Rogue Faction Part 2: A Cyrus Cooper Thriller: Book Three Read online

  “We had eyes on the compound’s front gates for over thirty-six hours after the incident on the train. When you didn’t show, and with what happened to Boone’s team, it seemed very likely that you’d been ambushed, as well.”

  Grinding his teeth, Cyrus decided that it wasn’t the time to explain his need to improvise following the attack on the train. The Red Queen’s information meant that Boone had been missing for over a week. It was possible he’d gone dark in response to the ambush. Cyrus even considered it likely, since an attack on the team prior to reaching their objective indicated that someone at the Coalition had leaked their plan.

  It all boiled down to a very simple situation. Boone was either dead or he’d dropped off the grid. Either way, Cyrus knew he was on his own. The rest of the plan was scrapped. It was up to him to find out what was going on. He was the only one in the position to discover who was behind his attack on the train. It stood to reason that the same party had attacked Boone’s team. Cyrus knew he needed to gather intelligence. It was the only way things would start making sense.

  With his current mission in shambles and no reliable support, everything that happened from this point would require improvisation. While that might have panicked some field agents, it didn’t bother Cyrus in the least. He did his best work when flying by the seat of his pants.

  “I’m sending an extraction team,” the Red Queen said. “We’re getting you out of there. As of last week, half of our field operatives have been wiped out. We’ll reel you in before we lose you too.”

  “Negative,” Cyrus said in a calm, clear voice. “I’m staying. It’s the only way we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  “Excuse me?” the Red Queen somehow managed to sound indignant while still seeming surprised. “Damn it, Cyrus! You’re coming in now, whether you like it or not.”

  “If I come in now our guys died for nothing. But if I stay, I can find out who’s behind this. They must be after Voss’s work. It’s the only thing that makes sense. All of this started with Voss.”

  “If you stay, I’ll end up with another missing agent,” she insisted. “As long as you’re alive this isn’t over. Come in now. You can lead the investigation from here. We will find out what’s going on and who’s behind it.”

  Cyrus wasn’t going to be talked out of it. Interestingly, he was pretty sure she knew as much. “Look, your conscience is clean. You ordered me back—but I’m seeing this through.” He was nearly certain that the Red Queen didn’t have a conscience and wouldn’t know what to do with it if she suddenly acquired one.

  “I’ll contact you again when I have this sorted out,” Cyrus concluded and tapped a button ending the call.

  His mind ran wild with the new information. It was hard to believe. Could Boone really be gone? He was commonly considered to be the best that the Coalition had to offer. That someone had gotten the drop on him was hard to conceive, let alone believe. He was a living legend in the trade.

  As Cyrus rose to his feet, a tiny tingling at the base of his skull told him something else was wrong. His first thought was to check on Natasha. Unfortunately, that thought was counter to his training, and his base instincts. When he rounded the corner of the locker, he walked directly into a swinging combat baton.

  Caught unprepared and off guard, it was all Cyrus could do to spin away as he saw the sleek, polymer baton head for the bridge of his nose. As he spun, he folded at the knees and let the weight of his body pull him from the path of the weapon. As it was, he still took a glancing blow, though it missed its intended target and mostly slid across the back corner of his skull before impacting the end of the lockers with a thunderous clang.

  Cyrus had captured only the vague impression of his attacker before the room was reduced to a blur by his own dodge and subsequent impact with the floor. But he knew the attacker’s position. He kicked out hard with one leg the moment he hit the floor. The impact of his knee on his attacker was instant and he heard a grunt from the man as he absorbed the blow. Cyrus didn’t wait for a counter attack. He was pulling the auto from the back of his jeans even as he fought to clear his vision and acquire a target.

  Though he hoped to take his attacker from his feet with the kick, Cyrus realized that hadn’t been the case. As he brought his gun around to take aim, the attacker landed a jarring kick across Cyrus’s arm, sending the gun flying. Even before Cyrus could fully turn to face his opponent, he was struck by a devastating blow to the face.

  Still on the floor from his initial attempt to dodge the baton, Cyrus slumped backward from the punch. The impact made his eyes water, reducing the room and his attacker to blurry blobs in his field of vision. Knowing his compromised sight was a major detriment, however brief, Cyrus took immediate action. He rolled off his backpack, slipping his arms out of the straps as he went. Halfway through the roll, Cyrus brought the pack up as a shield. A fraction of a second later he heard the barking report of two gunshots and felt the pack jolt violently in his hands.

  While he was maneuvering the pack into position, Cyrus rapidly blinked the tears from his eyes. He slipped his hand into one of the pack’s outer compartments in search of a defensive weapon. The backpack bucked from the impact of a third fired round just as he wrapped his hand around the grip of a revolver.

  Cyrus didn’t hesitate in the slightest. He knew he was lucky to catch the first shots with the small backpack. With only a slight adjustment for trajectory, he pulled the revolver’s trigger, still unseen inside the compartment of the backpack.

  The attacker’s third shot was followed a second later by the more muffled rounds as they exploded from inside the black, nylon bag in rapid succession. His butt still on the floor, Cyrus was backpedaling across the tile while triggering the weapon. He slipped into the cover behind the end of the lockers at about the same time he heard his attacker’s body crash against another row of the small, steel vaults. Another muffled thud marked the man’s collapse to the floor.

  Slipping the pack’s zipper back more fully, Cyrus pulled a .357 revolver from the bag and swung it to cover himself. The room seemed silent, but Cyrus couldn’t be sure. The thunder of gunfire still rang in his ears. He wiped the last of the fogginess from his eyes and quickly regained his feet.

  As he peered around the corner of the lockers, Cyrus found a man dressed in dark jeans, boots, and a dark coat. He was sprawled across the tile floor. His attacker had pale white skin. A glassy sheen had settled over his eyes. There was a sizable pool of blood already spreading around his torso. One of the man’s hiking boots twitched, but Cyrus knew it was only a postmortem spasm. He’d seen it before. His attacker was dead.

  Pulling the phone from a compartment inside the backpack, Cyrus snapped off three photos of the man’s face. One from the front, and profile shots from each side. He also leveraged the man’s right hand into a position that allowed him to get a clear shot of the pads of each finger. The phone’s high-resolution camera was designed for detailed identification work and could capture the loops and whorls that were common to fingerprints. Unfortunately, Cyrus was limited to snapshot photos of the man’s right hand since his right arm had fallen across his body when he dropped. The left hand lay in a pool of blood. Cyrus knew that attempting to snap photos of the prints on that hand would lead to an unusual crime scene, and detectives asking questions he didn’t want asked.

  It was only a matter of time before authorities responded. The Cuban was located on the other end of the island. After what happened earlier, the incident would be pulling in most of the regular police force. Still, someone who had no relation to the real ‘law and order’ on the island would soon show up to investigate reports of gunshots at the airport.

  Cyrus grabbed his attacker’s discarded gun and baton. It took him nearly a minute to locate the gun he’d lost at the start of the scuffle. Once he had everything, he stuffed it into the bag and threw the backpack over his shoulder. A quick check of the body confirmed what he already suspected; the man lacked any form of
identification. Even his clothing was devoid of branding tags. He carried nothing that hinted at his nationality, let alone his employer. He was a professional. Aside from the weapons and a small wad of cash, there was nothing on him. Disappointed, Cyrus tucked the revolver close to his side and headed for the door.

  At the curb, he found that Natasha not only had the engine running, but she’d taken a place behind the wheel. Judging by the relief in her eyes, she must’ve heard the gunshots. He was impressed with her resilience given the circumstances. All the same, they needed to get back to the compound before anything more could go wrong.

  Just as Cyrus reached the passenger side of the borrowed 4x4, the distant sound of screeching tires drew his attention. His first thought was that the distant headlights belonged to airport security. But when the pair of headlights split into a pair of vehicles, Cyrus realized that neither had emergency lights and there were no sirens wailing. And while the cars could represent the cautious and furtive approach of law enforcement, a sinking feeling told him that the cars were more than likely backup belonging to the dead man waiting inside the station.

  Chapter 3

  Rivven Rock Airport

  1:51 am

  Natasha was terrified after gunfire broke out inside the bus depot. But as frightening as the shots had been, it was the silence that followed that truly tore at her. She sat frozen, one hand on the door handle for what seemed like endless minutes, unsure what to do. There was movement behind the station’s frosted windows but it had brought her no reassurance since she couldn’t tell if it was Cyrus, or someone dangerous.

  Finally deciding on a course of action, she slid behind the wheel of the vehicle. She would be ready no matter who emerged from the building. Thankfully, Cyrus stepped through the doors a few seconds later.

  She let out the breath she’d been holding and saw pinpoints of light dotting her vision. She had no idea how long ago she’d stopped breathing, but the vapor cloud suddenly filled half the cab. Cyrus approached, but stopped short of getting into the truck. Knowing that time was short, she couldn’t imagine what prompted the delay. When she cast a glance over her shoulder and spotted a pair of oncoming headlights, her stomach summersaulted. That would be the Royal Police, she reasoned. It had to be. Her father would deal with any problems with the authorities, but she just didn’t know if they could survive the delay. The people who were after her had already proven their efficiency, particularly if Cyrus had met resistance inside the bus station.

  The distant clatter of small explosions caught her attention. She shifted once more to look through the truck’s rear window. The pair of oncoming vehicles were drawing closer. They were several hundred yards off, and she saw sparks flying from one of the cars.

  Cyrus threw open the passenger side door and jumped into the seat. “Drive!” he bellowed. “They’re shooting at us!”

  The thought was as shocking as anything else that had happened so far, and she reacted instantly. Dropping the gear selector into ‘drive’, she smashed the accelerator to the floorboards. The old four-wheel-drive truck shot forward on spinning tires and left twin patches at a slanted angle across the pavement.

  Throwing the wheel to the left, Natasha powered through the multi-lane curve that led away from the departure gates. She accelerated so quickly that the truck skidded sideways across all three lanes before she regained full control. Never once did she take her foot off the gas pedal.

  Seconds later they had exited the confines of the airport. The narrow highway entrance ramp was design for traffic to enter at sedate speeds. When Natasha hit the end of it pushing eighty miles per hour, the old truck lifted fully from its suspension. That part had been graceful. Twenty yards later, gravity reasserted itself and the truck’s body came crashing down once more to rest on the now overworked drivetrain.

  “They’re still coming,” Cyrus confirmed with a look through the rear window. “Through no fault of your driving,” he added with a crooked grin.

  “I’m glad you’re having fun,” she muttered through clenched teeth, “but I’m not sure how long I can keep up this pace.”

  Cyrus was still looking out the window, presumably assessing their options. “I’m more worried about our ride than you driving. I wasn’t anticipating a high-speed chase when I stole it.”

  “Stole it?” she smirked.

  “Sorry, borrowed,” he corrected.

  In spite of herself, she laughed.

  “Okay, we definitely have a problem,” Cyrus said, after a brief silence.

  They were thundering down the open, empty highway and Natasha had her foot to the floor. The tachometer was bordering the red line and, even if it weren’t, the truck had nothing more to give.

  “They’re catching up fast,” he confirmed. “Whatever they’re driving, it’s got a lot more on the top end.”

  “What do we do?” she asked. Her knuckles were already wrapped so tightly around the steering wheel that they’d long since gone albino white. She’d never driven so fast in her life.

  “Working on it,” Cyrus muttered. He was fishing around in the backpack he’d retrieved from the bus station.

  The sudden rush of air flooded the cab and pulled her attention from the road. Cyrus had lowered the window on his side of the vehicle.

  “Keep the hammer down,” he said. “I’m gonna make them think twice about getting too close.”

  Without any hesitation, he shifted in his seat, leaned out the window, and opened fire on the pair of cars that were now a little over fifty yards off their back bumper. Natasha thought the bitter bite of the wind whipping through the windows was brutal, but somehow it failed to compare to the staggering thunder of gunshots as Cyrus fired savagely on their pursuers.

  Reaching up, she adjusted the rearview mirror. It hadn’t been aligned for her new position, riding low in the driver’s seat. A smile crossed her face when she saw the pursuing headlights shimmy, then double their distance from her bumper. The trailing cars were at least a hundred yards off and the gap was increasing.

  Cyrus pulled himself back inside. She heard the sound of his spent magazine hitting the floor, followed instantly by the telltale noise of a new load being slapped home.

  Rolling up his window, Cyrus exhaled deeply. His teeth were chattering. “That bought us some breathing room, but they’ll get their nerve back soon. I got a good look at their cars; a pair of late model BMW’s. We won’t lose them on the open road in this old bucket.”

  “I’m open to suggestions.” She was all for making the getaway, but he was right. Unless both of the pursuing drivers were completely incompetent, they were at too much of a disadvantage.

  “We play to our strength,” Cyrus said with a satisfied smile.

  Not understanding, she waited for him to elaborate.

  “They have the advantage on the open road,” Cyrus explained. “But we have four-wheel-drive and a high wheel clearance. We need to take them where they can’t easily follow.”

  The smile returned to her face.

  “You know the island better than me. Any ideas?” he asked.

  She nodded in the darkness. “I know just the place. If you can keep them off us for another mile, there’s an old quarry just off the highway.”

  Cyrus tapped the button on the passenger side door. “Sounds good to me.” Leaning out the window, he opened fire once more.

  Chapter 4

  The mountains outside of Rivven Rock

  2:05 am

  They took the exit ramp at break-neck speed. Cyrus struggled not to be thrown against the dashboard, as Natasha brought the small truck to the end of a T-intersection a half-mile after leaving the highway. The stretch of road dead ended at the base of a fifteen-foot concrete retention wall. The road made a ninety degree turn at the foot of the wall before running parallel to it east and west. Natasha locked up the brakes and put the truck into a skid just in time to make the corner and turn right. The truck was still rocking on its suspension when her foot hammered the
accelerator once more. All four wheels chirped on the pavement and they shot down what Natasha had explained to be the last stretch of paved road before reaching the perimeter of the abandoned quarry.

  Cyrus’s plan worked perfectly.

  As soon as they went into a sideways skid at the intersection, Cyrus knew that their exposed broadside would make them easy prey for their charging attackers. To improve their chances of survival, Natasha had let the BMW’s draw close as they approached the intersection. As anticipated, when Natasha locked up the brakes and spun the wheel, the shooters—perched in the passenger side windows of both BMW’s—opened fire. Cyrus heard the dull thuds of several wild shots impacting the truck’s body as it spun ninety degrees and turned broadside on the pavement. Fortunately the attack was short lived. No sooner had the gunmen opened fire when the drivers of both cars realized they were approaching an intersection, and a solid concrete wall. Both cars were moving much faster than the truck in a frantic effort to close the gap. Both drivers took evasive action—slamming their brakes before putting the cars into aggressive, uncontrolled slides.

  The action had the effect that Cyrus hoped for. The sudden braking launched the unrestrained gunmen from their positions in the passenger side windows of each car and sent them hurtling out into the night like rockets of flesh.

  The truck was a hundred yards away when Cyrus and Natasha heard one of the cars impact against the wall. Cyrus let out a victorious cheer, spinning in his seat in time to see an oily fireball light up the night. There was no hiding Natasha’s satisfied smile, visible even in the dim glow of the instrument panel.

  The sound of gunshots pulled Cyrus’s attention back to the rear window. One BMW had managed the corner, but it had lost ground in the process. The car’s gunner had been replaced by another who was opening up on them with abandon. But at such a distance, and over the hilly stretch of paved road, it would take a lucky shot to do any damage. Natasha had already expanded their lead to a quarter mile.