by Cherry Adair
Yes, she knew he was surrounded by professionals, and yes, she was preternaturally aware of Ash standing close by. But he was her brother, she knew him. River didn't trust him one damn bit, and if he made any false moves, she wouldn’t hesitate to shoot him again if she had to.
The men on either side of Oliver held him fast between them. He didn't put up a fight, or argue, but River didn't like the gleam in his eyes, or that small smirk.
Ash pushed aside the covering and picked up the string of little bombs. River's heart stopped beating. Holy shit. . .
"What are you waiting for?" Oliver taunted. "Put them in the oil."
Ash eased the string of little bombs, one at a time, into the liquid.
“Operatives, drop the Nuts in the oil.” Ash draped a heavy blanket around her like a shawl, then stood in front of her shielding her with his body, though they both knew it was a useless endeavor. If those things detonated, it would evaporate them all before they knew it. Stepping closer, she rested a hand on his back, welcoming the tension in his muscles as they flexed.
Sweat prickled her skin as the world seemed to hold its collective breath.
“Do it.” Stress showed on Ash’s brow as he observed how the glow of the timer turned the pale oil an eerie green. "Everyone evacuate. Now," he ordered the people nearby. Oil spilled over the rim of the plastic container onto the floor as the Nuts plopped one by one into the viscous liquid, then sank slowly to the bottom. Carrying the jug, Ash headed for the elevator. River stayed with him, close enough to touch. "How much time?"
"Six seconds to the surface. A minute or so to get everyone away from the building." He frowned. "What the hell? Who just went dark?" Daklin listened to Control as he strode down the hallway. "Jesus. Atatürk International just vaporized."
15:28:28
Turkey's international airport's bomb detonated minutes early. They hadn't had time to find oil, and they'd been in the process of lowering the Nuts into the Upsalite. Early, God damn it.
Reports were being transmitted into Daklin's ear in real time. There was a 9.5 quake in progress, causing a ripple effect as it traveled the active right-lateral strike-slip of the North Anatolian fault westward for a length of fifteen hundred kilometers, creating devastation and destruction on a massive scale.
Daklin didn't state the obvious. Sullivan's suggested method of defusing was not only unorthodox, it was as unpredictable as hell. He also had to consider the very real scenario that River's brother could just be jacking them off for his own amusement. Deep in his gut, Daklin believed that was far more likely given that this sociopathic brainiac didn't give a flying fuck if millions died.
Clustered together, the five dark globes looked deceptively benign submerged in the golden oil.
Daklin held his breath. This had better motherfucking work.
He took a second to sweep a glance at the expectant faces around him, all focused on the jug of oil as if it held some mystic secret. It was one thing to contemplate death, another to stare it down, and yet still another to give it an oil bath with your own hands. Sweat dripped from foreheads. Some prayed silently. All they fucking wanted to do was save their asses. He didn’t blame them. He wanted to live too. Now, more than ever.
Wasn’t that the bitch of it all? Just when you realize what was really important, the universe smacks you upside the head and gives you four and a half minutes to enjoy what you really wanted all along, before snatching it all away.
Daklin rested his eyes for a nanosecond longer on River. Wide, troubled gray eyes rested on him. Not on the bomb. Not on the thing that could, and very well fucking might, flash and instantly end all their lives. Him. Her lips curved in an encouraging smile as their eyes met.
How can she still trust me to protect her? Jesus, I can’t even protect myself, or my brother, or the men in my team if this thing fucking blows. Daklin wasn’t a praying man, but he gave it his best shot. God, please don't let me kill her today. I know I’ve been a screw-up, and you can take me, but please, please, keep River alive.
In Daklin's ear only, Control reported the damage in Istanbul--thirty city blocks decimated, estimated death toll one million people. Injured count rapidly climbing.
15:28:57
The numbers on his timer still blinked. These Nuts were still viable.
Blood pounded in his ears as he focused on the tiny explosives. He weighed the variables, mapped out a route in his head, and calculated the odds of any of them making it out alive.
Saying the odds sucked was an understatement.
15:28:59
Between one blink and the next, the illuminated digital numbers went black.
Collectively, everyone held their breath.
Daklin's watch continued the countdown to 3:33.
15:30:01
Three minutes to detonation.
The timer was dead.
“Fucking hell,” the operative in Barcelona whispered, his relief evident.
In Montana, several people let out their collective breaths.
“Son of a bitch," Moscow said, almost soundlessly. "The timer’s stopped.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Tokyo said in Japanese.
“Got to be a hoax," London inserted, plummy voice skeptical. "Can’t be this fucking simple.”
Everything in Daklin screamed this oil-dunking crap was bullshit. A ruse. But he was now out of options and as long as the timer was on hold, he didn’t give a fuck if it was a ruse or not. With minutes to spare, he had to get River and his men out of the building and put as much distance as possible between them and the explosive.
Oil, being a lipid, stored energy. He might've just given Sullivan permission to concoct a gallon of fucking bomb oil without knowing it.
He had to make a split-second decision: take the oil up top, or leave it here on the eleventh floor?
If he'd just made a goddamned gallon of E-1x and it blew underground, the entire infrastructure, and the brain, of T-FLAC would fucking die.
On the other hand, even if he'd just made a gallon of E-1x and managed to get it to the surface in time, he had men waiting topside with a container of Upsalite as back-up and a bomb-proof vehicle to put some distance between them. The people and T-FLAC headquarters would at least have a two-hundred foot protective bomb shield of earth between them and the most explosive shit on the planet. Which gave them slightly better odds of survival.
Above ground it was.
"This gives us a little more time," Rafe said. "Now we can get this outside before they detonate."
"Or we'll lose the last few minutes and blow up now." Daklin focused on Sullivan. The scientist looked detached. It wasn't only that he didn't look interested, scared, or affected. It was that he didn't appear interested in the drama circulating around him, almost as if their panic soothed him. Jiggling change in his pocket, Sullivan’s expression, if anything, was slightly bored.
"Yes." Sullivan’s voice was flat, without inflection. "Or that."
Detached times a hundred. Who the hell was so blasé about the loss of human life? Unless they were complete sociopaths. The dark thought slithered through his mind, burrowing deeper, confirming Doc Sullivan wasn’t all he seemed. “This is only a time buyer, people," Daklin said into the comm to the operatives in the other cities. "If you have the Upsalite, immerse the jug, and get the hell out of there. Dr. Sullivan, how much more time?”
Sullivan's lips twisted in a sly smile.
Daklin's heartbeat stuttered. Jesus-- "Is this oil a motherfucking accelerant?"
15:26:00
Sullivan’s gray eyes, disconcertingly almost the same color as River's, held a look laced with contempt and something that really pissed off Daklin. Smugness, with a touch of amusement. "I didn't say that at all."
"Everyone stay put! Rafe, let’s get this shit topside on the double." Daklin gripped the container and drizzled oil on the floor as he ran as fast as his goddamned leg allowed. "Move! Move! Move!"
He and his key team members da
shed to the end of the corridor, to the elevator’s open door. "Get this up top and get it packed in the box, then floor that blast truck as far away from headquarters as you can get it," he instructed through his comm, as the door slammed shut. “Remaining personnel, this is a level four lockdown. No one else but the explosives team is to leave base until we're cleared.”
Daklin motioned his men to close in around River as soon as the doors closed. River's safety was paramount, but so was protecting the twelve belowground floors, and the critical T-FLAC personnel still inside.
If he had the capability, he'd send the jug of oil--and doctorfuckingSullivan with it--into space. But that wasn’t an option. Not in the next few minutes anyway.
Twenty-Four
The six seconds it took for the elevator to travel from the eleventh floor up to ground level were the longest six seconds of Daklin's life. Beside him, River's eyes looked smudged in her bone white face. More than anything, he wanted to wrap her in his arms, inhale her fresh scent, assure her everything was going to be okay, and kiss her until neither of them could breathe. Her arm brushed his, sending a shudder of regret through him. He shifted away, redirecting his gaze to the sleek doors, as if they held the answers to all his fucking problems.
The outcome was not assured, but he wouldn't be around to kick his own ass if this clusterfuck went sideways. He'd have eternity in hell to feel the weight of his guilt. First for Josh, and now, for River.
The elevator doors whipped open to organized chaos. The vast lobby was a beehive of activity, where operatives and support personnel, without hysteria or fanfare, spoke rapidly into comms as they carried laptops, boxes, and equipment to vehicles that were outside, their engines revving. Even for seasoned operatives, this situation was intense. Voices were low and calm, but expressions were grim. This was more fucking personal than any other op. It was on home ground, set by one of their own, with an explosive device that was unpredictable, and, even in the smallest amount, lethal. They knew one device had already detonated early. Everyone waited for the other shoe to drop here in Montana. At ground zero, there was no point running like hell. Everyone present knew that even the fastest vehicle wouldn't get enough clearance IF the nuts were actually going to detonate. Daklin knew it, the operatives knew it. But it was a damn big IF and they were doing their jobs anyway.
Three men joined Ram in surrounding River, and immediately started outfitting her. T-FLAC's state-of-the-art Explosive Ordinance Disposal suit weighed upwards of seventy pounds. The ballistic body armor, similar to the LockOut worn on dangerous missions, was designed to protect the head and body from projectiles and over-pressure.
It was good.
But it wasn't going to be good enough.
15:26:00. Detonation minus seven.
More operatives waited directly outside the elevator doors, a six-foot square, lead-lined box filled with Upsalite on a small forklift between them. Too heavy to take down in the elevator, the lift would move the box quickly and easily from inside the building to the remote controlled vehicle beyond the doors. Incongruously, the sky beyond the glass doors was a clear and brilliant blue, the grassy fields surrounding the building lush and green. Bucolic. Serene.
Daklin had to trust his people to do their jobs while he figured out in the next few minutes what Dr. Sullivan’s game really was. "Finish getting River suited up," he instructed Ram as he watched the T-FLAC personnel cautiously transfer the oil jug from its shallow bed of Upsalite and move it to the deeper container. "Then head to Honey's." There was a bomb shelter there. He pretended she'd reach it in time if this fucker blew.
Sullivan, with his own detail, stood nearby, watching the flurry of activity with no expression. They made no move to suit him up. That was a given.
Via his earpiece, Daklin listened to the reports from the other operatives at the various bombsites, as his gaze rested on River now ten feet away, between himself and the door. All he saw was her. Her sunny hair, the grim line of her soft mouth.
“Aren't you putting on one of these?" she asked Ram as he buckled the last strap on her blast suit. "Omph. Holy crap, this is heavy."
"Yeah."
Ash gave a grim smile at her antics, turning once again to the matter at hand. All locations now had the oil submerged Nuts buried in Upsalite. All locations were loading the deadly cargo into remote control vehicles similar to the one right outside the door of HQ.
Oil. God!
Sullivan wasn’t stupid, just sociopathic. He was the mastermind behind the entire goatfuck of what they'd thought was Francisco Xavier's enterprise. Their techs had already started breaking the encryptions of Xavier's cloud storage. The fucker was a perv. Sullivan even more so.
River was far from safe, even in the depths of T-FLAC headquarters.
"Everyone out," he ordered, knowing the order was an illusion and none of the seasoned operatives would fall for it. Knowledgeable eyes telegraphed acceptance. Fuck that.
He didn't trust Sullivan. The oil dunking might very well be bullshit. The very notion was preposterous, but Daklin had been out of fucking options and grasping at straws. And given his experience, he wasn't one hundred percent confident that the containment in Upsalite would work this go round either. Or that the bomb vehicle could contain the blast if it didn't.
Sullivan seemed amazingly resigned about his girlfriend's plan fizzling out in a gallon of fucking cooking oil. Something wasn’t adding up. Daklin motioned to Ram, even though he knew it was already too late. "Take her!"
River tried to pull out of reach of the operative, who nevertheless kept a firm, but gentle hand clasped around the thick padding of her upper arm as she moved back, toward Daklin, instead of the door. "No. If it’s safe for you to stay, I'm staying, too."
The sound of her voice--scared, yet brave and determined-- pinged through him, setting every nerve afire with radioactive fear. He’d only ever been this afraid once in his life. But this was worse. "It's my job to stay."
3:31:24
He'd believed he'd die inside the mountain. He'd been given twelve hours reprieve. Twelve hours more with River. Now he'd be responsible for killing her.
"I won't run. Not when so many others have died because of my brother. I'm—-"
“Don’t say responsible. Don’t ever—-”
She didn't so much as glance at Sullivan standing nearby. "I should've. God. I don't know. Kept a closer eye on him. Done a better job of getting him help. We always knew he needed help.”
"Free will, River." A metronome ticked in his head as people passed between and around them, as insubstantial as ghosts, as he and River locked eyes. Outside, the remote vehicle, locked and loaded, shot out of the driveway as if it were jet propelled.
Daklin prayed, actually prayed, that the oil and Upsalite worked. "He’s chosen his path and you had nothing to do with it. He’ll be staying with me, not you. Sorry, honey. Time's up. You’ve got to go. Now. Ram will get you back to Portland."
Narrowed gray eyes turned stormy, and her jaw set. "Really?"
“Yeah. Really.” Tell her whatever's necessary. Make her leave. At least fucking give her a chance.
Sullivan, standing with his four-man detail slightly back, but between them, swiveled his eyes to watch them. He cut in, breaking the deadlock. "Where are the emeralds I gave you, River? Do you have them safe, or did you have to hand them over?"
"For God's sake. Not now, Oliver." She didn't look away from Daklin. "You know if that bomb goes off, even in that, We'll all go up together." She motioned toward the empty spot in front of the building where moments before the bulletproof vehicle had been loaded before it had been driven away. "I'd rather stay with you, than leave without you."
"That's adorable," Sullivan inserted. "I'll just opt to go with these guys, and leave you two lovebirds to decide if you should die together or apart. About those stones, River?"
3:32:18
Even for a psycho, Sullivan was abnormally calm.
Something nagged in the instinct
ive part of Daklin's brain. The part that had gotten him through countless ops, where he had milliseconds to read a situation and make a call, which usually meant the difference between life and death.
He tensed, replaying Sullivan’s words in his mind. Why would Sullivan say die together or apart? Unless the man knew the oil wouldn't defuse the Nuts?
"All locations clear?" he asked Control, his attention fixed on Sullivan, not River. Clear, meaning the oil dunked bombs, encased in magnesium-enforced boxes of Upsolite beads, were being driven to remote locations as quickly as possible.
Control's voice came through. "Negative. You are not rendered safe yet."
42 seconds.”
Maybe.
Daklin waited, once again holding River's gaze. It was the last face he'd see. He’d escaped certain death hundreds of times. Working with stoic calmness, where only seconds separated living and dying, death was in his job description. He damn well did it better than the best. On this one, though, as the seconds dwindled to zero, he felt the pain of a million deaths. Because of her.
15:33:00
No big bang.
His heartbeat knocking in his ears, he vaguely heard each country chime in with an all clear.
For some goddamn reason, Daklin couldn't draw that breath of relief he should be sucking in right now. Not even when Control said in his ear, "Confirmed clear."
Turkey had detonated early. There was no reason why one or more of the others shouldn't be late. . .
There was no chance ground personnel could escape the blast now. None. Zip. Fucking zero.
If it went, they all went.
“Riv. Where are the stones?”
The moment the son of a bitch had been living for--for fucking years--had just come and gone, and all he did was calmly ask for his emeralds back? What the fuck was wrong with this picture? All Daklin could see, with River encased in the suit from throat to toes, was her face. Her respiration was too fast, her pupils dilated, and perspiration sheened her pale face. Ram hadn't got the helmet on her, and she held it tightly in one hand as she spoke to her brother, but looked at Daklin. Her voice was even, but she was scared shitless with good cause. "You can't have them back. I'm giving them, and that money you gave me, to Father Marcus."