Richard Castle - Storm Front

Storm maintained a steady speed as he passed the building for the first time. He didn’t dare pass it a second time. A Ford Fiesta driving along a street in Bayonne would not attract the attention of anyone inside the factory. But a car of any make or model driving by for a second time might cause someone to take notice. He turned down the next street and pulled to the side of the road as soon as he was sure he was out of sight.

He glanced at his watch. It had been only a half hour since Volkov issued his edict. Storm thought about the fourteen life forms inside the building. Three of them were likely Cracker’s family. That left Volkov and ten hired guns. Storm assumed that, at some point, roughly half of them would depart for Newark Airport, leaving the other half to watch over the prisoners.

That’s when he would make his move. It improved his odds — five- or six-to-one felt a lot more manageable than eleven-to-one. Especially when Dirty Harry only had six rounds in him.

He would rid the world of Volkov, save Cracker’s family, then call Cracker and divert him from Newark Airport before Volkov’s goons grabbed him. Simple.

He was about to get out of the Fiesta when he saw a woman walking along the street. She was alone, which seemed strange in this part of town — and at this time of the evening — and Storm watched her, because he was trained to watch anything unusual. With a distant streetlight behind her casting a shadow in front of her, he could only make out her silhouette. She was walking with the determined strides of a woman who knew exactly where she was going.

And it turned out where she was going was the right side of Storm’s car. Before Storm could do anything to stop it, she yanked the door handle and sat down next to him in the passenger seat.

“Nice ride, Storm,” Clara Strike said. “Very manly. Do you still like the color when you’re PMSing?”

Storm looked over at Strike. She was wearing a skintight top that left little question about how well her physique had held up over the last four years. And there was that perfume, knocking him senseless, as usual.

Storm smiled. Much as Clara Strike could complicate his life, he was glad to see her. Plus, it improved his odds immensely.

“It’s a bit underpowered, I grant you. Not the Ford Motor Company’s finest effort,” he said. “But it’s growing on me. I’ve decided to name her Becky.”

“If this gets out in the intelligence community, you know your reputation as America’s greatest operative is ruined. Storm gallops to the rescue in a Ford Fiesta? It doesn’t play.”

“I was in a bit of time crunch. It was the best I could do,” Storm said, then changed the subject. “How did you find me?”

“Kevin told me where you were. He thought you sounded like you needed some help. We lost our tail on Cracker after that explosion, and he hadn’t resurfaced at any of the usual locations. So I had been looking for something to do anyway. I actually sort of thought he might be with you. Or, excuse me, with Elder Steve Dunkel of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints”

“He was. I sent him on an errand. Though you probably don’t need to bother following him anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Prince Hashem’s fortune is no longer in danger. Prime Resource Investment Group’s financial situation has improved rather dramatically in the last twenty-four hours or so.”

“Oh?”

“Turns out Cracker wasn’t broke after all. His accountant had been stealing from him.”

“Who? Teddy?”

“I wouldn’t call him that,” Storm said. “Apparently, he doesn’t like it very much.”

“Huh. Who knew?”

“Certainly not our pal Whitely.” Storm paused for a moment, watching as the last shred of twilight disappeared, giving way to a moonless darkness.

“That’s a nice little chunk you got out of your forehead,” she said, gingerly touching near the gouge. “You okay?”

“It’s nothing. Does Jones know you’re here?”

She didn’t answer. Storm took it for a yes.

“Maybe you should leave,” he said.

“He doesn’t know,” she said.

“Are you lying to me right now?”

“It doesn’t matter what I answer, does it? You’re not going to believe me anyway. All that matters is that I’m reinforcements, and as far as I can tell you’re not in a position to turn down help.”

“Jones is a—”

“Look, forget about Jones,” Strike said.

“Yes, I’m sure he has his agenda. Is this a big shock to you? He always does and always will. Just focus on the here and now. I’m here. You’re here. I’m know you’re not just visiting Bayonne for the scenery. Kevin told me Volkov is here. Let’s make a plan and take him out.”

He knew that for the sake of three innocent people whose lives were now in danger — to say nothing of the untold millions more who would be imperiled if Volkov was to ascend to power — Storm had to get over whatever injustices Jones might be planning.

He took a deep breath and said, “Right. A plan. As I’m sure Kevin told you, Volkov is holed up in that abandoned factory down the street.”

“Yes. And I’m assuming the only reason you haven’t swallowed your pride and asked Jones to send in a full TAC team to take him out is because you’re Derrick Storm and you have to save the world all by yourself.”

“No, it’s because there are civilians in there.”

“Oh. Kevin didn’t mention that.”

“It’s because he doesn’t know. He just knows there are warm bodies that show up on the infrared.”

“So who are the civilians?”

“Cracker’s wife and kids. Volkov kidnapped them. He’s using them as leverage to make sure Cracker does as he’s told. I worry any large-scale operation — by one of Jones’s teams, by the police, by the army, by anyone, no matter how well trained they are — will not end well for them. If Volkov is in charge, his men won’t be the type to surrender easily. And they won’t show any mercy to their captives. We have to hit them quickly and quietly and incapacitate them before they even know they’ve been hit.”

He shared his thought that the thugs inside would soon split up, and his belief that that would be their best opportunity.

“We just need to get inside the building without being spotted,” Storm finished.

“The problem is there’s so much open land surrounding the factory on all sides. If they have a lookout, we’ll be spotted. If the lookout is quick with a rifle, we’ll get shot.”

The car went quiet for a minute or so. Then Strike said, “We could play it like we did in Sarajevo.”

“No good,” Storm replied, thinking back on that mission. “There’s not enough of a crosswind. And, besides, where are we going to get all the fertilizer we’d need on such short notice? This isn’t exactly farm country.”

“Good point,” she said. They lapsed into silence again. It was interrupted by Strike saying, “I’ve got flashbangs and gas masks in the van with me. There are enough windows in that place. We launch flashbangs through the windows and then move in.”

Storm was shaking his head halfway through. “Too much smoke. Too much confusion. Too much of a chance one of those kids catches a stray bullet.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Do you have night vision goggles?” he asked.

“Sorry,” she said. “That’s not part of my standard party kit.”

Another pause for contemplation. “What we need is some kind of a distraction so we can get inside the building,” Storm said. “From there we can pick them off one at a time.”

“How about an explosion? I’ve got some C-4 with me.”

“Yeah, but what are we going to blow up?”

A wicked grin spread across Strike’s face. “Well, that depends. How attached are you to Becky here?” she said, patting the dashboard.