Page 46 of Running Scared
“We do.”
“What else do we need?”
Dean looked at Marcus with a measured glance.“We need to know the Russians are going to blow up too.”
Marcus grunted.“God, must you ask the impossible?”
Dean shook his head.“Not impossible.In fact, logical.Our assassins just knocked off their double agent.If they’re in bed with Corazones—”
“And they are,” Marcus supplied.
“And they are,” Dean agreed.“So they executed a major action, and they’re trying to suck up to Gael Barrera.Bird saw planes landing after ours got shot down—it’s probably why our plane was targeted in the first place.They were expecting important people, and we weren’t them.The problem is making sure our bloodthirsty Bratvas are in the place we want to make boom.”
Marcus grunted.“God, Dean.It’s got to be a hornet’s nest in there.They shot down our plane.Bratva fucked up and is looking for a witness.Are you sure Bird’s going to be able to let us in?”
“Bird letting us in?Yes,” Dean said thoughtfully.“But being able to gather enough intel to blow the place up in good conscience?That’s gonna be rough.”
Marcus grunted.“So that’s our plan?Run around and gather intel, then meet when we know what to do with it?”
Dean nodded slowly.“Yeah.But don’t get too discouraged.That’s only one of the pages Bird sent us.”
Marcus perked up.“And the other one is….”
“The layout of the compound.”Dean flattened the other piece of paper, holding the first one with the list behind it.“And now we know something about Bird that we didn’t before.”
“Scary smart?”Marcus breathed.
“Yes, but also probably an engineer before a pilot,” Dean surmised, glancing at the exacting block printing that matched that of the first page of the missive.The sketch was rough but precise, with every building labeled and every potential need outlined.
“So that’s more like it.”Marcus set the drone down carefully and, after checking for vermin, sat down next to it.“Pull up a seat, partner.Let’s make arealplan.”
Dean nodded, and Marcus produced a very clever little pen from his pocket, and together they started to outline in earnest.
AT MIDNIGHT,they gathered their supplies and bungee corded them to the trailer, covering the neat bundles with their friend the parachute/tent.They walked the bike a good 200 yards from their modest little cliff face so the sound didn’t echo before Marcus got on in front and Dean grabbed his waist and they took off for the compound.
Dean closed his eyes for some of it, not sleeping, of course, but relaxing, because if Marcus was driving, he’d be on the alert.He let Bailey fill his thoughts: That shy, adorable smile, the freckled and peeling nose, the surprising insights into people, whether they were movie or TV people, the way he seemed to yearn for the things in the pictures in his apartment—hiking, exploring, going to museums and such—but had allowed his life to become his cat and his job with not much else in between.
Dean wanted to be spooningBaileyright now.Dean wanted to tell him about hiking in the foothills in the spring, or having a picnic at his parents’ in early summer.Wanted to take him to Grass Valley to show him Dean’s brother’s antique store, and let Laure fix him a home-cooked meal.
Dean wanted to see his shy doctorlive.
But first he had to make sure he wasn’t assassinated for seeing too much.
Soon enough the compound loomed up in front of them, although it was facing the northeast road to town.Marcus shut off the engine a mile before the gates, and after strapping on their service weapons and filling their collapsible water bottles—and making sure their enhanced-vision goggles were firmly attached to their heads for when they were needed—they set off toward the northbound door.
It was a small service door, set between massive cooling towers, and Dean could see that Birdie’s plan wasn’t so featherbrained after all.
If this part of the compound was the service/ventilation part of the place, it would be damned hot in and around it.Nobody who didn’t have to would willingly stand in 100 degree heat at two in the morning, even to cop a smoke or see the stars.
They were sweating by the time they made their way through the thundering hum of the towers toward Birdie’s ushering hands.
Once inside, Birdie locked the door behind them and, finger to lips, pulled them deep into a labyrinth of air-cooled serving towers, just as the plans had indicated.
Antiaircraft guns and radar and running a complex this big required computer power—this was where the servers were held.And while nobody was needed in the corridors, which was a blessing, two hot and sweaty soldiers—and one diminutive Birdie—stuck out like a sore thumb.
Marcus and Dean followed Birdie until the little pilot guided them to a tiny staff room perhaps twice the size of a linen closet and distinguished from such by a microwave, a mini fridge, a love seat, and a small couch—and a lavatory around the corner.
“All the comforts of home, I see,” Marcus said, collapsing on the couch in a cloud of dust.
