When Founders Leave

By Randall Jarmon

A sophisticated terrorist organization called The Movement has spent decades working to destroy America. After many long years and many serious encounters with American defenders, The Movement has little to show for the lives and fortune it's lavished on terror and deception.

Among those responsible for The Movement's frustrations are (a)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mikvelk Publishing, LLC
• Release date: Jan 29, 2024
• ISBN: 9798869151063

Randall Jarmon

Randall Jarmon, Ph.D., has followed such an unusual path that few novelists will tell a story the way he does.Dr. Jarmon started out as an English major at heart, but ended up with an engineering degree. It imparted keen interest in technology.He once got more than his share of elite military training. Those few years were a good opportunity to learn about tactics, weaponry, martial arts, and so forth.He has worked in a world-class manufacturing setting and a world-class R&D center. Part of the fun for readers with technical backgrounds is determining when the technology in his stories goes from fact to fiction. The shifts will be subtle. Expect to miss some.He earned a pretty good MBA. Later he earned a doctorate (in Management) well worth having. Among other things, he now easily explains the complex organization of human effort. Look for good plots clearly set forth.Randall Jarmon and his wife divide their time between Texas and Arizona. They have two children, six grandchildren, and a golden retriever named Virgil.MIKVELK Publishing, LLC

Book preview

Table of Contents

Quality Control Review Excerpts

Title Page

Publishing Information

Table of Contents

Sections 1 through 10

Sections 11 through 20

Sections 21 through 30

Sections 31 through 40

Sections 41 through 50

Sections 51 through 60

Sections 61 through 70

Sections 71 through 80

Sections 81 through 90

Sections 91 through 100

Sections 101 through 110

Sections 111 through 120

Sections 121 through 130

Sections 131 through 136

About the Author

Afterword

About the Riley/ Blue Dog Series

(to Table of Contents)

1

Certain dangerous persons called the pretty thirty-something brunette Lioness 3, which was a huge honor in their evil world. At dawn in Auckington, New Zealand—the largest city in that country—she was seated on her small balcony with a good cup of coffee from beans she’d ground herself.

Her luxury apartment was rented for a month, looked out over the city, and had a magnificent view even in the pre-dawn darkness. In the distance she could see Auckington’s international airport. Behind it lay snow-covered peaks of New Zealand’s more majestic mountains. Another gorgeous sunrise was less than an hour away.

Spook Riley, the man she was to kill, might arrive today. She hoped he would. The worst thing about her missions was the waiting. Be patient, she told herself.

That made her laugh softly. How many times had her trainer said the same thing? The deadliest assassin on Earth, The Valkyrie, had coached her for this job. They were friends now. Lioness 3 had enormous respect for The Valkyrie. Not enough respect to be patient, though. She laughed again.

She wondered if Coral, The Valkyrie’s deadly assistant, would be the one to call her with the kill information. He might. She’d be businesslike if he did. She’d try, anyway. She already knew it wouldn’t work. He’d somehow know she longed to spend another night with him. He was like her. A high-end killer.

Actually, he was an even better assassin than she was. Someday he would be better than The Valkyrie. That was part of the spell he cast over Lioness 3. None of her many past lovers had been as good at their work as Coral. Not even close.

She forgot the sunrise she’d arisen early to watch. She allowed herself rare minutes of unguarded distraction, and thought only about Coral lying next to her three long weeks ago. Her coffee would grow cold before she refocused herself on the grim work at hand.

2

Far out over the Pacific Ocean a big airliner made its way to New Zealand. Three men were stretched out on their sleeper seats in business class. The cabin was dark. Nearly everyone on the plane was asleep.

A seventy-something, gray-haired man in the outer of the three reclined seats had been awake for awhile. He glanced toward the center of the three-seat cluster. His middle brother lay on his side four feet away, but with eyes closed.

Eyes closed meant the man was officially asleep. However, the seats were not all that comfortable after so many hours. That told the seventy-something his mid-sixty-something brother might the ready for a conversation. The middle brother was facing the gray-haired man, too. Further indication! Anyway, the gray-haired man needed to talk and brothers were supposed to listen at such moments.

Bytes, are you awake?

Hmmph. He followed the grunt with a deep breath.

You can’t fool me. You’re awake. Probably worrying just like me.

The middle brother—who shared Riley Family good looks—opened his eyes, blinked them clear, and frowned at his elder sibling.

Nobody worries like you, Spook. Nobody. Go to sleep. With luck we can ski a little today. Get some rest. He closed his eyes, already knowing that wouldn’t work.

Spook Riley shook his head in disagreement. "I worry about Robbie. He’s got to deal with a Senate sub-committee today all by himself. And with that knuckleheaded army general who follows them around. Right behind that goofy admiral the senators still talk with. Robbie could lose the contract."

The middle man, who was called Bytes, kept his eyes closed. Robbie will be fine. He negotiates better than you do.

Oh, better than I do! You sound like my wife.

Good. It takes both of us to keep you in line. Spook, go to sleep.

The gray-haired man propped himself up on an elbow. Enough of his blanket fell away that one could recognize powerful arms and shoulders under his Trenchant Security turtleneck shirt. Spook Riley was still an athlete.

"Aren’t you worried about Mike running the company in your absence? The audit’s this week. The really big audit."

Mike can handle it. He’ll do better than I would.

Bytes Riley sat up, rubbed his eyes, and decided his night was over. He pushed a button to summon the flight attendant. You want coffee? I just hit my call button.

Yeah. Might as well. Thanks ... Are you sure Mike can manage an audit?

Yes, Spook, he can. Worry about something else. Mike’s the guy who handled it last time, remember?

Spook nodded, grunted, and looked visibly relieved.

Bytes cut him off before he could ask the next question. And James is 100 percent on top of the work Bucky wants done. And Kevin’s halfway to getting us into harbor patrols, which makes him way ahead of schedule. Under budget, too. Want to ask me about Jeff?

"Well, yeah. Jeff’s working on all that crypto-whizbang-what’s-it stuff. What is it he’s working on, anyway?"

Don’t know. You can ask Daniel when he wakes up.

He gestured toward their youngest brother, Daniel Riley, who was sixty-one, also good looking, and somehow still asleep next to middle brother Bytes.

Bytes said, It’s supposed to be very, very cool. Cool if you’re a super techie, that is. And Spookette’s husband’s helping him. Daniel gets all excited when he talks about Jeff and David’s progress. You should have heard him yesterday. Daniel doesn’t get impressed easily, you know.

Yeah. Yeah. I know. All’s well. All’s getting better. And I still can’t fully believe it.

A flight attendant showed up with a coffee tray, served coffee, and left.

Spook, said Bytes, the wives and I talked about this. We brought Daniel in on it. We all discussed you at length two days ago.

Me? He looked surprised. His wife hadn’t mentioned this!

Yes, elder brother, you. We all think you’re having trouble letting go of your illustrious career at Trenchant Security. Your retirement scares you.

I’m not afraid of handing over the reins. Not at all! He looked defiant.

Bytes looked amused. He’d known this moment would come sometime soon into their New Zealand ski vacation. You are. Ask your wife, Lady Spook. We all have a plan. We are going to help you through your sudden anguish as retirement looms.

More defiance. What plan?

It’s a secret. Bytes smiled merrily.

Daniel will tell me.

"No. He won’t. Daniel was quite clear at the meeting. He thinks the family has to seriously manage you, Spook. For several months, even. But I can give you a hint or two.

First of all, we’ve decided you should go run for governor. Texas needs you, and Lady Spook needs you out of the house during the day. Some days, that is.

Bytes put his seat up. Spook did so a moment later.

I might run for governor, you know. Your wife once said she’d manage a campaign for me. And nobody’s better at that than Lady Bytes is. He nodded emphatically, as though it had been his decision alone.

Bytes smiled yet again. It was working. His big brother had forgotten, for the moment, about being Chairman of Trenchant Security.

Lady Bytes would love that. I think Spookette would help, too.

Really? Spook’s eyes lighted up. Spook Riley had for years tried without success to involve his charming, beautiful, and brilliant daughter in politics.

Yeah. Well, maybe. Spookette has to fit it in with part-time medical school and being a new mom. She’d help a little. Not a lot of time for her to do more. After one last smile, Bytes Riley picked up the novel he’d started a thousand miles ago.

Spook Riley returned the smile and leaned back in his seat. He looked out his window into dark night sky. A little campaign involvement would be enough, he told himself. He could get Spookette enthusiastic about politics given even a little exposure. Well, halfway enthusiastic.

But it would grow on her. It had grown on him. Politics was that way. At least, sometimes it was that way. But there was a small problem: Spookette still wanted to be a psychiatrist, like his wife, Lady Spook. However, that would help Spookette deal with dysfunctional personalities! It would help her work with politicians! Just like she’d told him.

Scenarios began spinning through his handsome head. His coffee would grow cold as he plotted out his daughter’s career for her.

3

Lioness 3’s satellite phone rang, just as the rising sun’s rays disclosed the full glory of distant mountain peaks. Although it was an encrypted call, she went through a challenge and answer routine to ensure confidentiality. Her employer, The Movement, expected that from her.

Her eyes were aglow now. Coral had called with the kill data! She had to force herself to listen carefully and stay in role. He started them off.

We got lucky. All three Riley brothers will be on the plane. Your pay for this job gets tripled if you kill them all. Acknowledge.

I understand all three Riley brothers will be on the plane. I get paid three times as much to kill all three.

It will be a Soaring Kiwis flight. Number AZ587. Repeat.

Soaring Kiwis flight AZ587.

The estimated time of arrival is 0715 hours, Auckington time. I’m told this flight sometimes runs up to half an hour late. It is never early.

She would be there early, anyway, she told herself.

Any bodyguards with the Rileys?

None. These are tough guys. They’ll be their own bodyguards. My source says to consider them very, very dangerous. Even though they’ll be unarmed. They seem to be on a ski vacation. My source saw skis get checked with their baggage.

She almost laughed at their skiing. Bunny slope runs at best! Daniel Riley, the youngest, was somewhere in his early sixties. Spook Riley, the eldest, had to be early seventies. She wondered if they’d use walkers.

Roger. Very dangerous. Probably unarmed. Anything else?

He was quiet too long. She knew why. He’d have to break protocol to say what she dearly wanted to hear next. A moment later he did.

Nothing else ... I, uh, miss you. I miss you a lot. Maybe we could visit the same place again after this?

A thrill surged through her. She assured him she absolutely loved the idea. She missed him, too. Ever so much!

Then, Lioness 3, I’ll make the plans. His using her Movement code name put them back into business roles, but she didn’t mind.

Good luck today, Lioness 3. That’s from me and from The Valkyrie. Coral out.

4

When their plane landed in Auckington, the three Riley brothers did what all the other tourists did. They collected their baggage and headed toward Customs. There they stood in line; had perfunctory interviews; and walked together toward the exit from Customs.

That exit would take them first through a heavy glass door that only swung outward, then down a short airport hallway, and next into a spacious airport lobby filled with persons coming, going, or waiting. Lioness 3 planned on killing the Riley brothers in the short hallway.

It was a natural kill zone for an ambush. Once through the heavy glass doors, the Riley’s couldn’t retreat back to the Customs area. Meanwhile, the narrow hallway much restricted their movement. Best of all, turnstiles and waist high-railing fenced off the short hallway’s end from the lobby.

Lioness 3, with her silenced nine millimeter pistol, would stand five feet outside the waist-high railing. She’d empty her thirty-round magazine into the Rileys, who’d be trapped in this cul de sac of the Auckington Airport.

Good as the ambush already was, Lioness 3 counted on making it better. New Zealand had abundant coastline, which meant many shops and marinas selling supplies to yachtsmen. Most of those vendors sold smoke grenades intended to help the rescuers locate sinking yachts at sea.

She easily had bought two smoke grenades, each almost as big as a twelve-ounce soda can, each sufficient to fill the lobby with orange smoke.

That smoke would irritate eyes and trigger panic. Hooking the grenades to a radio controlled activator was mere child’s play for the technician she’d paid. His handiwork now sat in a big trash receptacle at the lobby’s middle, wrapped in a foul-smelling baby diaper.

So it was that Lioness 3 confidently stood just outside the waist-high railing. She wore a raincoat suitable for the cool, wet weather; a stylish wig that made her face look thinner; and heavy-rimmed glasses. After killing, she’d drop her gun and flee the building like any other frightened civilian in the lobby area. The Valkyrie had been delighted with the plan.

She recognized Spook Riley as he approached the glass door. The two men avidly talking with him had to be his brothers. As soon as the three men were past the glass door, and it was swinging closed behind them, Lioness 3 set off the smoke grenades. Orange smoke rapidly surged from the trash can. Screams and confusion began among the civilians in the lobby.

The Rileys all looked up and saw a woman raising a gun at them.

5

Gun! shouted Daniel Riley. He was already lunging toward the shooter. In a heartbeat Bytes Riley and Spook Riley were doing the same.

Spook Riley seemed determined to stop with his own body any bullets to come. I got her! he shouted. He finished the last part as he vaulted the waist-high fence, coming right at Lioness 3.

His brothers were abreast of him, clearing the fence as quickly as Spook Riley did. Lioness 3 had never, ever expected them to swarm her! Even the Valkyrie hadn’t anticipated that. The once confident young woman behind the pistol panicked just as she began to shoot.

Her first bullet nonetheless went straight for Spook Riley’s heart, but he had kept his leather portfolio in front of him as he lunged forward. Inside it was a plastic ballistic shield.

The first nine millimeter round slammed the portfolio against his chest, but only slowed him down a fraction of a second. Spook Riley charged like the All-American football player he once had been.

The second shot went wild when Bytes Riley threw his novel at the woman’s face. The novel blocked her vision for less than half a second, but that was all it took to ruin her aim.

Lioness 3 desperately tried to get the gun back on target. Daniel Riley swept her arm upward before she could. Her third shot struck an overhead light.

Spook Riley’s big left fist slammed into her left eye, partially blinding her. Lioness 3 barely had time to notice as Bytes Riley’s right fist smashed into her chest with unthinkable power, almost fracturing her sternum. Her solar plexus went into spasms and she dropped to the floor, struggling to breathe. Indeed, she very nearly died.

A half-dozen heavily-armed police poured into the short hallway as the orange fog began to clear. The police assumed three men had attacked one woman. Two or more tall, heavily armed officers violently tackled each Riley and roughly handcuffed him.

The Rileys had no chance to explain. They were jerked to their feet with their arms painfully twisted behind them. They got jostled to the exit and marched outside. There, before the press had arrived, the Riley brothers—despite offering no resistance—were manhandled into the backs of squad cars. Bytes Riley’s head got banged hard against the car’s roof when it was his turn.

It was a short trip to the nearest Auckington police station, where the three brothers were shoved into separate cells. Meanwhile, the woman was gently, and quickly, taken to a hospital across town.

Soon the brothers were individually told each could make one phone call. Since they all wanted to call the same person, Bytes Riley made the call for them.

He called his wife, Lady Bytes, who was a former Texas Supreme Court Justice and still back at Trenchant headquarters in Fort Worth, Texas. She took down the basic information, asked several questions, said she would be in touch, and hung up.

You had to know Lady Bytes Riley to interpret correctly the expressionless look on her pretty face. She was furious with the Auckington police. Absolutely white-hot livid. It was never a good idea to make Lady Bytes Riley that angry.

6

The Commissioner of Police for Auckington had the good luck to be out of town. That meant his pudgy, balding deputy, Tavish Wilkes, IV, had to take the phone call from the New Zealand Minister of Justice. The call came eighteen minutes after Bytes Riley had telephoned Lady Bytes.

The Minister was angry, but Wilkes thought himself more than ready for the challenge. He was, he reminded himself, an unflappable career bureaucrat. He had de facto lifetime employment and the Police Commissioner was a cousin. Besides, subordinates two layers down had reported they had the airport shooting under control. Both had told him that.

Wilkes sat up straight in his chair, as though to better project his proven competence, and began to answer his phone. He got interrupted before he could finish hello.

"Wilkes, have you lost your mind? Or do you want all Western law-enforcement thinking the Auckington police are led by morons?" It came out as a snarl.

Minister, you seem upset.

Wilkes told himself the first priority was to keep the Minister talking. Let the adrenaline get out of his system. He would cool down then. He would become pliable, and even apologetic.

Wilkes reached for his cup of tea. In this part of the world, unflappable civil servants often reached for tea, he thought. It was an eminently suitable prop.

Another snarl. "Of course I’m upset, you bungling lump. Some of the dumbest police work on Earth just got done by your people. Your people, Wilkes. Not the Ministry’s people. Yours! Do you know who your people roughed up and threw in jail?

No, Minister. Tavish stayed calm as he spoke, sipping his tea both before and after his terse reply. He could handle this.

"You have the Riley brothers locked up. Three well-known Yanks. Each of them enormously well-respected. They founded Trenchant Security. Their family owns it outright. Do you maybe even know about Trenchant?"

Wilkes put down the tea and picked up a pencil. This might not be so easy, after all.

Yes, Minister. I imagine most deputy commissioners of police throughout the Western World know about Trenchant. His pasty white face grew paler.

The gruff voice in the phone grew louder. "Well, you’d better hope the media doesn’t dig into this, Wilkes. There could be bad headlines tonight if they do. Something like, ‘Stupid Auckington Deputy Police Commissioner Locks Up Heroes.’ And then there’s the potential lawsuit.

"Trenchant’s getting Withering, Biscuit & Puck to represent the Rileys. The biggest, nastiest, most dangerous law firm in this part of the world, Wilkes. Any moment they’ll be calling to demand we end your police brutality.

"And that public relations firm they use—the one that can sway national elections!—will be calling, too. I will, of course, make it clear to them that this is entirely your fault and your fault alone."

Wilkes swallowed hard. Surely, Minister, there’s good news. A crime of some sort was interrupted by our well-trained police before anyone could be fatally injured... He got cut off by a loud snort of disapproval at the other end.

"So that’s how you see it? Really? Do you know how little your police actually did? Or how much the Riley brothers did, all by themselves?"

Minister, I have only been told the basics. I already have asked for a full report. I should receive it within the hour.

"And meanwhile the bungling proceeds, Wilkes. Do you know there’s been another important phone call complaining about your work?

No, Minister. Wilkes felt his stomach knotting up.

That call, Wilkes, was way, way above your paygrade, even though you’re vastly overpaid. That call went to the Minister of Defense, who also has called me. You think I’m angry, Wilkes? Try talking to Defense. She’s ready to chop off your pointy little bald head!

Wilkes desperately began to seek mercy. But surely ...

"Shut up, Wilkes! Get over to wherever you’ve got the Rileys locked up. Apologize. Grovel. Kiss their feet. Whatever it takes. Make this problem go away, Wilkes. Got it?"

Yes, Minister. It was a weak response, reflecting the terror supposedly unflappable Tavish Wilkes, IV now felt. His cousin might turn on him for something like this. And the Justice Minister could be hugely vindictive ... but the Defense Minister ... she was worse. Much worse!

"I can’t hear you, Wilkes. Speak up like a man!"

Yes, Minister. I will take care of everything. He said it wide-eyed, just as sweat began breaking out on his pallid brow.

"Good. Otherwise you get tossed to the wolves. Be sure of that!"

7

Lioness 3 awoke in a one-bed hospital room someplace in Auckington, and had the good sense to keep her eyes closed. A nurse was the only other person in the room, and she soon left. Opening one eye ever so slightly, Lioness 3 saw a police officer on guard outside the room’s open door. Clearly, her best chance to escape would be now.

She carefully made slight movements of her arms and legs. She cautiously tried to peek from each eye. Apart from a very sore chest and one eye swollen almost shut, she seemed uninjured.

She also wasn’t handcuffed to the bed or otherwise restrained. Being unrestrained surprised her. Maybe they thought she’d been the victim. Maybe they wanted her to escape. Maybe they intended to follow her. No matter, she told herself. She’d elude them. Besides, her only alternative was life in some Kiwi prison. She had to flee now!

She carefully looked toward the door. This time there was no officer in sight. Good! She swung her legs out of bed, and was surprised to find herself wearing only a hospital gown. There was a chest of drawers in the room, though. Her clothes and shoes must be there.

Leaving the door open—the officer would be suspicious if it were closed—she walked quickly to the chest and found her things in the top drawer.

Well out of view in one corner of the room, but with the door still open, she threw off her hospital gown. She knelt to put on her shoes, which would be essential for running or fighting. Completely naked otherwise, she laced the first one up, and almost laced up the second one. Suddenly, the police officer entered the room.

Stop right there, Miss! Get back in bed... and pull a sheet over yourself! I’ll summon a nurse.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her beautiful, bare body as she faced him. She made no attempt to strategically cover herself with her free hands. The Valkyrie had taught her nudity could powerfully distract an opponent. It was already working. The policeman actually seemed flustered.

She looked frightened, and seemed struggling to hold back tears. You’ve got to help me! Please help me ... the drug cartel said they’d kill me. And I’ve got evidence. It’s in my clothes.

Before the stunned officer could react, she reached into the drawer and pulled out her underwear. It’s sewn inside the bra. A microchip. And there’s another one in the panties. I’ll show you.

She stepped toward him and held out her underwear for him to take. He did, taking his eyes off her to look at the gossamer garments handed him.

It was then that she struck. Her first punch was almost lightning quick—Coral had taught her that—and caught the unsuspecting officer in the voice box. The pain was terrible, but he couldn’t cry out. His larynx had been nearly crushed.

Struggling for air, he put one hand to his throat. His other hand reached for his holstered gun, but not soon enough. She didn’t even bother stopping his attempt to draw his weapon. Instead, Lioness 3 stepped slightly to one side and hit the young policeman as hard as she could in the temple. He dropped to the floor and died quickly.

Lioness 3 stepped over his body and closed the hospital room’s door. She put on her clothes, wrapped the dead policeman’s gun in a towel, and then gathered up two other towels she found by her bed.

She calmly walked from the room carrying her little stack of towels. Even without a hospital uniform, she seemed to be doing useful hospital work. She passed only two other persons in the hall as she went to the elevator, smiling slightly at each. Neither paid her any attention.

She left the elevator on the ground floor, finding herself in a lobby that had one corridor to the left and another corridor to the right. Straight ahead was the main doorway to the hospital. She walked toward it, just as a dozen police officers came out of nowhere and rushed toward her through the main doorway.

Some were in uniform. Some were not. All wore badges that were prominently displayed. Two carried shotguns—an outcome very unusual in Auckington.

She panicked. Lioness 3 pulled out the dead man’s gun and fired most of its large magazine at the policemen. She pulled the trigger as quickly as she could, barely aiming. All the dozen officers dove for cover or fell on the floor. Only five officers were hit, and their body armor protected them all.

That still gave Lioness 3 precious seconds of head start. She ran down the left corridor, having no idea where it might take her. It was a long corridor, with only one person in it besides her.

That person was a man at the far end. Maybe a doctor, she thought, apparently seeking to help anyone injured by the shots just fired. Without even slowing down, Lioness 3 fired a wild shot his way. He jumped into the safety of a doorway.

Somebody was running up behind her now. She heard him shout, Stop! but she kept right on going. The hallway’s exit grew closer.

A shotgun boomed. Buckshot struck her legs, shattering bone in three locations, including the outside of one knee joint. She fell, slid several feet closer to the door, and screamed in agony the whole way. Unable to think through the pain, she acted instinctively. She fired the gun without even aiming, and soon had no more ammunition. All her shots harmlessly struck walls or ceiling.

Shotgun Man kicked the gun from her hand. Her attempted escape was over.

8

Lioness 3 had been trained by a big man in his early forties named Coral. He, in turn, was the protégé of the deadliest assassin on Earth, a woman called The Valkyrie, who was nearly sixty years old. Neither one lived in the same place more than a month.

Currently, they were in the San Francisco area, each twenty miles from the other, and each in a luxury apartment rented for thirty days. Earlier that day, they met in a downtown hotel suite in to follow the progress of Lioness 3.

The Valkyrie arrived first, carefully scouting the area before proceeding to the room. She was a pretty woman, who could still pass for forty-something. Good diet, rigorous exercise, and exceptional genes had made up for an otherwise appalling lifestyle.

Finally satisfied that all was well, she went to the suite, entered it with gun drawn, and quickly confirmed there was no danger. She’d expected that outcome since she’d made all the arrangements herself.

Pushing her gun back into her purse, she went to the room’s mini-bar and took out an expensive bottle of scotch. She poured a large drink, downed most of it right away, and nonchalantly began setting up her laptop computer on a coffee table in the suite’s living room. Coral called her satellite phone not quite an hour later.

It’s abundantly safe here. Come on up with your friend, she cooed. He would be arriving alone, of course. The friend part was one of their little codes to establish that what got said did not come from being captive and under duress.

Coral showed up in minutes, carrying a bag of sandwiches from a good deli. He also had two expensive bottles of scotch with him.

Delightful! Coral, you’re such a gentleman. And right on time. She’d be in position now. I’d guess the kills will start in about fifteen minutes.

He smiled, took off his coat, and sat down. Coral carried a pistol in a shoulder holster under an expensive suit, which he wore without a tie. So, The Movement got the watchers we needed?

She stopped unwrapping a sandwich. "Sort of. Only two of them, but they’re supposed to be smart and reliable. One’s a woman in a hotel room across from the airport terminal entrance. About a quarter mile away, I’d guess, but she’s got binoculars.

The other watcher’s across from the nearest hospital’s emergency room. Close to five miles from the airport. I think he’s reading a book in a coffee shop, but The Movement’s guy wasn’t real clear on that part.

She remembered her sandwich, opened up the wrapper, and took a bite. Coral sat down where he could see her computer screen.

Lab Rat handled the internet set up? He referred to an unscrupulous Ph.D. candidate who was The Valkyrie’s factotum for all things technical. Lab Rat was remarkably competent.

Yep. Lots of forwarding. Even a satellite hop or two. Header data stripped from everything that’s sent. Pretty good encryption. We’re very safe. She didn’t mention what he already knew. Even though very safe, they wouldn’t stay in the room more than four hours.

So, no satellite phone contact?

Not if we can help it. Each watcher has a satellite phone for emergencies. But using it would be a real nuisance. Then they’d have to get rid of it soon after the call. And those phones get to be pretty expensive given all the encryption built in.

She typed into the laptop, Almost time. Final check. All okay?

In seconds the first reply came. Airport Eyes: Ready.

Then, Hospital Eyes: Ready.

She typed again. Your two hours of watching start now.

What! We only got them for two hours? This must be a budget thing. Coral clearly seemed annoyed.

The Valkyrie suppressed a smile. She knew, and she thought Coral didn’t know she knew, that he and Lioness 3 had started having sex together. It was unusual for Coral to be anything but perfectly under control during a mission.

This time he was worried. Apparently, thought the Valkyrie, Lioness 3 was quite good in bed. She should be. The Valkyrie had spent most of an afternoon talking her through the best sex tricks known to the KGB.

Airport Eyes: Orange smoke evident.

Airport Eyes: Civilians running from the exit. Might have been shots fired, but I can’t hear them from this far away.

Coral poured himself a big glass of scotch, forgetting to refill The Valkyrie’s glass first. Embarrassed by the oversight, he apologized as he poured for her. She smiled perfunctorily. Nearly her full attention was on the computer screen.

Airport Eyes: A dozen police just showed up. Guess they were already on site. Some in SWAT gear. All with guns out. Local police only. No military. No uniformed Justice Ministry guys.

Hospital Eyes: Ambulance dispatched. Lights flashing. Seems headed toward Airport.

Hospital Eyes: Another ... no, make that two more ambulances dispatched. Total of three so far. All headed toward Airport. All with lights flashing.

Coral looked visibly relieved. One ambulance for each dead Riley, maybe?

She kept eyes on the screen as she sipped too much scotch. Maybe.

Airport Eyes: Smoke’s about gone.

Airport Eyes: Two cops coming out of building. Waving for squad cars to pull up.

Hospital Eyes: All quiet