He thought about the gear he'd watched soldiers pack into the crates. Probably near the arctic circle judging by the amount of stuff they loaded. He hadn't been privy to exactly what was in all the boxes, but he assumed he'd find out sooner or later. In the meantime, he made a guessing game out of it and tried to figure out what the military code stamped on the side the wooden crates meant.
The crate upfront—underneath his personal duffel bag—contained food rations. He heard the cargo masters laughing about it as they wheeled it aboard. Something about not wanting to subject anybody to so many MREs.
Chad shifted his eyes to the next crate and tried to decipher the string of stenciled letters and numbers. Among other things, it was labeled with an 'HG' stamp.
Does that mean 'hunting gear'?
As he thought about it, he realized the only weapon he had on him was the hunting knife 13 had given him. They'd searched his bag and confiscated the pistol he'd had from Rykker. Chad frowned.
What are they expecting me to hunt with, a bow and arrow?
Suddenly, the lid on the crate he was staring at seemed to jump about an inch. Chad looked forward to the cockpit, but the pilots hadn't noticed. He looked cautiously back at the crate. Had he imagined it? The lid bumped up again. Nope. It definitely moved.
"Hey you guys, just so you know…"
The pilots didn't even bother looking back. "Please keep this channel clear, sir. Is there an emergency?"
Chad frowned toward the cockpit, then looked back at the crate whose lid now jiggled quite vigorously. He swallowed. "Um…nooo…" He said, drawing out the word.
"Then please keep this channel clear."
Chad ignored the pilots and stared at the box. Something was coming through that lid. He thought about drawing 13's knife—if another one of Reginald's agents popped through that lid, he would at least go down fighting. Chad reached down and struggled with the chest harness. His fingers shook as his eyes darted back to the crate's lid. A gloved hand emerged between the gap and took a good grip on the lid. Chad's fingers trembled. Not again! I will not be captured again!
Before he could open his mouth to warn the pilots, the lid of the box opened partially and 13's face appeared. Chad's eyes went wide, but he said nothing. Her blue eyes locked on his and she raised one gloved finger to her lips. Sssh.
Questions exploded in Chad's mind. What's she doing here and why is she hiding? How the hell did she get on board the helicopter? How did they not know she's in that crate?
He stayed quiet and gave a slight nod. He was relieved to have someone with him he knew and trusted.
13 pointed at her eyes and pointed toward the front of the plane, then shrugged. Chad held up two fingers, pointed at his own eyes and shook his head to let her know the pilots hadn't seen her. She nodded and disappeared back inside the crate.
Chad sat back in his seat and stared straight ahead, watching the pilots at the front of the aircraft. Neither one of them bothered to turn or look. They were focused on the airspace straight ahead, oblivious to what transpired in the cargo area.
Chad smiled. 13 had stowed away to be with him. While he hadn't been exactly excited about the prospect of living by himself in the wilderness—in winter—anything was better than being trapped like a lab rat down in the belly of that enormous government complex in Denver. If she'd had a change of heart and decided to come with him, maybe the frozen north wouldn't be so cold after all…
Chad glanced back toward the crate and watched in surprise as the lid open wide enough for 13 to slither over the side. She crouched in the aisle next to him. If one pilot so much as turned his head sideways he'd see her. She paused only long enough to signal him for quiet again, then moved forward to the bulkhead just aft of the cockpit. Safely out of sight of the pilots, she smiled and motioned for him to hold on to his seat.
Oh good, I'd almost forgot what it was like to crash… Chad tightened his chest harness and gripped both armrests with white knuckles. 13 was not a girl to give false warnings. When she said to hold on, Chad figured it was in his best interest to do so.
She stepped around the bulkhead and into the cockpit. Chad heard jumbled screams over his headset. The helicopter bucked and weaved. He forced his eyes to stay open as his stomach heaved. 13's feet momentarily came off the floor, but whatever she was doing was over almost as soon as it started.
When she turned, he saw a bright red smear on the inside of the windshield and the pilot on the right had slumped over in his seat. To his horror, Chad watched as 13 unbuckled the pilot on the left and pulled his limp body onto the floor before taking his seat. She reached up and wiped away a smear of blood from the inside of the cockpit window and took control of the helicopter.
Chad opened his mouth to protest, but felt his stomach attempt to exit between his teeth as the helicopter dropped like a rock. He closed his eyes and pulled himself tight into the seat throwing his head back against the head rest. The engines roared in protest and the wind howled outside. Chad's imagined the helicopter plummeting straight into the snow-covered trees of the Rocky Mountains below.
It didn't last long, but Chad figured they must have lost at least a thousand feet in altitude before the Chinook leveled off. 13 pulled and twisted the helicopter into a punishing maneuver that made Chad feel like he water was circling a drain. Chad opened his eyes and instantly wished he hadn't. The gyrations of the helicopter swerving back and forth, up and down, caused the limp body of the pilot to hover off the deck for a few seconds at a time, bouncing into cabinets and bulkheads as it traveled slowly closer to him. Bits of gear and packing material flung free from 13's crate, now slick with blood, sloshed around at Chad's feet.
At last, her faint accent broke over the headset: "Are you okay?"
Chad swallowed his breakfast for a second time and nodded. The helicopter leveled out, and when he looked to the cockpit, she had turned her head to glance at him down the aisle. "I asked, are you okay?"
Chad held up his right thumb and flashed what he hoped was a reassuring smile, though he doubted it. "Just don't do that again, okay?" He looked down as the pilot's body twitched and moved in time with the helicopter's vibrations. A red smear coated the metal floor plates, leaving a trail back to 13.
"Did you have to kill them?" he whispered.
13 didn't look back, as she scanned the horizon around the helicopter. "They were Reginald's men. I had no choice."
Chad shook his head. "That's impossible, Admiral Bennet said—"
"The men Admiral Bennet hand-picked are dead. These two," 13 said with a flick of her wrist, "killed them and took their uniforms. I found the bodies myself before I snuck into the cargo."
"Aren't they going to be a little pissed you slipped out of that base?" asked Chad.
13 laughed, the sound scratchy over the intercom, but a relief to his ears. "I'd say they'd be a lot more pissed if they found out I kidnapped you."
"So, now where are we going?"
"Not to the place they wanted to take you," she said indicating the dead pilots. "Until I know for sure that the base in Alaska is safe, I'm not taking you there, either."
Chad drummed his fingers on the armrests. He hated being in the dark.
13 sensed his frustration. She turned and looked over her shoulder at him again. "I don't know where were going, if it makes you feel any better." She turned her attention back to the controls. "They know exactly where we are at all times because of the transponder in this thing. First thing I've got to do is switch it off. Then I'll drop you and your supplies off before ditching the helicopter somewhere else."
"Let me guess," began Chad, "you don't know where that will be, either?"
13 didn't answer, just shook her helmeted head.
Chad rolled his eyes. Of course you don't.
CHAPTER 17
Denver, Colorado.
Emergency Reserve National Operations Center.
WHAT DO YOU MEAN you don't know where they are?" growled Cooper. "Every one of our h
elicopters is tracked by—"
Admiral Bennet held up a hand. "I'm just as angry as you are about this, son. And yes, I know about the transponders. We've already thought of that. His bird vanished an hour after it left."
"Vanished? Can't we pick it up on radar?" asked Charlie.
"Unfortunately, no." Bennet's face soured. "It's my fault. I insisted they take one of the Chinooks we have—they arrived with the other survivors from Spokane."
"A Chinook? Sir—"
"Yeah, it's a big bird, but I managed to pull some strings and get some pilots from the 160th SOAR to fly one of their MH-47s. They'll avoid civilian radar."
"Jesus Christ," muttered Cooper. He turned from the table in disgust, hoping he could hide his relief. He had to admit, 13 knew her shit. Taking the transponder out of commission on an MH-47 Chinook—while still flying—was quite a feat. Cooper put his hands on his hips before he turned back to face Bennet.
"It's her, isn't it?" asked Charlie.
"Son of a bitch…" muttered Jax. "She jacked Huntley's ride."
Bennet crossed his arms. "The truth of it is we don't know when she left. She turned up missing about the same time the Chinook vanished. We found the bodies of the pilots—good men I hand-selected for this mission—in the hangar a few moments ago." Bennet slammed a fist down on the table, spilling Cooper's coffee. "I knew we shouldn't have trusted that bitch!"
"I should've killed her when I had the chance…" muttered Cooper.
"No," Bennet said through a sigh. "I'm glad you did what you did, son," Bennet said. "You got the information we needed to bust open this Council. This is my fault. I'm the one that gave the go-ahead."
"So that's it? She got away? She might have kidnapped the Source, killed a couple of pilots, taken a helicopter, and slipped off into the night? And there's nothing we can do about it?" asked Cooper.
The grim set to Bennet's face was his answer. "We train those SOAR pilots to be the best. Without the GPS lock in the transponder, no civilian radar will be able to pick it up, or even decipher what they're seeing. Probably scare the hell out of anyone on the ground. We'll be able to track it through FAA anomaly reports—but it may take days or weeks, if they're still up and running. By then who knows where the hell she'll be." Admiral Bennet sighed.
So far so good. Guilt twisted in Cooper's stomach. He didn't want to deceive the Admiral—the man who'd done so much for him and his men—but he and 13 had seen no other way. She had to get out of this base. She had to get back into Reginald's good graces. The only way either one of them could figure out how to do that was to make it look like she had escaped. She even swiped some of Dr. Boatner's research on her way to the hangar. She'd promised him she'd get Huntley to a safe location.
The look in her eyes convinced him she was telling the truth. Whatever else she was, 13 cared for Huntley like family. Cooper didn't understand why and didn't care. She wouldn't hurt him.
He stared at the briefing documents on the table. He'd almost killed her in the prison cell. They both knew it. Cooper remembered the look in her eyes—she hated Reginald as much as he did. He trusted her.
Her plan was as outrageous as it was genius. He had to give her that. 13 appeared to be holding up her end of the bargain. Now it was his turn.
He flipped open the briefing folder. "Doesn't seem like there's much we can do about the Source, so where's Reginald? I need to blow something up, sir."
Bennet seemed grateful for the change of subject. He folded his arms across his chest again. "We traced that little shit back to Great Britain. He's holed up somewhere in Scotland after all, we think. Intel's still working to confirm."
"Scotland, huh? Never been there…" observed Jax as he perused the briefing document.
"The Tillcott family owns several castles along the western coast. He could be at any of those or none of them. We're still trying to figure that out. Once we have a target for you, you'll be wheels up. In the meantime, I suggest you get as much sack time as you can."
Cooper nodded and coughed. "That might be a good idea, sir."
The Admiral's gaze moved quickly over each SEAL in turn. "How are the vaccines treating you?"
Cooper nodded. "Fair enough, sir. It's keeping me from dying."
Charlie sniffed. "Never better, sir."
Jax nodded. "Just a little fever. I'll be all right."
Bennet grunted. "So you all feel like shit. In that case, sack time is an order. I doubt Intel will have anything for us in the next hour, anyway. Go get some rest—I want you shipshape by the time we find this weasel."
A Marine stepped through the door in full battle rattle. "Adm. Bennet, sir? The President wants to speak with you, sir."
Bennet turned back to the SEALs. "Well, this should be fun."
"Good luck, sir," said Charlie. The men came to attention.
Bennet waved them off with an informal salute. "Get some rest, Braaten. All of you—that's an order." Without waiting for a response, the Admiral turned and followed the Marine out into the hallway.
Cooper sneezed. "You heard the man."
Charlie turned to look at Cooper and Jax. "You guys look like shit."
"Yeah well, you wait till your vaccine kicks in—then we'll talk, jackass," muttered Jax.
Cooper led the way into the hallway toward their quarters. His thoughts wandered back to 13. Wherever the hell you are, I hope you're okay. Get that kid to safety and get your ass back to Reginald. I don't know how much longer I can wait.
A woman wearing surgical scrubs walked past them and nodded. She had Brenda's face. Cooper froze and Charlie ran into him from behind.
"The fuck, man?" Charlie grunted.
Cooper spun and looked at the nurse as she turned and entered a side room. She looked back at him. She had the same auburn hair and shared Brenda's height, but her face looked nothing like Brenda's. She disappeared and shut the door behind her.
Brenda's dead…
"I know that look…" said Charlie. He turned Cooper around and shoved him forward down the hallway.
"I saw—"
"You don't know what the hell you saw, but I do. Just keep going," Charlie whispered. "I still think I see Allie sometimes…"
Brenda's dead…
Cooper's hands hardened into fists. Hurry up, 13…
CHAPTER 18
Skye, Scotland.
Dunkeith Castle.
IT'S TIME, SIR," DRONED Stefan's voice.
Reginald looked up from his paperwork and nodded. "Very well, start the transmission. I'll be there shortly." He stood and dropped the reports from his Chinese partners back on his desk. The first case of the weaponized flu had been confirmed in Kai Ho, a port on the southeastern coast. Understandably, Chinese officials had already locked down the country. They'd seen what had transpired in Europe. The infection rate in Germany alone had rocketed higher than in the United States—thanks to what Reginald assumed was the higher population density in cities.
He shook his head in disgust as he pulled on his suit coat. And now Harris has the vaccine. He'd already received reports from his people in Denver that the military was dosing soldiers and preparing to deliver the vaccine to the local civilians.
Bloody Americans.
He walked away from the ornate desk, hand-carved for one of his distant ancestors. A guard met him in the hall and shut the door behind him, securing it before resuming his place. Reginald nodded and strolled briefly through the grand West Hall of Castle Dunkeith.
His comms room was a replica of the one in the chalet, but on a larger scale. As he stepped through the door, Stefan stood from his terminal, and pulled back a chair for Reginald. On the large semicircle desk in front of the chair sat a plate of food and a glass of water with the crystal carafe nearby. A ring of monitors surrounded the desk. Each one held the face of a different member of the Council.
Reginald smiled. His setup was almost as ornate as the King's own. He looked around the room, taking in the medieval tapestries and subtle carving
s that decorated the otherwise austere room. For a moment, he allowed himself to fantasize that he was the king, and that this was the Council control room. He took his seat and waved Stefan away, waiting until he heard the door shut behind him before he focused on the screens.
He cleared his throat and hit the button that activated his cameras. "Your Majesty," Reginald said. "I'm afraid I've bad news."
The King nodded. He looked as if he'd aged five years in the past 24 hours. Dark circles marred the skin under his eyes. The regal mane was decidedly less than the normal perfection. Even kings lost sleep in a crisis.
"We've been intercepting a lot of activity from our friends in China. Is it…?"
Reginald nodded. "I'm afraid so, sire."
"Where?" barked Murata-san.
Reginald turned to glance at the Kings Lieutenant. "Kai Ho."
Murata's face paled. He turned and said something off camera. Returning his attention, he said in a grave voice, "Majesty, we must have the vaccine, and we must have it now! This was never supposed to happen! If that virus gets loose in China…there'll be no stopping it—"
"I fear Lord Murata is more right than he knows. I received reports that the local hospital taking care of China's patient zero has been shut down."
"Shut down?" asked the King.
"They put it under quarantine, Majesty." Reginald shook his head. "I have it on good authority, however that a few people who might have possibly come in contact with the patient are missing."
More than a few of the assembled Council members groaned and companied. Opinions flew back and forth on how best to handle the situation and who was to blame.
"Of all the ineptitude—" began Dame Ainslie.
"One would think the events in Europe would give them plenty of warning…" growled Lord Stirling. "They had one patient—"
"Easy for you to say, locked away on your island," snapped Hans Baumgartner. "Have you seen Cologne?" he demanded, red-faced.
"Enough!" roared the King. "We have precious little time and we need to use it wisely."
Firestorm: Book III of the Wildfire Saga Page 10