Digitalis

by Ronie Kendig

  He reached into the black void and grabbed the cables dangling ominously. With the rope he carried, he fashioned a harness and secured himself with the cables. He rappelled quietly, both hands cinching him down. As the bottom rose to meet him, he quietly pressed both feet flat against the wall and braced himself.

  Again, he nudged his NVGs up and used the thermal to peer through the wall. Dawg. His scope wouldn’t penetrate the steel shaft. God, sure could use a break here …

  He’d have to lower himself head-first if he planned to get a shot before they clipped his legs or knees. Colton replaced the thermal. Winding one leg around the cable and the other crossed over that leg, he slowly and carefully lowered himself another five feet. The edge of the shaft crawled into view.

  “Where is he?” a man shouted in English thickened by a foreign accent.

  Gripping the cable tight, he held his position.

  “I told you, man,” the Kid said through fits of coughing, “he’s dead. Got nailed.”

  Boots thudded overhead, most likely grunts searching for Colton.

  Sweat slid down his back, across his neck and tickled as it streaked past his ear. Colton eased the silenced MK23 SOCOM out of his chest holster. With his NVGs on, he appreciated one of the few good things about the oversized pistol—the LAM. The Laser Aiming Module provided an invisible/visible laser, only apparent with the use of NVGs. He could pinpoint his target in the dark without the target knowing.

  Colton let himself down another two inches. He peeked under the top of the elevator wall. A wash of green highlighted three men monitoring the still-kneeling Kid. Three? Where’d the other two go?

  He winced. Had they sent two more men to find him? If they did, they’d figure out real soon that he wasn’t as dead as the Kid claimed. A full engagement hunkered just minutes out.

  “Twenty yards and closing,” came Max’s sitrep.

  Answering his team leader would give away his position. And they were too far out to help. He had to take care of this now, or the Kid would be dead.

  Just as Colton extricated himself from the cables, booted feet toeing the ledge of the shaft, he saw a gun raise toward the Kid’s head. With a thrust, he landed on the first floor. He leveled out and fired at the gunman.

  Shots flashed in his green field of vision.

  Colton dove for cover behind a half-blown counter. He fired. As the dust cleared and he was able to take a solid assessment, Colton spotted the Kid on the ground, crawling across the open area toward him. With the two tangos on the ground, there should be at least one, if not two more, somewhere.

  A dark shape moved.

  On a knee, Colton provided suppressive fire as the Kid dragged himself around the corner, clutching his chest.

  “There’s five of them.” The Kid breathed heavily and coughed. “Three on the stairs, covering the door.”

  Colton glanced at the Kid’s wound, the blood oozing past the gloved fingers. “Nightshade, pinned down and under fire.”

  “Ten feet and closing,” came the panting voice of Frogman.

  “How … how we doing?” the Kid asked.

  Colton peeked up—just in time to see the butt of a weapon flying at him.

  Bam! Crack!

  His head snapped back. Blackness swallowed his vision, taking his hearing with it. With the threat of imminent death and a bad guy looming over him, he flipped himself onto his back, leveling his weapon in the direction he’d been hit.

  “Flash out,” Midas warned.

  Tink-tink-tink!

  Colton flopped onto his belly and covered his head.

  Boom!

  White light exploded through the warehouse.

  He pulled himself off the ground, pain vibrating through his head … his neck … shoulders. Splat. Splat! Blood pooled under him, dripping from his nose.

  “All clear,” Frogman called.

  “Move out!” Legend shouted.

  Colton pushed to his feet, blinking and dreading the giant migraine he’d have by the time they hoofed it out of here. He wiped the blood dribbling down his chin, noting that his nasal passage was closing up.

  “Not bad, huh?” Frogman grinned at him.

  “Wha’s that?” Colton sniffed and wiped more blood.

  “They broke your nose. We broke their back.”

  “Hey, what about me? They shot me!”

  “Aw,” Legend said in a baby voice to the Kid. “Your first combat boo-boo, and you’re whining like a baby.”

  “Hey. I’m shot. Does anyone not see this?”

  Nightshade Base, Virginia

  “We were ambushed.” Team leader Max Jacobs folded his arms over his chest, a storm brewing in his dark eyes.

  Sitting in a folding metal chair, Colton lowered his gaze, glad to relieve the strain against his eyeballs. Wasn’t his first broken nose, but it hurt as bad as the first. Throbbing pain muddled his ability to focus. He nudged the Cattle Baron off his forehead, relaxing a smidge when some of the pulsing pain eased—not a lot, but at least it wasn’t annoying to have the hat brim pressing against his temples.

  The team had neutralized his attacker, thankfully. No doubt the guy would’ve finished him off. He’d never seen him coming. Maybe that was part of the problem—he hadn’t been paying attention from the beginning. “I was distracted,” he mumbled to himself.

  “Come again?” Legend growled.

  Sitting straight, Colton winced against the ache in the back of his neck. “Just sayin’, if I’d had my head in the game, I could’ve—”

  “We were a man short.” Max glared at him. “That’s it.”

  General Lambert’s shoes squeaked as he turned toward Colton. “What do you mean, you were distracted?”

  Gut it up, and tell him. “I was thinking about Piper, what happened at her house.”

  Lambert nodded.

  “Cowboy’s the best. I don’t believe for one second he’s responsible for what happened.”

  Hand up, Lambert laughed. “Easy there, Alpha. I’m not looking to blame anyone in this room. Fact is, I think you’re right. We were fed faulty Intel, and I’m going to find out why.”

  Max straightened. “And we’re short a man.”

  After a hearty sigh, General Lambert nodded. “I am all too aware. I’m working on it. As you all know, adding to your team is not as easy as walking into a recruiting station or picking them off the field.”

  “Why not?” The Kid babied his shoulder, nursing all the sympathy he could get. “I mean, that’s what you did with us, isn’t it?”

  “Trust me enough to fill the slot with someone you can all trust and rely on. I won’t rush that decision.”

  “We need another player, and fast. Someone could’ve been killed—me!” The Kid’s voice squeaked on his last word.

  “The general is right,” Legend said. “We rush that; it could screw us up royally.”

  “Thank you for the confidence, Legend.”

  “I’m outta here,” Max said, his ire apparent.

  Colton pushed to his feet and joined Max as he grabbed his helmet by the door. “Feel like some pool?”

  Max hesitated. “Sorry, Sydney’s birthday.”

  Colton nodded, heart heavy. He needed to talk through what happened, what he was feeling. The last thing he wanted was to go home … to Piper. He clapped Max’s shoulder. “You enjoy that family of yours.”

  With a grin, Max straddled his bike. “Don’t worry about that one.” He revved the engine and left Colton standing there, alone … depressed.

  “Cowboy, let’s talk.”

  He turned to find the general standing a few paces away. Tempted to tell Lambert he didn’t have time or to pull the wounded card, he knew he needed to face whatever was coming. If he was to blame for what happened, he was to blame.

  Lightning cracked, splintering the night sky just over the slimy warehouse windows. Lambert strode toward his Chrysler 300 and climbed in.

  Colton folded himself into the vehicle and removed his hat. W
ith the Cattle Baron resting on his knee, he glanced at the man in the driver’s seat.

  Olin’s gaze darted over the storm clouds.

  Thunder rumbled, followed within seconds by another crack of lightning.

  “Ever notice storms don’t just come out of the blue?”

  Colton shot a glance to the sky, then back to the guardian of Nightshade. He’d missed a point here somewhere. “Yessir.”

  “I mean, we see them once they’re there. But in the hours and sometimes days leading up to their presence, we feel it coming.”

  “Sir?”

  A half-smile pushed against Olin’s lips as he lowered his gaze. Lifted a folder from between the small space between his seat and the console. “The thing with storms is they have two potentials—to be a cleansing, bring about a freshness.” With a sigh, he handed it to Colton. “Or they can wreak devastating destruction.”

  Colton eyed the folder. No markings. He hesitated and double-checked Olin for more direction. None came. He balanced his hat and drew open the file. His heart caught as a familiar pair of caramel eyes stared back at him. Apparently taken at her work, if the pale pink lab coat and name pin were any indication. He turned a page. Scant details. Her address, phone number, license. “I don’t understand ….”

  Olin cleared his throat. “Neither do I.” He shifted against the cream leather. “That’s all we can find on her.”

  “There’s nothing about her parents, her background.”

  “That’s because there isn’t any. At least not on Piper Blum.”

  Colton slapped the two-page file closed. “What’re you sayin’?” A sorrowful expression tugged at his aged face.

  Teeth clamped, Colton stared at the general.

  “The team was ambushed. How did our targets know you guys would be there? Only the pilot, the chairman, and myself knew you were heading in there. So, who set us up?”

  “That’s something I’d like to know.” Realization hit him. Anger flashed through Colton. “You’re suggesting she sabotaged us?” He shook his head. “No way.”

  “I agree. It’s an outlandish possibility,” Lambert said as he looked out the window again. “But a possibility all the same. Keep your eyes open and your heart closed on this one, Digitalis.”

  Colton gave a soft snort, dragging his gaze back to the storm raging outside. “Look, she might not be who she claims, but there’s no way Piper tried to get us killed. The logistics—it doesn’t add up. She knew I left but didn’t know where we were headed. I’m telling you, it’s not her.”

  Aged eyes studied him. Then a slow smile. “I’m too late. You’re already in deep with this girl, aren’t you?”

  Dawg. Colton swiped a hand over his mouth. “Yeah.” He hated admitting it. “I know it goes against reason, but I just believe … she’s not a threat, not in the way it might appear.” That sounded as stupid as stupid could get. “A threat but not a bad threat.” That sounded worse. He groaned. “I can’t put it to words ….”

  Lambert nodded. “Give me the time to prove you’re right.”

  “Ya always did have a way of putting a nice spin on things.”

  “No spin. Just years of experience.”

  The confidence in the general’s words made Colton pause. “You know something.”

  Tucking his chin, Lambert couldn’t hide his smile. “I think I know something. That’s a huge difference.”

  Irritation skidded down Colton’s spine. He set the folder down and lifted his hat. “Keep me in the loop.”

  Lambert caught his arm. “Digitalis, whatever her vacant record means, don’t tip her off.”

  With the Cattle Baron in hand, Colton trudged back to his truck, allowing the rain to needle his face and shoulders. Piper wasn’t Piper. At least, she wasn’t the innocent, wholesome, demure woman he’d fallen for. How had his months of recon missed it? What … what had he missed?

  She’s too perfect.

  Had to give her that. In his truck, he tossed the hat on the seat and stared down the street, where the beads of rain blurred the taillights of Lambert’s car in bloody streaks ….

  His mind snapped to Borneo. Shouts and screams. Rain driving in such fury it almost blinded him. He’d tried to peer through the scope, but even under the makeshift tarp, sighting the target was difficult. His spotter had been taken out, leaving Colton to finish the job on his own. Then a distant crack echoed through the deadly night. Seconds later, a limb dropped on him. A branch sliced his face. Unmoving, he waited for the enemy shooter to show himself.

  Rain rushed the path of his own blood down his face. Across his eye.

  There! He eased back the trigger, the smear of blood adding to the eerie night.

  Lightning cracked.

  Colton flinched, his attention brought back to the present. His spotter had died in a storm in Borneo eight years ago. Now, his dreams had died in a storm in Virginia.

  DAY THREE

  Saudi Arabia, 01:50:48 hours

  If you are wrong, I will kill you,” Azzan hissed into her ear as he tightened the stranglehold he had on her throat.

  Grunting, she held his arm. “If I am wrong, I beg you to kill me. But if you don’t release me, nobody will believe I brought you here.”

  Trust. A virtue an assassin didn’t have. It was a risk like everything else. “Just remember, I have the weapon.” He let her slip from his grasp.

  As they rounded yet another marble column and glided across slick floors, Azzan considered the royal beauty beside him. She had all the earmarks of a spoiled, pampered Arabian princess. Jewels, self-confidence … beauty. An inner strength that he wished he’d found in more women rather than sultry body language.

  He chided himself, his memory jogged by the fact someone had poisoned her father. This mission had grown convoluted and complicated. He’d need to swing this back to his favor soon.

  Swiftly, she made her way through the maze of halls and doors. “When we get down there, let me do the talking. You’re just a hired gun.” Her confidence reared its head again.

  Uncertainly flickered through him. Who was in control here? “Just remember who has the gun.” He gave her a curt nod, but knew the only important thing was this coup d’état.

  If he could get the old man, it’d turn his superiors on their ear. His pulse quickened while silently alarms rang through his head. What if he was walking into a trap?

  After she accessed a secure, vaultlike door, he couldn’t help but glance at her. How did she come by the codes to this facility?

  She shrugged and smiled, the sequins of her lightweight dress sparkling under the lone light. “My brothers were careless around me.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “I won’t make that mistake.” Did she understand he’d do whatever it took to get back across the border? Tamarisk wouldn’t be pleased with this diversion, especially since Azzan hadn’t called it in and this would mean a delay.

  Raiyah paused at the top of eight cement steps. “Perhaps you already have?”

  His heart jammed.

  All amusement faded from her face. “Israel,” she whispered, eyes purposeful.

  The meaning speared him: She’d betray him if he didn’t get her to Israel. Why was the daughter of a very powerful general, one who stood to command the Republican Guard in the area, so anxious to flee her homeland?

  “The old man,” he countered.

  With that, she lifted her hem and descended the steps. Azzan hovered at her elbow, mentally checking his weapon holstered at his back. Again, her diminutive fingers danced over a keypad. The door hissed open.

  After another glance at him, she entered. “Assalaam Alaikum, Taufic,” she greeted a guard sitting behind a arc-shaped desk.

  “Wa Alaikum assalaam, Raiyah.” Hesitation and concern flowed from the voice. “Why are you here?”

  Azzan slipped into the room behind her, ensuring the door stayed ajar just enough that it looked closed.

  “What is the meaning of this?” The man staggered to his feet
, his uniform buttons struggling to hold his wide girth.

  Tempted to go for his weapon when he saw the man’s hand slide toward a gun on the desk, Azzan paused as the girl stepped between them.

  “Relax, Taufic. You are far too paranoid.” She glided across the stone, her hips swaying.

  Azzan flicked his gaze to the man, noting the leer on his face. Something in Azzan twisted and nudged him to kill the man anyway.

  “Believe it or not, my family has finally decided to trust me.” She sashayed toward the man, popped out a hip, and folded her arms. “I’m to bring a prisoner back to the palace. My father is having a closed meeting and wants to parade his trophy before the others.”

  “That … Are you certain?”

  “Well, Faisal wasn’t.” She chuckled. “You should have seen him. He ranted and yelled that they could not trust the product of a village harlot. It was Hamzah who finally cajoled Faisal into relenting.”

  Taufic shook his head as he moved closer to her. “Hamzah always was soft on you.”

  “So, you’ll help?” Raiyah glanced toward the far wall, and Azzan followed her gaze. A clock. She gasped. “I’m late.” She whipped back toward the fat man. “Please help me, Taufic. You’ve always been so kind.”

  The rotund man glanced toward Azzan. “Who is he?”

  With a long glance over her bare shoulder at him, Raiyah sighed again. “General Sadik’s personal guard. They did not believe I could handle the job.” She sighed, those full lips set in a resolute pout.

  “My purpose,” Azzan interjected, “is to ensure your safety and that no one intervenes.” He pushed as much accent into his words as possible. “As you said, we are late.”

  Raiyah leaned closer, her eyes on Azzan as she whispered to the guard, “I heard he’s a skilled assassin. No doubt he can ensure the safety of the prisoner, no?”

  A smile pulled at Azzan, and he let it show, especially when the guard shifted uneasily under the news. The guard turned back to Raiyah and retrieved a ring of keys. “Who are you here for then?”

  She glanced back at Azzan. “What was his name, assassin? I forget.”

  He realized her ploy. Realized how truly incredible and intelligent the woman was. He’d never confirmed the name of the man he wanted. And this would show his hand. “Perhaps you are not equipped for this mission.”