Mission Critical
She had no way of proving her theory about the existence of the bioweapon. She only had absolute confidence in her thinking that nothing else explained the actions of her father. His assertion that there was no way he would have been here himself if he was planning on disseminating the spores rang hollow to her, because she knew her father; she knew he would not leave it to chance that the entire operation would fall apart because he wasn’t here, commanding it all, constructing the ruse to keep everyone in their seats and the forces arrayed outside the castle at bay so the plague could root itself inexorably into each and every senior member of the Five Eyes before they could return to their offices and their military installations and cause thousands more deaths.
No, they didn’t have time to wait. She had to act, and act soon, to end this thing.
And the only way she thought she had a chance of achieving this was to go after her father.
Just then, Zakharov, Capshaw, and Rutherford passed by on their way towards the door so they could go to the front door to talk to the military officer in charge outside about the dangers of the Scottish Dragoons attacking the castle. As he passed her, her father looked her way, and she saw in his eyes that he was worried about her. Not worried about her safety, but worried that his operation was in danger because of what she suspected about his plan.
He did not slow, he did not speak to her, but in that moment Zoya knew unequivocally that her father would make good on his promise to kill her himself if it was necessary to keep his plan on track.
* * *
• • •
Suzanne Brewer walked behind her two assets as they moved quietly through the oratory, but her mind was not silent. She was afraid, yes, but her prevailing thought was unmitigated anger. How was it that one of her own agents, part of a program Brewer did not even endorse and wanted no part in, happened to have a father who seemed poised to kill most of the seventh floor at CIA?
And she wondered if she was already infected with motherfucking plague.
Her anger about Anthem switched to anger about Violator and Romantic. Working the sharp end of the spear running these maniacs was destroying her own life, taking her further and further from where she thought she would be at this point in her career. She would never rise higher as long as she was sending smelly bearded men or histrionic former Russian agents down dirty alleyways and into shootouts, shootouts that, despite her secret wishes, they always seemed to find their way back out of.
Her fuming thoughts were disrupted when Violator motioned for her to stay where she was, walking along a set of pews at the front of the room by the ornate pulpit. He and Romantic ventured forward towards a doorway, and she stood back and watched, half hoping they’d get her the fuck out of there and half hoping they would kick a damn tripwire and blow themselves up so she could be done with them.
* * *
• • •
Zack and Court went to opposite sides of the large, wide, open doorway that led out of the oratory and into the main corridor on the second floor. Court, on the right, sighted his weapon down the hall to the left of the doorway, while Zack, on the left, leaned out and aimed his pistol to the right.
Zack immediately saw two men wearing dark suits. He thought they were security guards for the Five Eyes conference, but something didn’t seem right about their movements. They were patrolling, in the opposite direction now, but they looked into each doorway, chatting.
They didn’t appear nervous enough to have been part of the force that had been overrun here. Nope, these were the bad guys.
Zack whispered to Court. “What you got?”
Court said, “I’ve got nothing. You?”
Zack replied, “Two assholes with guns. Opposition.”
“I win,” Court whispered back.
“You win.”
They motioned for Brewer to come forward, and she put her hand on Romantic’s back. Then all three moved off to the left, Zack in front, then Brewer, then Court, who walked backwards, his handgun aimed at the two men fifty feet on, facing away.
They checked each chamber on this wing of the second floor, but they found no one hiding out. As they reached the end of the corridor, they moved towards the armory to meet the others.
* * *
• • •
Travers, Jenner, Lorenzi, and Greer, with Hanley in tow, met Hightower, Gentry, and Brewer at the entrance to the second-floor security office, off a parlor that had been converted into a bar area for hotel guests.
The office was locked and guarded by a pair of terrified young security officers who only opened the door when Jenner looked into the camera and then held his badge up to it.
Once inside, the group of Americans made their way past a bank of security camera monitors and into a back room, already open because the security men had armed themselves when the attack began.
Lorenzi kept watch outside the rooms into the parlor while the rest of the men went to arm themselves with more potent weapons.
While Jenner treated Travers’s upper thigh and neck wounds with a medical kit he found in the armory, both Zack and Court picked out SIG Sauer Rattlers, .300 Blackout rifles with short barrels, folding stocks, and sights with holographic reticles. They loaded the weapons and crammed flashbangs and loaded magazines into their pockets. Zack also strapped a pistol-grip Remington shotgun onto his back.
Jenner and Travers then grabbed M4A1s, short-barreled fully automatic rifles, and all the ammo they could carry.
There were Kevlar vests on a shelf, and all the shooters put them on. They wouldn’t stop rifle rounds but could be effective against pistol-caliber ammunition.
Court then passed a Kevlar vest out of the armory to Hanley and another to Brewer. Hanley took off his coat and slipped it on, but Brewer just said, “No thanks. That just makes me look like another gunman, and that’s the last thing I want.”
“Fine with me,” Court replied, and he dropped it on the floor to return to the room to find more ammo for his pistol.
Hanley barked at his subordinate. “Suzanne, put on the damn vest!”
She complied immediately and without comment.
Hanley himself stepped into the office and grabbed a Remington shotgun, loaded it expertly, and carried it back out. Granted, it had been nearly thirty years since he’d left active duty for the CIA, but the shotgun he chose was virtually unchanged from the one he’d fielded back in his Army days.
Once everyone was outfitted, they looked at the bank of camera monitors. An entire row was blacked out. One of the security men said, “They disabled the cams in the great hall and the ones in the lobby outside it. Looking at the others around the castle, we saw a couple of fishy-looking guys dressed like regular security, but they are up on four now. Might be that there aren’t too many attackers, so they couldn’t hold the entire building. They’ve got that one room, and access to it, locked down, and they have one little patrol to round up people hiding, but the rest of the castle seems clear, for now.”