Following the map in her mind, she turned southeast when she reached the Liangmaqiao Road and began a long walk. The developed neighborhood of the foreign consulates gave way to a series of half-finished construction projects and then finally to the more traditional Chinese districts that she’d hoped to see. Checking her watch, Kyra decided that she had traveled over two miles; her feet were already hurting. Her sneakers were not designed for long walks. She would have some blisters. She ignored the sore spots and kept up her pace and fixed her eyes on the skyline. The Forbidden City lit up the cityscape in the distance. She doubted that she could make the trip on foot tonight.
The first blow caught her square between her shoulder blades and knocked her into the brick wall to her right. Kyra got her hands up to protect her face before she made contact but still hit hard enough to scrape her palms on the rough stone. Stunned, she turned her head and saw a Chinese man, well dressed in a British-cut suit, average build, just a little taller than herself. He looked at her, stoic, no expression on his face, but he was clearly focused on her. He stood still as the crowd flowed around him.
Kyra twisted her neck in a circle to straighten out the kink that the body check had given her, then stared straight at the man as a strange emotion settled over her. The tear along her arm throbbed as her heart started to pound. She thought for a moment that she should have been furious, but she felt detached… almost unfeeling.
You want to play? she thought.
Kyra turned away from the man and began to walk again. She turned her head briefly to check for the tail. He was barely an arm’s length behind her. She approached the cross street, then stopped and braced herself. It was a good guess. The man walked into her hard enough that she would have sprawled onto the street had she not prepared herself for the hit. This time she didn’t bother to look back.
Something cold rose up inside her chest and her thoughts went blank. The light changed and she began to cross with the small mob. The man behind bumped her again as she approached the opposite sidewalk, a subtle move intended to make it look as though she had tripped trying to step up on the curb. She was agile enough to clear the rise, but the feeling inside her grew stronger and she lost all desire to suppress it.
An alleyway cut into the wall on her right fifteen feet ahead. Kyra quickened her pace just a bit, and a brief glance confirmed that she had managed to put a few pedestrians between her and the man behind. She approached the alley, then made a quick turn and ran into the dark space.
Alpha saw the woman break to the right and sprint into the alley. He pushed a pair of random lovers out of his path and rushed forward to the dark hole between the buildings. He stared into the dark and realized he could see nothing beyond, but there was no light at the end of the alley to suggest another exit. The woman had to be somewhere in front of him, but the streetlamps behind him destroyed his night vision and he wouldn’t recover it until he stepped into the darkness. He took the step and moved into the black space.
The metal rebar caught him flat on the nose and shattered his upper lateral cartilage into pieces. Blood gushed out in an instant into his mouth and throat and he gagged. The pain tore through his head and he couldn’t think. All he managed was the reflex to move his hands to his face to cover the wound.
The blow sent a vibration through the rebar that rebounded through her arm, and Kyra felt a burst of pain try to erupt from her gutted triceps. The Vicodin let her ignore it. Kyra swung for his kneecap next. Her aim was off in the dark and she missed the patella on the first try. The second try connected squarely, dropping Alpha to the concrete and forcing a cry from him despite the blood in his throat leaking from the gusher in the middle of his face.
Kyra was yelling and crying now, had lost all self-control and knew it, but she couldn’t stop herself. The trained part of her mind watched with detachment as she went wild, unable to regain herself. She didn’t understand that she was cursing, and that part of her mind that was quietly observing the scene caught bits of English and Spanish screams directed at the pathetic, crippled figure on the ground curled into the fetal position.
She didn’t know how long it went on. It felt like minutes, certainly, but the beating could only have lasted for a few seconds. Then the rebar slipped from her fingers and fell to the concrete with several loud clangs as the ends took turns hitting the ground faster and faster until it came to rest. She didn’t know why she stopped, but Kyra wasn’t a killer. She stared down at the silhouette for a brief moment, then turned and ran.
She paused at the curtain of light dividing the street from the darkened alley. Her heart was pounding hard and she couldn’t control her breathing. No pedestrians had stopped. The traffic had been loud enough to drown out the noises from the alleyway.
Kyra turned back toward the embassy district and began to run.
“That’s it, Mr. President.” Barron closed the book and set it on the table. There were five printed copies of Mitchell’s plan to exfiltrate Pioneer in existence and they were all in the Oval Office. Stuart, Rhead, Showalter, Cooke, and Barron had copies, all received in that order. Barron would collect them all once the meeting was over, carry them back to Langley in a lockbag, and shred them personally. He found himself hoping that the DNI would demand to keep a copy so he could tell Rhead off in front of the president. Barron despised Michael Rhead for several excellent reasons, but the most important one was sure to come out in the next five minutes. He’d been waiting for this particular fight.
Stuart didn’t close his own leather binder. “It seems too simple.”
Barron nodded. “The more complicated they are, the more likely they are to fail. Simplicity leaves room for flexibility when things don’t go as planned. Besides, with the MSS putting the lockdown on everyone over there, our resources are limited.”
“‘Captains talk strategy, generals talk logistics,’ eh?” Stuart asked.
“It’s the literal truth in this case,” Cooke said. She set her own book on the table next to Barron’s.
“Who’s going to perform the retrieval?” Rhead said. The DNI had been remarkably uncritical of the plan. He seemed almost at peace with Cooke’s decision to proceed with the operation.
Barron watched as Cooke took a breath. “They’ve got blanket coverage on most of the long-term residents that pass through the embassies there, not just our people. It’s—”
“Who?” Rhead repeated.
Cooke looked Rhead straight in the face. “Kyra Stryker,” she said.