Mark (In the Company of Snipers Book 2) (18 page)

Holding onto the feel of Mark, she could breathe. The pack of noisy girls rolled their luggage out the door, still chattering like one big moving, talking machine. Libby listened to the noise leave with them before she stepped out of the stall and walked to the sink.

An old cleaning woman wiped the counter tops. At least she was quiet. She stood with her back to Libby and a black plastic garbage can in the way, several plastic bottles hung on the handle. Libby was too tired to notice anything else. Dipping her hands under the faucet, she splashed cool water on her face and spit into the sink. The nasty taste of vomit went down the drain with it.

A stranger looked back from her reflection in the mirror. The lack of concealer around her sunken eyes accentuated her gaunt expression. With her hair pulled back in an elastic band, Libby looked like she belonged in a horror movie. She pinched her cheeks, more to feel the pain than to add a healthy glow. Color didn’t matter. Blush was for fairytales and happy lives. Not her. Not zombie girl. Lifeless. Soulless. Hopeless.

Libby had never contemplated suicide before, but she thought of it now. Standing there face to face with her sad self, she understood why people did it. They couldn’t handle their pain. They gave up.

Her zombie self stared back. Enticed. Offered an easy way out. She traced a frame around it in the mirror with a damp index finger.
I’m not like you. Suicide would hurt my Mom. My Dad. Mark.
She clung to that one strand of a silver lining.

Dark hollow eyes persisted.

Go away.
Libby stared her zombie self down. She didn’t have time for this. She had work to do. Her mother needed her to be strong, and by golly, she could do it. She would go home, take care of her father and sister, and somehow, everything would turn out the way it was supposed to. Yes, things would be hard, but she was a Clifton. If the shootout proved anything at all, it proved the Cliftons didn’t go down without a fight.
There. Take that.

The stark zombie eyes faded into sad blue. Her pep talk actually helped. Feeling a tiny bit better, Libby tore a couple paper towels off the roller, wiped her face, and dried her hands. She might not eat for a few days, but that didn’t matter. Food she could live without. She nodded encouragingly to her reflection.

Zombie girl was gone. Only Libby Clifton smiled back. It might be a pitiful smile for now, but she could do it. She was sure of it.

Until that strange old cleaning woman punched her in the chest.

“It’s about time.”

Mark handed Zack his gear to stow in the back of their rented Yukon. True to his word, the sheriff released them exactly twenty-four hours later. Mark was raring to go. After he’d gotten through to Libby, he had showered and lay down on his bed. He slept hard and fast, a habit picked up from his time in the Corps when sleep had been a rare commodity sandwiched between incoming fire and outgoing missions.

When Alex called, Mark was dressed and out the door, waiting to get this part of the operation finished, hopefully by the time Libby’s plane touched down. She was in the air and on her way. Once she, Roy, and Murphy landed in Chicago, they would catch an express flight to Eau Claire, and she would be in his arms again. Mark had already told Alex he’d be the one waiting at the airport for her. For once, Alex agreed.

Knowing that Libby was safe in the air took the pressure off Mark, not to mention that the sheriff had posted extra guards at the hospital. No one stood a chance of getting past them to Libby’s father. Even the FBI had anteed up with a dozen more agents. Mark sighed. Yesterday sucked, but once he had Libby in his arms, everything would begin to get better.

Mother and Ember were still reviewing their system protocols and denying they’d had a hacked. Mark didn’t buy it. How else would the cartel have known exactly where the Cliftons were? The only question now was—why them? Did the cartel have a grudge against Jon for some reason and take it out on his fiancée? Was he the missing link to this whole fiasco? That didn’t make sense. No way.

Mark and Zack had just finished loading when Alex showed up, his cell phone glued to his ear as always.

“What?”

Mark felt the crack of fury in Alex’s voice. It held all the power of a close lightning strike. He could’ve sworn he smelled ozone. In that instant, he was physically connected with his very angry boss. Every nerve zapped into high alert. His heart thumped inexplicably loud in his chest. Mark stopped breathing.

“How the hell did that happen?” Alex turned his back on Mark and Zack as he bellowed. “When? Sonofabitch!”

Mark’s stress level ratcheted higher. He wasn’t prepared for what happened next. Cursing vehemently, Alex fast-balled his cell phone into the side of the Yukon. The phone shattered upon impact.

Mark froze. He could take a kill shot without a second thought. He’d walked point on patrol through enemy streets and towns. Those things didn’t scare him. He had undergone months of training, and, in the process, developed some kind of weird sixth sense that went with the job of being a sniper. But fear washed over him now. There wasn’t a molecule of saliva left to swallow. His body went rigid. Evil approached. There wasn’t a thing he could do to stop it.

Alex stared at him. “Castor’s got Libby.”

“He what?” Mark heard the question shriek out of his mouth.

Snapping a finger at Zack, Alex brushed beside Mark. Zack tossed his cell phone and Alex caught it. He stabbed in several numbers. “Mother.”

The phone was already on speakerphone.

“Yes, Boss.”

“Where are they?”

“As near as we can tell, O’Hare.”

“You don’t have visual?”

“No. They—”

“Why not?” he roared.

“Not every inch of the terminals is covered by security cameras.” Mother’s voice maintained a cool, calm tone despite the nasty man screaming at her. “We lost sight when they entered the parking garage. Ember is working to triangulate their cell phone calls. At least they’re talking a lot.”

“Find out what the FBI really knows.” Alex raked his hand through his hair in frustration. “I’m sick of their bullshit.”

“Already on it. Also tracking GPS—”

“Satellite coverage.”

“Already on that, too. You need to know—”

“What?” Alex couldn’t seem to let her finish a sentence.

Mother took a deep breath. “Boss. Murphy called us, too. We’re doing everything we can to find Libby Clifton. You’ve got to give us time.” Her calm tone was as much chastisement as explanation.

Alex stilled. He glanced at Mark, for a moment looking like he might actually apologize.

Mother’s disembodied voice spoke from the cell phone again. “Boss? Are you still there?”

“Copy that.” He blew out a huff.

“Like I said, Ember triangulated their cell phones. I’m sending coordinates to you now.”

“Stop. Send them to Zack’s number instead. Anything else?”

The phone was dead. Mother had hung up on Alex first.

“I never should’ve left.”

Mark stood with Zack at the car, waiting for Alex, who was once again on line with someone back in D.C., and still mad as hell. But Mark was angry, too. He needed something to hit. “I should’ve stayed with her.”

“Man, this is no one’s fault,” Zack said steadily. “No one saw this coming.”

“The FBI knew there were two dozen of them.”

Zack nodded. “I don’t guess they expected them to show up all at once or in the same place.”

“What the hell good’s the FBI if they can’t do simple recon?” Mark’s frustration spiked higher. This explained why Alex disliked this particular federal entity. They sucked. Mother too. She was as much to blame. “There has to be a hacker. How else could the Russians have known when and where to grab Libby?”

Zack nodded again. “Alex thinks so.”

“And what’s wrong with Mother?” Mark fumed.

“She’s a genius and she—”

“She’s no genius if she just got hacked.” Mark turned away sick and tired of excuses. Zack’s calm demeanor didn’t help.

He put a hand on Mark’s shoulder. “How could anyone have—?”

“Because she would have been with me!” Mark punched the side of the Yukon. Something cracked inside his knuckles. He didn’t care. The pain made him angrier. “One minute she’s in my arms. The next minute—this!”

Zack didn’t say another word.

“What the hell’s keeping him?” Mark kicked the vehicle’s tires. His hand hurt. And now his foot hurt, but neither as much as his heart. “Doesn’t he know we’ve got to get going?”

“He’s on the phone with Mother.” Zack’s voice was firm and low. “She’s tracking Castor’s vehicle. Maybe we can get Libby back today.”

“Why did they grab her in the first place, huh? How’d they even know where she was?” Mark snapped. So many questions ate him alive. “And why attack Libby’s parent’s farm? There weren’t any drugs there.”

“You’re right. They didn’t go after the drugs in West Virginia either.”

“What?” He turned on Zack at that revelation. “When the hell was Alex going to let us in on that little piece of news?”

“Because the FBI just got around to sharing
that little piece of news
with me.” Alex strode briskly up behind them, his words clipped and cold.

“So they killed that mother and her kids for what? For nothing? For the fun of it?” Mark faced Alex, his fist clenched and dripping blood. “What else aren’t you telling us?”

Alex turned to Zack, ignoring his junior agent. “Are we ready to go?”

Zack handed Alex his holstered SIG.

“I won’t need it. Mark. You’re riding shotgun.” Alex climbed into the driver’s seat and slammed the door. “Castor is northbound on the highway, headed our way. Get in. We’re going hunting.”

Mark hesitated, still waiting for answers.

“You waiting for a damned invitation, Houston?” Alex snarled.

Mark was barely seated alongside his boss when Alex had his foot in the accelerator. The vehicle bounced off the curb and swerved into traffic. They were southbound on the highway when Zack’s cell phone rang.

“What?” Alex barked into the receiver.

“Your target is coming straight to you.” Mother’s voice spoke clearly and patiently over the speakerphone. “You’re about thirty miles from the interchange. Traffic is light.”

“What are they driving?”

“SUV. Possibly a Jeep or Honda. Dark color.”

“Not much help, Mother.”

“Working on it, Boss.”

“Work faster.”

The second Alex set the phone down it rang again. “Now what?” he snapped.

It was a deeper voice on the speaker this time. “Is this Mr. Alexander Stewart I might be speaking to?”

“Who’s this?”

“Is me. Is Yuri. My boss, Boris, say you fight pretty good for old man.”

Alex locked up the brakes and pulled the car to the shoulder. “Where are you?”

The Russian didn’t answer. “I think I might have something you vant, Mr. Alexander Stewart. I think you will vant this thing I have stolen from you very, very much. Is a very leetle girl with curly blond hair.”

“Where is she?”

Mark stilled when Yuri groaned. “Ahh. She smells like peaches I think. Like peaches and cream, maybe with a sweet taste of sugar and honey.” He murmured a low guttural rumble. “Makes a man vant to take a big mouthful, she smells so good.”

“Give me that phone,” Mark ground out, reaching for the cell phone, ready to take over the conversation.

Alex stuck his elbow in Mark’s face and turned away.

“Do I have your attention now?” Yuri’s voice changed to silk. “Are you listening very carefully to me? You should know that I am big man vith very big appetite.”

“What do you want?” Alex rasped.

“Ahh,” Yuri gloated. “Boris said you always vere fast learner. That is good thing.”

“What do you want?” Alex asked again, his voice suppressed and tight.

It was all Mark could do to not shove him out of the way, take the phone, and finish the conversation. His boss was no contest, wouldn’t last one minute in a face to face. Only the threat to Libby stopped him.

“I vant you to know I hold all the aces in the holes. I think is how you say it in America vhen you play poker. No?”

Alex blew up. “You hurt one hair on her head and, so help me, there’s no place deep enough I can’t find you.”

“Give me the damn phone,” Mark snarled, ready to push Alex out of his way.

“Ahh,” Yuri said calmly. “Is not up to me if she gets hurt. Is up to my boss, and he is very—”

“Then stop wasting my time and get your boss on the line. I don’t talk to lackeys!”

Yuri chuckled another deep growl. “But you vill talk to me, I think. If you bring me all opium that stupid Mr. Castor thought he could steal, I vill give your leetle girl back. At least, I vill tell you vhere to find her. If not—”

“Where? When?”

“I think maybe you vill need two days to do it. No?”

“I can get you that amount of opium in less. Where should I bring it?”

“Good,” Yuri purred. “I vill call and tell you location, but one more rule to this game ve are playing.”

“What?”

Mark held his breath.
Please don’t hurt her.

“You must come alone.”

“Fine.” Alex stared at Mark, his eyes flashing sparks. “Tell me where and when. I’ll be there.”

“There must be not one single other person with you,” Yuri instructed. “Not even those two soldiers you have in car with you now.”

Mark jerked his head around. That Russian pig knew exactly where they were.
Where is he?

“Are you going to tell me when?” Alex asked.

Mark read the truth in his boss’s eyes. This was nothing more than a trap. Alex was going to walk right into it.

“I vill be in touch.”

“Wait!”

The phone went dead. Alex no more than set it down when it rang again.

Mother didn’t waste time on hello. “The car is approaching your twenty in two minutes. It’s northbound and driving fast. There’s an exit five miles south of your current position. If you—”

Alex dropped the phone and gunned the engine. Hand over hand on the steering wheel, and within seconds, they were back on pavement and screaming south.

“Black Honda Pilot.” Mark pointed to the other side of the freeway. The black vehicle raced past in the passing lane, swerving to the shoulder to make its getaway.

“Got it.” Alex turned the steering wheel sharply to the left and executed a screeching U-turn that by all rights should have sent their vehicle rolling. Instead, the Yukon’s tires slid across the tall grass in the median between the freeway lanes. In a cloud of dust and smoke, they charged northbound, minutes behind the car that held Libby captive.

Yuri wasn’t going down without a fight. Shots rang out across the highway when the Honda hit the one hundred mile per hour mark. Both Russians in the back seat of the fleeing vehicle fired out their windows. The concept of riding shotgun took a realistic turn as Mark returned fire. With slow and steady concentration, he centered the tires of the fleeing vehicle in his scope. It was a tough shot. No allowance for the smallest mistakes. Libby was in that car.

He summoned the calm of the universe to him now.
God, don’t let me miss.

The Russians got off a lucky shot. The Yukon’s windshield shattered. Mark re-steadied his rifle, took a deep breath, and aimed for the rear tire again. With another curse, Alex swerved to the left and gunned the accelerator.

Mark’s first shot missed. Undeterred and as patient as sin, he aimed again.
I can do this.

His second shot hit the rear tire exactly as planned. The Honda swerved across all lanes of the highway. Cars scattered, all except the one Alex handled. He rammed the left edge of the Pilot’s rear bumper, forcing the SUV off the freeway sideways in a cloud of dust. It fishtailed once, twice, before careening into the ditch to rest on all four tires.