Authors: Dee Davis
SIMONE KNELT in the coniferous mulch at the foot of a pine tree and listened to the silence of the forest. Somewhere out there was an ally. And, probably just as close, an enemy. The trick was going to be to decipher one from the other.
It was a risk to signal. She didn't for a minute believe the assailant was part of D-9, but it was more than clear that whoever it was knew who they were. And if he did, he might know their calls.
But the only alternative was to wait until the shooting started again, or until Reece arrived, and by then it might be too late. Waiting another couple of minutes to make certain nothing moved, she whistled, the sound abnormally loud in the deep quiet of the forest.
She listened intently, the blood pounding in her temples threatening to drown out any reply. And then she heard it. A quick whistle followed by a longer one.
Tate
.
She smiled for a moment, then swallowed the pleasure, the second whistle's meaning driving itself through the haze in her brain.
Caution
.
Tate was telling her to be careful.
Her gaze moved slowly across the arc of forest in front of her. Tate's signal had come from the left, and based on the last burst of gunfire, she guessed the assailant was somewhere off to her right, probably working his way toward Tate's position.
Thanks to her whistle it was likely the man was aware of her presence, making it all the more important to keep moving. Staying low and using pine trunks for cover, she slowly moved in the general direction of the whistle, knowing that Tate, too, would be keeping mobile. The forest was still again, the only movement in the tops of the trees.
She strained for the sound of Reece and the car, but there was nothing. Either he was having trouble getting the Buick through the undergrowth or something had happened. Since she wasn't about to consider the latter, she settled on the former.
The valley here was thick with new growth, impeding progress, but the sound of shots dead ahead spurred her on. Pine saplings whipped against her arms and face, brambles grabbing the denim of her jeans. Close enough now to see the fire of the machine-gun bursts, Simone skidded to a halt and crouched behind a fallen log.
The shooter was about a hundred yards straight ahead, Tate's answering fire putting him about thirty yards away, still off to her left. Moving at a dead run now, she headed for his position, the spit of machine-gun fire filling the air with pine needles as the spray clipped trees and dug into the forest floor.
Out of the gloom a pile of boulders thrust its way up from the ground, providing natural cover. For just an instant, Simone saw the gleam of the rifle's barrel as Tate returned fire, buying her precious seconds to reach safety.
She dove for the rocks, landing behind them on a roll. She pulled upright immediately to crouch beside Tate, the Sig in her hand at the ready.
"What took you so long?" Tate grinned at her, and then raised himself enough to get off another shot at the machine gunner.
"Did a little sight-seeing on the way."
"You alone?"
"No." She shook her head. "My husband is with me. And Ed Hammond." She swallowed the bitter taste of defeat. "He's dead."
"Ed or your husband?"
"Ed."
"Goddamn it." He slammed his fist into the side of a tree, the resulting impact sending needles fluttering around them. "I never even saw him."
"It wasn't your fault. The guy had us cornered."
"But I should have been there. For both of you." Silence fell heavy between them, their loss punctuated by the still forest.
"Why the hell did you bring an outsider?" No reference to the fact that said outsider was in fact family. But then, that was Tate. And besides, he was obviously facing reality better than Simone was. Reece wasn't her husband any longer. At least not according to the state of Texas.
"I didn't have a choice. My brother-in-law is here as well."
Tate swiveled so that he could look at her, his eyes narrowed as he frowned. "Two noncoms? You're lucky you got here at all."
Tate Montgomery hadn't changed a bit. He'd never countenanced outsiders, preferring to leave his trust with only the core of D-9. Tate had been a mercenary before joining forces with the CIA. Simone had never really understood why a loner like Tate would agree to anything involving teamwork. Probably like her, Maurice Baxter had had something on Tate. Something to assure his cooperation.
But she'd never asked.
None of her damn business.
"The guy out there's hunting them, too. We've been dodging him through three states now."
"So you're the one I have to thank."
"Good to see you, too." She smiled, reaching out to squeeze Tate's hand. "You seen Maurice or any of the others?"
Tate's face clouded. "Maurice is dead."
"What?" Somehow Simone had always figured Maurice was invincible. One of those men who just never allowed fate to gain the upper hand. "Here?"
"No. In D.C. He was murdered."
It was Simone's turn to frown. "You're sure? I mean, I just got the postcard."
"Positive. I went there first. Thought I'd cut through the James Bond crap and go to the source. Someone beat me to it. I got there in time to see the body bag being loaded into the ambulance."
"Any idea who did it?"
"No. But I'm betting our boy out there had something to do with it."
"Have you gotten a look at him?"
"Not clearly. But enough to know he has a dark complexion. Latin, maybe Arab... I couldn't say for sure."
"So what do we do now?" A wave of hopelessness crested inside her, surprising in its intensity. She hadn't always liked Maurice, but in her own way she had loved him, and was more than aware of the fact that had he not pulled her off the streets, she most likely wouldn't be alive today.
"First we ditch Mr. Machine Gun and then we need to figure out what the hell is happening."
"Can we take him out?" She nodded toward the stand of trees obscuring the killer from view.
"Don't think so. He's got us outgunned." Tate indicated the rifle in his hand. "I'm almost out of ammo, and not to knock Sig Sauer but that thing's hardly a match for a machine gun."
"I sent Reece for the car."
"Reinforcements would have been a better choice." Tate scanned the area beyond the rocks. The stream bordered them to the right, the clearing to the left. The shooter-held post straight ahead with the Rio Grande directly behind them. "I take it Reece is the husband."
"Ex-husband, actually."
Tate tilted his head, his mouth twitching at the corners. "Sure you don't want to leave him behind?"
"It was amicable. And no, I don't want him hurt."
Tate shrugged, his expression still hinting at wicked. "It was just an idea."
"So what do you propose?" She risked a quick look over the rocks. "The clearing's obviously out. We'd be sitting ducks."
"The river, too. It's just too high for us to manage on foot. Where's this knight of yours coming from?"
"He's not my knight," she snapped, realizing too late that he'd been baiting her. "I told him to follow the stream. I figured it's the only chance he has to get the car through the woods."
"Unless it's got a backhoe attached, I'm doubting there's much chance of that." He nodded toward the thick growth of aspen and spruce.
Simone shook her head. "Buick." The word said it all.
"Right then, so we'll head upstream. It'll take us toward the car and away from the gunner. Our best hope right now is to lose him in the undergrowth."
"We've managed against worse odds." There was comfort in the thought.
"We'll move on my signal." Tate had always liked to take charge. A fact that hadn't always sat well with the rest of D-9, but only because they all wanted to do the same. There hadn't been a wallflower in the lot, all of them loners by habit or circumstance.
And now two more of the team were dead. Ed and Maurice. She shook her head, clearing her thoughts. If she didn't want to join them, she had to stay focused. There'd be time for mourning later.
Much later.
Tate popped up and fired two rounds in the direction of their assailant. Then motioned her forward with a pointed finger.
Simone ran toward the stream, keeping as low to the ground as was physically possible.
Tate fired again, and followed behind her, the two of them holing up behind a large spruce that fronted the water rushing along the creek bed. "Let's keep moving. He can't shoot while he's trying to follow."
"There's an optimistic thought," she said, following Tate as he started along the creek bank. Ammo rounds slammed into the tree trunk behind her. "Flawed, obviously, but still optimistic."
The gunfire continued as they darted in and out of the trees lining the edge of the stream. Unless Simone missed her guess, he wasn't just keeping up with them, he was closing the distance.
The streambed narrowed as the terrain steepened, the bank strewn now with watermelon-sized boulders. It slowed their progress and gave their opponent a momentary advantage. Simone turned to assess the situation, pushing an aspen sapling out of the way. Before she had time to focus, Tate jerked her off her feet, the sapling snapping back into place and then splintering from the force of a spray of bullets.
"Shit."
"My sentiments, exactly," Tate said, rolling off her into a crouching position.
"Thanks." Simone knelt beside him, peering into the shadows, trying to find something to indicate the gunner's location.
Tate shrugged, the rifle pointed toward the forest. "You'd have done it for me. Besides, can't risk losing you when I've only just found you again." Despite the gravity of the situation, there was innuendo in his words. Hints of things long past.
Simone chose to ignore it. "If we try to climb the rocks, we'll be putting ourselves directly in his crosshairs."
"Yeah, I figure we've got one of two choices. Either we try to cross the stream and head deeper into the woods, or we move west, try to skirt the rocks and then head back for the stream." As if commenting on the strategy, the gunman opened fire again, the bullets just shy of their position.
Tate started to answer fire, but Simone shook her head. "We're too far away. Better to conserve the ammo." He lowered the rifle.
"Judging from his range, I'd say skirting the rock fall is out. Which leaves us with the stream. If Reece is coming, he'll have the same problem with the rocks. Which means he'll be over there anyway." She pointed toward the far bank and its flatter terrain.
"All right. You go first, and I'll cover you with the last of the ammo. Once you're there, take cover behind that embankment and you can cover me."
She nodded, already pushing off. The water was icy, the sensation momentarily stopping forward momentum. But movement was her only asset, and ignoring the biting cold, she continued forward, working cross current to avoid being swept off her feet.
She could hear Tate firing behind her. Seconds ticked by and then she was on the other side and behind an embankment created by a fallen tree embedded with needles and dirt. Propping her gun arm on the top of the log, she waited until Tate appeared at the edge of the stream, then shot at the opposite bank while he maneuvered through the whirling water.
The magazine emptied, and she grabbed Ed's gun, firing again in the direction of the gunner.
Tate moved into position beside her, his gaze falling on her discarded gun.
"It ain't over until the fat lady sings," Simone said, keeping her voice light. But they both knew that with only Ed's gun left and its chambers almost empty, they were in serious trouble.
As if to emphasize the fact, a hail of bullets pushed them down behind the log.
"Son of a bitch," Tate said, his somber gaze finding hers. "Here comes the aria."
REECE CRASHED through the undergrowth, the bottom of the car screeching in protest as it scraped against rocks and debris along the way. Despite the sounds from the car, he could discern the popping of gunfire ahead, the noise signaling that hopefully he wasn't too late.
He'd traversed the stream several times trying to avoid the worst of the undergrowth and rocky outcrops, and was now moving along the east side at a fairly good clip. The stand of aspen directly in front of him precluded any view of the upcoming bend in the stream, but at this point he was driving on adrenaline anyway. Better just to barrel ahead and hope for the best. At least twenty minutes had passed since he'd left Simone in the woods. And in that amount of time anything could have happened.
He plowed through three saplings, narrowly avoided their fully grown cousin, and took the bend in the stream on two wheels. The length of rushing water straightened out for a short distance, and he could actually see the forest on both sides.
Slowing slightly, he listened for the sound of continued gunfire. At first there was nothing but the noise of the engine. And then off to his right about twenty yards from the stream he heard the echoing report of the machine gun.
Frantically, he searched for signs of Simone.
Nothing moved or seemed out of place, and he'd almost given up hope when a flash of color showed momentarily against a pile of rotting timber next to the bank. If he was right, they were only a few yards in front of him.
He slowed further, trying to gauge the distance between the embankment and the shooter. The bushes quivered again as the gunman fired another round, this time with answering shots from the fallen log.
Someone was there. And he or she was alive.
Reece struggled to remember if Simone had been wearing red, then shrugged off the effort. Whoever was there firing back at the machine gun was on their side. And no matter the situation, Simone would expect him to offer help.
Slamming the pedal to the floor and hitting the horn, Reece blazed a trail through the undergrowth, literally exploding into the tiny clearing that surrounded the fallen log. Simone, crouched behind the rotting pine, fired into the trees. Then, grabbing the arm of the man next to her, she signaled for him to make for the car.
He opened his mouth to argue, but Reece cut him off with an impatient hand on the horn. It was time for retreat. The guy stumbled to his feet and began to run, Simone still firing at the assailant in the trees.
Reece slowed the car as the stranger yanked open the door, both of them yelling for Simone to come. Swiveling, she started to run, then stopped, clamping a hand to her shoulder.
"Come on," Reece screamed, his heart threatening to break right through his chest. "Move it."
Whether it was his words, or simple instinct, she started to move again. The man slid into the passenger seat, slamming the door, and then twisting to lean over the seat and open the door behind him.
Simone slid into the back seat of the Buick as bullets literally pelted the side.
Reece floored the gas pedal, not even waiting for her to close the door, and the car fishtailed across rocks and pine needles as it lurched forward. Sighting an almost invisible pathway, Reece maneuvered the car between towering pines, knowing that despite the advantage of wheels, they still weren't moving fast enough.
"He's gaining on us," Simone said as the back window shattered.
"Can't you move any faster?" the man next to him barked, his eyes like Simone's on the forest behind them.
"Not without smashing into the trees." Reece tightened his hands on the wheel, anger flashing.
"You're doing fine," Simone said, her eyes meeting his in the rearview mirror.
The Buick burst through the trees into a rock-strewn meadow that fronted the river, and Reece spun the wheel to the left, keeping the riverbank tight on his right. The open terrain meant that he had the advantage of speed.
"We should be clear of this bastard in no time." Reece shot the words over his shoulder.
"No dice." This from muscleman.
"What the hell do you mean?" Reece asked, but the answer had already appeared in the rearview mirror. A Jeep barreled along behind them, the smaller vehicle built for the terrain in a way the Buick was not.
"He's closing on us," Simone said to no one in particular.
Reece pushed the Buick harder, a little burst of speed moving them forward. The river beside him ran swiftly, the muddied waters probably a good three feet above normal levels, the current giving added buoyancy to the usual assortment of flotsam and jetsam.
The Jeep was closing fast, which meant they were running out of time, but Reece figured they weren't down for the count yet. Jerking the wheel to the right, he forced the Buick into the river.
"What the hell are you doing?" Simone's companion thundered. "We'll stall out."
"Won't matter," Reece said, keeping his focus on the now wildly rocking car. "The current should carry us downriver. It's the quickest way I know to put some distance between us and the Jeep."
Water flowed through the cracks in the doors, flooding across the floorboard. The engine sputtered once but then held, the car cutting across the river. A quarter of the way in, the wheels caught on the rocks beneath and held, the Buick spurting forward on its own steam.
Behind him, the Jeep had pulled into the water, but the driver had slowed, clearly hesitant to move any farther into the river.
The Buick swept off the high ground and back into the current, moving downstream, the tires occasionally skidding against river rocks and other debris. The Jeep was growing smaller in the distance, the driver apparently having decided to abandon his quarry.
"He's not following us." Simone's voice was full of admiration. "Not a bad move."
"Except that now we're stuck in the middle of the fucking river."
"Come on, Tate," Simone chided. "You're just pissed you didn't think of it first."
The big man laughed, the sound easing the tension that had been building in the car. "Damn straight. So tell me, hotshot," Tate said, his attention back on Reece, "you got a plan to get us out of here?"
"More or less." Reece turned the steering wheel, and the car listed toward the far bank. Based on the trip up, there was a bend in the river coming up within the next hundred yards or so. If he could move the car far enough to the right, he'd be against the shallower far side of the bend, on the same side as the highway.
Seemed possible in theory, but now of course he had to execute the plan.
Everything depended on the tires finding purchase against the shallower rocks.
The bend rushed toward them, the car now sporting about eight inches of water on the floor. The engine still sputtered with life, but it wouldn't be much longer until it was as waterlogged as the rest of the Buick.
The front of the car swerved with the current, pointing it right at the far bank. Reece gunned the engine, the wheels spinning for his effort. More water surged into the car as it began to move back toward the center of the river.
Again he pressed the pedal, and this time was rewarded with the grinding of the tires as they hit rock. The engine coughed and seemed for a moment to have died all together, but then suddenly it roared back to life, the wheels pushing it forward as they finally connected with the riverbed beneath the now decidedly shallower water.
In minutes they were out of the river, the water receding almost as quickly as it had come. The Buick wheezed but held firm, carrying them up and over a small rise to the highway, which was blessedly empty in both directions.
"I don't know how the hell you pulled that off." Tate's voice held a note of honest admiration. "But I for one am pretty fucking delighted that you did."
Reece grinned over at the man. "Not too shabby if I do say so myself."
"Well, before we go into testosterone overload," Simone said, her tone colder than the water at their feet, "I suggest we get the hell out of here. We'll hold the high fives until we're sure the bastard's gone."
*****
"SO TELL US what you know." Reece leaned back against the windowsill, arms crossed, his gaze locked on Tate's.
Once they'd made the cabin and ascertained that no one was behind them, Simone had performed introductions, ignoring the tension that flowed between Reece and Tate. Strong men never responded well to one another, the threat to their alpha male status taking precedence over anything else.
Even common sense.
She'd seen it before, so wasn't surprised. Just mildly annoyed. Far more important that they figure out what was going on. Martin at least seemed oblivious to the undercurrents. Or maybe he was just ignoring them.
Smart man.
Tate waited a beat, then shrugged. "Not much more than you do. I got the postcard the same time as Simone. But I've been living close to D.C., so I figured I'd catch up with Maurice there."
"Maurice Baxter," Martin said to no one in particular. "He was the head of D-9, right?"
"Yeah," Simone and Tate answered together. Once upon a time they'd practically been of single accord, working in tandem almost without the need for words.
"Anyway, as I told Simone, when I got there, Maurice was already dead. Someone shot him."
"Seems to be the modus operandi of the day." Reece pushed off the sill, pacing in front of the window. "So we've got two team members dead. And two others MIA. Is it possible that one of them could be behind all of this?"
"Doesn't track." Tate shook his head. "I mean, what reason would they have for pulling us out of the cold after all this time?"
"Maybe something Baxter said or did?"
"Anything's possible," Simone said, trying to sort through what they knew. "But I agree with Tate. This doesn't feel like D-9."
"Well, even if he didn't mean for it to turn into a setup, Baxter's summoning you all has done precisely that."
"You mean by pulling us all together again," Simone said.
"At least three of you."
"Did you see anything out there that would indicate Bea or Mather were in the forest?" Simone searched Tate's face, already knowing the answer.
"I didn't even see Ed." Tate shook his head, his eyes filled with pain. "Did he say anything before he died?"
Simone sighed. "Just that there was danger."
"All right, so no help from that corner." Tate dropped down into a tattered armchair, his frustration mirroring her own.
"How's the arm?" Reece had moved to her side, his fingers probing the wound on her shoulder.
"Fine. It wasn't much more than a scratch." She pulled away from his touch, not liking the way her nerve endings reacted to the feel of his skin.
"What we need is to find Mather and Bea," Tate said, pulling them back to the situation at hand.
"Is there any way to figure out where Baxter sent them?" Reece asked.
Simone shook her head. "None that I know of. Tate?"
"I don't know any more than you do. Unless..." The man frowned, then reached into his pocket, producing a postcard identical to Simone's. "Let me see yours."
Simone reached into her pocket. "It's a little soggy."
Tate suppressed a smile and studied them both for a moment. "Well, it may not mean a thing, but I was right. Mine's different from yours. There are some numbers here. In the margin."
Simone took the card, Reece and Martin looking over her shoulder. They were apparently random, ringing the message on the card. There were ten of them. Three at the top and bottom, two on either side.
"What the hell is this supposed to mean?" Reece asked. "I take it your card didn't have numbers?"
"No. Just the message." Simone frowned down at the postcard, then looked up at Tate. "You have a theory as to what they mean?"
Tate shook his head. "I was hoping you'd know. Or that you had something similar on your card."
Simone blew out a breath, handing the card to Martin. "We're just going in circles. Meanwhile our assailant is out there regrouping. And unless I miss my guess, it won't be long before he finds us again."
"So we're on borrowed time." Tate shrugged. "Won't be the first time."
"Well, my bet is that these are coordinates. Look at this." Martin laid the card on the table, and they all gathered round it. "There are ten numbers and five of you, right?"
Simone nodded.
"So if you figure two numbers for each coordinate, that would mean this is a template for finding all of you. A fallback position in case something goes wrong."
Reece studied the card. "I'll bite. But how do we know which numbers go together?"
"We don't for certain. But the only way to connect all the numbers is to go through a center point. And Maurice, to hear you tell it, was the heart of D-9."
"The center," Simone said, shooting a look at Tate, who shrugged.
"It's possible."
Martin grabbed a pencil and made a dot in the center. "See, if you connect on angles through this point you get a star of sorts. And each ray has a pair of numbers associated with it. One at each end."