in her bra for the other two pouches and released the four sets of mice from their mesh bags. They ran across the floor.
“Eek!” she screamed, and flailing her arms, she ran from the room.
Chaos ensued as she pulled out the iPad mini she’d bought and switched out the one on the coffee table for the fake. Then she went to the laptop and said, “Now Mouse.”
As soon as the remote access request came up on the screen, she accepted it and watched as the laptop cursor started to move. She backed up toward the door, trying to keep a straight face as she watched the three men chase her little darlings all over the place.
“I’ll come back!” she shouted in her gravelly voice, then turned and ran for the door, slamming it as she left.
“What the bloody hell just happened?” Dodger demanded.
“Anna is badass. That’s what happened.”
She shed her disguise in the alley, leaving only the white T-shirt and jeans she had on under the padding. Grabbing the bag she’d stashed there before her Mickey Mouse Operation, she pulled the black leather jacket and high-heeled boots out and stuffed all the parts of her disguise except the cardigan into the bag—the dress, padding, hose, shoes, bra, latex mask, wig, crooked teeth, and brown contacts—then set it down.
Rolling down the jeans to her ankle, she slipped on the boots and the jacket over her clothes. She retrieved the iPad mini from the cardigan and shoved it into the pocket of her jacket, zipping it closed, then headed for the car.
They would never know they had been robbed. She had activated the iPad mini she’d purchased. Without the other three iPads, there was no way for them to know a CIA operative had stolen the real one. Same with the laptop. Mouse would copy all their data and the three of them could sift through it while they were figuring out the components of the iPads to complete the full activation code to neutralize the threat to the US satellite system.
“Not so fast, Anna.” The sound of Mi Ling’s voice stopped her, and she whipped around, her heart jumping to find her nemesis and two of her colleagues. All of them had guns pointed at her.
“We can do this easy or hard. Hand over the iPad and tell me where the other three are and we’ll go on our merry way.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“So, it’s the hard way,” she said.
Muffled sounds broke into 2-Stroke’s consciousness and he opened his eyes to the night sky. There was shouting and gunfire, so much gunfire. Everything moved slowly like in a dream haze, blurry bodies and faces, as if he were underwater. Then he took a deep breath and the bubble burst as reality intruded and everything—sound and sight—burst, making his head ache with clarity and volume.
“Neo, move!” Striker’s voice slammed against his scrambled brain, the heat of the burning house scorching his face. He looked over to find his brother running down the row of his fallen teammates and taking up a protective stance on their left flank. Saint and the woman were motionless to 2-Stroke’s right side. His team was stretched out like fallen dominoes. Fast Lane was beside Saint, then Hemingway, and Pitbull. Max and Jugs beside Fast Lane.
“Move!” Striker shouted again. Then looked back over his shoulder as the red tracing lance of bullets sizzled in the night. “Cover fire, Dragon!” he yelled into the comms. Men in the darkness started to fall. Their friends ran for cover.
Without warning, the skies opened up and rain poured down in a rush of heavy water, effectively dousing the flames licking at the burned-out chunks of wall and roof. Then Max was up and moving, Jugs darting to a body that had materialized out of the smoke from the house blast. He launched at the man and clamped onto his arm. The man screamed and tried to shake him loose, but Max put a round between his eyes, and he was down. “Jugs!”
The Malinois came back to him. Striker moved to 2-Stroke and grabbed his vest, pulling him double time to the house as Max opened up on their attackers. Striker deposited 2-Stroke inside the intact portion, a window above him. He shook off the pain, the dizziness, and pushed to his knees as his brother exited.
Max came through the door with Fast Lane, then Striker was back with Hemingway. Fast Lane groaned as he started to come around, the thunder loud along with