Dead Reckoning

by C. J. Snyder

  Ghost had finished in the sitting area and followed her into the kitchen. He gave her a brief grin.

  “I assume you have a plan?” “You’d be correct.” She strode to the fireplace, flipped a switch he couldn’t see, and watched the grate slide back into the wall, revealed a large, concrete-lined bunker. The wet ashes of their fire disappeared into the fireproof box, the grate slid back into place and no remnants of their cozy fire remained. Slick. Back in the kitchen, she handed him their luggage, wiped down the tiny table and kitchen counter top and picked up the sacks of groceries and her remote. “Follow me.”

  “Into the pantry?”

  He sounded surprised. Mykael knew her smile was smug. “Into the pantry.” Her tone let him know he hadn’t seen anything...yet. Even given what she’d shown him so far, she managed to surprise Greg yet again. Her “pantry” was no more than a one-foot-deep recession in the wall, lined with empty shelves. Or so it seemed. Mykael stabbed a button on her remote and the entire back wall silently slid down, revealed a utilitarian set of stairs.

  Greg followed Mykael down the narrow stairs, trying to keep the amazement off his face. The woman had astonished him again, and this time she’d done it with a bulldozer. What lay below? A bomb shelter?

  At the foot of the stairs, she sidestepped and shoved him out of her way into a surprisingly large room. Mykael turned to the wall under the stairs. “Security,” she murmured, planting her small, lithe frame in front of a miniaturized version of her security station upstairs. She worked her remote and tiny screens flashed to life one by one.

  Greg took advantage of her preoccupation to snoop, betting it would be his only chance. Tron would love this. He took a quick inventory. Cement walls, shelving on two sides and a small door led to the space under the living room. The far end of the room below the bedroom was invisible, obscured in darkness.

  Interesting. He’d looked at the pantry earlier but hadn’t detected her moving wall. “They’re here.”

  Greg ignored her in favor of the shelving. An entire arsenal was available for immediate consumption, some under plastic sheeting, some in cases he recognized by length and width. Automatics, small revolvers, hundreds of rounds and magazines, even a couple of shotguns. Enough to bring the ATF down on her for sure. Non-perishable food stuffs, bottles of water, and a latrine tucked into a corner, along with a sink. Running water. Interesting indeed.

  Mykael was still preoccupied with her monitors, so he stepped forward, snapped open an unfamiliar case. Knives. Probably a hundred of them. Old, new and everything in between. Ornate and ugly, the collection was impressive.

  Mykael slammed down the lid, nearly catching his fingers and apparently not caring. She was quick, but not quick enough to keep him from recognizing one of the unusual knives. He faced her with a question she didn’t give him the chance to utter.

  “Personal. It was a gift.”

  “It was Blade’s.”

  She gave one short nod of acknowledgment, never met his eyes, then shoved an empty duffel bag into his hands. “Supplies.” “Are we going somewhere?”

  First she looked surprised. Then she grinned. “Did you really want to stay?”

  He filled the bag from her hoarded goods, chose armor, ignored the food, figuring she’d have told him if they needed edible supplies. He then backtracked to glance at the small security screens. Three cars were parked outside. Seven men had just entered upstairs. He listened for a footfall, but couldn’t hear anything–a further testament to her hideaway’s abilities. The men didn’t appear to be trying to conceal their presence. He watched as cupboard doors were opened and slammed shut, One man ran his hand over the shelves of the pantry. Greg pulled his gun from its holster in readiness, then watched as the man’s face came into clear view. Ibrajim Azisi. The top hired gun in the world. Very bad news. Until his face came up on the camera, Ghost hadn’t known he was even in the country. Surprises like that were definitely not supposed to happen.

  “Can you record this?” He didn’t look away from the monitors, wondering if he’d recognize others.

  “Done.” Mykael moved out of the second room, firmly closed the door behind her. Looked like he wouldn’t get a chance to see what other secrets she kept.

  “What’s next?”

  She continued to watch the heated conversation going on over their heads in silence. “Are they the ones from the hotel?”

  “Hard to say. But two hits in one day cuts a little close for coincidence.”

  She pointed to a tall heavy-set man gesticulating and from the looks of it, swearing at Azisi. “Carlos Caldera.”

  Greg glanced at her, surprised she knew his face. “He was at the hotel. I suppose sound would be too much to hope for?” “Sound’s being recorded with the digital images. Did you pack food?”

  “No. Do we need it?”

  “Probably not. We’ll let them duke it out a little longer before we grab the tapes and run. We’ve got a bit of a hike ahead.” Probably all the way back to Vegas, Greg thought grimly. No doubt she could do it doubletime. Personally, he was tired and his wounded shoulder smarted like a couple hundred bees were tail-dancing.

  Azisi won the argument. Three minions scurried back outside. The fourth still attempted to read or copy something useful from Decoy’s hard drive. The minions returned in short order and Greg frowned. Mykael wouldn’t like the next step in the dance. “Decoy.”

  “Yeah.” She reappeared beside him, now loaded down with two heavy backpacks. Blade’s knives were gone from the shelf. Even carting the extra gear, she’d still make Vegas before he would.

  “They’re going to...” “...burn it. I figured. Should have left them a fingerprint to fuss over–might have given us a little extra time.” She turned her back on the monitors. “Grab the drive, unless you think we need to keep recording. I should be able to remote-access if we need to.”

  “No, they’re leaving.” Flames already leapt high, obscured the front door from view on the monitors.

  “Let’s do the same.” She picked up her remote while he stashed the small disk in his bag. The last thing she grabbed was a portable monitor.

  “So we’ll know when the coast is clear?” He wished she’d tell him where they were going. Into hibernation? Deeper into the bowels of the mountain-hill?

  “Nah. I just want to watch it burn.” She headed for the far end of the room which was still shrouded in darkness.

  “Where are we going?” “Reno. You get to pick the next spot after that.” She led the way down a dark narrow hallway, snapped on a flashlight. The cool, musty smell of concrete made him feel they were hiking through a crypt. They might be safe from bombs, but would anyone really want to live this way?

  She flashed him a grin over her shoulder. “Looks like you’re stuck with me for a while, Greg, honey.”

  “Why Reno?”

  “Why not? Can you get your guys on the photos? Find out who the other men are? Where they’re from? One of them did not look like a usual Caldera henchmen.”

  How did she know what Caldera’s henchmen looked like? “I can do that. Okay if I have someone meet us in Reno?”

  Greg touched the silent transmitter at his waist “Yeah, that’ll work. Wait til we get there.” Before they’d gone a mile down the narrow corridor, but after he’d decided he’d had enough of basements for a long, long time, the hall widened. Mykael’s truck gleamed in the soft light of her flashlight, ready and waiting. They wouldn’t have to hike to Vegas after all.

  “There’s my Mule,” she announced with a proud grin. When she turned, he got the feeling it was simply to enjoy the astonishment on his face. “Weren’t you a boy scout, Greg?” Despite an earnest attempt, he was certain he didn’t disappoint her. “You take preparedness to a whole new level, Decoy, angel. Want me to drive?”

  “No. But you can check and see if there’s anything left of my cabin.”

  There wasn’t. The destruction didn’t seem to bother her, but he didn’t trust that assumptio
n. The cabin was her home. How could it not bother her? She extracted keys from the pocket of her tiny little skirt and her Mule bleated a welcome before the engine roared to life. They stowed their gear in the spacious back seat. His hands itched to help her up into the driver’s seat, but she swung up behind the wheel before he had time to offer. The bright headlights revealed only four concrete walls. He was beginning to know her well enough and didn’t point out the obvious.

  She leaned close. “Use this button to switch screens,” she demonstrated, barely glanced at the hand-held monitor he’d all but forgotten during their trek. “They gone?” The cameras were still amazingly clear. “Where’re they installed?” “In the walls. The posts holding them are probably the only things standing. If I’d put one away from the cabin, I could show you.” She shrugged, managed to look absolutely nonchalant. “Maybe someday we’ll come back for a visit. Have our guests gone?”

  Greg flicked through screens, revealed empty desert not only in front of what had been her cabin, but also along the trail back to the highway. “They’re gone.”

  “Then buckle up.”

  Surely she didn’t intend to drive straight through the wall. He fought the urge to close his eyes but did secure his seatbelt tight.

  He felt a slight rumble and then the truck began to move. . .straight up. He resisted the urge to hang on to the grab bar but couldn’t stop his grin. “You are something.”

  The upward motion ceased with a little lurch. “You know it, baby.”

  Chapter Four

  The trip to Reno would take just over seven hours. The admiration had faded from Ghost’s eyes before they’d gone one. She wanted to think it was due to their discussion of Caldera and his unexpected presence at her cabin, but she’d caught quick glimpses of his speculative stare, increasingly leveled at her.

  She knew the question and damned herself again for not securing her inheritance from Peter in the tiny room off the shelter’s main room where she kept her most personal possessions.

  How would she answer, when he asked? Skirt the truth, or lie outright? The glances weren’t diminishing. The intensity in his eyes only grew. She inhaled, let it out slow, tried to calm her racing heart. “You wonder why I have Blade’s knife. I worked with him.” She kept her eyes firmly on the road ahead, but the abyss roared and gobbled up more of her soul. “We were close. . .friends.” Too much hesitation. Damn it, Mykael! Focus. “I’d admired his collection and he told me he wanted me to have it. I received it, and knew he was gone. It took longer to find out what had happened.“ She tightened her grip on the steering wheel to hide how her hands trembled. She wouldn’t think of those last few days at the cabin, of the pain in his eyes, when they both knew he would die.

  Greg surprised her with a simple, “I wondered. Quite a collection.” Indeed. Impressive, like the man. Peter had urged her to sell the knives, to use the money for herself and the baby. The baby who hadn’t survived his mother’s grief. The knives were all she had left of them both, a legacy and testament. For the first year she hadn’t touched them, couldn’t bear the contact. Now she polished them weekly, as intimately familiar with the weapons as she’d been with the man.

  “Before he came to work for Black Fire?”

  She didn’t answer that, but he seemed to take her silence for assent.

  “What did you do when you worked together? Something complicated for you two to get that close.” She gave a non-committal nod. “Complicated sums it up.” Time for a change of subject. Or perhaps she could get him to talk about Ice. She eased her death-grip on the steering wheel. “I heard it was a mistake.”

  “His death?”

  She didn’t dare look at him, didn’t trust the darkness to hide her eyes.

  Greg let out a whoosh of air. “No mistake. Carefully planned, perfectly executed.” He sounded disgusted. Sad. Fury boiled over, had her blinking fast. “He wasn’t the mole.” Even the word tasted dirty as it left her throat. Peter had died for his country, doing his job, for all that he’d been executed by one of his own. Even at the end, knowing Ice would cut him down, he’d have defended any team member, with his own life if necessary.

  “No, he wasn’t.”

  The soft admission shook her. They knew. Knew and did nothing to clear his name. “Then Ice was the traitor?”

  “No.” A quick glance revealed Greg’s gaze was faraway and every bit as sad as his voice. “Ice was set up as surely as Blade.”

  She didn’t believe that for a minute. “Why?” “I don’t think we’ll ever know.” His communicator interrupted the conversation. Mykael tried not to stare at the high-tech PDA that held the key to her future. Her only other option was a midnight break-in at Langley. She was good, but she wasn’t that good.

  When he slid it back onto his belt a moment later, Mykael tried again, approaching from a different direction. “Who was that? Tron?”

  Ghost frowned, obviously not happy with the discussion. Mykael held her breath and waited. If he’d just tell her the details about Ice, she could drop him in Reno and be on her way. Finally he sighed. “What do you want to know?”

  Mykael’s heart sped back to a gallop. She shot him a quick glance, then returned a wary gaze to the dark highway. “About the team. What happened to Viper. With Blade. All of it.” “Officially, there was a mix-up. Similar to what happened with Blade.”

  Cold lapped at her soul. Blade’s death had been no mix-up. “And unofficially?”

  “Viper had what can best be described as a psychotic incident.” Anger infiltrated his voice. Mykael didn’t dare look away from the road to see what his eyes held. “A decade-long, brilliantly concocted psychotic incident.”

  “Decade? As in ten years?”

  “At least.”

  “That’s not an ‘incident’.”

  “No. It’s not.” There was a long pause, long enough that Mykael wondered if he was busily concocting the story as he went along. When he was finished, she was convinced. Black Fire’s former unit commander had apparently risen through the team’s ranks with a major psychological flaw that went undetected? Not likely, but according to Ghost, he’d systematically set out to destroy one of their own. Unbelievable, except…

  “Peter,” she breathed, then, aware of Ghost’s sharp glance, cursed herself for speaking out loud “Actually no. Blade was a casualty. Sort of a victim of friendly fire.” Ghost’s communicator beeped softly again, but this time, Mykael was glad for the interruption. Friendly fire did not cover a man hunted down and exterminated by a member of his own squad. Friendly fire didn’t begin to describe the agony she’d lived the day Peter died on that desolate mountainside.

  Ghost finished his silent communication, but instead of picking up the conversation where they’d left it, he reached for her hand, sliding his fingers over and around hers with a casual indifference. The gesture set her nerve endings on fire and her mind back to the kiss he’d given her at her cabin. For just a moment, like at the hotel lobby, she’d forgotten her mission, forgotten Peter. Now she eased her traitorous hand from Greg’s, curled her fingers purposefully around the steering wheel, fixing her mind firmly on Peter, away from the frightening distraction seated just inches from her.

  She and Peter had met in a sleazy little bar. There’d been fire in his eyes when he’d looked at her. She’d been cocky, after Melina’s killer. She could do anything, take on anybody. Like a player on Survivor: outwit, outplay, outlast. Then she met Peter.

  Nothing could have prepared her for Peter.

  “Your name’s not Mykael,” he’d said, flashing that enigmatic smile of his across the broken tile of the tiny bar table. She’d given him a crooked smirk and upended her longneck bottle. “No?”

  His eyes were smoky-gray, shadowed, but held a fascination that charmed her. “No.” “Why not?”

  He lifted a long strand of her hair, twining the natural curl around his finger. Sensuous, intimate–too intimate, even for the game they played, but she didn’t pull back. “No one
would brand an exotic creature like you with Mykael.” His finger moved, slid through the curl locked tightly around his finger. She cleared her throat, felt heat spread throughout her body.

  “Mykael’s exotic.”

  Blade shook his head. “Katarina is exotic. Or Elyria. Sophia. Maria.” The last he breathed as he brushed her hair across his lips.

  Mykael set down her bottle with careful precision. It was that or spill it. He knew her name. How? No one knew her name. “So which is it?”

  Her eyes narrowed. Time to end this. “Mykael.”

  Blade smiled and wound her hair a little tighter, used the tension to angle her closer. The tip of his finger, still entwined in her hair, traced her lower lip. “Maria.”

  “Mykael.” Effectively trapped, she couldn’t see a way out, without letting him know he was overly close, probing too deeply into places inside she didn’t go herself. “Not to me.” Touch feather soft, he stroked her lip, mesmerized her with the simple gesture, and the heated gaze that watched his own movement. He seemed genuinely. . . fascinated. “Maria.”

  “It is Maria.” Just like that, the admission was out, shocking her ears, her mind and her heart.

  His eyes lifted, locked on hers, brightened with quiet delight. “Thought so.” So many messages there, in the depths of that gaze. More heat, intense pleasure, and. . .peace. A soft cry escaped from her lips and she tried to pull back, but he was faster, thumb replacing his finger on her lip, fingers sliding across her cheek. Kindling on a fire. An incredible yearning, strong and dangerous.

  “I’m going to kiss you, Maria.” Too far. Too fast. Still she didn’t move, couldn’t even breath. She saw his smile widen a fraction, knew he felt her panic, knew too she wouldn’t stop him. Her eyelids slid shut as his warm breath mingled with her own.

  “My name is Peter.” The words barely registered. She didn’t know then that the information he shared was forbidden. His mouth, so soft, covered hers. Gentle, his tongue touched her lip, one light caress and Maria moaned. He pulled back, fingers along her cheek, still in her hair, not releasing her. He waited until she opened her eyes. “Damn.” The whisper was full of admiration.