Red Zone

by Janet Elizabeth Henderson

  Her death would be courtesy of CommTECH, too.

  Sure, she’d taken the poison, but they had done everything they could to make sure she didn’t get to the antidote. And now, it was too late. They’d won. CommTECH had won. And all her pathetic little rebellions were for nothing. Kane Duggan was right. There was no one to stop him, or CommTECH, from doing exactly what they wanted to do.

  “Pull over there.” Her captor pointed at a generic cube of a building in an area that once had been filled with Spanish era houses. Now it was the staging post for a vast mining effort. They were raping the country under the noses of the watching world and getting away with it.

  Kane’s eyes were flat and dull, his mouth a cruel line. “I’ve got a nice cell waiting for you and lover boy. It’s going to be entertaining to watch what you do with the few hours you have left. And then, when you’re gone, I’ll get rid of the infamous Striker. The Territory’s most famous smuggler. The man who can do anything, go anywhere—for a price.” He inclined his head. “But he couldn’t save you, could he? He couldn’t do that. I wonder what you paid him.” He gave her a slow considering look. “Did you promise him information or access to your body?”

  She couldn’t stop the flush that hit her cheeks as she snatched her gaze from the monster.

  Kane’s laugh was chilling as the car drew to a halt. “Tell me this, Ms. Jones—do you think he’ll mourn when you die?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Do you think anyone will mourn?”

  She couldn’t hold his eyes and looked away. No. She didn’t think anyone would mourn her. Mainly, she thought they would feel relief that she was gone. Striker’s team as much as anyone else, because of all the trouble she’d brought down on their heads.

  That would be her epitaph—Friday Jones, thankfully gone.

  “Get them out,” Kane snapped. “Take them to the holding room. There are plenty of cameras in there. I think I’ll record your last hours together for my boss to watch later.”

  She tried to stop the shudder his words provoked but didn’t succeed, which seemed to delight him further. The two men sitting behind her climbed out and walked around to the rear of the car. The man beside her grabbed her arm, pulling her from the vehicle.

  She looked over to find the other two men had retrieved Striker from the boot. His body was limp, still paralyzed from being stunned. His hands were tied behind his back, his head hung down, and his ankles were crossed and secured. He was helpless.

  Or was he?

  His shoulders flexed. His hands clenched. Friday sucked in a breath. He was faking his weakened state. Why didn’t anyone notice? She glanced around as she was led from the car. Nobody was watching him, that was why. Nobody but her. And even then, she didn’t believe her eyes when she saw him move.

  One second, he hung limply in his captors’ hold, the next he had one of their guns in his hand. Three shots rang out in quick succession. The two men beside him collapsed. It wasn’t until he grabbed her hand, pulling her with him as he ran, that she realized the man who’d held her was dead, too.

  “Stop them!” Kane roared as they ducked between two buildings.

  Blasts hit the wall above her head. A man ran at them. Striker fired, and the guy hit the ground. More blasts shook the building beside them. There were running footsteps. Shouted orders.

  They headed to the rear of another small building, hitting the door at a run. It crashed open, and he wedged it shut behind them. They were in a vast storage unit. There was drilling equipment, generators, diggers, scanners—everything the well-equipped pillager would need to plunder a country of its resources.

  Striker tugged her down behind a large piece of machinery. “We need to get out of here. We need a car, something that can get us to the airport.”

  It physically hurt to look into his eye. She felt the pain right to the very center of her being. To her soul. This amazing man was still trying to save her when he should have left her behind and saved himself.

  She placed her hand on his cheek. “You need to leave me here. It’s too late to get to the airport. It’s too late for me. You need to save yourself.”

  He shook his head, furiously. “No. Don’ even say that to me. I’m takin’ you to New York. We’re gonna get that antidote.”

  “Striker, honey.” Tears stung her eyes. “It’s only twelve hours until the poison kicks in. We won’t get to New York in time.”

  “We will.” He grasped her shoulder with one hand. The other held the gun he’d stolen from his captor. “I worked it out. We only need nine hours. There’s still time.”

  “We’re in the middle of CommTECH’s illegal mining operation. The sky is filled with a holomatrix. That means they can project whatever image they want up to the satellites, at the same time as watching every square inch of the land beneath it. They already know where we are. We can’t hide. We can’t run. Our only hope is that I surrender and distract them enough for you to slip out of here.”

  “Listen to yourself! You’re tellin’ me to leave you. Do you hear that? How can you tell me to do that?”

  “This was just a job. You did your job. I’m here in La Paz. It’s time for you to go.”

  “This wasn’t a job, and you know it.” His unpatched eye flashed with fury, as the muscles in his jaw visibly throbbed. “Deny it. I dare you. This wasn’t just a job.”

  “It was.” The words made her nauseous, but he had to believe her. He had to save himself.

  Anger leeched from his face. “If it was just a job, bébé, why are you crying?” He cupped her cheek and swiped away the tears with his thumb. Tears she hadn’t even realized she’d shed.

  She bit her bottom lip to stop from blurting out exactly what he was to her. Words wouldn’t change anything. Their situation was hopeless. Completely and utterly hopeless.

  “Please don’t die with me,” she whispered.

  “Nobody’s gonna die.”

  Saying the words wouldn’t make them true. But she knew there were some things you couldn’t fight. Like destiny. Like love. And she very much feared that the amazing man in front of her loved her just as much as she loved him. Which meant, he wouldn’t leave her, even to save himself. Stubborn, hard-headed, amazing man.

  Their heads snapped to the door as they heard someone try the handle.

  “Locked,” a voice shouted.

  “They definitely came this way. Try it again.”

  He leaned in to whisper. “Follow me.”

  Quickly, and as silently as possible, they made their way across the room to a door in the corner. She’d hoped it would take them outside, but it held a staircase down into the rooms beneath the building.

  “We can’t go down.” He closed the door. “We don’t know what’s down there and we can’t risk getting trapped underground. There—” He started jogging. “A window.”

  “Look.” She tugged at his hand and pointed to the wall. There was a map of the complex with evacuation points highlighted.

  “Perfect.” He studied the diagram. “If we head this way, we should see the main gate. We can hotwire a car to take us to the airport.”

  If they got through the gate. “You’re forgetting the guards, and the surveillance, and the barricades…”

  “I ain’t forgetting anything. I just haven’t figured that part of the plan yet.” He inched the window open and peeked out. “We’re clear.”

  Before she could protest, he lifted her up and over the ledge, climbing out after her. She stood, still and silent, pressed against the wall, listening for trouble, hoping it would pass them by.

  He put his lips to her ear. “That way.”

  Together, keeping low, they ran in the direction of the main gate. The very well-guarded main gate. At this rate, Striker was going to get himself killed. She didn’t care about herself. She was already dead. They ducked into an alcove that housed an emergency exit, one that could only be opened from inside the building.

  “You need to listen to me,” she hissed at him. “You need to l
eave me here. You have more chance of getting out by yourself.”

  One second, he was scanning their surroundings; the next, he had her body pressed back against the cool metal door. “Stop. Sayin’. That.” His words were barely whispered and still managed to convey his anger. And he was furious. With her. Every tense muscle in his body screamed it.

  But she wasn’t afraid of him. She was more afraid for him. Before she could argue, before she could explain why he was being completely illogical, he covered her mouth with his. The kiss was equal parts fury and passion.

  “No more talking about me leaving you.” A whispered order. “Let’s go.”

  It was impossible to talk sense into him. He was determined to stay with her until the bitter end, holding out foolish hope that he could somehow change destiny. She wished she could spare him the pain of finding out he couldn’t. Wished she could save him from Kane and from himself. Wished…

  She shook her head. With hours left to live, there was no point wasting precious time wishing.

  …

  Striker was closer to panic than he’d ever been in his life. Everything Friday said was true. The odds were hopelessly stacked against them. They were outgunned. Outnumbered. Outplayed. And stuck in the middle of enemy territory.

  Basically, they were screwed.

  But he couldn’t let her go. He wouldn’t stop fighting. Not ever. Not while there was even the slimmest chance he could save his woman.

  Mine, the snake reminded him.

  Ours, he answered, because there was no getting around it. From the first moment he’d set eyes on her and felt that strange pull toward her, he’d known in his soul that she was his. And he couldn’t, wouldn’t, let her go. Not while there was still a chance to fight.

  But there was no denying the odds were against them. Guards were scrambling around, looking for them. Traffic into the mine had picked up as workers arrived to start their day. There were too many people around, and the sun was climbing higher every minute. They couldn’t hide for long. Someone would eventually spot them.

  He tried to ignore the loud ticking clock inside his head. Reminding him that every second took him one step closer to losing Friday. He had to find a way out of the compound. And he had to do it fast. They didn’t have the fire power to blast their way past the gate, and his only weapon was the gun he’d taken from his captor. Their only option was to sneak out.

  As he looked for a way out, one of the Bolivian workers drove into the compound, parked her car within feet of them, and headed into the nearest building, leaving the vehicle there for them to take.

  “We’re going to that car. Crouch down. Run fast. When you get there, keep low beside it while I crawl underneath and hotwire it. Got it?”

  She nodded and gave his hand a squeeze. Her face was far too pale. The dark circles under her eyes were grotesque purple bruises, marring her perfect skin. She looked fragile, and he felt panicked at the sight. If he lived forever, he’d never forget how panic tasted. It was bitter, and the taste lingered. He needed to get her out of Bolivia. He needed to get her to New York, even if it meant hijacking a jet to take them there. He couldn’t watch her fade away in front of him. He just couldn’t.

  He forced his eyes from hers to scan the area. There were a few windows overlooking the parking area, some people standing by the nearest building—talking with their backs to the carpark. There was no sign of Kane or his henchmen. It was as good as it was going to get.

  “Now!”

  Together, they ran for the car. Crouching beside it, out of the sight of the people standing around talking, Striker pressed his gun into her hand.

  “Cover us while I hotwire this thing.”

  With her back to the car, she aimed, watching for trouble. With one last look around, Striker slid on his back under the vehicle and rewired the damn thing. It took barely seconds, but he felt each one of them as though it was a year.

  As soon as it was done, he shimmied out from under the car and came to his feet.

  Friday wasn’t where he’d left her.

  His head shot up. And his heart stopped.

  Kane Duggan stood behind Striker’s woman, his hand wrapped around her throat and a gun at her temple.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Private Jet

  En route to Bolivia

  “You there?” Hunter’s voice cut through the darkness Mace felt smothering him.

  “I’m here. What’s the news?” He leaned into the comm unit as Sandi did the same in her seat opposite him.

  “We have a signal from his tracking device.”

  “Where are they?” He’d been hoping for this. Praying for a place to start in their hunt for Striker.

  “La Paz.” Hunter paused. “This is weird though. The tracker is giving me the coordinates. But according to the map, the boss is literally sitting inside a two-foot-thick wall.”

  “How is that possible?” Sandi leaned farther forward.

  “I don’t know. But I’m looking at satellite imagery, and the spot where the tracker is located is smack-bang in the middle of a solid stone wall built about six hundred years ago.”

  “Maybe there’s a secret passage within the wall?” Sandi looked as confused as Mace felt.

  “The wall’s only two feet thick,” he reminded her. “Any passage that fit in a space that size wouldn’t accommodate Striker.” He didn’t mention Friday, because he already considered her gone. He was surprised at how much that thought bothered him. Seemed the little scientist had won him over after all—mostly.

  “Is the signal stationary?” Sandi asked.

  He looked over at her. “You thinking maybe a rat or something small has the tracker?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “No,” Hunter said. “It isn’t. The signal’s moving back and forth over the same ten feet. It looks like he’s pacing. And, according to the satellite imagery, he’s doing it through a water tank and an Incan wall. Unless our boy’s genetics mean he can dematerialize and walk through solid objects, the satellite feed is off.”

  “Explain,” Mace barked.

  Hunter let out a sigh. “This satellite imagery is nothing like the stuff we were trained on. You could literally count hairs on heads using this system, it’s that detailed. And accurate. That’s why this doesn’t make any sense. According to this, the boss is walking through walls.”

  “Maybe it’s the tracker that’s off,” Sandi said. “Could it be giving out a faulty signal?”

  “It’s state of the art and was checked before he left on this trip. That tracker is in perfect working condition.” Hunter sounded worried.

  “What about a laser blast, would that affect the tracker?” Mace asked.

  “Doofus.” His sister leaned forward and smacked him on the head. “If the belt was hit by a laser, the thing would be completely fried.”

  He rubbed his head as she glared at her. As usual, she wasn’t intimidated. “What about another electrical current, would that affect the tracker? Or maybe cause signal interference?”

  “I don’t see how,” Hunter said. “Those things are pretty indestructible.”

  It didn’t make sense. Unless… “This is a long shot, but what if the satellite is wrong?”

  There was silence, then Hunter spoke. “You think someone is faking out the satellite to hide something there?”

  “Is that possible?”

  “I guess so. I’m the second-string tech guy. If Zane were here, he’d know for sure.”

  “Can we contact Zane and ask him?” Their teammate was on a sensitive job and had gone radio-silent.

  “No. He’s still dark.”

  Mace ran a hand through his hair. “Then I think we have to assume the satellite is off and there’s something fishy going on in La Paz. We go in with extreme caution because we sure as hell don’t know what we’re heading into. What’s the rest of the team’s ETA?”

  “They’re three hours out,” Hunter said.

  “We’ll meet up at O
ruro airport. They bringing weapons?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Lots of weapons?” Sandi amended.

  “Yeah,” Hunter said with long suffering.

  “You arranged a helicopter to take us straight to La Paz?” Mace added.

  “Do I look like an amateur?” Now Hunter was just getting pissy.

  A chopper would cut down their time travel significantly. The only reason Striker hadn’t taken one was because it attracted attention. Mace didn’t care about that. All he cared about was bringing his friend home. “Dig around, see what you can find on La Paz. Anything that can give us a better idea of what we’re walking into.”

  “Got it.” With that Hunter cut the connection, obviously done with them.

  Mace leaned back in his chair. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

  “The kind of feeling you didn’t have before you woke up changed?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then we definitely go in cautious.” She paused. “And armed to the teeth.”

  He might hate their new world and the genetic crap that came with it, but it had its perks. One of them was the strange sixth sense his animal had given him. It hadn’t steered him wrong yet. And that sixth sense told him Striker was in trouble up to his neck.

  The sooner they got to La Paz, the better.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  They’d been thrown into a holding cell, which was nothing more than a bare concrete room with one high, narrow, heavily barred window and a thick steel door. There was a toilet and sink in the corner, a mattress and blankets on the floor. Nothing else.

  Well, except for the four cameras taking up space in each corner of the room. They were placed high up against the ceiling, protected behind shatterproof glass, ensuring they couldn’t be tampered with. There wasn’t one inch of the cell that wasn’t covered by surveillance. Striker had checked. He’d been pacing the cell, looking for weaknesses since the minute they’d been thrown into it. He checked his watch, for the millionth time. Nine and a half hours until Friday’s deadline. They could still make it to New York. If he could just get them out of this cell.