He was going to retort, but Davidson cut in. "The metal is acting as a conductor for the phone, allowing her to stream the data at a faster rate."
Brandt bristled, not so much at his private defending Monroe, but the fact that he didn't realize that himself.
"Oh crap," the doctor said, as her cheeks paled. "You're going to want to see this."
She turned the screen toward him. It showed streaming video of satellite coverage centered on the hangar. Not only that, but the picture was enhanced with thermal imaging. His party's four figures were clustered on the north side of the hangar, but it was the nine bright orange figures creeping toward the hangar, converging on their position, that had blanched Monroe.
The doctor's voice shook as she looked up. Fear replaced any sarcasm or disrespect. Pure, unadulterated fear. "They're coming in," she moaned.
A fierce smile rose to Brandt's lips "Excellent."
CHAPTER 4.
Skies over the Atlantic Ocean Tok closed his eyes so that he might soak in the ambience of the private jet. The clink of ice against a glass. The fizz of soda being poured over the cubes. The hum of computers all around him. So much to assimilate.
He couldn't help but marvel at the plethora of sounds contained within such a small space. Tok barely wanted to open his eyes anymore. The visual palette was no longer adequate. For so many years he had relied on sight, but now he knew how little he had truly comprehended.
How could he have known that running your finger along a linen seat created the subtlest of whispering hums? Even now, the plane's thick pile carpet muffled his mentor's approaching footsteps. Such things Tok noticed.
"Petir?" he asked, before the older man could tap him on the shoulder. Their old traditions were no longer necessary.
The older man smiled warmly as he bowed. "Master, they are ready to enter the hangar. Do you still wish Dr. Monroe taken alive?"
Tok shook his head.
"And Sergeant Brandt?" Petir cocked his head to the side. "Do you wish him interrogated for Lochum's position?"
Again, Tok shook his head. But instead of his mentor's usual diligence, Petir did not immediately move to fulfill his wishes.
"Any who have heard Lochum's name must be extinguished."
The older man nodded, but did not pass on the order. With his implants, Tok could hear the slightest wheeze as Petir's nostrils pinched in concern. He had learned to read his mentor's moods long ago and knew what they meant, but that whistle expanded his understanding of the man who had become more than a father to him. His mentor would never voice dissent, except that wheeze carried on a conversation of its own.
"Air your concerns, Petir." Tok indicated the chair next to him.
His mentor declined the seat, but took in a deep breath before speaking. "At the least, Sergeant Brandt knows of Lochum's location, and Dr. Monroe's expertise might be of future use."
"Well spoken," Tok acknowledged. "But an officer of Brandt's stature will not break easily or quickly. Therefore, extending his life would only provide him with opportunities to escape. And as for Monroe, her knowledge has become a liability."
The old man again inclined his head, but the wheeze did not subside.
"Petir, out with it."
"Master, is there not another option? Allow the group to escape and simply follow them to Lochum."
Tok had considered this proposition hours ago and dismissed it as untenable, but Petir was at his most effective when he knew Tok's heart.
"Now that we have shown our hand, they will take precautions in their route. We will reveal more of ourselves in trying to follow them than we shall in discovering our good friend's location."
"Might one ask then, why did we attack in the first place?"
A wise question. One that Tok wished he had asked himself back in the jungle, but with Lochum's name burning into his mind, impatience had gotten the best of him. He had set the ambush in motion before deliberating upon his choices, seeing four or five moves out, before deciding upon on any one selection. But this was Lochum, and the flint was struck.
Monroe had suddenly been demoted from the queen to a pawn. Tok had sought to eliminate all other loose ends so that his mind could hone in upon the only target that mattered. Despite their bond, he did not share such musings with his mentor. For as loyal as Petir was, the older man held an even higher allegiance to the Knot. It would be not only his mentor's responsibility, but his duty, to report Tok's emotional misstep.
Patient as always, the older man stood quietly, awaiting his answer.
"I have narrowed our search for Lochum down to only two locations."
His mentor's face transformed from concerned to quizzical. "How so?"
Tok indicated the largest plasma screen. It showed a detailed map of Europe. "We know the French would never let such artifacts as important as Roman-era Christian remains to leave their borders." The rest of Europe faded as France enlarged.
His mentor added, "The native's mention of Paris."
"Now we need only look at the facilities in the city. Just a few have the scientific equipment that a man such as Lochum would require." The map melted again to highlight the central city. "We can only assume the American would have insisted upon the tightest security measures. Which refined my search to these four research facilities, including the Pantheon-Sorbonne."
Petir studied the map. "But we have men within the Ecole Normale Superieure, the Paris Descartes University, and Jussieux Campus."
"Who would have alerted us if any unusual activity had occurred in their facilities, leaving only these two targets." After the extraneous locations dissolved away, the remaining facilities glowed brightly. "The Schepartz Laboratory at Yale University and the Pantheon-Sorbonne in Paris."
The older man's wheeze finally subsided. "I shall have the team in Belgium execute your orders."
Tok watched as Petir set his words into motion. Now there was nothing that stood in his way. The professor, and all that he knew, would be his. Then Lochum would die.
The Knot's secret would again be truly secret.
Rebecca tasted iron as her lip-biting drew blood. Her nerves were shot as the glowing orange assailants boldly approached the hangar.
"They're coming," Rebecca said. "Like right now."
The sergeant sounded decidedly unconcerned. "I gathered that much from your pitch."
She could imagine the scowl on Brandt's face. But who could blame her for a little squeak? They were practically sitting out in the open. Their only cover was three oil barrels pulled into the center of the hangar, barely enough to hide both of them, let alone all five.
So Svengurd and Lopez were over at the derelict aircraft, while Davidson was in the northwestern corner doing God knew what. There didn't seem to be any specific rhyme or reason to the sergeant's plan.
"Are you sure we shouldn't find better cover?"
"You're tracking them through thermal imaging, correct?"
"That was kind of the point."
Brandt looked back over his shoulder. "And how do you think the men armed with RPGs are locating us?"
Luckily, the sergeant went back to his task, so he didn't see her blush. Of course their assailants had the same tracking equipment. And they probably didn't even have to paper clip their phone's antenna to keep the data flowing.
Watching the enemy encircle the tiny hangar, Rebecca realized the odds were nine to five. Really, nine to four since she had proved herself useless with a gun. And if you counted Davidson's injuries, it became nine to three-and-a-half. Not good odds.
Hands shaking, Rebecca had to stop typing. She flexed her fingers. This was ridiculous. Hadn't she just come from three months in the Amazon? Hadn't she just survived a snake's clutch?
But these situations were night and day. Nature might be cruel but evenhanded. There was no malice when a jaguar attacked. The anaconda had just wanted a meal. She had stayed alive in the jungle by simply avoiding confrontation. Stay out of a piranha's way, and it stayed out of yours.
This situation was so very different. The men approaching had one intent and only one intent. To kill them. Not because of a social misunderstanding or territorial dispute. They had been hired to do a job, and they wouldn't stop until they had fulfilled their objective.
Maybe Brandt had realized she'd stopped typing or had just glanced over his shoulder, but when she looked up, he locked her gaze. "We're going to be fine," the sergeant said, and she might have believed him, if the enemy wasn't scant yards away.
Then a dot flickered and disappeared. But it wasn't one of the approaching enemy. It was a dot inside the building. And it wasn't just any dot, but the dot in the northwestern corner. She tapped the screen, checking her jury-rigged satellite phone, but all seemed to be working properly.
"Davidson just disappeared."
The sergeant handed her a set of earplugs. "Put these in, and-"
The RPG blew the hangar door off its hinges as Brandt pulled his goggles down. "Get your-"
He pulled Monroe to his chest, shielding her eyes as Flashbang grenades exploded all around. His tinted goggles cut the explosives' intense glare. For him, it was more of a decorative fireworks display, but with her eyes unshielded, Monroe could suffer temporary blindness.
"Stay down," he urged, even though he knew she couldn't hear him. But even with her earplugs, she trembled in his arms with each explosion. "It'll be over in a minute," he soothed.
Through the grenade's smoke, two figures emerged, laying down cover fire. The sergeant didn't even bother to raise his gun. With his team this outnumbered, they could never win a firefight. Instead, Brandt yanked a pulley from its mooring. Wearing earplugs, their assailants couldn't hear the rattle of the metal as chunks of the second-floor wreckage fell from high above. Crushed under the girders' weight, the men only had time enough to let out startled cries before even they were stifled.
Turning his attention to the other side of the hangar, Brandt watched as the three men who had breached from the south abandoned their cautious approach and charged forward, determined not to be caught in the same trap as their companions.
Obviously these men were well versed in American tactics. From their assault formation, to the Flashbangs they used, these professionals were running an offensive right out of a West Point playbook.
Luckily Brandt wasn't even close to following rules. While the three men were distracted searching above them for more girders, it was his soldiers they should have been worried about. Lopez gunned the decrepit plane's engine while Svengurd shoved the spinning propellers to the left, mowing down the assailants. Not one of them got off a shot before body parts splattered across the hangar.
Not bad. Within ten seconds they had evened the odds.
Now it was time to fight.
Rebecca held Brandt's hand as tightly as the anaconda had squeezed her. Crouched, the sergeant guided them through the hangar, but she didn't know where. Still seeing bright shining stars before her eyes, she had to trust in Brandt. Where he led, she followed.
The faint echo of gunfire made it through the earplugs. It sounded almost surreal, as if it was happening in another hangar. Another world.
As the sergeant pulled to a halt, Rebecca recognized where they were. Back to the tangle of second-floor wreckage. Brandt spoke, but she couldn't hear him. He pulled out her earplugs.
"Dig in here," Brandt whispered as he turned to leave.
"Here?" she hissed.
The sergeant checked around him before answering. "They won't hit us with an RPG with their men inside. Now go."
Rebecca wanted to argue, mainly just to keep Brandt's gun nearby, but the scrap of metal captured the sergeant's attention, and he slipped off before she could protest. Tucking her laptop under her arm, gunfire sounded all around, driving Rebecca deeper into the tangle of steel.
Before, she'd wanted better cover, but now that she had her wish, Rebecca wanted nothing more than to know what was going on. She might have to stay hidden, but that didn't mean she had to stay ignorant.
She opened her laptop to find the screen blank. Rebecca yanked a rubber band from her braid and tied it around her phone. The screen sparked to life again. The two men Brandt had killed were on the floor, their body heat rapidly dissipating in the northeast corner, but all around the plane were warm spots. Bodies. Or more likely, parts of bodies.
Rebecca was glad Brandt hadn't shared that part of his plan.
Inside the hangar, there were seven figures. As hard as she stared at the dots, the doctor couldn't tell friend from foe. The only one still unaccounted for was Davidson. Rebecca hugged herself as gunfire rattled off the hangar's metal walls. The fight had turned from a cat-and-mouse game into full-out Rambo action. Brandt's actions had narrowed the margin considerably, but they were still outnumbered.
Movement on the screen caught her eye. Someone approached. Breath caught in her throat. The dot moved too slowly, too apprehensively, to be one of her team. They knew where she was. Besides, the bulk of the fight had flowed to the other side of the hangar.
Cautiously, Rebecca tried to creep further under the debris, but a slab of roof blocked her path. She was at a dead end in this metal labyrinth, but the dot continued its unerring path toward her.
Crap, did they have handheld scanners? Could he sense her heat? Hone in on her location? The only exit was past the gunman. Should she cry out to attract Brandt's attention? But she remembered Davidson's actions earlier. Never give away your position. So there she sat, staring at the dim screen, watching her attacker come, step-by-step, closer to discovering her.
A bullet ripped through Brandt's sleeve, drawing a line of fire across his bicep. Returning fire, he fell behind the oil barrels and rolled. The fucker had snuck up behind him. Glancing to the wound, Brandt reloaded as gunfire peppered the canisters. Several rounds made it through, leaking oil onto the floor. This cover was never meant to stand up to heavy fire.
After the first five men were taken out, Brandt had run out of tricks. His team was just going to have grunt out this fight.
Off to the left, Lopez fended off two men. Brandt didn't have to see him to know who was shooting. The Latino could fire off more rounds per second than the gun manufacturer would believe possible. On the other hand, Svengurd's clicked off very controlled bursts. Brandt and Corporal Precision were gunning for the same creep.
In the heat of battle, he had lost track of the fourth gunman. Which could prove to be deadly.
Brandt had heard nothing from Davidson, but he refused to believe the kid had gone down. The private was just doing his job. Practicing patience. Waiting for his shot. Waiting for the right moment to reveal his position. Hopefully, Davidson wouldn't wait much longer.
But what about Monroe? Not a peep from the doctor. Had she stayed put? Had he even made the right decision to park her in the wreckage? At the time, it had felt like the only logical solution. He could fight so much more effectively without having to worry about protecting her, but now...
She was out there alone. Weaponless. Scared.
Pushing back the image of her smoke-smudged face, Brandt fired over the barrels, keeping his assailant on his toes. Worrying wasn't his style, and patience certainly wasn't his virtue. Maintaining the status quo didn't appeal to him either. Given enough time, the enemy would leverage their superior equipment into a victory, knocking his team off one by one.
Clearly the bastards had advanced mobile detection equipment, while they, well, they were blind.
He was going to have to change that.
Rebecca's stare bordered on morbid fascination as the dot closed in. The doctor knew it was silly to hold her breath, but she just couldn't exhale. Then the man stopped. Rebecca blinked and blinked again, but he held his ground. Why had he halted? She checked the other dots. They were still over on the other side of the hangar.