Leroux nodded, dropping into the chair and grabbing his head as he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to get control. He felt a gentle hand on his back and he looked up to see Sonya Tong standing in front of him, her eyes filled with tears.
Not now!
She leaned over and gave him a hug. “Don’t lose hope,” she whispered, then let him go, returning to her station.
“Sir, phone call coming in on Professor Palmer’s phone.”
Morrison snapped his fingers. “Let our agent know then route it through. Pipe the audio through the speakers.”
“Yes, sir.”
Leroux sucked in slow, deep breaths, trying to remember what Kane had taught him about combat breathing—or something like that. Tactical? He couldn’t remember, but it was starting to work. He glanced over at Sonya, working away at her station, and said a silent apology to her. Yes, she was sweet on him, that he knew, though never did he think she would truly wish any ill will toward Sherrie. She was just concerned about him.
And she was right.
Don’t lose hope.
The heads-up was given to the agent, then the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Professor Acton, your friends have failed and your parents are dead.”
“So are you, you son of a bitch. I’m going to find you and kill you if it’s the last thing I ever do.”
There was a chuckle. “Professor Acton, you will do no such thing. You are going to return home, attend your parents’ funeral, and maintain your silence.”
“Go to hell.”
“Professor, I think you are missing the big picture. Your parents are dead because you know something you shouldn’t. You still know something you shouldn’t. Killing you isn’t an option, because I don’t know who you’ve told. Even if I killed your wife and your friends, Interpol Agent Hugh Reading, and Inspector General Mario Giasson, I could never be sure I got everyone. But if they know your friends and family will die if they speak, I know they will maintain their silence.” There was a momentary pause and Leroux rose, wiping his cheeks clear of tears. “To illustrate my point, your friend, Gregory Milton, has a child, does he not? It will be hard for him to save her with that back of his. Perhaps we will pay him a visit.”
The call ended, leaving Leroux in shock for a moment.
Then he snapped his fingers.
“Find this Gregory Milton, now!”
Milton Residence, St. Paul, Maryland
Greg Milton moaned in exquisite agony as his wife straddled him, working her thumbs into the small of his back. It was aching from a long day at work, though it was a pain he would never trade for the alternative he had been facing.
Total paralysis from the waist down.
He had been shot in the back and left for dead a few years ago. He was lucky to be alive, and a lifetime in a wheelchair had been a horrible prospect, though one he was willing to live with if it meant spending it with his wife and young daughter.
But the doctors’ longshot had paid off, their “most likely” wrong, their “slim chance” a winner. And the recovery had begun. A long, slow, painful recovery, but he was now walking again, able to go most of the day at his job as Dean of St. Paul’s University, though if he overdid it, like he had today standing at a podium, delivering a speech, he would pay the price later.
He no longer worried about losing the ability to walk. The doctors had confirmed that was behind him. The question was now whether or not he’d stage a full recovery, or forever experience the pain.
He was determined to see the former win out.
Sandra expertly worked his muscles, she having enrolled in some courses to learn how properly to do this, and she had turned out to be a godsend. She never complained, never asked for a night off, she just did it.
“You have no idea how good that feels, hon.”
“Is it working?”
“Oh yeah. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Hang around in your underwear watching television and eating Cheezies?”
He chuckled. “You’re probably right.” He glanced back at her. “That doesn’t sound half-bad.”
She smacked his ass and he reveled in the fact he could feel it.
“Don’t start something you’re not willing to finish.”
She leaned over and kissed him between the shoulder blades. “You know what they say is good for the back.”
He grinned, closing his eyes as she continued to rain gentle kisses on him.
Something stirred.
And his phone vibrated on the nightstand.
Sandra leaned over and grabbed it, handing it to him. He looked at it and shook his head. “Don’t recognize the number. Let it go to voicemail then get back to that new massage technique you were trying out there.”
The phone was returned to the nightstand, the kisses continuing, full mast achieved.
The phone vibrated again.
Sandra sighed, Milton groaned, and the phone demanded attention. She grabbed it again. “Same number.”
“Okay, I better take it.” She handed him the phone and he swiped his thumb. “Hello?”
“Greg, it’s me, Jim. Get Sandra and Niskha out of the house, now! Get to the nearest police station and stay there. Do you hear me?”
Milton’s heart raced and he began to roll over, Sandra climbing off him, their fun over. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
“There’s no time to explain. Trust no one, not even the police or the FBI. I’ll send Dylan to get you.”
“Why? Jim, tell me something!”
“My parents are dead. Just move, now!”
CIA Safe House, Rome, Italy
Mr. Verde shook his head, shaking his phone in defeat. “We don’t know yet. There was an explosion and they can’t reach the agents that rescued your parents. There’s another agent on-site trying to confirm what happened.”
Acton gripped his hair as he bent forward, pulling hard, Laura leaning against him, her cheek resting on his back as she gently stroked him, trying to comfort him.
It wasn’t working.
“They’re dead.” He sucked in a breath. “And it’s my fault.”
Reading continued to pace in front of the window they weren’t allowed to open. “This won’t end,” he said, suddenly stopping and whirling toward the group. “This will never end until they’re taken out.”
Laura lifted her head. “But who is they?”
“I don’t know, but there’s one way to find out.”
Acton lifted his head, staring up at his friend. “How?”
“Pay them a bloody visit and get our hands on one of them.”
Laura sat up. “Is that even legal?”
Reading shrugged. “No, but we’re long past that now. And something tells me they’re not going to go crying to the police if we do take one of them.”
Acton leapt to his feet, filling his lungs with false courage, his need to do something outweighing his need to act carefully. “Then let’s go. I’m done sitting around.”
Verde stepped forward. “I can’t let you leave.”
Acton walked toward the man and stopped inches from his face.
“Just try to stop me.”
He felt Laura’s hand on his shoulder.
“Try to stop us.”
West Pratt Street, Baltimore, Maryland
Kane gently rolled Sherrie over onto her back, the elevator creaking with the shift in mass.
She moaned.
Oh, thank God!
“Are you okay?”
She moaned again and he quickly began an inspection for broken bones or wounds.
Nothing.
She coughed, a burst of pulverized drywall dust erupting from her mouth.
She opened her eyes. “What happened?”
“An explosion took out the penthouse level. Just stay still, this whole thing could drop at any moment.”
Fang coughed then rolled over, wiping a hand over her face. He reached over and took her hand
. “Just stay still. Let me check you over.” He quickly did an assessment and found her clear as well.
He looked at where his partners had been lying and his admiration of them grew. They had thrown themselves over the elderly Actons, shielding them from falling debris.
Incredible.
Fang pushed herself up to a sitting position as Kane rolled Mrs. Acton onto her back, her breathing shallow but steady.
She must have fainted.
He checked Acton’s father for a pulse then frowned.
Nothing.
He searched again then held his hand to the man’s face.
Again nothing.
“He’s not breathing. I’ve got to start CPR. Hang on.”
He rolled the man over and the elevator creaked in protest then slipped, knocking him off his knees.
“Christ, we’ve got to get out of here.” He motioned toward the doors. “See if you can get those open.”
He began chest compressions, each pump seeming to piss the elevator off more, as the others pulled at the doors. Suddenly Dorothy Acton gasped, sitting upright. “What happened?” Then she saw Kane working on her husband and cried out. “Oh my God! Eli! Are you okay?” She climbed to her knees and the elevator slipped again. She screamed, Kane reaching over and grabbing her by the shoulder.
“Stay perfectly still.”
She nodded, instead clasping her hands together and beginning to pray silently, her eyes glued on her husband’s unresponsive face.
As he continued compressions, he glanced behind him to see the inner doors open, a piece of debris wedged into the frame to keep them in place. He turned back to his patient. “What do you see?”
“We’re about halfway between levels. I’m going to try and climb up.”
“No, if this slips you’ll be cut in half.”
Sherrie pounded on the bottom of the outer doors. “Help us! We’re in the elevator!” She pounded again then stopped, everyone listening.
There were shouts then pounding on the other side. “Anyone in there?”
“Yes, yes we’re in here! We need help. Someone’s had a heart attack!”
“Just a second!” called the muffled voice and Kane looked over his shoulder to see the outer doors opening.
“Let me take a look,” said a second voice, sticking his head in, “I’m a doctor.” He saw Kane continuing chest compressions. “Okay, I’m coming in.”
Kane held up a hand, stopping him. “No, it’s too dangerous. The whole thing could fall with the extra weight.”
The man nodded, pulling his head out. “Are you trained?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, keep doing what you’re doing. The fire department just arrived, I’ll get a portable defibrillator down to you.”
Kane continued, Fang checking for a pulse and shaking her head.
The elevator shook, everything rattling like an earthquake, then there was a snapping sound overhead and they dropped several more feet, the outer doors disappearing. Kane glanced up through the hatch and couldn’t see any cables holding them.
It must be just the brakes now.
He continued his compressions, alternating with mouth-to-mouth.
But if they were damaged…
Shouts from above had him looking again and he breathed a sigh of relief as he saw a firefighter being lowered, a portable defibrillator strapped to his chest. He came to rest just above the elevator and lowered the kit inside. Sherrie reached up and grabbed it, quickly unpacking it as Kane continued his work.
“Do you know how to use that?” asked the firefighter.
Kane glanced up and nodded. “Yes.” He ripped his patient’s shirt open and he and Sherrie, also trained, stuck the pads into position as the machine powered up. It beeped and Kane removed his hands.
“Clear!”
Sherrie pressed the button and Ellsworth shook. Kane checked the machine.
Still a flat line.
“Hit him again.”
The machine beeped its readiness, and again he was shocked, his body flopping like a fish on the dock.
And nothing.
Kane closed his eyes, not willing to give up, though knowing there was no point in continuing. But the doc wouldn’t want him to stop. “Again,” he whispered, Sherrie nodding.
“Clear.”
A zap and again, nothing.
Then there was a beep.
Kane leaned over and looked at the machine. Another beep. And then another, the display beginning to show a heartbeat, the rate quickly climbing from five beats, to twenty to sixty, the rhythm steady.
“We’ve got a heartbeat!” he shouted. Sherrie hugged him and Dorothy collapsed on top of her husband, hugging him and kissing him, her sobs of relief shaking the entire car.
“Okay, we’re going to secure you from above. Try to keep still!”
Ellsworth’s eyes flickered open and he inhaled deeply.
“Get off me, woman.”
Dorothy lifted herself up, the joy in her face obvious as she put her hand on his cheek. “Y-you gave us quite the sc-scare.”
He returned the caress. “It’s okay, I’m fine. No kidnappers or exploding buildings or collapsing elevators are going to kill me.” Dorothy laughed, sniffing. “It’ll be all those damned apple pies you keep baking. Do you see any apple pies?”
Dorothy gently slapped his cheek. “No.”
“Then I’m not going to die, am I?”
Kane smiled, turning away to give the old married couple as much privacy as was possible, leaving him to wonder what it would be like to have someone is his life that cared about him that much. He found himself staring at Fang as she watched the couple, a slight smile on her face, her mouth open slightly. She caught him and her smile broadened.
Then she looked quickly away.
Maybe one day?
Operations Center 3, CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia
Leroux paced in front of the displays, no one daring stare, no one wanting to say anything to him, status reports being provided to Morrison who had wisely stepped in to take over. Nobody would blame him for losing it. It wasn’t a failure to care about someone. His reaction was exactly why he was never supposed to have been put in that situation in the first place.
Yet it had happened, and now everyone was waiting for word from Kane, there nothing for almost ten minutes.
The longest ten minutes in his life.
“Sir!”
Sonya looked at Leroux then Morrison, then back at Leroux. “It’s Agent White!”
Leroux bounded toward her station, his hand extended. She handed him her headset and he fit it around his ears. “Hon, are you okay?”
“Hey, baby, we’re fine, we’re all fine.”
Leroux collapsed to his knees, turning around and sitting on the floor. “Oh thank God! We all thought you were dead.”
“I’m not, so you can stop your worrying.”
He smiled, the tears of joy rolling down his cheeks suddenly reminding him that he wasn’t the only one hanging on by a thread. “Are Professor Acton’s parents okay?”
“Yes. Mr. Acton had a heart attack but Dylan got his heart going again. He’s being taken to the hospital now.”
Leroux pushed himself to his feet, snapping his fingers at Child. “Get word to Professor Acton that his parents are okay.”
Child nodded and Leroux looked at Morrison, his boss giving him a nod and removing his headset.
Control had been returned.
Leroux smiled at him slightly and Morrison left the room, the exact message Leroux needed to be sent at this moment.
You have his confidence.
“Okay, hon, I’ve got to let you go. Call me when you’re secure.”
“I will. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
He hit the button, killing the call and turned to Therrien. “What’s the status on our other situation?”
“Retrieval team is inbound, ETA less than ten minutes.” Therrien pointed at the screen.
“We just got eyes on target.”
Leroux looked at the display, a quiet suburban street with little activity.
Except one car sitting with a hot engine and two occupants, almost directly in front of their target’s house.
Leroux shook his head.
Either it’s an awkward teenage post-date moment, or someone is up to no good.
Milton Residence, St. Paul, Maryland
“Daddy, no!”
Milton picked up his daughter, there no longer time to deal with her childish protests at having been woken. He grabbed her green Froggie and stuck it in her hands, she immediately hugging it tight. His back spasmed and he leaned back with a hiss, grasping at it with his free hand.
“Let me take her.” His wife took Niskha and grabbed the overnight bag she had packed, heading for the garage.
“You drive, my back’s too sore. I don’t think I’d be able to do any quick maneuvers if I had to.”
He set the alarm, the chirp the signal for Sandra to open the door. She stepped into the garage, hitting the opener button and the garage door rumbled up. He glanced outside as he rounded the rear of their van and saw no one, though he suspected pros wouldn’t be so obvious as to be standing across the street, smoking a cigarette in a trench coat.
Sandra got Niskha situated and climbed into the driver’s seat, he getting into the passenger side. She started the van and began to pull out slowly. “Do you really think someone’s going to follow us?”
“I don’t know. Jim sounded scared. Really scared. And he said his parents were dead. Whatever’s going on is serious, and for some reason he thinks our lives are in danger.”
Sandra put the car in drive and pulled away from the house. Milton scrunched in his seat, peering out the side view mirror and his heart leapt as he saw headlights turn on, a vehicle pulling away from the curb, just one house down from theirs.
“Shit!”
“Daddy said a bad word!”
“What is it?”
Milton looked again. “I think someone’s following us.”
“Are you sure?”
He shook his head. “No, just keep going. Let’s get to a busy street quickly.”
Saint Peter's Soldiers (A James Acton Thriller, Book #14) Page 19