Lady Death

The driveway was a simple dirt path with a Toyota pick-up parked facing out. Hayden watched the truck for signs of movement.
The lights cut out. Hayden let his eyes adjust to the glow of the moon and the city lights behind them.
Flash-bang grenades kicked off the raid, the solid booms making Hayden jump. Automatic weapons fire crackled a second after the last boom. Hayden cringed at the shouts coming over his earbud. Gunfire punctuated the jumble of commands and signals from the raiding party.
“Sit tight, Joe,” Johnson said.
Hayden grinned but kept his mouth shut. He wasn’t nervous at all. He wanted to be in the fight.
And then he had his chance.
Movement near the garage. A body scaled the fence alongside the house and dropped next to the driveway.
Johnson said, “Move!” and took off running as if propelled by a rocket. Hayden ran behind him. Hayden didn’t know if it was Suspect One or Suspect Two; who cared? The Islamic Union terrorist ran for the Toyota, wrenching open the door. Johnson shouted, “Don’t think so!” and kicked the door shut.
The terrorist swung a knife at Johnson’s face. The big CIA man yelled as he fell, hitting the ground and rolling away to make room for Hayden. The terrorist lunged at Hayden, swinging the bloody knife. Hayden dodged back. As his opponent drew the knife back again, Hayden charged, swinging the barrel of the Beretta into his jaw.
The terrorist rushed and crashed into Hayden’s midsection. Hayden’s feet shuffled on the ground as momentum forced him backward. He twisted his body as the pair began to fall and landed on top the IU operative. He bashed him with the butt of the Beretta once, twice. Hayden tossed the knife from the man’s loosening grip. He hauled the terrorist up halfway, swung the Beretta again, and landed a solid blow to the man’s head. He let go. The terrorist fell unconscious.
Hayden secured the man’s ankles and wrists with zip ties from his pockets. He ran to Johnson. Rolling the big man onto his back, he pulled Johnson’s hand from his face. His palm came away streaked with blood.
“How bad?” the big man said.
“Got your cheek. You’ll need stitches but you’ll live.”
“Feels like hell.”
Hayden helped Johnson to his feet. The raiding party exited the property. They had Suspect One secured. He moved unsteadily on his feet, and two of Alpha Team held him up.
“Other’s over here,” Hayden said. Two black-clad shooters picked up the second terrorist.
Now they had to clear out. The raiders took the prisoners to other vehicles while Johnson and Hayden ran back to their SUV. Hayden took the wheel.
As the engine rumbled to life, Johnson said, “You’ve done this before.”
Hayden put the SUV in gear. “Yup.”
“You ain’t no desk man.”
“I wasn’t always a desk man.”
Johnson laughed, then groaned in pain. “Oh, man, this hurts.”
Hayden accelerated from the hideout. “We’ll get you patched up before the sun rises, don’t worry.” Hayden paused a moment, then: “Base, you copy?”
Lymann said, “We copy successful extraction of two assholes. Good job, boss.”
“We’re proceeding to the interrogation point,” Hayden said. “See you in the morning. Keep the coffee on.”
“You’ll be lucky,” Colleen chimed in, “if there’s any left for you.”
Hayden and the team traveled to a separate location outside the city. The cluster of tents provided privacy for the interrogation. A medic took care of the cut on Johnson’s cheek while Hayden went to work on Suspect One and Suspect Two. He kept them separated so they couldn’t communicate.
Hayden had ways to get them to talk. Within a few hours, he had information for Clark Wilson.
“You working late?” Hayden said over the secure video connection.
Clark Wilson sat behind his desk in his office. The camera mounted on his flatscreen was pointed at his face like a pistol.
“I put a cot in the office,” Wilson said.
Hayden laughed.
“Not kidding,” Wilson said. “Tell me you have something.”
“Not enough,” Hayden said. He consulted a notepad. “We can confirm it was the real Francesca Sloan killed in the drone strike.”
“They’re sure?”
“Both confirmed.”
“Why?”
“Nothing to live for now that her husband was dead.”
Wilson frowned. It never ceased to amaze him how killers could feel empathy. They felt none for their victims, but they shared connections with each other same as everybody else. Another one of life’s mysteries.
“Well how sad for her,” Wilson said. “Pardon me if I don’t weep.”
“I asked about Operation Triangle,” Hayden continued, “but they don’t know anything.”
“What were they left behind for?”
“Continuing operations in the region. They’re supplying arms and information, cover identities, logistical stuff. Nobody told them about a major operation.”
“Not in their position,” Wilson agreed. “They’d know too much. All right, keep working on them. See who else they can lead to.”
“Copy.”
“Good job tonight, Joe.”
“Thank you.”
“Feel good to be out of your cage?” Wilson finally smiled.
“A little,” Hayden said. “Still got a chain on my ankle, though.”
“Won’t be much longer at the rate we’re going. We’ll talk again in twenty-four hours.”
Wilson ended the video connection and sighed as the screen returned to the desktop view.
He made notes on the conversation for his meeting with Fisher in the morning. He looked at the cot he’d put in the corner. It was an army cot with a canvas bed and steel frame. The hell with it. He was going home to sleep in his own bed. He grabbed his keys and jacket and left his office. He didn’t bother to turn off the light.

4
Escaping the United States had not been hard.
Thanks to her father’s connections, of course. Sila Kaymak landed the helicopter 500 miles from the Blue Ridge black site. They touched down at a small executive airport. Her father had arranged for one of his business jets to meet them at a private hangar. Tanya hustled her men aboard the Avro Business Jet, and they relaxed as the jet took off.
Destination: Paris.
The jet had all the comforts for a long trip. Tanya’s father had gutted most of the seats out of the cabin to divide the plane