Desperate Rendition (John Taylor #11) - Chapter 1

Valencia, Venezuela

A bullet slammed into the stone wall. Tania Laciter, or at least that was the name she’d been going by until about ten minutes ago, barely ducked behind the wall in time, a shower of pulverized rock splashing across her as the bullet smashed into the stone.

Slamming into the wall, she dropped down and pivoted out, her gun coming up in a smooth, well-practiced motion. The mercenary, or at least that was what Tania assumed he was, closest to her, and in the line of fire of his buddies, didn’t have time to react as she put a round into his gun, just below where his vest ended.

He cried out and crumpled over, crashing into the pavement. Tania was already moving, ducking back behind the corner as his buddies opened up, stitching a line of bullets across the wall.

Fucking amateurs.

She bolted, racing down the narrow alley. They weren’t being subtle in their pursuit. Even if she hadn’t heard the shouts, mostly in English, and curses, in a variety of languages, she would have heard all the shit they’d attached to their web harnesses, making them stand out like sore thumbs and easy to hear coming. They’d almost certainly left their injured man behind. He was the third she’d shot, and she hadn’t noticed their number reduce by more than the injured, so it seemed unlikely they were thinking much about extracting their dead. Who knew, maybe they had a backup team out there.

Although she didn’t think so. This wasn’t a pro-organization. If they had, they would have made the approach better and had a net around her before they made their move. Not that she couldn’t have gotten out of it. It was almost insulting, being targeted by such low-class muscle.

Tania was looking ahead of her as she ran. She had to either get out of this alley or get cover because they’d have a line on her in a second. She spotted a dumpster on the right, where the alley took a ninety-degree turn.

She skidded to a stop behind it, dropping into a crouch, her back pressed against the cold, rusty metal. The shouts were getting closer. She risked a quick peek. Two of them. They’d slowed down, probably wondering where she disappeared to, as if behind the dumpster wasn’t the most obvious answer in the world. They were looking around like they expected her to have scaled the walls, about to drop down on them.

She waited until they were almost on top of her before popping up. The first shot took the lead merc in the throat, just above his vest. His eyes went wide as he clutched at his neck, blood pouring between his fingers. The second shot hit his partner center mass, slamming him back against the wall.

He wasn’t dead, but this close, he’d be sucking air for the next ten minutes.

They weren’t alone, just the fastest runners. She looked around, trying to find a way out of this alley. She looked around the corner and saw a fire escape. That would work. She sprinted for it, holstering her gun and leaping up, hands grasping the bottom rung. The ladder groaned as she hauled herself up, boots scrabbling against the brick wall.

Shouts echoed from the alley below. Their slower, and less dead, friends had arrived. Tania clambered up the fire escape two metal steps at a time, ducking as bullets pinged off the railing, far too close for comfort.

They were idiots, but not the worst shots.

She grabbed the small ladder at the top and hauled herself up on the roof, a flat expanse dotted with ventilation units and pipes. Pulling her pistol, she fired a few wild rounds down, just to make them think twice, and dove behind the nearest vent, pressing her back against the sun-warmed metal.

Voices in English and Russian floated up from below. Wouldn’t take them long to follow her up, even being cautious. She pulled her the small go bag off her back and the web harness, which she’d grabbed from the guy who’d kicked in the door of her apartment after she’d drilled him in the head, off her shoulder and started rummaging around, looking for the supplies she needed, which included one of the grenades hanging off of the web harness.

A few quick, practiced moves and she had the grenade attached to some wire on the ladder up. They might be smart and edge over it carefully, in which case they’d see it in time, but she doubted it. She leaned over and fired off a few more rounds. They were halfway up the fire escape and ducked down like as best they could.

She couldn’t help but notice there were only a few of them on the fire escape.

They’d think they were smart. They’d send a few guys up the fire escape to keep her busy, and others through the building to ‘surprise her.’ She’d have a surprise for them instead as she hooked a wire reel around the outside of the rooftop access door.

Gunfire laced the edge of the roof far away from where she was now. They were trying to keep her from taking more shots at them, which meant they were hurrying, trying to beat their friends to the top. Maybe the one who got her got a bonus or something.

She smiled as she thought about the something she had for them instead. She ran to the far corner of the building and waited, just in case.

The guys on the fire escape made it first, pulling themselves up and throwing their bodies over the edge, trying for speed and the element of surprise, and they did look pretty surprised as their foot caught the wire, pulling the pin on the grenade. The blast wasn’t much, but they were standing on top of it, so it was enough to send them over the side. She heard more curses and hoped they’d landed on their friends.

The rooftop access door opened a heartbeat later, followed by the two remaining grenades from the web harness going off with a boom. She ducked down as chunks of roof tile, gravel, and idiot flew over her head or impacted into the air conditioning unit she was hiding behind.

The access door was a smoking ruin, the mercs nothing more than bloody smears on the rooftop. She allowed herself a tight smile. She did love it when a plan came together. She couldn’t stay up here, though. That was three, maybe four if one of the other guys on the fire escape caught some shrapnel. They still had half a dozen more men by her count.

Tania sprinted across the street. The adjacent building was only a few feet away, an easy jump for her. She didn’t slow down, hitting the edge at full speed and launching herself into the air.

For a moment, she hung suspended, feeling the wind in her hair, before gravity took hold, and she slammed into the tar and gravel of the next roof, rolling with the impact and coming up running, barely breaking stride. She skidded to a halt at the edge and looked down at the street. No sign of mercs down there, for the moment, but she did see something. A motorcycle caught her eye. It was parked haphazardly on the sidewalk, a guy in a helmet crouching behind a mailbox next to a scared-looking girl, probably trying to hide from all the gunshots and explosions.

She couldn’t see the keys, but she bet they were still in the bike. Or at least she hoped he’d stopped to chat up some girl before all hell broke loose.

Behind her, she heard shouts. They’d made it up to the other roof, following after their buddies. She moved as soon as they started shooting, leaping across the alley and down onto the fire escape on the other side as bullets whizzed through the space she’d just occupied.

She hit. Hard. The feeling traveled up her spine. She ignored it, and leapt over the side, aiming for the next level of the fire escape. It was a tough jump, but she made it. Barely.

Bullets peppered the brick wall where she’d been a second ago. She didn’t have time to do this one level at a time, but she’d gotten close enough, and vaulted over the edge, rolling with the impact to keep from breaking anything, and coming up on her feet again.

Dashing across the street, she leapt on the bike. The keys were in it. Its owner yelled for her to stop in Spanish as she gunned the engine and roared off down the street. She wove through the traffic, leaning low over the handlebars, making herself as small a target as possible.

The mercs tried taking pot shots from up on the roof, but didn’t even get close. Worse, for them, people around panicked, especially as one of them hit a bystander who was trying to hide behind less than adequate cover. People were running in every direction now, making it even harder to hit her.

Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder by the second. For once, Tania was grateful for their presence. These guys wouldn’t be operating like this in the open if they had support from the locals. They would have worked with them, had cops with them, when they came through her door. No. They’d have to beat it.

Not that it mattered. She was blown, and she had a very good idea how. If she was right, it meant she was completely screwed.

She needed a way out of this and some help. And she had a very good idea where she could find it.

***

Washington D.C.

Taylor just sat down at the bar, looking into the kitchen with his cup of coffee, opening the paper, when the front door opened and Kara came in, hauling a sack over her shoulder.

“You know, for two FBI agents, I’d think you’d have better security. Why’s the door unlocked?”

“This is my security,” Taylor said, holding up his trigger finger and flexing it up and down. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have a perfectly good dorm room at Georgetown? This is the third time this week.”

“Leave her alone,” Loretta called from the couch, where she was trying to get Grace to stop spitting out the green slop her mother was feeding her. “She can visit whenever she wants.”

Kara dropped her bag of laundry by the door, stuck her tongue out at Taylor before going into the kitchen and fishing a coffee cup out of the cabinet.

“Besides,” she said, pouring herself a cup of coffee, “I spent the last year and a half living in a penthouse with a trust fund girl. I’ve grown accustomed to a certain level of comfort, and I’m not willing to give it up just because Mary Jane moved to New York.”

“And whose fault is that? You could’ve stayed here and commuted.”

“Please. I want the full American college experience. Besides, you know you miss me,” she said, taking her coffee into the living room and stopping next to Grace, tickling her chin. “And I want to see the little one.”

“You’re welcome anytime, sweetie. Don’t listen to your father.”

“You’re only saying that because she’s following in your footsteps,” Taylor grumbled good-naturedly.

“Don’t hate me because I’m her favorite,” Loretta teased.

They all chuckled, knowing full well Kara made no secret about her preference for Taylor, whose mannerisms she’d started to adopt a little too closely. He actually didn’t think criminal justice was a bad major for her, and there were lots of reasons why she’d be interested in law enforcement. But, after the life she’d had, Taylor sometimes wished she would choose something more... peaceful.

“So, what’s for breakfast?” Kara asked, rummaging through the fridge. “I’m starving.”

“You can share Grace’s,” Taylor suggested.

“Иди к чёрту!” she said, setting her coffee down and heading back toward the kitchen.

“I keep trying, but everyone keeps missing,” Taylor said, which got a snort from Kara.

“There’s leftover pancakes in the fridge,” Loretta said, wiping Grace’s face. “How’re classes going?”

“Seminar is boring and I don’t love the WRIT, but intro to justice and peace is really interesting. And why so much math? I don’t need to know math to shoot bad guys.”

“You know it’s not all shooting bad guys,” Loretta said. “Many agents go their whole careers without ever drawing their weapon.”

“That’s not how he does it,” Kara said, pointing at Taylor.

“He is not a good example. And math is important.”

Taylor was about to make another comment when his phone buzzed.

“Taylor,” he said, picking up and answering it.

“I need you to come in,” Joe Solomon, the FBI director and technically his boss, said without preamble. “We’ve got a situation.”

“Alright, let me get Loretta, and we’ll head over.”

Loretta had looked up at hearing her name and the tone of voice he used, probably figuring out who was on the other end.

“No,” Solomon said. “I just need you.”

“Really?”

Solomon wasn’t Taylor’s biggest fan. The two got along, and Taylor might even grudgingly agree that Solomon wasn’t the worst person to work for, even with his overly developed need to follow procedures. But it was very unusual for him to call just Taylor in, without Whitaker.

“I’ll brief you when you get here. Come straight to my office.” Solomon hung up before Taylor could reply.

He stared at the phone for a moment before pocketing it and getting up, collecting his things.

“What was that about?” she asked.

“Solomon wants me to come in. Just me, though.” Taylor shrugged into his jacket. “Said he’ll brief me when I get there.”

“That’s...odd.”

“Yeah, I know.” Taylor kissed her cheek and ruffled Grace’s hair, earning a giggle. “I’ll call you when I know more.”

“Maybe offer to help Whitaker out around here a little if you’re going to eat our food and do laundry.”

He’d been going for gruff and stern, but they both knew he was happy she was there.

Kara saluted. “Sir, yes sir.”

Taylor shook his head as he walked out the door, allowing himself a moment to enjoy how good he had it before putting his game face on.

***

Hoover Building, Washington D.C.

Twenty minutes later, Taylor was walking into the FBI director’s office. Other than Whitaker’s office in this building, since he never had his own, this was probably the place Taylor had spent most of his time in the FBI Headquarters.

Although, to be fair, Taylor didn’t spend an exorbitant amount of time here. He tended to ruffle the feathers of most of the rank and file, and they kept him out in the field as much as possible. Which was fine by Taylor.

Taylor didn’t even wait for permission to drop into one of the seats across from Solomon’s desk, earning a slight frown from the director, who was big on professional decorum.

“I know you’ve been looking for her for a long time, so I thought you’d want to know. We found Bonnie.”

Taylor sat upright, abandoning the disinterested slouch he’d taken in the chair, mostly to tweak the director’s nose. He’d been looking for just over a year, ever since she escaped from him after hitting several mob informants. Taylor’s quest had slowed after the first six months, partially because the trail had gone cold and partially because he had a young daughter to focus on.

He’d never stopped looking fully though. Taylor was very good at finding people, so the fact that the Bureau had found her first was something of a blow to his professional pride.

“Where is she? How the hell did you guys find her? I’ve dug through every inch of her life and came up with nothing.”

“Truth be told, she called us. She’s offered to provide extensive information on everyone she’s ever worked for in exchange for being brought in safely and put into the witness protection program after she finishes giving her information and testifying.”

“You’re joking, right? Everything we know about this woman says she’d never make a deal like that. She’d never trust we’d agree to it and she’d never turn on her clients. She’s worked for some bad people who would definitely make a play for her if they thought she was going to turn.”

“I get the impression her hand was forced. Whoever Bonnie’s current client is, and she’s said it’s someone high-profile in the U.S. government, has decided it is more cost-effective to kill her rather than pay her. She says it’s someone we’d want to know about.”

“I would have thought she’d go after someone threatening her like this directly. She’s definitely the type of person who doesn’t mind getting her hands dirty. If this person is protected enough she can’t get to him directly, and he’s in the US government, then he’s pretty high in it. I don’t see her thinking twice about offing a cop or a judge.”

“That was my first thought too. While we definitely want her client list and for her to testify against them, our bigger concern is this current client. If we have someone like that, serving in our government, putting hits on people, we need to do something about it. I’ve already spoken to the AG about this, and he’s on board.”

“I get it. It turns my stomach, but I’d make that deal if I was in his place. But if this is all already decided, why am I here?”

“She’s currently in Venezuela and asking that we extract her. Specifically, she’s insisted that you, and only you, handle her extraction. Apparently, she doesn’t trust anyone else in our government to get her out safely.”

“Why me?”

“We have no idea, but for whatever reason, it was one of the main conditions she had for agreeing to come in. This won’t be an easy assignment. Our government does not have the best relationship with the Venezuelan government at the moment, and they’re definitely not open to having a U.S. Agent operating freely within their borders, so you will be there with zero support. She’s also made it clear she does not want the Venezuelans involved in her extradition at all, which could mean she doesn’t trust them to let her reach U.S. soil alive.”

“So, if anything, expect them to make it harder to get her out.”

“Yes. You’ll be on your own out there, John. If you run into trouble, the U.S. government won’t be able to help you. Officially, you were never there.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time I had no support. I can handle it.”

“While I have no doubt you can, we need you to handle it without creating an international incident.”

“I’ll try my best,” Taylor said, very specifically not promising anything.

“There’s one more wrinkle. Bonnie says there are already people on the ground there looking for her. From her description, mercenaries or some kind of PMC, but not one we track. We don’t have much in the way of specifics, given the current state of Venezuela and its crime problem, but there are indications that her claims could be true. You need to be extremely careful.”

“I always am,” Taylor said.