Strong.
Randall paused for a second to catch his breath, and that's when Styles moved to finish the fight. He started with another kick to the already injured knee and then instantly sprang into a front jump kick, catching Randall full under the jaw and causing him to bite his own tongue in half. Howling with rage, Randall still did not go down.
Fucking guy's a bull. Styles then drove two brutal punches into the man's broken nose, blinding him with his own tears. Finally, after a crushing punch to the bridge of the man's nose, he crumpled to the ground. Styles turned to dash across the road only to see a figure in black leveling an assault rifle at him. Just as he started to hurl himself to the ground in a desperate attempt to avoid the bullets he knew were about to spit at him, he saw the man's knee explode, bone shards and blood tearing out of his pants as the man fell to the ground screaming in agony. In three seconds, Styles, after grabbing his AR, was across the road and into the trees. Fifteen feet past the tree line, he could hear all hell breaking loose behind him. Six strides later, Phillips was at his side. He could see the grim look on her face. He only nodded at her as they both disappeared into the woods, bullets whistling about them.
President Lamar told Irving Vickers, "I want to split the responsibility of finding this toxin and the assassins into two groups. I'm convinced that everybody right now is trying to do too much. What are your thoughts?"
Vickers paused before answering, "I agree, but we need to have the right bunch on the right topic."
"I agree. Bring Laura Green in, and have her help you decide. She would have a better feel for whose strengths would better fit where than we probably do, and she wants to help."
"I would have suggested that myself, sir. I'll call her immediately."
As Vickers left the Oval Office, President Lamar was concerned. He couldn't help but feel that somehow the two issues at hand were connected, though no one had yet been able to connect any dots. He called A. J., his secretary. "Get me Coverley Merritt on the phone," he said. Two minutes later, his phone rang. "Merritt? Have you heard of any possible connection between the assassination of President Williams and this toxic agent?"
"Nothing solid, sir, but there are rumblings among some that there very well could be. Personally, I find it too coincidental."
"I feel likewise. Get with the directors, and be sure that they understand the importance that any correlation between the two must be found."
"I'm sure they already know that, sir, but I will remind them."
"Good."
President Lamar sat at his desk feeling a bit overwhelmed. He knew he had to make a televised address to the nation, but he wasn't sure exactly what to say. Everything he kept thinking sounded redundant. He also couldn't even hint at the bio issue. He called Irving Vickers.
"Get a speech prepared to address the nation on President Williams for me. I want to see a draft in four hours."
"Already been working on it, sir."
"Irving, what would I do without you?"
J. C. Christman was hurtling his rented helicopter to the designated landing spot as fast as it would go. He knew that thirty seconds could make the difference between a successful extraction of Styles and Phillips or a disaster. He keyed his comm. "One minute out."
"Roger that," came Styles's reply.
Fifty seconds later, the bird flared in for an emergency landing, with the skids just touching the ground, when the door flew open with Phillips and Styles bursting through.
"Go!" yelled Styles.
Christman had the copter back in the air before the shock absorbers in the landing gear had even rebounded. He was flying ten feet above the treetops with the throttle to the stop.
Phillips had made her way to the rear seat and was buckling in while Styles was strapping into the copilot's seat.
"Where to?" hollered Christman.
"Find Starr." Looking back at Phillips, Styles wasn't the least bit surprised to see she already had two laptops open.
She looked up at Styles. "Ali's security footage is uploading into this second laptop. It wasn't wired into his hard drive that we downloaded."
"How long will it take?"
"Depends on how much info we upload. I'm trying to get all I can. Could be ten minutes; could be an hour."
"Any chance that CIA team could screw that up?"
"No. They'll bring in an FBI tech forensics team, and that'll take a bit. Besides, if they try to remove that flash drive I stuck in, it will self-destruct and take out the computer's hard drive. When the upload is complete, it's all going to be history, anyway. We don't need the CIA getting in our way."
Styles nodded. "Where was the second computer for the security system? I didn't see it."
"On a shelf. You were busy interrogating Ali. I figured that's what it was, so I stuck an upload stick in it. Saved me the time of having to hack it."
"You mean that flash drive-looking thing?"
"Yeah."
Bernard Backersley was in his office glued to his large flat-screen monitor. He was watching events unfold in real time via a helmet cam of the raid on Ryyaki Ali's compound. Myra Banks, head of his cyber unit, was with him. They didn't speak once the assault began. When the suspected terrorists had been found dead, words were finally exchanged.
"What the hell is going on?" Backersley snapped to Banks and the agent wearing the helmet cam.
"We're not sure, sir. We're clearing the area."
"Looks like somebody beat us there," observed Banks, which drew a hard look from Backersley.
"Could Sanderson have sent in a team?" he asked, referencing the director of the FBI.
"Doubtful. I would have heard about it."
"You sure?"
"Absolutely. We've been monitoring all FBI communications," assured Myra Banks. "No mention of any tactical advance."
"Then who the hell killed those guys?"
"Bernie, I don't know any more than you."
Backersley hit his desk in frustration. "I don't like anybody interfering in something we've got our hands on."
Realizing his mood, she did not remind him of the fact that their action was completely illegal.
"Director," a voice was heard over the speaker. "We're coming up on the main house. So far, all hostiles found are down."
"Any idea of who's been there?"
"No, sir. I'll not be in vocal contact while we clear the house."
"Understood."
Not taking his eyes off the flat screen, Backersley asked, "Have you found out any more on Darlene Phillips?"
"No. We've confirmed she spends a lot of time away from home, as you already know, but I can't establish where. I've investigated the DPO inside out. I can dig so far, and then it's like hitting a wall."
Backersley turned and looked at her. "What do you mean?"
"Like I told you, by all appearances, it's strictly an intelligence-gathering operation, but as I've said before, I think there is more to it."