Meltdown

by Gail Barrett

  Sickened at what a fool she’d been, she caught hold of the knot in the ropes and tugged, renewing her efforts to get free. But her fingers slipped, turned slick by her bleeding wrists. She wiped her fingers on her shorts and tried again.

  But as she battled the stubborn knots, another question popped into her mind. “How did you expect to get famous in a government lab? You don’t own the work. And it’s classified. They’ll never publish it.”

  “Ruegg promised to publish it overseas.”

  She jerked up her head. “But that’s treason. They’d arrest you.”

  “Not in Brazil. I was going to take asylum there.”

  He’d had it all planned out. She stared at the man she’d once revered, feeling as if her world had flipped upside down. “And it doesn’t bother you that those terrorists are going to build a bomb and take millions of innocent lives?”

  “You know I don’t meddle in political causes. And what they do with the process…” He shrugged. “What matters is my contribution to science, the work.”

  She felt sick. Her grandfather was nothing like she’d once thought. He was self-centered, dishonest, unfeeling. “So why aren’t you in Brazil?”

  Beneath his whiskers, his lips curled. “Ruegg tried to renege on the deal. I overheard him talking and realized he wasn’t going to do his part. He was going to take the money and flee the country himself. So I wiped the computer at work and hid the flash drive.

  “But then Ruegg’s people—the people he was selling the information to—kidnapped me.” Bitterness tinged his voice. “And here we are.”

  She shook her head, still stunned. His confession so altered her impression of him that she could hardly process it all. But she knew one thing. If they survived this ordeal, their relationship would forever be changed. Not if, but when they survived. She wasn’t surrendering without a fight.

  She scanned the still-dark room, determined to sever her binds. Then a metal strap on a stack of nearby pallets caught her eye. If it was sharp enough, she could use it to cut the cords. She scooted across the cold floor toward it, the rough surface scraping her thighs.

  And she realized something else. After her parents had died, she’d feared losing the people she loved. And now those fears had materialized. She’d lost everyone—her parents, her grandfather, Coop…

  She positioned herself against the metal strap, her emotions in turmoil at the thought of Coop. But she pushed his betrayal to the back of her mind, adjusted the angle of her wrists, and began to saw.

  “What about Coop?” she gritted out. “Why did you drive him away?”

  Her grandfather blinked. “Who?”

  She huffed out a breath. He didn’t remember the name of the man whose life he’d destroyed? “Cooper Kennedy. The pilot? The one whose appointment to the Academy you got revoked?”

  “Oh, him.” His eyes cleared. “He was nothing.”

  “Nothing?” Her voice rose. “How can you say that? He was wonderful. I loved him.”

  “He was beneath you. You deserved someone better than him. I couldn’t let you waste your life following a flyboy around.”

  “That was my decision to make, my happiness you ruined. You had no right to interfere.”

  But then she understood. Even in this, he’d thought of himself. “You didn’t care what was best for me, did you? You wanted me to take my mother’s place so you could use my work.”

  “You showed promise. I thought you could help. And you wanted to work in a lab.”

  Maybe she had. He’d certainly pressured her to go that route. But without his influence, who knew what she might have done?

  No, that wasn’t true. She knew exactly what she would have done. She would have still become a chemist, but she also would have married Coop—and spent night after glorious night in his arms. She would have been happy, accepted, loved.

  And suddenly, she felt exhausted, depleted, the knowledge of all she’d lost making her want to cry. She closed her eyes, a terrible fullness blocking her throat, horrified at the injustice her grandfather had done. His selfishness and ambition had killed her parents, hurt her, and nearly ruined Coop…

  She lifted her head and looked him straight in the eye. “Well, I’ve got bad news for you, Grandpa. You’re never going to get credit for that work. I deleted the files.”

  “You what?” His eyes bulged. His mouth opened and closed like a gasping fish. “You erased my life’s work?”

  “Not quite.” A deep, male voice came out of the darkness, and Zoe’s heart slammed to a stop. A man came into view from the direction of the hallway. He was in his thirties, had a darkly handsome face—a face she’d seen before.

  Abdul Mu’ti Halabi. The man from the stable. The leader of The Third Crescent terrorist group.

  Icy frissons of terror gripped her. She leaned back, hiding her hands, so he wouldn’t notice the half-sawed ropes. The terrorist drew closer, and she recoiled, the shocking depravity in his eyes making her stomach heave.

  His flat, malevolent eyes bored into hers. “What did you think? That we would not understand computers?” His words were lightly accented, his tone mocking. “It is simple to retrieve deleted files. And your grand father was happy to give us the password. Is that not right, Dr. Shaw?” He whipped out a cigarette lighter and flipped it on, the bright flame illuminating his sinister eyes.

  Her grandfather huddled closer against the wall. His desperate, high-pitched whimpers filled the air. The terrorist started to laugh, a low chuckle that crawled through her nerves.

  Zoe struggled not to let her voice shake, not wanting him to see her fear. “You’ll never get away with this.”

  “But we will. In twenty-eight hours that nuclear plant will explode. Your president will die.” He flicked off the lighter, his eyes fevered. “The Third Crescent will triumph. And the world will stand in awe.”

  He pivoted on his heel and strode back in the direction of the fluorescent light. She lowered her face to her knees, her head light, sheer terror filling her cells. Her grandfather had given them the password. She’d failed to destroy those files. If the terrorists had nuclear waste—as Coop believed—they could easily build that bomb.

  And no one could stop them. No one knew where they were. She had to escape, sound the alarm—but how?

  She shivered violently, then dragged her scattered wits together, knowing this was all up to her. She sawed at the ropes even harder, refusing to let herself fail.

  And as she worked, memories flitted through her mind—Coop’s kiss, his husky voice, the exciting feel of his arms…

  Had she really grown less bold over the years?

  She frowned, thinking that over as she sawed away. Before her parents had died, she’d been a typical kid—confident, secure, happy with her small-town life. Their deaths had destroyed her world, demonstrating how fragile life—and a reputation—could be.

  Then Coop had abandoned her, too—or so she’d believed. That loss had shaken her deeply, robbing her of something vital, making her fear she could lose even more. And she’d changed after that—maybe not consciously—but she’d taken fewer risks, spoken out less, worried she might drive people away.

  Especially her grandfather. She couldn’t bear to jeopardize her relationship with the only family member she still had.

  She eyed the old man curled against the wall, and sympathy merged with disgust. He was old and ill, pathetic. But he’d also used her for years.

  That time was gone.

  She wasn’t the same, confused woman who’d started this journey. She’d grown wiser, stronger. And no one would dictate to her again—not her grandfather, not Coop, not those depraved Third Crescent men.

  The ropes gave slightly, fueling her hopes. She wiped her bloody hands on her shorts again, her resolve hardening to steel.

  She refused to sit here and cower. She’d escaped those terrorists at the airstrip. She’d gotten away from them at the ghost town and later at the motel.

  And now she
would do it again.

  By the time Zoe severed the ropes, dawn filtered through the dusty windows high in the warehouse walls. She pulled her arms from behind her back, gasping at the pain stabbing her shoulders, her wrists bloody and raw. She wiped her slippery palms on her shorts, not bothering to remove the ropes, aware that she didn’t have time.

  She rubbed her arms briskly to restore her circulation, then reached for the binds on her feet. Her grandfather had fallen asleep again, and his rough snores filled the air.

  Blood trickled down her wrists. The darned rope slid from her grip. She blotted her fingers and tried again. The knot loosened, slid apart.

  She was free.

  She closed her eyes, sent up a prayer of thanks, then stumbled to her feet. She swayed as a wave of dizziness hit her, turning the edges of her vision gray. She waited, impatient for the lightheadedness to pass, and a new worry popped into her head. What should she do about her grandfather? She couldn’t leave him here. But could she risk taking the time to help him escape?

  She grimaced, not happy with either option. He deserved to go to jail. He’d betrayed his country, had shown no remorse for his crimes. But she couldn’t leave him here to die.

  Hoping she wouldn’t regret it, she rushed to his side and tugged on the big knots securing his feet. After several nerve-racking moments, they came loose, and she started in on his arms.

  “Grandpa, wake up,” she whispered. She ran a nervous gaze around the warehouse. So far, no one had heard her. “Wake up,” she said again.

  He groaned, opened his eyes. “Shh…. Quiet,” she urged him. “We can’t alert the men.” She worked the knot on his wrist loose and pulled the rope apart. “Let’s go.”

  She grabbed his arm and helped him stand, waiting while the circulation returned to his legs. But then he wheezed, started hacking, and her heart took a precipitous dive. But he stifled the cough, got himself under control.

  And she glanced around the room. Someone had closed the big, bay door during the night, shrinking her options. She either had to roll back the noisy metal door or sneak down the hallway past the offices—and risk running into those men.

  Motioning for her grandfather to follow, she rushed across the cargo bay to the metal door. She gripped the handle and pulled.

  It didn’t budge. She gritted her teeth and yanked harder, but she still couldn’t get it to move. No wonder the terrorists hadn’t posted a guard. The only way out was down that hall.

  Her nerves thrumming, she started toward the hallway, beckoning again for her grandfather to come. But he wobbled on his feet, his face sheet-white, and she leaped back and grabbed his arm.

  “Are you all right?” she whispered.

  He nodded and wiped his sweating face on his sleeve. Doubtful he could make it, but unwilling to leave him behind, she led him across the room. When they reached the wall by the hallway, she propped him against it and paused.

  She peeked around the corner into the corridor. There were three large rooms off the hallway, all with their doors ajar. Past them was the exit—fifty feet away.

  “Be quiet,” she warned her grandfather. “And stay with me.”

  She tiptoed to the nearest office and peered through the window facing the hall. There were boxes on the floor, a desk, a jumble of office equipment—but no men. Relieved, she signaled to her grandfather to follow and hurried past.

  The lights were on in the second room. She pressed herself against the wall, the frayed ropes dangling from her wrists, then inched to the window and glanced inside. Another desk, a printer, and a computer—with the screen turned on. But there was still no sign of the men.

  They had to be in the last room.

  Her heart pounding clear to her backbone, she inched toward the final office. She flattened herself to the wall and caught the low murmur of voices, too terrified to breathe.

  The men were in there. She had to crawl past them to get to the exit. She couldn’t make the slightest noise.

  She forced herself to lean toward the window and braved a peek inside. Four men stood in a makeshift laboratory. Two of them huddled around a lead-plated vat connected to a series of tanks. The third was kneading a white, dough-like substance near a fifty-five gallon drum.

  C-4. The plastic explosive that would detonate the bomb.

  She swallowed hard, her knees shaking wildly, and shifted her gaze to the last person in the room. Captain Ruegg. He stood apart from the others, staring at a black box attached to the tanks, a panicked look on his face.

  He had good reason to worry. His hands and feet were bound. And if the terrorists didn’t kill him, the nuclear contamination would.

  Zoe pinched her lip with her fingers, wondering frantically what to do. She hated to leave Ruegg there, but what choice did she have? She could never get him out alone.

  And at the moment, the men weren’t looking toward the doorway. This was her only chance to sneak past. She could escape the warehouse, then call the police to rescue Ruegg.

  She glanced over her shoulder to signal her grandfather—but he was gone.

  She blinked, stunned. Incredulity turned into outrage as she realized what he’d done. He’d gone back to search for his flash drive. And if they didn’t leave now, they would die.

  Swearing silently, she glanced at the exit—only a few feet away! But she couldn’t abandon her grandfather, even if he only cared about himself.

  Furious that he’d taken such a foolish risk, she backtracked to the middle room. As she’d expected, he was riffling through the papers around the computer, searching for the flash drive containing his work.

  Disgusted, she stalked over and grabbed his arm. “Grandpa, come on. We don’t have time. We’ve got to get out of here now.”

  He coughed, wheezed for air. “I can’t leave without the flash drive.”

  “You have to!” He coughed again, deep, wrenching spasms, and her urgency reached a fever pitch. “If we don’t go now they’re going to find us here.”

  But he jerked his arm from her grasp and dug through the papers again. Her desperation surged. Her instincts shrieked at her to go.

  Then a sudden click came from the door.

  Her heart went dead still. The small hairs bristled on her neck. Wild with dread, she slowly turned around.

  And looked straight down the barrel of a gun.

  Chapter 15

  “There it is,” Rider announced.

  “Where?” Peering through the bug-stained windshield at the abandoned warehouse, Coop scooted forward in his seat.

  “By the Dumpster. In the back.”

  Coop transferred his gaze to the spray-painted Dumpster and caught sight of the kidnappers’ SUV. “I see it.”

  And it was about time. He’d felt crazed knowing those terrorists had Zoe. If they hadn’t gotten a break and spotted the kidnappers’ taillights….

  He crushed that unnerving thought. Thank God they had noticed those taillights. With their own lights off, they’d tracked the SUV across the desert to this blighted industrial complex a few miles north of Las Vegas—and then the SUV had disappeared. They’d frantically scoured the abandoned buildings, Coop’s agitation mounting as the hours ground on. And as darkness gave way to dawn—with still no sign of Zoe—he’d nearly gone insane.

  But they’d found the SUV. And now he intended to rescue Zoe—before anything else went wrong.

  Barely able to hold on to his patience, he drummed his fingers on the leather seat while Rider parked beside a chain-link fence. Then Coop leaped out, threw on the bulletproof vest Rider had provided, and checked the rounds in his gun. The sun was creeping higher in the sky now, the cool air already carrying the promise of heat.

  They’d better not be too late.

  He bunched his jaw, steeling himself against the mushrooming panic, knowing he had to stay calm. Charging in half-cocked could get her killed.

  But it was torture to wait.

  “What’s the status on the police?” he asked.

>   White buckled his vest. “The SWAT team’s on its way. Everyone else is standing by.”

  “Good.” Rider closed the tailgate. “Then we’ll wait for backup. I’ll watch the front. White and Herrera will take the sides. Coop, you’re in the back.” Rider caught his gaze. “And no one goes in alone. We can’t afford to screw this up. If you move, notify White. He’ll radio our positions to the police.”

  Coop grunted. Even with adrenaline coursing through his veins, even with the need to see Zoe chipping away at his control, he knew Rider’s plan made sense. White had alerted the FBI, Homeland Security, and every other law-enforcement agency in Clark County. In a few more minutes this place would be swarming with help.

  The men fanned out. His pulse accelerating, Coop hiked along the perimeter fence line to a railroad embankment behind the cargo bay. Using the small rise as a vantage point, he flattened himself to the ground, lying prone in the dirt and weeds.

  The terrorists had covered their tracks well. The warehouse appeared deserted, except for that SUV. He scanned the empty loading bay, the high, broken windows along the sides of the building, the gang tags spray-painted on the concrete block walls. Beside the bay, there was a metal door topped by a faded Shipping Office sign.

  Battling the urge to barge inside and grab Zoe, he surveyed the surrounding terrain. The freeway bordered the industrial park on one side. The nuclear power plant lay at the opposite end, its containment domes jutting into the sky. In the distance, the skyscrapers of Las Vegas framed the horizon, blurred by the usual brown haze.

  He swiveled his gaze back to the warehouse. The terrorists had chosen a good location to build their bomb, he had to admit. They wouldn’t have to transport it far.

  In fact, they’d planned this entire operation well.

  Herrera had accessed the shipping records for the port of Los Angeles while they’d been tailing the SUV. Several ships had offloaded cargo bound for Las Vegas this week, none Syrian. But a Cypriot flagged ship, the Aegean Alliance, had also stopped in Los Angeles. And its log showed it had picked up cargo in Latakia—the same day Coop had flown over the port.