[Betrayed 01.0] 30 Pieces of Silver

by Carolyn McCray

  “There’s no way she can walk or even—”

  Brandt didn’t argue with the private, he just grabbed Bunny, throwing the unconscious woman over his shoulder. “Go!”

  Davidson tugged Lochum up the stairs. After his outburst had been contained, the professor had gone back into his stupor. Tying the shredded pieces of her shirt together, Rebecca salvaged what bones she could, then grabbed the professor’s other arm. Together, they carried the old man.

  Brandt fired behind them the entire time.

  Svengurd slowed as he reached the fifth-floor landing. A friendly, green-glowing sign announced in both English and French that it was an exit. A beloved exit. Just five feet and they would be out of this shooting gallery. But after what happened on the fourth floor, those were a treacherous five feet.

  “What do we do?” Davidson asked his sergeant.

  When an answer did not immediately come, Rebecca looked at the sergeant. For the first time since she had met him, Brandt didn’t look certain what to do next.

  Crap.

  They must be totally screwed.

  * * *

  The broken look on Rebecca’s face didn’t make Brandt’s decision any easier. It wasn’t like he didn’t know what he should do. He just didn’t want to do it. He should have Svengurd keep his weapon, Davidson should carry the redhead, and Monroe should take the professor. But that would slow Rebecca down significantly, and the shit was about to hit the fan.

  Brandt already had one injured woman draped over his shoulder, her blood soaking through his shirt. Her cries had died down to tiny whimpers. Each time Bunny moaned, Brandt imagined what if that had been Rebecca.

  Damn it, this was exactly why women weren’t allowed in combat. They slowed you down. Not because of any inherent physical weakness, but because of men’s reluctance to place them in harm’s way. The rule was, you never broke routine. Never. But here he stood, ticking away precious seconds, worrying about Rebecca’s safety.

  Screw it. He had to go with his gut.

  “Everybody down!”

  Firing across the landing, he took out the roof door’s lock. Unlatched, the metal door slowly swung open to an empty roof. Lopez was not there yet, but Brandt wasn’t worried. The corporal would make it.

  Either that, or they were all dead.

  Turning to his men, Brandt could feel the command back in his voice. “Davidson, can your shoulder support Bunny?” Off the private’s curt nod, he handed the injured woman over. “Svengurd, you’ll go first with Lochum.”

  There was a brief moment of confusion on his point man’s face, but he took the professor from Monroe regardless.

  “All right, we’re going across in waves. Svengurd and Lochum first. Davidson and Bunny next. Monroe, you will go across with my cover, then Davidson will provide suppression fire while I cross.”

  Shots came from below. He returned the courtesy.

  “Let’s move.”

  Svengurd wrapped one arm around the professor’s waist, then draped Lochum’s arm around his own shoulder. “Ready.”

  At as fast a sprint as possible with a nearly comatose man at your side, Svengurd made it across the landing and burst onto the roof. Brandt fired down the stairwell as Davidson made the same trek with Bunny slung over his good shoulder. The hallway door stayed dark and quiet. No explosions. No surprises. Maybe they would make it out of this after all.

  He grabbed the doctor’s arm, making sure she took in each and every one of his words. “Don’t stop. Don’t look back. No matter what happens, I want you at a full run out of here. Understood?”

  She gulped, then nodded. “See you on the flip side?”

  A grin flickered on his lips. She referenced an old surfer term used before riding a really big wave. “Hang ten.”

  Rebecca grinned back, then worry covered her face.

  He squeezed her arm. “Full run.”

  To her credit, the doctor didn’t hesitate. With the small sack over her back and low to the ground, Monroe sprinted across the landing. Just as she crossed the threshold, the hallway door exploded, throwing her clear. Brandt however was slammed against the railing, but that was okay. He was prepared. He had positioned himself against the metal railing so it could brace him during his recovery. Firing into the smoke-filled doorway, he checked on Rebecca, but she hesitated, looking back.

  “Go!”

  Then the one thing he couldn’t have planned for happened. His body arched in pain as the railing became electrified. He shot into the ceiling as his fingers jerked against the trigger. Pain narrowed his vision. Brandt couldn’t stop as he flopped onto the landing. Even though the voltage was cut off, he could still feel his heart racing way too fast. It took conscious effort to keep his diaphragm breathing in and out. His muscles bunched upon themselves.

  And worse, Rebecca hadn’t moved. He tried to yell, but his throat locked up as two men stepped through the smoky doorway, one short, the other tall. The point man just stared over at Monroe as the taller man held a gun upon the sergeant. The armed man spoke, but Brandt’s teeth chattered too violently to hear clearly.

  Why wasn’t the man shooting him?

  The pain was a bitch-and-a-half, and if he was going to die, Brandt would rather it be sooner than later.

  * * *

  Rebecca was frozen in place. The two men who had emerged from the building were like parts to a whole. Despite being unarmed, the shorter man, Tok, was clearly in charge. His bone structure spoke of Middle Eastern descent, but his eyes were more Asiatic. But there was something odder than his mixed heritage. The man’s lips didn’t move, yet the man who identified himself as Petir clearly spoke his employer’s words. It would have been an intriguing interdependency study if they weren’t threatening Brandt’s life.

  She couldn’t look at the sergeant. Whatever pain a bullet might cause didn’t compare to your body betraying you, jerking beyond your control.

  “The bones for his life,” Petir reiterated. Unlike his boss, there was nothing at all contradictory in his stature. This older man descended from the Nile region. His nose alone told the story of his ancestry. More than that, his face was wizened. Rebecca did not think she had ever used that term before, but just a few feet away was the dictionary example of the word. But in what language did wizened translate into cruel?

  Cocking the gun, Petir spoke more forcefully. “Tok will not offer again.”

  “Don’t…” Brandt’s voice brimmed with pain. “They’ll just—”

  “Kill me, then you anyway,” Rebecca finished for him. “Yeah, I’d kind of figured that out already.”

  Behind her she could hear the beat of rotors. How Lopez had not only found but stolen a helicopter at nine o’clock at night in downtown Paris, Rebecca didn’t know, but escape became reality, not just some theoretical hope. The sergeant’s master plan had been set in motion, but it fell to her to find some way to execute it.

  “His blood is on your hands, then,” Petir aimed at Brandt.

  “No! Wait!” She screamed and took a step forward.

  The older man’s eyes flickered to Tok, then back to her. “The bones.”

  She remembered Brandt’s last orders to his men. Rebecca could only hope they followed them. Taking a slight step to the left, she unblocked the doorway. The private better be as good as she thought he was.

  Rebecca’s eyes met the sergeant’s gaze. “Be ready.”

  Petir’s eyes squinted. “For what?”

  To see Davidson in action, Rebecca thought as she tossed the bag toward Tok, then ducked. A bullet flew past her ear and hit the bastard square in the chest as he bent over to pick up the bones. Tok stumbled back, clearly wearing a bulletproof vest or he would have been dead. Another shot rang out, this time clipping Tok in the shoulder.

  Just as Rebecca had hoped, Petir turned his attention to his fallen employer, leaving her a window. Scrambling over, Rebecca grabbed Brandt by the collar and dragged him out. Crouching as bullets flew over her head, forcing the tw
o men back into the hallway, her feet churned backward, getting as much distance as possible between them and the stairwell.

  The helicopter hovered a few feet above the roof as Svengurd helped her load Brandt. Once he was aboard, the corporal pulled her aboard as the helicopter veered left to avoid their assailants’ fire. Bullets peppered the helicopter’s side. Rebecca tumbled onto the deck as Davidson took down another two gunmen, but they were still outnumbered. Finally, Lopez careened the chopper over the side of the building, taking them out of range.

  When they actually reached safety, Rebecca let out a choking sob. Bunny lay bleeding to death. Lochum just sat there, clutching the femur to his chest like a child might their favorite doll. And Brandt. His lips were blue-tinged as his breath came in ragged gasps.

  Anger rose. How could this have happened?

  Out the helicopter’s door, the Eiffel Tower glistened in the clear night. Despite the bombing and all the blood, it twinkled like nothing ugly had happened. Like her world hadn’t been shattered.

  Fuck gay Paree.

  CHAPTER 9

  Skies above Paris

  Brandt could hear the angry words, but couldn’t comprehend the argument taking place between his men. It took nearly all his focus to keep his chest moving up and down, but he somehow lifted his head.

  “What’re you—?” A harsh cough prevented him from finishing the question. He had seen men electrocuted. Their lungs were like meat jelly. They drowned in their own secretions. Brandt was not one of them, though. He couldn’t be.

  Davidson looked up from Bunny’s bloody wounds. “We’re trying to decide which hospital to take her to.”

  “Near airport,” Brandt croaked out.

  Svengurd snorted. “That’s what I said. We’ve gotta evac.”

  “She’s not going to make it,” Monroe stated.

  The sergeant’s eyes flickered to Davidson, who confirmed the doctor’s assessment. All their lives versus the redhead’s. No wonder they were arguing.

  Brandt forced himself up onto one elbow. “How far?”

  Lopez had to yell over the rotor wash. “They’re on opposite sides of the city. It’ll only take a few minutes to get to the closest hospital, but it’ll delay us getting back to the airport at least fifteen minutes, if not more.”

  “But that’s the first place they’re going to look,” Svengurd added.

  Brandt’s head swam as he tried to rise into a sitting position. There was no good answer. Probably if he hadn’t been roused, the men would have chosen the hospital near the airport. Svengurd was the most practical. Lopez would have wanted to get as far away from the firefight as possible, as quickly as possible. Davidson would have been the only holdout. Maybe that’s why he liked the kid so much.

  “Land it.”

  The chopper banked immediately. Lopez might have disagreed with him, but the corporal fulfilled his orders without hesitation. Brandt leaned his head against the side of the helicopter, glancing over to Monroe. The doctor gave a tight smile, then mouthed the words, “thank you.” His eyes moved to the redhead, who choked up bright red blood. The sergeant wasn’t so sure there was anything to be thankful for just yet.

  Closing his weighted eyelids, Brandt concentrated on his breathing again. In and out. In and out. The pain seemed to diminish if he took small, short breaths. Tasking one part of his brain to keep his breath regular, the sergeant began formulating a cover story for when they arrived at the hospital.

  He wasn’t sure if he had dozed off or if Lopez was just that quick, but the chopper’s landing gear, bouncing off the hospital’s rooftop, woke Brandt. Not thinking, he pushed himself upright, then regretted the instinct. His head swam, but he kept his footing as the hospital’s emergency personnel rushed onto the helipad.

  Fuck. He had no cover story prepped. Arriving in a shot-up television helicopter was going to take some explaining.

  Before Brandt could get to the door, Monroe attempted to speak French to the hospital workers, but it clearly wasn’t going too well.

  “Obviously Cambodian French is not quite the same as Parisian,” Rebecca said as she tried to reiterate her point to the nurses.

  This could be a disaster if none of them spoke the language. Between the members of his team they were versed in seven different languages with another five dialects, but what covert operative needed to know French?

  So far the medical staff focused on the redhead’s condition, but no matter the emergency, they were starting to throw quizzical glances to the bullet holes and strange company. Five men with a bloody woman and another spouting garbled French were sure to get a visit from security at any minute.

  Then Lochum brushed past him, rattling off orders in crisp French. The staff immediately snapped to attention as if the director of the hospital himself had just emerged from the helicopter. All their energies were redirected to Bunny rather than the odd circumstances of her arrival.

  “What’s he saying?” he asked Monroe, who was studying the conversation closely.

  She listened for another second before responding. “I’m pretty sure he’s telling them we’re an international crew working on the Eiffel Tower story when another explosion occurred.”

  “You’re pretty sure?”

  Monroe shrugged. “Either that or he is ordering sashimi. Like I said, it’s not Cambodian French.”

  How a guy who had only been semi-coherent a few moments ago could weave such a believable story was close to amazing, but Brandt would take it. Within seconds the medical staff whisked the redhead away, leaving them alone on the roof.

  The sergeant leaned toward his men. It was the best he could do, as his leg muscles were still trembling. “All right, let’s head out.”

  “Problem with that, Sarge,” Lopez stated as he climbed back into the chopper. “We’re leaking fuel. Bad.”

  Shit. Could nothing roll in their favor?

  “You can double our ETA to the airport if we have to go to ground,” Lopez added.

  Brandt’s eyes darted to his watch. They were dangerously close to missing the last flight out for London. Fuck. He could normally process situations faster than this. His mind wanted to whirl, but he just did not have the RPMs yet. He looked out over the roof. On the other helipad was a medical transport helicopter.

  With a smile, he turned to Lopez. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

  The corporal grinned back. “Oh, yeah.”

  “I’ll go round up some medical uniforms,” Svengurd said as he moved toward the roof door.

  “Don’t forget the cooler,” Davidson shouted before Svengurd disappeared into the hospital.

  When Brandt turned back to Monroe, she was obviously confused. “What just happened?”

  Oh, he almost felt back to normal. “You’ll see.”

  * * *

  As their second helicopter within an hour lifted from the roof, Rebecca sat deeper into her seat. The doctor thought if she could just sink deep enough and feel, really feel, the steel beneath her, she would feel anchored. Because right now she was unhinged. Two ambushes in a day could do that to a girl.

  But what did she do when she felt out of control? What always made her feel better?

  Pulling out her laptop, Rebecca got back to work. In such a short time, Lochum had relayed an immense amount of information. She needed to correlate her own work with these new findings.

  As Rebecca went to type, she found the keys moist and sticky. But the keys weren’t the problem.It was her fingers. Had she gotten oil on them? Then she realized blood was smeared all over her hands.

  Bunny’s blood.

  Frantically wiping her palms against her pants, Rebecca felt panic swell. Images flooded her head: Bunny being blown into the air, slamming against the cement ceiling, then falling back to the floor. Just like Yerato falling down the bank, Rebecca would never get that picture out of her head.

  Rebecca looked over to Lochum. The professor just stared straight ahead. He was like a golem who had life bre
athed into him on the roof, but then returned to his mud-like existence. How could he not care? How could he just sit there when his lover had just been whisked to the ICU?

  But then she realized that the professor actually cared about Bunny. You didn’t go into shock unless it mattered. It was hard to stomach, but her arrogant, aloof professor was having the most human response of any of them. Here she had gone back to work within seconds of sending Bunny off. Glancing about the helicopter, she found Davidson cleaning his weapon. Lopez must have his earbuds in, as his head swayed to some unknown rhythm as he flew the chopper. Brandt and Svengurd were huddled over their new equipment, talking animatedly. Life as usual for everyone but Lochum.

  He looked lost—probably because he was lost. His only companion had been stripped from him. It looked as though he hadn’t taken his own advice. Her professor had become invested in someone other than himself.

  Long ago, Lochum had taught her that she could rely on only herself. Almost to prove the point, he had screwed her over royally, publishing her findings under his name. After leaving his program and his bed, Rebecca had taken the lesson very, very seriously.

  She adopted the life of a nomad. Putting down no roots, keeping an arm’s length from her students, changing universities like worn-out slippers, Rebecca had created the perfect life, alone. No one to hurt you.

  Frowning, Rebecca realized that life on the outside also meant no one guarded your back. Her eyes flitted to Brandt. Even though it was just his job, he had saved her life, a couple of times over. In such a limited span of time, she had come to depend on it. To see him sprawled on the ground, helpless, had unmoored her. And she hated the feeling of uncertainty. The sensation of being swept along by events beyond her control. That she actually relied on someone outside of herself.

  Lochum had fallen short of his ideal, but she could accomplish it. That brief sense of camaraderie paled in comparison to this feeling of almost desperate need.

  Going back to her laptop, she could feel the science soothing her once again. A girl and her computer. That was the life.