Targeted (3 page)

A ding brought Rebecca’s attention back to the computer. An
email awaited. She scanned the text, feeling her heart sink even further. “Lopez
and the rest are at least three hours out.”

Brandt seemed to take it well, but the look on his face
registered the fact that they probably didn’t have three minutes, let alone
three hours, to get out from under this mess.

“Well?” Brandt asked her.

“Well, what?”

“What do we do next?”

They couldn’t run. The Knot would easily track them via the
Gamma signature. They needed to decontaminate themselves, but they needed to
get to a hospital for that. Which, of course, meant running, which they
couldn’t do. And with no tangible back up on the way? No sniper hidden away? No
crazy Latino able to shoot faster than the speed of sound?

Tears stung as she answered, “I have no idea.”

* * *

Brandt didn’t accept that. Rebecca was in shock. It was hard
sometimes to remember that his fiancée was a civilian. He guessed it was one
thing to get shot at, but quite another to be radioactively poisoned. Had
Brandt been on active combat duty he would have had iodine tablets, but close
protection duty? It was the one thing he hadn’t packed. Although, with the Knot
still running around he obviously should have.

He gripped Rebecca’s shoulders. “Babe, you gotta pull
something out of the hat here.”

She shook her head though, tears streaming down her face. If
defeat had a look, it marked Rebecca’s face.

“You got us out of Rome,” Brand reminded her. “You can get
us out of this.”

Again she seemed capable of was to shake her head.

The time for coddling was over. “Damn it, Rebecca.” Her lip
quivered but he pushed on. “You’ve got that big brain in there. Use it.”

Her eyes flickered back and forth across his features. Then
they flickered to the screen as another RPG hit, rattling the doorframes. The
Knot was getting closer to breaking through and they knew it. The men outside
moved with certainty, tightening the noose even tighter. Each second he delayed
was a second that shaved percentage points off their chance of escape,
radioactive tagged or not.

Then that slow expression of a dawning idea transformed
Rebecca’s bleak features into radiant confidence.

“The champagne.”

Brandt frowned. He loved it when she went all super smart on
him, but it usually also left him in the dark. “Not following.”

Rebecca pointed to the two dots on the first floor. He
hadn’t realized it before but they were positioned at their dinner table.

“They put the Gamma in the champagne,” Rebecca hurried as
her words seemed to catch up with her brain. “That waiter that kept topping us
off. That’s how they painted us.”

“I’ll buy that, but how do we counteract it?”

“You aren’t going to like,” she stated as she gathered up
her gear.

“When do I ever?”

As the third RPG hit the building, shaking debris from the
ceiling they pushed off from the business offices and down the stairs. How he
would love to take the alley and made a sprint for it, but with the radiation cooking
his belly, they had to make the smart play and that was Rebecca’s play.

In her ragged and soot stained dress she led them back down
to the dining room. The place was trashed. Both from the car bomb and from the
panicked flock of diners. Now it stood eerily empty except for the bodies on
the floor. Brandt had to relax his trigger finger. He would just have to avenge
them by taking out their murderers. The Knot. An organization that proclaimed
they were doing God’s work, but turned out to just be butchers, killing
innocent people to carry out revenge against Rebecca.

He checked his corners as they made their way to the table
with their champagne flutes. The enemy shouldn’t be here yet, but at the pace
they were accelerating, it could be at any moment.

With shaking hands, Rebecca poured champagne from their
glasses into glasses from another table.

“Um, hon?”

Instead of answering, she handed him two flutes. “Put those
toward the entrance.”

Brandt didn’t bother asking what in the hell she was doing.
He asked her to use her big brain and now he just needed to follow where it
led. After several such rounds of strangely precise, strategic flute placement,
Rebecca went to the aquarium and began pulling tubing.

Yes, the aquarium. Okay, now it was time to question her
genius.

“Babe, those gunmen should be here. Like now.” That was if
they stuck to their pace. Their only hope was if the Knot was as confounded by
Rebecca’s behavior as he was and had slowed their entrance.

She scooped up a big handful and black material from the
aquarium’s filter and said without a trace of hesitation, “Eat up.”

* * *

Rebecca urged her dripping wet hand to Brandt. They didn’t
have much time.

“I am not eating…” Brand said, his face scrunched in
disgust. “Fish crap.”

“Yes, you are, along with the activated charcoal.”

To prove to him it might be gross but essential she downed a
mouthful of the gritty black material herself. And it did, in fact, taste like
fish crap.

Brandt’s eyes narrowed as he scooped some of the material
into his hands. “As in activated charcoal that will absorb and neutralize the
Gamma radiation?”

“Yep, that’s the activated charcoal I am talking about.”

The high surface area of the active charcoal made it ideal
for absorbing and negating all kinds of toxins. From the ammonia in fish urine
to drug overdoses to natural gas leaks, activated charcoal was the filtration
substance of choice. And this was no different. Radiation could be trapped by
the same mechanism as heroin.

Was her solution perfect? No. Would it absorb enough to save
their lives and mask their presence? She hoped so.

“I am never eating fish after this,” Brandt said, choking
down the last handful.

She gulped down her last grimy bite, then turned on the sink
and poured the last of contaminated champagne down the drain. In a single
moment all four signatures should have winked out.

With any luck, the only blips on the Knot’s screen should be
the carefully placed champagne flutes. The sound of the door clicking open sent
them both to their knees behind the restaurant’s bar.

The first gunman came in, gun blazing. Brandt shot once,
downing the man. His accuracy and steely nerve reminded her once again why she
needed to recruit ex-military for her grad students.

The next two gunmen must have seen what happened to their
comrade and entered much more slowly. The only sound of their approach was the
crunching of broken glass under their boots. Brandt crept down the bar, cocking
his head. Listening to the footfalls, waiting until the opportune time to
shoot. Which, for Rebecca, would have been like right now. However, she didn’t
rush Brandt. She might have figured out how to mask their Gamma signature and
forestall radiation poisoning, but now it was up to Brandt to get them past the
ten, now make it nine, well-armed men.

She watched Brandt’s bicep tense and covered her ears as he
sprang up, shooting a spray of bullets. One man fell so close that Rebecca
could see the assailant’s surprised look as the light left his eyes. Gulping,
she scooted closer to his hand. He hadn’t been only carrying a weapon. He had a
small-screened device as well. Rebecca reached out and snagged the handle,
pulling it from his grasp and sliding it across the floor as more assailants
entered the room.

Brandt led them further down the bar as she studied the
Gamma readout. She and Brandt weren’t showing up. Rebecca held back tears. The
activated charcoal was doing its job. Only the champagne glasses, each titrated
with an aliquot of concentrated poison flared red on the screen. She had placed
the flutes in pairs scattered around the restaurant as decoys. The assailants
had to focus on those areas, leaving Brandt free to pick them off. Or at least
that was the plan.

Brandt glanced over his shoulder when she wasn’t right on
his heel. Rebecca showed him the Gamma read out although he didn’t seem nearly
as pleased as she would have thought.

“Where’d you get that?” he whispered.

“From the gunman and—”

“Is it heavy?” he demanded.

“Well, yeah, but it’s a complicated piece of—”

Brandt didn’t even let her finish. He grabbed the device and
like a grenade slung it up and over the bar. The thing exploded as it flew
halfway across the room. Screams echoed off the walls as one gunman, his full
body on fire, ran past them, through the cracked window and into the street.

Rebecca’s hand shook. Another moment, and that would have
been her. Brandt aimed to the street and put the man out of his misery. Shots
came from the other side of the restaurant, driving them back under the bar.
Then the gunfire died down as shots carried from the back of the restaurant.

“They’re pulling back,” Brandt said.

“That’s great.” Again, Brandt didn’t look all that pleased. “Right?”

* * *

Wrong.

He grabbed her hand. “You’ve got to run when I say.”

“I don’t—”

The sound of an RPG cut Rebecca off. The men hadn’t pulled
back because they were giving up. The Knot had pulled back so they could use a
much bigger weapon.

Brandt rose from a crouch, drawing Rebecca with him. Without
hesitation they ran through the broken window, past the still burning car that
served as the first bomb and out into the street. They charged right into the
path of the rocket, ducking as it sailed over their heads and smashed into the
restaurant, setting the place afire.

He didn’t stop them there. They raced across the street and toward
the source of the RPG. Clearly, the projectiles were coming from one of the Taj
Mahal’s minarets. Not as clear was how well-armed the assailant was besides the
RPG launcher.

At last check from the satellite feed, The Knot had
committed their personnel to the hotel. They must have felt confident they
could pinpoint Rebecca and he’s position through the Gamma signature. They had
left the RPG operator unprotected. It was that kind of arrogant thinking that
had taken them down in the first place.

Luckily, Brandt never assumed an operation would go
according to plan, because in his experience, it never did.

Just like operation engagement. He had the ring in his
pocket and a boatload of guns upstairs.

Bullets chewed up the street behind them. The remaining gunmen
had regrouped and unfortunately Rebecca’s yellow dress was about a good a tag
as the radioactivity had been. They reached the towering main gate to the Taj
complex but it was closed. It was, after all, a little after tour hours.

The gate structure was massive itself, giving them precious
cover behind one of the large turrets. Brandt glanced up. The retaining wall
was only ten feet high.

Brandt grinned at Rebecca. “You ready to do some climbing?”

She ripped her dress, creating a slit up to her thigh in
answer. They were in luck that the gate structure itself was not only massive,
but elaborate as well. There were low decorative walls, long overhangs, and
lots and lots of footholds in the brick itself.

Teetering on the edge of the low wall, Brandt cupped his
hands. A grappling hook would have been nice, but he didn’t think to bring one.
Again, with the Knot on the prowl, a mistake.

Rebecca stepped into his hand. He helped lift her up as she
scrambled up the overhang. Brandt swung his equipment bag over his shoulder
ready to scale the wall himself when a bullet sliced over his arm. The bastards
had advanced on their position. Letting go of his hold, Brandt dropped back
down to the ground, swinging to his right, sweeping the area with gunfire.

“Brandt!” Rebecca cried out, half on this side of the wall
and half on the other.

“Get over!”

Her yellow hem slid out of view as he continued spraying
cover fire. It didn’t look good though. He was pinned down. Sure he had a bit
of cover but once the gunmen fanned out again, regrouping after his and
Rebecca’s jailbreak? It would only be a few minutes before one of them gained
an angle on him.

“I’ll open the gate!” Rebecca yelled above the automatic
weapon fire.

Brandt knew she would try her hardest, but would she make it
in time?

* * *

Rebecca stared at the locking mechanism on the Grand Gate—a
structure that used to be made out of pure silver. Now it was some kind of
bulletproof metal alloy with a lock about as sophisticated as a bank safe.
Guess they really didn’t want people on the grounds after hours.

The gate was meant to symbolize the profound difference
between the material world on Brandt’s side and the spiritual side of the Taj
Mahal. She glanced over her shoulder to the brilliantly white monument. The
sight nearly took her breath away. It truly was the Seventh Modern Wonder of
the World. From its pristine minarets from which prayer could be called to its
beautifully etched face, there was no finer craftsmanship. She could have
stared at it for hours, except you know, all that gunfire.

Refocusing on the lock, she counted at least five different
keyholes with a numeric keypad as well. Brandt really should have come over
first. However, that would have left her on the other side with all the men
firing.

“Do you have any C-4?” Rebecca yelled.

Brandt didn’t respond as the sound of shots filled the air.
Then a small packet, no larger than a pack of gum fell at her feet along with a
detonator and trigger. It still freaked her out that C4 could just be tossed
around like that, however it came in really handy now. Picking up the packet
she placed it in the heart of the locking mechanisms. Rebecca had no idea where
else to put it. Targeting was usually Lopez and Brandt’s job—deciding on
directionality, torque, and blast radius.