Brothers in Arms

CHAPTER NINE

Alicia watched the geeks at work.

In her heart of hearts, she wished she was anywhere but here. Preferably with her own little geek. Even more preferably with some kind of meaningful life. But fate kept dealing her the Joker card and she kept playing the role. Drake valued her, she knew, and so did most of the others in their quiet way, but life for her was a rolling road to nowhere. It sure as hell wasn’t going to stop for long with this team in Washington DC.

The security monitors showed the journalist was back. Sarah Moxley was a bloodhound. To date no one had offered up a single word, but there she was, sniffing around, testing their commitment, chasing an errant firefly that just kept flitting out of her reach. Today, Alicia felt in the mood to give her a word, probably even two.

Still nothing from Drake. Alicia and the rest of the team had to assume their colleague had survived. The last communication said as much. The very fact it was Drake and Mai remained the biggest factor in their favor. And poor old Jonathan Gates, despite his position as the Secretary of Defense, had become embroiled in the political mess whilst constantly banging his head against a North Korean brick wall.

Alicia sighed to herself. The deeper the secret the harder it was to take seriously. Their team still remained relatively unknown.

She poured another coffee, her fifth of the day, and replaced the pot noisily. No one looked up. Hayden and her new poodle, Kinimaka, were poring over files sent from the local PD, folders containing information on the perp, Michael Markel, the thirty-five-year-old teacher, and the three people who had died in the botched assassination— the two bodyguards and the Senator’s aide, Audrey Smalls, and even Senator Turner himself.

“Problem is,” Hayden was saying, “these nut jobs don’t need a reason to do what they do. We can’t simply put a pin in a reason and hope it sticks.”

“Turner will only accept FBI protection for another twenty-four hours.” Kinimaka pointed to a nearby screen where an email had just popped up. “And that’s only out of deference to the other victims.”

Hayden shook her head. Alicia tuned them out. Her gaze fell on Torsten Dahl, sat across the room. The Swede looked bored, anxious and pent-up all at the same time, probably reflecting her own state of mind.

She remembered the moment of Senator Turner’s attempted assassination with vivid realism. The blank look on the killer’s face, the empty, shark-like eyes, the obvious competence with which the loner teacher, without any sign of a past record, handled a gun.

The answer surely lay buried in his past. Somewhere.

Alicia drained the last of her coffee, now wired up to the max, but with nowhere to go and nothing to do. Even Komodo Trevor — as she called him — had disappeared on another errand, this time without his little girlfriend. She quickly checked her cellphone — no messages. Her biker friends from Luxembourg hadn’t been in touch for a few days now. A movement caught her eye on the security camera, and again, that bloody reporter stepped into view.

Alicia smiled. Time to have a little fun and grab a few minutes of distraction. She slipped out of the room unnoticed and padded down the short hallway to the front door, tapped at a keypad and then let herself out into the sunshine.

Immediately, two sets of shoulders spun toward her.

“Miss Myles!” the female reporter was surprisingly quick. “Do you have time to comment?”

Alicia took a moment to study her. Sarah Moxley was a tall, wiry redhead. Flowing locks fell to the small of her back. Wide eyes were hidden behind thin-framed glasses. Her every movement spoke of urgency, as if she was constantly searching for that big story that continued to elude her.

A potentially dangerous adversary, Alicia catalogued the reporter as her training demanded. Sarah was a tiger made to look like a pussycat.

“Why the hell are you people hanging around out here? I mean, it’s not like there’s bugger all to see.”

The reporter advanced a step. “I’m Sarah Moxley. I work for the Post.” She proffered her ID, making Alicia smirk.

“Miss Moxley, don’t play me for a fool. We both know who everyone is here, don’t we?” She focused on the reporter’s cameraman. “Except you, pretty boy. Anyone ever told you, you look a little like a younger Matt Damon?”

“Alright,” Moxley said without a trace of humility. “Alicia Myles. Ex-British army. Ex rebel. New recruit. Am I right?”

“Not even close.” Alicia stepped forward so the two of them were within touching distance. “Miss Moxley, there’s no story here. You should look elsewhere.”

“Honey, I see ex-army, ex-CIA, and a current Secretary of Defense coming and going all the time.” Moxley jerked her head quickly at the team’s new HQ. “I somehow think I’m in the right place.”

Alicia considered her reply for a moment but then decided to go true to form. “I’d tell you to kiss my arse, but I’m pretty sure you’d enjoy it, and then I’ll never get rid of you. So, for now”—she gave a little flourish—“farewell.”

Alicia pushed past the reporters and jumped into one of the pool cars. A voice command turned the engine on, and by the time she merged with the steady flow of traffic, her mind was already far away from Sarah Moxley and Washington DC, centered firmly on the whereabouts of Matt Drake and Mai Kitano and what, if anything, she could do to help them.