Hell & Back (Outbreak Task Force)

by Julie Rowe

  It wouldn’t be long before the whole building would be consumed.

  No more noise from the window, only the sound of wood burning. Time to go.

  Nate took in the neighborhood around him. Apartment buildings in every direction, and none of them looked in good shape. A car drove by, but no people were in sight. He’d bet the terrorists picked this area because no one would bother reporting a gunshot or two.

  He walked away, keeping his pace below a jog so he wouldn’t look like he was running from anyone in particular.

  Shots sounded behind him, the bullets hitting the ground to either side of him. Someone shouted, and he turned to see the man who’d asked him all those questions. He didn’t look calm and in control now.

  Nate stood still with his hands up as far as his ears as the man approached.

  “What did you do?” the very, very bad guy asked, like Nate had done something unforgivable.

  Wasn’t that obvious? He shrugged. “I left.”

  Glass shattered in a couple of first-floor windows of the building, allowing flames to shoot out of them.

  “How did you do it?” the man asked, his voice cracking with stress, spit flying from his mouth.

  Nate wasn’t entirely sure what the guy was asking. “Start the fire?”

  The armed man’s eyes bulged for a second, and he gestured impatiently with the gun. “Yes.”

  Angry, confused, and off-kilter means your enemy is vulnerable. His and Ruby’s new sensei, the drill sergeant, said this a lot. It could save your life. He’d experienced it firsthand in some very dangerous places around the world—Russia, Syria, Afghanistan—but for some reason, it was the old man’s voice he heard in his head.

  Good advice.

  He shrugged. “You left me in a room with a bunch of cleaning solutions. It wasn’t hard.”

  The man’s face twisted into an angry mask. He made a frustrated sound and gestured with the gun for Nate to get on his knees.

  If he got shot in the head, his sister would never forgive him.

  Look for the opportunity.

  Keeping his hands up, he lowered down to one knee then the other.

  The terrorist took a couple of steps closer, the contempt on his face making it clear he wanted to shoot Nate up close and personal.

  Just a little closer…

  An explosion boomed through the building, making both Nate and the man who planned to kill him flinch and turn to look.

  Nate recovered first, got to his feet, and in a smooth motion, grabbed the gunman’s wrist, digging his fingers into the sensitive joint.

  The gun clattered to the ground.

  His attacker shifted toward the gun, but Nate still had him by the wrist and used his momentum to flip him and kick the gun out of reach.

  The gunman pulled a knife from somewhere with his other hand.

  Nate was forced to let him go to avoid the blade. His attacker got to his feet, bared his teeth, and took a step toward him.

  The building exploded.

  One second Nate was standing, prepared to fight for his life, and the next he was on his back on the ground, a heavy body on top of him.

  He pushed the man off and searched himself for a stab wound, but he couldn’t find one. Adrenaline could hide injuries from you, smothering the pain until it was much too late to stop the real damage.

  He patted his chest, abdomen, and neck. Nope, no stab wound.

  He rolled away from his attacker and got to his feet, ready to fight, but the man didn’t move. A closer inspection revealed why.

  A piece of steel from the building had impaled the back of the man’s head.

  Well, that was one problem solved.

  Nate looked at the remains of the building. The other three people involved with his kidnapping were also likely dead, along with whatever equipment and explosives they’d been keeping there. If they’d been in the building.

  Sirens warned him fire trucks and police cars were on their way.

  Good. Maybe someone had a cell phone he could use to get a hold of his sister.

  …

  5:55 p.m.

  Ruby could understand fury, but why was Henry so terrified for her?

  “What else could I do?” she asked in a very small voice. “They have my brother. They threatened to cut bits off him.”

  She glanced at the vial sitting on the top shelf of the locker two doors down. Much too far away. She refocused on the hand next to her face. He’d planted his palms on either side of her head, and for some reason, his hand looked a lot bigger than it should. His body was pressed up against hers, like he was afraid she’d try to fight him, try to run.

  There wasn’t anywhere for her to go. He was a trained soldier—he’d catch her without effort, prosthetic leg or not.

  “What a fucking clusterfuck,” he ground out, as if his jaw was so tight, he had to fight to form words. His whole body vibrated.

  This was her fault. She’d screwed up and now she had to own up. “I’m glad you caught me.”

  His gaze snapped back to hers. “What?”

  “I didn’t want to do it.”

  His stare gained some heat. “Did they asked for smallpox or just anything dangerous?”

  “Smallpox.”

  He pressed his lips together. Lips only inches from her mouth. Lips she’d never get to kiss now. There were a lot of things she’d never get to do now. Stay out of jail. See her brother alive.

  She didn’t realize she was crying until Henry’s breath fanned her face and cooled the liquid on her skin.

  “Shit.” He pushed away from her.

  She missed the heat of his body and cried harder.

  He grabbed her hand, sat her down on one of the benches, then put a palm on her shoulder. “Did I hurt you?”

  She shook her head, struggling to stop crying, but the tears wouldn’t stop no matter what she did.

  He swore again, sat next to her, and hugged her, bringing her close.

  She let herself cry for a minute or two, then wiped her face with her hands and inched away from him. She didn’t want to leave the warm safety of his arms, but she also didn’t deserve it.

  “What now?” she asked, wishing she didn’t sound so defeated and broken.

  His face was back to hard and flat, giving her no clue as to what he was thinking, and his gaze…it seemed to be taking her apart, molecule by molecule. “They’ve been texting you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How did they get your number?”

  “I don’t know. I just got a new personal phone and number, so…” So they shouldn’t have been able to get her number. “And my work phone is supposed to have pretty good security.”

  “The latest and greatest.” He sat back, his eyes narrow. “That leaves three possibilities. One, the FAFO still has a source of information inside the CDC. Two, they’re tracking you either by your phone or some other device. Three, both.”

  “That’s why I didn’t tell you.” She spread her hands out. “I don’t know how they’re doing it, so it could be anyone.”

  “We need to check our gear, everything we brought with us.” He took her by the hand and pulled her toward the door.

  “What about the sample I took?” It was still sitting on the shelf inside the empty locker.

  “Leave it where it is for now. I don’t want to bring anything farther away from storage than it already is.”

  “I could put it back?”

  “No, we’re sticking together for now.”

  Because he didn’t trust her. He didn’t say it out loud, but she could see it in his tense shoulders and how firmly he held her hand. He was probably afraid she’d bolt or try to take something else.

  Guilt, regret, and worry entwined in her gut until her insides were knotted together in a messy, painful mass
. It would have overtaken her entire body, but she shoved it down. She’d deal with the fallout from her actions later. Now, they had to figure out how to get her brother away from the kidnappers.

  “What does a tracking device look like?”

  “The commercially made ones go from the size of a credit card down to a pendant you can hang off your key chain. Your phone and smart watch can also be used to track your location.”

  “Sounds relatively easy to find.”

  “We’re probably not looking for something that big. There are devices used to track high-end merchandise, cars, and equipment that are the size of a grain of rice or smaller.”

  They entered the elevator and went up. He was still holding her hand, and though it probably wasn’t smart, she let him.

  “Something that small could be hidden anywhere.”

  “If they had access to our stuff, yes.” They left the elevator. “Obvious stuff first—phones, watches, tablets, any electronics.”

  “Doesn’t the CDC use the GPS tracking on our phones and other communication devices to keep track of us for safety reasons?”

  “GPS isn’t what I’m worried about, since we can turn it off whenever we want. I’m more concerned with additional trackers, with people listening in to our conversations.”

  “That would indicate someone we came in contact with.”

  “Yup.”

  They entered the room where they’d slept. Henry asked her for her personal phone. She unlocked it and watched as he scrolled through her settings and apps.

  His eyebrows went up and stayed there. “This phone is encrypted.”

  “It was a gift from my parents.”

  He studied the device for a few more seconds. “It’s encrypted as fuck, and your parents gave it to you?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Considering the terrorist threat to the CDC, I think they’re only a little paranoid.”

  He was silent for several seconds. “Who did you give your new number to?”

  “My parents, my brother, and the CDC.”

  “So, they got it from his phone when they took him.” Henry’s voice came from a dark, dangerous place.

  “They didn’t take his phone. My parents told me it’s still saying it’s at his office.”

  “Your parents told you…?”

  “The kidnappers called them, too, and told them not to interfere, call the police, or do anything suspicious.” She couldn’t keep the frustration out of her voice.

  “So, the first thing they did after getting that ultimatum was to break it and call you?”

  She waggled her phone. “Encrypted, remember?”

  “Your parents have balls, and I don’t mean just your dad.” He shook his head. “We need to keep searching.”

  “I need to call my folks, tell them things have changed.”

  Henry frowned and ran a hand over his face. “This situation is going sideways on us awfully quick.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He flashed her a glare. “Don’t be sorry, just never hold back information again.” He walked over to his bag and began pulling everything out of it.

  Ruby moved to the far side of the room and called her parents.

  “Hello.” Her mother’s voice was devoid of emotion. The lump in Ruby’s throat swelled until it nearly blocked her airway. She had to clear it before she could speak.

  “Mom?”

  “Ruby, do you have the sample?”

  “Is it possible for the kidnappers to listen in on our calls?”

  “No. We killed Nate’s device so it’s no longer part of our little network. Even if they cloned it, they’d get nothing.”

  “Good.” She relaxed a fraction. “So, um, Henry knows.”

  “How?” The question was fired off with all the power and targeting of a bullet.

  “He caught me in the act of taking the sample.”

  Her mother sucked in a breath. “Are you all right?”

  “I got yelled at, but I deserved it. I should have told him what was going on.”

  Her mother hummed, something she did when thinking. “How does this change things?”

  “Henry thinks our phones and possibly other devices are being tracked. Who could have the resources to do that?”

  “Your work and personal phones?”

  “Yes.”

  “No one should be able to track either one of them.”

  “You and Dad can, right?”

  “Yes, but we’re using the NSA’S encryption to hide your phone from outside eyes.”

  “So, the NSA? What about other government departments with security clearances?”

  “Someone in our own government.” Her mother’s whisper promised pain for that someone. “I’m going to find out who might have asked for or been given access to our encryption protocols. I’ll call when I have something.” Her mother took in a breath. “In the meantime, what are you and your Henry doing?”

  She almost said he wasn’t her Henry but managed not to say it out loud. “We’re looking for other tracking devices hidden in our packs or clothing. Henry says they can be very small.”

  “You’re better off getting rid of everything.”

  “Won’t the device give us some clues?”

  Her mother paused a second before replying. “Yes. I need to eat something. I’m losing my ability to focus.”

  “Mom, your children are in danger. That would mess with anyone’s focus.”

  “Which is why I can’t afford to make any mistakes. If you find anything remotely odd, take a picture and send it to us.”

  “I will. Love you.”

  “Love you, too, sweetheart.” Her mother ended the call.

  Ruby walked back to her pack, opened it, and dumped the contents on her cot.

  “Any news from your parents?” Henry asked as he sorted through his stuff. It looked like a mix of mostly ammunition, sample collection kits, and meals ready to eat.

  “Not really. They haven’t heard from the kidnappers or Nate, and Mom’s mildly worried about your theory of the terrorists being able to track our phones and other devices. The encryption on our phones should make them invisible to anyone else. She doesn’t think it’s anyone in the CDC.”

  Henry froze for a moment then picked up something small from among the stuff on his cot.

  “Found one,” he said, his voice rolling with an undertone of thunder.

  “One what?” she asked.

  “Tracking device.” He held it up between one finger and his thumb.

  Ruby rushed over to get a closer look at it. It was about a half inch long and maybe an eighth of an inch wide. The exterior coating was beige and waxy.

  Huh, it did look like a grain of rice.

  “This was in your go-bag?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Any way to tell how long it’s been in there?”

  He glanced at her, interest tempering the anger in his eyes. “That’s a damn good question. We’d have to take it to someone with the right equipment to find that out.” He looked at her bag. “Let’s find out if you have any unwelcome passengers in your stuff.”

  He moved faster than she did, reached her bag first and upended it, shaking it so even small items came out. A couple of notebooks, pens, pencils, a ruler, highlighters in several colors, granola bars, and a host of other odds and ends. Henry didn’t say anything about the menagerie of crap she threw into her bag, just threaded his fingers through it all.

  “Sorry,” she said again. “I tend to throw anything I think might be useful into my bag.”

  “Stop saying that,” Henry said. “Are you preparing for an immigration hearing in Canada?”

  “No—”

  “Found one,” he said, interrupting her. He held up another tiny oblong object. It matched t
he one he’d found in his bag.

  “I haven’t been working at the CDC for long,” she said. “So this has to be recent.”

  “It gives us a starting point to look at security camera footage.”

  “That’s a lot of footage to go through. It could take months to find anything useful. Plus…” Her voice trailed off. “Plus, I was just training under you up until Dr. Rodrigues assigned me as your assistant. So, unless they bugged everyone, I probably didn’t get that passenger”—she nodded at the device in his hand—“until the last twenty-four to forty-eight hours.”

  “If you’re right, that narrows the field to something manageable.”

  “We can’t look at CDC HQ footage from here, can we?”

  He shook his head. “Only footage from this building.” He stared at her bag for a few seconds. “This is your go-bag. Where’s your purse? The one you keep your phone and tablet in?”

  “I left it in the change room.”

  “Come on, we need to search it, too.” He nodded at the doorway, and she walked ahead of him.

  After they entered the elevator, Ruby asked, “How much trouble are we in?”

  “Up to our necks. Whether or not it’s over our heads will depend on what we find in your bag.”

  The elevator door opened, and she stepped out. “Why?”

  “Because the go-bags are left unattended most of the time. The pool of people who could drop in a couple of those trackers is a lot larger than the pool of people who could do the same to a bag you keep with you almost all the time.”

  She found her bag where she’d dropped it on the floor. She picked it up, removed everything, opened all the zippered pockets, then turned it upside down and shook it.

  A few things fell out on top of the pile.

  Ruby searched the bag, feeling for anything that might have gotten caught and not fallen out.

  Henry combed through the pile of paper clips, pens, gum, granola bars, and other stuff. He plucked something out of the mess and held it up. Another tracker pretending to be a grain of rice. He put it to one side and kept looking. A few seconds later, he pulled out something else. It was the size of a medium-size shirt button, only a bit thicker. It had a plastic coating with four holes, but they didn’t go all the way through it.