by Ronie Kendig
Iliescu straightened. “And yet you didn’t care about any of that when you were digging up classified intel on this—”
“I—” Had he just gotten punked? He sagged at the realization. “You had no intention of me going after him. Did you?” When the director didn’t answer, Cell squinted at the screen. “How did you find out about my searching? I mean, I’m no newb. I know how to hide my tracks.”
“Not as well as you think.” Iliescu stabbed a finger at the camera. “We have the best analysts whose only job is to watch for keywords—sound familiar?” It was what Cell had done to find the Neiothen. “All phrases related to the intel I have on what he has been through. Their sole priority is to intercept those searches so I can prevent an asinine mistake from exposing him and putting him in dire jeopardy.”
“Crap,” Cell breathed.
“I get it,” Iliescu said. “You have a gut instinct, and it’s always right.”
Eating his own words was putrid.
“But I need you to get your head out of your butt and quit thinking about yourself and your curiosity.” Ferocity bled through the director’s gray eyes. “Cell, I’ve been digging on this for nearly five years, and I still haven’t gotten past the first layer of that crap you just mentioned. But what I do know is that there are very serious, very well-connected individuals involved who will come after Leif and kill him if they think he is digging.”
“Kill him?” The thought shocked him. “Why would they kill him? I thought they’d want him back.”
“Because of what he knows.”
“But he . . . he has six months of his life missing. I thought he didn’t remember things.”
“It’s way more complicated than I have time to explain. Not that I would hand you everything, but”—he glowered, then drew in a breath—“you’ll find some scans on your system, Mr. Purcell. Review them and see if you can connect anything. Maybe a match to this mysterious program.”
“Scans?”
“From the Book of the Wars. We received them an hour ago from the man we’ve been calling Andrew. You’re going to Taipei with the team. What I told you about our mutual friend is not for your benefit, Mr. Purcell. Information is a weapon. Use it.”
Taipei? “Sir, I’m on a plane heading stateside. Remember, I’m not a field—”
“The plane diverted an hour ago.”
***
TAIPEI, TAIWAN
From the rooftop of the safe house, Mercy had a brilliant view of the Taipei 101 tower, its unusual but beautiful shape singular against the rectangular skyline. From its base, the tower rose in a series of eight-story modules, each flaring outward in a pattern reminiscent of a Chinese pagoda. A smaller tower capped the structure, forming a pinnacle, an elegant addition to the façade of double-paned green glass curtain walls. Just stunning.
Movement on the street drew her attention. A taxi pulled up to the curb and the door swung open. “I recognize that arrogant head,” she muttered to herself, then went back inside and down a couple of levels to the team. She met Cell on the landing and grinned. “Miss the insanity?”
“Like a lobotomy.” He struggled into the room with his ruck, equipment, and a satchel.
“Ha, what happened to your ‘safe side of the combat theater’?” Lawe taunted.
“Got thrown to the wolves, obviously.” Cell seemed perturbed as he tossed the ruck against a wall. “I need to set up for an all-hands with the director ASAP.”
Lawe alerted the others.
Helping Cell unload the systems, connect, and plug them in, Mercy didn’t like what she saw in his mannerisms. “You okay?”
“Nope.”
When he didn’t elaborate, she grew worried. “You look like someone ate your lunch.”
“Pretty much. Happens when you nearly get a friend killed.”
Mercy touched his shoulder. “Barc.”
He shrugged her off. “Leave it. I’ll be fine.” He powered up his laptop. “Going live in five,” he announced.
“Cell—”
“Leave it!” Regret pinched his face. “Sorry.” His smile was wan.
The door opened, and Leif entered with Iskra.
Cell’s complexion now looked bleached.
“About time,” Culver groused. “Where you been, Chief?”
“Working angles.” Leif considered the equipment. “We have a briefing?”
Cell twitched but otherwise ignored him. “Here we go, people.”
Concerned but unwilling to engage him further—for now—Mercy stepped to the side.
“Okay, listen up.” Dru spoke via the live feed, joined by Braun. “I’ve been contacted by Andreas Krestyanov, brother to Iskra. I’ll queue him into the feed.”
“Aka Andrew,” Mercy said with more than a little bite to her words. “Saboteur, thief, rogue . . .”
“Guess we now add double agent,” Peyton said, earning a nod from Mercy.
Andrew’s image joined Dru’s on the screen. Andreas either hadn’t heard or didn’t care what Mercy said.
“You should know,” Dru said, “Krestyanov will be on the ground there with you at the park.”
Andreas inclined his head. “Thank you, Mr. Iliescu. I will be quick with what I know, which is not much, but it is imperative that we share what we have to stop what is to come.”
“Why don’t you start with how you got into the facility in Cuba,” Lawe growled.
“Or why you were on the Mount Whitney,” Mercy demanded.
“Stand down, people,” Iliescu said.
“I understand your reticence,” Andreas said. “If our roles were reversed, I might feel the same. But we have a unified purpose—to be sure the Neiothen do not complete their task.”
“Why you?” Culver asked. “Can’t we—”
“I was one of them,” Andreas said and tapped his temple. “I think like them, because I was trained and engineered like them.”
He was one of them. A Neiothen. Mercy’s heart crashed into her ribs. Took a dive as if riding the Silver Surfer’s board. In fact, Andreas reminded her of Norrin Radd, a frustrated galactic wanderer who was ambivalent toward earthlings, just like Andreas was toward them. That was the word. Ambivalent. That was why he could talk with such unaffected calm.
“What are you, freakin’ Teslas?” Lawe asked.
“More like Humvees,” Andreas said without a trace of a smile. “If it were not for the work and knowledge of a neuroscientist, as well as the help of Mr. Hermanns, I would not be here. And you would likely be hunting me, too.”
“That makes me not trust you,” Baddar added. Mercy knew Baddar was a good guy and found herself drifting closer to him.
“Were one of them,” Culver said, emphasizing the key word. “So you’re not now?”
“As said.” Andreas shifted. “Thanks to the neuroscientist, we have a means to disrupt the signal that activates the Neiothen. I will be at the park to do exactly that.”
“One of them,” Saito said, leaning against the table. “How do you know you’re one of them? I mean, I could just announce I’m one, and how would you know I’m not?”
It was a good, if roundabout, question.
“Besides my chip, there are a host of reasons. We anticipated you would ask that,” Andreas said, his gaze flicking to Leif, who folded his arms. “Which is why we sent you full scans of the Book of the Wars.”
“So, you have it,” Mercy said.
“No, I do not have it.”
***
Stunned when Kolya didn’t out him, Leif—
Wait. Krestyanov—that was his last name, not Kolya. Where had he gotten Kolya?
“Cell,” Andreas said.
The tension in the room tightened as the team, almost in unison, turned to Cell, who was struggling not to yawn every five seconds.
“Have you had a chance to look at the scans?” Andreas asked.
Cell shifted in his seat. “I have.”
“Can you verify the name Akin is in them?”
&nb
sp; A long pause happened before he finally nodded. “It is.”
Andreas met their gazes. “That is my code name.”
“How are we supposed to know that’s yours?” Lawe asked. “I mean, it doesn’t say Andreas Crustynut is Akin, does it?” He high-fived Saito at the name joke.
Annoyance parked itself on the Bulgarian’s face. “It does not.”
“Krestyanov is right,” Cell said quietly. “On the plane, I scoured the scans, found the code name, ran it, and”—he nodded—“Akin is Krestyanov.”
“So, why haven’t we gone after Huber until now?” Culver asked. “Or even after this guy.”
Leif wondered the same, but he felt the tremor in his veins, the same annoyance as Andreas.
“We did go after him,” Mercy growled, nostrils flared.
“Because we only had a corrupted, partial scan of the book, remember?” The comms expert seemed irked. “If we’d had the whole thing, we could’ve been way ahead of this.”
Culver eyed him. “And you verified—”
“Yes, yes, yes!” Cell barked. “He is Mr. Akin Breakin’ Hearts.” The smile never made it past his lips, and his gaze . . . drifted. Toward Leif. Yet never locked.
What did the kid think he knew?
“Can I proceed now?” Andreas asked in his superior tone that was probably digging him a grave with Reaper.
Nobody answered.
Leif just wanted to get this over with. “Please.”
Andreas stared into the camera, meeting his gaze across thousands of miles. “If I can identify and intercept Herrick Huber before he makes his move on the president, then it is likely that any action by your team will be unnecessary.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice,” Lawe said. “Y’all hear that? We can take a vacation. Where d’you want to go, Pete?”
“Not the Caymans,” she teased. Their last trip to the Caribbean had been a fight for their lives.
“Do you need something from us?” Culver asked. “I mean, why share this intel?”
“Because I did not want you to misread my actions and think I am there to kill one of you.” Krestyanov’s gaze landed on Mercy.
She lifted her arms. “Hey, you had a rifle, you took a shot. If it looks like a sniper and sounds like a sniper . . .”
“Do you need help disrupting the chip in Huber’s head?” Leif asked.
“Chip? What the what?” Lawe asked.
“The Neiothen have chips implanted,” Leif explained but stayed focused on Krestyanov. “Can you give us any direction on the technology so we can assist you?”
Something fierce stabbed Andreas’s green-gold eyes. “Just don’t get in my line of sight unless you want your brain buzzed. Then again, maybe you’ll find out what’s really buried beneath your skulls.”
“Wait,” Cell said with a laugh, “are you saying we’re Neiothen?”
“Nah, you’re not that good,” Culver snarked.
But Leif stared hard at the operative. Those words . . . “What’s really buried . . .”
“All right,” Braun interrupted, “we need to get to work.”
“Yes,” Dru agreed. “Thank you, Mr. Krestyanov, for your help and intel. Reaper will be on-site, and we’d appreciate it if you stayed out of their line of sight, too. They have a job to do as well.”
Krestyanov gave a curt nod, and for the briefest of seconds before the screen winked out, Leif felt like Kol—Krestyanov was looking not at the camera, but at him.
“Okay,” Iliescu said, his gaze down as he spoke. “Official target is Taiwanese President and KMT Party Leader Kai Yi-Jeou. His views were a shift toward conservatism, which is most likely the reason ArC wants him out of the way. If they can put one of their own in place, then they have the last piece of the puzzle to seize control and influence most Asian, Eurasian, and Mideast commerce and trade. We saw the destabilization in South Africa, then in Botswana and Angola.”
“But it’s one country,” Cell muttered. “How is that going to stop whatever ArC is planning?”
“My brother had this Expedition that was sharp and slick,” Leif spoke up. “He and Dani were driving down the highway one day when the truck just lurched and stopped. They got it to the shop and found out a coil had gone out. Know how many coils that truck had?” He held Cell’s gaze. “Eight. One for each piston. But that one coil had them dead in the water.” His gaze surfed the team. “We don’t have to win big to affect ArC. We just have to affect them.”
“President Kai is going to be at the amusement park in Taipei for his daughter’s birthday party,” Braun said. “They’ve rented the place for the celebration. We have no idea how the children’s park will get hit, so eyes out for explosives and chemical weapons.”
“Per the intel provided by Mr. Krestyanov and worked up by Cell,” Braun said, “this is your target, Herrick Huber, code name Bushi.”
A man’s face flashed across the wall.
Smoke from the crash stung his corneas and tickled his throat. He heard Guerrero cough again. “Need help, G?”
“I’ll live. Check Krieger and Zhanshi. They don’t look so good.”
Leif spotted two of their team a few yards from his boots. They were piled over each other on a dark patch of the sand and gravel road. Coming to his feet, he got a better view—and cursed. That wasn’t a dark patch. It was a bloody patch.
He lurched forward, jagged pain clawing his leg. With a growl, he grabbed it and negotiated the jagged terrain. His boots slipped and twisted as the rock gave way.
He dropped to a knee beside Zhanshi. Head and shoulders lay at wrong angles, lips blue against chalky skin. Beneath him, Krieger groaned.
“. . . MO is chemical agents,” Saito was saying, pulling Leif back to the briefing. “Every one of the attacks so far has been chemical in nature. Food poisoning, air ducts, and drops in the drinks.”
“Same but different,” Lawe mumbled. “Distribution is different each time.”
Leif nodded. “Probably to prevent anyone from developing a way to stop them.”
Lawe placed his palms on the table. “What methods are left?”
“There are only two viable ways to disseminate poison—gas or liquid,” Culver said.
“Too bad we can’t count on him just killing Kai,” Saito said. “After China, we have to be ready for a large-scale attack.”
“Agreed,” Iliescu said. “While we’ll do everything in our power to make sure the president’s daughter and her friends are safe, we will also send in agents to leave gear in case of an attack—masks, oxygen, antidotes to the most common toxins, and anything else we can dream up. They’ll be placed in trash bins around the park, as well as at every station.”
“How many kids will be there?” Mercy asked.
“The count we have is thirty,” Iliescu said. “So we’ll be prepared for fifty.”
Leif shifted. “What’s our ROE for Huber?”
“Same as for every Neiothen—stop at all costs.”
CHAPTER 33
TAIPEI, TAIWAN
Amusement parks inherently begged for attacks. Blending in, Reaper had spread out around the Taipei Children’s Amusement Park, concealing weapons and the necessary equipment to deal with a terror threat. Iliescu had alerted the Ministry of Interior and the National Police Agency, who sent undercover agents as well. The situation was a two-edged sword—the threat against the president and the fact that children were involved. That made them want to call off the mission. But President Kai refused to alter his plans because he’d had to arrange his entire schedule to be present for his daughter’s celebration. He had uttered some gallant words about trusting his security to handle the threat. The truth remained: even if they changed the date, it wouldn’t change the threat. The Neiothen was after the president. Whether here or there, the attack would happen.
“Let’s get it over with,” Leif had said.
Set on five hectares of land in the Shilin District, the amusement park was conveniently situated on the Keelung River.
That meant twelve acres of potential for murder. Mercy and Baddar would enter as a couple of party guests, and Saito had been assigned to the president’s security detail.
“Uh,” Culver said as they pulled into the parking garage, “I thought this was an invitation-only party for Kai’s daughter and family friends?”
Yeah. So why were there so many cars? This wasn’t right. “Back up. Block the entrance. Don’t let any other families enter—say you broke down,” Leif said. “I’m going topside for a bird’s-eye view. See what’s happening.” He climbed out and keyed his comms. “Samurai, this is Runt. Come in, over.”
“Samurai here,” came Saito’s quick, quiet voice.
“What’s going on? The barn is full of livestock.” He stepped onto the sidewalk and eyed the concrete parking structure. Blue and white tiles adorned the lower half. Above and to his right were two walkways.
“Roger,” Saito said. “Farmer’s en route. Cannot get any hands to help or explain. There are four hundred head in the pen.”
Leif nearly cursed. “Keep talking to them. Be the squeaky wheel. This can’t happen.”
He hopped and caught the garage’s maximum-height indication bar, then hiked up to the sign above. Toed it and pitched himself at the edge of the first walkway. Concrete scraped his fingers as he dragged himself over it. He stood on the wrought-iron rail. Jumped for the upper rail.
Someone below shouted, probably telling him to stop, but he kept going. Hoisted up onto the top walkway. Even as he sprinted across, he saw the Ferris wheel turning, all the cabins full. At the inner lip of the garage, he peered into the packed twelve-acre amusement park.
“This many people here,” Leif said into the comms, “means he’s making a statement. So he needs a way to spread it big. Look for canisters, fans, or vents that feed into large areas.”
Laughter spiraled up from a jungle gym area where two boys were chasing each other up the steps and down the slide. The Fly Bus, a jungle-design-painted bus, lifted children above the crowds, revealing a big black bear holding the vehicle high. Radial flyer swings painted like planets swung children in circles. Large and brown, a pirate ship swung from bow to stern, higher and higher, the children inside screaming in glee. Children. Everywhere. On every ride, and more waiting in lines.