Sean occupied his mind with a more immediate problem. He turned to the door, knowing at any second someone could burst through and either apprehend them, or worse.
“What’s the plan, Magnus?” Sean asked.
A thumping sound in the distance gave him his first answer. Magnus clarified by pointing to the sky in the east, where blinking red and green lights flashed against the dimming backdrop of the atmosphere. The white helicopter zoomed toward them, the rotors beating the air in a blur.
“That’s the back door?” Tabitha wondered.
Magnus nodded, squinting against the bitter wind. “Yes. I figured it was better than the actual back door, which would likely be blocked.”
Sean took his eyes off the flying coffin and stayed close to the access door. It was going to be close.
He watched the chopper curve around to the front of the building and then ease its way over the rooftop to the helipad at the top of a set of metal stairs above the stairwell shaft.
“Go on up!” Sean shouted over the noise of the aircraft. “I’ll cover the door!”
Magnus nodded, understanding the order as well as the fact that his friend the former special agent knew what he was doing.
“I’ll stay with you,” Tommy offered.
Sean shook his head. “No, go on. Make sure everyone gets on board safely. I’ll be up in a second.”
“You sure?”
“I’m always sure.” Sean shielded his face with the bridge of his hand as dry snow dust swirled around them.
“Okay,” Tommy said with a nod.
Magnus ascended the stairs first, followed by Tabitha, Kevin, and finally Tommy.
The helicopter hovered over the helipad for what seemed like minutes before touching down. The pilot didn’t get out, understanding that his employer was in a hurry and knew well enough how to open the door on the side.
Sean turned his attention back to the access door and waited. He pressed his ear to it for a second, but all he could hear was the chopping of the helicopter’s rotor and the turbine engine powering the aircraft. He glanced up to see Magnus disappear into the cabin, then Tabitha.
A familiar sound cut through the cacophony, and Sean knew it was too late. The noise of the door’s latch was immediately followed by the door bursting open. Sean’s reaction was instant. He raised his right knee and kicked hard, landing his heel against the door with a powerful blow. The impact drove the door back the other direction and slammed it into a man who’d just come through. Momentarily stunned, the blond man in an all-black outfit stumbled backward into the doorframe.
Sean pounced, surging forward in a flash. The attacker raised a pistol, but his reaction was too slow. Sean snatched the barrel, twisted the gun with one hand while pressuring the man’s wrist with the other, and forced the muzzle toward the man’s face. A sudden look of panic filled the man’s eyes before Sean forced him to pull the trigger.
The bullet burrowed through flesh and bone just below the attacker’s nose, and the man slumped back against the wall.
Sean knew more were coming, but he couldn’t hear due to the overwhelming sound of the helicopter’s rotors. He wedged his foot against the bottom of the door and looked up at the helipad to see Tommy standing by the open door to the chopper, waiting. Sean waved a hand, telling Tommy to go.
The door barged against Sean’s shoe, but his foot held firm. If the gunmen were stupid, they would fire into the metal door, which would only result in either deadly ricochets or the bullets falling harmlessly to the floor after a dead stop.
Sean heard no shots, which meant they were going to try to ram their way through. Another hard bump tested his footing again. He knew what would come next. He stepped back and waited with the pistol raised. A loud thump came from the door, accompanied with a new gunman clumsily charging through. The man stumbled, realizing too late that whatever had been blocking the door had been removed. He turned his head in time to see Sean’s muzzle flash. It was the last thing he saw before he dropped to the rooftop with a fresh hole in his temple.
The door had closed back on itself, but whipped open again, catching Sean slightly off guard as another assailant rammed it open. The newcomer had seen what happened to his comrade and was well aware of the danger around the corner.
He spun, firing his pistol in Sean’s direction. Sean ducked behind the shaft housing and pressed his back against the wall. There, shielded from the wind generated by the rotors, he heard the gunman shouting commands. He was speaking heavily accented English, and he was ordering his men to open fire on the helicopter.
A chill ran over Sean’s skin and up his spine. He caught movement out of the corner of his right eye and noticed the shadow—a lone figure of a man—rushing around the opposite side of the small building.
He was hemmed in, knowing that another gunman would be creeping around the corner where he’d taken cover.
Sean had to make a decision, but the attackers on the other side of the structure made it for him. He heard the muted pops of gunfire from suppressors. Fear for his friends forced Sean into action. He chose to take out the nearest threat first and swiveled around the corner. As he thought, a gunman with black hair and pale skin was creeping along the wall. Sean’s first shot struck the man in the side as he raised his weapon and pulled the trigger. Sean fired again and missed, sending the bullet ricocheting off the concrete wall. The gunman staggered to the side, trying to wield his pistol again. He managed one more shot that missed, though Sean had no idea how. The man’s sights were dangerously close to his head. Sean, however, didn’t miss. His third effort sent a bullet through the man’s forehead. The killer fell to his knees and toppled onto his face.
Sean moved quickly, decisively, taking the dead man’s pistol as he hurried around the corner where three more men were unloading a barrage of gunfire at the helicopter as it ascended into the sky. Sean emptied the magazine of his first confiscated weapon into the nearest gunman, dropping him in seconds. The guy in the middle turned in time to catch three more rounds from Sean’s newfound pistol—two in the chest and one in the eye. The third man fell without retaliation as Sean executed him with a bullet through his skull over the right ear.
One left, he thought.
Sean knew he was both hunter and prey at that point. He hurried to the corner and peeked around, but saw nothing. The man had gone around the backside of the building. He’d be returning to this spot any second. They could go around in circles, Sean knew, but he would have no advantage. Neither would the gunman, but Sean had always believed in finding the advantage wherever possible. He noted the door slightly ajar to his right and made his decision.
The killer circled around the corner to discover the last of his comrades dead in a heap near the door. He looked up the steps toward the helipad as the chopper drifted farther away, too far for him to hope for any kind of shot. The man, a redheaded fellow with wide shoulders and bulging arms, returned his focus to the present threat. He’d have to worry about the targets in the chopper later.
He crept toward the left corner again and stopped near the door, waiting. He centered himself in the doorframe and watched, twisting his head back and forth, anticipating his quarry’s next move. The man didn’t know which way the target would come from, making him vulnerable, which meant he was counting on his reflexes and sense of anticipation.
The man breathed evenly, rapidly turning his head in both directions as if watching the world’s fastest tennis match.
He heard a creak come from behind and dove to the right, kicking his legs out wide as he stabbed his pistol toward the door and fired. Bullets sparked off the metal door, most dying on impact and dropping to the ground. He squeezed the trigger until the weapon clicked several times. The man’s breath came quicker now as he released the empty magazine from the well and reached to his belt for a full one.
The door closed. Behind it stood his target.
Sean’s scruffy blond hair blew in the breeze. The helicopter’s rotors stil
l thumped in the distance, but the aircraft was still at a safe distance.
Sean stepped toward the man on the ground; he’d stopped moving. He still held the loaded magazine in his left hand and the empty pistol in his right.
Sean aimed his pistol at the gunman’s face and stared at him with eyes colder than the chilly Swedish air.
“Who do you work for?” Sean asked pointedly.
The man merely stared back at him, as if he didn’t understand the question.
“I know you speak English,” Sean added. “I overheard your commander, or whatever he was, using it. So, you know what I’m saying. We can do this the hard way or the easy way. It’s up to you.”
The man shook his head slowly. “There are fates worse than death, Sean Wyatt.”
Sean cocked his right eyebrow at the man’s statement, both because of its cryptic nature and because the killer knew Sean’s name. He didn’t keep the low profile he had in his past life, but he didn’t exactly advertise himself, either. Then again, if a hit squad was sent to take out him and Tommy, along with Magnus and Kevin, knowing the targets’ names was no surprise. Tabitha, unfortunately, was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“That’s true,” Sean quipped. “I’ve seen some of those fates. Your cliché notwithstanding, I’m going to have to ask you one more time. Who do you work for?”
The man began snickering. It was an evil sound, and one that Sean had only heard a few times from textbook sociopaths.
Sean moved the pistol slightly to the left and squeezed the trigger. The suppressor popped, and the man’s wrist splashed open. His laughter turned to agonized groans as the pistol clattered to the ground next to him. He yelled obscenities at Sean in both English and Swedish, which answered the question as to the man’s origin. It did not, however, answer Sean’s question.
Taking another menacing step forward, Sean hovered over the wounded assailant who writhed on the ground, grabbing at his shredded appendage.
“Tell me who you work for,” Sean said. “And don’t give me the runaround. I know you work for the shadow. I want to know who is at the top.”
The man shook his head. “You know nothing of the shadow,” he spat. “If you did, you’d know that none of us know who he is.”
So, it’s a he, Sean mused. That cut things in half, to just over three billion potential suspects. “You take orders from someone you don’t know? That seems like an odd kind of job.”
The assassin spewed another profanity at Sean.
“That’s not very nice.” He squeezed the trigger again, and the bullet drilled through the other wrist.
The man screamed in pain. He looked at his bloody hands and fingers as he curled into a fetal position.
“You’re never going to type again,” Sean taunted. “Not without some serious reconstruction of those wrists. Don’t make me go to the feet. I hate doing feet.” He lowered the weapon and took aim at one of the boots the kicking man wore.
“I already told you!” the wounded gunman yelled. “We don’t know who he is. No one tells us where the orders come from. They pay cash. Always cash. I swear!”
Sean noticed the man’s jaw twitching in a strange way. He narrowed his eyelids, trying to figure out what the guy was doing. For a second, Sean believed he was simply gritting his teeth in pain.
“You guys are mercenaries,” Sean insisted. “None of the mercs I know do any jobs without knowing who they’re working for. Keeps them alive in most cases. Why would you work for someone you don’t know?”
The man kept chewing at his cheek, so Sean kicked him in the groin.
The air left the man’s lungs, and he doubled over in the fastest abdominal crunch Sean had ever seen.
“Doesn’t make a ton of sense to me,” Sean said amid the moans escaping the man’s lips. “Now, how did you find out about this gig? Who hired you? Someone had to be the contact point for bringing your team here.” He motioned with his pistol around at the dead men on the rooftop. “Just tell me who the contact person is.”
“You don’t get it, cowboy,” the man said derisively. “All contact is electronic. They know everything about us. Me. You. Your friends. They know your cell number, your email, your home address. They know where that pretty little wife of yours is right now.”
“Okay, that’s just bad form,” Sean said. His finger twitched, and the leather on the man’s right foot exploded a fraction of a second after the puff from the suppressor.
More screams came from the man’s throat, this time with some additional growls of anger. The profanity was enough to make the most hardened sailor blush.
“That’s going to make soccer more difficult,” Sean teased with a glance at the wounded foot. “Ugh. I really hate doing feet.” He took his eyes away from the injury and stared at the man’s face, locking eyes when he could.
“We get emails. Text messages. The money just shows up in our accounts. Okay?”
“I thought you said they pay you in cash. Now you’re making me think you’re lying.”
Sean moved the pistol to where it loomed menacingly over the other foot.
“Yes. I mean. No, I’m not lying. They pay us directly. Into accounts they have set up for us. Then we take the cash out.”
“Mmm. I don’t know.” Sean made a show of his doubt, cocking his head to one side as if trying to surmise whether the man were being honest.
“I swear. It’s the truth.”
The guy started gnawing at his cheek again. This time, the movement was more pronounced. Only then did Sean realize what the man was trying to do.
“Stop doing that,” Sean ordered. His finger tensed on the trigger.
A low pop came from the man’s mouth.
“No!” Sean yelled and knelt close. He jerked the guy’s head to the side and tried to force him to spit, but it was too late. Within thirty seconds, the man’s body convulsed. Thick foam bubbled at his lips as he shook.
The man’s head twitched violently as the poison performed its grisly task, rapidly coursing through his system. At the last, the assassin let out a macabre howl and then fell silent. His body went limp, and his sightless blue eyes stared up into the cool early evening sky.
Sean stood up and sighed. He took his phone out of his pocket and texted Tommy.
“Meet me at Sorenson’s place.”
A minute later, he received a reply. “You okay?”
“Would I be texting if I wasn’t?”
“Good point. What about the men guarding the exits?”
Sean hadn’t forgotten about that. Then he noticed the radio on the recently deceased man’s neck.
“Not to worry. I have an idea. Just meet me there.”
19
Atlanta
Tara and Alex watched the data roll across the screen with wide-eyed amazement.
Everything they were seeing from the Quantium sample was off the charts. It displayed characteristics of multiple elements and none, all at the same time.
The young couple couldn’t tear their eyes away from the computer monitor. Their computers, some of the best in the world, were running at their max to try to keep up with the information pouring in from the analysis.
Every experiment they’d run so far produced similar results. The element was the ultimate outlier. It simultaneously obeyed all the laws of physics, and none.
The monitor abruptly started to glitch. Lines ripped across the screen from right to left, shaking the pixels within.
“The computers can’t handle it,” Alex said urgently.
“Shut it down,” Tara ordered.
He reached over to the machine encasing the sample and hit a red button on the side. The computer screen didn’t switch off.
Tara’s concern spiked. She reached under the table and pulled the power cord from the outlet to shut down the computer, but when she stood again she found, to her amazement and horror, that the computer was still running.
“Shut it down,” she insisted.
“I
did.” Alex hit the button again and again. “It’s like the element is powering itself, and everything it’s connected to.”
“Malcom,” Tara said. “Emergency shutdown protocol.”
“Yes, Tara” an ethereal voice echoed.
Smoke filled the glass case containing the Quantium sample, and finally, thankfully, the computer screen went black.
“Thank you, Malcom,” Tara said.
“Of course, Tara. Just doing my job.”
Alex breathed a sigh of relief. “That new AI really comes in handy sometimes, huh?”
“I’m happy to hear that, Mr. Simms.”
“You don’t have to call me that. Just call me Alex.” He wondered why his wife and the AI were on a first name basis, but he wasn’t, then remembered it was his own fault.
“My programming is set to—”
“Then change the programming.”
“As you wish.”
The smooth voice had a hint of an English accent, which both Tara and Alex thought to be calming in a way. They’d worked with a tech startup on the artificial intelligence program to help them run faster diagnostics on artifacts and rare samples the agency had recovered in the field.
Tara walked over to the coffeepot in the nearest corner and realized it was almost empty. She set about grinding a new batch of beans, placing the ground coffee into a filter and plopping it into the coffee maker’s basket. Then she filled the machine with fresh water from a pitcher and pressed the start button.
She’d just finished her routine when Malcom’s voice interrupted as she walked back toward the computer station.
“Tara, we have visitors.”
“What?” Puzzled, Tara looked over at a second computer monitor that was still on.
“Problem, Malcom?” Alex asked.
“Government-issued license plates, based on my scans from the outdoor cameras, Alex. They are FBI.”
The Milestone Protocol Page 17
