Chapter Eight
Mike perched on the edge of the roof, allowing the cool night breeze to ruffle his dark hair. The dizzying height didn’t bother him now, even as he crouched on the edge of the roof, with nothing between him and the pavement far below but air.
“Do you see them yet?” Peter asked. Like Mike he was crouched on the edge of the roof, dressed in a form-fitting black jumpsuit with a dark red sash around his waist, securing in place two short blades pressed up against his back. Mike idly ran his fingers over the staff resting on his thighs. Liang had armed them all, as well as giving them the clothing that was much more appropriate for night maneuvers than button-down shirts and hiphuggers.
“No. They should be along soon,” he murmured.
“Are you sure what we’re doing is right?” Peter asked.
“No,” Mike said. “I’m not. But we don’t have much of a choice. The CIS decided to mess with us. We’re defending ourselves.” Privately he admitted that he sounded much more confident than he felt.
Peter nodded, returning his gaze to the night sky. “I don’t want to fight anymore, Mike. I want things to go back the way they were.”
Mike sighed. “Peter, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but things are never gonna be the same for us again.” He shuddered at the heavy, ominous words.
Peter seemed about to say something when Mike cut him off. “Ssh! Here they come!”
~~~~~
“So, how about after this you and I go on a real date?” The pretty Chinese girl on his arm smiled. “And I promise, no fortune cookie jokes.”
She laughed. “Maybe.”
“Maybe? What kind of answer is maybe?” Micky said. He pulled the light gray coat a little tighter around himself, hoping he didn’t look too awkward.
“Maybe’s maybe,” An-mei said. “If you survive this silly little raid, I’ll consider it.”
Micky grinned. “We will,” he said. “Those CIS guys won’t know what hit them.”
An-mei’s grip on Micky’s arm tightened a little. “All the same, if you three become overconfident, it might be your downfall.”
Micky kissed her hand. “We won’t. I promise.”
They continued walking, looking like nothing more than a couple out for an evening stroll. Micky pretended to lean in and whisper something in An-mei’s ear, glancing behind them at the two gray-suited men who’d been following them for nearly three blocks. I wonder if they know how obvious they look.
“How much farther?” she whispered.
“Not far,” he murmured. “It’s this alley coming right up . . . ”
“And your friends?”
“They’re there, waiting.”
An-mei gave Micky’s arm another squeeze. “Good luck. I hope you find your friend okay.”
“Thanks.” He heard the footsteps behind him as the CIS men closed in. “Okay, you better run. Go on. We’ll catch up with you later.”
“All right.” An-mei discreetly pulled her arm free and gave Micky a quick kiss on the cheek; with the grace of a sprinter she turned and took off down the street while Micky leaped into the alley. To his relief both CIS agents followed him, and not her.
“Halt! Stop right there!” one shouted; Micky immediately froze, raising his hands. “Okay, I give up!” he said, adding a little tremble to his voice. “Don’t hurt me!”
“Don’t move,” one of them said. “Agent Barrett, go and tell Inspector Modell that we have Dolenz.”
Micky hid his smile as two groans immediately followed two dull thuds; he lowered his hands and turned around. Mike and Peter stood over the insensate bodies of the two agents. “What took you guys so long?” he said wryly.
Peter grinned. “We were on the roof, Micky.”
Mike bent down and quickly rifled through the pockets of the agent lying at his feet. “Found it, guys,” he said, pulling out a small white card with a black strip. “You ready?”
Micky pulled off his coat and tossed it aside, straightening his belt. “You bet, Mike.”
“All right,” Mike said. “Micky, you and Peter go and find Davy. Make sure he’s okay.”
“What about you, Mike?” Micky asked.
“I’m goin’ after Modell,” Mike said darkly.
“Michael, please be careful,” Peter said as they stepped over to the door. Mike slid the card through the high-security lock, holding his breath as the heavy bolt slid aside. “Okay, guys—this is it.”
~~~~~
Davy struggled to keep up with the quickly walking figure. “Where are we going?”
“To get to the bottom of this,” came the gruff reply. “I never approved any of this, Mr. Jones. I hope you know that.”
“Of course I know that!” Davy said as they rounded a corner. “You know, I never would have guessed that’d you be in charge now.”
The other man stopped, his dark eyes narrowing fractionally. “And why is that?”
Davy shrugged. “I don’t know. You just didn’t strike me as the type—no offense.”
A quiet snort. “None taken, I assure you.”
With an ominous flare the lights suddenly went out. Davy and his companion stopped.
“What now?” Davy said.
“I think your friends have arrived, Mr. Jones. Come on—we have to work quick now.”
~~~~~
“Nice job, Micky,” Peter murmured as Micky took a step back from the massive fuse boxes. “That should confuse them long enough for us to find Davy.”
“Yeah,” Micky said, pulling the two weapons that bore some resemblance to police nightsticks from his belt. “Let’s roll, Peter.”
“Micky,” Peter said, reaching out to grasp the curly-haired man’s arm. “We’re just supposed to find Davy. We’re not here to get into a fight, man.”
“Who’s getting into a fight?” Micky said, twirling the sticks. “But if one comes to me I’m going to be ready.”
Peter sighed. It was no use trying to talk Micky out of brandishing his weapons—besides, they were already wasting valuable time. “Come on, let’s go.” They crept silently down the hall, Peter walking forward, Micky backward—the better to keep an eye out for any ambushes. They found a staircase and quickly ascended to the first floor, where the harried shouts of bewildered CIS agents—and the accompanying scattering of flashlight beams—could be found.
“It was this floor?” Peter whispered to Micky.
“Yeah,” came the hushed reply. “Otherwise I couldn’t have dove through that window.”
“Right.” Peter took a step back, allowing Micky to take the lead. He now walked backwards, keeping a sharp lookout for any marauding CIS agents.
“It was around here, I think . . . ” Micky said, trailing off as he began peeking into rooms.
“You think?” Peter hissed.
Micky glanced over his shoulder, his eyebrows drawn together in annoyance. “Yeah, I think! I was more concerned with getting out of here than writing down the room number!”
Peter sighed. This is going to take a while . . . I only hope we find Davy in time.
On to Chapter Nine
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