She is a cyborg, trained by the Institute for one thing—to kill.
Twenty-four is a highly trained killer, a cyborg that owes her life to the Institute. Her orders? Destroy the rebel cell on the planet Brevona. But she has a personal mission of her own and will stop at nothing to complete it.
To put a kink in her plans, she is told she will be accompanied by a squeaky old robot, and Ninety-one, a cyborg from the male division. The mismatched duo and bot set out to find the pocket of rebels, but instead find unexpected information that will change their lives forever.
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Recreancy
Copyright © 2018 Taryn Jameson and Gabriella Bradley
ISBN: 978-1-4874-2210-3
Cover art by Martine Jardin
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Recreancy
Veiled Eliminators Book 3
By
Taryn Jameson and Gabriella Bradley
Chapter One
Captain Henry Fitzgerald peered out of the sliding glass doors of the kitchen at the little girl standing by the curb in front of the house. It was his daughter, Olivia’s, second day of first grade and she was quite independent. She’d been determined to wait for the military transport provided to take base personnel’s children to their off-post school, on her own.
When the white bus numbered Alpha-Fifteen, pulled up to the curb, she turned to him and waved, her blonde pigtails bouncing around her head and a huge smile lighting up her face. Henry waved back and mouthed I love you before she swiveled and skipped up the steps into the bus, her pink backpack with the Minnie Mouse picture on it bouncing on her back. He watched her movements until she had taken a seat in the very back of the bus and the vehicle pulled away.
“You worry too much, Henry.” His wife, Marisa, sat at the table feeding their ten-month-old daughter, Vera, her cereal. Robbie, their three-year-old son, was on the floor building a tower out of blocks. Marisa’s mother, Abigail, was busy in the kitchen putting away the breakfast dishes.
He smiled at his beautiful wife. One of the things he loved about Marisa was her optimistic attitude. She was a born fighter. She had to be. The leukemia that had ravaged her body was in remission, her face no longer pale, and the dark smudges under her eyes were gone. If not for his commission into military service and his latest promotion to work for WLO, she would never have received the necessary treatments.
“We both know what it is like out there. Desperate people do desperate things. I’ve had to clean up after more than my share of terrorist attacks.” He took a sip of his coffee and grimaced. It was better than most of the coffee grounds that were available, but it was far from being pure. He wouldn’t be surprised if they cut the grounds with sawdust. “At least if the school were on the base I wouldn’t have to be concerned.”
“There is security on the bus. Now stop fretting and drink your coffee. You’re going to be late,” Marisa admonished him.
Sighing, he moved to the coffee pot, refilled his mug and took a deep drink of the strong brew. Marisa was right. He probably worried for nothing. Terrorist attacks against the military didn’t happen and the bus Olivia rode was a military transport. There was nothing aboard it save the children and a security detail. No food, no water... nothing that would entice anyone desperate enough to hijack it. The bus couldn’t even be sold to buy food. It could too easily be traced to the WLO and theft from the governing regime was punishable by death.
He gazed at his wife feeding their daughter, a chuckle escaping him at the spectacle they made. Vera held her bowl in one hand and a glob of oatmeal in the other. The little one grinned at him, cereal sticking to her hair, face, and clothing. Gobs of it clung to the tray of her highchair.
“You are such a mess, little lady.” Marisa took the bowl from Vera’s hand and started wiping the cereal from her face. When she had cleaned away most of the goo, she lifted her in her arms. “Time for a bath, pumpkin.”
He couldn’t help smiling at her retreating body. He had a wonderful wife, three beautiful children, and unlike most of the population, they had a nice home, food, and access to medical care.
“Breaking news... We interrupt this broadcast to bring you live coverage on the scene of a hostage situation in progress.”
The tinny voice of the local newscaster interrupted his thoughts.
He grabbed the television remote from the counter, turned up the volume, then focused his attention on the broadcast. An aerial camera panned in on a line of military police vehicles in a highspeed chase, their lights flashing, sirens blaring. A white military transport vehicle sped in front of them. No other vehicles remained on the highway. It looked as though the military had blocked off access to the road and had cleared any traffic.
“This just in from General Pichler, Commander of the WLO Base in Austria.” The camera flashed to the newsroom, and the heart-shaped face of the blonde haired, blue eyed newscaster filled the screen. “A military vehicle transporting the children of military personnel and several high-ranking officers has been seized by a local terrorist organization. Details of their demands have not been provided at this time.”
The view shifted from the newsroom to zoom in on the white bus and the blue Alpha-Fifteen on its side, then back to the overhead cameras of the entire chase.
The cup fell from his hand, hitting the floor and shattering. His heart pounded, and bile filled his throat. He ignored his nausea, grabbed his hat, then stepped over the mess on the floor. Olivia was on that bus, and he damned well would be a part of the team.
“Henry! You’re not going to just leave that are you?” his mother-in-law fussed, while hurrying in with a mop, broom, and dustpan, then picking up the shards of glass.
“Sorry, Abigail. I’m late for work.” His voice sounded toneless, even to his own ears, his gaze was riveted on the television screen. The news still showed the bus barreling down the highway at breakneck speed.
“Henry, what is it?” Marisa stepped beside him. Vera was nestled in her arms, her head resting against Marisa’s shoulder, her thumb in her mouth, tired and ready for a nap. “Oh, my God! That bus... Olivia...”
“Don’t worry, my love. Olivia left only moments ago. I have to run. I’ll be needed on the scene.”
“It’s a bus full of kids. Why would the bastards hijack a school bus? One of ours? It has to be the bus for the high school kids.”
His mother-in-law joined them, her eyes focused on the TV. “That’s just terrible. It makes no sense.”
“Listen, you two, turn the damn thing off. There is enough drama in the world. You don’t need to watch this,” Henry growled, grabb
ed the remote, and turned the TV off. He planted a kiss on Marisa’s lips, jammed his hat on his head, and placed the remote on the counter. “I have to go.”
He pulled open the glass sliding door and stepped outside hoping his wife would listen to him and stay away from the television. Though she had beaten the leukemia, she was still weak. Marisa had not seen the number of Olivia’s bus. He was at least grateful for that. The last thing she needed was to watch the terrifying chase knowing their child was on that bus.
“Say bye-bye, Daddy. See you this afternoon,” Marisa called out to him as he slid the door closed.
He quickly jumped into his vehicle, started the engine, put the car in drive, then sped away from the curb. He knew where the team would be located. He was a member of WLO’s military intelligence team. Most of the time they could thwart an attack before it occurred, but sometimes a cell would attack spontaneously, their targets were usually trucks, laden with food and clean water, earmarked for delivery to the elite. Why they had targeted a school bus, was beyond him unless they were going to hold the children hostage for prisoners, or food.
Driving at breakneck speed, Henry arrived at the stand-off location. The hostage negotiations unit was already there. The bus stood in the center of the road surrounded by police and military vehicles, all at a safe distance. Sharpshooters hovered behind the vehicles.
Henry approached and entered the negotiation unit. “General, what do they want? Why a school bus?”
“They’ve already shot the driver and security guard. We’re not sure at this point how many there are. They have high-powered weapons, and one of them has a bomb strapped around his body. They’re demanding the release of Gerhard Hoffman.”
Henry frowned. “That’s the leader of that terrorist cell we took out last year. He was one of the most wanted men at the time.”
“Exactly. But these guys won’t budge. Release him, or they’ll start killing kids. Worse, set off that bomb. We should have killed the bastard like we did his buddies, instead of taking him into custody. He’s been successful in fighting off the death penalty.”
“What does WLO say?” Henry asked.
“We are not to give in. We have sharpshooters ready to take them out if they get a clear shot, but right now, the bomb is the biggest threat.”
Henry’s stomach somersaulted. His heart battered against his ribs. “My daughter is on that bus.”
“Oh, my God. Olivia?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know what to say. You should excuse yourself from duty, Henry. Go home. Be with your wife.”
Henry shook his head vehemently. “She doesn’t know it’s Olivia’s bus. Marisa didn’t see the bus number.”
The sound of gunfire came from within the bus. Henry cringed. He listened to the negotiator speaking with one of the terrorists.
“We can come to an agreement. Please, they are just children. Do not shoot any others,” the officer pleaded. Placing his hand over the mouthpiece, he turned to the general. “He claimed to have shot three children. If we do not agree to the release of Gerhard Hoffman within the next five minutes, they’ll blow up the bus. They’re threatening to continue their attacks until Hoffman’s release.”
General Pichler took his cell phone from his pocket and speed dialed a number. “Yes, this is Pichler. The situation has escalated. It is out of control. Unless we give them Hoffman, they’re threatening to blow up the bus.”
Henry could hear a male voice shouting as the general held the phone away from his ear.
“We do not negotiate with terrorists! That is final!”
“We’re talking about a bus filled with children, for God’s sake.” He held the phone at a distance again.
More yelling, then a click, then a dial tone.
“WLO won’t budge.”
Henry had listened to the whole conversation. He could hear every word the WLO general had shouted. Horror and fear filled his heart.
Two seconds later, the bus exploded and turned into an inferno. Chunks of twisted metal flew everywhere. Body parts landed close to where he stood. “Noooooo! Oh my God! Olivia!” Henry began to run toward it, but several soldiers and officers held him back. He fought, he yelled, tears soaking his face. He shouted her name over and over. “Olivia... Olivia...”
Henry went silent, felt numb, as he looked at the carnage on the road and beyond on the grassy shoulder. Firefighters were on the scene and extinguished the flames fast. Henry managed to break loose from the hands that held him. He ran to the scene and began searching—for what, he had no idea. No one could have survived. Deep down he knew that.
He noticed a pink backpack lying on the grass, partially scorched, and recognized it as Olivia’s. He ran to it, picked it up, and held it against his face. “Olivia? Honey, it’s Daddy! Olivia!” he shouted, in the agonizing hope, that like the backpack, she had been thrown clear.
“Henry, it’s no use.” General Pichler grabbed his arm and tried to lead him away from the scene. “Come. You need to see a medic.”
Clutching his daughter’s backpack to his chest, Henry finally allowed the general to lead him to one of the ambulances. The paramedic administered a shot in his arm. “He can’t drive home, sir,” the medic told the general.
“I’ll drive him home.”
His mind dulled from the tranquilizer Henry gazed at the disappearing scene. Vaguely, he saw Schultz’s limo drive away on the narrow, dirt, country road that ran parallel to the highway. “What was he doing here?” he muttered.
“Who?”
“Schultz.”
“I’ve got no idea. I didn’t see him.”
“I just saw him drive away.” Henry’s own voice sounded like it came from far away. As they pulled up in front of his house, he buried his face against the backpack. It smelled of smoke.
His heart felt like a heavy stone. His little girl... she was gone. How could WLO have allowed this to happen? He hated the bastards even if he had accepted the commission to be part of their intelligence team. He had done it for his family, to give them a better life.
My baby girl... maybe they shot her before they set off the bomb and she was saved from suffering the explosion? That thought, and the reality sliced through him like a sharp knife. Olivia... gone forever... How was he going to tell Marisa?
Chapter Two
Fourteen years later...
Dr. John Schultz poured fresh coffee into his mug. His hand shook slightly, spilling some of the hot contents on the counter. This was how it started, a negligible tremor that progressed to weakness in his wrist and fingers. He quickly wiped away the mess and returned to his chair, placing his cup on the desktop. It was time for his injection.
The forever young program was great, but beneath their youthful appearance, the subjects still aged. If he was just a few days overdue, the symptoms started. He was deathly afraid of Parkinson’s, a disease that was not normally hereditary, but several of his family had been stricken with it. Only fifteen percent of Parkinson’s cases were inherited. Of course, he had to be one of the fifteen percent.
The forever young serum kept the illness at bay, ridding his body of the crippling effects, but their supply was running low, and he was more than concerned about his own welfare. Since the terrorists had taken control of the refueling station on Zahiria, there had been no space travel. Also, with the viral epidemic now raging across the world, all travel had been stopped in an attempt to contain it. All ground and air transportation—public transport, trains, trams, buses, and planes—screeched to a complete halt. A few lucky individuals that owned a car could still get around but were only allowed to drive on the roads if they wore a mask.
People were dropping like flies worldwide. WLO had ordered the Institute to concentrate on developing an antidote, but the hell with it. John didn’t care if half or more of the world’s population died. The thinning of overcrowded cities would bring relief, cull the weak and undesirables from the gene
tic pool. It would make humans stronger and more adaptable to adverse climates. No, his efforts had been to try and replicate the forever young serum, to make a synthetic serum. But he’d had no success, neither had his partner, Dr. Bruce Schmidt.
If he couldn’t get the two secret ingredients soon, they’d be up shit creek, not just for themselves, but also their wealthy clients. He could use the portal to pick up the ingredients himself, but he’d have no way of getting back. After the crises of the refueling station takeover, the epidemic, and the rebels on Brevona had been dealt with, they really needed to build a portal on Brevona. Or better, speed up possession of the damned planet and begin the relocation program. He’d have access to the ingredients first-hand. That’s if Ryan ever told him what they were exactly, and where he got them. He had yet to figure out why his brother was so secretive about the two ingredients.
The door opened, and Bruce joined him. Was it his imagination or did Bruce look older already? “Any success yet with the synthetic version of the formula?”
Bruce shook his head. “Unfortunately, not. We need your secret components.”
“Until space travel resumes, we’re out of luck.” He brushed his fingers through his hair and rubbed his face. He could feel the muscles in his jaw and face twitching. The tremors were getting worse by the minute. Luckily, Bruce didn’t seem to notice.
“Fuck. What in the hell are we going to do?” Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. “Some of our clients have already succumbed to the virus. If we can’t keep up with the injections, we’ll lose the rest. And what about our financial status? We’ll have to start dipping into our own money, our private investments, to continue our research.”
“Like fucking hell, we will. I have two doses here for each of us. That’ll last us six months. By then the epidemic should have run its course, and we will have gotten rid of the bastards that have taken control of the refueling station.”
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