High Ground

by Madelon Smid

  Professionals, they never spoke, never gave her a hint of their nationality, destination, or names. She built calm and control in preparation for escape. She couldn’t see her watch, but her inner clock told her they’d been driving over two hours when the van slowed, turned sharply. She could hear the rumble of an overhead door being raised, then lowered. They dragged her out of the van.

  Crates stacked in long aisles filled a huge space that spanned two stories. A stairway led up to an office with smoky windows on her right. One of the men who’d come up behind her on the street—she could tell by the smell of a strong cologne he wore—yanked her hands sharply, testing the ties, and dragged her toward the stairwell. At the same time, the driver of the van jumped on a motorbike and revved the engine, heading across the cement floor to a garage door on the opposite side. He must have used a remote. It opened. He roared through and the door closed behind him. Three left. Her odds were improving.

  She sat down abruptly on the steps. The guy pulled a Sig 128. She lifted her feet, nodded at the bindings. Either he’d carry her now, or untie her. She counted on his paunch to make the decision.

  He pulled out a knife, and with a grunt, slashed through the duct tape. She wiggled her feet, stood, and started up the stairs. He followed. His heavy treads contrasted with her lighter faster steps. He pushed her into the office and sat her on another chair. The guy who’d aimed the Smith & Wesson at her from the van followed. He spoke rapidly into a cell phone. East coast accent, clean shaven, standard suit, she assessed. She bet he carried a pair of shades in his pocket. The other guy who’d stayed behind her until now stepped around and tore the tape from her mouth. He, too, looked like an agent. CIA, NSA, muscle hired, or under the orders of the guy funding Josh’s removal? Would Maddox show up?

  “Ms. Duplessis.” He finished his call, turning eyes the color of scum on a pond on her. “A pleasure.”

  “One I didn’t expect to have,” she stated. “How can I help you, Agent …?”

  He smiled. “Cool under fire. It was a real treat to watch you keep Chandler safe.” His smile disappeared and ice coated the pond scum. “I think you know what we want.”

  “I can make a few guesses, but know for certain? Can’t say I do.”

  “We monitored enough of your conversations to know he taught you how to check his security programs. I think you’ll be able to help us get into the ones we want.”

  “If you can get me in, I can get you partway.” She shrugged. “I wouldn’t, of course, but I’m betting that’s moot, unless you have a replica of Josh’s eye scan, his encryption codes, and a way to stop the destruction sequence he’s added.”

  The two men exchanged looks. The one with the telephone stepped out of the office, made a quick call, listened, and stepped back in. “Seems you’re not going to be able to help us the way we figured, but you’re still going to help us.” His narrow lips widened. “I think Chandler will put himself in our hands to get you free. Instructing you on security analysis wasn’t the only thing he did.”

  The heavy set guy who’d cut her ankle ties leered at her breasts.

  Cat clamped down her urge to rush him and head butt him in his pudding-soft belly. She didn’t have enough edge with her hands tied. Being used as bait to get to Josh sickened her. She’d hurt him in so many ways. Now this. She didn’t think for a minute he wouldn’t come, prayed RG was on him tight enough he’d follow.

  “So if you don’t want to change your mind about what you give us…?” He paused, looked at her. She shook her head. “Then I’ll let Chandler know you’re dying for his company.”

  He pulled another phone from his pocket and tapped in Josh’s number and a text. Within minutes, the phone rang. “Chandler, so nice of you to cooperate. I’ll let you speak to your lover, a little show of good faith, before I give you my instructions.” He put the phone on speakerphone and held it close to her face.

  “Cat?” Calm, quiet Josh’s voice came over the phone. “I’m here.” With those words he grounded her, made her feel safe, capable of anything.

  “Don’t come, Josh. Tell RG.”

  The phone was jerked away. “Tell RG, your friends, your banker, or your grandmother, and she’ll be dead when you find her.” The head suit nodded at his partner, who pulled his Sig, and fired into her shoulder. “She’s bleeding now, a shoulder wound at arm’s length, so it’s pretty messy. You better get here before she bleeds out. Come alone. Anybody tracks you and I’ll kill her. Call this number when you get into Seattle and I’ll give you directions.”

  “I’m okay, Josh,” Cat called, just before the bastard hung up on him. Desperate to get to Josh before he gave himself up, she calculated this was her best chance. With one of them guarding the warehouse and one gone on the bike, she could take on these two. They reeked of bravado having shot her. Odds were they wouldn’t think she had any fight in her. She groaned, leaned forward as if passing out. “Tie her feet up and leave her here. If she bleeds out before he gets to her, it won’t matter. She’s dead either way.”

  “Are you going to kill Josh?” she asked, sounding tremulous, weak.

  “Not until he gives us the codes to stop the self-destruct sequence,” the Suit answered.

  “Then we can rip out his eye and scan ourselves in.” The big guy obviously took a lot of pleasure in his work.

  She needed to make her move, but she needed information too. “Why are you doing this? How can Josh’s programs possibly threaten you?”

  “They can’t, but they can destroy somebody a lot closer to the feeding trough. No one stands in his way.”

  “Shut up. You’re giving her too much info. Tie the bitch up again.” Suit severed the source of her information, with the icy cut of his voice.

  Big guy took some rope from the desk and moved in front of her. As he bent to her feet, he screened her body. Her legs came up, hooked his neck, locking her ankles; she gave a vicious twist. He fell sideways. His neck snapped between the second and third vertebrae.

  The crash startled the Suit on the phone. He reached for his Smith and Wesson. She kicked him in the chest before he got it out of the holster, knocking him backward into the wall. He struggled upright and with a roar came at her again. She kicked his balls. He screamed, fell to his knees, gagging. Another kick behind his shoulder and he was prostrate, still drawing his gun. She leapt on him, knee across his throat, crushing his windpipe. His last breath whistled out of his body.

  She looked at the desk for something to cut her bonds. Nothing sharp presented itself. She moved to the dusty windows, knocked her elbow through one of the panes. Jagged edges remained behind as the rest tinkled to the floor below. Simultaneously, she heard the third man’s steps hitting the stairs hard, and the garage door rumbling open, the throaty growl of the motorcycle.

  Cat ran the plastic tie across a jagged shard, mindless of the glass cutting into her wrists. The tie snapped. She scooped the Sig from the floor and raced for the stairs. He started firing at her as he climbed. She hit his forehead dead center. He rolled down the stairs, his gun bouncing, knocking each step ahead of him. The tires on the bike smoked as the biker braked. He couldn’t free up his hands and beat her to his gun. She put her shot into his left shoulder. He fell onto the floor, dragging the bike on top of him. The man at the bottom of the stairs lay motionless, but she didn’t take a chance. She chambered a round and held her gun on him while she verified.

  The guy under the bike groaned, lay helpless as she approached. “Smart move. Stay still and I might let you live,” she warned, wanting him alive for questioning. She staggered back up the stairs, searched the pockets of the men in the office, pulling out ID and cell phones. Woozy from loss of blood, it took her two attempts to pull flex cuffs from big guy’s pockets and pick the duct tape off the floor. She checked the load on the Sig, but left the Smith and Weston in Suit’s hand to show he’d drawn on her.

  Dragging his shirt tails from his slacks, she ripped a piece off the bottom and formed a pad t
o press against the blackened hole torn through her shoulder, front to back. At the bottom of the steps again, she toppled onto one knee by her captive. Blood dripped onto him from her wound. She bound his hands and one foot to the bike, tossing his gun out of reach. She couldn’t lift the bike, so left him pinned under it. She was growing weaker, dizziness taking hold. She wavered getting to her feet and wobbled over to the van.

  The keys were in the ignition. She climbed in, punched the remote to open the larger garage door. She closed it behind her. She let the engine idle as she took in the numbers on the building, the skyline, the names on the street sign at the corner. The warehouse was on the water. If she had the energy, she’d have shouted with relief. She could get help by following the ocean north. She took off racing the engine, skidding around corners, as her eyesight blurred and her body trembled.

  It took over ten minutes by her watch until she reached the edge of a populated area. Once she crossed an intersection she had her bearings. She was heading into the downtown section of Tacoma, a small city south of Seattle. She’d been there with one of the other researchers for a daytrip one weekend. There was a busy city center, and a police station nearby. She roared up in front of it. A couple of policemen came out the glass doors and started descending as she half fell from the van.

  “I need help.” Her voice wavered, her vision blurred. She staggered.

  The one closest made a grab for her, held her up. “She’s bleeding,” he said, “Let’s get her to the hospital.” They bundled her into the squad car, took off with lights and sirens. One drove while the other talked full speed into his shoulder mike. She could hear him report to his captain, then contact the hospital emergency. Before he’d finished talking, they’d pulled in under the emergency ramp and two nurses ran out pushing a gurney. In seconds, they strapped her on and raced for the trauma bay.

  “It’s a through and through,” the doctor said, bending over her the second the nurse finished cutting open her blouse and bra. “Close range, chewed her up good. She’s lost a lot of blood.” He turned to the ER nurse. “Order blood work, we need her type stat. Hook her up to a saline drip, give her ten CCs of Cefazolin intravenously, and prep her for surgery. We need a plastic surgeon in here. I’ll see if Jenzen is available.”

  He stopped to pat her on the shoulder, pull her gown over the wound. “You’ll be okay.”

  “Catarina Duplessis. Ex-military. My blood type is O. Before I go into surgery, I must talk to the police officers who brought me in. It’s urgent.” She fell back, as a blanket of gray cotton threatened to smother her.

  “Yes, yes. Unfortunately, protocol doesn’t allow me to take your word for it, young lady. I’m writing orders for Collaid. Infuse it immediately. We’ll get her stabilized while we wait for her results and ready for whole blood by the time we go into surgery.” He scribbled busily on the order sheet. “I’ll make that call.” He gave the nurse a significant look and pushed through the curtain.

  Woozily, Cat watched as an intravenous catheter bit into her vein, a bag of clear fluid hung above her. Another smaller pouch of antibiotic was hooked up to the intravenous drip and a syringe full of fluid injected into the line. She blinked, fighting for another minute of consciousness. “The police…” She snagged the nurse’s arm, shook it. “A man’s life is at stake.”

  “So’s yours if we don’t get you into surgery.” The nurse moved past her.

  “Officer, officer, I need you,” Cat yelled out. “I’m with security. I need to give you my report before I go under.” The nurse ran back in trying to shush her.

  “Get the police,” Cat demanded.

  The officer stuck his head around the screen.

  “Cat Duplessis, bodyguard,” she gasped. “I need to tell you, warn Josh. The phones…” She waved at the jacket they’d cut off her body. “In the pocket. Last number in each very important. They kidnapped me.” She stopped to gasp for air, shake her head. Sweat drenched her. “Warehouse, Turner and Epson, #213 painted on side. Three men dead, one unconscious. Must be held for questioning.” She panted again. The dizziness was a gray mass taking over her mind. “When Josh Chandler calls that phone to ask for directions, tell him I’m safe. Tell him to stand down. Call Safeguard Security R. Gribbs.”

  The gray mass turned black, pressed down on her. “Phone Josh 555—” The circle of black formed a pinpoint of light, and she fainted.

  Chapter Eleven

  Josh disconnected, barely able to hit the face of his phone his fingers shook so badly. They have Cat. Luke, his new bodyguard, was checking the lockdown on the building. Josh grabbed his wallet, selected several gizmos from his desk, and raced up the circular staircase to his roof garden. He used his escape hatch, down the side of the building, in through the window of Marie’s loft and out through the door. He cracked it to see if his guard still roamed that floor, heard the elevator climbing, and zipped down the stairs. Within minutes, he’d raced across the street to a garage where he stored his car. The keys were on a board in the office. He waited until the elderly commissioner was tied up with a man paying his bill and grabbed them.

  The car started, he drove it up the ramp, throttled down until the commissioner again turned his back, then shot through the entrance. Using the small device he’d taken from the loft, he blocked the traffic cameras. He didn’t want anyone following him and putting Cat in greater danger.

  God, how could she be in more danger, shot, bleeding, and in the hands of men who would kill her, the instant they had Josh’s codes. He used another of his gadgets as he approached the first intersection. Changing the light to green he shot on through. In minutes, he was on the freeway. On his car phone, he called a flight service he used the odd time. They promised to have their fastest jet fueled and standing by when he got to the airport. A fuel truck passed him going the other way as he pulled up on the tarmac. Abandoning his car, keys in the ignition, he raced toward the jet. The pilot had the engines running. The owner waved. He’d promised to keep his client’s name confidential. The jet soared into the sky. Josh chafed against his seatbelt and the time it would take to get to Seattle. Could anybody bleed for five hours and not die?

  Cat. Cat. His stomach churned, his lungs burned. He pulled out his phone, checked the number was still there. He wanted to call it, demand to talk to her. But they’d put a bullet in her already, and they might shoot her again just to control him. He sank back, running his hand through his hair, around his neck.

  “Can I get you a drink?” A male attendant stepped into the cabin from the flight deck.

  “Just coffee.” He’d love to pour a double scotch down his throat to dull the pain, but why shouldn’t he feel this agony. Cat for sure was. The only plus he’d found when she’d left him was the certainty she’d be slightly safer on her own. They’d taken her. She would tell them she couldn’t access his files. Only his eye scan would open them without the self-destruct activating. She’d buy herself time, plan an escape. But with a bullet in her shoulder would she have a chance?”

  His mind never shut down for a minute during the seemingly endless flight. He remembered everything about her. He went over every conversation and mentally rehearsed the defensive moves she’d taught him. Though his anger wouldn’t let him be defensive. If he got near them, he was going to kill them.

  Dammit, why didn’t I bring a gun? He sat up cursing himself. You don’t own one, maybe? Good enough reason. But a gun would come in handy now. I’ll stop and get one when I get into Seattle. No. I have to phone right away, every second counts.

  He held his phone in his hand and hit the number before the jet came to a standstill. No one answered. In a panic, he hit the number again. It rang and rang. At least it wasn’t turned off. Why wasn’t the guy answering? If Cat had died, they’d still need him to get to the files. He took the steps two at a time, crossed the narrow piece of tarmac to a small office. “I need a rental, fast.”

  The man at the counter looked him over. “I’ll call over to the main
terminal and have a rental agent bring one over. Any preference?”

  “None. Wait, something neutral colored and fast. Doesn’t stand out. Here, screen my credit card and use it when you have the invoice for the jet and rental, please.”

  The man looked like he was crazy. “You want to trust me with your number?”

  “I am trusting you with my number.” Josh kept his voice level, met the man’s eyes steadily. “Do it.”

  He tried the phone again while he waited for the car. A tan-colored Mazda pulled up by the door. Josh signed a paper on the run, climbed into it, and pressed the starter. He sat flummoxed. He didn’t have a clue how to find Cat. “Don’t let anybody know” would include Sam. Though he desperately wanted to bring his friend in on this, he didn’t dare. He punched redial on the phone again, his heart shuddering as it rang and rang and rang.

  ****

  Josh stared at the phone. There were only two bars left and he had no way of charging it. He brought up the number. Just as his finger hovered over the talk button the phone rang. Startled, he dropped it and fished under the steering wheel, desperately hoping he hadn’t disconnected.

  “Chandler,” he spat into the phone.

  “Josh.”

  “Cat. Are you all right? Where are you?”

  “Thank God I caught you. They took me into surgery. I couldn’t get the phone to stop you.” She coughed. “I had to threaten I’d walk if they didn’t find the police officer with this phone.”

  He could hear her struggling for breath. “Cat, just tell me where you are so I can come to you?” He softened his voice. She needed him calm.

  Another voice intervened. “Mr. Chandler, this is Officer Redford. We’re with Ms. Duplessis at Tacoma General Hospital. She’s undergone surgery and is stable.”