by Mallory Kane
“So you are a hacker.”
“Not now. Now I catch them.”
“Then why haven’t you caught Tom?” He heard the faint note of suspicion in his voice. But his son’s life was depending on her. He had to know everything he could find out about her.
She pinned him with her sharp gaze. “He knows I’m in the FBI. He’s obviously avoided me. Plus, as I told you—he’s very good.”
“Better than you?”
“I hope not.”
“So how did you go from homeless to the FBI?”
She didn’t answer. She was studying the computer screen. “Damn it!” she said. She started typing, her fingers flying over the keyboard.
“What is it?” He saw code scrolling rapidly down the screen and a small pop-up window in the corner of the screen.
She shook her head. “His worm self-extracted.”
“I thought you quarantined it.”
“I did,” she snapped. She hit the enter key twice, cursed under her breath and hit it one more time. She grimaced and started typing again.
“It’s gaining speed.”
“Can’t we turn the damn thing off? Stop him that way?”
“Call Mintz.”
Dylan unhooked the mobile radio from his waistband and pressed Alfred’s shortcut key. “Alfred, get in here. Tasha’s workstation.”
“If we turn the system off, the UPS will kick in.” She glanced up. “Uninterruptible power source. It will probably take twenty minutes or so for it to shut down.”
Alfred came running up the hall, carrying the specially built box that held the completed interface implant. Dylan opened the door for him.
“Good. You brought it.”
Alfred nodded. “You sounded serious. I figure it’s better to keep it with us. What’s up?”
Campbell appeared from the lab. “What’s going on?” he said. He was decidedly pale.
“The hacker sent a self-extracting worm.”
“Oh, crap,” Campbell muttered, fiddling with his ponytail.
Alfred looked at Natasha. “Agent Rudolph? What do you recommend?”
She met his gaze. “How long do the servers take to completely shut down?”
Alfred’s dark eyes narrowed. “Twenty-three minutes.”
“And self-destruct?”
“Eight minutes. But that destroys everything.”
Dylan looked from one to the other. “You can’t do that.”
“If we don’t, Tom and his terrorists will have the interface.”
Dylan considered his choices. They could start the system shutdown and take the chance that Tom’s worm would take longer than twenty-three minutes to infiltrate the secure area of the server. Or they could destroy everything he owned, everything he’d worked for, in eight minutes.
He looked at the box that contained the tiny prototype interface implant and two disks containing programming instructions and requirements, and mapping information.
He’d be leaving behind all his research, notes and the preliminary research on an even smaller implant using nanotechnology and state-of-the-art magnifying technology. Years of work.
“What’s that window in the corner of your screen?” he asked her.
She looked. “It’s a message from Tom. ‘U got 5 min.’”
Regret sat on his chest like a weight. There was only one decision. They had to destroy the house and the lab. He turned to Alfred. “Do it.”
Alfred nodded and handed Dylan the box.
“Do what?” Campbell’s horrified gaze took in the three of them.
“You three,” Alfred said, “get into the tunnel with the interface. I’ll set the timer.”
Natasha was still at the computer.
“How does it look?” Dylan asked.
“Not good. I’ve slowed it down a little by setting barriers, but it’s speeding up and I can’t stay ahead of it much longer.”
“You can’t destroy the house. We’ll be stuck down here.” Campbell grabbed Alfred’s arm. “Call him. Give him everything! It’s not worth our lives!”
“Calm down, Campbell. You don’t have a choice. You’re with us.”
“I can’t! I can’t do it!” Campbell shoved Alfred and turned on Dylan. “You’ve got to let me out of here!”
Dylan grabbed him and slammed him up against the wall. “We don’t have time for this,” he said through clenched teeth. “Alfred, there are some plastic lock-ties in the drawer under the pad and stylus in there.” He indicated the virtual surgery lab. “Grab the longest ones.”
“What the hell are you going to do?” Campbell squeaked.
“I’m going to cuff you if you don’t calm down.”
“You wouldn’t.”
Dylan pressed his forearm against Campbell’s throat. “Try me.”
Campbell stared, wide-eyed, at Dylan. He felt Campbell’s throat move as he swallowed. After a few seconds, the bioengineer quit fighting. He relaxed and held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. His face poured sweat and his whole body trembled. “I’ll be okay,” he croaked.
Alfred came back into Natasha’s office, carrying the plastic ties.
“Hold on to those in case we need them,” Dylan said.
“You got it. Now, get out of here,” Alfred said. “Let me set the destruct.”
“Is the house empty?”
“I took a look at the security cameras a few minutes ago, and called Robby on the landline. He says everybody’s gone. They plan to be back tomorrow to assess the damage and go through the debris.”
“Good.” Dylan met Alfred’s gaze and held it. “Take Campbell and go on ahead. Get out as fast as you can and call the FBI to pick us up. You go with them, Tasha. I’ll set the self-destruct and be right behind you.”
Alfred opened his mouth, but Dylan held up a hand and let his gaze flicker toward Campbell. “I need you to do this, Alfred.” Don’t let Campbell get away.
His old friend frowned, then nodded. “Okay.”
Dylan blew out a breath in relief. Alfred had gotten the message.
“Tasha?”
She shook her head. “I need to keep throwing up barriers as long as possible. Every one of them buys us a few seconds. I’ll go when you go.”
He started to argue, but this time it was Alfred sending him a silent message. With a sigh, he acquiesced. She and Alfred were right. They could use every second they could buy.
Alfred took Campbell by the arm. “Let’s you and me get out of here.”
Campbell went reluctantly. “How long is the tunnel?”
Alfred was answering him as they headed into the access room.
“Do you think Campbell is the accomplice?” Natasha asked, without looking up from the screen.
“Do you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t think he has the—you know.” She sent him a fleeting smile.
Dylan couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Right. I agree. But I don’t think we can take a chance. Alfred’s treating him like a suspect until we can prove otherwise.” He gestured toward the door. “I’m going across the hall to set the self-destruct. We’ll have thirty seconds before the explosions start. Be ready in fifteen seconds.”
She nodded, still typing so fast the clicks blended into one sound.
In the briefing room he opened the box and pulled the red lever labeled Self-Destruct Do Not Touch. Then he hurried back into Natasha’s office and grabbed the box that held the interface.
“Let’s go.”
She typed a few more lines, then stood and kicked her chair backward, still typing.
He grabbed her arm. “Now!”
She straightened, but didn’t take her eyes off the computer screen. “It’s still gaining strength. I should have been able to stop it.”
“Ten seconds, Tasha.”
Together they stepped into the anteroom. Dylan scanned his print and entered the pass code. He took her hand.
“Ready?”
Her throat moved as she swallowed.
Her face was set. Her wide eyes met his gaze.
God, he wished he could do something to alleviate her fear. He’d told Campbell the truth about the tranquilizers. He did have some, but they were back in the lab.
“Come on,” he said. “We’ll be through the tunnel and out in no time.”
She nodded, but doubt and worry were still etched on her face.
He squeezed her fingers and pulled her through the door.
Natasha swallowed the scream that was pushing up from her chest. Panic reverberated in her head and her throat constricted.
She felt the tons of dirt over her head. She smelled soot and smoke and dust and felt her lungs straining for air.
She knew her memory was playing tricks on her senses, sending her back to the worst moments of her life. But knowing didn’t take away the panic.
As the heavy metal door swung shut behind them, Natasha gasped and closed her eyes to keep from looking back at it.
“Hey.” Dylan’s fingers squeezed hers reassuringly. “Calm down. You’re cutting off the circulation in my fingers.”
“Sorry,” she said, loosening her grip. She was embarrassed at how small and quivery her voice sounded, how shaky her limbs were.
A deep rumble echoed in her ears, at first almost too quiet to notice, but gaining in strength and noise. To her left, she heard something creak. The lights in front of her flickered and dust fell from the ceiling.
“The explosions,” she squeaked. “They’re going to collapse the tunnel.”
Chapter Twelve
Natasha covered her mouth to stop the scream that was clawing its way up her throat. Her scalp burned. Her hands quivered. If she didn’t get hold of herself within a few seconds she’d collapse, paralyzed with terror.
Quiet and safe. Plenty of fresh air. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. The mantra’s words did their job. They evoked a sliver of assurance.
“The tunnel won’t collapse. Alfred is an explosives expert. It’s what he did in the military. He’s built this place to practically withstand a nuclear attack. I can assure you that he’s built protection into the tunnel. I trust Alfred with my life.”
She nodded. “Then—then I do, too.”
As they continued down the corridor, her eyes hungrily sought each dim circle of light. They helped, but she was ready to be at the other end of the dark passage. And the fact that the muffled rumbling continued didn’t help.
“Dylan, I’m sorry. I’d give anything not to be like this.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for. I admire you.”
She glanced at his face, which was planed in shadow. “Admire?” She laughed bitterly. “After what I did to you?”
He stopped her with a touch on her upper arm. “Listen to me, Tasha. You are one of the bravest people I’ve ever known.”
“Brave? Look at me. I’m a mess.”
His face, harshly beautiful in the dim light and shadows and his intense blue eyes made him look like a dark angel.
“And yet you’re here.”
“I wouldn’t be without you.”
His face changed, softened, and she saw a look in his eyes that she’d seen a time or two before. But she couldn’t quite interpret it.
It was almost tender, almost loving. Or was it just pity? A surge of emotion flooded her—gratitude, relief, mixed with a peculiar longing she hardly recognized. For an instant they overpowered her barely contained panic.
She recalled her first impression of Dylan. Intense, exuding masculinity. Her heart flipped in her chest as a different kind of panic overtook her.
She was falling in love with him.
Her breath caught in her throat. No. She refused to let that happen. He was obsessed with his child. He had no love left over for her.
Besides, that was one of the first things Decker had taught her. Falling for a victim was unacceptable—frowned on by the FBI. It was also against her own principles.
As soon as they found Ben, Dylan and he would be whisked off to one of NSA’s untraceable secure facilities, and she’d go back to her sunny apartment and the job that had once meant everything to her.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Dylan said.
She shook her head. “Nothing. How far is it to the shack?”
His mouth quirked up. “We’re about halfway. We need to hurry.” He let go of her arms and started walking. Despite her long legs, she had trouble keeping up with him.
“Are Mintz and Campbell waiting for us?”
“I hope not. Alfred should have taken the car and driven into town, so Detective Buckram can put Campbell in custody until we get Ben back.”
“Can Mintz handle him?”
“Oh, yeah,” he said firmly. “Remember when you said Campbell wasn’t in very good shape? Well, Alfred works out in the exercise room and runs every day. He could probably beat up any of his men.”
“That’s good.” She caught herself counting the lights. “Dylan, when we get out, we need to contact Storm. Find out the latest on Ben, and get you and the interface to a safe house.”
“We’ll definitely get the latest on Ben, but I won’t be going to a safe house.”
“You have to. Your safety and the safety of your interface are too important.”
He stopped and turned. “What I have to do is find Ben.”
“We will. I promise you. We will.”
He started walking again. Natasha skipped and lengthened her stride to keep up.
Then as they rounded a gentle curve, she saw the tiny red circle of light in the midst of the white ones. “There’s the exit.” A sigh of relief escaped her lips.
“You made it,” Dylan said, glancing back at her and nodding his head.
“Yeah.” She smiled at him. “Thanks to you.”
“Well, isn’t that sweet.”
Natasha froze. Just ahead of her, Dylan stopped in his tracks.
Fear washed over her like scalding water. Tom. She’d never forget that sarcastic voice. Her gaze swept the thirty or so feet between her and the door.
Tom stood in the corner opposite the door, dressed in black. If he hadn’t moved or spoken, they wouldn’t have seen him until they were almost to the door.
Dylan put out a hand to shield her. She measured the distance from where she stood to Tom. Too far to lunge.
She stood about two feet behind Dylan. She felt the weight of her Glock in her fanny pack. If she stayed back, she might be able to get her pack unzipped and retrieve her weapon.
“Hello, Natasha,” Tom said. “Long time, eh? Dr. Stryker, it’s a pleasure to meet you at last.”
Dylan didn’t speak.
“Did Natasha tell you that she and I are colleagues?”
Natasha felt Dylan stiffen beside her, but he kept quiet. Her pulse hammered in her throat and ears. Did Dylan still doubt her?
“That’s right. We’ve worked together before. Haven’t we Natasha? Those were good times, weren’t they?”
“How did you get in here?” she snapped.
Tom laughed. “Are you kidding me? I practically walked right in. Not that this isn’t a nice little secret exit. Unfortunately—” he grinned “—your abandoned road and the empty house are visible on aerial photos of the area. Especially photos from ten years ago, when it wasn’t so overgrown.”
“I don’t know what you think you’re going to accomplish—”
“Oh, honey.” Tom gestured and Natasha saw his gun. She was surprised. He’d never carried a gun before—at least not that she knew about. Of course what she didn’t know about Tom would fill a very big book. She’d never even known where he lived.
“I’m taking the interface. It will bring millions—possibly even billions—on the foreign market. I’ve already got several government leaders interested.”
Dylan spoke. “I don’t have it. It’s back there. I destroyed it with the house.”
“Right. And what’s that in your hand? Your lunch?” Tom laughed out loud, then waved his gun at Dylan. “Set it on the
floor and slide it over here with your foot.”
Natasha felt a change in Dylan’s stance. Fear arrowed through her. He was going to try to rush Tom.
He’d be killed.
“Dylan,” she muttered.
“Well, well, listen to you.” Tom didn’t take his eyes off Dylan as he spoke to her. “You got a little crush on your doctor? It sounds like it to me. Why don’t you use your persuasive powers to convince him that it’s in his best interest to hand over the box.”
“I wouldn’t dream of telling Dr. Stryker what to do.”
“Let’s go, Stryker. You’re wasting precious time. Time your child doesn’t have.”
Dylan held the metal box in one hand as he bent his knees. Then suddenly he hurled the box, underhanded, at Tom.
Tom jerked to one side and the box crashed against the stone walls. His face distorted in anger. He clutched his gun in both hands and walked a few steps closer to them.
“That was an incredibly stupid move!” he shouted. “What the hell’s the matter with you? That machine better be packed well.”
Dylan shrugged and held out his hands in a submissive gesture. “I told you, it’s not the interface.”
“And I told you I don’t believe you.” Tom dug into his pants pocket and pulled out a cell phone. “See this, Doc? This is my direct line to the person who’s holding Ben. If I don’t call within one hour to stop them, they have instructions to kill him.”
Dylan stared at the man who held his son’s life in his hands. He wanted to rush him and beat him within an inch of his life, gun be damned. If he could overpower him, he could get the cell phone and the FBI could trace the calls.
“I don’t believe you,” he said. “You have your supposed interface. What are you going to do with us?”
