The End Game

Mike kept her distance, blocking Surfer Dude if he made the poor decision to make a run for it. She kept one eye on the elevator, a good fifty feet away; they should have backup here any minute. Surfer Dude turned, raised his hands, palms up, to plant them on the roof. Then, at the last instant, he whipped around, dove at Nicholas, sent his fist hard into his jaw, and was off and ru

Nicholas whipped around and grabbed his shoulder before he’d taken two steps, threw him backward. Surfer Dude landed hard against the Suburban’s bumper, bounced off, and went down to the concrete floor. Amazingly, he rolled, came up in a crouch.

“So you want to play, do you?” Nicholas said, and Mike would swear she saw joy in his eyes. She realized soon enough that Surfer Dude was a seasoned fighter. She could see his eyes assessing for weak spots since his sunglasses had gone flying. Good luck to you, sir, she thought, and called out, “Take the moron down, Nicholas.”

Nicholas feinted to the left, turned fast, and kicked out at Surfer Dude’s knee. He got only the side of his leg, barely grazed him, Surfer Dude was that fast.

He narrowed his eyes, came at Nicholas, punches no longer wild but now fast and controlled, arms moving in a blur, all of it textbook moves, lethal, designed for maximum impact.

Trained, Mike thought. He’s been trained. She smiled. No matter, he wasn’t Nicholas. In fact, she saw herself taking the clown down and sitting on his back, maybe smacking his head as she cuffed him.

Nicholas had a height advantage and he used it, punching Surfer Dude’s neck, landing a hard kidney shot, stomping his arch. It was a relief Surfer Dude didn’t have a knife. Both Mike and Nicholas hated knives, far too dangerous. She watched Nicholas kick Surfer Dude’s belly.

Surfer Dude backed up fast, wheezing. He spat out blood. “Hey, mate, you aren’t all that bad, for an FBI pussy,” and he sprang to the side, whirled around, and came at Nicholas with a flurry of kicks and punches.

“And you’re a right pain in the arse,” Nicholas said, and landed a massive uppercut that sent Surfer Dude stumbling backward, still gri

Mike didn’t interfere. All the lethal weapons were in the Suburban, and Nicholas was the better fighter. And the big plus? He was having fun. Why deny him? Mike only wished she could be the one doing the pounding, relieve some of her frustration. She checked her watch. “Sorry, Nicholas, time’s a passin’, finish him off. If you do it within the next ten seconds, I’ll take you to the gym myself, let you go a round with me.”

Nicholas hit him hard in the nose and blood spurted out. She saw visions of the media claiming brutality, and called out, “Okay, that’s enough.”

Nicholas reined in immediately, gave her a quick grin, started to put him in a half nelson, but Surfer Dude managed to break free and took off ru

Mike rolled her eyes. The idiot. “My turn,” she said, and bolted after him. She caught him quickly, tackled him from behind, drove him down into the concrete floor as the elevator doors opened and Ben Houston ran out with five agents on his heels.

Nicholas lifted Mike off his back and hauled Surfer Dude to his feet one-handed, threw him back against a car, got into his face. He jerked off his baseball cap, then grabbed his shirt and shook him like a dog.

Mike yelled, “Nicholas, hold him still. Good grief, does he look familiar to you?”

Nicholas hauled him up close. “Bloody hell, even with the bloody face, you’re that guy in the photo, Melody Finder’s boyfriend. You’re supposed to be in Paris, studying how to chop onions and debone chickens.”

Surfer Dude was panting hard, but he still managed a grin, even with the dribble of blood coming out of his nose. “I tried to tell you before you started pounding my face in. I know who you are, too, you big bastard.” He stuck out a hand sporting bloody knuckles. “Craig Swanson, CIA.”

44

KNIGHT TO C3 CHECK

CIA—bloody bollocks, I should have known. You’re a bloody spook.” Nicholas wanted to punch him a couple more times, but he heard Ben and the other agents laughing behind him. He backed off. “All right, you bleater, show us some ID.”

“I’m all the identification you’re going to get, pal. I don’t carry creds like you federales. They call it being undercover for a reason.”

True enough, Mike had to give him that. Mike waved to all the weapons. “I suppose this traveling armory is part of your undercover job?”

“We’re not supposed to use our personal vehicles, but it was a bona fide, true-blue emergency. I loaded up and made it a tactical vehicle, had no clue if it would be needed. No choice, I had to hurry.”

“Mike,” Ben called out, “I imagine the NYPD are outside the garage as we speak, wondering what to do. Tell you what, since you’re having so much fun with our CIA brother, we’ll go upstairs and handle things for you.”

“Ben, you stay here,” Mike said. “Tommy, Ly

The agents disappeared back into the elevator.

Nicholas said to Swanson, “You registered the car in your girlfriend’s name? Kinda dumb, dude.”

“Hey, I’m not picking on your methods.”

“Your girlfriend thinks you’re in Paris and doesn’t know you have a Suburban.”

“No, I didn’t tell her that, she didn’t need to know. She’s part of my cover.”

Mike’s eyebrow went up. “Does she know about the weapons stashed down here?”

“Certainly not; it would scare the crap out of her. But she is part of my world and she’s good. I’ll bet she convinced you guys she was as straight as an arrow, all cute swagger in those Doc Martens of hers.”

Mike said, “Yes, she sure did.”

“Let me wipe the blood off my nose.” Craig snagged a rag out of the back of the Suburban and pressed it to his nose. “It doesn’t feel broken, that’s good. Having Melody, it’s one of the perks of working for the Agency, you get to tell the people you love what you do. She knows to tell anyone who comes asking that I’m a chef, studying the restaurant business. Helps for when I need to make overseas runs. And I am an excellent cook, no lie there.”

Mike said, “Like I told you, she was good, believable; she lied right to our faces, smiling all the while. Hmmm, I think I might go back upstairs and pound on her.”

For the first time, Swanson looked alarmed. “Nah, please don’t, she’s a sweetie, bought into the whole deal, plus she thinks I’m very cool. However, this time it doesn’t appear she did a good enough job, since you’re here poking around, looking for me.”

“No, she’s a very good liar,” Nicholas said. “We saw you pull the Suburban into the garage. You didn’t even bother to check your surroundings before you led the FBI right to your doorstep. Now, enough fun and games. What were you doing in Brooklyn last night? Who’s the redheaded woman you took away? Where is she? We know she’s involved with COE, so that means you aided and abetted a terrorist, and you better believe I will light you up like a Christmas tree in two seconds flat if you even try to lie to me.”

Swanson stopped cold, held his hands palms out in front of his face. “Listen, you want more, you gotta talk to my boss. I’ve said all I can. Trust me, mate, we’re on the same side.”

Nicholas turned to Ben. “His girlfriend is up in 1507. Go arrest her on obstruction.”

He turned back to Swanson. “You got something to say to me before we arrest Melody?”

Swanson said, “No, no, don’t arrest her, she didn’t do anything. Seriously, that’s a low blow. Leave Melody out of this. All right, I’ll talk to my boss.”