by Cara Carnes
“That’s never good,” Donovan commented.
Fallon hated not knowing what was behind the door. He walked the short area in front of the entry, but didn’t see any air vents or other methods in. Sending a drone would be optimal.
He pulled out his gear and set it out as Donovan and Rhea crouched beside him. “I’m going for a pinhole entry point.”
“Roger,” Edge said. “It’s what I would’ve advised. Drones haven’t found a secondary way into the area from the top level.”
“It’s entirely self-contained,” Rhea said. “That could mean a biochemical compound is in play.”
Fuck. Fallon gnashed his teeth and got to work. Pinhole entry points into secured locations came with their own set of threats. The slightest shift in air pressure could set off a device, but it was unlikely for a research facility to have explosive ordnance within a secured area. Workers invariably screwed up and set off alarms, and they wouldn’t want to lose whatever was important enough to lock down.
Although the door was thick, penetration was quick thanks to a drill Bree created. The damn thing cut through anything like slicing butter. Fallon retracted the drill bit and waited as Donovan inserted the pin cam. The microscopic device offered a panoramic view into the room, including heat signatures.
“Standby,” Edge ordered.
Given the density and size of the door, three charges would be more than enough. Fallon inserted the C4-like compound into the detonation housing Bree had created.
Fallon hadn’t ever been a team player, but working with The Arsenal had been great. Bree and Rhea kept them supplied in whatever was needed, no matter how dirty or nasty the job.
Not that The Arsenal got particularly dirty.
For the first time in a long while, Fallon could sleep easy at night knowing he’d made a difference in the world without shelving his morals. His abilities weren’t being sold to the highest bidder, and they sure as hell didn’t harm innocents. Assholes with evil plans and deep pockets weren’t able to hire him via whoever he was contracting with.
More importantly, he had a say.
A voice.
Edge, Quillery, and the others in command always let him and his team have free rein when they were on assignment. Sure, the Quillery Edge led missions, but Fallon always had the freedom to work problems his own way as long as he operated within the established parameters.
“You’re free to make entry,” Edge said.
“Roger.” Fallon placed the ordnance. He set a hand on Rhea’s waist and guided her outside the blast radius. Donovan settled on her other side.
The man had been a mystery the first couple months they’d worked together. They’d met while on Fallon’s last Hive mission—one which went FUBAR when most of the organization’s operatives went AWOL.
Donovan secured the door and followed the drones in while Fallon kept himself between the opened area and Rhea. Unease crawled along the back of his neck. “Stay by me.”
Rhea nodded, but curiosity widened her gaze and kept it focused on the pale shafts of light coming from the area he’d just opened. Weapon drawn, Fallon entered.
“What the fuck?” Zoey blurted in the com.
The laboratory wasn’t what he expected, yet exactly what he should’ve predicted. Microscopes and assorted equipment similar to what Rhea had in her lab at The Arsenal filled the front portion of the area. Rhea parted from him and headed toward the back, which was separated by large glass walls.
Containment.
Fallon reached for Rhea to drag her back, but Edge’s voice cut through the com. “Leave her be. This is why she’s with you.”
Rhea assessed the chambers and ignored the dread and horror rising in her throat. Cages sat along the farthest wall, each self-contained with its own biosphere. She’d seen setups like this before, during her darker years when her idealistic self had no problems with animal testing. It was a necessity that helped get drugs ready to help humans.
But this…
This was pure evil.
Numbers labeled the two chimpanzees. Seventy-Two and Seventy-Three. Seventy-Two appeared listless and sprawled out in its cage. Seventy-Three jumped up and down and struck the glass, but no sound penetrated the glass encasing them.
“I need to get in there.”
“No way in hell that’s happening,” Fallon said.
“Mary, we need whatever’s in that lab,” Rhea explained. “Look. There’s a computer in there. There are compounds near the cages. That’s where we’ll get the best data.”
Even though it was difficult, Rhea waited through the silence. A list of action steps formed in her head as she studied the containment chamber. Mary would side with her because it was the pragmatic approach, a necessity. This was why she was in the field.
When no answer came within a minute, she walked toward the decontamination area which served as the entry point for the secured area between her and the chimpanzees. “There are two suits here. Fallon or Donovan could go in with me. We’ll gather as much as we can.”
Rhea bit off the rest of what was listed in her mind. She needed to get inside the room first. Then she’d tackle the next hurdle.
“How long?” Mary asked.
“Thirty minutes,” Rhea guessed. The area was small, but there were a lot of visible compounds, not to mention the notes and computer. There was no telling what was stored within the cabinets. Then there were the chimpanzees. “Likely longer.”
“Rhea, we can’t take them with us,” Mary said, her voice softer than expected.
Of course Mary had figured out what Rhea wanted. It was why she was The Edge. She’d never failed a mission because she was always ten steps ahead of everyone else—if not more.
“They’re a critical key to figuring out what Stan’s up to,” Rhea argued. “Seventy-Two is clearly undergoing side effects.”
“And he’s contained for a reason,” Fallon said. “Edge, tell me you aren’t considering this. No way in hell those monkeys are coming with us.”
“They’re chimpanzees,” Bree replied, making her presence known for the first time. “And Rhea’s right. We need blood samples at the very least. This is why she’s in the field. Let her do her job.”
“One step at a time. Get inside the room, evaluate the contents.” Mary paused. “Then we’ll go from there.”
Rhea nodded. “This is a level three lab, Mary. We can’t just blow it up.”
“Fallon came prepared in case it was a level three or four,” Mary commented.
“Level three and four labs aren’t just blown up,” Rhea whispered into the com. She glanced at Fallon as he guided her through the first steel door into the exterior dressing area. He rifled through the cabinets until he found two sets of scrubs. “How does he know this process?”
“This isn’t the first lab I’ve been in, Doc,” Fallon said. “And it’s not the first one I’ve blown. Come on, the quicker we get in there, the quicker we get out.”
Confusion kept her quiet as she entered the narrow changing bay and switched from her street clothes to the requisite scrubs. Fallon clearly had a more extensive background than she’d imagined, which shouldn’t surprise her given the fact he’d worked with Mary and Vi at Hive.
But level three labs weren’t that common. Level four? Well, there were only a handful in existence. She’d created a level three at The Arsenal out of necessity for emergency situations, mainly to do with her pre-Arsenal life. The organizations she’d lent her services to after MIT weren’t a problem as long as she helped them out when they called—which thankfully wasn’t often. If the world knew how many covert groups operated in the world…
Rhea shoved the questions in her mind aside and focused on the task at hand—data gathering. What the hell was Stan doing that required a level three biochemical lab? Maybe Tucson wasn’t as useless as they’d initially suspected. It’d be just like the egotistical bastard to think no one would see past the surface-level veneer of Carlisle Industries’ humanitarian w
ork.
Oil-spill eating microorganisms her ass.
Fallon studied the schematics HERA had constructed from the drones’ scans of the facility. He’d hoped like hell a level three or four lab hadn’t been on site, but he’d come prepared just in case. “I’ll need more charges on this level. At least it’s underground. That helps.”
Half an hour had passed since they’d made entry into the laboratory. Rhea had remained quiet and gotten to work going through the contents of the lab. Edge and Zoey hadn’t asked for updates, so Fallon did his best to remain quiet and out of the way even though everything in him screamed to drag Rhea out and get her secure.
He reached down and flicked the com so he had a private line with Edge and Zoey. “We can’t take those animals with us.”
“We may not have a choice,” Edge said. “What she’s scanned into HERA so far indicates a biological agent. The schematics are similar to what we saw in Cuba, so this could be what we need to figure out what those assholes had in those weapons we let go.”
“We didn’t let them go. We went to Cuba to rescue a child, not take down dirty bombs,” Jesse said.
Jesse Mason. The man was one hell of an operative. He and his brothers had provided Fallon with a safe place to land without questions or judgment. No questions about what he’d done in the past. No heavy-handed commands.
They’d given Fallon a team because Edge trusted him to run one. For her alone, he’d do whatever it took to keep The Arsenal and everyone there safe.
Because they mattered to the only woman in Fallon’s life who ever gave a damn about him.
No.
Rhea cared. The women at The Arsenal had entrenched themselves in Fallon’s life bit by bit. Ellie’s cookies and jams that found their way into the team lockers. Bree’s “experimental” weapons she snuck to them to try out.
“We’ve got everything we need to transport them both,” Rhea said. “I’ll get to work. It’s gonna take half an hour to pack them up.”
Half an hour more than they should spend. Fallon couldn’t shake the unease crawling through him. “Donovan, get your ass in here. Secure the computer and the paperwork while Doc gets the monkeys ready.”
“You’re leaving?” Rhea asked. Shock crossed her face when she turned to him. The large hood of her suit accentuated the angelic softness of her face. Tendrils of her hair tumbled around her face in a haphazard fashion. She wasn’t the sort of woman to care if her hair was a mess.
Fallon forced his attention to the mission. Donovan donned the third biohazard suit he must’ve found outside the lab and entered the containment area within moments. Fallon made his way out and hoped to hell they could get evacuated soon.
“Incoming,” Spade warned. “Three vehicles within immediate strike range. More headlights in the distance.”
Fuck.
“Dispatch two sets of drones,” Zoey ordered. “Cord and I will hold them off. Rhea, your timetable just got moved up.”
So did Fallon’s. He removed his backpack and got to work with his part of the mission. Donovan would handle Rhea. “Walker, move to the exterior and assist Spade. You two handle whoever gets through the drones.”
“Pffft.”
Fallon chuckled into the com at Zoey’s indignation. The woman was a whirlwind unlike Mary or Vi. Every mission she’d run with them had been an adventure. Despite her newness to black ops, she’d come into her own and now ran operations with a newfound confidence Fallon suspected came about because of the two women she worked for. When you learned from the Quillery Edge, you couldn’t help but know you were doing it right.
He’d once had a mentor—one he’d trusted with his life.
Sourness coated his stomach. Nothing good came from remembering the past he’d left behind like the unwanted baggage it was. All that mattered was the here. The now.
Each moment he spent setting a charge and double-checking its location to the schematics on his visual display fed his unease. They were taking too long.
“Five minutes,” Donovan said into the com, his voice calm as always.
“Spade? Status?”
“Two of the three vehicles are down,” Zoey answered. “Eight combatants tranqed.”
“Walker and I handled the other three,” Spade replied. “Depending on the strength of these drugs, you’ve got about half an hour unless more are dispatched.”
“Both packages are ready,” Rhea said into the com.
“We’ll need secondary transportation,” Donovan added.
“On it,” Sanchez said. “I’ve got a cargo van along the front entry.”
“Sweep for trackers,” Edge ordered. “Z, we need that van secure before they leave the facility.”
“We’re locating all vehicle records now,” Cord said.
Fallon admired the seamless way everyone in command worked together. The Hive had never operated with such efficiency—even when the Quillery Edge were at the helm. Peter Rugers and Martin Driggs had ruled the organization with iron fists of chaos and corruption. Their greed was outweighed only by their smugness.
He listened as Zoey and Cord guided Sanchez through steps to secure the van. Sweat dampened Fallon’s skin by the time he’d placed all the charges and returned to Rhea and Donovan. The two, sans hazmat gear, were in the hallway outside the lab. The animals were each on a cart, which was fully contained within a bubble except for its handles. A secondary protective layer was around each of the sleeping animals. Small oxygen tanks sat on the lower level of the cart. The remainder of the second shelf of each was loaded down with paperwork and the computer.
Donovan grunted as he shouldered a second pack.
“You’re clear for exit,” Edge said.
“I should double-check the unsecured area of the lab, make sure I didn’t overlook anything,” Rhea said. She turned and headed toward the lab.
Fallon grabbed her arm. “We’re done.”
“But—”
“Let’s go.”
Relief filled him when she moved behind him and curled her fingers through his belt loop. Donovan maneuvered both of the carts and fell into position behind Fallon and Rhea as they exited the laboratory.
Two large drones hovered in the center of the long corridor. The large, black objects were larger than any The Arsenal used.
“Shit.” Zoey’s curse quickened Fallon’s pulse as two drones he’d dispatched flew forward to intercept the enemy. “Battle Bots time, Arsenal style.”
“Engage,” Jesse barked over the com.
Fallon aimed his weapon as Donovan did the same. The two fired on the black monstrosities as The Arsenal bots moved to intercept the fiery red projectiles shooting toward them. He turned to get Rhea secured, but she was already curled exactly how he’d told her to if trouble hit.
Relieved, he refocused on the drones.
“Donovan, get her out of here,” Fallon said.
“No!” Bree’s voice pierced the coms. “The drones we have aren’t combat. Drugs won’t take those two down. Rhea, get your backpack open. Pull out the black case inside.”
“What did you do?” Edge asked, her voice quiet on the com.
“I packed a few extra things, just in case,” Bree said.
“And didn’t tell us,” Jesse added.
Fallon hauled himself and Rhea into the nearest room as Donovan fired on the drones. Bullets ricocheted off them. “Armored.”
“Of course they are,” Zoey clipped, her anger evident. “What’s in the case, Bree?”
“Move,” Bree ordered. “You got them, Rhea?”
“Yes.” Fallon crouched beside Rhea as she dragged out a black case and unzipped it. Four round balls sat in holders. Two had red streaks while the other two were coated with yellow stripes. “What now?”
“Roll one of the red ones into the hall and take cover. I’ll handle the rest,” Bree said.
“Care to share with the rest of the class?” Zoey asked.
“Is there another way out of this room?” Fallon ask
ed.
“No,” Jesse answered. “Standby.”
Right. He settled into a protective crouch above Rhea. Donovan positioned himself along her other side. Between the two of them, she’d be safe. He looked over and noted the other man had hauled the animals in.
Fiery red beams shot out and pierced the door they’d slammed shut. Donovan rolled one of the balls into the corridor.
“It’s out,” Donovan said. “Any day now. You know, before we’re dead.”
A concussive boom shook the entire area. Bright light filled the area. What the fuck? Fallon’s ears rang. Disoriented, he blinked and shook his head.
A grenade?
What the fuck?
“Status?” Edge asked.
“You okay?” Fallon asked Rhea. His voice sounded distant, as though he’d entered a tunnel. Shit. Hearing damage was the last problem he needed.
He’d suffered from hearing loss for years. The unwanted byproduct of the life he led had proven problematic only a few times. He’d been on enough missions to know what needed to be done. As long as he kept the com turned to high in his “bad ear”—which was at a solid sixty percent hearing at his last checkup with Logan—he’d hear what the bosses ordered. That left his “good ear” to hear everything around him.
Her lips moved, he heard faint words, but nothing distinctive. Her head nodded. Yes. Rhea repeated the words in a non-ending loop as the three of them rose from their crouched positions. Donovan entered the corridor, weapon drawn.
Shock reflected on his face a moment. Lips thinned in a grim expression, he motioned they were clear.
Rhea pushed one cart in front of her and pulled the other behind her. Though he wanted to leave the animals behind and get the hell out while they could, they’d come too far to abandon the new objective now. He snatched the case and Rhea’s backpack and headed out.
Donovan grabbed the remnants of the bots in the carnage. Relieved the man was already two steps ahead, Fallon willed his breathing to slow. That’d been too close.
They made their way toward the exit. Jesse and Edge alternated orders to the rest of team—orders he heard faintly. Fallon focused, hearing a few of the words even though the ringing continued. He hadn’t heard fully from his right side in years. He hoped to hell Rhea was okay.