“He’s doing well. No thanks to you or the Cellar.”
Bailey dropped his eyes. “I apologized for that. Things got out of hand.”
“You think?” Jesse said.
Bailey lifted the cup to his lips and took a cautious sip. “Mister Nero sends his regards,” he said to Jesse. He shifted his gaze to Neeley. “Mister Nero sends a summons. We require your assistance in a matter of some urgency.”
“We?”
“Mister Nero and Ms. Masterson.”
Jesse’s eyebrows lifted. “So she’s doing it?”
Bailey nodded. “It is who she is. She sits behind the desk now.”
“But Nero is close by,” Jesse said, earning a wry smile from Bailey.
“At the side of the desk.” The smile disappeared. “But I am afraid he does not have much longer.”
“What’s the matter of urgency?” Neeley asked.
“We can discuss that on the way,” Bailey said, setting down the mug.
Neeley remained still for several moments. She glanced at Jesse and the older woman gave a slight nod. “You’ll always have a place here if you want it.”
“Thank you,” Neeley said. She sighed and stood. Jesse also got up and went to Neeley. The two women embraced and then, without another word, Neeley went down the stairs toward the waiting helicopter, Bailey right behind her.
Neeley climbed into the chopper. Bailey sat down next to her, slamming the door shut and giving the pilot the thumbs-up. The bird lifted and sped away to the east, toward the rising sun. Neeley noted a long metal case lying on the floor at her feet and she knew what it contained. She reached up and put on a set of headphones and Bailey did the same.
“What’s the mission?” she asked, tapping the metal case with her foot.
“We assume you use the same weaponry that the late Mister Gant used,” Bailey said. “Accuracy International L96A1 firing NATO standard size 5.56mm by 51mm rounds. There is a freshly tooled muzzle suppressor and your rounds were loaded by our armorer and are subsonic.”
Neeley knew that meant the sniper rifle in the case was essentially noiseless beyond the sound of the bolt moving which wouldn’t be heard more than five feet from a firing position. “The mission?” she repeated.
“There is a man who we believe is being targeted by a rogue agent,” Bailey said. “Actually, we think it’s more likely the agent will be going after the man’s family, and since that consists only of his wife and the two are currently in the same house, it’s the same thing.”
Neeley thought Bailey was phrasing things rather oddly, but then again she’d never worked with the man. Bailey pulled a manila folder out of his metal briefcase and extended a black and white photo to Neeley. A distinguished looking man in his fifties and his wife, who appeared about a decade younger than him.
“He’s a State Department official,” Bailey continued as Neeley committed the images of the two people to memory, visualizing them in the scope of her rifle as Gant had taught her, even though they were not the targets. It was just a technique, one that worked well. “The two are currently holed up on their summer farm in the Virginia country-side. That’s where we’re headed now.”
“Why not just put some cops on them?”
“The State Department has a pair of security officers guarding them,” Bailey said.
Neeley considered the information, putting the pieces in place. “You want the target more than you care about the safety of the couple.”
Bailey’s mouth twitched in what might be considered a smile as he pulled a piece of gum out of his pocket and began to peel away the wrapper. “How did you come up with that?”
“Three things,” Neeley said and then she ticked them off on her long fingers. “One. It’s stupid to put them out in the country where they’re less safe. Bury them deep in the J. Edgar Hoover building or someplace like that and they’re a lot harder target to get to. Two. They already have apparent protection so I’m going to be doing something else. Three. The sniper rifle means I’m going to be standing off at a distance not standing at their side as deterrence.”
“Very good,” Bailey said as he put the gum in his mouth. “And if at all possible, we would like the target to be incapacitated, not killed. We have some rather important questions to ask of him.” He reached into the case and brought out another folder and spread three photographs out. Three men in military uniforms glared back at her. “The target will be one of these. Maybe two of them working in concert. But we doubt all three will be there.”
“And the information you want is where the others are?”
“Correct.” He pulled out another photo, this one satellite imagery. He pointed as he spoke. “The couple is in this farm-house. This is the barn. The two State Department security guys are staying outside, one doing a walking perimeter around the house and barn, the other inside this van monitoring security cameras they set up. They get relieved by another shift every twelve hours.” He took out a topographic map and placed it alongside the imagery so she could get an idea of the terrain in more than the two dimensional photographic way.
Neeley evaluated the area the way Gant had taught. Which meant looking at avenues of approach to the farm-house and fields of fire. She reached out and tapped a spot on the photo about three hundred meters from the house. A small knoll covered in trees. “Here.”
Bailey looked at and nodded. “Fine. We’ll insert you about two klicks away on the other side of this ridge.”
“The State Department security people won’t know I’m there, I assume.”
“Correct.”
“What do I do if they compromise me? They’ll think I’m an attacker.”
“Don’t let them compromise you,” Bailey simply said. He reached down and pulled up a small knapsack. “Food, a blanket, water. Enough for twenty-four hours. And a radio. FM set to the proper frequency.”
“What about exfiltration?”
“We’ll come get you.”
“Oh sure.”
Once more Bailey almost smiled. “Mister Gant taught you well, but be assured we would not waste someone of your talents by not coming to pick you up.” He reached into his briefcase and removed a small PDA. “All the information on this mission is in here. Peruse it while you wait.” He brought out a small cell phone with a headset out. “Satellite direct. We’re bringing in some more people later today and will contact you on how to rendezvous with them.”
“Who?” Neeley asked as she took the phone.
“Two people. One of them is Jack Gant.”
The first thing Emily became aware of was the smell of moisture. She slowly opened her eyes and stared at the blades of grass right in front of her face. Her eyes focused on the tiny, glistening drops of dew on the thin green blades. She edged her head forward and her tongue slithered out, sliding along the closest blades, taking in the scant moisture.
She crawled forward on her belly, licking the grass. It was only when the shackle on her ankle jerked her to a halt did she once more become aware of her surroundings and her reality. Her face was damp, her tongue barely moistened from all her efforts. The front of her shirt was smeared with dirt and grass.
And her thirst was not slated in the slightest. Emily shook her head, more at the pathetic nature of her instinctual action than anything else. She lifted her head up and looked around, remembering the animal that had come close during the night. There was no sign of—
Emily’s breathing stopped as she caught site of what was pinned to the tree she was shackled to: her driver’s license. She crawled to the tree and stared at the small piece of plastic, her own image gazing back at her. A single small thumb-tack was pressed through the center of it.
There was a vertical red line on the license, which she puzzled over for a few seconds before realizing it was dried blood. And the line continued up the bark of the tree.