Conspiracy of Silence

by Ronie Kendig

  “Tanin.”

  28

  — Day 11 —

  Jerusalem

  Needling sensations rippled through Kasey as she watched the transformation come over Cole. As if a storm had moved in. Subtle. Startling. Knowing his skills, his capabilities, it was alarming.

  A few paces later, he sidled up to Levi as if he hadn’t just been within inches of punching him. “We have shadows,” he said, his voice stiff, quiet. “Keep moving.”

  Shadows? Someone was following them? Kasey’s stomach roiled.

  Levi’s hand engulfed hers and squeezed. It should’ve been reassuring, but her awareness had keyed into Cole, who was falling back again. Behind them. Out of sight. Though she kept walking as ordered, she also noticed the silence. The lack of conversation. Cole’s absence proved the most unnerving. She flicked her gaze to the side.

  Tzivia had her arm through Dr. Cathey’s, heading toward a small compact car. Though they looked casual, an intensity had plastered itself onto the woman’s face. A key dangled from her hand. Cole’s friend, Chiji, was with them, assisting the professor as if he were elderly and needed help. Kasey understood the scenario—if they were being followed, Dr. Cathey would be the slowest, which meant he needed the car. The rest would be on their own, navigating back to the hotel.

  As she surreptitiously scanned the night-darkened lawn, she found it empty. Was she just not seeing the team? Or the threat?

  Levi tugged her closer and put his arm around her shoulder.

  Her muscles tightened but Kasey didn’t pull away. “Where are the others?”

  “Scattering for better positions,” Levi muttered, his lips against her temple, lingering a little longer than appropriate. Not out of affection. He was using it to scan their surroundings. Mostly. “If we have to run . . .”

  “Like the wind,” she whispered.

  A strange whistling carried through the still night.

  “Get down!” Cole shouted.

  Arms wrapped around her, dragging her to the ground.

  Crack! Hisssssss!

  “Go go go!”

  Tightening her against his chest, Levi flipped them over and rolled across the lawn . . . sidewalk . . . They fell into the grass on the other side. Hit hard.

  Kasey grunted. No time for pain. They landed on their bellies, and she scrambled for orientation. To see where Cole was. Where the others had taken refuge. She spotted him behind a tree, shoulder to the bark, ready to shoot. Did he have a weapon?

  Cole scowled. “Get her out of here!”

  Rebellion stabbed Kasey. She didn’t want to leave him and the others. But what could she do? She wasn’t armed. Best to follow orders.

  “Run,” Cole barked.

  She came up, Levi pulling her away from Cole. They took off toward a covered breezeway of the main Israel Museum. Darkness cocooned them. Shielded them. She slowed and glanced back.

  In that instant, she saw two things: The first—Cole hunkered behind the sculpture of an apple core and aiming a gun. Tiny bursts sparked from the muzzle as he confronted an unknown assailant. The second, a glimmering metal arrow spiraling toward her, the feathered tail like a child’s pinwheel.

  Thunk! She glanced at the wall and found a glowing blue arrow. Not a foot away. A rancid smell seared her nostrils.

  Sparkling arrow. Kasey let out a strangled yelp, only to be yanked away by Levi. He pitched her forward.

  Crack! Boom!

  The explosion blasted her spine with heat. Kasey stumbled, but ran. As hard as she could down the sloping hill away from the museum. Away from Cole.

  ****

  Crack-crack-crack-pop. Pop! POP!

  Light vanished. Darkness fell like an obsidian orb. In the distance, the lights of the city twinkled. Whoever was targeting them had hit the power supply. Dropped them into a blinding darkness. Shadows crept and leapt along the grass and gnarled tree trunks.

  Chest pressed to the steel sculpture, Tox aimed into the black, at the spot where he’d seen the second blue arrow erupt. Tanin. This was his chance—nail this guy, mission over. Team still alive. His mind buzzed, skipping from Mossad to the Arrow & Flame Order. Were they both after the team? How’d Tanin and the AFO find them? How had any of them gotten so close? What did Ram know?

  A yelp snapped his attention to the fifteen-foot space between two buildings. Protected by an awning, the space was pitch black. Then a cloud shifted and moonlight stroked Haven’s form as she raced away with Wallace.

  He’d better keep her safe. Tox had made a promise three years ago to protect those Brooke loved. It was what had drawn him out when Evie’s life had been pawned in Attaway’s sick scheme to lure Tox into the open.

  Fiery shards splintered off the sculpture. Seared his cheek. Tox jerked back, searching for his team. Maangi, Cell, and Thor had scrambled, taking up strategic positions, no doubt. But where?

  A museum patron darted across the path, leaving the safety of the museum and sprinting for the parking lot. No! Tox sucked in a breath and held it, anticipating the man’s death.

  A flash of light erupted, hissing.

  Thunk! The meaty thud ended in a flash. Blue glowed through the night. The man screamed as he tumbled forward. Horror-stricken, Tox watched him writhe on the ground, knowing there was nothing he could do to help. The man’s arms constricted in agony, curling in as his howl pierced the night. A gurgling noise came just seconds later.

  Agitated by the sight and smell, Tox let it burn into his mind as a reminder that the victim could’ve been anyone on his team. Or Haven.

  “Wraith Actual, coming up on your six,” crackled through his handheld. Thor dropped against the retaining wall. “Just before”—breathing hard—“lights out, I saw them.” He gulped air. “Three o’clock. On the roof.”

  Tox peered out over the grassy area, straining to see against the black of night. Moonlight did little to help, partially hidden by another drifting cloud. “How many?” He wracked his brain to remember what building lurked over there. He’d seen shops, but wasn’t that side of the street residential? He needed to know possible casualties when they went in after the targets.

  “Don’t know.” Thor blew out a breath. “Enough to notice—three, maybe four.”

  Which meant at least a half-dozen had hit them. Why? What did they want? Tox scanned the field and saw movement. What he wouldn’t do for his tac gear, a pair of binoculars.

  Tiny bursts of gunfire erupted milliseconds before the boom of the weapon reached him. Return fire came from the roof, just as Thor had reported. But taking cover here, they were too far away to hit the target.

  “Move in.” Tox rushed around the sculpture and ran, hunched, to a tree.

  Behind him, Thor thumped against a trunk. “Go.”

  Cars whipped around each other in the parking lot, racing for the exit. Taillights bled across the darkness. He started over the grass. A vehicle turned toward him. Headlamps splashed him in a glow of white.

  Exposed, Tox ducked.

  Shots peppered the night. Dirt spit at him. He dove to the ground, scrambling for the sketchy protection of a hedgerow that lined a southern path. Ignoring the ache in his shoulder, he hunch-ran, heading to the parking lot. He’d get to that shop or house and stop them. Whatever it took.

  An engine revved. Lights sprang to life. An older model. Noisy.

  Perfect.

  Tox eyed the vehicle as it rattled closer. Darted behind another car, lining himself up with the noisy one.

  Crack. Crack!

  Tox glanced back and saw Thor coming up, providing a distraction. Tox refocused on the noisy car. The small sedan wheezed and whined as the driver put it in gear and gunned it.

  Tox launched up. Sprinted toward the rusted body. Bullets nipped at his heels, pushing him faster. When the car slowed to round the corner, it afforded him the safety he’d sought. Bent, he ran alongside as it navigated the parking lot, then turned onto the street. When it veered right instead of left, Tox was exposed again.
<
br />   Bullets peppered the air. He threw himself toward the nearest building—a grocery. Skimmed the shadows. Rushing west, his gaze rarely left the rooftop targets trying to pick off his team.

  Lights at the intersection bathed the night crimson. Then green, which splashed over him like a homing beacon. Tox dove behind three trash bins. Without slowing, his sole purpose to neutralize the threat, he leapfrogged from one car to the next.

  A van squeaked at the corner then chugged toward him. Tox hurried to stay aligned with it, using the size to block his advance on the building. Thirty feet now.

  As the van picked up speed, he hustled. Twenty feet.

  At ten, he jumped out of traffic and dove against a half wall. Heart pumping hard, he felt along the plaster until the gap between the buildings yawned, revealing an alcove. He slipped in. Plunged into deeper darkness, he squatted. Lifted his handheld. “Wraith Actual in position,” he subvocalized, then sucked in a breath. Exhaled. “At the building.”

  “Wraith Five north ten yards.”

  Tox searched the darkness for his team, glad Ram was close. The others reported in, Maangi and Cell moving in from the northwest. Thor reported complications trying to cross the street without eating lead.

  Shouldering the wall, Tox peered around the corner. Plotted the course he’d take. He rushed the five feet to a half wall in front of the target’s building, aiming his weapon as he stretched to see over the wall and clear the area behind it. A perfect hiding spot.

  Then he saw it. A boot. The toe rested just in sight. The lookout, no doubt. Dead? Alive?

  Rocks crunched as the boot adjusted. Alive then. And within spitting distance. The only protection between them, a stone wall. Silently, adrenaline coursing, Tox expelled a breath.

  Nothing like a stiff risk.

  Muscles taut and with painstaking precision, every movement, every contraction of his ligaments tightly controlled, he eased around, careful not to grind rocks or dirt beneath him. Eyes never leaving the boot, he whipped around the corner.

  The man jerked. Tox double-tapped him.

  Silence dropped, the target crumpling in a whoosh of defeat. Breathing out, Tox crouched and snatched up the man’s weapon. Pressed his spine against the wall, expecting someone to respond to the sound of his weapon. His gaze rose to the shadowed alley where a stairwell climbed the north wall.

  Peppering gunfire rattled the night. The targets were still up there. Maybe too focused on killing Tox’s men to hear him. Since they weren’t coming to him, he’d have to go to them. He traced the walls. Walked backward to a corner, eyeing the road behind him. Plaster dug into his shoulders as he hiked a boot onto the stairs, covering the street.

  A shape coalesced in the darkness. Tox snapped his weapon up.

  “Friendly,” Ram hissed as he joined Tox amid the wail of sirens in the distance, warning them time was short.

  Time to move. “Wraith Actual and Five going in,” Tox radioed as he turned to the stairs.

  With Ram walking forward, Tox climbed the steps backward, watching their six. The rustle of Ram’s clothes seemed to scream in the deafening silence. Ram not only covered the top of the stairs but the side of the roof, where someone could easily aim a weapon down. They’d be fish in a barrel.

  A hand on his shoulder made Tox crouch as they ascended the last few steps. Below, a black mass shifted into the courtyard. His eyes must’ve adjusted or the moon hung naked again, because he could make out Maangi situating himself to protect the entry point, leaving Tox to cover Ram as he rounded the rooftop corner.

  Ram jerked back, firing. Answering gunshots raked the night.

  Pop-pop-pop!

  A meaty thud and oof sounded from up top.

  “Clear,” Ram said.

  Tox hustled onto the roof. Two men lay in a huddle, both missing chunks of their skulls and bleeding a river. Tox’s stomach churned as he and Ram advanced on the man slumped against the wall facing the museum. The shooter was in his final, wheezing moments, the injury and his breathing proof he couldn’t be saved. However, Tox kicked away the man’s weapon as Ram squatted beside him.

  “Who sent you?”

  The man’s eyes shifted to Ram, then slowly unfocused. He slumped in Death’s grip.

  “Dead.” Ram rifled through the shooter’s pockets. “Nothing. No wallet, no ID.”

  “Where’s Tanin?”

  Ram shrugged. “Lost him.”

  Tox lifted his handheld and radioed the team. “Rooftop is clear.”

  “Main level clear,” Cell reported.

  Tox growled. “I want Tanin dead.”

  “Maybe he cleared out before the action started.” Ram thumped one of the bodies.

  “How did the AFO find us?”

  Ram straightened. “Who knows?”

  Tox sighed. “Let’s regroup with the team.” He hustled down the darkened stairs, iron rattling beneath his boots, and hit the street.

  Ram put his phone to his ear, muttering. He ended the call. “Tzivia and Dr. Cathey are fine. They made it to a safe place.”

  Tox shouldn’t be surprised at Ram’s efficiency. “What about Chiji?”

  “Didn’t mention him,” Ram said as they assessed the damage and monitored their team grouping up. “Wallace and Cortes?”

  “Last I saw, they were headed east behind the museum.”

  Ram glanced in that direction, shifting the beanie on his head. “Warehouse district.”

  Thor limped toward the rest of the team.

  “Too much fun for you?” Tox asked.

  Thor grinned. “Needed to slow down some bullets so you could escape.”

  “Thoughtful.” Tox keyed his handheld. “Wraith Actual to Eagle One and Two, report.” His gaze hit the parking lot, waiting for a reply. Since the rental had been used to ferry Dr. Cathey to safety, the team had no vehicle to make a quick exit. He repeated the request.

  Sirens wailed and shrieked, lights whirling as the authorities surged onto the street, seventy yards down.

  Ram started walking. “Warehouses?”

  Tox nodded, but then glanced to Thor. “Can you—”

  “Yes.”

  Tox admired his men. Admired their tenacity. “Let’s do it.” Though he hated tangling them up with this nightmare, he wouldn’t want to face it with anyone else.

  They negotiated the traffic cluttering the street and crossed the lawn of the museum. It was an expansive area but not too open to make the trek foolish. As his foot hit the cement sidewalk, light erupted around them.

  One of the guys cursed.

  “Easy,” Tox said. “Power grid’s up.”

  Artificial light glared as they ran in the direction he’d seen Haven and Wallace flee. Halfway into the breezeway, he saw the glint of steel. Glowing, blue.

  Tox diverted for it.

  “Don’t let it touch your skin,” Ram called. “Hold on.”

  Tox knelt in front of the arrow embedded in the ground. The shaft near the arrowhead was black. Not blue. Why had the arrows been blue when they struck? The earth around it was blackened.

  “Here.” Ram offered a scarf that had been shed in the haste of the museum patrons fleeing.

  Tox wrapped it around the arrow and lifted it. Strangely heavy.

  “Here,” Cell said, angling sideways to aim a backpack in his direction.

  Tox stuffed the arrow in the bag, and they hurried off the property. He tried Wallace again, to no avail. Why weren’t they answering?

  “Maybe he forgot how to work his radio,” Cell muttered. “He’s an FBI agent, after all.”

  Not a comforting jibe when Haven’s life was in his hands. They crept along a rocky stretch lining the first row of warehouses. Metal structures loomed like menacing giants in the cloudy night.

  “Maybe they can’t,” Maangi said. “If they’re pinned down—if someone’s on top of them . . .”

  Again, not comforting.

  “Too bad I don’t have my thermals,” Maangi said. “Heat-seeking nocs woul
d be handy about now.”

  “Yeah,” Cell said.

  Tox glanced at Ram. If he was truly well-connected, could he recruit some help? Get this sorted for them. Get their people delivered to them safely and without further incident. SAARC wouldn’t be happy about tonight. They were supposed to be finding answers, stopping a plague, not racking up body counts.

  But Ram walked without conversation, his gaze on the buildings.

  To stifle his frustration, Tox keyed the radio again. “Wraith One—”

  His words crackled back to him like an echo. But not. Tox stilled. Turned in a circle and pressed the button again.

  More crackling.

  Maangi followed the sound and bent down.

  “Did the FBI agent drop his radio?” Cell taunted, his words tinged with aggravation and patronization.

  “It’s pretty scratched.” Maangi flipped it over. “I’d say he was in a scuffle when he lost it.”

  Tox stiffened. “Spread out. Let’s find them.”

  They headed down a street and Tox stopped. Stared. There had to be at least twenty to thirty warehouses nestled in the dark night. Occasional lamps spotlighted corners and entrances. How were they going to find Haven in this aluminum and steel mess? Tox wiped a hand over his mouth, fighting off the frustration.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” Cell whined. “We need help. There is no way . . .”

  “Agreed,” Maangi said.

  Mumbled words carried to Tox. He glanced back and found Ram with his beanie in hand, covering part of his face, a nearly invisible wash of light across his mouth as he concealed the glow of his phone.

  Tox paused. Watched. Knew his friend had some powerful friends. Hoped he was talking to them now. The others watched as well, apparently with the same expectation.

  When Ram ignored them, quietly engaged on the phone, Tox said, “Eyes out. Cell, get on the sat phone. Notify SAARC. See if they can send—”

  “No,” Ram snapped, the phone still pressed to his ear. His expression a mixture of alarm and warning. “Not yet.”

  Tox jerked, half-angry Ram countermanded the order and half-praying he had good news. When his friend lowered the phone and tugged the beanie onto his mop of brown curls, Tox stopped. “Well?”