by Liliana Hart
The phones wouldn’t work in the tunnels since they were made of reinforced steel, but ten minutes passed—and then fifteen—and he still hadn’t gotten the all clear from Ethan.
“Fuck,” Jack whispered. “Who was on the phone, Gabe, and what the hell was that conversation about? Listening to your end wasn’t reassuring.”
“Shawn Kimball,” Gabe said. “And he has Grace. He wants the painting.”
He tried to keep his emotions locked away. Grace needed him, but he couldn’t slow his frantic heartbeat, and he couldn’t help but imagine what Kimball was putting her through. His fist tightened at the thought, and he struggled to ignore the pounding in his skull. He couldn’t lose her again. He wasn’t strong enough to deal with it. And for the first time he could remember, he was about to say to hell with the mission and put something else as his priority. Something he should have done a long time ago.
His phone buzzed on the table, and Gabe let out a slow breath when he saw the number. He hit speakerphone and waited to see who he’d be talking to.
“Son of a bitch,” Ethan said, his voice higher pitched than usual. “That was a hell of a bomb. For a minute there I didn’t think I was going to make it. I thought the tunnels were going to cave in on me.”
“Where are you?”
“A coffee shop for now,” Ethan said. “They’ve closed off all the streets in a half-mile radius around the detonation site, and it’ll be a while before I’ll be able to make it to the safe house. The city is going crazy with panic.”
“A coffee shop is fine. Just stay put.”
“I’ve got my laptop, but I don’t know how I can help you with all these people around.”
“Logan will have to do it from inside the hotel room. You need to stay hidden. Put the computers away and just act normal for a change until you can get to the safe house.”
Jack interrupted them, his voice harsh. Gabe knew they were in for a hell of a night. Sometimes friendship only went so far.
“Get back to Kimball wanting to trade the painting for Grace. Do you want to elaborate on that?” he asked.
“Kimball has taken over The Passover Project from his employer. I was informed during our conversation that he already had a new scientist working on recreating the first part of the formula. And he also mentioned that his employer had the other painting with the hidden formula right from the beginning.”
“Which means that we can’t under any circumstances let him complete the formula,” Jack said with warning.
“We’ll have time,” Gabe said. He was only speaking to Jack now. He had to make Jack understand. “If Kimball follows his MO, he’ll auction the weapon and sell it to the highest bidding terrorist. I know from experience it takes a couple of weeks to set up an auction like this. Not to mention the added time it will take for Kimball’s scientist to complete the formula. We have time,” he said again.
“You’re speaking in code, Gabe,” Logan said. “And skirting the issue. What are you not saying?”
“You heard me mention William Sloane,” Gabe said. “It turns out he’s the one who initiated the recreation of the weapon. Kimball said he’s a descendent of the original scientist, and we all know that he’s very powerful in Washington. He’s not afraid to throw his weight around to get what he wants, but no one has the balls to come up against him. He’ll be President after the next election.”
“So you’re saying we’re going to what? Kill him?” Ethan asked. “What about Kimball?”
“Jesus, Ethan,” Jack said. “You’re in a public place. We’ve talked about this before. Keep your mouth shut and just listen.”
“I locked myself in the bathroom. I’m all alone.”
“This is perfect,” Jack said, dropping into a chair and running his hands across his scalp. “So we get to take out the Speaker of the House, whose security is as good as, if not better than, the President’s, inciting a national panic and getting our asses in a whole hell of a lot of trouble.”
“One problem at a time,” Gabe said. “Kimball’s the bigger threat now.”
“Why?” Ethan asked. “He doesn’t have an auction if he doesn’t have a weapon. Seems pretty simple to me.”
“I don’t think Gabe’s idea of saving the world and ours are the same any more,” Logan said.
He’d been the quietest up until now, listening and processing in his silent way, but his eyes spoke volumes. Logan was pissed. And he had every right to be.
“Kimball wants to trade Grace for the painting, and Gabe wants to accommodate him. It’s what he meant when he told Jack there was plenty of time. He wants to give him the weapon and then try to stop him once the auction location is determined.”
“Weren’t you the one who lectured me on the importance of the whole as opposed to the individual?” Ethan asked, the anger in his voice evident. “SOP says we have to leave her behind. We can’t turn over a portion of a weapon that could wipe out civilization for her.”
“Agreed,” Logan said. “You don’t have a choice here. You have to let her go.”
“Would you?” Gabe asked, speaking directly to Logan.
They never talked of Logan’s past or the horrors he’d been forced to live through. Of the wife who’d died screaming his name for help. The puckered scars of fire covered a good portion of Logan’s neck, back, and arms. He was the best explosives man Gabe had ever worked with, but no one was perfect. “If you had the chance to save her,” Gabe said softly, “would you do it? Or would you walk away?” He wasn’t talking about Grace any longer, and he could tell by the shadows that came into Logan’s eyes that he knew it too.
Logan stared at him silently—defiantly—but Ethan wasn’t afraid to break into an awkward pause.
“Hell, no,” Ethan said. “This is bullshit, Gabe. You seriously think her life is worth everyone else’s? I know she’s your wife, and I’m sorry about that, but she knows the risks. I’m voting with Logan on this one. What about you, Jack?”
He looked at Jack and watched his friend close his eyes, knowing what was coming.
“Gabe,” Jack started to say.
“This mission is aborted,” Gabe interrupted. “The Collective is disbanded. Thank you for your work, gentlemen. Go home.”
“I don’t understand,” Ethan said. “You’re telling me you’re going to throw all this away for her? You’re going to risk the safety of the world for one woman?”
“You can’t possibly understand, Ethan,” Gabe said. “It’s not about one woman. It’s about the woman. There’s a hell of a lot of difference. If you’re lucky, you might understand it one day.”
“This is pointless. You can’t get the painting without us,” Ethan argued.
“Sure I can,” Gabe said, pulling the laptops in front of him. “Go home. All of you.”
Gabe caught Logan’s smile, and knew he understood. Jack groaned from across the table and muttered several inventive curses.
“Like hell I’m going home,” Jack said. “Someone has to watch your back. I’m in.”
“Me too,” Logan said. “But you’d better have one hell of a plan.”
Ethan sputtered from the phone on the table. “You’ve all lost your minds. This is insanity.”
“Goodbye, Ethan,” Gabe said, moving his finger toward the phone to disconnect.
“Wait, wait,” Ethan said. “Can’t you even give a guy a chance to think?” He sighed heavily across the line. “I guess I’m in too. Though I want it noted that I reserve the right to say I told you so.”
“So noted,” Gabe said. “Now let’s go get that painting. We’ve got to be back in London by noon tomorrow.”
* * *
2am
Darkness had crept across the city with reluctance, edging out the harsh sunlight as if night and day were fighting their own inevitable battle. Yellow lights flickered from buildings and parking garages, and traffic was sparse.
The air turned cold and replaced the terrible heat of the day, and a rolling wall of sand c
ame into the city just after midnight. Already, visibility was almost impossible. Car alarms blared, and everyone was tucked safely in their homes for the night. The only bad thing was that Logan had no more visibility through the outside cameras they’d placed than anyone else might. All they had to go by was their GPS units and night-vision goggles.
“We’re going to be in trouble if this storm lasts long,” Jack said. “The replacement plane will be grounded.”
“One thing at a time,” Gabe said, staring straight up the side of the museum walls.
He could only see a few feet in front of him, and he didn’t like the idea of climbing the side of a building mostly blind. He and Jack stood on the side opposite the main road, the lake at their backs. They were both dressed in black—ski masks pulled down over their heads—and the outside guards had taken their watch indoors because of the storm, so all that stood between Gabe and the painting was three stories of glass.
Gabe looked down at the black gloves that covered him from the tips of his fingers to his elbows. “Are you sure these are going to work?” he asked Ethan.
“Pretty sure,” Ethan responded. “As long as you’re touching glass. I haven’t figured out how to make them stable against other materials yet.”
“You’re pretty sure?” Jack asked incredulously. “Why are you never completely sure?”
“Well, you’re only going up three stories. I’ve found the gloves have a tendency to lose strength around five stories, so you should be okay.”
“You should have let him blow up,” Jack said to Gabe.
Gabe ignored them and placed his hand against the window. He immediately felt the pull of the glove against the glass, as if he were dealing with magnets instead of rubber and glass. He mirrored the image with his left hand to make sure both gloves were working properly, and then he began to climb.
His shoulders and arms strained under a rigorous display of pure strength, but he barely noticed the burn as he made his way up the side of the building. Jack kept pace on the window next to him, and neither of them spoke as they made the climb. Not until they saw what waited ahead of them.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jack said.
The glass stopped at the top of the third floor, but there was a five-foot lip that extended over the roof of the museum that was solid stone. No glass in sight. And Gabe couldn’t tell how far the ledge extended up because of their limited visibility.
Gabe detached one of his hands from the safety of the glass and reached up to touch the stone, hoping there was at least a little traction, but the glove slipped off the stone as soon as he tried to grasp it, and his body dropped and knocked against the window lightly so he was dangling precariously by one arm.
“Everything okay?” Logan asked.
“Dandy,” Gabe said, pulling himself back up into position, his heart racing at the close call. He tugged at the glove on his right hand with his teeth until it was free and let it drop three stories.
“Shit,” Jack muttered, following his lead.
Gabe held himself up with his remaining glove and used his feet against the glass to gain momentum. He pushed up and released his hold on the window just as his fingers clamped around the protruding stone. The rough edges bit into his fingertips and he held on with a prayer as he discarded the other glove and let it drop to the ground. He brought his left hand up to strengthen his hold on the ledge of the building. His muscles bunched and strained, and sweat snaked down his spine as he slowly pulled himself up.
Once he edged over the stone protrusion, he rolled onto the roof and lay there a few seconds on his back.
“I’d like you to work on making the gloves useable in all conditions, Dragon,” Gabe said as calmly as he could manage.
“Sure thing, boss. Sorry about that.”
Jack rolled onto the roof next to him and muttered the most inventive string of curses Gabe had ever heard before, but they both quickly regrouped. Gabe looked at Jack and nodded, and they made their way across the roof to the skylights that were positioned over the third floor café.
“Ghost and Renegade are in position,” Gabe said calmly. “Going into phase one.”
Jack took the electric screwdriver from his pack and removed all the screws that held the skylight in place.
“Once you remove the window, Grim Reaper will only have thirty seconds to reactivate the alarm systems using the override codes,” Ethan said. “Dammit, I should be the one doing this. What the hell does Grim Reaper know about computers?”
“Ease down, Dragon. It’ll be fine,” Gabe said. He pulled a small black square from his backpack and tossed it to the ground, catching the tent that popped out quickly before it could blow away. He secured it to the roof and covered the skylights so the wind and sand wouldn’t accidentally set off the alarms. No one would be able to see the tent until after the storm cleared, and by then it would be too late. They’d already be gone.
“You ready, Grim Reaper?” Gabe asked.
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Removing the skylight now.”
Gabe and Jack lifted the heavy skylight with little difficulty, making no sound as they placed it to the side. Gabe counted down the seconds on his watch and breathed out a sigh of relief when he heard Logan’s voice.
“Alarm is deactivated, but it’s still showing as active in the command center. None of the guards noticed the slight bump in the system.”
“Good work,” Gabe said. “Stand by while we move to phase two.”
The opening left from the skylight was protected with a crisscross of infrared beams, and Jack pulled four quarter-sized metal disks from his bag.
“You sure this is going to work, Dragon?” Jack asked.
“Why do you keep asking me that?” Ethan responded. “It’s starting to piss me off. Of course it works. I do not make inferior gadgets.”
Gabe took two of the disks and nodded at Jack. He placed one of the disks near the bulb the beam originated from and the other near the receiver on the opposite side. Jack mirrored his image.
“On three,” Gabe said. “One, two…”
They simultaneously moved the disks into place, cutting off the beam while giving the receiver the impression the infrared was still in place. The disks were magnetic and held in place without assistance.
“Make sure you don’t bump them going inside,” Ethan ordered.
“You’ve got six minutes until the guard makes his rounds,” Logan warned.
Gabe and Jack tied the black nylon ropes in the bags to the pipes that stuck up from the roof and attached them to the hooks at their belts. Gabe slowly lowered himself inside the museum and then tossed his rope back up to Jack once he’d reached the ground. Jack didn’t waste any time making his own descent and quickly joined him. He tossed his rope back up into the open space the skylight had left, and Gabe led them into the supply closet to wait out the guard making his rounds.
“Lazy bastard,” Logan commented in their ears. “He’s not even making a full loop of the top floor. They’ve got a poker game going in the control room. You’re all clear. Get in and get out.”
Gabe slid out of the closet and went directly to the west wing where Hitler’s paintings were displayed. He pulled his knife from his boot, and it took only seconds to slice the painting from the frame. He rolled it up and stuck it in the tube Jack handed him.
“Uh-oh,” Logan said through the earpiece. “That doesn’t look good.”
Jack and Gabe looked at each other, but didn’t answer Logan’s warning. They both pulled their pistols and split up, each finding a hiding spot behind large white columns.
“The control room guard just answered a phone call. It looks like Kimball tipped them off to our plans. The alert has gone out to all the guards. I can see both of you on my screen.”
“How many?” Gabe whispered.
“Three are coming up the back stairs. They’ll come out right behind you, Ghost. Eight are taking the main stairs, and three more are takin
g the stairs on Jack’s side. They’ll come out by the café.”
Gabe stayed down and moved quickly to the outside of the stairwell Logan had warned him of. The first bursts of gunfire happened on Jack’s side of the building, but Gabe knew his friend could take care of himself. The guards hoped to overwhelm him by coming through the door all at once, but their plan backfired on them.
Gabe grabbed the first guard around the neck and fired into the chest of the one right behind him. He kicked out with his leg, pushing the guard he’d shot in the chest so he fell into the guard behind him. The man he had in a headlock struggled until Gabe broke his neck and put one final bullet in the guard that was struggling to move his friend’s body off of him.
Those coming up the stairs decided to shoot first and ask questions later. Gabe dove behind the column he’d been hiding behind earlier just as shards of plaster and dust exploded above him. He pulled the knife from his boot and threw it at the first guard he saw, embedding it in his throat even as he was firing his gun.
Several men swarmed him at once, and a gun was difficult to use in close combat. He pulled a Taser from the belt of one of the guards and shot it into his neck even as his foot hit another in the chest and knocked him over the stair railing so he fell three stories below.
He saw Jack get in position on the opposite side of the stairway, and they both worked their way to the center of the staircase, taking out the rest of the guards until it was only the two of them standing at the top of the stairs.
“Update,” Gabe ordered.
He pulled his knife from the guard it had been buried in and wiped it on the man’s clothes. He and Jack started down the stairs to the lower gallery floors, moving cautiously.
“Two guards blocking each entrance,” Logan said. “Police have been dispatched. It’s time to disappear. I’m packing up here. I’ll meet you at the rendezvous point. Grim Reaper out.”
“What can I do?” Ethan asked. “I hate just sitting here.”
“Make sure the backup plane I ordered is a go,” Gabe said. “We’ll be ready for takeoff in twenty minutes. And make sure you talk to the pilot directly. Tell him to take every precaution. I want to make sure he’s alive when we get there.”