David Baldacci - True Blue

Bard’s eyes glittered at this comment. “It doesn’t matter, does it?”

“You’re from Russia. Federal Security Service.”

“I am impressed. I thought my accent was gone.”

“It wasn’t a guess on my part. I hear you guys are like the best assassins out there, except for maybe the Israelis.”

“I will try not to disappoint you tonight.”

“I’ve got a knife in my belt clasp. How about you let me use it to defend myself? It’s still two blades against one, but it’ll be a little fairer. I’m clearly not in your league, but I’ve got a few moves. Let you practice your stuff for the next time.”

Bard looked around at the heavily armed men surrounding Mace. “All right.”

“But-” began one of the men.

She barked something in the man’s tongue and he fell silent.

While the other men pointed their guns at Mace, she undid her clasp and slid out the knife. She examined the slightly dulled blade. “This baby got me out of a very tough situation.”

“I don’t think it will work again.”

Bard started moving in a circle, the blades twirling in front of her.

Mace stood flat-footed, studying the other woman’s tactics.

Bard said, “No tears? No begging for mercy?”

“Everybody has to die one day.”

“And this is your day.”

“Or yours,” said Mace.

WHAT THE HELL happened, Jarvis?”

Beth was standing in her office in front of a large-screen TV with a remote feed that Jarvis Burns’s techs had set up. After leaving the WFO the previous night, Beth had immediately called Sam Donnelly and told him what had happened with Roy Kingman. Donnelly had sent Jarvis Burns to help oversee a rescue operation. Things had been going well until they’d lost track of Mace. A guy in a suit and wearing a headset was frantically typing on a portable keyboard while barking instructions into his headset.

Burns remained focused on the screen where they could see the live feed from the camera mounted on the chopper’s skids. The countryside below looked dark and vast. “The plan was the best we had under the circumstances, Beth. We had two stealth units on the ground following her. The tracker was on her Ducati. They will have moved her in another vehicle, but our units should have been able to follow.”

He turned to the tech. “Get the ground commander on the horn ASAP.”

Seconds later the tech handed the headset to Burns, who listened for a bit and then tossed the headset back to the man before turning to Beth. “They were ambushed. Took heavy fire and casualties. They’re out of the hunt. We’ve got a mole somewhere, Beth. That’s the only way they could have found out.”

Beth slapped her desktop. “Now we have no idea where she is.”

“We have some idea,” replied Burns calmly. “We had a clear signal out to the abandoned farmhouse and we’ve got two stealth choppers DAVID BALDACCI as backup in the vicinity.” He tapped his tech on the shoulder. “Phillips, tell the air support commander to perform a ten-mile grid perimeter sweep. We need to all watch the feed and see if anything pops.”

“That will take too long!” snapped an exasperated Beth.

“Not in the choppers it won’t. It makes sense that they didn’t transport her too far for a number of tactical reasons. With a little bit of luck we’ll pick up the trail again.”

“And if we’re not lucky?”

“I’m doing the best I can, Beth. Remember, you called Director Donnelly in at the last minute. I’m good, but I’m not a magician.”

Beth calmed. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s just that-”

“She’s your sister.” He laid a hand on Beth’s shoulder. “I know, Beth. I swear we’ll do everything in our power to bring her back safe.”

“Thank you, Jarvis.”

“In the spirit of fair play, I propose to allow you the first move,” said Bard, who had edged closer to Mace with each move.

“And in the spirit of fair play, I propose to kill you any way I can.”

“So you don’t want the first move?”

“No, actually I do. But I want them out of the way.” Mace pointed to the gunmen arrayed around her. “No bullets in the back if I get the upper hand with you.”

Bard hesitated and then motioned to the armed men to clear the area. Mace backed away until she reached the far wall, her knife held in front of her.

“I’m waiting,” said Bard. “For the first move.”

“And I’m still thinking of what that first move should be.”

“This is ridiculous. If you-”

Mace lunged and her hand slammed down on the lever connected to the power box on the wall. The building instantly went dark. With a flick of her wrist, Mace tossed her knife. It flashed across the space and lodged in the chest of the gunman closest to her. He collapsed to the floor, the blade tip resting in the left chamber of his heart.

Mace had no trouble seeing in the pitch dark because she was wearing a pair of latest-generation contact lenses that were actually advanced optics that instantly adapted to all levels of light or darkness. They’d been a gift from the FBI for a situation just like this. From her earlier observations she knew there were four gunmen on this level and three more on the catwalk. They had Heckler and Koch UMPs and MP5s. And she desperately needed some firepower before the bandits figured out a way to light up the place again. She slid across the floor to the dead man and snagged his submachine gun and two extra mags.

Mace opened fire. One of the guys shooting in her vicinity jerked around as two of her rounds impacted his neck and torso. He managed to squeeze off a few more wild rounds before he went down and stayed there. Mace immediately rolled six feet to her left as bullets pounded her last firing position, the bandits taking aim at her previous muzzle flashes. She caught another guy in both knees with another burst. He dropped screaming, but kept firing. Her next round slammed into his face and his UMP went silent.

Lines of fire started coming from the catwalk. Forty-caliber rounds ricocheted off the concrete floor as Mace threw herself behind the guts of a retooling machine and fired off the rest of her mag, dropped it, and slapped in a new one as return fire pinged all around her. A chunk of wood got blown off the end of the table she was behind and she felt the tailing rip into her shoulder and slice across her cheek. Warm blood flowed down her face. Another round cut a groove across her left thigh, searing through her pants and tattooing her skin black.

She sprayed rounds at the catwalk, but even through her optics she couldn’t see much because of the smoke from all the weapons discharge. The remaining shooters had taken cover as well. And they had the high ground and superior firepower. Mace was pinned down. The logistics were depressingly simple. Without help it was only a matter of time before they were dead.

“Mace!’

She looked behind her to see Roy slumped over, his face twisted in pain. Even from this distance and with her field of vision a ghostly green Mace could see what she knew was his blood seeping across his shirt. Mary Bard was stooping over him, her knife pulling back for the final stroke while he frantically kicked at her.

“Roy!”

The explosion catapulted both front sliding doors a good ten feet across the floor. Out of the smoke came a sight Mace would never forget.

Twenty FBI Hostage Rescue Team armored assaulters loaded for war emerged from the smoke. Just the sight of these guys was enough to scare the hell out of anyone no matter how battle-tested. Knowing what was coming, Mace instantly dropped down and pulled the plugs from out of her boots and stuffed them in her ears. A second later an array of flash-bangs detonated.