Under Fire

by Beth Cornelison

  He surveyed his situation in a glance. He lay facedown on a bed with white sheets, a flat pillow. His kidnappers had dressed him in a pair of his khaki slacks and his old running shoes. His feet weren’t bound. Maybe if he could get off the bed—

  The scrape of a chair sounded behind him, and Emily’s head snapped up. Her soulful brown eyes latched onto something or someone and widened.

  Jackson braced himself. For what, he didn’t know.

  “Rick! I think McKay’s awake.”

  Someone grabbed his upper arm and tugged him to a sitting position, aggravating the old football injury in his shoulder again. Turning his stiff neck, Jackson peered behind him and recognized one of the thugs who’d broken into his house.

  But he was not at his house. The wood paneling in the musty-smelling room gave the impression of being in a cabin. A small fire flickered in a stone fireplace, and faded area rugs dotted the wood-planked floor.

  When the room pitched and swayed, Jackson shut his eyes and willed his equilibrium to return. Whatever they’d drugged him with was powerful stuff.

  “’Bout time.” The group’s leader stepped into Jackson’s line of vision. Rick turned toward the woman on the other side of the room. “I told you not to overdose him. We need him alert. How are we supposed to get any information from him when he can barely sit up?”

  “I didn’t overdose him!” The woman crossed her arms over her chest and gave Rick a defiant glare. “It’ll wear off in a few hours. You didn’t want him waking up in the van, did you?”

  Rick only scowled at the woman before returning his steely stare to Jackson. “This can go two ways. You can cooperate and live, or you can resist and die a slow death.”

  A leaden weight settled in Jackson’s gut. “Why me? What…do you want?”

  “Information. Resources.” Rick settled in a chair in front of him. “You have access to materials and research we need for our operations. You’re going to help us get it.”

  “I don’t…understand. I’m just a research scientist for a small—” When his dry, raw throat gave out, Jackson paused to swallow. “Small private company.”

  “Head of Research and Development for Hemmer Biochemical.”

  An uneasy tremor shimmied through him. “Uh, yeah. How did—?”

  “I know quite a bit about you and your research, Dr. McKay.” Rick looked to one of the other men and held out his hand. “Give me his file, Vince.”

  The dark-haired man slapped a folder into Rick’s hand, and he read from it. “You graduated cum laude with a chemistry degree from Yale and earned your master’s and doctorate degrees from Stanford. You started working for Hemmer in 1997 and were promoted to head of Nanotechnological Research three years ago.”

  Jackson’s wariness grew. Having this creep know so much about him was unnerving.

  Now his captor glanced at Emily, and Jackson tensed.

  “I bet you’ll be much more willing to cooperate if your daughter’s life was at stake. Don’t you?”

  Rick reached for Emily, and she shrunk away with a whimper.

  White-hot rage flashed through Jackson, fueling a strength he hadn’t had moments earlier. With a roar, Jackson lunged off the bed.

  Chapter Two

  “Stay away from her!” Jackson plowed his shoulder into Rick.

  They both crashed to the floor.

  With his hands still taped behind him, he head-butted Rick in the nose. Blood spurted on them both.

  Emily screamed.

  Rick moaned and clutched his face.

  The other men charged forward to restrain Jackson.

  Seizing his arms, they dragged him to his feet while he twisted and fought. Nauseating pain swamped him, but he struggled to stay on his feet, to battle his captors. To protect Emily.

  He landed a hard kick in Vince’s shin and raised a knee to another man’s groin. A third man swung at him. Jackson ducked. Staggered dizzily. Tripped over the man who cradled his crotch on the floor.

  “Tie him up!” Rick shouted over the grunts of the men who tackled Jackson and pinned him to the floor.

  Jackson’s shoulder was on fire, and he couldn’t suppress a howl of pain when Vince shoved a knee against his collarbone. A fist crashed into his already sore jaw and spots danced before his eyes.

  “Dad!” Emily cried.

  A sharp edge of remorse for what his daughter had witnessed sliced through his heart. His sweet girl. She’d already suffered so much for an eight-year-old. Lost too much. They both had.

  The thug he’d nailed in the balls lumbered to his feet and loomed over him. “Sonofabitch,” the swarthy-looking man spat before he returned the favor.

  A searing ache arced from his groin to his belly. Jackson didn’t puke. Barely. He gritted his teeth, and he stayed conscious, although passing out would have spared him some excruciating misery. But he had to stay awake, stay alert. For Emily.

  Rick shoved the others out of the way to hover over Jackson. “Try that shit again, and your kid will pay for your stupidity.”

  Jackson searched the room frantically for Emily and found her huddled on the small bed in the corner where he’d awakened moments ago. The woman sat beside her patting Emily’s knee, murmuring to her.

  A rough tug at his feet drew his attention from his daughter. Vince had a nylon cord wrapped around Jackson’s ankles, and with a jerk, he tied the rope off. His kidnappers hauled him to a chair and secured him with more cords. His comfort clearly wasn’t any concern to them.

  Rick bent to growl in Jackson’s face. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

  “Let my daughter go.” Jackson struggled for a breath, though inhaling deeply sent waves of pain through his shoulder and his burning gut. “Once she’s safe…I’ll do what you say.”

  Rick laughed. “Not a chance. She’s our bargaining chip. If you want her safe, you cooperate. Once we have what we want, we’ll let her go.”

  Jackson noticed there was no mention of releasing him once he cooperated. He figured he was pretty much dead, one way or another. And he had a sick feeling as to why. Still he rasped, “What do you think I have…that’s so important. You said you don’t want money.”

  “No. Our buyers are more than willing to pay top dollar.”

  “What buyers? What do you sell?”

  Rick ignored the question for several seconds as he dabbed with his shirttail at the blood still leaking from his nose. “Your research is what our buyers want.”

  Icy chills slithered through Jackson. Just how much did they know about his work? He feigned surprise. “Why would anyone want my research? It’s pretty routine stuff.”

  Rick arched an eyebrow. “Hardly. Nanotechnological research may be expanding, but it’s far from routine. What you’ve done is even more cutting edge than most. Plenty of people want to be the first on the block with your dendrimer.”

  “Who do you mean?”

  Was Rick bluffing, or did he really know the specifics, the possibilities of the nanometer-sized polymer he’d developed?

  The hairs on Jackson’s nape stood on end as chilling suspicions crawled through him.

  Rick shrugged. “We sell to anyone with the means to buy. Although…” He paused and sniffed, testing his nose for more blood. “Our ultimate goal is more personal. And your dendrimer, used with a good nerve agent is just what we need. Maybe sarin…” When Jackson stiffened at the mention of the deadly chemical, Rick twisted his mouth in a sadistic leer.

  “Ultimate goal? Rick, what the hell are you talking about?” one of the other men asked.

  Rick cocked his head and sent the dark-skinned man a glower. “Shut up, Montego. I’m not talking to you, am I?”

  Montego stepped beside Rick, his stance confrontational. “You should be. What the hell kind of personal business you talking about? Only plan we discussed was getting McKay’s research. We sell it, split the cash and retire to South America.”

  Jackson used the moment of Rick’s distraction to check o
n Emily again. She looked shaken, pale. Fragile.

  Ah, baby, I’m so sorry this is happening to you. When Emily met his gaze, he mouthed, “I love you.”

  “I love you back,” she mouthed, tears tracking down her cheeks.

  “Hold on. We’ll be all right.” How many times had he told her that since Janine’s death? He wanted to believe it. He had to make it happen. If he died, Emily would be orphaned.

  “Your job hasn’t changed.” Rick squared off with Montego. “Just do what I say and—”

  “No way, man. Don’t brush me off. If your plans have changed, if you’re planning something with one of our devices, I think you’d better fill us in.”

  Vince and the woman exchanged uneasy glances. Jackson couldn’t decide if this apparent trouble in the ranks was a boon or held the potential for disaster.

  Rick put his face in Montego’s and snarled, “My plans have nothing to do with you. It’s personal. An old score I intend to settle for my father. Just do the job I’m paying you to do and stay the hell out of my way. I’ve come too far to let you or anyone fuck this up now.”

  Neither man flinched for long, taut seconds.

  “Just don’t let your personal vendettas get in the way of our main objective. That Stabilzon is worth millions. Billions. Every government and rebel faction on the planet’s going to be vying for it. I want my share of the profit.”

  Stabilzon? Judas Priest! Dread hammered Jackson in the chest, and his pulse spiked.

  They even knew the name of his drug-delivery dendrimer.

  And Stabilzon’s lethal potential. The nanoscale polymer, which could be programmed to carry medicine or chemotherapy drugs to specific cells in the body and revolutionize the treatment of diseases, had equally devastating applications if used in combination with deadly chemicals.

  His research used with sarin, Rick had said. Oh God! Despite the groundbreaking medical benefits of his work, Stabilzon in the wrong hands would be monumentally disastrous.

  With a nauseating certainty, he deduced what these men wanted and what part Rick expected him to play in their sick plans. Jackson battled down the riot of emotions clambering inside him. He needed to think clearly, not react impulsively and get himself or Emily killed.

  “I’m well aware of what’s at stake. Now back off. If I start thinking you’re a liability, I can neutralize you as a risk same as I did Hanson.”

  Stiffening, Montego paled a bit, and he stepped back from Rick. Obviously, Rick’s ambiguous reference was clear enough to his cohort.

  The woman intervened. “Rick, don’t—”

  “Shut up! The same goes for any of you that get in my way.”

  A heavy silence settled in the dim room. In the pregnant lull, Jackson heard Emily wheeze. An asthma attack. Probably caused by wood smoke from the small fireplace or mold spores in the cabin. And Emily didn’t have her inhaler.

  Damn it! Emily’s asthma made it all the more important that he get his daughter out of here soon. He had to think of something. As a scientist, his job was to find solutions to difficult problems, to think outside the box. Surely he could come up with a plan to rescue Emily, to protect his research, to get himself out of this nightmare alive.

  Rick pulled a chair close to Jackson’s and crowded close enough for Jackson to smell his captor’s sweat. “All right, McKay. I’m running out of patience.”

  “I still don’t understand why you need me.”

  “Don’t you?” Rick scoffed. “C’mon, Doctor McKay. I think a man of your education and intelligence knows exactly what we need from you. You know the military implications of the research you’re doing. You knew even before the Department of Defense had their little meeting with you.”

  Startled, Jackson snapped his eyes up to meet Rick’s. He’d never even told Janine about the men who came to his office two years ago. About the top secret reports he made on the progress of his research for the Pentagon.

  “I see I’ve surprised you. You didn’t think anyone else knew about Black Cloud.”

  Hell, Rick even knew the code name for the military applications of his research. Jackson’s mind shifted into overdrive. How had such top secret information been leaked? Had he been set up? Could Rick be a double agent? How long would it take for the watchdogs at the Department of Defense to realize he’d been kidnapped?

  Clamping down on the flurry of questions, Jackson refocused on the problem at hand. He forced a laugh, infused his tone with amused confusion. “Black Cloud is the name of the sailboat I bought two summers ago. That’s hardly a government secret.”

  “Nice try, McKay. We’ve been following your research in drug-delivery dendrimers as long as the government has.”

  “My work is nothing new.” True enough. Drug-delivery systems had been a major focus of nanotechnological research for several years. He was simply the first to develop a system with the universal applications, including warfare, and the potential for mass production. His captors had been right about one thing. Stabilzon would be worth billions. But only after he and his team perfected it.

  Adrenaline cleared much of the remaining fog from the tranquilizer he’d been given. Pain still stole his breath, but he was feeling stronger by the minute. He bided his time, hoping to get as much information as possible from Rick while he was in a chatty mood. He’d assess his options for escape, or at least for freeing Emily, later. First he had to know what he was up against. Find out how much these men knew. Get some idea where they had taken him.

  Rick folded his arms over his massive chest, staring at Jackson expectantly. “You’ve been working with the military to apply your research to chemical warfare. Namely to use your dendrimer to deliver nerve agents directly to cells throughout the body. By adding your nanopolymer to chemical agents, the agents become a hundred times more lethal. More effective on the battlefield.”

  “Nanotechnology is relatively new. Military uses are still theoretical. I don’t see how—”

  “Give it up, Doc,” Rick said through clenched teeth. “Stop wasting time with denials.”

  “I just don’t know anything that will—”

  Rick stood so fast his chair fell over with a crash. He stalked to the bed where Emily was curled next to the woman. Grabbing Emily’s arm, he yanked her up and whipped a snub-nosed gun from the waist of his jeans.

  Emily cried out.

  Bile surged into Jackson’s throat.

  “Rick, no!” the woman gasped, earning a backhand to the jaw from Montego.

  Desperately, Jackson fought the tape binding his hands. Prickly pain zinged through his arms from lost circulation and pulled hair. But he couldn’t get loose. Couldn’t reach Emily.

  “Make yourself useful finding us something to eat. And don’t interfere with the kid!” Rick snapped to his female accomplice. Turning back to Jackson, he poked the business end of the gun in Emily’s ear.

  “Stop!” Jackson barely recognized the hoarse, panicked shout that issued from his throat.

  “Give me something I can use. A good faith gesture. Some sign that you’ll cooperate. Or your girl will start losing body parts. A toe, a hand…”

  “No, don’t!”

  Rick tipped his head as if musing a difficult problem. “I wonder how long it would take for her to bleed to death.”

  “Dad!” Emily squeaked.

  “Nick Rangard. Ch-Charles Towbridge,” Jackson gasped. “The D.O.D. agents I talked to. I sent encrypted and coded emails when I had new data to fax to a secured line.”

  Damn! He’d been warned of the consequences of revealing any classified information.

  Now he was ready to sell his soul to save Emily. God forgive him. He’d arm terrorists if it would save his daughter.

  Hell, he had to find another way…

  Rick lowered the gun, and a smug smile tugged his mouth. “Better. You still haven’t told me anything I didn’t know, but this is progress.”

  The air seemed thinner suddenly, and Jackson struggled to draw oxygen int
o his lungs. If it came to it, he was prepared to die, prepared to betray his country, prepared to give these mercenaries whatever they asked in exchange for his daughter’s life. Nothing was more important to him than Emily.

  He gagged on the bitter taste that filled his throat. No matter how much he loved Emily, he hated the thought of turning traitor, of endangering innocents by arming rogue enemies.

  Guilt was a hard thing to swallow. Jackson drew an unsteady breath. “What do you want to know?”

  *

  August 27

  Sheriff Frank Billows unrolled the top of his lunch sack and peeked inside. Cold cut sandwiches just didn’t do anything for him after eighteen years of the same old same old. Times like this, he wished Redmont was big enough to have a fast food joint. He’d kill for a burger and fries.

  He bit into the bologna sandwich his wife had made him and chuckled to himself. “Guess as sheriff I shouldn’t be willing to kill for something like a hamburger, but…” He sighed and bit into the limp, cold cut sandwich again. “Damn.”

  The cowbell over the front door clanked. “Afternoon, Frank,” Jim Hadley, a lanky man with a wide mustache, called as he strolled into the office.

  Billows tossed his lunch on the desk and dusted his hands, glad for the distraction. “Howdy, Jimbo. How’s tricks?”

  “Can’t complain. You?”

  Frank pushed away from his far-too-neat desk and met Jim at the counter. He’d love to be so busy that case files littered his workspace. As it was, the most exciting thing that had happened in recent days was when Myrtle Crabshaw wandered out of the nursing home. He’d found her less than a half-hour later, confused and flustered but unharmed, down by the old saw mill.

  “I’m bored, Jimbo. That’s how I am,” he told his buddy. “Please tell me you just robbed the bank or witnessed a drug deal going down. I’m stir-crazy.”

  Jimbo snorted. “A drug deal? In Redmont? What, like Grady Simmons selling his Viagra to the Plimpton kid?”

  Frank laughed at the image that came to mind. “From what I hear, Earl Plimpton needs Viagra like a dog needs fleas. The randy little cuss.” He leaned his forearms on the counter and shook his head. “So what brings you in here this afternoon?”