Hidden Trump (Bite Back 2) (17 page)

“Out for some fresh air?” I said quietly.

He jumped. “Jesus Christ, Farrell! Don’t do that.”

He was smart enough to keep his hands in sight.

“Stand in the middle,” I said. I paced the pavilion, one eye on him and one on the night. The sounds of laughter drifted in from a group of friends ambling past. The scanner whispered and hissed in my jogging bag. My bracelet didn’t tingle. My hackles weren’t up, quite.

“You sure you haven’t been followed?”

“Yeah. Doubled back and triple checked.” He waved his hands for emphasis and the bourbon sloshed on the floor.

“Put the bottle down.” He did. “It’s not aftershave, you know. You’re supposed to drink it, not wear it.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you tasted it,” he replied.

I laughed. I wanted to like him. It had to take balls to get out from under Matlal’s nose and then make jokes. Or to come and be bait in a trap. I needed to be sure about him first.

“How come it’s so easy for you to get out?”

“It wasn’t! That’s why I was late.”

“If you want out, why haven’t you just run?”

“And go where? I need a House to give me sanctuary. And Denver’s full of Matlal people.”

There was still nothing out of place, but my training was starting to make me nervous about staying put for so long. I needed to make a decision on Larry and either get him squared away, or get myself the hell out of here. I decided to push him.

“Has Romero gone to Basilikos now?”

He twitched at the name, but didn’t speak, didn’t nod.

“If you’re Romero, how come Matlal’s trusting you?”

He didn’t deny his House.

“He isn’t. One of his lieutenants put the—” He stopped, balling his fists in frustration.

“Put a compulsion on you about some things?”

He nodded. “And I was given a Matlal babysitter.”

“Where’s he?”

“Recovering, for Christ’s sake. You gut-shot him, remember? That’s one reason why I was able to get out.”

“And they think you’ve gone where?”

“They don’t. I’m supposed to be…” he stuttered to a stop, looking sick, but this time I didn’t think it was the compulsion. “I’m supposed to be feeding,” he finished quietly and shuddered. It took me a second to realize what he meant. Somewhere in this city, Matlal had captives being held to provide blood for his troops. If Larry really was Panethus, no wonder he looked sick at the thought.

He went on. “A new batch of Matlal people came in today—some special team. They’re reassigning people. I slipped out in the confusion.” He twisted his wrist to look at his watch. “They’ve probably realized by now.”

I could see the thought trickling through his head.
Too late to back out now
.

“Okay, Larry, we need to cut to the chase. What have you got for me? How can I track Hoben down?”

“Like I said, he shifts where he stays. But there’s a place near the interstate junction of 25 and 70, this side of the railroad tracks. Used to be a bowling alley or something. He’s always going there. And another, up on 64
^th
Avenue in Commerce City, an old auto auction shop.”

He hesitated, and wiped his hands down his coat. “I know they’re planning something big.”

“Like what?”

He shook his head. “The deal was Hoben. I’ve given you what I can. Get me somewhere safe.”

“And then?” I said. “You’ll still be under the compulsion.”

“And then, we’ll have time to get around it. They’re like computer programs, you know, you can always find a way.” He tapped his watch. “We need to go.”

I huffed. He had a good point; it was late. I wasn’t going to get any further in my evaluation of him tonight, and everything so far suggested he was on the level.

The scanner chirped in the silence.

“What else are you asking for the rest?”

“Just a place for me and my kin.” He spoke very quietly, more uncertain than at any other time tonight. His kin meant a lot to him and I could hear a plea there. Nothing else he had said carried the weight of that plea in the balance of my decision.

“Of course your kin,” I said. Bian and Skylur were going to string me up anyway.

I nodded to the back of the pavilion and our route out. We started to walk.

“I’m going to take you to a safe house down in—”

I stopped.

The scanner was still picking up static, but there was suddenly a rhythm of noises emerging that was all too familiar to me from my days in Ops 4-10. I ran back and looked out across the park.

Vague figures shimmered into my heat sense view in the direction where Larry had come from. They were moving purposefully, spread out and spreading wider. Searching. And they were organized enough that they were coordinating with secured comms.

Shit.

Our only advantage was they hadn’t spotted me yet and didn’t know I’d spotted them. We still had a couple of minutes. I grabbed Larry and shoved him against a pillar, out of sight.

“What the fuck?” he grunted, but to give him his due, he kept it quiet and didn’t struggle.

“They followed you, asshole.” I’d come to my decision about Larry; he was on the level. But those people out in the park didn’t stumble here by accident.

I went through his pockets. I was expecting to find something like a replacement cell phone left switched on, but what came out was an apartment key on a ring with a large blue tag.

The scanner chirped.

“Idiot! There’s a tracker in there.”

I hurled it away and grabbed him by his lapels.

“If we get split up, 248 Monroe Street in Aurora. Say it back.”

“248 Monroe, Aurora. I can’t see anyone,” hissed Larry, craning his head to look.

“Shut up. Run. Now. That way. Towards 11
^th
Avenue.”

I followed, trying to see any pursuit in the dark. The group who’d been tracing his path were still walking. It was our good luck that they hadn’t seen us yet.

And that’s where our luck ran out.

All that comms traffic had been to coordinate a net around us. We were just barely quick enough that the net hadn’t completely closed. More figures were converging on us. With their sudden appearance, Larry instinctively tried to stop. I knew our only hope was to bust out now. I pushed. He tripped.

As I bent to get a grip on him, there was a hissing sound and something whipped past my head to shatter against a pillar. Crap. Tranquillizer dart.

“Larry—” I pulled him. I felt him reach up swiftly and thrust something in my pocket.

“Go!” He hissed as he lurched up, waving his arm. “Not us, you fools,” he yelled. “Over there.” He sprinted away from me across the gardens, pointing ahead. “She’s getting away.”

That was smart. Even Athanate eyes would be confused in the darkness. He’d gained us valuable seconds. I bent double and ran straight ahead towards where the dart had come from. Those things take a while to reload.

They were in the trees.

I’d caught them just in time. They weren’t in position. The guy with the dart gun came up out of the shadows and I used our combined momentum to drive my forearm into his neck. He fell, choking and clutching at his throat. Matlal Athanate.

A second man was behind me now. I could hear him running after me. I couldn’t stop for anything or he’d catch up. I vaulted over the third, hoping he’d tangle up my pursuer, but that just left me with two people chasing, and I was heading for the fourth man. Woman, I corrected.

She was in the open, waiting, balanced on the balls of her feet.
Good stance, but not going to help you, bitch
. I outweighed her. I gritted my teeth, lowered my head.
This is gonna hurt you more than…

I was flying. Crap! That would teach me. I tucked and spun, slamming the ground with my arm before I hit and converting my momentum into a roll quick enough to spin me right onto my feet again. She was
good
, but her throw had just sent me in the direction I was going anyway. I sprinted for the streetlights of 11
^th
Avenue and vaulted the close-parked cars.
She
was House Matlal, without a doubt, and a whole heap of trouble to boot.

One of the chasers followed, coming between two cars. Big mistake. He couldn’t balance, couldn’t evade. I stunned him with a punch and slammed his face down into the car’s hood. The second man grabbed for me. ZK, not Athanate, I registered as I broke his wrist. As he gasped and stumbled, I high-kicked and sent him reeling into another attacker.

She was already behind me, scary quick. I slipped her headlock and jabbed back with my elbow. I hit, but it did me no good. She was padded up. Not Kevlar, but body punches were a waste of energy. I grabbed and twisted, trying to throw her, but she slipped out like water, landing a punch as she jinked back.

I was in a fix. I outweighed and outreached her. She was quicker than me. I needed to disable her, soon. All she needed to do was slow me down. There would be too many of them here, or another tranquillizer dart would end it.

She took advantage of my hesitation, ghosting in and landing a body punch combination. I wasn’t wearing any padding, but she wasn’t going to hurt me that quickly and she’d made the mistake of coming within my reach. I went for a grip.

For the second time that night I was flying. This time she wasn’t letting go. I could see her planned sequence, like a textbook example. Land me on my back and flip me, or land me on my front. Either way, get my arm behind me and immobilize me. No way.

I balled up and twisted to get my feet beneath me, yanked her sideways. Her punch hammered my jaw. Damn, but she was
real
good. A couple more of her friends sprinted out from the park. Looking bad.

“FREEZE! Federal agents!” came from the other direction.

Oh, hell. Frying pans and fires.

But he was too far away. She lit off, and her buddies went with her, clearing their wounded.

Griffith fired. I dropped to the ground and lay there, hands outstretched. He ran up and fired twice more into the dark, but he was wasting his time and bullets. Worse, he was Endangering The Public in the words of The Manual. At least I hadn’t done that. I could almost hear him swallowing painfully as the thought of his post-event report struck him.

I stayed still and swallowed my pride. “Thanks, Agent Griffith. That was very good timing.” No harm in a bit of crawling now. I’d stay flat until he put that gun away.

“You…” He knelt beside me and I felt his hand on my wrist. The touch of the slick metal was shocking.

He wasn’t going to…

“You have the right to remain silent.” The cuffs snapped closed. “You—”

“Now, Ray.” A drawl overrode the Miranda. “I’m thinking there’s no need for them.”

I closed my eyes and gave silent thanks. “Agent Ingram. I didn’t think I’d be saying what a pleasure it is.”

He chuckled like everyone’s favorite uncle at the barbeque. Griffith sulkily unfastened the cuff and let me get back to my feet. The adrenaline burn was easing and my breathing was already back to normal. I shivered, checking out a couple of bruises. That woman had been
hardcore.

“You really have to wear your weapon, Ingram,” Griffith murmured, trying not to let me hear.

Ingram shrugged it off. “Wouldn’t have made a difference here.”

“What were you going to arrest me for?” I asked Griffith, rubbing my wrist with one hand and my jaw with the other. He ignored me.

“Would you care to fill us in on what happened, Ms. Farrell?” asked Ingram.

“I just finished jogging in the park. I was heading for my car, when I got jumped by a group. Seven at least. You showed up.” That was simple enough; I could remember it. And it wasn’t untrue.

Ingram grunted and nodded at Griffith, who called it in to the police. Attempted mugging, FBI on site. No one would come out here.

“We going to do any good in there?” Ingram waved generally at the park.

“I doubt it.”

“Then why dontcha come sit in our van over yonder,” Ingram said. “We can have some coffee, an’ we can spin our wheels for awhile.” He took my arm gently and we walked back towards the Quinns’, where I’d left my car.

That was fine by me. Some of the ambushers had been ZK, and they might think twice about taking on federal agents, but the Matlal Athanate wouldn’t. If they figured out that this hadn’t been a smart trap set by me, and there were only two agents here, they’d come back and finish the job.

Their van was parked a couple of spaces down from my car. It was a slab-sided Dodge 8-seater with mirrored windows in the back. The outside was ordinary, but I’d bet money the engine was tricked. The inside was full of tech. The cabin was arranged around a small table and I settled apprehensively into one of the seats.

Ingram pulled a thermos flask from a container and poured the three of us some coffee in small mugs. It was good stuff. We took a moment to savor it.

“Well, y’know, I’m mindful that a rich person, a really rich person, can get to the point that they have so much money that they can’t ever get to spend it all.” Ingram slumped back in his seat and looked up at the roof of the van. “I wouldn’t want to think that there was a point like that with questions.” His eyes came back down to look at me and he smiled like an alligator.

I shrugged. “Y’all need to talk to the colonel.”

Stop it, demon. Do NOT start talking Texan.

“Ahh,” Ingram nodded. “Yup. The colonel. Fact is, I called that number, right after you left.”

I shivered. It was cold, even in the van. The colonel hadn’t picked up my calls for a couple of days now.

“Mighty interesting,” said Ingram.

I refused to rise to the bait. I sat and sipped my coffee.

“Especially after we pulled your police file. And spoke to Lieutenant Krantz,” Griffith said.

I was in stealth mode. I was determined I was not going to respond to this sort of probe, but Krantz’s name made me twitch.

“Lordy, he’s got your goat, hasn’t he?” chuckled Ingram. “Thing is, they none of them can agree. Your police file says military, and when they don’t say anything else that usually means woo-woo stuff. Now Krantz, he swears blind he has access to everyone’s military pay records and you were never there. Says there are no women in any of that kind of unit. Anyhow, I called that number you gave me. I didn’t speak to any Colonel Laine. No sir, I spoke to a Captain Baker.”