Falcon: The Quiet Professionals Book 3 (47 page)

The gun in Nianzu’s hand wagged, as if he itched to open fire. To shoot his way out of this trap.

“Game’s over,” Dean said. “Put the weapons down. Hands up.”

Tense minutes clicked off the clock, but Dean refused to budge. Refused to talk their way through this. The order had been laid out there. It was up to Nianzu to comply now.

The men in front of him hesitated, lowered their weapons.

Relief soaked his muscles.

But the men raised them again.

Which forced Dean to do to the same. “You can’t win here. It’s over.”

The men bent at the knees, slowly, and lowered their weapons.

A peaceful resolution. Nianzu hadn’t surrendered his weapon yet, so Dean maintained vigilance, though he could see the defeat scrawled over the Asian man’s face.

Dean nodded, chiding himself for the small fraction of him that had hoped—

Nianzu’s weapon snapped up. Straight at Dean.

Instinct crackled. Dean eased back the trigger.

Crack!

CHAPTER 43

Kabul, Afghanistan
10 April—1945 Hours

N
ianzu fell.

“Augh!” Dean shifted. Swayed. Went to a knee, grabbing his arm.

Sal surged. “Dean!”

He shook his head. “I’m good. A graze.” But pain pinched his features. Blood turned his sleeve dark. He scooted closer and pressed two bloodied fingers to Nianzu’s neck. Let out a breath and sagged. “He’s gone.”

Sal breathed a little easier, knowing the slick Asian guy wouldn’t make like a serpent and slither away this time. Seeing their leader taken out, the men around him raised their hands and moved away from their dead boss.

“Hold up,” Sal said, turning around and searching the chaotic room. Nianzu was down. Hastings was with Titanis. “Where’s Ramsey?”

“And Tang,” Dean said, coming to his feet.

Though Sal didn’t look directly at the doors, he knew security protected them. “Feds have the exits.”

“Which means Ramsey’s still in here,” Dean muttered. “Fan out—find him!” So the general was hiding like the chicken spit he was.

The crowds had split wide open, with a thick throng crowded near the windows and pillars. The rest huddled near the kitchen, where Takkar’s men guarded the doors.

Sal stalked the crowd, determined to end Ramsey. Not exactly acting like a general now.

“Spotted him,” Takkar’s people spoke through the coms, having the benefit of security cameras for an aerial view. “Heading toward kitchens, right side.”

Crack! Crack!

“He took the guard. Right side,” Takkar’s man said.

Just then, Ramsey was in view. Arm hooked around the guard’s neck and holding a gun to the man’s head, he dragged him through the kitchen door.

Sal launched himself toward the crowd, pushing through, using his size and speed to bowl them out of the way. Like the fool he was, Ramsey attempted to run. Stupid move. They had guns on all doors leading out of the building. He wouldn’t get far. But then, Sal didn’t want him getting killed. He wanted the guy to suffer in a federal pen for the rest of his life.

Crack!

The sound of a gunshot echoed out from the kitchen. Metal clanged and a woman’s scream pierced the room. The crowd roared in response to the shot, like a herd of buffalo rushing for exits. Trampling each other. He grew less concerned about being polite to the people and more about protecting them.

As he made it to the swinging door, Sal noted a sea of suits rushing through the other door.

“We have two people,” came Dean’s words. “Footage is grainy. Crowds are making it impossible to decipher—”

Sal stepped into the crowded kitchen. Stainless-steel refrigerators lined the wall on his three and a similar island spanned the length of the room. Metal shelving cut into the layout, packed with tubs of vegetables and fruit waiting to be served.

Movement drew Sal. “They’re at the back,” he said, gliding forward. To his nine, he twitched at the sight of someone. He snapped to neutralize the threat.

And veered off, a curse flinging through his mind that registered
friendly
! Harrier. Pulse leveling, Sal resumed course.

He eased around a corner and spotted a man. With about twenty feet between him and the swinging doors, Sal saw him. The youth they’d arrested and questioned. The brother of the little girl. Sal’s shoulders tensed. “Fariz is here.” What was he doing here? Had he lied to them?

“Come again?” Dean asked.

“Fariz—Ramsey’s son.” Sal inched closer. “How did you know?

“I hear my father talk on the phone. He also took me with him one time. I saw this and wanted to help the man he wanted to kill.”

Sal shook his head, trying to believe this. It seemed far-fetched. Should they trust him?

“What is he—?”

“Oh crap!” someone else—Harrier?—said.

Fariz reached for someone beside him. Sal tensed, expecting trouble, but he turned and spotted a huddled form, bent beneath the weight of pain, leaning heavily on Fariz for support. A weapon dangled from his bloodied hand.

At their feet lay a writhing Ramsey, clutching his leg that blood gushed down.

The shooter’s head lifted. Dirty brown hair and beard.

“Hawk!” Sal surged forward, throwing himself past the last lines of onlookers. “Move!” he shouted. This was worse than a nightmare. His legs weren’t leaden, but the guests refused to budge. “It’s Hawk! Hawk’s here,” Sal shouted into his coms. “He’s alive!”

Sal shoved between two people and broke into the clear.

Gray-green eyes met his. A beard crusted with blood twitched as a smirk hit. “’Bout freakin’ time.”

Kiew was gone. Somehow in the chaos of the shootings, Ramsey’s escape, Hawk’s return… she’d seized the confusion and used it to her benefit.

Cassie pushed into the kitchen area where Raptor and Riordan’s teams had gathered up around their back-from-the-dead team member.

“I’ll give Fekiria a call. She’ll have my head if I don’t tell her you’re alive.”

Hawk groaned but said little else. He’d been on his feet, and he’d managed to disable Ramsey and prevent him from running. But all that had been done with reserves of energy he probably didn’t really have. He’d told them of being held by Meng-Li’s men, aided largely in part by Ramsey, who had been loaded on another chopper in critical condition. Though the operators had been betrayed by a man they’d trusted with their lives, they’d treated him as if he hadn’t visited evil upon them.

“Take care, Hawk.” Sal squeezed his hand. “We’re glad you’re this side of dead.”

“That must’ve hurt to say,” Hawk chuckled.

“You have no idea.” With a grin, Sal stood back as the team of PJs moved in to carry Hawk out to the chopper, which would ferry him to a hospital for reparative surgery and recovery.

“Make a hole,” a voice barked.

Cassie shifted from the scene toward the booming voice. Her breath caught in her lungs. Sajjan Takkar steered one Lance Burnett into the room in a wheelchair and tubed with oxygen.

“General!” Two large strides carried Sal to Lance Burnett. “Holy—how in—what—?”

Captain Watters was at his side, taking a knee. “Knew you were too mean to die.”

Sal stood covering his mouth. Then ran his hand over his head. His expression went from shock and awe, to anger.

Burnett grunted. “Don’t get your pants in a wad, Russo. Couldn’t get rid of me that easy.”

“Apparently, sir,” Sal said with a smile. “How and why?”

“Takkar’s men got me out of there—in cooperation with Phelps and Ames.”

Cassie pressed a hand to her chest. “My boss?”

“He knew what he was doing planting you with the team, Miss Walker. But we knew Ramsey wanted me out of the way to finish his deal. To take care of his mistress and illegitimate children. Meng-Li had him over a barrel.”

Cassie shifted back as the men of Raptor gathered around their general.

“Besides, Takkar brought in the best surgeons and doctors to tend me here. Better than the hack-jobs working on me—and not knowing if they were in Ramsey’s pocket.”

“I can’t express how relieved I am,” Captain Watters said.

“That goes for me, too.” Sal nodded to the team. “And all of us, I’m sure.”

“Now that we’ve got the feel-good stuff out of the way, you all need to know I’m paralyzed. Can’t move my arms or legs—”

“Remember, my friend, that may be temporary,” Takkar put in.

“Maybe. But right now, it’s not. Right now, I have no use of my body.” His eyes glinted with determination. “Meng-Li turned our world upside down, gentlemen. We need to take him down.”

“Kiew Tang fled the building,” Takkar said.

“How did that happen?” Sal asked. “Thought your men and the FBI—”

“We let her leave.”

Sal scowled and Cassie felt the fury of his expression. “Why?”

“Because we know where she’s going,” Takkar said. “And she must return to Shanghai to keep Meng-Li in play. If she didn’t return to him, he would know we have the upper hand and would vanish. Then we would be against him again, more fierce and deadly than ever.”

“But now she has the code.”

“And we have a contingency,” Takkar said.

“One Brie didn’t know about,” Burnett added.

“Wait,” Cassie asked. “So you knew about her?”

“Suspected,”
Burnett corrected, “which is why I pulled her under my wing—so I could monitor her moves.”

“So, what’s the contingency?” Sal asked.

“Our nightmare from the earlier missions—the ghost in our mikes.” Burnett shifted, cringing and clenching his eyes closed.

“Ghost?”

Takkar squared his shoulders. “Boris Kolceki, the man spying on you and Raptor for the last year. He’s cooperating and will be vital to getting us through the building and once in, he will wage a virtual war against Meng-Li seizing that information.”

“A cyber duel.” Hawk grinned.

“Yes.” Takkar inclined his head. “As we well know, there will be a winner and loser. Since we don’t know which one Boris will be, we need the team there.”

“So, we’re going to Shanghai?” Sal muttered, shaking his head.

“I want to go.” Perhaps she’d overstepped with the demand, but Cassie couldn’t just sit idly by.

“What? No!” Sal snapped. “No way. You stay here. You’re not trained—”

“I am, actually. I have weapons training and—”

“You haven’t been in combat. You haven’t killed anyone,” Sal argued. “It’s going to be too dangerous.”

“Kiew told me I needed to be her Shinji. She’s being forced to do something she doesn’t want to do. I have to be there for her.”

“No—”

“Enough!” Burnett wheezed.

Sal cocked his head in that angry way of his, tightening his lips.

“Russo, we need her there,” Burnett said.

Again Takkar spoke up. “We’ll access Meng-Li’s system, Boris will do his magic, but we need Walker there for Kiew Tang.” He pointed to the door. “My jet is waiting.”

CHAPTER 44

Shanghai, China 11
April—1945 Hours

I
t was a trap.”

Phone to his ear, Jin left the safety of the elevator. “Of course it was.” He’d expected no less. In fact, he had planned on their attempt to end his campaign. “You escaped.”

“Of course.”

Jin almost smiled, but her question held not only confidence but defiance. He tossed his keys on the table by the statue and red cloth.