The Operator
Page 100
“Where is the little shit?” he mused aloud as it thumped into his palm and he pocketed it. Checking his watch, he vowed they’d leave without him if he didn’t show in time. The van’s side and back doors automatically opened, both moving with a heavy slowness that said bullet resistant. Two benches lined the sides, leaving lots of room in the center for equipment or casualties.
Sean hustled out of the armory, bright-eyed and dangerously excited in his vest and new boots, a Glock on his hip. Two slick-looking men were behind him, elbowing each other at Sean’s wide-eyed excitement. Michael was last, his steps fast and frowning as the team assembled in the dank shadows of the parking structure. Suck it up, Mickie. You should have thought this through if you wanted your people with you instead of mine.
“Glad you made it,” he said to Michael as the others gave him a respectful nod. “Load up!” he called louder, feeling himself regaining control. “We get there in five. Small target, small team. Everyone works alone.” He looked at Michael. “Except for you. You’re my bullet buddy today. Get in.”
The door to the garage was sliding open, and Bill hung back and watched his team settle into the van with a calm preparedness. It was good to work with professionals, and the tension eased into that delicious hum that was just shy of pleasure. He was last into the van, motioning for their driver to head out as he settled himself across from Michael and threw the energy bar at him to get his attention.
“Brought you a snack,” he said as Michael caught it with one hand.
Peeved, Michael tucked it away. “You had this all prepped? You surprise me, old man.”
“You don’t surprise me.” The van hit a bump as they exited, and Bill moved in the sudden flash of sun. Lunging, he slammed his arm under Michael’s chin, pinning him to the wall. Sean cried out, but the rest of his team didn’t move apart from their initial jerk. Glock nestled at the man’s gut, Bill leaned in, lips curled back from his teeth. For anyone else, it would be a killing shot. He’d have to shoot Michael in the head or he’d just draft to fix it.
“Don’t ever go around me again. Understand?” he said quietly.
Still not getting it, Michael began to laugh.
Leaning in until inches separated their eyes, Bill laughed as well, and the eerie sound of their twined voices stifled Michael’s. The driver flicked nervous glances into the back. Sean scrunched into the corner, eyes wide and hand on his Glock, but his team watched with a wary caution as they continued their prep.
“A woman gives you a piece of information, and you think that elevates you to take me on? You almost deserve what’s coming.”
“You can’t kill me with a gut shot,” Michael said, unable to push Bill off him.
“Who says I’m trying? Go ahead. Draft,” Bill taunted. “I don’t mind telling you twice.” Michael stiffened, and Bill jammed the Glock harder. “Helen is playing a game, and you did exactly what she wanted you to do.” Confident he’d made his point, he pushed off him. “Don’t screw this up. I’ve got plans for you. Just be patient.”
Michael pulled himself out of his slouch and tugged his jacket into place. The tall man wasn’t even wearing a vest. It wasn’t over yet, but it was a good start, and pleased, Bill maneuvered to the front, leaning to the driver and whispering, “Where are we going?”
The woman glanced at him, clearly unnerved—though not as much as Sean, whispering to the man next to him. “Ah, just another mile up. The Crab Shack. It’s on the right.”
“I know it,” he lied, giving her shoulder a squeeze before slipping back to his seat. “Intel?” he questioned, finding his phone. Sean should have sent it by now. Sure enough, it was in his inbox, and he scrolled through it as Sean nervously went over the layout of the two-story drive-up motel.
“Unless she’s moved, she’s in room twenty-six, second floor, right at the top of the stairs,” Sean said, hesitating as the rest of the team checked their phones and followed along. “Street is a one-way and narrow. She’s got a blue rental car,” Sean continued, beginning to relax in the familiar. “Parking is in front, and Smith is on scene. She says Harmony just came back with doughnuts. There’s four other renters, all of them out except a woman on the far end. She works at night and will probably be asleep.”
“Man on the scene?” Michael questioned, and Bill put his phone on VIP mode and tucked it away.
“It’s been ten minutes,” Bill said as they pulled in and parked at the outskirts of the motel. “You don’t think I’d send an entire team out without a vanguard, do you? That’s how people get killed.” Doughnuts? It’s a little late for breakfast, he thought, wondering whether he should have brought a larger team. He’d have his hands full making sure Michael didn’t do anything stupid. “Tom, you have stairs. Dan, cover the back. Jillian, sit tight and be ready to roll. Sean, go where your nose takes you.”
“Sir.”
Excitement tightened as the back door whined upward and the damp scent of cool cement and the sound of traffic slipped in with the crying gulls, urging him to do something—anything. “We’re playing it loose here. Stand back and give Michael room to work. It’s his show; let him demonstrate what he’s good at.”
Michael stood, hunched from the tight confines of the van, his attitude back in place as the January cold shifted his hair about his darkly brooding eyes.
“Stay out of his way unless he loses her,” Bill added, pleased at the flash of anger that crossed Michael. Anger was good. Cockiness wasn’t.
“I’m not going to lose her,” Michael said as he pushed out past Bill.
Sean was quick behind him, followed by Tom and Dan. The two men walked calmly to the outdoor stair and elevated walkway, heads together as they compared notes. Bumping fists, they parted. Tom eased into the shadows under the salted walkway, but Dan held up a hand to show thirty before vanishing around the back.
God, he’d missed this. “Thirty seconds until Dan is in place,” he said softly, still not seeing Smith, already on-site. “It’s all yours, Michael. Impress me.”
Sniffing, Michael headed for the stairs. He almost wished Harmony would put Michael out of Bill’s misery, but as insufferably irritating as Michael was, he had earned the right to be that way. He was good, infuriatingly so. And he’d lied about how far he could draft. What else hasn’t he told me?
Sean hustled out of the armory, bright-eyed and dangerously excited in his vest and new boots, a Glock on his hip. Two slick-looking men were behind him, elbowing each other at Sean’s wide-eyed excitement. Michael was last, his steps fast and frowning as the team assembled in the dank shadows of the parking structure. Suck it up, Mickie. You should have thought this through if you wanted your people with you instead of mine.
“Glad you made it,” he said to Michael as the others gave him a respectful nod. “Load up!” he called louder, feeling himself regaining control. “We get there in five. Small target, small team. Everyone works alone.” He looked at Michael. “Except for you. You’re my bullet buddy today. Get in.”
The door to the garage was sliding open, and Bill hung back and watched his team settle into the van with a calm preparedness. It was good to work with professionals, and the tension eased into that delicious hum that was just shy of pleasure. He was last into the van, motioning for their driver to head out as he settled himself across from Michael and threw the energy bar at him to get his attention.
“Brought you a snack,” he said as Michael caught it with one hand.
Peeved, Michael tucked it away. “You had this all prepped? You surprise me, old man.”
“You don’t surprise me.” The van hit a bump as they exited, and Bill moved in the sudden flash of sun. Lunging, he slammed his arm under Michael’s chin, pinning him to the wall. Sean cried out, but the rest of his team didn’t move apart from their initial jerk. Glock nestled at the man’s gut, Bill leaned in, lips curled back from his teeth. For anyone else, it would be a killing shot. He’d have to shoot Michael in the head or he’d just draft to fix it.
“Don’t ever go around me again. Understand?” he said quietly.
Still not getting it, Michael began to laugh.
Leaning in until inches separated their eyes, Bill laughed as well, and the eerie sound of their twined voices stifled Michael’s. The driver flicked nervous glances into the back. Sean scrunched into the corner, eyes wide and hand on his Glock, but his team watched with a wary caution as they continued their prep.
“A woman gives you a piece of information, and you think that elevates you to take me on? You almost deserve what’s coming.”
“You can’t kill me with a gut shot,” Michael said, unable to push Bill off him.
“Who says I’m trying? Go ahead. Draft,” Bill taunted. “I don’t mind telling you twice.” Michael stiffened, and Bill jammed the Glock harder. “Helen is playing a game, and you did exactly what she wanted you to do.” Confident he’d made his point, he pushed off him. “Don’t screw this up. I’ve got plans for you. Just be patient.”
Michael pulled himself out of his slouch and tugged his jacket into place. The tall man wasn’t even wearing a vest. It wasn’t over yet, but it was a good start, and pleased, Bill maneuvered to the front, leaning to the driver and whispering, “Where are we going?”
The woman glanced at him, clearly unnerved—though not as much as Sean, whispering to the man next to him. “Ah, just another mile up. The Crab Shack. It’s on the right.”
“I know it,” he lied, giving her shoulder a squeeze before slipping back to his seat. “Intel?” he questioned, finding his phone. Sean should have sent it by now. Sure enough, it was in his inbox, and he scrolled through it as Sean nervously went over the layout of the two-story drive-up motel.
“Unless she’s moved, she’s in room twenty-six, second floor, right at the top of the stairs,” Sean said, hesitating as the rest of the team checked their phones and followed along. “Street is a one-way and narrow. She’s got a blue rental car,” Sean continued, beginning to relax in the familiar. “Parking is in front, and Smith is on scene. She says Harmony just came back with doughnuts. There’s four other renters, all of them out except a woman on the far end. She works at night and will probably be asleep.”
“Man on the scene?” Michael questioned, and Bill put his phone on VIP mode and tucked it away.
“It’s been ten minutes,” Bill said as they pulled in and parked at the outskirts of the motel. “You don’t think I’d send an entire team out without a vanguard, do you? That’s how people get killed.” Doughnuts? It’s a little late for breakfast, he thought, wondering whether he should have brought a larger team. He’d have his hands full making sure Michael didn’t do anything stupid. “Tom, you have stairs. Dan, cover the back. Jillian, sit tight and be ready to roll. Sean, go where your nose takes you.”
“Sir.”
Excitement tightened as the back door whined upward and the damp scent of cool cement and the sound of traffic slipped in with the crying gulls, urging him to do something—anything. “We’re playing it loose here. Stand back and give Michael room to work. It’s his show; let him demonstrate what he’s good at.”
Michael stood, hunched from the tight confines of the van, his attitude back in place as the January cold shifted his hair about his darkly brooding eyes.
“Stay out of his way unless he loses her,” Bill added, pleased at the flash of anger that crossed Michael. Anger was good. Cockiness wasn’t.
“I’m not going to lose her,” Michael said as he pushed out past Bill.
Sean was quick behind him, followed by Tom and Dan. The two men walked calmly to the outdoor stair and elevated walkway, heads together as they compared notes. Bumping fists, they parted. Tom eased into the shadows under the salted walkway, but Dan held up a hand to show thirty before vanishing around the back.
God, he’d missed this. “Thirty seconds until Dan is in place,” he said softly, still not seeing Smith, already on-site. “It’s all yours, Michael. Impress me.”
Sniffing, Michael headed for the stairs. He almost wished Harmony would put Michael out of Bill’s misery, but as insufferably irritating as Michael was, he had earned the right to be that way. He was good, infuriatingly so. And he’d lied about how far he could draft. What else hasn’t he told me?
