Amy was going to have to review her decision-making process when this was all over. “Let’s just get a move on,” she said.
Alek frowned as he gazed down the path. “Keep an eye on these trees. Nathaniel may have a patrol out.”
Amy turned to search. She couldn’t see anything.
Alek picked up his pack, and the pair headed down the path.
* * *
The hike was upward. The trees thinned as the route turned into ice and rock. Amy’s legs burned as they marched up the steep slope. Despite the cold, she was sweating heavily, and her pack felt twice as heavy as it had at the beginning.
Alek picked the route and Amy slogged behind. There was no talking—what did they have to say to each other? This was a partnership of necessity, not choice. Amy wasn’t interested in knowing anything more about him.
Still, she couldn’t help but wonder.
This man had loved, once. He’d had a wife and she’d filled his heart.
The Spaskys were a strange family. Cold-hearted killers, yet with a seed of self-sacrifice, even heroism, buried deep down. Alek’s sister had died saving Amy, and even now Amy didn’t understand why.
Alek was carved of hard edges and brutal will. There was no softness in the clifflike angles of his cheeks or joy in the flinty hardness of his gray eyes.
But something was wrong. He was more gaunt that before. The few days they’d traveled together he’d lost weight and his skin, pale anyway, was a jaundiced yellow. And this hike had him wheezing.
“Let me carry that,” said Amy, pointing at his backpack. “Just for a while.”
Alek glared at her. “I’m fine.”
He was anything but fine.
The suit had torn, and he’d been cut while in the radioactive waters. That radiation was now in his blood, killing him from the inside.
How long did he have?
It was dusk and the sky bled red and purple when Alek paused at the top of the ridge. “There.”
Amy forced herself up the last few yards.
The ridge now dropped down into a valley. The conifers were as dense as ever, but the bottom of the valley was dominated by a vast geo-dome of shimmering pearl.
“It’s called the Hive,” said Alek. “That’s where we’ll find Nathaniel and your brother.”
It had to be half a mile in diameter, and there were smaller domes nestled around it. The surface was made of huge hexagonal panels; Amy could see why it had been named the Hive.
There were more basic concrete outbuildings as well as rows of greenhouses.
Alek shoved Amy off her feet.
“Hey!”
He ducked down beside her and put his finger to his lips.
There was nothing, then she saw a figure emerge from the trees, some fifty yards down.
The man wore a heavy parka and winter camo, and carried an assault rifle. There was a pair of binoculars dangling from his neck and in his webbing he carried spare magazines and a walkie-talkie.
He began moving toward them, eyes searching the path ahead.
He’s going to see our footprints.
It was dark, but was it dark enough?
The guy looked serious, not some rent-a-goon, but a real professional. The man lowered his rifle and thumbed off the safety.
He pointed it at the bush where Amy was crouching.
“Come out, and hands where I can see them,” the man demanded.
Where was Alek? He’d been right next to her.
Amy didn’t move.
A three-round burst into the tree beside her jolted her into action. Amy stood, hands raised. “Don’t shoot.”
“Closer.”
“I was out hiking. I got lost. I didn’t know this was private property. Look, I’ll just turn around and head back.”
“Stay exactly where you are.” Rifle held with one hand, he reached for his walkie-talkie.
That’s when Amy saw Alek. He emerged a yard or two from behind the man and raised a pistol, silencer fixed, to the back of the man’s bare head.
“No!” Amy screamed.
The soldier spun, knocking the aim wide. It blew off a piece of bark, inches from Amy’s face.
Amy had trained in martial arts, and trained hard.
But she’d never seen anything like this.
Alek dropped his pistol and swept his hand across the man’s windpipe, and would have crushed it but for the soldier blocking it with the rifle. He reacted by slamming the butt into Alek’s gut.
Alek dropped with a grunt but dragged the man down with him.
Even rolling in the snow, their assault on each other was unrelenting. Knee strikes, elbow slams, even a head butt. The soldier went for a dagger strapped to his thigh, but Alek knotted the rifle strap around his neck.
The man’s face reddened. He clawed behind him, trying to tear at Alek’s eyes, but Alek steadily tightened the strap.
The struggle stopped and the man went limp.
Alek collapsed into the snow, exhausted.
How long had that taken? Seconds?
Seconds of action, after a lifetime of training.
Alek rolled onto his back, gasping. The fight had exhausted him.
Amy reached out to help him up but he brushed her hand away. “I can get up myself.”
“Is he dead?” asked Amy.
“No. Unconscious for a few hours.” Alek collected his pistol and the man’s submachine gun. Amy saw his hand tremble as he brushed the snow off and inspected it for damage. “Heckler and Koch MP5. That’ll do very nicely.”
“I said no guns.” Alek must have grabbed his pistol when he’d told her to check the trees. The oldest trick in the book and she’d fallen for it.
“You’re welcome to try to take it off me.”
That sounded like a really bad idea. Amy checked the man in the snow and picked up a pulse. “We’ll gag him and tie him up.” She took his radio and his security pass.
Alek frisked the man thoroughly, taking his knife and a set of car keys, anything he might use to cut himself free. He swapped his jacket for the man’s parka and then tied him up with the shoulder strap of the SMG and gagged him with his own woolen hat.
They walked on and reached the perimeter fence an hour after dark. Floodlights covered the ten yards or so of clear ground from the edge of the trees to the fence itself, some twenty feet high and topped with razor wire.
“We could dig under it,” Amy suggested.
“The fence will be buried a meter into the earth to prevent exactly that.”
“Then how do we get in?”
Alek smiled. “That all depends on how much you trust me.” He lifted the parka hood so it covered his face and pointed the H&K at her.
Alek shoved Amy before him, and she stumbled into the patch of floodlit ground in front of the gate.
There was a small control room on the inside of the gate. A soldier, wearing the same style parka as Alek, walked out with a coffee mug and a flashlight, which he shone at Amy. “What have you got?”
“A stray hiker,” said Alek, doing a remarkably good American accent. “Says she got lost looking for the campsite.”
“This time of year?” said the soldier, shaking his head. “Stupid kid. Just slot her and dump her in the woods. The wolves will take care of the rest.”
Amy gulped. Suddenly, the fear was real. Now would be a perfect time for Alek to betray her.
“She wouldn’t have come out here alone,” Alek replied. “Let’s bring her in and find out where her friends might be.”
The soldier hesitated, then nodded to his companion in the control room.
The gates rolled open.
Alek rubbed his hands. “That coffee fresh?”
“Pot’s just boiled. Help yourself.”
The control room was steam-room hot compared to the outside. Alek poured himself a coffee while Amy stood in the corner, pretending to be too terrified to speak, which wasn’t far from the truth.
The room was lit by the glo
w of six surveillance screens constantly flicking from one camera to another, watching all points along the perimeter. They’d have been spotted the moment they’d tried to get over the fence. Alek’s bluff seemed to be working.
“No one else reported finding hikers, have they?” asked Alek. “They might be in lockup already.”
The soldier at the screen shook his head. “The only person in lockup is that kid the boss brought in.”
Amy’s heart jumped. Dan!
The soldier laughed. “But he won’t be bothering nobody. Not after what’s been done to him.”
“What have you done?” Amy grabbed the man and hauled him out of his chair. “What have you done to Dan?”
Alek cursed and smashed his mug into the second man’s head. He went down without a fuss.
The man Amy held fumbled for his holster but Amy, rage fueling her, slammed him against the wall, hard enough to rattle his brain. “Tell me!”
Alek held his pistol against the man’s temple. “I would. And I’d hurry.”
The soldier looked from one to the other, not sure who was the most frightening, the girl with the blazing eyes or the man with the cold ones.
“I’m going to ask you one last time,” snarled Amy, her fists quivering with barely suppressed rage. “What have you done with my brother?”
Attleboro, Massachusetts
Tall orchids drooped over the winding path, and there was a bounty of lilies, walls of roses, tulips, and many more exotic flowers. A thick perfume hung over the whole space. Bees worked from one stem to another, weaving through the dense foliage.
There was the chime of glass up ahead, and a few moments later they were in the central courtyard, the only space bare of plants. Wrought-iron tables circled the perimeter and two waiters worked at setting up champagne flutes in preparation for a toast.
Cara nudged him. “Over there. The sorbet.”
It was humid, so the sorbets were still in two refrigerated displays. Ian peered through the glass lid. “My word. They’ve even got a fig-flavored one.”
Cara followed the power cable from the cabinet to a socket in the wall. She pulled it out. The sorbets would be sticky puddles within ten minutes. No one would be eating them. “Job done.”
“And lives saved. This was certainly easier than trying to stop a nuclear meltdown.”
Cara nodded. “Just one thing left to do.” She took off the waiter’s jacket and threw it into the bushes. “Leave.”
“Why the rush? You’ve just arrived.” A voice rose out of the mist ahead of them.
Figures emerged from all around.
Vikram folded his arms as he faced his son. “Gate-crashing parties, Ian? Whatever happened to the good manners I taught you?”
Ian glowered at him. “You taught me nothing ‘good,’ Father.”
Magnus was there, so was Patricia Oh. Behind them, other traitors were lined up, all in their finest evening wear. Their smiles were sinister, ruthless. Pearls glistened, diamonds sparkled, gold shimmered. The women wore Chanel, Dior, Versace. The men’s tuxedos came directly from the finest tailors on London’s Savile Row.
They were dressed to kill.
“You have to listen to us,” said Cara, stepping between Ian and his father. “Nathaniel wants you all dead. That’s why he’s invited you here.”
“Ridiculous,” said Magnus. “And desperate. Nathaniel has given us everything we asked for.”
“And he’s about to take it all away,” continued Cara. She gestured to the sorbet. “He was planning to poison you all.”
Vikram raised an eyebrow. “The Livia sorbet? Don’t be idiotic.”
“It’s the truth,” said Ian. “He wants you all dead. Only then will his vengeance against the Cahills be complete.”
Magnus paused. “There’s a simple way to know.” He nodded to two men. “Grab the girl.”
Ian leaped forward, but Magnus swatted him clean off his feet and he flew across the courtyard.
Cara kicked out, but the two men, both Tomases, were impervious to her attacks. One grabbed her arm and wrenched it behind her, the other clenched her jaw and forced it open.
Ian tried to get to his feet but Cara saw the blood dripping from his head. He stumbled a few feet before collapsing.
Vikram took a bowl. “Fig or lemon?” He smiled, and scooped out some of the lemon. “I do hope it’s not too bitter.”
Cara struggled. She tried to twist her head away but she was trapped. The man’s fingers were as hard as steel clamps.
Vikram stood before her. “So, you are the girl Ian loves? I had no idea he had such poor taste.” He pinched her nose. “It would never have worked.”
He shoved the sorbet down her throat.
Cara swallowed the sorbet.
It stung, but that’s what sorbets did. It tasted … delicious.
Vikram sneered. “I have raised a fool.” He snapped his fingers. “Lock them up somewhere.”
Cara spat out the rest of the sorbet as she was shoved up next to Ian and marched back to the building. “We got it wrong. Maybe Nathaniel wants these guys around after all.”
Ian glanced back at the party. “No. He’s going to double-cross them, one way or the other, and it’s going to be today, when he has them all here.”
“Then how?” Cara asked.
Ian shrugged.
The guards led them along the lawn. Cara could still taste the icy lemon sorbet in the back of her throat.
The flower beds on either side were in full bloom. Lilies grew in semiwild patches, there were drooping bluebells, and a rambling rosebush. Butterflies fluttered through the forest of flowers and bees swooped, collecting rich pollen from the treasure trove all about them.
Cara backed away as one buzzed a few inches from her. She hated bees. Wasps. Hornets. She’d been stung once when she was a small kid and had reacted badly. Two days in the hospital badly.
“Bees … ” she muttered.
“What?” asked Ian.
The guard shoved him forward. “No talking.”
Cara gazed around. There were a lot of bees out. She didn’t usually see them until next month, when the air warmed and summer truly arrived.
The guards took them into the mansion and up into the attic. Both were pushed through the small hatch and then the door was bolted.
“Lovely,” said Ian. “Here with the spiders and dust.”
They couldn’t stand up straight; the roof pitched sharply and even the apex was just five feet from the floor. Dust motes floated among the old, moldy furniture, but at least there was light coming from a row of small barred windows that looked down onto the driveway on one side and back onto the lawn and the greenhouse on the other.
Ian hunched himself by the window. “Looks like they’re starting on the sorbet.”
Cara sat down beside him. “You did what you thought was right.”
Ian didn’t seem in the mood for chat, just for feeling sorry for himself.
Cara peered past him. She trusted Ian, and his judgment. He was a Lucian, but he cared. Maybe that was why it never quite worked out. There were two parts of his soul, always conflicted. The Lucian part was out for himself, but his heart was thinking what was best for the whole.
“I can barely see anything,” she complained. “Move over.”
“But there are cobwebs.”
He caught her look. Ian sighed and drew out his handkerchief, then cleared the cobwebs away from the window frame.
Cara stopped him. “What’s that?” She took his hand and opened up the silken cloth.
“A cobweb? With a dead insect?”
A bee. A bee trapped in the web. Dead, for sure, but still very whole. She looked more closely.
“You ever seen markings like this?” she asked.
Ian made a face. “Yuck.”
“Look, Ian. Tell me what you see.”
The bee’s fur was golden, but instead of stripes there was a single patch of black. The patch had a shape. Ian narrowed his eyes.
“It looks like … ”
“A skull,” said Cara. “The bee’s marked with death.”
The Hive, Alaska
Dan lay on the hard tiles. They smelled of sharp, acidic antiseptic. They were cold. Through them he felt the almost subsonic drum of … what? Machinery? Engines turning, transformers humming.
He curled up on the floor. He felt detached from his senses, as if his brain and body were working in separate time zones. His head was fuzzy with whatever drug they’d given him.
But one thought turned over and over in his mind.
Amy’s dead.
His chest felt hollow, as if his heart were gone.
They had him, as trapped as trapped can be. In a cell. In a hidden valley in a thousand miles of wilderness.
Footsteps beat the corridor outside and Dan grimaced; were they coming for him again? But then the steps moved past the door and away.
They didn’t want him now. But they’d come … how many times? Three? Four? He’d been taken to a room with bright lights and a chair and men in white clothes. He tried to work out how much time had passed. A few days, that was for sure, but how many? He couldn’t see the sun.
They wanted the formula for the 39 Clues serum. Had he told them?
He couldn’t remember.
If he hadn’t, then they’d come again, to try to get the secret out of him.
He had to find a way. There might be no escape, but how would he know if he didn’t try?
He forced his eyes open. At first he could only see a blur, but then his gaze came back into focus.
He lay in a white cube, maybe seven feet in each direction. There was a door.
A door. And through that door he would find a way out. But he needed to get through that door.
The door.
…
…
Dan jerked awake. He’d drifted off. He rubbed his face.
Get up. Do something. Don’t just lie there.
Okay, I’m getting up.
“And having a conversation with myself. Yep, nice one, Dan.” His voice sounded strange, but it was good to hear something. It was a start.
Dan got to his feet. And stumbled.
Mission Atomic Page 13
