Page 77 of Circle of Death
He nods. “A little goes a long way.”
Burbank is more hyper than I’ve ever seen him. I can tell that he’s fed up with being stuck in the attic, just watching things happen. Sometimes even an introvert wants in on the action. I’m all for it. Compared to the rest of the team, he’s not exactly in fighting shape, but we might be able to use skills on-site for surveillance and eavesdropping. Besides, he’ll have plenty of protection. Tapper, Hawkeye, Jericho—and, of course, the Shadow. Although at the moment, I’m feeling like I might be the weakest link.
I grab a satchel of my own and throw in some smoke grenades, a pistol, and a few flares. Old-school stuff. But like Burbank says, you never know…
We haul our bags out through the lower exit to the Humvee. As soon as I step out, I see Maddy leaning on the vehicle, arms crossed, jaw set. I was expecting this. I walk over and set my bag down on the driveway.
“I’m coming with you,” Maddy says.
“No, you’re not,” I tell her. For about the tenth time.
I’ve made up my mind. I have no doubts about her skills or her guts, but if there’s even a slim chance that we’ll be running into the Destroyer or more of her shape-shifters, I want Maddy and Margo back here, safe and sound—as far from danger as possible.
“Maddy. I’m not taking another chance on you getting killed. We’re all wearing biosensors. You can track us the whole way from the comms room. If anything happens here, you can handle it. I know you can.”
I’m not just blowing smoke. This is the girl who helped me defeat Khan in Times Square, not to mention tromping a shape-shifting rat to death. I trust her with my life.
“Don’t forget,” I tell her, “the Destroyer has it in for Margo. I need you to keep her here with Jessica, and keep them both safe.”
That argument seems to have some effect. Maddy steps away from the vehicle door. I pull it open. We start loading our gear. “Do you want me to get Dache here to back you up?” I ask.
“No,” she says firmly. “I don’t need him. I’m done with him.” She grabs my arm and glares at me. “If I see one of your sensor needles in the black, I’m coming up there!” she says. “You won’t be able to stop me.”
“We’ll be fine,” I tell her.
I’m glad she can’t read minds. Because if she could, she’d know that I’m not at all sure we’ll be fine. I’m not really sure of anything. I lean in for a hug, but Maddy twists away. I know she’s angry. But I also know it’s for the best. I watch as she walks back into the house and slams the door. Jericho slides into the driver’s seat.
“She’s a tough girl, boss,” he says. Big compliment, coming from him.
“I know. That’s why I need her here.”
I hop into the front passenger seat and give Jericho a nod. “Let’s go.”
As we pull out of the driveway, I look back to see Jessica, Maddy, and Margo looking out from an upstairs window. They’ve each protected me in more ways than they know. Now it’s the Shadow’s turn to protect them.
Along with the rest of the whole damn world.
CHAPTER 94
IT’S ALMOST 10:00 p.m. We’ve been driving for nearly an hour. Burbank is staring into a device on his lap, lit by the glow from the dashboard.
“Turn here!” he shouts, jerking his thumb to the west.
We all rock to one side as Jericho makes the hard left off the main road. Now we’re heading down a rutted dirt lane directly toward the Hudson. Burbank is homing in on Trapper and Hawkeye. Closer and closer.
Jericho skids to a stop in a scrubby shorefront clearing. Water is lapping on the small, rocky beach. By the light of the moon, I can see an old concrete boat ramp and a sagging wooden dock sticking out about thirty yards into the river, with a few planks missing. At the end of the dock, Tapper and Hawkeye are waving at us, silhouetted against the water. They’re standing next to some kind of low-slung boat. I hop out of the Humvee with Burbank and Jericho. We grab our gear and head down the dock.
“Welcome aboard, maties!” says Tapper as we get close. He waves his hand toward the boat. Now I can see what it is—some kind of speedboat, with a long, sliver-shaped front end and a small cockpit with a wraparound bench in back.
“Twin two-fifties,” says Hawkeye. I don’t know much about twenty-first-century watercraft, but I assume he’s talking about the engines.
“Where did this thing come from?” I ask.
“I promise the owner won’t miss it until morning,” says Tapper. Good enough for me. When it comes to Tapper and Hawkeye’s methods, sometimes it’s better not to ask too many questions. Just trust them to get the job done. Same as I did with their ancestors.
We stash our bags in the small cockpit and climb in. I can tell that Burbank is not happy with the tight fit. We’re practically on top of one another on the narrow bench.
Tapper takes his seat behind the controls. Hawkeye unties the last line from the dock and steps in as Tapper fires up the engines. I feel the vibration from my toes to my head.
