Code Name: Bundle!

by Christina Skye

  Truman.

  Had something happened to Max?

  She shoved open the door a crack. A second later Truman nosed past her, sniffing the air intently. Ears back, he shot down the tunnel.

  Maybe he needed water. Maybe Max had sent him for supplies. She was running through all the possibilities when she heard Truman growl.

  Miki froze. The big dog never growled. Noise discipline, or something like that. Max had been very firm about any noise.

  She felt a stab of uneasiness. “Truman, what’s wrong? Why—”

  When she turned around, the dark shape in front of Miki wasn’t Truman. The big dog was standing to her left, ears back, body rigid. It was Dutch, breathing heavily, his face white and pasty. In his hands was the gun Max had left for her.

  “Forget the dog. I’m afraid the bad news is just starting, Blondie.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “DUTCH, YOU SHOULDN’T BE standing up.” Miki looked down at the pilot’s unsteady hands, totally confused. “Where did you get that gun?”

  “Same place I got the pain medicine and the radio transmitter. Your SEAL friend is well equipped.” He coughed hollowly, one hand at his chest. “Too bad that damned plane crash nearly whacked me. Now I’m way off schedule.”

  “Off schedule for what?” Miki felt a weight settle over her chest. “I don’t understand.” But she was starting to pick up the threads and they made her sick. The man she had believed was an innocent victim was part of this whole dangerous mess.

  Coughing harshly, Dutch leaned against the wall, gesturing with the revolver. “Your boyfriend should be in place at the island by now. It’s time we went over to join him.”

  “My boyfriend? You mean Max?” Miki felt a stab of fury. Dutch had been playing possum, listening to every conversation while he followed orders from an unseen enemy. “Are you crazy? Max saved your life. After you went down, he swam back out to get you. If not for that, you’d be dead now. This is how you repay him?”

  “The plane crash wasn’t planned—at least the bad weather wasn’t. First they’d follow you. Then I’d drop you, a civilian, down in an op zone, just to screw the hell out of everything. It was bound to bring the SEAL right into play, and it did.”

  “Who’s they?”

  “Government of the US of A, honey. Big eyes and bigger ears, and they want a piece of everything. You’ve been on their radar screen since that chip got put in your arm in the coffee shop back in Santa Fe.”

  “There’s a chip in my arm?” Miki’s voice rose, shrill with shock. “That’s why it’s hurt for all these weeks?”

  “Afraid so, Blondie. You’re in the middle of one hell of a big adventure.” The pilot laughed hollowly. “Are you having fun yet?”

  “Dutch, you can’t—”

  “Yeah, I can. I was just supposed to set you down in the ocean near the next island. Then the bad weather blew in, and I was lucky to get the damned plane down in one piece.”

  “You almost died. You could still die,” Miki snapped.

  He shrugged. “An acceptable risk. I’m tired of half-assed jobs carrying hack politicians and old entertainers around the Pacific. After this I’ll have enough money to retire in style. Believe me, the only charters I’ll be taking will be on my own vacations.”

  He leaned toward Miki, but Truman shot forward, growling. “Get your damn dog out of my way. Otherwise, I’ll shoot him.”

  Miki tugged vainly at Truman’s collar. “He’s not my dog. He won’t do what I say.”

  “Make him do it.” Dutch staggered a little, leveling his gun at Truman “You’ve got five seconds. Then I’ll put two in his head.”

  Miki put one hand on the dog’s rigid back. “Truman, stay here. Everything will be fine, honey.”

  The dog didn’t move, his hackles rising as he growled at Dutch.

  “Weird dog. He was watching me even before I pulled out the gun, and I was pretty damned quiet in the tunnel.” The gun rose.

  “No. Don’t shoot him. I’ll do whatever you want. Just leave the dog alone.”

  “No can do, Blondie. The dog’s part of my deal and he’s going to bring big bucks. Hell, anyone with eyes can see this is no ordinary Lab.”

  “What do you mean?” Miki edged forward and sank down on the ground as if exhausted. Behind her back, she was digging through the contents of her purse, searching for anything that could be used as a weapon.

  Knitting needles against a revolver?

  “The dog is high trained, probably biologically modified.” Dutch’s eyes narrowed. “Just like your friend Max.”

  Biologically modified?

  Miki blinked. Suddenly all kinds of random details fell into place, from Max’s chemical sensitivities to his ability to withstand pain and his unusual sexual endurance.

  She blushed a little at that last memory, remembering their off-the-chart sex, but she kept her face blank. “That’s ridiculous. There’s nothing special about either of them. I don’t know who fed you this stuff, but they were lying.”

  Dutch’s eyes hardened. “Makes no difference to me whether they’re special or not. All I care about is getting paid and then getting lost.” His face was sickly white as he brushed a hand across his forehead. “That’s some damn storm outside. It’s raining like a bitch out there. Hope I’ll be able to take off.” He laughed tightly. “That junk heap Vance made me rent was crap, but I’ve flown in all kinds of weather. This storm won’t make any difference.” He looked down at Truman, his gun level. “Time to go, kids.”

  Miki screamed and threw Max’s medical kit at the pilot with all her might. Truman bounded over her, hit the bunker wall and threw his body at Dutch from the opposite side. The dog moved so fast that he appeared like a ghost image, something you saw in a blurred home movie. A bullet cracked, and she shot forward, kicking Dutch’s legs with all her might while the pilot staggered, cursing between harsh, gasping breaths, trying to aim the revolver at Miki.

  Truman slammed against Dutch’s feet from the back, and the pilot lurched, barely managing to stay upright.

  His gun fell, pointed at Miki’s head. “I’ll shoot him if I have to, but I’ll shoot you first. The dog’s a hell of a lot more valuable than you are, believe me.”

  Miki’s blood churned with fury, but she kept her face emotionless. “Go ahead and shoot then, you bastard. I hope Truman takes off your arm—and a few other body parts.”

  “Too bad I’m supposed to bring both of you with me.” Dutch dug into his pocket.

  “What are you—”

  The pilot tossed something shiny onto the floor, and glass exploded.

  The air filled with the acrid smell of camphor, menthol and rubbing alcohol, and Miki gagged as the scent became overpowering in the enclosed space.

  Truman whimpered and sneezed loudly, the pungent scents overwhelming him.

  Dutch nodded to himself. “Didn’t know I saw that, did you? I was feeling like shit, but I wasn’t totally out of my head, especially since the two of you kept putting all that damn water in my mouth.” He smiled nastily. “Just goes to show, no good deed goes unpunished.”

  Truman huddled at Miki’s feet, breathing loudly, his body rigid in an asthma attack. “Take him outside, Dutch. He can’t stand that smell.”

  “I’ll take him outside, don’t worry. The three of us have an appointment with a man one island over. He tells me he wants his chip back.”

  Miki’s hand crept to her burn scar. Max had been keenly interested in her story about the spilled coffee, and now she realized it hadn’t been a coincidence. He must have known about the chip, but he hadn’t said a word.

  “Move it, Blondie. Open that door, walk out and tell the dog to follow you. No tricks, or he’ll take a bullet along with you.”

  Miki had no choice but to do what he said. Cold wind brushed her face as she opened the door, hit by a sheet of driving rain. Down underground she hadn’t had a real sense of how violent the weather had become. Now, looking up into dark, swir
ling clouds, she realized they were in the middle of a gale. “Where are we going?” The wind nearly drowned out her question.

  Truman struggled to climb the sand beside her, wheezing loudly.

  “To the nearest island. We’ll take the boat Max was hiding.”

  If Miki hadn’t known Max’s real mission, she would have been furious at this revelation, but now she accepted that Max had hidden the boat as a precaution against an attack like this. “How did you know it was there?”

  “Satellite photos. Believe me, I was well briefed.” Dutch jammed a hat over his head, squinting into the rain. “The man I’m working for doesn’t screw around, and he doesn’t like your friend Max much, either. Something about the unit they served together in.” He frowned as Miki leaned down, digging at the sand. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Getting my shrug. It’s freezing out here, in case you didn’t notice.” She dug away the top of the shallow hole where she had buried her shrug. Funny, that seemed like weeks ago, Miki thought. How much she had changed in the space of a few hours.

  Shaking off the sand that covered her favorite sweater, she freed the damp white angora. Dirty or not, it made her feel more prepared, more capable. Miki knew that the feeling was a complete illusion, but sometimes you took what you could get. At least she understood that most of her life had been spent grasping at illusions.

  But not any longer.

  “It’s just a piece of crap yarn. Leave it and let’s go.”

  “What do you know about yarn? I’m not leaving my shrug behind.”

  Dutch jammed the barrel of the revolver into the hollow behind her ear. “Get moving. Don’t stop again.”

  “What about Truman?”

  “I knew you wouldn’t want to leave him behind. For the moment, your doggie friend has a pressing engagement down below.” Dutch swung around, shoved the wheezing dog back through the open door into the bunker and slammed the door shut. “Stay, Spot, stay,” he said, tightly. “Someone will be by to get you soon.”

  With the gun at her neck, Miki didn’t have any choice but to hunch her shoulders and walk down the beach into the driving rain.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  SHOWTIME.

  Max yanked off his backpack, sprinting toward the heat anomaly. Crouching in the rain, he ran his hands over the ground and seventeen seconds later he found the point with the highest density of foreign chemicals tracked in by boots or machines. Then came a slow search, inch by inch, his fingers sifting through the dirt.

  A tiny current of air brushed his fingertips, carried up from a hidden containment area beneath layers of rocky soil. Max pulled out one of Izzy Teague’s newest gadgets, a silver box that would pick up a digital security signal anywhere within twenty yards, identify the broadcast pattern and automatically scan possible codes until it came up with the proper combination.

  Max looked at his watch. It took two minutes and forty-six seconds before a yellow light began to flash, indicating code acquisition. Another LED told him the direction to the signal source. He crossed the clearing and found the signal coming from a strip of metal hidden on the fake palm tree Miki had identified. She’d been right on target, he thought grimly.

  He locked in on the security frequency, triggered his unit to output the answering code, and waited.

  Gravel skittered behind him and he heard the faint hum of a motor straining somewhere beneath the ground. Rocks groaned.

  Then he was looking up at a six-by-six-foot square opening in the granite slope. A red light flashed on a small control panel just inside the open door.

  Secondary alarm set.

  Silently Max swiped the panel with Izzy’s little box, watching numbers flicker across the LED screen. This time the search took nearly three minutes by Max’s watch, and sweat mottled his forehead when the unit finally locked on to the correct code. Max triggered the relay sequence and the red light went out.

  He traced the edge of the inside door until he felt a layer of oil and something clicked beneath his fingers. An inner door swung open. In front of him sat an eighty-pound circular piece of steel and aluminum alloy that had cost close to twenty million dollars in research and development expenses.

  Time this little baby went back home to Mommy.

  And there would be no time for subtlety. The betrayal had already begun, and he felt the seconds ticking past as he slipped the heavy guidance system into a specially insulated bag inside his backpack. When the pack was secured across his shoulders and anchored by waist straps, Max closed both compartment doors and reset the security codes.

  The theft would be discovered within hours, assuming that Cruz’s men made regular inspections of the unit. But with luck he’d have time to rappel down the cliff and be long gone before the alarm sounded.

  With his precious cargo stowed, he stood motionless in the rain, hearing no sound but the faint cry of seabirds above the howl of the wind. When he circled back up the trail, he took a different route through the rocks to avoid meeting another security detail.

  At the top of the ridge he clipped in his climbing rope, checked his carabiners and took a deep breath.

  And swung out into cold, rushing wind, the rope straining beneath the new weight in his backpack while he quickly centered his body, bracing his feet against the cliff face. His hands were sure and steady, his breathing calm as he worked his way toward the water, playing out his line inch-by-inch.

  Something whined past his ear. He squinted into the rain, expecting to see a small bird.

  But there was nothing.

  As he played out more rope, Max felt the burn of muscles at his thighs and shoulders. He was two hundred feet above the water now, his rope vibrating in the gale. Rain blurred his vision.

  The whine hissed past his ear again, and something exploded inside his head.

  Max fought grimly, trying to block the static. Only one thing could generate a beam of focused noise like that. Only one person was capable of casting an energy net that could attack with such painful accuracy.

  Cruz.

  MIKI WAS GOING TO THROW up any second.

  Gripping the wall of the boat, she grimaced into a curtain of rain and sea spray. Small but stable, the boat jumped the waves despite Dutch’s clumsy steering as they jolted across the bay toward the neighboring island.

  Miki had hoped for a chance to grab his gun, but Dutch was too wary. Now she huddled with her back against the side of the boat, hideously seasick, shuddering every time they lurched into the air and slammed down seconds later.

  With a groan, she twisted sharply, throwing up over the edge of the boat. When she finished, she saw Dutch looking back at her. He shook his head, grinning. They were about four hundred yards off shore now, with a long beach curving in front of them.

  Where was Max? How was she going to get out of this mess? She knew that she couldn’t rely on anyone but herself. If she was going to make a try for escape, it had to be now, while Dutch was watching the shoreline.

  Waves frothed. Miki shut out the sounds of the rain and the motor. When Dutch turned away to scan the beach, she shot to her feet, tumbled over the rail and hit the icy water. She heard a dim shout and then she went under, slammed head over heels by churning currents, her sense of direction lost. She tried to swim away from the boat and with every stroke vivid images burned through her mind. Dreams of what should have been.

  Her first photo chosen for the cover of a national magazine. A week in her oldest friend’s mountain cabin in northern New Mexico, with no phones, no e-mails and clothes scattered over the floor. Max at her side, his naked body draped over hers, both of them too exhausted to move.

  And maybe, just maybe…a baby.

  One by one the images struck her as she fought to stay alive.

  Something had shaken loose inside her, stirring up old and half-forgotten dreams.

  She refused to die, damn it. She had survived her last crash and she was going to survive this. She had pictures to take, exotic beache
s to visit and Max was going to fit into those plans somehow. At least, if she could get him to forgive her when this was all over.

  She realized that she had been flailing at the water in panic, and now she focused, drifting while she searched for the dim light of the sky. A wave slapped her down in a painful somersault and she sucked in salt water, nearly blacking out.

  No sky in sight.

  Dimly she felt something brush her leg and tighten. Terror sent her clawing toward a faint smudge of gray above her shoulder.

  She was fighting her way toward the surface when she heard the angry throb of a motor. The v-shaped wedge of a boat’s prow loomed like a black arrow directly above her head.

  She couldn’t break the surface, but her breath was gone and her lungs burned, screaming for air. Nownownow. She would die either way.

  Something coiled around her foot, cold and slimy like seaweed, and Miki screamed, but sound was muffled by gray water.

  Her terror spiked.

  Then the thing yanked her hard, pulling her down into the darkness.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  MAX CLOSED HIS MIND, shielding his thoughts against the energy probe that could only have come from Cruz.

  Suddenly he heard his name, an angry shout cast high over his head. Beyond the sheeting rain, he saw a dark figure standing at the top of the cliff.

  One slash with a knife, and the rope would be gone. Max would plummet two hundred feet and slam into the water, his neck crushed by the guidance system in his backpack.

  But Cruz wanted something or he wouldn’t have come to tackle this job personally. Max kept his descent smooth, braking his rope through interlocking carabiners. He wasn’t going to make things easy for Cruz.

  “Job well done, Preston.” There was no mistaking that voice, stronger than it had ever been, full of confidence. “I figured they’d send you, given your particular skill set. But that device stuffed in your backpack is just a shell. I stripped away the guts of the unit before I stowed it. Why would I take a chance of you getting past my men?”