by Vicki Hinze
The chair seat bumped against the back of her knees. Sensing Connor sliding it under her, she let her knees fold and slid down onto it. He looked as worried as Jake, and that escalated her fear to sheer terror. No one else in the room said a word, but their sympathy was palpable; she sensed it, tasted its bitterness on her tongue. It had her fighting the urge to scream because she knew—she knew—whatever had happened was horrible.
Please, God. Please. I’ll do anything. Anything at all. Just please don’t let my baby be hurt. Please don’t let me lose him. Please!
Jake briefed her on the abduction, omitting Madeline’s participation in it, keeping his voice as succinct and steady and normal as possible. Then he showed her the fax.
Laura read it, the page crackling in her hand from her shaking. Her heart thudded so hard it threatened to beat through her chest wall. She blinked hard and pulled in three deep gasps. Bury it, Logan. Don’t panic. There’s no value in panic. Responsibility isn’t a coat.
Connor started to say something, but Jake held up a hand. “Give her a minute, sir. Just a minute.”
Jake would give anything not to have to make this worse. Laura looked ash white, but she was holding it together. The drills were kicking in; he could see it in the shifting of her expression. When it turned attentive but passive, he squatted down before her chair and then looked up into her eyes. “A woman was with them. Mrs. Barton said Timmy called her Madeline.”
“Madeline?” Laura’s jaw gaped. “But . . . But she’s—”
“We know, honey. None of us dreamed her capable, but she’s Sean Drake’s daughter. We let ourselves forget that, and we know what kind of man he was.”
“Manipulative. Powerful. Very powerful,” Laura said. “But Madeline?”
Jake understood her shock, her lack of being able to grasp the fact that Madeline could be involved in this. It seemed unbelievable that she had the skills, the savvy, and the discipline. But the evidence was unfolding right before their eyes, and they had little choice but to accept it, just as they had little choice but to accept that she’d kidnapped Timmy.
“She said she’d get back at me and Bear. That we’d regret ever having met her. But to do this to Timmy? How dare she do this to Timmy?” Laura’s eyes blazed. “I should’ve killed her,” she said more to herself than to him. “When she ran me off the road with Timmy in the car, I should’ve killed her.”
That statement aroused murmurs among the team members. Connor filled the team members in on the antics Madeline had been putting Laura and Jake and Timmy through. “Calm down, Laura,” Jake said.
“Calm down? She’s got our son. Her and a group of terrorists.” Laura swung her gaze to Connor. “Are the preparations in progress for making the exchange?”
“Laura,” Jake cut in and put a hand on her knee. “You’ll be killed.”
She flinched, her every muscle spasming in revolt. Bury it, Logan. Bury it. Responsibility isn’t a coat. “I know, Jake.”
Torment riddled his eyes. He started to reach out and touch her but stopped, lowering his hand to his side.
“He’s my son, too,” she said. “I promised to love and protect him. I won’t just sit here and watch my son die. You can’t ask me to do that. You . . . can’t.”
“You don’t understand. There are . . . circumstances.” She had to know about the detention—about the team’s doubts.
Connor interrupted, his face grim. “There are no extenuating circumstances, Jake.”
Laura glanced around the table. In the eyes of the team members, she sensed pity and empathy, but she no longer sensed doubt. “I have to do this. If I don’t, Timmy will die. Surely you all realize that.” She turned her gaze to Jake. “I don’t want to die. But if I don’t go, and they murder Timmy, then I’ll have to live with knowing I might have been able to save him, and I didn’t do it. I’d rather be dead than have to live with that, Jake. Everything good inside me would be dead.”
Jake looked inconsolable. And when he broke protocol and hugged her, she tried to soothe him, to soothe herself. She was doing the right thing. There was nothing else she could do. But the idea of never seeing Jake or Timmy again was almost more than she could bear. “You’ll get Timmy to safety, and he’ll be okay. He’ll be okay.”
And Madeline’s message replayed in Laura’s mind. Nothing is black and white. Only shades of gray.
One couldn’t know joy without suffering sorrow. Couldn’t understand the full capacity of love until feeling the full force of hate. Couldn’t know the depth of a mother’s love until its bounds had been tested and challenged.
Laura feared the challenge, but she had to face it honestly. She couldn’t lie and tell Jake she would be fine. She wouldn’t be. Hawkins had hated her for thirteen years, and that was a lot of time for hatred to fester into pure evil.
And she saw her feelings echoed in the eyes of every person at the briefing room conference table, including General Connor’s. They all knew the truth.
Knew they were looking at a woman who soon would be dead.
Eighteen
Time was tight.
According to the latest Intel reports, the contamination of Jacksonville’s water supply was imminent. Terrorists, foreign or domestic, perpetrated these acts with one thought paramount: getting the body count up as high as possible. Maximum impact. Connor knew what ROFF was after: the exchange for Timmy had been set to keep Jake and Laura, both of whom had been identified by ROFF as Special Ops officers, out of the way. The general scrambled forces to Jacksonville and then issued a waiver so that Jake and Laura could act as a team on the exchange leg of the mission.
Husband and wife teams working together on a single mission were expressly prohibited by regulations and strongly discouraged in practice. Waivers were rare. The policy was a logical one. With less than two percent odds for survival, children of husband and wife teams could become instant orphans, losing both parents within a split second. Spouses tended to be overprotective of their partners as well, increasing jeopardy to both team members. But the needs of the country always supersede the needs of individuals sworn to protect and serve it, and this was no ordinary mission.
Jake and Laura made the flight to Hurlburt Field. Homestead Air Force Base would have been the preferred site, but, having been nearly destroyed by Hurricane Andrew, it had only just returned to operative status. At present, Hurlburt Field stood better prepared to best serve the mission’s requirements.
The plan set gave Laura a hope of surviving. It was slim, but hope nonetheless. No matter who insisted, or how strenuously, she steadfastly had refused to have reinforcements interfere until after Jake had Timmy out of harm’s way. She’d gained Connor’s support, and nothing Jake said had managed to sway her decision.
That all the people in the briefing room had spouses and most had children, Laura felt sure, had persuaded them into going along with her. It didn’t take much imagination for them to picture themselves in her and Jake’s situation. At the Christmas party where they’d recognized the men and women who’d died performing a myriad of Special Ops missions worldwide, and Connor had honored them as heroes with the emotional toast and then had shattered the glass, everyone in the room had mourned the dead. But they’d also felt grateful it hadn’t been them or their spouses who’d been killed, and they’d felt guilty for feeling that gratitude. It was a human reaction, of course, and one Laura had banked on to successfully assist her in this situation. It had.
Connor had been her most staunch supporter, and when Laura had asked that the lab at Hurlburt be ready and available for her, he’d agreed first and then had asked, “Ready for what?”
“Microscopic implant surgery,” she’d said. “On me and Jake.”
When their plane landed, a police car awaited them on the flight line. Local contacts whisked them to the lab, where everything Laura needed and had
requested stood waiting, including the top-notch surgeon, her former associate, Dr. Harrison. Laura had worked closely with him on previous incarnations of the communications device she intended to have implanted in both her and Jake’s arms.
“It’s a minor procedure, Jake,” she said as they walked down the quiet corridor.
“Shouldn’t we be in a hospital?”
“No.” She smiled. “Everything we need is in the lab.”
About sixty, graying, and distinguished-looking, if slightly round-shouldered from all his years of bending over operating tables, Dr. Harrison stood waiting at a stainless steel surgical table.
“Thanks for coming.” Laura extended her hand and clasped his warmly. “I don’t believe you’ve met my husband, Jake.”
The men shook hands, and then Laura got down to business. “Here are the units.” She passed two small cylinders to the doctor. “Go ahead and get started on mine, while I explain how this works to Jake.”
Dr. Harrison smiled. “Are you going to stop long enough to sit down?” He nodded to the stool on the opposite side of the table. “Or do you want me to just implant this as you pass through?”
“Sorry.” Laura had the grace to blush. “We’ve been rushed.” She dropped onto the stool, propping her foot on the raised rung and extending her left arm. “This is a new design,” she told Jake. “It’s not field-tested, I’m afraid, but we’re going to have to risk it.” Feeling one of Harrison’s assistants restrain her arm, Laura went on. “It’s a tricolor system, Jake. A tiny speck under the skin changes color. It shouldn’t be evident to anyone except you, so don’t worry about that. It’s subtle, so you really have to be looking for it to see it. And since it can be implanted essentially anywhere in the body, anyone else spotting it carries a low probability rating.”
“How do you activate it?” Jake asked, deliberately not watching Dr. Harrison or his assistants.
“Simply depress the skin directly above it lightly three times, pause, then depress it twice, pause again, then depress it once. That sequence prevents accidental activations. You must depress the exact spot, or it won’t activate. Safeguards for unfavorable conditions.”
Jake understood her meaning. If taken captive, during torture or questioning the tracker could be accidentally activated. The sequencing substantially lowered the probability of that happening. “You said it was a tricolor system.”
“Here we go, Laura,” Dr. Harrison said. “A little sting to numb the area, and then we’ll be in and out in a flash.”
“Okay.” She looked back at Jake. “Red means I’m alive and being tracked by satellite. Blue, I’m dead and being tracked by satellite. This way, home base stays apprised, and we also know what’s going on with each other after we’re, um, separated.”
Something akin to pain flickered through Jake’s eyes. “What’s the third color?”
“White,” Laura said. “It’s a send code that can mean whatever you want it to mean.”
“What does it mean on this mission?” His voice went from soft to softer.
She looked up at him. “When you send it to me, it’ll mean Timmy is safe.”
“And when you send it to me?” Jake asked.
“If you can, bring in reinforcements, and get me out of there.” She swallowed hard. “If you can’t, it’s me saying goodbye.”
The look in his eyes told her he rebelled against that as a possibility. Just knowing he’d turn every stone for her made her feel better. If a way existed or could be created to spare her life, Jake would find it. Laura took solace in that.
“You’re done, Laura,” Dr. Harrison said. “The numbness should wear off in half an hour.”
“Thank you.” She stood up.
The assistants sterilized the work space and instruments and, within fifteen minutes, had implanted Jake. While Dr. Harrison ditched his gloves and cleaned up, Laura and Jake tested the signals. Home base verified via a secure phone line that they were satellite-linked, and the trackers were working accurately.
“So far, so good.” Laura smiled, infinitely pleased her design was performing well.
“You’re brilliant.” Jake stared at the dim red light emitting from his arm. He’d been concerned about the visibility of it until he’d seen the size. Laura hadn’t been joking about noticeability. The light was about the size of a pin head, and the incision looked like a scratch.
“Dr. Logan?” Dr. Harrison returned.
Laura didn’t look his way. Jake nudged her. “I think he means you, honey.”
She gave him her best you’re-being-testy look. No one ever called her “Doctor” except Dr. Harrison. She despised titles, probably because Sean Drake and Colonel James had used theirs to put her into the position of having to give up the one that had meant most to her: Captain. “Yes?”
“Good luck.”
“Thank you.” She’d admired the doctor for a long time, and afraid she might not again have the opportunity to tell him, she decided not to let this one pass. “I appreciate everything you’ve done, working with me on this project. You’re very talented.”
“It’s been a pleasure,” he said, his voice low and husky. “I hope one day we can entice you to return to your research full-time. It’s where you belong, Laura.”
In his eyes, she saw the same look she’d seen in the briefing room. Jake must have noticed it, too, because he curled an arm around her waist and pulled her close to his side.
“Major?” A male nurse addressed Jake. “The chopper is waiting, sir.”
“Thank you.” Jake turned, nodded to the doctor and his staff, and then left with Laura. They headed back to the flight line, hoping to hell they were all wrong. She’d said she had to do this to live with herself. Jake understood that. Just as he understood that he couldn’t fail to get her and Timmy both safely out of there. Not and live with himself.
The chopper ride went swiftly. Though never publicly demonstrative, Jake couldn’t sit beside Laura and not touch her. He held her hand the entire way.
“I haven’t given you a wedding ring.” Why had he said that now? It sounded fatalistic.
She smiled softly. “I haven’t given you one, either.”
The tenderness in her eyes had his every nerve screaming. Seeing his ring on her finger suddenly seemed vitally important to Jake. “When you get home, we’ll fix that.”
Her eyes went wide, and he heard her swallow. “Either way?”
She meant dead or alive. His eyes burned, and his throat muscles constricted. Unable to speak, he nodded.
“ETA ten minutes, Major,” the pilot said, giving them the estimated time of arrival. “Ground transport is ready.”
“Thank you,” Jake said.
Connor and the team at headquarters had scrambled forces and dispatched three specialist teams to Jacksonville to intercept ROFF and work with local authorities in securing the water system. The problem was that the main supply couldn’t easily be secured. According to the statisticians, that portion of the mission carried a risk factor which had everyone involved edgy. Too edgy, thank God, to just storm ROFF, which would surely result in Timmy’s being killed. Another factor was that storming ROFF’s headquarters in no way guaranteed they’d stop the contamination attempt.
Was Hawkins still at ROFF headquarters? Had he departed for Jacksonville? He could be holed up anywhere, as could Madeline. Until the team had a firm fix on their locations, their hands were all but tied. Jake still had a hard time accepting that Madeline was neck-deep in this. He knew he should, but she’d seemed so ill-equipped. He’d forgotten how conniving Sean Drake could be. And how powerful he’d been. She was neck-deep, all right, still trying to win Drake’s approval, though the man had long since been dead and buried. The one thing Jake couldn’t figure out was how she and Hawkins had connected. In any case, the team’s hands being ti
ed just might save Timmy’s life. And, with luck, it would also give Jake a little more time to assist Laura.
By the time they departed the chopper and hauled their gear to the airboat, twilight had fallen. Laura had three bags of communication equipment and survival gear.
Jake put on his night vision goggles and got into position to drive the boat while Laura stowed her bags. “There’s no way you can drag all that through the swamp.”
“I know. I’ll stash it along the way. It’ll enable us to communicate with home base.” Laura sat down, then nodded that she was ready.
Jake gunned the engine. The boat gathered speed and sliced through the reedy water. Darkness fell, and the night wind felt good on his skin, but with every inch forward they moved, his heart rebelled more.
A mile out from the drop-off area, Laura tugged at the hem of his BDUs. He looked down, and she motioned for him to stop the boat. When he knocked the gear shift into idle with the heel of his hand, she reached up to him. He tugged off the night vision gear and helped her to stand up.
“Jake.” She hugged him hard. “I have to tell you something.”
He could barely see her. Clouds scudding across the sky all but obscured the moonlight. He closed an arm around her back. “What is it?”
“Whatever happens, I want you to know that it’s okay. As long as we get Timmy out, that’s all that matters.”
“Not to me.”
“I know you’ll do all you can for me, Jake. If you succeed, I’ll be thrilled.” Her voice dropped a notch, and she forced him to look into her eyes. “But if you don’t, it’s all right. Don’t blame yourself. Ever. Understand?”
He looked away.
“Jake, you’re not going to pull this on me. I can’t do what I have to do, not knowing going in that if I don’t come out you’ll feel guilty. I want your promise.”
He looked down and let her see his agony in his eyes. “I can’t give it to you, honey. I would if I could, but I . . .can’t.” He touched his forehead to hers.
