Chapter 41 #2
The movement draws Reid’s attention. “You dumbasses didn’t take her phone? Get it from her. We’ll need to drive it back to DC. Did you check him? This can’t be the last location their phones ping.” He runs his hands through his hair, scanning the warehouse. He doesn’t look pleased.
An armed man steps up behind me, hand out for my phone. Another man approaches Rhodes, presumably to check him for a device.
The lights go out all at once.
Dim light filters through the yellowed skylights above.
The two men closest to us pause, lifting their holstered guns. They step back, keeping us in clear line of sight while scanning the warehouse.
Hurried footsteps mix with Reid’s profanity.
Emergency lighting kicks in three seconds later, bathing everything in an eerie red glow.
“Contact left!” one of the mercenaries near the containers shouts, but his voice is cut short by the distinctive sound of a suppressed rifle from the upper level. The mercenary who’d been reaching for my phone drops immediately, his sidearm clattering across the concrete floor.
The warehouse erupts into chaos. Muzzle flashes strobe from the mezzanine.
Two mercenaries by the loading docks return fire while Reid and another gunman take cover behind Daisy’s chair—using her as a human shield.
I grab Rhodes’ hand and we dive behind the shipping pallets to our right.
Cover. We’re unarmed. Gaining cover is priority.
From here, we have a clear line to the laptop table, about thirty feet of open ground.
“Stay low,” Rhodes whispers, then pulls out what I now realize isn’t just a phone—it’s a tactical communicator. “ARGUS, emergency protocol seven-seven-alpha.”
“Rhodes, what are you?—”
“Activating kill switch for all external access,” he says into the device. “Authorization: Icarus-One-One-Seven.”
Here we are in the middle of a firefight, and he’s in command, cutting off access to ARGUS remotely, mitigating risk should they succeed in eliminating us.
He crawls to the edge of our cover and retrieves the pistol from the downed mercenary, checking the magazine with practiced efficiency before returning to position.
A figure drops from the rafters directly above Dristol. It’s Jake, moving like a shadow despite his bulk. He lands behind the container where Dristol took cover, cutting off his retreat to the main entrance.
“Sydney!” Rhodes shouts over the gunfire from our position behind the pallets. “The table—Daisy! The laptop!”
Lives first. Mission second. Equipment last. Daisy’s hunched in the chair, positioned dangerously in the open.
I sprint across the open space in a diagonal line toward Daisy’s position, using shipping containers for cover against the mezzanine shooters.
Rhodes covers my advance with a pistol he grabbed from the first downed mercenary, positioning himself at the corner of our pallet barricade.
Apparently, there’s more to the tech genius than meets the eye.
One armed mercenary, crouching near a cabinet, swings his weapon toward me.
I see the muzzle tracking my movement and realize my current path puts Daisy directly in his line of fire behind me.
I dive left toward a concrete support pillar instead, forcing him to reposition and giving Rhodes a clear shot.
Two rounds center mass, and the threat drops.
“Nice shooting,” I gasp, sliding behind the table where Daisy sits zip-tied to a metal chair.
“High school rifle team,” he says grimly. “Some skills you don’t lose.”
Daisy’s eyes are wide but alert—no signs of head trauma or shock. Good. Her wrists are secured behind the chair with heavy-duty zip ties, ankles bound to the chair legs.
“You okay?” I shout, scrambling to pull a tactical knife from the waist of a downed mercenary.
"Peachy,” she says, eyeing my stolen knife. “Hands first. Circulation’s going.”
I work the knife blade under the zip tie around her wrists, angling it away from her skin. The plastic is thick—industrial grade—but the blade is sharp. It takes precious seconds of sawing before the tie snaps.
Daisy immediately brings her hands forward, flexing her fingers as I move to her ankles.
“Laptop,” she says urgently. “Reid was trying to?—”
“Can you run?” I cut her off, slicing through the ankle restraints.
She flexes her ankles, wincing as blood flow returns. “Not gracefully, but yes.”
Gunfire erupts closer to our position. I grab Daisy’s arm, guiding her. “Stay low. We’re moving to that stack of containers—straight from here.”
I snatch the laptop from the table with my free hand–now that Daisy’s mobile, we can multitask. “Stay low. On three. One, two…”
We break cover together, Daisy’s legs functional as we sprint toward better concealment.
The shooting stops.
I scan Daisy, head to toe, identifying minor abrasions but nothing serious, and hand the laptop to her. She flips it open and taps away.
Sirens approach in the distance, the sound filling the void of artillery.
The lights flicker on, and Hudson, decked out in tactical gear, enters, announcing, “All clear.”
We all slowly come out from cover. My ears ring in the silence now that the artillery has stopped.
Jake has Reid in custody, zip-tied and none too gently deposited against a shipping container. Two of the mercenaries are down permanently, three more are wounded and disarmed, and the rest apparently decided flight was the better part of valor or were taken out outside the warehouse.
“How did you find us?” Rhodes asks Jake.
“We’ve been watching since those guys went up to the suite, watched you get in the SUV.
” Jake grins and taps his earpiece. “Quinn’s been tracking Sydney’s phone GPS since you left the hotel, but even if they tossed her phone, we wouldn’t have lost you.
The further out you went, the further we fell back, but we were there.
Waited for you to stop, then moved in. Cell tower triangulation and a little patience.
Disarmed four outside the building, two on the property perimeter.
Whoever these guys hired are weak on tactical training,” Jake says.
“Syd, they had no idea you were anyone other than a girlfriend, that’s clear as day. ”
“That’s right. Girlfriend. Introductions, Rhodes?” Daisy’s smiling, despite her split lip. Her wrists are red, and she’s rubbing the sore skin, but other than that, she’s remarkably calm and put together given what she’s just been through.
“Oh, she posed as his girlfriend,” Jake says, clearly thinking he’s clearing up a misunderstanding.
“Is that right, Rhodes?” Daisy asks, cupping one of her wrists against her middle, eyes taking in the warehouse, but despite it all, still in full possession of her sense of humor.
Hudson, my boss, pointedly looks my way.
“It’s complicated,” I mutter.
“No,” Rhodes says, surprising me by slipping his arm around my waist. “It’s not complicated at all.” He looks down at me with an expression I can’t quite read. “You work for a private intelligence firm. You were investigating me. Now you’re... Well, now you’re with me.”
“Roady boy,” Daisy says, shaking her head. “Did we bet on this? No, dang.” She snaps her fingers. “That bet was with Miles and it’s looking like he’s not going to be in a position to pay me.”
“I’m pretty sure I won a bet on this. I’ll share the winnings,” Jake says, grinning at Daisy.
Before anyone else can comment, Quinn’s voice crackles through someone’s comm: “FBI inbound, five minutes. Local PD in route. Ambulance in bound.”
Reid—still unconscious from Jake’s chokehold—starts to stir.
Rhodes bends over Dristol. Awake, but despondent. Possibly in shock.
I don’t see any injuries, but Rhodes checks him and places two fingers against his neck.
“Tell your friends,” he says quietly, “that ARGUS is not for sale.” Dristol groans and Rhodes bends closer. “How did it work? You got intel, sold it to the highest bidder? Is that all this is? And you somehow wrangled Miles into working with you?”
Dristol lowers his eyelids and curls into a ball, as if by closing his eyes he can make reality go away.
Hudson addresses one of the KOAN team I’m not familiar with, saying, “You stay here, watch over. We’re going to head outside and greet the first responders. Send them in.”
Outside, the rain has reduced to a drizzle, and the afternoon sun peeks through the clouds, descending below the tree line, filtering streams of gold between the leaves.
As we watch the emergency vehicles speed along the gravel road in our direction, Jake asks Daisy in a gentle voice, “You okay?” I don’t know him well, but given his gruff persona and untamed beard, gentle is unexpected.
“Better now,” she says, smiling almost shyly up at him. “Thanks for saving the day.”
Hudson steps forward. “We’ve got a location on Miles Johnson. Authorities are going to bring him in. He’s in on this. You agree?” His question is directed at Rhodes.
“There’s no doubt,” Rhodes answers, tugging me against his side.
“I’ve got contacts within the FBI. You’re going to need to meet with them, but it should be brief. There won’t be an official mention of KOAN.” He looks pointedly between Rhodes and me. “We’ll say we’re your security on all official documentation.”
“Let me get this straight. Technically, KOAN doesn’t exist?”
“For now,” Hudson says, “That’s preferred.”
“Not a problem for me.” Rhodes says to Hudson, then asks me, “Are you going to want to ask questions? Seems to me these guys are likely the source of your leak?”
“I’d like to confirm that,” I admit. “If I were to guess, when they get Dristol into interrogation, he’s gonna sing like a canary.”
“The out-of-shape schmuck balled up like a little boy on the floor in there?” Jake snorts. “He’s totally breaking.”
The sirens grow louder, making conversation difficult, and within seconds, we’re surrounded by first responders. Jake never leaves Daisy’s side, and I briefly wonder if Hudson instructed him to stick by her, to ensure he heard everything she shared.
It’s interesting to me that KOAN isn’t supposed to exist. It’s something I’ll need to ask about later. As I’m leaning against one of the SUV’s while Rhodes answers questions, my phone rings. It’s Caroline.
I hesitate to answer, but the sirens have been silenced, leaving only emergency lights flashing, and I don’t want her to worry.
“Hey,” I answer. Rhodes shoots me a questioning look, and I mouth the word “Friend.” He resumes answering the FBI agent’s questions. If I’m not mistaken, he’s also been joined by someone flashing an NSA badge.
“All good?” she asks.
“All good. You’ll get a full report. But I’m almost certain we found the leak.”
“ARGUS,” she says, and I think I detect concern.
“Multiple parties,” I answer. “Rhodes’ partner’s involved.”
“He didn’t know?”
“No. Blindsided.”
“So you’re still with Mr. Wonderful?”
I meet his gaze and he winks.
“Yeah. Your advice was solid.”
“Good. I’m happy for you. Tomorrow, let’s talk. If he really wants to work with us, I have ideas.”
We talk for a while longer, about nothing really, and given everything going on around me, I only half listen, but I don’t rush her off the phone, as it’s soothing to hear the voice of a friend.
When we’re finally allowed to drive away, leaving the mess for the FBI to sort, I allow myself to relax. The operation is over. The leak exposed. A larger conspiracy will likely unravel. The bad guys are captured or dead.
And as for Rhodes and I, we’re not ending today headed to different states.
“So,” he says quietly, “we never talked about your resume.” It’s true. I sent it to him but I didn’t think he’d had time to look it over—and Quinn doctored it anyway. “I have some ideas. An offer, if you will.”
I look at him—this brilliant, kind, surprisingly deadly man. “An offer?”
“For a partnership. Real partnership. ARGUS, KOAN, whatever it takes to keep doing what we just did.”
“Which is?”
“Rooting out the bad guys. Doing good.”
In the distance, floodlights bathe the Lincoln Memorial’s classical columns in light, a stark reminder of the fragile democracy we just helped protect. It’s been one hell of a weekend.
“I like the idea,” I tell him, squeezing his hand. What he’s proposing needs to be discussed with Caroline, and I need to learn more about this organization I’ve joined that prefers to not be mentioned in debriefings.
“I was hoping you’d say that,” he says. “I think we’re going to make a hell of a team.”
As the SUV meanders through the streets, weaving through traffic to return to our hotel, I can’t help but hope.
When we pull up at the hotel, several government-issued sedans and SUVs are parked along the street, out of the way of the hotel’s valet. A man approaches and Rhodes lowers the window.
Jake, Daisy, and Hudson are in the vehicle behind us, so I’m not concerned. Noah, who is sitting in the passenger seat up front, positions himself to observe and react if needed.
“Mr. MacMillan?” The man says.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“I’m Special Agent Rozwell. I know you’ve had a long day, sir, but we have Miles Johnson in custody. We were wondering if you might be willing to join us for the initial questioning. At this point in time, we have yet to press charges, and we won’t be able to hold him for long unless we do.”
He looks at me. “You up for more?”
Before I can answer, Noah says, “Hudson wants us to head back for a debrief. Out of D.C.”
If he wants us to stay low, getting out of D.C. is probably a good bet.
Rhodes squeezes my hand. “You go. I might be in for a long night anyway.”