Storm Front

“That’s a nice little chunk you got out of your forehead,” she said, gingerly touching near the gouge. “You okay?”

“It’s nothing. Does Jones know you’re here?”

She didn’t answer. Storm took it for a yes.

“Maybe you should leave,” he said.

“He doesn’t know,” she said.

“Are you lying to me right now?”

“It doesn’t matter what I answer, does it? You’re not going to believe me anyway. All that matters is that I’m reinforcements, and as far as I can tell you’re not in a position to turn down help.”

“Jones is a—”

“Look, forget about Jones,” Strike said.

“Yes, I’m sure he has his agenda. Is this a big shock to you? He always does and always will. Just focus on the here and now. I’m here. You’re here. I’m know you’re not just visiting Bayonne for the scenery. Kevin told me Volkov is here. Let’s make a plan and take him out.”

He knew that for the sake of three innocent people whose lives were now in danger — to say nothing of the untold millions more who would be imperiled if Volkov was to ascend to power — Storm had to get over whatever injustices Jones might be planning.

He took a deep breath and said, “Right. A plan. As I’m sure Kevin told you, Volkov is holed up in that abandoned factory down the street.”

“Yes. And I’m assuming the only reason you haven’t swallowed your pride and asked Jones to send in a full TAC team to take him out is because you’re Derrick Storm and you have to save the world all by yourself.”

“No, it’s because there are civilians in there.”

“Oh. Kevin didn’t mention that.”

“It’s because he doesn’t know. He just knows there are warm bodies that show up on the infrared.”

“So who are the civilians?”

“Cracker’s wife and kids. Volkov kidnapped them. He’s using them as leverage to make sure Cracker does as he’s told. I worry any large-scale operation — by one of Jones’s teams, by the police, by the army, by anyone, no matter how well trained they are — will not end well for them. If Volkov is in charge, his men won’t be the type to surrender easily. And they won’t show any mercy to their captives. We have to hit them quickly and quietly and incapacitate them before they even know they’ve been hit.”

He shared his thought that the thugs inside would soon split up, and his belief that that would be their best opportunity.

“We just need to get inside the building without being spotted,” Storm finished.

“The problem is there’s so much open land surrounding the factory on all sides. If they have a lookout, we’ll be spotted. If the lookout is quick with a rifle, we’ll get shot.”

The car went quiet for a minute or so. Then Strike said, “We could play it like we did in Sarajevo.”

“No good,” Storm replied, thinking back on that mission. “There’s not enough of a crosswind. And, besides, where are we going to get all the fertilizer we’d need on such short notice? This isn’t exactly farm country.”

“Good point,” she said. They lapsed into silence again. It was interrupted by Strike saying, “I’ve got flashbangs and gas masks in the van with me. There are enough windows in that place. We launch flashbangs through the windows and then move in.”

Storm was shaking his head halfway through. “Too much smoke. Too much confusion. Too much of a chance one of those kids catches a stray bullet.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Do you have night vision goggles?” he asked.

“Sorry,” she said. “That’s not part of my standard party kit.”

Another pause for contemplation. “What we need is some kind of a distraction so we can get inside the building,” Storm said. “From there we can pick them off one at a time.”

“How about an explosion? I’ve got some C-4 with me.”

“Yeah, but what are we going to blow up?”

A wicked grin spread across Strike’s face. “Well, that depends. How attached are you to Becky here?” she said, patting the dashboard.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would. Come on.”

They didn’t need more words than that. In this world, there were two places — and, sadly, only two places — where Storm and Strike were always in perfect sync. One was the bedroom. The other was on a covert operation.

Twenty minutes later, they had wired Becky for detonation and pushed her to a run-down auto repair shop that bordered the factory to the north.

If a lookout saw them, they would just look like a husband and wife pushing their derelict car to a place where it could get fixed. They retreated north, going back to Clara Strike’s van.

There, they equipped themselves for the coming confrontation: bulletproof vests; KA-BARs, the combat knives preferred by the Marines; and some extra firepower. Strike went with a .40-caliber Colt and a 9mm Sig Sauer. Storm chose an ankle-holstered Compact Glock G38 with a silencer. It made for a nice complement to his Dirty Harry gun. Plus, he was able to grab several extra magazines. Having a few more bullets suddenly seemed to be a good idea.