Tori Denton was completely in Lady Falcon mode as she smoothly slid into the left lane of the Interstate and slowly overtook the long, unmarked, silver semi-trailer. She pulled up even with the red cab which bore no logo or identifying marks other than those required by the Department of Transportation.
The truck was meant to blend with the two million others that traveled the U.S. highways every day.
Less than twenty people knew its lethal cargo, all with top-secret security clearances. Even though she had one of the highest security clearances in the United States government, she had no clue what was inside. She, and her entire team, the Ladies of Black Swan, were one of the best kept secrets in the world. Five women clandestinely trained in special operations, they were more lethal than any team of Army Special Forces or Navy SEALs. No one ever suspected the beautiful women to possess their skills or abilities.
“Command. Red team passing target now,” she announced over the SUV’s communication system to everyone monitoring the mission.
“I think my M-4 is making the driver of the semi a little nervous,” Lady Harrier commented from the passenger’s seat where she was literally riding shotgun.
Over the car speakers, General Lyon, Commanding Officer of U.S. Special Operations Command replied, “He’s going to be thankful you had that machine gun if it all goes from sugar to shit.” Nervous chuckles chorused in agreement.
“Command, red team moving into position one. We’re coming up on our transition exit in two miles. Confirm our next vehicle is ready to roll.” She sped up and pulled in front of the tractor-trailer.
“Red team, command. You are to trade to a green Honda FJ parked on the off-ramp. Standard switch.” This would be the third time her team had changed vehicles. They had the transfer down to thirty-four seconds.
“Command, white team in position two.” Lady Hawk, Black Swan team leader, moved directly behind the tractor-trailer.
“Command, blue team moving into position three,” Lady Eagle announced from quarter of a mile behind everyone else.
“Command, black team catching up. We’re about a mile out from position four.” Lady Kite had changed from the pickup truck she’d been driving to a sporty BMW two exits ago.
As Lady Falcon scanned the road ahead and checked all her mirrors, the hairs on the back of her neck suddenly stood at attention. “Get eyes on those two cars up ahead,” she ordered. “Standby, command. I think we’ve got company.”
Lady Falcon’s exit was coming up quickly. She had to make a decision.
The two cars ahead were traveling side-by-side, well below the speed limit.
As though the entire car had suddenly been charged with electricity, everyone went hyper alert.
“Windows are blacked out on both vehicles.” The CIA man she only knew as SOG seven, his designation within the Special Operations Group attached to this mission, leaned between the front seats with a set of binoculars to his eyes. The cha-chink from the back seat indicated that SOG eight chambered a round.
“Command, red team. Aborting vehicle trade.” Lady Falcon drove past the turn-off for the exit.
“Red team, command. Copy that. Maintain position and continue constant reporting.”
SOG seven called out the license plate numbers, what he could read of them between the caked-on mud splats. Everyone on this op knew they would come back stolen, but it was essential they played by the book. There were too many alphabet agencies involved, and they were on U.S. soil, to function the way the Black Swans normally operated, loose and lethal, reactive and always ready, dependent only on each other.
Traveling at the speed limit, they quickly approached the slower vehicles, which took up both lanes.
“Command, blue team. I have two bogeys quickly approaching from the rear.” Lady Eagle’s SUV contained a similar team to her own, so they’d be okay.
“Command, black team. I’m right behind the bogeys. They seem to be clueless of my position or threat level.” Lady Kite was bringing up the rear of the convoy. She only had one SOG with her, but they had enough firepower between them to start a war.
“Heads up. Play has begun,” Lady Falcon announced as they were all forced to slow down.
“Blue team, command. Pull up next to red team.”
“Command, blue team. In position.”
Out of her peripheral vision, Lady Falcon could see the dark Buick Encore driven by Lady Hawk in the lane next to her, pacing about twenty-five feet in front of the semi.
The blacked-out Escalade pulled in front of the slow-moving Chevy Tahoe where someone stuck an arm out of the driver’s window, signaling for them to go around.
“Well, aren’t these fucking considerate terrorists.” Lady Harrier moved a second magazine to her duty belt and opened the sunroof. “They don’t want to involve civilians in their hijacking.”
“More like they don’t want witnesses.” SOG eight lowered the window on his side.
“Our tangoes are slowing down even more.” Lady Falcon held her position, the nose of her vehicle in line with the front of Lady Hawk’s. She wondered how many shots the bulletproof windshield and reinforced steel could take. Glancing in her rearview mirror, she saw the semi had straddled the centerline like a quarterback, using the Black Swans as blockers.
It was time. Her heartrate increased. In position number one, Lady Falcon was the chase vehicle in addition to being first line of protection for the valuable cargo in the trailer behind her.
The Escalade pulled back into the left lane and continued to slow.
“Let’s play.” Lady Falcon said quietly when the Tahoe was less than twenty feet in front of her. The windows on the darkened SUV slid down and gun muzzles poked through as both cars slowed even more. This was not the tactic they had expected. They hadn’t been given permission to do anything but accompany the precious cargo.
“Command, red team, eight guns visible and pointed at us from open windows,” she reported the development.
Damn joint task force bullshit. If someone didn’t do something soon, they’d all be sitting ducks.
“Sir, this is Lady Hawk, do we have direct communication with the truck driver yet?”
Lady Falcon checked her rearview mirror. All she saw was a shiny chrome grill.
Well, fuck.
“Color Guard, command.”
And wasn’t that a mission name created by committee. Lady Falcon wanted to roll her eyes, but they needed to stay pinned on her tango, and the four black guns pointed at her.
“I’m in direct communication with transportation division of Department of Energy.” General Lyon sounded pissed. “They had previously been made aware of this operation, since they asked for our help, but I just informed them we’re taking over. The state police are diverting traffic back at the last exit so anyone on the road is to be considered in play. Color Guard, you have permission to return fire only if fired upon.”
“About fucking time,” SOG seven mumbled as he sighted through his scope. “I have six, maybe seven, heat signatures, but that’s damned thick steel. Probably reinforced with armor.”
SOG eight grunted in agreement. “Same.”
They were barely rolling down the road at fifteen miles per hour.
All at once, the vehicles in front of them opened fire. Nita flipped up the bulletproof steel with a slit in the middle and propped her sniper rifle in the steadying sling that would keep her barrel straight no matter how many bumps the car went over.
The two men in the rear seat, who were members of the most elite fighting group in the world, leaned out and started picking off shooters from the cars in front of them. The echo of gunfire was deafening as Tori fought to hold the car smooth and steady while bullets pinged off its metal exterior.
A small dent appeared in the windshield pushing silver lines through the glass. Cracked but holding. Lady Falcon wanted to duck with every strike but held her position. She was safe. She had to report in. “We are under attack. Returning fire. Windshield has been hit. Minor cracking.”
The other cars were reporting similar exchanges of fire, but her team was safe.
Lady Harrier methodically shot out the tires of the Tahoe directly in front of them, so the tangoes were practically running on the rims. Guess they didn’t know about run-flat tires.
“I’m gonna ram this son of a bitch off the road and push them as far away from the tractor-trailer as possible,” Lady Falcon announced.
“Sounds like a plan.” Lady Hawk said from the car beside her. “I’ll follow you to the right shoulder.”
“Command, Lady Hawk. Tell the driver we’re clearing a path for him.”
“Copy that.” There seemed to be a great deal of conversation at operations command before the tech ordered, “Color Guard, target is pulling over with you. Protect at all cost. Lethal force is authorized.
Well, fuck. Something went wrong. That certainly wasn’t the plan. What happened to the backup team?
Not Lady Falcon’s problem at the moment. She moved as far left as possible to get the correct angle on her target.
“Black Swan team, this is General Lyon. You are the only ones authorized to interrogate these assholes.”
“Copy that.” Echoed over the air from her team.
“Command, black team is in fast pursuit of tangoes heading south in the northbound lanes.” Lady Kite sounded calm and collected for speeding down an Interstate going the wrong direction. “Can you get the state police to—” There was a short pause filled with screeching tires. “Cancel that. We’re headed back north again. Guess they didn’t like playing chicken with oncoming traffic in the dark.”
“Command, blue team. SOGs are prepared to stop them.” Lady Eagle seemed to have her bogies under control. “If we don’t need the tangoes for interrogation, permission to use rocket launcher.”
“Lady Hawk, command. Keep as many as you can alive. Blue team, permission granted for lethal use.”
“Hold on,” Lady Falcon warned those in her car with a smile. “I’m going to play snowplow.” She closed the distance to the Chevy Tahoe and butted his rear quarter panel. Shifting into four-wheel drive, she shoved the much larger SUV to the gravel on the side of the road, all while its occupants fired wildly at them. The SOG men strategically shot back, wounding the terrorists rather than killing them and providing cover fire.
When she stopped the car, SOG seven called out, “No need for you ladies to get hurt. Stay here while we get those fuckers.”
Lady Harrier glanced down at the man as he opened his door. “I don’t know who the fuck you’ve been working with, but we’re perfectly capable of taking down the fuckers in that car in front of us.” She jumped off the roof and landed two feet in front of him, weapon to her shoulder pointed at the Tahoe. “Feel free to stay here and protect the car.”
Lady Falcon grabbed her machine gun and flung the door open, using it as a shield, when a man in a black ski mask stepped out from the driver seat pointing an AK47 at her. “He’s mine. I get to interrogate that little fucker.” One bullet to his left shoulder was all it took to bring him to his knees.
Over loudspeakers hidden within the front of each car, Lady Hawk demanded, “Turn off the vehicle and come out with your hands up. If you try to run, you will be shot.”
Someone from the back seat of the Escalade darted out and ran toward the woods. Lady Harrier placed two shots in front of his feet, one with each step, before the man halted. “Anyone else want to try my shooting expertise today?” One of the SOG men dashed into the field and grabbed the tango, yanking his hands behind him and cuffing him before dragging him to the side of the road.
Lady Falcon stepped low and quiet, sticking to the shadows as she approached the Tahoe. SOG seven was next to her when someone from behind the driver opened the vehicle door, waving hands before he emerged. Like a clown car in a circus, people started emerging from both vehicles, surrendering.
Through her headset, she heard Lady Hawk order, “SOG teams, roundup everyone. Lady Falcon, we need to know who is in charge. Grab the driver of your vehicle and I’ll grab mine.”
This was going to be fun. While the SOG guys forced the terrorists into a straight line, Lady Falcon cuffed her man and hauled him in front of the others then shoved him to his knees.
The man wouldn’t make eye contact with her. “You look at me when I talk to you.” She grabbed his chin and pulled it up forcing him to look at her. The unmistakable tattoo across his face confirmed their intelligence. “Who is in charge of this failed highjack attempt and which SV-16 clique are you with?”
He swore at her in El Salvadorian-accented Spanish.
Lady Falcon laughed deep and loud before replying in his own language. “I have had a lot of sex in my life, but you are sadly mistaken when you call me a motherfucker. I have never fucked a mother. Now, I will admit to you that I’ve sampled players from my own team, but I’m strictly dickly these days.” She purposefully looked at his crotch. “And you’re not man enough to handle a woman like me.” Daggers of hatred flew from his glare.
His eyes narrowed. “What are you doing helping these Americans? You’re Salvadorian? Salvador libre!” He yelled the last two words. Cheers rose from his comrades in the line as they seemed to stand taller.
What the hell? Free El Salvador? They were already a democracy. Supposedly.
“Well, I’m glad to see my accent is nearly perfect. But for your information, I was born and raised in the United States of America, but it’s good to know I could pass for an El Salvadorian bitch.”
In Tori’s ear she heard Katlin. “Lady Falcon, move this along. We need to know which one of these assholes is in charge and I’m now positive it isn’t my guy. He just pissed his pants and he’s shaking so bad he can hardly speak. He keeps staring over your way though.”
So much for having fun interrogating this terrorist.
“Which one of you is in charge?” When he didn’t answer she punched him hard in the shoulder where she’d shot him. Those kickboxing lessons at the CIA finally came in handy.
She caught the glances of SOG seven. The corner of his mouth twitched in approval.
“Now, I’m going to ask you once again. We can do this the easy way or the painful way.” Lady Falcon shrugged and acted nonchalant. “I’m good with either. You going to tell me this time who is in charge?”
“Hurt me all you want, American bitch, but I’ll never give up mi jefe.”
She watched as the terrorist scanned the group of men and women lined up along the pavement. His eyes lingered on one of the women.
“SOG seven, bring me the second woman.” Lady Falcon watched the fury in her captive’s eyes as the elite CIA man not-so-gently grabbed the girl and yanked her over to them.
“She has meaning to you.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. She watched the reactions of both her captive and the rather pretty woman. They were definitely connected, whether through blood or emotion. Her face wasn’t tattooed so Lady Falcon examined the other women in line. None of them bore the gang’s mark.
Lady Falcon glanced at SOG seven. “Push-up both her sleeves.” Sure enough, she had the SV-16 tattoo of a jumping viper that wound up one arm and down the other. Many of the higher-ranking men would have their dominant hand intricately covered in ink to look like the head of the snake. With a nod, he lowered her shirt sleeves.
“I won’t beat you, because I know you can take a sixteen second beating, nor will I let him rape you, because I’m sure you had that initiation as well.” The girl glanced down.
Interesting reaction. Lady Falcon tilted her head. “Is he good with his fingers? Or do you like his dick better? How talented is his tongue?” She gave a fake pondering look. “Well, if I cut out his tongue he can’t tell me who’s in charge, can he?”
“You can’t touch me like that you fucking bitch.” The man said in English. “That would be police brutality.”
She bent down to the man on his knees and then got close to his face. “Do I look like the fucking police to you? You have no fucking idea who I am. What I can do. You have no fucking idea who I work for. And, I’m sure if I check, you’re not a legal citizen of the United States so guess what, those laws don’t apply to you. Under the Homeland Security Act, I have declared you, and all your little friends, terrorists. I can do anything I want including cut out your tongue.” With that she punched him in his bleeding shoulder again.
He winced and moaned in pain. She waved her hand around encompassing the SOG team. “I don’t see a cop anywhere in sight. All I see are terrorists being held in protective custody.” She glanced toward the semi which had pulled over on the shoulder fifty feet ahead of the prisoners. The Black Swan team surrounded the truck. No cars passed in either direction. Thankfully they’d been diverted by state police around this section of Interstate. This operation didn’t need witnesses.
Refocusing on the man kneeling in front of her, Lady Falcon considered her options. She had to make him talk. Fast.
“I’ll bet you like her tongue, don’t you?” She hoped the smile she gave him was as evil as she had intended. “Do you like what she does to your dick with her tongue? Her mouth?”
“SOG seven,” Lady Falcon called. The man gave her chin a lift. “I want to see how big her tongue is.”
He paused only half a second before he reached his gloved hand into her mouth and pulled out her tongue.
“Don’t hurt her,” the man on his knees demanded.
Excellent, Lady Falcon thought. “Tell me what I want to know, or her tongue is gone.”
“Bitch, I aint gonna tell you nothin’.”
“We’ll see.” Lady Falcon shrugged and tried to look nonchalant. “Take her into the woods. I have no desire to watch.” Through her ear bud she heard Lady Hawk tell SOG seven to take the young girl into the pines and make her scream as though he had cut out her tongue. She went as far as to suggest he hold the tongue while making her scream, so it sounded as though he’d actually done it.
Damn, she loved her team. She waited in silence until after the screaming ended and the woman made a gargle sound. Turning her attention to the man on his knees she asked once again, “Who is in charge of this little group of yours?”
“I am, you fucking bitch. And you will pay for hurting her.” He laughed. “You will die, slowly, painfully.” Hatred mixed with determination in the man’s glare.
“Yeah, right. You aren’t going to hurt anyone where you’re going.” He’d be put in the most secure prison on the planet, if he lived through his interrogation.
The man grinned. “You have no idea who that woman is. No matter what happens to me, he’ll find you and kill you.”
Flashing lights drew her attention away. State police escorted a black prison bus to a stop in front of the terrorists. A panel truck pulled up behind them and the back rolled up. Several heavily armed men in black camouflage jumped out of both vehicles. They wore no patches except for an American flag on their shoulder.
“SOG team, command. Release the prisoners to the new arrivals.” The orders came through loud and clear as a tall, muscled man approached her.
“Lady Falcon?” He glanced down at the man on his knees in front of her and smiled. “Lucky shot. Glad he’s still alive.” He looked over at the SOG men who said nothing as they handed over one prisoner at a time while the men from the panel truck dragged dead bodies out of the vehicles.
“Luck had nothing to do with it. I’m that good.” She gave him an eat-that grin. “I was instructed to wound him.”
At almost six-feet tall, she barely had to lift her eyes to meet his.
“Fuck. Gorgeous and lethal. Your team is gaining quite the reputation.” The newcomer grinned.
She couldn’t hold back her smile. “No. We’re earning that reputation.”
He simply nodded in agreement. “So, who do we have here?” He grabbed the man’s long greasy hair and jerked his head up. “Well, hello Carlos Gomez.”
He glanced at her. “You caught us a big fish.” His gaze drifted to the semi. “So, tell me Carlos, why did you need activated nuclear rods that are supposed to go into torpedoes on a submarine?”
Lady Falcon’s jaw dropped a fraction as she stared at the unmarked trailer.