by CJ Lyons
No, The Preacher was good, but not that good. No way he could have planned for all this, coordinate a kidnap attempt while in custody. He was just trying to rattle Lucky.
“I’m out of here.” Lucky called his bluff. “Let me know when you want to have a serious conversation—starting with your real name.”
“You’ll be getting a phone call shortly, Agent Cavanaugh.” The Preacher seemed unfazed, settled himself into a more comfortable position on his cot. “Then we’ll talk more—starting with your apology to me.”
Lucky took an involuntary step toward the prisoner. He grabbed The Preacher’s hospital gown and twisted the neck tight, forcing The Preacher to raise his head and face him.
“If anything happens,” he sputtered, unable to control his fury any longer, “if one hair on her head—”
The door opened behind him, then strong arms yanked him away from The Preacher, hauling him from the room. The Preacher’s laughter followed him out, mocking him until the door stopped it.
The State Trooper released Lucky, and he stalked down the hall. Rose’s footsteps echoed his, her hand steered him into a small, empty break room.
“I’m not going back in there,” Lucky started. “I won’t be responsible for anything that happens if I do.”
He paced the length of the room, kicking several innocent chairs out of his way and spun on his heel. “Where’s Vinnie?” he demanded. “I want to see her, talk to her. Now!”
Before Rose could answer, the hospital operator paged him overhead, alerting him to a call. Lucky blew his breath out in relief. It was Vinnie, he hoped. He grabbed the receiver from the wall.
“This is Cavanaugh.”
“Agent Cavanaugh, we’re acquaintances of the man you met on top of Lost River Mountain. We have a friend of yours here with us.”
The words hit Lucky with the force of a grenade detonating. His stomach clenched as he fought to keep his composure. He turned his back, hid his face from Rose.
“Go ahead, put her on.” To his relief, Rose moved to the door. “It’s Vinnie,” he mouthed to her with a fake smile. She nodded, leaving him in the privacy of his own personal hell.
“Sorry, not how it works,” the voice continued. “You bring us our friend, in good health and alone, then we’ll give you your friend.”
Lucky slammed the flat of his palm into the wall, didn’t even feel the impact. “I’m not doing anything until I know she’s alive.”
The long silence on the other end ate its way into Lucky’s gut.
“We’ll call you back in ten minutes,” the voice finally conceded.
The line went dead, and with it Lucky’s hope died as well.
CHAPTER 41
Rose leaned against the break room door, shamelessly eavesdropping. Damn, she’d known The Preacher still had something up his sleeve. She moved away to a private corner in an empty exam room and pulled out her cell phone.
“Theresa,” she said into the phone, “I need a dump on the call that came in here three minutes ago. Also, start monitoring all in-coming calls to the hospital and give me an update on the Troopers who were escorting Vinnie Ryan.”
Rose waited, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She couldn’t believe she was contemplating this, Billy would tell her she was crazy—but what the hell good was doing this job if she couldn’t protect her own people?
Theresa returned with no good news. The State Troopers had arrived at the diner to find Vinnie already gone, no one knew where. The call had come from a gas station in Hancock, Maryland. Pay phone.
Rose thought furiously. Obviously The Preacher would want Lucky to break him free.
She knew Lucky, he’d do it to save Vinnie. Even though it meant freeing the man who planned the deaths of thousands. Even though The Preacher would probably kill both Lucky and Vinnie in the end.
Lucky would feel compelled to try. It was one of the things Rose liked best about the ATF agent, his unwillingness to ever give up.
He’d need a vehicle, a way to get past the guards. And Rose was going to give Lucky everything he needed.
“Theresa, put a trace on my car and start monitoring it,” she ordered the communications tech as she sped down the hall to the room where EZ and Hollywood were analyzing the hard drive. “My eyes only. Understand?”
“Yes ma’am.”
Rose opened the door to the exam room that had been converted into a temporary computer lab. EZ had his equipment spread out over two gurneys, sat on a wheeled stool between them, his hands darting back and forth. Hollywood leaned over the back of a gurney, reading data as it sped across a monitor.
“How’s it look?” Rose asked.
“You were right on the money,” Hollywood said. “We’ve got enough here to cripple more than a dozen terrorist organizations.”
“Do we have enough specifics to halt any raids planned for the next few days?” Rose might be contemplating treason, but not at the price of innocent lives.
“Yeah, I’ve already given most of the critical intel to Billy, he’s on it.”
Rose nodded, relieved that if her plan backfired, at least she’d still be able to stop the bloodshed planned for tonight.
“Pack up, we’re leaving.” She looked at the two. Hollywood drove a Porsche, but EZ had a shiny new Avalanche that would be no problem in the snow. “EZ, did you drive?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I want you and Hollywood to go with the Troopers. We can’t risk anything happening to that intel. Give me your keys, I’ll send someone with your truck.”
He did a double take at her request, started to protest allowing anyone to drive his “baby,” but she stopped him with a glare. He fished his car keys out of his pocket and tossed them to her.
“See you back at the ranch,” she said, leaving them to pack.
After a quick stop at her car, Rose raced back to the isolation room where The Preacher was being held. She had time for a short conversation with the two Troopers before her phone rang again.
Lucky knew from the onset the risks of getting a civilian involved. But he hadn’t considered the risks of falling in love with the civilian in question. Or how much he was willing to sacrifice for her safety. His fingers clenched the phone as if it was a lifeline.
Taking The Preacher out of custody, negotiating with the kidnappers—it was all totally against regulations. He would lose his job, be prosecuted under the Patriot Act for treason. Maybe face the death penalty if convicted.
Better than facing the certainty of Vinnie’s death.
The Preacher would try to kill both of them once the exchange was made. A slow and painful death, if The Preacher had his way.
Lucky’s fingers clenched the plastic receiver, willing it to ring. He was not going to let that happen. Not to Vinnie. No matter the cost.
The phone rang. Lucky squeezed his eyes shut and blew out his breath before answering. Had to get this right the first time. “Cavanaugh.”
“Lucky?” came Vinnie’s voice. “Don’t do it—”
He winced as she cried out in pain. “Vinnie, are you all right?”
“She’ll be fine as long as you do what we say.” A man’s voice replaced Vinnie’s.
“If you hurt her—” Cruel laughter interrupted Lucky’s empty threat.
“We’ll have fun doing it,” the voice said in a tone that chilled Lucky to the marrow. “But you have our guarantee of her safety if you do as instructed. Meet us in two hours. You and our friend, alone.”
“You have to give me more time. The roads aren’t clear, and I have to find a car, get him out of custody—”
“Then you’d best hurry if you want to see your friend alive.”
Another click. The hiss of empty silence came from the phone.
Lucky left the break room, debating on his first move.
Rose was standing in the hallway, waiting for him. Damn, how was he going to face her, knowing that he was about to betray the trust she’d placed in him? Betray everything he once t
hought important to him.
Before he could say anything, she pulled a set of car keys from her pocket. “I’ll bet you’re dying to get out of those clothes, get some rest,” she told him. “Your mom would have my hide if I didn’t get you home as soon as possible. Why don’t you take my car? It’s all wheel drive, won’t give you a problem in the snow.”
“Thanks, Rose.” He didn’t have to fake his yawn as he pocketed the keys. “I’ll take you up on that. You guys ready to get The Preacher out of here?” He looked down the hallway and was pleased to see that only one Trooper remained on guard.
“Securing the path to the helipad as we speak. You saved a lot of lives today, Lucky.” She touched his arm.
Lucky turned away before she saw his expression. Damn, he hated himself for doing this. To her, to everyone at STR.
“Thanks, Rose.”
She started down the hall toward the elevator bank, but looked over her shoulder. “Take care of yourself.”
He gave her a nod and wave and watched her disappear from sight. Armed with Rose’s car keys, he approached the Trooper guarding the door to the isolation room.
“Time to go,” he told the guard in a voice of authority. “Please secure the prisoner for transport.”
The guard nodded, unlocked the door and turned his back on Lucky to approach The Preacher. Lucky shut the door behind them, watched as the guard removed the handcuff key from his belt and leaned over to unlock The Preacher from the gurney.
While the guard’s hands were occupied, Lucky sprang forward and grabbed the guard’s weapon.
“What the hell?” The guard whirled around, fist cocked, but Lucky was out of reach.
“Cuff the prisoner’s arms in front,” he instructed, amazed at how steady his voice was. He raised the Smith and Wesson forty-five caliber revolver, the gun feeling heavy in his hand. The guard complied without arguing, his expression venomous. “Now give me the key and cuff yourself to the gurney.”
The Preacher slid off the hospital bed and joined Lucky, watching in approval as the guard took his place, helpless on the bed.
“I’m waiting for your apology to me, Agent Cavangaugh,” he said. “Killing him would be a good start.”
The guard blanched.
“Go to hell,” Lucky told The Preacher, training the gun on him. “Better yet, you make one wrong move, and I’ll send you there.”
The Preacher smiled. “Be careful Agent Cavanaugh. Think what any harm to me would mean for Mrs. Ryan.” He jangled his handcuffs. “Release me.”
Lucky shook his head. “Not until Vinnie is safe. Let’s go.”
CHAPTER 42
Vinnie tried to convince herself that it was all a dream. The nightmarish trip in the trunk of a car, climbing through freezing railway tunnels and maintenance shafts, then being forced to slide through a brick culvert lined with steam pipes and populated with rats that she couldn’t see although the skitter of their claws echoed all around her.
But this was no dream. One of her captors hauled her out of the culvert and propelled her down a rusting iron ladder. They had removed the handcuffs so that she could make the journey, but there were now three of them, all armed.
Odds that someone like KC might enjoy, but three men with guns aimed at her brought home the ugly truth that she wasn’t going to make it back home to her mountain. Never again.
Icy water dripped on her head from above. The echo of its splashing on the ground made it sound as if it came from a long distance away. As if she was buried far below the ground. The men wore headlamps, but she had none, and so moved in a world of half shadow.
All she could think about was finding some way to stop this before Lucky arrived. She knew what The Preacher would do to him, just as The Preacher’s men had explained to her in exquisite detail what fate awaited Vinnie.
One of them had to get out of this alive.
Bright lights flared to life. Vinnie looked around her new prison. It was a railroad tunnel. An old one, unused for a while by the looks of the grime-streaked graffiti and the water stained stone walls.
More water dripped from somewhere in the darkness overhead, forming large puddles on the tracks. Several portable work lights hung by bright orange electrical cords, illuminating two freight cars.
The cars were both cylindrical, painted a cheerful sky blue with yellow happy-faces on them. A cartoonish tongue licked a white mustache and the caption, “got milk?” was lettered below.
Vinnie didn’t think The Preacher had gone to all this trouble to hide two milk cars below the city. “What’s in the freight cars?”
Her guards exchanged looks and grinned. “Come and see.”
“You were asking about my fascination with chlorine gas,” The Preacher said as they took the exit off I-395.
“It was supposed to be a contingency plan, but given our recent difficulties in obtaining the weapons we needed,” he glared at Lucky who was responsible for a lot of those recent difficulties, “you’ll get a chance to see it in action.”
Why didn’t Lucky like the sound of that?
They were just south of the Capitol. Two ninety-ton tankers of chlorine could potentially wipe out close to a million people if released here in the heart of the city. But hazardous waste shipments were halted days before the State of the Union. Maybe The Preacher was bluffing.
If so, then where were those two tankers that went missing two weeks ago?
“We’re going to have to walk from here,” The Preacher said, pulling the car into a vacant lot surrounded by chain link fence.
Two men emerged from behind a dumpster, TEC-9s in their hands. Lucky raised his own gun, the bulky revolver looked obsolete compared with the sleek modified automatics, but it was just as deadly at this range.
He opened his door but remained in his seat. “Where’s Vinnie?”
“We’ll take you to her.”
Lucky shook his head. He had a bad feeling about this. He accepted the fact that he wasn’t coming out of this alive, but he wanted Vinnie where he could see her, where he could make certain that she got out of this in one piece.
“I told you,” The Preacher said in that “I’m perfectly sane and rational” voice of his that Lucky was really beginning to hate, “we have to walk from here.”
“Do I look stupid to you? I want to see Vinnie and I want to see her now!” Lucky twisted in his seat, raised his gun and touched it to The Preacher’s temple. “You have until the count of three.”
Rose hugged the shadows of the alley, one of her Berettas trained on the men with guns.
Lucky’s damsel in distress was nowhere to be seen. The Preacher playing games again. An exchange here in the open was too much to ask for, she knew it couldn’t be that easy.
One of the men handed his weapon to his partner and held his hands high, revealing a cell phone. He approached Lucky’s side of the car, holding the phone out so that Lucky could see it. Presumably he had a photo of Vinnie Ryan or Lucky could hear her voice, because Lucky motioned the man aside as he left the car, pulling The Preacher across the front seats with him.
Lucky motioned for the two men to lead. He’d ditched the sling and swath, she saw. All of Shunderson’s work gone to waste. Lucky hooked his arm through The Preacher’s right arm, his gun never wavering from The Preacher’s vital organs. They climbed through a hole in the chain link fence, a pair of awkward Siamese twins.
After giving Theresa a heads up that she’d be out of radio contact, Rose followed. If what she’d overheard from Lucky and The Preacher’s conversation in the car was true, then the game had just gone into sudden death overtime.
There was no way they could evacuate the entire Metro DC area in time to avoid casualties if those tankers blew.
Suddenly Rose, a wounded ATF agent, and a civilian wildlife biologist had become the Capitol’s best hope to survive this day.
CHAPTER 43
As they navigated the dark passages leading to the railroad tracks, Lucky grew increasingly nervo
us about Vinnie’s chances of getting out of this alive.
He’d have to buy her enough time to make her way back to the surface before The Preacher’s men caught her. Which meant taking as many of them down with him as possible.
The two men, Bert and Ernie he decided to call them, led them across the main freight line and into a neglected side tunnel.
“Spur tracks,” The Preacher supplied helpfully. “Not used in years, nobody comes here anymore.”
Twenty feet into the dark passage the pylons that indicated regular maintenance vanished. The only signs of life were the neon street art and discarded spray cans. The rails ran about ten feet below the concrete ledge they walked on, water dripped from the overflowing storm drains of the city streets above. The headlamps of the two men in front lit the way until they rounded a corner and several lights could be seen in the distance.
He tried to gauge how far they’d traveled. Probably close to D Street by now, not far from the Capitol.
They emerged into a wider cavern, and he saw two tanker cars sitting together on the tracks. Their garish blue and yellow paint gleamed in the light of bare bulbs hanging precariously from stretched electrical cords that festooned the walls and hung from the ceiling like leftover Christmas decorations.
Lucky took in the water dripping from the cords, streaming down the walls and puddling onto the tracks. Maybe something to work with. Better than taking a chance with a stray bullet puncturing one of the tankers. Because he sure as hell didn’t believe those tankers got milk.
He tugged The Preacher to a halt when he spotted Vinnie. Arms stretched above her, her wrists handcuffed to the top rung of the second tanker’s ladder, she raised her head to look at him. That was when he saw the collar fastened around her neck. An electric collar used to train animals.
No doubt modified by The Preacher, just as he had converted a stun gun into the instrument of Lucky’s torture last month.