Page 105 of Under Cover
“Good call,” Harding said, his voice gentle.
“My team needs someone they can count on,” he said miserably, and then Garcia spoke up.
“He says that, but you shoulda heard him interrogate Pidgeon Smalls. It was a thing of beauty. He pegged Marcy Beechum and even calmed the guy down.” Garcia gave a grim chuckle. “And as soon as this is over, I’ll tell you how he saved the cat.”
“Oh…. Calix, no,” Crosby muttered, embarrassed all over again.
“In the morning, over breakfast,” Harding promised. “Chadwick and Carlyle are buying.”
Crosby and Garcia recognized that for what it was: a prayer that their friends were safe.
“Amen,” they both said together. “Meet you at the auto depot,” Crosby finished.
“I’ll text coordinates,” Natalia said, and they were out.
Assassins Freed
HARDING ANDDenison apparently had the gate codes for the federal parking lot because the gates were open and they were waiting, along with Gail, Iliana, and Swan, in the shadows between what looked like an office building and an auto bay. Harman was there too, dressed in tactical gear like the rest of them, except his had FBI emblazoned across the back instead of SCTF. It occurred to Garcia to wonder if maybe the two of them hadn’t met and partnered on the job, because for all his slender grace, Harman Blodgett lookedverycomfortable in Kevlar with a helmet, strapped with a semiauto and ordinance.
“The warehouse is two lots over,” Harding said, pulling them all more deeply into the shadows. He pointed to the silhouettes of what looked like another warehouse building adjacent to the lot they were on. “I’ve got gate codes to that lot too, and a promise that the alarms are going to be off. I need overwatch parked on top of that building. Crosby, take the night vision and tell me if you see any place that could be useful. Garcia, Harm, you take south, between the cargo bay doors and the waterfront. Swan, Pearson, you take east, between the bay doors and the parking lot. Tal, you and Davies secure the parking lot, and you need to hide your stripes. We don’t want anybody escaping, but if shit goes south, you’re our calvary.”
“Where you going to be, Clint?” Denison asked, stripping off her windbreaker and turning it to use the Velcro flaps to hide the reflective ID tag.
Harding held out the tablet he’d been studying and showed them the plans he’d been given for the lot and the warehouse itself.
“See this?” he murmured. “This is a back stairway. It leads right up to a loft over the main warehouse. It’s where setups like this usually keep their office. If Carlyle and Chadwick have been captured but not disposed of, I’m going to bet they’re up here. If we’ve got Crosby doing overwatch from across the way, he can keep hostiles off my back and hopefully take out anybody who threatens the rest of us. If Crosby’s source was right and there’s a shipment tonight, there’s going to be a lot of shady warehouse workers off book—that usually spells muscle that doesn’t mind violence. We’d prefer incapacitated to dead, but them dead to you dead, you hear me?”
Gail said it again, and this time it seemed to resonate. “How many of them can we take out?”
Harding didn’t contradict her this time. “Our approach needs to be quiet until we’ve verified Carlyle and Chadwick, do you understand? Until then keep your blades out but your guns handy, you all read me?”
“Roger, Chief,” or something similar came from the quiet assembly.
“First things first,” Harding said grimly. He opened a box and pulled out comm links, then passed the unit to Crosby. “Mother hen, make sure us chickies are safe, would you?”
Garcia watched Crosby hook the comm link onto his belt and put in his own earwig. He looked grim and determined and up for the task, no matter what he said about physical fitness. That rage, that fragile, butt-hurt anger, seemed to have passed, leaving the calm, thoughtful partner Garcia treasured.
“We need to make sure Crosby can make it to overwatch,” Harding was saying. “Garcia, Harm, help him out, and the rest of us will get into position. We rely on Crosby to execute, but Crosby, you wait onmysignal to find Chadwick and Carlyle. We don’t want this to be a hostage situation—they need to be found and out of there before this goes down.”
Nobody said the words “What if?” Nobody had to. If Chadwick and Carlyle were found dead, the team would burn this place to the ground.
“We ready to go?” he asked, meeting their eyes in turn.
There was an assortment of grim nods and grunts, and then Pearson, with a bloodthirsty smile. “You know what I say, Chief,” she dared.
Harding nodded. “How many of them can we take out,” he growled, low in his throat.
The whole team, Harman included, echoed him, and they were off.
GETTING TOthe top of the warehouse meant jumping to grab the outside ladder, which hung seven feet off the ground. Crosby went first because he could actually reach it with his hands over his head, and then he hung upside down, hauling first Garcia and then Harman up.
For a minute, Garcia was going to give him shit about “Sixty percent myass,” but when it came time to do the upside-down crunchy that would have gotten his hands into position to pull up, for a terrible moment, Garcia didn’t think he was going to make it.
It was a maneuver Garcia had seen him do a thousand times in the work-out room—something big and macho that seemed particularly grandiose and stupidly unneeded, and he’d do two sets of ten and call it a day. But tonight he hung suspended, body cocked at pike position while he reached with his hands for the bars between his feet. Garcia was about to hand Harman his gear—he was holding the sniper rifle—when Crosby ripped out a groan and made the final two feet, grabbing the bar and letting his feet dangle while he pulled himself up by main arm strength until he could put his feet in the rungs.
When he was safe, he paused for a moment and panted, almost retching before he grunted and gestured with his chin for Garcia and Harman to keep going.
They did, but when they got to the roof, there was a six-foot gap between the last rung of the ladder and the handles at the top.