So after receiving it, she’d put the letter away and put off making a decision. It meant an enormous life change, maybe moving across the country, away from Jayla and Caroline and everyone she worked with.
She scrubbed a hand down her face and sighed, still unsure what to do.
For now, she wanted to continue research on the Alzheimer’s drug she’d been working on. When she’d told Buck about her father, the memories of the time they’d spent together exploring nature, just the two of them, flooded back and brought her to the brink of tears because what she hadn’t told Buck was that she’d had to watch Alzheimer’s sneak in and steal her father from her one agonizing day at a time until he’d disappeared into the shell of his body. It took years after that for him to die. Years of emptiness and grief. She’d give anything to have the time the disease had stolen from her and her father, but since she couldn’t she’d dedicated her life to saving people from suffering with it, and saving families from watching their loved ones fade away.
She may have discovered some amazing cognitive enhancer, but she hadn’t accomplished what she’d set out to do—yet.
Sighing, she slipped the envelope back into the drawer, stuck the pen and recorder in her lab coat pocket, and headed out into what everyone called the bullpen—a central collection of work stations where the lab assistants and scientists worked when not in the actual laboratory.
She found her lab assistants April Nguyen and Brent Wilkins already at work.
“What are you guys doing here so early?” she asked.
“Like either of us has a life,” Brent said. When he spoke, his pointy Adam’s apple bobbed in his long skinny neck. Everything about Brent was tall, long, and skinny.
“Speak for yourself,” April said. “I had a date two months ago.”
Melinda was pretty sure if April wanted dates more often, she could get them. Instead, she was a brilliant graduate student in chemistry and she lived her work and prioritized it over everything else.
“You really should take a little more time for yourself, April,” Melinda said.
“Says the woman who lives in the lab,” April said.
“She wasn’t here at all this weekend,” Brent said.
April cocked her head and studied Melinda closer. “You’re right, Brentster. She wasn’t. Today she has a spring in her step and a healthy glow and a silly half-smile. Weren’t you going to some barbecue at Caroline’s house on Saturday?”
“Yes. And before you start interrogating me, I met a guy and we hit it off.”
“‘Hit it off’ as in, ‘oh we went and had coffee and discussed literature,’ or as in ‘we screwed each other’s brains out’?” April asked.
“April.” Brent turned an adorable shade of scandalized pink at the shift in conversation. Melinda was pretty sure Brent was a virgin.
“My anxiety snuck up on me at the party and I fainted into his arms. It kind of escalated from there.”
“Ha! So you screwed each other’s brains out. Excellent,” April said. “We live vicariously.”
“Good morning, Dr. Emerson.” Dr. Cristobal Hoffman’s German accent and condescending attitude grated on Melinda’s nerves. The fact that he completely ignored April and Brent steamed her, too.
“Hello, Dr. Hoffman. How’s the presentation going for the conference?” Melinda asked. She didn’t specifically care about his presentation or conference, but since they had to work in the same lab, and he was a prickly prima donna, it was easier to be nice than to be antagonistic.
He sniffed and looked down his nose at her. “Just fine, thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I refilled my coffee.” He held up his cup as evidence. “I need to get back to work.”
“Have fun,” April said.
“Don’t antagonize him,” Brent said. “He’s bitchy enough already.”
“How about we get to work?” Melinda said.
“Sure,” Brent said. “I was just getting ready to rerun the calculations I worked on last week.”
“And I made the adjustment you requested in the protein sequence in the last model and I’m ready to run the new simulation,” April said.
“Okay, good. Let me know what kind of results you get. I’m going to go double check on the biosynthesis assays for the last trial and see if I can come up with some ideas where it went off the rails.”
“Sure thing, boss,” April said.
Melinda left the two of them settling into their stations and getting down to work. As she made her way to her designated laboratory—fondly nicknamed The Kitchen by her team because of all the stuff they cooked up there—she bypassed several offices and other labs, mostly dark since the majority of employees showed up after eight o’clock. After that, hundreds of people worked in the three-story building, and thousands worked on the Triada campus. As she walked, she counted maybe a dozen or so people already at work, though there were probably others on the first and third floors. She actually liked the quiet of early mornings, late nights, and weekends. It felt like a private party, and the relative quiet was soothing.
At The Kitchen, she slid open the glass door and stepped inside. She took a deep breath, inhaling the unique and comforting scent of sanitized, cooled air. Science was her steady, reliable, logical friend.
She went to the cooler to pull out her assay samples. Inside, she’d barely identified the ones she wanted, when she heard a deep thud and the test tubes in all the holders rattled.
“What was that?” she said.
Sticking her head out of the cooler, she cocked it to listen. She heard multiple loud popping sounds, but the shock of screaming voices interrupted her effort to make sense of them.
Her heart leapt into her throat and banged like a kettle drum until blood rushed into her head so fast her vision tunneled.
She scurried back into the cooler and leaned her hands on her knees for support, breathing deeply to calm down. What was going on out there? Even though her rational mind told her the popping noises had to be gunshots, the rest of her brain refused to wrap itself around the absurdity. Why in God’s name would anyone bring guns into a chemistry lab, much less shoot them?
Clearly, the answer couldn’t be logical, which meant it was irrational. Irrational meant absurd which led to dangerous, which explained the screams. If the people on her floor were screaming, they were afraid of irrational, absurd, dangerous people with guns.
Suddenly, Amaranthine came to mind. What if irrational people with guns were there for her formula?
She shook her head. “That’s crazy.”
But irrational people with guns in a chemistry laboratory was crazy, too.
Melinda’s first instinct was to call the police, but, when it came down to it, she didn’t know exactly what was going on. She needed more information.
With her heart still thundering in her ears, she tiptoed out of the cooler and to the door of The Kitchen. She peeked out and listened.
Whimpering and crying echoed down the hall, followed by the barked command of a deep, Russian-accented male voice.
“Which one of you is Dr. Melinda Emerson?”
Despite the muffle caused by the distance between her and the bullpen, Melinda froze at the sound of her name. Why would a group of Russians be looking for her?
Melinda crept out of the lab and down the hall until she reached an open office closer to the bullpen to get a better vantage for listening.
“Answer my question. Which one of you is Dr. Melinda Emerson?”
“None of us.”
Melinda recognized April’s voice, despite the quaver of fear in it.
“Where is she?”
“It’s early. Maybe she’s at home? Or stuck in traffic?” This was Brent’s voice, even more shaky than April. His attempt to protect her both warmed Melinda’s heart and terrified her.
“I found this one in another lab,” another Russian accented voice said.
“Who are you?” This from Russian number one.
“If you must know, I
’m Dr. Cristobal Hoffmann. If you’re looking for Dr. Emerson, she’s here in the building somewhere. I saw her earlier. What do you want with her?”
Melinda decided Dr. Hoffmann was the dumbest smart guy she’d ever met. She’d heard enough from these Russian guys to know their motives were bad, so either Hoffmann was a clueless idiot, or he hated her so much he was willing to rat her out. She had no idea what she’d done to merit that kind of treatment.
She heard some murmuring, then the first Russian voice suddenly blasted from speakers of every phone on every desk in the entire building. “Dr. Melinda Emerson. I know you are in the building. If you do not show yourself in the central area of the second floor in two minutes I will begin killing your colleagues.”
Fuck.
Time to call the police, but first she texted a quick “911 Triada. Bldg 10. HELP” to Buck. After that, she called the actual 911. An operator answered.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“I need police at the Triada complex, building 10, asap. Terrorists have taken over the building. They have guns. They’re threatening to kill people.”
“What’s your name, ma’am?” Melinda didn’t miss the doubtful sarcasm in the operator’s voice, as if she received a lot of terrorist prank calls and was determined to get the perpetrator’s name this time.
“I don’t have time for that. Please, just send the police.”
“You have one minute, Dr. Emerson.” The Russian voice blasted from the phones again, making Melinda jump and her heart stutter.
“Have you seen the men, ma’am?” the operator asked.
“What? Seen them? No. I’m hiding. But I’ve heard them and the gunfire.”
Report of gunfire got the operator’s attention, and she seemed to take Melinda more seriously. “All right. Stay calm. I’m dispatching police now. Stay on the line with me until they get there.”
“I can’t do that. They’re looking for me. If I don’t…”
“…Time’s up, Dr. Emerson.”
Melinda drew in the breath to scream ‘no’ but before she could, a gun fired followed closely by the most blood-curdling scream she’d ever heard. No matter how long she lived, that scream would echo in her brain forever as the pure essence of terror.
She ran from the office and didn’t stop until she got to the bullpen, but once there, she wished she could unsee the scene.
Brent lay on the floor, a bright red flower of blood bloomed on the chest of his white lab coat. The carpet underneath him sucked greedily at the blood that flowed from the bullet wound that had killed him.
She went to him. April had his head in her lap and was stroking his hair, sobbing. Melinda crumpled to her knees. April turned her gaze to meet Melinda’s, staring at her blankly at first. When recognition set in, she launched herself into Melinda’s arms.
“They shot him,” April whispered. “He’s dead.”
Melinda held April, while she gasped for air. She had no coping skills for this kind of situation. Where were the police?
The text notification pinged on her phone in her lab coat pocket, but she ignored it.
“You must be Dr. Emerson,” one of the men said. He carried a big, ugly gun resting on his shoulder like a casual accessory.
She looked up at him from the floor. Medium height, stocky but muscular, roundish face, high cheekbones, dark buzz-cut hair, he wore camo and a bulletproof vest.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“You may call me Ivan.” She counted at least ten men surrounding what had to be all the employees currently in the building, more than the dozen she’d seen earlier on this floor. Thankfully, she didn’t see Caroline, and Jayla was far away on her mission.
“What do you want, Ivan?” she asked.
“You and your drug, Amaranthine.”
“Why?”
“The people I work for are paying good money for us to retrieve it.”
“If I refuse?” Her belly fluttered like a flock of birds trying to get out. She might puke.
“I’ll kill one of these lovely people every five minutes until you agree.”
“Okay, fine. No more killing.”
His smug smirk made her sick, but she’d do whatever she had to in order to avoid more deaths. She couldn’t even look at Brent’s body.
The text notification pinged again. Ivan glanced toward her pocket, then back at her.
“Alexei,” Ivan said, digging a flash drive from his pocket and handing it to the other man. “Take Dr. Emerson to collect the Amaranthine and download her research. Be sure to wipe the computer when you’re done.”
“Yes, sir,” Another of the Russians said, heading toward Melinda.
“You don’t have to do this,” April whispered.
“It’s okay. They won’t hurt me. They need me. And I won’t let them hurt anyone else here because of me.”
In reality, she wanted to run and hide in the deepest, darkest corner she could find. But she’d never be able to live with herself if Ivan and his men killed her colleagues. She’d need therapy to get past Brent’s death. She couldn’t imagine the impact of seeing the rest of them killed.
“I’ll go with you to collect the Amaranthine.” Cristobal stood from where he’d been sitting on the other side of the bullpen.
Ivan turned to face him. “Why should you collect it and not her?”
“You shouldn’t trust her. She could take any drug from the lab, and copy any information off a computer and tell you it’s Amaranthine, just to protect her work. You’d never know,” Cristobal said.
Ivan’s eyes narrowed as he considered Cristobal’s argument. Melinda concluded Cristobal’s problem must have something to do with jealousy, though over what, she had no idea. It practically radiated off him like an envious green fog. If he wanted to be kidnapped because of his work, she’d be fine with that. Good riddance.
Ivan finally nodded to Alexei and jerked his head as consent to take Cristobal to collect the Amaranthine.
The text notification pinged again and Melinda almost cursed. She wished whoever was texting her would knock it off.
“Someone wants to talk to you,” Ivan said.
“It’s probably just my roommate wondering when I’ll be home.”
“You can tell her never.” Ivan laughed at his own joke, but he stepped closer towering over her where she still sat on the floor, and held out his hand. “Give me the phone.”
If she gave it to him, he’d see her last text was a 911 to Buck and her last call was to the police.
“I’ll turn it off.”
“Give. Me. The. Phone.”
She stood and found he was only an inch or so taller than her, though significantly thicker and bigger otherwise. She dipped her hand into her pocket and brought the phone out, offering it to him and swallowing hard against her parched throat.
“Password?”
“Wiggle1.”
He raised a confused eyebrow at her, but input the password. As he read the texts—she had to assume they were from Buck—the sound of sirens in the distance made him cock his head to listen.
“You called the police?” he asked.
“Of course. I heard gunshots and screaming.”
“You’ve made things more complicated,” Ivan said.
Melinda shrugged. She didn’t care if she’d complicated things for them. That was the point.
“What should we do, Ivan?” another of the Russian goons asked.
“When the police contact us, we tell them they must leave or we kill one hostage every ten minutes until they do. Call Vasily. Tell him to have the helicopter on standby.”
The goon nodded and pulled out a cell phone.
Ivan grabbed Melinda by the chin and leaned in face to face. His breath smelled of musty un-brushed teeth. “Whoever this Buck person is you texted for help isn’t going to be a problem, is he?”
Melinda sure as hell hoped so.
***
Buck struggled to focus, especially given th
e frustrating lack of information. Mindy had texted ‘911 Triada. Bldg10. HELP’ but hadn’t responded to any of the texts he’d sent. He had to assume there was a reason for that, so he’d stopped texting.
They’d only been apart a day. He couldn’t imagine what kind of trouble a chemist would be in that she’d text him sounding so desperate for help. However, the fact that she’d texted 911 and HELP, and didn’t respond to his texts, had him worried.
So, he’d checked his maps app to find out where Triada was.
“Going somewhere?” Chill asked.
The two of them had been staying in the barracks with some of the other guys who were visiting for training. Buck had collected some stuff he might need if things at Triada turned out to be bad and went sideways.
“Mindy—the girl I met at Wolf’s barbecue—texted me a 911 from the building where she works. I don’t know what it’s all about, but it sounds urgent so I’m going over to check it out. You want to ride shotgun?”
“Sure.” Chill went from laid-back to on-the-job in a heartbeat. “Gimme five to change and collect some stuff.”
Buck wished he could bring his regular mission gear. He didn’t like going into a situation underprepared. But this wasn’t an official mission, and hopefully nothing serious, so he needed to calm the fuck down.
He resisted the urge to dress in full fatigues and instead settled on loose-fitting khaki pants with plenty of pockets, and a t-shirt with a light jacket to conceal his shoulder holster and weapon. He strapped a knife to his belt, and dropped some primer cord and a lighter into a pocket along with a pocket knife.
A few minutes later Chill returned dressed similarly. Outwardly, they both looked casual enough. Buck knew without even asking, though, that Chill had filled his pockets with the things he considered critical when on mission, and that he wore a firearm somewhere on his person, as well.
“Let’s hit the road,” Buck said.
They pulled into the driveway at the Triada complex and Buck’s blood turned to ice in his veins as he followed the flashing police lights to building ten.
“Looks like something’s up,” Chill said.
Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Bang for the Buck (Kindle Worlds Novella) (SWAK Series Book 1) Page 4
