Ellyn Hughes, no-nonsense as always, rapped a knuckle on the table. “Don’t keep us in suspense, Special Agent in Charge. Which staff is the culprit on?” Bryant felt a surge of warmth for the woman, in part because she was hopeful enough to think it wasn't one of the people in the room and in part because she was one of those unstained by even a hint of corruption.
He nodded. “Senator, I regret to say that the leaks are not coming from staff members. Instead, someone on the oversight committee is directly responsible for them.” He kept his gaze locked on hers but saw Tomassi blanch and Clarke get a nasty look on his face in his peripheral vision. He waited in silence until, after several seconds, Cyphret demanded, “Well? Who?”
His expression deadpan, he turned to the man on his left as he and Finley had agreed in advance. “Senator Zachariah Clarke, it is my distinct pleasure to tell you that your presence on this committee is no longer needed. You have been a very naughty boy.” He couldn’t resist taking a shot at the man’s immense pride, and the jab had its intended result. His target bolted from his seat, red-faced and sputtering.
“Preposterous. Lies. I will see you broken for this, Bates.”
Finley shook his head and looked sad. “No threats, Zachariah. I’ve seen the evidence. They know about your messages. It’s frankly embarrassing that you weren’t better at hiding them since you're a member of an actual secret group.” Clarke gaped and the door to the far hallway opened to reveal a pair of burly men in dark black jackets, clearly FBI agents given the circumstance. The senator continued to protest his innocence as they locked the cuffs around his wrists and escorted him from the room.
The others—save Tomassi, who still looked like he was about to throw up or pass out or both—turned toward Bryant. Hughes spoke for them. “Explain.” Her voice was cold and dangerous, appropriate to the moment. He pulled his phone out and pressed some controls to access the display at the end of the room. Another few strokes brought up the evidence against Clarke, now available for them all to see, including logs that showed how often he had shared information.
The senators gazed at it and made sounds of disbelief before they settled back in their chairs and looked shaken. Somers gave a low chuckle. “Well, that’s something. Do you have any more surprises for us, Bates?”
He turned to Tomassi. “How about it, Winston? Any more surprises for this meeting?” It was cruel, but dammit the hypocrite deserved it. In spades. The man gaped for a moment, then tears seeped from the corners of his eyes and he lowered his gaze to the table. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…it simply got out of hand. I wasn’t sure they were watching, but I guess I should have known. I—” He put his face on his folded arms and sobbed into them.
Bryant stared at him momentarily, his expression twisted in distaste, then turned to the others. “Senator Tomassi is a fraud. He gambles and is in way over his head and failed to realize that the site he used was a trap by Chinese Intelligence. He’s been a source for them for ages. However, what he fails to mention is that his addiction has been funded in part by selling secrets to enemies on Oriceran, specifically to Nehlan.”
The others stared at him, but no one spoke. Finley broke the silence several moments later as a woman in a dark suit entered. “Winston, Agent Carlisle will take you for debriefing. We’ll need you to work with the FBI to fix some of the things you’ve broken.” She pulled him to his feet, not entirely gently, propelled him out of the room in front of her and closed the door when she exited.
Somers looked at Bryant. “Son, please tell me you’re finished. I don’t think my heart can handle any more shocks today.”
He grinned. “All done, Senator Somers. We believe the leaks are filled now.” Minus yours, which we’ll keep open deliberately. “We should be able to use Tomassi to feed disinformation for a while, but he’s not the type to hide something this big well. He’ll screw it up before long, and he’ll be headed to prison. Maybe we can get him a cell next to Clarke.”
Finley addressed the group in an emotionless, businesslike tone. “The oversight committee is operating outside designated parameters. As such, no non-critical actions shall be taken until we have acquired two new members. I will oversee the search and decide on the additions in consultation with the vice president, as specified in our orders of operation. Barring an emergency, we are officially on hiatus until further notice.”
The other senators filed from the room, displaying various degrees of stunned surprise and unhappiness at the turn the day had taken. Finally, only Finley remained, and Bryant crossed the empty space between them to shake his hand. “Well done, Aaron.”
The man shook his head. “Well done you, Bryant. I hear Taggart is awake. Will this be your last meeting, too?”
He sighed. “No, the old man is turning his papers in and heading off into the sunset. It looks like I’m stuck with the job.”
The senator slapped him on the arm. “You’re great at it, and you’ll continue to be great at it. The work suits you.”
“On the whole, I’d rather be on a beach drinking a margarita.”
Finley smiled. “There’s time for that, eventually. Look at Taggart.” He laughed as Bryant groaned at the thought of the potential decades of this nonsense ahead of him.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Even though Hank had begged off at the last moment, Cara wasn’t willing to give up one of her favorite nights of the week. She entered the warehouse to the now-familiar sounds of fights in progress, with crowd members cheering or booing the combatants in the ring.
Her path to the front was blocked several times by large bodies in motion and a couple of others by people she knew who greeted her and offered her high fives. She wasn’t short by any means, but those who embraced recreational underground fighting tended to be on the large side, more Hank’s size than hers.
It was a situation that worked to her advantage, as most folks didn’t give the proper level of fear and respect to those smaller than them, which guaranteed her an opponent on any given night. There had been a couple of occasions where Hank wasn't able to play because he was the biggest person in the room and no one was willing to take him on. She’d offered, but he had only smiled and demurred, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of battling a comrade in the mostly rules-free environment.
Unusually, there were several other women present. One of them was warming up in the corner using MMA-style kickboxing moves. Cara leaned against a pole and watched as she unleashed a tricky combo of back hook and jumping crescent kicks that looked strong enough to defeat anyone. She had good balance and muscles rippled on her bare arms and legs.
A man came up to talk to her, but she shook her head and he retreated with a wave. That was another thing Cara liked about the place. Despite the fact that they’d all gathered to pummel each other into unconsciousness, there was an appealing lack of pretense. Declining to fight wasn’t treated as a rejection but simply a moment of conversation between two people with similar goals. It reminded her of the best moments in the Army and of many moments with her BAM team since.
She wove through the rowdy crowd to stand slightly outside the woman’s line of sight. When she turned and noticed her, Cara smiled, and the other woman returned it before she approached her to chat. Her face suggested that there was Italian or Spanish somewhere in her bloodline, but it was otherwise unremarkable—pretty but not gorgeous, encouraging but not begging. Her hair was short, spiky, and bright purple, bringing Rath to mind.
Cara stepped forward to greet her halfway. “Hey.”
“Hey.” The woman ran a towel over her neck to wipe away the sweat from her warmup. “I’m Brin.”
She nodded. “Cara. Nice to meet you, Brin.”
Her new acquaintance wagged a finger. “Ah, I’ve heard about you. All good stuff. You command respect around this place.”
“There have been a few decent fights, yeah.” She shrugged. Are you interested in a bout?”
Brin smiled widely. “Oh, definitely.”
It took about twenty minutes before the backlog cleared and they had their turn. In the interim, they chatted about neutral things, neither sharing any personal information. By the end of the interval, they were fairly well caught up on one another’s guilty television pleasures, favorite movie stars, and bands they thought were terribly overrated.
The two strode into the ring to cheers from the surrounding crowd. There was a catcall at Brin, who spun in annoyance before she smiled and flipped off the man, who was apparently a friend. She shook her head as she turned back to Cara. “He’s an idiot. Sorry.”
She laughed. “We all have them. Remind me to tell you about Tony sometime.”
The referee, a giant with a hairless scalp and face, very dark skin, and an attitude of unbridled authority, stepped in. He confirmed that they both knew they weren’t supposed to kill or maim one another, then retreated from the combat ring and blew the silver coach’s whistle fastened around his neck.
Cara ran forward, light on her feet, and wasn’t surprised when the other woman chose to circle. Since she’d seen at least a little of Brin’s fighting style but hadn’t revealed her own, she had an initial advantage her opponent would want to eliminate. Stretching out the opening of the fight was a good way to accomplish that.
She moved in and cut directly across at her purple-haired foe, and Brin surprised her by stepping forward as well, her hands raised like a boxer. The woman jabbed with her left, and as Cara moved to the right to avoid it, the other fighter executed a half-spin and drilled a punch into her stomach.
Wincing from the aftershocks of the blow, she skipped back. Damn, she hits hard. She advanced again, leading with a jab, and followed with a hook and jab combo when the other woman dodged. The second thrust caught Brin in the chest a couple of inches below her throat, and she nodded with a grin to acknowledge the touch. Then, she spun so fast that Cara was momentarily frozen in surprise.
She managed to raise a hand to protect her head an instant before the woman’s heel reached it. The fingerless glove cushioned the blow but it still exploded stars into her vision and made her ears ring as she staggered to the side. She swung a wide hook with her left but missed as her opponent drove in and rammed her shoulder into her midsection, levered her up, and thumped her hard onto the mat. Before she could recover her wits, the woman had her leg and arm locked. Cara tapped out and let her limbs fall where they would while the world spun above her.
The purple hair appeared in her vision first, followed shortly by Brin's smiling face. She reached a hand down to help her up, and she accepted the gesture. They hugged it out to end the match, and she headed for her bag and the ibuprofen that lay within. She also had a healing potion, an extra hedge against someone taking major damage at the fight, especially if that someone happened to be her. But she dismissed the need for it and decided an aching head would be a good reminder not to underestimate her opponent.
As she staggered out the door onto the street, still wobbly, Brin followed and stepped beside her. “Hey, are you okay?”
Cara nodded and regretted it immediately. “Ow. Yes, okay. A little hazy, is all.”
The other woman pointed ahead. “My car is two blocks up.”
“My bike, too.”
The women walked together to their respective vehicles and said their goodbyes. Cara asked for a rematch and promised a better effort, and Brin laughed and accepted the challenge. She was grinning when she kicked the motorcycle to life and pulled out of the parking lot, headed for her apartment.
The good feelings lasted only five blocks before the AI in her helmet informed her she was being followed. She said, “Show me,” and Quinn outlined three different cars in the rear-view angle provided by the camera on the back of the headgear. “Magnify.” Her virtual assistant complied, and the closer look revealed there were four people in each car. “Damn. They’re loaded for bear.”
She revved the accelerator and the bike increased speed, but the chase vehicles matched it. “Connect to Kayleigh.” There was a brief pause before the ping sounded in her ears. “Glam, Croft. I’m on my bike and being followed by three groups of thugs, according to Quinn.” There was a rustling sound, and she heard the tech sign off from her online video game.
Kayleigh began to strike keys loudly. “Okay, I’ve dispatched two watcher drones from nearby. The first should be on station in about fifteen seconds. Take your next left.” The ARES watch they all wore provided GPS tracking down to within a foot.
She obeyed the command and slewed the bike through oncoming traffic to extend her lead over the others. The motorcycle bounced as she hurtled onto the bridge at high speed and crossed the river toward downtown.
“Okay, I have eyes on you. Take the tunnel, then make a right on the other side.” The small channel cut through a hill that supported a University and hospital above. She wove through the traffic inside and rocketed out the far end, leaning the bike sideways to execute the turn without losing too much velocity. “My second watcher is now with you. The defense model will intersect your path in about a minute if you keep going in that direction.”
Her mind worked furiously. “It would be useful to see who these assholes are. Is there a good place for an ambush nearby?”
“Wait one.” Again, the sound of clicking keys and of a side conversation she couldn’t make out—presumably with Alfred, the house’s AI—commenced. “Yes. Are you sure that’s what you want to do? I only have one drone for support.”
Cara thought about it and an idea emerged. “What if you blast one of the cars with it and bring it back after? That should improve the odds right off the bat, and I’m sure I can hold my own until it returns.”
There was a delay before Kayleigh replied and sounded tenser than she had previously. Probably because I asked her to stun a group of fools driving at high speed. “Yes, but only if we do this at the railyard.”
She grinned as she pushed the accelerator to the maximum. “That’s a perfect place. Let’s turn the tables on these bastards.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The sight and sound of the trailing car crashing into the barrier at the side of the road behind her signaled the arrival of Kayleigh’s drone on the scene. Cara swung her motorcycle over the first two sets of train tracks, momentarily airborne both times. She turned right to take a path between the stationary trains and cut across another set of tracks when there was a small opening between two disconnected cars. She braked and walked the bike back between the sections of the train to protect it, then hooked her helmet over the handlebars.
“Status, Glam?”
The tech seemed distracted, which was likely because she was flying three drones, one of which had stunned the driver and passengers of a moving vehicle. Knowing her, she’d already put in a call for an ambulance as well. The police would be the next logical connection, but BAM Pittsburgh had a standing policy not to involve them in anything directed exclusively at agents. “You have about thirty seconds. Alfred says there’s a low probability that they’ll try to use the vehicles against you.”
“Okay, that makes sense. We’ve defeated them often enough that they need to make it personal. Besides, why bring so many people if you only plan to ram me with a car? Nah, they want to deliver a message.” She unlocked the hidden compartment under the motorcycle’s seat with a finger scan and withdrew her lightweight utility belt, Ruger, and Glock. Outside weapons were appropriately forbidden in the fight club space. She strapped it on, slid the pistol into its holster at her hip, and reached behind her to tap the hilts of her daggers. The revolver went into the hideaway holder in Kayleigh’s spy boots, which weren't really necessary anymore since she had her own blades but which were stylish and comfortable and worth wearing anyway.
“Ten seconds.”
Cara stepped into the open and faced squarely down the empty space between the two trains. About seventy-five feet away, two cars bounced over the tracks and slid on the ubiquitous gravel as they made the turn. They braked abru
ptly as expected, and eight people piled out of them. They were dressed in street chic and obviously wore their own version of what they thought of as cool. Each carried a pistol in one hand and a weapon of some kind in the other, and they held them out like the threats they were.
She smiled. Under her breath, she asked, “Time until the drone is back?”
Kayleigh cursed. “Our friends are smarter than expected and way more well-equipped. They disabled it as it was returning. It seems to be a localized disruption to the software. It’s grounded and maybe destroyed. I can’t access it.”
She rolled her neck. “Okay, the degree of difficulty has increased but is still acceptable. Make a note to find out where they got the tech. That’s military-grade, and I thought only the authorities were supposed to have it. Well, and Brownstone.” The stories of the legendary bounty hunter making the local PD’s drones fall from the sky were absolutely secret, which of course meant they traveled the underground chat rooms catering to the military and police as fast as fingers could type. She still had access as a former member and spent many an evening relaxing and chatting with other Army folks online.
“On it. Hank is rolling but won’t be at your location for at least fifteen minutes.”
“Well, he’ll miss all the fun then.” She raised her voice and tilted her chin. “Hey, friends, what’s going on?” Her hands were warm with barely contained fire magic, and she held them loosely at her sides, ready to attack or shield as events dictated. She had noted no wands among those who confronted her, which gave her confidence even though she was outnumbered.
The man in the lead twitched his pistol at her. “You’ve caused trouble for us. We decided it’s time to end that.”
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