Brothers in Arms

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Torsten Dahl leapt out of the big Dodge SUV even before it stopped moving. A row of cop cars sat before him, lined up outside the entrance to a small service station. A dozen pairs of world-weary eyes swiveled toward him.

“Who the hell are you?”

Dahl ignored them, considering the black SUV classification enough, and not caring for their tones or surly looks. He sized up the scene himself within a minute.

Several bodies lay strewn across the grassed area in front of the station. Dahl guessed these were innocent bystanders, caught up in the madness when the assassin tried to reach his target. It was after this that reports had started coming in of a shooter behaving very much in the manner Hayden and Kinimaka had flagged with every US agency. After that, the shooter’s target — a truck driver — had apparently produced a gun, escaped and barricaded himself in an alcove the service station used for a game room.

“We need to take this bastard alive.” Hayden breathed in Dahl’s ear. “If possible.”

Beyond the wide glass doors, Dahl made out the shelves and bright lights of the shop. Foregoing subtlety, he dragged one of the cops over. “What’s the layout of this place, my friend?”

The cop blinked for a moment before catching the look in the Swede’s eyes. To his credit, he was wise enough to know it was time for some straight talk. “Doors open onto an entrance hall. Shop’s off to the right, game room down a bit and to the left. Then the restrooms. We think the shooter’s past that, roaming the small food court and the fast-food area.”

“Civilians?”

“You better believe it, buddy. Restaurant staff and day-trippers. Some got away when the shooting started, sure, but it’d be a mistake to think everyone made it.”

Dahl grabbed Hayden’s arm. “If he’s anything like the other assassins, this man will be hunting the truck driver to the point of obsession. He won’t be watching the exits or entrances. He won’t be watching the people in there.” He paused, looking between Hayden and Alicia, quickly deciding on the least caustic and embarrassing of the two. “Sorry, Mano. Your girlfriend’s mine for a while.”

Lauren Fox, watching events unfold on the big screen monitors, saw the camera swerve and sway as Dahl and Jaye moved swiftly around the building, heading for the rear entrance. She was intrigued, despite herself. One part of her wanted to get the hell out and salvage whatever remained of her clientele; the other was most definitely caught up in the excitement.

And a deep, wiser part of her knew that staying put was the safest move. For now.

The Secretary of Defense had joined them a few minutes ago, given her an appraising look, and then gone to talk to Ben and Karin Blake and their bodyguard, the big dude they called Komodo. Lauren noticed his eyes lingering on everything — from the field cams of Dahl and Jaye and Kinimaka to the surveillance cameras that protected the building’s perimeter, to the toned curves of Karin Blake’s body.

There was an interesting dynamic running through this group, she thought. She saw loyalty and compassion running alongside the capacity for instant violence and ruthlessness. Lauren knew how to read people. It was a quality that had kept her alive most of her life. She saw Ben Blake’s despair. His sister’s delight. Komodo’s happiness. And Jonathan Gates’ utter desolation.

Of course, she had heard about his wife and how she had died. The entire country knew. Lauren had already connected the dots and figured out that this was most likely one of the teams that had taken down the Blood King. The Russian criminal, Dmitry Kovalenko, was currently languishing in some secret hellhole, awaiting trial.

What the hell had she landed smack dab in the middle of?

And why? Her mind flicked back over the last several weeks. Nothing unusual jumped out at her. The photographs of the three dead victims rang no inner bells. Hayden had told her to focus her mind on any recent travel but she traveled almost every day. Now if the blond agent had specified outside New York, that might narrow the field a bit.

She hadn’t, but Lauren ran through it anyway. Three times, she thought. Washington DC. Boston. Atlantic City. Each time a ritzy but far-flung hotel.

On the monitors the action had started. She wasted no time concentrating on Torsten Dahl’s field-cam.

Dahl strode boldly through the kitchen of the resident Popeye’s until he could see the food court area. Once there, he grabbed Hayden again, held her close, and ducked down behind the counter.

“See anyone?”

“Unfortunately not. Come on.”

Dahl rounded the counter and then sat with his back against it. Hayden cuddled into him, playing the scared girlfriend. Now they saw several pairs of scared eyes staring back at them from between table legs and even from underneath booths. Dahl picked out two bodies splashed with blood.

Then came the sound of fast footfalls. Dahl looked up in time to see a broad-shouldered man wearing a blue Abercrombie and Fitch zipper top and black khakis stride into the food court. Again, the Swede saw those staring eyes, the blank expression, and the competent manner in which the assassin moved. The gun he carried was held loosely, but still in a way where it could be used in half a second.

“These are what all the assassins have been like?” Lauren asked. “These are the guys who are trying to kill us?”

Jonathan Gates rubbed his eyes tiredly. “You got it, Miss Fox. You still want to be returned to your apartment?”

Lauren made a face. “Not really.”

“Then sit still and watch.”

“This team you got. How good are they exactly?”

Dahl held off on the charge. It wouldn’t do to get an innocent hit by a stray bullet. Plus they wanted this guy still breathing. The Swede held his natural urge in check — that of mayhem and destruction — and instead, concentrated on the man’s gun.

“Pretty standard.” He breathed to Hayden.

“Problem is when he recognizes a threat or nears the end of his mag he’s gonna go ballistic,” the ex-CIA agent murmured into his chest. “Suicidal tendencies do that.”

“I got him covered.” Dahl’s hand rested near a concealed weapon.

“Geez. He’s holding his gun. Just how fast are you Dahl?” Hayden sounded awed and a little worried.

“I haven’t yet met an equal.” As usual Dahl’s tone was matter of fact. The man didn’t know how to boast. Hayden believed his claim without question.

“Decision’s yours.”

Dahl was waiting for the squeaky clean assassin to turn away when all hell broke loose. The truck driver, it seemed, had made a similar assessment about the killer and must have been running low on bullets. A heavy grinding sound preceded the hammering of work boots against the tiled floor and, as the assassin turned, the truck driver flew into view.

Both men fired at the same instant. The assassin from the hip, the truck driver as he dove forward. Both bullets shot hopelessly wild. Dahl drew before Hayden could blink. The truck driver skidded helplessly across the polished floor, gun skittering away as he landed heavily. The assassin set his sights carefully.

Dahl had no choice. He fired in a heartbeat, saw his bullet strike his target’s bicep and shatter through bone. The gun pinwheeled away. The man’s body half-turned, but he kept his attention on the truck driver lying right before him.

The assassin, right arm hanging in a bloody ruin, continued to focus on his prey with a terrifying single-mindedness. His good arm flew out, striking the truck driver hard on the face. His hand closed around the man’s throat, squeezing.

But then Dahl was on him, ripping him away and hurling him against a wall-size neon advertisement. The light fizzed and then went out.

The truck driver collapsed in pain and relief.

Hayden slid to his side. “You alright? Are you hit?”

“Nah. Nah, I’m good. I got a permit for my gun, miss. I ain’t part of no militia.”

“That’s good. That’s fine. We need to talk to you.”

The truck driver made an effort to pull himself together. He sat up and cast a rheumy eye over both of them

“You guys don’t look like cops. He doesn’t even look American.”

Dahl smiled and raised an eyebrow. “Thank you.”

“Didn’t say it was a good thing, buddy.”

Hayden held up a hand. “Please. We really need to talk.”