She took two of the vials from the case and put equal amounts of each into the syringe. Without a word, she raised the sleeve of Ali's long robe, found a vein, and inserted the needle. Within seconds, Ali's eyes began to glaze slightly. "Give him a few more seconds."
"Where is the bioagent you tested in Alaska?" Styles asked. He received only a mumble in return. Styles slapped his cheeks firmly. "Think. Where is that bioagent? Where are you going to release it?"
Once again, only a mumble emerged from Ali.
"Hold up a second," said Phillips. She retrieved the same two vials and added a smaller portion to the syringe. Then she pulled a third from the bag. "This is Adrenalin. It'll wake him up, whether he wants to or not." For the second time, she inserted the needle into Ali's vein. Ali's eyes immediately changed. The glazed look was gone and was replaced by a look of fearful confusion. "He should be more cooperative now."
"Where is the toxin? Where are you going to place it?"
Fighting, Ali answered, "Ell… Ellhad." He was fighting hard against the drugs.
Styles slapped him again. "Where are you placing that bioagent? I won't ask you again." Styles allowed Ali to focus on the knife he was holding in front of his eyes.
As hard as he tried, Ali could not stop from answering. "Meeaad. La Meeed."
"Lake Mead!" Phillips exclaimed.
Styles continued, "Were you responsible for the killing of the president?"
Ali visibly squirmed, fighting even harder against the drugs.
Styles pressed harder. "Did you kill the president?"
"Al-Hadid. Nazir al-Hadid," Ali stammered.
"Is he Ami al-Hadid's brother?"
Ali only barely nodded.
Purely on instinct, Styles whirled the man around in his chair and furiously drove the blade of his knife into the left eye of Ryyaki Ali, twisting it upward. He did it forgetting Phillips was only five feet away. "Rot in hell, you son of a bitch!" Styles snarled at the man. He turned and saw Phillips looking at him. "Sorry you saw that."
"Why?" she answered. "I only wish I did it. The brother of the man we killed murdered our president."
Styles noticed she'd said we.
Phillips walked up to Styles and stated, "This is a war, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is." He clicked his comm set. "Target is Lake Mead; we don't know exactly where. Starr, you still got him?"
"Sure do."
"Do not lose him. He's definitely got the agent."
"Don't worry. He's not getting away."
Five figures, dressed in black, assembled just behind the tree line at the center of the small complex of cabins. They carefully observed their targets with binoculars for two minutes.
Locker whispered to the team leader, Randall, "I only see two guards on the roof," receiving a nod in return. Without being told, he screwed a retrofitted silencer on the end of his AK-47 and began making his way inside the tree line to a point where he had a clear shot at both guards. Two barely audible sounds were heard, and Randall saw both guards slump.
Within two minutes, his team converged on the cabins from each end. It took little time to ascertain all occupants were dead. The squad convened in the front of the small complex.
"Boss, everybody's dead," Locker informed Randall.
"I can fucking see that. So who the hell killed them? We're the only team here."
"Apparently not." Locker regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. The look he received from Randall scared him. "Sorry."
"Let's get to the main house. Double-time at the tree line." Randall led his team at a fast pace toward the house, the rear man constantly keeping watch to the rear. All five were armed with Russian AK-47 full assault rifles, taken off the Taliban, which fired the distinctive 7.62×39-millimeter round. This was Randall's strategy whenever he operated within the boundaries of the United States. Any brass casings that might be found at a scene of a firefight would draw suspicion toward radical Islamists, he reasoned. They also carried Glock nine-millimeter semiautomatic pistols strapped to their sides, which were becoming widely accepted around the world.
Phillips was just about to step out the office door when she whistled for Styles.
"We've got company coming up from the cabins. My guess would be the CIA response team." She watched her electronic notebook that was receiving the security camera signals Styles had placed.
"How far out?"
"Two minutes, three at the most. I need ninety seconds for his computer to download on my portable hard drive. I need that flash drive left in place."
"I'll get it. Get to your observation point. Now."
Phillips took off at a run without even looking at him.
Styles whirled back to Ali's desk and waited for the red light to turn green. It seemed to take forever. The instant the color changed, the portable hard drive was his, and he was sprinting back from the lower level to the second floor and crawling out onto a balcony. He stayed low. He didn't want to have to fire on the CIA team if it could be avoided. He knew the basic CIA clearing technique would leave one man outside, figuring he would have two minutes, maybe three, before his own position would become precarious. The idea was to get away without being detected, which was not going to be easy. Depending on where the one agent set up outside, he was hoping to swing down and take the man out without killing him. After all, he'd already killed three, and though he had little use for them, he really wasn't trying to start a war with the CIA. The time the response team would take in clearing the remaining parts of the house should allow Phillips and him to get away. That was the plan, anyway. He clicked his comm set. "J. C., get your ass in the air to the extraction point. We've got company."
"On-site in twelve minutes."
"Roger."
Twenty-five seconds later, peering through a potted plant, Styles saw four figures approach. They know what they're doing. He saw that the first man was extremely large and immediately knew who it would be. Silently, the men approached the house, and he heard the front door open. He heard his comm set click, and then Phillips's voice came over quietly. "Minus one at the house."
Styles thought for a second. He clicked back at Phillips and said low, "Watch your six." So much for that idea. He was in a dilemma, and he knew it. Phillips came first. He clicked her again. "Climb a tree and stay rock steady, but be ready for anything." Receiving a double click in return meant she'd understood. Styles secured his AR-15 firmly against his back and got ready. This was not going to be fancy. Silently, he eased out and looked below. Sure enough, there was the agent four feet to his right. Styles eased over the top railing and lowered himself by grabbing the bottom rail, now hanging well over the edge of the massive porch, moving three feet to his left hand over hand, and then dropping the six feet to the ground, striking the agent at the base of his neck and rendering him unconscious. So far, so good. He rolled and quickly stood, unslinging his rifle in the process.
The noise of the front door opening sounded like a cannon shot in Styles's ears, and after dropping his AR, he was instantly moving toward it. Robert Randall walked through, coming face-to-face with Styles. His expression was of shock seeing his own agent on the ground and a man dressed in full camo moving in a blur toward him. Randall had shouldered his assault rifle, not expecting to find trouble in the yard, a mistake caused by arrogance.
"What the—" was all he managed to get out before what felt like a wrecking ball explode into his chest as Styles launched a vicious attack. Randall was kicked so hard that he bounced back off the wall next to the door and right back toward Styles. Most men would have collapsed under the assault, but Randall managed to stay on his feet. He was hurt, but not down. He immediately tried to circle Styles. His ego would not allow him to go for his weapons, a critical mistake. Randall took a step toward Styles and promptly received a brutal kick to the side of his knee. Styles, inwardly, couldn't help but be impressed. Randall threw a monster haymaker at Styles's head, which Styles narrowly avoided. A second punch by Randall, a body shot, was blocked by Styles, who then turned into his man and drove his elbow squarely into Randall's face, breaking his nose and the orbital bone in his left eye socket. This seemed to only enrage him more. He swung wildly at Styles's head, catching him in the shoulder enough to send Styles sideways two steps.