by Juno Rushdan
“He won’t go without me, and before you say it, no. I agreed to this COA and I’m going to finish it. But I’ll try to convince him to leave one last time.”
Heavy footfalls headed back toward the bathroom.
“Hey,” Rho said, moving a few feet away from the pillar, gifting Gideon with the right positioning for a shot. “Daedalus is the primary objective. We’re supposed to do anything to protect him. Maybe that means setting your colossal ego to the side and getting the hell out of here with him.”
“Fuck you.” Omega’s voice boomed underneath the intersecting ductway—four feet away. He would be to Gideon’s five o’clock once he was out of the vent. “I’m not leaving you guys behind to fight our battle for us.”
The heavy thud of boots hitting the floor resumed.
Gideon took the butt of the shotgun and popped out the vent. He shifted the angle of the weapon quickly and pulled the trigger, pumping a round of lead into Rho, up high near the throat. The force sent him sailing backward to the ground like a ragdoll.
Getting out of the air duct was part art, part math, and the rest was physics.
Moving with speed and agility that would make a ninja proud, Gideon dropped out of the vent, rolled, made it to his feet, and spun around with the shotgun raised.
Omega descended upon Gideon like the damn apocalypse.
There wasn’t time to pump the shotgun, loading another shell, aim, and fire. Gideon flipped the short-barreled weapon in his hands and swung it like a baseball bat.
The metal butt connected with a steel chin. Omega stumbled but grabbed the gun with both hands, and Gideon found himself in the unfortunate position of being on the wrong end of the barrel.
Omega’s finger slid to the trigger. Gideon moved his head out of the way just in time. The shotgun blasted a hole in the door instead of his skull.
The .50-cal in the other room was in full gear, taking out chunks of the cinder block wall Gideon’s team was using as cover.
Adrenaline spiked. Gideon swung his right elbow up and around, thrusting it hard into Omega’s head. The guy was strong and didn’t release his grip on the weapon despite the blood that had been drawn.
Gideon twisted the barrel with his left hand and slammed his palm up into the bruiser’s nose. Blood flowed, and the big guy’s grip loosened on the shotgun, but then Omega threw a knee into Gideon’s injured side again and again.
Skin tore around the staples, the wound reopening. Omega secured a hold on the shotgun and yanked it away. Gideon reeled back into a roundhouse kick, driving his foot forward and knocking the gun from Omega’s hands. But the maneuver cost him. A shockwave of scorching pain radiated along his wounded side.
Somehow Gideon drew his Maxim 9 from his holster thigh. Yet Omega was right on top of him, matching him move for move, and whipped his forearm up, jarring the Maxim loose from Gideon’s grip. It went spinning to the right onto the floor.
Neither man stopped or slowed. Vicious blows volleyed back and forth. For a nanosecond, the inevitability of this moment registered. They were two high-speed trains locked on a collision course.
Gideon couldn’t afford to lose, couldn’t afford to give an inch.
Driven. All the way.
He hammered on the merc, but the big guy stayed with him. He hurled a blow at the bruiser’s face, and his fist glanced off Omega’s cheek. A solid knee to the groin only elicited a grunt. Gideon kicked and punched, threw elbow strikes and headbutts, every move designed to bring pain and break bones.
But none of it mattered.
He had met an immovable object.
45
Near the Potomac River, Northern Virginia
Monday, July 8, 7:06 p.m. EDT
Gideon took an almighty punch that should’ve rendered him unconscious.
His head spun, right along with his brain. The taste of metallic salt hit his tongue. It was like he’d been slugged by a two-by-four.
Omega picked up Gideon by the collar and groin, hoisting him in the air, and bulled him against the wall, shattering the window. He went down like a sack of cement, the brutal impact jarring his bones and teeth. Glass shards cascaded over him.
Dazed, Gideon scrambled to his feet, his vision blurry and instinct driving him to run. But Omega was faster and charged, power-driving Gideon into the stone pillar. A rib cracked. Liquid warmth seeped from the gash in his gut. Excruciating agony poured through him, weakening his entire body. He slid to the floor in a battered heap.
Heavy footfalls drew away from him in the ticktock rhythm of a countdown to the end. Gideon prayed it wasn’t the end of him. Light winked off the glass covering the Maxim 9 four feet, maybe five, off to the side. Might as well have been fifty while he was waylaid by the full-body ache holding dominion over him.
Gideon dragged himself upright, and white light bloomed behind his eyes. He leaned against the column, the MCX Rattler strapped to him digging into his spine.
His vision cleared to the sight of Omega picking up and pumping the shotgun.
Gideon slipped the submachine gun off his back, fumbling to take aim. Omega turned, and the next shot blew the SIG from Gideon’s hands and sent it skittering far out of reach.
A gleam brightened Omega’s feral eyes as he pumped the shotgun once more.
But it was Gideon who smiled. He’d been counting, and he knew something Omega didn’t. The shotgun was out of shells.
Gideon spied his gun beneath the shards of glass. He rolled for it.
Click! An empty sound followed by silence as Omega realized the gun was no longer loaded. Glass bit into Gideon’s arms and hands, and he flipped over, leveling the gun at Omega.
Their gazes met. Gideon slid his finger to the trigger. There was a flicker of realization—a glint of oh shit in Omega’s eyes. And Gideon fired, getting him in the face.
Omega’s head snapped back and he dropped.
A quiver sliced through Gideon. He was alive, barely. His enormous relief collided with reality. This was far from over.
He climbed to his feet, steeling himself to finish this, and scanned the room. No sign of the jammer, but he spotted a ladder along the far wall leading to the roof.
WWIII was in full swing in the other room.
He walked toward the bathroom, wishing he had Reece at his side.
His brother-in-arms was not only an artist at blowing shit up and defusing bombs, but he also did hostage rescue.
It took Gideon several breaths to come down from the angry high of the fistfight.
New pain—deeper, soul-numbing agony—surfaced. He looked down. His side was bleeding, badly. He needed to hurry.
Gideon pushed down the handle of the bathroom door and opened it.
Daedalus stood, using his hostage as a human shield, the barrel of his Beretta Storm pressed to her head.
Laurel trembled. Up close, she was an older, washed-out version of Willow.
Gideon’s gaze flickered for a second to the table that had been out of his view from the air duct. A metal box the size of a large suitcase was in the center next to bottles of water and extra ammo. The jammer.
“Omega!” Daedalus called out, staying behind Laurel.
“He’s dead.”
“Vincent!” Daedalus narrowed his eyes, jaw hardening, voice turning strident. “Vincent!”
“It’s not pretty either. Right in the face. No open casket. Sorry about that.”
Gideon sensed the tension shift—that deadly quiet before the storm. All expression fell from Daedalus’s face, but seething anger burned in his eyes. Gideon expected an explosion of emotion, an outpouring of rage, some rash act of grief that he could take advantage of.
Instead, Daedalus stood with the gun steady in his hand, pointed at Laurel, nodding to himself in an eerie manner Gideon didn’t quite understand. Then he said in the calmest voice, “Drop your gun, Ag
ent Stone, or I’ll put a bullet in her.”
“If you do, I’ll put a bullet in you. Somewhere painful. Not as quick as the face.”
Daedalus didn’t answer for a moment, a flash of anguish leaking through. “Do you think I care about dying now that Vincent is gone?”
“Yeah, I do. Everyone cares about dying. Prove me wrong and step away from the woman.”
Daedalus jammed the muzzle into the back of Laurel’s head, not leaving an inch of himself exposed. She whimpered, tears streaming down her face.
“Test me and you’ll lose. I’ll make sure she doesn’t get an open casket either. Drop it.”
Testing this man might be a mistake, and Gideon wasn’t going to gamble with Laurel’s life. He tossed the weapon to the floor only a foot away, within easy reach. Maybe Daedalus would be too bereft to pay attention.
“Kick it toward the door.”
No such luck. Gideon did as instructed.
Daedalus moved with Laurel to the doorway. She shook so violently, she stumbled every step. He picked up the Maxim 9 and stuffed it in his waistband.
Gideon stepped back as if playing the cooperation game, but all the time, he was getting closer to the jammer.
Daedalus glanced at Omega’s body, not long enough for Gideon to make a move, but it was plenty of time to light a fuse in a madman. When Daedalus stared back at Gideon, the guy looked like a junkyard dog, gnawing at the bit to tear something apart. He took aim at Gideon.
“Hold still.” Daedalus’s voice was measured, and the gun didn’t waver a centimeter.
“Why?” Gideon braced, already knowing the answer, but the question had slipped out nonetheless.
“If you try to play dodge the bullet, I might hit you in a vital organ, and I’m not ready for you to bleed out.”
Before Gideon responded, Daedalus fired.
Searing pain ripped through Gideon’s flesh. “Son of a…” He snapped his jaw shut, not wanting to show that bastard how much it hurt.
The bullet only grazed his upper thigh, near his hip, thanks to quick reflexes. It simply wasn’t in him to stand there and be shot.
Still, fire sang through his leg. He doubled over, and a line of sweat ran down his spine.
“I’m glad that hurts. Now you feel an inkling of my misery,” Daedalus said. “I’m not going to kill you just yet. Do you want to know why?”
“I bet you ask a lot of questions that you’re just going to answer yourself,” Gideon said through clenched teeth.
Daedalus laughed, but it sounded bitter, savage. “I’m going to take away two things that you love first.”
“What’s that? My sanity and second amendment rights? So far, so good. This chitchat is driving me crazy.” He swallowed a groan and leaned against the table.
“For starters, Hannah Davis.”
Gideon’s blood turned to slush. Anything he said, Daedalus would use against him, and there was no point in acting ridiculous by trying to deny his relationship with Hannah.
Daedalus knew full well who Hannah was and what she meant to him.
Amanda had overheard Gideon on the phone once, telling Hannah that he missed her and to take care. The traitor had joked how his wife would be jealous, and he’d let it slip that the person on the end of the line was like a mother to him. Amanda must’ve found her somehow.
“That’s right. I know all about Hannah, down to where she is at this moment. Do you?”
Shit. He hadn’t talked to Hannah in weeks. The last time they’d spoken, she’d said something about taking another cruise with her girlfriends.
Was she already on it? Had she gotten back? Had she left yet? He didn’t even know what port she was using. Sometimes it was Norfolk, sometimes Tampa.
“I’m responsible for your wife’s death. The brake failure on your truck,” Daedalus said. “The handiwork of my Gray Box insider, Cobalt.”
“You mean Amanda Woodrow. We found your mole. She’s going to go to prison for a very long time, right along with you.”
“Arrest me. I’ll make one phone call and be released within twenty-four hours. You short-sighted fool. You have no idea how this is going to end.”
Daedalus must have someone pretty high up and powerful on his payroll if he wasn’t afraid of doing jail time. How deep did this go?
“Did you think Amanda was my ace in the hole? Speaking of which, she knows you very well. It seems you love your job at the Gray Box more than you ever did with the CIA. You found a home there, a place where you feel appreciated.”
Dear God, Amanda. What have you done, letting this megalomaniac into the back doors of our heads? It was true. The Gray Box gave him a sense of belonging and fulfillment he’d never had at the CIA.
“Strip you of being an operative, a government-sanctioned killer, and what are you? Nothing. After I’m finished with Hannah—by the way, it’ll be slow, and I plan to use my own two hands—I’m going to kill the Gray Box.”
Gideon stilled.
“First, in the court of public opinion. I have a lovely dossier on missions stateside and overseas that the media will have a feeding frenzy over. That rabble will be like a pack of starved jackals tearing you all to pieces. Your faces and names are going to be splashed across every news outlet around the world. And this country that you love and fight for will turn on you.”
If their covers were blown and true identities thrown out there, that would be the end of any clandestine work. No one would hire them—government or private security. What else were they good at? Not to mention every baddie with a grudge against them would come calling for payback.
They’d spend the rest of their lives looking over their shoulders and sleeping with one eye open.
“Then I’ll squeeze the senator in my pocket to take action,” Daedalus said. “And when I’m sure that you’re truly suffering, with nothing left, not even your sanity, I’ll pay you a visit.”
Daedalus shoved Laurel into the bathroom, and she scurried next to Gideon.
“Time to catch my flight.” Daedalus’s gaze darted to the big, heavy box on the table that probably weighed a good sixty pounds.
He wasn’t getting that sucker up the ladder to the roof on his own. Might tear his suit and break out in a sweat in the process.
“If you want to keep her alive,” Daedalus said, gesturing to Laurel, “I suggest you don’t touch the jammer.” He pulled out a handheld remote detonator from his pocket. “I had a sophisticated explosive device implanted in her. That is the only thing blocking the signal and keeping me from blowing off her head. The grenade vest was a crude improvisation.”
Gideon looked at Laurel. “Is that true?”
With frantic eyes, she nodded, mumbling something incomprehensible through her gag.
Damn. The whole plan just went to hell.
“I’ll be sure to give Hannah your regards.” Daedalus narrowed his eyes in a look that was pure evil. “No open casket. Then again, I’m not sure there’ll be enough of her left to bury.” He let the door swing closed.
Something rattled and clanked against it.
Gideon limped over and tugged at the door. The handle was stuck on something. Gideon tried again, this time hoping to shift whatever was blocking the lever.
On each furious yank, the handle only clanked against the object on the other side.
Gideon scrubbed his hands over his head, wanting to tear the door from its hinges.
Garbled noises came from Laurel. He staggered to her, unstrapped the explosive vest, and began cutting the tape binding her wrists.
The sound of rotor blades starting up overlapped with gunfire.
He glanced at the grate to the air duct and considered an agonizing belly crawl in the cramped space with a tight turn and his leg and side both bleeding. It’d take him five minutes of inching along, and then he’d still have to get down
stairs. He needed to get out of that room fast. Right now.
Laurel’s hands were finally free. She pulled the tape from her mouth. “W-w-who are you? SWAT?”
“I’m Gideon.” He went to the window and jiggled it until layers of old paint and rust gave way and it opened. “I work with your sister.”
“You? I thought Willow worked with a bunch of brainy analysts. She ran off with some decoder guy. Is she okay?”
“She ran off with me. She’s fine.”
Clearly, she was surprised by the news. “It was a work thing related to this? Not a romantic thing, right?”
A work thing that turned into a romantic thing. “It’s complicated.” He glanced down at the four-story drop and ten feet over at the dilapidated fire escape.
Laurel looked out the window. “You’re not going to jump, are you? That fall will kill you.”
“Not from this height.” He climbed out the window onto the ledge, hissing from the sharp pang in his leg and his side and, well, just about everywhere. “Worst case, I’d break something.”
She stared at him wide-eyed like he was insane. “You can’t leave me here. What about the device he implanted in me?” She pointed to a bandaged area on the back of her neck.
“Demolition will take care of it. John Reece will help you.” If they ever made it through the war zone. He dug into his pocket and handed her an extra set of earplugs.
“What are these for?” she asked.
He hopped to the next window ledge, landing on his good leg. “On my signal, I need you to flip the switch on the jammer. Then put those earplugs in.”
“No, no!” She stuck her head out the window, waving her hands. “Daedalus will kill me.”
“Not if I kill him first.” He stared at the shaky fire escape, now six feet away. The metal staircase swayed in the breeze. That wasn’t a good sign.
The telltale thwopping sound cranked to full speed. They were preparing to take off.
“There’s no time to argue,” he snapped. “When you hear a huge explosion, it means the chopper is down and he’s dead.”
Gideon poised to jump, took a deep a breath and—
