Kate Donovan - Exit Strategy

Kell punched the air with his fist. “Excellent!”

“Lie flat!” Ortega ordered under his breath. “Tork has our location now. Miranda? Go up and around.”

She nodded, then pressed the rifle she had taken from the guard into Kell’s hands. “See this? It’s the safety. It works like this. Otherwise, this weapon is ready to fire. If anyone comes near you, take the safety off, then shoot him right between the eyes.” She hesitated, then gave the scientist an urgent embrace. “See you soon.”

She moved slowly through the darkness, aware of the approaching plane that would soon shed some light upon the runway. Meanwhile, she heard the unmistakable sounds of footsteps on either side of her, and while she could have avoided them, she realized that someone was moving directly toward Kell. The thought of the scientist actually having to defend himself was unpalatable, so she changed course, then lunged forward, wrestling the target to the ground, trying to make as little noise as possible so as not to betray her location.

But her opponent had other ideas, shouting, “I’ve got the bitch!”

It was Carl, and Miranda took great pleasure in throttling him while insisting, “Shut up, big mouth.”

He was strong enough to flip her onto her back, knocking the wind out of her lungs momentarily, but she instinctively kneed him in the groin, then rolled free as he yelped in pain. Now that they had made so much noise, shooting him was a definite option, but he attacked again before she could aim her pistol. His fist struck out, glancing across her jaw, and she staggered backward, then fired.

Her vision was blurry for a few seconds, but she kept the weapon trained on him as he slumped, first to his knees, then into a ball, holding his chest, his expression one of complete disbelief. She remembered his rude, dismissive treatment that first day, and realized he had never updated his prejudicial view of her, despite hearing she was with the CIA.

“That’s right,” she told him in disgust. “A girl shot you. Live with it. Oh, right, you can’t.”

Then she heard a weapon being cocked behind her, and Alexander Gresley called out, just as Carl had done, “I’ve got her!”

She turned to look at him, feeling disappointed rather than scared. She had wanted so much to kick his ass! Now he was going to fill her full of bullets instead.

Then a shot rang out, and Gresley’s skull literally exploded in front of her eyes. She turned toward the source, prepared to thank Ortega, but her savior was Jonathan Kell, looking like an incongruous version of Rambo with the bow and quiver slung over one slender shoulder, and the rifle held tightly in his hands-hands that were shaking so violently, she was afraid he’d shoot her next.

“Lower the rifle,” she murmured, and when he had done so, she ran to him and gave him a huge hug. “My hero! You saved me, Jonathan.”

His voice was so hushed it was almost nonexistent as he told her, “He was going to kill you.”

“Believe it!” She laughed and hugged him again. “Have you seen Ortega? Look! The plane’s landing. He’s going to need your cocktails now. Are they ready?”

Kell nodded.

She could see that the scientist was beginning to wear down, so she kissed his cheek and reminded him, “It’s almost over. We’ve gotten four out of ten that we know of, and you can bet Ortega has taken out at least one more.”

“There could be dozens more on the plane.”

“Or it could be empty except for the pilot. Go back and wait for Ortega. I’m going to scout around some more.”

“Wait, Miranda. Take this.” Kell handed her the bow and quiver. “Use the red arrow. It’s good luck.”

“The red one?”

“I put some of your Night Arrow potion on it. It turned red on contact. That’s a good omen, right?”

She nodded. “Go on now. Take the rifle. Try not to shoot yourself. Or Ortega,” she added with a teasing smile.

Surprised that no one had come to avenge Gresley, she darted quickly to the edge of the treeline and saw that all eyes were on Ortega and Tork squaring off at the other side of the strip. Two motionless bodies lay nearby-one in uniform, one in a suit. She could only assume the latter was Chen, killed by Ortega.

It seemed crazy that Carerra hadn’t simply taken a shot at Ortega by now, but the Brigadier was standing by the limousines, holding a knife to his wife’s throat, his rapt attention focused on the fight, and she realized he was just bloodthirsty enough to want to see his old nemesis torn limb from limb by a giant.

And it certainly looked like Tork was the man for the job. He was a full foot taller than Ortega, and Miranda guessed he had fifty pounds of muscle on him, at least. Not that Ortega was a lightweight himself, but compared to Tork, his broad shoulders and powerful build were dwarfed.

Miranda raised her pistol and steadied it with both hands, not willing to take a chance on the outcome despite her confidence in Ortega. But before she could fire a clean shot at Tork, the two men charged one another and began exchanging vicious blows. She didn’t dare shoot now, for fear of missing Tork and hitting the man she practically loved.

The plane was taxiing to a stop, but no one seemed to care. The battle between Tork and Ortega was the only game in town. Then the sound of a helicopter in the distance brought everyone back to their senses, and Carerra began dragging Angelina toward the plane, the knife still held to her throat.

Miranda shook her head, amazed that Carerra thought she’d refrain from shooting at them just because Angelina had intervened for her. As much as she had appreciated the wife’s gesture, she wasn’t going to let the husband get away. Plus, to be fair, Angelina had been more than comfortable with Miranda’s death. She had only drawn the line at molestation. Admirable, yes. But not quite admirable enough to earn herself a complete pass.

Apparently Jonathan Kell was having the same thought, because a fiery bottle suddenly sailed through the air, landing between Carerra and the plane, exploding into a wall of dancing flames.

Dropping the knife, Carerra sprinted into the darkness, with Angelina running after him, calling his name. Frustrated, Miranda took a quick glance toward Ortega, who was being pummeled, but was still fighting back.

In a minute, the chopper would land. She knew the smart thing to do would be run and help Ortega defeat Tork. The SPIN team would find Carerra soon enough.

Then the plane door slid open, stairs were unfolded onto the runway, and three uniformed men, armed with rifles and a rocket launcher, appeared in the doorway.

She groaned aloud. They were going to take down the chopper, which meant she had to kill them before they could set up. Carerra had known exactly what he was doing, getting out of the line of fire, hiding in the dark, waiting until his troops had succeeded before coming back, with or without Angelina in tow.

Forget Carerra, she told herself, but for reasons she couldn’t understand, she was fixated on him to the point where she could swear she heard the sound of his running feet pounding the strip, even though he had disappeared in the darkness. She could even hear his labored, frantic breathing! He was too far away for her to shoot at him with any degree of accuracy, but still she could hear him. Almost smell him!

And she knew she could hit him with an arrow. The red arrow-for luck, just like Jonathan had suggested. Pulling it from the quiver, she notched it, then aimed toward the sound of Carerra’s feet.

Then she gasped aloud, realizing that someway, somehow, she could now see him as well as hear him. Or at least, she could perceive him-the heat from him-as though she were wearing night vision goggles.