Chapter Three

Viper pushed the glass door open with her forearm and stepped onto the city sidewalk. Night had fallen, cloaking Pittsburgh in the comfortable shadows that she knew so well. A brisk wind smacked her in the face as she turned to stride up the street, away from the motel. As expected, that had been a complete waste of time. The room booked under one of Kasim's aliases was empty, with no indication that anyone was staying there. If he had been there, he wasn't now.

She zipped up her jacket against the wind and tucked her hands into her pockets. It was the end of April and the air had been mild most of the day, but now the sun had dropped and so had the temperature. While not cold, the wind blowing off the water held a bite that made her grateful for the lightweight, black windbreaker. Strands of dark hair pulled out of the braid on the back of her head and whipped into her eyes, but she ignored them. She moved around a couple strolling hand in hand and strode on, lost in thought.

She hadn't been expecting to find Kasim, but the reality of the empty and sterile room made her uneasy nonetheless. Why would he book a motel room all the way out in Pittsburgh and not stay? The most obvious answer was that he was trying to throw her off his trail. Viper frowned, moving around a slow-moving group of tourists. The problem with that theory was if he was really trying to throw her off, Kasim would have checked into multiple motels in multiple cities with that alias. Yet, he had only chosen one, in Pittsburgh.

A few weeks ago, Kasim Jamal had been smuggled into the country with his twin brother, Asad. Their intention was to execute a terrorist attack in the United States, unleashing an Ebola virus that would have wiped out thousands. Instead, they ran into Viper. The attack was averted, and Viper had ripped out Asad's esophagus in an abandoned warehouse in Maryland. Kasim, however, was in the wind. Despite continuous monitoring of all the public transportation hubs, airports, border crossings, and even rental car agencies, she had yet to get a reliable hit. Kasim had gone underground, and was showing no signs of emerging.

Her lips tightened. At least, not until now. The lead that sent her to New York had turned out to be nothing, as had this one, but it was a start. Something had changed, and Viper wasn't sure if it was a good thing, but she was ready to finish what she started a few weeks ago.

The Shelby was parked on a side street at the end of the block, and she skirted around a chattering group of college students. While the trip out here had been wasted as far as Kasim was concerned, she was now convinced more than ever that he was still in the tri-state area. She would find him soon enough.

She was passing the recessed door of a coffee shop when a sudden chill streaked down Viper’s spine and she stiffened. Before she could react to the surge of warning, an iron hand gripped her wrist and she felt the cold, hard jab of a blunt object in the small of her back.

Viper didn't need to turn her head to know that there were two of them. One held a gun against her spine and the other was next to him, moving up now to her side. She glanced up at the linebacker beside her, her eyes narrowing. He moved with the silent stealth of a professional and, in that single glance, she saw all that she needed to see.

Without a word, they guided her into the mouth of a narrow alley to the right. Viper allowed herself to be led halfway down the length of the narrow lane. There was no need to speak. She knew why they were there. The only question was if there were more.

Fury, hot and fierce, flowed through her and her entire body stiffened in reaction. How dare they? After everything she had done, every terrorist she had killed single-handedly, every bullet and blow she had taken for her country, this was how someone thought it would end? With a couple of silent professionals in a Pittsburgh alley? Viper's lips tightened and her heartbeat shifted into the deadly, calm rhythm that promised disaster for her enemies.

A beat-up dumpster loomed out of the darkness and she eyed it, waiting. As they drew closer, two more shadows emerged. Ah. That was better. Four was not such an insult.

Viper took in the newcomers with a single glance. They weren't as large as the linebacker beside her, but she could tell that the one on the right was ex-Special Forces. It was obvious in the way he carried himself. He was the biggest threat, so he would be the first to go.

The one holding the gun against her spine broke his silence. She felt him reach under her jacket and pull her .45 out of the holster at the small of her back as she raised her hands obediently, her palms facing out and even with her shoulders.

“That was easy,” the linebacker said, releasing her as she raised her arms. He stepped away from her. “I expected more of a fight.”

He missed the flash in the cold, dark eyes of the woman beside him. A heavy silence settled over the dank alley for a moment, then all hell let loose.

Viper twisted swiftly, her left hand gripping the left wrist of the man behind her. As her fingers closed around his wrist, the gun shifted away from her and her right hook smashed into his jaw, snapping his head back. When his finger squeezed the trigger in reaction to a fist slamming into his face, the bullet whizzed past her with a silenced pop to bury itself in the stunned linebacker's belly.

She never stopped moving. As soon as the pistol discharged, she wrenched it out of his hand, driving her right elbow into his throat as she did so. A choking sound ensued as the esophagus collapsed and Viper spun around behind him. A quick glance confirmed her initial instinct about the ex-Special Forces threat. Even though the struggle had taken only a couple of seconds, he already had his Beretta out while his companion still stood there, stunned. She hated when she was right.

Special Forces fired and Viper moved to the right, swinging her human shield over to protect her. A second later, the bullet meant for her buried itself in his shoulder. Still trying to recover from her shot to his throat, the man in front of her bent over, gasping for air, while clutching his wounded shoulder. Viper raised his gun and fired.

Special Forces swayed for a second before falling backwards, the Beretta dropping from his fingers as blood poured from a hole in his forehead. As soon as he fell, she turned her attention back to the man in front of her. Pressing the gun into the soft spot in his right collarbone, she fired straight down into his heart.

Viper released him as he sank to the ground at her feet. The linebacker had stumbled back to fall against the dumpster, sliding down until he was seated, leaning against it, with blood spreading across his stomach. He pressed one hand against the hole in his gut and fumbled for his own weapon with the other. She clucked her tongue disapprovingly as her boot made hard contact with his wrist, sending the 9mm spinning away from him. She glanced at his gut wound. It was bleeding out slowly, but steadily, and his face was already turning a grayish color. Linebacker wasn't going anywhere. Spinning around, she faced the last man standing.

He had recovered from his shock at the sudden turn of events and had pulled out a Sig Sauer. Before he could get a shot off, Viper's boot heel slammed into his wrist. An audible crack echoed in the narrow alley and the would-be assassin dropped the weapon as his hand hung helplessly at an impossible angle. He opened his mouth to scream in pain, but never got the chance. Moving with lightning speed, Viper spun him around and wrapped her arm around his neck, covering his mouth and nose with her hand.

She whispered soothingly in his ear as she pressed the barrel of the gun into his side, angling it under his ribs. She pulled the trigger and let him go as the bullet ripped through his lung on its way to his heart.

Turning, she looked down at the linebacker, still wheezing and clutching his bleeding stomach.

She bent down to pick up her Ruger from where it lay on the ground next to the body of the man foolish enough to hold a gun to her back.

Linebacker made a sound like a cross between a gasp and a choke, watching as she tucked her gun into the holster at her back. She checked the clip in the Sig Sauer she’d taken from the first man and tucked it into her jacket pocket. Dead men had no need of guns.

Crouching beside Linebacker, Viper lifted his bloody hand away from his stomach so she could better see the wound. It wasn't good. Blood was still pouring out steadily and pooling in his lap. She dropped his hand back over the hole and studied his face. The pallor was spreading to his lips as his body went into shock, but his eyes met hers defiantly.

“I don't suppose you want to tell me who the hell you work for?” she asked conversationally, wiping her bloody hand on his pants.

“I didn't think so.” Viper was silent for a moment, then she sighed. “That hole in your gut will continue to bleed out slowly. At this rate, it might be up to twenty more minutes before you die. I'm told the pain is excruciating. Of course, you would know better than me right now. Is it?”

“Tell me how you knew I was here and I'll end the pain,” she told him, pulling the Sig Sauer out of her pocket. “How did you know I was in Pittsburgh?”

“No one's coming to save you. You're going to die here. You might as well do it quickly.” Linebacker glared up at her morosely and she shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

His voice was raspy, like he hadn't had a drink in days. She turned back, raising her eyebrow.

He started to laugh but gasped instead. A trickle of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth.

“Not now, but more will come,” he wheezed. “You're a priority one target. There's no escape.”

She fired a round into his forehead and his body jerked as his head snapped back to slam against the metal dumpster. Then movement ended and he sagged, lifeless, as Viper disappeared into the deep shadows at the back of the alley.

September 23 - Iraq

Hi John,

Hope all is well. Did you and Lina work out your issues yet? Remember what I said. Don't make me come back stateside and play the big brother.

In the last letter, I told you about the house in town getting burned down, and how the guys I saw with the missing crates supposedly burned with it. Except they didn't because I saw one of them later that day. I also told you about Murphy, and how he's our interpreter when we get stuck. There's something you need to understand before I go any further. Murphy is one of us. He's an American. He just also happens to be half Iraqi and is fluent in the language around here. We're very lucky to have him. Most interpreters are locals, not US soldiers. It's unusual to have a homegrown interpreter fighting next to you.

Yesterday, we were advancing when we were attacked by insurgents. Murphy was targeted and captured. Here's the thing, he was taken in the same damn truck that had the crates, and that I saw going into the mountains the other day! Intel thinks they know the location of the camp. A team is going out tonight to try to get him back, always assuming that he's still alive. The whole thing stinks. How did they know he was an interpreter? They clearly targeted him, ignoring two higher-ranking officers. There's no way it was a smash and grab. So why go after Murphy? Why go after the interpreter?

I'm sending an attachment with this. As always, keep it safe and don't open it! Things are getting worse here, and the more I'm digging up, the less I like it. For God's sake, don't mention this to anyone, even Lina. I'll write more when I know more.

Give Lina my love,

Dave

Trent Whitfield looked up as the door unlocked and swung open. He was in an interrogation room, waiting for one of the FBI agents to take him back to his cell. In the morning, he would be on his way back to Miami. After spending the past week being questioned by numerous Feds, he was sick of seeing the inside of the same interrogation rooms and the same holding cell. He would be more than happy to get out of Philadelphia.

His eyes widened in surprise as a tall man stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind him.

“Officially, I'm not,” the man replied, studying him from across the room. “You look like hell.”

“What did that?” the man asked, motioning to the stitches on Trent's head and face.

“Yes, I know. They're transferring you back to Miami, where you'll be charged with four counts of premeditated murder.” The man paused and glanced at him. “Out of curiosity, is it only four?”

“I didn't think so.” The man continued pacing slowly. “What have you told them?”

“No?” The man glanced at him again. “Yet, you're in here, and Ms. Bolan is still out there.”

“There were extenuating circumstances,” he muttered. “You didn't tell me she was crazy, or that wild animals attack at will in New Jersey.”

“I gave you a simple enough job,” the man continued. “Now I have to take matters into my own hands, which I don't enjoy. You know that.”

“Yes, I know. There were extenuating circumstances.” The man sighed and turned to pace behind Trent's chair. “Where are your things? Are they at the hotel?”

“Good.” The man reached the end of the room and turned back again. “You were brought in by a Secret Service agent. What did he want?”

“He wanted to know about Angela, mainly,” Trent answered with a shrug. “That, and how I knew where to look for her.”

A moment later, a gurgling sound filled the room as Trent spasmed in his chair. His head fell forward at a strange angle, blood pouring out of his throat.

“Sorry about that,” the man murmured, watching as Trent died. “Extenuating circumstances, I'm afraid.”

He glanced at the knife in his hand and sighed, wiping it clean on Trent's shoulder before turning and leaving the way he came.

Alina rolled down the gravel drive to the back of her house and pressed a button on her steering wheel. The door to her detached garage slid open slowly and she pulled in, parking the Shelby next to the black Rubicon. She killed the engine and sat for a moment, her lips pulled into a grim line.

No one had known she was going to be in New York on Friday, just as no one had known she was going to be in Pittsburgh today. New York had been a hasty trip at the last minute after she got wind of the planned assassination of Jack. It was pure chance that had brought the information to her when she was staying overnight in London Wednesday night. It never crossed her mind not to try to prevent it. She hadn't saved him from certain death in a Taliban camp in Afghanistan only to have him killed in New York City. When she got the long-shot tip on Kasim, Viper was already on the interstate. Hell, she didn't even come to the house after landing in Philadelphia, but drove straight to New York. So how the hell had someone known she was going to be there?

As for Pittsburgh, Hawk was the only other person who knew about her plans, and she knew damn well that he hadn't tipped off the leak in Washington.

Alina made a noise close to a growl and got out of the Mustang, closing the door a bit more forcefully than was strictly necessary. She moved to the back wall of the garage where her tools hung below narrow shelves and, reaching above her head, she pulled a box down from one of them. Setting it on the ground, Alina bent down and pulled out a rectangular bug detecting device. She checked the batteries, then switched it on, watching as the light flashed.

Turning, she held it about an inch away from the Shelby's front bumper and began walking slowly around the car. She would check the cars for trackers first, then move on to the house and sweep every inch of it for bugs. Somehow, someone knew a hell of a lot more about her movements than they should.

She made it along the driver's side and around the back of the trunk before the device in her hand vibrated. Alina's lips tightened and she glanced at the light on the box. It was yellow. She moved slowly over the right taillight, then to the back quarter panel. The box vibrated again and the light turned orange. She was getting closer. She ran it over the back tire and the light flashed red as the box began vibrating again.

Setting the detector on the trunk, Alina turned to the standing tool box along the back wall. She pulled out a thin flashlight and switched it on, dropping onto her haunches next to the back tire. Shining the light into the wheel well, she angled her head to peer into the space above the tire. She played the bright beam along the top of the well, exhaling softly when it passed over a small black box attached to the front of the wheel well.

She reached in and pulled the magnetic tracker off the car, straightening up with it in her hand. It was a device she knew well.

Viper set it on the trunk and picked up the detector again. She continued the rest of the way around the Shelby. When there were no more vibrations, she moved on to the Jeep. A moment later, she found another tracker on the inside of the spare tire at the back of the Jeep.

Switching the detector off, Alina stared down at the tracker in her hand. Walking over to the Shelby, she looked at them both broodingly.

She remembered handing Stephanie a black bag with both the trackers and a tablet with the accompanying software loaded onto it. It was the day Asad had launched his attack on multiple cities, using street racers to drive the bombs into position. Stephanie asked for the trackers so that she and Blake could monitor two of the drivers. Alina had loaned them to her willingly.

Fury, hot and fierce, rolled through her, catching Viper by surprise. Hawk had tried to warn her. He told her she couldn't trust anyone, not even those closest to her. Intellectually she knew he spoke the truth, but in her heart she hadn't wanted to believe that Stephanie would ever intentionally cause her harm. Even when he found the contents of John's safe deposit box in her closet, Alina had rationalized that Stephanie simply hadn't had time to tell her about the box, or the contents.

Viper swung around and strode to the open door of the garage, drawing in a deep breath of cool, evening air. She leaned on the side of the door and gazed out into the gathering dusk, trying to get a handle on the anger coursing through her.

Stephanie was her oldest friend. Aside from Hawk, she was probably the only other person in this God-forsaken world that Alina actually trusted. She would have trusted her with her life. Alina's lips twisted humorlessly. In fact, she had, and someone had tried to kill her. And they would try again. They would keep trying until she was dead, and Stephanie was the one feeding them the information!

Alina's fists clenched at her side and she turned to look back at the two black boxes on the trunk of the Shelby. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at them thoughtfully for a long moment. Setting her fury aside, she went over to pick them up. Her breathing calmed as she carried them to the back of the garage. While the trackers were transmitting, Stephanie believed they were undetected. They had to continue, or she’d know they'd been found.

Viper reached down into the box on the floor again and pulled out the black box she used on every vehicle that came onto her property. Those vehicles transmitted a false GPS signal once they crossed inside the three-mile perimeter around Alina's house. Now, she would reverse the process. These would begin transmitting a false location once they crossed outside the three-mile perimeter. Stephanie would have no idea where Viper was once she crossed the perimeter.