Encrypted: An Action-Packed Techno-Thriller

by Carolyn McCray

  “It’s another of our ‘super-beta’ items. We like to call them ‘blue light’ specials,” she said, hurrying on. “It’s a disc that hyper—”

  Light strobed as a blast of noise hit.

  Well, Zach had asked for a distraction, and someone setting off a flashbang grenade in the bull pen provided it. Actually, over-provided it. Luckily, Zach had been so focused on Ronnie’s bizarre assortment of devices that he was turned away from the brunt of the flash. And his ears had been ringing since the crash, so no real loss there.

  What the flashbang did mean was that the enemy was on the move. So Zach was on the move.

  “Stay here,” he ordered as he slid out the doorway and into the bull pen.

  “No! Wait!” Ronnie yelled, but it was too late. He was committed.

  CHAPTER 19

  El Paso Field Office

  8:49 p.m., MST

  Ronnie fumbled with the disc’s controls. Dear God, when they developed the damned thing, why didn’t they make the “On” button easier to find? That was it. From now on, every item they developed would have a 9-1-1 emergency easy “On” button that freaking glowed in the dark.

  “It’s the second-to-right control,” Quirk yelled into her ear.

  Yes, because a second-to-right control on a round object was so easy to find.

  “Your other right!”

  Finally, Ronnie hit the correct control, and the metal discs within metal discs began to spin, clunking and chugging—just like a mini-MRI machine. Only this device wasn’t meant for imaging. It was meant for protection. Or at least she hoped it was.

  Zach had leapt from hiding, firing toward the two assailants. Unfortunately, what he didn’t know was that a flashbang grenade was used to signal the guy at the door to join the party. Now the love of her life was smack-dab in the middle of the kill zone.

  Over Zach’s shoulder, she watched the third gunman raise his automatic weapon. There was no way that the disc would work from here. If anything, it would accelerate the bullets through Zach. Not exactly what she needed.

  No, the only way to save Zach was to join Zach…unarmed in the middle of a firefight.

  But what was a girl to do?

  As the gunman braced the weapon against his hip, Ronnie burst from the kitchen, holding the metal disc in front of her.

  “Hold on!”

  * * *

  Ronnie’s instruction made no sense. And what in the hell was she doing out here, anyway? Hadn’t he told her to stay in the kitchen? Then, Zach heard the rattle of gunfire at his left. He turned to return fire, but even as he squeezed the trigger, he knew that there was no way he could avoid that hail of bullets.

  Zach prepared for the pain. But instead, the bullets slowed in midair. He could actually see the bullets coming right for him. Zach couldn’t help but stare as the bullets slowed to a stop. They hung there in the air for a surreal moment, and then gained speed. But not toward him—toward Ronnie. Or, more accurately, to the metal disc that Ronnie held.

  Seeming to sense the shift in the fight, the other gunmen fired upon him as well, with equally bizarre results.

  “Hold on!” she yelled again.

  Ronnie still made no sense—until his gun wobbled in his hand. Then, it outright fought his grip. Zach clung as tightly as he could, but the damn thing flew from his hand and sailed across the room, hitting the disc hard enough to knock Ronnie back a foot.

  Then, the other guns followed suit. At least the disc disarmed them all. The only problem was that Zach’s belt buckle started tugging toward her. He grabbed hold of the nearest desk until he realized that it, too, was making its way to Ronnie.

  Now paper clips, pens, staplers, and even thumbtacks hurled her way.

  “Turn it off!”

  “What do you think I’m trying to do?” Ronnie shouted as she took another step toward the kitchen.

  * * *

  “The third button to the left!” Quirk yelled in Ronnie’s ear.

  Again, not freaking helpful, as all the desks in the bull pen clattered their way to her. Luckily, the kitchen doorway was too narrow for them to fit through. They piled up at the door like a strange, tangled football huddle. And she was lucky she wasn’t smack-dab in the middle of it. The magnet lashed to her arm wanted very much to go to the metal objects as they came to her. Ronnie had to dig her heels in, fighting the mutual attraction.

  As she searched for the elusive “Off” switch, she heard a rattling behind her. The refrigerator lurched forward, rocking from one side to the other.

  “Drop it!” Quirk urged.

  But how could she, if Zach might still be in trouble?

  Then the breakroom table and chairs began their zombielike march forward. As the microwave zinged its way through the air, Ronnie dropped the disc and fled down the back hallway, vowing to make field tests a more essential step in their production process.

  Hopefully, if anything, she narrowed the odds for Zach.

  * * *

  Zach ducked under a left hook and brought his own fist up into the guy’s solar plexus. The man doubled over. Zach grabbed the assailant’s lapel and jerked him forward as his knee came up to nail the guy in the stomach.

  But this ninja priest was no pushover as he tackled Zach around the waist and shoved them both back. Zach’s head slammed against the wall, doubling the number of stars he was already seeing. The assailant punched Zach on the right side. It hurt ten thousand times worse than it should have, but after the beating Jorge gave him? Zach was lucky to still be standing.

  Using what little strength he had, Zach pivoted, swinging his opponent around and slamming the guy against the ramshackle pile of desks. His opponent clutched at his midriff. Zach backed away, ready for some kind of fake-out maneuver followed by an attack, but the man gasped twice and then fell still.

  Cautious, Zach glanced behind the man to find him impaled on the leg of a desk.

  While completely unplanned, Zach would take it. He surveyed the room in a glance, finding the other attackers long gone. On the other side of the room lay two agents. Zach rushed over, checking their vitals. Weak, but there. With sirens in the distance, he knew the backup Quirk had called for was already on its way.

  Which was great for the downed men. Not so great for grabbing Francois and getting out of here before the police showed up. Plus, he had one wayward hacker to find.

  “Ronnie!” he yelled as he grabbed the keys to the cell from a belt that had belonged to one of the agents. Damn it! Where was she?

  As the sirens grew louder and louder, he’d have to find her once he secured Francois. Zach found the old man huddled in the corner of his cell. Had he been hit? Shoving the key into the lock, he grabbed the door and opened it with a clang.

  “Francois?”

  The man’s head swiveled around. His gaze seemed far off as he mumbled something in Latin.

  “Francois, you need to come with me.” And answer about a thousand questions, but Zach thought he might wait until a little later for that part.

  The arsonist shook his head, trying to tuck his body back into the fetal position.

  “You’ve got to come with me,” Zach urged, trying to get the man on his feet. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

  “No,” the old man said in English. “The time is gone.”

  This only seemed to deflate the old man even more. Like a blow-up doll with the air leaked out, he slumped into a pile of bones.

  “Damn it,” Zach said shaking Francois. “These men did not risk their lives for you to give up.”

  Francois looked up, his eyes brighter. “But I am a dead man.”

  “Not yet,” Zach informed the guy as he hauled him to his feet. “Not freaking yet.”

  “They will come. They will hunt us,” Francois said, still resisting Zach as he urged the man toward the cell door. “The end is nigh.”

  Zach swung the old man around. “Yes, yes it is,” Zach agreed, not knowing the whole story but after the sophisticated extraction at
tempt, he didn’t need to know much more. Major forces were at work, way over Zach’s pay grade. But that’s what they had Ronnie and Quirk for. He just needed to get Francois’ ass out of here before the cops showed up.

  “Which is exactly why you are going to pull it together and fight them.”

  Francois eyes sharpened. “Then you believe?” he said as he rolled up his sleeve to reveal the carved symbols.

  “God help me,” Zach said, suppressing an urge to form the sign of the cross. “I do.”

  With renewed vigor, Zach got Francois up, only to find a gun pointed at them.

  “I’m sorry, Hunt, but I can’t let you walk out of here with him.”

  Zach found Special Agent in Charge Danner blocking their exit.

  “You’ve got to know I didn’t do this,” Zach said, indicating the dead and wounded around the bull pen.

  “We’re going to let Quantico figure that out,” Danner responded, holding out a pair of cuffs. “Put them on yourself.”

  Zach declined. “Danner, you’ve got to believe that I am not overstating the facts, and that if I don’t walk out of here with this man right now, the world could cease to exist as we know it.”

  “I don’t have to believe anything, Hunt. I just have to do my sworn duty.”

  Weighing his options, none seemed any better. Zach could put the cuffs on, which would lead to their incarceration—which meant they were dead. Whether here, being transferred, or in jail, Francois was right. They would be dead. Option two. Charge Danner with a fully loaded weapon, and more than likely Zach was dead, and Francois was still in custody, which would result in the Frenchman being dead.

  So far, all options ended with someone ending up dead.

  “Don’t make me turn this on,” Ronnie said, stepping from around the corner, holding up the metal disc. Its lights glowed an ominous red. “Don’t make me.”

  Perhaps never gladder to see someone in his life, Zach flashed her a warm smile.

  However, Danner more harshly studied the woman, then the disc, and then the woman. “The Robin Hood hacker, I presume?”

  “At your service, but unless you want me to take that gun, your belt, and quite possibly the fillings in your molars, I would lower that weapon.”

  Zach watched emotions roll over his boss’ face. In the end, Danner was a pragmatist. He lowered his weapon.

  “Grant was the traitor, Danner, not me. Look into it, and you will see.”

  “Oh, I will,” his boss promised.

  Backing away, with Ronnie holding the disc between them and Danner’s bullets, Zach urged Francois along, but the old man balked.

  “The painting. We must have the painting.”

  “We don’t have time—”

  But the Frenchman was far stronger than he looked, and jerked out of Zach’s grasp. He headed for Danner’s office.

  “No, Francois. The painting will be in the evidence—”

  Zach didn’t bother finishing his sentence as Francois walked out of the office with the crated Picasso. Zach eyed his boss. Could Danner be involved? But if Danner was involved, then would they really have needed to assault the place?

  Before he could ask, sirens blared, bearing down on the field office. Whatever answers Zach wanted were going to have to wait until later. Way later. Taking Ronnie’s hand, he led them through the back halls of the office. If they could get out the back exit and hoof it to the rendezvous point, they might just make it.

  Bursting out the emergency door and into the side street, Zach stopped short. A large SWAT van raced up, skidding to a stop. It wasn’t a SWAT van, though, or at least none like he’d ever seen before. This one was coal black, without a single marking. And the men piling out of the vehicle? Each wore black leather, and each wore a cross around his neck.

  “Feel free to fire up the disc,” Zach told Ronnie. When she didn’t answer, he glanced over at her.

  “Yeah, about that…”

  * * *

  “The refrigerator really messed it up,” Ronnie continued.

  “But you said—”

  Ronnie shrugged, knowing that nothing she could say or do would lessen the blow. “I was bluffing. The disc is shot.”

  The look of disappointment that crossed Zach’s face nearly undid her. After a breath, he was back at it, though. “What about Quirk? Surely he must have—”

  Yes, she too was used to him pulling something out of a hat, but… “After the magnet fritzed, I haven’t heard from him.”

  She could only assume that Quirk had followed protocol and had gotten the heck out of the vicinity. Her assistant liked to call it the pirate’s code.

  Zach’s expression looked more pained than it had after he stumbled out of that CIA safe house.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Sorry for everything. Sorry for getting him mixed up in this mess. Sorry for not field- testing the magnetic disc in a kitchen environment.

  Zach squeezed her hand. “It’s okay.”

  As the men, armed to the teeth, approached, squealing tires also announced the police on the other side of the building. None of it seemed okay.

  “I got to meet you,” he said, leaning in.

  It was absurd timing. It was crazy to stop and kiss right now, but absurd and crazy were meaningless right now. Time hung, suspended.

  Then the wash of chopper rotors buffeted them back. Buffeted everyone back as it streaked in from the sky, then hovered right in front of them. Quirk opened the door.

  “Told ya he’s into me,” the young man announced, as the gruff pilot nodded to Ronnie.

  * * *

  Oh, if only he could capture the look on his boss’ face. Except, of course, for the dozen or so ninja priests and law enforcement personnel bearing down on them.

  “You coming aboard, or what?” Quirk asked.

  Ronnie was the first to snap out of it and grab hold of Quirk’s outstretched hand. Zach bounded in after her, hauling a crate in with him. That left the old man, who seemed equally perplexed that there was a helicopter in front of him, yet oddly at ease with the fact as well. Quirk helped the man to board.

  “We are good to go.”

  Which was a good thing, since the ninja priests had also recovered and had begun shooting. As they gained altitude, the old man glanced around.

  “How very strange.”

  Right. This coming from a guy who tried to torch a Picasso.

  Bullets pinged off the undercarriage as the pilot swooped them up and away. Ronnie turned to Quirk.

  “When did you throw this together?”

  Quirk shook his head. “Not me. You need to thank my sunshine at the controls.”

  In a very rare occasion, Ronnie stammered to express herself. “I… I’m not sure… How to… Huh?”

  “Please,” the pilot answered. “Like you people were getting out of this by yourselves.”

  Quirk urged Ronnie into her seat. “To avoid radar, he’s going to have to do some spectacular low-altitude flying, so strap in.”

  Once Quirk got everyone else settled and himself secured in the copilot seat, he nodded to the pilot. “Let her rip.”

  Oh, and how did he. The helicopter tilted and swooshed through buildings, threading a needle between two high rises and then ducking under a bridge. If this was any indication of how the man handled himself in bed…

  Quirk fanned himself as the chopper laid over. Like he said, the day was definitely looking up.

  * * *

  Lino stood amongst the clamor of the other men loading into the van as the helicopter veered out of view. To think that one man, Francois Loboum, felt him above God’s will and escaped the Almighty’s wrath. Perhaps the old, fallen priest did have a guardian angel.

  Much as Lucifer had his comrades, so must Francois.

  Could Francois not see that a cleansing purge was God’s way? Seldom did the Bible talk of conferences and political pacts. No, God spoke of fire and plague. Something the Hidden Hand was adept at unleashing.

 
Lino gave a deep sigh as he climbed into the all-too-modern van. He never should have allowed Deacon Havar to convince him to leave Francois’ extraction to others. Lino would have snuck in like a thief in the night, slit the old man’s throat, and then snuck back out again without anyone the wiser. But Havar wanted Francois alive.

  Certainly the obese deacon had justified his orders that they would compel vital information out of Francois, but Lino sensed it had more to do with Havar’s desire to torture the old man.

  Weakness of flesh. Weakness of spirit.

  And to think that such weakness had caused the death of Brother Michael. The man had been the one who first taught Lino the symbols of the angels. The symbols that would rule his life. But if poor Michael had been careless enough to be killed, perhaps it would not be worth Lino’s time to mourn him.

  What of the painting? They had long suspected that the communist Picasso wandered from the fold. But to have so brashly impregnated one of his paintings with heresy? Now, that too was in the hands of the unbelievers.

  As the van skidded out, filling the night air with the acrid smell of rubber, the driver called out to Lino. “Deacon Havar wants to know your plan from here.”

  Oh, now the flabby man wished Lino’s counsel.

  While he accepted the proffered phone, Lino had absolutely no ambition to impart the truth to the deacon. Francois could seek few harbors during such a storm as this. Lino intended to find him…alone.

  * * *

  Dr. Henderson walked into the room. “Good. You are both sitting.”

  More than likely because neither Amanda nor Jennifer had the energy to stand. Neither did Dr. Henderson, for he leaned heavily against the doorframe.