Verifiable Intelligence
Contents
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Verifiable Intelligence
Kaitlin Maitland
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EBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared, or given away. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to or downloaded from file sharing sites, or distributed in any other way via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/).
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Published By:
Etopia Press
P.O. Box 66
Medford, OR 97501
Verifiable Intelligence
Copyright © 2012 by Kaitlin Maitland
ISBN: 978-1-937976-44-6
Edited by Melinda Fulton
Cover by Mina Carter
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Etopia Press electronic publication: August 2012
Chapter One
The weave of the cheap industrial carpet bit into her elbows as Dayne army-crawled between the towering shelves. Dust from long forgotten books tickled her nose, but she refused to sneeze. When she finally had a view of the unfolding drama, she settled in to watch.
“Well now, it’s good that everyone seems willing to cooperate.”
The gunman’s rough voice triggered a faint memory. The deep chuckle reverberated around the cinder block walls of the branch library. A chill slid down Dayne’s spine, and she resisted the urge to shiver.
What business did a gunman have in a library?
Through the slatted bottom of a computer station she watched a set of tree trunk legs in fatigues stride from the front of the building toward the children’s section. The weapon that she carried in a shoulder holster at all times was suddenly deadweight. She could take him out. The shot was simple. It would’ve been easy to scoot in and jockey for a position, but that wasn’t her style. She didn’t get involved in things that weren’t her business. It was one of the first three cardinal rules of survival. However, her curiosity was killing her. What would an armed man in fatigues want in the children’s section of a small public library in Missouri?
Stuffing her long reddish brown ponytail under her collar to keep it out of her way, Dayne crouched and moved stealthily around the computer stations. She passed several terrified people on her way. Putting her finger to her lips, she moved on to the end of the aisle.
Where the Adult Nonfiction section met the Teen Fiction section there was a kiosk of paperback books and a long set of low shelves that held an assortment of periodicals. She slunk behind the shelves and made her way to the end. By peering around the edge, she was able to get a glimpse of the action. More importantly than that, she could hear what was happening.
“Which one of you brats is Ryan Stafford?” a rough voice demanded.
Nobody spoke. The petite librarian seemed frozen in the task of putting her reading glasses on her face. Parents huddled with their children. A baby whimpered, only to be hurriedly shushed by its mother.
“All right.” The unmistakable sound of a bullet being chambered reverberated around the room. “I’ve got a full clip in this weapon. Ryan Stafford is ten years old. There are only about six of you that look that age. I’ll just start picking you off one by one. I don’t give a damn if Ryan’s alive or dead when I take him. If nobody wants to tell me who he is, I’ll just take all of the corpses with me.”
Dayne pulled up the sides of her black duster and leaned farther around the shelves. She was dying to see how the adults were going to react to this casual threat. The various manifestations of survival instinct fascinated her. People had some of the damndest ways of handling things.
The mother of the crying baby leapt to her feet and pointed at a dark haired boy. The kid immediately tried to shrink his big-boned frame behind a study carrel.
“He’s there! Just take him and leave the rest of us alone!” a young woman near the boy cried out in distress.
Terrified murmurs rippled around the room, followed by muttered curses and accusations. The gunman turned, and Dayne got her first good look at his features. Her breath caught in her chest.
Bloody hell.
There was no mistaking the gunman’s identity. King was one of the most sought after mercenaries in the world. He was roughly the size of a grizzly bear, with a temper to match. Dayne’s practiced eye immediately took in the details. Dirty brown hair curled out from under his black wool skullcap. He still had the long narrow scar on his left cheek. A feral grin showed the gap where he was missing two teeth on the upper left side of his mouth. He held a Glock .357 sidearm, his finger twitching eagerly on the trigger. Extra clips bulged in every pocket of his cargo fatigues. His worn pair of standard issue combat boots were size twelve, and he towered over everybody else in the building at six and a half feet tall.
King grasped the collar of Ryan Stafford’s shirt in his ham-fisted hand. The ten-year-old twisted in his grip, blue eyes wide. Wavy black hair fell across the boy’s forehead. Bigger than the other kids cowering around him, his body had the look of a puppy not yet grown into its legs. In his jeans, sneakers, grubby T-shirt and St. Louis Cardinals jacket, he seemed like any kid who’d come to the library on a Tuesday after school.
Dayne’s gaze narrowed. What made this boy different? Who wanted him and why?
“You’re Ryan?” King snarled.
“Yeah.”
Dayne’s lip twitched. The steel in the boy’s voice was impressive. He was scared but he was trying hard not to show it.
King swung the kid up over his shoulder into a fireman’s carry. Turning gracefully for a man his size, he headed for the door. When he passed the reference desk a large-boned woman in her fifties sprang into action.
Dayne stifled a groan when the head librarian moved in front of King, arms akimbo, challenging the seasoned mercenary. What was the stupid woman thinking?
“I’ve already called the authorities!” she said. “I cannot let you take that boy!”
King paused to shift Ryan’s weight on his shoulder. “And how, exactly, are you going to stop me?”
Adrenaline lanced through Dayne’s body when King trained the Glock on the librarian’s forehead. She could stop him. Her hand reached beneath her duster for the Sig Sauer P226 .357 she carried at all times. She could keep King from taking the boy. She could stop him from killing the librarian. She would expose herself for what she was.
The hand she’d clenched around the butt of her pistol relaxed. Her entire identity would crumble. Her life would be shredded…again. She’d have to run. She’d have to start over…again. Who the hell was she to mess with other people’s lives anyway?
The shot was deafening. Muffled yelps and full-throated screams bounced around the cinder block walls. Dayne’s nostrils filled with the coppery scent of blood. The librarian’s body crumpled to the ground with a soft shuffle.
King carelessly sidestepped his victim and walked right out of the library. The last thing Dayne saw were Ryan Stafford’s wide blue eyes pleading silently for help.
* * *
“He just came out of nowhere!” a young woman said through her sobs. “I don’t know what he would want with Ryan! He’s only lived with me for five months. He’s my nephew!”
Dayne listened with interest as Ryan’s aunt gave her garbled account of the abduction. The local police were doing their best to calm those who had witnessed the horrific shooting but they weren’t used to handling such things.
So if the blubbering lady was his aunt, who did he really belong to?
Dayne was still crouched behind the shelves, unnoticed by anyone. She wasn’t intimidated by the police. She’d had run-ins with the locals before and found them to be blissfully ignorant. It was one of the things that had lured her to the town to begin with.
Ofallon was considered the fastest growing town in Missouri. Not only did it offer quick access to the huge metropolitan St. Louis area, it was a town that was growing faster than law enforcement could keep up with. Strangers came and went on a regular basis, and nobody noticed. She now had to wonder if someone else hadn’t seen the potential of hiding something in such an innocuous place.
She found a spot behind some shelves and stood up. Edging around the chaotic scene, she walked purposefully toward the front doors. Nobody gave her a glance. She was just one more woman in the crowd.
She relaxed when she slid behind the wheel of her truck. The lifted black Chevy Silverado was her one vanity. Thankfully it didn’t stand out that much in the area. None of the major modifications were obvious to the untrained eye. With the dark tinted windows, nobody could tell there wasn’t just another typical Midwestern male in the driver’s seat.
Turning the key, she brought the powerful engine to life. Reaching over, she adjusted the computer screen mounted overhead. Using a fiber optic mouse built into her center console, she made a few inquiries on the usual intelligence networks.
