“That’s assassination 101, Misha, always have at least one backup plan, preferably two. If I’d have doubted you, I’d have provided two backups.” He let the earphones flop back against my ears. The knife at my ankle called to me, but I would be patient.
Before I knew it, we’d landed on a professional building. It had taken us exactly two hours to get there. Apparently, Sterling owned the building because everyone treated him with the utmost courtesy and respect as we exited through the lobby. Six of us made our way to a building three blocks away. We all climbed into a big van in front of it. A com was placed in my ear. I would be able to hear them, but they wouldn’t be able to hear me until I was in the room the VP would be heading for. Sterling showed me the section of the hotel I’d be in on a TV monitor. It was real time. I watched as the woman I’d be impersonating suddenly fell to the floor. He must have gassed her.
“It’s time for you to go.”
Security had blocked off all the entrances and locked the doors leading from the building to the garage and disabled all the elevators except the ones the VP would be using.
I entered from the hotel garage. The fake ID Sterling had given me got me through the first checkpoint as I passed into the garage. It also got me up a service elevator that led to the room with the gassed secret service agent. Once on the right floor and out of the elevator, I was home free. The agent outside the elevator was owned by Sterling, and he led me to the correct room. It was eerily quiet. I quickly peeled the clothes from the agent and put them on. I hid her behind a desk in the small room.
Just as predicted, a few minutes later, the VP came run-ning into the room I was in, hysterical.
“Help me. They’ve killed the others. Get me out of here.”
“Stay calm, Mr. Vice President,” I said in a soothing tone. “You need to remove your clothes as quickly as possible and put these on.” I pointed to some biker clothes hanging from a hook on the wall. “Be quick, we’ve only got four minutes.”
Just as he started to undress, I took him out with a swift kick to his calves. He hit the floor hard. I pounced on him, putting him in a headlock and whispering in his ear so that the cameras and mics couldn’t hear me. “If you want to live, take this, it will save you.” I shoved the liquids far back in his mouth, and he gagged. He didn’t want to listen. I held his mouth shut until I felt him swallow. My body was arched over his head so that the cameras couldn’t see.
“Fight me now.” I whispered. I’m sure he didn’t need me to tell him that; he didn’t trust me, but I couldn’t risk him saying anything about the chemical I’d just given him. I let him push me off of him, and we both stood and fought. I hit him hard in the mouth when he started to speak, and I spoke over him. “Mr. Vice President, you have been found guilty of lawlessness. You have repeatedly beaten your wife and children, and for that you receive the death penalty.” Fear flashed in his eyes. I wasn’t sure if it was from knowing he’d been found out or if it was because he thought he was about to die.
From the notes I’d read from the student who had created the chemical, it took a little over one minute to stop the heart. The gh#45 induced paralysis around one and a half minutes. I hope my modifications had been effective. They had to coincide today.
He had a hard punch, but I had a harder one. One minute doesn’t seem like a long time until you have to count it down. Since I was being filmed, I’d have to make his death look completely real. He hit me firm in the kidney, and I returned the favor. He stumbled back, leaning stiff to the side. Forty-five seconds left. I kicked him hard several times. He gasped and sputtered each time my kicks and punches hit their mark, blood dripped down his face and off his chin. Twenty seconds.
“Please. Please,” he pleaded. “I’ll give you anything you want.”
I would play this up for Sterling. “You have nothing I want. Prepare to die.”
Then I heard Sterling’s voice over my com, “Take him. Stop playing.”
I needed to play for another fifteen seconds, so after a few well placed punches, I brought him to the ground with a roundhouse kick and put him in a headlock, his face kissing the cement floor. I whispered in his ear, “I’m sorry about this, but I hope I’m saving your life.”
As soon as I felt his body go limp, I pretended to break his neck with a sudden, quick, fake jerk. By moving my arms wildly it would appear I had jerked hard enough to break his neck. I stood and looked down at him, hoping I hadn’t just killed him with my chemical concoction, but hoping his heart had stopped all the same.
“Check him,” Sterling said over the com. As I bent to do just that, two men appeared, one of them was the guard that had led me here. They checked the Vice President’s pulse. Our small window of opportunity had played to my advantage. Since I had to hurry and get out of there, Sterling would never know he wasn’t actually dead.
“No pulse, sir,” one said.
“Good job, everyone,” Sterling said. “Get out here, Misha. We have a date with the president.” I could imagine the wicked smile on his lips.
In record speed, I changed into a new disguise I found hanging in the room and went back out the way I’d come. When I reached the garage, the agent checked my ID with an electronic scanner and then sent me to the next checkpoint. Once again, they checked me, but quickly this time. They seemed rushed, like they were expecting someone. Could it have been the VP? They wanted me out of there and quick. I obliged.
There was a heightened sense of alarm outside. Cars trapped in traffic were honking and people on the sidewalks were yelling at the cars to stop honking. Some of Sterling’s cronies and I pushed our way through the crowds back to the building where we’d landed the helicopter. My spidey senses were out of control. Danger surrounded me. I heard whispers that the president was sick from several people we passed. We used the elevators to climb to the top of Sterling’s building, where Sterling and Dakota waited. Once I got there, Sterling grabbed some binoculars from inside the helicopter and handed a pair each to Dakota and me. The pilot and a guard stood near the helicopter.
All the buildings in the area went dark, and chaos reigned. What was Sterling doing? Weren’t we going to the assassination point? If we didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to escape as I’d planned. Sterling walked right up to the edge of the building, a three-foot-high wall protecting us from falling off, and we looked out over total mayhem in the streets. For miles and miles in all directions, no car moved. Streetlights and buildings were mostly dark.
“The hospital you are looking for is to our right and down five blocks.” He giggled with glee.
Heat raced through my body. I heard one solitary beep, and I started.
“A bit jumpy are we, Misha?” Sterling said.
“I guess I am a bit,” I said, trying to sound totally calm.
“Have you found it yet?”
“Not yet.” I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the massive confusion below us. I forced myself to look beyond the five blocks to the hospital where the president was supposed to be having a futile fight for his life. Had Jeremy or Division received my messages? Were they in the hospital saving the president right then? They had to be. They just had to.
The squat hospital building stood on a corner. Cars lined the streets around it, unmoving, a new parking lot created. People seemed to all be out of their cars. General looks of confusion, anger, and worry sat on the people’s faces. No smiles could be found. More and more people flooded into the area, and the white limos parked just outside the hospital blazed in the sun and stuck out like a sore thumb. The president’s conveyance was made unusable by the man standing next to me. No chauffeurs sat in the driver’s seats. The plan—my plan—was working perfectly. Had Sterling won?
I could imagine the terror the physician must have felt as options for finding help for the president fell by the wayside, one by one, and the utter frustration that must have covered him when unable to go to another hospital. He must have felt horror when he discovered that this hospital absolu
tely did not have the means to help him save the president.
I imagined the chaos that must have filled the minds of the president’s body guards as their escape routes came up blocked at every turn and the despair they must have felt in knowing they couldn’t get him where he needed to go, nor could they inform headquarters because they had no ability to communicate. All communications for blocks were down. Not even cell phones worked. How their minds must have churned, looking for a solution.
“What room is he in?” I asked, in a calm voice. “Is the window open so we can witness it or something?”
“No, no, my dear. The president is already dead. That’s what the beep you just heard signaled. We’re waiting for the fireworks.”
“He’s already dead?” I whispered. A shiver started in my spine and fanned out. Division was supposed to save him. Had they failed?
“I think we’re already witnessing those right now,” I said, looking at the general bedlam outside the hospital. I imagined the faces of the physician as the president flat-lined. I imagined the hungry photographers, press, and public all clamoring for pictures and information.
“Just wait. It seems the ‘hospital’ was doing some illegal human testing of a drug that was unstable. They got a large shipment of it yesterday. Unfortunately, the system that makes it stable just lost power.”
Time seemed to stop. My heart fell out of my chest, and a scream I couldn’t voice blocked my throat.
“Yes,” he said. “The hospital is about to go up in a huge ball of fire.”
“I thought these were targeted hits,” I croaked out.
“They were. But you know how much I like a good show of color. Just look at that building, Misha. It’s grey. I couldn’t leave it there. Besides, I love the bright colors of a great explosion. Of course, the media will try to blame the explosion on terrorists. I can’t wait to hear the shocking news that no terrorism was involved, that it was simply unstable, illegal drugs that caused the explosion. The news flash will be that a double whammy has hit the now dead president’s plan for re-election. It received its death blow, just like the president.” He laughed loud and long.
“Don’t say that,” I screamed, my body hot with anxiety. “You can’t be serious. They will all die if you blow up that building. Innocents along with the guilty. You have to stop this.” I could hardly breathe.
“They don’t know they’re about to die. It will be quick, painless, I think. Besides, we really needed to drive home the fact that the good ole president was on the take for dangerous drugs. That way, the pharmaceutical company will also be destroyed. We will have gone a long way to combat man’s greed and lawlessness today.”
“But the innocents,” I cried.
“We have a righteous cause here. If they’re truly innocent they will find themselves with God, will they not?”
With that, the building blew. I screamed a scream no one could hear. Dakota pushed the side of his body to mine, and his hand quickly pressed mine and let go.
Sterling leaned over to me and whispered in my ear, “I’m really sorry about Jeremy.” An awful smile twisted his face.
My whole body shook. My heart all but stopped.
“You—you knew about Jeremy?” I gasped out. He continued to smile, self-satisfied. This man was pure and total evil. Something clicked in my brain. “This isn’t about the president or the pharmaceutical company at all!” I shouted at him. “You planned this all to kill Jeremy, and you killed thousands of people all to have the satisfaction of beating me. You are just as bad as any of your targets—you’re a liar and a coward.”
Sterling threw his head back and laughed a maniacal, crowing laugh that chilled me to the bone. I had to stop him. Without a moment’s hesitation or any further thought, I reached for the unused dagger he placed on my ankle. It felt cold to the touch, my hand hot with rage. I lifted to strike, but Dakota caught my hand. I whirled to face him, my mouth hanging open in shock as he freed me of the dagger. He moved to stand beside his father, a resigned look on his face. I threw my arms out to my sides and screamed. I wanted to punch his lights out, but my body wouldn’t work the way I wanted it to.
Sterling put his arm around his son. “I warned Dakota to be on the lookout for you. He’s a good little soldier, isn’t he? I’m sorry you couldn’t save your little FBI friend. You did this to yourself. You need to take responsibility for your actions. Stealing Dakota’s phone to give away our plan? That disloyalty had to be punished, and your punishment hasn’t come to an end. You will never experience peace in your life again. You will be my very own little soldier. But you know what? I’m sure you will love it. I’ll fill your life with one adrenaline rush after the other. One interesting kill after ano—”
Sterling lurched forward and gasped.
I looked at Dakota: he held the dagger, dripping with blood now, in front of him, staring at it. Sterling fell to his knees, blood poured out of a wound to his chest.
“Dakota,” his father said. “A sword, boy. A sword. You should have used a sword. Then they could say, He lived by the sword and died by the sword. It’s all about poetry, son.” Blood gushed from his mouth now. “Don’t let my legacy die with me,” he sputtered. “A world without smut. A world without lawlessness. A world without indecision. A world without greed.” He said no more, neither did he move again.
The dagger fell from Dakota’s hand and clattered on the cement rooftop. Our eyes met, and sorrow and relief engulfed me. His whole body sagged, an indication that he’d felt it too. I moved to him and took his hand.
Not a second later, my neck hair stood on end, my spidey senses raging. I tucked what had just happened away and focused on my surroundings. Two people were almost upon us. It had to be the guard and the pilot. I adjusted my stance and before finally letting go of Dakota’s hand, I threw a kick behind me and struck the guard hard on the chest. While he stumbled back, I let go of a shocked Dakota and slugged the pilot, a sweet uppercut to the front of his chin and then threw a smashing jab to his kidneys as he flew back, turning as he went. The disoriented guard staggered toward me. I hit him hard in the face, and then swept his feet out from under him. I jumped on him, grabbing the handcuffs at his side and locking one on his left wrist.
The pilot sailed toward me and after a back kick to his groin; I cuffed him to the guard. After relieving them of their cells, radios and other paraphernalia, which I threw off the back of the building, I took a rope from the chopper and tied them to the metal landing gear. To slow them down even more, I elbowed each in the face, knocking them out.
“Come on, Dakota,” I said, holding out my hand. “Let’s go.” He obeyed numbly.
Turning our backs on Sterling, we walked silently to the elevator, probably the only one working in a five-mile radius. Sterling had protected his own building from the blackout with a generator, of course.
Once out on the street, we smashed into the chaos. There was no way around it. We’d have to go through it. Dakota acted as my personal security guard the first three blocks, having to get very physical when creating a path for us, which I thought was touching, considering what he’d just seen me do. It was slow and very claustrophobic. He finally opted to take me through the streets. No cars were moving any time soon anyway. The closer we got to the scene of the crime, the quieter it became. I thought it would be the opposite.
It had been almost an hour since the building exploded, and I couldn’t believe my eyes and ears. There was a palpable almost silence. The silence that you often feel walking into a church. People whispered and moved about carefully, quietly. I wondered if the solemnity was because the president had died or if it would have been the same if it had blown with only everyday people in it. Every person deserved such reverence. Maybe the feeling was more like a funeral or graveyard. The respect was incredible. I’d never seen anything like it.
Every building within one block of the explosion had damage. Windows blown out, jagged pieces of cement and wood strewn all over the place, cars
tipped over, and glass and debris blanketing the streets, but people were calm, helpful. Injured people lay on blankets in rows on the street. A police perimeter had been set around the area, but volunteers freely moved in and around it.
From what I could tell, each person had someone next to him or her offering comfort. I watched a woman come out of her apartment carrying blankets and adding them to the stack that was already there. A pile of first aid kits sat next to the blankets, and water bottles were stacked next to them. The people who lived in the neighborhood had stepped up and made the best of a terrible situation. Decent human beings.
A man walked in front of the crowd and said, “We still need more men to carry the wounded to the hospital.” A murmur rose in the crowd; it steadily grew the further away into the crowd it went and several people came forward.
Despite the fact that I wanted to sit down and bawl my eyes out, looking at the gaping hole in the ground that was once the hospital, I stepped forward. “I can help.”
Dakota stepped forward, too. “So can I. We’ll work together.”
We were directed to a Red Cross worker. The Red Cross had tagged the people according to severity of injury. Because of the complete inability for traffic to move, people had to carry the injured five blocks to a line of ambulances waiting to transport them to the next closest hospital. As we carried a lady who had a jagged piece of wood sticking out of her leg, I noticed lights started to pop up in buildings and electric signs flashed on. The traffic lights started working again, too. The power company must have figured out a way to restore power. That was good news. I hoped communication was also working.
I pushed myself forward, believing completely and totally that by serving others our own problems and despair would disappear. When we arrived at the ambulance, and after we delivered our cargo, some nice volunteers with the Red Cross handed us water bottles. The first swallow burned as it went down, my throat was so dry. I finished the bottle on the next swallow.
Adrenaline Rush Page 27