Dark Ops: Hotshot Part 2

TWO.

Across the street from the free clinic, the teenage boy pitched the prepaid cell phone in the industrial trash can chained to a streetlight. The receiver rattled to rest beside soda cans and a used condom.

He ducked back into a shadowy alley beside the c.r.a.ppy corner market run by a snarky old b.i.t.c.h who stroked her Louisville Slugger anytime he walked through the door. He normally wouldn't come near this store at all anymore, but he could see the community center good from this spot.

He could see her. Shay.

The fan in her window swirled the light along the sidewalk. The pieces of her tall shadow were chopped up by the blades and spat outside along with the glow.

Was the skinny chick reckless or just plain stupid? Didn't she know how dangerous it was to sit like that with the window open? Anybody could climb through and pin her to the floor before she could even shout rape. And the center's old rent-a-cop couldn't find his a.s.s with both shaking hands, much less handle the nightstick he carried.

Like the billy club would protect anybody against knives or guns anyway. Did she think she was safe just because she wasn't a big-b.o.o.bed street corner s.k.a.n.k? Most of the guys he hung with got their rocks off from slapping around somebody smaller.

The same kind of guy who'd "asked" him to get close to her. To watch her.

Fingers tracing the damp paint he'd sprayed over a rival gang's tag on the brick wall, he looked past the blades to Shay. The fan lifted her short brown hair as she hunched over her desk, writing. About him? He'd been watching her taking notes while he talked. She'd seemed upset when he hung up. Like she cared.

She hadn't even recognized his voice. Yeah, he'd changed it some. But still.

He couldn't let that matter. The clueless do-gooders around here only made things worse, interfering in a war they could never understand. Shay would have to look out for herself the same way he took care of himself.

Because while his life didn't matter, there were others' that did.

When Vince had agreed to hop a plane the minute he got back to the States and meet Don Ba.s.sett in Cleveland, he'd expected something along the lines of a discussion over a beer in a bar. He'd even been looking forward to that brewski, a drink he would no doubt need when talking about Shay and whatever trouble she'd landed in now.

Instead, Vince found himself driving with Don to a cut-rate hotel.

"Uh, Don, is Shay in there?" Vince stepped out of the sedan and looked at the older guy over the roof. "If so, I'm not sure what help-"

"She's at a local community center where she works." News to Vince, since they never talked about Shay. "Everything will make sense soon enough. Patience."

What was up with all this covert c.r.a.p? Had Don Ba.s.sett gone off his rocker? Don strode away from the rental car, quick strides eating up the walkway.

Oh-kay. Still no details. He hadn't been able to pry jack s.h.i.+t from Don on the phone or on the way from the airport to the-he looked up-Lake Erie Inn.

A rusted security light flickered erratically over Don like an off-tempo dis...o...b..ll. The old guy hadn't packed on the pounds like many did after leaving the military regimen. Still lanky-sorta like Richard Gere in a brown leather flight jacket and dress slacks-he had a distinguished distance to him that generated unwavering respect if not necessarily warm fuzzies.

And that respect kept Vince following along.

A second-story door swung open, hard-core jamming music swelling as three teenagers stumbled out. College students, he would wager.

"Gee, Don, don't I get dinner first? I feel so cheap."

"Good thing I know you're serious underneath that bulls.h.i.+t, boy." The older man didn't so much as crack a smile. Strange for a guy who'd always covered stress with a laugh.

Vince's neck itched with the funky feeling that had always warned him when something was off. It should have been tough getting leave the second he landed in the U.S. Vacation time was a distant memory to military personnel these days. Yet his request had sailed through faster than a Honda Gold Wing on a patch of oil.

He'd thought himself lucky. Now he wondered.

Itchy feeling in full-out burn mode, Vince kept pace past a soda machine, the red logo sun-faded to Pepto-Bismol pink. "I'm all for patience, but I think it's time to clue me in."

"Not much longer." Don waved him toward a first corner room. "Our contacts are waiting inside. We needed to pick a no-questions kind of place away from official channels. Somewhere we wouldn't run into an old acquaintance in the hall."

Not a problem, since there were no halls. Although this was exactly the sort of place he would expect to b.u.mp into someone from his old crowd. If they weren't all in jail.

"I sincerely hope your friends aren't wearing spiked collars and stilettos," Vince mumbled.

Don swiped the room card. "Unlikely."

Cool air gusted through the open door. He nodded to Don. "After you, sir."

He followed his old mentor into a suite of sorts with a kitchenette to go with the king-size bed. The bed was empty-thank you, patron saints of the road. The table, however, was packed with one man and two women, all wearing suits.

Don pushed the door closed quickly, sealing them inside with the other three people. Two Vince recognized, and one he didn't.

So . . . Starting with the familiar. Faces he'd seen on the news. A South Dakota congresswoman and a California congressman who definitely weren't toting leather whips or spiked doggy collars.

Don clapped Vince on the shoulder. "Have a seat, son. This is about to get interesting."

Do ya think? Vince pulled a chair from against the wall. "Good evening, everyone."

A meeting with Congress members in a hotel was usually cause for tabloid news and some racy photos. This appeared to be a different kind of gathering altogether.

He studied the second female, a redhead, probably in her early forties, who definitely wasn't Shay Ba.s.sett. He might not know this woman, but she had FBI written all over her dark suit, tight bun, and expressionless face. Well, d.a.m.n. That oil slick greasing his leave papers traced all the way to FBI headquarters.

Okay, then. Consider him officially hooked. He took in details he'd missed at first glance. A computer hummed beside the Fed. A tangle of cords attached the laptop to a portable projector. A video screen filled a corner.

He normally wouldn't pa.s.s up the coffee and doughnuts laid out on the other counter, but he had the feeling this meeting required his undivided attention.

The Fed extended her hand. "h.e.l.lo, Major Deluca. My name is Special Agent Paulina Wilson. You may already be familiar with Congresswoman Raintree and Congressman Mooney."

Vince nodded in greeting, exchanging quick pleasantries with both, more than ready to get down to business.

"Good, good," Wilson continued, not a hair out of place, her slash of red lipstick the only color breaking up her otherwise pale face. "You'll have to pardon our, uh, informal setting today, but what we're about to discuss is of the utmost secrecy. Sometimes the safest place is outside official walls."

Sure, he understood. Much of what he did in his dark ops job was top secret. He'd just never held the covert meetings in a cheap hotel before.

Special Agent Wilson clicked on the projector. The first PowerPoint slide filled the screen with a photo of a sprawling university campus. "A bipartisan committee from Congress will be holding a hearing at Case Western Reserve University next week. Led by Congressman Mooney and Congresswoman Raintree, the committee will be speaking on antigang legislation under consideration."

Anybody who watched the news knew that was in the works. How did it play into Shay Ba.s.sett being in danger? And why would the FBI be interested in her?

Don leaned forward, fingers steepled on the table. "My daughter is one of the witnesses, presenting information gleaned from her experiences working at the Cleveland Community Center."

Now that was news to him.

Special Agent Wilson adjusted the focus. "As with functions of this nature, we've had our surveillance ears open for anything out of the ordinary. I don't have to tell you what a national uproar it would cause if anyone managed to infiltrate a congressional meeting of any sort, much less one receiving this much attention."

Vince looked at the two pale Congress members, then back at the agent. "I'm a.s.suming you don't mean trouble with picket lines or pies in the face."

Both Congress members chuckled. The Fed, however, could have been one of the unflinching guards outside of Buckingham Palace.

Wilson pivoted on a clunky heel. "You're correct. This goes beyond expected concerns about protestors. We increased our wiretaps and cell phone monitoring in the area. During the course of one of those conversations, a local gang member's name was mentioned in connection with a well-known terrorist cell."

Whoa. Vince straightened in his seat. They'd gone from disruptions during a televised event to talk of terrorism. Joke time was officially over.

"We secured a search warrant for the g.a.n.g.b.a.n.ger's apartment-or rather his parents' apartment. We found CDs for terrorist recruitment and training. We also found manuals for creating bombs packed with ball bearings and instructions for building improvised explosive devices out of remote control toys." She clicked through a series of photos from inside the apartment, zeroing in on the confiscated items. "We also discovered a map of the planned driving route to Case Western and a floor plan of the building where the hearing will take place."

A chill settled in his gut, and yet he could see in her eyes the agent wasn't anywhere near done with her surprises.

"We also found copies of the correspondence sent requesting this information, written on stationery from the Cleveland Community Center and signed by Shay Ba.s.sett."

Shay.

Just her name slammed him back in his seat, much less the possibility that she could be in the middle of some terrorist plot. He'd spent so many years trying not to think of Shay Ba.s.sett, and now thoughts of her roared in to fill the void.

Wilson clicked to the next image, a photo of Shay administering shots in an immunization line.

A brunette, lean, earthy beauty.

He could have been in a time warp.

She'd been trouble on smokin' hot legs from the first time she'd tried to seduce him just to p.i.s.s off her old man. Trouble or not, then or now, surely she couldn't be a knowing partic.i.p.ant in anything this appalling.

Wilson thumbed the remote, a split screen displaying a photo of a tattooed teen alongside the picture of Shay. "This is the young man we're investigating. We questioned him but didn't hold him. We're going to observe him-and Shay-instead. It's more critical to learn who's orchestrating this."

Vince tore his eyes off Shay. "How do I come into play, Agent Wilson?"

"Don Ba.s.sett recommended you."

And for that matter, what was Don doing here?

Don nudged aside his full cup of coffee. "I work for the agency now." The CIA. Holy c.r.a.p. "Anything I do here is unofficial, since this is FBI territory. I also have an obvious conflict of interest because of Shay, but I had been keeping an ear to the ground on the presecurity because of her involvement. When this came up, I immediately thought of your, uh, skill set."

"My skill set? And what would you mean by that?" All signs indicated they already knew, but old habits died hard. Vince rolled out the pat answer he used with his mama, dates, and curious biker mechanics. "I just work in a military test unit."

Without identification patches. Developing military equipment no one knew about. Answerable only to the air force chief of staff.

Don smiled. "Exactly how I would have answered the question. As I said, your skill set could be valuable, particularly with the surveillance, to find out how widespread this problem may be. I presented the proposal to Special Agent Wilson, and she agreed. We contacted the air force, and here you are."

Vince stared at his former mentor with a whole new perspective. Don wasn't just sitting a desk job and stirring interest in CAP in his free time, as would have been his due right. The old guy had traded up.

Special Agent Wilson continued, "The boy has gone missing, and it's our belief if he's been recruited, there could be more. You will stay here in Cleveland under the guise of helping fuel interest in forming a Civil Air Patrol unit. Share your success story of how being recruited into the volunteer group saved you from a life of crime as a teen. Since you and Ba.s.sett have a connection from your younger years, showing up here to help out his daughter shouldn't raise any red flags."

Don smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "We've even pulled strings with the Joint Chiefs of Staff so your surveillance will blend into standard testing expenses. Beyond helping us here, you'll actually be able to write this off as a field test and move a project into the war arena faster. A fine economical blending of government resources, if I do say so myself."

Special Agent Wilson tapped her thumbnail against the slide changer in her fist. "It's a lot to absorb, but rest a.s.sured, we're taking care of details. We're in contact with your squadron commander. In fact, Lieutenant Colonel Scanlon is on standby waiting for your call after this meeting so you can be rea.s.sured that we're on the up-and-up. He seems to have the utmost confidence in your capabilities."

No small praise, that. Vince s.h.i.+fted in his chair uncomfortably.

"You're cleared for any form of surveillance. Your choice."

"I'll need a support team-"

"Of course, you'll have your pick of members from your squadron," she responded without hesitation. "We'll leave the specifics of that up to you. Your commander will work out of D.C., coordinating any issues with Congress. Our Congress members here are flying back to D.C., but they're leaving behind their aides to prepare for the event. However, the aides don't have the clearance to know about our mission. Are there any questions so far?"

Like, was there someone else to do this, someone who wouldn't send Shay running and screaming for the hills? But he owed Don his life. Time to repay the debt. "No questions."

Wilson set down the slide changer. "I hope I don't need to impress upon you what chaos a hit on Congress could cause. We cannot allow another terrorist attack on our own soil."

She pinned him with a steely gaze. Was she wondering if he would cut Shay slack because of his loyalty to Don? Did Don think bringing him in would give an edge of leniency if it turned out Shay was involved?

Good G.o.d, there were freaking land mines all over everywhere in this mission, beyond just literal ones some terrorist might plant. Not that he could turn his back on Don and all he'd learned from the man about honor.

Even if that meant turning Don's daughter over to the Feds.

The boy had never called back.

Not that night or the next.

Shay had stayed well past the clinic's closing hours, willing the phone to ring. No one had called, a mixed blessing, since at least it meant n.o.body else was in crisis.

She glanced at her cherry red watch her mother had given her as a birthday gift to add to her watch and bracelet collection. The psychology grad student who'd volunteered to pull the eleven o'clock night s.h.i.+ft was a half hour late, and she'd had zero luck in reaching him. She would leave him a note and forward all calls to her cell. Plenty of nights pa.s.sed with no phone-ins, so she should still be able to sleep.

She eyed the receiver one last time before hitching her small Vera Bradley backpack over one shoulder and turning off the window fan puffing in an unusually cool breeze for once.

As she pulled her lab coat off the coat tree, the back door creaked open. Finally. The grad student. She would even have time to brief Geoff about the caller before she fell asleep on her feet.

She started into the hall. And stopped short. A hooded figure slid from the corridor toward the main clinic. Tall, frighteningly so, but with an awkward thinness of either a teen or a junkie.

Shay stumbled, her chest tightening. If she could just make it back into her office before he- Her Nike thudded against the trash can. s.h.i.+t. s.h.i.+t. s.h.i.+t! She stooped to grab it before it clattered to the ground.

The hooded boy spun to face her, his face covered with a greasy bandanna. "Stop, b.i.t.c.h, or I'll slice off your face."

He swished a machete through the air.

She held up her hands and patted lightly in a universal calm-down gesture even as the glinting edge made her break out in a cold sweat.

A member of the Apocalypse gang.

She knew from the weapon.

G.o.d, how she wished he'd been carrying anything other than a blade. Even a dull b.u.t.ter knife freaked her out to this day with a phobia so strong she avoided them at the dinner table.