The Medusa Game

by Cindy Dees

His only answer to her challenge was to say mildly, “In case you haven’t noticed, it’s after eleven o’clock at night. How am I supposed to convince Schmidt that Holt is needed at this hour?”

  She grinned. “The second round of ice dancing qualifications are tomorrow. The ice has to be ready for it.”

  Dex nodded thoughtfully. “He might buy that.”

  He wanted to help. He sounded willing to feed the line to Schmidt. He’d shifted his thinking from if the Medusas should get their helicopter to how they should get it. Furthermore, he was greenlighting the Medusas to run an op for which he was taking full responsibility. It was a tacit admission that he thought the all-female team could do the job.

  She said helpfully, “If you requisition the helicopter tonight, we can explain it to Schmidt after the fact tomorrow.”

  He grinned. “The old, ‘it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission’ ploy?”

  She grinned back. “You do what you’ve got to do to get the mission done.”

  Dex’s eyes glinted with humor. “Spoken like a true S.F. operator.”

  He parked the vehicle and they walked quickly into the ops center. He opened the door for her, and since he’d let her carry her pack by herself, she stepped through the door without complaint. As usual, the dim space was filled with operators studying the brightly lit television screens ringing the room.

  “So. Are you gonna give us the helicopter?”

  He strode beside her toward the briefing room where they could see the other Medusas waiting. “Yes, you can have your helicopter. I can’t give you the emergency bird with the crew on short standby, though. I’ve got to keep that ’copter in the local area for med-evac airlift and local crisis response. You can have the backup Huey. It’ll carry all of you. It may take me a while to scrounge up a pilot, though.”

  Isabella said, “I think I can help with that.” They stepped into the briefing room. “Hey, Misty. Do you have a current rating on a Huey?”

  “Yup.”

  Isabella turned to Dex. “Pilot problem solved.”

  He cocked his head in surprise. “Okay then. It’s parked on the roof. I’ll fill out the paperwork and you can sign it when you return. So, get out of here, already.”

  The six Medusas shouldered their packs and moved out. They rode an elevator to the roof and tossed their gear into the helicopter while Misty climbed in and started running the checklists to wake up the Huey’s many systems. Karen, who’d worked in a helo maintenance squadron a few years back, ran around outside pulling engine intake and pitot tube covers. By the time she was done, Misty was on the radios, filing a quick flight plan.

  The engines roared to life and the rotor started a slow spin overhead, picking up speed rapidly, until it was only a blur. Isabella put on the pair of headphones that lay in her seat and strapped in as Misty asked for takeoff clearance.

  The reply was immediate. “Huey 3152, you are cleared for departure. Climb and maintain three thousand feet, heading two-four-zero. Contact Boston Center on frequency…”

  The bird lifted off the roof and climbed straight up in the air. Isabella was no expert, but Misty’s flying felt smooth and sure. She remembered overhearing a couple pilots in the Pope Air Force Base Officer’s Club a few months back saying that Misty supposedly had the best hands in the entire Air Force. Afterward, she’d teased her pilot teammate about just what it was she’d handled to get that reputation.

  The lights of Lake Placid receded behind them, and the night went pitch-black. The steady thwock of the rotor blades was relaxing, and despite the confrontation with Holt to come, she could have dozed off pretty easily.

  But then Vanessa said, “Adder, what do you know about the Red Jihad?”

  “Dex mentioned them. Red usually stands for blood in Islamic symbolism, and Jihad means ‘holy war.’”

  “Misty finished translating the tapes we made last night. There are two separate references to this Red Jihad. It appears that your hunch was correct. Something is cooking, and young Lazlo is in the thick of it.”

  Isabella thought back to the last intel analysis she’d read on Chechnya maybe a month ago. “When the Russians pulled out for good last year, literally hundreds of rebel groups came out of hiding under the amnesty the new government granted. The big question now is whether or not all those rebels will reintegrate peacefully into society, or whether they’ll find some new cause to latch on to and continue the violence they’ve lived by for the last several decades.” She added, “Was there anything else interesting on the tapes?”

  Vanessa answered, “It seems that Lazlo’s parents were in some sort of Chechnyan rebel cell with this Gorabchek guy a number of years ago. Right about the same time Lazlo came to the United States to train as a figure skater.”

  “Maybe that’s why his family sent him over here. To escape getting caught up in all the violence of the freedom fighters during that time.”

  Vanessa grunted. “One man’s freedom fighter is another man’s terrorist.”

  “Speaking of terrorists,” Isabella said, “what do we know about Holt?”

  “Just that his access card unlocked his lab—” she glanced at her watch “—about an hour ago. There are no windows so the campus police can’t verify that it’s him. I advised the night security guard not to approach Holt or make him suspicious, so we’re not a hundred percent sure we’ve got our man.”

  “Can the building be locked down so he can’t get out?” Isabella asked.

  Vanessa nodded. “Already done. And given the suspicious circumstances under which his wife disappeared, I think we have to assume he’s armed and potentially violent.”

  Isabella nodded. “How much longer, Sidewinder?”

  “About forty minutes,” Misty replied. “I’ve gotten permission to land at the Syracuse University Hospital helipad. The campus police will meet us there with vehicles.”

  “Let’s hope they don’t plan to help us storm Holt’s lab.”

  The other women groaned. While local police were competent at what they did, they didn’t have the training the Medusas did for clearing rooms full of hostiles. They had spent months in the schoolhouse at Fort Bragg storming rooms over and over again, until they could burst in, eliminate a dozen or more bad guys and never harm a hair on a hostage’s head. Isabella had a tough callus at the base of her shooting hand from the thousands of rounds they’d fired in the course of their counterterrorism training.

  Aleesha looked across the bird at Vanessa. “How’re those new pills working?”

  “I’m holding up.”

  Isabella threw a sympathetic look at her boss. Vanessa was plagued with airsickness, and Aleesha was constantly experimenting with new antinausea drugs to find a magic bullet for Vanessa. The latest batch of medications was the best so far, not to mention that Vanessa was getting lots of experience on flights like this one and seemed to be desensitizing her system to the motion.

  Silence fell over the dark interior of the bird. Each of them prepared for missions in their own way. Karen cranked up heavy metal on her MP-3 player. Kat went into some sort of meditative trance that she wouldn’t talk about. Vanessa tried to sleep in order not to barf and Aleesha traditionally fussed over Vanessa like a mother hen. Isabella usually spent the whole time fighting off an urge to think about all the things that could go wrong. It was psychologically counterproductive and put her in entirely the wrong frame of mind. Tonight, she did her damnedest to visualize the forthcoming op going perfectly. Holt would be in his lab. They’d nail him red-handed with evidence about his wife’s disappearance. He’d confess what he was up to regarding the Olympics, and the Medusas would come out of it smelling like roses.

  Okay, not realistic, but there was no harm in hoping, was there?

  Abdul sat at the kitchen table with only the stove’s light on. He sipped occasionally at a cup of cold Turkish coffee. It was late, but he couldn’t sleep. His nephews were out tonight, trying yet again to find the elusive Ice Doctor, who’d disappe
ared completely a few days ago. Abdul had told Holt to disappear, but not to be completely incommunicado. His cell phone signal had gone out of service, and they’d been unable to contact him for close to twenty-four hours now. That was worrisome. Holt was flighty. Unpredictable. No telling what the scientist was up to.

  Abdul had sent his nephews to Syracuse, to have a look around Holt’s home and see if they could find any clues as to where the good doctor had gone.

  “Son, you cannot sleep?”

  He looked up and smiled as his father shuffled into the room. Abdul replied in Arabic, “And what keeps you up so late?”

  His father sat down at the table. “Indigestion. But you—you are troubled. What rests so heavily upon your mind like the gas upon my stomach?”

  Abdul sighed. He loved this man, revered his wisdom. But in spite of his robust appearance, the man was frail, his heart enlarged and weak. He was determined to shield his father from the stress of this mission. “Talk to me about paradise, father. Remind me why we struggle so on this Earth.”

  His father nodded sagely and began to recite the soothing poetry of the Qur’an, passages about the paradise that awaits the faithful, the special glory waiting for those willing to sacrifice anything, even their very lives, to defend the faith. The beauty and power of the words flowed over him, soothing his troubled heart and renewing his certainty of the rightness of his path. The passage ended, and he grasped his father’s hand.

  “Thank you, Father. Your words are a gift.”

  “They are not my words.” He pointed a gnarled finger up toward the ceiling.

  Abdul nodded. “I needed the reminder to stay the course.”

  His father replied, “It is easy to doubt. It is difficult indeed to carry on in spite of doubt. If your cause be right, then do not question it, but carry on toward the final glory.”

  “Amen,” Abdul murmured. Oh yes. His cause was right. His duty was clear. The moment of doubt past, he stood up and went back to bed.

  The Syracuse University police were surprisingly helpful. They’d brought a couple men to keep an eye on the five million dollar Huey while the Medusas went after Holt. They’d brought two cars for the Medusas to use, walkie-talkies set to the campus police frequencies, maps of the campus with clear directions to Holt’s lab, and they even had a schematic of the Chemistry Building.

  Then the reason for their preparation became crystal clear. A tall, powerful man in a campus police uniform stepped forward and held his hand out to Vanessa. “I’m Roscoe Tanner. Army Rangers till last year. What else do you need?”

  Vanessa replied, as they stepped into an elevator, “I think you’ve covered it all. We’d like to go in on our own. If your men could cover the exterior of the building, that would be helpful.”

  Tanner nodded. “I already popped the boys’ bubble and told them they wouldn’t get to play SWAT team with you. I figured you wouldn’t want amateurs in the way.”

  Vanessa smiled warmly. “If you trained them, I highly doubt they’re amateurs, Mr. Tanner.”

  The mutual admiration society adjourned as the elevator doors opened and the women stepped into a loading dock at the back of the hospital. As promised, two unmarked cars awaited them. The Medusas piled in and took off across campus.

  Isabella picked up the walkie-talkie Tanner had given them and transmitted, “What’s the status of Holt and his lab? Is he still there?”

  A nervous male voice replied, “He hasn’t carded out yet, and last time I walked down the hall, about ten minutes ago, there was still a light coming from under the door.”

  “Thanks,” she replied. “Don’t do any more walk-bys for now. We’ll be there in under five minutes. Have any security types not covering the exit meet us in the front lobby.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the guy responded.

  Isabella smiled. He sounded about fourteen years old and scared to death. She’d been in situations so much more dangerous than this that she was hardly nervous, let alone scared.

  They pulled up in front of a brick building. Three security guards huddled just inside the front door. The Medusas threw on their flak vests and utility belts, did a quick radio check with their throat mikes and slung their MP-5s into ready positions at their hips. The campus cops’ eyes went wide at the sight of the women racing inside.

  “Stay here,” Vanessa ordered the men quietly. “Don’t come up until one of us radios you with an all clear. This could take a while. We don’t always move fast.”

  The men nodded. Tanner came inside. “I’ve set up a perimeter around the building. He won’t get past us. Oh, and I almost forgot. Here’s a master key card for the lab door.”

  Vanessa took the plastic card, thanked Tanner quickly, and then hand signaled the Medusas to move out. Karen took point, and they moved fast and silent into a stairwell and up to the third floor. A quick check of the hall with a periscope, and then the team was on the move again. In spite of Vanessa’s warning to the men below, the Medusas were moving quickly. They raced down the hallway to the heavy steel door of Holt’s lab. Vanessa signaled for a standard entry, and they each signaled back, repeating the formation hand sign back to her. When submachine guns might end up laying down a curtain of lead, it was vitally important that everyone be on the same page.

  They got into position. They’d enter two at a time, each woman peeling off in a different direction until they’d fanned out and had a field of fire on every corner of the room. Adrenaline ripped through Isabella, making the light around her seem brighter, the sounds louder, her body lighter. Calm. Focus. You know what to do, now you just have to do it. For a millisecond, it occurred to her that these were the same words Liz Cartwright had told Anya before she went out to skate. Each in their own way, they were warriors for the same cause—the right of women to do anything they could dream of doing.

  Vanessa ran the key card through the scanning slot. A green diode lit and a beep announced that the lock had opened. Misty yanked open the door and Kat and Aleesha burst into the brightly lit room. Isabella and Vanessa went next, and Misty and Karen brought up the rear. Isabella jumped fast to her right, plastering her back against the wall, her weapon in a firing position, and scanned the space for hostile targets. Long, stainless steel counters filled the room. They were cluttered with glass beakers, Bunsen burners and a wide array of electronic equipment. Tall cabinets lined the walls. And there wasn’t any sign of Harlan Holt.

  Cautiously, they cleared the space, checking under the counters, tearing open cabinet doors and examining every hiding place where a human being could possibly fit. Nada.

  Vanessa snapped at Isabella, “Give me that walkie-talkie.”

  She handed the radio over to her boss.

  “Tanner, get up here.”

  The ex-soldier raced into the room moments later.

  Vanessa bit out, “He’s not here. Do I have your permission to perform an invasive search of the room?”

  Tanner frowned. “Of course. I’m sure he was here. I checked the computer logs myself, and his card definitely unlocked that door two hours ago.”

  Isabella moved across the room, scanning the rows of equipment, putting her hand on each of the electronic boxes. She stopped in front of a beaker in a metal ring stand. It was partially full of liquid. She reached out to feel the machine beside it. “Hey, Viper. This box is warm.”

  She felt the glass vial beside the mass spectrometer, and it was faintly warm as well. “Here’s the solution he was measuring.”

  Vanessa hurried over to her. “Let’s take samples of everything in this area for the boys back in Lake Placid.”

  Isabella nodded and took the evidence-gathering kit Aleesha handed to her. The two women pulled on surgical gloves and began the painstaking process of photographing, swabbing and bagging samples of everything in this section of the lab. A fine film of white powder covered the counter around the beaker. What were the odds? Could it be that Holt made the nerve gas agent that had shown up on that paper bag at the ice
skating rink? The guy was a chemist, after all.

  Maybe the wife had found out what he was up to and he’d eliminated her. That, too, made a certain sick kind of sense. She continued swabbing other surfaces and listening to Vanessa and Tanner’s tense conversation.

  “…so where did he go? Your men said they’d locked the building down and he couldn’t get out.”

  “We’ll pull the video of the exits, but I’d lay odds he didn’t just walk out of here. I trained these guys myself and they’re conscientious.”

  A few minutes later, the police radio crackled with a report that they had isolated video of Holt entering the building, but could find none of him leaving.

  Vanessa turned to the other Medusas. “Cobra, you finish collecting samples. The rest of you, we’ve got a building to clear.”

  Isabella groaned mentally. This was a big building. Tanner had a team of guys trained to do basic room searches, and he took them and headed for the top floor. He’d work his way down while the Medusas worked their way up from the ground floor.

  An hour later, they met in the middle. No sign of the missing professor.

  Vanessa said, “Okay, Tanner. Talk to me about alternative exits.”

  “There’s a tunnel to the lab building next door, but it’s sealed off with a honking steel hatch. This building is also steam heated and has tunnels that hook it to the campus’s main steam power plant. But those tunnels are locked up as well. That’s it.”

  Vanessa said, “You check the tunnel to the lab, we’ll take the steam tunnels.”

  Tanner led them to the heating system, and then headed for the other end of the cavernous basement with his team.

  Aleesha took one look at the steel door and muttered, “Uh, Viper?”

  “Yes?”

  “This thing has been jimmied. Recently.” To illustrate her point, Aleesha unhooked the broken padlock from the door, dangling it from her index finger.

  Vanessa radioed her find to Tanner, and in seconds, pounding footsteps approached them from behind. Karen and Misty pushed open the heavy door. A yawning pit of black stretched before them. The Medusas pulled out high intensity flashlights and shined them down the tunnel. The walls were damp and shiny, and honest to God, something skittered away in the dark. It was the stuff of B-grade horror movies.