Andrew Britton - The American

That earned him a brief laugh. It was Ryan’s way, and had been ever since he was a young platoon leader, to try to ease the tension before heading into harm’s way. A certain amount of stress and fear was useful, because it kept you sharp. Too much, though, could cause even the most experienced people to freeze up at the worst possible time. Looking back, he could see the tension in Naomi’s face, and hoped that she would keep it together long enough to do what was needed.

“That’s it,” North remarked. They were rolling slowly past a low, cinder block building. The exterior hadn’t seen new paint in many years, the white coating cracked and missing entirely in some sections. Blocklike letters in black paint spelled out THE WATERFRONT across the uppermost part of the building’s face. The windows were streaked with dirt and covered with rusting steel mesh.

There were only three other cars in the litter-strewn parking lot as North pulled in on the second pass.

“Do me a favor, Kealey. Pull out that shotgun while I check it out. I’ll be back in a sec.” North hopped out and ambled toward the entrance. Ryan reached behind the seat and pulled out the soft case. Keeping it below the passenger window, he opened it and withdrew the Benelli. It was 3 ^ 1? 2 feet in length, the barrel alone accounting for almost 19 inches. Looking back, he noticed that Naomi’s eyes were wide at the sight of the weapon.

“Don’t worry,” he said as he checked the breech to verify that it was fully loaded. He turned awkwardly in his seat to face her, but her eyes were darting away. “Naomi, look at me.”

She finally met his gaze. When she reached up to brush her hair back from her face, Kealey saw that her hand was shaking. “You’re going to be fine,” he said. “I need you to be focused in there. Just watch the bathroom door and my back, don’t worry about Elgin. I know what I’m doing, okay? You have to trust me.”

“Hey,” she said, her eyes suddenly flaring. “I’m not scared, Ryan, and I don’t need your help. I can bloody well take care of myself.”

Kealey lifted an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything in response.

North came out of the bar moving slowly at first, then faster as he approached the vehicle. Ryan pushed the door open.

“We’re good to go. He’s sitting at the bar, blue jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt. You’ve seen a picture?” They both nodded in the affirmative. “Okay, let’s move.”

Kealey handed him the Benelli, and North checked the breech instinctively. That small gesture gave Ryan added confidence in the ability of the young DEA agent as they moved quickly forward, Ryan’s Beretta low by his side as he trailed behind the bigger man.

They were inside.

North moved to the left as soon as he cleared the doorway to make room for the two CIA officers following a half step behind. His shotgun was up, traversing the room and he was shouting: “DEA! Get on the ground! I said, GET ON THE GROUND!”

Most of the people in the room froze at the sight of the big agent and the semiautomatic shotgun that he held. Then they were falling to the floor as Ryan came up low between the tables. The bartender’s hands dropped under the counter as he watched the approaching agents.

“Don’t do it!” Ryan shouted. “This is not about you! Get your hands in the open!”

He could see the hesitation in the old man’s grizzled face as he reached the bar. Naomi was facing away from Elgin as she approached, her attention entirely focused on the bathroom… And then Elgin was up and moving fast, but Ryan couldn’t take his aim away from the bartender. Elgin with a knife out, turning Naomi around and the knife tight against her throat, her body between the two men.

Elgin whispering into her ear, the eyes cold and empty.

Naomi, the Glock loose by her side, her eyes wide and locked onto Ryan’s.

No time to decide as the bartender brought the 12 gauge up and Ryan dropped to the ground, the Beretta swinging left across his body as he fired. The bullet plowed a shallow furrow across Naomi’s thigh before it ripped into Elgin’s left kneecap. Over his head, the shotguns booming in unison, glass shattering into thousands of pieces behind the bar. Elgin screamed in agony as the knife moved away from Naomi’s throat and she turned, dragging him down by the hair, the muzzle of the Glock pressed against his head.

Then they were both on the ground, Naomi turning him so he lay facedown as she straddled him from behind and kept the pistol jammed into the base of his neck. The bar erupted as the small group of people rushed for the front door. Ryan stood up to look over the counter and could see the bartender on the ground, a half-inch hole in his chest, the body surrounded by thousands of shards of bloody glass. Turning, he was relieved to see that North wasn’t hit, the shotgun dangling in his right hand as he walked up.

“He got a round off?”

“Into the counter, I think. He didn’t get it up all the way,” North replied. Ryan turned his attention to Naomi. The pistol hadn’t moved from Elgin’s head. Her eyes were glazed over, her face pale.

“Naomi, it’s over,” he said in a soft voice as he gently pulled the pistol from her outstretched hand. Her leg was bleeding badly, but she didn’t seem to notice the pain.

“Get some pressure on that, North. I think she’s in shock. I need to talk to this bastard.” Ryan grabbed Elgin’s shirt collar and dragged the injured man toward the stockroom, ignoring the screams of pain as he pulled him over the floor littered with broken glass.

The rear of the building was a large, dark room stacked floor to ceiling with crates. Ryan propped Elgin up against the cool stone wall next to the door and searched him quickly but thoroughly. Satisfied that he had no other weapons, Ryan moved back into the bar and picked up the man’s knife.

“What the hell are you doing?” North demanded. He had located a first aid kit and was working on Naomi’s leg.

North’s eyes moved up from the weapon in the other man’s hand to Ryan’s face. The young DEA agent, several inches taller and 90 pounds heavier, abruptly shut his mouth and looked away. Ryan walked back toward the stockroom, his knuckles white around the rubber grip of the knife.

Thomas Elgin was leaning against the wall just as Ryan had left him, his breath coming in short, fast spurts. He looked up as Kealey entered the room, eyes defiant as he clutched his ruined leg.

“ Fuck you want, asshole?” he snarled.

Without saying a word, Ryan crouched and pushed the first inch-and-a-half of the knife into Elgin’s chest. He was rewarded by a shriek of agony as he twisted the handle to make the wound more difficult to close and to encourage blood flow. Ryan was well aware that he didn’t have a lot of time, and guessed that Elgin would be more motivated to talk if the hole in his chest was leaking at a steady rate.

In a low, menacing voice, he said, “I need some fast answers from you.”

“ What do you want, you sick fuck! ” Elgin screamed, twisting his body, desperately trying to get away from the knife. Kealey obliged and pulled it out of his chest. The injured man’s words didn’t seem to have any effect on him, though. This time, the serrated edge scraped across the protruding bone of Elgin’s mangled kneecap.

In the other room, Special Agent Adam North of the DEA shuddered as another unearthly scream echoed throughout the building. The howl of pain almost managed to drown out the sound of the approaching sirens as North finished applying the improvised pressure bandage to Kharmai’s thigh. She was starting to come around now, a spark visible in her large green eyes as her mouth moved in an attempt to speak.

“Take it easy,” he said. “You’re okay now. You did a great job.” It was a sincere compliment. For an intelligence analyst to be thrown into this kind of situation and react the way she did was an amazing thing. The sirens grew louder and the door burst open, paramedics swarming into the building. They were followed closely by officers from the Norfolk and Portsmouth police departments and a number of Virginia state troopers. As soon as they came through the front door, Ryan emerged from the stockroom, his face an impassive mask.