She could see a number of wood-framed windows, but from her position she was unable to see inside. The whole place reeked of decrepitude. Mitchell crouched, trying to formulate her approach and aware that once she cleared the wall she would be pretty well exposed if she made for the house.
Mitchell heard a faint sound then and realized she was not alone. She gripped the Glock tighter, feeling a slick of perspiration on her palm.
She had been sure she had slipped in unseen.
Something told her that it was not Brewster who had made the sound. Her partner would not have come in so close without identifying himself to her.
She flattened against the stone wall, straining her ears to pick up any more sounds. She stayed put for a while, listening, but picked up no more noise. That didn’t comfort here. For all she knew there was someone close by doing exactly the same thing.
Now, she thought, was where things could get really awkward.
What would the FBI manual tell you about things like this? She knew the answer straightaway. Don’t get yourself into tricky situations in the first place. Right now that was of no damn use at all.
Sweat beaded Mitchell’s face. She had gotten herself into this position, so she had no choice other than getting herself out. All because of her impetuous nature. That and being mad with Brewster.
Mitchell turned slowly, searching the shadows. She probed the air with her pistol.
Nothing.
So why was she so worked up?
Because something didn’t feel right.
Mitchell almost gave a yell when cold metal pressed into her neck.
“Give me the gun,” a quiet voice said.
No threat. Just a commanding tone that made Mitchell pause and consider her actions.
“Finger off the trigger and just let go.”
She felt a hand close around the Glock and push the barrel down.
“Let it go, Agent Mitchell.”
FBI rules stated not to give up her issued weapon, but the insistent pressure of the man’s gun made a powerful statement that instantly wiped protocol off the board. Mitchell let go of the Glock and felt it drawn away.
“That wasn’t hard, was it?”
“My boss might not agree.”
“At least you’re still alive to argue the point.”
Mitchell turned to face the newcomer.
He was tall, well over six feet, with black hair, and steady blue eyes that held her defiant gaze. The first thing she saw was his combat blacksuit. The muscled body beneath showed broad shoulders and a lean, well-defined torso. His calm demeanor was unthreatening, but Mitchell sensed that deceptive calm could turn quickly. He wore a shoulder rig, probably for the Beretta 93-R he held in his fist. A gun belt around his waist held a second high-ride holster holding a .44 Magnum Desert Eagle. Whoever he was, Mitchell decided, he had come loaded for bear. There was even a sheathed knife on his left hip.
“Three words,” the man said. “SAC Drake Duncan.”
“Okay. I’ll make a calculated guess you’re not part of Hegre,” Mitchell said.
The faintest of grins etched his lips briefly.
“FBI training is getting sharper.”
Mitchell inclined her head. “Is my badge showing?”
“No, but the way you reacted shows agency training. And that Glock is standard-issue.”
Mitchell stepped back and looked him over a second time. There was a military bearing about him. The way he held himself spoke of self-control and a dedication to what he was doing.
“Special Forces?” she asked.
Mack Bolan shook his head. “Not in the way you’re thinking. I don’t have affiliations to any agencies you can think of. But I’m on your side. My name’s Matt Cooper.”
“Matt Cooper? SAC Duncan mentioned your involvement in the smallpox investigation.”
“That’s why I’m here. Duncan asked me to run background interference because he has concerns about your safety. He has suspicions there might be a leak in your department.”
“Damn. This isn’t the first time.” Mitchell thrust out a hand. “Special Agent Sarah Mitchell.”
Bolan took her hand. As slim as it was against his own, he felt the firm grip.
Her handshake gave Bolan the opportunity to take a closer look at the woman. He noted she was tall, and had an athletic build. The eyes that studied him were bright, a shade of green and amber that instantly drew attention to her face, and alert. They were set in a face that could only be described as beautiful. She wore her dark hair cut chin-length. There was a determined air about her that told Bolan she was not a person likely to be intimidated. He gauged her age to be early thirties, and the way she had handled herself told him she was far from being a novice.
“Nice to meet you Agent Mitchell.” He handed her Glock back. “I suggest we get out of here so we can discuss things in more secure surroundings.”
They retreated, drawing away from the wall. Bolan led the way, Mitchell keeping up with his ground-eating stride.
“So how did you get here?” she asked. “Not by taxi seeing the way you’re dressed.”
“A private fast flight and rented wheels.”
He offered no more of an explanation and Mitchell didn’t query. This man plainly had good backup whoever he was.
Bolan guided her into the tree line to where his hired SUV was concealed in the thicket. She looked over the vehicle and the camouflage Bolan had constructed.
“And you?” Bolan asked as they settled inside the vehicle.
“My partner brought me as close as was safe, then we parted company. Right now I have no idea where he is. For all I know he’s somewhere putting his case to Duncan.”
“Is that the way the FBI is running surveillance now?”
“Agent Brewster doesn’t approve of my methods. Now I like him, but the guy is so anally retentive he lives and breathes the FBI manual. After a time it became a pain in the ass. SAC Duncan set us on the tracking of this group we believe is part of Hegre. We got his far but Brewster refused to carry out a close visual on them. Said he needed to get permission from Duncan before we did anything. We got to arguing in the car. I climbed out and told him to go get his permission and walked off into the forest.”
“He didn’t come after you? That doesn’t seem like the best behavior for a partner.”
There was a trace of suspicion in Bolan’s voice that Mitchell failed to pick up.
“I
