Extra creative, since he had only twelve sticks of C4-flavored “gum” and two blasting caps.
There was a saying in the SEAL teams that Magic Kozinski had loved to recite in times of duress: When a door shuts, a window opens. And if the window shuts, then it’s time to blow a hole through the fucking wall.
Shane rifled through Goatee’s pockets, transferring several magazines of ammo into his own pants, and coming up with a dangerous little switchblade that the man had clearly been trying to work free during their race down the hall.
Wallet, ballpoint pen, pack of cigarettes, cell phone—Shane confiscated it all. He was traveling so light, it couldn’t hurt. Plus, there was no telling what he’d need.
He got to work, slipping the detcord from his neck, using Goatee’s knife to cut the little angel free, and sacrificing half of his explosives to create a Shane-sized hole, down close to the baseboard of the wall.
The fuse didn’t have to be very long—there was nowhere to run for cover. But Shane did pull Goatee with his body armor in front of him as he lit the thing and hunkered down behind the toilet.
He checked the SIG Sauer, making sure that the magazine was full as he waited for the pop …
And waited, and waited …
It was taking too fucking long—impossibly long—but he was still careful as he peeked around the toilet …
To see …
The blasting cap was faulty. Had to be.
But if he used the second cap he’d brought for this, he’d have nothing to use to blow up the scanners and the power source.
So he cut another length of detcord and tried again with the same cap.
The third time was just an exercise in thoroughness—something useful for his hands to do as he thought about—really thought about—the potential ramifications of his Plan B.
Still, he didn’t need to be a Greater-Than with powers to see through walls to know that the six guards in the hall outside the ladies’ room had grown into a much larger number.
If he was going out through that door, he needed to be bulletproof.
So when the blasting cap failed for the third time, Shane didn’t hesitate.
He used the pen that he’d taken from Goatee, and he drew an arrow and wrote right on the wall that the bathroom shared with the security control room, This way to the people you want to kill and the equipment you want to destroy.
Just in case he jokered.
And then—with the exact same sense of purpose that he’d felt the first time he’d jumped out of a plane—Shane took one of the Epi Pens filled with Destiny from his pocket, opened the plastic, and drove it hard into his leg.
Nika felt Joseph reaching out to her, checking in, but she was still too woozy and he retreated immediately.
She heard some kind of alarm going off, and she wished that he’d stayed long enough for her to tell him about it, although, on second thought, it was possible she was imagining the sound. “Can anyone else hear that?” she asked the other girls, but the words came out all smooshed together and no one could understand her.
She didn’t think they heard it, though, because no one was crying, and it didn’t take much to set them off.
Except, then the door opened, and the crying started, but it wasn’t the scar-faced man—instead it was the unhappy old woman. And she came directly over to Nika’s bed, but then she stopped when she saw that Nika was looking back at her.
And she frowned and took out a fancy-looking cell phone. Whoever she called must’ve picked up right away, because she said, “And how am I supposed to get her ready to travel when the drug hasn’t fully taken effect?”
Travel?
“And I’m telling you she’s not fully unconscious—she’s right here, blinking at me. For all I know, she’s dangerous,” the woman said. “Maybe she’s built up a resistance. Just give her another squirt …”
No, no—if they gave her another dose of this sedative, it would be hours before Joseph could join her again. And she had to reach out to him now, to tell him they were getting her ready to travel.
So Nika closed her eyes and let her head loll back, even as she searched for him. Joseph! They’re going to move me!
“Oh, wait, that’s better now,” the woman said. “Although why don’t you give her another squirt anyway—just to be safe?”
As the man with the horrible scar began shuffling his way over to Mac, Anna closed her eyes, and with all of her might, she attempted the impossible. Joe, please, if you’re out there and you can hear me, please, please help us!
For a moment, she thought she felt him, felt the familiar warmth, the slight bump and polite hesitation before he entered her mind. But then it was gone, and she was left only with the sense that he was too far away. Because she was only a fraction, he needed to be closer to establish that kind of intimate telepathic contact.
Across the room, Mac was saying, “That’s right. Come on over here. Oh, yeah, right here …”
Somehow she was drawing the man toward her and away from Anna, and she couldn’t let her do that. “Mac, don’t. It’s not going to change—”
“Anna, be silent.” Mac smiled at the man. “I don’t bite. Unless you want me to …”
“It’s time to go into the building.” Bach was done waiting.
His integration spike may have been an anomaly—but it wasn’t truly a spike, either. Yes, he’d shot up, fast, and yes, his power was beginning to degrade, but that was happening slowly.
And while Bach would have liked to spend a day—or even just an hour—in the lab, testing his new limitations and abilities, it was go time.
Alarms were going off in the Washington Street building, yet the scanners and their source of power were still strong.
It seemed obvious that Shane Laughlin had tried—and failed.
Because the scanners were still running, the Organization would know—immediately—that the team from OI was coming in. So be it.
Jackie and her group of Thirties and Forties were ready but grim about the outcome as they headed toward the building. In a flash of inanity, as Bach walked with them, he wondered what they’d do if he suddenly sharply clapped his hands twice to get their attention, and then announced that they should pair up—quickly now—and find a nearby public restroom in which to engage in a little pre-battle coitus—in order to boost their integration levels.
How could he have been so wrong?
Of course, the answer came to him immediately. Because he’d wanted, desperately, to be wrong. Because, for decades now, he’d wanted no one but Annie. And since Annie was dead … No one had been his chosen companion.
But now, Anna—this woman who was so different in appearance from Annie, yet who shared a similar name and a beautifully similar spark of joy and hope and glorious life—had fallen into his world.
Bach’s enhanced powers allowed him to feel her in that building, not as clearly as he felt her powerful little sister, but enough to allow him to find exactly where the Organization was holding her.
“Brian, Katie, Laurel, Frank, Rashid—your goal is to get into that security control room and take out those scanners,” Jackie reminded her team. “Until that happens, each and every one of us is wearing a great big target on our backs. They’ll know where we are, and where we’re going.”
As she continued, rattling off her team-members’ names and missions—some were assigned to find Mac and Anna, some to try to locate Shane, with the majority seeking out Nika—Charlie, who was walking next to Bach, leaned close to say, “Sir, I think you should try, once more, before you go inside, to connect with Nika.”
It was a smart idea. So Bach reached out and found …
A looming wall of darkness. A frightening swirl of nightmares and unconscious fears as Nika fought—as she continued to fight—to stay present.
But she was fading fast. Too fast. Plus, she was being moved. And Bach knew, with a certainty that made him feel as if he had some prescient powers that were awakening, that
if they didn’t move faster, the Organization was going to succeed in spiriting Nika away.
And he also knew he had to do it. He had to attempt to enter Nika’s mind and fight beside her—and risk also being taken down by the sedatives she’d been given.
This meant he had to stay behind as he’d originally planned, which was a far harder thing to do than he’d anticipated.
“Go,” he ordered Jackie. “Move! Now!”
And she led the team toward the building at a run.
“Charlie, get me back to the van,” Bach commanded as he closed his eyes and plunged into Nika’s nightmare.
Nika was lost.
She could hear Joseph calling her—or maybe that was just part of her bad dream. She could hear him, but she couldn’t reach him—she’d never reach him again.
She could feel herself moving—she was being rolled down the hall, faster and faster, and she couldn’t do anything to stop it.
Nikaaahhh … Joseph’s voice was coming from farther away now. Nikaaahhh …
It was amazing.
The rush was incredible.
It roared through Shane’s veins, spreading its power throughout his entire body, turning him into something … else. Something …
Greater-than.
He could feel the power tingling in his fingers and his toes, even in the tip of his dick, and he immediately recognized how dangerous this drug was—because he already wanted more. He didn’t want this feeling—this power—ever to end.
He could feel his body using the drug to make him stronger, healthier—to erase any fatigue he was feeling and to heal the scrapes and bruises he’d gotten when Mac went all Rambo on the Organization’s drug lab.
He had known there were no guarantees, when taking Destiny, as to what his skills and talents would be. But he was pretty sure one of his abilities involved both sex and Mac. Of course, maybe the drug heightened the effect her voodoo had on him—because he could sense her nearby.
Wherever she was being held, it wasn’t far from this bathroom. He was pretty sure all he’d have to do was follow the tug in his groin and he’d find her.
Which was good to know.
Because his plan, post blowing the shit out of the scanners and the power supply, involved him freeing her and taking her home to make love to her for one last time before letting Elliot stop his heart.
But right now, Shane had to get into that control room. And the best way to do that was still to go through that wall. He focused on putting a hole into the damn thing.
And the toilet flushed.
Okay, great.
Apparently, one of his new talents was an ability to flush a toilet without touching the handle.
Way to go.
Shane concentrated again, closing his eyes and …
Whatever he’d done, Goatee started thrashing and moaning, which seemed kind of odd, until Shane picked up the handgun, intending to tap him on the head again.
But he dropped the damn thing, because it burned his hand. Jesus, it was hot.
And when he turned Goatee over, he saw that the man was wearing a gold necklace that had burned a chain-print pattern into his skin. It was red and raw and completely circled his scrawny pale neck.
But okay. That was good—that was good. Shane could work with this talent—the ability to heat metal. He just needed to learn how to focus.
He kept his eyes open this time, staring at the blasting cap he’d rigged against the wall, even as he worked to free Goatee from his jacket.
And he let it all heat.
Hotter. And hotter. And …
And his little bomb went off, not with a pop, but with a boom and a spray of plaster and chunks of concrete.
Shane used Goatee’s jacket as a makeshift hot-mitt as he grabbed the SIG Sauer and dove for the hole in the wall.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Bach couldn’t find Nika.
She’d been caught in the swirling chaos of nightmares and fear that was a side effect of the sedative she’d been given.
He could hear her—as if from a distance—calling to him. And it was breaking his heart that he couldn’t reach her. But in truth, he was afraid of that total lack of control.
He was managing—somehow—to cling to the periphery of her mind, and thus escape most of the numbing and confusion-creating sensation. But of course he wouldn’t find her there. He didn’t stand a chance of finding her unless he let go.
Charlie—good man—had gotten him back to the van and was giving him regular reports both from Analysis and from the team that had entered the building.
“Power and scanners still aren’t out,” he told Bach in a loud clear voice. “Jackie reports they’ve made it past the guards in the lobby, but their elevators have been stopped, which they expected. The stairs are impenetrable, so they’re continuing up to the fortieth floor via the elevator shafts.”
Using that route meant it would take them much too long to get there.
Bach knew that, any minute, Nika was going to be put on a private service elevator and taken down to the basement, where she’d be spirited out via tunnel.
So he took his fear and he swallowed it.
And he dove, headfirst into the maelstrom, calling Nika’s name.
The man with the scar had forgotten completely about Anna, as Mac hit him again with a wave of her power.
As he shuffled closer and closer, she saw what she’d done to him, and she worked it, overtime, to hide her revulsion and her fear.
It couldn’t just be sex that he wanted from her—it had to be more. It had to be powerful—it had to dominate everything he wanted and needed in his nasty little world. And he had to believe—completely—that whatever he was feeling, she was feeling it, too.
So Mac closed her eyes and thought of Shane—of the way her heart warmed when he smiled at her, at the comfort she felt with his arms around her, of the pleasure she got just from his presence in the room …
She loved him. God help her, she truly loved him. And she opened her eyes and made herself believe that this was Shane coming toward her, wearing some hideous Halloween mask.
And the man smiled back at her—at least she thought it was a smile.
If this didn’t work? It was really going to suck.
Shane’s aim had never been so true.
He’d always been good at clearing a room filled with bad guys. He had a solid sixth sense when it came to anticipating movement and eliminating the threat.
But today he hadn’t wasted a single bullet as he rolled across the security control room and secured the door.
He’d taken the entire room in, in a single glance—the computers that ran the banks of scanners, the power source and backup generators, the rows of monitors showing not just video from the halls and public areas, but from the rooms where the prisoners were held, as well.
Which was why he didn’t hesitate to drill each of the five men in that room with five perfect head shots. There was no question. They knew exactly what the Brite Group was, and what they did there.
So Shane ended them, without blinking.
He could see from the monitors that a small crowd had gathered outside of the ladies’ room door—and from the looks of things, the big behemoth with the shaved head was in charge. The man looked formidable and may actually have had muscle beneath his layers of body fat. But like most rent-a-cops, he was all about the appearance and the swagger. He apparently hadn’t done the math and put together the proximity of the bathroom to the security control room until he heard the telltale gunfire.
Now he’d stomped over and was glaring up into the camera that was positioned outside of the control room’s locked door.
Shane scanned the other monitors, searching for Mac, Anna, and Nika, but there were too many rows of video screens, and the pictures flashed and changed constantly, dizzyingly.
So he focused on the scanners as he pulled the remaining C4 from his pocket—but then realized he didn’t need it. With his new power to heat
metal, he could simply fry the wires in all of the computer motherboards.
He let loose a blast and the astringent smell of melting electrical circuits quickly filled the air, even as he considered the best way to take out the power supply.
For that, he did use his remaining C4, strategically placed, although—damn—his second blasting cap had been blown to hell back in the bathroom. Still, with his ability to super-heat metal he could rig something makeshift, unless …
He took cover and focused and …
Nothing.
Although, one by one, the monitors were starting to flicker and go out, as their wiring overheated.
It was then, right before the picture vanished with a pop, that Shane saw her.
Mac. Strapped to a hospital bed and looking up at a misshapen man who approached her, his intention clear since he held himself in one hand, and a deadly looking blade in the other.
But the monitor went dark, even as Shane leapt toward the controls. “No! God damn it, no! Mac!”
But all of the computers were smoking now and the last of the monitors flickered and went out.
It was then that the C4 exploded, throwing Shane up and back. As the power went out and the electrical outlets in the room sparked and flared, he hit the wall with a crash.
The glint of the knife that the scar-faced man was holding in his right hand was Mac’s first clue that this wasn’t going down the way she’d hoped and planned.
Still, maybe it was a security thing for him, so she sent him another blast of love and sincerity.
“Baby, please,” she said. “I know you’re not supposed to, but I wish you’d free my hands, my arms, because I just want to hold you.”
It was then that he laughed, and he stabbed the blade of his knife, hard, into the bed between her legs, so that it quivered there. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” he asked in that horribly odd voice. “You think I don’t know that you’re mind-controlling me?”
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