Alive to kill each other in the name of whatever religion or movement was the flavor of the day.
Christ . . . to go to war against your own people was something he’d never even considered five months ago.
The enemies . . . they were a-changing.
They’d mapped out the insertion details in Shadow Mountain’s war room, using wall maps, projection screens, computer simulations, and satellite images, so each team knew exactly where to go and what to do. By now Jude would have taken out any computerized devices and cell phones with that handy-dandy device they’d used on Clay Purcell’s house.
The distance from the beach to the mansion was thick with towering, leafy, overgrown trees. Great for Link’s privacy, but great for camouflage as well. There was plenty of cover. Zane took point on their way to their target—the mansion’s beachfront entrance—with Rawls and Mac in the middle and Cos bringing up their six. They skirted a huge swimming pool and a pool house. Charlie Team had been assigned to clear the pool house, so they kept going.
They split into two groups at the giant marble patio. Zane and Rawls took the left side, slipping along the raised flower beds. Mac and Zane took the right side of the courtyard, with its fountain and pool full of glowing—no fuck, glowing!—fish.
Link’s mansion gleamed even in the moonlight, and in the green glaze of his NVDs, the dozens of windows imbedded in dark wood shimmered. Mac held his breath as Zane tried the long curved door handle. It didn’t budge. Out came the suction cup and glass cutters.
The name of the game was stealth. A shotgun blast to the lock was loud as fuck and would wake the whole house. Of course, if Jude hadn’t killed the electronics, the alarm would wake the whole house too.
In a normal assault, they’d have taken down doors and stormed through the place, taking out anyone who drew arms. But the US government frowned on such tactics against its own people, particularly extremely wealthy citizens with a penchant for charitable donations.
Zane hesitated before removing the circle of glass and sticking his hand through the opening to unlock the door. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who lacked the requisite trust in their new team members. But no alarm sounded, proof their trust had not been misplaced after all.
They assaulted into the room in their standard predatory crouch, rifles up and sweeping, and scared the holy fuck out of a bunch of couches and chairs—not to mention the grand-fucking-piano. Yeah . . . a total waste of badassery and testosterone and the tight muscles in Mac’s chest.
Shadow Mountain command had acquired the blueprints of the place, so they knew the bedrooms were on the second floor, up a staircase that followed the curve of the walls. The assumption was Link occupied one of those bedrooms.
Four huge, green-swathed figures were already climbing the stairs by the time Mac and his team reached the middle of the house. From the look of their ballistic vests and clunky helmets, they were Shadow Mountain warriors, Jude and Alpha Team. Zane fell in behind them, followed by Rawls and then Mac.
Where the fuck was the security team?
The absence of any retaliatory force was fucking weird. Link was rich as hell and utilized some of that money for protection. The satellite images had shown half a dozen men who’d carried themselves like professionals with the bulk of weapons beneath their jackets.
Where the hell were they? The moment the alarm died and the surveillance equipment malfunctioned, whoever was on duty should have kicked into high gear and hightailed it to their client. Maybe that’s where they were—covering Link. They’d find out soon enough. The master bedroom was right around the corner.
Mac kept his rifle up and aimed to the left, away from Rawls’s back. When they reached the second-floor landing, he followed Zane and Rawls to the right. Alpha Team had gone left, heading to the bedrooms lining the left side of the stairway. Zane and Rawls took up position beside the first bedroom on the right. Mac and Cosky slid along the wall to the second bedroom.
As Zane and Rawls headed into their bedroom, Mac and Cosky assaulted through their assigned door. They went in low and fast, guns up and sweeping. The room was empty. Mac held his position while Cosky swept the bathroom.
“Clear.” Cosky’s calm voice came through Mac’s radio.
They retreated into the hall, emerging in time to see Rawls disappear into the third bedroom. Taking up position along the wall to the fourth, they headed inside. Rinse and repeat, except for the figure sitting, hands up, on the edge of the bed.
“On the floor. On the floor,” Mac shouted, his rifle zeroing in on the bastard’s chest.
“I’m not armed,” a male said quietly as the figure slid down to the thick squishy carpet—his hands still up. Cosky was on him before he’d straightened out on the floor. Mac held position while Cosky anchored the guy’s hands behind his back with the flex-cuffs and dragged him to his feet.
It wasn’t until the bastard was up and facing him that recognition hit.
They’d just introduced themselves to James Link.
“Target acquired,” Mac said into his mic, watching as Cosky checked arms, legs, and torso for weapons.
Their mark stood passively. No struggling. No questions. Just a resigned, maybe even relieved expression on his green-glazed face.
Fuck . . . Mac scowled. This had been way too easy.
“Where’s your security?” Cosky asked as he shoved Link toward the bedroom door.
Looked like he wasn’t the only one wondering about that.
Link shook himself and cast a confused look around the room, like he expected to see them hiding in the corners.
“Most of them have the night off, but Burns, Capos, and Owens should be around.”
Cosky relayed that information to Alpha and Bravo teams.
So they needed to keep an eye out for three bodyguards. Look at that; maybe Amy was right about the guy. Maybe he did have a guilty conscience. He was being so damn helpful—if you could trust what he’d told them.
They joined Zane and Rawls in the hall and headed for the stairs, where they got in line behind Alpha Team. Jude stepped in front of them before they could start down the steps and stood there with his head tilted listening to his radio. After several seconds of stillness, he stepped between Zane and Link.
“Go,” Jude said through the radio. “Everyone look alive. There’s still no sign of our three security guards.”
They descended the stairs in formation, Zane on point once again with Cos holding their six.
Link went submissively. Still no struggling. No trying something stupid, like jumping the rail. No rescue attempt from a bodyguard either. Which seemed the height of incompetence when you were protecting one of the richest men in the world.
They reached the bottom of the stairs and spread out, Jude’s team taking the lead. Jude, Zane, and Rawls clustered Link, making sure he was in the middle of a small mob.
No way in fuck were they going to lose him after going to all the trouble. Those missing security guards had everyone antsy. Had they set up a trap? Were they waiting for them?
If they had set up a trap, it wasn’t in the house. Mac’s team was out of the house and across the patio in no time. They skirted the pool and pool house again, more widely this time with Link in the middle of their protective huddle. Mac swept the silent courtyard, the hair on his arms electrified, eyes and ears tuned for any sign of danger.
Nothing.
Fuck, they just might make it to the boats unscathed. This whole mission had been ridiculously easy.
An assessment he immediately regretted.
Suddenly Jude stopped moving. He froze for a beat of two and suddenly spun, driving his shoulder into Zane’s chest. “Down. Down.”
His violent shove drove Zane into Link, and they both went down, which saved their lives.
The crack of a rifle sounded from above and behind them.
Jude went down . . . hard. Unmoving.
Chapter Twelve
BENJI WAS GETTING worse.
<
br /> Amy was certain of it. The clues were everywhere. Benji’s fever was creeping up even though they’d increased the cold baths along with the dosage of the drugs. Even the cooling blanket wasn’t bringing it down like it had at first. The nurses’ cheerful mood had warped into downright jolly and overly encouraging, yet they avoided her eyes. Dr. Zapa had become a near constant presence and was ordering blood tests and medical scans every day. And then there was Benji himself, who slept most the time—thank God—but when he did awaken, he complained of pain in his side, or his head, or his chest—virtually every area of his body.
Except for this last time, when he’d awoken screaming.
They’d given him something for the pain, which had knocked him out. He was still sleeping. Something she’d prayed for while he’d been in such pain, but something she hated now.
His stillness in that bed sent flares of panic through her, flickers of foreboding. She was constantly bolting to his bedside to make sure he was still breathing.
Her chest so tight she could barely breathe, Amy threaded fingers through her hair, massaging her tight, aching scalp. She was so tired it was hard to think, but not tired enough to douse the fear or ease the constant throbbing pressure under her skin.
Benji was getting worse, and nothing the doctors did was helping.
It felt like she’d been camped beside his hospital bed forever, although today marked the third day since she’d first sat down in this chair. One day since Mac—along with his men and twelve Shadow Mountain soldiers—had left to kidnap James Link in the hopes of saving her son.
Because that’s what this operation boiled down to—kidnapping.
In some ways this horrible helplessness sapping the courage from her veins was similar to that terrible powerlessness of six months ago. She’d been helpless then too, constantly aware that the monsters holding them prisoner had no intention of releasing them alive. She’d known that she alone had to figure out a way to save everyone—an impossible feat with no weapons, no help, and no strategic plan.
And then Mac and his men had burst in, providing the strategy and weapons, giving her the break she needed to save her sons.
She frowned. Could that be part of the pull she felt toward him? The fact he’d been there when she’d needed him? That he’d given her the opportunity to save her children?
Now he was out there again, risking his life for a second time, determined to save Benji again.
God help her, she needed that second miracle. Because she couldn’t protect him from this. Couldn’t protect them, since Brendan could fall sick at any moment. She was helpless again. Terrified. Unable to do a damn thing to save her children.
The curtain slid back, and one of the night nurses bustled in, a horrifyingly cheerful expression plastered over her too-bright face. Amy rose to her feet, releasing the grip she had on Benji’s small hand.
As the nurse slipped the thermometer into Benji’s mouth and gently held it closed, Amy waited. They were taking his temperature every hour now, but they’d stopped telling her what it was. She knew they didn’t want to worry her, which was insane. The simple fact that they didn’t want to scare her told her exactly how worried she should be.
“What was it?” she asked the woman point-blank once the thermometer was removed from Benji’s mouth.
“Why don’t you head to your room and try to get some sleep? It’s been three days, and you’ve barely left his side. You need to rest so you can stay strong for him. We’ll call if anything changes.”
She’d taken that advice twice through the past seventy-two hours, only to lie in bed, wide awake, terrifying scenarios plunging through her mind. At least her fear didn’t seem to be affecting Brendan’s sleep. He was at the apartment now with Marion.
“I wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway.” Amy turned back to the iron-railed hospital bed with its white sheets and pillows. Benji was a tight curl under the covers. God, sometimes it felt like that bed was trying to swallow him whole. “Look, I know he’s getting worse. I know his temperature is going up again. You aren’t protecting me by keeping his temperature a secret.”
The nurse, who was attaching a blood pressure cuff to Benji’s small arm, stopped and studied Amy. For the first time since she’d entered the room, the cheerful mask fell from her face. Amy held herself still during the scrutiny, knowing she’d passed the woman’s test when the nurse nodded.
“It was 104. Slightly up from an hour ago, but not by much.”
That at least was comforting. Some of the nerves chewing their way through Amy’s belly stilled. The fact his temperature was still climbing was much less comforting. She silently watched the nurse work the blood pressure bulb and cuff. When the woman frowned and took his pressure for a second time, Amy tensed again. She wouldn’t have taken a second reading unless there was something off about the first.
“What is it?” Amy forced her voice to remain steady even though she wanted to scream.
“His pressure and pulse are climbing as well.” She caught the expression on Amy’s face and hastened to add, “Both can spike when a patient’s in pain. Try not to worry, Mrs. Chastain. Dr. Zapa will be stopping by shortly to check on him.”
Amy forced herself to breathe. “Have you heard anything from Jude or Mackenzie?”
She needed them to bring James Link. She needed to know what those bastards had injected into her sons. She needed an antidote, and she needed it now.
The woman shook her head. “We haven’t heard anything. No warning to expect casualties either, so I guess that’s something.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Amy forced a smile of appreciation and stepped up to the bed, vaguely hearing the rasp of the curtain closing. Leaning over the mattress, she brushed a strand of hair off Benji’s forehead. His skin was hot and dry, stretched taut beneath her fingertips. His eyes moved restlessly beneath creamy, blue-veined lids. He looked small and fragile and too damn young to be locked in this bed, this room, this damn illness.
Too damn young to be dying, because instinctively she knew he was.
Her baby was dying.
Please, please, please, Mac. I need you. I need you to bring Link to me.
Taking hold of Benji’s hot, dry hand, she collapsed into the chair beside his bed. What would she do if Link didn’t have the answers they needed? What would she do if he didn’t know how to save her son? The base healers couldn’t help him—they’d tried repeatedly and failed.
The hot tension inside her expanded, pressing against her heart and her spine until it felt like the entire world was sitting on her chest.
She welcomed the sound of the curtain drawing back and Eve Zapa’s quiet entrance. At least the company would drag her from her own mind and the escalating terror of her thoughts.
Dr. Zapa scanned Benji’s face before pulling the clipboard from the metal box attached to the foot of the bed. After reading for maybe a minute, she dropped it back in its holder and turned to Amy. “How ’bout we take a walk? I’ll fill you in on the latest test results.”
The news wasn’t going to be good. Amy knew that without doubt. Eve’s grave face broadcasted that loud and clear. Amy took a deep, shaky breath and slowly rose to her feet.
For an instant she wanted to say no, that she didn’t want to hear, didn’t want to know. She wanted to bury her head in the sand and allow herself to believe that Benji was fine, just sleeping, on the road to recovery. That there was nothing wrong with him at all.
But fantasy wouldn’t save her son, and he couldn’t be treated if she didn’t know what was wrong, so after stroking her knuckles down her baby’s hot cheek, she followed Eve Zapa out of the cubicle.
At least Eve didn’t make her wait long. As soon as they cleared the curtain, she turned to face Amy.
“I’m told you’re aware his temperature, pulse, and blood pressure are rising.” At Amy’s tight nod, Eve went on. “I’m afraid his blood work is showing signs of abnormality too. Liver, kidney, and pancreas levels are all elevated. T
he good news is the increase is slight. The levels are on the high side of normal. The bad news is that they are elevated. On admission, the blood work was normal.”
Amy’s heart rate bobbled and then slammed into quadruple time. “What . . . what does this mean?”
Eve hesitated, gave a slight shake of her head, which sent her short hair swinging. “It indicates his internal organs are under stress.”
Amy swallowed hard. “But you can give him something to help, right? To bring those levels down?”
Dr. Zapa sighed and raised a hand to rub her eyes. “The levels on their own aren’t the problem. They’re merely a symptom. The issue is the underlying cause. We know the isotope is multiplying. But we don’t know what it’s doing to his organs. Something is obviously changing. We’ll be doing a whole range of tests today to try to pin this down. If we know what the isotope is doing in his body, we can try to combat it.”
Try. Eve kept saying try. Such a subtle but significant choice of words. There were no guarantees that anything Eve tried would have an effect. There was only one course of action that was certain to save her son.
They had to neutralize the isotope.
Amy squared her shoulders. “Have you figured out why Brendan isn’t being affected by the isotope?”
Maybe if they could figure out what was keeping Brendan from getting sick, they could duplicate it in Benji.
Dr. Zapa shook her head. “We haven’t. It could be as simple as his age or his immune system.”
Disappointment crested. Age and immune system couldn’t be duplicated in Benji.
She swallowed hard and asked the question that had been haunting her all day. “Once the isotope is inactive, he’ll get better, right?”
“I don’t know.” Eve’s grave tone was lacking the comfort Amy so desperately needed. “Even if Mr. Link is the key, even if he provides the cure, it still may not be enough. It will take time to develop the antidote. Time and equipment. Both of which we may not have. There is also the possibility that the damage the isotope has already done to Benji’s body will not be reversed after the antidote is administered. I’m afraid we just don’t know much of anything right now.”
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