Mosaic (Breakthrough Book 5)

by Michael C. Grumley

  Neely’s eyes widened. “What? Are you kidding?!”

  He frowned and put his hands on Neely’s shoulders. “Better now than before his friends show up.”

  “So you’re going to go out and fight him?!”

  He snuck a look over her shoulder at Clay. “Not exactly.”

  Anvil came to a halt when Caesare stepped out into the hallway. It was definitely him.

  Although a clever ruse with the beard and old clothing, Anvil wondered how they’d managed to get past some of the CIA’s best computer security. He’d done his share of tactical infiltration, but nothing compared to what they had just accomplished, leaving Anvil with a brief sense of admiration. SEALs were some of the best out there, but they couldn’t walk through walls. So how’d they do it?

  They had to have found a weakness. Anvil wondered if he would have found it.

  The man in front of him was Steve Caesare, ex-SEAL and one of the men he and his team had been bird-dogging from the rooftop of the motel in Trinidad.

  They had spent several days, patiently waiting for an opportunity where Borssen could call them in. For what Anvil considered a near-perfect extraction of the woman and the Chinese teenager. Which also left him wondering just how Caesare and Clay managed to find them so quickly.

  In his line of work, Anvil’s adversaries had run the gamut from highly competent to near worthless. And these two were at the top of the first list. Refreshingly so, Anvil thought. Getting a piece of each would make for impressive trophies.

  Moving forward down the hall, Anvil allowed himself to smirk with anticipation. Clearly, they had managed to take a rifle from one of the guards. But each maintenance guard carried only one magazine, and with the exchange he’d just heard, they were no doubt low on ammo now. And they wouldn’t be stupid enough to use it all up on him unless they had no other choice. And there was nothing he loved more than killing with his bare hands.

  He studied the approaching Caesare and brought one fist down at a time, cracking his knuckles.

  Neely was almost beside herself. “My God! What does he think he’s doing?”

  Behind her, a surprisingly calm John Clay double-checked the rounds in his magazine and slapped it back in. Remaining close to Li Na, he answered Neely with a question. “Anyone else in the hall yet?”

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  “Good?” she retorted. “If it’s so good, why does Steve have to duke it out with that…monster?”

  Clay shrugged offhandedly, with his head still down, now checking his weapon’s chamber. “It’s not a cockfight.”

  “Well, what would you call it?”

  “We’re here to get you two out.” Clay raised the weapon and winked at her. “And Steve is about to clear a path for us.”

  Caesare moved smoothly toward Anvil, finally getting close enough for a good look at the man. “And I thought the guys at the motel were exaggerating.”

  Anvil replied with a raise of his eyebrow.

  Now within twenty feet, Caesare smiled through his beard. “Ever play any football?”

  “No.”

  “Too bad.”

  The words were barely out of his mouth when Caesare suddenly exploded into a run, charging the surly-faced Anvil. His muscles coursing, he covered the distance in less than two seconds.

  136

  Neely couldn’t help but flinch when she saw the two men collide in the hall, like two charging bulls smashing into each other at full speed. No, not bulls…like two locomotives.

  Clay brushed past her. “Get ready to run.” He reached the edge of the wall, peering out.

  Then something sounded behind them.

  It was a gasp. From Li Na. Followed by his name. Her voice shuddering in a Chinese accent.

  He turned to find her facing away from him, looking back down the other section of hall from the way she and Neely had come.

  “What is it?”

  “Someone is coming,” she whispered.

  He watched Li Na back up, her eyes boring straight ahead, and Clay noticed a faint reflection on the wall, perhaps thirty feet away. A moment later, a figure stepped around the opposite corner and stopped.

  “Who is that?”

  “Oh, God. It’s him.”

  “Who’s him?”

  Neely shook her head. “We have to go. Now!”

  “Who is it?”

  “His name is Seever. Their pet project,” she said grabbing his arm. “We have to go!”

  ***

  It was like running into a brick wall.

  Caesare’s own weight and momentum all came to an abrupt stop when he hit Anvil, barely moving the man’s massive frame backward. But backward he did move, stumbling briefly to regain his balance before wrapping two massive arms around Caesare. Throwing him to the floor, the behemoth slammed the SEAL into the hard linoleum.

  There was barely enough time to stand before Anvil was on top of him again. A pair of giant arms crashing down momentarily stunned Caesare, but then he launched himself back into Anvil like a piledriver.

  Forty feet behind him, Clay stepped in front of Li Na. Raising his carbine, he captured Seever in his sights, who was approaching them quickly.

  “Stop,” Clay growled, “or I’ll put you down. Right here.”

  The man coming down the hall slowed at the sight of the rifle. He focused past the barrel, onto Clay’s partially hidden face. Then he moved to the gun’s barrel and trigger guard just below it, where Clay’s index finger was waiting.

  “Now…back up!”

  Seever didn’t move. Instead, he remained still. And said nothing. Giving no indication of his intentions.

  When he reacted, it was sudden, and in the same second, Clay fired.

  But all they saw was a blur. Even Clay was surprised to find Seever still standing, several feet from where he had been. He immediately fired again, targeting the man’s chest, but missed.

  “Jesus,” he murmured. “What the hell is that?”

  “Genetic engineering.”

  Seever smiled under his intense gaze and raised a hand, smashing it into the wall next to him––sending an explosion of plaster chunks to the floor.

  “Okay,” Clay declared, stepping back. “You’re right. Time to run.”

  The shots were heard just as the Anvil slammed Caesare into the wall and let him fall, leaving the Italian writhing and rolling both eyes.

  This was not a good plan. The man was like a wrecking ball with arms. Powerful, and fast. And almost immovable, even for someone Caesare’s size. It was not something he was used to.

  He barely saw the Anvil’s hands double up before they smashed again into Caesare’s chest and jaw, ripping the inside of his mouth and releasing a stream of fresh blood. Followed immediately by a powerful kick, Caesare felt the full force into his injured ribs.

  He slid backward, struggling to distance himself. My God, the bastard was strong.

  Caesare pushed himself against the wall, allowing just enough time to get onto one knee. Then he spotted Clay and both women rounding the corner toward him…and running like hell.

  It was a fleeting image before the Anvil rushed forward and smashed into him again, knocking Caesare into the opposite wall with a painful thud.

  The older SEAL rolled his eyes and tried to back up once more, but instead he stumbled and fell. He made an attempt to stand, but it was too late. The Anvil was already charging again.

  Raising an arm to protect himself, a single thought emerged in Caesare’s dazed brain. He rolled onto both knees and pulled one leg in, watching the giant mass bearing down on him. The volume of muscle and power was hard to imagine in a single man. But he was a man with the same design weaknesses as everyone else. If he couldn’t compete with the man’s size, he had to go for structure. Or in this case, joints.

  With one leg cocked nearly to his chest, Caesare exploded with everything he had in a single explosive kick, thrusting his boot out and directly into the Anvil’s incoming right knee
.

  His momentum too hard to stop in time, the deep thunderous crack was sickening and suddenly inverted the knee as if it were bending in reverse.

  The hulking man suddenly buckled, howling in pain as he twisted and collapsed directly on top of Caesare, flattening him against the floor.

  The Anvil’s howl turned to fury, and he rose and smashed his arm fiercely into Caesare’s back, again and again. Each time, he drove the blows deeper between the man’s shoulder blades. When he saw his own misshapen leg, he raged even more uncontrollably, instantly reaching down and grabbing a handful of Caesare’s thick hair.

  With erupting anger, he pulled Caesare’s head off the floor and cocked his right hand into an iron fist.

  It was then that John Clay fired his last bullet. Ripping through the Anvil’s arm and shoulder, the impact threw him forward. Clay leaped in midstride and flew into the Anvil from behind.

  137

  It was Clay’s shot that severed the brachial artery and half of the Anvil’s median nerve, destroying all mobility below the man’s right shoulder. Coupled with a smashed knee, the combination of injuries left the giant man struggling to turn and find Caesare.

  In an instant, Clay was on him, circling behind and wrapping his forearm around the Anvil’s throat. His other arm gripped up and over the back of the man’s massive neck like a vise.

  Clay clenched his teeth and squeezed, trying to maintain his hold while the Anvil bucked wildly beneath him. He clenched and pressed harder, with every ounce of strength he had, desperate to compress the Anvil’s carotid arteries. But the sheer amount of muscle in the giant’s neck made it almost impossible to reach them, even the jugular.

  Clay refused to let up. He continued squeezing, ratcheting the Anvil deeper into his own chest, forcing the man’s head to one side, until he could feel a throbbing pulse through his forearm. There, he held it unflinching, until the Anvil’s movements began to slow.

  Seconds felt like minutes before ischemia set in, eventually slowing the Anvil to a crawl and dropping his hands to his sides.

  When the man became still, Clay rolled his eyes in relief and pushed him forward onto the floor. He crawled toward Caesare, and with a heavy shove, pushed his friend onto his side to check his eyes.

  Blood seeped from his lips as Caesare stared back at Clay in a daze. “That,” he said, “…was not a good plan.”

  Clay nodded. “I say the old plan is the new plan.”

  “You mean just get the hell out of here.”

  “Exactly–” Clay began to grin when his mouth and lips suddenly froze at the feel of a gun barrel being pressed firmly against the side of his temple. His eyes looked at Caesare, who was not moving either, and stared fearfully up into the face of Debra Borssen.

  Standing over them, she snarled and eased back carefully out of range, keeping her gun pointed directly at Clay’s head. She glanced down at the Anvil’s slumped figure in disbelief.

  “It’s over,” her voice seethed. “For both of you. This is as far as you go.”

  Borssen aimed her gun and reached for the trigger, when she was interrupted by the unmistakable sound of a bullet being chambered in another gun. She spun to see Neely Lawton facing her––arms outstretched and gripping the Anvil’s semi-automatic .45 tightly between both hands.

  “Then you’re going with them,” Neely said coldly.

  Borssen moved only her eyes, from the gun in Neely’s hand to her face, studying the woman inquisitively. And after several seconds, the corners of the agent’s mouth began to turn up.

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “You won’t do it. You, Neely Lawton, are not the killing type.”

  When Neely didn’t respond, her smile widened. “And it would mean killing me. Here. In cold blood.”

  Again, there was only silence.

  “I know you, Neely. And people like you. You’re a researcher. A doctor. Not a killer. You don’t have the instinct. It’s not in you to take another life. Not like this. Because you’re better than this.” Borssen looked directly into her eyes. “That’s right. You save lives, you don’t take them.”

  Neely remained quiet, keeping the gun on Borssen without the slightest fluctuation. Even as Li Na, standing a few feet away, watched the figure of Seever slowly approaching behind them.

  “He’s coming,” the girl whispered nervously.

  “Don’t believe me?” Borssen said. “Then go ahead. Shoot. Shoot and prove me wrong. Show them that you’re not different. That deep down, deep deep down, you’re really just…like…me.”

  Neely’s eyes flared behind the gun.

  From the floor, Caesare shook his head. “Don’t do it, Neely.”

  There was no reaction.

  “Neely,” he repeated firmly.

  Her eyes eventually glanced at him before immediately jumping back to Borssen.

  Caesare pushed himself up with one hand. “Remember what I told you. It’s not worth it.”

  Borssen remained still, carefully watching as Neely began to move, inching forward while keeping the gun leveled directly at her.

  Caesare’s expression grew concerned. “Neely?”

  When Neely finally spoke, her words were cold and aimed at Borssen. “I have just one question. What happened to Kanna and Tiewater?”

  Borssen’s eyes blinked at the question.

  Behind Neely, Li Na’s voice whispered again. “He’s getting closer.”

  Neely took another step. “I said…what happened to Kanna and Tiewater?!”

  All smugness in Borssen’s expression was gone, replaced with a look of uncertainty. But still, defiantly, gave no reply.

  Neely raised her voice. “Steven?”

  She couldn’t see him staring back at her from the floor.

  “STEVEN!” she shouted.

  “Yes?”

  “What happened to them?”

  Caesare’s eyes moved hesitantly to Clay, then back to Borssen. “Neely…listen to me.”

  Her voice grew cold and angry. “Tell me! Tell me right now…are they alive?”

  Caesare stared at her and let out a reluctant sigh. “No.”

  The moment he answered, two flashes exploded from the gun in Neely Lawton’s hands.

  138

  “NEELY!” screamed Li Na.

  Borssen jerked from the impact of both bullets, her eyes wide. Her body momentarily froze in place before it began to collapse. Her hand rose in one last reflex but was caught in midair by John Clay, who stripped away the gun. He then whirled in tandem with Neely to find Seever now rushing toward them, stopped only at the sight of both guns.

  From less than fifteen feet away, Neely’s voice was like ice. “You’re not bulletproof. That I know.”

  ***

  Seever was knocked unconscious with a powerful swing from Clay’s gun. As was the slowly recovering Anvil, who tumbled face first again back onto the hard floor.

  Caesare stood up and wiped a thick streak of blood from his mouth, before stepping over the Anvil and carefully approaching Neely.

  “You okay?”

  She looked at the others, then lowered her gaze to Borssen’s body. “She’s wrong. I am different. But some nightmares…are worth it.”

  139

  They were out of time.

  With Li Na’s help, it took less than two minutes to find the first stairwell. The door was locked and had to be opened the hard way, with several rounds disintegrating the door frame. Once through, she stopped and waited, listening.

  Distant footsteps and yelling could be heard on each level, and in what they assumed was Borger’s doing, the locked doors forced the guards coming from above to search for alternate ways down. Eventually several guards had reached the same conclusion as Clay and Caesare. They began shooting door locks, trying to reach the floor from which the alarm had sounded.

  At each level, Li Na paused and listened to ensure the path up was still safe. At one point, Li Na motioned for the group to remain still while a guard ran down a hal
lway and past their stairwell. Five floors later, they had almost reached the top with surprisingly little interference. In the back of his mind, Clay sensed the irony that Dugway’s maze of hallways and stairs had actually turned luck in their favor.

  Until someone entered the stairwell several floors below and could be heard carefully ascending.

  Together, they all four reached the final exit, where Li Na stopped again. She placed her hand on the door and quickly studied the concrete wall around it.

  “This goes outside.” She turned to Clay. “There is something bad waiting.”

  “How bad?”

  “People,” she said. “Waiting for us.”

  “Do you know how many?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Clay and Caesare looked at each other somberly. It was the moment of truth.

  140

  When the phone rang, Admiral Langford briefly glanced across the table before answering. Defense Secretary Miller sat across from him in his high-backed chair, staring silently.

  On the second ring, Langford reached forward and released the button.

  “Go ahead.”

  “Admiral, I have Will Borger on the line for you.”

  “Put him through.”

  A faint click was heard on the line before Langford spoke. “Borger, you there?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What’s the word?”

  Both men could hear the trepidation in Borger’s sigh. “Unsuccessful, sir. They managed to locate the women, but the CIA locked us out before we could finish.”

  “Casualties?” asked Miller.

  “No, sir.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “They made it back to the surface.”