Without warning he pulled her in tight to his chest. “I love you, Kelly. Don’t get hurt,” he whispered fiercely into her hair before letting go.
“I love you, too,” she said, managing a weak smile before trotting to the waiting SUV.
Thirty-Four
“Pull over,” Syd barked. Maltz obliged, screeching to the side of the road. Fribush and Kane jolted forward but didn’t say anything. Syd ran her eyes over the low buildings. They were south of Phoenix, in an area dominated by abandoned warehouses and factories that had seen better days. The first three stops had been fruitless, just a bunch of people clambering over makeshift floats festooned with cheap-looking red, white and blue bunting. The entries ranged from floats with a “love your local farmer” theme, complete with fake orange trees, to papier- mache tributes to the Declaration of Independence. It all struck Syd as horribly pedestrian, but she complimented their creativity profusely before moving on. They’d been at it for nearly two hours, and she could feel the team’s spirits flagging. If they didn’t turn up anything here she’d break for a meal. She needed them sharp in case the shit hit the fan.
But first, there was one last place to check. An older man at the last site had mentioned driving by a float being assembled farther south. And bingo, within a hundred yards of the place her dosimeter went bananas.
At her tone, Fribush and Kane straightened. “What do you want to do?” Maltz asked.
“Circle once, not too slowly.”
Maltz obeyed, swinging the SUV past the open entrance to the warehouse and continuing toward the rear. Syd kept her face relaxed while she studied the building. The nose of a red truck poked out the door. The familiar tacky patriotic bunting around the cab, a crisp new American flag mounted across the grill. One man visible by the door, most likely keeping watch. No way to know how many others were inside. The main exit was partially blocked by the truck. There was a narrow alley between that building and the one next door; it didn’t look like any doors opened onto it. Around back, a door was set in the wall next to a battered Dumpster, probably an emergency exit since there was no handle. Not good, that meant it might be alarmed. Syd couldn’t see any windows, either; whoever chose the site knew their job. Which didn’t leave a lot of options for her team. At least there were no visible cameras. She waved for Maltz to drive down the block while she turned it over in her mind.
“What do you think?” he finally asked.
“You and I go in the front,” Syd said, “using the cover we discussed. Fribush and Kane check the back to see if they can get in quietly. If they can, signal me via cell and we’ll use the flash bangs, throw them off enough to pin them down.”
“And if the back is locked?”
“Same plan, but on my signal we blow the door. I don’t want them heading out the back while we take the front. There are other cells out there, we don’t want them to know a target has been compromised.”
“Wouldn’t hurt to do a more thorough recon,” Maltz said uncertainly.
Syd shrugged. “I don’t think we have time. The drive-by might have already spooked them.”
Fribush and Kane got out of the SUV, removed two duffel bags from the hatch, and trotted toward the rear of the building. She waited until they were in position, then nodded at Maltz. He pulled a baseball cap down low over his eyes and circled back to the front. The man inside the door stepped out as they approached. Maltz parked at an angle, discreetly blocking the truck, nose slightly out in case they had to leave quickly. Syd pulled out her ponytail and ran a hand through her hair. As she stepped from the car, she flashed the lookout a hundred-watt smile.
He was young, no more than twenty-five, tough and stringy-looking. Definitely not the first team, Syd thought-strictly benchwarmer material. Whoever assigned him lookout duty figured it was something even he couldn’t screw up. But she was about to prove them wrong.
“Hi there!” she said, letting her accent shine through. She jutted a hand toward him.
He reflexively shook her hand, jaw slightly agape. Maltz stood right behind her. His HK was tucked inside a many-pocketed photographer’s vest, and around his neck hung a digital camera that harbored a 9mm and a huge flash designed to blind and disorient.
“I’m Gail Jones, from the Arizona Republic? We’re doing a story on the parade tomorrow? You know, the sorts of things people are doing to prepare, what Independence Day means to them…” She laid a hand on his arm. “Human interest. We’ve taken shots of almost all the other floats, and would love to include yours. Did you go with a red, white and blue theme? Or something else?”
“Umm…” he stammered.
She brushed past him into the warehouse. It was stifling inside, the heat had been trapped by the cheap metal roof and the air appeared to shimmer. Syd fanned herself with one hand as her eyes darted around the interior. Another man was adjusting something on the truck bed. He straightened at the sight of her and frowned. No one else visible, but it was hard to make out the depths of the warehouse in the dim lighting. She caught movement by the back door-Fribush and Kane.
“Hey, lady, you’re not supposed-”
She swiveled to face the kid, who had a look of growing alarm in his face.
“I really love this, your whole melting pot theme. Haven’t seen anything like it yet. Do you mind if we take a few pictures?”
“No pictures!” The other man jumped off the float and ran toward them, waving his arms forcefully. Head of the local cell, I presume, Syd thought. Maltz raised the camera.
She pasted her best startled look on her face. “But really, what you’ve done here is so great. Why don’t you all gather in front of it. One shot and we’ll be out of your hair. This could be the lead-”
“Get the fuck out,” the guy snarled, skidding to a stop directly in front of her. He was average-sized but had a hard look to him-prison, or maybe the army, Syd thought. Shit. And he was clearly the brains of this particular operation.
He glared at her, then his gaze shifted to Maltz. His eyes suddenly narrowed, and Syd knew they’d been made. “Flag!” she yelled, digging in her purse for her gun. She fumbled it and cursed.
All hell broke loose in the warehouse. Maltz’s camera flashed, blinding her, followed immediately by the sputter of rounds being squeezed off. Something sparked to her right, and Syd instinctively dove in the direction of the flatbed, commando-crawling until she was underneath it. She got behind one of the wheels just in time to see the kid drop, felled by Maltz. The other guy had vanished.
Shouting erupted from the rear of the warehouse. Syd panned the darkness quickly, eyeing through the sight on her HK. The yelling was coming from behind a door to a partitioned-off area. It slammed open and a spray of bullets pocked the floor and walls. There was a sudden bright light and piercing noise. Syd jerked her head away, wishing she had a free hand to plug her ears. The flash bang was hell in an enclosed space.
Everything was muffled, as if sounds were crawling to her ears through glue. Maltz was fifteen feet away, aiming his gun at something she couldn’t see. She was rusty, since diving for cover it had taken her thirty seconds to process the scene and react. Not good. If she was still with the Agency, that alone would have been grounds for dismissal.
A sudden rumbling, then a lurch. For a second Syd experienced the disconcerting sensation that the warehouse was moving away from her, then realized it was the tires as the truck headed out the door. She rolled in time to avoid getting squashed and lay as flat as possible, watching the tow lights blink red. A collision, the grinding of metal muted by her temporary deafness as the truck shoved their SUV aside as if it were an errant toy. She jumped to her feet. Maltz was already behind the wheel when she scrambled in. One side of the SUV was badly scraped and dented, but it looked driveable.
“Fribush and Kane?” she asked, breathless.
“It looked like they had it handled.” Maltz peeled out after the truck. “Bastard just missed me, had a 9mm subcompact in his jeans. By the time I reloaded he was in the truck cab.”
“We’ve got to stop him,” Syd said, watching as the truck fishtailed, the flatbed whipping in a wide arc as he spun onto the main road.
“We can try,” Maltz said, jaw set. “But I gotta be honest, a car versus a big rig, I don’t love our chances.” He
