Free The Janus Reprisal by Jamie Freveletti

body. The hail of debris ended and he lowered his arms to look back.
    The main force of the blast centered on the town car’s engine block. The grille was a tangled mass of metal and the hood was bent. Smoke poured from the front, sides, and top of it and the windshield was a crazy kaleidoscope of cracked glass. Smith sat up, his hands hanging over his knees and his right still holding his gun. He watched the smoke billow out into the air. Beckmann rose to a sitting position next to him and gazed at the smoldering vehicle in silence.
    “That car’s totaled,” Smith said.
    Beckmann nodded. “I must have been wrong about it being armored. No armored car would sustain that much damage from one small backpack bomb.”
    “Hard to believe it wasn’t, though. Handled like a tank,” Smith said. The up-and-down wail of an ambulance Klaxon started howling in the distance. He rose, dusting bits of ash and other matter that he did his best not to look at from his shoulders. Lights had sprung on in the windows around them, and he glanced up to see several people standing on the balconies of the apartments on the third and fourth floors above the ground-floor shops.
    “Let’s get out of here. The other guy dead?”
    “He is. I found this in his pocket.” Beckmann handed him an airline folder. “It’s a flight to Washington. Leaves tomorrow. This one expected to survive.”
    “A logical expectation, given the fact that his buddy was wearing the bomb. I wish I knew why the other guys are dying.” The disabled car belched out some more smoke.
    “Our fingerprints are all over that car,” Beckmann said. “The North Koreans are going to be furious.”
    Smith hesitated. Beckmann had a point. For a brief moment he considered braving the smoke cloud and using his shirt to wipe down the dashboard, but a flicker of flame started to rise from the engine’s interior.
    “Ahh, perfect. It’s going to combust,” Smith said.
    Beckmann slid his rifle back under his coat, once again hiding it from view. “Good, because I do not want to report this to Russell. I don’t know her well enough to predict what the repercussions would be.”
    Smith pocketed his gun and waved Beckmann away from the car. “Don’t worry about Russell. She’s blown up more cars than you and I combined, not to mention the time she shot up an entire warehouse filled with Plastique.”
    Beckmann whistled. “Who was she after?”
    “A band of Russian killers out to use it on civilian targets.” The wailing sirens were getting closer. Smith turned another corner, putting more distance between them and the burning car.
    “What’s next?” Beckmann said.
    Smith held up the airline envelope. “I’m going to Washington.”

10
    D ATTAR SLID OUT OF THE SUV onto the dock’s parking lot. He heard the creaking of metal and wood as the buoys rocked from side to side. The air smelled like engine oil and rotting fish, and one of the sodium lights on the dock fizzed in response to a failing ballast. Dattar stared at the light for a moment, thinking about the mass of electrical power that ran through even such a small device.
    “The captain’s been paid. He knows to stay on the bridge and not look below,” Rajiid said.
    “And the coolers?”
    “Already on the airplane. I have a sample here, as well.”
    One of his lieutenants, a man without a history or background known to the authorities, was transporting the coolers via a previously arranged private jet. Dattar wished that he could fly in quick and easy comfort to his destination, but the risk was far too high. He stepped off the planks onto a waiting boat that was to take him to the freighter. The man at the wheel never looked his way. Rajiid untied the ropes that kept the craft in place, tossing them onto the deck before climbing on board. The engine engaged and the cruiser began a slow turn away from the dock.
    Dattar felt the muscles in his neck relax as they headed out to sea. He’d contact Khalil from the