“Send your team back in.”
“I can’t do that, not for one person. They wouldn’t be able to distinguish his friendly fire from hostile. You understand.”
“Spenser . . .”
Quinn tapped me on the shoulder and showed me the video feed. Spenser and his Special Forces vehicles were retreating, two of Contee’s Humvees were in pursuit. He was leaving.
My ex-handler’s voice turned to steel. “It’s not going to happen. He’s on his own. You understand.”
“No. I do not understand. But you understand this: if I ever see you again I am going to rip your entrails out of your ass. Then I’m going to cut off your balls and feed them to your cat. Do you hear me? Do you fucking understand that, you dickless jackass?”
“Fi—”
I flipped the com switch off then slammed my headphones on the counter, flexing my fingers and marching away from the communications terminal toward the small weapons locker I’d spied earlier.
I felt rather than saw Dan tentatively approach. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to go get him.” I selected a SIG MK25 and checked the chamber. “Where are the extra magazines for this?”
“Fiona—”
“Don’t try to stop me.”
“Wasn’t going to.” Dan reached for a .45 and passed me two extra magazines for my SIG. “Let me suit up.”
***
Marie and Quinn remained in the converted tanker and provided what tactical support they could manage.
Purposeful or not, Spenser’s abandonment of the building had drawn most of the guards away. We needed eyes inside the building, but the best we could manage was a heat signature feed and a quick survey of the building’s schematics, both courtesy of Alex. Based on what we could hastily discern, Greg was on the top floor, backed into a corner. His assailants were likely waiting for him to run out of ammunition. They still needed him alive.
Two minutes later, with a hasty plan of action defined, Dan and I were on the move. We approached from the opposite side Spenser’s team had left. I easily scaled the fence and offered Dan a hand over. He was heavy and my arms were tired, but it didn’t matter. He seemed to need the small amount of leverage and no more.
I liked Dan. I didn’t want him hurt. So I’d agreed he could join me if and only if he provided cover. He reluctantly agreed. The thing was, Dan was big, strong, and would be great in a fistfight. But I was little, light, and great in a stealth attack.
We entered the bottom floor of the warehouse, quickly navigating through the maze of pallets leading to a central, exposed stairway. I bounced soundlessly up the steps while Dan stayed behind, providing cover until I reached the top. Then I provided his cover as he mounted the steps, his shoes like a hammer on the metal slats.
I motioned for him to follow. My feet were silent on the linoleum floor, but it didn’t matter. Bursts of gunshots pierced the air. I was grateful for the sound. If shots were still being fired then Greg was still alive.
We encountered no hostiles on our route to the room where Greg was being held, therefore it didn’t take us long to reach it. I peeked through the glass window in one of the swinging doors, confirming the heat signatures I’d counted earlier. Greg was swapping bullets with seven combatants, and all of them had lousy aim.
Or, I realized, they wanted him alive.
Of course they did. He knew where the money was buried.
But then, so did Banks. And now Banks had the rest of the hostages and could retrieve the money no problem, looking like a big hero . . . he’d probably get a promotion.
I was definitely going to remove him from his ball sack at some point.
Greg shot twice at a cluster of three guards. I gave Dan a sign to proceed as I skipped away and toward one corner of the hallway.
Dan pushed the swinging door open three inches with his shoulder, aimed, and fired. I heard several combatants fall to the ground immediately, and one yell out what I assumed to be a curse. Dan let the door swing shut just in time. As soon as he closed the door a rain of bullets pounded into it on the other side.
I jumped and started to climb the wall leading to the AC vent above. Heavy footsteps, frantic shouting, the sound of metal against metal reverberated from behind the partitions.
And then Greg’s voice calling, “They have you surrounded and your comrades are off on a goose chase. Surrender.”
The earsplitting rata-tat-tat of a semiautomatic elicited an involuntary flinch, but I used the sounds of the machine gun as cover for removing the vent grate, pulling myself up and into the ventilation system.