Brothers In Arms (Matt Drake 5) (9 page)

“What do you have to say about the random murder in Vermont?” The redhead thrust a mic in Hayden’s
face. “The similarities to Senator Turner’s attempted shooting are uncanny.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“We know your bloodhound was on site when the shooting happened, Miss Jaye. We know more than you think.”

My bloodhound?
Hayden wondered. Then she thought of Alicia and gave the woman a pitying glance. “Piece of advice—I wouldn’t say that to her face.”

Moxley blinked. “Point taken. I’ve met her.
Colorful to the point of garish.”

“You won’t get me talking, Miss Moxley.
If you’ll excuse me—”

Hayden stalked back inside. She’d forgotten about the goddamn reporter
who’d made it her life’s mission to harass the new agency. What the hell had Alicia been saying to her?

The control room was full of conversation for a change. Mano and Dahl were discussing the poor insurance salesman and tracing the route he’d recently taken up and down the east coast.
Problem was, it didn’t overlap with Senator Turner’s—at least not yet.

A senator and an insurance salesman,
Hayden thought. What on earth connected them?

Ben and Karin were delving into the background of the shooter.
A man of thirty-one—Calvin Torrance was a bus driver and a loner, a respectable member of a nearby Vermont community who had never put a foot wrong in his life.

“Juvey record’s locked
,” Karin commented. “Just like Markel’s.” The blond turned toward Hayden. “I think we should bring some pressure to bear. That’s two out of two and pretty much our only link.”

“There’s a reason they lock a kid
’s record, sis,” Ben said. “It’s to protect them.”

Hayden agreed with Karin.
They had found a link and it needed pursuing. Trouble was, their own agency didn’t have any clout yet. “I’ll call Jonathan.”

But then Karin’s eyebrows shot up and she started to stare oddly at her screen. “That’s odd.”

Half a minute passed. Hayden tried not to throttle her. “
What’s
odd?”

“Sorry, boss. Senator
Turner’s name just jammed up the airwaves. Our red flag system has gone friggin’ crazy. I can’t—” Karin tapped furiously, like a woodpecker on speed. “Can’t pinpoint the source. Give me a few.”

Hayden moved behind her. Dahl looked across from his perch.
“I’m smelling some action.”

Karin isolated the source in less than a minute. “Crap
,” she said. “Unbelievable. There’s a bank robbery in progress. In D.C. Something’s fucked up ’cos there’s reports of live fire. And the shooter…” She started to chew on a nail. “To quote a police officer from the scene:
another one of those freaks who tried to kill Senator Turner. . .”

Hayden felt a chill deeper than fear, deeper than terror, somethi
ng that ran through her bones and into race memory. She managed two words. “Mount up.”

The area around the bank was a war zone. Torsten
Dahl began to feel right at home. This was his stage, at last. He quickly threaded his way through a dozen haphazardly parked cop cars until he reached the front line.

A cop stared at him. “Who the hell are you?
”

Dahl whipped out the
brand new I.D.

“
SPEAR?” The cop shook his head. “What will they come up with next?”

“Do you have a situation report, sir?”

“Yeah. We have fourteen hostages in there, a dead guard and a crazy perp. Damn bitch is shooting every few minutes. Situation’s going straight to hell, man. That’s my report.”

Dahl rocked back on his heels. “The shooter is a woman?”

“Yeah. Of the female variety. ’Sup, you don’t get ’em back in Blighty?”

“I’m not English.” Dahl
related his findings through his throat mic.

“Special Tactics are here.” The cop pointed to a newly arrived vehicle. Special Tactics were DC’s equivalent to SWAT.

“You want me to handle this?” Dahl asked Hayden. “Or leave it to SWAT?”

The cop
considered him more closely.

“We need the shooter alive.” Hayden’s voice crackled in Dahl’s ear. “And preferably the person she came to shoot. Whoever that might be.”

Karin’s voice then joined the connection. “One thing’s clear—the person she came to shoot is still alive. Otherwise, she’d have killed herself by now.”

“We have to get in there, Dahl.” Hayden decided. “Now.”

The Swede just nodded. He didn’t have to check to know Alicia had his back. When he turned back to the cop, the man actually backed away. “I ain’t going anywhere with you, bud. You both got that crazy in you. My ole bud, bless his soul. He was the same, plain—”

Alicia shushed him. “
Listen,
bud
. How did you know?”

The cop pulled a face. “What?”

“That this bogus bank robber acted the same way as Turner’s shooter?”

“I was there
, miss. I saw it all. A lot of us did.”

“But how have you seen
her.”
Alicia gestured at the bank building.

“Oh. She’s been wandering about the place. Staring out the windows. Checking rooms and offices
, according to the spies in the sky. Who knows what else? Seems like she’s searching for something.”

“Some
one,”
Dahl corrected him. “When’s the last time you saw her.”

“Before you got here. Maybe ten minutes.”

“This is a rescue mission,” Dahl said. “Check with your lookouts now. Do they see her?”

The cop took out his radio and looked up at the surrounding buildings. “You guys. You see
n any activity in there?”

“Not a damn thing.”

“Negative. Been a while—”

A shot rang out from inside the building.
The Special Tactics team looked like it was gearing up for action. Dahl didn’t wait. He vaulted the police car, sprinted the hundred yards to the front door and pressed his face to the glass. Alicia kept pace.

Inside,
the bank was a scene of desperation and confusion. Several people were knelt with faces to the floor and hands on heads, others were standing hesitantly, still more were walking uncertainly toward the doors.

Dahl wrenched them open. “
Move it. Get out of here!”

He pushed inside with Alicia. The Englishwoman stopped the first group. “Where’s the crazy bitch?”

A young man with slicked back hair pointed in the direction of the open offices and interview rooms. “Back there.”

“She with anyone?”

The man nodded, a guilty look flashing across his face. “Chased Michelle back there a few minutes ago.”

“Who’s Michelle?” Dahl said as he tore off.

“Just a teller,” the man said with bewilderment. “She’s just a bank teller.”

Dahl crossed the open floor in seconds. At that
moment, he saw movement ahead—a woman stepping into the open and holding a gun as if she knew how to use it. Dahl launched into a forward skid, feet first, bringing his weapon around as he flew across the polished floor and placing a few pounds of pressure on the trigger.

“Stop!”

But the woman fired reflexively. The bullet flew past, striking a nearby desk. Dahl hit the woman’s shins at speed, knocking her legs out from under her faster than she could think. She hit the ground even as he shot by and he grabbed her—going for her hands and the gun.

She twisted like a dervish, pulling away, an
d delivered a solid strike to his temple that made him see stars. She had been trained, this woman, no doubt in his mind. As he shook it off and went in again, she rolled away from him, three, four times, until she’d gained a little distance.

Brought the gun up in front of her. . .

. . . and then turned it toward her heart and pulled the trigger.

Dahl clicked his tongue angrily.
When he looked around, Alicia was emerging from the room back there, her face a cheerless mask.

“One dead body in there
,” she whispered. “Nametag says ‘Michelle Baker.’ Shot in the head at point-blank range.”

There was the sound of someone choking, and then bursting into tears. Dahl looked up to see the man with the slicked-back hair standing a few feet away.

“That bitch hunted her.” He sobbed. “She wasn’t interested in the bank or the money or any of us. She knew something. She came here hunting for Michelle on her first day back from vacation.”

*****

Hayden made her way over to where Dahl and Alicia seemed to be comforting one of the bank tellers. A bit odd, but then you never knew what those two were going to do next. She reached the conversation just as Alicia was querying as to the dead clerk’s recent holiday destination.

What?

But the broken down man answered immediately. “Atlantic City. That’s where she always goes. Saves her money up for a whole year and then hits the best east-coast casinos. One big blowout.”

Hayden looked around. The bank hadn’t been damaged in any way.
A bank teller?
She whipped her head around as one of the lead cops said: “You won’t believe this.”

His colleagues looked over. The cop indicated the dead body of the assailant, hand still wrapped around the barrel of the gun she’d turned on herself.

“She still has her ID. Name’s Leanne Prowse. A registered nurse.”

*****

With the mystery deepening and no clues forthcoming, the team took their leave of the scene and headed back to HQ. Ben and Karin were already scrutinizing the backgrounds and lives of both Michelle Baker and Leanne Prowse. Dahl and Alicia were explaining how the woman, a local nurse, had fought, albeit briefly, like a highly capable, trained operative. Hayden was fielding calls from Sarah Moxley and, more importantly, Secretary of Defense Gates.

The minivan behind them went unnoticed.
Its blacked-out windows concealed a wealth of surveillance equipment, some of which had been put to good use at the bank, and some of it right now.

Track carefully and don’t engage,
were the instructions from on high.
And locate their HQ. The plan is going well
. No one knew where this new covert team sprung from, but they needed to know everything about them.

The new team
was becoming more famous by the minute.

Mai kept a careful eye out as the men stowed away a good proportion of the food they’d accumulated so far. They had decided to leave a small percentage on their island in case they were forced to return at some point. A quick inventory showed they had one small pistol between them, enough food and water for a few days and their basic survival gear.

Mai thought it ample enough equipment to make the island, discover its secrets, contact Dai Hibiki, and steal the warship. She’d done something similar before, back when Matt Drake was married.

As she made ready, Mai thought back on her life. Before now, or before the
“Odin thing,” the only good thing in her life had been her sister, Chika. From an early age, Mai had known nothing but strife, adversity and training. Learning the art of war meant throwing your entire mind, body and soul into your education. It meant maintaining ultimate focus—no distractions. For a girl as young as Mai had been, it should have harmed her, maybe broken her spirit, but with hardship also came chance and fortune—the Japanese girl had nothing else to compare her life to. Not until she left the clan anyway.

Chika embraced life
differently. Not because she chose to, but because the clan that sheltered Mai only had room for one sister. Torn apart, even at that early age, the trauma never subsided. Mai sought Chika out at her earliest opportunity, and now the sisters were each other’s best friend and soul mate, all that remained of their once joyful family.

Mai had a faint recollection of her parents. Nothin
g more than shades of grey flickering in her mind, but impressions of a happy family, nights of stories and cuddling and laughter, just enough to scar her heart in the deepest way.

Now Mai studied the rolling waters that lay between them and the Korean island.
It appeared to be a fast, easy swim, but they all knew that even the calmest of waters could be treacherous. Hidden tides, swirling eddies and lurking inhabitants were just some of the dangers awaiting them. She thought about her sister and about all the miles between them. Chika was better off where she was, safe amongst the quieter streets of Tokyo, working for a promotional company.

And that brought her full circle to Drake.
Mai wasn’t a woman to fall back on old ground, but the Englishman was one of the few who’d gotten under her skin. The man was an emotional wreck, but worth trying to salvage. She secured her pack one last time and was the first to enter the sea. At first, the playful waves lapped at her feet, but as she waded deeper, the heavy tide began to pull at her invitingly. She leaned forward and struck out softly, the new island before her, charting a course around to the west of where the warship had docked and patches of dense vegetation obscured any sign of a beach. There was always a chance that every square inch of the island was under surveillance, but Mai and the others doubted it. The North Koreans, whilst very capable and seemingly well-armed, were unlikely to assume a group of soldiers might swim up to their secret island in the middle of nowhere.