Krystal Scent (Krystal Vibration Series Book 2)

by Richard Corrigan

  Against Cheyenne, however, she was less confident. She didn’t want to be tested against her in a life-and-death situation. Cheyenne was vicious during sparing exercises at the training school in Nevada. She fought ferociously—and to kill.

  The instructor continually had to pull Cheyenne off—she was either choking Karen or on the verge of breaking Karen’s neck. Karen had never beaten her. She never even came close. Cheyenne had more combat experience and raw animalism.

  Karen shivered and whipped around in time to cross her arms and intercept the thrust of Cheyenne’s knife. She dropped her gun and clasped her fingers together, tightened them around Cheyenne’s wrist and twisted her body, sending Cheyenne to the floor.

  “You’re a double agent?” Karen said, quickly standing and looking for her gun.

  Cheyenne jumped to her feet and said, “I’m waging Holy War against all non-believers.” She slipped out of her backpack and let it fall to the floor. “Convert or die.”

  “Go to Hell.”

  “Once I start slicing you up, you’ll know you’re in Hell. I won’t kill you right away. It’ll be slow. You’ll beg me to finish you off.”

  Karen sucked in air through her teeth and retreated to the wall.

  “Western society is corrupt and must be destroyed,” Cheyenne said, as she moved along the edge of the cavern.

  “How did you know we would be here?” Karen asked and continued to search for her weapon.

  “Your friend’s cellphone.”

  “You tracked his signal? But you’re being tracked. Your implant will give you away.”

  “I removed it before I left the States. It’s in a package on a boat to China. It’ll keep transmitting for two weeks. When it dies, they’ll think I’m dead.”

  Cheyenne charged. Her knife slashed back and forth. She caught Karen’s arm.

  Karen stumbled back, grabbed her forearm and stepped into a side tunnel. She slipped out of her shirt, ripped a section, and using her good hand and her teeth, tightened the cloth over the wound.

  She had no weapon; her gun was on the floor somewhere. She unhooked her holster. Maybe it would be of use.

  All was quiet except for occasional gunfire in the tunnels on the other side of the lake.

  The vanilla scent was getting stronger. Karen could see the end of the lake and the anchored rowboat. The wires prevented a direct flight to any point around the water, especially to the control panel.

  Karen felt the air move and stepped aside as Cheyenne’s knife slashed at her face. Karen whipped her holster, it wrapped around the blade, she yanked, and the dagger flew across the dirt and into the lake.

  Cheyenne ran into another cavern.

  She’s going for her backpack.

  Cheyenne reappeared.

  “Well bitch,” Cheyenne said, twirling a nunchaku stick. “It’s time for you to join your father.”

  Spinning the weapon over her head, Cheyenne charged.

  Karen tried to sidestep, but the hard rubber handle caught her in the head. She stumbled into the dark of another cave.

  Cheyenne was silent.

  Again, Karen spotted the rowboat.

  The oars, maybe…

  Karen bolted from the cave.

  Cheyenne sprinted.

  Karen ran for the rowboat and splashed into the water.

  Cheyenne dove in and rose up swinging the nunchaku. She hit Karen in the back.

  Karen sunk into the water. She swam beneath the boat and stayed under the surface for a few more seconds, trying to shake off the pain. She then suddenly rose up and pulled off an oar.

  Cheyenne swung the stick from the starboard side of the boat and caught Karen in the face.

  Karen stumbled.

  Cheyenne surged around the stern of the boat.

  Karen was trying to stand. She held the oar parallel to the water with her hands spread wide.

  Cheyenne swung her weapon. Karen met Cheyenne’s attack. The chain wrapped around the oar and Cheyenne yanked.

  Karen almost lost the pole, but held on. Cheyenne’s weapon unwrapped. Karen stabbed the pole up and toward Cheyenne’s face and caught her under her chin, sending her stumbling backward and onto the shore.

  Karen surged forward and used the oar as a spear, thrusting it into Cheyenne’s stomach.

  No effect.

  Cheyenne curled the nunchaku stick around the oar and pulled. Karen lost her grip and both weapons flew into the water.

  Cheyenne took a stance and said, “You’ve been fucking lucky so far, but your luck’s run out.”

  She came at Karen with her arm cocked. Karen blocked the blow. Cheyenne kneed Karen in the groin and then dropped and snared Karen’s legs, rolled, and brought her to the ground. Karen twisted and slammed her elbow into Cheyenne’s chest and then grabbed Cheyenne’s arm and stretched it out, bending Cheyenne’s wrist back and wrapping her legs around Cheyenne’s throat and squeezing.

  Cheyenne tried to twist free, but Karen tightened her grip. Cheyenne fumbled for her ankle. She pulled up her pant leg and drew a knife. She swung her arm and thrust the blade into Karen’s leg.

  Karen yelled out, let go and struggled to her feet. Cheyenne stumbled to hers and then with renewed energy rushed forward and pinned Karen against the wall and coiled her arm to slice the knife across Karen’s throat.

  Karen punched Cheyenne in the throat, sending her back. Karen spotted her Glock on the floor and turned to grab it. Cheyenne dropped the knife and quickly drew a wire from her pocket and slipped it over Karen’s neck and twisted, pressing her against the rocks.

  “At training you never beat me. And, you won’t today, you fucking bitch,” Cheyenne said.

  Karen could feel the steel thread cutting into her neck. She pushed her fingers between her skin and the strand. Cheyenne pushed her against the cave wall.

  Karen drew in her knees, ran up the side of the tunnel, and sailed over Cheyenne’s head.

  Cheyenne spun around.

  Karen remembered Cheyenne always setting her foot at an angle before she jumped into a kick. At that split second, Cheyenne was vulnerable, but Karen could never react fast enough to take advantage of it.

  There it is!

  Karen jumped up and thrust her foot into Cheyenne’s face and then spun in a roundhouse kick and smashed her foot into her chest.

  Cheyenne stumbled into an opening and disappeared from view.

  With her back against the cavern wall, Karen tried to regroup. Her neck stung. Her leg was bleeding and so was her arm. She could smell her blood. She reached up to her throat and touched the wound. It stung from the salt on her fingers. She then clasped her hand over the cut on her arm and then grabbed her thigh.

  I can’t let her beat me.

  Suddenly, she caught a whiff of the perfume and heard running.

  Cheyenne charged from the right. Karen side-stepped. Cheyenne snatched Karen’s gun from the floor. Karen kicked. The weapon flew across the ground. Cheyenne dove for the Glock.

  Karen jumped atop her, grabbed the hand holding the weapon and smashed it once, twice against the floor. Cheyenne released, rolled over, shed Karen and rolled into an adjacent opening.

  Karen rose to her knees and listened. Time was running out. She had to defeat Cheyenne or Lillia would die. She stood up and Cheyenne suddenly appeared holding her own weapon.

  Cheyenne aimed. Karen twisted. Cheyenne fired. The bullet grazed Karen’s hair.

  Karen dove for her pistol, rolled over and fired.

  The bullet entered Cheyenne’s chest. She stopped, stunned and dropped to her knees. But then she raised her weapon.

  Karen fired two more times. Cheyenne crumpled to the floor.

  Karen picked up Cheyenne’s knife and said, “But in real life, you lose. And when your Hip Chip stops somewhere in China, you’ll have already been dead here in France.”

  All was silent. There was no gunfire on the opposite side of the lake. But what was the result? Was Brandon alive or was Lamboise? Karen didn�
��t want to call out and give away her position just in case Brandon was successful.

  She was at the end of the lake standing in front of the old wooden boat when Lamboise came running up.

  “Your friend Brandon wasn’t a very good shot. And he made the mistake of showing himself before he fired.”

  “He’s dead?”

  “Yes,” Lamboise said and looked over at Cheyenne lying in a pool of blood.

  “Are you sure he’s dead?” Karen asked, dropping Cheyenne’s knife.

  “Positive, he took a bullet in the head. Are you okay?”

  “We’ve only got a few minutes.”

  Lamboise didn’t bother looking at his watch.

  “France will be ruined and Lillia will die if we can’t stop that timer.”

  “It’s not just the timer; it’s cutting the power from all the sources including the batteries.”

  Karen looked at the boat. “There’s no way we can use this to cross the lake. We’d have to carefully lift up each wire.”

  Lamboise shone his light and counted. “There’re fourteen wires, all about a foot off the water. You’re right, it can’t be done.” Lamboise took off running.

  Karen called out, “You have to run the width and the length of the lake. You’d have to hurdle the fourteen wires.”

  Lamboise said nothing but kept going.

  He looked fast, but Karen knew it was hopeless. She called out to him again, “You’ll never make it in time.” She kicked off her shoes, pulled off her slacks, and unwrapped the makeshift bandage from her arm.

  Karen had a little over two minutes to reach the detonator on the other side of the lake and disarm it to prevent the destruction of the Louvre and save Lillia.

  She grabbed Cheyenne’s knife, held her hair and with four slashes, cut it off.

  With one hundred seconds left, she dove into the water.

  “Karen,” Lamboise yelled. You can’t make it. You’d have to reach the shore in Olympic time. Karen!”

  Karen heard Lamboise, but she ignored him. Her muscular body slid through the water. Her strokes were strong and her kicks forceful. She breathed on every fourth pull. She had to swim the sixty yards faster than she ever had before.

  But she was stronger now than when she was in college, and sleeker. And her scant underwear barely affected her speed.

  Thank goodness for Amanda’s Boudoir. I need to take smoother strokes.

  Along with her arms and legs, Karen concentrated on using the muscles in her shoulders, her lower back and her chest. She had to generate maximum torque and minimize drag.

  She stretched out as far as she could. Her passage was smoother than it had ever been in competition.

  Lamboise soon realized that his efforts were inferior compared to Karen’s. He stopped running and watched as Karen stretched across the water. That’s when he realized she was almost naked.

  Karen didn’t know what she was going to do when she reached shore. The timer was still running. And if it were stopped, the bombs would explode from the power lines or the batteries, and Lillia would die. She glanced over to her right and saw Lamboise making his way down the side, carefully stepping over the trip wires.

  He would be halfway there when she rose out of the water. She kept her pace and looked back at Lamboise.

  Concentrate. Must save Lillia.

  Karen’s strokes dug deeper into the black water.

  Lamboise kept glancing over. The big, white fish had risen to the surface and was swimming alongside Karen. It was back by her legs so she couldn’t see it. Lamboise kept quiet. The stories about it were that it was harmless.

  Karen reached the shore and quickly rose out the lake with such force, a cascade of water surged into the opening where the controls for the bombs were hidden. An idea burst into her head.

  A power surge!

  Lamboise was about fifty feet away. He looked at his watch. He began to run again, jumping over the wires. Karen had only twenty seconds to deactivate the timer. She knew Lamboise wouldn’t make it there in time. It was all up to her.

  She twisted around and grabbed the bare-wired cord from the generator. With the other hand she yanked the handle of the recoil starter.

  Nothing.

  Fifteen seconds left. She pulled twice more.

  Nothing.

  Ten seconds. She yanked again, the engine fired. It raced. Five seconds left.

  I’ll be electrocuted. But Lillia will live.

  She dove across the floor with the live wires in her hand. Her semi-naked body hydroplaned over the water.

  Lamboise reached the opening.

  Karen hit the control panel.

  There was a massive spark. The switches exploded. Lamboise ducked for cover. The lake lit up like a fireworks display. Explosions blew from all sides including the ceiling. Rocks fell. The wires quivered beneath the Opera House, through the metro tunnel, and into the Louvre, reaching all the wings, each level, and into every room.

  Three floors up, the Opera House manager was meeting with the artistic director. They were on the stage discussing the production of yet another performance of Bizet’s Carmen.

  The floor vibrated and the rafters rattled. The director looked up and said, “Qu'est-ce que c'était?”

  The manager said, “Je ne sais pas.”

  Deep within the earth below the Paris Opera House, a fine cloud of dust slowly moved away from shore and floated across the lake. The caves were filled with an eerie quiet. The blasts had ceased, the sparks were no more, and the crackle of electrocution had stopped.

  The emergency lights dimly lit the area. Lamboise looked inside the cave opening. Karen was lying face down in a pool of water. Lamboise shut off the generator and rushed to Karen’s side. She was still holding the cord against the control panel.

  She was unconscious but breathing.

  Lamboise took off his shirt, looked at the label, took a deep breath, shrugged, and threw it over Karen. He pulled the sleeves onto her arms and then lifted her out of the water.

  Karen groaned.

  Lamboise carried her back to the other side of the lake and redressed her. He then carried her unconscious body to the opening that led to the second basement of the Opera House.

  CHAPTER 39

  The nurse walked into the private, Paris hospital room, placed some reading material for Karen Krystal on the nightstand, and quietly arranged three chairs near the side of the bed.

  “Excuse me, but you have some visitors,” she said.

  Karen had been less than an hour out of a twenty-four hour coma. Miraculously, her body showed no external effects of the surge of electricity she experienced beneath the Paris Opera House.

  The waiting room outside was beginning to fill with people anxious to see her. Most were Louvre employees, some journalists, TV reporters, and a couple of government representatives.

  Karen was ending her phone conversation. With a horse voice from swallowing a breathing tube, she said, “I have to go. No, don’t come over here. I’ll be home soon.” She said goodbye to her only sister and hung up.

  The nurse opened the door. It was held by a security guard assigned to watch over the room. Two adults and a child entered. The little girl walked to the side of the bed and offered a small bouquet of flowers and said, “Hi, I’m Lillia. Thank you for saving my life.”

  Karen took the daisies and thanked her. The nurse offered to take them and put them in a vase and return.

  Lillia’s parents sat down. They had been calling the hospital every hour since the incident was defused, waiting to thank Karen. They immediately began telling Karen the story of their ordeal in the Louvre and that if it weren’t for her, their child would be dead or severely maimed.

  Brianna Martin said, “Thanks to you, the Louvre wasn’t destroyed.”

  “No, none of the bombs in the museum went off. All the connectors were fused together. Everything shorted out.” John Martin said.

  As soon as Lillia and her parents left Karen’s roo
m, the nurse escorted in Moshe and Maya, Karen’s cousins from Israel. Moshe was on crutches and Maya’s face was bandaged. They separated and walked to each side of the bed. Karen spread her arms. They hugged and held on tight.

  “Please come to Israel with us,” Maya said.

  Moshe nodded his head in agreement.

  Karen let go of their shoulders and said, “The course is set. I’m destined to continue along the path that has been laid out for me.”

  Moshe’s eyes squinted. “We don’t believe in destiny. Josephus only makes mention of the Essenes who believed in predestination. And we are not Essenes.”

  Karen said, “I know what we are brought up to believe, but I have been set on a passage that if I turn aside, many will be lost, destroyed, killed, or maimed like the two of you. I must do all I can to stop it from happening.”

  Maya said, “You will probably die.”

  “If I do, it will be while helping others live.”

  The nurse came in and said that visiting hours were over. Moshe and Maya said goodbye and promised that they would be back tomorrow to say goodbye before they return to Israel.

  Karen committed to visit as soon as she was able.

  The door closed and Karen was alone with her thoughts.

  Should I go home or stay over here—convince Etheridge to let me travel to Syria’s northern border—search for my father’s killers?

  A nurse entered the room, handed an envelope to Karen and said, “This just arrived, special delivery.”

  When the nurse left, Karen inspected it. There was no return address; the front was printed with Karen’s name and the hospital address as if by a child. The postmark was from Kusadasi, Turkey.

  I don’t know anyone in Turkey.

  She slipped her finger between the body of the envelope and the flap and opened the letter. It was a card. She pulled it out and gasped when she read the words:

  “Make sure of your friends. Identify your enemies. Live the life God had intended you to live. Listen to your heart, mind and spirit. Don’t let anyone tell you right from wrong. You know the difference. Believe in yourself.”