Final Stand

by Lisa Phillips

  “Where’s Jakeman?”

  That got him a reaction. “Not doing so well, last I saw of him.” There was a gleam in his eye and a slight smile on his lips.

  Jakeman wasn’t okay. Mark listened to Langdon—his words, as much as what he didn’t say, watching his body for the telltale sign he would attack.

  They stared for a while at each other, each holding their guns, carefully aimed. Langdon knew what Mark could and couldn’t do, in accordance with his sworn oath. What he didn’t know was what Mark might be prepared to do. In the name of justice.

  “Where is she?”

  Mark saw it in his shoulder. A tiny flex of muscle that heralded his intention to strike.

  Both of them launched forward, guns forgotten except for the express purpose of hitting each other. Far more satisfying, and Mark didn’t need to be investigated for discharging his weapon.

  He grunted, the air punched out of his diaphragm. Doubled over, he coughed and then slammed into Langdon, both arms wrapped around his waist as they toppled to the floor with the force of Mark’s tackle.

  Langdon responded by slamming his gun down on Mark’s back.

  He grunted again and rolled, shoving Langdon’s head on the floor, hard enough it bounced off. The man’s eyes went glassy. Mark reached for his opponent’s gun. He shoved it away, where it slid under the door of one of the stalls.

  He holstered his own gun and then moved to flip Langdon to his stomach.

  “All this fuss for you?” Mark readied to roll the guy.

  Langdon twisted, sweeping Mark to his back, fist already primed.

  Mark found himself staring up at the ceiling, blinking away the spots in his vision. Langdon moved closer. Mark kicked out at him, punched, then tried a couple of palm strikes.

  Langdon grabbed Mark’s head, hands on either side, and slammed it down on the floor.

  Mark roared. He managed to roll Langdon in an old wrestling move he used to practice in high school. It was more of a gut reaction to being in this position than a planned attack.

  He shoved Langdon away, both of them breathing hard. Mark swiped at the wet on his mouth and saw blood on the back of his hand.

  He drew his gun and pointed it at the now-unarmed man. “You’re under arrest.”

  “Take me in, the bomb will go off. You’ll never find her.”

  “So tell me where she is.”

  “Only after I walk out of here.”

  Mark shook his head. “Not happening.” Mark figured at least that meant they had time before the bomb went off. Time was good; it meant they also had a chance to fix this.

  To stop him.

  Langdon chuckled. He lay back on the floor of the barn, breathing hard.

  “Face down. Hands on your head.” Mark climbed to his feet. It hurt, and he didn’t bother hiding that fact.

  Langdon glanced at him. “You’ll never find her.”

  A fission of cold fear cut through him, dividing hope from despair until hope had nothing to keep it alight. Lord.

  “Hands on your head.” He practically screamed it at Langdon.

  “Welvern, what do you think you’re doing?” It was the FBI director.

  He didn’t turn around. “This is Oscar Langdon, and if you tell me he’s the head of security for the governor’s office, then I’ll know you’re in on it.” Then to Langdon he said, “Hands. On. Your. Head.”

  “Mark.” Mason touched his arm.

  “He needs to tell us where the bomb is.”

  “He will.”

  Langdon only grinned up at them, blood lining his lips.

  “You got him.” Mason moved beside him. “Now let us take care of this.”

  Mark realized he was breathing hard. The back of his head didn’t feel good, and he could feel wet warmth on his neck there.

  “Cover me?” Mason moved toward Langdon.

  “Yep.”

  Langdon moved. Metal glinted.

  A knife.

  Mark fired his weapon. Two. Three times.

  Mason’s body jerked. Langdon’s.

  They both fell to the ground.

  Mason rolled to his back, blood coating his stomach.

  Mark landed on his knees between them. “Hold on,” he told his friend. Then he turned to Langdon. Three shots, center mass. He wasn’t going to last much longer.

  Mark got in his face. “Tell me everything.”

  Chapter 37

  Olympia, WA. Sunday 10.14p.m.

  Gunshots. Victoria heard them. She whipped her head around but couldn’t make out anything else. The shots had been muffled. Barely audible. Maybe she was just kidding herself.

  She tipped her head to her shoulder and continued her attempt to push the bandage up off her eyes.

  It was tight.

  What else was there to do?

  The last thing she’d heard was the slam of the car door. He’d shut her in here, tied to the headrest, sitting on the backseat. His words…

  She couldn’t think about that right now. She needed to see.

  Finally, she managed to get the blindfold to move up into her hair, leaving her one-eyed. She used her other shoulder and her elbow, making sure she didn’t shift too much on the seat. An action like that could be deadly. She eventually got the rest of it up onto her head.

  If it wasn’t for the fact it would take out everyone else in this place along with her, she might not mind so much. The bomb would go off, and it would all be over. Jakeman had probably bled out by now. Those shots could have been Mark or one of her other friends.

  Everything, lost.

  One lone tear rolled down her face, and then the dam broke.

  Victoria sobbed into the quiet car. Not knowing if they were alive, or dead, was even worse than the certainty that she’d have to wake up tomorrow and face life without the people she loved and cared for.

  She cried until the emotion had been spent. Minutes. An hour. Who knew? She was all alone, as she had been many times in her life. Except now she had people in her life she wanted to spend more time with. A man she wanted to finally admit her love for. What was the point in denying or burying it any longer? She didn’t care about the fallout or the consequences. She didn’t care if their lives didn’t mesh or if it would take work to figure out.

  She just wanted Mark.

  God. Mark belonged to Him. She could live that life. He didn’t make it look easy, he just made it look peaceful. I need that now. Maybe it’s not possible. She sucked in a choppy breath. But I want what he has, and I want him.

  She’d heard the “gospel” enough times she got the gist of it. Her need for a Savior. His sacrifice, out of love, so she could be His child.

  Victoria looked around, waiting for some divine assistance in figuring this whole thing out. Her fingers were numb. Outside the car, all she could see through the seriously tinted windows was wood paneling.

  At any other time, she’d have marveled at the interior of this car. It was basically a work of art, though the back seat had hardly any legroom and…

  Victoria shook her head. The dash looked like the cockpit of an airplane. So many high-tech buttons and screens, dials and knobs.

  And a cell phone.

  She could see it in the cup holder.

  Victoria let out a cry of frustration. That was what he’d been talking about. Whispering in her ear, all excited like. Rubbing his body against hers. Gross. She’d wanted to be sick and couldn’t believe she’d ever thought Colin Pinton attractive. Maybe she’d just thought he was a good guy.

  Maybe that was worse.

  So blind.

  Not anymore. She lifted her feet and bent her legs, reaching with her toes. Pressure plate, you see. One little pound change in the load on that seat and…boom. She shuddered, praying small movements weren’t enough to set off the bomb. Maybe he’d been lying about that. But there was far too much risk to try it just to see if he was or not. It would put thousands at risk. She’d have to grab the phone without shifting her weight too mu
ch, or without lifting her backside up off the seat. She pressed her feet together, the phone sandwiched between, bringing her knees slowly towards her chest.

  Victoria gritted her teeth. “I really hate you, Oscar-Langdon-Colin-Pinton-whoever-you-are.” Gone now. He’d left. Gotten away with it, tying her up at ground zero so he could set her up and then kill her.

  Not if she could help it.

  The phone slipped out from between her feet. She cried out and watched it tumble between the center console and the passenger seat. Please be where I can reach it.

  She was already sitting upright, hands bound to the headrest. She’d tried to get the headrest off first but hadn’t been able to get purchase on the little button on the far side to release it up. Shove it off. Get her hands free.

  The frustration was about to make her scream. Instead, she channeled it into the adrenaline she needed. No shakes—oh, please no shakes—just pure mental focus. Victoria stuck one foot between the center console and the chair and felt around for the phone.

  One call. And when they hang up, or the phone battery dies, boom.

  Talia. She needed to get a message…something…to her friend. The woman could wring miracles out of technology. Langdon hadn’t done nearly enough homework on Victoria if he didn’t know what her team could do.

  Or she’d managed to keep them a secret enough, he just hadn’t been able to find anything out on them. The Northwest Counter-Terrorism Task Force had been, in many ways, a black ops mission. Good on paper, all above board. But in the light of day, they were nothing but the blurred shadow in the corner. For their safety. For the mission.

  For this.

  Victoria found the phone. She stabbed at the corner with her toes and shoved it back toward her, where it slid out onto the floor near her other foot.

  She exhaled the breath she’d been holding. Thank You.

  Grabbing it with her feet again, she lifted it and held it to her bound hands so she could grab it. Only twenty-six percent battery. She swiped the screen awkwardly and then typed out a text to Talia’s phone number.

  A series of numbers, a variation of police ten-codes that she would know. Emergency. Don’t call. Team member in danger. Bomb. Terrorist. No time to waste. Technology compromised.

  In all it was three messages.

  Seconds later the phone screen flashed.

  “Can you hear me?”

  Victoria’s exhale sounded like a sob. “How did you—”

  “It’s not a phone call, I just hacked the mic. You’re right. There’s a line of code to run a program at the conclusion of the next call.”

  “It’ll detonate the bomb.” Her voice seemed too loud, echoing in the car.

  “Not anymore.”

  Victoria nearly started crying again. “Talia. He left Jakeman for dead.”

  “Mason has been stabbed.”

  Victoria gasped.

  “You said Jakeman? Where were you?”

  “I… have no idea.” Was her friend dead now?

  “Everyone else is okay so far as the last update. They got to Langdon and he’s dead, that’s how Mason got hurt.” Her voice trailed off to a mutter, which included the words “good riddance.” The only thing Victoria heard until Talia said, “Huh.”

  “What? Is Mason going to be okay? Did they take him to the hospital?”

  “Full medical center on site. He’s been carried over there.”

  “Talia.”

  “Talia...hello?”

  “What? Oh, he was texting me. He’s mad Langdon got the jump on him, that’s all. But says Mark took him out. I’ve also told Mark you’re here. He’s now barraging me with messages, asking for a location.”

  “There’s wood paneling on the walls, and I’m in a car.”

  “I know that. I think he’s in the same building. We’re figuring it out.”

  “And the bomb?”

  Talia made a noncommittal noise. “That might prove a little hard…er… There it is.”

  The car’s headlights illuminated, and then began to flash. The alarm sounded.

  Victoria tilted her head to the side so her ear was against the soft part of her shoulder. “That’s really loud.”

  It shut off. A figure appeared by the window, and Victoria let out a little squeal.

  “I guess you’re not impervious to fear as everyone thought.”

  “I’m not…” She saw the figure reach for the door handle. “No! He can’t. Tell him not to open it.”

  He stepped back. It was Mark.

  Victoria whimpered. “Tell him he can’t open it. The bomb will go off.”

  Mark reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. He held it to his ear. She saw his lips moving but couldn’t make out anything.

  He hung up. The window was so darkened she couldn’t make out his face on the other side of the glass. She couldn’t even put her hand against the glass. Or her forehead. One was bound, the other meant too much movement.

  Another tear rolled down her cheek, and here she’d thought they were all spent.

  “Did you hear that?”

  Victoria said, “No. What?”

  “Mark.” As Talia said his name, the man himself leaned down and peered through the glass from close up. She saw his eyes widen the second he spotted her.

  “He’s here.” She needed her hands free so she could…do something. She wanted to mouth the words she’d like to say to him. He might not be able to hear her, but he could understand well enough.

  “Where’s the bomb?”

  “In the trunk.”

  Mark pulled out his phone, looked at the screen, and then moved to the back of the vehicle.

  “Tell him not to open it.” She twisted as far as she could without moving her backside. It hurt a lot. “It’s…There’s…”

  “Okay, hang on.” Talia went quiet for a second. Then she said, “Can you hear me?”

  “Yes. What?”

  “Victoria.”

  “Mark.” Her whole body sagged.

  “We need to get you out of there.”

  Talia said, “Agreed.”

  Victoria shook her head. “You can’t. The bomb is in the trunk. He said it would detonate at midnight—”

  “It’s almost eleven.”

  “If you open the trunk, or any of the doors—even the hood—a separate device will activate. It will flood the car with gas, and you won’t want to hang around to watch what happens to me after that.”

  Mark said, “Why do that? Why not just set off the main bomb, unless it’s a dud? Maybe the scientist couldn’t get it going so this is his attempt to distract us so he could get away.”

  “Or it was his plan,” Talia said. “If he wasn’t dead, we could ask him.”

  “You’d have had to torture it out of him. And that might have taken days.” Victoria knew enough about Langdon to know that. Because the same could have been said about her, except that she believed she never would break.

  Not unless it was Mark’s life in jeopardy.

  “Get everyone out of here. Evacuate the whole county if you have to. No one within a hundred miles.” They had to do their best to get everyone to a place they’d be safe. Minimize the loss of life. At least, as much as was possible.

  Mark’s voice rolled through the phone line. “I’m staying.”

  She saw him then, standing by the car. Tall. Strong. “Nobility will only get you killed.”

  “If you die, I die.”

  Talia made a frustrated sound. “Let’s plan on both of you living full lives and all that’s going to entail. Okay?”

  “We need help.”

  Mark was right. Victoria said, “I need to make a call. There’s only one person I know who can figure out how to get to that bomb. I just pray it’ll be in time.”

  “We’re all praying.”

  “Talia.” Victoria blew out a steady breath, pleading with God. “Get me an open line and dial this number.”

  Chapter 38

  Olympia, WA. Sunday
10.52p.m.

  “I’ll make the call.”

  Mark squeezed his hands into fists as Victoria replied to Talia’s comment. “He won’t talk to you.”

  He stood there, powerless to do anything as she prepared to call another one of her friends who could help her. And he couldn’t do a thing. Now wasn’t the time to get worked up about it. “Just give Talia the number.”

  She did. The line quieted, and he knew Talia was gone. Or she’d muted herself at least. Victoria said, “You shouldn’t be here.”

  He knew she was talking to him. It was there, in the tone of her voice. The intimacy of a lifetime sharing the best and worst of each other.

  “I’m not leaving.” He got on his phone, keeping the line open but checking in with Mason and the FBI director—neither of whom would appreciate being left out.

  They both needed to evacuate to a safe distance, they needed to take everyone at the ranch with them, and they needed to do it as fast as possible. No waiting. No delays. Just get out before it was too late.

  She sighed as the confirmations came in. They were announcing the evacuation.

  He heard the knowing, even in that audible exhale. Along with the resignation that there was nothing she could say that might change his mind.

  Whatever happened to her, happened to him. That was simply how it was going to be.

  He looked at his watch. “Do we know how much time there is?”

  “Langdon didn’t tell you that?”

  “I was too busy shooting him so he couldn’t stab Mason—again.”

  “He said midnight.”

  “I asked him where you were. Where the bomb was.” Mark stared at the dark window, knowing she was there. Not knowing how much she could see of him. “He just sneered, and then he died. Like it was all a big joke.”

  He looked at his watch again. “If midnight is right, then we have an hour.”

  “Not enough time for them to get here.”

  “Who?”

  “People who know what they’re doing with a nuke. Now will you just go?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t know why you’re just standing there.”

  Mark crouched and looked in the window from up close again, phone to his ear. He probably looked like a creeper from her point of view, but he needed at least a half-decent glimpse of her face. She was tied to the seat in front, hands bound up by the headrest of the passenger side.