Cliff Ryder - The Finish Line

It's for his own good, she told herself as she found the on-ramp to the highway and took it, making sure she was headed to Brussels.

Dividing her attention between her mirrors and the speedometer, Maggie accelerated to seventy miles per hour and drove, enjoying the fact that she wasn't under anyone's thumb for the moment. It was tempting to just keep driving, to bypass Brussels and head into Germany, or Switzerland, or anywhere else, to get away from all of this violence and killing. With a weary sigh, she banished the daydream and concentrated on the task ahead of her. There was still a way to go, and there was also the matter of payment. Aragorn wasn't going to be thrilled that she couldn't give him his cut right away. But she could lead him on with a promise of riches to come once she had delivered her package. It might mean a slight renegotiation again, but for the amount she planned to make those bastards at Mercury pay, she could cut the hacker in and still have plenty left over for a long, long vacation.

The miles rolled by under the Peugeot's humming wheels, and before Maggie knew it she was nearing Brussels. Pulling off at a rest stop on the side of the road, she fired up her laptop again, and called Aragorn.

"Hello, lass. Where are you?"

"I'm about ten minutes from the city, and I wanted the directions sooner rather than later, so I can get an idea of where I'm going."

"No problem. I'm sending them right now." A moment later, a set of directions flashed on her computer. "Follow those, and we should see you in about thirty minutes."

"Thanks, Aragorn — I won't forget this. See you soon."

"I'll be waiting for you."

Maggie closed her laptop and pulled onto the road again, leaning forward in the leather seat in her eagerness to be among friends again, and out of reach of her pursuers once and for all.

David watched the silver car disappear into the distance, shaking his head. I should have known not to trust her, he thought. But even more, he was disappointed that he hadn't convinced her that he really could protect her, that the men after her at the hospital would keep trying until they had caught her once and for all.

With a sigh, he walked into the nearest store and asked, in halting French and flashing a twenty-Euro note, if he could use their phone.

"This is Primary, the lock word is 'alpine.'"

"This is M-Two, the key word is 'evergreen.'" It was a risk using an unsecured line like this, but David had to report what had happened and get reinforcements after Maggie while there was still time. While he could have stolen a car and continued the chase, he was in no shape to do that, or face an unknown number of potential hostiles alone.

"One moment."

David waited for the transfer. If he had given a different word, it would have meant he was under duress, either captured or that he just couldn't talk freely. If a word was given that didn't match any of the codes for the mission, the connection would be broken, and an immediate trace would be put out to discover where the call was placed from and who had done it.

He heard a slight click. "This is Primary. Report everything that occurred after the hospital."

He kept it short, turning his back to the store clerk and keeping his voice low. "After leaving the hospital in an acquired car, subject and I proceeded north-northeast. My wounds, which the subject field-dressed, caused me to pass out for a short time, during which she discarded my cell phone. We reached the town of Valenciennes, where she eluded me and has now left the city. I'm requesting backup to continue to her target city and apprehend her."

"You're injured, and therefore not fully capable of continuing the mission. Procedure mandates that you be deactivated and called in," the voice told him.

David gritted his teeth at the standard plan, but kept his voice calm as he replied. "Primary, I'm the only one on our side who knows what she looks like, or her name, for that matter. Also, I'm the only one who knows where she's going at the moment — well, except for the hostiles."

"Her name is Margaret Britaine, but no doubt you already knew that. Are you attempting to blackmail me into letting you continue this mission?" Rather than sounding angry, David thought he detected a faint note of humor in the woman's voice, and tried to play to it.

"With respect, Primary, I prefer to think of it as laying out the reasons why I should continue the mission, even if it is in an advisory capacity."

"And?"

David frowned. "I'm sorry?"

"You have another reason for wanting to continue."

Revenge? David shook his head. "It's not what you think. This target is so important to this other team that they are willing to kill anyone who gets in their way — including the rest of my team. I want to know she's out of their hands myself, not be stuck back at HQ watching while she lives or dies."

"I can understand that. You're not personally involved with this subject, are you, M-Two?"

"Primary, the only thing I'm involved with at the moment is completing my mission, not just for myself, but for my team, as well. I don't want them to go out with a failure on the books."

"An admirable sentiment — that has absolutely no place in clandestine operations. However, your other mission-oriented points are valid. A team should be arriving to pick you up in the next three minutes. You will follow the leader's directions to the letter. Is that understood?"

"Affirmative, Primary."

"Get her back, M-Two. Good luck." With that sign-off, the connection was broken.

David hung up the phone, thanked the clerk and walked outside to wait for his pickup. He settled on a bench and idly watched people go by, coming in and out of the store, laughing chattering, living their lives, with no idea what he did to keep them safe, to let them live their lives without worry, without fear.

And now my team is gone, he thought. David knew he couldn't allow himself the luxury of wallowing in guilt at the moment. He couldn't even blame himself for Kanelo's or Cody's death. Both of them had been beyond his control. But Tara's, that had been another matter entirely.

Looking back, he knew he hadn't had a choice. If he had shot the man holding her, David would have been shot himself, and Tara would have died right after him anyway. His only chance had been to take out his own attacker, then shoot hers, except that he hadn't been fast enough. And now he never would be.

Feeling his anger growing, David took a few calming breaths just as a dark gray Range Rover pulled up in front of him. Its windshield and windows were tinted to obscure whomever was inside. The driver's door opened, and a man got out and walked up to sit next to him. He looked to be in his early fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair cropped close to his scalp, and pale blue hooded eyes that regarded him from under a heavy brow. He was dressed casually, in khakis, a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and casual leather slip-on shoes. David was also sure he was ex-military, and even with a quarter century on him, David was pretty sure he wouldn't want to tangle with the guy — he looked as if he knew all the tricks, and wouldn't hesitate to use anything in his bag when necessary.

"Excuse me. My brothers and I are traveling to Paris, and we're wondering if there was a quicker way to get there besides the highway?" His voice was quiet and precise, with a slight, guttural German accent stressing the vowels.

David made sure he was in control of himself before he replied. "Besides the high-speed train, a car is the best mode of transportation to get to the City of Lights."

The man extended his hand. "For now, you can call me Jay. How are you, Mr. Vert?"

David smiled at the play on words — his cover name was the French word for "green." "I've been better, Jay. I'm missing something very important to me. Are you here to help me get it back?"