Love Is in the Air (105 page)

“Good to know,” Val answered, imagining the clean-cut youth. He was the opposite of what a computer geek should look and act like. Unlike most CIA hackers, Trigger did not have a criminal background. Hell, Val didn’t think the kid had a parking ticket.

Even on Christmas Eve, the kid probably had on his three-piece suit, his tie perfectly knotted.
Never
loosened. His Mormon upbringing shone through. He could be making ten times what the agency paid him out in the private sector, yet he was dedicated to a life of service.

Which worked for Val. Hopefully, she wouldn’t need his expertise. Hopefully, this was just a wild goose chase led by a bored Russian. Although, as the SVR’s top asset, Ukav seldom had time to be bored.

None of that mattered right now, though. Right now, she had to climb down a slick vertical shaft, in stilettos no less. Seriously, Bond never had these problems.

Holstering her gun, Val braced her shoes against the sides, scuffing their perfect alligator leather. A small price to pay. Pressing her palms against the cool metal, Val lowered herself into the shaft. Foot by foot, she made her way down, following Ukav.

Finally, her feet hit the bottom of the shaft. Beyond the thin metal, she could hear the grinding and groaning of a furnace. Crawling, Val followed the shaft that with the dust disturbed.

Conveniently, Ukav left the grate off. At least she knew that she was hot on his trail. Crawling out of the vent, Val shook off the knot in her shoulders. Pulling her gun again, she checked her corners, then moved out into the boiler room. The place was dim and dank. Years of steam had etched their way into the concrete walls. Rivulets of water coursed down the cement.

Huge cylinders created a maze of steel in the basement. Rusted steel. The air was heavy and humid. Val pinched her nose against the strong smell of metal. Plus it was hot. The furnace wasn’t exactly well insulated.

Gun up, Val cautiously moved forward. “Any idea where the Harkats are?” she whispered into the darkness.

“Looks like they took the direct route to the basement,” Trinka said.

The only warning of the attack was the clink of metal against metal. Val twisted, aiming up, but her shot went wide as a man threw himself from the top of the cylinder. The ricochet, though, came back, puncturing the metal. Steam blasted out, blistering the man’s face. Even so, he raised the crowbar and came down on her gun arm.

Pain jangled down the limb as the gun hit the floor and skidded under a cylinder.

Bastard.

Pivoting on her heel, Val came back around with her elbow, burying it in his solar plexus. The guy’s garlic hummus breath heated the back of her neck. Taking her very pointed heel, Val slammed it into his foot. This doubled him over even further. Her right arm still useless, Val came at him with a roundhouse kick, knocking the crow bar out of his hand.

He tried to come back with a left hook—however, he telegraphed the move from Bangladesh. She leaned back, letting the fist swing right past her. In a smooth motion, she grabbed the crow bar with her left hand and brought it up against the side of his temple. The impact made a sick thunk, and suddenly there was a dent in the guy’s skull.

He keeled over, smacking into the cement face first.

“That’s how you use a crow bar,” Val informed him as she stepped over his body.

“Ma’am, there are three terrorists down there, according to the footage,” Trigger informed her.

“Make that two,” Val countered.

She took several photos of the terrorist’s face and sent them to Trigger.

“You should still be able to get facial recognition,” she said, trying to focus on the intact side of the guy’s face. Valentine didn’t feel even a twinge of sympathy for the terrorist. They came up into her grill like that? Threatening
her
mall?

Technically, she couldn’t operate on American soil, but in a situation like this? She didn’t think her supervisors would complain one bit. She also didn’t think the founding fathers would be too bothered by her actions.

Gunfire sounded from deeper inside the boiler room. She turned just in time, as the bullet slid across her back. It hurt like a mofo, but wasn’t fatal. Putting a cylinder between her and the shooter, she pulled out the knife in her boot.

This was going to be tricky. Bringing a knife to a terrorist gunfight was never a good idea. But her gun was gone. She didn’t think she could call for a timeout to dig around under the steam holding tank.

So a knife it was.

Above the hiss of the steam and the groaning of the furnace, Valentine could hear the shooter’s footstep. This had to be perfectly timed, or… well, she wouldn’t need to worry about any bomb they might have set.

Kicking a few pebbles out past the cylinder, Val was rewarded by a burst of gunfire. Wild, misdirected gunfire. The gunman should be more cautious this time. Jumping from behind the cylinder, Val let the knife fly. If she had miscalculated by even a few inches, this would be the end.

Luckily, the blade flew true, striking the man square in the heart. He didn’t have time to pull the trigger. The gun slipped from his hand harmlessly. The man’s face showed surprise.

“That’s what happens when you go up against a professional,” Val told him as he pitched forward.

These guys were used to hitting soft targets in India. Welcome to America, asshole.

“I take it I can say there is only one left?” Trigger asked.

“Yep,” Val said as she scooped up the assailant’s gun.

One more to go.

“You should be looking for the gas inlet,” Trigger said. “It should be on the far eastern wall.”

“Why?”

“A bomb placed there would do the most structural damage to the mall.”

“Got it,” Val said. It was nice to have a double-degreed MIT graduate on the payroll. For such a staunch young Republican, Trigger certainly knew how to think like a terrorist.

Val headed for the east wall, checking around each cylinder before she stepped out. Her right arm tingled as the nerve came back to life. Still, Val carried her acquired gun in her left hand. Not ideal, but what could she do? She couldn’t risk a single millisecond in nerve delay.

Ducking around the last cylinder, Valentine identified the bomb before the bomber. Damn, the thing was big and complicated. The man, though? Average. To think—this scrawny little guy could kill how many innocent victims?

And as the timer ticked down from 5 minutes, he didn’t even have the cojones to die with his victims. He wasn’t a suicide bomber. They had set a time delay, just as they had in India. The Taliban had realized that they were running out of willing young suicide bombers. If they kept blowing up their followers, they would be out of business pretty darn quickly.

Hence the new wave of time-delayed terrorist bombs.

Did the guy know his associates were already dead? Did he realize he was next? Apparently so, as he spun around with a gun pointed at her.

“Drop it,” Valentine ordered. “It’s over. My backup is on the way.” More quietly, she added, “Right?”

“Bomb squad, FBI, and local police are en route,” Trinka confirmed.

Good. She hated to lie to terrorists.

“Arrogant American. We might die, but so will your pig countrymen.”

Valentine thought of the little old woman manning the donation bucket. “Only if you can hold me off for more than five minutes. Your companions didn’t last five seconds.”

That got the guy’s eyes twitching, as he scanned right and left. Apparently, he had hoped that he had some backup coming, as well.

“Put it down and you’ll live,” Valentine offered.

The man snorted. though. “So that I can go to Gitmo? I don’t think so.”

This was not good. They were at a standoff, and the guy might not have started the day in suicide mode, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t switch into it any moment. Valentine didn’t feel like dying today.

So instead of shooting, she used her less-than-obedient right hand to unlatch her belt. With a snap, she whipped the snakeskin leather off her waist. The terrorist took a step to the left, blocking the bomb with his body.

“What is this?”

Valentine snapped the leather again, flinging it toward the man’s gun arm. It coiled itself around his wrist.

“Is this some game to you?” the terrorist demanded.

With her thumb, she pushed the belt’s tong all the way back. With a single spark of electricity, the fibers in the belt realigned. And, much like an anaconda’s myofibers, began to contract.

“Guess we’ll see,” Val replied, as the man’s face contorted. His fingers turned a dark pink as the circulation was cut off.

He must have realized it was only seconds until he would lose his grip on his gun, as he charged forward, squeezing the trigger. Val stood steady, though, as the shots went wide. She put three bullets in his chest, then one in his forehead, just in case he was wearing a vest. Val started taking pictures of the bomb before he even fell to the ground. She was no bomb expert. Luckily, though, they had one back at Langley.

“Trigger, what do you think?”

‘That is a big bomb,” he said.

“Yes, I got that much. Am I going to have to cut a wire?” Val asked. “Because if I do, I have to go get my knife out of a guy’s chest.”

“No, no,” Trigger said. “That is a collapsible circuit. If you try to disable it, it will detonate.”

“Okay, then what are we going to do?” Val asked.

She watched the digital timer speed down from five minutes.

“The bomb squad is ten minutes out,” Trinka added, as if reading Val’s mind. The young woman did want to work out in the field one day. Val was glad to see her starting to think like a field operative.

“So it’s just me and no time to evacuate,” Val summarized. “Trigger, got anything?

“The timer is the weak link,” he said. “Do you see a fire extinguisher?”

Valentine glanced around, finding the object in question. “Got it.”

“Fire it at the timer and timer only.”

“And if I miss?”

“We and everyone else at the mall will know about it.”

Great
. She grabbed the extinguisher, pointed it to the wall. and sprayed it. These things weren’t exactly precision devices. Getting a feel for how wide the foam would spread, Val turned back to the bomb.

“Here it goes.”

Val got down low on the floor, ripping her nylons, and aimed the hose up, trying to catch the timer from the bottom, sparing the rest of the bomb. Or, at least, that was the theory.

The canister in her hand got cold, really cold, as the timer frosted over with white foam. Val had to reach out and wipe the screen clear to make sure it had stopped. There it was, frozen at four minutes, three seconds.

Not bad for a run to the mall.

“We’re good,” Val announced.

Trinka and Trigger whooped in her ear. Val switched off her mic as she turned to the corner of the room. “You could have helped out, ya know.”

Ukav stepped out from the shadows. “But to see you in action is, how do you say it? Poetry in motion?’

“What are you doing here, anyway?” she asked.

Ukav only grinned slightly. He was far too seasoned to actually tell her. She could guess, though.

“How much do you want to bet that this bomb was made from Russian parts?”

“I am not a betting man,” Ukav said.

“Did you fund this attack?” Valentine asked him.

“Russia does not engage in terrorist activities,” Ukav said, puffing out his chest. Which was a little hypocritical, since Putin was suspected of killing his political opponents with ricin.

“But you do pay protection money,” Valentine stated. It was a new ploy by terrorists to extort money from countries in exchange for a guarantee they wouldn’t be hit by attacks.

Ukav shrugged. Which was the spy equivalent of an emphatic ‘yes.’

“India is your ally,” Valentine said. “Yet your ‘protection’ money paid for those attacks.”

“So you can see why this is so awkward,” Ukav replied.

Awkward was an understatement.

“I can’t let you take the bomb,” Valentine said. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“I’d prefer to head home for Christmas dinner.”

“I’ll give you a ten-minute head start.”

Ukav’s grin spread into a full smile, his usually severe features softening. “I won’t need it.”

The man melted back into the shadows and was gone.

“Everything okay, Valentine?” Trinka asked in her ear.

Valentine reengaged the mic. “It’s all good. And let Trigger know the belt actually worked.”

“I told you!” Trigger exclaimed.

“You know I only wore the damn thing because it was so cute,” Valentine replied.

“Which is why I made sure that it was fashion forward,” Trigger explained.

Good to know that the kid could go from the CIA over to Calvin Klein if he wanted to.

* * *

Valentine rushed up to the toy store to find the woman who had been in front of her at the front of the line. The police had finally arrived, and she had turned the crime scene over to them, since she officially had never been there. They would credit some mall cop with the discovery. Time to get back to her real mission. Val elbowed her way back into the line. The man behind her tsked.

I just saved your life
, Val thought, but how could she ever say it?

The woman in front of her grabbed the three bags from the counter, leaving her little girl hanging, literally hanging from her mother’s neck. Kids. The girl hadn’t wanted to be held, and now that her mother’s hands were busy, she couldn’t get the little girl off of her.

With fond memories of her own girl at that age, Val walked up to the counter and purchased her Baby Gaga doll. Val didn’t quite get why this toy was all the rage. She guessed that the fact that each time you squeezed the baby, a Lady Gaga song played was the attraction. You could also upload your own playlist, as well. What a little girl needed with this feature, Val wasn’t quite sure.

Taking the bag, Val headed for the exit. There was the little old woman again, ringing her bell.

Val walked up to her and handed her the bag. “Here’s a donation.”

The woman accepted the bag, and when she pulled out the doll, her eyes widened. “You could get a thousand on eBay for this.”