Chapter 33 #2
I’m not dense. I believe and understand him more every day.
I just don’t feel the same . . . not yet. I don’t see the same ending as him.
He grabs the collar of my vest and jerks me forward. “I’m tired of explaining myself to you,” he grumbles a few inches from my face. “I’ve said plenty. You’re not the one out on the limb, Theresa.”
The horn honks, and he lets me go, walking back to his door and disappearing into the car before it pulls away from the curb.
He’s right. In his own way, he’s been candid with me, and I envy his certainty and how well he knows himself.
I’m inherently less reliable. Although I find myself constantly stealing glances at him, wanting to be near him, enjoying his company at night and talking to him, for what little gets said of consequence, but I fear that may change on a whim.
York wants to love me. I want to be loved. I want to love him, but I’m not sure I can.
The only way I know how to manage that is by deflecting and being difficult.
By making it about sex. We’ve been around each other for such a short time, and half of that I spent fearing he was just going to kill me when I outlived my usefulness.
That feeling isn’t completely gone, although perhaps that concern is something I’m feeling about everyone except him now.
Still . . . hard to know my head or my heart when this began the way it did.
I hurry up the street and slip the heavy-duty magnet from my tac vest, sticking it to the black metal door on the side of the building and sliding it toward the edge until it clicks. I pull it open and remove the magnet as I slip inside.
The stairwell has windows on every floor, but as I suspected, they don’t open. William expects me on the scaffolding about ten stories up, but I’ll be damned if I get caught out there in the open like that.
Moving my ass, I jog up the stairs until I reach the top where the roof access door is located. It isn’t locked, so I pass through. It’s a bit windy but not unmanageable, and I cross the roof to where it looks over our target.
I shuck the case off and begin setting up the rifle.
It only takes a few minutes, and then I’m on the ledge, perusing the scene around me through the scope.
This position is not ideal for the Agency building, but when I shift and swing the gun forty-five degrees, I have a perfect view of William’s nest. He’s not in position yet.
I sit, cradling the rifle in my arms as I rest my elbow on my knee and look down at the street.
There isn’t any foot traffic in or out of the Agency building.
The brownstone is only five stories high, with several large windows across the front of the main floor and then smaller, regular windows at regular intervals on the other floors.
Mostly the blinds are drawn in the windows, blocking my view into the building, but there are a few open.
At this angle though, all I can see is the shitty tile floor.
I take stock without the scope, sweeping my eyes along the road and sidewalk.
The explosion won’t be too near, so it’s not a direct and obvious threat, but it will be near enough that it gets their attention.
If it’s too close, it will just create chaos and possibly force them into lockdown.
They could lock down either way, though.
Raising the rifle, I check William’s position again and see him striding out across the roof.
His building sits lower than mine, giving him a better line of sight, but then again, I’m not supposed to be up this high.
I watch him set up and lie on his stomach, shouldering the rifle and looking around.
“Radio check.” William’s voice crackles in my ear.
“Mercury, position one, check,” Carter responds first. “Standby for the balloon.”
“Blitz, position two, check,” August says.
A sense of euphoria blooms in my mind at hearing their code names revealed. One more piece of the puzzle.
“York, position three, check,” he breathes out, and it sounds like he’s doing something.
William swings his rifle, searching for me on the scaffolding, but I wait as he raises his barrel slowly, checking it level by level.
“Position four? Tripoli?” His voice comes through again, but I wait for him to realize I’m watching him, rifle trained. He stops when he sees me on the roof.
“Tripoli, position four, check,” I whisper and give him the finger.
His head pops up from behind his scope, and I smile at the look on his face. The irritation. After a moment, I reset my sights on the Agency building and resume a relaxed posture while we wait on Carter.
I begin softly singing “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac. It calms me. Helps me regulate my breathing as I focus down the scope intently.
“Quiet on comms,” William grumbles.
“I like that song,” August murmurs.
“Me too. Keep going,” Carter adds.
Smiling at everyone overriding William, I take up the chorus in my raspy, deeper than you’d expect, singing voice. I trail off as heavy breathing picks up in my ear, and then there is a gentle hiss.
“Mercury set, balloon ready.” Carter says.
“Position two, Blitz, you’re a go.” William’s voice cuts in and out.
I locate August at the end of my scope as he comes down the street.
He pauses in front of the building, checking something in his hand, then looking up again like he’s confused.
Turning around slowly, he stops, facing the building again, and then frowns at his hand before putting it in his pocket and approaching the building.
It’s hard not to laugh, because I believe he’s as lost and confused as he looks. “All right, Brad Pitt,” I say quietly with a smile.
“Man of many talents,” Carter chimes in.
August looks over his shoulder. “If only I had his hair,” his voice cuts in, and I stifle a laugh.
“Yeah, it’s only the fucking hair that’s lacking,” William says gruffly, and I shake silently as the laugh grows.
“Look sharp.” York’s voice cuts through the humor as August presses a button beside the door.
I take a breath, still smiling and watch as the door opens. A conversation we can only hear August’s side of ensues, and then he walks through the door, disappearing behind the reflective glass.
“The play is live,” William says evenly.
“Roger,” Carter acknowledges. “Three minutes and counting until the balloon pops.”
“Yep,” I mumble as I train my rifle on the door.
Three minutes feels too long, though. Off the scope, I gaze across to William.
With the naked eye, he’s just a small black figure a few buildings away on my right.
I don’t have a line of sight on the others though.
Carter and York are down a block and positioned right around the corner.
The car bomb will go off just out of the Agency’s line of sight, too.
It’s nice to joke on comms, but shit is about to get real.
I take a slow, deep breath and then let it out in a controlled, meditative stream as I settle back onto my scope.
BOOM.
It sounds so massive that I pop off my scope and look to the left in surprise as the sound ricochets off the surrounding buildings, magnifying everything. Smoke rises, and I whip my attention down the scope.
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter.
“Nice, right?” Carter says proudly, and I can hear the smile on his lips.
“Nothing seen,” William says.
“Roger. Same . . . wait,” I say as the door flutters, and then pushes open. “Here they come.”
A few men in suits come out and look down the road. They stand there, one pulling out a phone as another two walk out to the road. The one on the phone pulls the door open, seemingly calling to someone within.
The call ends, and the agent slides the phone into his pocket, waving his arm at the others, who pull back from the road.
“Shit,” I mutter.
One of the front windows cracks, and I see the bullet hole, then it shatters.
“What the fuck, William!” I whisper-bark.
The agents pull out their sidearms and start scanning.
“They’re going to lock down, you idiot.”
Two more windows break and crash to the sidewalk. This is fucking . . . insane. August should be out by now. Just then, he steps out, but a second bomb goes off, and I gasp, looking left again off my scope before getting my eyes back on the building.
An agent grabs August by the arm and pushes him through the door.
“Motherfucker,” I hiss and start packing up my rifle. “William, I swear to fuck . . . I’d shoot you right now if I had the time.”
“What’s happening?” York cuts in.
“The cowboy and demolition man got trigger-happy,” I bite out and throw the gun case across my back as I race across the roof to the door.
“What are you going to do, Trip?” William taunts. “Just run in the front door?”
“I’d do it,” I breathe hard, “for anyone but you.”
“You will not breach that building, Tripoli,” York commands.
“Yeah?” I dive down the stairs as quickly as possible. “One of you pricks gonna do it?”
“Did you just call me a prick?” York says, surprised.
“Tripoli out.” I pull the bud from my ear and jam it in my pocket. To be honest, I don’t know what I’m going to do, but we have to get August out of there before Jeffries shows up and says he has no fucking clue who he is.
My feet hammer down the stairs, and then I’m taking two at a time and jumping down the last few to the landing. Think, Trip. What do you do?
We need another diversion . . .
I’m the best one. I’m the only one.
I launch out the steel door and run down the block, grabbing the corner of the building as I hurl myself around it and toward the front where the scaffolding is. Almost there.
I reach the road and walk under the scaffolding where sheets of heavy, foggy plastic ripple slightly.
Hiding from sight behind them, I walk slowly, eyes on the front of the building where it appears between breaks in the plastic sheeting.
No one is outside now, but with the windows blown out, I can see in, which means they’re looking out.