State of War

The neighbors didn’t shoot at him, fortunately. A man who had grown up knocking squirrels out of oak trees wouldn’t have had any trouble hitting a car pulling away at all.

Later, he heard from a guy he knew who shared a lawyer with Lonnie and Leon that they hadn’t heard the horn, and were still banging away at the gun safe when the neighbors snuck up behind them and started clicking off safeties. He’d lost track of Lonnie and Leon after that. Which was just as well; neither one of them was too swift.

So, no, Junior didn’t want any neighbors coming to help out the security guy. The fewer people around, the better. He didn’t need an audience, either. He wanted it to be man against man, with no witnesses except the guy who walked away. Which would be Junior.

This one would be more dangerous than the last time. A guy coming out on an alarm would be expecting trouble. And if what the company said in its advertising was true, he’d be a better shooter than most cops. Plus the whole thing would have to go down quick, because the cops would show up eventually.

Which was just fine with Junior. He didn’t want it to be too easy after all. If there wasn’t a chance that the security guy would drop him, then there wasn’t any point. He might just as well sneak up behind somebody and shoot him in the back. There wasn’t any challenge in that, no victory, no glory.

He passed a couple of possible prospects before he found the one he wanted. Kim’s Business and Industrial Center, the sign said. There was an “Armed Response” sign warning that the property, which looked to be some little prefab shop and offices, all single-level and joined, was protected by Hopkins Security. He had passed a city limit sign, so he was in the county. Exactly what he wanted.

There was always the slight chance the local sheriff or state trooper might make it here first. If that happened, Junior would have to decide how to handle it, but he was betting the security guy would show up before the others.

He parked the car under the shadows of a big tree in the first corner of the dimly lit parking lot, got out, and walked around the building. There was an old flatbed truck in front of a little machine shop down on the east end, but the truck was locked and the engine cover was cool. There were no other cars. A few windows had lights on, but it didn’t look like anybody was home.

Perfect.

He found a nook between two buildings where a car pulling through the lot wouldn’t see him. After running over it a couple of times in his mind, he nodded to himself and went to kick in a door. The window had a Hopkins sticker, and a blinking sensor showed the place was alarmed.

He hit the door and it popped open on the first kick. An audible alarm blared, hooting over and over like one of those European ambulance sirens, eee-aww, eee-aww!

That ought to do it.

Junior strolled back to his hiding place. He loosened his Rugers in their holsters, pulled them from under the vest, then reholstered them. He felt the sweat break out, his heart cranking up faster. It’s killin’ time, Junior.

15

Net Force HQ

Quantico, Virginia

The deposition had barely begun and Alex Michaels was already uncomfortable. Mitchell Townsend Ames was smooth, no doubt about it, and Alex was more than ready to have this all over and done with. He just wanted to get back to work.

Ames was striking in appearance: tall, well-built, and undeniably handsome, with wavy, almost blond hair and cleanly chiseled features. He was dressed in a dark blue pinstripe suit that had to run at least five thousand dollars, and his shoes were clearly handmade.

“Please state your name, address, and occupation for the record,” Ames said, his voice low and even.

Michaels did so.

“Thank you, Commander Michaels. I realize you are a busy man, and I’ll try to get this done as quickly and painlessly as possible.” Ames smiled.

Michaels returned the smile automatically, despite what Tommy had told him: Alex, Ames is a shark getting ready to chomp you in half. This man is not your friend, no matter what he says or does, no matter how polite he seems to be. Don’t ever forget that, not for one second.

They were in the Net Force conference room nearest Alex’s office. There were five of them present: Mitchell Ames and his assistant, a young woman attorney named Bridgette who was flawlessly beautiful; Tommy Bender; a certified court stenographer named Becky; and Michaels. This wasn’t the first time Michaels had been deposed — you didn’t get to his rank in the federal LEO hierarchy without dealing with herds of lawyers — but it was the first time he had personally been a defendant in a lawsuit.

A DVD recorder took it all in, and the court reporter keyed in a transcript as backup. Whatever got said here would be preserved for posterity.

“Commander Michaels, is it true that you were in charge of Net Force operations in January of 2013?”

“Yes.”

“And that the assault by Net Force military operatives, led by General John Howard, upon the CyberNation- owned and Libyan-registered ship the Bon Chance was by your order?”

“Yes.” Tommy had cautioned him to answer direct questions with no more than “Yes” or “No” whenever possible, and not to expand on his answers unless absolutely necessary. The less you said, the less you gave away.

“Because you believed it was a pirate vessel? And as such, you had the right to go after it, even in international waters?”

“Yes.”

Ames paused, looked at a yellow pad in front of him, and made a note on it with a pen.

So far, so good. Tommy had told him the kinds of questions he was likely to get. Alex wasn’t going to lose his cool and give away anything that the man could use against him.

“I understand that prior to the assault, you sent Net Force agent Toni Fiorella Michaels to the vessel as an undercover operative for the purpose of gathering information.”

He hadn’t expected this kind of question so soon. “Yes, I did.”

Ames looked up from his pad, raised an eyebrow. “You sent your wife onto what you believed was a ship full of pirates?”

The scorn practically dripped from the man’s voice. What kind of man would do that? Send the mother of his child into harm’s way?

Or is it that you didn’t really think there was any real danger on the boat, hmm? Not a pirate among them?

Given a choice, Alex would have explained that one. He would have preferred to tell the man that he hadn’t expected there would be anything for Toni to worry about that early in the game. He would also have liked to mention that Toni had only been stuck on the ship due to a passing hurricane. But Tommy’s instructions had been clear.

“She was, and is, a qualified field operative,” he said, keeping his voice bland.

“I see. Well, sir, you are a better man than I. I cannot imagine sending my spouse into a situation like that.” He glanced down at his pad. “Oh, but wait. I also see that your wife is an expert in an Indonesian fighting art, called Pukulan Pentjak Silat Serak, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

Ames nodded. “Well, I suppose your wife’s abilities might mitigate the worry some — that she can slaughter a man with her bare hands, not to mention what she can do with a weapon? And that she has, in fact, maimed and killed people using this art? I see here incidents on 8 October 2010, right here at Net Force Headquarters, wherein she beat an alleged assassin until you shot and killed that person; again on 15 June 2011, in Port Townsend, Washington, when she broke a man’s neck; and, let’s see, again in October 2011 at your home in Washington,