He used his contacts to zoom in on the aircraft’s tail rotor and fired his assault rifle, spraying rounds on full automatic. For a heart-wrenching moment, he thought he had failed. But just as he depleted his only clip, the helo jerked spasmodically, out of control, and spun wildly to the south, where it slammed into a tree, killing the pilot and causing the aircraft to drop to the forest floor like a steel-and-composite sack of bricks.
The main rotor spun into the ground and tore off with a savage groan of metal, turning the most sophisticated helicopter ever built into nothing but a pile of steaming wreckage.
Reed was now close enough to hear the screamed curses of the Chinese commander through his own ears, as Ye’s easy escape hopes had been obliterated before his very eyes.
“New plan!” Captain Ye shouted to his two men after he finished cursing. “There’s a road a few miles east of us. Get there as fast as possible, and get us transportation. Flag down a driver and kill him out of sight of the road. I’ll bring the girl and take care of whoever is following. Go!” he shouted.
With that said, he wheeled around, and in one smooth motion shot the Bloodhound drone out of the sky. It had been trailing at a distance, but he managed to take it out with a single shot.
Reed scowled. Ye’s display of marksmanship was impressive, and one of Reed’s most important advantages—a second set of eyes and ears—had vanished along with the drone.
Still, he had heard enough.
He began walking as quickly and stealthily as possible, needing to gain on Ye and his captive, who were now very close by. Within four minutes he was within stalking distance of the pair. Ye was purposely keeping Allie Keane extremely close to him, a partial human shield, as he proceeded east with the utmost alertness and caution.
Reed followed from a healthy distance, calculating how best to make his move, counting his blessings that the other two commandos had been dispatched ahead.
The hair on the back of his neck stood on end and a chill swept down his spine.
Of course they hadn’t been dispatched ahead, he thought in a burst of inspiration, wanting to slap himself in the forehead for his idiocy. Ye would never thin his ranks knowing that one or more soldiers behind him had shot down his chopper. He would want as many men as possible with him until he identified and nullified the threat. It wasn’t a coincidence that he had waited to destroy the drone until just after sending his two comrades away.
He had wanted Reed to hear him.
The moment the drone was dead, Ye must have issued very different orders to his men, to circle back to the west, so they could get behind whoever was pursuing.
While Reed was stalking the Chinese captain, his two comrades were stalking him.
In just a handful of seconds they would have been close enough to get off a certain kill shot had he not realized their plan.
Reed burst into a sprint, angling to the densest section of woods he could see ahead of him. When he passed a particularly thick tree trunk he stopped on a dime behind it, out of sight, and immediately squatted to the ground. He picked out a small rock and clump of dirt and tossed both in the direction he had been heading, creating the illusion that he was still racing ahead in that direction.
Reed removed his .45-caliber Glock from its holster, pressed himself soundlessly against the trunk, and held his breath. He would make their trap backfire if it was the last thing he ever did.
He heard the rustle of foliage just to his west. The two commandos had picked up speed and seemed less concerned about making noise as they moved, convinced they had temporarily lost their target when he had abruptly bolted ahead.
They rushed past Reed’s location at a full run. A few seconds after they had passed, the American commander shouted out, causing the men to stop in their tracks and whirl around to fire, but they were too late. Reed sent a bullet through each of their foreheads, and they collapsed to the ground, dead before they finished their falls.
Reed wasted no time congratulating himself. His job was far from over. The .45 wasn’t silenced, and Ye was just out of sight ahead. The moment the Chinese captain heard the thundering shots, he’d contact his men through their comms, wanting confirmation that their tail was now dead. When they didn’t respond he’d know they’d been caught in their own trap. So what would he do then?
Reed bolted toward Ye’s expected location in a blind panic as the answer came to him in one sickening flash. He would probably cut his losses. With his men dead, his ride lost, and Reed able to call in reinforcements, the game was up. The Americans would capture Ye or kill him, and take possession of his prize.
But if he jettisoned his baggage, killed Allie Keane, the information in her head would die with her. The CCP wouldn’t gain an advantage, but neither would their global enemy. And without her slowing Ye down, his chances of escape improved dramatically.
Reed charged through the woods like an enraged bull. As he crashed through a five-foot patch of dense foliage, he found himself suddenly bearing down on the pair he’d been stalking.
Just as he feared, Ye had his gun trained on Dr. Keane as she faced him from five feet away, tears streaming down her face. He was squeezing down on the trigger when Reed barreled into view and charged the physicist, diving into her as if he were a cornerback tackling a defenseless receiver. He slammed into her like a human missile, taking two shots in the back meant for her, and drove her onto her back, where her skull hit the hard ground.
As Reed rolled off of the brilliant scientist and onto his back, she fought to stay awake and shake off the brutal blow to her head. But it was hopeless. The man who had tackled her had been heroic, but he had only delayed the inevitable. His eyes were now closed, and he was at the mercy of the Chinese soldier.
Allison Keane managed to cling to consciousness just long enough to see her captor pump two more rounds into her would-be savior’s chest.
And then everything went black.
PART 3
13
Dr. Allison Keane groaned as consciousness returned. The back of her skull throbbed painfully, and although her head seemed to be resting on what she guessed was a downy-soft pillow, even this contact intensified her discomfort. She decided she should probably sit up.
Her eyes fluttered open, and she found herself on a bed inside a large, windowless hospital room. She was dressed in a standard-issue hospital gown, except, thankfully, one not open in the back. A ruggedly handsome man, not much older than she was, sat in an uncomfortable chair a few feet away from her, gazing at her with deep concern. His face lit up upon seeing her awake, and he rose to a standing position.
Her eyes widened. “You!” she whispered in shock as her memory flooded back. It was the man from the woods. He was now wearing an actual shirt and had cleaned up. Even so, at least a dozen tiny cuts and abrasions were visible on his neck and hands.
“You know who I am?” he said in surprise.
“Of course. You’re the man who tackled me.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I’m surprised you saw my face. It all happened pretty fast.”
Allie tried to sit up on the bed but was overcome by a bout of dizziness, forcing her to return to her original position.
“Let me help you, Dr. Keane,” said her visitor softly, taking her arms and pulling her gently to a seated position on the edge of the bed. She swung her legs around until they hung down just above the floor, facing her benefactor.
“I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you up,” he said. “How’s your head?”
“Sore,” she replied, wincing. “But given that it’s still there, on my shoulders, it’s hard to complain. And I have you to thank.”
She tilted her head in confusion. “But how are you still alive? How am I still alive?”
“I don’t suppose you’d accept an answer of, ‘that’s classified,’ would you?”
She shook her head, ignoring the dull pain that accompanied even this slight move.
“I didn’t think so,” said her vis
itor. “And by the way, you were given pain meds about twenty minutes ago, which should kick in shortly. You’ve been put through a battery of tests, and your doctors assure me that you’re going to be your old self again before you know it. Sorry about the whole, you know . . . concussion thing.”
She smiled. “Again, since the alternative was the whole death thing, I can’t be too mad. But when I asked how you’re still alive, how can the answer be, it’s classified? I saw you shot at least four times. Point-blank range. So either you’re Superman . . . or you’re a Terminator. Personally, I’m rooting for Superman.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” he replied in amusement, “but I’m just a flesh-and-blood human being. I get why it might appear otherwise. And I do owe you an explanation. So here goes—and this is very top secret, by the way—my undershirt is interwoven with a material called carbyne. Have you ever heard of it?”
Allie shook her head no.
“In short, it’s the world’s best body armor.”
“Nothing could be that good.”
“This is. I’d be happy to tell you more about the science behind it if you’d like me to.”
“If it’s so top secret, why would you do that?”
“Because screw top secret. You’ve been through hell, and you have a right to have your questions answered. Besides, I’ll be asking you to share non-public knowledge that you have. So it’s only fair that I provide non-public knowledge that I have. Hard to ask you to trust me if I can’t trust you.”
Allie thought about this. “I’m not a trusting person to begin with,” she said. “And that was before being abducted, passed around by scary men with guns, forced into a war zone, and nearly executed.”
The hint of a smile crossed her face. “But I guess if taking several bullets for me and saving my life can’t buy you a little trust, nothing can,” she added. “Pretty damned heroic, I’d say. So I’ll take the science lesson, because it’s hard to imagine your undershirt could protect you from a marshmallow attack, let alone bullets at point-blank range.”
“This is true,” he admitted. “Which is why I’m very happy to be living proof that it works. But since I knew I was wearing body armor,” he added modestly. “My actions really weren’t that heroic.”
“No—still heroic. That guy could have easily shot you in the head. Unless you’re telling me that your head is made of this protective material.”
“Well, I have been called thick headed,” he replied. “On occasion. Mostly by women, actually. But no, my head isn’t armored. I’ve got nothing between my ears but empty space,” he added in amusement. “Like every man does.”
Allie laughed. The back of her head may have been sore, but she was in a surprisingly good mood. Ecstatic even.
But maybe this wasn’t so surprising, after all. She had been an instant away from a horrible death, but had gotten a last-second reprieve. If that didn’t cheer you up, nothing could. Winston Churchill had once famously pointed out that nothing in life was as exhilarating as being shot at without result. And now Allie knew firsthand just how true these words really were.
“I am jealous of Superman, though,” continued her visitor. “It’d be pretty sweet to be bulletproof everywhere.”
“Maybe so,” said Allie good-naturedly. “But, remember, Superman has his kryptonite. Achilles has his heel. Terminators have their . . . well, you know, their Sara Connors. So everyone has a weak spot.”
Allie’s eyes widened as she had a minor epiphany. “But you faked your weak spot, didn’t you?” she said. “That’s why you were only wearing an undershirt. I figured you just wanted to look cool. Show off your biceps. Give off a vibe like James Dean, or that guy from Die Hard. But you were planning ahead, weren’t you? Thought you might be a sitting duck at some point, and wanted to encourage the bad guys to shoot you in the chest.”
“Very good,” said her visitor, sincerely impressed. “You’re exactly right. I knew that no one would believe my undershirt could protect me from a bullet. Even the seasoned men who abducted you. If I had kept my shirt and combat vest on, they’d assume I had body armor hidden underneath and aim for my head. Even though it’s a more difficult shot. By showing off my—apparent—lack of body armor, I was inviting gut shots.”
“Smart,” said Allie. “Very smart.”
Her visitor sighed. “Thanks, but if I were truly smart, I’d have found a way to save you and not get shot at all. I’ll be honest with you, I’m happy to be alive, but no armor is perfect. Right now, my entire torso feels like it’s been beaten into hamburger by Thor and his hammer.”
He paused. “But I’m surprised you caught that I was only wearing an undershirt. You passed out almost immediately. I wasn’t sure you’d remember any of it when you awoke.”
“Are you kidding?” she said with an impish grin. “I never forget an undershirt.”
Allie was astonished by the instant rapport she felt with this man, unlike any she had ever felt before. It could just be the near-death experience talking, but she didn’t think so. “So you took a few bullets in the back for me. Rolled over so your lack of bleeding wasn’t noticed. Took a few more shots in the front. And then shot the bastard who was trying to kill us. Is that it?”
“It’s like you weren’t even unconscious,” he said. Then, holding out his hand, he added, “I’m Commander Zachary Reed, by the way. But, please, call me Zach.”
“Only if you call me Allie,” she said, shaking the offered hand.
He nodded. “Okay . . . Allie. It’s nice to formally meet you. Our first meeting was a little . . . abrupt. And just so you know, I usually try to meet women before I throw myself on top of them.” He grinned. “I guess I’m old-fashioned that way.”
She laughed again. Then, serious once more, she waved her hand to encompass the room she was in, filled with specialized equipment better suited to an emergency room. “Before we go any further . . . Zach, where, exactly, are we right now? And how did we get here?”
“We’re in a private hospital room,” replied her visitor. “Inside the hospital wing of Fort Carson, an army base near Colorado Springs.”
Allie nodded. “That answers my second question, also. Since we’re in Colorado, you probably didn’t drive me here. Or, you know, fly me here on your back.”
Reed shook his head in amusement. “Thanks for giving me another reason to be jealous of Superman,” he said wryly. “But since your abductors were kind enough to clear an area for a helicopter to land right where we were, I called in a chopper of my own. We were flown to a nearby base and then took a jet here.”
“How long have I been out?”
“Almost eight hours.”
“So what time is it now, midnight? Later?”
Reed smiled. “It’s a little past seven-thirty at night.”
“Impossible.”
“I have no doubt it seems that way. Especially since you began this ordeal by being shot with a tranquilizer. But only a bit over two hours passed from the time the fake limo driver knocked you out this morning until the time that I . . . well, that I knocked you out later on.”
“Felt like fifty hours.”
Reed smiled. “Yeah. For me too. But the chopper lifted us out of the woods around noon.”
Allie digested this information. Time might fly when you’re having fun, but it definitely dragged when you were being abducted and shot at.
“You’re a VIP guest here, by the way,” added the handsome commander.
“Why Fort Carson?”
“It was relatively close. And secure. It covers over two hundred square miles in area. And it’s home to the 4th Infantry Division, the 10th Special Forces Group, the 71st Ordinance Group, and so on. Although I doubt that means much to you.”
“Are you with one of these groups?”
Reed shook his head. “I’m with a group that doesn’t officially exist.”
“Of course you are,” said Allie with the hint of a smile.
“My boss is on her way her
e now. A colonel named Sarah Hubbard. She’ll be here before too long. I’ll let her brief you on our group and tell you just what it is that happened to you.”
“I know what happened to me.”
“What did your captors tell you?”
“Nothing,” replied Allie. “They were the evil, silent type. But it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that a lot of parties are obsessively interested in my recent work. Which came as an enormous surprise to me, I can tell you that. And they aren’t just interested,” she added, “they’re interested enough to do whatever it takes to obtain it. Or do whatever it takes to make sure others don’t obtain it,” she finished with a shudder, remembering the empty, horrific feeling of staring down the barrel of a gun and knowing the man holding it intended to kill her without mercy.
“Yeah,” said Reed, nodding. “That about sums it up.”
Allie Keane suddenly looked sick to her stomach. “So level with me, Zach,” she said, “will I ever be able to go back to my old life?”
“Sure,” he said feebly, trying to force a smile.
Allie wasn’t fooled. He just didn’t want to tell her that her life as she knew it was over for good. Didn’t want to risk dropping a bomb on her right after she had been through hell.
“Well . . . it’s possible that you’ll be able to go back to your old life,” amended Reed, realizing that she hadn’t bought his answer. “At some point in the future. I mean, it’s really hard to say.”
Allison Keane blew out a long breath. “I’ll take that as a firm no,” she said grimly.
14
There was a long silence in the military hospital room, and Allie was shaken, like she had just been diagnosed with terminal cancer.
“I’m so sorry,” said Reed earnestly. “But if there is a way to restore things to normalcy, I promise you I’ll find it. And even if there isn’t, you’re life isn’t over. It’s just maybe . . . different. Who knows, you may find you like your new life better than your old. Or maybe not. But things might not be as dire as they seem.”
The Immortality Code Page 8
