Lady Death by Brian Drake (good e books to read .TXT) 📕

“You think you can identify the strike force via Horn?”

“I won’t ask nicely.”

“No holds barred at this point, Sam,” Wilson said. “I’ll make sure Fisher is aware.”

“Horn is in Antwerp. We’re heading there next.”

“Good luck.”

“Find that ship, Clark. We can assume the Triangle force is already in the US. All they need is their weapons and then the mission starts.”

Raven ended the call. The clock was ticking closer to zero. And if the Sea Queen had already reached the United States, they might already be too late.

Tiger Joe Hayden, the CIA man in Damascus, making his twice weekly stop for a bag of cardamom coffee, missed the first assassin coming out of the alley.

He didn’t miss the second.

A fight on a busy sidewalk wasn’t what he wanted but the enemy wasn’t giving him any choice.

The second assassin wasn’t more than five feet tall but moved fast. He turned from a street vendor’s cart and lifted the front of his shirt. Hayden saw the butt of his pistol before the man grasped it and drew the gun.

Hayden threw the bag of coffee. It struck the killer’s face and broke open. The ground beans spreading across his face, falling onto his shirt. The killer let out a startled yell. Hayden closed the gap, filling his right fist with the concealed push-dagger he habitually carried. His hand gripped the T handle with the sharpened blade extending through his fingers. He slammed a fist into the killer’s gut. The blade sank into his skin, ripping open his stomach. The killer wailed. Hayden wrenched the gun away with his left hand. Withdrawing the dagger, he pivoted behind the killer’s back and slammed him into the nearest wall. The killer’s head struck the stone surface and cracked. Witnesses screamed. Some started running.

As Hayden stepped back to avoid the killer’s tumbling body, the second assassin, only a few feet away, lifted his gun.

Hayden’s pulse raced as he brought the captured pistol to eye level. He was using his left hand, and years of practice firing with the non-dominant hand paid off. He fired twice. The recoil of the suppressed 9mm pistol snapped his wrist to the right. Both shots scored. The bullets punched through the second killer’s chest. The man’s face twisted in agony as his forward movement stopped, and then he fell.

Hayden dropped the bloody push-dagger and switched the gun to his right hand. He dropped into a squat. People were running, screaming. The street vendor behind him yelled for the police. Hayden scanned the scene quickly. No other threats came his way. Rising, he broke into a run. He ran two blocks without stopping and ducked into an alley. Stowing the pistol in his waistband, he grabbed his cell.

He called Colleen first.

Her phone rang four times, but Colleen didn’t answer.

Colleen Andreev stepped out of the shower and dried with a big towel. She lived in a small one bedroom, one bath, and the place had seen better days. Everything in it carried the patina of age. She could handle not having all the comforts of home, but a big fluffy towel with which to dry off from a hot shower wasn’t one of them.

She hung the towel on the wall rack and exited the bathroom. She’d laid out her clothes for the day on her bed and dressed without rushing. In the kitchen she poured a cup of coffee and relished the idea of a cup of the cardamom coffee Hayden was bringing to the office.

They’d been busy in the last few weeks. The interrogations of the two captured Islamic Union suspects had taken up the majority of their time. The Paris lead had been the only productive result. But it hadn’t panned out and cost the lives of five good operatives.

She leaned against the counter in the small kitchen and sipped her coffee. Somebody knocked on her door. She frowned. She never had visitors unless it was Hayden and Freddy and they always called ahead.

She ignored the knock.

Then a heavy kick splintered the aging wood frame. A second kick sent the door crashing inward.

Colleen let the coffee mug fall from her hands as she left the kitchen for a desk. It sat in a corner near her dining table, and she kept her gun there. She grabbed the autoloader from a drawer and upended the table for cover. As the table tipped onto its side with a crash, she knew she couldn’t get behind it in time. The two men entering the kitchen raised pistols of their own and opened fire. The rapid phuts of their suppressed handguns filled the room.

Colleen felt the slugs punching through her and she fell without a sound.

The killers ran out.

She’d left her cell phone on the coffee table on the other side of the room. The phone began to ring.

Freddy Lymann arrived at work before Hayden or Colleen. It wasn’t unusual. He liked being there early to get the computers booted and spend some time alone before the other two showed up.

He moved down the line of computers, switching everything on, then stopped at a printer to look at the messages sent through overnight. He shifted on his feet. His prosthetic wasn’t treating him very well today. He’d awoken with an itchy stump, and still felt itchy despite the medicated lotion he’d rubbed on before attaching the fake leg.

It was another day in the windowless basement. Another day in the glamorous life of an American spy.

His cell phone rang. He carried it on his belt, and answered when he saw Joe Hayden’s name on the caller ID.

“Good morning, boss,” he said.

“Freddy!” Hayden shouted. He was out of breath. Freddy’s pulse jumped. “Two guys tried to kill me, and I can’t reach Colleen.”

“She’s not here.”

“You’re closer to her apartment than I am,” Hayden said. “Get over there and check.”

“Right.”

Freddy hung up and started for the elevator across the room.

The doors started to rumble open.

A sense of relief came over him