Hidden Trump (Bite Back 2) (41 page)

Ahh. Yes.

“Thanks. I guess I better find somewhere to change, huh?”

She laughed. “Seen worse. ’Specially at night.”

I juggled the coffee and fruit, got the safety pin through my jeans without stabbing myself and headed back for the car, dignity personified.

I’d reached my decision.

You have to trust someone. I trusted Diana. I trusted Bian. I trusted the colonel.

I needed to know what was going on. I had to trust some more people.

As little as I wanted to, I set up the octopus and I called the number I knew I had to.

Chapter 39

I knew I’d been betrayed. I just wasn’t sure who and how many times.

I didn’t know how many Athanate knew about David’s house and how close I was to him. Skylur, Diana, Bian, Pia, David himself, the Fang team, Mykayla and whoever had been driving the van they came in; they had all been there on Monday night. Then there was whoever they talked to.

But what if someone had been tracking my cell back then? I wanted to believe that, but Bian’s response to the recording wasn’t comforting.

And forget about me for a moment, what about the rest of Altau? There was a traitor in the House. What did that mean for Panethus?

Why wasn’t Skylur talking to Bian, and who were the Altau in Denver? Bian had to know more than she was telling me.

Now this.

I leaned against the wall, half-hidden by the curtain, and looked down on the little patch of grass outside the convention center far below.

If Skylur didn’t pick up the tab for Victor, I was now a long way overdrawn. Downtown hotel rooms don’t come cheap even if all you want is to look out the window. And the new burn phone, camera and binoculars in my hand were bought on credit that I couldn’t cover. I guessed I could sell the Audi, but then how would I work? Even the HK had value, but I might as well start donating organs if I went that route.

Maybe Victor’s offer was the way out financially. He’d make a good boss.

Maybe Arvinder. No money problems in House Singh.

But that was the next issue, after I settled this one.

I raised the binoculars. The army had ruined me for cheap equipment. I’d bought the top of the line German optics. They brought him in so close I felt I could reach out and touch his cheek. He looked so familiar: the sandy hair, light enough to be ruffled by the breeze, the slightly rounded shoulders that came from him sticking his hands deep in his jacket pockets, the long legs. He looked as handsome as he had when we were both in Ops 4-10. When we were an item and my name on his lips had made me feel good. I just felt a cold lump in my stomach now.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe.

Matt’s octopus complained about the single hotel wireless system, but he’d told me it would be secure for a couple of short calls.

I watched as Keith took the cell from his pocket.

“Hello?”

“Keith, I’m running late.”

“No problem. How late?” In the binoculars I could see his face screw up in frustration, but his voice stayed calm and reasonable. My gut feeling got worse. His left hand remained in his jacket pocket.

Come on, come on, come on. Time was ticking away and I had to make my judgment call on this.

“Say what? I’m picking up a bit of background noise.”

His left hand came out and shielded the cell. “That better? I just asked how late?”

My heart sank. “Better, thanks. Difficult to say. Need to be sure I don’t have a tail. I’ll call you in ten.”

I ended the call and tried to stop the tears. It didn’t mean anything, really. It wasn’t as if we were still an item. He was just doing his job, just following orders. But Keith, for God’s sake.

The ring wasn’t on his finger; Ops 4-10 standard operating procedures—no jewelry on a mission. Keith wasn’t here for a private meeting. He was here to take me in. As I watched, he hit a speed dial and spoke with someone. That would be his team, probably in the sports club’s parking garage across the road, or in the convention center, maybe even in the lobby of the hotel. Updating them.
She’s late, she’s still coming, next update ten minutes.

I dialed the next number.

“Since even my best equipment can’t trace the call, I’m guessing this is you, Ms. Farrell,” he drawled. “Now I’m truly praying you do have something for me, ’cause y’know, a little agent like me has got to expend a whole lot of career credit to put an operation this size together on a promise.”

Little agent, my ass. Ingram had clearance on this from the National Security Director with one phone call. Everyone in the FBI had their tails up to find out what the hell was going on under their noses.

For me, I’d had enough. I’d been loyal to Ops 4-10, but it wasn’t loyalty that’d cover getting put back in that cell for the scientists to experiment on. It wasn’t loyalty that’d cover getting kidnapped off the street. It wasn’t loyalty that had been repaid.

And Agent Ingram had hit me hard with his comment at Manassah. If the goddamn National Security Director didn’t know about Ops 4-10, just who the hell did? I’d sweated this afternoon, reviewing every operation I’d ever been on. There wasn’t one that felt wrong, and I’d been happier when I’d come to that conclusion. But what had Ops 4-10 done since then? What about Keith’s comment’s last week about the way command problems were expected to be handled on the base. Who had oversight of this?

Well, it was time to take the covers off.

“Ms. Farrell? You there?”

“Sorry. Yeah, Agent Ingram, we are good to go. The hammer is on the junction of 14
^th
and Welton, right in front of the convention center. I’m transmitting a photo to you now. This is…” the breath caught in my throat, “this is Sergeant Keith Alverson, of a covert special operations battalion called Ops 4-10.” I stopped, staring blankly at nothing, realization coursing through me.

Shit. I’d just breached it. I’d pulled off the covers.

“Ms. Farrell?”

“Sorry. The anvil, well, I told you, these guys are good, I haven’t got any confirmed spots, but there are three or four locations where I’d put a team.”

“Yup. I’m looking at a map. ’Cross the street, in the center, the café and hotel. Hold on.”

I could hear him moving teams around. “Green,” someone called out. “Green on teams one, two and four. Red on three. Nine minutes.”

“Nine minutes and counting, Ms. Farrell. We’ll move in.”

“I’ll run a distraction,” I said. The misery clenched in my stomach. Keith. For God’s sake, Keith.

“Yeah, a phone call will be good.”

“I’m going down there.”

“No—”

I cut the connection and slung everything into the backpack.

Coming up to nine minutes, I was walking towards him. He saw me and turned, his hair ruffling. I couldn’t read the expression on his face. I wondered what he saw on mine.

“You never did tell me who the ring was for, Keith,” I called out by way of a greeting.

He looked startled. “Yeah, I guess not. Julie. Remember her?”

I did. She was all right, Julie. He could have done much worse. “I do. Does she know where you are?”

“I’m not here to break up my marriage.” He started to sound edgy. “What’s the problem, Amber?”

“So she doesn’t know where you are.”

“What’s the problem?” he said again.

The gap closed. This was stupid. I’d said I would run a distraction, not land myself in the middle of an FBI operation. Ingram would chew me out for this, and I’d deserve it. But I couldn’t stop myself.

“This is nothing to do with the colonel, is it? Julie doesn’t know where you are because you’re under SOP. She doesn’t know what you’re doing, but if she did, do you think she would agree with it?”

“What are you talking about, Amber?” He hadn’t lied, because he hadn’t answered, but there was guilt written all over his face, laced through his scent and in the speeding of his heart.

“You can’t lie to me, you never could and you sure as hell can’t now. Who’s calling the shots on this op, Keith? Who sanctioned it? Do you know who you’re really working for today?”

A couple of trucks moved down the road. One slowed and turned to block the line of sight from the parking garage, the other pulled up in front of the café.

Keith knew. We’d run ops together, he was trained as well as I was—maybe he was better now, since he was current. His eyes darted left and right. I’d have been running already, but then again, I’d never done an op on American soil. The rules would change.

“Don’t run,” I whispered. I didn’t know what their rules of engagement were, but the FBI were hot for this.

“What the—”

“FBI. If you’re legit, you’ve got nothing to worry about.” I turned before he could see I was crying. “Goodbye, Keith,” I said.

“Amber! Amber,” he called out. Armed agents in Kevlar vests were sprinting towards us. I half-turned. His hands were held out at his side. He wasn’t going to be stupid. The look on his face…I might have thought there was relief, but I just didn’t believe in him anymore.

“Amber,” he said again, and I did turn, I had to. That’s how I am. An agent jostled me as he passed. I barely noticed it. Keith’s face was twisted, as if in pain. They’d wrestled him down on the ground. “What did they do to you?” he called out, as the agents started the process of cuffing and searching.

Nothing. I turned and started to walk away. More agents jostled me till I felt like I was in a pinball machine. I looked back once more, but he was hidden behind the dark jackets. Nothing.

They did nothing to me. I started to trot, bouncing off people. Someone was calling me, far away. I broke into a sprint, breaking away. Across the road. Car horns blaring at me. They did nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Chapter 40

I don’t know how many bars there were laid out that way in Denver, but I found too many.

The room was deep enough to be difficult to see in and there was a mirror on the far wall behind the bar, so I could sit with my back to the door and keep one eye open, on the remote chance that whoever was following me found me by accident.

I was pleased that I was so responsible, because I was also drunk.

It had been at least ten minutes since the last drink, and I was thirsty and running short of cash, so I got a couple of Blue Moons. The bartender tried the joke with the slice of orange on the glass and I growled at him. He retreated to the other end where his regulars sat, far away from the bag lady with the crazy eyes and the bruises.

I hadn’t gotten drunk like this since ’05. We’d lost six of the platoon in a night ambush. One of them was the lieutenant we were supposed to be looking after. I was a corporal at the time, and went drinking with the other three squad leaders. Including Keith.

Keith had been here, in Denver, only a week ago, warning me about changes in the unit. He’d said that none of the people I knew in 4-10 would take a mission to come after me, and yet he’d been there this afternoon. What had changed in a week?

Was I missing something? Did I deserve to be back in that isolation cell? What had so upset me this afternoon that I’d gone on a bender? Every time I thought back to my reaction to Keith’s last words, it flowed away, as if I was trying to grab smoke.

Booze is okay for questions, but I’ve never found it’s good for answers. And I couldn’t afford to drink any more. I certainly didn’t need to drink any more.

I looked in the mirror. One drunk, scruffy, five-ten, sharp-nosed, auburn-haired mix of Irish and Arapaho looked back. I didn’t look evil. At least I could see myself in the mirror. Vampires aren’t supposed to be visible in mirrors. How would that work? I laughed.

“It works because vampires don’t exist, so that’s why you can’t see them in the mirror. Perfectly logical,” I muttered.

The bartender looked at me laughing and shifted uncomfortably. He might be working up to refusing me another, if I was asking. I wasn’t.

I drained the last beer and he edged over. I stared at him.

Go on, tell me I’ve had enough, punk.

“You want me to call a cab?” he said.

I shook my head, feeling a bit ashamed. “I’ll walk it off.”

Jeez. All the way to Haven. Not likely. Maybe I’d need to call for a lift. I could see that going down almost as well as my failure to get to Haven as soon as possible.

“Not a good idea to be wandering around at this time of night,” he mumbled.

I thanked him and swiveled on the seat. He was right, and he’d done his job. I’d clear my head first and then take it from there.

It’d gotten cold outside. At least I had the jacket, and my pack kept my back warm. I was still wearing drafty jeans held together with a safety pin, though. I shook my head again and started walking. I had a long way to go to get back to the car and yeah, I needed to get there for the octopus, so I could make a call, so I could get taken to Haven and get chewed out by Skylur. Better that than either Jen or Alex seeing me in this state.

Dumb.

I took a short cut. Even dumber.

I was still wrapped up in a cheerful, oblivious haze, wondering why the bracelet felt a bit itchy, when the first hiss of warning came out of the night.

“Hey,
chica
. Hey, hey, over here.” Someone made kissing noises and they laughed. At least a dozen of them by the sound of it.

I stopped and turned around. A couple of them strolled from the shadows, followed by others.

“Shit. Not so little, eh?
Mamacita, aqui, aqui.
Come here. I’ll look after you. I’ll make you so-o-o happy.” Big mouth.

They were part of the street gangs that come and go. All taken in with the drag-ass jeans and silly hand sign glamor. Tattoos and testosterone. One of them had half his head shaved. For all their Mexican slang, they were as random a mix as these streets could throw up. And they were plenty old enough for this to get ugly.

If I’d have been sober, I would have come up with a comment and kept walking. The alley wasn’t that long.

There were a dozen of them. Some would be armed. I was alone and drunk. The HK was in the pack and sudden moves to reach for it would be like blowing a starting whistle.