Parker had gone rigid beside her, as if straining to hold back an eruption of fear or rage—probably rage—but when he spoke, his voice was flat, emotionless. “Kevin. How did you find us?”
“I took the liberty of tagging your little girlfriend when she was my guest.”
“GPS trackers have a very limited range. You couldn’t have known we’d be coming here.”
Rainer smiled. “You hear all kinds of funny rumors these days. For example, I heard that you might be thinking of changing careers. I just might have a place in my organization for you, especially if…” He nodded toward Sasha. “…you can help me babysit our girl genius.”
Sasha squeezed her eyes shut.
Go away!
The words were a silent scream in her head.
Go away. Leave me alone. Let me finish.
“Here’s how I see it,” Rainer continued. “You’re on your own right now. Jack is looking for you; he knows you’re here in France. How long do you think you can stay ahead of him? Come with me and you get to spend as much time with her as you want. You’d like that, right?”
“Just like that?” said Parker. “I’m supposed to believe that you would trust me?”
“Danny, you’ve always had a lousy poker face. I can see the wheels turning in your head. You know this is the best option.”
Sasha barely heard the words being exchanged between the men, the striking of a bargain in which she was merely an object. Parker was no different than any other human variable; unpredictable, inconsistent and driven by animal passions and irrational emotions. He wasn’t interested in helping her resolve the equation, but only in possessing her.
Chaos swirled around in a haze of white noise.
No, not white noise…a real sound, vibrating through her bones.
Her eyes flew open.
The others hadn’t noticed it yet; they were too consumed with their mundane game of life and death.
The ground beneath her was rippling faintly, like the surface of a pond disturbed by a cast stone. She turned her head slowly and saw that the effect was spreading to the limestone face of the cliff. The dull white rock seemed to be shimmering, as if made of fog.
It’s working!
The door to the Prime was opening, just as Parker had said it would. So close.
The thing she had sought for so long—the solution that would balance the equation of existence—was about to be taken away from her by another damnable human variable.
Rainer drew in a deep breath and then let it out with a dramatic sigh. “Maybe I was wrong about you, Danny. Here’s the thing. We’re leaving with your girlfriend. You can come along, or I can put a bullet between your eyes. Seems like a simple choice to me, but…” He shrugged.
“Don’t make me go,” Sasha whispered, barely able to get the words out. She reached up and found Parker’s hand. She squeezed it tight. “Please.”
He looked down at her, his earnest face hiding none of his fear and concern…his affection. Then he turned his eyes back to Rainer and muttered. “Could use a little help here, Jack.”
Confusion flickered across Rainer’s face, but before it could give way to comprehension, there was a loud smack, and the head of one of the frankensteins blew apart in a fine red mist.
FIFTY
In the instant that the bullet from Knight’s Barrett M82 sniper rifle erased the frankenstein’s head, King and the rest of the team broke from cover and swept toward the rock wall. They bounded forward in pairs. King and Bishop stopped and fired off a few rounds, aiming high so as not to hit Parker and Sasha, while Rook and Queen raced forward a few feet, and then they would switch roles.
Knight managed to get a second shot off before Rainer and the others could fully process what was happening, but this time his bullet only grazed the target.
They had debated how to best use that first decisive shot; eliminate Rainer, cutting the head off the snake as it were, or take out the frankensteins. The latter won out. Based on their experiences with the monstrosities in Burma and Iran, the frankensteins were the bigger threat. Deprived of leadership, they could still wreak unimaginable harm.
As he hit the ground, rolling left and coming back up into a prone firing position, King saw that the decision to target the frankenstein had yielded the expected results: Rainer and his men were retreating, Parker had thrown himself over Sasha and they were huddled near the rock face, and the sole remaining frankenstein, bleeding copiously from its left shoulder, was charging headlong toward Rook and Queen. King turned the barrel of his XM8 toward the creature, but before he could get a shot off, Rook came up with one of his enormous Desert Eagle pistols.
His first shot caught the frankenstein full in the chest, the .50 caliber round staggering the creature back like a battering ram. For most living things, it would have been a lethal shot—it probably was for the chemical-crazed frankenstein as well, but Rook didn’t take chances. He fought the massive pistol’s recoil with a two-handed grip, brought it level and fired again. This time, there was no uncertainty about the outcome; the bullet tore off the top of the abomination’s skull.
King swung his barrel back toward Rainer, but the rogue Delta commander and his men were zigzagging back into the tree line, returning fire blindly to cover their escape. King got off a few shots before the running men disappeared into the boughs.
“Rook, Queen, go after them.”
King wanted to give chase as well—hunt the rabid Rainer down and personally put him out of everyone’s misery once and for all—but first he had to make sure that Parker and Sasha were okay. He had used them, dangled them in front of Rainer like bait, played them like pawns in his own private chess game, and even though everything seemed to have gone according to plan, if anything happened to them, it would be on his head.
He keyed his microphone. “Irish, this is King. I’m coming to you.”
Parker had known the risks. When he’d come to King in Turkey and asked for permission to take Sasha on some kind of treasure hunt, King had seized on it as an opportunity not only to lure Rainer into the open but also perhaps to smoke out any security leaks at CIA and JSOC. Nevertheless, he had been forthright with respect to the dangers he and Sasha would be facing.
“It will have to look absolutely real,” he had told Parker. “You’ll be unarmed, no support, the CIA will be hunting for you. We’ll try to stay one step ahead of you, but if Rainer makes his move and we’re not ready...”
Parker had obviously been concerned about putting Sasha at risk, but he understood what was at stake. “Make sure that doesn’t happen.”
It had been a close thing, but the plan had worked. Thanks to Parker’s stealthy radio calls, the team had finally gotten ahead of Rainer and been waiting to spring the trap. Now King just had to make sure that Parker and Sasha were okay.
“Danno!”
Parker raised his head just a little, mindful of the fact that bullets were still flying not far away. “Cut it pretty close, Jack.”
King breathed a sigh of relief. Sasha looked a little freaked out—when didn’t she?—but both were unhurt.
“Come on. Let’s get you guys out of here.”
Sasha’s head came up. Her gaze flitted between the men for a moment, then her eyes locked on Parker. “This was a setup?”
Parker gave a heavy sigh. “Sasha, I’m so sorry. We had to flush Rainer out. It was the only way.”
She kept staring at him with such intensity that King feared his friend might melt, figuratively at least, from the rage she was putting out. He wondered if this was a risk Parker had considered when he’d agreed to the plan.
Sasha abruptly dropped her gaze and looked around furtively. Then, moving quicker than King had ever seen her move, she grabbed her computer and hurled herself toward the looming rock wall…
And vanished.
King’s mind refused to accept what he had just seen.
Parker however reacted instantly. “Sasha!”
He too bolted right
at the wall, and this time, King knew that his eyes had not deceived him. Parker had not ducked behind a bush or slipped into an unseen crevice in the cliff face. He reached the wall and kept right on going, as if it were no more substantial than smoke.
Disbelief hit King like a physical blow, leaving him numb all over.
You saw what you saw, he told himself. It’s a trick—smoke and mirrors—nothing more.
But if it was a trick, it was a damned good one.
“Okay, Danno,” he said. “How’d you do that?”
He took a step toward the place where the others had disappeared. He extended a hand. Where he expected to feel solid rock beneath his fingertips, he felt only the barest of resistance, like the push of air from an electric fan.
“Smoke and mirrors, my ass,” he muttered, and with a deep breath to fortify his courage, King took another step forward.
FIFTY-ONE
Rook saw movement in the trees and followed it with the business end of his XM8. The Desert Eagles were great for putting down those inhuman freakshows but not very accurate past about thirty meters.
The right tool for the right job, as Grandpa Tremblay always used to say.
A head appeared from behind a trunk—one of the rogue Night Stalkers—and Rook squeezed the trigger.
“That was for Houston, motherfucker,” he muttered as the distant figure slumped to the ground. He searched for another target but saw nothing.
“Let’s go!” Queen urged.
Rook gave a terse nod. There were still two more debts to collect on the balance sheet for Alpha team. Rainer owed a lot of other men for the pain he’d caused, but unfortunately, they would be able to kill him only once.
They crept into the woods, moving quickly but cautiously, and emerged at the edge of a small vineyard. Rook glimpsed movement in the rows of vines, but the running figure stayed low, depriving him of a target.
Rook stared at the perfectly straight parallel rows of vines, seeing them for the trap they were. “We go in there, and we’ll be easy pickings.”
Queen groaned at the pun. “Really? That’s the best you’ve got?”
Rook shrugged then gestured to the perimeter of the vineyard. “Do we go the long way around?”
“You’re asking me?”
“You’re the Queen.”
“Now that’s funny,” she returned, deadpan.
He chuckled to hide an unexpected feeling of embarrassment; he hadn’t meant it as a joke. Keeping his carbine trained on the vine tops, he struck out along the edge of the field.
He had gone only about twenty feet when something hissed through the air right in front of him, accompanied by the simultaneous report of a pistol. As he threw himself flat, he realized that the shot had come from the woods, behind him.
Damn it! They suckered me.
As he scrambled on all fours for the concealment of the vines, the ground all around him started exploding, bullets striking like lightning bolts to the accompanying thunder of gunshots. Dirt sprayed into his face, stinging like the bite of wasps, forcing him to close his eyes, but he nevertheless brought his carbine up and returned fire.
Someone grabbed his shoulder.
He gave a yelp and twisted around to meet this new threat, swinging the gun like a club, but through the ringing in his ears and the pounding of his heart, a female voice reached out to him. “Slow down, hero. I got him.”
Rook slowly unclenched, breathing heavily to damp down the deluge of adrenaline. He opened his eyes and saw Queen kneeling over him. “Which one?” he finally managed to say.
“Not Rainer.” There was a trace of disappointment in her voice.
“You saved the big fish for me? How thoughtful of you.”
“Fuck that. The asshole shot me, remember? He’s mine.”
Rook got to his feet and then flashed a grin. “Not if I see him first.”
With that, he wheeled around and sprinted headlong into the vineyard. It was a stupid, cocky thing to do, but so far, luck had played a more decisive role than caution in keeping him alive. Besides, Rainer was alone now.
In his peripheral vision, he glimpsed a flash of gold—Queen’s blonde locks, trailing behind her as she matched his pace in the next row over. He threw her a wink, and then reached down into his deepest reserves and put on an all-out burst of speed.
He spied movement ahead; Rainer had broken from the cover of the vines and was racing for the parking area where Parker’s rented Renault had been joined by two Volkswagen Eurovans.
Rook tried to get the fleeing man in his sights, but he couldn’t hold a bead while he was running, and if he stopped for a better shot, it might give Rainer the extra few seconds of lead time he needed to reach his van…
Rook saw that his quarry was going to make it to the vehicles anyway. He loosed a burst in the direction of he nearest van. It rocked a little under the impact of the 5.56-millimeter rounds and then lowered a few inches, as the air rushed from two of its tires.
Rainer threw up a hand in a reflexive, if futile, attempt to protect his head from bullets and flying debris, but he did not falter. He darted between the parked vans and disappeared from view.
Rook let his go of his XM8, allowing it to hang by the sling, and drew one of his pistols. Even if Rainer somehow got the other van rolling, one .50 caliber Action Express round would shut it down, and one more would shut him down. That was the great thing about the Desert Eagle—like with horseshoes and hand grenades, you didn’t have to score a direct hit to get the job done. The recoil was a son-of-a-bitch—he really needed to see about getting some kind of wrist brace—but it wasn’t nearly as bad as being on the other end when the trigger was pulled.
He expected to hear the van’s engine turn over at any second, but all was silent. He reached the parking lot, Queen still matching his full sprint, and charged toward the vehicles, the Desert Eagle thrust out ahead of him like a battering ram.
Something moved out from behind the furthest vehicle and Rook fired. The pistol bucked in his hands, and the round tore into flesh in a spray of red, but Rook kept his gaze steady on the target, waiting for Rainer’s dead body to hit the ground.
The shape did not fall.
It wasn’t Rainer.
With a howl of primal rage, the wounded creature stepped into full view. It was a frankenstein.
Rook skidded to a stop, not twenty feet away. His bullet had nearly taken the thing’s arm off; it would die eventually from shock and blood loss, but its rage would sustain it long enough for it to do some real damage.
Rook steadied the pistol in both hands, and fired again…and again. Beside him, Queen had likewise stopped, and she was emptying her carbine into the thing’s chest. The frankenstein pitched backward.
Then another one appeared to take its place…
And another…
And another…
FIFTY-TWO
Bishop wasn’t normally given to making loud, emotionally-charged utterances. Most soldiers believed it was a good thing to vent some of their pent up rage with outbursts of colorful language, but Bishop knew that even a small crack could weaken a dam, and if the dam holding back his anger ever failed… Well, he didn’t like to think about what might happen. The safer course was to meet every surprise, every disappointment, every reversal of fortune, the same way: with silence.
Once in a while, though, he would make an exception.
“What the—”
He had been looking away, watching the tree line for enemy activity, and so he had missed Sasha and Parker disappearing into the rock wall. He almost missed King’s exit as well; he turned just in time to see King plunge into the stone face as if it were merely a curtain stretched over an opening in the wall. For a few seconds, he told himself that was exactly what he had seen, but when he approached the cliff and extended his hand, his fingers immediately encountered solid rock.
No, that wasn’t quite right. It didn’t feel solid exactly; more like stiff clay. He pressed harder and his
fingers went in up to the first knuckle, but then stopped abruptly as if he’d hit something harder.
The substance was warm to the touch, almost uncomfortably so, and when he pulled his fingers free, he discovered that even that little bit of plasticity was gone from the rock; it had hardened once more into brittle chalky limestone.
“—fuck?”
He keyed his mic. “King, this is Bishop. Do you copy?”
Nothing.
He glimpsed movement from behind and whirled to find Knight jogging toward him, the enormous Barrett cradled in his arms. Knight’s normally serene visage was twisted with concern; he had overheard Bishop’s transmission, and the distinctive silence that had followed. “What’s wrong?”
Bishop just gaped at the cliff face, silent mode re-engaged, but only because he didn’t have the words to explain what he had just seen.
“Where’s King?”
Bishop pointed at the wall. “He just…walked through it.”
“Walked through it?”
The big man nodded. “Like a ghost or something.”
“A ghost.” Knight’s forehead creased. “Bishop, you sound like my grandmother.”
Bishop had no reply, but continued to probe the wall with his hands.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” Knight came over to stand beside him. “So, is there a secret passage or something?”
The noise of gunfire—distant, but still close enough to warrant keeping their heads down—curtailed further discussion. Rook and Queen had engaged Rainer and his men. Knight opened the bipod legs for his Barrett and got down behind the weapon, ready to meet any threat that came their way, but Bishop went back to studying the rock. He felt a growing anxiety that had nothing to do with bringing down the rogue Delta operators.
King was inside the rock. There had to be a cave or a hidden tunnel entrance, but damned if he could find it. Had King gone in willingly? Was he in danger right now?
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