Deliverance

by Dakota Banks

  Maliha waited for her cue to act. She hoped that Mickey had made it into the building and was up to the job, which was spotting the backup assassin. That was crucial to her plan to blame Elizabeth as the reason Maliha’s attempt failed. She would be able to say that Elizabeth had brought in the backup and screwed everything up.

  Just as she thought that the speech seemed to be winding down, a man in the audience stood up and yelled. It was Mickey. He was pointing up at the catwalk.

  “Sniper! Up there!”

  Maliha took a deep breath. The agents followed Mickey’s accusing finger. Although the sniper snatched back the barrel of his rifle quickly, the damage was done. He’d been spotted.

  The agents on the stage crowded in close around the president. Maliha pulled the scarf up, leaving only her eyes exposed, and vaulted onto the stage—not an easy task in heels. She approached the president. She’d debated using Ageless speed, but it was a recording of her running at that speed that had resulted in Arnie’s death and Yanmeng’s kidnapping. Up on the stage, there were both security and TV cameras recording everything, and cameras sweeping the audience, too. She ducked her head a bit further, trying to look like a woman with no face.

  Gunfire erupted. Two agents were firing on the sniper. Hands were pushing Millhouse down behind the podium, and she would have to go over or through the cluster of agents to reach him.

  Just what she was counting on.

  She ran at the group, yelling, “You’ve got to save the president!” and hoping they wouldn’t be too fast on the trigger. When she got close enough, she kicked aside two agents who were blocking her way, and out came the knife. She let one of the remaining agents get in front of her, and stabbed him in the shoulder with a blow that was meant for Millhouse. At least, the watcher in the audience would report it that way. Maliha had made her good faith effort to kill the president.

  She pulled the knife out and retreated fast, heading for the fire exit, mingling with the panicked people trying to get out the door. She ran in a semi-squatted position, hell on her knees but a trick that had let her escape before. With her head below the crowd’s shoulder height, it looked as though she’d vanished. The Secret Service agents were reluctant to fire into a fleeing crowd with no target identified. The agent at the fire door propped the door open rather than have people get trampled underfoot and die in their eagerness to get outside the building.

  Seconds after the stabbing onstage, Maliha was out into the night. She was running in cool, fresh air, a pleasant change from the theater space heated by five thousand bodies. People were taking off in different directions, but almost all of them were heading for nearby parking. Very soon there would be major jams in the blocks surrounding the theater. Maliha sprinted to her car, jumped in, and sped away from downtown before the jam had a chance to build.

  She had no time to lose. There was the possibility of roadblocks and searches at airports, bus, and train stations. She’d be considered an accomplice to the sniper, who was too dead to deny it, and her photo would be taken from the theater’s cameras and passed around. It had been a high-risk operation, another reason why Elizabeth hadn’t wanted to take part directly.

  An hour later, Maliha was on her way to Flagstaff. She stopped there in a darkened parking lot, waiting for Mickey to catch up to her. She wanted to meet him. She figured he’d been caught in the traffic jam and she might be there over half an hour, but was surprised when he pulled up next to her in about five minutes. He slipped out of his car and into the passenger seat of hers.

  “Pleased to meet you in person, miss,” he said. Mickey was of average height and muscular. His long gray hair was fashioned into two heavy braids that he wore in front, coming down to his chest. His face had prominent cheekbones, strong angles, and the wrinkled appearance of a man who’d spent a lot of time in the sun in his youth.

  “How did you get here so fast?” Maliha said.

  “I parked a few blocks away. When I got out of one of the fire exits, I ran for my car. It’s a rental.”

  Sounds familiar.

  “Good thinking. Hound didn’t tell me you were a Native American,” Maliha said. If they were to work together, even occasionally, she had to learn about this man.

  “Hopi tribe.”

  “It’s okay to call you Mickey?” She assumed that was a nickname.

  “Sure. I picked that up in Vietnam and it stuck.”

  “Your service was as a long-range shooter.”

  “I guess that’s what they’re calling a sniper these days.”

  “I thought the Hopi tribe were farmers. How does that fit with shooting people?” She relaxed her eyes, focused beyond him, and let his aura come into view. His aura was clean and beautiful. He had a wide band of vibrant yellow surrounding him, indicating success and wisdom, and a light blue band, meaning that he was looking for a higher purpose in his life—a path to fulfillment. Maliha could certainly relate to that. There were a few flares of white that added a special element to his aura. He was a guardian. Interestingly, there were no traces of violence from the war. When he’d killed, he’d had no regrets and the deaths hadn’t permanently marked him.

  I like this man. A lot. I can see why Hound would too.

  “We don’t all have to be farmers because it’s in our tribal history. I’m an attorney. I specialize in child abuse and rape cases. Much of my work is pro bono. I don’t have a grand lifestyle, but that doesn’t concern me. The problem is that I see cases in the courtroom after the damage or death has already taken place. I want to get out there and confront injustice as it happens and save lives.”

  “You’re not concerned that you’d be breaking the law?”

  “I’ve been an attorney for nearly thirty years. I could tell you horror stories you wouldn’t believe.”

  I doubt that.

  “The law has failed me enough times to make me cynical, I guess. I’ll do my best in the courtroom, but I want another arena to fight in too. Hound . . . well, Hound didn’t tell me a whole lot, but he hinted that you had some people who feel the same way. The work I did tonight, spotting the sniper. Piece of cake—I knew exactly what to look for, and where. But I think I helped save the president’s life, and that feels damned good. Damned good. I did see you stab an agent, but I know I’m not in on the whole plan.”

  “You were a great help, Mickey. I want you to take this.” She handed him an envelope containing twenty thousand dollars.

  “Whoa! I can’t take this. I don’t even know your name.”

  “My name’s Maliha, and consider the gift something to help you in your pro bono cases. Hire some experts or something.” He started to object, and she raised a finger to stop him. “I think we’re going to work well together. We still need to have a long talk, but it will have to wait until the case I’m working on is resolved. I’ll contact you then.”

  He was silent for a minute. “I’ve just been recruited into something, haven’t I?”

  “Not if you don’t want to be. We’ll talk about it later. I can have Hound give you a little more information.” Without all the supernatural stuff.

  “Okay. See you later, then, Maliha.” He left the car, moving with the agility of a much younger man, and drove off in his rental.

  Maliha started the car and sat for a moment before leaving the parking lot.

  Have I just recruited Yanmeng’s replacement? Have I given up?

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Hound tailed Jill as she drove to the building where Yanmeng was held. The doctor had waited for this particular night for her risky move. The nurse on duty that night, Donna, used the opportunity when the doctor was present to take a nap, figuring that nothing was going to happen to the patient while he was in the doctor’s presence. She wasn’t supposed to, but Jill never complained about the naps because she knew that the nurse had two jobs. Now that time was going to be put to good use.

  The doctor headed west on I–80 toward Joliet. She passed through an area of modern office buil
dings and turned off at one of the exits that led into an office park. At 7 P.M. most of the buildings were dark except for security lighting and widely spaced lights in the parking lot. Hound expected the doctor to turn in at one of the buildings, but she kept going. The office park ended abruptly and farmers’ fields took over. There would be corn growing in the summer, but now there was cornstalk stubble sticking up through the snow. He topped a hill and knew immediately he’d reached the place.

  Spread out in the valley below him was a compound containing a U-shaped five-story building lit up like the landing site in Close Encounters of the Third Kind.

  Holy cow. That’s some research lab.

  He used binoculars to inspect the scene, snapping pictures with the built-in digital camera as he looked around. The building was surrounded by a doughnut of buffer space—outer perimeter fencing topped with razor wire, a dead man’s zone, and then inner perimeter fencing with more razor wire. The outer fence was electrified. There were five guard towers and no part of the building’s exterior was hidden. Halogen floodlights illuminated the sides of the building. There were two security checkpoints, one outside each fence.

  I’m going to need help getting into this place. Stealth on this level isn’t my style, but it’s Maliha’s. Jake might want to go with her instead, and that’s logical, but damn it, that’s Yanmeng in there. I’m going in even if I have to crash the party.

  He watched as Jill’s gray Mercedes went through the checkpoints, had its trunk and interior searched, and was sniffed by a bomb detection dog. The second checkpoint had a gadget he hadn’t seen before, a retinal scanner built into a cup placed over the eye while the driver remained in the car.

  Looks like ringing the front doorbell isn’t a good idea. Too many details to get right.

  Once the Mercedes was parked and the doctor had entered the building, Hound didn’t have anything to do for the next several hours. Parking on the edge of the road wouldn’t work—he had no doubt that there were routine patrols and that getting caught taking pictures of the facility wouldn’t be good for his health. He went back out to the interstate and found a nearby motel. He didn’t think he’d be able to sleep, but was awakened by the doctor’s call at about four in the morning.

  “I’m done. Everything went okay. I . . .” she said.

  “Let’s not talk now. I’ll meet you where we agreed.”

  Hound met the doctor at a corner within the office park and she followed him back to his motel. He was eager for news.

  “You weren’t kidding when you said the lab has a lot of security. It’s as welcoming as a porcupine on steroids. Tell me everything,” Hound said.

  “First of all, I was right. That tracking device you suggested would have been caught right away. I’m sure the body scan would have detected it.”

  “Even if you swallowed it?”

  “Give me credit for knowing something. I do work there, after all. Anyway, I wasn’t about to have that thing in my stomach.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  “The lab I work in is only a small part of that building, on the third floor on the west side of the U. I tried hard to pay attention to where I was taken this time in the wheelchair, and if I had to take a guess, I’d say it was underground at the back of the U shape. I could be completely wrong.”

  “Underground?”

  “I’m not sure, but I think part of the basement is for utilities and the rest is finished space.”

  “I guess the right nurse was on duty?”

  She nodded. “Donna was there. She was pleased with the chance to catch some serious sleep on the cot in the storage room and was asleep within minutes. I don’t know how that woman handles it all.” Jill stopped. Her cheeks colored. She was a workaholic by choice, not necessity, and had “handled it” with drugs.

  Hound pretended he hadn’t made the connection. “Go on.”

  “I examined Yanmeng thoroughly. His wounds are healing well and his basic level of health is excellent. I saw no problem why I couldn’t lighten the sedation and let him emerge from his coma. The only questions were how long it would take and how he would act on awakening.”

  “Did he wake up?”

  “Yes. You’re getting ahead of the story. There was no brain or heart damage to begin with, and I didn’t want to cause any with a rapid transition. I was pleased that he came awake after about five hours, with minimal confusion. He was in pain so he was given a painkiller.”

  Uh-oh. If Yanmeng wasn’t mentally alert, I don’t think he could do his remote viewing thing, which was the whole point of this.

  “Was he drowsy from the painkiller?” Hound said.

  “You said you wanted him alert and he was alert. I gave him just enough to dull the pain. He’s a strong man. We’re lucky, you know. Coming out of an induced coma isn’t predictable as far as when it happens after drugs are reduced. The brain-injured can take days or weeks to emerge, there’s memory loss, confusion, and a long-term recovery process, and that’s if they’re progressing well. You haven’t explained to me why you wanted Yanmeng alert for a short time.”

  “Not at liberty to say. Did he talk to you?”

  “He did. He asked to see his wife. I told him it wasn’t possible yet, but that his friends were working to bring him home. He seemed content with that.”

  “He didn’t ask about all of his injuries?”

  “I don’t think he had enough time to comprehend that. He didn’t ask and I didn’t volunteer. When he’s awake longer, he’ll probably need counseling. Most new amputees do.”

  “I’m thinking especially those whose situation is deliberate,” Hound said. “We’ll take care of Yanmeng as soon as we can bring him home. He’ll get whatever he needs. How long was he awake?”

  “About a half hour, but he was only clearheaded for about fifteen minutes. The nursing shift changes at four, and I had to have everything back in place by then. I explained I was putting him back in a coma, and that I didn’t have a choice. He understood and said you’d better hurry up and get him out of there. It was a smooth induction.”

  “Did you remember about the EEG machine?” The electroencephalogram reading would leave a record of brain wave activity that wasn’t consistent with a coma. Looking at the activity would show that Yanmeng had had an interesting night.

  “I brought the printout with me, and I erased the last twelve hours on the hard drive.”

  “Any cameras or voice bugs?” Hound had given her a lesson in what to look for, but there were so many variations it would take an expert to be sure.

  “I looked carefully. I don’t think there’s any record of what goes on in that suite. I doubt that the man who employed me wants a record made, because it’s clearly illegal.”

  Hound didn’t bother to explain to her that the only one caught doing illegal things on camera would be her. There might be a camera in spite of her search. What happened in there would make good blackmail material to keep Jill quiet.

  “Will you do what you promised now?” the doctor said.

  Hound nodded. She’d held up her end of the deal. He’d told her that if a settlement of her malpractice suit out of court was possible at all, he and his friends could get it for her. They’d even pay off the fine that resulted, in return for her promise never to use drugs while practicing medicine.

  Now all I have to do is convince Maliha to go along with the plan. Paying a multimillion-dollar fine would put a serious dent in my . . . everything.

  “We’ll get to work on it. Remember, I’ll be watching you. Don’t think you’re getting a free pass for all you’ve done.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Maliha was passing through the wind farms on her way back to Chicago in the middle of the night when something astonishing happened. She felt Yanmeng’s sweet touch on her shoulder. He was remote viewing her.

  She was so unprepared for it, and so overwhelmed with emotion, that she swerved the Zonda onto the shoulder of the highway at ninety miles per hour. She foug
ht to keep the car under control as she slowed down enough to pull back into her lane without flipping. The nearest vehicle behind her was a semi, about a quarter mile back. She put on her emergency flashers and pulled over in a controlled fashion.

  The touch came again, a little stronger, as tears rolled down her cheeks.

  Alive, alive, alive! Oh, my friend . . .

  There was a knock on her window. Glancing in her rearview mirror, she noticed the truck’s headlights. The driver had pulled off on the shoulder behind her.

  “Somethin’ I can do for ya, miss? You got car trouble?”

  Maliha didn’t roll down her window. She had to be cautious even though he seemed sincere. “No problem. Everything’s okay. Thanks for stopping.”

  “Should I call the Highway Patrol?”

  “No. Really.”

  “I seen you go off the road. I got some hot coffee if you want it.”

  She shook her head. “I appreciate what you’re doing, but I’m fine. I’m going to ask you to leave now.”

  “Whatever you say. Just tryin’ to help.”

  She watched him walk away and turned her attention back to Yanmeng. She had the feeling she was wasting precious time.

  Yanmeng tapped her on the shoulder several times. It seemed clear he wanted to tell her something, but how? There was no exchange of thoughts. Maliha had a flash of inspiration. Yanmeng had been able to move his son Xietai’s blade when it was descending on Maliha’s back. If he could deflect that powerful blow, he could move Maliha’s hand when she was cooperative.

  She looked around for something to write on and spotted her briefcase. Turning on the car’s interior light, she scrambled for something that would write boldly on the light tan leather. Nothing was available, so she propped her left arm on a jacket and cut a gash with a knife. Dipping her finger in the blood, she wrote the alphabet on the side of the briefcase, forming every third letter and leaving the rest as dashes to save time and blood. She wrote the numbers zero through nine, and made two circles, one with “yes” inside and the other with “no.”