Her mom had assured her that her father was faithful, making the statement with complete conviction. It had surprised Kira when she found her dad’s collection of passport books. He had nearly as many stamps for Malta as he did Germany. Maybe his other family was in Malta.
With both parents now dead, learning the truth wouldn’t hurt anyone except herself. The other papers she found didn’t confirm or deny the existence of another family. But they raised other questions.
Would she make it to Malta and learn her father’s secrets? Or was she destined to die in violence after all?
Would Rand, a man who must have been sent on dozens of ops as commander of a SEAL team, die here too? After all his years of service, would he end up the random victim of a homegrown terrorist?
The tango was in the hallway, just outside the door. His steps were slow and deliberate. He wanted to be heard. Wanted to be feared.
That’s what the bursts of machine gun fire were about. Attention.
Rand wouldn’t be surprised if the guy wasn’t military at all. A civilian playing dress-up. If he had a civilian Navy ID, he’d have base access and could pass through security no problem, then change into a borrowed uniform. They only randomly searched vehicles.
The door swung open, and the muzzle of an M4 carbine poked through. A singsong voice rang out, and Rand’s entire body went cold.
“Kiiiirrraa. Oh, Kiiirrrrra. Come out come out wherever you are…”
Any hope this was random was lost. The guy was after Kira.
His phone line was open, and the team at Naval Special Warfare Command—NSWC—was listening. He hoped the mic had picked up the singsong words, because he couldn’t risk verbally updating his commanders.
In theory, he was sitting tight behind a bank of file cabinets, waiting for armed SEALs to storm the building. He was only supposed to engage if he lost the first round of hide-and-seek. But no way would he let the guy get near Kira. Especially now that it was confirmed she was the target.
“Kiiirrrrrraahhh. Where arrrrre you?”
Another blast of gunfire. Ceiling tiles rained down in the center of the room, not far from where Kira hid.
The sound faded, replaced by footsteps. He was moving along the wide side aisle that ran between windows and cubicles.
Kira didn’t make a peep of sound when she must be terrified. The shooter had called her name.
She wasn’t trained for this.
The shooter walked along the aisle that passed Rand’s position. In addition to the scissors, he’d found an obsidian paperweight the size of a baseball, but with an edge. It looked like an artifact Morgan had shown him back in Djibouti, but shiny black instead of basalt.
Next, he quickly liberated the wheeled base from an office chair. It might make for a decent decoy in the uncarpeted aisle, but it wouldn’t roll straight for any distance. He’d have to be damn close before Rand launched it. Nearly as close as he’d have to be to use the scissors or rock.
Rand’s body was coiled, waiting for the gunman’s approach. Just like on most ops, surprise was on his side. No special operators were supposed to attend the training. The guy probably thought Kira was alone, or with her NAVFAC civilian base sponsor.
The tap of his steps grew steadily closer. Now Rand could hear the clink of the rifle as the stock bumped the spare magazines he probably wore in pouches around his waist.
The guy didn’t move with stealth. He either wasn’t trained or didn’t care. Probably both.
“Kiiirrraaaaaa.”
From the sound, Rand knew the guy was just feet from crossing his path.
Tap. Tap. One more step. And he’d be right in front of Rand.
A cough sounded near the front of the room. The gunman paused.
Rand held his breath. The cough didn’t come from Kira’s direction. There was another person sheltering here.
The gunman changed direction. Moving away from Rand.
Shit.
The cough sounded again.
Maybe Rand could use the distraction to his advantage. He tucked the scissor blade in a pocket to free a hand and used his phone to spy around the file cabinet. The gunman had his back to him. He was turning in a circle, scanning the front of the room, the muzzle of the M4 moving in a slow arc.
Seeing his moment, Rand rose to his full height and chucked the obsidian paperweight at the guy.
His years as a pitcher in Little League and high school paid off. The heavy object smacked the guy in the back of the head. The gunman’s finger pressed the trigger, and he shot wildly into the ceiling.
Rand kicked the chair wheels down the aisle, and the base slammed into the shooter. Already off balance, he stumbled before he could bring the gun around.
Rand launched himself at the fallen man, yanking the gun by the barrel. The hot metal burned his bare skin. He tossed the weapon aside and grabbed the scissor blade.
The gunman was belly down on the floor. He twisted, rolling to the left before Rand could pin him. He swung out, his fist catching Rand in the neck.
Rand replied with his own punch, a more precise blow to the man’s cheek and nose. He finally got him pinned with a knee on his sternum. He pressed the blade to the guy’s throat. “Don’t move, asshole.”
The man wore a camouflage bandanna over the bottom half of his face. His blue eyes were angry. Feral.
“Why are you after Kira?”
