by Rachel Grant
She must have been zapped while she was still in the cruiser. She could have passed out with the pain, giving him the chance to bring her here. Wherever here was.
Four concrete walls and a ceiling. They weren’t in the cave.
She shouldn’t be surprised that they had other locations for their experiments. The cave was probably only for certain special cases. Over the months she’d searched for it, she’d done a lot of research, and understood that caves were ideal for torture and brainwashing because they were disorienting. Sound reverberated in odd ways. Were infrasound waves especially intense inside the cave?
The cave itself, she’d discovered, had felt like an underground cavern. Like being buried alive.
It must have been a nightmare for Vin. And for Alec.
This concrete bunker wasn’t much better, but at least there weren’t bats clinging to the ceiling. Even so, she had a feeling Alec’s and Vin’s nightmares were about to become hers.
Footsteps tapped out a rhythm on the floor, the sound echoing as if a person approached from a long corridor. This had to be one of the shoot houses. Or maybe she was inside one of the fake structures meant to emulate a crumbling city street.
That would mean there were cameras here with a direct feed to the compound. Alec could find her if he went to God’s Eye and checked the feed for every structure. She had no idea how many structures, how many rooms, how many cameras there were, or if he’d even think to look. But she had to believe he’d find her. She needed a reason to hope.
A person wearing a ski mask with dark, reflective glasses and a regulator of some sort over the mouth and nose paused above her. From the build, she figured the man must be Westover. Did he really think he could hide his identity now? But then, he probably wore the mask for the same reason they’d tortured in a cave, because it was disorienting.
She had to admit, she didn’t like her reflection in the glasses.
The man spoke, and his voice was mechanical. Not computerized, the mouthpiece must be a filter that altered the frequency and modulation of his speech. “You’re lucky, Isabel, you’ll have no memory of this.”
She shivered at that. They planned to torture her but considered blanking her memory of the pain a kindness.
“Why are you disguising your voice and face, Westover?”
A sharp crackling noise emitted from the mask. It took her a moment to realize it was altered laughter. He was amused. “Infrasound can interrupt your ability to understand speech, and it’s vital you understand so we get the response we need. This filter emits my speech at a frequency you can comprehend while being subjected to the waves. It took us months to figure out the right frequency. Your brother was our first successful filter test. He was able to answer all of my questions.”
Her belly turned as she imagined Vin in this position, their test subject as they honed their instruments of torture. “What do you want from me?”
“We want nothing from you.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
“Because we want something from Ravissant. You interrupted his interrogation before we got what we needed. It’s your fault he killed Godfrey.”
He knew she knew about Godfrey?
The mask emitted a low, rumbling sound. A heavy sigh? “We’ve had this conversation, already, Isabel. I’m tired of it.”
“Already?”
“Oh yes. You’ve already been questioned. You told me everything. You know about Godfrey. You know about Nicole. The only thing you don’t know is why. That’s the word you repeated as you screamed and cried. So much like your brother.”
She felt all the blood in her body pull back from her bound extremities. She’d already been tortured? She’d told them everything she knew? “How long have I been here?”
Another set of footsteps entered the room. A lighter step—a smaller person. A second mask and goggles filled her vision. Shorter. A woman’s build.
Nicole.
“Five hours,” she said, her voice also distorted by the mask. “You were such a good sport, Isabel, this time I’m going to answer all your questions. Such a pity you won’t remember later.”
“You can suppress memories, but you can’t erase them. I will remember.”
A cold, gloved hand caressed her cheek. She flinched away from the cruel touch. “Oh, sweetie. You said that before too. But you don’t remember. And you won’t this time either. The only reason it didn’t work with Rav was because you interrupted. Once the trance was broken, Westover had to knock him out. After that, there was no going back. He couldn’t reset and start over. Your interference meant there was a chance Rav would remember. Too many untested variables we couldn’t control. It’s why we couldn’t abduct him a second time and try again.” She tugged on one of Isabel’s curls. “Good thing the man has a thing for redheads, or we’d be up shit creek. I didn’t know what we were going to do until we were at the shoot house and he freaked about you playing hostage. We can’t torture him to get him to tell us what we need, but he’ll cave when he watches the video.”
“Video?”
“The one we’re going to send him. Want to see it?” She picked up a remote from the wheeled cart next to her and hit a button, turning on the monitor mounted to the cart.
The video was black-and-white and blurred, but slowly, the image solidified into crystal-clear high definition. Isabel watched in horror as she thrashed, gasped, and screamed as if she were being sliced open, one slow inch at a time.
There was something horrific about seeing herself whimpering and begging for the pain to stop. She could easily see Vin in her place. Or Alec.
“Stop it!” she shouted when she couldn’t take it any longer. She wanted to wipe away the tears that streamed down her face, but her hands were strapped down at her hips. All she could do was turn her head into the cot, but it was covered in cold, crinkly, nonabsorbent plastic.
She didn’t want to think about why they used a plastic-wrapped cot, yet her brain still registered that bodily fluids were easily washed from plastic.
“Why are you doing this, Nicole? I thought we were friends.”
The cold, gloved hand returned to her cheek. “We are friends, sweetie. I hate doing this to you. But at least you won’t remember it. That’s my gift to you.” Her hand slid from Isabel’s cheek and wrapped around her neck. She didn’t squeeze, she just rested her hand in a relaxed threat. “As for why, it’s simple, really. I want Alec’s money. All of it. We tried subtle—going after account logins and passwords, access codes, security questions—everything we’d need to clean him out.
“We were going to transfer his funds to foreign numbered accounts, coordinating the transactions so it would happen right as his assets were being transferred into a blind trust—which he was setting up in the event he wins the election. Because he wouldn’t remember giving us the information, he’d have had no idea his assets were vulnerable. It would’ve been the perfect heist.”
Nicole pulled off her mask and glanced at Westover. “I hate this damn thing. It’s hot and uncomfortable. I don’t know how you and Godfrey could handle wearing it for hours on end. There is no point in wearing it when the subject isn’t being subjected to infrasound.”
“We need to start another round within four minutes, or she might remember this conversation,” Westover said.
“I’ll put it on again then.” She turned to Isabel and smiled, the same grin she’d flash when they laughed over a beer. “As I was saying… You’re the perfect hostage. I don’t think you understand exactly how rich Rav is. He has a lot of financial assets that would’ve been rolled up in that trust, and we would’ve taken every dime. We’d bide our time, and six months, a year from now, quietly disappear and enjoy his money.”
“So you’re just a fucking thief?” Isabel’s question came out as a snarl.
“Thieves now, but originally we were entrepreneurs. We planned to sell infrasound. I had Russian—and Ukrainian, I believe in taking money from both sides—clients
lined up. But then you kept making a stink about Vin and his dreams of the lynx cave, and they balked. It’s no good if the victim remembers. But we kept perfecting the techniques. By mixing infrasound with some drugs Westover managed to procure, we were getting pretty good with brainwashing and suggestion. Chase has been stalking you for weeks, not because he wanted to, but because he had to. And he had no idea why. But he resisted kidnapping you in the basement, so Westover upped the infrasound frequency. You saw what happened.” She tossed a glare at her partner. “It was our one chance to grab you while remaining anonymous.”
Finally, Nicole turned off the video, and Isabel’s screams no longer provided a horrific soundtrack to the conversation. “When my spy in the DC office told me Hatcher had been hired for the CEO position, Godfrey suggested we kidnap Rav and take his money. It seemed like a fitting punishment. That job should have been mine.”
“You didn’t get the CEO position because you were losing operatives to Apex, and I got the compound shut down because you murdered my brother!”
“Chicken, egg. Whatever. I was content as an operative in Hawaii, but Rav sent me to Siberia. I knew he’d never promote me out of this wasteland, so I seized other opportunities.” She had the gall to shrug.
“He sent you here as a promotion! Alaska is the heart of the entire training operation.”
“I don’t want to train soldiers. I left the Army because they wouldn’t let me be a soldier. There’s little room to advance if you can’t play with the big boys. Robert Beck may have been an ass, but at least he let me be an operative. Rav yanked me out of operations and called it a promotion.” Nicole reached for the mask. Once it was again over her head, she picked up another item from the cart. It looked like a parabolic microphone. She turned the curved dish toward Isabel. “And I didn’t murder your brother. We just tested things on him. In the end, he died all by himself.”
Before Isabel could react, she pressed a button on the object in her hand, and Isabel’s head began to throb. Her vision blurred. She wanted to puke.
She was going to die.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Alec was about to lose his mind. Isabel had been missing for six hours. The compound was now emptied of everyone except Alec, Keith, Ethan, Josh, Sean, Lee, Brad, and Agent Matt Upton, who was now on a first-name basis with the team after he’d been the one to find the panel that opened in the wine cellar, revealing a stark laboratory.
In the lab—which was adjacent to the firing range and, like the range, not under the compound building, but next to it—they found a computer terminal with access to the elevator controls and every security camera that hadn’t been replaced by Alec when he took over the company. They also found Isabel’s laptop, cell phone, and the notebook she’d used to document her search for the cave. Westover must have seen the notebook when he arrested her Friday morning and taken it when he grabbed her laptop later that night.
At the rear of the lab, there was a short tunnel that cut through the permafrost, connecting the secret room to the forest beyond the concertina-wire-topped fence that circled the compound. Officer Westover had his own entrance and exit into the building that completely bypassed all compound security measures, which explained how he was able to attack both Chase and Isabel and escape without notice while Nicole remained in full view at her desk.
As far as the FBI agent was concerned, the most important find was the lab computer, which had information on infrasound development. As they’d guessed, testing had started under Beck. Westover, already versed in enhanced interrogation techniques during his stint in the DIA, had been in the process of developing tests to determine its uses when Beck was arrested. Godfrey, who’d been a medic in the Army, had been brought on board for his medical knowledge.
There was so much data as they tested different variables and refined the weapon, they’d had to store the information somewhere, and odds were, Nicole wasn’t about to give Westover complete control of the data, nor could she keep it on a computer in her quarters or office.
That Nicole didn’t grab the computer before leaving meant either she didn’t expect them to find the lab, or she didn’t care.
Matt had called his superiors at the FBI the moment Isabel went missing, but with the data found in the lab, he’d included the DIA and CIA in the investigation. All agencies would be converging on the compound in a matter of hours, but unless they could help pinpoint Isabel’s location, Alec didn’t really give a damn.
She was out there with Westover and Nicole, and all the barriers to his memory had crumbled. He knew exactly what they were doing to her.
He’d spent the first two hours after she was taken searching the woods and compound assets where Nicole was likely to take her, while Keith led the search for the lab inside the main building.
After all the shoot houses and training center buildings had been cleared, he’d had no choice but to return to the center of operations. He needed to do what he did best. Strategize. Plan. Run scenarios and predict outcomes.
Nicole’s final act before she left the facility was to crash the computer system, using the lab terminal. Apparently, she was the one who’d been attacking the system for months, making it look like it was an external hack that came from Isabel. Now all the camera feeds to God’s Eye were offline, and the older security cameras were down as well. They couldn’t monitor the shoot houses. They couldn’t even access the stored data.
Thank God, Lee had already landed in Fairbanks when Nicole crashed the system. He’d arrived with Sean and Josh an hour later and had slowly been bringing each system back online.
Alec paced the length of God’s Eye while Lee worked, fighting the urge to go back outside and search for Isabel.
There were too many places to hide in Alaska.
There was an unsolved Rubik’s Cube on the console, part of his ongoing bet with Keith. He had to solve the puzzle in less than five minutes. They’d made the bet four or five years before, and he’d yet to lose—the initial wager was a pitcher of beer, but the double-or-nothing additions over the years probably amounted to Keith owing him a brewery by now. He picked it up. Stared at the squares.
For the first time in decades, they made no sense. He should know exactly the moves it took to shift the orange, blue, and white corner into place without switching any other squares. But his mind was blank. He couldn’t visualize the sequence.
He closed his eyes, but that didn’t help. All he could see was Isabel. In the firing range. Beautiful, sexy, warm.
With a sharp yell, he threw the cube across the room. It hit one of the dozens of monitors, shattering the screen.
To his credit, Lee said nothing. Other than Alec’s ragged breathing, the only sound was the tap of Lee’s fingers on the keyboard.
Alec resumed pacing. As far as he knew, they had the numbers advantage. With Godfrey dead, it was only Westover and Nicole they had to deal with, while Alec had Raptor’s top operatives on his side. He also had Ethan Quinault, who might not be an operative, but he was an expert marksman. And then there was Keith, former SEAL sniper. He’d rehired Brad, who’d been a Green Beret. Both Josh and Sean had been SEALs.
Hell, even Lee was a fifth degree black belt.
Nicole Markwell and Lieutenant Paul Westover didn’t stand a chance.
Except they had a hostage. A woman who meant everything to him.
His cell phone buzzed. He expected it was a message from Keith down in the lab, but the message was from Nicole.
She’d sent a video.
Lee uploaded the video to the large monitor in the main conference room, and the team gathered to watch.
Alec had seen it on his phone several times already, and now he forced himself to watch on the eighty-inch screen as larger-than life Isabel begged for the pain to stop.
Each shriek was a blow.
My fault.
He’d suggested the Tamarack lockup. He’d delivered her right into Westover’s hands. He should have let Upton take her to Anchorage.
He should have run off with her himself. There were a thousand things he should’ve—could’ve—done, and he’d chosen the single worst option.
Around the room, the men were silent as they watched, most seeing the two-minute-and-fourteen-second video for the first time. At the end, a man wearing a mask and voice distorter demanded ransom. Every asset Alec could turn into cash in twenty-four hours was to be deposited into a numbered foreign bank account. Then Isabel would be released. If Alec paid in less than twelve hours, they’d be kind enough to ensure Isabel would have no memory of her ordeal.
“If you pay late,” the masked man said, “she’ll live—we aren’t killers. Not like you. But the torture will get worse with each hour.” He paused and adjusted the speaker on his mask, so the eerie, distorted words became sharp and clear. “I know how to break a mind, Ravissant. I will destroy her.”
If what Alec suspected of Westover’s service with the DIA was true, the man spoke the truth.
Alec would tear him apart.
Isabel jolted awake, unsure what had pulled her from sleep. Then she heard it again. The song was playing. Someone was calling her. Not just someone. Alec. That was his ringtone.
She was in a curved walled room, with small windows in a row along the sides. An airplane. Was she flying somewhere?
Something wasn’t right, but it was familiar. This was no déjà vu. Her head throbbed. Her abdomen ached as if she’d heaved every ounce of fluid from her body, twice.
She probably had.
She tried to sit up but discovered she was strapped to the cot. One strap crossed her shoulders. Her wrists were cinched down at her hips. Her ankles were bound as well. She wasn’t going anywhere.
A woman sat in front of the bulkhead. When Isabel’s gaze landed on her, she smiled and stood, crossing the cabin to the side of the cot. “Oh good. You’re awake. Do you want to play twenty questions again, or just cut to the chase?”
“You’ve been torturing me. Repeatedly.” She didn’t remember, exactly. It was more the aches in her body and gaps in her memory that told her.