Tree Man’s black suit coat split open in several places before holes appeared on his neck and face. He fell onto the front lawn without getting off the coveted kill shot.
Charity screwed up her face and looked away. A single one hundred and eighty grain, forty-caliber hollow point bullet could do a lot of damage to the human body; several could be devastating. She holstered the Glock 23 and ran back around to the front passenger seat, where Parker was lying, and bleeding. Pushing Franks aside, she undid the injured man’s tie, “Give me yours too,” climbed into the vehicle and dropped to her knees. After knotting the ties together, she secured them around Parker’s leg, an inch above the gash.
Charity wrapped one end around her hand and gave the other to Franks. “Take this and pull hard.” She and Franks wrenched and the prone man yelled, his upper body coming off the seat. “Sorry, but it has to be tight.” She pressed on the center of the first knot and looked up at Franks. “Make another knot. I’ll hold it.”
Ten seconds later, Parker screamed again before his head fell back. “Damn, that hurts.”
Charity patted his chest. “But, you’re still alive.” She glimpsed Franks. “We need to get him to a doctor ASAP.” She cranked her head around. “And, I don’t think this car’s going anywhere anytime soon.”
Franks saw what she was looking at—steam rising from the car’s hood. He nodded and backed out of the sedan, fishing for his cell. Before he could place a call, the Mercedes from down the street barreled into the driveway. The front end bounced off the hard surface, and the S-Class luxury vehicle skidded to a halt alongside the disabled sedan. The passenger window was down and a woman was behind the wheel.
Dahlia jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “Put him in the back.”
They drove five kilometers and got on Autobahn 96. Dahlia pulled back on the gearshift, let off the clutch and jammed her right foot to the floor. The engine roared and the Mercedes lunged forward. “Okay, Franks, now what?” Her boots and hand worked the pedals and stick shift a few more times, and the S-Class raced along at a hundred thirty-five kilometers per hour.
Kneeling in the back seat, the agent broke away from a phone call. “Just keep going west. I’m working on a rally point now.” He turned back and spoke into the cell. “I’ve got an injured man in need of immediate medical attention. This is Agent Franklin Franks…”
Dahlia and Charity exchanged looks, but repressed snickers.
“That’s right, Franks…2-3-9-2-3-7-0-1-1.” A moment passed, while the person on the other end verified his number sequence. “We’re just outside Munich, heading west on 96. We need a medical team to meet us en route.”
While Franks hammered out the details, Dahlia settled back in the seat and shot glances at her right thigh. She wrapped the loose piece of her nylons around her hand and yanked, tearing the section free.
Charity watched her toss the fabric onto the console and eyed the woman’s leg. “You’re bleeding.”
“That seems to be,” Dahlia checked the rearview mirror, “par for the course today.” She changed lanes, rocked her foot and added to their speed. Fingers touched her leg and she jumped. “What are you doing?”
Charity picked debris from the wound. “You’ve got stones or…pebbles…or something embedded in your skin.”
Dahlia chuckled. “Souvenirs from our trip.”
Charity grabbed a water bottle and the small piece of Dahlia’s stocking from the console, soaked the material and dabbed the woman’s abrasions. “That’s the best I can do. It’s a little cleaner.”
Dahlia glimpsed the leg, “Thanks,” and faced her caregiver. “I remember telling you to stay down back there. Th—”
“Hey I—”
Staring through the windshield, Dahlia’s hand shot up. “Let me finish, please.” She waited a beat. “I told you to stay down back there.” She turned toward Charity. “Thank you…for not listening to me.”
“You’re welcome.” Charity peered out her window. “Hardy will be glad to hear those two weeks of training paid off.”
“Hardy’s glad?” Dahlia put a hand to her chest. “I’m glad. I’m ecstatic.” She held out a fist.
Charity studied the knuckles.
“Don’t leave me hanging here, girl.” The women exchanged a fist-bump. “Now.” The word was a sentence all by itself. “How the hell,” she looked out the window, “did those guys find us so fast? It was almost as if they had been following us.” She paused. “But, they couldn’t have been…unless I missed them. But, even if they were, why wait? We were in the safe house for an hour. Why wouldn’t they just storm the place and take us right away? That makes no sense. The way those guys operated, they had to be KSK again.” She slowly nodded her head. “A three-man team; just like the first one. Their tactics were solid. Two men drew our fire, while a third flanked us.” Thinking, Dahlia strummed her fingers on the wheel.
From the back seat: “Ma’am?”
Charity turned.
Parker stared at her. “Thank you for what you did.” Before Charity shot the last assailant, she had dragged the wounded man into the front seat of the shot-up sedan, getting him out of the line of fire. The man glanced at his leg. “Thank you for this too.”
Charity smiled and nodded, “You’re welcome, Agent Parker,” and faced forward. Glimpsing Dahlia’s thigh—and the bandage under the woman’s torn leather jacket—Charity sniggered. “I guess I’m slowly becoming the team’s medic.”
Dahlia did not hear the quip. Her mind was running scenarios, replaying everything from the time she and Charity had entered Hoffman-Koch Labs to the present. “Cherry, did you take anything when we were at the lab? Did you bump into anyone, speak to anyone?”
“You and I were together the whole time. And, as for taking something, I only took the list of names from Dr. Kimmler, the ones with level-five clearance.”
Resting an elbow on the door, Dahlia ran fingers through her hair. “It almost seems as if they had eyes on us the whole time. But how?”
“Take the exit for Gilching,” said Franks. “We’re meeting up with medical personnel.” He looked at Parker, “You’re going to be fine,” and swung his head toward the front seat. “Another car will be waiting for us too. I’ll be taking you two to the rendezvous point myself.”
“Good,” Dahlia jutted out her chin, “I’m sure they’re searching for this ride right now.” She waited. “They probably even have a…tracking…device…on it.” She fumbled through her coat pockets and came up with the security card she had taken from Man 1 in the alley. “Son of a—” she held up the card among her, Charity and Franks, whose head and shoulders were wedged between the front seats. “This is how they knew where to find us.”
Charity pushed her brows together before arching them and slowly nodding her head. “RF—”
“ID,” said Dahlia.
Franks took the card, “Radio-Frequency Identification,” and turned it over in his hands. “They’re putting those chips in everything these days. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s one in here.” He pressed a button and the back window rolled down. “If they’re tracking us through this, then we’ve got to get rid of it.”
“Hold on.” Dahlia turned up a palm. “Give it to me.” She examined the card. “How long before we get to Gilching?”
Franks checked his watch. “Thirteen minutes, why?”
She flicked the card between her fingers. “They can’t find us that quickly. I’ve got an idea.” Her boot went closer to the floor, and the speedometer displayed the numbers 1-5-0…1-5-1…1-5-2.
Charity’s phone buzzed. “It’s Hardy.” She put the cell to her ear. “What’s up, Hardy?”
“You haven’t answered your phone. Is everything all right?”
“We must’ve passed through a dead zone.” She saw no point in telling him, worrying him about their latest brush with death. “What’s up?”
“I’m sending you a photo of a man we think was heading up experiments on animals in a makeshift lab, using Anthrax and other viruses. I need you to tell me if he’s the man you met with at Hoffman-Koch.”
“Hold on. I’m putting you on speaker.” She tapped the screen a few times, brought up the picture and turned the device toward Dahlia.
“Bingo,” said Dahlia. “That’s the guy.”
Charity hauled in the cell. “He looks a little different in person, but that’s definitely him.”
“Thanks, Cherry. The man we apprehended has confirmed the man in the photo as the doctor in charge of the operations at the warehouse. We’re working with German authorities to have Kimmler held for questioning.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Yes, get out of the country. Where are you now?”
Charity remembered the name of the city Franks had mentioned. “We just left Munich and we’re coming up on Gilching.”
Hardy checked his watch. “You’re just now leaving? What’s the hold up?”