by Katie Reus
Terrorist: a person who uses extreme violence (terror or terrorism), as a weapon to send a message or for his own gain. Often a political weapon.
Tasev gave a brief nod to the guard standing by the reinforced metal door. Immediately the man moved, quickly averting his gaze to a spot over Tasev’s shoulder as he slid a foot to the side. He was smart not to meet his gaze. No one wanted to appear as if they were challenging him.
Ignoring the man, Tasev put his hand over the biometric scanner, then leaned forward so the retinal scanner could register his left eye. Out of the corner of his right eye he kept focus on the guard, ready for an attack, even though that was unlikely. He paid his men very well and rewarded them with other perks, including willing prostitutes, on a daily basis, but that didn’t mean he could buy their loyalty. No one was truly loyal and it was something he always remembered. A few moments later, the door opened with a soft snick.
As he stepped onto the metal walkway Tasev looked at the floor below where Dr. Claus Schmidt was busy writing letters and symbols on a giant dry-erase board at warp speed. The man used computers when it suited him but for the most part the eccentric genius preferred to write things out by hand.
Tasev didn’t care how the man worked as long as he provided results. For the past two years Schmidt had been making steady progress, using the live subjects Paul Hill—an international businessman who’d been involved in all sorts of illegal activities, including the skin trade—had been providing for him to test different toxins. Now that Hill was in prison for crimes unrelated to Tasev, he had lost his source of live human test subjects.
It was frustrating but at this point not much of a setback. Schmidt was zeroing in on the necessary antitoxin. Tasev could feel it in his bones how close they were. Now, after two years of tireless work, it was almost time to unleash hell on the United States.
Over five years ago he’d retired, knowing it was time to get out of the gun and slave trades. He’d made more than enough money and had two sons who’d stepped up to take over the family business. But after they’d been killed in Afghanistan by American troops, Tasev had come out of retirement with a slow burning rage building inside him every second of every day. His sons had simply been doing business and gotten caught up in the crossfire of a war that hadn’t concerned them.
He didn’t have time for politics or religion, though he found them useful for business. If fools wanted to kill one another in the name of their gods, he’d been happy to provide them with the weapons to do it. But the skin trade had proved much more lucrative. Unfortunately more and more governments had started cracking down. It was why his sons had gone back to reliable weapons trading.
His jaw clenched as he thought of them, of his loss, of the fact that his line wouldn’t continue. Finding the perfect female had been difficult too. Their mother had been British, cultured and while stupid, she hadn’t been a whore. He might fuck prostitutes but he would never procreate with any of them.
He’d wanted his children to be proud of where they came from and his sons’ mother had been good to them, though he’d gotten rid of her influence by the time his boys turned ten. They’d been turning too soft but he’d drilled it out of them by the time they were eleven. After a freak skiing “accident” had killed their mother, it had been easy to guide them.
No distractions made all the difference in the world. He’d thought the same would be true for Dr. Schmidt but the brilliant scientist seemed to be dragging his feet the last couple of weeks. It was nothing Tasev could prove—he barely understood when the man spoke—but he always trusted his gut. Now it was telling him that Schmidt was stalling.
Though he couldn’t figure out why. Tasev paid him well and while he didn’t let him leave the grounds of his Miami home, every need he requested was granted. He lived in opulence and was allowed to use live human subjects, something he would never have been allowed to do in his civilized scientific community. It should have been a dream for the doctor.
Heading down the walkway to the stairs, Tasev was aware of the moment Schmidt finally registered his presence. The man had absolutely no situational awareness. But he wasn’t a soldier so that was to be expected.
Schmidt jerked upright from his crouched position at the bottom of the dry-erase board. He had shadows under his eyes, his plaid button-down shirt was wrinkled under his lab coat, and he smelled as if he hadn’t bathed in days. According to his guards’ reports, the doctor hadn’t. He also hadn’t been eating enough.
“How is your progress?” he asked in English, keeping his voice neutral. Tasev couldn’t yell or make demands with a man like Schmidt. It worked him into such a frenzy that he couldn’t work. Sometimes for days. He’d learned that early on in their working relationship. Luckily Tasev had found the man’s weakness. So far mere threats had worked against the genius but something told Tasev that it would take more than simple words now.
“One month,” he said, not looking at Tasev. Not because he was frightened in the way that his guards were, but because Schmidt didn’t look anyone in the eye. Whether it was a quirk or habit, Tasev wasn’t certain.
And he didn’t care.
“That’s what you told me four and a half weeks ago.” His jaw tightened, but he kept a lid on his rage. He had to play this the right way.
“You want results, you give me one more month.” It was said with absoluteness. And a little arrogance. The doctor knew he was irreplaceable.
“Seven days.”
The doctor shook his head before turning his back on Tasev. A death sentence should anyone else do that to him. Muttering to himself, Schmidt crouched in front of the board again and started back with his scribbling.
Sighing, Tasev pulled out his cell phone and sent off a text. “You leave me with no choice, Doctor.”
The man paused for only a second in his writing, but it was enough to let Tasev know he’d heard. Good.
A moment later the door above opened. Tasev didn’t have to look to see who was entering. Other than himself, only his second in command had the code. Vasily was a beast of a man with a scarred face and body. With tattoos covering the majority of his upper body, he terrified most people. Right now the trembling woman he held by the throat should be scared.
“I told you what would happen if you displeased me,” Tasev said quietly.
Something about his tone must have registered in that giant brain of Schmidt’s because he turned around. When he looked upward, the man paled. It was the second time Tasev had ever seen real fear in his gaze. The first had been when he’d simply threatened to do what he was doing now.
Tasev looked up at Vasily and nodded. The man released the woman’s throat then pinned her to the edge of the metal balcony, bending her over. Eyes wild, the dark-haired beauty screamed and fruitlessly struggled as he tore the back of her skirt from the hem to the top, ripping it completely apart and tossing it away. Her black panties were the only thing covering her bottom half.
“Enough!” Schmidt shouted, rage reverberating through that one word.
Vasily didn’t move until Tasev nodded. The woman continued sobbing and begging them to stop even after Vasily just held her in place. Tasev tuned her out and glanced back at the doctor.
He froze. The man was holding a pen to his carotid artery, the placement perfect for killing himself if he applied enough pressure.
Tasev had killed a man once by ripping into his carotid using his teeth, so he knew how deadly an injury there would be. And he couldn’t let the doctor die. He’d put too much time and money in the man to start over again.
There was a sharp gleam in Schmidt’s eyes as he held Tasev’s gaze for the first time. The intense way he stared was almost jarring. “You do this, I kill myself. Then you lose two years of work. Worse, you have no record of my notes.” He tapped his head with his free hand, a reminder that most of Schmidt’s work resided there, not on paper.
“I’m not letting her go,” Tasev said with resolve.
“I know.
I will finish in seven days, but she stays with me the entire time in the lab. Never out of my sight. You or your men will not harm her. She will be fed and taken care of and you will bring her a soft bed to sleep in. And a television and books for her entertainment. One of those e-readers so she can purchase what she wants. If you agree, I do not kill myself and will give you the antitoxin.” As he spoke he glanced away again, as if losing the ability to hold eye contact. But his hand never wavered, the pen placed directly over his artery.
Tasev would never admit it, but the man’s resolve was impressive. He hadn’t thought Schmidt had it in him. He was too far away to stop the doctor and it didn’t matter anyway. Tasev’s threat had worked. Now he would gain what he wanted in the necessary time frame. “We have a deal. If you’d agreed to my time line initially I never would have needed to kidnap your sweet daughter.”
The girl gasped, clearly confused, but didn’t respond.
“Send her down. If you go back on our deal or try to stop me from killing myself it won’t matter. I won’t finish the work if she’s hurt.”
Gritting his teeth, Tasev nodded. He hated anyone ordering him around. It reminded him too much of his youth. But he was backed into a corner. As soon as Schmidt was done he’d be killing the doctor anyway. But first he’d make him watch as Vasily raped his daughter. Feeling better about the situation, he nodded at Vasily and gave a sharp command.
His second in command shoved the girl toward the stairs, grinning as he stared at her barely covered ass. He knew Tasev would give her to him soon. On trembling legs, the girl made her way to the stairs, most of her sobbing subsiding as she clutched the railing. When she was at the bottom of the stairs, Schmidt spoke again, his words so low that Tasev almost didn’t hear them.
“If you kill Vasily right now, I will make it five days.” A promise.
Excitement leaped inside him followed by a thin thread of regret. Vasily was a good commander, but like all of Tasev’s men, he was replaceable. The doctor was not. Withdrawing his gun, he aimed and shot Vasily between the eyes, dropping him on the spot.
• • •
“Why did you ask that man to kill the scarred one?” Aliyah asked Claus, the first words she’d spoken since he’d given her one of his lab coats and some of Tasev’s men had come to take away Vasily’s body and clean up the blood. There had been surprisingly little of it.
He looked at his daughter, trying to drink in every inch of her lovely face. He’d seen her only in pictures, her American mother telling him of Aliyah’s existence six years ago. And only because she’d needed to see if his kidney would be a match for Aliyah’s. He’d had a brief affair with Chaya, but she’d been married and had lied to her husband about Aliyah being his. The husband had been dead for a decade, though, so she could have come to Claus before that. She’d chosen not to until their daughter had needed something.
“Because he deserved it,” Claus said, realizing he needed to respond and stop staring at her. “Is that the only question you have?”
She shook her head, her pale green eyes a match to his own glimmering with tears. “You are my father,” she said.
He raised his eyebrows. “Yes.”
“Did you give me your kidney?”
Again he was surprised but perhaps he shouldn’t be. “How did you know?”
“My mother said it was a miracle that we found a donor but I knew she was lying. There was no way we’d gotten such a perfect match and moved up the list so quickly. And the mysterious money she left me when she died—I knew it wasn’t from her. And . . . I knew it was unlikely that my dad was my biological father from a young age.”
Claus frowned, but didn’t ask how she’d known.
She answered anyway and pointed to herself. “Simple genetics. If you’d ever seen him you’d understand. He was very fair-skinned and fair-haired. I’m not stupid and neither was my father. Besides, he said something once, when I was about ten . . .” She shrugged, trailing off. “It doesn’t matter. Why am I here? And what are you doing working for that monster, whoever he is?”
“I’m here because I’m an arrogant fool.” He’d written multiple papers on what could happen if certain toxins were altered. It had been interesting to speculate but he’d just been theorizing. He hadn’t actually planned to test his theories. No one outside his scientific circles paid attention to his ramblings anyway. Or so he’d thought. “I have altered what’s known as foodborne botulism into a stronger, deadlier strain.” And that in itself was a feat considering how deadly it already was. “Right now I’m working to create an antitoxin.” He already knew the formula but hadn’t put it into practice. Or on paper.
She stared at him as if he was a monster, something he’d expected. And something he deserved. But he wouldn’t be less than honest. Before he could continue the door opened again. Instinctively Claus stepped in front of Aliyah, knowing there was little he could do to protect her if Tasev decided Claus’s life wasn’t worth anything anymore.
Two men strode in carrying a mattress. Behind them another of the guards carried two bags. Claus was still as they strode down the stairs and placed the bed in the darker shadowed area underneath the stairs. His lab was huge and he tended to dim the lights only when he dozed on his cot, but he’d have to see about getting his daughter more privacy.
The guard carrying the bags tossed them onto the bed, then looked at Claus. In Russian he told him there were clothes for Aliyah and bedding. Tasev had also given her an iPad loaded with books, but it wasn’t connected to the Internet. When the guard looked past Claus, his gaze heated as he looked at Claus’s daughter. All the rage Claus had been bottling up for two years boiled to the surface.
“Maybe I ask Tasev to kill you too,” he murmured in Russian, not wanting his daughter to understand what he was saying. She was already horrified enough by him, he didn’t need to give her more reasons to hate him.
That snapped the man’s attention back to Claus for a moment. He gave him a look that promised death before turning on his heel and striding after the others.
Once they were gone, he turned to Aliyah to find her standing next to one of his many tables, her arms wrapped around herself. She looked so lost and vulnerable and though Claus had always thought himself a nonviolent man, he knew in that moment he would have no problem putting a bullet in Tasev’s head to save his daughter. For the past two years he’d done nothing but dream of killing the man who held him hostage and forced him to do unspeakable things.
He cleared his throat. “They brought you clothes, bedding, and an iPad. But you won’t have any Internet.” Or so that fool Tasev thought. Claus would have only one chance to contact outside help. For two long years he’d waited for something like this. He’d gotten a message to one of his friends—who worked for the NSA—two years ago but he’d been taken before they could meet up. She was smart but there was no way for anyone to track him when he’d been unable to communicate with the outside world.
Until now.
He was going to have to try again even with the risk. At this point he would risk death if he could just get a message to his friend Meghan Lazaro. If she knew he was still alive she’d help him. He had no doubt.
Chapter 2
FFP: final firing position (sniper term).
Selene Wolfe chewed on a piece of teriyaki beef jerky as she lay flat on her belly, looking through the glass of her Leupold Mark 4 scope. She’d been in position for only five hours waiting for her target to show his face. Ramsey Jurden, a freaking white supremacist terrorist. She hated these guys. Especially ones with a predilection for kids. Yeah, this job wasn’t going to sit heavy on her soul. Not like some of the others.
Normally Wesley didn’t give her anything he didn’t think she could handle anyway. Her specialty was computers, which made her a valuable asset to the NSA. It was the sole reason they’d recruited her at the age of sixteen. But when he’d hired her she’d insisted that he give her any training she asked for. After years spent living on
her own she knew what it was to be helpless, and she’d sworn to herself that it would never happen again. Since she couldn’t very well train herself and anyone she hired wouldn’t have been nearly as good as someone Wesley could have recommended, she’d been quite insistent on her terms of employment. So he’d given her everything she wanted—because he’d have done pretty much anything to ensure she worked for him—which meant she’d gotten to train with the very best.
Her weapons mentor, as she liked to think of him, was a retired USMC sniper school instructor. He’d been a hard-ass and hadn’t cared that she was a woman. If anything, she guessed he pushed her harder than normal because of her gender. Which was fine with her. He’d given her a valuable gift, one nobody could ever take away from her.
Knowledge was the ultimate power. Something she never took for granted.
She understood computers and, thanks to her instructor, she understood what it was to protect herself and her country. Considering that roughly fifty percent of the decisions she made at work ended up setting black ops missions into motion, she was thankful that she had an understanding of what the field people had to do all the time. Taking a life wasn’t something she did lightly and she knew they didn’t either. It would have felt hypocritical to know that her decisions sent people into the field to kill when she had no concept of what they were doing or the impact of carrying out those ops.
Slight movement to her left had her shifting her Remington 700 a fraction. Two horses trotted out of the barn, shaking their heads and tails, clearly happy to have freedom.
Without looking at her watch she knew the time was near. If her target didn’t show up today at two, she’d have to come back next Wednesday. It had been impossible to get the man’s schedule since those in his growing organization were loyal.
Had to give the guy that. He inspired loyalty, even if it was misplaced. She wondered how loyal they’d be if they knew he was a freaking pervert of the worst kind.
After some on-the-ground recon—which meant she’d flirted shamelessly with the delivery guy at the local feed store—she’d discovered that the target insisted on being at his family’s ranch when the horse and other animal feed was delivered every Wednesday.