I’ve been feeling paranoid since I lost the plane, six tactical agents, and two pilots. The electronics package I sent down near the crash site confirmed Malone and Lesile were amongst the wreckage. I used the remote transmitter-receiver to detonate their implants just to be safe, but I still can’t shake this uneasy feeling. I tried to pass Malone off as a smartass with a big mouth and bigger ego, but there was justification to take his threats seriously. I’m sure what I was able to dig up on him showed only a small part of the bigger picture he represented, but I have no doubt the man is adept at killing. I wouldn’t be surprised if he caused the crash.
This entire thing is starting to turn into a clusterfuck. It’s one thing to manage a black op, it’s another thing to keep the death of ten members of my task force quiet for long.
It took a lot of maneuvering and outright lying to make everyone think this was a counter terrorism operation, but I had no choice. If anyone finds out the truth before Dr. Finnegan perfects the Cure, it could put the country in a state of chaos. Half would want to scour the streets; the other half would deny they existed. Even with all the evidence I’ve collected, the deniers would be too timid to take the necessary action.
Dr. Finnegan is close to a breakthrough. We thought we had it with the SEALs. My team and I are on the verge of being able to cure every disease known to man. We will be able to create soldiers who can drop deep into enemy territory and surgically remove threatening targets without the need to employ thousands of troops and spend millions of dollars like we have done in Iraq and Afghanistan. I have to keep this quiet just a little longer so I can provide the congressional hearing I’m bound to face with a working serum and real world results. It’s the only way I am going to be able to justify the expense and avoid going to prison.
“Sir, team five is three minutes late checking in. Do you want me to radio them?”
A chill runs down my spine. “No. Send a team to the containment floor—quietly.”
My people do not miss radio checks. Could Malone have survived the crash and infiltrated our base? What about the implants and the signals we detected? I don’t see how it is possible, but I underestimated his kind once. I cannot afford to do it again.
The radio squawks to life, and the sound of gunfire nearly drowns out the panicked voice. “Contact! We have hostiles in the containment room!”
“Malone,” I whisper. “Code red, people!”
“Sir, we have multiple contacts inbound!”
“How many?”
“Ten, no, twenty…Christ, there might be thirty or more coming in from all directions, and they’re moving fast!”
“Lock it all down! I want heavy machine guns guarding every exit. Get us online and send the data package to all federal agencies. We have a breach, people. Let’s plug it.” I take out my cell phone and try to call headquarters but there’s no signal.
I toss it aside and make for the safe where I lock up the secure sat phone. The lights go out and the alarm klaxons fall silent for a couple of seconds until the batteries turn on the emergency backups.
“What the hell was that?” I demand.
Agent Henning shakes his head. “I don’t know, but we don’t have any outside comms. The whole damn network is dead.”
I fish the key from my pocket, open the safe, and retrieve the satellite phone. I try to make the call, but it can’t connect to anything. It takes some serious hardware to jam the sat phones. These creatures are far more organized and have greater resources than I could have imagined.
“If Malone or his friends are springing our prisoner, they’ll have to use the stairwell to get out. I want a team on every door leading out. These creatures are responsible for the deaths of our friends and God only knows how many of our citizens. Let’s make them pay.”
***
(Leo)
I glance through the door, dart to the other side of the hallway, and wave the rest of my team forward. Marvin has just cleared the door when gunfire erupts from down the hall. Bullets whizz past, and a few thump against my jacket. Marvin screams and unloads his entire magazine on the walls, floor, and ceiling. Vincent and Lesile dart back into the room. I sprint across the hall, pick Marvin up with my free hand while laying down suppressive fire, and hurl us both back through the doorway.
“Blackhawk down! Blackhawk down! Oh, I’m coming, mama Beatie!” Marvin screams as he lies on the floor.
“Marvin, get ahold of yourself!”
Marvin opens his eyes. “Damn, mama Beatie, you got ugly.”
“You’re fine. The bullet went through the jacket, but the vest stopped it.”
“I thought this piece of shit was bulletproof?”
“It is, but it’s not a perfect system.”
“No, Obama Care ain’t a perfect system! This is fucked up. I hope they don’t make condoms too.”
“Quit bitching, you’re not the only one who was shot.”
“Yeah, but bullets don’t kill you.”
“Both of you stop whining!” Lesile shouts between bursts from her weapon. “Keep the hell out of the bullets’ path and neither of you has to worry about it!”
I give her a push into the hallway and grin when she screams from multiple impacts. She lunges back into the room and looks as though she wants to shoot me.
“Not so easy, is it?” I remark.
“You are such an asshole!”
Vincent grabs the open door, braces a foot against the wall, and tears it from its hinges. “If you two are quite through fucking around, I would like to leave now. If I am not mistaken, I believe those are grenades hanging from your bandolier?”
“They are.”
“Then how about putting them to use?”
“Oh, right…”
I fling a pair of flashbangs down the hallway. The moment they detonate, Vincent springs out of the room and sprints down the corridor using the metal door like an oversized Roman centurion’s shield. Bullets ping off its surface until he reaches the knot of agents pinning us down at the end of the hall. The elder vampire flings the door at the group on the left and wades into the one on his right with his bare hands. I hear strangled cries and spot a blur of movement as I run to provide support. In the two seconds it takes me to reach the end, Vincent is already standing amongst five corpses. I try to make a mental note of never pushing him too far.
I pull out my phone and start shouting before Harriet gets the chance to say hello. “We have Vincent, but the mission is FUBAR. Blow the towers and fire up the scramblers!”
My phone goes dead and shows zero bars, so I assume the cell towers are out of commission and just pray the satellite scramblers work.
Vincent says, “I think our best egress is by way of the roof.”
I shake my head. “Marvin can’t make the jump.”
Vincent looks as if he is ready to abandon Marvin, but he picks up two of the fallen agents’ MP5s. “The stairwell it is then. Lead the way, Mr. Malone.”
Alarm klaxons unleash a banshee’s wail throughout the building with strobe lights matching their cadence. The power goes out, likely Rick and Dimitri’s doing, and emergency lights flare to life, throwing us into a red, flickering hellscape.
We run for the stairwell while keeping close to the wall with Marvin tucked in the middle. The door opens just wide enough to stick an arm through, and a grenade bounces and skitters across the floor in our direction. I take two long strides and bend it like Beckham back the way it came. The grenade explodes and shakes the hell out of the stairwell door. I hope the concussion rattled anyone standing just on the other side. If so, I’m not going to give them the chance to recover.
Sprinting to the door, I jerk it partway open, blindly fire a few bursts inside, and drop in a concussion grenade for good measure. Even through the door, the blast gives my body a solid kick. I tear the door back open and step through, firing. Two feds lie crumpled on the top landing, but I put a couple of rounds into them to make sure they don’t get back up.
I stick my arm throug
h the door and wave the rest of my team forward. “Clear!”
The four of us pack into the corridor and start to make our way down when a barrage of bullets erupts from below and chews up the ceiling.
“Kinda clear,” I amend.
Lesile and Vincent point their weapons over the rail and fire at the lower levels. I glance over the side and mark the location of greatest resistance. They’re approximately thirty feet down, and my grenades have a five second fuse. I pull the pin, count to three and a half, and drop it. My timing is dead on, and the grenade goes off a few feet shy of hitting the ground floor. I’m not accustomed to fighting as a team and my game was off a bit, but I’m catching my stride now.
“Hug the wall and follow me,” I order my group.
I wedge a piece of the door handle under the door to secure our rear. Keeping our backs against the wall, we descend the stairs. A few rounds zip through the open shaft, but they can’t get the angle on us. I spin around and shove everyone back up the stairs.
“Back!”
The claymore shreds the stairs where I was just standing. Pieces of the casing and ricocheting steel balls pelt my jacket like a bunch of tiny but powerful fists.
“Give it up, Malone!” Agent Snow shouts. “I’ve got heavy machine guns covering the hallways above and below you. There’s no way you’re getting out of this stairwell alive.”
“Just like there was no way I could defeat your brain bomb, hijack your airplane, crash it into the ocean, and come back here to kick your ass?”
“I’ll admit I underestimated you and your kind.”
“It seems to be a habit with you.”
“It’s one I’m intent on breaking. I see you brought friends, but I’ve locked the building down. It will be a costly endeavor taking us out. How about we make a deal?”
“All right, you and all your men shoot yourselves in the head and I won’t kill you.”
“You’re a funny man, Malone, but we both know you’re trapped in here with me.”
I tighten the sling on my weapon, and pull the pin on a grenade. “Wrong, you’re trapped in here with me.”
I jump into the stairwell shaft, hit the railing below, hook my legs over the steel bar, and hang down over the ceiling of the first floor hallway. I arch backward, fling my grenade at the machine gun nest, and spray the hell out of the place. The machine gun rattles to life, spewing dozens of rounds per second just below my hanging head. I swing up and out of view. Several bullets shred the dangling back of my jacket. Half a second slower and it would have been my beautiful face. Vincent and the grenade go off almost at the same time. I see him flash past me as he drops from the landing above, stalks down the hallway with both weapons extended at arm’s length, and fires at anything with a pulse. There’s a pause in the shooting. The sound of Vincent’s expended magazines striking the floor breaks the eerie silence.
“Clear,” the elder vampire calls out from just down the hall.
I drop to the floor and go to survey the damage. I glance back and find Lesile towing Marvin behind her. I stride past Vincent and find Snow amongst the bodies. He grabs feebly for an Uzi lying next to him. I step on his wrist and bear down until I hear the bones crack. He tries to shout but only sprays a frothy spattering of blood onto the floor.
“You lose.”
The agent spits out another wad of blood. “I found you. Someone else…will put the pieces together…like I did. I just hope…they eradicate your species…like I should have done.”
“That’s the first thing you’ve gotten right since you started this little war.”
I point my weapon at his head and end his existence. No one in this building is going to get out alive, and I wonder for a brief moment who’s the good guys and who’s the bad guys. The agents are just doing their job, but so am I. It reminds me once again that the world is never black and white. It is a multitude of greys. How dark a grey just depends on your angle.
Vincent turns to me. “If we exit the building on this floor, I believe we will have to shoot our way out.”
“And likely get shot at by our own people as well. Let’s continue to the basement. If Yuri’s men are stuck down there, we need to take them with us.”
“Let us proceed then.”
We traverse the last flight of stairs and reach the sublevel. I ease the door open, and a single shot narrowly misses my head.
“Shit, Malone, is that you?” Rick calls out.
“Yeah, you want to not shoot me in the face?”
“Sorry. Come on out, it’s clear.”
Despite his reassuring words, I cautiously open the door and peer through before exposing my more vital parts. Dimitri and Rick are crouched next to the front of the truck. Three agents lie dead not far from the stairwell door.
“Looks like you had some trouble,” I say as I step over one of the bodies.
“Yeah, just a bit. I don’t think they are aware of how many are down here and decided to just let us sit since they know we aren’t going anywhere.” Dimitri points to the roll-down barrier now sealing the sublevel exit. “There’s another door near the stairwell, but it’s locked tight, and nothing short of a demolition charge is going to crack it open.”
“That is the door leading to the laboratory,” Lesile tells us.
“If she’s in there, then let it be her tomb,” I declare. “We’ll set the timer on the explosives and crash the gate with the truck.”
Rick nods. “That was our plan as well, so we unhitched the trailer. But it sounded like a war zone out there, and we weren’t going to jump into the middle of it until we had to.”
“You two take Marvin and Lesile in the cab. Vincent and I will cling to the back. Hopefully, our people will recognize us before they shoot us to shit.”
Lesile and the three breathers clamor into the truck while Vincent and I crouch behind the cab and get a tight grip. Rick fires up the engine and guns it. The barrier doesn’t stand a chance. The gate gives way with a crash and shrieking of metal. Rick blasts the horn and flashes his lights in hopes of signaling our people not to shoot. Vincent and I lean out, hang off the sides, and wave our arms.
Several rounds zip past and ping off the trailer coupling, but they are coming from behind us. Our people holding the gate redirect their aim back to the building and wave us through. Several flares streak skyward in a prearranged signal to get clear of the building. The suppressive fire increases to cover our people’s withdrawal. Rick guns the engine once we’re through the gate until we reach Harriet and her command group.
The senior council and a squad of Sheriffs are blocking the road five hundred yards from the front line. News and police helicopters circle overhead, and the blare of sirens draws near.
“Vincent, I am pleased we were able to retrieve you,” Harriet says as we hop off the back of the truck.
“As am I. I do wish we could have accomplished it without drawing quite so much attention.”
“We have it all in hand. Do not concern yourself.”
More than a dozen police cars and a SWAT truck skid to a stop just short of our roadblock. Cops pile out of the cars and van, but appear unsure how to respond. All are gripping weapons and taking cover behind their vehicles, but they aren’t pointing them at us. Harriet and another of her senior council approach the nearest squad car.
“Who is in charge here?”
A man wearing a bulletproof vest over a cheap suit stands up from behind the lead car. “I am.”
“Wrong!” Harriet and her posse whip out badges and ID. “I am Special Agent Harriet Winslow. You are interfering in a joint FBI and Homeland Security operation. Your department was told to stand back before this started. Was there something ambiguous in that order?”
“No, but…”
“Then what the hell are you doing here blocking my road?”
“It sounds like goddam downtown Fallujah over here!” The truck explodes, and the powerful concussive force shakes the vehicles and slams into everyone like a gust
of strong wind. “Holy fucking Christ!”
“We are why the entire city is not Fallujah. That explosion marks the end of a very large terrorist cell operating right under your nose. The explosives you just witnessed were three days from being parked in front of the Capitol Building. If you feel the need to be part of this, then set up an outer perimeter one mile out from my operation, or I will charge you with obstruction. If I’m in a particularly bad mood, I might even levy charges of aiding terrorism. And get those goddam helicopters out of my airspace before I call in a pair of strike fighters and shoot them down. Now move!”
The police captain looks furious, but he turns to his people and shouts, “Everyone, move back five thousand feet and form a perimeter. I want every road, creek, and deer path leading from this area covered.”
Harriet turns back to Vincent once the local police disperse. “Dr. Johnston is expecting you at your facility if they implanted you with one of their fiendish devices.”
“They did indeed,” Vincent extends an arm toward Marvin, “but thanks to this young man, I am told it is inert for the moment.”
“All the same, I think it is best if we do not delay in removing it. I must warn you, Dr. Johnston claims it is a very unpleasant procedure.”
“Unpleasantness seems to be the meal of the day of late. Best to finish quickly so I may go on to better things.”
“We have a helicopter waiting in the clearing just through the woods over there.”
Vincent glances in the direction Harriet points and drapes an arm over Marvin’s shoulder. “Excellent, the flight should give me and my young friend time to chat.”
Marvin looks to me with pleading eyes and appears torn between fainting and throwing up.
“It’s okay, Marvin. Vincent knows if anything happens to you I’ll finish what Snow started.”
“You surprise me, Mr. Malone. I did not think you were capable of compassion.”
“I don’t like people breaking my toys, especially when I’m not done playing with them.”
Vincent smiles. “Indeed.”
Marvin gives me one last fearful glance as Vincent leads him away. He’ll be fine. Vincent’s just a cautious sort and wants to gauge Marvin’s character and impress upon him the need for secrecy.
Blood Conspiracy (Brooklyn Shadows Book 2) Page 21
