As they maneuvered the dead body over the knee-high parapet, something spanged off the edge. The four Midnight Team members ducked for cover, each one taking a quadrant and searching for a target.
"Who's shooting from where?" David asked.
"From the west." Tara pointed with her weapon along the row of three-story buildings. David looked over to see a black-suited figure two roofs over sketch a jaunty salute before disappearing from sight.
David saw red. "Regroup with M-One. I'm going after them," he told the others.
Tara stopped and stared at him. "What? Pursuing is not in our orders. We already have a body for intel…"
David was already shucking his gear, leaving only his vest, pistol and MASC on. "The three of you rendezvous with M-One. I'll meet up with you in a few minutes. Now go!"
Without waiting for a reply, he took off, hearing a muttered "When did the golden boy's testicles drop?" from M-Four. Reaching to the edge of the roof, David leaped out over the narrow alley between the two buildings and hit the top of the second one. He tucked into a shoulder roll, and came up still moving, heading for where he had last seen the mystery shooter disappear.
2
This is why I need to get out of the office more, Kate Cochran thought as she sipped champagne from a crystal flute.
Sheathed in a red stretch satin designer dress, she stood in the middle of at least one hundred law-enforcement officials from across Europe who had gathered in Dublin, Ireland, for the Second European Congress on Fighting Organized Crime in Partnership. They had convened in the main wing of the Irish Museum of Modern Art, housed in the converted Royal Hospital Kilmainham.
It was founded and built by James Butler of Kilkenny Castle, also the duke of Ormonde and viceroy to King Charles II. The classically designed building, consisting of three major wings surrounding a large outdoor courtyard, was originally completed in 1684 to serve as a home for old, ill and disabled soldiers. Over the centuries, the building had played many roles, including the residence and headquarters of the commander in chief of the army, as well as the headquarters of the Garda, Ireland's public police force, until it was converted into the art museum in 1991. While the clean stone walls and colonnade had remained on the outside, the interior halls had all been updated with modern amenities, including a staircase in the main hall that seemed to float in midair, and gleaming, black marble flooring. The hall's inner wall was made of floor-to-ceiling windows that revealed the immaculate courtyard, with its neat grass lawns and graveled pathways, all shrouded in the light, misty rain coming down outside.
All in all, a rather strange place for a law-enforcement conference, Kate thought. Even though Room 59, the covert-ops agency she ran, was so secret she couldn't even acknowledge its existence to the rest of the conference attendees, Kate knew the best way to gather intelligence was often to go on-site and get it face-to-face. She had been planning a visit to Europe and the various Room 59 department heads on the continent for some time — which meant as soon as her demanding schedule permitted. Although with the incredible technology at her fingertips, she could — and did — meet with her coworkers in virtual reality, Kate preferred seeing real people and places whenever possible. When the conference came to her attention, she put it on her schedule and refused to move it, figuring she was due for a vacation, even a working one. Her overseers at the International Intelligence Agency had grudgingly agreed, and she had been off before they could change their minds.
"Ms. Massen?"
Kate hesitated a fraction of a second before turning to see a silver-haired, middle-aged man in a sleek, spotless tuxedo standing next to her. Since her position as director of operations was as shrouded in secrecy as the agency itself, she could never go anywhere, even on what would be normal business like this conference, as herself. For events like this, she relied on her cover identity as Donna Massen, a midlevel employee with the U.S. State Department, as its sprawling bureaucracy could easily hide an extra employee or two.
"I just wanted to thank you for your comments on the potential alliance of law-enforcement agencies with private security companies. I feel that there is much potential business — and crime stopping — to be done if both sides can only come together." The man's words had that perfect British diction, and sent a slight shiver up her spine. After all, Kate did so like educated men.
She nodded, careful not to dislodge her glossy chestnut hair, which had been done up in an elegant French twist. "I'm afraid that you have me at a disadvantage, sir. So many people here to try to remember, you know." That wasn't really the case — she knew exactly who he was — but she often found it very useful to give the person she was speaking to the idea that he or she had gained a slight advantage in the conversation.
"Please excuse me, we met briefly at yesterday's reception. I'm Terrence Weatherby, vice president of marketing for Mercury Security."
Kate extended a slender hand. "Yes, now I remember. A pleasure to see you again. I hope your company's name isn't a reference to its godlike capabilities."
Terrence chuckled and raised his drink glass before replying. "Actually, when we went global in '99, we wanted to take on a name that implied quick, efficient service for our clientele. So far, I think we've delivered."
"Of course." Kate kept her professional smile pasted on her face, but her eyes looked past Weatherby to catch the gaze of a tall, lean, mustached man talking to a pair of energetic young women who worked for Interpol. As soon as their eyes met, she made a small, innocuous gesture with her hand, and he nodded just enough to show that the message was received. Although it was possible that Weatherby had sought her out to compliment her comments at the conference earlier, Kate never believed in coincidence. Most likely getting a feel for their potential competition, she thought as she turned her attention back to the conversation at hand. "So, Mr. Weatherby, just how do you see government intelligence agencies and PMCs working together?"
It was the opening he had been waiting for, and Kate reminded herself that when it all came down to it, he was a salesman. But at least he had a pleasant, butter-soft speaking voice. "Please, call me Terrence. I won't bore you with a long, drawn-out pitch, but allow me to pique your interest with a few possibilities, as there are some legal issues that would need to be addressed, as well, before moving forward…"
He briefly outlined several potential alliances that did sound very good on the surface — intelligence sharing, team building on both sides to augment each other's forces and the relaxation of controls that would make it easier for a formal government agency to use a PMC for deniable missions.
Kate broke in at that point. "Isn't that a bit dangerous? After all, what incentive would your men have to not roll over on the hiring government to save their own skins if they were caught?" She sipped her champagne again, enjoying the mild look of discomfort that flitted across the Englishman's face. Kate didn't have much respect for most private military companies, considering only a handful of well-established ones to meet her very high standard in terms of integrity and trustworthiness.
"Well, it is our hope that would never come to pass, but in the unfortunate event of a member or team being captured, we would mount a rescue operation as quickly as possible in order to extract them before any information could be gained," Weatherby said.
"Very noble of you." Kate knew she was pushing it, but at the moment she almost didn't care. She reined herself in, however, and turned the conversation to safer ground. "Your company has been focusing almost exclusively on Third World countries, Africa and the like. I'm surprised that we don't hear more from you in more lucrative places — like Iraq."