by Radclyffe
“Locked?” Viv asked.
Blair nodded and slipped her phone from her pocket. “It appears so for the moment. Cam will know what’s happening. Just hold on a sec.”
“Of course,” Viv said calmly. She walked to the window and pushed the button to roll up the shades that had come down when the train stopped. Nothing happened.
“Blackout shades,” Blair said flatly. “The power must be off to them too.”
Cam’s phone went straight to voice mail. She tried Lucinda, the same thing happened. “Damn it.”
Now Blair was getting worried. If Cam and Lucinda were both out of reach, something was happening. She spun around at the sound of the rear door sliding open. Her heart leapt when Paula entered, partly from relief at seeing a face she knew, partly with a growing sense of uneasiness. The grim expression on Paula’s usually easygoing face didn’t help. She gripped the back of a chair to have something to divert her attention from the bubble of panic growing in her midsection. “What is it? Why are we stopped?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Stark said. “I’ve been advised that someone has made a credible threat to detonate a bomb if we try to move the train.”
“A bomb? On the train?” Blair said. “How can that be? Where?”
Stark shook her head. “I don’t know. Orders are everyone needs to stay exactly where they are until the location of the ordnance is pinpointed and the threat neutralized.”
“Neutralized,” Viv said. “What does that mean?”
Stark regarded her with a frown. “Who are you?”
“Vivian Elliott, the Washington Gazette.” Viv held out her press pass. “Have you any word on who’s making the threats?”
A muscle in Stark’s jaw throbbed. “No comment. And anything that happens in this room is off the record.”
Vivian straightened. “I’m afraid that’s not possible. I’m in this room, and I don’t require permission to report anything I witness.”
“I wouldn’t want to have to declare you a threat to national security, confiscate your recorder, and impose a gag order on you,” Stark said in an unemotional tone of voice that was all the more unnerving for its quiet certainty.
“I assure you, Agent,” Viv replied just as calmly, “as long as you’re reasonable in your requests for confidentiality, I won’t report anything I see or hear without clearance from you or Ms. Powell.”
“Stark, what about my father?” Blair couldn’t care less about what Vivian might or might not report. Once the crisis passed, the spin doctors would take over.
“He’s in communication with us.”
The icy tendrils reached into her marrow. “What do you mean, he’s in communication? Where’s Cam? Stop being evasive.”
“I wish I didn’t have to be,” Stark said darkly. “I don’t know much more than what I’ve told you. All of us are getting our orders by com link from Tom and Cam in the command car. We’ve been told to restrict our movement and to see that no one leaves their car.”
“I want to talk to Cam.”
“She’s been assured you’re safe.”
“But what about her? Is she?”
“Of course,” Stark said.
Blair knew that game. All the agents played it—danger was normal, so of course everything was fine. She tamped down her temper. “How long do you think they intend to keep us in here in the dark?”
Stark looked as unhappy as Blair felt. “For now, we wait.”
Blair wanted to snarl, but Stark was only doing what she had to do. Just as somewhere, so was Cam.
*
The command car was crowded with Cam, Tom, communication techs, and the K9 and ERT chiefs crowded around a speaker they’d programmed to broadcast incoming calls.
“Cam,” Lucinda said via the speaker, “the first call was routed through the White House switchboard. The caller told the operator she needed to be connected to the president immediately or the train would be attacked. The president was notified, and he took the call. Any further incoming communications will be direct to him, so you and Tom can hear…wait…it’s ringing now.”
“Go,” Cam said. “We’ve got it.”
“This is Andrew Powell,” the president said an instant later. He sounded calm and confident.
“Let me clarify your instructions so we have no misunderstanding that could lead to a tragedy none of us want,” a woman said. Her voice was distant but clear.
Cam leaned closer, fighting to keep her anger from clouding her senses. Blair, Lucinda, the president, a few dozen agents—they were all in the kill zone if what this woman said was true about a bomb on one of the cars, and she could do nothing for them except listen and search for a chink in the UNSUB’s plan. She had to stay clearheaded and think. She took a breath and listened.
“This is simple,” the Jane Doe said. “Have Jennifer Pattee transported to the train station in Washington DC. There she will buy a ticket for a departing train and be allowed to travel freely. She will be provided a phone to call me at the number you’ve traced by now, once she is on the train. When she has left the train and entered a cab, she will call me again. As soon as I have confirmation she is en route to a safe location, I’ll deactivate the drone detonators and the train may continue. You have thirty minutes to transport her to the train station.”
“I’d like to know who I am negotiating with,” Andrew Powell said.
“You don’t need to know anything about me. All you need to know is this. I’m prepared to shoot anyone attempting to dismantle the drones. If you attempt to drop an incendiary on me or send a kill team to neutralize me, I’ll trigger the explosives. If I die, a signal from a heart-rate monitor will initiate a relay to automatically detonate the drones. There’s enough C4 on the train right now to take out half of it.” She paused. Her breathing was quiet and steady. “As long as everyone stays exactly where they are and you follow my instructions, we will all be done with this and everyone can go on their way.”
“If you—”
The line went dead.
“Cam, Tom?” the president said. “Did you get all that? Is it credible?”
“Yes, sir,” Cam said tightly. “We can’t be sure of the capability of the drones, but what she says is theoretically possible. You, Mr. President, must be evacuated. As soon as we get a satellite feed of the probable location of the UNSUB, we can move a team forward to get you out.”
“How safe is that?” the president said. “If you can see her, how can you be sure she can’t see you?”
“There’s a small chance of that,” Tom Turner said, “but we can’t leave you in the present situation.”
“You’ll have to for now,” the president said.
Lucinda broke in. “Andrew, that’s an unacceptable risk, and you know—”
“What I know is my daughter and dozens of our people are also at risk. Right now, if I continue to converse with this woman, I’m the best chance everyone has to stay alive.”
Lucinda said, “Tom, what about evacuating the other cars?”
Tom glanced at Cam. “We can try to move everyone to the rear of the train, but we have no proof they’ll actually be any safer. We need to keep everyone calm and on the train. Evacuating anyone but you is our second choice.”
“What’s the first?” Andrew said.
“In our opinion,” Cam said, “our best option is to deactivate the drones.”
“How?”
“First we have to locate them.” Cam nodded to Phil Virtucci, who leaned toward the mic.
“Sir,” Phil said, “this is Virtucci, the K9 chief. I’m sending out an agent with our best dog. We all agree a solo team has the best chance of getting close to the drone on the train without being detected. We’ll have a visual feed and can assess the best way to neutralize it.”
“How soon?” the president said. “We’re on the clock.”
“Now, sir.”
*
Dusty eased down between the two K9 kennel cars and dropped to the ground. A
tlas jumped down beside her and pressed close to her leg. She dropped onto her back and pushed under the car in front of her. She was eight cars back from the private presidential cars. She turned her head, met Atlas’s calm brown eyes gazing at her from where he crouched by the side of the car.
“Find it, boy,” she murmured to Atlas.
He seemed to understand that they had to work close to the train, and he moved slowly ahead of her with his big body almost brushing the wheels of the cars as she shimmied forward, pressed flat to avoid the undercarriages of the cars. Ice seeped into the neck of her jacket and cold water soaked her hair. She sweated inside her thermal camos. Seventh car. Sixth. Fifth.
Atlas worked quickly, but thoroughly, checking the wheels, poking his nose beneath the undercarriage ahead of Dusty, and sniffing the platforms between the cars. He had the best nose of the lot. If the drone carried a payload, Atlas would scent it. Snow drifted under the train on swirling eddies of wind and coated Dusty’s lashes and face. The world beyond the narrow window of light at the edge of the track was gray and bleak. She and Atlas were alone in a cold, barren world. She blinked the salt and snow from her eyes. Fourth car. Third.
Atlas stopped abruptly and jumped up with his paws against the side of the car. He woofed once, deep in his chest.
“Where, boy, where?” Dusty rolled to the edge of the track and peered up.
He whined and scrabbled, trying to get onto the platform between the two cars. She couldn’t see anything above her and chanced rising. Atlas circled, his ears quivering, his eyes bright with excitement. Dusty’s skin prickled in anticipation of a shot. When none came, she spoke into her wrist mic.
“Chief, we’ve got something. Roof of the third car, right at the junction with the second.”
“Have you got a visual?”
“Not yet. I’m going up for a better look.”
“Nash, don’t touch it.”
“Roger that.”
Dusty cautiously climbed the ladder attached to the side of the car, trying to avoid any vibration that might trigger a sensor on the drone. She didn’t know the exact capabilities of the device, and she didn’t want to accidentally set off the charge. She peered over the top of the car. The bird was bigger than she expected.
“I see it. Explosives taped to the body. Blinking lights—sensors probably. Multiple charges, but I can’t see a detonator. Chief, I can get it.”
“Can’t take that chance. We need to see the detonators.”
“Video’s rolling. I just need to get a little clos—”
The blow slammed into her shoulder and she flew backward off the car. She landed on her back and the cold claimed her.
*
Stark jumped up from where she’d been sitting and swore, something Blair almost never heard her do.
“What is it, what’s happening?”
“Agent down,” Stark said, a thread of fury in her voice. “God damn it. We’re hostages in here, and someone’s taking shots at us out there.”
“Who?” Blair said, a hand squeezing her heart. “Who?”
“One of the K9s.”
Viv gasped. “Dusty.”
Blair turned, stared. Vivian’s face was stricken, white and pinched. “We don’t know who.”
“This is insane,” Vivian railed. “This is the United States of America. People with bombs don’t threaten the president! They don’t shoot—” She broke off, visibly pulled herself up straight. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was flat, devoid of everything but rage. “Of course they do. They shoot presidents, they blow up buildings filled with innocents, they send planes to crash into the Pentagon. These things do happen here.”
“How bad is it?” Blair said.
Stark shook her head. “I’m not sure. Reports are scattered. I’m linked to command, but they don’t know yet.”
“We have to do something,” Blair said.
“Believe me, I’d love to get you out of this car. We don’t know where the shooter is or the range of the bombs. Right now, we’re paralyzed.”
“My father will never negotiate,” Blair said. “Whatever they want, they’re not going to get it.”
“No,” Stark said, a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. “They’re not.”
Blair glanced at Vivian. She was holding up better than most civilians might under the circumstances. And she was smart enough to know what was happening.
“We’re not going to die in here,” Blair said with absolute certainty. “No one on this train is going to let that happen.”
“I know that.” Viv took a deep breath. “Can you find out about the agent? I…It’s personal.”
“As soon as we hear, I’ll let you know.” Blair gripped her hand. “But if it helps at all, I’ve been where you are now. And let me tell you this…our agents are the best there is. They’ll take care of whoever is down.”
“Thank you.” Viv lifted her chin, steel in her gaze. “And you’re right. Whoever is out there, they’ve already got one agent by their side. They’ve got their dog.”
Chapter Twenty-six
Dusty stared at the jumble of blurred shapes four inches above her face. She blinked and objects slowly swam into focus. Grease-covered rods, enormous bolts. Mud- and rust-coated sheets of metal. The undercarriage of the train car. Rails pressed into her back. The base of her skull throbbed as if someone had hit her with a sledgehammer. She shivered, glad for the cold. The discomfort convinced her she was alive. When she tried to sit up, her stomach rolled and she abruptly turned her head. Bile erupted. Her insides settled, but a blazing pain in her left shoulder took its place. She couldn’t remember what had happened, and that couldn’t be good. Slowly she became aware of welcome warmth spreading along her side and a distinctive scent—wet fur and all the other tangy odors that said dog. A sense of safety spread through her and the ball of fear in her belly eased. Atlas lay pressed against her left side.
“Hey, guy,” she croaked.
He whined softly and licked her face.
She closed her eyes, trying to reassemble the bits and pieces of the last moments. The pictures coalesced as her mind sluggishly cleared. She’d climbed up the ladder on the side of the train car. An image jumped into sharp focus, and her pulse kicked into overdrive. The drone, she’d needed to see the drone. And when she’d leaned forward just a little, something had slammed into her and knocked her off the car. She tried to make a fist with her left hand. Nothing happened. Her left shoulder was a ball of fire. Fuck, she’d been hit. And then…
Falling. Her last sensation had been of falling. But she was under the train car now. Protected, warm from Atlas’s body heat. She swallowed. “You dragged me under here, didn’t you, boy.” She reached over with the arm that was working and gripped a handful of his coat. Wet, thick, reassuring. “Smart boy.”
He nosed her neck, his big body tight, guarding.
“It’s okay, boy. I’m okay.”
He seemed to relax a fraction, but he didn’t move away from her side. She found her com link and activated it. “This is Nash. I’m down.”
“Nash.” Virtucci’s voice blasted into her ear, loud and hard. “Are you hit?”
“In the shoulder. I’m functional, though, Chief.”
“What’s your location?”
“I’m under one of the cars.” Millimeter by millimeter, she lifted her head and peered down the length of her body. “The three car. The same car as the drone.”
“Can you move?”
“Affirmative.” She dropped her head to the ground. The little bit of motion had spurred a wave of dizziness that made her stomach curl. After a few deep breaths, the nausea settled and she tried digging her feet into the snow-packed surface of the track underneath her. She pushed with her legs and slid forward an inch. Her heart pounded as if she’d run twenty miles. “I’m not sure how far or how fast.”
Her vision dimmed, and she floated. Damn cold. Not so bad now.
“Nash! Nash, you read me?”
Dusty je
rked. She’d almost been asleep. She wet her chapped lips. “Yeah. I’m here. Sorry.”
“We need to get you inside,” he said. “Can you make it to the junction between the cars? There ought to be enough cover to pull you in there.”
“I can try.”
“Go. But stay under the cover. We think the shooter is stationary, but we can’t be sure.”
“Roger that.”
Dusty dug in her heels again and pushed. She made it a foot or two and had to stop. The jostling and bouncing sent shafts of pain into her neck and down her injured arm. Sweat broke out on her face and ran into her eyes. The more she struggled to move, the weaker she felt. If she just rested a minute…
Atlas growled and tugged her sleeve.
“Right.” Dusty forced her eyes open. “Okay. One more time.”
This time when she pushed, Atlas scrambled on his belly behind her, gripped the back of her flak jacket, and pulled. With a hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle assisting her, she managed to make progress. A torturous five minutes later, she was staring up at the couplers between two train cars.
“I’m at the rear of the three car,” Dusty said into her com.
“Can you stand up?”
“Yes, sir,” Dusty said, hoping she was right.
“Stand by. We’ll have people to you in a minute.”
Dusty rolled out from under the cover of the car. Ice crystals blew into her face and her eyes watered. Atlas bellied out beside her, his dark head swinging from side to side, scanning. He hunkered down protectively, hackles up, a low growl rumbling in his chest. The sound of a door sliding open above her was possibly the most beautiful music she’d ever heard—after Atlas.
She gripped a handrail on the side of the car with her good hand and pulled herself to her knees. Pain rolled through in waves and spots danced before her eyes. Hands gripped her and tugged. Atlas barked a warning.
