Blaze

by Joan Swan

  She hoped.

  NINETEEN

  Luke hardened himself as he stepped in Kai’s footprints, the hollow inside him growing in tandem with his distance from Keira.

  Kai headed down the final passage toward the cell Mateo had indicated belonged to the mysterious Q. If there was such a man. One of the reasons Luke had wanted to be on this detail had been just that fear—that Q was a decoy. On the other hand, Luke knew Cash was real. He trusted Keira’s abilities completely. But Q could be anything from a figment of a child’s imagination to the government’s idea of a sick manipulation. And he didn’t want Keira anywhere near that game. She’d suffered enough.

  Besides, having her on the opposite side of a pitch-black compound kept his eyes off her, which would keep his mind off the pain beneath his ribs. If he let himself dwell on the way her tortured look shattered his heart, he very well could end up dead. Which didn’t seem like such a bad alternative at the moment.

  They came to a corner, the connection of two hallways. Kai put up a fist, and Luke and Mitch stopped behind him. From studying the map, Luke knew the cell that belonged to Q was directly around the corner on the right. Cash’s, one cell beyond. The Castle might be expansive, but from Mitch’s intel, it seemed most of the space had been converted into labs, employee barracks, offices, and a control room. Only half a dozen cells filled this wing. And Mateo had said only two were occupied.

  Kai held the M14 like the former soldier he’d been before becoming a firefighter. Mitch and Luke had chosen to hang their subguns over their backs and stalk with their Glocks.

  Kai held up three fingers, two, one, and cocked his wrist in a semi-wave. Swift, sure steps thrust Kai around the corner. Luke followed. And came up short. Mitch stumbled up behind him.

  “What the fuck?” Mitch whispered, then peered around Luke and Kai, who were blocking the open door.

  Luke’s gaze skipped across the mess, the cell’s contents strewn all over the floor as if the tiny cement square had been the site of a home invasion.

  “Time to bail.” Kai took a step in retreat.

  Luke let him pass and eased into the space, backing along the wall. A twin-size, wooden-frame bed had been overturned. The thin mattress gutted, the stuffing flat and gray against the charcoal cement floor. One sheet, one blanket lay in a heap. No pillow in sight.

  “What happened here?” Luke whispered.

  “Doesn’t matter.” Kai’s gaze swept the hallway. “It’s creeping me out. Let’s go.”

  Luke tilted his head toward the neighboring cell. “Check the next room. It’s supposed to be Cash’s.”

  “But he’s not—”

  “Just check it,” Luke ordered, swinging around to pin Kai with a look. He might be the lead, but that didn’t make him the boss. Luke had a lot at stake here, as much as Kai. “See if he or they left anything behind.” When Kai backed out and disappeared, Luke turned a fierce look on Mitch. “Watch the halls.”

  For once in his life, Mitch didn’t argue.

  Luke moved deeper into the cell, looking for clues. Anything to tell him more about Q. More about the guy’s life in this hole. More about the people who’d held him here.

  Books lay scattered on the concrete. Everything from Shakespeare to Clive Cussler. Toiletries were dispersed over a small tabletop—basic toothbrush, a single-blade shaving razor, a travel-size toothpaste, quarter-size ring of dental floss, bar of soap, and deodorant.

  Luke stepped toward the overturned nightstand and kicked at the blankets. A book thudded from the mass. He crouched and picked it up. A Bible.

  The book parted with something wedged in the pages. He cradled the spine of the Bible in his free palm and let the book fall open, tilting his night vision goggles to inspect the bookmark.

  Shock tripped the regular beat of his heart. He leaned in, squinted at the silver dollar–size piece. One he’d seen before. One he had tucked away at home. One of only seven in existence. At least that he knew of.

  “Kai!” The name flew from his mouth as soon as air whipped back into his lungs.

  “I’m right here.” His teammate appeared at Luke’s side in what felt like an instant. “Man, that other cell could have been a room at a rustic Four Seasons. It’s tossed, too.” His head tilted down, goggles pointed at the book in Luke’s hand. “What the . . . ?” The fear shimmering off Kai invaded Luke like a spirit and made him wonder if he’d picked up some of Keira’s or Kai’s empathic abilities. “How the fuck did that get in here?”

  A moment of silence hung between them. Terrified silence.

  “What’s got you two whacked out?” Mitch came up, looked at the book, and reached for the coin.

  Luke snapped the book closed. “Let’s talk outside.” He stuffed the Bible into the front pocket of his fatigue jacket. “I can’t think right now.”

  Jocelyn had known they’d come, she just hadn’t expected these tactics. When Keira hadn’t contacted her within two hours of leaving Luke’s house, she’d known their team had made other plans. She’d anticipated that, even hoped for it. Definitely planned for it.

  The blinking red light on the digital floor plan display meant the facility had been breached, and the facility commander wanted to send his men into the bowels of this mausoleum as badly as Jocelyn did.

  She pressed the intercom. “Hold tight, commander.”

  She leaned back, scanned the wall of security monitors in the Castle’s control room, caught between frustration, fear, and excitement.

  This was her chance. She almost couldn’t believe it had happened the way she’d hoped. There had been so many other ways it could have panned out, but now, she had all the members of that damned team in one place. All except one. But she could deal with Jessica in a completely separate incident. And use those damned kids to get Alyssa Foster-Creek to give up all the dirt her brother had collected that had kept Jocelyn’s hands tied for so long. Alyssa would be no problem. The real problems were in this facility right now. Within killing range. And since they had penetrated a highly classified government facility with obvious intentions of sabotage, she could spin this into a homegrown terrorist ring faster than the media could get it out to the public.

  If any of Foster’s documentation on corrupt political officials somehow leaked, it would be passed off as nothing more than the nonsensical hype of a mentally disturbed anti-American with ties to . . . well, whoever she wanted to give him ties to. Taliban sounded good.

  The fact that it had all happened on the edge of Area 51 would only heighten the facility’s mysterious reputation and bury the incident that much faster.

  The only thing that would make this situation perfect would be finding those Method pages from Cash’s successful experiment and getting the key to Jason’s safe-deposit box back. But even the key wasn’t that important. She had enough information on the bank it came from and enough clout with prestigious judges to get that box open other ways.

  But she had to keep her cool and stay one step ahead of the enemy. If this went right, it could be the crowning moment of her career. If it went wrong, it could be the worst moment of her life.

  “What’s happening?” Jocelyn scanned the monitors, all black except for a few on the bottom row that were different from the others. “Why are most of these screens blank?”

  The woman in charge, a burly Tongan by the name of Magna—first or last, Jocelyn didn’t know or care—stood beside her, appropriately sober. “They’ve disabled them.”

  “How did they know about them?” She pointed a finger at the blinking light in an area of the facility she wasn’t familiar with. “How did they know about that section of the compound?”

  “I’ve heard . . . rumors. They have special abilities, don’t they? Like Q is developing?”

  “Yes, but none that—”

  The boy. It must be the kid.

  But he only spoke Greek. He couldn’t have learned English in three days. Certainly not enough to convey this type of information. Had one of the othe
rs read his mind? Had Keira heard his thoughts? Wouldn’t he think in Greek? Or was there some universal language for thought?

  Jocelyn pulled out her cell, walked to a private corner of the office, and dialed Owen. When he picked up, she said, “I need you to find out who Foster would use to translate Greek.”

  An extended moment of hesitation hung on the line. “Any other information you’d like to give me on that?”

  “Someone military with Greek ancestry. Someone he’s defended in the past. I think the kid is filtering information about the compound to them, but they have to have some way to translate it. When you find whoever it is, silence him.”

  “Okay,” he said. “I’m on it.”

  “And, Owen?” She waited to make sure he hadn’t hung up.

  “Yeah?”

  “I want to talk to you when this is all over. About what you said the other night. About wanting you. I do.”

  Another lengthy silence. “Music to my ears, Joce. I’ll be waiting.”

  Jocelyn disconnected with another jumble of excited nerves squeezing her belly. As much as she wanted to send a swarm of guards into that maze of tunnels to hunt the team down, she didn’t.

  Take your time. Think this through.

  “Where is Sergeant Decker?” she asked. “He left half an hour ago.”

  “The lab manager’s home is on the outskirts of the base. He should return any time.” Magna maintained a confident, unruffled air. She clasped her hands at her back. “Don’t worry, ma’am, cameras or no cameras, we’ll catch them. We’re setting up a perimeter now, and we’ve activated all our surveillance choppers.”

  And look how well those had worked so far. One side of Jocelyn’s mouth crawled upward in a sneer. This woman had no idea who she was dealing with.

  In one of the working monitors, a ghostly image grazed the screen, then disappeared. Jocelyn’s eyes tracked for additional movement. “What was that?”

  “What?” Magna asked, her body stiffening, gaze scanning.

  Oh, yeah. Definitely the best.

  “There was movement in that camera.” Jocelyn pointed. “It’s not a normal video; what is it?”

  “Thermal sensor, ma’am. They’re brand new. Installed last week.”

  Could there be an end in sight? “Get your commander in here.”

  The woman pressed a button on the panel. “Sir, Director Dargan would like to see you.”

  “On my way,” a gruff, older male voice returned.

  Within thirty seconds a door opened behind Jocelyn, but she didn’t turn to look. She just pointed at the screens occasionally flashing rough rainbow-outlined clumps, unable to decipher whether they were the guards or the invaders.

  “This,” she said. “Where is this? Do you have men in that area of the facility?”

  Jocelyn turned her head enough to evaluate the commander’s expression. Perplexed. Overweight, uniform ill fitted, hair too long. Disgraceful. She wanted to suggest retirement. Would have, and not in a nice way, but worried by the way he was sweating and running a hand over his thick head of gray hair again and again. She didn’t want to derail his thoughts.

  “Ah, that’s”—his eyes darted to the remaining screens, then back—“C sector and . . . ah, F sector. No ma’am. None of my men are in those areas.”

  Jocelyn’s teeth ground. “Where the hell is Deck—”

  The door opened and Sergeant Decker walked in grasping the arm of a man in pajamas, barefooted, hair askew, face terrified.

  “Mario Abrute, ma’am,” Decker said, clean-cut, serious, professional. Now this was more like it.

  “Thank you, Sergeant Decker. I’ll make sure your name is in my report.”

  He nodded, pivoted, and left the room. In the hallway, he set his back to the door, stance wide, at-ease position. That was a fine soldier. The kind of soldier Jocelyn had commanded.

  She turned her attention back to the hand-wringing, eye-darting lab manager. “Mr. Abrute, we’ve had a serious breach of security today.”

  “Ma’am, I don’t . . . know anything about . . . I didn’t know . . .”

  “I haven’t asked you anything yet.”

  “Y-yes, ma’am.”

  “Key pieces of Cash O’Shay’s successful experiment are missing. It’s your job to see that his reports are completed and secured before he leaves the lab.”

  “I did.” His hands flew up, palms out. “I scanned every page into the computer and locked the report in the file cabinet in the lab like I always do. Then I notified the commander that it appeared as if O’Shay’s experiment had finally been successful so he could contact you.”

  “I’m not going to rehash all the details now.” Jocelyn didn’t give a shit what had happened or how, because all the employees here would be terminated—one way or another—once this mission had been completed. “All I want to know is, how much of his final experiment can you replicate?”

  Abrute’s mouth shut. His eyes went distant, then returned to Jocelyn with the spark of understanding. “Of course. I was very involved with Cash’s experiments. I kept my own notes on his procedures and progress. We often discussed alternate strategies.”

  “And these notes are . . . where?”

  “At home.” Immediately understanding his misstep, he shook his head. “I know, I know, we aren’t supposed to take anything from the facility, but I did it for just this purpose. The experiments were so important and I thought if the notes ever got . . . lost or . . . whatever . . . I keep them in a bulletproof, triple-locked briefcase, ma’am. No one knows they’re in there but me. No one knows the combination but me.”

  “Speaking of combinations,” Jocelyn said, settling her best interrogation stare on Abrute. “Cash has a very important key—a physical, metal key—and we haven’t been able to find it.”

  “Oh . . .” His gaze dropped, skipped around as he thought, then shook his head. “I don’t know anything about a key. I haven’t seen it.”

  “Sergeant Decker,” Jocelyn called.

  “I’m sorry,” Abrute’s face flushed beneath his dark skin. “I—”

  “Take Mr. Abrute back home to get his notes, please.” Then she turned her attention to Abrute. “As long as that briefcase comes back to me tonight, notes intact, you will suffer no harm. Do you understand?”

  Breathing hard now, eyes watery, Abrute exhaled a quick breath. “Oh, yes, ma’am. I understand, ma’am.”

  When the door closed behind a blabbering Abrute, she kept her gaze on the blobs of color progressing down the stone hallways in the adjacent building. Once this was over, she would research Abrute. If he’d had associations with anyone less than pristine, if Cash’s accusation of Abrute smuggling secrets was true, the man was dead.

  But, first things first.

  “Commander.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “It’s time to get rid of this team.” She could already feel the relief. “Get your men down there. Get every member of that team herded into one location and blow . . . them . . . up. And while you’re at it, destroy the lab. Make sure there is nothing left of them or that facility when you’re done.”

  A beat of silence passed.

  “Everything, ma’am?” The tremor of disbelief in his voice didn’t instill Jocelyn with confidence. “This is a state-of-the-art facility with—”

  She gave him her do-it-or-else stare. “What part of nothing left didn’t you understand, commander?”

  Three.

  Cash crouched into the corner of the holding cell.

  Two.

  Wrapped his arms over his head.

  One.

  Took a deep breath and held it.

  The explosion washed Cash with fiery heat. Compressed his body against the concrete wall. Smashed his eardrums. His heart slammed against his ribs. A voice in his head urged him to move out.

  When he lifted his head, Cash swore his brain slid sideways inside his skull. Smoke filled the cell and he had a moment of complete disorientation. He pressed h
is palms against the cold concrete, inched himself to his feet. Blinked away the bright white spots floating in his vision and shoved off the wall. Hands out in front of him, he groped through the now empty doorway and turned left.

  “Freeze.”

  The female voice shocked the hell out of him. And he couldn’t see a goddamned thing. With one hand on the wall to orient himself, he pushed his shoulders back and faced the voice. They didn’t know how much he could or couldn’t see.

  “You may as well shoot me,” he said, focusing to slow his breaths, “ ’cause I’m not backing down.”

  His eyes adjusted slowly. He strained to make out the figures—their size, their number. He could take one down on his own, weapons or no weapons. Two, probably, since he already knew one was a woman. Three, maybe, if his adrenaline was running high and luck was on his side. More than that, forget it. But dying would be better than suffering in this shit hole a moment longer.

  The lead pulled her head away from her scope. Cash barely detected the move, thought he was mistaken. Then she lowered her weapon. Just two inches. But it was the wrong move he’d been waiting for.

  He ducked and charged. The crown of his head smashed against Kevlar. Pain tore through his skull. He grasped for the weapon, wrenched it out of her hands, and used it as leverage to spin her until her back was toward him, then brought the rifle down at her neck. With one yank, he dragged her against his body, the subgun across her trachea.

  Something’s wrong. That was too easy.

  “I don’t want to hurt anyone—” He spoke low in her ear. Not steady, but at least he didn’t scream like he wanted to. “I just want out.”

  “I know.” Her voice was far too soft. Too understanding. Especially when she was trying to rake in air. “We’re going. . . to get you . . . out.”

  Even if she’d been trying to trick him, he should have heard more fear. Then her hands released the weapon and covered his. Gently. When they should have been prying and clawing. She didn’t struggle. Didn’t attack.

  Confusion set him off balance. He knew how to fight. He didn’t know how to not fight.