Cuff Lynx by Fiona Quinn Read Free Book Online Page A

could come up with was that we had a mole.
    A mole in Strike Force? Unfathomable. The attack endangered everyone on our team. Except Blaze and me. My shoulders drew up to my ears, my legs crossed tightly in the full protective curl of an armadillo. Who? I demanded in my head. I hadn’t given out the information – that was for darned sure. And Blaze? I would bet my last drop of blood that he was loyal. The image of Blaze laying bloodied and unconscious at Striker’s house after he was shot while protecting me last summer, pushed its way forward. I shook my head. I needed to find out who else had our plans.
    I jotted notes on the paper in front of me and crossed my fingers, sending up a silent plea that Jack would survive the day – the crucial make or break day – and he’d eventually be able to tell me who knew the plans. Had he filed them with Command? Maybe someone in the support office? Maybe someone in IT?
    I don’t care if I never know, Jack. Just be okay.
    The rest of the team insisted they’d remained in communication with Blaze the whole time. Copies of the operation communications tapes, forwarded to the FBI contractor for analysis, proved otherwise. So who had been on the radio, feeding Strike Force the “Roger thats” and the “Wilcos”? The whole thing was so bizarre. And so horribly dangerous. Our comms were our life lines when we were operating–not being able to trust them? Not knowing if the person on the other end was friend or foe? This upped the field work danger quotient a thousand fold. We needed answers to our questions and fast.
    Gater moved to the board. “The storage shed looked new, and the ladder was in good shape. But you could see where an older ladder was attached to the side here.” Gater sketched his information on the board. “Axel and Deep found survival supplies here.” He drew a square and labelled it. “So this must have been their plan all along for where to hold the hostages. Now, why would D.O.A. take everyone down in the tunnel if the air was bad? Surely they checked it for gases before they picked this place.”
    “What was the goal?” I piped in. “How would D.O.A. benefit from taking the Sudanese immigrants hostage? Why were the Sudanese of interest to the FBI instead of Immigration?”
    “Classified with the contractor,” Axel said.
    “Hmph. But we’re supposed to figure this all out without pertinent data? Okay, what about the owner of the shed? Do we know that much?” I asked.
    “It belongs to one of the guys in D.O.A. He was in the tunnel with the rest, so he won’t be answering questions,” Axel replied.
    “For sure, he couldn’t have known about the gases, or they wouldn’t try to push us out with flashbang.” Deep said. “Do you think the gas accumulated around the U bend? I wonder why it didn’t kill me and Axel?” Deep picked up a marker and drew two Xs. “We were right about here when we started feeling like we were suffocating.”
    “I think it was a lucky thing for Deep and Axel that the target threw the flashbang to pull them in the wrong direction.” I stood up and walked to the board. “Here are my thoughts. D.O.A. and hostages–I’ll call them the ‘target’—head down the tunnel. They turn to the right, and then go around a switchback and to the right into this chamber.” I put a star on the board. “Axel and Deep had kept straight instead of making the right hand turn. There must have been air flow in this shaft, or it would have exploded with the flashbang.” I drew arrows with different colored pens. “Striker took a hit outside of the tunnel, but thought he was fine. He didn’t realize the bullet pierced his vest. He gets in trouble at the bottom of the ladder. Gater stays with Striker right about here.”
    “Yup, that’s where Striker got dizzy, and we realized he was losing blood,” Gater confirmed.
    I stood back to study the board. “Okay, so by now, the target had moved around the U bend to hide. There