Chapter Five

Thorn

Brussels, Belgium

Saturday, Twelve Forty-three Hours

"T horn, check." He directed his voice toward his phone, but that was for show, a reason to be speaking out loud in the airport corridor. He had dropped his magnetic communications devices into his ear canals and could hear both ambient noise and the soft communications from the team members. Thorn's voice carried back over a microphone that wrapped his neck and pressed in on either side of his windpipe. The apparatus was hidden by his turtleneck shirt. He hid the bulk of his muscles under a leather jacket.

"Affirmative, Thorn, I've got you loud and clear." Nutsbe was their mission support leader back in the Panther Force war room at Iniquus Headquarters in Washington D.C. where he had access to the surveillance magic. "I've got the airport schematics up and layered with the team's GPS trackers. I'll be able to watch each of you move through the building. I have Thorn and Honey on CCTV cameras. Gage, you're in a dead zone. Either move or realize I haven't got a way to watch your back."

"Roger. I have a good vantage point from up here," Gage said. "I'm going to sit tight. I'll watch my six."

Thorn swung his head looking for a spot where he'd have a good line of sight but wouldn't look like he was trying out for a job as a potted plant. He sought out a natural place to lean and play with his phone.

"How'd you get CCTV camera access in Brussels?" Honey asked.

"I know a guy," Nutsbe said, cryptically. "All right then, your target is going to come through the secured area into a long hallway. Glass on your left separates you from him. A couple of supply and janitor's closets, a bathroom, and then out into the causeway. Honey, it might be best for you to move to the corner at your one o'clock. You can watch through the windows from your height, and you'll look less lurking down there."

"Less lurking," Honey grumbled, but Thorn could see Honey's head well above the crowd as he moved his position.

"Hey," Honey whispered as he walked toward the sliding doors and his gaze tagged a man in jeans and a ski jacket.

The ski jacketed guy let his head turn smoothly past and neither of the men gave any further sign of recognition.

"Thorn, heads up," Honey whispered.

"Got him." Thorn stood behind a group posing for a camera and used them to cover his own photography. "Sending."

"That's Billy Watts," Gage said from above them. "What the hell's he doing in this picture?"

"How do you know him?" Nutsbe asked.

"He used to be a Green Beret, he's a good fighter, a good man to have on your team, though, rumor has it he's working for Omega now."

"Omega's on location? Things just heated up," Nutsbe said. Omega did the same kind of contract work that Iniquus did. They tried to fish the highly trained retiring special operatives from the same pond as Iniquus did. But Omega was involved in some really dark shit. They were in this business for the money – no holds barred. They were the group you hired when you needed black ops without a conscious or a defining creed. "Do you think another alphabet hired Omega on? Odd coincidence he'd be walking through the doors at this time, in this spot," Nutsbe said. "Are you sure he's with Omega?"

"Rumor," Gage answered. "I don't know who he's working for now. But I know it's not the U.S. Army anymore. Last I knew, he was recovering with a purple heart pinned to his hospital gown. Nutsbe, see if you can get intel on the goons walking with him."

"I'm putting the images through facial recognition as we speak," Nutsbe said. "Stay the course."

Thorn's gaze scanned the crowd for anyone in the area who was static.

"Heads up, gentleman," Nutsbe said. "DuBois's plane is wheels down, pulling up flush now. They'll be opening their doors here in just a minute."

Thorn pretended to check his phone as he leaned back against a support. Standing kitty corner to the pathway, which would keep him out of the exiting passenger's line of view, he spread his awareness in a wide circumference. He was depending on Nutsbe's skills assessing the camera feeds to help give him the precious advanced warning he needed before some action flashed. But Thorn also knew that Nutsbe was juggling his time between the three operators, their target, and his detective work on the unsubs (unidentified subjects) who came in with Billy Watts. The three new players had huddled, then they seemed to triangulate on the same stretch of corridor as Panther Force.

As far as Thorn could tell, the Billy guy hadn't given his partners a heads up. That, in and of itself, was interesting.

The passengers exited their plane and walked forward with the cramped steps of legs packed into confined chairs for too long. Men and women of all shapes and sizes made their way forward, distracted and fatigued, checking their tickets, checking their phones.

There.

That was DuBois.

"Got him," Thorn said. A burst of adrenaline sharpened his senses.

DuBois looked exactly like the photo on the computer screen, with the addition of a day's growth of gray facial hair that made him look scruffy and unkept. His suit, too, looked rumpled and uncared for as if he'd been traveling in the same clothes for a while.

Behind him, just to the left was an athletic woman whose body language read nonchalance. Studied nonchalance. To an unpracticed eye, she'd look like one of the crowd. To Thorn, she had the look of someone who tried to dim her light. Her clothes were loose over what must be a killer figure. She wore no makeup to accentuate the beauty of her face. Her raven black hair was held tightly back in a bun at the nape of her neck. It was her boots that caught Thorn's interest. They weren't the high-heeled shiny leather kind he'd expect a European female traveler to wear. Her boots ? just like his ? were designed for action.

Thorn called it in as he lifted his phone and took a video. Something clearer and from eye-level, not looking down from the eaves. Something less black and white and grainy than the CCTV cameras.

"Got her. Tagging her in the computer. I'll keep tabs of her whereabouts," Nutsbe said softly. "I'm putting her face into the search engines now. I've got confirmation. Billy Watts is a yes for Omega. He's with Norman Colburn, that's the short guy with black hair. Colburn's an American not welcome on U.S. soil, seems he had a thing for vigilante justice. Now, he takes private contracts, mostly in Eastern Europe."

"Honey here. Are they pursuing Colburn? Do they have extradition papers on him?"

"Negative," Nutsbe said. "He must have some well-positioned friends. He's got no one looking for him, unless he tries to cross our borders. No news on the bald guy who's with him. I'm expanding the search to include European and Eastern files. That team is tagged in my map software, and the computer will keep track of them. Right now, they're all looking in the same direction you are. This could get interesting."

DuBois made his way into the men's room located on the corridor just before the passenger flow came into the main walkway.

As DuBois pivoted, the woman turned her head in the other direction, her gaze caught on someone, then she slid her eyes toward the bathroom with a slight tip of her head, a study in disinterest.

Thorn turned to see whom the woman had signaled. A man wearing a janitor's uniform and a scowl made his way from where he'd been washing the window toward the men's bathroom, pushing his cart but leaving chemicals dripping down the freshly spritzed swath of window.

"We've got movement." Thorn broke away from the support beam, stretching his long, muscular legs, turning and sidling, shouldering his way through the crowd. He felt like a salmon trying to swim upstream. He turned the corner in time to see DuBois arrive at the last urinal in the overly occupied bathroom.

DuBois unzipped and fished out his dick.

The janitor had the decency of letting DuBois take a leak, shake it off, and shove himself back in his pants before he made his approach. Pushing his cart behind DuBois, the janitor positioned himself so his back shielded their interaction.

A wall and urinal in front of Dubois, a wall to the side, the cart behind him, and a thug. DuBois was trapped.

The janitor bent his arm, and Thorn knew from his posture that the janitor had a gun shoved under DuBois's rib cage. The janitor bent to whisper into the scientist's ear.

Thorn would normally think the gun was for show. Intimidation. It was meant to get DuBois to act in a specific way. His life shouldn't be in imminent danger here in the men's public bathroom. But the chick with the head swivel seemed to be playing on a different team from Billy Watts. Possibly a third interested task force.

Since Thorn was playing on a team with a redacted name hiring them in, Thorn couldn't trust any reasonable scenario. He wasn't quite sure what the hell was going on, but his job was to protect Dr. DuBois.

Sidling up as if he needed to take a piss, Thorn reached for his zipper then let his hand snake around the janitor, gripping the gun barrel, and pushing it toward the floor. Thorn turned and wrapped his other arm around the man's neck, catching the guy's chin in the crook of his arm. Thorn grabbed the shoulder of his own leather jacket and used it as a tether as he squeezed down tight.

The sides of the janitor's neck were trapped between his bicep and his forearm, allowing the janitor to breathe, but stopping any blood flow to his brain. Thorn wasn't sure if this was a good guy or a bad guy. If he was a good guy, then Thorn would only be taking the guy out of the game, but the ball would stay in play. If he was a bad guy, coming after Dr. DuBois? Thorn wasn't keen on killing someone here on foreign soil, especially since he wasn't the one being attacked. Thorn had no authority to act here.

The guy dressed in the janitor's uniform struggled. Hard. He was trained and knew what he was doing as he fought back. And worse, Thorn recognized that this guy had the special forces clarity of thought and the determination not to give up. Thorn was exhausting his own energy quickly, not just taking the guy down but doing it as quietly as he could with the bustle of men in and out behind him, taking a dump, washing their hands; and so far, minding their own business.

Thorn shuffled his stance a little wider to stop the janitor from brutalizing his shins and trying to snap Thorn's knee backward.

The janitor was weakening.

Thorn realized he'd only been able to get him in this position by sheer surprise, and Thorn only kept the janitor in the lock because of his own training and determination.

Thorn was panting, his heart racing from exertion. He was fighting one armed. His other hand wrapped the barrel of the gun, pushing the slide forward just enough that the bullet was out of battery. Though, the janitor compulsively twitched his trigger finger, trying to get a round off.

One slip.

One.

And Thorn knew both he and DuBois could be shot.

The thrashing stopped. The janitor's weight slumped on Thorn's arm. Thorn needed to make sure this guy was really lights out, and not playing possum. It had happened to him before – Thorn wasn't likely to fall for that trick twice. Thorn was still counting under his breath as he tossed the gun into the trash bin on the cart, the hell he was going to get caught with that thing on him if they got stopped by the police.

DuBois stood there, eyes wide, mouth wide, frozen with fear.

Thorn needed help stowing the janitor. "I could use backup," Thorn growled under his breath, knowing that the computer would pick up the sounds and amplify them for his team.

"I'm almost to you, rounding the entrance," Honey said.

"Stay still," Thorn told DuBois. "The U.S. government sent us to help you."

DuBois didn't seem to believe Thorn. Plastered against the wall, he raised his hands in front of him like he was getting mugged on the city street.

Honey tapped Thorn's shoulder to signal he was there.

DuBois tilted his head as he looked up to Honey's full height. And then held as if petrified.

"The U.S. government sent us to help you," Honey whispered a repetition of what Thorn had said, trying to drum the information into DuBois's terror-shocked brain.

Thorn kicked at the janitor's cart to give himself some maneuvering room. He dragged the janitor to the wall and let him drop. Digging his phone from his pocket, Thorn took a few quick photos that he sent on to Nutsbe for identification. He used his foot to slide the guy's limbs in tighter, making the janitor small enough to be hidden as Honey pushed the cart in front of his unconscious form and stepped on the breaking mechanism.

"Okay, here we go," Thorn said, turning his attention to DuBois. "Let's go get your luggage and get you out of here."

DuBois's focus slid to the janitor.

"He's not dead. He's just taking a nap," Honey said with a soothing, compelling voice. The kind he used to coax people out into the light when he was on a rescue.

It worked like a charm. Dubois shut his mouth, lowered his eyebrows, and seemed to give himself a shake.

"I need confirmation of your identity. Your name, sir?" Honey asked.

The man nodded his head convulsively.

"You're name?" Honey asked again.

"David. Dr. David DuBois." His words tripped and tangled on each other as they stuttered over his lips.

"I'll take lead, you're right behind me, sir. My partner's got your back." Honey pointed toward Thorn.

Thorn pushed DuBois to get him going. They'd come to the door of the bathroom when DuBois abruptly turned around. "I haven't washed my hands," he said.

It was always funny, Thorn thought, the weird things a brain locked onto in times of crisis.

Honey reached in his pocket and handed DuBois a small bottle of hand sanitizer. "This'll have to do. You'll want to get your shirt tucked in and zip up your fly. Keep moving."

"Nutsbe here. You've got Billy, Colburn, and the unsub still in place, looking unsettled. Heads on a pivot. You've got the gray-lady, who signaled the janitor, positioned, watching from the newsstand. Gage is at the top of the passageway. Ten meters." Nutsbe used the term "gray" not to indicate a color, but to convey that she was operational, whoever she was.

"Copy," Honey said.

Thorn tugged Dubois slightly to the side, so he could get a shoulder in and block the smaller man from view of the three-man team. Though, this move would make him more visible to the woman.

He saw Billy make eye contact with Honey, and the look was not friendly.

"Changing directions," Honey said. "We're heading straight for the cars. We'll deal with the luggage later."

"Copy," Gage responded. "I'm ahead of you. I'll bring the car to the stairwell."

DuBois had been casting his gaze about, searching for cameras, security, or help as they moved down the causeway. Thorn wrapped his hand around DuBois's arm. He wanted to let him know that attention-seeking was a bad idea.

The stairwell was just up ahead.

As Honey pulled the door open, DuBois put his foot up on the wall and struggled away from them. Thorn grabbed both of the man's arms, lifted, and bodily tossed him through the door frame. Honey caught him up by the collar and lowered his head to speak into DuBois's ear. "The US government sent us to protect you. You might want to cooperate a little."

Thorn took the lead as Honey wrangled the guy down the stairs. From above them came the distinctive pop-pop of suppressed gun fire. The blast and ricochet were loud enough here in the echoing stairwell to get security's attention. They'd be swarming. And Thorn didn't trust DuBois to say the right things if the Panther Force operatives were caught in a police net.

Pop-pop-pop. The bullets made little poofs of smoke where they impacted the cement walls.

Honey had an arm wrapped around DuBois, lifted him into a football tuck, and was running, Thorn at his heels, when a different gun caught them in their sights. Thorn looked up and spotted Billy bursting through the door, weapon drawn, aimed, but not shooting. He was looking around as if trying to find the other shooters. Whose damned side was he playing on?

Honey hustled between the cars. They ran bent in two. "Keep going. Keep moving." Honey hooked a hand into the back of Dubois's belt and used it to maneuver him.

DuBois's feet weren't cooperating. He was stumbling over himself.

"Nutsbe?" Thorn called.

"I've got nothing. The cameras in the stairwell and part of the garage are down."

Bullets peppered around them from a different direction as Gage's car screamed around the corner then slammed to a stop.

Honey shoved DuBois ahead of him into the back seat.

Thorn dove into the front.

Gage took off with their doors still wide, Thorn and Honey scrambling to get them closed. The passengers flew into the air as Gage powered over the speed bumps and rammed right through the wooden arm that asked them to pay in advance from the machine to the right.

Sure, at this point, they were on everyone's camera. But hopefully security wouldn't give a rat's ass that they were scurrying away when armed men were shooting in the airport. Albeit with silencers to suppress the noise.

"Bite me," Thorn said, looking at the bullet hole that had sliced into the sleeve of his favorite leather jacket. He slid his arm out to make sure there was no blood. Adrenaline could mask some wicked injuries. Nothing. He shrugged his jacket back in place and pulled his safety belt across his hips.

Gage had melded into the highway traffic and was driving smoothly apace.

"Who had the guns, Nutsbe?" Thorn asked.

"From what cameras were functioning, you had two unidentified, military-aged, males entering the stairwell behind you. The gray-lady looked like she was running them. She was talking into her phone and moving in your direction, purposefully, but making it look like she was running for a flight. Whoever she is, she's good at what she does. I don't have her ID'd yet. Which means she may not exist."

"Black ops?" His words were silent, but Thorn knew the computers would pick up the vibrations from his mic and translate them for Nutsbe and the others.

"I'm guessing," Nutsbe confirmed, "or I should have her by now."

"Billy's crew – you've got the third guy?" Thorn could see Gage's mouth move, but the sound came through the ear buds and not from the man beside him. Technology could make their job easier and technology could also bite them in the ass when used with equal dexterity by the enemy.

"Tibor Yegorovich, Russian national. Because of Watts's involvement, this is a contracted operation. Omega operators can't opt for any side game, so Omega's definitely involved. It looks like there are at least three teams targeting this guy. I'm guessing we're the only ones amongst them that has the doctor's good health in mind."

"Copy," the Panthers said in unison, making DuBois's eyes stretch wide. He couldn't hear the other end of their conversation.

Thorn turned almost backward to catch DuBois's gaze. "Sir, what did the janitor tell you in the bathroom?"

DuBois opened his eyes wide in the way people do when feigning innocence.

"I'm not playing here, sir. I watched it happen. I pulled the gun from under your ribs. I squeezed the blood out of the man's neck. What did he tell you in the bathroom?"

DuBois began trembling, his teeth chattering.

"That quaking's from adrenaline," Honey explained. "It's gonna happen, no need to fight it. But we do need to know what the janitor told you."

"He said there was a kidnapping at my mother's house in Toulouse. I was to go with him quietly, and they'd tell me what they needed from me. Then you came up and wrestled with him. Is it true?" He twisted toward Honey. "Is my family in danger? Who was shooting? Who are you?"

Honey sat silently, they weren't authorized to disseminate that information.

"Sir, what do you do for a living?" Gage asked, repositioning his hands on the steering wheel.

"I'm mostly retired. I give my thoughts now and then on research projects. I teach a few classes for graduate students. I golf, and I fish."

"Sounds like a nice life," Thorn said. "But you didn't mention your affiliation with DARPA."

DuBois flailed about for a moment, sputtering. Finally, he said, "You shouldn't have helped me back there. It's imperative that I get Juliette back." A hangdog look that painted DuBois's face was pitiful. Thorn felt for the guy. In his place, he'd say the same damn thing.

"You want to be kidnapped?" Honey's knee pressed into the back of Thorn's seat.

Thorn reached down and powered his chair forward as much as possible.

"Bad people took my daughter," DuBois said.

"You know that's not how it works." Honey tried to speak reasonably to the scientist. "If they're using a loved one to get to you, they'll keep you tucked tight by leveraging them. You'll be at their beck and call. Let the U.S. intelligence and security communities keep you safe and work to get your daughter back to you."

"No." He reached for the door handle though they were driving at highway speed. "Pull over. You need to let me out of the car. I can't go with you. I have to go back."

"But you have military secrets, our military secrets," Gage said. "We can't allow you to go."

"And under what authority will you stop me?" DuBois started to show some spunk.

"Under no authority," Gage said. "We're rogue. We're out doing our best to keep the USA safe, and if you're going to spill some DARPA beans to our enemies? Yeah, that's just not going to happen."

"I don't know who you are. You have no right to just force me to go with you. So what if I work for DARPA?" DuBois spat out.

"Doesn't matter if you know us or not. DARPA is DARPA and secret compartmentalized information is secret compartmentalized information. You are not walking into the enemies' hands," Gage said as he checked his rearview mirror. "Incoming,"

Thorn focused out the back window where four motorcycles wove through the traffic at breakneck speed.

"What the hell do they have in their hands?" Honey demanded. "Check their hands!"

The motorcycles were swarming. A few of the cars were abreast and the motorcycles moved to the side of the road and flowed around the traffic.

Gage pushed his foot down. He flew down the crowded highway, sliding their car through the small openings like a thread through the eye of a needle.

Thorn pulled out his pocket monocular and worked to get a focus. "Son of a bitch."

"Sitrep. What are you seeing, Thorn?" Nutsbe asked over the comms.

"Well, two of them have guns. The other two, I don't know what those are. But I'm afraid that if they get close enough, we're going to go boom."

"Do they want to kidnap you?" Honey asked DuBois. "Or do they want you dead?"