“STAY WHERE YOU are,” Omega Two barked.
The two survivors were huddled together behind the house, lying next to a pile of wood, their backs to him. The one on the left, the smaller of the two, was visibly shaking.
“Drop any weapons where I can see them,” he ordered.
The one on the right, a man, said, “We-we don’t have any.”
Patrols had yet to come across a survivor who wasn’t packing some kind of weapon. “I said, drop them.”
Slowly, the man pulled something from under his jacket and held it out to his side. A paring knife.
“Toss it in the snow,” Omega Two said.
The man flicked the knife away from him. It broke through the crusty surface of the snow and stopped a few inches in, its handle sticking into the air.
“What else do you have?” Omega Two asked.
“Nothing. I swear.”
Omega Two didn’t believe that for a second. He scanned the snow around them, looking for additional footprints, but only the two sets were visible. Still, he asked, “Are there more of you?”
“More? Um, no, just Estella and I.”
“All right. Put your hands behind your back and clasp them together.”
“Why?” The question came from the woman. “We haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Put your hands behind your back and clasp them together.”
With obvious reluctance, they did as instructed.
“If you so much as twitch, I will pull my trigger without warning and that will be that. Understood?” he asked.
“We’re cooperating,” the woman said. “There’s no need to shoot us.”
“Please tell me you understand.”
“We understand,” the man blurted out. “We won’t move.”
“Good. You’re first, then. Stand up, take three steps to your right, then kneel down and lean forward without moving your hands.”
The two survivors exchanged a glance before the man executed the instructions. When he knelt, the snow came all the way to his waist.
“Lean forward,” Omega Two said.
The man did so, his torso and face skimming the top of the snow.
Omega Two exchanged his rifle for the pistol on his belt and one of the zip ties kept for situations such as this. Cautiously, he approached the survivor, and then quickly slipped the tie around the man’s wrists and tightened the loop.
He looked over at the woman. “Your turn. Same as your friend.”
She came over and sank next to the man.
Once her wrists were also secured, Omega Two touched his mic again. “This is Omega Two, does anyone read me?”
Like before, he received no answer.
“Dammit,” he muttered. He knew the prisoners would likely be killed, but his bosses would want to question them first to make sure they weren’t lying about being alone. “All right, up. We’re going for a walk.”
The prisoners rose awkwardly to their feet and turned to face him.
He motioned to the gap between the house and the garage. “Back that way. And don’t even think about running. I’ll put a bullet in your back before you even get ten feet.”
“We won’t run,” the man replied.
“Good. Let’s move.”
__________
AS INSTRUCTED, ROBERT and Estella passed closer to the garage than the house as they left the backyard.
Just as they reached the midway point of the garage door, Morgan—head of the ambush team—whistled quick and sharp. Robert and Estella immediately dove forward, their falls cushioned by the snow.
“Don’t move!” Morgan commanded.
After hearing an “oomph” from behind him, Robert rolled on his side so he could see what was going on.
The Project Eden security man was facedown in a drift of snow. While Tristan ground a knee into the guy’s back, Keller searched for weapons. Once the man’s guns and radio had been removed, they rolled him over and yanked him to his feet.
Robert looked over at Estella to make sure she was okay. Her smile told him everything he needed to know.
“It worked,” she said.
“I told you it would.”
Together they helped each other get to their feet.
“Hey,” Robert called to the others. “Can someone cut us out of these?”
Sandy hustled over while the other three Resistance members worked on stripping the guard of his outfit.
“You have no idea how big a mistake you’re making,” the guard protested.
Morgan smacked him in the face. “Shut up.”
Free from the zip ties, Robert put his arms around Estella and whispered, “You did great.”
“I nearly threw up.”
“You and me both.”
They walked over to the others.
“You guys all right?” Morgan asked.
“Fine,” Robert said.
“Excellent job.” Morgan looked over at Tristan. “Done yet?”
“Almost,” Tristan said.
“If you were smart, you’d get the hell out of here right now,” the guard said. “My squad will be here any second and then you’re screwed.”
“Might be true if your team knew you were here,” Morgan told him. He pulled a black box about the same size as a smartphone from his pocket and waved it at the man. “Signal jammer.” He then flicked it off and raised his own radio to his mouth. “Morgan to Powell. Objective achieved. Heading for rendezvous point.”
__________
THE BUILDING TURNED out to be the home of Everton High School. At three stories, it was the tallest structure in town—if you didn’t count the steeple Chloe was trying hard to not think about.
As a lookout point, the school was nearly perfect. From the roof, a watcher could see a good portion of the town, as well as the two main roads leading out of the city.
Chloe studied the structure from behind a realtor office near the front of the school. She noted several entrances but doubted any would be unlocked. Her hope was to find one that would be easy to work open.
What played in her favor was that, so far, the sentry moved around the roof in a distinct pattern. She watched him come around again and pause at the edge of the side to her right and then do the same at the one facing her.
As soon as he continued on to her left, she slunk out of the shadows and dashed across the street. Staying as close to the building as possible, she headed for the nearest entrance. Carved in stone above the door were the letters EHS. Flanking these were numbers 19 on the left and 35 on the right.
She grabbed the door handle and pressed the latch release but it didn’t move. She moved around the corner to the next door. As she neared, she noticed a path cut through the snow leading from the doorway to the street, and guessed this was the entrance the sentries used. She moved up the steps and tried the handle, but it too was locked.
She checked her watch. This was taking far too much time. If everything was going according to plan, the other squads would be wrapping up soon. She needed to do the same.
She circumnavigated the building, looking for options. Her first discovery was a cellar door that she might, in a pinch, pry open, but by the rust on the hinges she wouldn’t be able to do it quietly.
Her second discovery was better. Attached to the back of the building was a smaller, one-story storage shed, and just above it, running up the back of the main building all the way to the roof, were three pipes.
She quietly pulled herself on top of the shed, then grabbed hold of the pipes and began to climb. She had a few touch-and-go moments when she felt her grip slipping and was sure she’d plummet to the ground, but she neared the top without giving in to the pull of gravity. There, she paused and listened for the sentry, one hand on a pipe, the other on the stone molding running just below the roofline. Hearing nothing, she released the molding and pulled out her pistol. In small, silent increments, she shimmied up the pipe until the retaining wall encircling the roof was the only thing hiding h
er.
Where is he? she wondered. Left? Right? Straight ahead?
With no way to know, she picked one at random and launched herself over the top. She rolled as she landed and popped up on a knee, her gun pointed slightly right of center. The guard was at the edge of the roof, a few degrees farther to her right than she’d thought, but not enough to be a problem.
He started to turn, slipping his rifle off his shoulder as he did.
A subtle thup-thup sounded as Chloe pulled her trigger, sending two bullets through her suppressor and into the man’s neck just below the helmet line.
Her instructions had been to keep his uniform as undamaged as possible.
She activated her mic. “Chloe for Powell. Roof guard down. Arrive rendezvous in ten.”
2
JAIPUR, INDIA
11:57 AM IST (INDIA STANDARD TIME)
“ONE WRONG WORD, Mr. van Assen, and I pull the trigger,” Sanjay said.
He jabbed the barrel of his gun into his captive’s side.
Van Assen grunted and said, “Yes, yes. I understand.”
Sanjay and Kusum had kidnapped the Dutchman outside NB551, the Project Eden base in Jaipur where Director Parkash Mahajan was stationed. Not only was Mahajan van Assen’s boss, but he was also one of the four members of the directorate that now controlled Project Eden. The director was the person Sanjay and Kusum really wanted, but since it was doubtful he would set foot outside the safety of the facility, van Assen would be their way in.
“You know I have shot men before,” Sanjay said, making sure van Assen truly believed him. “I would be more than happy to shoot you next.”
“I believe you, okay? I believe you.”
Sanjay glanced at Kusum sitting behind the wheel of the car. “Call her.”
As his wife picked up the satellite phone, Sanjay returned his attention to van Assen. A few seconds later, the sound of ringing filled the cabin.
“Yes?” Darshana answered.
“Any changes?” Kusum asked.
Darshana was stationed in a building that gave her a clear view of the entrance to NB551.
“Same as before. A car every two or three minutes, and occasionally someone on foot.”
“What about right now?” Sanjay asked.
“One car at the gate, but I think they are finishing up.” A pause. “Okay. It is being waved through.”
“No one else waiting?”
“Not right now, but I see a van down the street heading this way.”
If Darshana could see the vehicle, there was no way Sanjay and Kusum could beat it to the entrance from their current position.
To Kusum, he said, “Move us in closer.”
Three minutes later, they were parked a block from the entrance, and the van Darshana had seen had already passed inside the base.
“Now?” Sanjay asked.
“Everything is—wait,” Darshana said. “A troop truck just turned onto the road, maybe a half minute away.”
Perfect, Sanjay thought.
He tapped Kusum on the shoulder. “Go.” To Darshana he said, “If it looks like we are having trouble, you know what to do. Otherwise wait for my signal.”
“Do not worry about me. I know what to do.”
Kusum pulled the car onto the road leading to the gate, about a block ahead of the approaching truck.
“Let them catch up,” Sanjay said.
Kusum slowed enough so that when she finally stopped at the gate, the truck was only a few seconds behind them.
While one of the guards manning the entrance stood in the doorway of the hut, holding a rifle, his partner approached the driver’s window.
He eyed Kusum suspiciously for several seconds. “Who the hell are you?”
Sanjay poked van Assen with the gun.
“She, um, she is my driver,” van Assen said from the backseat.
The guard turned his attention to Sanjay and the Dutchman. “I don’t recognize either of you, either.”
“Willem van Assen,” the Dutchman said, flashing the guard his ID. “I work for Director Mahajan. Transferred in yesterday. And this is my assistant, Sanjay.”
The guard looked at them for a moment longer, and then said, “Stay right here.”
He retreated inside the hut. When he didn’t come right back out, the driver of the truck honked his horn and yelled something out his window. The guard took another thirty seconds before finally returning.
“Mr. van Assen, apologies for making you wait. You are, of course, on the list, but these two are not.”
After another reminder of the gun in his ribs, van Assen said, “They transferred in from my office in Mumbai and have just arrived.”
“Mumbai? But—”
“But the Mumbai station was closed, is that what you were about to say?” Sanjay asked. “Why do you think we transferred here? Now please, we need to be on our way. There is important business Mr. van Assen needs to discuss with the director.”
“Show me your IDs.”
Sanjay poked van Assen again to remind him they had discussed this possibility.
“They, uh, were unfortunately left behind in the rush to evacuate Mumbai,” the Dutchman said. “There are new badges waiting for them inside.”
Another honk from the truck.
The guard thought for a moment before taking a step back.
“Bring them back and show them to me as soon as you have them,” he said, and then waved them through.
At ground level, NB551 was unremarkable, a warehouse and a few smaller buildings encircled by a parking area that itself was surrounded by a three-meter-high brick wall. The Americans in Nevada had told Sanjay and Kusum the real base extended beneath the property for several levels.
A section of the parking area was dedicated to trucks and vans and buses of various types that appeared to be stored for future use, while the area closest to the entrance played host to a smattering of passenger vehicles. Kusum drove their sedan into this second area and parked as close to the entrance as she could get. After she turned off the engine, she dialed Darshana again.
“That seemed pretty close,” Darshana said. “I almost set everything off.”
“Give us two minutes, then do it,” Sanjay instructed.
“Please try not to get yourselves killed,” Darshana said and hung up.
Sanjay glared at van Assen. “Once Kusum gets out of the car, you will do the same. She is also armed, so do not even think of running.”
Van Assen’s mouth twitched but he remained silent.
With a nod from Sanjay, Kusum exited the car and opened van Assen’s door.
“Out,” Sanjay said, nudging their prisoner.
As van Assen scooted through the doorway, Sanjay followed right behind. From the tension in the Dutchman’s shoulders, Sanjay could tell van Assen was thinking about running. Sanjay grabbed the back of the man’s shirt and turned him so that van Assen was facing him.
“There is a part of me that would very much like you to try to escape,” Sanjay said. “It would be an excuse for me to give you what you really deserve.”
For the first time, van Assen looked scared.
Sanjay checked his watch. Just over a minute remained on the deadline he’d given Darshana. He let go of the man’s shirt. “Let’s move.”
With van Assen between them, they headed toward the door. At least ten others were scattered around the parking area, either heading to or from the main entrance.
Sanjay, Kusum, and van Assen were only ten feet from the door when the first explosion went off. Though Sanjay knew what was coming, he jerked in surprise at the strength of the blast. It had been far more powerful than he had expected. For a moment, he wondered if all the kegs had accidentally gone off at once, but then a second explosion ripped apart an entire section of the wall, launching brick fragments toward the warehouse.
“Run!” Sanjay said as a piece of debris grazed his shoulder. “Inside!”
The door was controlled by an electronic-pa
ss system. Sanjay had relieved van Assen of his after they’d made it through the gate. He swiped it in front of the card reader, pushed the door open, and motioned for Kusum to go first.
They found themselves in a short corridor that T-boned with a larger one running left and right.
Sanjay was turning to shut the main door when he heard people running in their direction from deeper inside the building. He whirled around as a squad of security men entered the corridor. At first, he thought they might be coming for them, but then the man in the lead yelled, “Out of the way!”
“Hey!” van Assen shouted.
Sanjay jammed his pistol into the small of the man’s back. “Say anything more and you’re dead.”
Van Assen kept his mouth shut as the men ran by them.
After the squad had passed outside, Sanjay said, “Take us to Director Mahajan.”
“I got you in,” van Assen replied. “That’s all you get. You’re crazy if you think I’m going to let you get close enough to kill the director.”
“No one said anything about killing him.”
“Sanjay, we need to go,” Kusum said.
Sanjay grabbed van Assen’s arm. “Take us to Director Mahajan.”
“Go to hell.”
“If that is how you want it, fine.” Digging his fingers into the Dutchman’s bicep, Sanjay pulled him to the nearest door along the corridor. “What is on the other side?”
“How should I know? I’ve only been here a day.”
Before Sanjay could stop her, Kusum opened the door. The room beyond was dark.
“An empty meeting room,” she said.
Sanjay shoved van Assen through the opening and flipped on the light. As soon as Kusum shut the door, he said to the Dutchman, “Last chance.”
“They’ll hear the gun. You’ll never get away.”
“I do not think they’ll hear anything.” Sanjay grabbed the gun by the barrel and swung the butt into the side of the man’s head as hard as he could.
Van Assen dropped to the ground like a stone.
“Did you kill him?” Kusum asked.
“I hope so. Come on. We need to find Mahajan.”
__________
THE GROUND FLOOR of NB551 consisted of a handful of rooms the size of the one they’d left van Assen in, and one much larger space filled with neat rows of crates and boxes and equipment on trailers.
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