“John, whatever you do, don’t negotiate with these killers!” Miller looked furious.
Savas looked back. Cohen had dropped her head, defeated. He had a second to make a decision weighing a man’s life and a possible stop to a world terrorist event. He closed his eyes.
“Frank, take my gun and—”
“I’m coming!”
He opened his eyes and saw Poison standing up behind Cohen. The hacker moved her hands upward and danced around Cohen’s clumsy attempt to grab her, trotting forward awkwardly with arms raised.
“Anyone else move and this pig is dead!” cried the voice.
Savas cursed. The girl had taken things into her own hands. They hadn’t killed her, which ruled her out as a target. It looked like Fawkes had sent a retrieval team to get her out of FBI custody, that he wanted her alive and was willing to invest significant resources into saving her. Dammit! The plan would have worked!
Poison was now just in front of the van, walking slowly, eyes wide and face frozen. She was beyond the team’s reach now, any actions they might take could be countered devastatingly.
“They’ve got her,” Savas said to Miller, hand clenched into a fist.
Miller nodded. “She made the call. Damage control, John. We need to create a distraction.”
“A distraction?” he asked, the truth dawning on him.
“To get Rebecca out,” said Miller grimly. “No way we all walk. Not after those videos. Not after this bloodbath. We need to draw fire and get her the hell out of here. Somebody has to walk away and try to get assets on that van.”
Savas nodded, the implications hitting him like a sledgehammer. “Maybe we can take enough of them down, damage the van. Trap them, slow them down.”
“Good a plan as any,” shrugged Miller.
“But she can barely walk.”
Savas looked back toward Cohen. Her attention was focused on him. He motioned with his eyes to the stairwell, a bright EXIT sign over the door. She followed his gaze and nodded, grabbing the crutches beside her.
They heard a scream and thump. Savas assumed it was Poison being thrown into the van. They had only seconds now.
“Go!” he hissed to Miller, and the two spun toward the attackers, weapons drawn.
They opened fire.
51
Weapons discharge filled the reverberant chamber. It was several seconds before Savas could fully process what was happening. He’d locked on the shapes in front of the white van, the form of Poison glimpsed momentarily within as he took aim. From both sides figures were rushing toward the van in a blur of motion.
But something was wrong. The mass of figures was too large, and the flow of bodies counter to what would be expected of their attackers. Shapes were moving down from the access ramp, black fabric fluttering as they dashed.
They were firing on Fawkes’ team.
“Friendlies!” screamed Miller beside him, his combat vision parsing the chaos more quickly than anyone.
Lopez and Houston. Savas didn’t have time to consider how they had arrived and found their way to the conflict. That would come later.
“Sideways, John,” Miller yelled. “Watch the cross-fire!”
They darted away from the center. The team sent to snatch Poison was caught between a hailstorms of bullets. Lopez and Houston had drawn their attention, wounding several, just as Savas and Miller opened fire. In less than a minute, the firearms were silent. Shell casings tinkled to a stop on the hard surface below. The charred reek of gunpowder burned in their nostrils.
A mass of bodies was scattered around the white vans. Two of the forms jerked helplessly, one screaming in agony. The rest were silent and still. It was over.
“Poison!” cried Cohen. She hobbled on her crutches straight to the van.
Miller and Savas moved cautiously, training their weapons on the bodies below them while Cohen disappeared inside the transport. Lopez and Houston rounded the right side of the vehicle, the former priest’s left arm in a sling, his right clutching a submachine gun. Houston holstered a large Browning.
“Fuck, Savas!” she said, out of breath. “This was supposed to be where we recuperated!”
He frowned at them. “Thanks for saving our asses. Now get topside and check that we aren’t going to get another surprise. Call Angel when you get back and let’s try to figure this out.”
“Francisco can wait it out here,” she said. “Doc isn’t going to be happy with his recent exertions.” She sprinted away and up the ramp, weapon drawn again.
Lopez looked toward the fallen men around them. “I’ll see what’s left here. Go check on our bait.”
Savas nodded and ducked into the vehicle. Inside, Poison cowered at the far end, shaking, wedged into a corner by the back doors with her legs pulled up and her arms around them. Cohen crouched next to her, one hand resting on the hacker’s arm.
“Poison,” Cohen said. There was no response, just a wide-eyed and distant look on her face. “Tabitha.” She turned to Cohen, still not speaking, and Cohen continued gently. “It’s over. We need to get you out of here, now, in case more are on the way.”
“He knew,” Poison whispered, clutching her necklace. She grabbed Cohen’s vest. “How did he know?”
Cohen shook her head. “I don’t know, but we need to move.”
“We aren’t safe anywhere! He’ll know. He’ll follow.” Her eyes were wild. “How could he know?”
Savas’ baritone rumbled from the front of the van. “Maybe I can shed some light on it.” He spun from the front seat to the pair in the back, holding up a smartphone. “Look. GPS app.”
He held the device toward them. On the screen a bright sphere blinked on their position.
“You’re bugged, Poison,” Savas said grimly.
“Bugged?” Poison looked perplexed. Then a light flared in her eyes. She jerked her necklace hard enough to break the clasp, leaving two ribbons dangling from her hand. Inside her palm was the USB stick.
“The drive?” asked Savas.
She laughed bitterly. “My first hack. Backed up. Like a trophy for luck. He knew. The prick! He knew. He must have switched it with a tracking device. Jesus!”
With a wild motion, she flung herself through the van, forcing her way past Savas and outside. The two agents followed her out and watched her fling the device to the ground. She picked up one of the assault rifles beside a dead man and aimed the butt of the gun toward the USB stick.
Cohen extended one of her crutches and stopped her. “We want him to know where we are, remember?”
“You want another bloodbath?” Poison said, indicating the bodies at their feet. “He’ll come again. Can’t you see that?”
“No,” Cohen said. “We’ll shield it, jam it until we arrive at the warehouse.”
Poison nodded. “Yeah. All right.” Her breathing slowed. Her eyes flashed downward. “I still want to smash the damn thing.”
The edges of Cohen’s mouth twitched upward. “I’m sure you do.”
Cohen reached down awkwardly and scooped the stick from the ground, her face momentarily lost in a cascade of brown hair. Houston came jogging around the two vans.
“All clear,” she panted. “The guards at the front are dead and the gate mechanism’s smashed to hell and back. I used the phone there to call for some backup. This building must be ghosted. There hasn’t been any response!”
Savas nodded. “We’re spread so thin across the city that we’re losing function.”
“I also got Angel on the phone. She says she’s got some interesting news.”
Savas turned his head. “What news?”
Houston shrugged. “Something about immune code or something for the virus? I have no idea. I turned the conversation to our little problem down here. She’ll get some reinforcements to us soon. ”