy was strong, but with all her weight tugging down on the appendage he couldn’t keep it up, no matter how hard he struggled. She felt his muscles tense as he tried to free the arm, which was just what she wanted.
Her fingers let go of the forearm and suddenly, the man’s hand shot up toward him. He couldn’t react fast enough against his own strain. The hand plunged the knife tip deep into his left shoulder.
He didn’t scream or howl. The only sign of pain he let escape was a slight grunt through his lips. Then he looked down at the wound, yanked out the knife, and turned his attention back to Adriana.
She scrambled, retreating toward the open window, where the curtains flapped in a gentle breeze. The myriad sounds coming from the street poured into the apartment.
The sniper charged toward her again, this time swinging the knife more wildly than before. He sneered with anger as he slashed one way and then the other. Adriana deftly dodged to the side, cupped her hands and slammed them into the guy’s back. Then she leaned sideways and kicked hard. Her heel plowed into his kidneys, and the strength of the blow drove him toward the window. He stumbled forward, hands and arms flailing to regain balance. His forehead struck the glass pane and shattered it into a thousand pieces, a shower of broken shards raining onto the sidewalk and street below.
He pulled his head back through the broken window, face and head streaked with oozing crimson. He wobbled, stunned. The knife hung loose in his hand. Adriana pounced. She grabbed him by the shirt and jerked him toward her, slamming her fist into his face over and over. By the third punch, the knife slipped from his fingers and clanked on the floor.
She didn’t care. She hammered him again and again until his body grew heavy in her fist.
Then she pushed him to the window, letting his torso go through until he was only in the apartment from the waist down.
The guy’s nose was a destroyed, bloody mess. His eyes were already swelling shut. He was barely conscious.
“Who planned this?” she shouted.
He didn’t answer.
She pushed him a little farther out the window.
“I’ll ask
you one last time. Who planned this attack? Who’s your leader?”
He gasped for breath as her grip tightened around the base of his neck. “The will of Allah.”
He kicked his legs hard, driving his heels into her torso. The blow caught her off guard and sent her flopping onto the floor. The move freed him, but in the wrong direction. Maybe that’s what he wanted.
The terrorist’s feet slid over the windowsill and vanished from sight.
Adriana clambered to her feet and rushed back to the opening. The man was lying on the sidewalk, head smashed against the concrete and neck bent at a sickening angle. She swallowed hard and tried to catch her breath.
Gendarmes were rushing to the dead man on the sidewalk while dozens of other emergency crews continued their work, helping those who were still alive.
The war Adriana didn’t want any part of had just come to her.
4
London, England
Adriana sat in a stiff black leather chair. The seat was out of place in the old foundry basement. A guard in a black suit and tie with a white shirt stood at the doorway with hands folded in front of his waist.
“You always wear sunglasses indoors?” she asked, trying to make polite conversation.
The guard didn’t answer. He didn’t even flinch.
“Not much for chitchat, huh?”
Again, he said nothing.
She decided not to bother the guy anymore. Instead, she folded her hands in her lap and returned to the events of the past forty-eight hours.
After killing the shooter in the apartment, Adriana had decided bypassing the authorities would be the best course of action. Since so many of the cops were busy taking care of the wounded and dead, getting around them wasn’t too difficult. All she had to do was walk around looking stunned by the tragedy. Once she was out of the area, she picked up her pace and returned to the cafe where she’d been working.
The missing painting didn’t seem so important anymore. In fact, it felt downright trivial. She’d retired to her hotel that evening amid all sorts of chaos. Most of the people in the building were doing everything they could to get out of town. The hotel manager was desperately trying to convince patrons not to leave, even offering them discounts on their rooms. Most of the tourists weren’t having it. Only the businesspeople whose jobs depended on their being there remained.
Adriana didn’t leave because she figured why bother.
The terrorist attacks were over for now, and the police presence throughout the city had been elevated considerably. From what she knew about these kinds of things, they happened in bursts not waves. There likely wouldn’t be another attack in this city for a while.
Sadly, it was the third time in five years that terrorists had targeted Paris. Adriana considered the European attacks of recent years: Brussels, Barcelona, Manchester. No one had seen them coming.
Innocent lives were lost, and there wasn’t anything anyone could do about it. Or was there?
As she sat alone in her dark hotel room, Adriana stared out at the beautiful old city. Blue lights flashed in the distance. Most of the sirens had ceased their screams. The mayor had declared a citywide curfew while investigators conducted a manhunt for other suspects they believed had something to do with the attacks.
She’d avoided the news, though catching updates on social media had kept her apprised of the goings-on. Her accounts were under false names and images to keep her as anonymous as possible, but she found the platforms were a good way to do some investigative work she couldn’t perform otherwise.
It hadn’t taken her long to make up her mind. In fact, before she even walked into the hotel to return to her room she’d already decided to phone the man who called himself the Director.
Before she did that, she took the liberty of sending June a text message. It was a simple two-word text: I’m in.
Getting a ticket for the train the next morning proved more difficult than normal. That was to be expected as thousands of panicked people tried to evacuate the city. Millions more stayed, determined not to give in to the evil men who carried out the attacks.
Once she was in London, she took a cab to the rendezvous location and waited. A black sedan picked her up on the curb where she stood overlooking the River Thames. The driver had been the guard now standing by the door.
Two short knocks came from the other side, rousing her from her thoughts. A second later, the Director walked through, walked around the glass desk before her, and eased into his seat.
A silver laptop sat atop the surface next to a short stack of papers and a single pen.
“I changed my mind,” Adriana said.
“I can see that. I suppose that has everything to do with the Paris attacks?”
“A little.”
“No cause for false impressions, Adriana. Most unfortunate, the events of the last twenty-four hours. Still, sometimes we must be shaken to truly find our calling.”
“I’m not shaken,” she said. “I was close to ground zero when it happened. The attack in the 10th Arrondissement was just a few blocks from where I was working.”
“On another missing art case?”
“Something like that.”
“And how is that coming along?” He had a snide tone to his voice.
“I’ve dropped it. That’s why I’m here. If you want me to leave, though, no problem.”
She stood up and turned toward the door.
“No reason to get testy, Miss Villa. I know why you’re here. And I appreciate you calling, especially considering the gravity of the situation.” He slid the stack of papers across the desk.
“What’s that?”
“Asad’s dossier along with all his known contacts across Europe. We’ve marked off the ones that have expired.”
“Expired?”
“Died. It happens.”
She stepped closer to the desk and picked up the stack. “Shouldn’t this be in a folder or something?”
The Director rolled his eyes. “I took the liberty of removing it, but if you like I can get it for you.”
She shook her hand as she pored over the contents of the stack. Shadow Cell had been busy, and the Director and his colleagues had managed to compile quite a list of contacts, resources, and other pertinent information on Asad and his associates. She couldn’t help wondering: If they had all that intel, why hadn’t they just taken him out?
“So, what’s the problem?” she asked, returning the stack of papers to the edge of the desk.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You seem to know everything about this guy. Why don’t you just send in a special forces group to take him out while he’s on the toilet or something?”
“At any given moment, Asad is surrounded by two dozen armed, well-trained guards. And that’s just when he’s asleep. During the day, he has a small army around him. He’s nearly impossible to reach.”
She frowned. “Okay. You have bombs, don’t you? We’ve all seen the footage of what the Western air forces can do. Why not bomb him back to the Stone Age?”
The Director sighed. “If his base of operations were somewhere in the middle of the Syrian Desert, that might be a viable option. Unfortunately, his headquarters is here in London. At least as far as we can tell. He runs a series of profitable businesses. They’re all legitimate. And every one of them funnels money into the Red Ring.”
“And you can’t trace it.”
“Some of it. Not all. We need you to get to Asad, find out what he knows, and take him out.”
She snorted. “Sounds simple enough.”
“It’s anything but, Adriana.”
“If it’s so tough, why don’t MI5 or MI6 take it on?”
“They passed on the mission.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
“June will get you all the details. She’ll be your contact on this one. Should you decide to stay on with us, assuming you survive, she will be your point person going forward.”
Adriana took a deep
breath and sighed. She turned and started to walk out the door.
“Miss Villa?”
She spun around and saw the Director holding the paperwork out to her. “You might need these.”
Adriana smirked. “Thank you, Director Hughes. I appreciate it, but I have everything I need.”
His forehead wrinkled. “I see June gave you my name.”
She shook her head. “Nope. I figured it out.”
At the door, she stopped and turned her head, facing the guard. “It was a pleasure talking to you.” She opened the door and stepped out.
The guard turned toward Director Hughes and shook his head as if denying any discussion had taken place. He frowned but said nothing.
The door opened again suddenly, and she poked her head in. “Oh, I forgot to ask where I’m supposed to go next.”
“Third door on the left. Henry in the armory will get you everything you need.”
“Thank you.”
She closed the door and started down the corridor. There was an excitement brewing deep down inside her. It was something she felt every time she got started on a lead with a work of art. This time, it was slightly different. There was a greater sense of purpose.
She knew there would be danger ahead, the kind that could mean certain death. That didn’t deter her. After what she saw in Paris, Adriana knew that no one was safe, no matter what occupation they chose.
It was time to take the fight to the terrorists. It was time to make them feel fear.
5
London
“You guys sure are good at using old abandoned buildings,” Adriana said, looking around at the underground laboratory.
The walls were made from old brick that crumbled in more than a few places. The mortar had fallen off in others. Steel girders ran along the roof overhead in dramatic arches, creating several small domes along the length of the room.
“Real estate is cheaper that way,” a young man in a black button-up shirt said. He was standing next to a series of steel cabinets that lined the wall. “Name is Henry,” he said.
When Shadows Call Page 3