Rainey took a circuitous route to the weapons cache. The new location turned out to be an industrial area east of the airport. She passed several abandoned warehouses and small manufacturing shops. She slowed down a few times pretending to search for addresses, making sure she was unobserved. Certain she hadn’t been followed, she pulled the Toyota truck into a dirt lot in front of a ramshackle building. A wire metal fence surrounded the property, a bit too new. That would draw an experienced eye, but probably not your average guy tired from a day’s work.
Rainey parked and walked across the lot, avoiding a few mud holes. She knocked on a beat-up white metal door and smiled into the security camera. After a minute, the door opened and man who resembled an aged prize fighter stood there, wise eyes over a broad nose, a ragged scar over his left eye.
“As I live and breathe,” he said. “My girl Rainey.”
“Jim, you’re looking good.”
He gave her a wry smile and scratched at the gray stubble covering his face. “Not ready for a night out.”
“Maybe after the debate,” she teased.
He pulled her in for a bear hug that made a few of her vertebrae pop. “Tense?”
“Big job.”
“What’cha need?” Jim led her past a series of small offices and opened a door revealing a cavernous space.
Rainey stopped walking, startled to see two HMMWVs parked in front of her. Several jeeps sat partially covered by camouflage tarps. “Wow, expecting some heavy action?”
He chuckled. “Gotta be ready for anything.”
“I need a long-range rifle with a silencer and scope.”
“Got it. Tripod?”
“Nah, something I can handle on the fly.”
Jim eyed her. “How are your range scores lately?”
“Better than last year. I can manage it. But the rifle is back-up. I’m hoping to use a handgun.”
“Silencer?”
“Yes, please.”
Jim jerked his head toward an alcove. Guns of various sizes covered all three walls. He eyed her and pulled down a Remington CSR. “Try this out.”
Rainey checked to see if it was loaded. She found it empty, although she had guessed that by the weight. After loading it, she sighted across the warehouse, practiced picking it up and aiming, timing each attempt. She sat on the bench and took the rifle apart, then reassembled it. Checked her watch again.
“This will do. Do you have a silencer for it?”
Jim handed her one in a canvas zip bag. Rainey took it out and attached it, checked how the rifle handled with it, then returned it to the bag.
Jim watched her, then nodded his approval. “What’s your pleasure for a hand-gun?”
“Better give me a Glock. The Secret Service carries a 9mm these days, right?”
“Switched recently.”
“That way, if I get discovered, they’ll think I’m one of them.”
He laughed. “You ain’t gonna get discovered.”
Rainey paused for a moment to let his confidence in her soak in. She resisted telling him who she was up against. He didn’t need to know.
Once she’d secured her weapons and upgraded her binoculars, she gave him a big hug goodbye, then headed back to her hotel room. She picked up some peanut curry on the way. Back in her room, she called Control.
“We think the Albanian drove through one of the small check points on the Canadian border, then took a private jet to Atlanta,” he reported. “He didn’t go through Hartsfield-Jackson. We’re checking the municipal airports. If he came in through a private airfield or even the Dobbins Naval Air Reserve, we’ll have a harder time identifying the flight.”
“You think he came through a military base?”
Control’s sigh sounded heavy. “I suppose anything’s possible these days. If we could catch him on camera at his start point, we could trace his route.”
“Too bad.”
“He could be traveling under diplomatic immunity, but I think he’s more like you.”
“Pardon me?” she objected.
His deep chuckle filled her ear. “He likes to fly under the radar. Do everything on his own.”
“I’m talking to you, aren’t I?”
“And I’m glad of it.” Control’s voice was warm. “You’re cutting this job close to the wire.”
“I’ll get it done.”
“Once we find the Albanian, we’ll let you know.”
Rainey finished her curry and leaned back on the bed. She switched on the TV and watched a few minutes of several news channels, gathering in the mood of the country. Early voting put the Murray/Warden ticket ahead, but those were estimates. Coverage of the Springford shooting was dying down, although the news pundits said this should give the advantage to the Democrats and few Republicans who’d spoken up for gun control.
She turned to an international news show for a while. Iceland had lost a second glacier over the summer and put up a plaque to remember the occasion. More saber-rattling from Iran. The country reminded her of a cat cornered by a pack of dogs. She hoped the situation would calm down after she finished her assignment. The stock market had dropped another five percent.
Her cell rang.
“We found his equipment stash. Sending you the address now.”
Rainey clicked the link on the screen, then ended the call. A map appeared on her phone. So, he’d holed up close to the coliseum, but not in a hotel. She switched to street view and found an empty lot. Either this picture was out of date or the Albanian had pulled a fast one on Control. She grabbed her pack and Glock, and headed out to the truck. Google estimated the drive at ten minutes, but this was Atlanta and the president was in town. She set the phone to give directions and pulled out.
The GPS kept directing her to streets next to the stadium, but they had been closed off for security. She had to detour every few blocks. She took a roundabout path to Morris Brown College, then made her way through side streets to Beckwith Court. The street curved back around toward the new stadium.
“Your destination is ahead on the right,” said the voice of the GPS.
She pulled over just past the big curve and studied the area. What had shown up as an empty lot next to an unnamed street now had a foundation dug out and support beams in place. Looked like they were building a high-end apartment complex. With all the universities and colleges in the area, it could be student housing, but the stadium must be raising real estate prices.
Rainey parked the truck under a tree and stepped onto the sidewalk just south of the construction zone. She crouched behind the bushes, squinting into the growing dark. The whole thing felt fishy, but if she could eliminate him here, it would make her job easier.
She made her silent way across a stubbled field to a large maple and blended with the trunk. Parked on the edge of the site was a big yellow excavator and backhoe. She slipped between them and crouched behind the front of the tread, studying the place. The sun lowered toward the horizon and long shadows fell across the red dirt. The trailer hosting the office for the build sat on one corner of the big lot, its windows dark.
She doubted the Albanian had stashed anything on this site. It looked too active. They’d probably closed it down for the debates. The Secret Service tended to create a dead zone around a presidential event for a few days before, sending everyone off on unexpected holidays. The workers loved it, but they got a lot of complaints from company owners.
Or this was a set up. He must have spotted her in the coliseum and arranged to be seen here. It was the perfect place for an ambush. She’d have to be careful.
Rainey pulled out her Glock. The silencer was already on. She slammed in the magazine and charged a round into the chamber. Drawing on her training at the nunnery, she settled her breath and let her awareness flood out into her surroundings. The hum of traffic formed a background. A robin called from a nearby tree. No shuffle of footsteps. No rustling from underbrush disturbed the place. The faint scent of fresh baked bread wafted from behind her.
She scanned for hiding places. The cement truck parked next to the backhoe. The tarp covering a pile of lumber across the way. She squinted to see if the floor had been poured. He could be in the hole. Behind the stack of support beams. In the trailer. Behind it. Between the row of shipping containers on the other side of the site. Rainey didn’t know the Albanian well enough to guess his strategy.
The sun set and the shadows deepened. Streetlights switched on. A faint breeze blew a thin line of silt down from the bucket of the machine she crouched beside. At that moment, the cicadas sent up a shrill in unison. The insects almost drowned out sound. Was someone above her?
Rainey rolled. Came up to her feet, gun aimed high.
A heavy weight fell on her, knocking her to the ground. Her attacker let out a grunt, reached around, trying to trap her arms.
The Albanian.
Rainey thrashed back and forth, pushing against solid muscle, trying to make room for a punch.
“Cyka,” Dushku muttered.
Rainey recognized the word. Bitch. It sent another surge of adrenaline through her. She grappled with his arms, pushing against him, trying to bring her legs up.
“Oh, you want?” Dushku asked.
Pure rage took her. She howled, got her knees under his hips, and pushed.
Dushku flew back.
Rainey rolled, stretched out her arms, searching the ground for her gun.
Nothing.
She jumped to her feet and took a fighting stance.
The light from the street fell on his scared face. Brown hair spiked on top. Gray, grizzled whiskers. A scar ran from the edge of one eye and disappeared behind his ear. Muscled, light on his feet.
Almost a handsome pirate, Rainey thought.
“Oh, you want to play first.”
A wave of disgust rolled through her, but Rainey shook it off. No time for that.
Dushku circled, then struck, fast as a mamba. Rainey bobbed to the right, moved around him, and cuffed him hard on the ear as he passed.
He swirled around. A roundhouse punch headed for her temple.
She ducked and landed a hard blow to his kidney. She was rewarded with a grunt. She stood and danced back, but he wasn’t in front of her anymore.
Just as she turned, arms like steel bands grabbed her. She stomped on his foot, but he just laughed.
He pulled her against him.
She stiffened her fingers and pushed back, reaching for his eyes.
He grabbed her throat and squeezed.
She scrunched up her neck and searched for his little finger, the weakest link, but he had something thick wrapped around his hands and she couldn’t reach them. Dark spots floated in the air in front of her.
She pushed up and slammed the back of her head against his nose.
“Dermo,” he hissed. Shit.
His grip loosened and she surged forward, breaking his hold.
She searched wildly for a weapon. A steel bar leaned against the backhoe. She ran toward it, but he tripped her. She fell hard.
Dushku landed on her like a wrestler jumping from the ropes. The impact drove the breath from her lungs. She struggled for air, but he grabbed her around the neck and squeezed again.
Rainey went still, but Dushku kept squeezing. She let herself go limp. Her vision started to dim. She steeled herself not to move.
Dushku gave a satisfied grunt and flipped her over.
Rainey punched him in the throat and he gagged. She jumped up and pummeled him. He fell under her rain of blows. She stomped on his head.
Police sirens sounded just next to the site. “Hands up. Don’t move.” The voice was close.
Rainey scuttled back into the shadows.
The glint of metal caught her attention. Her gun.
She picked it up, stepped behind a large container, and got off a shot at the Albanian.
Too fast. The bullet pinged off the metal of the cement truck.
A bullet puffed up sand right next to her.
“Drop the weapon.”
Could the police see her? She couldn’t get caught. Not now.
Rainey turned on her heel and ran, her Nike Vaporflies silent on the hardpack.
She quietly blessed Arnold.
She hid behind a hydrangea bush on the edge of the sidewalk. A patrol car sat next to her white truck, two officers standing near it, guns drawn.
More gun fire came from behind her.
Next a shout loud enough for her to make out. “Officer down. Officer down.”
The two policemen listened to their coms, then ran into the bushes separating the street from the construction site.
Rainey waited. Detached the silencer and stowed it in her pocket. Stuffed the gun in the waist band of her pants and made her noiseless way through the bushes. Nobody on the street.
In one short sprint, she jumped into the white Toyota truck and turned around, careful not to let her tires squeal. Heading up Walnut toward M.L.K. Jr. Dr., two ambulances and a bevy of police cars passed her, sirens wailing.
Looked like Dushku had shot his way out. Unless one of those ambulances was for him. She didn’t know.
But one thing was certain. He had seen her face.
She headed for the airport and drove into the long-term parking lot, scanning for cameras. She found a spot where she was shielded by a large van and parked. The cops had the license plate and if one of them had been killed, they’d be hot on her trail. She stuck on her Shiva baseball cap and walked around until she found an SUV that would do. It only took a minute to unlock the door and hotwire it. She hoped the owners were on a long vacation.
She should have known it had been a set up as soon as she saw the construction site. She shook her head.
That was sloppy, Rain.