Oracle's Hunt

by A. Claire Everward

  Never.

  He emptied his gun into them and felt shots hit him, waited for it to end.

  But it didn’t, they had purposely avoided fatal injury. His rage masked the pain and he lunged at his captors, but they caught him from behind, held him. He struggled but to no avail.

  Around him the clear shouts reverberated, all the way to the top of the stairwell above him. The civilian clad in black who came down the stairs had him begin to lower his eyes in disinterest. The woman who descended the stairs behind him had him struggling to stand up.

  “You!”

  “Hello, Elijahn,” she said.

  “You set me up. It was all a setup.” He understood now. His eyes filled with hate. “Again.”

  “Yes. But this one is the end. For you.” This was the first time Donovan heard ice in Lara’s voice.

  “We’ve been watching you since before you approached the gate. Contrary to what you seem to think, we’re rather particular about who comes into IDSD.” Ericsson had followed behind Lara, more of his security agents, mixed in with Martinez’s joint force soldiers, behind him.

  “But the security agents, they didn’t even look,” Elijahn said, trying to figure this out.

  Ericsson laughed. “It’s the security you don’t see that keeps this place safe. Oh, and this building? Nice catch. Except that it’s been empty for a week now, they’ve just finished moving into their nice new building. It’s bigger, too. Hey, we thought they deserve it, you know.”

  Elijahn turned his gaze to Lara, his eyes blazing with hatred. “I will kill you. If it’s the last thing I do, I will kill you!”

  “The only thing you’re going to do is stare at blank walls in a very, very solitary cell for the rest of your miserable life,” Martinez said behind him.

  But Elijahn wasn’t interested in anyone except this devil of a woman who had destroyed him. “I will still have my revenge. When I do not return, my people will release everything we have about Oracle. The audios from my base that you and your Oracle destroyed, the data I stole from that data center, all of it. Everything we have, and the details we stole about your people, all those names, the photos. You. Your photo. You think I have not sent it all to my headquarters? You think this was a problem for me?” He laughed, that cruel laugh Lara remembered from the night before. “They will tell everyone, all those we have ever worked with, all the others, what Oracle is doing to them. Everyone will know and they will come after all those names my people now have, you among them. You will never be able to hide, you will never be safe. Imagine it, the world’s terrorists coming after Oracle. It will be destroyed. IDSD, the Internationals’ dream, will be destroyed. The allies will be ridiculed. And I will be remembered as the man who exposed Oracle, who made its destruction possible.” He laughed, then coughed, blood trickling from the side of his mouth. And then his expression changed and the laugh ebbed.

  Donovan followed his gaze, turned and saw the glimmer in Lara’s eyes, her lips curve up a little.

  “Would those be your people in your headquarters under the Sahara?” she said quietly.

  Elijahn struggled feebly against his holders. “No. No, that’s impossible!”

  She tilted her head slightly, her eyes intense. “Your headquarters and everything, everyone in it will be destroyed before the night is over. I did that too, just so you know. You, Elijahn, will be forgotten.” And she turned and walked away.

  “I found out about Oracle, about you. Others will too,” Elijahn shouted after her, livid.

  “Maybe,” Donovan said to him, his voice low. “But thanks to you, we now know that’s a possibility. We’ll be ready.”

  With a raging, desperate snarl, Elijahn broke free, snatched a gun out of the thigh holster of the soldier standing over him, and aimed it at Lara’s back.

  Donovan shot him.

  The satellite feed on the spanning wall screen of Mission Command looked almost serene. The great desert was beautiful, majestic. Innocent.

  If one didn’t know the secret it concealed under it.

  Above endless golden dunes, stealth fighters uncloaked, hovering silently in the sky. As the onboard sensors tracked remotely and confirmed, missiles shot out, drilling into the sand, their momentum enhanced by powerful internal motors. Silence ensued, no sound but the shifting mounds of sand.

  And then the very ground exploded. Unmoving, cloaked again, the fighters waited, unaffected by the powerful shock waves around them. Only when they confirmed that there were no life signs, no signals, that nothing at all remained, did they leave. Once they were far enough away, a single bomb still laying in wait in the destruction below was sent a detonation signal, and moments later only a crater was left.

  Oracle was safe once again.

  As the IDSD gate grew distant behind them, Lara became increasingly restless. Now and again Donovan glanced at her, knowing that in her mind she was back in the previous night, driving down this same road, fully aware that she was about to be attacked. She was reliving the events of that night, the stand-off with Elijahn, the hunt for her. Her rescue, almost too late. Too close to being too late.

  As they reached the place where she had gone off the road he slowed the car down and crossed to its opposite side, then stopped on a small rise. The road was empty, their only companion the light of a new day rising above the sprawling woods where she was so relentlessly chased, where he had come for her.

  She had turned in her seat and was looking in his direction, not at him but beyond him, at the open stretch of ground she could clearly see from where he had stopped the car, at the spot where the wreckage of her convertible, now marked only by charred earth, had stood. The memory was clear in her eyes, in the furrow of her brow, in the tension in her body.

  She didn’t notice that he had turned to face her, moving close, didn’t notice his hand rise to settle on her waist, didn’t feel it until his other hand caressed her cheek, and as her eyes shifted to him she saw him, saw him, as he pulled her close and touched his lips to hers in a soft kiss.

  The shock to both of them was unexpected. How could such a simple touch be so much, he thought, how could it feel like this, she couldn’t begin to understand, even as her lips parted against his, accepted.

  “This is what I want you to remember, to think about when you drive by here from now on,” he murmured, and kissed her again, the promise of love, the recklessness of passion, and a hint of surrender resonating in them both.

  Donovan drove, his hand holding Lara’s between them. His eyes flickered to her. Her head rested on the headrest, her thoughts deep within herself. He’d seen the weariness in her eyes already earlier, when they’d left Mission Command after the destruction of Elijahn’s headquarters. He’d insisted they go to the medical center then, so that Dr. Mallory would have a look at her injuries again. But he knew that this wouldn’t help where it really mattered.

  Now that they were almost home, that stretch of road that would no longer be her focus behind her, it was finally over. Elijahn was no longer a danger, there was no longer an imminent threat to her, and even Oracle could take a moment, think. All she could do now, all it made sense that she would do, was look back at it all, play it over in her mind. Events and actions, too, but mostly the implications for those around her. For herself.

  For him. He knew that by now. In her mind, she’d been the one under attack, and any casualties were about her, as she couldn’t help but see it, being the woman she was. And he could have been one of them. And this, what had awakened between them, her acceptance of it finally, was putting what could have happened to him in a whole new light.

  He felt it himself, for her. This investigation had brought him face to face with the one thing that had never interfered with his work in the past. The one thing that had never interfered with his life, in the past. Love. He thought of that moment when he had thought she had been in the car that blew up, a moment he was never likely to forget. The grief that had seared him.

  And then that
split second when he’d realized that she was still alive. What it felt like when he wrapped his arms around her, pulled her to him, to safety.

  The implications would follow them both for a while.

  Arriving home, he pulled into her driveway, and turned to her. “Lara?” he said quietly.

  She didn’t answer, didn’t move.

  “Lara.” His voice was insistent, wanting, needing to push through.

  “I called you.”

  He frowned. “Good. That’s what I wanted you to do.”

  “I put you in danger. You could have been hurt.”

  “Don’t.”

  She finally looked at him, and he was taken aback by what he saw in her eyes. “You didn’t ask to be a part of this,” she said. “That was my doing, this entire investigation was about me, and I . . . I was the one to call you, I put you in danger.” I could have lost you, she thought, but didn’t say. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back again. This was one thing she couldn’t bear, couldn’t even begin to deal with. Losing him. It sent echoes into places inside her that had been raw with pain for so long now that she had gotten used to having them in the background, and was accentuating them, feeding on them. This one, this man beside her, was still here, now, alive. She still felt his kiss on her lips, in her heart. And the reality that he could have been killed was unbearable.

  This precisely was what scared him the most. This. Not that she would push him away again, he was beyond letting that happen. But the reality that she just might one day do this again, hide what she was doing from him and stand in harm’s way so that he himself wouldn’t be hurt, was unthinkable. “Look at me.”

  She didn’t move.

  “Lara, look at me.”

  Surprised at the fierce edge in his voice, she opened her eyes and turned to look at him.

  “Don’t you ever not tell me that you need me, that you’re in trouble, don’t you ever try to protect me by exposing yourself to danger again.” He held her eyes, the stormy blue in his unrelenting, the overpowering fear in him that he might not be there when she needed him ambushing him into losing control. For him, too, the events of the night before were still too vivid.

  She saw it with clarity, felt him, the force of his emotions. She nodded.

  “That’s settled then,” he said, his heart still raging, this thing that now had hold of him never again intending to let go.

  He got out of the car and walked over to the passenger side, met her as she got out and offered her his hand.

  She took it.

  .

  .

  .

  .

  .

  Read on for an extract from the next book in the Oracle series

  Oracle’s Diplomacy

  Chapter One

  “Thank you,” Ambassador George Sendor said in a distracted tone as the steward placed a cup of Earl Grey with a touch of orange flavor before him. He didn’t look at the young man, instead keeping his eyes on the endless sky outside the window.

  The steward was not offended. The ambassador was not a rude man, nor one to disregard those who worked for him. He was kind and caring, and took to heart any offense he might have caused. And the steward, the entire crew of the official executive jet, in fact, had been with the ambassador for the past two and a half years in his extensive travels. They knew he appreciated them. No, the distinguished man was not rude or uncaring. He was simply preoccupied, and for a good reason.

  The assistant sitting across from Sendor acknowledged the steward with a smile as the young man placed a cup of coffee before him. “How’re we doing today, Cyril?”

  “Very well, sir. Clear sky, no turbulence. Looks like a quiet flight all the way.” The steward’s tone was calm, practiced.

  They were flying home to Belgium—Brussels, to be exact—after four days at the negotiating table, long days that were the final milestone in an endless line of negotiations. The main terms and covenants had now been finalized, and all that remained was for the two sides to confirm their respective governments’ acceptance of them. If all went well, within days, weeks at the most, they would be on their way back on this very jet, not for further negotiations but for a festive treaty-signing ceremony.

  The assistant waited until the steward left, then resumed watching the man he had served for many years now, long before Sendor became an ambassador, before the assistant himself knew the kind of difference the older man could make in the lives of so many, that he would succeed where no one else had.

  “Your tea, Ambassador,” he prodded.

  “Yes. Yes, of course.” Sendor turned to him with a sigh.

  “What are you thinking about, sir?”

  “Hoping, more than thinking, I suppose, Lucas.”

  “It seems to have gone well.” In fact, no one had ever gotten this far in mellowing the tense relations between the sworn enemies.

  “Indeed.” Sendor sipped the exquisite blend, let its warmth, its aroma, wash over him, tried hard to surrender to its calming effect. “Indeed,” he repeated. Nothing he had done in his long decades in diplomatic service had been as important to him, had touched him as much as this, the negotiations that had been going on for more than two years and had now finally matured into what really did look like a viable peace accord. Bitter years of hatred and fighting, unspeakable suffering, were finally about to end. Still, Sendor couldn’t help considering it all—the situation, the negotiations, the peace accord itself, the prospects for the future—again and again, worried he might have missed something, concerned that what had been so painstakingly achieved would not stand up to the test. Fearful there would be more deaths.

  “Are you considering their request?”

  Sendor’s brow furrowed. The previous evening he had been asked to remain in the region after the peace accord was signed, as the ambassador to both countries. Rather unusual, true, but in this unique case it was most likely the best way to keep what would undoubtedly be a fragile peace alive. Except that at sixty-eight he had been looking forward to retiring, finally spending much needed time with his family. His sons had both settled in the Ardennes, their birthplace, with their families, and he would have liked to settle there himself, move back to the house he had brought them up in, spend more time with them and his grandchildren.

  But that might have to wait. How could he live the rest of his life enjoying his grandchildren, watching them grow up safe and protected, when so many other children were dying because he wasn’t there to secure their safety? Both sides in the negotiations finally trusted him, his motives, his ability to stand behind his words. This would not be an easy peace, and someone had to be there to take it through its first steps, make sure it did not fall apart. After so many years of dispute, too much had happened, there were so much anger and bitterness, terrible pain to deal with. The two nations, the people behind this peace accord, needed to heal, rebuild, make it to a day when they could meet on a peaceful city street without instantly feeling animosity, without resorting to raging violence.

  So much work to do, and only he could do it, he was all too aware. No one knew them as he did after all he had been through with them during these difficult years.

  He took in a deep breath. “Yes, I do believe I will have no choice but to—”

  A barely perceptible shudder passed through the aircraft. The ambassador and his assistant both sat up, startled. In the galley, the steward stabilized himself against the countertop and sent a bewildered look at the closed cockpit door.

  In the cockpit, Captain Laura Yates frowned at the autopilot. Beside her, her copilot turned to look at her, perplexed.

  “What the hell was that?” he asked.

  “I have no idea.” Yates’s eyes were on the flight instruments before her. “Whatever it was, it didn’t show on our instruments.”

  “The autopilot is working properly.”

  “It wasn’t an internal—”

  The plane shuddered again, more violently this time.

&nb
sp; “What on . . . ?” Yates’s hand hovered over the instruments panel, and both she and her copilot stared in astonishment as the autopilot disengaged, relinquishing control to some hidden hand. The jet kept going, level. Yates touched the panel once, then again. Nothing.

  Moments later, the altitude indicator showed the altitude changing, even as the pilots themselves felt the aircraft turn, then begin to descend.

  “Who the hell is flying this plane?” The copilot looked out, then realized the absurdity of the act at forty-one thousand feet.

  Yates flipped switches, operated touchscreens, went through every procedure she could think of that could do something, anything, to give her back control of the jet. Beside her, the copilot followed suit. But the aircraft didn’t respond. This is no malfunction, Yates thought as the altitude indicated on the screen before her kept decreasing, the aircraft steady in its descent. Someone is controlling this jet, and it isn’t me.

  Her precious cargo in mind, she wasn’t about to take any chances. “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday,” she repeated, her tone urgent, then relayed the aircraft’s identification and position and hoped to God someone was listening, would come to their help. But she already knew no one would, and could only watch helplessly as even as she spoke the radio was shut off. Next to go was the ACARS, and a quick check found that the transponder and the ADS-B had been disabled. She no longer had any way to communicate with anyone on the ground, nor were there any remaining means on board the jet that would have allowed it to be tracked. Still, she recounted what was happening in detail, hoping that the cockpit voice recorder would, together with the flight data recorder, at least give those she hoped might eventually find them what they would need to make sense of this.

  The last thing she did as the cabin pressure dropped was pray that she would see her daughter again.

  At the headquarters of International Diplomacy, Security and Defense in Brussels, the Internationals’ High Council was meeting with the heads of IDSD’s branches worldwide to review strategies past and future and their implications for the present. Everyone sitting in the vast upper-floor conference room was pleased. It had been a good year. A new member had joined the alliance of peaceful nations, and another had requested to join it just days earlier, in thanks for the alliance’s help in a recent incident, assistance it gave without asking for anything in return. The African Independent Territory was in one of the more precarious spots in the world, and its acceptance into the alliance would be the first successful diplomatic footprint it made in the region. Granted, there was still a lot of work to be done there, but as the pillar of the alliance IDSD was more than ready to do what it took. It always was.