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DEFECTOR
Genre: Mystery/thriller
Novella
Andrew Dahle is a career spook, with no messy emotional ties to complicate his life. He’s worked with the best, and despite himself, he’s about to discover that he’s got friends he really didn’t know he wanted.
A straight-forward operation to grab a defector before he can leave the country with a top secret project goes wildly awry, and forces Andrew to choose between saving the life of a colleague’s son or nailing his target. To his great surprise, he saves the young man’s life, and wakes up in a hospital.
Grateful, Richard MacAvoy, a retired agent with his own elite contacts and players, steps in when Dahle is injured saving his son. Desperate to complete his mission, Andrew reluctantly accepts the help MacAvoy offers, and in the process just might learn that alone isn’t always the best way to work, and friends might be worth the vulnerability he’s always shunned.
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Excerpt:
“All
right, you know exactly what I expect to happen here,” Andrew stated calmly. At
the brief nods he received, he began to turn away, until Brad Matthews posed a
question Dahle had hoped to avoid.
“What
if something alerts him and we have to abort or risk casualties?”
Dahle
took a deep breath and silently cursed Michael again. The Director knew better
than to saddle Andrew with a partner, yet he’d done it another time—after a
long and loud discussion. This young
agent was about the worst of the lot, though.
“My
mission here,” he began with forced patience, “is to see that Hunter does not escape with the Phantom plans. That is our only reason for being here,
and I fully expect to have him in custody. If anybody interferes, consider it
secondary to getting this idiot. Is that understood?” He eyed each of the three
men he’d been given to complete the maneuver quietly and quickly.
Not
one of them dared risk further questions as they met the ice blue of Dahle’s
stare. They nodded their understanding, and two of the men slipped away without
so much as a mutter.
“Where
do you want me positioned?” Matthews asked.
Andrew
resisted the cryptic suggestion that sprang to mind.
“Once
Phillips and Weyburn have gotten into position on the roof, I want you inside.
I’ll coordinate from here.”
“Think
we’ll be able to get him outside?” Brad wondered, nerves making him talk more
than he knew he should have been—especially to this man, he noted mentally.
“He
thinks he’s safe in the Museum. He’s met his contact here before. Once he comes
into the street, it will simply be a matter of handing over the project plans
or dying where he stands. Those two are about the best marksmen we’ve got,”
Dahle told him, again with that patient, condescending tone which infuriated
the younger agent. A beep in the earphone he wore told Andrew his snipers were
in place.
“Get
inside, Matthews,” he ordered. “And, for Christ’s sake, don’t get anywhere near
him, just follow him out!”
As
he watched Matthews go into the huge Metropolitan Museum of Art, he stilled the
hand that wanted to rub at his temple. He knew the gesture was becoming a
nervous habit, and it irritated him. He pulled out his sunglasses and glanced
at the rooftop opposite the Met. He knew exactly where the two men were
supposed to be positioned, and he spotted them simply for that reason. He
raised the radio he held and spoke into it. “Stand by, he should be coming out
anytime now.”
Satisfied
that things would go according to plan, Dahle got into his car to wait until
Brad got Hunter into the open for him.
*
* *
Almost fifteen minutes had passed since Dahle
had sent his partner inside the huge museum, and there was still no sign of
Hunter emerging from the building. Nor any word from Matthews, he added
furiously. He was beginning to have serious doubts about the smoothness of this
operation. It should have been simple
and straightforward, but each minute that passed made him feel less and less
certain about that assertion.
Too
many people around, he observed for at least the tenth time in that many
minutes. Not that he had any humanitarian reason for the concern. Mostly it
just annoyed him that the presence of too many people complicated his chances
of a successful capture of this traitor Michael wanted back. If bystanders
died, it was hardly of any importance to Andrew—as long as Hunter wasn’t on the
casualty list until after he’d
recovered the Phantom Project plans.
Damn! There should have been a signal by now.
The
sound of a gunshot echoing through the museum was not the signal Dahle was waiting for, and he felt rage swell
instantly. Panicked screams followed the shot, and he got out of the car, gun
in hand, then started toward the main entrance. He’d gotten no further than a
few steps in that direction when he was stopped short by the two figures coming
out the doors.
Disbelief
and anger fought for release as he stared at Hunter and his hostage. Blue eyes
met blue, and Andrew almost winced at the relief he read in the expressive
features of Danny MacAvoy. The damn kid really thought Dahle would save him
from his bad luck! What truly infuriated
Andrew was the unwilling realization that the young man was right. Despite his
orders to the contrary, he was going to be the one breaking his own game plan
rules. The unflinching faith in Danny’s eyes wouldn’t allow him anything else.
“Let
him go, and you can get away, Hunter,” Andrew said flatly.
“He’s
coming with me, Andrew,” Dylan said around an icy smile. “Do you think I don’t
know how well planned this must have been?
I know Michael’s confidence in you, and I also know it’s justified. You
wouldn’t risk my escape. Where’s your back-up?
It can’t be that fool who fired inside. You wouldn’t tolerate that kind
of stupidity.”
Tell Michael that! Dahle’s anger was
reaching murderous levels.
“You
won’t get past the steps with a hostage,” Dahle assured the designer. “Unless I
give the order to allow it. I won’t do that until you release the boy.”
“You
sure as hell won’t do it then!”
Andrew
actually smiled at the unmistakable fear he heard in the other man’s voice. He
knew they’d reached a veritable stand-off, and the choice now was to let Hunter
escape to save MacAvoy’s son or to risk the kid getting in the way when one of
his people took out the weapons designer they were after. Somehow, despite his
earlier statement about their abilities, he wasn’t truly convinced either
sharpshooter had the skill to avoid a possible injury to the young man Hunter
was using as a shield. Which meant the decision was his call.
Dahle
allowed himself another look at Danny, wondering briefly why he was even
remotely concerned. He was the one who had stated categorically that the
operation came first, so why was he hesitating?
The answer was one he really didn’t want to acknowledge; Danny MacAvoy
reminded him too clearly of things he’d lost so long ago that he was often sure
he’d never possessed them. His last encounter with this young man had reopened
old wounds he’d long thought healed. The protectiveness he instilled in the
people around him was contagious, as well. Andrew had come face to face with
Angelo Johnson on that count, more than once. Now he found himself examining
the very things that must have swayed so many others; he knew the innocence and
the courage, the unyielding faith that was written so clearly in the boy’s
face.
Damn you to hell, MacAvoy!
“Go!”
he snapped at Hunter. His only concession to Danny’s questioning glance was a
barely perceptible nod, but the kid returned the gesture, with a small smile
that set Dahle’s teeth on edge.
“Instruct
your people not to shoot, Andrew.” As he gave the demand, Hunter was inching
toward his car, parked a few yards away from Dahle’s Silver BMW. His hold on
Danny hadn’t loosened at all.
Andrew
raised the radio to his mouth and issued the order. “Let him get into his car,
cancel previous orders.”
He
took a step toward the two men, noticing almost absently that the street had
cleared of people around the front of the museum. Danny saw the movement; it
registered clearly in his eyes. The kid’s going to make a move, Andrew
realized, anger reigniting in the time it took for the thought to form. Without
consciously thinking about it, Dahle made a desperate grab for Danny at the
same instant the young man jerked away from Hunter. The opposing momentum
caused them to literally collide with each other and they both went down.
Andrew
recovered instantly and pushed the kid’s face down on the sidewalk as he
climbed to balance on one knee, his gun drawn. He took aim.
Several
shots split the unnatural quiet of the afternoon. Dahle heard them through a
haze of disbelief as pain tore into his shoulder and spun him backward. He hit
the pavement next to Danny and watched in confusion as a body tumbled down the
museum steps.
“How
bad is it?” Danny asked, his concern evident in his lack of awareness to what
was going on around him.
“Bad
enough, kid,” Andrew snapped. He ignored the stabbing pulse of pain that fanned
outward from his right shoulder, and he hauled himself back to his feet, with
Danny’s unwelcome help.
“What
the hell happened?” he shouted, when one of the two snipers came running toward
him.
“He
got away, but we took out the back-up,” Jason Phillips said, his voice
breathless from the frantic dash he’d made from across the street. “She’s the
one who got you,” he added, indicating the body sprawled across several steps.
Danny’s
eyes widened, and he took an unconscious step backward when Andrew brushed past
him to go have a look at the woman.
“Get
inside and find out what the hell’s happened to Matthews,” Andrew directed. “If
he’s not dead already, he’s going to wish he was before I’m through with him.”
“Shouldn’t
we call the medics?”
Andrew
didn’t respond. He got a clear look at the face of the woman who’d shot him,
just before the darkness swallowed him and took away the shudders of agony that
wracked his body.
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