FREEFALL (A Megalith Thriller Book 1)
Page 22
“That’s good enough. Let him come out of it. I want him lucid so he can witness the unraveling of his plans. Which channel is our negotiator on?”
“He’s been channel hopping, but we responded at twelve and kept him there.”
Maeve leaned forward, tapped a flush-mounted screen on her desk, and attached a wireless earpiece. A beep and crackle followed.
“Hello? Who am I speaking with?”
Fast breaths filled her ear. “None of your concern,” growled an urgent voice.
“Please, you don’t expect us to form any kind of trust if you won’t tell me your name, do you?”
“I don’t see what it matters. Call me anything you like, tomato for all I care.”
Maeve closed her eyes, trying to rein in her impatience. She spoke with a smile, but acid dripped from her tongue.
“Listen to me, you little cur. Whatever Ferdiad promised you to come along on this little adventure, he won’t be able to deliver. He’s in front of me as we speak. I don’t plan on keeping him alive for much longer than it takes to wring the information I need from your misguided leader.”
“It’s not Ferdiad I want.”
“Oh yes, tell me how we can be of service after you so rudely interrupted my day.”
“Put the women and infants in vans and drive them to the state highway.”
“What are you talking about, women and infants? Do you even know where you are? This is the corporate headquarters of Megalith Corporation. We’re proud of our diverse product lines, but those you’ve mentioned are not among them.”
“Get a grip, lady. I’m pretty sure I just killed Maeve in one of the elevators. You might want to go check that out. How much more damage do you want for being stubborn?”
What a delightful surprise. Ferdiad’s young upstart had some spunk in him. Too bad she had to burst his bubble.
“So, you say you killed Maeve, did you? I couldn’t be happier to disappoint you, young man. You’re speaking with her now. You should also know, there is a mountain full of armed men closing in on you. What bargaining leverage do you honestly believe you have?”
Silence on the line.
“That’s impossible. I saw Maeve in the lobby, and that was her in the elevator.”
“Hello,” she taunted in a sing-song voice. “Body double. Why would I wander through crossfire when another can do it for me?”
“Kraa,” sounded from across the desk. She’d apologize for that later.
“How is it you’re alive, anyway?” she asked. “Teams automatically deployed and should have been nipping at your heels in a matter of minutes.”
“Persistence, Maeve. We’re not giving up unless you free everyone. You have no right to take the people we love,” he growled. This one had conviction. She wondered why.
“I wronged you personally, did I? Which one is it then, wife or baby?”
“Both.”
With Ferdiad out cold, Maeve was aching for some information. How could she draw him out?
“Got me there. Wait a second. Are you, by chance, responsible for the commotion that occurred in Wisconsin last week? I heard that was some professional work.”
Lugaid sat up straighter, tuning back into the conversation that broadcast over his earpiece.
“Didn’t the husband of a missing person go berserk, killing the investigating detective and a number of Megalith personnel at the local Grove?” she asked the caller and Lugaid.
“I did not kill the detective. He committed suicide after telling me where to find your godforsaken stable.”
Ah, now they had some traction. Lugaid sat sideways in his chair, spying on Nora where she sat at a low table.
She had perked up at the mention of Wisconsin, her home state. Any number of the women in their possession had originated from the dairy state, but Maeve was confident that Nora was the only one at that time.
Snapping her fingers, Maeve drew Lugaid’s attention. “What’s his name?” she mouthed.
“Don’t count yourself short, young man. Anyone capable of dispatching my people in the way you did has exceptional talent. Did Ferdiad even bother to explain the true purpose of your wife’s detention?”
Lugaid scribbled a note on her desk.
“What’s to know? You broke into our house, stole my wife, and left everyone thinking she was killed. On top of it, I was the only one around to blame.”
Lugaid wrote Cullen Houltersund in his precise script. Something in the full name bothered her.
“Mr. Houltersund, I feel for you. I can hardly imagine the agonies you have survived. Was Nora abused, tortured, or perhaps even raped before her untimely death? It’s terrible that we left you with such thoughts but extremely important for cutting your ties to her. No harm has come to your wife during her stay here, and I have none planned for her future. Honestly, what kind of monster do you think I am?”
“Cullen,” Nora shrieked.
Pushing herself from the table, the girl waddled as quickly as possible in their direction. Her voice cracked as Nora repeated the outcry.
Lugaid signaled his men. Two of them intercepted Nora halfway to Maeve’s desk. She strained against them, her face turning a brilliant shade of scarlet, the tendons tight in her neck.
A responding scream from Nora’s husband forced Maeve to remove her earpiece. She woke the touchscreen on her desk. Shared the audio from the headset to the desk’s built-in microphone and speakers.
“—ind you. Can you hear me? Nora, I’m here, in the building. No matter what happens, I will find you.”
“Good. Let it all out,” Maeve cut in. “I know this is not the touching reunion you’ve been longing for, but it will have to suffice.”
She held up her open hand to silence Nora.
“I’ve been thinking, Cullen. By the way, you’re on speakerphone right now, so phrase your response carefully. You see, I’d loathe wasting someone of your obvious talents and am inclined to offer you a deal.
“Lay down your weapons now, turn yourselves over, and you can enter our ranks. Before you object, think over the benefits. You will be reunited with Nora. I’ll even allow you to raise your child. What do you think?”
“Why should I believe you’re telling the truth? You can just as easily kill us all after we give ourselves up.”
“Point taken, Cullen. Perhaps you should consider the drawbacks. You have a family back in Wisconsin, don’t you? How would you like them to expire overnight from deadly carbon monoxide poisoning? Or we could feed the story of your rampage, build it up from Nora’s death to the bloody massacre of your family members.”
“I don’t have any family, Maeve. Nora’s all I have, and I’m not letting you take her from me.”
“Oh, for god’s sake, Cullen,” she sighed. “I’m tempted to kill her right now just to end this tedious conversation. Do you have any sense whatsoever?"
"I know why you want Nora. You wouldn't dare harm her."
"Do you think? Lugaid, do you feel confident enough with your knife work to extract Nora's child?"
"This may not be the best place for it,” Lugaid replied, “but I shouldn't have any trouble. I cannot vouch for the girl's life, however."
"There you have it, Cullen. I can get what I want without your cooperation. My offer is rescinded."
With that she terminated the dialog. Tossed her earpiece on the desk.
Satisfied with her decision, Maeve moved to crumple the note with Cullen's name in her hand. Her fingertips hovered over the print. The letters scrambled in her mind. Not possible. Had she missed it by an entire generation?
A chuckle caught her attention. Standing beside Ferdiad's chair, dressed for a fight in a chain mail tunic, blood and gore dripping from her chin, Morrigan laughed.
Maeve's blood boiled.
"I warned you, Maeve. Now, let's see which one of us can get to him first, shall we?"
"Find him!" Maeve roared in Lugaid's face. "Kill the others, but bring him back to me in one piece!"
***
Deep seated hatred boiled in Robbie's stomach. She'd spent months cursing her father’s existence and promising herself the luxury of payback.
The man who surrounded himself with silicon whores had refused to age gracefully. Signs of plastic surgery marked his face.
Fat, pouting lips. Unnaturally prominent cheekbones. The bridge of his nose trimmed down to a narrow edge. His eyebrows looked as though they'd been tattooed on. Barely in his mid-fifties and the man had stretched his forehead back to unwrinkled perfection. Unlike his patriarch, Malcolm Heller inherited a thick head of hair tossed about with attention to detail and loads of pomade.
"Hello, daddy," she spoke through clenched teeth. "You're looking very, well, strange."
"Always ready with a fine-tuned compliment, aren't you, Roberta?"
"Can I ask you something?"
"You may, pumpkin, but I must insist you disarm first. I feel I may be safer if I'm the only one in the room with a weapon in hand."
"I don't think—"
"I'm not asking you to think," he shouted. "I am telling you to put down your weapons. Now!"
Amelia's mouth gaped open, emitting an ear-splitting wail. Robbie bit the inside of her cheek to hold herself back, a habit she practiced as a child and hadn't fallen into for years.
She knew from the tone in his voice they had no options. As a little girl, she learned that Malcolm spoke an order once and started an internal countdown that terminated in a vicious beating. Robbie had conformed quickly, rarely arousing his ire for fear he'd one day get carried away.
"Fine. Fine, we're unarmed. Look." She pulled up the hem of her uniform shirt and twirled in place for him.
"How did you get this far then?"
"Smooth talking," Laeg said. "It's one of my specialties."
"Try it with me, and I'll knock your teeth out one by one, then feed them to you." The muzzle of the pistol circled in his grip. "Give me a turn."
Laeg calmly eased up his shirt and hadn't completed a one-eighty before deafening concussions erupted in the hall.
Robbie and Laeg reflexively ducked, covering their ears.
Malcolm flinched. A bullet zipped inches away from her temple.
Years of training and experience kicked in. Her swift hands struck out, one on the barrel, the other pushing the grip from Malcolm's hand before he squeezed the trigger again. She’d turned the tables, holding his gun on him.
Robbie stepped in, full of fury she'd harbored most of her life. She punched the weapon's muzzle into his throat. Felt a satisfying crunch. Baby Amelia forgotten, Malcolm clawed at his neck, frantically searching for air that refused to come.
With the gun gripped in her right hand and left arm cradled, she awkwardly embraced her daughter for the first time. Robbie drove the heel of her boot into Malcolm's diaphragm, bouncing him off the crib rails and onto the floor.
Robbie gazed on Amelia's tear-stained face, felt the wiggling of her fragile limbs inside the folds of a pink receiving blanket. The time would come for her to hold Amelia, but now she had to protect her.
"Laeg, will you please take the gun?"
"My pleasure." He reached under Robbie's left elbow to secure the weapon, took it in hand, and gestured toward Malcolm writhing at their feet.
"Do you want me to, you know, take care of him?"
She looked down at him. Pathetic really. Her father gloried in his ability to make people squirm, though she couldn't remember a time he'd ever deigned to get his hands truly dirty. Robbie could teach him a few lessons on follow-through.
"No, thank you for offering, though. Would you mind checking the other side of the door? It sounded like we missed Armageddon out there. Maybe Val could use a hand."
"Are you sure you'll be okay alone?"
"No question about it, Laeg. I could use some privacy now, if you don't mind."
"Got it. I'll let you know if we have to beat it out of here."
Robbie turned her back to Laeg and the door. It clicked behind her, and she nestled Amelia in the crib, pressed the tip of her finger to her daughter's lips.
Cooing a lullaby tune, she walked around Malcolm's head. At his feet Robbie found the switchblade she knew would be tucked into his shark-skin boot. His choking intensified. Finely manicured nails scratched deep enough to draw blood along his throat.
Robbie rolled him onto his back and straddled his chest. A song spilled from her lips, a nursery rhyme about the big bad wolf. She pressed the knife's release, dangled the sharp point between his eyes.
"Your larynx is crushed, Malcolm, and without medical attention you will soon die. In my unprofessional opinion, I think you need another operation."
She resumed her rhyme. Amelia's cries tapered off, replaced by comforting gurgles. Malcolm joined in, but he didn't seem to enjoy the impromptu concert.
—Chapter 23—
DESCEND
Urgency swelled in Cullen. He gripped the handheld radio in what began as a smashing throw to the floor. Instead, he squeezed tighter, imagining it bursting into pieces in his closed fist.
The plastic casing snapped, and he let it go. Watched it bounce off his boot.
Cullen felt the first stages of hyperventilation set in. A tingling sensation spread in his lips. Blood vessels constricted. Dizziness took over. He couldn't settle his breathing.
Collapsing on his knees to the concrete floor, Cullen rested on his hands, seeking an end to the panic attack.
Would Maeve really kill Nora? He had no idea what she was capable of.
No, he knew exactly what Maeve and her men would do at her command, probably with a smile on their faces.
Time slipped uncontrollably through Cullen's hands. He desperately needed more. That and a way to reach the upper floors of the building.
The elevator shaft beckoned above him. The base of a service ladder attached at least fifteen feet from the floor and the shaft's recessed buffer system. It rose out of sight in the darkness. With Larkin's help he could climb to the top and navigate to Maeve's quarters.
Behind him, a steel door swung open on its hinges. Where did Larkin run off to? He slung the HK over his head and settled a bulging ammo pack on his left hip. Larkin must have taken the rest.
They landed in a sub-basement by the looks of it. Dropped well below three floors and the parking garage. Dim bulbs illuminated the low ceiling but did little more to brighten the narrow tunnel ahead.
The cables suddenly came to life, and Cullen jumped from the sound of machinery in such a quiet, enclosed space. Perhaps the car was descending.
He backed into the tunnel, stripping the partial mag from his HK and replacing it with a full one. Snapped the charging bolt. Thumbed off the safety.
"Larkin, you out there?" he called over his shoulder. "The elevator is moving. I'll need you up here if they're coming down."
A whistle startled Cullen. Not far away. He turned away from the elevator shaft and squinted into the darkness. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the low light until he saw a silhouette crouched up ahead.
The walls surprised him. Carved from the bedrock. Glistening from water seepage. Deep gouges ran horizontally in the granite. A current of air, akin to decomposing heaps of garbage, wafted their way.
Cullen's boots sloshed through an inch of water as he approached the shadow up ahead.
"Larkin, what's going on? We might have trouble back there, and we could even have a way back up."
No response from Larkin except for a finger in the air. He pointed it down the tunnel. Raised his HK. Bumped the bottom of his thirty-round mag.
Judging from the distance between light bulbs, maybe fifteen feet, there were forty-five feet of visible tunnel ahead of them. Cullen couldn't be sure if it terminated there or the lights just ended. Blackness consumed the path.
"We don't have time for this, Larkin." Cul
len reached for his collar, ready to drag him back if needed. "Let's head back to the shaft. We have to go up."
The overhead bulbs flickered and cut out. Instead of snagging Larkin's collar, Cullen felt along his belt for a flashlight. On the left side, underneath the ammo pack. He tried in vain to keep his HK aimed ahead in his awkward fumbling.
Screeches emanating from the black void increased his urgency. At least sixty feet out and coming closer. Fifty feet. Could human vocal chords do that? Forty feet, inside the visible distance when the tunnel was lit. It sounded like birds of prey mixed with shearing metal.
Larkin fired into the dark. Avoiding the bright muzzle flash that would compromise his night vision, Cullen leaned into the tunnel's opposite side and tapped his finger on the trigger. He feared their suppressor equipped carbines may disguise the approaching threat. Nothing could possibly make it through their phalanx of gunfire.
Dry-fire. Empty. Larkin was reloaded but not firing.
Cullen discharged the spent mag and rummaged for another, keeping his ears tuned to the dark. Glancing behind, even the elevator room was encased in pitch black. The cables made no sound, must have ceased their flow through the pulley system. Did that mean the car had stalled above or was it waiting to open with a payload of armed men?
Forty watts of sunshine returned, startling Cullen. They sighted the length of the tunnel, expecting an enemy only feet away. Nothing. No sign of the onrushing horde he believed was plunging toward them. Impossible.
"We got ‘em running scared,” Larkin whispered.
"That sounds like wishful thinking. I'd rather see a mound of bodies on the floor and more coming at us than nothing at all."
No elevator car either. He rushed back, found the undercarriage of the elevator car halted a few stories above on the first floor.
Until it moved up—or all the way down—they didn't have an exit up the shaft.
Cullen produced his flashlight in time to see Larkin mount one to the HK's rail grip.
"Did I have one of those in my bag?"
Larkin jerked a thumb at Cullen's pouch.