Gabe (In the Company of Snipers, #8)(91)
Taylor ran a hand through his hair. “It’s like this. He seemed to know precisely where we’d be laying for him. Before we knew it, he was behind us. Steven was out cold, the guy had his boot on my neck and Izza in a choke hold.”
“Shut up, Taylor,” Izza ordered. “You make it sound like we were sleeping on the job, and we weren’t. Least, not ’til he got hold of us.”
Taylor chuckled. “There I was, gasping for air, and this guy’s turning Izza into a ragdoll. You guys should’ve seen her. It wasn’t funny then, but if that guy really was Alex, it’s a whole different story. Man, he got us good.”
“I’m gonna kick his ass.” Izza faced Connor, her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. “You just wait.”
“And I know you will,” Connor answered obediently, like any good husband would.
“But he was dressed in black again? Like the last time?” Mark asked, a creepy sensation tiptoeing up his spine.
“Yes, sir, he was,” Steven replied, “and another thing. Yes, he tied us up, but he left enough slack that we were comfortable, not hogtied like gangsters would’ve done.”
“Speak for yourself,” Izza said. “I’ve got rope burns.”
Mark listened to his team. It had to have been Alex, but the smiley face? That was definitely not a typical Alex Stewart memento. Mark set the sticky note aside.
“Listen guys, let’s focus on Chaos Now. We’re not going to waste time worrying about Alex, but Becker and Fallon—”
“So if these guys are part of Chaos Now,” Maverick interrupted, tapping his pen on the table in front of him, “maybe we need to look at their recent activities a little closer. Like what purchases have they made lately? Who are they talking to? Where do they eat? Shop? Bank?”
“And do they own any storage sheds or garages where they could hide fertilizer or gasoline?” All heads swiveled to Lisa Channing’s direction. She gulped at the unexpected attention. “I mean, umm, these guys might be planning something like the Oklahoma bombing, couldn’t they? Shouldn’t we look for stuff like that?”
Mark watched her self-confidence plummet. She dropped her gaze, blinking rapidly. She gulped. Poor kid. This was the first time she’d spoken up during a team meeting. For an ex-Army grunt, she’d arrived with zero confidence, and he had yet to learn why. He needn’t have worried.
“Good thinking, Channing,” Izza exclaimed. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
Lisa nodded at Izza. “It makes sense.”
“It does. We should also be looking at large, out of the ordinary purchases of nitro methane,” Rory interjected. “Plain gasoline for that matter. Let’s see if anyone’s been stockpiling fuel. Maybe one of these jokers knows how to fly. Do we know that?”
“No, but I can find out,” Ember replied.
“Anyone got a black market confidential informant?” Maverick asked.
Mark breathed a ‘no kidding’ sigh of relief. The TEAM’s synergy had flashed back to life. He caught David’s nod of approval while everyone else pinged ideas off each other for the next several minutes. All except Landon. He’d pushed back into his seat like a spectator at a tennis match. Just watching.
When the meeting finished, every other agent went to their workstations with a self-appointed list of things to track down, verify, and investigate.
It hit Mark. It would be damned hard giving his team back to the man who’d created it.
He didn’t make it back to his desk as he’d planned. Steven had located Sam Becker again. The brazen FBI agent was back at the warehouse near the Gangplank Marina, exactly where they’d located him the day before. Mark stood over Steven’s desk as he followed the traffic cam footage that revealed the same black sedan parked alongside the marina.
“Are you sure it’s the same car?”
“No way to know for sure until we’re boots on the ground, but look at this.” Steven zoomed in on the grill of the car when it turned the corner to the warehouse. A black cover lowered to conceal the front license plate. “Have you ever seen anything like that?”
Mark huffed. “In a James Bond movie. Let’s roll.”
“Are you coming with me?”
“No. I’m going with you, Taylor, and Izza. Grab your gear, guys.”
Steven drove with Mark, while Izza rode shotgun with Taylor.
“This isn’t a stakeout,” Mark informed everyone over their tactical Bluetooth earpieces. “We go in hot with no introduction. No knock on the door. Nothing.”
“Copy that,” Taylor answered.
Both cars rolled to the side of the warehouse and parked directly behind what very well might have been Becker’s sedan. All four agents scrambled from their vehicles. The corrugated sheet metal building was a long, one-story structure with plate-glass windows in front, none at the side.
It offered two visible points of egress—a wooden door at the top of two concrete steps at the side, and a garage door at the front. Mark motioned Taylor and Izza to enter the side entrance while he and Steven took the front. He tapped his earpiece on. “On three. One. Two—”
CRASH! Another black sedan roared through the front garage door, its tires burning rubber. What the hell? Which belonged to Becker? Didn’t matter. The TEAM gave chase.