Stepping from his own cover position, Cyrus raised his gun in a double-handed grip. He had a steady fix on Boone, keeping him locked squarely in the sights. Oddly, Boone didn’t make a move for cover and didn’t raise a weapon to defend himself. He did, however, glare at Cyrus across the open expanse of floor and raise a finger of one hand in warning.
“Don’t jump the gun, kid.” His voice was smooth and confident, even though he was looking down the barrel of a 9mm. There was a hundred-feet of open floor between them, with Natasha in the middle, but she was a good twelve degrees off axis and out of the current line of fire. Boone knew damn well he could make the shot.
“Be cool, Cyrus,” Boone warned again. “Or your girl won’t live to see the sun rise.”
Taking a moment to study Boone, Cyrus was confused. He didn’t have a gun in hand. It normally would’ve made Cyrus suspect a sniper but he’d already tried that trick once tonight. Plus, with the surrounding artwork and displays, and with the building’s location out on a pier, a sniper was an impossibility. There was always a chance there was another shooter knocking around somewhere out in the displays just waiting to drop him. But as odd as it seemed, Cyrus didn’t sense anyone was watching them. He felt strangely confident that it was just he and Boone.
And Natasha.
So why was she still sitting quietly?
Stepping further into the light, Cyrus maintained a sight picture on Boone. But when his adversary failed to make a move to counter him, Cyrus started a slow walk toward Natasha. He felt her eyes, as well as Boone’s, on him with each step he took. Boone maintained his position while Natasha never moved an inch.
“What did you do to her?” Cyrus demanded, as he closed the distance on Natasha.
His voice quieted. “Did he hurt you?”
As he stepped closer, she lowered her gaze. A new set of tears began to roll silently from the corners of her eyes. It was clear she’d been crying for some time. “Are you alright?” Cyrus persisted.
Natasha nodded slowly. When he stepped near, she stood from the divan and launched herself into his arms. “You shouldn’t have come,” she whispered. “I’m so glad to see you!”
“It’s okay,” he said. “But you have to tell me what he’s done. I know he’s up to something—I just can’t figure it out yet.”
“I—I—” she stammered.
At first Cyrus thought she was afraid to tell him, but that wasn’t like her. Whatever it was, she didn’t know how to explain it. He didn’t even know how to process that. What could drive her to speechlessness?
His eyes shot back to Boone who was walking slowly toward them. His gun was still trained on him. “Easy with that,” Boone warned. He waved the gun away as he advanced, as if it would have any effect on Cyrus’s decision to pull the trigger.
“That’s far enough,” Cyrus snapped. The hammer was already back on the weapon and what little slack there was out of the trigger was already taken up. It would take less than a twitch to fire off a round. “Not another step!”
Boone stopped mid-stride, then took a half-step back to find proper footing. This time he raised both hands in a gesture meant to ward off any action against him. In one of his upraised hands, Cyrus saw what looked like a small, cellular smartphone.
“Drop the device and step away,” Cyrus commanded.
Boone smirked, then turned the handheld object so Cyrus could better see the display. It showed a series of numbers counting down by the second. “You don’t want me to do that,” Boone warned. “If I don’t enter the proper code in—” he turned the device and read the display—“fourteen seconds, the micro-facet charge located beside her heart will detonate. It’s not much to see, but the effects are irreversible.”
Cyrus felt like he’d been sucker-punched. His eyes shot to Natasha. “Is that true?”
Her eyes closed. She nodded as a pair of tears decorated her cheekbones. “He injected me with something. I don’t know what it was.” Her finger settled on a point over her left breast indicating where the injection had taken place.
Cyrus lowered the gun. “Enter your code.”
Boone smirked. “Say please.”
Cyrus shot the man a look that explained his eagerness to tear his head off with his bare hands. Boone rolled his eyes, but quickly turned the device around and entered what sounded like a ten digit code.
“Before you get ahead of yourself,” Boone quickly warned, “It’s not the same code every time. And the code must be entered every three minutes or the charge detonates—so don’t get any ideas.” He turned the display once more and showed them that less than three minutes already remained on the clock.
“So you’re just going to reset that thing every three minutes until Voss hands over his technology?” Cyrus asked. He didn’t buy it, but he wasn’t clear on Boone’s long-term plan.
“Of course not,” Boone said. “The three minute clock just ensures your compliance while we get the ground rules straight. Once I’m safely out of here—.” He stopped, seeming to think better of the idea. “Make that safely off the island, you get the benefit of a forty-eight-hour clock. That means, as long as I enter the reset code every forty-eight hours, the love of your life over there gets to live another two days.”
Cyrus’s mind ran with the possibilities. Forty-eight hours; two days and nights gave them a realistic period of time in which to immobilize the explosive Boone injected into Natasha’s chest. While he didn’t know the right people to perform the procedure, it was a solid bet Voss would have the right contacts. The only trick would be keeping Voss’s tech out of Boone’s hands long enough to disable the charge.
“And this isn’t about Shadowlight,” Boone went on. “Sure, we can make use of his latest tech, too. Especially if it’s as effective as you claim. But we’re putting him back to work on Lamplighter. I think we both know it’s a viable project with substantial untapped potential.”
“You plan on working Voss long-term—and holding Natasha hostage the entire time?” Cyrus couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It didn’t sound like an idea that would come from Boone. It did, he reasoned, sound like the sort of the plan that would come from the Red Queen.
But when Boone shook his head, Cyrus was at a loss.
“Not just Voss,” Boone clarified. “You’ll be going back to work as well. Only this time, on a much shorter leash.” A devious grin had spread across his face.
“You can’t be serious!” It wasn’t what Cyrus wanted to say—or do, for that matter. He wanted to shoot his old friend in the face and walk away from the entire mess. But he couldn’t do either if he couldn’t take Natasha with him.
“What can I say? You’re a victim of your own effectiveness. If you weren’t so damn good at the job, Monica wouldn’t insist on keeping you around.”
Cyrus shook his head. Realizing he’d been hamstrung, he holstered his weapon. “You realize all of this just proves my point.” His eyes scanned the floor as his mind searched for a way out. “That bitch is certifiable. She’s bat shit crazy!”
Boone laughed; a heartfelt, honest laugh for the first time since stepping from the shadows. “You don’t have to tell me, kid. Imagine how I feel after working with her for twenty-five years. Just when I thought I’d seen it all, she hands me this.” He held up the remote for Natasha’s wireless leash.
“Oh,” he muttered, and then quickly typed in a new access code.
“You’re not inspiring a lot of confidence with that thing,” Cyrus quipped. “Maybe you should give it to someone who’s a little more responsible?”
Boone’s smile disappeared when he concluded that Cyrus wasn’t just making a crack. He was being serious. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
With a shrug, Cyrus continued his slow pace of the open floor. “I mean, we never really talked about it, but you’ve been losing a step here and there for some time. You’re not the man you used to be.”
Natasha moved closer to Cyrus, and whispered, “Did he say twenty-five
years? Is he part of the group who killed my mother?”
Unable to lie, the best he could offer her was a grim look. “Don’t worry,” he said quietly. “We’ll get through this. Once that charge is out of your chest, he’ll get what’s coming to him. Just remember, forty-eight hours is a lot of time to work with.”
“Wait a damn minute!” Boone called out. “Just what are you saying, kid? I should be put out to pasture? Is that what you’re getting at?”
“No,” Cyrus countered. “I just think that if you’re going to be the one responsible for entering the code that extends Tash’s life every two days, maybe you should consider switching to desk duty. With the kind of mistakes you’ve been making lately, you’re going to get yourself killed. And you’ll end up taking her with you.
“Don’t get me wrong, in light of recent events I’m fine with that first part. But I don’t want your negligence to cost Tash her life.”
Cyrus met Boone’s eye. It was clear that neither man was joking around. Boone was as steamed as Cyrus had ever seen him. He’d really struck a nerve. A far more sensitive one than he’d anticipated. Cyrus wondered how he could manipulate it to his advantage.
“Listen here, you little prick—” Boone bristled.
“Hold on. Just hold on,” Cyrus interrupted. “If you’re going to freak out, a man your age could blow a heart valve, or something. Why don’t you enter Tash’s code one more time, just to be safe. That way, if you keel over, she can use her last three minutes to watch you turn blue.”
Boone’s lips pulled into a tight line; the muscles of his jaw were drawn and corded, a purple vein pulsed across his forehead. There was a new, feral, out of control look about him. It was a side of his former mentor that Cyrus had never seen.
“Hey.” Cyrus began walking slowly towards him, suddenly very concerned he actually might have a stroke or heart attack. “I’m just giving you a hard time, like old times,” he said in a quiet, reassuring voice. If Boone dropped dead right there, they wouldn’t have the two days they needed to disable the explosive charge.
When he saw Boone take a few slow, deep breaths, Cyrus knew Boone was pulling himself together. He suspected Boone really did have difficulty manipulating them in this brutal manner. He was angry because he was conflicted, Cyrus was almost certain of it. There was more to the pain he saw in his eyes than just the anger Cyrus had invoked. But even if Boone was regretful, nothing would change the position he’d put them in or the things he’d already done. Not only had he sent trained killers after them multiple times, Boone had done something unforgivable to the only woman Cyrus had ever loved.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Boone said at last. His complexion was returning to normal and he’d regained his composure.
“I’m not so far out to pasture that I don’t know what you’re planning,” he continued. “You like that two day window of opportunity. You figure you can neutralize the micro-facet charge in that time.”
Cyrus was disappointed Boone had called him on the idea, but it was the logical conclusion. Still, hearing Boone mention it sent a cold chill through his entire body. He was up to something.
“The thought had occurred to me,” Cyrus admitted. “Now that you mention it.”
“Does the word, micro-facet, ring any bells in that big brain of yours,” Boone asked with a grin.
Thinking it through, Cyrus was sure that it didn’t. He looked at Natasha but she shook her head to the negative.
“Maybe this will,” Boone said. He punched a fresh reset code into the handheld and then tossed the device to Cyrus.
Natasha looked at Boone as if he was insane. Cyrus knew there was nothing he could do, even with the controller. Taking it away from Boone wasn’t enough. It was still active and functional. Then again, if it were dropped and broken…he suddenly understood the reason for her shock. Boone’s casual disregard for the device that represented her continued life was a sobering example of just who they were dealing with.
Cyrus looked at the small device and instantly recognized it. The understanding must’ve registered plainly across his face because Boone began to laugh.
“That’s right,” Boone said. “Your buddy, Eartzie, built this little beauty! And you know what that means!”
Natasha shot a questioning glance back and forth between Cyrus and Boone. “What’s it mean?” she asked when neither of them elaborated.
Cyrus dropped slowly onto the short sofa. All of his will to fight was finally driven from him. He rolled the device over in his hand, trying to glean any sense of understanding. If there was a weak spot in the design, would he be smart enough to find it? If not him, then who? And once the device was gone, what did they have to work with? What sort of safeguards had the madman put in place?
“That’s right, kid,” Boone said quietly. The defeat in Cyrus’s face finally seemed to be enough. “Now you understand what you’re dealing with. There’s no disarming this one. Ain’t. Gonna. Happen.”
“Damn it!” Natasha bellowed. “What aren’t you telling me?” She glared at both Cyrus and Boone, now begging for any answer from either man.
Cyrus wanted to explain but he couldn’t find the words. He didn’t even know where to begin.
Boone explained in a calm and patient voice, “It’s something special, cooked up by a very talented, and very twisted little man who knew more about bomb making than any other person on the planet.
“That tiny injection I put beside your heart? There’s absolutely no way to disarm it. You don’t even want to go near it. Not with an x-ray, an MRI—nothing. In fact, there’s a fifty-fifty chance that the anti-surveillance countermeasures your old man’s using at home will trigger it.”
As Boone explained, the blood drained from Natasha’s face. She looked at Cyrus, hoping for some sign that Boone was tormenting her. But he could offer no such hope.
“Oh, my God,” she mumbled. She spun on a heel and stumbled a few paces away before dropping seat first onto the wood floor. She pulled her knees to her chest and began to sob silently.
Cyrus was caught between the desire to rip Boone’s throat out, and the need to collapse beside Natasha and cradle her in his arms.
“I’ll be needing this back,” Boone said, pulling the device from Cyrus’s fingers. “Best not let that clock run down too far, you know.”
Boone walked a dozen paces away. This time he had trouble turning his back on Cyrus. “You know,” he said, “I had my doubts about you back at the very start—back when I recruited you, I mean.”
He paced slowly, eyeing Cyrus while he moved. “There was something special about you,” he continued. “There was never any question about that. But I had a suspicion you were trying to play me from day one. I couldn’t help wondering if you wanted into the Coalition just so you could write another one of your exposés. I have to admit, it would’ve made big news. And if anyone could’ve blown our cover, it was you.”
Cyrus glared at his former friend. Now that he was feeling the full brunt of Boone’s betrayal, he was very tempted to spread the truth. The thought had crossed his mind more than once. Exposing the Coalition would’ve made one hell of a story. Even back then, Cyrus knew it was a career making opportunity. But the truth was, he’d been won over by the caliber of work the organization was doing. It was ridiculous, in hindsight. Boone and the Red Queen had conned him from the very start.
Averting his eyes, Cyrus bit back the temptation to tell Boone just how close he’d come to splashing the Coalition’s secrets across the front page of every newspaper. But the situation was already far too emotionally charged, and Boone was more unstable than Cyrus had ever seen him. It wasn’t the right time to rub his face in the revelation.
Turning and walking across the open floor in the opposite direction, Boone’s gaze was clear. Cyrus guessed he’d shaken off his thoughts of the past.
“It’s really not all that bad,” Boone explained. He looked at Natasha while he walked. “As long as your father and Cyrus
play by the rules, you’ll live to a ripe old age. You can have kids, grow old—still live a very full life.
“Well,” he reconsidered. “I suppose the kid thing will be a little tricky. You won’t be able to give birth at a modern medical facility.”
Cyrus shot Boone a concerned glance. He grinned and placed his fist over his heart. “Can’t have any of that medical technology getting too close, after all, or—.” Boone opened his fist and made a popping sound.
Without even consciously realizing it, Cyrus was on his feet and striding across the floor. He was three feet away when he felt a warm hand on his forearm and was stopped in his tracks.
“No,” Natasha whispered in a ghost of a voice. She pulled him close and slipped her arms around his neck. Her face was milky white, so devoid of color that it looked like flawless porcelain. When she pulled herself close, the only feeling on earth was the heat emanating from her body.
“Is what he said true?” she whispered in his ear.
Cyrus pulled back only far enough to see her eyes. Her face was dry of tears for the first time since he’d arrived. Her eyes were clear for the first time.
“Eartzie specialized in building bombs that couldn’t be disabled,” Cyrus said quietly. “I would make him disable it himself, but he’s dead.”
Cyrus felt a tear run down his own cheek. He’d been the one to kill the twisted little troll of a man. If he hadn’t, then maybe… Still, he couldn’t find the words to tell her that part.
“And you know who’s behind this?” Natasha asked without pause. Her eyes were locked on his as she sought out a specific line of reasoning. He recognized she had an idea, something that hadn’t occurred to him. She was testing the logic.
“Yeah,” he said. “This asshat’s my former best friend, if you can believe that. It’s him and the dragon lady who put him up to it. I just wish I’d known before it came to this.”
“And they’re responsible for my mother?”
Cyrus was slow to respond with the slightest tip of his head. He found no words to accompany it.
Rogue Faction Part 2: A Cyrus Cooper Thriller: Book Three Page 28
