by Joni Hahn
A loud, metal clunk sounded above them, startling Clint. Staring up at the ceiling, he realized it wasn’t directly overhead but had echoed from down the tunnel. Mark took off at a fast trot. Clint cursed in his head and followed. The idiot was going to get himself killed.
Catching up to him, he grabbed Mark’s arm from behind and did a slicing motion across his throat. Holding up a gun in one hand and a hunting knife in the other, Mark cocked a brow.
Clint took a deep breath and let it out. If the situation wasn’t so serious, he’d laugh aloud.
The noise came again. This time, it sounded like it hit the ground, then traveled with a hum along the length of the ceiling. Although he’d only descended one floor back at the house, they must’ve descended further into the earth, the tunnel angled at a slight slope. He guessed they were about twenty feet underground at the lowest point.
He checked his phone. No signal.
Clint whispered in the darkness. “If we run into trouble, I want you to head back to the house and get the police.”
“But—”
“No buts,” Clint said, cutting him off. “We’re trapped in here. We’re going to need help.”
“Okay.” Mark’s voice held a note of disappointment.
Several feet down the tunnel, the sound stopped with a clunk. He waited. Listening.
Nothing.
Tapping him on the shoulder, Mark pointed over their heads. Clint nodded.
Running now, they rounded another corner and spotted light shining down into the tunnel from the ceiling. Approaching it with caution, Clint closed the photo on the phone, leaving them in the dark, save for the ray of light from the hole. Stepping closer, he saw it was actually a hole in the floor above. He heard someone rummaging around in the area.
Looking into the hole at an angle, he couldn’t make out anything but a man’s feet in a pair of dusty, hiking boots. He moved around the room, boots shuffling on the grimy surface, granules crunching against the ceiling above them.
The butt of a rifle appeared in the opening and dropped to the ground, the crash resounding in the narrow cavern. Him and Mark backed against each wall, out of the way. Another rifle followed, then another, a variety of guns, ammunition, and knives dropping through the opening in quick succession.
A backpack dropped, kicking up a cloud of dust. Clint covered his mouth. Mark coughed before slapping a hand over his mouth, his eyes wide. The footsteps stopped overhead. He and Mark backed further into the darkness.
“Who’s there?”
Curse words rebounded in Clint’s head, while Mark stood with his back against the wall, his eyes squeezed shut. A flashlight beam appeared in the opening, flipping up then around the area. They backed farther down the tunnel, in the direction they’d come.
“I said, who’s there?” The deep voice sounded aggravated, curious.
They didn’t move.
The feet moved again overhead. A minute later, a bundle of dynamite dropped into the tunnel, on top of the weapons. Clint’s heart shot to gallop, his eyes connecting with Mark’s across the space.
He heard the flip of the lighter. The flame flickered brightly as it dropped on top of the pile.
“Oh, shit…”
Clint’s heart pounded against his ribs as he raced down the tunnel, in the opposite direction of Mark. The faint scent of burning plastic carried to his nose, the taste of dirt on his tongue. He had to find an alcove or room, or he’d be dead in seconds.
The sizzle chased him around the bend, his legs moving faster than they ever had before. Why was someone destroying weapons? It didn’t make any sense. They would need them now, more than ever.
The tunnel got darker the farther he ran. He raced with his arms outstretched, feeling for any change in the surface of the wall. He’d come to the farm, knowing he would die here.
He’d just hoped to free the others first.
He heard the first stick ignite. His hand caught on air. He dove into the space, just as the explosion erupted.
* * *
Keegan teleported into the woods outside of the farm, Angela at her back. Thank God for the D.I.R.E. Agency chief’s wife. She knew more about Keegan’s enhancements than Keegan did. She’d shown her how to teleport someone at her back and had located the gloves Aidan used to boost his electrical conduction. Keegan wore them now, along with one of the men’s Kevlar suits. Angela and Monica wore the spandex suits, too, giving them some sense of safety.
Considering Clint had left immediately after her install, she thought she was as prepared as any new super agent could be in the situation. Yes, he’d left her in the hands of his capable staff who could’ve trained her—if she’d had the time.
But, he’d left her, nonetheless.
Monica surveyed their surroundings through a set of binoculars. “It smells like they used some kind of gas.”
A low whistle came from an area to her right. Keegan glanced around, looking for the source of the noise. A rock dropped from a tree and rolled to a stop beside her.
Agent Cody Colfax. The D.I.R.E. agent sat in a tree a few yards away, a M14 rifle perched between two branches. His eyes were huge above the hazardous materials mask he wore over his face, as he eyed her enhancements from head to foot. She climbed up the tree with succinct movements before stopping beside him amongst the oak leaves. “What’s happened?”
He pulled down the mask. “They flew a drone overhead and gassed us while we waited. I had this mask in my pack from the op with Austin. I was lucky.”
Mitchell had been right. They were miles ahead of them. Their well-placed defenses proved they’d had this planned for a while. They had an answer for everything.
Except her.
“Where are the agents now?” she said.
He nodded toward the farm. “One of them dragged Rose through the fence.” His voice lowered to a grave rumble. “The others are lying where they stood.”
Trepidation fueled her heart, the blood pumping swiftly through her veins. “Dead?”
He gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I don’t know. I thought I’d better stay put so someone was here to carry out orders.” He patted his rifle with a lopsided smile.
Honor and integrity buoyed Colfax’s words, his dedication to the op, a reminder. They were all that was left of the D.I.R.E. Agency and what it stood for: defense, intelligence and reconnaissance enforcement. The men and women that served the agency shared a common belief that everyone deserved to live in peace. Their job was to eliminate any threat against it. She wanted to make that happen by being part of a team that fought crime and terror throughout the world.
Hope stiffened her spine and accelerated her muscles. The D.I.R.E. Agency would not die today. Not if she had any say in it.
Nodding toward the compound, she said, “What have you seen?”
He pointed at his lowered mask. “Men hanging around, doing nothing, wearing these things. It’s been a quiet, efficient takedown.” He looked into her eyes. “They know what they’re doing.”
“Well, we’re about to put a wrench in their plans.” She gave him a confident half grin. “Are you good here?”
“Yes. I hung out here on the op with Rose. I can pick off people in the yard.”
“Okay. I’m cloaking so I can see what we’re up against down there. I may not know the lingo but you can reach me through this.” She held up the armband.
He nodded. “Who’s with you?”
“Angela Jacobs and Monica Montgomery.”
His eyes widened for a second before agent-issued calm resurfaced. “Dr. Robinson?”
Keegan nodded toward the farm. “He’s somewhere down there.”
Colfax frowned, his brown eyes curious, but he said nothing.
A rumble started in the distance. They shared a confused glance.
Seconds later, a muffled explosion roared to life, rocking the ground beneath them. A tractor behind the barn lifted in the air with creaking expectancy, before crashing to earth. The guard tower l
eaned on its side, teetering in the balance, before slowly falling to the dirt in a tangle of metal limbs. Men raced across the yard, yelling and taking cover, as billows of smoke drifted from the interior of the barn.
“That was underground,” Colfax said, meeting her gaze.
Her racing heart stopped dead. No.
Jumping to the ground, she yelled at the three of them, sheer terror ripping through her. “I’m going in. Angela, you know what to do.”
Checking the chamber of her gun, Angela nodded with assurance.
Keegan said, “Monica, come with me. I need a distraction.”
Monica backed against her and locked forearms. Sliding over the cover of her armband, Keegan pressed her thumb to the scanner. Colfax and Angela faded into the green plasma before the ground disappeared beneath her feet.
* * *
Clint woke to the sound of incessant chatter. Raising his head, he shook it, trying to clear the bass drum pounding in his skull. His head felt like it was too small for its contents and wanted to detonate, just like the explosives he’d left behind in the tunnel.
Pulling out his phone, he turned on the flashlight and looked around, expecting to see debris. The tunnel remained intact, save for the hundreds of bullet holes marring the walls. Whoever had destroyed those weapons knew where they were kept, had done so out of plain sight and in virtual safety.
Sitting back on his haunches, he took a deep breath, hoping to clear his head. The voices continued, more prominent, more urgent.
He listened closer. That wasn’t chatter.
That was arguing.
Rising to his feet, he willed away his headache, hoping to focus on the voices. Turning off the flashlight, he pulled up Keegan’s photo again to illuminate his way. She had to be pissed at him by now, gloating to Monica, saying she’d been right all along.
His stomach clenched. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that she’d always be safe.
Ahead of him was a three-way intersection, illuminated by a lone bulb. Stopping in the center, he looked around, the voices louder. Glancing to his right, he noticed a doorknob protruding from the wall a few yards away. Heading that way, he stopped short, in front of a large inset that appeared to slide into the outer wall. If it was an entrance panel, there was no handle.
Several feet down the same wall was an ordinary, metal door with a standard issue handle.
Finally, something he could access.
He took a step toward it when a loud clunk sounded overhead. Stopping short, he glanced up. A large, steel panel lay overhead. It appeared to slide open like some sort of service elevator door. Looking around, he spotted a keypad on the wall behind him.
Yes.
The panel started to open. Clint ran down to the metal door and slipped inside.
The small, narrow room was dark, empty, save for a wall of windows running the length of one wall. Walking to the edge of the glass, he peered around the corner.
The D.I.R.E. women sat in a windowless cell below, dressed in their wedding finery, talking amongst themselves. Other than pale faces and circles under their eyes, they seemed fit, other than Teague lying on a cot against the far wall.
Thank God.
Drawing closer, he peered over the edge of the window into the room directly below. A wall of thick glass divided their cell, separating them from the D.I.R.E. super agents.
Clint winced at the chaos below him. Dylan skirted around the room with his back against the wall, his eyes wide and darting around the space. Riordan knelt in the far corner, his eyes shut, his back bowing at slow intervals as if he were being struck with a whip. Aidan yelled at Cass on the other side of the window, pounding on it with both fists, his words vulgar and critical. Jaydan struck the wall with his fist, over and over again, a large crater worn into the steel. Dar walked around the cell, his hands over his ears, talking to himself in a raised voice. Tristan sat beside Mitchell’s body, knees bent, his arms covering his head.
All of their armbands were shut down.
A faint haze covered their side of the cell, while the women’s air appeared clear.
They were feeding the agents some kind of mind-control gas and making the women watch.
He studied both rooms. The only way into either one was by the panel he’d seen out in the hallway. A control panel was mounted near the entry, on the agents’ side of the glass. To free the women, he had to make it through the crazed men.
If he could watch them from here, he had to have the ability to talk to them or adjust the room elements. Looking around, he saw a docking station on the adjacent wall. Recognizing the outlet, he attached his phone to the station and waited, hoping some type of software uploaded onto his device.
A dashboard appeared on his screen, showing a diagram of the room with its current configuration. It was programmed to spray the gas into the men’s side of the room every fifteen minutes. Digging around, he found a way to deactivate it before going into the code and deleting the component altogether. He knew it would take them a while, but the agents would eventually regain their self-control. Hopefully, sooner rather than later. He didn’t know how much time they had before someone realized he’d messed with their system.
While he was in the code, he deleted a firewall protecting the chamber and underground tunnel. While the steel would still render the agent’s armband signals weak, sporadic power was better than none at all.
Going back to the dashboard, he clicked the remote door lock. A flashing, red signal appeared on the screen. The door wouldn’t open until the gas cleared from the chamber. Considering it a smart precaution, he left it in place, unwilling to take the risk of exposure to the women. He set the clear divider to rise at the same time the doors released.
Pressing the audio control on the women’s side of the room, he spoke in a low voice. “It’s Clint.”
With a collective gasp, they glanced up at the window in unison, relief washing over their faces. He raised his hand in greeting, but they didn’t wave back.
One-way glass.
“The door—”
A well-manicured hand covered his phone and ripped it off the dock. “Well, well, if it isn’t my older brother, the murder.”
Chapter 15
Keegan and Monica teleported near a group of men having a conversation in the barn. Keegan’s green plasma wafted with the residual smoke from the explosion, leaving the hired guns coughing and staring at each other in confusion.
Note to self: use exact coordinates when teleporting.
They ducked behind two hay bales and surveyed their surroundings. From the outside, the building looked like any other red barn, large, dirty and filled with hay.
From the inside, it looked more like a chamber of horrors.
The blades and tools they’d seen in Mitchell’s feed were more alarming in person, their edges razor sharp and intimidating. Leather straps dangled from a horizontal beam atop two, tall poles, matching straps on a bottom plank anchored to the ground with spikes. Nearby stood a modern-day guillotine, its gleaming, jagged blade a deterrent for dissention, if she’d ever seen one. The worktable Jim Monroe had used was clear of the blades they’d seen earlier and was now surrounded by men speculating on what caused the explosion.
She knew they were men, not clones. Cyrus would never create beings so indifferent, so lazy and filthy.
Using hand signals, she told Monica to stay put while she ran to the wall behind the worktable. Pressing her forefinger to the scanner on her armband, she shut her eyes as the gold and copper compound activated in her blood. A blinding light flashed behind her eyes before she felt the bulk of her flesh disappear.
She glanced down at her body, completely freaking out that she’d actually turned invisible. She waited there, watching the men, afraid they’d decide to investigate the light. After a few moments of discussion, they chalked it up to a reflection from the sun and went about their search for damage from the explosion.
Making her way to the wa
ll, she peeked around the corner before remembering she didn’t have to peek at all. Two of Monica’s sisters stood beside a metal platform, peering through a window that faced the grassy area behind the barn. The width of a large, service elevator, the platform was scantily covered with hay, several fresh bales sitting beside it.
It had to be the way down to the chamber.
Walking over, she studied the area, looking for some kind of control panel. Squatting down behind one of the women, Keegan gasped when the auburn-haired woman whipped around and kicked out her leg, sending Keegan back on her rear. She stilled in place.
“Aurora, what are you doing?”
Frantic, the woman looked around behind her, her narrow gaze suspicious. “I heard someone come up behind me.”
Her dark-haired partner laughed as she turned back to the window. “You’re losing it.”
“Dammit, Snow, you piss me off.” Aurora continued to look around, her head cocked, listening for movement. “I know I heard something.”
Snow said, “It was probably these idiots out here running around like headless chickens. I hope The Madam isn’t paying a fortune for their services.”
“You’re being awfully lax, considering Cindy was killed only a few hours ago.” Aurora turned back to the scenery outside.
“Cindy should’ve been smarter,” Snow said, with demeaning nonchalance.
Keegan winced at the cold-hearted reply. Although she knew the women were fed the serum, it sickened her that human beings could be so insensitive to the loss of life. Cindy mattered to her brother, Grayson Donner, who had been actively searching for her for years. He would be devastated.
“He was the head of D.I.R.E.” Her voice held an incredulous note. “A worthy opponent.”
Absolutely.
Snow gave a blasé shrug. “The Madam killed him. A just vengeance.”
Hearing them discuss Cindy’s death like the weather was one thing. Hearing them dismiss Mitchell’s death in the same way sent a storm of fury racing through her. They had no idea of the sacrifices he’d made for them all, for the losses he’d suffered, for the good he’d done for the world.
For the first time since her installation, Keegan felt her muscles accelerate, building stronger, more resilient, as the capacitor kicked in inside her brain. Astonishing power bloomed, transforming her muscles with rock hard strength. It honed not only her body but her mind, transcending all normal thought. It made her more precise, sharper.