Operation: Thrustmaster (Rock Hardin: Agent of A.S.S. Book 1) (2 page)

     
He certainly was built for it. Although both agents were the same height and in prime condition, Rock’s form lent him a more sinewy, lean figure. Burt was built like a brick, a very handsome brick, but a brick nevertheless. So broad and muscled, he appeared to only barely fit into the chair provided. When Rock slipped into his seat, Burt upnodded at him, and adjusted his ever present cowboy hat.
 

     “
Glad you could make it, Agent Hardin,” Director Mason said, sarcasm staining his voice. “Now that we’re all here…” He handed the two agents dossiers, and opened the one in front of him. “Calvin Cutler is a weapon designer working in Washington. He comes from a long line of brilliant minds, and his is no exception.
 

     “
Currently, he is working in conjunction with the best military minds to create this….” Mason handed them a sheet with the designation ‘For Eyes Only’ emblazoned across it. Although he was not a mechanical engineer, Rock could tell at a glance it was some sort of hand held weapon. “This is a high powered hand held laser, capable of killing a man.”
 

     “
I thought lasers weren’t… lethal,” Burt objected. “It’d take too much power, generate too much heat.”
 

     “
That would be true, in most cases,” the director said. “Cutler has solved the problem of energy using a new form of battery, what he calls fusion batteries. Those in and of themselves are a national security risk, but he’s almost solved the other problem as well, bringing science fiction well and truly into the modern age.” Mason glanced at the paper before him, then continued, “The gun itself can only fire three to five shots before exploding… and because of the nature of the battery used, the explosion is severe, generating the force equivalent of a half dozen sticks of dynamite.”
 

     
Rock whistled low between his teeth. Even if the weapon didn’t work, the sheer explosive potential could be devastating in the wrong hands. “You need us to rescue this scientist?” he asked.
 

     “
His daughter,” Mason corrected. He brought out a photograph of a beautiful young woman with long flowing blonde hair. In the photo, the girl was smiling ear to ear, giving her the impression of having a zest for life and fun. Her delicate beauty tugged on Rock’s heart… among other places. “She was kidnapped by an unknown terrorist organization from her suite in Paris. The attackers killed one bystander and wounded her lover Sebastian LeMarchand. We got a tip off that the terrorist’s ransom demands were delivered to Dr. Cutler no more than a few hours ago, and we have a two prong mission for the both of you.”
 

     
Director Mason turned to Burt. “I want you to accompany Dr. Cutler,” he said. “He’s agreed to exchange his plans for his daughter… and he snuck them out of the facility he was working in with a four hour…” The director glanced at his watch, “Four and a half hour head start. Find him, and stay with him. Do not let that exchange be made under any circumstances. We simply cannot afford to let those plans drop into enemy hands. However, if he thinks we’re going to let his only daughter die… he won’t come back. To that end….”
 

     
Director Mason turned to Rock, “It’s your task to find the daughter and rescue her. In addition to that, we want to know the country responsible for this vile deed, if possible. Any information you can get, we want. Use whatever means necessary. As soon as Ms. Cutler is safe, contact Agent Maverick.” Mason waved a hand, “Equip, and head out. We haven’t any time to spare.”
 

     
Both agents stood, nodded, and then exited the Director’s office. Maverick didn’t spare Hardin a look as they both headed to the research and development wing. Rock glanced over, then back forward again, “What’s with you?”
 

     “
Don’t fuck this up,” Maverick said.
 

     “
What’s your problem?” Rock asked, glancing over to his companion once more. Burt’s mouth was set in what seemed to be a perpetual frown, shadowed by the brim of his hat.
 

     “
The Jensen affair, that’s my problem,” Maverick replied, spitting the words out. “I swore that was going to be the last time we worked together.”
 

     “
It wasn’t my fault,” Agent Hardin said as they stepped into the elevator. He pressed the button for R&D’s level. “How was I supposed to know she was a double agent? And that she hid a hand grenade in her purse?” He gave a half a sigh, “Flora… gorgeous, sweet…” He had fond memories of the Jensen affair, though he couldn’t fault Burt for being a little sore. He’d had to go through some painful surgery to get all of the shrapnel out of his back and ass.
 

     “
Maybe if you hadn’t been thinking with your dick, you would have known,” Agent Maverick said, turning on his heel to face Hardin. He loomed… they were the same height, but somehow, he loomed over Rock and shadows almost seemed to gather around him. “You know how long I was out of commission?”
 

     
Hardin stood up straighter and placed a hand on Maverick’s chest. “Back off,” he said, his voice low and cool, though not nearly as intimidating as Burt’s. He hadn’t quite mastered the knack of intimidation, but he wasn’t about to back down either. “It wasn’t my fault, and we’re not working ‘together’ anyway. Two separate missions.”
 

     
Maverick growled for a second and just when Rock thought he was going to do something, the other agent laughed his good-old-boy laugh and eased back. “Yeah, well, you still owe me for that,” he said, chuckling. “We’ll settle up, sometime.”
 

     
Rock half-smiled and upnodded towards him, thinking that would be the day. When the elevator doors opened, both agents stepped out and headed to Skip’s lab. Skip Rivers, although technically not holding a degree in any sciences or engineering, was the head of the lab, putting his unique and crazy mind to work creating devices specifically for spies in sticky situations. More often than not, his devices proved instrumental in completing the mission, as well as saving Rock’s life on more than one occasion. They found him in the main laboratory, hunched over some project.
 

     
When Skip heard them approach, he straightened up to his full six feet six… which would have been impressive if he wasn’t as thin as a beanpole. He flipped his oddly cut dark hair back, so that it was out of his way, and smiled lopsidedly at the two men. “Greetings, gentlemen,” he said. “Right this way… I don’t have much for you ready. Evidently time is short.”
 

     
They followed him over to a workbench, and true to his word, he only had a few items present. The first, of course, was a wristwatch which served as a communicator. This was practically standard issue anymore, but Skip pointed out they could be flipped open for a rudiment radar, which would only last a few minutes, “So use it sparingly.” The next were a more or less standard array of weapons for Maverick, many of them built to be broken down quickly and concealed. In addition, he was given a quick knock out gas, disguised as a breath spray. “For Cutler, if you have to,” Skip added. “There’s maybe two doses in there, enough to bring down someone… well, as big as you, Burt.”
 

     “
Well, we grow ‘em bigger in Texas,” Maverick drawled, and familiarized himself with his new arsenal as Skip turned to Rock.
 

     “
Not much for you, just what I had on hand,” Skip said, his voice apologetic. “Same breath spray, one to two doses. Your standard firearm, and a secondary one made to be concealed in a hollow boot sole…” Skip picked up a pair of boots, and while the soles looked only slightly thicker than usual--nothing unusual if he had to go climbing somewhere--the mechanic pressed a spot, and swung the sole to the side. What lay inside was what appeared to be a small steel bar, just over the length of his hand from his middle finger to his wrist. Skip took out the bar, and snapped it open. Within seconds, he had a thin looking mini gun. “Micro uzi, thirty small caliber rounds, so use them wisely. Last,” he said, holding up a finger, “I’m most proud of.” He brought out a pair of sunglasses, innocent and unassuming. “These glasses are lined with a special filter which focuses waves from the infrared spectrum onto a sensor…”
 

     “
Infrared?” Rock asked, interrupting Skip before he got too far into his tech talk.
 

     “
Thermal imaging, instead of regular. It’ll look a little weird, but it’ll enable you to search quickly for heat sources, like people,” Skip said with a smile. “And that’s all I’ve got.”
 

     “
It’ll do,” Maverick said, hefting his duffle.
 

     “
Thanks, Skip,” Rock added.
 

     
Skip watched them go, and sighed. Rock heard him lament as the elevator doors closed, “I wish I could test in the field sometime…. oh well.”
 

Chapter Two

     
From their base of operations, Hardin and Maverick took two different jets. Although Ms. Cutler had been kidnapped from Paris--which was where Rock headed--from all intelligence they could gather, Dr. Cutler had been told to fly to London--which was Maverick’s destination. On the jet, Rock relaxed as much as he could, sipping from his Macallan scotch. As always, he got wired up before a mission with excitement as opposed to nerves. He played it cool, but under his skin the engine which ran him hummed with energy.
 

     
Looking over the dossier didn’t yield much information: the hotel, a quick rundown on Sebastian LeMarchand, another rundown on Cynthia “Cindy” Cutler, summation of the attack… and that was about it. Since it had happened so fast, and the ransom demand almost immediately delivered, it told Rock the persons who had done this were organized, and had been planning this for a while. His only real lead was LeMarchand which remained thin at best. He finished his drink, and looked out the window into the darkness. Maybe his contact would have something more by the time he landed. If not… he welcomed a challenge, something to put his prodigious skills to the test.
 

     
His plane landed, and as he exited he spied his contact right away. She’d come to meet him out on the runway, and her long brown hair fluttered in the stiff breeze on the French airfield. Rock hooked his duffle over his shoulder and sauntered out to meet her. The contact was gorgeous: a heart-shaped faced with lush lips ready to be kissed, breasts which would fill a man’s hands nicely, and a body that wouldn’t quit. It didn’t hurt that she dressed provocatively as well, giving him an excellent view of her cleavage and her long legs as her thin skirt blew around her, clinging to her form. “Agent Hardin?” she asked, her accent making his name sound sexy.
 

     “
Yes, ma’am,” he said. “You must be my contact.”
 

     “
Oui,” she said, holding a delicate hand out. He took it in his and laid a kiss upon the back, then straightened to see her smiling at him in approval. “I am Petite Morte.”
 

     “‘
Little Death’,” he translated. “How… appropriate.”
 

     
A quirk of her lush lips told him she was amused. “It is my code name.”
 

     “
Of course it is,” he said. “What do you have for me, Petite?”
 

     “
If you would come this way,” Petite said, gesturing behind her. This was a private airfield, chosen for privacy. He didn’t want to take the chance any enemy operatives might have been watching the main airports. Rock fell in step behind her, watching her beautiful ass move in her skirt as she walked. “We expected you earlier.”
 

     “
There were complications,” he said.
 

     
She tsked as she opened the car door to a black Peugoet 403. “I expected you to be punctual, and time is of the essence, is it not? Your ASS friends were in a hurry.”
 

     
He threw the duffle into the back seat and slid into the passenger side. “You ever watch Colombo?”
 

     
Petite blinked at him as she shut her door and started the car. “Columbo?” She laughed, a trill of delight escaping her, “Oui, I love that program!”
 

     
Rock smiled, glancing out the window. “One of my favorites too,” he said. He wasn’t a huge car buff, but anyone who watched television knew the cars the stars used in the shows. It was a trip to be riding in something the fictional detective drove. “Have you been out of the country much?”
 

     “
No,” Petite said, still smiling. “I have been around Europe--but never anywhere too far. I would love to go to America.”
 

     “
Groovy,” he said, glancing around. “Are you a native Paris girl?”
 

     “
Oui… yes, yes I am,” she smiled. “When this is done, perhaps I will show you around town, yes?”