4 Rainy Days and Monday (6 page)

To their south, the lot between the factory and the barracks was ablaze. The J-11s dropped more ordnance, danger-close style, near Teams Bravo and Charlie.

Morehead tapped him on the shoulder.

“War is hell!” he yelled over the blasts, a sarcastic grin lighting his face.

Jake shook his head.

They hopped down to the knee-high grass. It tossed violently in the turbulence of the rotors.

“Get airborne and provide support from above. Prepare to exfil on the north by the destroyed gate,” Jake ordered Carlos.

“Understood. Boss?”

“Yes,” Jake shouted over the whine of the rotors overhead.

Ming moved forward and placed a small charge on the gate while Jake looked up at Carlos as he swung away.

“Teams Delta and Echo are going off grid.”

“What? Why?”

The transport chopper pulled up into the frosty air and moved off toward the west.

“Orders from Command. They are intercepting a rail transport destined for the mountains to the north.”

“Understood. Keep your eyes out for our friends up there.”

“Trust me, I’ve got a feeling.”

“Me too. Keep your cards close,” Jake urged.

“I don’t gamble, but I agree.”

Vasquez and Ming waited on him at the gate. He moved through and followed Amit.

The former Mossad operative’s face was set in a grim look, his eyes shadowed. Jake was just as uncomfortable. Too many explosions. Too much gunfire.

Morehead moved like a great cat, swinging the SAW like it was broomstick. Two guards exited the building brandishing assault rifles. Morehead cut them down. Amit vaulted to the side as bullets from the second story chipped the concrete at his feet.

Jake sighted down his M-14 and pulled the trigger twice. The shooters above ducked back.

“We should not have to fight them all by ourselves. Where is Delta and Echo?” Amit complained.

Jake shook his head.

“Stay on mission!”

Morehead swung his light machine gun across his body, resting it on his hip and pulled a Remington 870 Express from a side scabbard.

“Best skeleton key ever made!” Morehead bragged. He shot the door handle. It shattered open and Morehead stepped in. Two more shots sounded from inside.

Amit brandished a sidearm in both hands, his eyes steel.

Jake stepped in behind him, leaning the M-14 against the wall. He would not need the rifle inside, but might have use for it later. He pulled out the Vector and put its stock firmly against his shoulder.

The hallway was littered with blood and three dead factory guards. Morehead was at the next corner peering around. He looked back and put up three fingers. Morehead tapped his chest with a smile and sliced his finger across his throat.

Before Jake could warn him, Morehead slipped around the corner, his shotgun at his waist.

Amit and Jake moved forward just as Vasquez and Ming entered the lobby behind them. Jake stepped over a body and took up the position on the opposite corner just as the guards noted Morehead.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Morehead announced.

The shotgun belched fire and two men went down in the narrow hall. The third was pulling his assault rifle to his shoulder when Morehead racked the slide on the shotgun and adjusted his aim. The spread took the man in the chest and spun him around.

Jake saw Amit staring at him.

“He is a liability,” Amit said quietly.

Jake glanced back at the Brit stepping over the first body.

“We don’t have time to debate this now.”

Amit screwed up his mouth and nodded.

“What are we waiting on, girls?” Morehead asked over his shoulder.

Vasquez mumbled something under her breath.

Jake tried to ignore the complicated dynamics involved with a cobbled-together international team of anti-terrorists. He just wanted the job done. Quick and efficient. So far, they had not been stalled.

He rushed forward in an attempt to catch up to Morehead. The building schematics they had studied had indicated that the stairwell on the north end of the hall would lead to a security room with sophisticated safety mechanisms. Rather than try to hack these systems, their plan was to blast their way through. The weak points of the barrier were walls surrounding the executive wing. That was why Ming was along for the ride.

Ahead of him, Morehead was cracking one guard over the head with the stock of his Remington. Two more guards converged on him from the sides. Morehead had failed to clear three darkened adjoining rooms, and had headed straight for the security room. The breach point was actually going to be the room on the right, just before the entry to the executive wing.

“Bring it on! Show me some of your fancy dance moves!” Morehead taunted as he turned to face his attackers. He held the Remington low. The scowl on his face worried Jake more than his banter. Something here was wrong. It was almost personal.

Jake had sensed that the Brit would rush forward too quickly, not checking his corners. He had not foreseen that Morehead would be suicidal. Jake pointed into the darkened room to his right and Amit turned in. Vazquez and Ming followed, staying on mission.

The man at Morehead’s feet groaned. The guards glanced at each other and shot at the same time. Morehead staggered backwards, his armor taking the brunt of their barrage. The guards were firing fully auto JS-9mm silenced submachine guns. The
fip-fip-fip
of their weapons were just audible over the commotion.

Jake pulled his Spiderco from its sheath at his chest and leaped ahead into the security room. He arced the knife over a guard’s left shoulder and buried it into the subclavian artery. Just as the man yelled, Jake sliced across, turned his knife across his body, and sliced the side of the other guard’s neck.

Both men staggered and dropped their weapons, grasping at their wounds. The first guard fell unconscious to the floor. The other guard turned toward Jake, his eyes bulging. Jake kicked him in the stomach, forcing him against the wall. He slid down, blood spurting in a fountain from the wound.

“You are messy, I will have to say that about you,” Morehead quipped, his voice strained.

“You need to stay on mission or I won’t save your ass next time,” Jake warned.

Morehead’s jaw worked, but he nodded.

The room behind him erupted, smoke and dust billowing out the door into the hallway. Morehead winced.

“Come on. We cannot waste any more time,” Jake explained.

The room was full of debris. Vazquez was clearing some rubble from along the floor. Two men who had been on the other side of the wall lay dead, their bodies ravaged by the explosion. Amit cowered behind a desk, the whites of his eyes large and disbelieving.

“I did not sign up for this,” he said.

“Your part comes next,” Jake promised.

Amit just shook his head.

“Someone help me with this, will you?” Ming asked.

“You made the mess, you get to clean it up,” Morehead said with a smile as he bent to the task. His grimace was the only indication of the pain he endured.

Jake stood guard, his Spiderco sheathed, his Vector at the ready. The hole Ming had blown in the wall was significant, but this was their exfil point as well. They would need it cleared larger to extract their target.

“Zhou will be guarded by a professional protection detail. No funny stuff. Everyone on their game. No overlapping of targets, no collateral damage to the target. We need Zhou alive,” Jake explained.

The concrete, steel, and plaster were cleared. The only sounds they heard was their breathing and the occasional hum of equipment from the room across the hall. The building was practically sound-proof.

“Ming, guard this room. Vazquez, give a brief update to HQ. Alert me on the comm if you receive new information. We will return.”

He began to step through the hole.

“Monday?” Vazquez asked, her finger to the comm link at her ear.

Jake turned.

“Yes.”

She looked up at him, alarm in her eyes.

“We have a situation.”

Jake stared at her, his heart dropping. Something about this mission seemed off and he had been ignoring it all along.

“Delta and Echo found Zhou. He’s dead.”

Jake slumped, the Vector slapping his leg. Morehead cursed. Amit looked relieved.

“Contact Carlos. We need to leave now,” Jake said.

“Yes sir,” Vazquez answered.

“And I was looking forward to the next dance,” Morehead said between clenched teeth. He staggered back into the room.

Jake noted a dark stain running down the big Brit’s left leg. He saw for the first time the blinking red light on his heads-up display.

“You took a hit,” Amit noted.

Morehead shrugged, his eyelids closing lazily.

“So? We all have to go sometime,” he said as he slumped forward, his eyes rolling up into his head as he fell.

Ming rushed over and felt his carotid.

He looked up at Jake and shook his head.

“Strip his gear. Leave it. Bring him with us,” Jake said.

He felt numb. Everything was going wrong.

This was why he preferred working alone.

Big Girls Don’t Cry

“W
hy are you crying, Mommy?”

Hallie blinked away the tears and managed a strained smile.

“Come sit with me, hon,” she said.

Macy jumped up on the bed beside Hallie. Her frown and furrowed brow made Hallie sad.

She put her arm around her daughter and hugged her tight.

“I was sorting these pictures,” she explained.

Macy blinked. She glanced at the photos.

“Are they sad pictures?” she asked.

Hallie smiled.

“Some of them bring back memories. Memories can make us feel good inside and sometimes we can feel sad.”

“Like when I think of Daddy?”

Hallie felt the tear run hot down her cheek.

“Just like that,” she said as she hugged Macy harder.

“It’s ok then. Because when he is here, we are all happy. And, Mr. Childs said Daddy will be back soon. He is the best at his job and everyone needs him.”

“That’s right, Macy-girl.”

Macy smirked.

“I know. It’s just that I need him, too.”

Hallie buried her face in Macy’s hair, kissing her head.

“Me too.”

They sat like that for a moment. Hallie needed her daughter right now more than ever. It felt good just to know she was safe. She considered announcing to Macy that she would soon have a little brother or sister. She discarded the thought for now. It was too big for her even to consider without getting emotional. Her hormones were enslaving her. She needed to get them under control.

Thankfully, Macy saved her.

“You know what would make me happier right now?” Macy said, placing her face in Hallie’s chest.

“Ice cream?”

Hallie could feel her smile.

“You know me so well, Mom,” Macy mumbled.

Hallie heard a shuffle in the hall.

She glanced up to see Agent Frank McKinley, her “husband.”

His face was in shadow, but she could feel the concern radiating from him. In the month of playing “father” to Macy, Agent McKinley had grown rather fond of her. It was hard not to. Despite this, Hallie found Frank a bit distant toward her.

She supposed it was a defense mechanism. It was safe to fall in love with a child, less so with the mother that was still legally and emotionally married to a man that supposedly no longer existed.

The most difficult thing about faking Jake’s suicide was keeping the whole farce a secret from Macy. For the first two weeks, they did not hook up the cable to the television. Frank and Macy spent hours playing cards, dolls, tea time, and Disney Scene-It.

Hallie was left making a new house a home, carefully practicing her new identity and coaching Macy on things not to talk about. Macy was strong. Hallie had approached the training as pretending to act. Macy enjoyed pretending. For just a little while, Hallie explained, Frank, Hallie, and Macy would be the Braxton Family. They would be a “normal” American family.

Avoiding Frank while keeping up the appearance of a marriage was not difficult. Frank was appropriately inaccessible. The word from her friends with the Marshall’s office and the DOJ, was that Agent McKinley had extensive experience at short-term assignments involving family units.

“Everything all right?” Frank asked.

“Yeah. Want some ice cream?” she asked, forcing a smile to her face.

“That would be great. You sure you’re fine?”

“Of course.” Hallie was more than a little tired of Frank’s concerned looks.

“Good,” he said with a smile that never reached his eyes.

Macy sat up and wiped her eyes with a sniffle.

“Frank? Can just me and Mommy go? We will bring you back some, too.”

Frank looked a little wounded. His mouth turned down and his eyes widened a bit.

“You two need some alone time. I understand,” he said, his words guarded. “I think it is best that I at least drive you there and sit in the car. How does that sound?”

Macy looked up at Hallie. Hallie understood Macy’s need to get out, get away from the house. The dangers were acute, but Macy did not know this directly. Hallie saw fear and sadness reflected in her daughter’s eyes.

Hallie smiled down at her.

“That will be fine, right Macy? We can both sit in the back seat there and have some girl talk.”

Macy nodded reluctantly.

Hallie looked back at Frank who appeared to be relieved. Hallie perceived that he disliked being the bad guy, but his duty was to keep them safe. Hallie knew that was his key purpose here. His duty was more than the false appearance of their “family” and a male influence in Macy’s life. Hallie’s new haircut, her blue contacts, the job cover of being a contract freelance writer, and Frank’s insurance business were all an exterior coat of reality ultimately to give them a veneer of protection from what Hallie and Macy were running: phantoms, imagined demons, and evil people with designs to change the world to their vision.

“I will get the keys and wait for you in the car,” he said. He turned to give them some privacy.

Macy glanced back out into the hall and waited for Frank’s footfalls to get to the bottom of the stairs.