Crucible

by James Rollins

  They all waited a full minute, letting everything charge up.

  Finally, Julian nodded to Lisa. “You’re on.”

  Lisa swallowed, stood, and leaned closer to Kat’s head. She cleared her throat and yelled into the helmet. “Kat, we need your help!”

  Lisa pictured her words vibrating Kat’s tympanic membranes, stirring the tiny bones in her ear, exciting her auditory nerve, and sending an electrochemical charge into her brain.

  Though Kat was gone, this system should still be functioning.

  Likewise, somewhere in that melon of dead brain matter, Kat’s memories were hopefully still coded and recorded, waiting to be tapped and downloaded.

  “Kat! If you know anything about Harriet or Penny, picture it!”

  Lisa hoped the triggers Harriet and Penny might have a reflexive response, churn up something. She turned to Julian. “Anything?”

  He shifted back so she could see the amorphous gray pixilation of his screen. “No. If there’s even a whisper of a response, the sensitivity of Susan’s dust should capture it.”

  “What about more power?” Lisa asked, swiveling to the other station.

  Susan shrugged and twisted her dial to the max. “We’re in uncharted waters.”

  The helmet vibrated and hummed even louder. On the screen, the motes grew brighter, blurring together into an emerald rendering of Kat’s brain.

  Lisa bent to her friend and shouted. “Kat! Harriet! Penny! Christmas! Attack!”

  She tried every trigger she could think of, her eyes fixed to Julian’s screen.

  The pixilation stirred, swirling, coalescing, then expanding. It looked like a shadowy heartbeat, struggling to push something forth.

  Kat, is that you?

  “It could just be noise,” Julian said, noting the change.

  “It’s not,” Lisa said.

  I know it’s not.

  She leaned and pressed her cheek against Kat’s. Her brow touched the helmet’s edge. It vibrated fiercely, as if Kat herself were fighting in there.

  Lisa remembered Painter’s admonition.

  How can we be sure Kat even knows anything more?

  Lisa knew the answer.

  She fucking knows.

  Lisa screamed. “Kat! Harriet! She’s in danger! Help us now!”

  12:08 P.M.

  We have no more time.

  Standing in her cell, Seichan listened as Valya bellowed, her string of Russian curses echoing from above. Someone had seriously pissed off that woman.

  And I can guess who she’ll vent that anger on.

  Seichan had already expected something would happen soon. In her head, she had been tracking the time. It had been a little over twenty-four hours since Valya had taken Harriet away to make a ransom demand. If Valya had given Sigma a deadline, a day made sense.

  Which meant, time was almost up.

  Knowing this, Seichan had been pacing her cell, too nervous to remain still. Harriet sat cross-legged on her tiny bed, coloring sullenly in a book, ignoring a tuna sandwich, though she had nibbled at a bit of cheese, like a timid mouse, hiding her face under a fall of auburn curls. Harriet hadn’t spoken a word since her sister was taken. But she had let Seichan nestle with her on the small bed, the two curled close, napping for a couple hours. Seichan had woken with Harriet’s tiny fingers entwined with hers.

  That more than anything broke her heart.

  I have to do something.

  Seichan continued to pace. She knew she could not physically overpower her captors. Especially as they remained cautious, even with her being eight months pregnant. And no threats could free her.

  If I can’t fight or talk my way out of this damned box . . .

  She huffed a breath and glanced to the other tiny cot.

  At least Penny was safe.

  Hours ago, Seichan had panicked when she heard the gunshot after the girl was hauled out of the cell. But it hadn’t been Penny. Valya’s men had killed the ultrasound tech after completing her exam, clearly wanting no witnesses. One of the guards had shared this information, mostly to quiet Harriet’s sobbing.

  It had worked.

  Seichan looked to the door. It had gone silent again, which was more worrisome than ever.

  She set off again across the cell—then flinched to a stop with a sharp inhaled gasp. She hunched down, bracing an arm on one knee. The cramp racked her belly. She breathed through it as best she could until it faded.

  Yeah, definitely not fighting my way out.

  After a few more exhalations, she straightened and resumed her pacing, slower now, stepping more gingerly. Over the past day, the cramping had been getting worse. She had resorted to wearing only her panties. Even the elastic band of her maternity pants was too uncomfortable to endure any longer.

  A heavy tramping of boots sounded from beyond the door.

  Here we go.

  Seichan moved in front of Harriet. “Stay there, hon.”

  The door was unbarred and opened. Two men entered first, flanking to either side. She had named them Cattle Prod and Lurch. The former came bearing his usual weapon, the end of it snapping brightly with threat. Lurch had traded his tranquilizer gun for a Magnum-caliber Desert Eagle. It seemed the time for nonlethal weaponry was over.

  Behind them, Valya stalked through the door, her fur-lined jacket open, flaring out. She carried a steel hatchet in one hand.

  Seichan’s breathing sharpened, her eyes narrowed. She locked gazes with Valya. Those ice-blue eyes flicked toward Harriet, then back to Seichan.

  That told her who that ax was intended for.

  “You’re not taking her,” Seichan said.

  Valya’s expression did not change, her features frozen, clearly still furious. And she wanted someone to hurt. “Take the girl,” she ordered Cattle Prod.

  Seichan moved to block him.

  Before she could take a step, the mother of all cramps tore through her. She cried out, fell to her knees. Hot blood gushed out, soaking through her panties, pouring down the sides of her legs. She felt the room spin and fell on her side. Her eyes rolled backward.

  She heard Valya snap with irritation. “Get her out of the way.”

  Cattle Prod came forward and grabbed her by the arm.

  No . . .

  And Seichan meant it.

  She snapped out a tucked leg, her heel contacting his knee. The joint broke backward. Cattle Prod fell toward her. She rolled out of the way, while reaching up to relieve him of his weapon.

  She continued to roll—directly toward Lurch.

  Once close enough, she jabbed her stolen weapon into his crotch.

  Blue sparks exploded.

  He bellowed like an electro-ejaculated bull.

  Valya came at her with the hatchet.

  Seichan parried it aside with the rod. The blade sparked against the stone floor near her hip. She ignored the threat and fumbled for the Desert Eagle as Lurch dropped the weapon, falling backward, his crotch smoking.

  Valya knew Seichan’s skill and lunged toward the door.

  Seichan firmed her grip and fired at her from the floor. Valya stumbled a step, twisting slightly, clearly grazed. Seichan fired again but the round missed as Valya flared her jacket wide, making it hard to judge where her body was. Valya reached the stairs and dove up them.

  Seichan hopped to her feet. “Harriet, come—”

  The girl was not stupid. She dashed to Seichan’s hip.

  Seichan pointed her weapon at Lurch’s nose as Cattle Prod mewled over his broken leg. “Keys.”

  Lurch sneered.

  Seichan swung her gun at Cattle Prod, pushed Harriet the other way, and fired.

  The moaning stopped.

  She never stopped looking at Lurch as she returned the pistol toward him, now pointed at his smoking crotch. “I’ll finish the job.”

  He held up a palm and clawed at a jacket pocket. He pulled out a set of keys and tossed them to her. She caught it one-handed, noting the Ducati symbol on the fob, and swept
to the door with Harriet. Before stepping out, she pointed her weapon back into the cell and fired.

  Lurch’s ankle exploded.

  Seichan then rushed to the stairs and headed up without pausing. While securing the keys, she had heard only one set of footsteps pounding across the floorboards overhead. At the top of the stairs, she burst out of a trapdoor into a large empty barn.

  She looked around, realizing their cell must have been an old root cellar.

  Ahead, out an open door, she spotted a farmhouse across a yard. A trail of smoke climbed into an overcast sky. Snow threatened, but that was not what worried her. As Seichan had popped out of the cellar, a side door of the farmhouse had clapped shut.

  Valya.

  Shouts rose from over there as the bitch roused reinforcements.

  Seichan searched and spotted a row of motorcycles, each garaged in one of the horse stalls. Luckily only one was a Ducati. She rushed over to it, pulled Harriet one-armed into its seat, then climbed behind her.

  It took two attempts for her to mount the bike.

  She was pregnant.

  Fortunately, besides that condition, she was fine.

  The first spotting of blood in the toilet had given her the idea to take advantage of her pregnancy. It hadn’t been hard to feign cramps. To make it more dramatic, she had used the broken tine of a plastic fork to poke tender flesh, while pretending to wipe herself. The hardest part was leaning on her months of Kegel exercises to hold that measure of blood inside her, releasing it when she wanted to for the best effect. Then, with Valya’s deadline fast approaching, she had pretended to use the bathroom and freshened the punctures, so they would bleed more strongly for better effect.

  It was painful, but she imagined it would be nothing compared to when she gave birth. Kat had explained all about episiotomies, with an almost sadistic glee.

  So, this was nothing.

  From the very beginning, she had known she could never escape this box by fighting or talking alone. Her only hope was to outwit the Snow Queen. To accomplish that, Seichan had to believe in her own distress. Valya would have sniffed out anything less real. So she had to both feign and believe, holding both thoughts in her head at the same time. To help her, she channeled her very real fear for her child.

  Free now, she gunned the motorcycle’s engine, leaned over Harriet, and sped out of the stall. She made a sharp turn and flew out the open barn door. Spotting a road to the right, she opened the throttle to a scream and raced toward the snowy forest.

  Other engines roared to life behind her.

  Viewed through the rearview mirror, another cycle and two Jeeps tore around the far side of the farmhouse. She spotted the flap of a silver, fur-lined coat behind the cyclist.

  Valya did not intend to lose her prize.

  A barrage of gunfire confirmed this. Rounds sparked from the icy pavement, tore bark from tree trunks. Snowdrifts puffed with impacts.

  Then Seichan reached a bend in the road and zipped around it, momentarily losing sight of her pursuers. Harriet hugged the hump of the seat, her fingers digging into the leather. Seichan stayed low, pressing her torso over the girl, keeping her knees and elbows locked to either side of her. Not only to shield and protect the child, but Harriet’s body was a steamy little heater between her bare thighs.

  Maybe fleeing in a sweater and panties in the middle of winter wasn’t the best idea. They needed to reach civilization, but she had no idea where she was. She searched ahead, looking for any telltale sign of a town or village.

  Nothing but woods and more woods.

  The road curved back and forth, rolling gently up and down, allowing her to keep ahead of the pack.

  Then the skies opened up and fat, heavy flakes began to fall. Within minutes, the world whited out. She had to slow as the roads grew icy and slick, visibility dropped to yards. She cocked an ear, heard the roar of the other engines. The Jeeps had four-wheel drive and would not slow down. Plus, the throaty whine of the cycle sounded like it was closing in. Valya did not have to worry about balancing a child between her knees.

  Fearing this, Seichan sped up. The road ahead was coated with only a half inch of snow. Unfortunately, around another corner, a hidden patch of black ice betrayed her tires’ grip on the road. The cycle waggled. She fought to steady the heavy bike—then out of the falling snow, another sharp curve appeared.

  Never make it.

  Accepting this, she hugged Harriet and catapulted out of the seat. She aimed for a snowbank, hit it, and rolled across its top and down the far side. She curled around the girl and her belly until she stopped.

  “Up!” she ordered Harriet.

  She hiked away from the road and into the forest. She knew she could never reach the bike and get it upright and moving before the hunters fell upon them. The only hope was to keep ahead of the enemy, to use the snowfall to keep out of sight.

  This plan, of course, had two flaws.

  Seichan was half-naked, while Harriet wore only footie pajamas.

  Plus . . .

  She glanced back at the clear trail through the snow.

  Not good.

  Still, she had no other options. She gripped Harriet’s hand and hurried deeper into the woods, holding one prayer in her heart.

  Dear God, please let somebody know where we are.

  12:32 P.M.

  —here. I’m still here.

  Kat sensed time had stuttered. She could not know for sure, but everything felt different. Before she had been falling down a well after struggling to reach a bright star far above. Now there was no light, only a darkness that was palpable, a thick sludge holding her trapped. She felt as if she were at the edge of suffocation—not just about to lose all breath, but about to lose everything.

  It was hard to think, to hold a thought.

  She vaguely remembered—

  HARRIET!

  The name of her younger child jarred through her, vibrating the dark sludge holding her. She mentally tried to shake herself loose but failed.

  —TROUBLE!

  Then memories flashed like the pop of old camera bulbs. The images were chaotic, fragmented, disjointed.

  . . . the taste of banana baby food at midnight when no one was looking.

  . . . smelling a dirty diaper, followed by the relief of perfumed baby powder.

  . . . holding tiny fingers, as a baby rested on her chest.

  . . . drawing a comb through a stubborn tangle.

  . . . hearing giggles from the next room.

  Again, another thunderous burst:

  —IN TROUBLE!

  With this, a strong memory exploded in the darkness.

  . . . two small forms being carried to a back door, a bright kitchen, darkness beyond, then the girls—my girls!—vanish into the night.

  She remembered. It all came flooding back, both the terror and the pain. She pictured the dagger and a masked face. Anger returned, too, pushing the darkness back. But she still could not break free.

  KAT! HELP . . . CLUE . . .

  It was like listening to a poorly tuned station, but as the memories of that night grew firmer, she understood the intent, heard the song being played on this stuttering radio. She remembered being asked to concentrate on images before.

  A dagger, a hat.

  They still needed more information.

  To save my girls.

  Kat stopped fighting and let the darkness fall back over her. She sobbed in the darkness, but she saw no further use in the struggle. If there was only one message she could convey, it would be simple.

  I don’t know anything that will help.

  32

  December 26, 6:32 P.M. CET

  Pyrenees Mountains, Spain

  “Go, go, go . . .”

  Through his headset, Gray listened as Agent Zabala radioed his command to the two helicopters of the strike team. The pair of NH90 tactical helos lifted off from the staging grounds in the foothills of the Pyrenees. In the rear hold, Gray eyed the seven soldiers of
FAMET, the Spanish Army Airmobile Force. They looked like a battle-hardened crew, but for this mission, they would serve as a protection detail.

  The other helicopter carried another fifteen soldiers who would lead the main assault.

  Zabala had wanted to bring twice this number, while Gray had pressed for a single aircraft, one carrying a smaller strike team. After butting heads, they compromised on two.

  Even this concession by the CNI agent was achieved less from Gray’s efforts than from Father Bailey’s negotiations. Gray stared across the hold at the priest, nearly knee to knee with the man. Bailey was still in black, his white Roman collar bright above a khaki flak jacket. It seemed in a country still deeply religious, deeply Catholic, the church still held sway. The Vatican intelligence agent also had deep pockets of local resources.

  And maybe not just Bailey.

  Sister Beatrice sat next to the priest. Gray had questioned her inclusion, but Bailey simply said, She may be useful . . . and she can certainly take care of herself. Even now, the nun sat stone-faced. When she caught Gray studying her, she stared back, rolling rosary beads between her fingertips, not out of nervousness, more contemplatively. Gray finally had to break that cold stare and look away. He suddenly doubted he could have dissuaded her from coming.

  The helicopter climbed swiftly and swung toward the mountains. The craft bobbled as the winds picked up over the peaks. A winter storm front was moving in, dropping the skies to the mountaintops. The weather should mask their approach. Plus, the sun had set half an hour ago. Outside the chopper’s windows, the twilight gloaming swiftly faded into darkness.

  A gust jostled the craft as it climbed into the low clouds.

  Seated next to him, Kowalski groaned, gripping hard to the bullpup rifle across his lap, one of his knees bouncing up and down.

  “Relax,” Gray said. “Before you end up shooting someone in here.”

  “I already crashed once today. And once is one time too many.”

  “But I’m not flying this bird.”

  Kowalski considered his words, and his knee stopped its bounce. “That’s true.”

  Plus, the flight would be no more than fifteen minutes.

  As if sensing the press of time, Father Bailey bent forward, holding out a tablet in his hand. “I’ve been studying the satellite imagery of the compound. Specifically the ground-penetrating radar survey.”