Men burst through the office into the main building, so they took cover behind some crates.
Vivian tucked Mara by her feet then fired another burst over the top, the muzzle flash lighting her eyes like lightning. “If they don’t get here fast, there won’t be anything left to extract.”
“They’ll come. We’ve got information they can’t afford to lose,” Blake said, forcing conviction into his words. He needed her to believe it, even if he didn’t himself.
Vivian nodded. “I hope so, because they’re the only ones who can get us out alive, but they’ll want something to show for it.”
Thirteen’s gaze flicked toward Mara, then back to Blake. He understood. “Then let me be the something.”
“You’ll be in deep for a long time. You could still take Mara and escape now.”
“There’s no running from this. And we don’t know each other. I’m not father material anyway. Let me be the only father I can be and protect my daughter.”
Vivian nodded. Blake clapped him on the shoulder, knowing Thirteen was a man he could respect and befriend, but that would never be, so instead they’d be comrades for a few moments in time. The three of them held the enemy. Stinging bullet casings hissed in the puddles that had dripped from the holes in the tin roof.
“I’m out,” Vivian yelled, and squatted down, cuddling Mara closer, covering her head and holding her tight.
“Me, too,” Blake said.
Thirteen kept firing for another ten seconds until he dropped to their side in defeat.
A beat later, a shadow swept across the cement floor through the broken windows at the top of the walls. Blake leaned enough to see out the main door. Black helicopters dropped low, their spotlights cutting through the storm. Gunfire faltered from the docks as armored silhouettes hit the ground.
The FBI had come for its mess.
By the time they reached them, the fight was over. The harbor burned behind them. Agents in black vests entered the building fast, weapons trained until a senior field officer spotted them in the corner. Agents fanned out, weapons trained hard on them.
“Hands up. Identify yourselves,” one shouted.
Blake lifted both hands slowly. “Special Agent Thomas Blake. Challenge phrase: Slate Horizon.”
Vivian raised her chin. “Agent Vivian Durand. Countersign: Horizon Acknowledged. Child is noncombatant. We initiated the extraction.”
A beat—radios crackled, bursts of static cutting through the storm.
“Command confirms challenge and counter,” someone reported.
Then the senior officer strode forward, lifting a hand. “Stand down,” a tall woman with blonde hair pulled into a bun ordered. They all laid down their weapons.
Vivian stiffened at Blake’s side.
The agent accepted it, unreadable. “Director wants this clean. You’re both out. Effective immediately. But you won’t be going home.”
Vivian didn’t flinch. “We want a deal.”
The officer’s gaze slid to Thirteen, wounded but standing tall. “Who’s he?”
Blake met Thirteen’s eyes. “He’s your next move. Deep cover. He can get closer than anyone.”
Thirteen gave a faint, crooked smile. “As long as they’re relocated and set up with full pension.”
“How deep?”
“Deep enough to know about your FBI plants in the missionaries Laurel Tide hired and the three you have deep cover in the operation.”
“Then you have contact with the leak in our agency.” The agent scowled, reaching for her cuffs.
“No, but the FBI has a pattern. I discovered it and was able to track men that slid into the organization at the right time and place. I’ll tell you the pattern, give you the names, and tell you that of the Americas Division of Laurel Tide. Their chain ofcommand collapsed after your strike. Commander was taken out in the firefight. I was already embedded, already trusted. Sliding into the vacancy wasn’t hard.”
