Authors: Tom Clancy

Tags: #Fiction, #Action & Adventure

Tom Clancy's Net Force 6-10 (40 page)

BOOK: Tom Clancy's Net Force 6-10

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This was not good. Not good at all.

Probably housekeeping had the bag. Somebody had reported the stall locked, a janitor had come by, found the bag. Nothing sinister about it. She had her wallet and ID, she could just go and find housekeeping and pick it up.

Maybe. Or maybe that wasn’t such a good idea.

She sat in the stall and thought about the situation. If Alex and the Net Force teams were going to move on the ship, she didn’t want to do anything that might possibly cause them problems. So making the phone call without her coded phone was out.

If they did show up here, chances were good they’d catch Keller—she could tell them he was here when she saw them. It wasn’t as if she was the only civilian on the ship, now was it? There were probably a couple thousand tourists here—she wouldn’t be in any more danger than any of them. Less, because she knew there might be a reason to keep her head down, and because she had some skill at staying out of harm’s way.

If the suitcase was in the lost-and-found waiting to be claimed, no problem. But if they had opened it, seen who it belonged to, and wondered why it had been sitting in an empty, locked toilet stall, that might make them curious. It would surely make her curious if she were running security on a ship. Once they saw it wasn’t a bomb, they might start to ask themselves other questions: Why on Earth would anybody leave their luggage there? What possible reason could there be?

The flatscreen was clean, no damaging files on it; she’d run the burn program. The cell phone was iffy. It looked fine, just another commercial model, tens of thousands of them around. There weren’t any numbers programmed into it, and they’d have to be real inquisitive to take it apart and discover there was hardware and software built in that scrambled calls, coming or going.

But—just for the sake of argument—suppose they did that? Mary Johnson goes toddling in to collect her missing bag, and security—in the form of Jasmine Chance, who obviously bore Ms. Mary no love whatsoever for moving in on her Roberto real estate—decides to have a long chat with her? International waters, no constitutional rights, that would be, well . . . bad.

That word seemed to be cropping up a whole lot in the last few minutes.

Okay, she decided, that was what she would do. She would go to ground, find a hidey-hole, and stay there, see if Alex showed up. If so, good. If not, she’d worry about that when she got there.

Where to hide?

She had an idea. Probably the last place they’d look if they decided they needed to find her.

Chance called Santos into her office. He came in, a slow stroll, as if he had all the time in the world. He was like a big tomcat, coming and going as he pleased, not going to hurry for anything.

She wanted to slap him.

“Okay,” she said, “whatever problems you and I are having, they have to go on hold now. We need to get this done, and we can sort the rest of it out later.”

He shrugged. “Problems? What problems?”

Now she
really
wanted to slap him. Instead, she smiled. Fine. He’d pay for all this later. He truly would.

Santos looked at his watch. He had an hour and a half before he needed to leave. Plenty of time, since he was all packed, and since he could take the private launch to the copter platform without waiting for the regular boat. Maybe he should go and find that secretary? Fifteen minutes would be more than enough time to relax them both, no? Time enough for a shower afterward.

Why not?

He headed for the Security Cam Center. If she was still on board, she would have passed in front of a glass eye recently. The computer system that ran the surveillance gear couldn’t search for a particular person, but it could, within limits, hunt for kinds of people. Women, brunettes, a certain size, smaller or larger. All you had to do was tell it what you wanted. Well. Generally. The computer probably wouldn’t appreciate what he really wanted, and it couldn’t see that as long as she had her clothes on anyway.

He smiled.

Fort Lauderdale, Florida

Michaels stood in line behind Lieutenant Fernandez, who was behind Jay. General Howard was already on board the Sikorsky. They all wore touristy civilian clothes, and carried assorted sizes and shapes of luggage. The bags were a little heavier than what most tourists would be bringing, but there weren’t any metal detectors to pass through before boarding the choppers, so that didn’t matter.

Everybody in the passenger line was from Net Force. At a different hotel helipad ten minutes away, another group of Net Force troopers stood in a similar line. Jay had booked them all into two flights, making sure nobody else would be on those particular craft but them. Well, except for the copter crews, and they weren’t going to be a problem, the general had assured him. They didn’t know the passengers were anything other than folks going to gamble. If something unforeseen happened, John had his own pilots who could take over.

It was simple enough. They would fly out to the helicopter barge, take the boat from there to the ship, and infiltrate the ship. It was not a direct assault, it was an undercover operation. By the time security on the ship realized it, it ought to be a done deal. Much less likely there’d be any shooting this way, and less chance of civilians getting wounded by accident. A pretty clever idea, actually.

Though Michaels had planned to stay in Quantico and wait until it was over, Toni’s failure to report wouldn’t let him do that. Right up until the last minute, he was hoping she’d call, but she didn’t. And he wasn’t going to let his people and all their hardware go without him, not as long as Toni was on that ship.

It wasn’t politically or tactically smart, but hey, hell with it, he was the boss. At least for now.

The line moved along easily, with a military precision. Michaels had to grin at that. The copter’s crew wouldn’t have any idea their passengers were all part of the same group. Jay’s work had made them appear to be from all over the country, singles, couples, a trio of college friends, no reason to think they were anything other than tourists.

As he climbed the short flight of steps into the craft, Michaels heard two troopers, a man and a woman, talking to each other.

“So, this your first trip to Florida?”

“No, actually, my family used to vacation here when I was a girl. Of course, that was up north, a little town called Destin, near Fort Walton Beach.”

“Wow. I had an uncle who was stationed at the Naval Air Station at Pensacola. Small world.”

Other troopers talked, establishing their cover. Michaels felt a nervous twinge in his belly, a quick flutter. He found a seat, tucked his bag between his feet, and buckled himself in. John had lent him his body armor vest. It was folded into the bag, along with a plastic handgun and a com headset. Since he had no active role in the mission, Michaels was supposed to find a secure spot and stay out of the way until the ship was secured, but if trouble popped up, he’d be able to communicate and he’d have a weapon and some protection.

He hoped Toni was all right. Yes, she could take care of herself better than most people, but even so, she wasn’t a superwoman. Something could have gone wrong. Probably it was nothing—weather, crowded flights, her phone on the blink, that was all. But he couldn’t help worrying. He loved her. And if she was all right, he didn’t care how much she hated it, he was never going to send her into the field like this again.

On the
Bon Chance

Keller had checked the operations center and everything was fine. Well, as fine as it would get. Chance’s hurry-up was going to cause big problems. His team was good, the best, but they couldn’t walk on water. They were at eighty-five, eighty-eight percent readiness, and if Omega launch was tomorrow, they wouldn’t be able to improve on that. He had them all running full blast, and as soon as he had a chance to take a shower, get into some fresh clothes, and grab a quick bite, he would be right back there with them. He hated this. He wanted ten-for-ten for his part, but eight or nine was going to have to do it.

Maybe Santos the sociopath and his team of mouth-breathers could take up the slack. Not Keller’s fault if they couldn’t. He had been given a timeline, he had kept to it. If they wanted to hurry him along, fine, but in that case, they couldn’t bitch about his work.

The door to his cabin stuck. He had to wipe the keycard three times to get it to open. Just one more little glitch in his life he didn’t need. He flipped on the lights, went into the bedroom, and sat on the bed. Took off his shoes, his shirt, and undershirt. He was reaching for his belt buckle when a woman said, “I think that’s enough for now.”

He jerked around so hard he nearly fell down.

A short little brunette stood there in T-shirt, jeans, and running shoes.

“Who are you? What are you doing in my room?”

“Nobody you know, Mr. Keller. What happened to you? You get caught in a riot?”

She nodded at his bruises, which had developed several different shades of brown and purple.

“I’m going to call security,” he said.

She shook her head. “No, I’m afraid you can’t do that.”

He blinked at her. She was, what? Five two, maybe a hundred and twenty, twenty-five pounds? He took a step toward the cabin’s phone on the bedside table.

Somehow, she got between him and the phone and shoved him. He was off-balanced by the little push. He fell on the bed.

Screw this! He might get mauled by a man like Santos, but he was not going to be pushed around by some little
woman
! He jumped up, intending to slap her silly. He swung his hand at her face, hard—

She ducked the slap, and hit him with a brick in the ribs! Before he could recover, she did something to his feet, tripped him, and he fell back on the bed again.

He lost it. All the suppressed rage he’d felt at being used and abused by Chance, at being assaulted by that trained ape Santos, at being attacked by a woman in his own room, it all exploded. He screamed and leaped at her. He was going to choke the life from her—!

He came out of grayness, puzzled. He saw a woman sitting next to him, watching him. Who was this? Where was he? His thoughts were sluggish, as though wrapped in sheets of lead. He hurt, more than he had before. He needed a pain pill, that’s what he needed. Had he been in an accident?

“Sorry,” the woman said.

Part of it came back to him. He was in his cabin, on the ship. He’d come here, to . . . to do
some
thing, and this woman had been here. She had attacked him. Hit him with a club. Where was the club?

“Wh-who are you? What do you want?” God, he hurt.

“It’s not important who I am,” she said. “But we need to talk. I need you to tell me all about what you’ve been up to.”

A surge of depression broke over him. This sucked! He had been beaten by Santos, threatened with death. And now, he had been beaten by a woman! A tiny little woman! It was embarrassing. He was ashamed. He felt himself starting to cry. What had he done to deserve any of this? It wasn’t right!

“It’s all right,” she said, patting him on the shoulder. “I won’t hurt you anymore.”

That
really
made things worse.

In the Air East of Fort Lauderdale, Florida

The Sikorsky’s intercom bonged: “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain. As you’ve noticed, we’re getting a little weather here, and apparently the conditions are worse at our destination. While we could probably make it just fine, I’d rather not take the risk, so I’m afraid we’re going to have to abort our flight and go back to Fort Lauderdale. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

With those words, the big helicopter started a slow turn to port.

Howard sighed. Of course. It had been too easy. He looked across the aisle at Julio and nodded.

Julio unbuckled his seat belt, stood, then stepped into the aisle and headed forward.

One of the two flight attendants moved to intercept him. “Sir, please take your seat. The captain has the seat belt sign lit.”

“I’m gonna puke,” Julio said. He moved closer toward the flight control cabin, which wasn’t far.

“I’ll get you an airsickness bag, but you need to sit down—”

Julio said, “Sergeant Reaves?”

Reaves, a brawny man with a high-and-tight buzz cut, came up and grabbed the flight attendant, one arm pinning her arms to her body, the other hand covering her mouth. The woman tried to yell, but only a little sound got past the sergeant’s powerful grip.

The second flight attendant, at the back, saw this and reached for an intercom mike, but a trooper caught her and sat her back in her seat.

Julio reached under his tails-out Hawaiian shirt and pulled his pistol, the old warhorse of a Beretta he carried, and hurried forward to have a little chat with the pilot and copilot.

A few seconds later, the helicopter turned back toward the southeast.

Howard looked at Michaels and gave the commander a little shrug. “Stuff happens,” he said. “No problem.”

BOOK: Tom Clancy's Net Force 6-10

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