They knew that they would be facing ten adversaries at a minimum: four Brigade members, including Carerra, four guards, Angelina, and at some point, the pilot. Under the worst case scenario, the rest of the guards had headed for the airstrip in other vehicles. More likely, they had been sent into town to board the train for Geneva. With luck, the plane was the one Gresley had used before, which had seated only ten, meaning that it wouldn’t be bringing reinforcements.
There had been no sign of a plane landing or taking off, so Miranda was confident that they still had time, especially with Ortega at the wheel, driving at break-neck speed. He pulled up behind a grove of trees at the far edge of the strip, then pointed to a group of stationary headlights in the distance. “The two limos. No other vehicles.”
Miranda nodded.
“Jonathan?” Ortega touched him on the shoulder. “Bring the supplies. We’ll find a safe spot for you, as close to the vehicles as possible. Miranda? When we get there, stick with the plan. No deviations. You need to take down one of the guards and get his weapon, then retreat. Don’t proceed further unless absolutely necessary. Clear?”
She nodded again.
“We’ll take out as many guards as possible, one by one, but not at the cost of attracting attention or giving away our position. If we screw up, Tork will be our main problem. Or should I say, my main problem, because I’ll handle him personally. I’ll also take Carerra and Gresley. You take Chen and Angelina.”
“Get over yourself,” she advised dryly. “You can have Tork with my blessing. He’d kill me for sure. But if you take him and Carerra, you’ll have more than your share. Plus, I want Gresley. So that’s how it’ll go. I’ll handle him and Chen. I don’t think Angelina’s going to be a problem for either of us, even with the power drug. So we’ll just play that part by ear. Agreed?”
They crept toward their prey, encouraged that there were still no sounds of engines approaching. Four guards were visible in the woods at four corners of a perimeter twenty-five yards or so from the limousines, which were parked together. Tork and Gresley stood alongside, chatting and smoking. Chen and the Carerras were presumably still sitting in the vehicles.
If the plane arrived before the SPIN team, Ortega hoped to use Jonathan’s homemade weapons to prevent escape by the Brigade. Until that time, their main goal was to keep from attracting attention, even if they remained unarmed except for Miranda’s arrows. But taking out a few guards to arm themselves while keeping their own positions a secret appeared to be their best hope of complete success, assuming Tork didn’t catch on and retaliate before they had confiscated at least two firearms.
As Ortega studied the enemies’ activity, waiting for the perfect time to make a move, Miranda enjoyed herself watching Jonathan Kell, who was so happy he was practically glowing as he concocted incendiary devices. It was clear that for once, he was reveling in his talents without focusing on some doomsday scenario like allergies, bugs or lightning. The irony, of course, was that this endeavor had significant doomsday overtones. Yet Kell was too pumped to let those deter him. In that sense, his mood mirrored that of the trained agents, who also couldn’t wait to get the operation officially underway.
“Miranda?” Ortega whispered. “Ready?”
She nodded.
“Be careful. If it feels wrong, retreat.”
She nodded again, then they crept away from one another and toward their respective prey. Concentrating on her own target as well as the movements of the other two guards and the Brigade, she still allowed herself to keep an eye on Ortega, who reached his man first, jumped him, then felled him in one amazing motion before disappearing back into the shadows.
“Wow.” Inspired, even though she knew her own effort would probably not go so quickly, she took a deep breath, gripped her supplies-a length of rope and a rock-then scrambled to her feet and rushed the guard, looping the rope around his neck and jerking him backward to the ground, where she pressed her knee to his throat and clobbered the top of his skull with the rock.
Not bad, she told herself, unbuckling the guard’s holster and looping it over her shoulder, then picking up his rifle, checking to ensure that the safety was on. Then she scampered low to the ground, from tree to tree, until she had rejoined Kell and Ortega.
A commotion started in the vicinity of the vehicles, accompanied by extinguishment of the limousine headlights, and Ortega grimaced. “They know.”
“But we’re armed now,” Miranda whispered. “I’ll bet we could take them.”
“Unless the plane gets here, or they get a fix on us, we’re sitting tight.”
“I can blow those limos sky-high,” Kell boasted, his voice hoarse with excitement. “The blast will kill everyone in them, plus Tork and Gresley. Then the two other guards will probably just surrender.”
As Miranda bit back a laugh, Ortega groaned and told him, “You’re flying a little high there, buddy. Settle down. That’s an order.”
Without the glow of the headlights, it was impossible to detect the exact positions of the guards and Brigade members. Meanwhile, the faint sound of an approaching plane could finally be heard overhead.
“Now we have to do something,” Kell insisted.
“Yeah, yeah.” Ortega pounded his shoulder. “Just have those cocktails ready, okay? Miranda, I’ll need to get up closer so I can be sure to hit the plane. You’ll cover me. Got it? Once I light the match, I’ll be a heckuva target, so you’ll have to keep them busy.”
“I’m with Jonathan. Now that we have to make our move anyway, let’s blow the limos first. Keep them busy so you can get closer to the plane.”
“Just humor me for once,” he muttered. Then his voice dropped to a growl. “They’re fanning out. Approaching. Hear that? Keep still.”
Miranda looked at Kell, and was amazed to see that he still wasn’t caving, although his boyish enthusiasm was now tinged with concern. She could relate to that, since this was her first operation under fire aside from live training exercises, and she, too, was beginning to wonder if she was up to the challenge, bravado notwithstanding.
Without warning, a spray of bullets erupted, strafing their entire area, coming perilously close to them. Ortega crouched, aimed, and took out the shooter with two quick rounds.
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.
