Last Man Standing

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

Kinimaka slammed the phone down and met Hayden’s questioning eyes.

“Still nothing,” he said. “All they know is that the tournament’s still on. Drake and the rest are inside some hotel. And the Brits are about to charge.”

Hayden rubbed at tired eyes. “Talk about a clusterfuck. But give Karin time. That girl will come through.”

Kinimaka nodded. “I’m sure she will. The Hawaiian in me wants to lay back and hang loose, you know? The friend and comrade wants her to hurry the hell up.”

“My dad felt the same about me.”

Kinimaka’s face fell. “Hay, I’m sorry. It’s all just a little frustrating. We’re usually on the front lines, you know? Fighting alongside the team. I feel a little… redundant.”

Hayden stared down at her prone body, covered by a hospital sheet. “Join the club.”

As if on cue, Smyth burst into the room, cellphone in hand. “Just got a call. You know we’re still monitoring world events through our old HQ link? The system the CIA boffins set up? Well, we got a damn big hit. If the team were together we’d be all over this…” Smyth paused as several pings rang out from his cell.

Kinimaka frowned. “Is that more?”

Smyth looked a little embarrassed. “Not really. I may have sent one or two texts to Mai during the last few hours. Now that Karin’s taken down part of Sabo’s jammer it seems they’re going through.”

Ping! Ping… ping… ping… ping… ping…

“One or two?” Hayden asked with a straight face.

“Well, whatever,” Smyth went on crossly. “Point is this: Watch!”

Kinimaka leaned forward as Smyth proffered the cell, careful not to let his bulk get in Hayden’s eye line. He saw a room he recognized being invaded by men that moved fast and proficiently. He didn’t believe his eyes.

“But that’s—”

“Our old HQ,” Hayden finished for him. “Shit, it doesn’t matter that the place got shot to shit. Someone’s after the hard drives and the information stored on them. How old is this video, Smyth?”

“It’s not,” Smyth barked. “It’s real time.”

“You gotta go! You gotta go now. Why the hell anyone would want those drives I don’t know, but we have to stop them. Jonathan—” her voice broke a little. “Jonathan had them installed in tandem with his own system so he could work from both his office and the HQ. Maybe it’s his drives they’re after.”

Smyth headed for the door. “Already on my way.”

Kinimaka took out a cell of his own and followed. “Doesn’t feel right,” he mumbled. “Calling for back up. Just don’t feel right.”

Kinimaka raced through the streets of DC, acutely conscious they were headed back to the place where Romero died. Smyth would be even more aware. The traffic was thankfully sparse, the journey short. Smyth kept an eye on their surveillance camera through his phone link. Kinimaka reported on the progress of the backup team.

“We’ll get there first,” he said. “By two minutes.”

“Long enough to count against us,” Smyth rasped back. “Can’t wait.”

“Agreed.”

They pulled up alongside the curb and jumped out. Smyth ran around to the back, popping the trunk and raiding the underfloor weapons’ box for firepower. He handed Kinimaka a machine gun and a Glock, clips, a flak-jacket and smoke bombs.

His cellphone continued to ping.

Kinimaka inclined his head. “Might be best to turn that off, buddy.”

Smyth growled, but complied. The two men went off at a dead run, knowing what to expect. Both of them had visited the old HQ recently to collect any data the global tracking systems might have picked up.

They hadn’t expected the facility to be invaded over a week after being destroyed.

The back stairs led directly into the common room, the place where they’d all met to talk. Smyth crouched at the topmost landing.

“You ready?”

Kinimaka nodded. “Do it.”

Smyth rose and paced forward at a controlled rate, gun held alongside his chin and pointed toward the enemy. He slipped inside the main door then paused, holding his breath. Kinimaka slid along beside him. They were ghosts, impressions of light and dark, mere shadows that flitted to and fro and made no noise.

Men hunched over computer terminals before them. Some were down on their knees. Smyth and Kinimaka stood silently over them, unseen, and performed a quick head count.

Outnumbered eight to two.

Smyth made the kill sign. Kinimaka nodded. They were not about to issue a warning to a superior number of mercs that had just broken into a secret, information-laden building armed with semis. Smyth fired first, his suppressed weapon making a popping sound and efficiently making three holes in three foreheads.

He moved as he worked. Kinimaka eased away to the right, keeping the positions of the remaining mercs at the front of his mind. Two double taps and another two bodies dropped. One of the mercs backed away, weapon pivoting, but Smyth took him down with a slightly messy neck shot.

Two left.

Kinimaka drifted again, stealing the distance between his adversary and himself away. Through a gap in the desks he saw a body, firing instantly. The man dropped. He looked over to Smyth, saw his comrade give a thumbs up.

“Got ‘em.”

Kinimaka rose. “Careful. I shot the last one in the collarbone. We need information.”

Smyth grinned. “Me too! That means we got one each to interrogate. Hey, not bad for CIA, man. Not bad at all.”

Kinimaka was experienced enough to understand such praise coming from an ex-Delta force soldier was rare and hard-earned. “Mahalo.”

“Right,” Smyth snarled at his captive. “Let’s see what we’re up against.”