On Thin Ice

by Cherry Adair

  He circled back to the front of the building. It was hard to tell how long the door had stood open, but a knee-high pile of snow indicated some time had passed since anyone had stepped inside.

  Loaded for bear, weapons ready, Derek slipped sideways through the opening and paused to let his eye adjust to the deeper darkness inside. Usually he had superior night vision, but one eye, no matter how good, was no match for pitch black even with the nvg's.

  The anteroom he was in measured ten by fifteen. Cement block. No windows. Door at his back. On his right a narrow elevator without a door. On his left, steep cement stairs leading down.

  He took a moment to jam the elevator simply by stuffing his heavy fur hat into the crack between the cement floor and the floor of the elevator. It wouldn't be going anywhere. And in the dark, the hat would be damn near impossible to see—unless one was specifically looking for it. As added insurance, he used the KaBar to wedge the fur good and tight into the chink.

  He removed his coat and tossed it behind the door. Next he carried cupped handfuls of snow across the room to the top of the stairs; after several trips, he crouched to spread the soft mounds into a thin frosting across the width of the landing and the top two steps. Then he poured water from his flask until the snow melted and started setting up nicely.

  He paused to listen. There was a faint sound from far below, echoing like a memory up the stairwell.

  Derek's heart leaped in his chest with anticipation and his concentration focused tightly. Razor sharp. All his senses went to high red alert.

  Keeping close to the left-hand wall, his blind side, Derek stepped over the rapidly forming ice on the floor and started running lightly, soundlessly, down the stairs.

  Eventually the black receded; he pushed up the goggles as the golden glow of lights from below became brighter and brighter. He paused on the landing five stories below ground level. One level above the action on the main floor.

  The steady, low-grade hum of electronics.

  Booted feet scuffing on bare cement.

  Voices.

  And the sharp, fetid stink of death.

  Dragging a plane in the dark—as it probably would in broad daylight as well—proved to be quite an adventure. Fortunately, the snow gave off a faint gleam, which was the only way Lily could see where she and the team were going. Derek had told her not to use her flashlight.

  This spy business was proving very interesting. Nerve-racking, but interesting. The heavy plane slid with ease on its skis, and the team pulled it along as if it weighed no more than a loaded sled.

  The runway—if the narrow clearing between the trees was the runway—wasn't long. It only took about twenty minutes to get the plane where Derek wanted it. Having worked up a comfortable sweat helping the dogs, Lily went to the leads, her Arrow and Derek's Max, and coaxed them to make a wide circle to turn the plane back the way they'd come. Their tracks had already been obliterated by the gently falling snow and the soft gusts of wind, sweeping the clearing as effectively as a broom. While there was no way on God's green earth Lily was going to go up in the plane, it was going to make a decent shelter from the bitter cold.

  "Derek's spy pals will be here soon," she whispered to the dogs as she walked them into the wide turn necessary at the end of the runway. "What's the bet they're on their way as we speak? In nice fast snowmobiles. What, Rio? You'd prefer a truck with a heater? Good thinking. Me, too."

  With the plane turned, Lily focused on getting inside. No easy feat. First the tarp had to be pulled aside; already half covered with snow, it was heavy and unwieldy. Using the sled as a step, she opened the door and shone her flashlight inside, her cupped hand directing the beam and subduing the light.

  It would be a tight fit. There were eighteen dogs, plus herself and, in a while, Derek. There was room for two up front, and six passenger seats in back. God. Just looking at those bucket seats in the close confines of the cabin made her mouth go bone dry and her heart pound erratically. She hadn't been anywhere near a plane in years. Not since she was a child, in fact.

  Think of it as a doghouse, Lily told herself firmly. Just a shelter. Nothing else.

  "You kids are going to have to double up. So behave." Fortunately the dogs, once liberated from the line, were able to jump inside the plane unaided, except for Dingbat. Lily picked up all sixty pounds of wet, shaking fur and lugged him to the plane, then heaved him inside. "There you go, big boy. Find a nice spot for a nap."

  She grabbed the essentials from the sled, then, coffeepot in hand, clambered into the doorway, tugged down the tarp and closed the door.

  God. How could her nose bypass wet dog and only smell plane? Leather, dust, jet fuel—blood.

  No. No. No. "Ow!" Lily pinched the back of her hand to make herself snap out of the impending panic attack, then sat there listening to her own harsh breathing echo in her ears in time with her manic heartbeat.

  Doghouse. Shelter. On the ground.

  It was dark as a tomb without her flashlight. She shone the narrow beam around the interior to check the dogs. They didn't care what was going on around them. They were in shelter and a lucky few lay on padded seats. Noses tucked under their tails, they were asleep in minutes.

  Dingbat curled up on the pilot's seat with his head on his paws and huffed. Lily leaned over to rub his soft ears. "It's okay, boy. Everything is okay. Close your eyes now and take a little nap. Nothing's going to happen to Derek. He'll be here soon, and then we'll all go home, safe and sound. Good boy, that's it, close your eyes."

  Clicking off the flashlight, Lily closed her own eyes on a little prayer. "Please, God. It's bad to lie to animals. Back me up here. Keep Derek safe. Amen."

  The state-of-the-art computers on the various work centers were dark, the vast underground room dimly lit with what was clearly emergency lighting. Derek counted heads.

  Five men standing. Bad guys?

  Only five? His first thought flew to Lily.

  Of course, it was possible only five people had come to do whatever they'd come to do. But what if the other men were up there?

  He resisted the overwhelming urge to hear Lily's voice, but clicked into her channel, just to hear her steady breathing.

  Sleeping.

  Safe.

  He clicked off, scanning the room, this time counting the dead Marines slumped over their workstations. Six head shots.

  Bad guys, five. Good guy, one.

  Not bad odds, Derek thought, flattening himself against the wall in the stairwell and taking aim.

  Pop.

  Head shot. Make that four bad guys, he thought with satisfaction as the man closest to him dropped, soundlessly, like a shattered watermelon. He shot the next man right between his startled eyes as he turned to see what the thump was. He shot the next in the throat before he could draw his weapon.

  Two to go.

  Derek hit the floor running. A moving target, with the element of surprise on his side, he wasn't wasting time. Two bad guys, or two hundred. Whatever they were doing here had to be stopped.

  He was it.

  "Gospadi! Amyerikányets!" Shots went wild as each man ducked behind a workstation for protection.

  "Hell, yeah, assholes," Derek yelled back in Russian. "Pray. This American's here to stop your sorry asses!"

  Where the hell was the bomb?

  "Ëb tvoju mat'!"

  Ignoring the curses, Derek got off another shot, which shattered a monitor in a spray of glass and plastic near one guy's head. Bleeding, the man screamed and ducked again.

  Out of the corner of his right eye, Derek observed the first guy moving closer. Good, stay on that side of me, asshole. He got off a shot, released the magazine and slammed in another clip, moving forward in a crouch.

  The second guy, small and agile, moved with the speed and stealth of a cat. A woman? Moved in around his left side. He lost sight of her for a moment as he concentrated on the man, closer to him. A loud pop as a bullet winged him on his blind side, causing Derek to stag
ger as the bullet went through his right bicep. Jesus. His arm immediately went numb. He switched the Baer to his left hand, and despite the blood on the grip, got off a volley of fast shots. Pop. Pop. Pop.

  The woman spun with the velocity, then dropped to the floor out of sight. Derek edged his way toward her in a crouch, leaned over and felt under her jaw for a pulse. There wasn't one.

  Sorry about that, ma'am. Four down. One to go.

  They circled each other like tigers in a small cage.

  "Khuem grushi okolatachivat', khuilo?" Derek taunted, closing the gap.

  The last remaining man, not happy with being told he was a lazy son of a bitch, came up from his hiding place with a vengeance.

  Derek fired off a series of rounds in rapid fire. The man, looking surprised, fell to his knees, then crumpled, slow-mo, on his face and lay still.

  Derek reloaded, then went to inspect the damage. He quickly felt for pulses, then looked around for the detonation device.

  There.

  Christ. The countdown had started.

  22:31:56

  Pulling the webbed belt off a dead Marine lying staring at the ceiling, he wrapped the fabric about his upper arm to staunch the blood flow. The pain made nausea rise to the back of his throat. He'd felt worse, and blocked it out. He managed a clumsy tie, then yanked it tight with his other hand and his teeth. Pain bolted through his arm directly into his brain. He ground his teeth together until it ebbed.

  He crouched to see what he had to deal with.

  Right arm useless, he used his left hand as best he could; he undid the screws in each corner of the outer casing, then carefully laid it on the floor beside him. Ignored, blood ran down his arm as he tried to figure out what was where inside. Ah, shit…

  22:02:01

  Derek wiped his bloody palm on his pants as he angled his head so he could see better. The wires jumped and blurred as he turned and tried to focus sideways.

  21:48:06

  Then—

  21:01:35

  Jesus. He tightened the tourniquet again with his teeth. It didn't help. Blood welled, saturated the cloth, then dripped on the floor between his spread knees in an ever-widening pool. The fingers on his right hand went numb.

  And goddamn it! He couldn't see well enough to do a damn thing.

  20:56:54

  He reached for the tangle of colored wires again. They blurred. He withdrew his left hand.

  Defeated, Derek stared at the red numbers inextricably ticking off the seconds on the computer monitor. He could see those just fine.

  But he needed two eyes.

  And God help him, two hands. His heart thumped arrhythmically.

  He was screwed.

  20:04:21

  Lily…

  "Jesus. No way—" Despair pressed icy fingers against his rib cage as his brain scrabbled for alternatives. Please God. Don't make me need Lily here. Not Lily. Please.

  "Focus, goddamn it! Focus. I can fucking do this!" He tried reaching for the wire again. His vision blurred and jumped. He saw double out of his good eye. Blood pulsed out of his arm.

  He wanted to yell. Kick something. Shoot something. Kill——

  20:00:00

  No. No way in hell was he bringing her down here…

  No choice. No freaking choice. He couldn't do it alone. Bile rose up the back of his throat. "Goddamn it." He keyed the mic. "Lily!"

  "What? What happened?" He'd clearly woken her.

  "I need you, sweetheart; hell, hate to sound like a cliché here, but your country needs you. Are you in the plane?"

  "Yes, you sa—"

  "Get out now. Run like hell down the side of the airstrip, keeping to the trees. I'll meet you halfway. Take your gun and your rifle and keep an eye out for—Shit! Just be careful, you hear me? And, Lily? Run like you've never run before."

  "I'm on my way. Stay," she instructed the dogs. He heard Dingbat cough, the snick of the door, then the rustle of various materials as she climbed out of the plane.

  19:58:08

  "Keep the mic open," he told her grimly, as he ran full speed up six flights of stairs.

  Nineteen minutes, two seconds.

  Eighteen minutes, thirty-one seconds-—

  Jump sheet of ice on the top three stairs. Grab coat. Slam through door. Haul ass.

  He checked his watch.

  Fourteen minutes, fifty-nine seconds—

  The snow had stopped, he noticed absently. He pushed his arms through the sleeves, and followed the fog of his breath as he ran flat out toward the landing strip, his strides long and deep in the snow as he made a sharp left and practically flew. The pain kept him focused.

  Reminded him there was more at stake than a bloodied arm. He glanced down to make sure there was no dripping through the thick sleeve of his coat to leave a trail. Seepage, yes. Dripping, not yet. He melted into the trees, and saw the shadow of her coming toward him, recognized the long legs churning up the snow.

  Glanced around. Snipers? Gun man? Tango?

  Nothing. No one. All clear.

  Less than fourteen minutes—

  "What?" she asked, not quite out of breath. She'd made good time.

  "Need your eyes." And your steady doctor's hands. Derek grasped her arm with his bad hand. Pain, like freaking fire, consumed his arm. Teeth clenched, he turned on a dime, taking her with him. "Run."

  Eighteen

  She ran. No more questions.

  Thirteen minutes—

  Back into the small structure. "Wait," he said, vaulting over the icy steps and landing. He held out his arms.

  She jumped.

  A leap of faith.

  His heart soared and his arm screamed. He grabbed her hand in his left, and half pulled her down. Flight one. Flight two. Three, four, she was starting to pant. Five.

  Eleven minutes, two seconds.

  They smelled death before they hit the bottom floor.

  "Oh my God." Staring at the bodies, she looked at him with part horror, part ferocity. She yanked off her coat and tossed it over a computer monitor. Looked around again and shook her head. "Where the hell do I start?"

  He grabbed up her hand again. Pulled her. "They're all beyond help. This way."

  She followed, only because he was dragging her by the hand like a reluctant child on the first day of school. She was a healer. Blood and body parts splattered floor and furniture and she couldn't tear her eyes away from the carnage.

  9:57:04

  "Then what am I doing here?" Lily demanded, turning to face him at last.

  "I need your help to defuse that."

  That was a black metal box about the size of a Tourister suitcase, attached to a computer by a spaghetti of multicolored wires. The outer casing lay beside it like an overturned black turtle.

  "Looks like something some kid made in shop," Lily said dryly. "Just unplug it."

  "Remote-controlled detonation. Those wires have to be cut. In the correct order."

  Her eyes went wide. "It's a bomb."

  "Under normal circumstances," Derek told her grimly, his entire attention on the numbers changing slowly and inexorably on the black screen. Seven minutes, nineteen seconds. "There'd be an ordnance team here, which in turn would dispatch a robot with cameras. Then the ordnance expert would go in, in full body armor, and with extensive backup, and defuse the bomb."

  His ordnance team was Lily.

  Shit on a shingle. He handed her the tweezers and a pair of wire cutters he'd scavenged from one of the desks, then pulled her down to crouch in front of the computer monitor. "I'll talk you through it. I can't see well enough. Here." He handed her the tools.

  Christ. Tweezers and a pair of small wire cutters. And he prayed. Prayed as he never had in his life, that his T-FLAC counterparts were approaching right this second. That any nanosecond now he'd hear their footsteps racing down the stairs.

  6:02:57

  Lily shot him a worried glance. "You've done this before. Right?"

  "They're all differe
nt," he evaded. Bombs weren't his field of expertise. But they were both going to get a lesson in a hurry.

  5:00:01

  "Very gently," he instructed, "pick up the yellow wire. Yes. Just like that. Slowly… slowly. Hold it right there. Now carefully move the white one under it, and pull the white to the side out of the way… Good."

  There was a loud crash and a scream from the stairwell as someone fell down the stairs. Then whispered voices carried down five stories. Reinforcements had arrived.

  Not his guys. They would've checked for the ice.

  Damn it to hell.

  "Don't worry about them," he told Lily calmly. Her surgeon's hands, used to doing delicate surgery on her patients, were rock steady as she played pickup sticks with the wires.

  Hurry. Hurry. Hurry. "Okay, now take the top red wire—no, the one next to i—yeah, that one, and pull it through between the white and the yellow."

  "Derek?" Lily said mildly, not looking at him, "could you just cut to the chase instead of giving me the blow-by-blow? There're a zillion wires here. We clearly don't have all day. Which wire am I trying to get to, and what do I do with it when I have it?"

  The newcomers had reached the third-floor landing by the sound of them. Quiet they weren't. Derek hefted the Baer in his left hand, and half turned on his haunches. He couldn't watch the stairwell and Lily's hands at the same time. He tuned into the men approaching, and focused his eyes on her delicate hands.