Page 24 of Avenging Jessie (Black Swan Division Thrillers #3)

Twenty-Four

Spence

It didn’t work.

While he’d managed to bypass the warehouse’s online security system and hack into the control hub, the Cyclones were not online.

Not with that hub.

Spencer dropped his head into his hands and swore. “Change of plans.”

The three members of his team gathered around him. Jesse peered over his shoulder at the screen. “What’s wrong?”

He hated the fear in her voice. The dread. He wished he could wipe it away with what he was going to say next. He couldn’t. “The cyclones are on a local hub only.”

“What does that mean? “Tessa asked.

Tommy let go of a flurry of curses under his breath and whirled away. “It means we can’t access them unless we are on site.”

Jesse straightened. “Are you kidding?”

Spence dropped his hands into his lap and shook his head. “The only way for me to activate the failsafe is to go to the warehouse and hack into the separate control hub that Brewer has set up.” He rubbed his eyes. “Bastard. Of course, he set it up this way. I would’ve done the same thing.”

One of their phones let off a chirp. “That’s mine,” Tessa said, scrambling back to her chosen chair. She held it up and flashed the screen at them. The readout said ‘Solomon.’ Flynn’s codename back when he was an agent.

Tessa hit the answer button and put it on speaker, returning to the dining room table and setting it down. “Hello, sir.”

Flynn’s voice came through low and taut. “We’ve got a situation. Hastings is inside Langley.”

Jessie sucked in an audible gasp. “He survived the data center explosion?”

Spence rubbed his eyes again as he listened to Flynn drop the next bomb on them. “He’s taken the director and multiple senior staff members hostage.”

Another gasp from Jessie. Tommy swore vividly once more. Spencer’s guts clenched hard. Tessa put her hand to her mouth and walked away from the table.

“We knew it was possible,” Spence said. “But for the love of the Queen, we can’t catch a damn break.”

Flynn’s next words made it worse. “He walked in disguised as a DoD courier, shot two guards, and barricaded the ops wing. He’s demanding to speak directly to me.”

Spence didn’t need to guess why. Hastings had been, and maybe still was, Brewer’s right hand, and both of them knew how to play the game. Was this another distraction? Was Hastings operating on his own? Or had this been part of the big plan all along?

Spence’s pulse picked up, a too-loud drum in his ears.

“Then you need to know this—the DoD took my Cyclone drone prototype and created a warehouse full of them. They’re stored at BIA Solutions, ten miles from our safehouse.

BIA is one of Brewer’s shell companies. In essence, he has access to hundreds of deadly drones carrying payloads that could wipe out everyone and everything along the Eastern seaboard. ”

A beat of silence on the line. “The Cyclone project was shelved.”

“Yeah, so we thought, but guess what? Someone lied, and Brewer is planning an attack on Langley as we speak with those drones. I need to get to his control hub. We take that hub, we cripple his ability to activate them.”

Flynn’s tone hardened. “We don’t have time for detours. I want all of you at headquarters now. The hostages come first.”

“That’s exactly what Brewer’s counting on,” Spence said, leaning forward over the table, jaw tight. “You’re asking us to walk into a kill box while he sits in a warehouse pulling the trigger.”

Jessie was nodding beside him. “He’s right, sir. If Spence can get into the hub and upload his failsafe, Langley won’t have to dodge an aerial strike in the middle of a hostage crisis.”

Flynn swore under his breath, weighing it. “You’re certain you can take control?”

“If I can get on site.” Spence stared at this screen, wishing he had better answers. “I left a failsafe in the plans. I believe it’s still there, but I can’t access it remotely.”

Another pause. Then Flynn made the call. “Fine. Swans three and four—you go to the warehouse. Five and six, meet me at Langley.”

The line went dead, and Spence pushed away from the table. “Gear up, folks. The clock’s ticking.”

The two-lane back road cut through flat stretches of scrub and sagging chain-link, the kind of nowhere in rural Virginia that looked like it hadn’t seen daylight in weeks.

Spence kept the speed just under reckless, one hand on the wheel, his injured hand resting on his thigh as the odometer ticked them closer to BIA Solutions.

Industrial skeletons rose on the horizon—truck yards, half-dead warehouses, a grain silo tilting toward collapse. Somewhere in that maze of corrugated steel and asphalt sat the Cyclones’ nest.

Jessie’s voice had taken on the kind of tone that happened when adrenaline started to sharpen every thought and movement.

Her focus was on the map on her tablet. “South fence line looks like our best bet. It’s closest to where the service bays back up to the main floor.

If we can get over without tripping the perimeter sensors, we can hug the shadows until we reach the catwalks above the control hub. ”

“Hub’s not marked on the interior schematics,” Spence said, eyes still on the road, “but it’s always the same. It will be an isolated room with its own cooling system. Look for extra venting on the roof. That’ll be our landmark.”

She nodded, then glanced over at him. “You’re mentally working on twelve strategies, aren’t you? Because you’re sure this is all going to go wrong.”

“It’s called planning,” he said.

“It’s called blaming yourself,” she countered, softer now. “This isn’t on you, Spence. The Pentagon stole your work. Brewer’s the one using it against us.”

He tightened his grip on the wheel. “Doesn’t matter who started it. I’m the only one who can stop it.”

A lie. It did matter. To him, anyway. He’d meant those drones to help people, especially the military personnel in the field. They were supposed to carry medicine and other tactical aid. Instead, they’ve been turned into horrifying weapons.

The silence stretched until the road curved and the industrial park’s fence lines came into view, a jagged silhouette. Jessie leaned forward, scanning. “Target in sight.”

Spence coasted the SUV into the shadow of an abandoned loading dock. From here, BIA Solutions sat like a crouched beast. Two stories of corrugated steel were wrapped in razor wire, floodlights on swivels, and a fence line humming with enough voltage to fry a man stupid enough to touch it.

He slid the binoculars from the dash and scanned the perimeter. Two guards in tactical black paced a lazy loop inside the fence, rifles slung but hands never far from their grips. Cameras rode the corners, angling in slow sweeps.

Jessie was already out of her seat, crouched against the SUV’s hood as she adjusted her own optics. “South fence line’s blind spot’s smaller than I thought. Between the camera sweeps and patrol timing, we’ve got maybe eight seconds to cross open ground.”

“Plenty of time,” Spence said, though he clocked the math twice in his head. One missed beat and they’d be a flashing neon sign in the open.

She lowered her binoculars and returned to her seat before pointing to the roof. “If the control hub’s got its own cooling system like you said, it’s over there.” The finger dropped to the section of the building directly below it. “That’s where it’ll be.”

“And the server racks are usually in the heart of the operation,” he said.

She watched the guards again through her binoculars. “It’s going to be a bitch to get to them unnoticed.”

Spence’s jaw set, and he squeezed her shoulder. If only he could knock her out and leave her behind. Do this all on his own. But he couldn’t. And he knew the importance of teamwork. “Then we plan on being noticed.”

“I’ve got your back,” she said, patting his hand on her shoulder.

“And I’ve got yours.”

She leaned over and kissed him. Slow, sweet. For a second, he closed his eyes and let all thoughts fly away so he could enjoy it.

It might be the last time.

As she broke the kiss, the clock in his head started ticking down again. He cleared his throat, and they exited the car together.

At the guard change, Spence signaled Jessie forward, both of them sliding from cover into the cloudy afternoon light. The fence hummed like an angry hornet, the smell of diesel teasing his nose.

They kept low, moving along the shadows of a stacked pallet wall until they hit the south line. The nearest camera swept right.

“Now,” he breathed.

Jessie went first—fluid, silent. In three steps, she was at the fence, cutter in hand. The insulated jaws bit through the chain-link. She peeled it back just enough to slip inside, her movements fast but unhurried, every inch the pro she was trained to be.

Spence followed, sealing the cut behind him with a magnetic clamp to hide the breach for as long as possible.

The guard patrol was late, which should have been a gift. Instead, it set his instincts buzzing. Too many ops had taught him lateness meant something else was already in motion.

Jessie dropped to a crouch and hugged the wall of the warehouse. She raised her gun as the soft crunch of boots on gravel approached from the east.

She didn’t wait for Spence’s nod. She flowed forward, intercepting the guard like a shadow. His expression never changed as she hit him with the barrel of her gun and eased him down to the ground.

Spence stepped over the unconscious body, resisting the urge to glance back. The soft glow of sodium lights painted the metal siding ahead as if it were night.

They were inside the perimeter. The hard part was about to start.

The loading bay loomed ahead, corrugated steel doors shuttered tight. Spence tucked in beside the keypad, fingers flying over the portable decryptor clipped to his belt. A soft chirp confirmed the bypass.

The door began to rise—just enough for them to slip under—when the afternoon quiet shattered.

“Contact, south bay!” The shout echoed across the yard, followed by the whipcrack of automatic fire. Bullets punched sparks from the bay door inches from Spence’s head.

Jessie shoved him inside. “We’re burned!”

The klaxon wailed to life, a gut-punching blast that rolled through the warehouse like an air raid. Red strobes began to pulse along the walls, bathing everything in a hellish glow.

Inside, the space yawned wide—rows of steel shelving stacked high with crates, the tang of machine oil and ozone in the air. Overhead, catwalks spiderwebbed across the expanse, and far at the opposite end, a glass-walled room glowed faint blue. The control hub.

Two guards barreled out from behind a forklift, rifles up. Spence fired first, the suppressed shots coughing in the cavernous space.

One went down. Jessie was already moving on the other, kicking the rifle away before he could bring it to bear.

“Go!” she barked, hauling Spence forward.

He sprinted for the cover of the nearest crate stack. Boots thundered above on the catwalks, shadows crisscrossing in the strobe light. The sound of more incoming fire rattled the metal walls.

They moved like they’d trained for this—because they had. In the early days of the swans, they’d gone through mock scenario after mock scenario before they ever went into the field as a team.

Jessie swept left, taking the aisle along the forklift line, while Spence advanced up the right, using the crate stacks as cover. Gunfire ricocheted off steel and concrete, sparking like welding torches in the strobe light.

Above, boots pounded the catwalk. Muzzle flashes strobed in return, raining rounds that chewed splinters from the crate corners.

Spence ducked, heart hammering in rhythm with the klaxon, and sent two clean shots upward.

One guard dropped screaming, his rifle clattering against the rail before disappearing into the shadows below.

They closed in on the hub. Fifty meters. Forty. Jessie caught his eye, signaling with two fingers—two hostiles ahead. He nodded, pivoting around a crate corner just as she flanked the other side.

A double-tap from him. A brutal elbow strike from her. Both targets were down.

They pushed forward, their boots hitting the polished concrete in quick, efficient strides—until the overhead PA crackled.

“Well,” a voice drawled, rich with mockery and familiarity. “If it isn’t the prodigal daughter and her plus-one.”

Spence froze. He knew that voice.

Brewer.

“You’ve got good timing,” the man continued, his voice echoing through the warehouse. “I was wondering how long it would take you to find my little toy chest.”

Jessie shot Spence a look—half fury, half warning—and motioned toward the hub. But Spence couldn’t stop the ice creeping into his veins. Brewer was here.

All the better to catch you, motherfucker.

The glass-walled room seemed to pulse brighter, like a beacon daring them to try. Between them and that door lay two more rows of crates—and God knew how many men waiting in ambush.

“Keep moving,” Jessie muttered, reloading on the run. “I’ve got you covered. We’re finishing this.”

Spence swallowed his rising anger, shoved it down into something sharp and focused, and pushed on.

The glow of the control room was just ahead. A cube of frosted glass was elevated on a steel mezzanine, cables snaking from its base like roots feeding the entire facility.

Spence’s pulse kicked into a higher gear. Almost there. He kept Jessie on his six as they cleared another row of crates, his pride over her not reacting to Brewer’s comment about her being the prodigal daughter teasing at the back of his mind.

Then a slow, deliberate clap echoed off the corrugated walls.

Brewer stepped from the shadow between two forklift bays, flanked by two armed men. He wore that smug half-smile that made Spence’s teeth ache to knock it off.

“Well,” he said, “you two have been busy little bees.” His gaze flicked to the control room above them. “Looking for this?”

Spence’s grip on the rifle tightened. “We’re taking them back.”

Brewer’s smile widened, predator amused at prey. “You think you’re in time? Oh, Spence. You should know better than anyone—the Cyclones don’t wait around for permission.”

A cold weight dropped in Spence’s gut. “What do you mean?”

“They lifted twenty minutes ago. Low and quiet in stealth mode and headed for Langley as we speak. By the time you two figure out how to work that console, they’ll be circling like sharks over your precious Agency.

” Brewer tipped his head, mock thoughtful.

“But I’m not without hospitality. I kept a few toys here. Wouldn’t want my guests to get bored.”

As if on cue, a high-pitched whir spun up above the din. Spence’s heart lurched as two Cyclones swept from the shadows of the rafters, payload cylinders gleaming under the work lights.

Jessie muttered, “Son of a—”

“I’d better run along,” Brewer said, stepping back into the dark as his men raised their rifles. “I’ve got the best seat in the house to watch you both die.”