Hot Rebel (23 page)

“I hear you, man.” Bill sighed. “You be careful out there too, Johnny. Qu’rim’s a bad place to be these days. You’re getting too close to retirement for this shit.”

Mendez snorted. “I’m forty-nine, old man. Younger than you. And I’m not ready for retirement yet. I’d still like a star one of these days.”

“Hell, you already run the most elite unit the military has. Why do you need a star? There are generals with less power than you have.”

“Yeah, but I’m never satisfied with where I am. There’s always a new mountain to climb.”

“I’ll call if I hear anything.”

“No matter the hour. I’m here.”

“I know it.”

Mendez ended the call and sat with his eyes focused on the far wall. What the fuck now? Let Brandy take out this scientist? Send in Echo Squad? Storm Ian Black’s headquarters and take him into custody?

Fuck, so many options. And none of them good. He picked up the phone and made another call. He needed transport—and he needed it fast.

*
 
*
 
*

The party was in full swing across the street and had been for over an hour. There was no sign of the target, and no word from Mendez or HOT. Nick watched the crowd with mounting frustration. It had been about four hours since Mendez told him not to act, but there’d been nothing since. He’d sent a text message. All he’d received in return was a simple acknowledgement.

Victoria was on edge. He’d watched her prowl the apartment for hours now, her slim body encased in black, her hair swept back in a ruthless ponytail. He’d wanted to strip her naked and make love to her more than once, wanted to calm her with his mouth and body, but every moment was crucial and there was no time to take away from the task at hand.

They’d gotten the dossier on Igor Chernovsky from Black. The most current photo of the scientist was only a week old. He was tall and lean, with the gaunt look of a man who lived off caffeine and cigarettes and probably forgot to eat half the time. Chernovsky didn’t look like a well man, that’s for certain, though there was nothing about him being ill in the dossier.

Nick scanned the crowd again, but there was still no sign of Chernovsky. If the man was here, he wasn’t coming outside. Nor was he walking in front of any of the many illuminated windows of the consulate.

Nick scrubbed a hand through his hair and growled in frustration. Beside him, Victoria looked up from the weapon she’d been cradling against her cheek. The long rifle was sleek and beautiful, ready to kill with a single squeeze of the trigger.
 

Victoria was much the same, he thought, without a trace of irony. He’d worked with other snipers before, but none had been quite so intense as she was. Then again, none of them were dealing with the emotional turmoil of a sister being held by a terrorist. Victoria had been quiet since the call from Emily. It killed him that he had no information for her, but the best he could do was hope that HOT figured out where her sister was before it was too late.

He didn’t know what to say to her other than to tell her that he believed in the colonel’s ability to deliver. And that he usually did.

But he wasn’t as certain this time. And there wasn’t a fucking thing he could do about it, though he kept trying to imagine how he could create the outcome Victoria wanted. He had no answers, and it pissed him off.

“You okay?” she asked, her voice a little rusty.

“Yeah. You?”
 

She shrugged and turned back to her weapon and the scope mounted on top of it. “I’m all right. I just want to get the fuck out of here.”

“I know.” They’d argued about who was going to take the shot. He’d said she was too upset and angry. She’d said he was too arrogant and too used to getting his way. In the end, he’d suggested they flip for it.

She’d told him to fuck off and stationed herself at the weapon. He’d finally decided, after fighting the urge to drag her up bodily and prove to her that there was at least one area of life in which she obeyed him without question, that fighting about it would serve no purpose other than to piss them both off. And cancel out any chance he stood of getting in her panties once this was over.

He scanned the crowd again, almost bored with the routine—but this time a chill shot through him as the binocs landed on a new arrival. A tall, gaunt man in a tuxedo emerged from a car that had just pulled up in front of the consulate. The man held a lit cigarette in one hand and a briefcase in another. He turned and looked toward the road, almost as if he were looking at the apartment where they were hidden, and then flicked the cigarette from his fingers before ducking into the building.

Fuck
. The fact the man had a briefcase did not bode well for the idea that Chernovsky didn’t have vials with him. Maybe it was papers, but maybe it wasn’t.

“Chernovsky’s arrived,” he said, and he felt Victoria tense beside him for a split second. “He’s carrying a briefcase.”

“Shit… I should call Ian.”

Nick started to tell her not to do it just yet when the next car disgorged its passenger. Nick was still watching, out of habit, when Ian Black stepped out into the open. Nick’s eyes bulged as Black moved away from the car. His face was wreathed in smiles as he greeted someone who hurried over and shook his hand.

“I don’t think you should call Ian.”

“Holy shit,” Victoria said, and he knew she’d seen Black. “Why didn’t he fucking tell us he’d be here?”

“I don’t know. But I don’t like it.” Nick whipped out his phone and pressed the button to speed-dial HQ. Mendez answered on the first ring.

“Chernovsky’s arrived and he’s got a briefcase. Ian Black is here too.”

Mendez swore. Nick held the phone away from his ear for a long minute while the colonel turned the air blue.

“That wily son of a bitch,” Mendez said when he could form a complete sentence. “He’s the fucking buyer, and he needs you to kill Chernovsky so he either doesn’t have to pay or the scientist doesn’t make another deal. Goddammit!”

That’s pretty much what Nick was thinking too. Why else would Black send them on this secretive goose chase and not tell them he was also going to be in Ras al-Dura at the appointed time?

“Do we take the shot or not?”

Mendez didn’t answer for a moment, though Nick could hear the man swearing under his breath. “Take the shot. Let Black win this round, but only because we’re fucking going after him next.”

“Copy, sir.”

“And Brandy?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Your team is there along with Echo Squad, but there’s no time to get you wired in. You’ll have to go this alone, son.”

“Not a problem, sir. It’s what I do.”

“Good luck.”

*
 
*
 
*

Victoria couldn’t believe what her scope was showing her. Ian Black chatted with another man, smiling and laughing as he held a drink in his hand. Periodically, he seemed to look toward the apartment building. He knew they were there, of course. And he knew they were watching.

She kept expecting him to take his phone out and text her or something, but her phone remained silent. She’d threatened to quit earlier. For all he knew, she had. Was he here to do the job himself? Or was he here because he was the buyer?

If so, why the fuck did he need her to kill Chernovsky?

Colonel Mendez had told Nick to go through with the job, so that’s what they were doing. If Ian was the buyer, then they had to stay on target and eliminate Chernovsky. And if Ian wasn’t the buyer, they still had to stop the scientist. Maybe Ian was there to prevent the vials from falling into rogue hands. That’s what she hoped, anyway.

Because no matter how pissed she was at Ian for various reasons, she’d always thought he was honorable. She’d never wanted to believe he’d set her up, and when he insisted he hadn’t, she’d been relieved.

But what if she was a fool? What if she was a poor judge of character and Ian was as dirty as seven-day-old socks?

She told herself that she’d pegged Jonah right, and Rascal—and hell, even Zaran bin Yusuf since she’d never liked him. But what if she’d gotten Ian wrong?

“No sign of Chernovsky,” Nick said from his position beside her. “One mil right.”

She dialed as he said, but she searched Ian out again. Still talking, still laughing and acting like he was right at home. Disavowed CIA. Russian spy? Double agent?

God, Gramps had to be spinning in his grave at the idea she’d worked for this man for two years.
 

Victoria chewed the inside of her lip. She was hurt and angry, and she wanted to call Ian and ask him what the fuck. But she wouldn’t. She’d do this damn job, and she’d walk right back into his compound and pretend she was a happy little soldier.

Because, more than anything, she wanted answers. If she had to help Nick break into Ian’s server room herself, she’d do it.

“Chernovsky. Twelve o’clock.”

Victoria’s breathing slowed as she found her target and concentrated on him. Once she pulled this trigger, the party would descend into chaos. She and Nick would have seconds to get out before the apartment was swarmed by Russians or Qu’rimi authorities—or both. They’d planned their escape route to the second. All she had to do was pull the trigger to set it into motion.

Chernovsky didn’t have the briefcase this time. Not that she’d expected him to. Her finger rested over the trigger, but she couldn’t shoot just yet. Chernovsky was standing too near a group of innocent bystanders.
 

“Black’s on the move,” Nick said, and Victoria’s heart squeezed tight. She couldn’t follow Ian when she had to follow Chernovsky.

But Ian passed into her field of view. He didn’t speak to Chernovsky. He simply walked by the man.

Chernovsky bent to pick something up off the ground. The crowd slid in front of him and Victoria made a sound of frustration. But then his tall head rose above the rest and he turned and walked toward the edge of the gathering, moving in the same direction Ian had gone.

“This is it, Victoria.”

“I know.”
 

She followed him away from the crowd. He didn’t go far, but he moved into a place where no one else was around. She thought Ian might appear, but he didn’t.

“Now. It has to be now.”

She heard the urgency in Nick’s voice, but she had her own rhythm of doing things. She pulled in a breath—and exhaled slowly, her finger squeezing the tight trigger back toward her body. She said a prayer for Igor Chernovsky’s soul as she took the shot that would end his life.

She always said a prayer. She didn’t doubt that the killings were necessary—kill one, save thousands—but they were still husbands, fathers, sons, and brothers to someone. Someone, somewhere, must have loved them at one time even if others feared the destruction they could cause.

The shot hit its target. Igor Chernovsky dropped to the ground, and the crowd erupted in screams.

Nick bolted to his feet and began breaking down his equipment. Victoria disassembled the sniper rifle and stowed it quickly. They’d wiped the apartment for prints earlier, packed everything they didn’t need, and set the bags near the door. All they had to do was grab their gear and go.

Across the street, the consulate erupted in pandemonium. Somewhere a siren blared into the night. Victoria slung her pack over her shoulder, grabbed her case, and shot for the door behind Nick.

They shouldered the rest of what they needed and then burst out the door and down the hall. Alarms were sounding in the night as they raced into a utility stairwell and started pounding down the stairs. If they encountered anyone, they’d have to determine quickly if it was friend or foe and act.

But no one got in their way as they ran into the parking garage and raced for the Land Rover. Nick had moved the vehicle earlier, putting it near the exit. There were other cars in the garage, but no one else was there. People were home, for the most part, and settling in for the night. Except now their night was interrupted by the sounds of sirens and screaming.

Nick threw their gear in the car and covered it with blankets; then he got into the driver’s seat while she took the passenger’s after whipping a burka over her head and settling it over her clothing. They’d determined he’d be the driver earlier, and she was actually glad of it, considering how drained she felt.

The street in front of the consulate was blocked off as the Russians quickly took charge of the situation. Nick turned the opposite direction from the consulate and started down the street. If they could just reach the end, they’d slide into the city traffic and become anonymous.

But an armored car shot across the intersection and blocked the road.
 

“Fuck,” Nick muttered as he slammed on the brake. There were other cars caught in the jam besides them, so it wasn’t immediately dangerous.

But it
was
dangerous. If the Russians insisted on searching their car—and they likely would since neither one of them was Qu’rimi—they’d be discovered.

Victoria reached inside her burka and put her hand on her Sig. Her heart thumped, and sweat rolled between her breasts. If the Russians took them into custody, she didn’t have high hopes for their fate once the guns were found.