Magic Ops Page 4

  Diana blinked and realized that Tyson was staring at her. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been silent. Then again, time didn’t matter that much when it came to a decision like this. She still had to put a bold face on, though. This kind of answer would require confidence. And sometimes, the best medicine for a traumatic event was to confront the experience head-on. “I can. Hell, it might be the best thing for me.”

  Tyson didn’t answer. He stared her down silently with a probing expression. Fortunately, Diana was wise to that particular technique. She met that gaze and remained silent. Finally, he broke into a grin. “Then you should absolutely do it. You’ll be fantastic, and there’s a lot of career upside. Plus, you have a safety net.”

  “I do?”

  He nodded. “While you’re on probation with the agency, you’ll be on detached duty from the FBI. This gives you a slightly higher salary, so I’ll expect a kickback.” His warm smile and familiar chuckle filled her with affection. “After that, if you decide to leave us, I’ll get temps, so you’ll have a home to come to.” His eyes twinkled mischievously. “Or, you know, if you wash out of the training.”

  Diana snorted and stood. “Please. Have you ever known me to fail at anything?” She had, many times, but was fairly sure he wasn’t aware of it.

  “Other than following orders?” He laughed. “That’s the spirit.” He stood and extended a white business card. “Bryant’s number. Now go show them what the best agent ARES has ever seen can do.”

  She left the office with a bounce in her step.

  I will show them, especially Bryant, how much more there is to me than their research suggests.

  Chapter Five

  The diner was classic DC, a lot of money spent to appear authentic and homey. It sported cracked vinyl booths, a long counter with spinning stools in front, and the inviting smells of waffles and bacon. It also featured Bryant Classified sitting at the far end with a tall mug of coffee in his hand.

  He was dressed for action in beat-up tactical pants, a tucked-in crewneck shirt, thick belt, and heavy boots. Her outfit was the same, plus her favorite leather racing jacket. The coat was black with a double red stripe down the left side and covered with zippered pockets. He'd warned her to wear clothes she didn’t mind getting dirty, so she’d chosen her oldest versions.

  He’d better not mess up my jacket.

  The smell of food and fresh coffee made her stomach rumble as she crossed the center of the diner. She slid onto the chair next to him. “Bryant.”

  “Diana, how lovely to see you.” His teasing tone failed to hide the ring of truth in his words. She’d heard the telltale signs in his voice over the phone when she’d called to accept. His in-person demeanor simply confirmed his excitement over convincing her to join the team.

  The waitress interrupted with a tired, “Whaddya want?”

  Diana ordered a bacon omelet and a waffle with a side of coffee. Bryant raised an eyebrow at her. “Do you always eat like you’re not sure when you’ll get to eat again? I didn’t see military in your background.”

  “A lot of the SWAT guys I worked with were military. Some things rubbed off.” She shrugged uncomfortably.

  He raised his cup in a toast. She mirrored him and took a sip. The coffee was acrid, bitter, and perfect.

  She set her mug down and swiveled her stool to face Bryant. “So, what’s on the agenda, BC?”

  He looked confused for a second, then smiled. “Ah. I see what you did there. Very clever.” He leaned forward before continuing. “Anyway, it’s time for us to determine what you’re made of. Today, you get to run the gauntlet.”

  “That sounds overly dramatic.”

  “It’s fairly apt, actually. It’s a training scenario, and we’ve drawn the short end of the stick.”

  Diana snorted. “It seems like a common state of affairs, these days. Or are you flirting with me?”

  He barked a single laugh. “No flirting, Diana. I don’t know you well enough yet.” The humor drained from his face and voice as he stared her down. “It’ll be the two of us against at least three times as many, maybe more.”

  “Laser tag?” Much of her SWAT training had involved a version of the Army’s electronic combat gear.

  He shook his head. “Lasers are for wimps. We train with paintballs.”

  She winced. “Ouch.”

  Bryant nodded and scrunched his face in a grimace. “Plus, no body armor for us, only goggles.”

  “So, it’s trial by torture, then.”

  “Only if they shoot you first.” He shrugged. “The rules are, anything that gets hit is no longer useful. If you take one to the torso, chest, or head, it’s game over.”

  A hopeless chuckle escaped her. “And I’ll go through with you on my six?”

  He gave that teasing grin again. “Sorry, you gotta have a partner.”

  “How do I know you won’t shoot me from behind?”

  He looked at her through the steam of his refilled mug and stopped it on the way to his lips. “You don’t. But at least, for as long as this exercise goes, you can trust me to watch your back instead of shooting it.”

  Her food arrived, and so did his. Interestingly enough, he’d ordered the same thing. The only difference was he’d chosen pancakes over waffles. He gestured at their meal. “Eat up. We’re on the clock.”

  An hour later, they stood before a nondescript warehouse in an office park. The building was indistinguishable from the dozens that surrounded it. She swung her Stingray in beside Bryant’s SUV and climbed out. He looked at her, then at the car. She recognized that lusty gaze all too well. The ʼVette always drew it.

  “I gotta say, I love your taste in cars,” he complimented.

  Diana smiled. “She’s my favorite girl.”

  “I can see why.” He gestured at his own ride, a standard government model. “I prefer the tall dominating type myself.”

  She joined him as he walked toward an unmarked entrance. “It’s all about speed and flexibility, baby.”

  “We’re still talking about cars, right?” Bryant teased.

  She didn’t deign to give him a reply as he opened the door for her and she strode in.

  The entrance looked like every other training prep area she’d ever seen. Signs recommending caution were stuck on large stacks of boxes that blocked her view, except for a narrow entryway ahead. To the left was a surface outfitted with rifles, pistols, and holsters. Prominently positioned among them were two sets of goggles.

  She stowed her jacket, phone, and keys in a small locker, and Bryant did the same. Together, they crossed to the table and checked their weapons.

  The rifle was modeled after a Colt carbine and held an appropriately sized magazine of paintballs, although it extended from the top of the weapon instead of feeding from the bottom. It was angled enough to allow proper sighting, a sign that somebody with experience had customized it. The pistols were replicas of the Beretta M9, with the mag in its normal spot. “Someone at ARES knows weapons.”

  Bryant nodded. “It’s a passion for a bunch of us. Also, if you’re going to be a part of the team, you’ll have to drop the government moniker except around the bigwigs.” She frowned, confused, and he grinned. “We prefer Black-ops Agents of Magic.”

  Diana repeated the words in her mind and smiled. “BAM.”

  He grinned and started to don his gear.

  “Much better than ARES,” she agreed. “BAM it is.” She strapped the custom holster for the handgun to the back of her pants and looped the strap for the rifle over her neck and under her right arm. When she released the weapon, it hung comfortably across her body and didn’t interfere with her access to the pistol. She practiced the draw a couple of times and adjusted the holster’s position until it was as good as it was would get. As she grabbed the goggles, she turned to find Bryant was already donning his own.

  “Okay, BC, what do I need to know?”

  He pointed at the entrance ahead. “Simple scenario. We go through that ope
ning. We try to make it to the end. If we reach it, we win. If we don’t, we lose.”

  She nodded. “And exactly what skills are we assessing here? How high my pain tolerance is? Because seriously, even surviving this much time with you proves I can endure anything.”

  “Ha. Haha.” His sarcasm was appropriate to the moment. “We’re trying to get a sense of how you work, how you move, and how you perform as part of a team. Your instincts, your skills.”

  “If we lose, I’m out?” Diana couldn’t hide the momentary concern that laced through her.

  “It’s less about whether we win than about setting a baseline to know where to start your training.”

  She blew out a breath and shook her head once to clear it. “That seems fair. Do you want to lead, or should I?”

  Instead of answering, he gestured her forward. She nodded and took position on the right of the opening with her back to the wall. Bryant mirrored her on the left. Diana held up three fingers, then two, then one, and moved as she dropped the last. She swept her rifle over the hallway in search of targets as she pushed forward. There were none, only high boxes to each side and a left-hand turn ten feet ahead.

  Her rapid advance put her back to the wall on the near side of an angle, and he slid quickly in on her right. A brief glance around the corner revealed a large open space that extended beyond her line of sight to the left and right, with an exit hallway across the chamber from their position.

  Diana leaned closer to Bryant. “When we enter that room, you go right, and I’ll go left.” He nodded. She found the selector lever on her rifle and flicked it to burst, which gave her ten triple-bursts before she’d have to reload. Spare mags were stashed in her back pockets, and a cartridge for the pistol pressed against her thigh in her left front pocket. It was less than ideal and not how she would’ve equipped for a real mission, but limited options necessitated suboptimal choices.

  After another rapid countdown, she turned the corner and burst into the open space, where she crouched and scuttled left as soon as she cleared the entrance. A single enemy waited in the room, outfitted like Bryant, and his weapon swung from the room’s centerline to follow her. He must have assumed she’d go straight.

  What am I to them, an amateur?

  Diana shifted her sights and fired and the paintballs crossed the distance in an instant. The first missed as he turned, but the second two caught him, one in the stomach and the other in the chest. His own shot went wide and splashed on the wall to her right. She continued to move and twisted to provide backup to Bryant’s side of the room, but her target was alone.

  It’d been a while since she’d heard a southern accent as thick as the enemy’s drawled, “Dammit.” He sat cross-legged to confirm he was out of the game.

  Bryant stepped beside her and grinned down at him. “I told you she had a hot hand.”

  She gave the defeated enemy a smile, then led the way from the room.

  They navigated two more turns before they encountered another opening with opposition, this time on Bryant’s side. He disabled the foe with a tight trio of paintballs but took a round to his right arm in return. She enjoyed how he hopped around in pain after the shot, and the man who’d fired the shot laughed hard. Diana had nailed the defender in the chest with one of the three she’d sent at him, and she frowned. Either I’m slipping or the aim on these things is garbage.

  Her partner laid his rifle on the floor and handed her his spare magazine. She popped the one in her carbine and replaced it. The next obstacle was a metal staircase that stretched upward, likely an actual part of the warehouse that had been repurposed into the gauntlet. Diana disliked open staircases. They left a person exposed, even straight ones like this. It was wide enough for them to move side-by-side, so she waved Bryant forward. “You go up on the left facing ahead, I’ll go up on the right facing back. If they’re waiting in ambush, I’ll get them first.” He nodded and winced as his arm jostled against hers.

  She stared at him. “Are you really that big a baby?”

  He shook the damaged limb. “We’ll see how you do when they tag you. Those little bastards hurt.”

  They positioned themselves and she breathed a low, “Go.”

  Their steps synchronized easily. Bryant held his pistol in his left hand pointing up and forward, and her rifle tracked their advance. Each step ratcheted the tension a notch higher.

  The enemy had planned the ambush well. There was an overhead shooter exactly where she’d predicted. Diana shot first to fulfill her promise and found her target with a shot to his chest. His return fire wasn’t even close. Her partner’s pistol triple-popped as he presumably dealt with another opponent ahead.

  The sniper was a total surprise. He lay in position atop raised boxes on one side, blocked from view until they got high enough. Diana saw him a split second before the gun barked and she yelled a warning. “Down.” She followed her own command and fell hard onto her backside.

  Bryant wasn’t as fast, and the shot that should’ve caught her in the chest instead slammed into the center of his back. He yelped, dropped his pistol, and slumped with a moan. “What a world. What a world.”

  His antics were all background as she scrambled to locate and shoot the sniper. But the assailant was nowhere to be seen. Her weapon remained trained on the spot he’d last occupied as she stood and put her back against the left railing. She stepped over Bryant’s prone and still-moaning form, finally reached the top, and turned the corner out of the sniper’s firing arc.

  There’s no way they have only one location for him. It’s too good a play. He’ll be back.

  Despite the seriousness of the moment, her mind added Schwarzenegger’s accent, and she laughed. Diana crept forward and slid against the wall for cover until she arrived at another wide opening. She took a quick look and groaned internally.

  The room ahead was a disaster. Catwalks snaked around the perimeter, and one crossed at the midpoint directly in front of her to an exit on the far side of the space. There were a hundred potential hiding places among the stacked boxes below for ambushers to lie in wait. She paused and studied the scene for any hint of movement. There was none to be seen.

  Either there’s no one there, or they’re really good at what they do.

  She discarded the first option. They had to be there. It was the perfect territory for an ambush. One, for sure, and probably at least two. She would have detailed three at a minimum if it had been her plan. One left, one right, and one ready to break around the corner that lay a short distance beyond the end of the central catwalk. Plus, the damn sniper.

  If I were him, I’d be in position someplace high. Like right above me, maybe. She cursed inwardly and surrendered to the notion that, as usual, the only way out was through.

  Diana set the rifle down and retrieved its spare mags, which she placed beside it. Her right hand drew her pistol while the left located its extra magazine in her pocket. She took several deep breaths in preparation before she broke into a run. Others usually underestimated her speed, and she counted on that to cause the first shots to miss. Everything shifted into slow motion as her danger sense screamed a warning. An image of the sniper entered her mind as if she was behind him and saw her own body on a direct trajectory from his barrel. Diana dove forward into a shoulder roll, tucked her limbs in tight, and a paintball whizzed past her.

  She came up into a sprint after a full revolution and time moved normally again. The expected opponent broke around the corner ahead, and she smothered the instinctual reaction to trip him with a telekinetic blast.

  I don’t want to show all my cards this early in the game.

  Instead, she pulled the trigger as fast as she could until the weapon clicked empty. Paint blossomed on him in five spots, and he stumbled backward. She ejected the magazine and slapped the other one in as she pounded toward safety. Everything slowed again and she slid like she was stealing home plate and smacked to an undignified halt against the wall. A paintball splatted on the wall
in front of her, about four feet up.

  Another roll took her out of the line of sight, and she swiveled on her stomach, her arms extended and her pistol aimed forward down the length of a short hallway with a bend to the right. Nothing awaited her there. Diana pushed carefully to her feet and approached the corner on soft footsteps with her weapon extended. A quick look revealed an empty corridor with another angle ten feet ahead. She exhaled in relief and stepped into it.

  She never saw the laser tripwire she triggered, so when the walls on each side exploded with a deluge of paintballs from their camouflaged packs, there was nothing she could do except scream in pain and fall to the floor.

  Bryant had changed out of his paint-covered gear but still winced with each step on the way to meet the head of ARES’ DC office. He had parted ways with a very angry but quite colorful Diana an hour before. The drive through DC’s traffic always took much longer than it should, and the lurching walk through the halls had hurt both his back and his dignity. The man on the other side of the desk was in his mid-thirties and wore the buzz-cut he had sported as an Army Ranger. He rose to shake Bryant’s hand and laughed when he flinched from the force of it.

  Carson Taggart’s voice was filled with amusement and good humor. “Handshakes never used to hurt you that much, Bryant.”

  He lowered himself carefully into the guest chair. “Well, sir, it’s not every day I get nailed in the back with a sniper-velocity paintball.”

  The grin at his expense didn’t vanish. “So, how’d our candidate do?”

  “Aside from getting me killed, you mean?”

  Taggart waved a hand negligently in the air as if his pain and anguish mattered not at all. “Sure, aside from that.”