Page 149 of Only the Wicked
My fingers itch to send a message on the phone, but between the man beside me and the one in the front passenger seat, all that would happen is they’d become cognizant of my phone and possibly toss it out the window.
When they arrived at the hotel room as a pair, I thought they were there as intimidation, not as force. I didn’t foresee them using an abducted person’s welfare as leverage. Once outside the hotel, with the three SUVs, it became clear their plans extend beyond intimidation.
Our KOAN team is new, untested. I hope they’re all over this. I hope they heard us.
Rhodes absentmindedly toys with my wrist. It’s ironic. Last night I wore his bracelet for protection. I considered stalling in the hotel, asking if it was safe to leave the bracelet in the hotel room and making a show of putting it on because I didn’t trust the staff to leave it behind, but after brief consideration, I nixed the idea. It wouldn’t come across as believable and might rouse suspicion that we’re working with someone, especially if one of the men studied the bracelet and identified the tracker.
The fact they believe I’m a random woman he met, a nobody, is probably the only reason my phone is still with me—the outline in the pocket on my leggings is clear. Still, the men have eyed me warily at times. My quiet submission and desire to join Rhodes might have thrown them off from any suspicions they harbored that I have training, that I might be more capable than the average woman on the street. If the Russians know my background, which is conceivable, then they haven’t tipped these guys off.
The SUV appears to be standard with minimal internal modifications, making it predictable if we need to attempt escape. The rear-view mirror is angled to keep us in view.
The rain works in their favor—limiting visibility, providing acoustic cover, and reducing civilian presence.
The plan, in theory, if Miles’ outbursts are accurate, is to threaten Daisy, and possibly me, to force Rhodes’ hand. The problem with the theory is that I can’t see them trusting Rhodes. With ARGUS at his disposal, he’s most likely a dangerous risk to the men behind this operation. If they view Daisy as loyal to Rhodes, she’s a risk. She also possesses knowledge that could hurt them. Then there’s me. Even if they believe I’m a random woman, Rhodes’ vacation fling, I’ve heard them and have seen their faces. I’m a loose end too.
I count nine hired men in the entourage, taking us to an unknown destination. Are they all mercenaries? All willing to participate in murder? Or will the detail splinter after we’re delivered to a secure site? Even if they’re being paid a mint, nine people are a lot to trust with cold-blooded murder.
As we leave the city behind, I become more convinced the game plan changed this afternoon. When Rhodes refused to work with Dristol, alarms went off. Which means this isn’t well thought out. This is damage control. I’d bet money on it. They left Miles behind at the hotel, which means he’s not a part of the solution. Or he’s not getting his hands dirty.
Rhodes threads his fingers through mine. The music in the car, an unnerving cheerful Beach Boys album, lends a surreal quality to the moment. The convoy slows as we turn into what appears to be an abandoned warehouse complex near the Anacostia River. Through the rain-streaked window, I catch glimpses of rusted shipping containers and overgrown chain-link fencing. The perfect place to make people disappear.
“End of the line,” the man beside Rhodes announces, his hand finally emerging from his jacket pocket to reveal a compact pistol.
As we come to a stop, my phone vibrates with what appears to be a spam text about extended car warranties. But I recognize the code buried in the message—Quinn’s signal that KOAN is close. I’d been hoping they were tracking my location through the cell towers.
Rhodes catches my eye, and I give the slightest nod. We’re not alone.
The doors open simultaneously across all three SUVs. It’s game time. Watching the men interact, they know each other. All American. Likely former military or police.
As we’re hustled toward the warehouse, I note potential escape routes and defensive positions, useful if we get a chance to break away. Skylights in the building’s roof could provide alternate entry points.
Three armed men stand to the side, one with a cigarette. Two men from our caravan lead, the others follow us through a rusted, metal door. A heavy chain dangles. Before we arrived, the door may have been secured.
Inside the warehouse, industrial lights flicker, revealing a woman with short dark hair zip-tied to a metal chair in the center of the space. Her laptop is open on a nearby table, and even from this distance, I can see the ARGUS portal open on the screen. She’s alive, conscious, and absolutely furious.
The warehouse stretches roughly a hundred feet in each direction, with the captive positioned dead center under a bank of industrial lights. Shipping containers create a maze along the left wall, while the right side opens to loading docks with roll-up doors. A mezzanine level wraps around three walls, accessible by metal stairs at each corner. Perfect sniper positions.
“The prodigal tech genius arrives.” Dristol emerges from behind a shipping container to our left, flanked by Reid and two more men I don’t recognize. Reid positions himself between us and the main entrance while the other two spread wide, creating a semicircle that puts us in a kill box. Rhodes and I instinctively move closer together, our backs to a concrete support pillar. From this position, I can see three potential escape routes: the loading docks to our right, a service door near the mezzanine stairs, and what looks like an emergency exit behind the container maze.
“Let the women go,” Rhodes says, his voice deadly calm. “Your issue is with me.”
“Actually, our issue is with what’s in your head. And the information you can access. Ms. Jonas too.” Dristol gestures toward the bound woman. “But since you’ve been so uncooperative, I’m questioning if we can realistically expect a change in heart.”
Reid steps forward with what looks like a high-end tablet. “We’ve been told we can convince you to work with us, but I’m not sold. And this one here, she’s feisty.” He pulls out a combat knife, testing the edge with his thumb.
Daisy’s eyes widen, but she keeps her mouth shut. A thin line of blood appears where the zip-ties have cut into her wrists from her struggles. “We’ve got no leverage over her,” Reid continues, moving closer to Daisy. “But we do over you. I don’t doubt we can convince you to take the actions we desire today. But I worry about tomorrow.”
Daisy glares at Dristol. “Go to hell.”
It would be lovely if Daisy played it slightly friendlier, as her actions underscore his points. But I don’t blame her. I’d be reacting the same way if I was in her place.
“Miles wants me to step away from the company. Is that what you want? If I step away, agree to leave, Daisy comes with me; we no longer have database access, we’re no longer a threat, right?”
Dristol laughs, a sound devoid of humor. “Oh, Rhodes. You don’t get it. Miles hoped you would cooperate. He had ideas. From my perspective, today’s events aren’t about getting you to cooperate. You’ve shown you can’t be trusted. Our goal today is to get what we need and then eliminate risks. Witnesses. Your girlfriend here heard everything in the hotel. I’m not sure the extent of what you’ve shared with Daisy, but I’m certain you shared too much. And you?” He gestures in my general direction. “If we hadn’t intervened, you planned to show Crawford your evidence. Am I right?”
Reid taps his earpiece. “Alpha team has dispersed to patrol the perimeter. Bravo team on standby. Are we doing this all here?”
Reid poses the question to Dristol, who is clearly in command. He steps to the laptop and presses a button.
