Operation Zulu Redemption--Complete Season 1 (30 page)

Téya collapsed to the ground, coughing. Gasping and hauling in greedy breaths of air. By her hand, she saw a syringe. “
If you want your friend to live…
”

Nuala.

The syringe held a vial of amber-colored liquid.

Antidote.

Trace

Paris, France

27 May – 1520 Hours

“Where is Téya?!” Trace roared at Houston, who didn’t dare look up at him.

“I don’t know. She went the wrong way. I didn’t have surveillance equipment prepared for that!” Houston sounded like he was squealing.

“Why didn’t she come back here?” Arms wrapped around herself, Annie paced the small room they used for the recon location.

“Noodle,” Trace barked into the coms again. “Noodle, talk to me.” He snatched off the headset and threw it down.

“Dude, I told you—something happened with that explosion. We lost radio communications. Doesn’t make sense but we did.”

Trace started for the door. “I’m going to the tower!”

“But Téya—”

“She’s AWOL. King is the only one I can verify is still alive.”

He stepped out into the sun and his phone rang. Trace glanced at the caller ID as the door behind him opened.

“Trace, wait.” Annie came out of the safe house.

He didn’t recognize the number, but few people had it, so he answered. “Weston.”

“Trace,” Annie said from behind, her words colliding with the caller’s.

“Nuala’siintrouble.Gettohernow.Hepoisonedher.”

Trace froze. Blinked. The words untangled themselves. With an intake of breath, he lurched forward. Then turned back to Annie. “Go back. Help Houston clear out. Meet at the extraction point.”

Her face went white. A barely there shake of her head.

“If we don’t make it, just go. We’ll follow.”

Annie shook her head harder.

“Go, or our lives are on your head!”

She went back. Trace bolted across the street, through the square. He leaped over shrubs. Hustled down a sidewalk, almost toppling a baby carriage thing, and kept going. He threw himself through the opening to the tower. Hauled himself up the stairs two, sometimes three at a time. “Noodle!” he shouted. Looked up the spiraling steps but saw nothing.

Exhaustion and fear weighted his limbs, but he wasn’t stopping. He used the walls to pull himself faster. Rounding the last curve, he grabbed the wrought-iron rail. Propelled himself to the lookout.

Saw Nuala slumped to the side.

Trace skidded over to her, dropped to his knees. He thrust two fingers against her neck.

Nuala’s eyes snapped open.

“Nuala, stay with me.”

A trembling, wobbly hand came up. Then thumped to the ground. A feathered tranq dart rolled out of Nuala’s hand.

“Son of a—”

A gurgling sound came from her throat.

“Nuala, stay with me.” Trace laid her out. Heard the hiss of breath escaping through what sounded like a pinprick opening in her throat. He pressed an ear to her chest, listening to her heart. Noticed her lips were going gray. Her pulse was erratic. Slowing.

Crap! What could he do? He started compressions and breathing, but knew with the poison—whatever it was—in her body, this probably wasn’t going to work. But he wouldn’t give up.

Thuds below alerted him to someone coming up the stairs. It’d better not be whoever had tranqed her. Trace plucked his weapon out and set it beside Nuala’s hip for easy access. So help him, if anyone but Téya came through that doorway…

Feet thudded. Grunts. Coming fast.

Whirl of black and purple. Then Téya burst through the opening.

A syringe went airborne toward him.

Trace caught it and slid it into Nuala’s hip and pressed the plunger. Glaring at Téya, he kept doing compressions on Nuala. “What happened?” Slumped against the wall and holding her knees, she gulped air as if trying to drink from a fire hydrant. She straightened, holding her side, and swallowed. Her face was cut, bruised, and bloodied. Her fists bore the telltale marks that she’d fought back—and hard. “I was foll”—desperation for air choked off the word—“followed from the…café. A man tried to…kill me. Sirens scared him…he gave me that and ran.” Nuala writhed and cried out.

“Easy,” Trace said. “Easy. You’re safe.” He guided her into a sitting position. “Just—take it slow.”

Nuala held a trembling hand to her head as she leaned against the wall. “Whoa, my head hurts. What happened?”

Holding up the tranq, Trace supplied the answer. But he wasn’t worried about that. Not directly.

“Did you recognize the man who attacked you?”

“No, and I’m really sick of men attacking me.” Téya grunted, watching Nuala. “What happened to chivalry?”

“We need to get out of here.” Trace knelt beside Nuala, who was slowly regaining a healthy color in her lips again. “If we assist, can you walk?”

Nuala nodded faintly. “Whatever they did to me really sapped my strength.”

Supporting her between them, Trace and Téya helped Nuala down the stairwell. Trace had her equipment slung over his shoulder as Téya gave her support. Trace phoned in. “Bring the car.”

“Leave it. Come get Noodle. Two and I can pack up the rest, get a cab. Noodle needs to see a doctor.”

A cab pulled to the curb as Téya and Trace guided Nuala there. Annie hopped out to help situate her friend.

Trace caught her arm. “Get to the hotel. Contact Boone for a safe house—they can get Nuala the medical help she needs.”

“What about you?” She blinked. “And Téya?”

“We’ll grab the gear and go back to the hotel. We may need to rendezvous outside France.”

Her eyes were wide with understanding and fright, but she nodded, handed him a set of keys. “The van.” Then climbed in and left.

“C’mon,” Trace said as he headed back to the monitoring site. They grabbed the gear and loaded the rest into the back. They had little time, and this equipment had to go back to the safe house, along with their weapons.

Trace’s phone rang again. He tossed a box into the van then yanked out his phone. “Weston.”

“Trace, someone trashed our hotel room,” Annie said.

He dropped his gaze to the ground. “Get out.”

“We’re at a coffee shop.”

“Okay, I’m going to give you a number. You call it, then do whatever they tell you. Clear?”

“Yeah,” Annie whispered.

He heard the strain in her voice, and it mirrored what was building in him. After he gave her the number, he told her not to worry about him and Téya. “We’ll find our way out. Rendezvous Plan B.”

“Right.”

Trace hung up, not trusting himself—he’d break rank when it came to Annie. Do anything to keep her safe.

“What’s wrong?” Téya asked.

Pocketing the phone, Trace turned. “Cover’s blown. Hotel was trashed.” He hoisted a box into the van. “We’re on our own.”

“A tattoo,” Téya suddenly announced as Trace squatted beside a steel case, securing the locks.

“What?”

“The man who followed me—he had a tattoo. On his left cheek, below his eye.”

“What was it?” Trace lifted the heavy camera and stacked it on top of two others, wedging it to be sure it didn’t fall and break while they were clearing out.

“I… I’m not sure. He was kind of off his rocker. I think he took a picture of me—I guess he has a trophy case of those he beats up or kills,” Téya said, coiling up an endless sea of snaking cables. “A moon, I think. And a star.”

Trace froze. Hands on the steel case, he stared at it. He straightened. “A moon and star. You mean a star-crescent?”

Téya smiled. “Is there a difference?”

“Yes. A big, important one.” He grabbed a pencil and drew the star-crescent then held it up. “This? Is this what you saw?”

Téya frowned, her unease evident. “Yeah, I guess. Why?”

“No guessing, Téya.” Trace snapped the picture and stepped forward. “Is this it?”

“Yes. That’s what I saw.”

Trace cursed. Pivoted. Punched the van a couple more times as he cursed. He turned. Ran his hands over his shorn hair then held his head. Téya watched, her face ashen. “What?”

“We have to get out of here.” Even as he said it, he moved. “Now. Move!”

“What?” When Téya got scared, Téya got angry.

Trace went to close the van doors. All this equipment…it’d slow them down. Make them easy targets. “We have to leave the equipment.”

Téya yanked his arm around. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He held her eyes and let out a heavy sigh. “That man—the man who tried to kill you? He’s not just some guy. He’s called The Turk.”

Téya’s smile wavered. “Ooooh,” she said, her sarcasm wavering like the smile on her lips. “That sounds…scary.”

“Should be. He’s one of the most terrifying assassins known in the covert world.” Trace clicked his tongue and gave a lone shake of his head. “I’m surprised you’re alive right now.”

“But…but he—”

Holy—the sudden thought struck him like a bolt of lightning, singeing his confidence and electrifying his fear. “Téya.”

She stilled, her face blanching.

“You said he took a picture?”

Her smile slipped.

Trace cursed again, God forgive him. He kicked the tire of the van. Kicked it again.

“Congratulations,” Téya said, “you’re scaring the crap right out of me.”

“He took your picture to run it, to get a facial recognition and find out who you are. He didn’t leave you alive, he left you to take care of later. It means you interfered with his agenda.” Trace ran a hand over his head.

“Leave the gear. We have to leave. Right now.”

“Why?”

“Once you’re on The Turk’s map, he wipes you off.”

Darkness chased away the light of day, immersing Téya and Trace in shadows that bred fear and danger. Though they’d been on the go since the tower, Téya’s mind had not stopped racing. Nor her pulse. Acute awareness of her mortality flooded her with hypervigilance. Kept her alert to those around her. Fear that The Turk might discover her awoke a side of Téya she didn’t know existed. A side that thrived on the state of hypervigilance.

“You okay?”

Téya blinked at Trace. “What?”

He angled his head and considered her. “You’re tense. Like a primed det cord.”

“I’m fine.”

“Get him out of your head,” Trace said. “Don’t let it eat at your confidence.”

“It’s not.” Téya gritted her teeth as she pushed through a thick throng of tourists disembarking from the metro. “I’m just…mad.”

“About?”

Uncertain she could put it into words, Téya muddled through the feelings. The memory of his fury-filled eyes boring holes into her wouldn’t go away. His lightning-fast strikes. The inability to breathe beneath his muscular arm.

“That he beat up a woman?”

“I couldn’t care less about that. I’m just ticked that I couldn’t stop him.” She hunched her shoulders. “If that siren hadn’t wailed, I’m not sure I’d be breathing this rank, Parisian air.”

Trace nodded. “Good, let it get you mad. You’ll be stronger and better for it next time.”

“I don’t want a next time.” But she did. She wanted to settle the score. Prove she wasn’t a weak nobody some jerk assassin could level with one blow.

“Here.” Trace banked right into a multistoried townhome. But instead of climbing the half-dozen steps up to the front door, he cruised down between the two buildings. The stench of rotten food, waste, and a musty smell she couldn’t identify closed in around them, making the darkness and walls feel closer, heavier. Suffocating.

He stopped at a boarded-up window and glanced both ways.

Confusion settled in on Téya, drenching her body with exhaustion. “What—are we lost?”

Trace gave her a sidelong glance then stepped forward and rapped on the boards.

Closing her mouth, Téya realized how little she knew or understood. About this mission, about Trace, about the deadly covert world.

A hollow crack made Téya jump.

Trace stepped back when the boards—as an entire unit—swung inward. “Zulu Actual sent by the Gryphon.”

A pair of eyes, wreathed in darkness and shadows, peered out at them. Dim light cast a sheen across the person’s nose and cheekbones. They seemed masculine, but she couldn’t be sure for the poor lighting. Some traumatized part of Téya half expected the person to lunge out and attack. But she’d be ready. Never again would she be caught unaware. Or taken down so easily.

“In,” the person said—definitely a man.

Trace and Téya slipped through the small opening created as the man stepped out of the way. A blanket of black dropped on them as the slat door slammed shut. Téya stilled, her ears groping for sound, her vision for sight.

“This way,” said the man.

Only then could she decipher the form of the man from the other shadows. Trace followed without hesitation before Téya had taken her first step. They wove through a series of halls, and she couldn’t help but wonder how the man had gotten to the door so fast after Trace knocked.

Surveillance
.

Made sense.

Before a steel door, the guy looked over his shoulder. Directly at Téya. His gaze lingered there, not with admiration. Not with attraction. With…disdain.

Téya forced herself to stand straight. To not cower.

“There a problem?” Trace asked, stepping between her and the operative.

“Yeah,” he said, nudging open the door then waiting for them to enter.

Despite the subtle ambiance and quiet, the room they stepped into buzzed. Three other men worked at computers planted in the middle of the area. Wire lockers barricaded walls. Two rooms abutted the space and sported cots but little else.

The man who let them in strode to an empty station. He swiveled the monitor toward them. At what she saw, Téya drew in a breath and froze.

Another expletive escaped from Trace. He lowered his head. In disappointment? Anger? It wasn’t her fault the image of her being beaten up was on this computer.

Was it?

“You’re all over the board,” the man said, his Parisian accent thick. “Getting out of Paris will be challenging. Getting out alive…” He arched an eyebrow as a woman walked up to him and handed him a packet and left, but not before giving Téya a long look.