But I’d end Viktor Koszlov before I’d face my own destiny. Or die trying.
Humanity couldn’t be allowed to suffer the kind of future the madman had in mind for them. He’d commit mass genocide to gain more power…because, for him, the world would never be enough.
I slumped against the seat, pistol in my lap, feeling woozy, weak, and spent. I should have received my injection three hours ago. But we’d been in the air, and I’d been distracted by setting into motion a rescue plan for Thierry-Sue’s small family.
Fire raced through my veins. Truthfully, I couldn’t be sure if the burn was due to the lingering toxin in my system or the deadly mixture of anger and adrenalin. My throat was raw, eyes gritty, and my lungs ached with each breath.
On the off chance my physical state was thanks to the lack of the healing serum, I rooted in my bag, trying to see if I might have a spare jab in there. Unfortunately, the only thing I found was the fatal capsule of silver oxide every VIS agent was issued prior to going on a mission. After my escape from Viktor, Drax’s department had developed the technology and from that point we’d all been trained to die rather than risk capture and perhaps divulging secrets.
My trainee toad had kept the serum in his infernal briefcase. I dug through the gear that had been loaded, foolishly hoping to discover Duet had relinquished his tenacious hold on the bag. No such luck. I couldn’t locate the leather bag anywhere on board. So he probably had it by his side, the wanker. I’d just have to push through.
Sudden clarity struck with the force of a hammer. All those calls Baxtard had taken, all the times he’d been glued to his phone. He’d been reporting on me. Most likely he’d informed his superiors of my every move. No wonder he had access to my private personnel file. He needed it to build the case against me. The excruciating details of how Viktor had tortured me were locked in those files. And now he was privy to the information.
Desperate to redirect my thoughts, I concentrated on inventorying the scuba gear neatly tucked at the back of the Gulfstream’s passenger cabin.
“Diving cylinder loaded.” A puff of air hissed as I checked the regulator and valve to ensure they were operational. “Good, at least they didn’t screw this up.”
I continued reciting the litany of equipment. “Fins, tropical wetsuit, primary and backup masks, submersible pressure gauge, weight belt.” I strapped the dive watch around my wrist, adjusting easily to the weight of it.
At least one of them thought to include underwater tools. A blowtorch and drill were nestled inside a mesh bag. Those would come in handy.
I noted a compass, Z-knife, and speargun as well as the compact dive sled. Three of everything had been loaded on the plane, including the parachutes set to one side. Well, I’d only need one of everything.
One waterproof backpack contained enough explosives to incinerate all the toxic material on site and destroy the lab. I’d definitely want that strapped to my body when I parachuted from eighteen thousand feet.
With a final pat to the dive sled, I shoved to my feet and walked the narrow aisle back to my seat. At the last second, I bypassed the row I’d claimed and headed to the galley. A quick search yielded bottles of Belvedere vodka and another of dry vermouth. I couldn’t find the perfect martini glass, so I settled for a crystal low-ball cocktail option. To my delight, I did find a stainless steel shaker.
My arm tired after just fifteen seconds of shaking the ingredients together. I set the mixer aside and located a jar of fat Sicilian olives. They weren’t bleu cheese, but they’d do.
I took the cocktail to my seat and settled in for the lengthy flight. Each sip of my martini settled the furor boiling in my gut, helping me resolve the anger…and, yes, the guilt eating at me.
“I haven’t been the ideal partner either.” I whispered the confession against the rim of the glass.
For a fleeting instant, I considered ordering the pilot to turn around. To go back and get my team. I needed them to guarantee I’d defeat my nemesis. Failure could lead to him capturing me again, and then I’d long for the final death. It would be preferable to becoming his science experiment once again. There was always the suicide capsule if worse shook hands with worst.
The skin on my arm heated, and when I examined it, I noted a pale pinkish glow under my flesh. One of the boys had again activated the technology designed to keep tabs on me. Fortunately, at this point, I had enough of a head start, and they couldn’t catch up to me for a couple hours minimum. I debated taking the Z-knife to my forearm and digging it free. But instead, I lifted my index and middle fingers to it in an unmistakable sod-off gesture.
As I sipped the last of my martini, I powered up the tablet Penn had provided before St. Petersburg. Once it completed the log-on routine, I found text messages from Penn’s private mobile, Lucien, and Baxtard.
The last I deleted without reading and then blocked any further attempts. Him, I’d never miss if he disappeared off the face of the Earth. Or I did. I was angry enough with him to want to rip his throat out with my fangs. Even if he started working with me to do a job, our relationship had evolved, and I’d thought we’d become friends.
I ignored the five texts from Lucien. Although not as angry at his betrayal, I was hurt. Replying immediately to his messages wouldn’t do either of us any good.
The message I picked up from Penn filled me with sadness and speculation.
Jayne, please don’t do anything stupid. You don’t deserve this treatment. I adore that you still want to help humans. That’s what makes you unique. And in this, you truly aren’t Solo. DO NOT get yourself killed. I would miss you too bloody much. Anything you need, you only have to ask.
I’d keyed in on his admonition that I wasn’t alone in my quest to save people from destruction. Could it be there were other vampires who were the same? Was someone else hanging on to their humanity by their fingernails the way I’d been? In secret desperation? And how could I use this information?
I was touched by his offer to help. I typed in an encryption subroutine I’d paid a hacker a lot of money three years earlier and reopened Penn’s message in the detection-free browser. I typed in a brief thx and hit send. I knew whoever was charged to keep tabs on my tech wouldn’t see my digital signature, thanks to the nifty blocking technology I’d invested in as a failsafe after my first suspension.
Without assistance from Baxtard and Lucien, mission priorities needed to be reassessed. While tapping a fingertip to the one fang that had descended, I pondered which steps were vital and which could be dismissed entirely.
Our plan had been to sneak in because I couldn’t glamour an entire squadron of soldiers, hiding the three of us when we were forced to split up to accomplish separate tasks. But if only I infiltrated the subsurface complex, I could enable a reverse glamour, disguise my presence, and boldly stride right past any guard. I’d still have to gain access via the underwater outlet. To that end, I studied the sonograms of the ocean floor, determining the path with the fewest submerged obstacles in the way. The ocean bed in this part of the world was littered with sunken ships.
By my calculations, I had a radius of about two kilometers to work with. The dive sled would be a vital tool to get me to my destination quickly. I’d have to attach a parachute on the dive supplies and remotely inflate the rubber tubing that held all the supplies together. That would keep the equipment afloat until I splashed down.
I needed to let the pilot know the coordinates for the final drop zone.
I opened the comm link between us. “I have our final longitude and latitude.” I rattled them off.
The pilot’s voice came over the cabin speakers. “Very good. We’ll be approaching the target in about ninety minutes.”
“I’ll be ready.” I toggled the switch on the arm of my seat, breaking the link between us.
Shutting down the tablet only took about ten seconds. I stowed it in the seatback pocket and stood.
The world spun like a gyroscope, twisting and weaving. I had
n’t mixed my martini all that strong, so this had to be the effect of not receiving any serum. For a fleeting moment, I considered aborting the mission. If I were too sick or incapacitated to complete the assignment, I’d forever blow any chance of stopping Koszlov, or possibly surviving.
My world stabilized, and I discarded the notion. I could do this. It was a case of mind over matter. And in my mind, the only thing that mattered was ending Viktor’s reign of terror before it could properly begin.
On slightly unsteady legs, I made my way toward the back, intent on assembling the bundle of equipment in the tubing.
I worked efficiently and quickly, completing the task with enough spare time to change into my dive suit. I didn’t bother to stow my tactical clothes in the explosives bag. I’d just stay in my wetsuit, making a rapid escape a possibility.
With minutes to spare, I dropped back into my seat, limbs heavy and breath labored. I opened my senses to the clouds surrounding me and drew all the available energy I could from the mixture of water and oxygen. The dynamic force ebbed and flowed with each exhalation and inhalation. A current stronger than one hundred BTUs flooded my system and branched out to jangle along my nerves. I closed my eyes and drew more power from the elements around me, calming the burn in my blood.
I could do this. I had to do this.
The pilot’s voice jarred me back to reality. “ETA for the drop zone is ten minutes. Are you ready, or do you need me to climb ten thousand feet and circle?”
Did I want an extra thirty minutes to repair my depleted body? Absolutely. But in all honesty, I didn’t need them. I’d never be more prepared than I was now.
“I’m good to go,” I replied.
“Putting us on autopilot, then. I’ll be back to open the door for you once I establish a holding pattern.”
The closure of the parachute buckles snapped with certain finality. I double-checked the package I’d created with the necessary diving gear then clipped the remote trigger to the nylon strap crossing my chest. I used a locking carabiner to secure the explosives pouch to my weight belt. The fins were the last things I added.
Ready to go.
The sandy-haired pilot rushed into the cabin. “I’ll buddy check your kit, then we’ll go.”
Obediently, I turned a circle for him. He tugged each clasp, rechecked my regulator and valve; in short, he made sure I was as good to dive out of a plane at eighteen thousand feet as possible. He wound the rubberized strap of my mask around my right arm.
“You’re set.” He frowned. “The tower at Pitcairn has been radioing for our location. Flight regulations say I had to inform them. Even if I didn’t, the transponder would send our position. I think your friends will be following shortly. Are you sure you don’t want to climb and hold?”
Determined, I shook my head.
Two paces away put him at the rear door. He gripped the oh-shit handle to keep him from getting sucked out when the door opened. He lifted the lever to unlatch the only piece of steel between 18,000 feet of wide-open space and me. The littlest thing to go wrong could doom my attempt.
The pilot waited as though wanting my final signal.
I gave him a thumbs up.
He released the latch, and when the cabin filled with roaring wind, his hair danced wildly in the airstream. He trained his eyes on me, watching as if I’d change my mind.
I stepped into the doorway, kicked out the secondary supply package, then leaped out after it.
18
Mission Day 16
The Pacific Ocean
Memories of the first time I jumped out of a plane flickered in my brain as I started my free fall. Toward the end of WWII, the British government had requested assistance from the VIS to regain priceless works of art stolen by Hitler. The goal was to find and reclaim paintings and sculptures created by British artists. And we were charged to recover them before the Soviets could. I’d parachuted over Austria and then, along with four other VIS operatives, spent six weeks glamouring the entrance to a salt mine to hide us as the Monuments Men retrieved thousands of pieces of art.
Now I experienced the same sensory overload. Wind roared in my ears once I hit terminal velocity on my fall. Adrenaline screamed through my veins when I flattened my body to the perfect fall posture, belly facing the Earth, back slightly arched, arms and legs extended. Falling at a rate of 1000 feet every five seconds, I’d plummet for a little over a minute.
At five thousand feet, I deployed my silk and triggered the chute on the supply package. The drag slowed my descent, and for several minutes I was able to scan the horizon. The volcano on Rapa Nui rose above the rest of the island. Not a single puff of steam left the crater, and I wasn’t certain if I should take that as a good sign. Either the tectonic activity had ceased, or enough time had elapsed between quakes that another was due.
For an instant, I pondered how much damage the island would suffer when I blew the explosives. Would there be a killer-sized earthquake? Would the blast trigger a tsunami? What would happen to the ancient monoliths? There were so many variables, too many unknowns.
Working the tethers, I directed my trajectory to stay in close proximity to the equipment. The ocean rushed toward me, and I gently splashed down in the rolling waves. I released my parachute, letting it sink beneath the surface, and swam toward the supply buoy. The smaller chute suffered the same fate as mine, disappearing slowly in the crystal clear Pacific waters. Working quickly, I strapped the equipment to my weight/utility belt. A touch of a button brought the small motor on the dive sled humming to life. I adjusted my facemask, tucked the regulator between my teeth, and let myself sink below the surface.
Once stabilized, I gripped the sled and let it propel me toward my destination, lazily kicking my fins to help direct me down. The tons of water surrounding me muffled everything, so only my breathing sounded in my ears, the steady cadence accented by the whirr of the motor. As much as I loved jumping out of planes, being cocooned underwater was my happy place.
I dove to a depth of one-hundred meters where we’d estimated we’d find the outlet pipe. Water pressure increased on my body as I went deeper. At this depth, the weight around me began to take a toll. My limbs felt oddly fatigued and my muscles cramped painfully as if on fire. I hadn’t thought about how the toxins still circulating in my system might be impacted by the ocean depth.
I ignored the pain as best I could, instead studying the terrain beneath…and the looming land formation ahead of me. My breath became erratic, and I forced myself to focus in order to regulate my inhalations. I had to keep my lungs working. Lucien used to tease me that my dogged determination would be the death of me. He was right about that. I’d make my goal despite the pain making me lightheaded.
Finally, I caught sight of the pipe jutting away from the edge of the subsea mountainside. A small light flashed on top, a beacon to guide workers in the gloom. I deactivated the sled and anchored it on a rock formation, then turned on my dive torch so I could see what I was doing. As we’d suspected, a grid covered the outlet. A thick-hasped lock secured the grate in place. I’d have to take the blowtorch to the hinges.
My fingers were numb as I dragged the tool free of the mesh bag. It slipped free of my grip and my heart thudded in instant dread. My brain felt wrapped in gauze, cloudy and not capable of processing simple commands. The torch plunged away, but with supreme effort, I grabbed it before I could lose sight of it. I shook my head to clear the fog and focused on igniting the cutting flame. The sudden bright light burned my eyes, and I squinted.
You can do this, Jayne. Get to it. Perhaps if I kept talking to myself, I could stay with the task. My jaw ached from clenching the regulator for so long.
I applied the blowtorch to the fastenings holding the lock in place and cut them away. Applying scant pressure, the grate gave way enough to swim through the opening. I stowed my tools back in the mesh bag hooked to my belt and entered Viktor’s subterranean facility.
Despite the sludgy, noxious nature
of the water, I found an overhead access hatch ten feet into the pipe and figured out it opened with a lever. I lifted the latch. My arms felt like spaghetti as I hoisted myself through the opening. I flopped onto my back in a puddle of water that had leaked in with me, but the pressure was stabilized enough that the compartment didn’t flood. I lay still for several minutes, willing my strength to return enough to allow me to close the hatch.
Sitting up, I darted my gaze around the good-sized space, room enough for three to four workers to cram inside before entering the rest of the lab. I spit out the regulator and shed my tanks. They landed in the water with a splash and a muted clunk. Next, I dropped my weight belt with a similar thud.
Everything about my body felt wrong, like I was fearfully sick. I leaned against the wall and slumped down. I hadn’t felt this level of pain, this lethargy, since the day I was turned.
I fought to remain conscious, knowing if I blacked out and Viktor’s men found me…
I didn’t even want to contemplate that. Hollow sound filled the compartment when I slapped my cheeks. My breath was so labored I opted to turn my air tank back on and shove the regulator back in my mouth. It helped somewhat, but a new worry arose. If I depleted my air supply, I might not be able to escape Rapa Nui.
Trailing my hand in the water, I attempted to draw healing energy into my body, but my brain was too foggy to open my senses enough to be of service.
Eyelids heavy, my breath became even more difficult to draw. My entire body burned with the lack of the serum.
I faced my own mortality with regret. I wasn’t going to stop Koszlov’s evil plan. My vision dimmed. I only prayed that Lucien and Tamsyn were more successful than I’d been.
I closed my eyes and gave into the blackness.
“Jayne.”
The urgent whisper tugged at the edges of the fog surrounding me. The respirator was jerked from between my clenched teeth. My head lolled to the side.
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