Bane: Elite Operatives (Bad Boys of X-Ops Book 4) (11 page)

Going Dark

MIDAFTERNOON TWO DAYS LATER, I waited inside an upmarket restaurant in the Colonia Centro area of Mexico City. Kiki and I had lain low, and I left the other
other
safe house in deep disguise just long enough to stock up on supplies. Thanksgiving came and went, just one of those holidays I usually paid no attention to.

This year? I picked us up some chicken tostados and a bottle of plonk. Kiki went along with my small attempt at festivities, and we exchanged details on all the shitty holidays we’d survived. Neither one of us was into the self-pity gig, so we basically tried to one-up each other with
bad memory lane
. Growing closer, getting tighter together.

Now I staked out the bar, waiting for the arrival of my package. I’d left Kiki at the safe house with strict orders maintain invisibility so her cover didn’t get compromised.

I didn’t know who to trust anymore, but at least Justice had done me a solid in keeping shit on the lowdown for me.

If the high-and-mighties at T-Zone wanted Kiki dead, who was to say Blaize wasn’t in on the plan?

Leaning an elbow on the bar, I took another drink of my tequila. Between lunch and dinner, the business was mostly empty, and I’d already cased the dining room and the head. Forty minutes after I’d arrived—and two drinks later—a man strolled inside, a
La Crónica de Hoy
newspaper folded under his arm.

The Syrian national entered alone. His suit was sharp, the creases probably steam-pressed. Clean-shaven and smelling of cologne that wafted all the way over to me, he nodded to the maître d’ and was quickly shown a table.

These fucking warlords and terrorists dressing like goddamn white collar businessmen.

Made me want to punch something instead of playing nicey-nice with the criminals.

I kept my station at the bar long enough to scope out the black car outside, complete with tinted windows and a driver included, and to perform a final recce on the restaurant before moving in.

“Mr. Nasim.” Hooking my shades into the collar of my shirt, I approached the table. “We have a mutual friend.”

“Nasim is not my surname. Hassan is.”

Hassan, now
that
particular last name I was definitely familiar with.

“Sorry. Mr. Hassan.”

He made a small tsking noise, waving to a convenient waiter who promptly delivered a bottle of wine. “Are you in the business?”

“Does a hooker have a pussy?”

Nasim
cracked a smile. “That’s what I love about you Americans. Earthy sense of humor.”

“You call it earthy. I call it the truth.”

“Sit. Sit.” He gestured to the chair across from him. “Carlos may have mentioned you’ve been filling a void in certain
terrestrial
dealings.”

Terrestrial dealings? More like terror arming.

“Interesting choice of phrasing.” I sat down.

“My English is perhaps not so good.”

“Whatever pays the bills.”

“And gets the kills?” Approving of the wine, he nodded to the waiter to fill two glasses.

“And you said your English sucks.” I raised my glass to him. “That was almost fucking poetic.”

Food arrived along with an extra plate. A big family style dinner I was set to share with a man who might prove to be the active leader of Hezbollah if the Hassan name held up.

Nice. Just how I like my dinner dates. Not.

“Please, join me.” Nasim allowed the waiter to plate up, but I didn’t have an appetite.

Again.

Surprise.

But I wasn’t about the do the
girl with a low-cal salad on a first date
bullshit.

I dug into fancified Mexican fare, chewing automatically, swallowing mechanically.

Huh
. Maybe should’ve made him poison-test the food first.

Whatever. If my stomach was in knots, it wasn’t because of the meal.

“Don’t wanna step on toes or anything, but you’re a long way from home, yeah?” I wiped my mouth on a napkin then lit a smoke.

A waiter hurried over with an ashtray in the otherwise empty dining room.

Nasim-dude must’ve hired it out.

“International trade has many faces and many facets.”

“Again with the poetry.”

“Since you were personally vetted by Carlos, I’ll tell you something.” Nasim lit a cigar. “
Ah
. To be a Muslim in Mexico.” He blew on the glowing tip, watching the ember catch. “Who do you think funds our operations, Mister—”

“Bane.”

“Mr. Bane.” Tapping the fat end of his stogie against the ashtray, he smiled. “The US government.”

Fuck. Me.

I kept my expression completely flat even though shock rattled my cage. “I got no love lost there. They put me in jail.”
Truth.

“Creating war makes America money.”

Again with Nasim’s smile.

“How much do you follow politics, Mr. Bane?” he asked.

“As much as the next ex-con trying to find some new wiggle room.”

“So you heard about the international manhunt for a Majedah Chehab last year?” Leaning in closer after looking around to make sure he wasn’t overheard, he hushed out, “My sister-in-law.”

I almost choked on my cigarette as the pieces started fitting fully together. “I remember that story. Qasim Hassan, right?”

“My older brother.”

That old family connection. This whole op smelled rank and was one step away from FUBAR.

“Financed by the US?” I asked.

“How do you think we’re infiltrating American soil?” He tapped blunt ash from the tip of his cigar.

“Dude. Gotta tell ya, most of that shit is beyond my pay grade.” I played the dumb-blond card even thought that was more Justice’s thing.

Nasim laughed, nodding his head in my direction. “Another thing to like about Americans . . . your capitalistic spirit. In it for the money. None of this philosophical or religious dogma to stand in the way of greed.”

“Qasim Hassan though.” I stabbed my cig into the ashtray. “Come to think of it, I remember the news. Behind bars now, right?”

“Hezbollah isn’t just one man . . . it’s a movement.” Nasim’s smile flattened. “My bitch of a sister-in-law nearly cost us our connection with the American organization backing us.”

I schooled my reaction to his slanderous reference of Majedah Chehab. That woman was classy as hell and a first-rate leader.

“So this group—the ones funding your
activities
—who are they? CIA? I read a bunch of spy books when I was in the slammer.” I kept going with the gangbanger/gunrunner angle, hoping to crack Nasim.

“The Agency?” He inhaled from his fat cigar, exhaled the heavy blue smoke. “Too literal, my friend. No. You wouldn’t have heard of them. They go by the name T-Zone.”

I nearly fell off my chair. Quickly reaching for the drink by my hand, I took a deep swig, swallowing the contents before my throat closed in. I recovered quickly before Qasim’s younger bro could read my flat-out shock and utter disgust.

“T-Zone? Like a headshot?” I pointed at my forehead. “Lame.”

“Yes. Of course, as they would say, that information is classified. The organization doesn’t exist on paper. Which makes for a very easy working relationship.”

I sat back in my chair even though all my nerves jittered like I’d been coked up for one week straight. “Conspiracy shit,
huh
?”

“Got to hand it to the Americans. Capitalism
and
corruption.” He clinked his glass to mine. “Now, Mr. Bane. You never said what you wanted.”

I’d just gotten everything I needed . . . and never wanted to know.

“IEDs. The chemical kind. Heard you had a contact for the new shit.” My gut churned while I tried to stay frosty.

Nasim gave a low whistle between his teeth. “And who will you be supplying to?”

“An Islamist friend in Joburg.”

“Ayaaz Iqbal?” He reeled off the name of a threat we’d investigated and red-tagged before as being a head honcho in ISIS.

“The very one.” I bared my teeth in a smile. “Payment to the Caymans?”

“Yes.”

Typical
.

I met Nasim’s palm. Standing, I shook his hand, and
Jesus Christ
, it felt like I’d never be clean again.

Fuck. Me.

Tits Up

MAYBE JUSTICE HADN’T PLACED a trace on me, but that didn’t mean I’d followed the same
protocol
. During Kiki’s and my meet up with Storm and Blaize after the drug/gun exchange, I’d tagged their SUV. I knew I’d have to cover every contingency every chance I got. I could double-agent when I had to.

Following the GPS coordinates after leaving Nasim Hassan—terrorist suspect
numero uno
—I rolled up to Storm and Blaize’s secondary safe house.

Using one of four eight-digit codes agreed upon for this mission, I secretly infiltrated the building. Keeping my back to the wall, I knew I had less than seconds before I was made.

I slid into the central room and came upon Walker, Jus, Storm, and Blaize in the middle of a powwow.

The mood seemed somber. Until they caught sight of me.

Then everything ground to a halt.

Including me.

Before I could get my voice to work, all hell broke loose. The four of them shot to their feet—shouts raised—drawing various weapons.

“You offed Baby Spy?” Walker was the first to cock his sidearm at me.

Justice and Storm bristled, too.

“Bane. What did you do?” Blaize held her Walther in a steady grip. “Where’s her body?” She looked like she’d been crying.

But what did I know?

If T-Z was poisoned to the core, who was to say Blaize wasn’t in on it?

“What in the fuck?” I pulled a Sig Sauer, singling out each and every one of them. “You wanted her dead from the first time she came on the team.”

Justice flicked his safety off, cursing under his breath.

“That was chatter, Bane.
FUCK
.” Walker spun and punched a fist to the wall.

Left a nice little dent, too.

Tension—visible in strained muscles, white knuckles, flattened lips—practically smothered the room.

Storm stood next to Blaize, fury in his eyes. “Did you do it? Pull the trigger?”

“What if I did? It’d be no less than what Blaize—excuse me—
Miss Carmichael
did to us.” Training my Sig on the boss lady, I watched her eyes flip wide. “You know. Sending Walker on a fucked op. Leaking the location of our crib here in Mexico maybe?”

“Bane. You wanna lower that weapon right now,
brah
.” Storm started edging in front of Blaize.

“I don’t think I do.” Stalking two steps closer, wary of all the guns pointed at me, I stared unflinchingly at Blaize. “Tell me. How did the superiors at T-Z react to the news about Kiki?”

“What?”

“Answer me. I’ve about run out of patience here.”

“They didn’t react at all.” Blaize’s grip on her gun faltered for a second. “They only asked for visual confirmation.”

“Confirmation of the kill order.” I laughed harshly.

“Kill order?” Walker was the first to catch on.

Asshole. Always was the brightest of the bunch.

“Here’s your confirmation.” I cocked my head toward the doorway.

With her hands slung at her hips, Kiki appeared out in the open.

I kept one eye on her, one on Blaize.

Boss lady’s eyes peeled wide. Her hand clamped over her mouth. “Oh my God!”

The men all looked like they’d seen a ghost. Which they had.

“I just rose from the dead, and this is the kind of reception I get?” Kiki took stock of all the sidearms set to go off, mostly at me. “Stand down.
Jesus
. I didn’t even think you cared.”

That woman, always with the gallows humor.

The others just continued to stare at her, like she really had pulled a Lazarus number.

“I hope you get over the shock fast.” I holstered my pistol and pulled up a chair for Kiki, one for myself. “Because we got a lot of shit to get through.”

“Katherine!” Blaize rushed forward, gathering her in a hug.

Drawing back, she scanned the female operative from head to toe. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Bane, it turns out, has something of a hero complex.” She smiled at me, reaching out to pull my hand in hers.

“Just to be clear. I haven’t been dosing on peyote, and this isn’t an hallucination, right?” Walker put his Smith & Wesson away.

“Sorry to disappoint. Standing right here. Safe and sound.”

“I may have misjudged you.” Walker popped his fist out toward Kiki’s.

“I won’t hold it against you. This time.” She met his knuckle bump. “Turns out you had good reason.”

Storm looked baffled. Justice cunt-fucking-fused. And me? I retrieved a bottle of booze from my bag and a pack of smokes. This was gonna be a long afternoon.

I poured six glasses of the good stuff and sat back. “Long story short: T-Zone is shady. And, Blaize, no offense, but I had to make sure you weren’t part of the cover up.”

For the first time ever, boss lady was speechless. Almost. “
What
?”

I quickly downed my drink so I could get it in before the shouting match started.

“What the fuck?”

“No way in hell!”

“That’s bogus, man.”

“You need your head checked by psych ops, Bane?”

Kiki was the only one who didn’t chime in, and when the dust settled, Blaize looked at me with cool blue eyes. “Who fed you this intel?”

“Started when I was ordered to put a bullet into Kiki by our bosses, ma’am.”

Blaize paced in front of me like this was the war room back in DC. She tugged her fingers through her dark red hair. “When?”

“Before we left the Beltway to head here.”

“That’s why they paired the two of you together. And you were supposed to come alone?”

“Makes sense.” I shrugged. “Anyone else need a drink? Or should I just drill them all back?”

The men came forward, as if walking in a daze, their eyes still bouncing from Kiki to me. Blaize was trying to work out something in her head—I could tell by the way she cupped her brow in her hand, shutting her eyes.

“How the fuck does any of
that
make sense?” Justice’s sharp-pitched voice signaled his unraveling. He slung back his shot of tequila, wiped his mouth. “Jesus Christ. I signed up for this shit because I wanted to do something good.”

“Easy,
brah
.” Storm clasped a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s just hear Bane out.”

“Fuck that. He could be a double agent.”

I chuckled. “Right. Because I had so many options after the manslaughter charge. Agencies were just looking to snatch me up. Only reason I went underground was to keep Kiki alive.”

“He’s telling the truth.” Kiki sat next to me, squeezing my hand.

“Why?” Walker asked. “The kill order on Kiki, why?”

“To cover up their
oops
on your op.” I stared at the Native American man. “How many times, how fucking often, did we blame your mission fail on Kiki? It wasn’t her, Walker. It was T-Zone. They knew we’d figure it out sooner or later. But hell, if I just took her out they thought we’d stop looking for a black sheep.”

“They pinned it on me. I’ve worked for the Feds before.” Kiki came clean. “They knew they had the perfect out, especially after the Feeb raid on Justice’s warehouse.”

Storm rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t get it. Why? Why set Kiki up? Why try to ruin Walker’s mission?”

“They didn’t wanna wreck it at first. They sent him to dust Majedah Chehab, right? Well, he didn’t. Why? That’s the real question.” I didn’t tell them the answer yet.

“Because Jade was sure the intel was wrong.” Walker’s stark voice rolled across the room.

“And it was. Deliberately. From our bosses’ lips to our ears. They fed the wrong info on purpose.” I poured myself another drink. “I met with the terrorist’s lead man today.”

“By yourself?” Blaize’s eyebrows rose high.

“No backup?” Justice looked impressed.

“Always knew you for a freakshow,” Storm said, and his tone might’ve shown respect.

“Crazy fuck,” Walker muttered.

“His name? Nasim Hassan.” I drilled back my tequila, wondering if anyone else was gonna partake more or if the rest of the bottle was mine. “Sound familiar?”

Justice pulled out his tablet and started tapping away.

I answered for him, “Brother to Qasim Hassan. New leader of Hezbollah. Funded by none other than Operation T-Zone. After Walker went rogue, they tried to kill him and his op then put the blame on Kiki. Or made sure we did.”

Blaize hissed in a deep breath. “Jesus Christ.”

I gave them a moment. Watched them drink, ingest the information, try to swallow it down just like I had.

“Everything’s tits up,” I said.

“Tango Uniform,” Blaize concurred.

“Fucking hell.” Walker eased into a chair.

He upended the bottle over his glass.

“We’ve been played.” Justice slid down the wall until he sat on his haunches.

“T-Z is dirty.” Blaize turned her back on us, bracing her hands on a long table. “They’re trying to cut losses. Clean house.”

“Blaize?” Storm slid his palm up her back. “What is it?”

“New Orleans. We got made.” She faced the rest of us. “I don’t think it was because of us. T-Z wanted us dead in NOLA.”

I watched in awe as Blaize immediately put her game face on. Bosszilla was back.

“Destroy anything that connects you to Operation T-Zone. We’re going so far off grid they can never locate us.”

Chills ran up my spine.

“Unless we want them to.” Marching forward, she said, “We’re going to get to them first. New plan.”

“New plan, ma’am?” Justice just about saluted the woman in charge.

“Sir, yes sir.” Walker had a quick recovery time, as well as the old joke.

“Mexico City is a wash, people.” Punching her hands to her hips, Blaize gave a grim grin. “We’re cutting the head off the snake. Starting at the top this time. T-Zone is the target.”

“I never did like bottom-feeders much.” I stood, bringing Kiki with me.

Headed stateside to kick some unholy ass.

Just my kind of mission.

We started gathering our shit. Walker and Jus would clear out of their safe house, Kiki and I ours, and we’d mobilize ASAP.

“Three hours.” Blaize looked at Storm. “Wheels up. Can you prep that fast?”

“You really need to ask,
cher
?”

“Hang on.” I kicked my boot against the wall. “This is wrong. All due respect.”

Blaize took her Bosszilla-vs-Underlings battle to a whole new level. “My orders are
wrong
?”

“We know Los Reyes is dirty. We
know
Hezbollah is becoming active on American soil.” Crossing my arms over my chest, I faced everyone. “We’re just gonna tuck tail?”

A grin flew across Justice’s mouth. “No mission unfinished.”

“Like good little soldier boys and girls.”

“That way we don’t have to hide from T-Zone. We come in high, fly in low. We complete our job here like we’re supposed to then T-Z will never suspect our true mission when we return to DC. Perfect in.” Storm peered at Blaize, who maintained her detached stance.

“Okay.” She nodded. “We hit both groups at the same time. The cartel and Nasim Hassan. Tomorrow night. Storm, Justice, we need logistics, on-the-spot imaging, coms, cover, and ammo . . .

“The rest of you gear up and be at the ready for any and every eventuality.”

“Damn. You’re hot when you’re in charge.” Storm slid an arm around Blaize’s waist.

“When am I ever not in charge?”

He cleared his throat, lowered his voice, and whispered something in her ear.

The rest of us ignored the two lovebirds, prepping to leave the building. Walker kicked off the trash talk:

“How’s your leg?”

“How’s your ass?” I sent back, handing the bottle of tequila to Kiki.

“How’s that book I heard about?” she asked Justice.

He scowled, spinning out to Storm.
“Syphilis cleared up yet?”

“That was a rumor.” Both he and Blaize replied.

“When did you and Kiki start knocking boots?” Walker asked me.

“I am standing right here.” She rolled her eyes.

“Because I had bets on that night you stitched up Walker’s ass . . .” Smirking, Justice flipped an extra mag of bullets he’d lifted from Storm in my direction.

“Still here, dickheads.” Kiki made a grab for the cartridge.

“Hey! That’s my ammo.” Storm stomped forward.

And the fuckheads are back together again. One totally dysfunctional unit.