by Ronie Kendig
Claxons screamed through the building, shrieks throwing themselves against the wall and rebounding. The team twitched, unholstering weapons and turning as they assessed the bunker now bathed in red, swirling lights.
“This is not a drill,” a mechanical voice announced. “Active Threat Warning.”
Massive iron grates and steel doors thudded into place, sealing the bunker tight.
Cell shared uncertain glances with Culver and Saito, then Mercy. The walls and floor vibrated, just like his nerves.
“What’s going on?” Nesto started toward Braun’s office, but the formidable admiral headed him off.
“The deputy director called me, and I activated it,” Braun said.
“Shut it off,” Nesto ordered.
Frustration seemed to tighten the admiral’s eyes. “I can’t,” she shouted over the claxons. “There is an active threat against the bunker. It won’t shut down until security clears the entire bunker and verifies there is no threat in the building or our systems.”
“Where is Iliescu?” Nesto growled.
“Coming down the access corridor even now,” she said, glancing at the steel door adjacent to his office.
“What’s the threat?” Culver hollered over the alarms.
Braun’s shoulders lifted and fell in something that looked a lot like defeat. She said something, but the claxon drowned out her words. “Leif,” she shouted, her expression saying everything.
“Why would the threat be Leif?” Canyon demanded, his expression fierce.
“Leif believes Dru betrayed him,” Braun explained, “so he’s coming to settle the score.”
Mercy flew past them to her laptop and started typing.
Wait, no, not her laptop—the main system.
Cell went to her. “What’re you doing?”
Hair dangling over her shoulders, she leaned closer to the monitor, her fingers zipping over the keys with precision and determination.
“Don’t let her,” Alisz cried from her cell. She had a thin line of sight on the hub.
Irritated that Alisz barked orders at Reaper, Cell focused on Mercy working away. Feverishly. Frenetically. What was going on? “Hey, what’re you doing?” When she didn’t answer, he leaned in. “Mercy.”
Something in her eyes wasn’t right.
“Mercy!” he snapped, touching her shoulder.
She slapped his hand and went right back to work.
Admiral Braun ordered a Marine to silence the claxons, then glanced at Mercy. “What’s going on?”
“Our training is going on,” Alisz asserted loudly from the back. “She’s accessing facility security protocols.”
Cell glanced at the monitor and felt a twinge of angst. Alisz might be telling the truth. But he couldn’t imagine Mercy putting them in danger. His gaze followed her coding. She was accessing security measures. “Merc.”
“No time, Barc,” she bit out.
“Tell us what you’re doing—is Alisz right?”
“She’s an ArC operative, and you’re questioning me?”
He reached around the back of the terminal and yanked the cords. The monitor went blank.
Mercy gaped and froze. Blinked. “What’d you do?”
“That’s what I want to know. What were you doing?”
Her brows furrowed as a dark shape formed up behind her—Baddar. “I was saving him.”
“Him?” Cell leaned in. “Leif? Why would you be saving anyone?”
“She feels there’s a threat,” Alisz said.
“Stay out of my business,” Mercy growled over her shoulder to Alisz. “You shouldn’t even be here. You’re a menace!”
“There are a lot of places I’m not supposed to be, but right here is where I want to be.”
“Why? To corrupt the process?”
“Do you hear her?” Alisz asked with a wry smile, shaking her head. “Does that sound like your friend?”
“Shut up!” Mercy snapped, then settled her frustration and hazel eyes on Braun. “Admiral, this woman is an asset owned and trained by those loyal to ArC. If you don’t let me finish—”
“You were trained at the same place.” Braun’s words were almost a question.
“I escaped years ago,” Mercy said evenly, “with Dru’s help. I’ve been on my own for a decade. Ask him.”
“Unfortunately,” Braun said, “he’s not here yet, so I can’t.”
“Yes,” Mercy hissed, “because those security walls locked him out. He is who I was trying to save.”
“What do you mean save? He’s stuck in the tube.”
“No,” Mercy huffed. “When the Active Threat Scenario goes live, any of the tunnels that detect unauthorized movement release a nerve agent.”
Alene started. “H-how do you know that?”
“It’s my business to know.” She nodded to her disabled system. “I think I managed to shut down those measures on the access Dru uses, but I couldn’t confirm that because Cell killed my system.” She lasered him with a glower. “If Dru was in that tunnel when the agent released? You killed him, Barclay.”
Cell had to admit he was starting to feel a little sick.
Mercy’s lips went taut. “Alisz Vogt is a danger to this hub and to those in it, Admiral.”
“A danger to you, Ariadne,” Alisz taunted.
Ariadne?
Mercy’s cheek twitched. “How did you find me? Is that why you went for Cell? Because you were trying to get to me and couldn’t? So you used him, manipulated him into believing you liked him, and bam! You’re in the one place you couldn’t breach and talking to the one person who vowed never to speak to you again.”
Cell swallowed hard. He’d known he was getting in over his head, but this . . . he couldn’t have messed up this badly. They’d . . . connected.
“Convenient, don’t you think, Barc?” Mercy’s eyes brightened with anger. “You just happened to find a link to the intel nobody had been able to find. And all through a professional systems saboteur.”
This could not be real. But the truth resonated in Alisz’s expression that the scenario Mercy laid out was true. Anger charged past his idiocy. “Are you serious? You used me?”
Alisz’s confidence faltered. “It . . . not in the way you think.”
Cell barked a laugh. “How you think that makes sense is beyond me.”
“What’s our status?” Dru’s commanding voice demanded as he entered the facility and closed the access hatch.
“Chaos,” Canyon groused from the side. “Glad you made it, sir. You can thank Mercy for that.”
“Not surprised.” After a nod of thanks, Dru waved them over. “Group up. We don’t have much time.”
“For Leif?” Canyon asked.
Dru gave him a pained expression then swiped a hand over his mouth. “A facility in South Africa was hit last week. SATINT and HUMINT indicate Leif was a part of it. I believe he was acting with Rutger Hermanns.”
“Who’s now dead,” Braun added.
“I saw the news on that attack—it was a hospital for the disabled.” Culver’s blue eyes darkened. “You seriously think Leif was involved?”
Dru hesitated. “I do, but I believe he was acting on bad intel.”
“What proof do you have of bad intel?” Nesto demanded.
“We can play armchair politics, or we can get ready for what’s coming,” Dru growled at the colonel.
“You mean Leif is coming,” Canyon said.
“He was in my home and left a message—a target drawn over a picture of me,” Dru said.
“That’s not just a message—it’s a threat,” Nesto corrected.
“Why would he do that?” Culver asked.
“If Runt wanted to hurt you,” Saito said, “you wouldn’t be here talking. I’ll point out that he got into your home and didn’t act against you.”
“Agreed. I think he’s coming here for the book. I think he wants to make a point.” Dru’s gaze hit Iskra’s. “Do you have the book?”
“No, I stashed it f
or safekeeping,” she said, drawing in a shaky breath.
Cell balked. “Are we talking about the Book of the Wars? You have it and didn’t tell us? If Leif shows up and it isn’t here—I don’t want to see that.” His hand reflexively went to his throat.
“Leif is coming and he’s not . . . himself,” Dru said. “Let’s prepare, but be clear—we do not act against him. No matter what.”
“If he attacks,” the colonel said, “you can bet your beret I’m going to shoot.”
“You’ll go through me, first,” Canyon warned with a sinister calm.
“Whatever it takes.” Nesto wasn’t backing down.
“You haven’t gone up against these Neiothen,” Saito argued, “so I’d go easy on that trigger, Colonel.”
“That’s exactly why we need swift, decisive action against them,” Nesto retorted.
“You have no idea what you’re saying,” Dru countered. “And I will not let this bunker become a slaughterhouse because of your trigger itch. Get it under control. If forced to engage, it will all be non-lethal.”
“Agreed. Pretty sure every member of Reaper will take it personally if you go after one of our own, Colonel.” Culver folded his arms.
“Sir?” came Mercy’s tentative, worried voice. “You really think he’s gone to the dark side?”
“Dark side? No. However, I think he’s letting his anger control him. After the facility, Hermanns’ death—”
“Also,” Braun spoke up, “Wheeler’s aide was found dead this morning.”
Dru started. “What?” He paled.
And that nearly made Cell soil his pants—the director was rarely ever caught off guard, and the aide’s death scared him.
Crack! Pop!
The unmistakable report of a weapon rocketed down the corridor, followed by a scream. Weapons snapped out with a fluid grace only found in the experience of skilled operators. They aimed in the direction of the confrontation. Amid the still-whirling emergency lights, Culver, Saito, Canyon, and Baddar stalked purposefully toward the threat.
Cell cursed himself for hesitating, unwilling to be in Leif’s crosshairs or hands again.
A tinkling noise carried heavily, closer with each tink.
“Flashbang!” Canyon bellowed.
Pop! Hiss!
Culver swung away as a crack rent the air. He went to a knee, and the red splotch spreading over his chest—he was shot!—warned of the threat descending upon them.
Cell shifted, weapon in hand, panic in his chest as six armed men in black lightweight body armor stormed the hub.
TWENTY-TWO
REAPER HEADQUARTERS, MARYLAND
Light exploded, searing her eyes. A deafening boom punched Iskra. Smoke billowed into the bunker, squeezing the air from her lungs. Ringing shrilled through her ears, driving her to the ground as she gripped her head and squeezed her eyes shut. Coughing and on all fours, she waded through the disorientation and pain, aiming for the conference table. Shots persisted amid hand-to-hand combat.
Iskra blinked hard against the burning gas, drew her knife, and scrambled to the other side of the table. Through the chair legs, she watched men in black tactical gear seizing the chaos caused by their flashbangs and moving through the hub with intent. Three quick shots seared the air.
Canyon gripped his leg, then Saito and Baddar. Those few, precise shots effectively crippled what the flashbangs had not—Reaper. None of the wounds were life-threatening, just enough to slow the men and make them rethink trying to take control.
“Please, no—wa—” Cell strangled a scream as he stumbled back.
She had to find cover. Buy time to figure out a strategy. Iskra peered under the table toward the bathroom door. Could she make it without being seen? She glanced back at the chaos to be sure the attackers were distracted, then slid forward—straight into the muzzle of a weapon.
Iskra froze, hands up, not wanting the immobilizing shot to be a permanent one. She could not die here, not with Taissia still in Bogdashka’s clutches. The man freed her of the dagger and thumped her over the head.
Pain wracked her temple. She fought the instinct to fight back.
Another Neiothen—that was what Dru said they were, right?—hauled her up and pitched her toward the team gathered in the center of the hub, gripping their wounds. Even injured, Reaper kept their focus and formed a protective perimeter around the women. They stared out at the balaclava-clad men who pointed automatic rifles at them. Hazy smoke hung in the air, giving the ordeal a terrifying aura.
These insurgents had seized control in under thirty seconds, leaving no doubt that they were, in fact, Neiothen. There was really only one way for them to be so efficient—they knew the enemy. Knew Reaper, this bunker. And that meant Leif was here. The thought was repugnant—he was better than that. Yet . . . he had broken into the director’s home.
“Your injuries are non-life-threatening unless you decide otherwise,” said a Neiothen via voice changer.
“What do you want?” Colonel Nesto demanded.
“You’re not in charge.” Another Neiothen aimed his weapon at the colonel’s left leg—the one without a wound. “Need more incentive?”
Fists balled, Nesto vibrated with anger that seemed to make even his white-blond hair redden.
“Everyone on the ground,” yet another Neiothen ordered, his voice masked as well. “Hands where we can see them.”
Stunned as the Neiothen stalked through the bunker, Iskra eyed Dru, who was holding his bloodied thigh. She grabbed a scarf draped over a chair and shifted toward him.
“He’s here,” Dru whispered to her.
“I can’t believe he’d do this.” She did not want this to be true. She wanted to say this wasn’t Leif—but it was. Anger did strange things to people, changed them.
“He would—he believes I betrayed him.”
“Did you?”
“Not in the way he thinks,” Dru conceded grimly.
“That’s what Alisz said to Cell. It didn’t help him feel less betrayed.” Iskra frowned, her gaze surfing to the Neiothen as she tightened the scarf around Dru’s leg. “What did you do?”
“Later,” Dru said with more than a little irritation. “Right now we need to figure out which one is Leif and get him isolated.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, they all look alike,” Cell muttered, intruding on their conversation.
“It’s a race between us and them.” Dru eyed the Neiothen. “They only have ten minutes before quick-response units and the National Guard swarm this place. It’s automatic when the Active Threat Scenario is triggered. It takes them that long to assemble, brief, and get onsite.”
“We cannot let this get out of hand,” Canyon gritted out as he bound his own wound with a torn sleeve. “You and I know why he’s here—and it’s legit. You can’t let this destroy him. Call off the cavalry.”
“I can’t,” Dru countered. “They’re required to clear the building before an ATS downgrade.”
Iskra worried how this would end. Who would still be alive. She again studied the half dozen balaclavas. The mouth portion was firm, molded, and the eyes shields made it impossible to find Leif’s pale blues. “How do we get him alone? Talk to him if he’s angry—”
“Quiet.” A shove against her back pitched Iskra forward.
She caught herself, cheek colliding with a table. Wincing, she palmed the concrete floor and steeled her anger.
Once the Neiothen moved away, Saito inched closer. “It doesn’t make sense. The book had nine names. Most of those died.” He nodded to the insurgents. “There’s too many here. They can’t all be Neiothen.”
“We need a plan. Fast,” Culver growled, holding his chest. He was the only one who’d taken a bullet in the torso.
“And you need a hospital.” Saito shed his shirt, leaving him in an OD-green T-shirt, and pressed the button-down to Culver’s wound. “Hey,” he said to the insurgents, “my friend here needs a doctor, but you just shut us off from help.”
Iskra wondered what that was about. Maybe they just didn’t care if someone died.
“Dru Iliescu,” a mechanized voice called out.
Iskra glanced at Iliescu as a Neiothen caught the director by his collar and hauled him toward the front of the facility.
Another trained his M4 on Dru as he was led aside. “Are you related to Ion Iliescu, the former Romanian prime minister charged with crimes against humanity? Records indicate you are just as guilty of crimes against humanity—against those under your command and your friends.”
“Romanian?” Iskra whispered, stunned. “What does that matter?”
Dru’s gaze remained straight ahead, aimed over the heads of Reaper and other bunker personnel.
“Do these people know what you’ve done? How you killed a man who called you friend? Who trusted you?” The Neiothen pointed his weapon at Dru’s temple. “You need to pay—”
Iskra drew in a breath.
“Wait!” Canyon hobbled forward. “What’s going—” When a Neiothen surged at him, he grabbed the weapon and yanked it toward himself. But with blood-slicked hands, the weapon slipped, and the insurgent struck hard and fast, coldcocking him in the face.
Canyon staggered back, pinching the bridge of his gushing nose. He dropped hard next to her and shook his head as their eyes met.
The Neiothen glanced at Reaper. “Anyone else feeling like a hero?”
“We have one task here,” another intoned. “So if you stay calm, you stay alive.”
Baddar lifted his hands as he knelt. “Tell us what you want. We can help.”
Beside him, Mercy grabbed his arm and hissed a no.
A Neiothen brought Alisz out of the tank and thrust her at the feet of the leader near Dru.
“Who are you?” He planted a foot on Alisz’s neck. “You don’t belong here.”
“You’re right. Does that mean I get to leave?” she said demurely, though fear glimmered in her eyes.
The Neiothen drove his boot into her side.
With a strangled grunt, Alisz curled up, gripping her ribs.
“Name!”
“Alisz Vogt,” she grunted. “Prisoner or friend, depending on who you ask.”