"Wouldn't have it any other way," declared Phillips.
The two women circled, eyeing each other up. Suddenly, the redhead threw a hard, fast kick to the side of Phillips's head, which Phillips barely blocked. It caught Phillips's attention. The woman in gray then launched a straightforward attack — three punches that caught only Phillips's arms that that she used to block with, a kick that missed, and an attempt at a flying knee.
Styles watched with concern.
The woman then tried a spinning back kick to Phillips's head that missed badly, providing the opening Phillips had been waiting for.
Ducking under the kick, Phillips pivoted and side kicked the woman square in her stomach, connecting hard. Her opponent groaned but recovered. Phillips feigned a punch to the forehead but closed with a knee to the woman's chest that connected with authority. The redhead had been hurt, but she kept her arms and guard up. Phillips executed a spinning back kick, but rather than go high, she went low, right at the woman's knee, which knocked her off her feet. Phillips backed up and motioned for her to get up and continue the fight.
Back on her feet, the woman advanced cautiously, too cautiously. Her guard was a little too far apart, allowing Phillips to connect with a perfect front-jump snap kick that rocked the woman hard. Phillips jumped in close and fired off three hard punches to her opponent's sternum, followed by two more to the bridge of her nose and her forehead. The redhead fell to the ground, the fight knocked out of her. She lay on the ground staring up at both of them, hatred pouring from her eyes.
Styles walked back to the man he'd knocked out and grabbed the Taser from him. He walked back to the woman, stood over her, and snarled, "Just want to make sure you know how this feels," and started to shoot her in the chest.
Phillips said, "Hold up." She walked over and took the Taser from Styles. "I don't want anyone to accuse you of being sexist."
"If she wants to dish it out, she needs to be able to take it," snapped Styles.
"True, but allow me."
Styles relented.
"Here, bitch," Phillips said as she fired the electrical darts directly into the woman's chest.
She started convulsing. After eight seconds, she stopped and was barely conscious.
"You okay?" he asked Phillips.
"No, I was just getting started."
Right then, Christman and Starr drove up, got out, and immediately came running over.
"What the hell happened here?" Starr growled.
"Three guesses," Phillips answered.
Styles was still so mad about getting Tased that he was pacing back and forth like a hungry lion. "Damn, that hurts."
"Yes, it does," Phillips retorted, giving him a sweet smile. "Remember that elevator?" She did not receive a reply, only a nod.
Christman went over and dug through the smaller man's pockets, producing CIA credentials. "Well, what do you know! CIA."
Styles was finally starting to calm down, just barely, and directed, "Phillips, get us one more car from Enterprise. One with a big trunk, and make sure it's a credit card we've never used before."
She just nodded, walked back to the Tahoe she'd driven over, sat in the backseat, and then made the reservation.
"J. C., drive me back over there, since you two were just in there. Starr, grab some wire ties, and tie these three up good. We'll be right back."
In eight minutes, two vehicles parked close to the door, one being a new Ford Taurus.
Styles got out of the Taurus and spoke. "Line these three up alongside each other on the floor. Put their CIA IDs on their chests and take some photos. Then hold the IDs up against a recognizable background; no doubt where the photo is being taken. Be sure the photos are time and date stamped. J. C., will you back that Taurus in here?"
"Sure."
After the photos were taken, Styles popped the trunk. He looked it over. "We can get two of them in here."
"What about air?" Phillips asked.
Styles walked around and came back with a lug wrench rather sharply wedged on one end. Gripping it tightly, he used it as a large punch, quickly producing four holes in the side of the vehicle. "There, that should let them breathe. We'll toss the woman onto the floor of the backseat."
Styles walked over to the three CIA agents trussed up on the ground. All three were conscious. He knelt down beside them.
"This should be pretty easy to understand. Normally, I'd just kill the three of you, but as we are basically on the same side, I'd rather not if it can be helped. So here's the deal. We've got your IDs, photographed both on you and against a recognizable backdrop. They are time and date stamped. What you tell your boss is your problem. If you say anything to describe us, then it becomes my problem. The first thing that will be done is those photographs will be leaked to the press; CIA operating illegally in this country. That will cause your director problems. Then I will come after all three of you, and I will finish this — permanently. You three will be tossed into that car. You have my word that we'll let the proper people know of your whereabouts within thirty-six hours, possibly sooner. You're not going to like that, but it beats being dead. You two guys go in the trunk; the woman goes on the floor in the backseat. I'm going to have to tie you so you can't kick. Sorry, but it has to be that way."
Styles got up and, grabbing the long wire ties, walked over to the Taurus. "Starr, you and J. C. bring those guys over here."
J. C. and Starr walked over to the smaller man, hoisted him up, dragged him to the trunk of the Taurus, picked him up, and tossed him inside. Styles rolled him over onto his stomach, bent his legs backward at the knees, and hog-tied his feet toward his hands. He then doubled up all the wire ties to ensure the man could not escape. He turned and said, "Next."
After J. C. and Starr brought the larger man over, he repeated the process. He then used duct tape to gag both men, cutting a slight slit between their lips to aid their ability to breathe, and then double-checked to be sure there would be no way they could pound on the vehicle; satisfied, he closed the trunk.
"Okay, bring that woman over here."
She wanted no part of going into that car and tried to resist. Phillips walked up to her and slapped her hard in the face. "Listen, I know what he said; I don't have a problem in killing you right here and now. So either get in the damn car alive, or get in dead. Your choice."
She settled down somewhat, and Starr and Christman got her onto the floor in the backseat, on her stomach.
Styles proceeded to tie her in the same manner. Looking at Phillips, he said, "Follow me; I'm going to park this in the last row in that rental lot." Glancing at J. C., he directed, "You get him up and running, and then she will go back to his room. You stay with her until you hear from me." Looking at J.C., he said, "Let me have your car keys. Mine will be on top of the tailpipe. You ride back with her." Looking back at Starr, he said, "You'll have your ride when you get back. Everybody set? Let's go."
25
CIA team leader Martin Larrow, known as Marty, was on the phone to Langley. Holding for Bernard Backersley, he was conversing quietly with Sandi Davis, the female agent stationed poolside.
"So you never saw anyone? Anything? How in the hell can that be? For Christ's sake, Sandi, he was killed right under your damn nose! Look at the fucking mess we have. Everybody but Santa's elves is nosing around. I have no idea how to explain this. Backersley is going to throw a shit fit." He held up a hand to stop her response as his cell phone rang.
"Yes, sir," he addressed Backersley. He gave Backersley a quick rundown on what had happened at the motel. Davis could hear Backersley over the cell phone, which was not on speaker, from five feet away. The look on Larrow's face was painful.