by Radclyffe
Dusty groaned, “Left shoulder,” right before she was swallowed up in a tunnel of blackness.
*
Jane checked her watch. Eighteen minutes since she’d given the ultimatum. She’d expected them to try to stall, knew it wouldn’t be easy. She needed more leverage. She couldn’t beat them with firepower, not as long as they stayed under cover, but sooner or later they’d send ERT and CAT teams against her and she’d be overpowered by sheer numbers. But she had the second drone she’d used to stop the train. Now the train was stationary, and she could deploy it again. If she had to take out one of the train cars to convince the president she was serious, she would. She didn’t want to kill innocents, but innocents died as a consequence of war every day. Casualties couldn’t be helped. And everyone on that train was in some way an enemy. Everyone except Robbie. She’d told him to get to the rear of the train where he’d be safe. Had he done it? Was he safe? And she couldn’t deploy the second drone until she knew he was out of range. Improvisation was a part of any plan. She started the timer on her watch and picked up the phone. Twenty-two seconds later, she slid her phone into her pocket.
Now she would prove she wasn’t afraid to engage the enemy. Jane powered the remote, and the drone lifted off from the track and swept upward toward the train.
*
“I’ve got another communication,” said Cheryl Wilde, the com tech, an edge of excitement in her voice. The trim, thirty-year-old African American wore a navy USSS polo shirt and pressed khaki pants and looked like an all-American advertisement for a job in government service. She’d been the best hacker at MIT when they’d recruited her.
“A call?” Cam asked quickly.
Cheryl had already traced the number on the phone the UNSUB used to contact the president, but the UNSUB had been wise enough not to have used it before. They hadn’t been able to pull up any previous contact info, but Cheryl could monitor the number now and tell when it was in use. If the president was able to keep the UNSUB talking just a little longer the next time she called, they might be able to triangulate a location with enough accuracy to neutralize her with a missile strike. F-15 fighter planes were scrambled and waiting for the order. For now they were working blind, and if they couldn’t find a way to alleviate the threat to POTUS, they’d have to send a counterassault team out and hope their firepower would overwhelm the UNSUB before the team sustained significant casualties. They could not risk her triggering the drones out of retaliation or in an attempt to force the president to negotiate.
“Not a call,” Cheryl said with a note of frustration. “A data burst.”
“Can you read it?” Cam asked.
“Working on it.”
“What about the recipient,” Turner said. “Can you track that?”
“The burst is too short and gets lost in traffic. I was lucky to grab it at all.”
“That’s okay,” Cam said. “You’re doing great—we just need the text.”
“I know,” Cheryl said, fingers flying over the keyboard, sorting and downloading data packets. “It’s in here somewhere.”
Lines of scrolling text filled the screen. Cam, Tom, and Phil leaned forward together, shoulders touching. They were running out of time. The president, Lucinda, Blair—they were all in range of the drone if the UNSUB detonated it. Initially they’d waited to evacuate POTUS, judging the likelihood of the UNSUB triggering the drone while he negotiated with her to be less than the threat to him if they tried to pull him out of the car before she was neutralized. But they couldn’t wait any longer. They needed a weapon of their own. Cam needed the inside man.
Cheryl slammed back in her chair and pointed at the screen. “There!”
Where r u
15
Stay
“What?” Virtucci exploded. “What the fuck is that?”
“That,” Cam said grimly, “is from someone else on the train.”
“Son of a bitch,” Tom murmured.
Cam smiled. “Gotcha.”
*
Stark and a big dark-haired agent Viv didn’t know carried Dusty into the lounge. Atlas bounded in beside them, his eyes riveted on Dusty.
“Put her on the sofa,” Stark said.
“Who is it?” Blair asked.
“Dusty,” Viv said, “Dusty Nash.” She pressed forward, sickening fear twining through her. Dusty wasn’t moving. Her eyes were closed, her skin a waxy white. Her wet hair was plastered to her forehead. Viv didn’t see any blood. Was that good? She didn’t even know.
Dusty moaned and twitched. Atlas growled, his lips pulled back and two inches of gleaming canines directed at the agents.
“We need a dog handler up here,” Brock said, his eyes riveted on Atlas.
“No one is coming up here,” Stark said. “Just don’t make any sudden moves.”
“How about no moves at all,” Brock muttered from a spot near Dusty’s feet.
“He thinks you’re hurting her.” Viv inched over and slowly knelt at the side of the sofa by Dusty’s head. “Hey, Atlas. She’s going to be okay. You can stay right there and look after her.”
He glanced at her once quickly, and then back at Dusty. His hackles rose but the warning growls quieted.
“Go ahead,” Viv said. “He’s just protecting. Just try not to get between him and her.”
“Good dog,” Stark said. She unzipped Dusty’s camo jacket, pulled the Velcro flaps on the vest underneath, and eased off her body armor. “We’re going to fix her right up, fella.”
“Shot?” Viv’s voice sounded foreign to her ears, feathery and tight. She clenched her fists, willing herself to stay grounded, clearheaded. She had to help. Screaming was not an option.
“Can’t tell,” Stark ground out, swiftly opening the buttons on Dusty’s shirt. She parted it to reveal a tight green tank underneath.
Viv’s stomach tightened. A purple bruise extended from Dusty’s left shoulder down onto her chest, and a fiery lump as big as a softball rose from her collarbone. Viv caught her lower lip between her teeth, wanting to look away but needing to see. “Blood? Is there—”
“Don’t see any yet.” Stark cut the tank straps with a pocketknife and pulled the stretchy cotton down to the tops of Dusty’s breasts. “Looks like the vest caught the force of the round. I don’t see any penetration. Might have broken her collarbone, though, and there could be some internal bleeding.”
“Here…” Blair slipped up behind Viv and passed a towel-wrapped bundle to Stark. “Ice.”
Stark pressed it to Dusty’s shoulder. “Thanks.”
“Why isn’t she waking up?” Viv asked.
“Don’t know.” Stark slipped her hand behind Dusty’s head. A few seconds later she pulled her hand away, her fingers streaked with blood. “Got a scalp laceration. Must have hit her head.”
“I can hold the ice,” Viv said.
Stark narrowed her eyes, then must have decided Viv wasn’t going to fall apart, and nodded. “Good, thanks.”
Viv said, “Atlas, let me closer, boy.”
Atlas shifted a fraction of an inch, and Viv sat on the side of the sofa, holding the ice to Dusty’s chest with one hand and stroking the damp hair from her forehead with the other. Atlas rested his head on Dusty’s arm and watched her face with total concentration.
*
Cam gritted her teeth and listened as the president answered the ringing phone.
“I didn’t want to have to do that,” the woman said. “I asked you not to interfere with the drones. I’m trying to be reasonable here. I’m not interested in shooting anyone else, so don’t make me. Now you’ve got nine minutes to put Jennifer on the phone to me.”
“That’s not enough time,” the president said. “Holding this train hostage is not—”
“I’m not going to negotiate with you,” the woman said calmly. “I either hear from Jennifer or you’re going to have more than one dead Secret Service agent. Car eight is your command center, isn’t it? Don’t bother lying. There’s a drone
on the roof.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
“Son of a bitch,” Virtucci echoed. “Do you think she’s bluffing?” He stared up at the ceiling of the command car as if he could see through it to the roof.
“I doubt it. We can’t take the chance. Game’s up.” Cam linked to Evyn Daniels, lead on the PPD in the president’s car. “Do you have eyes on the track ahead? Is the drone still there?”
“It just lifted up a couple of seconds ago,” Evyn said, her voice calm. “What’s the situation? Do we wait?”
“The bird is in the air, two minutes out, but the UNSUB’s got live ordnance on the roof. If she sees the bird coming in, she could detonate it.”
“Roger that. I’ve got Eagle armored up. We can get a hundred feet from the car in under a minute if you can lay down cover fire.”
“We’re trying to get a fix on the UNSUB’s position now, but until we can concentrate our firepower, it’s too risky trying to blanket the area. She claims she’s got a suicide switch.”
“What’s the range of the explosives?”
“Unknown. We’re waiting for intel from the agent on scene. The video didn’t pick up the drone, but she had eyes on.”
“We’ll be ready to evac anytime.”
“Stand by.” Cam switched to Stark’s channel. “How’s the agent?”
“Still unconscious,” Stark said, “but as far as I can tell, nothing’s life-threatening unless the head injury’s worse than I think.”
“The UNSUB’s moved the second drone to the top of the command car. She’s threatening to blow the first half of the train. Prepare to evac.”
“Right,” Stark said. “I’ve got a civilian here.”
Cam didn’t need to tell Stark what she already knew. Egret was the priority. “We’ll get a second team up there as soon as we can.”
“Understood, Commander.”
Cam knew what Stark wouldn’t say. They’d been more than colleagues for a long time, had saved each other’s lives more than once. She trusted Stark to take care of Blair when she couldn’t. “Let me talk to her.”
“Cam?” Blair said a moment later. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. You?”
“What’s happening? Can you get my father off the train?”
“Soon. Listen to me. You need to go too.” Cam pushed away the thoughts of the payload of C4 a few feet above Blair’s head, the explosion, the death. Fear would cripple her, and too many people depended on her right now. Blair wouldn’t want to leave—would resist efforts to safeguard herself while others were at risk. Blair needed to do what neither of them wanted to do—leave those they cared about behind. “We’re bringing in a helicopter for you and your father. Evyn will be with POTUS. You will stay close to Stark and keep your head down.”
“I’ve got a reporter here with me, an injured agent, and two of my detail.” Blair whispered, but she might as well have been shouting. Her anger came through loud and clear. “Just who do you want to leave behind?”
“Stark will get you on the helicopter.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be here until—”
“Until what, Cam? Until she detonates the damn bombs?”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I think her brother is on the train,” Cam said. “And I plan to find him.”
“How do you know?”
“If I tell you, will you promise to evacuate when we give the word?”
“That’s blackmail.”
“I’ll use anything I have to keep you safe.”
Blair sighed. “I’ll do what has to be done. If you promise me you won’t be a hero.”
“You’re tough to bargain with.” Cam blew out a breath. “We intercepted a transmission. We think he’s in one of the press cars.”
“One of the corps?”
“Probably, but we can’t be sure. Anyone could have gotten into that car. We’re running checks on every male in the press corps from here, right now.”
“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got? Hell, Cam. How long will that take?”
Cam gritted her teeth. Blair had been around too long—she knew how these things worked. “I’ve also got Jennifer’s photo, and one of the techs here is running an algorithm to adapt it for a related male. I might recognize him from that.”
“There’s a reporter here with me,” Blair said. “Could she help ID him?”
“Possibly. I’ll send the photo as soon as I get it. One minute.”
“You’re going after him no matter what, aren’t you?”
Cam sorted through her options. She’d run out of bargaining power. She wouldn’t lie to her, but she needed Blair safe. She couldn’t do anything until she was sure of that. “Blair, I—”
“Damn it,” Blair said. “I already know the answer. I love you.”
“I love you too. Wait a second…we’ve got the image.” Cam downloaded the computer-adapted image of a man with Jennifer Pattee’s hair and eye color, similar eye shape, and general facial structure. She didn’t recognize him. “Sending through to your phone now.”
Blair said, “You don’t have much time, do you?”
“No. Get ready. Stark will know when it’s time.”
“Cam,” Blair said, “don’t get hurt.”
“I’ll see you soon.”
*
“You need to put this on, Ms. Powell,” Stark said, holding out chest armor.
“I’m not leaving unless my father leaves,” Blair said, “and we get everyone off this car.”
Stark straightened, her face taking on that calm, intense expression Blair had seen a thousand times before. At first glance, Stark always impressed people as being too young for the job. Too green, too pliable. They didn’t know her well at all. Blair braced for the upcoming argument.
“Ms. Powell,” Stark said without raising her voice, “if and when the word comes to evacuate, you will be evacuated.” She glanced at Brock. “Pick her up and carry her if you have to.”
“Roger that, Chief.”
“Paula,” Blair said threateningly.
“This is not a drill,” Stark said. “And it’s not negotiable.”
Blair bit back a retort. She was beaten and she knew it. She glanced at Vivian. “They’re not going to abandon you. It’s just—”
“It doesn’t matter.” Viv met Blair’s gaze, looking as calm and steady as Stark. “I’m not leaving here without Dusty.”
“We’re not leaving anyone behind,” Stark said to Viv. “As soon as Ms. Powell is evacuated, we’ll have other agents in here to cover you and Nash.”
“Maybe it won’t come to that,” Blair said when her phone signaled and incoming message. She held out her phone to Vivian. “Do you know this man?”
Viv took the phone, her brow furrowed. “Should I?”
“Cam thinks this man is part of the attack, and she needs to find him.”
“She thinks he’s on the train?” Viv asked. “But why would I know him?”
“He might be in the press car.”
“You’re not saying he’s one of us?” Viv stared at the image. She didn’t know him. “He could be one of half a dozen guys. Is there anything else she knows about him?”
Blair shook her head. “They think whoever is behind the attack on the train is a woman, and this man is probably her brother.”
Viv shook her head, unable to make sense of the information. “How can it be? Every one of us is vetted and background checked.”
“Backgrounds can be fabricated. Some members of sleeper cells are undercover for decades.”
Viv worked to absorb the news. She understood the idea of a sleeper cell in theory, but trying to imagine that someone she knew, someone she talked to on a daily basis…her mind shied away from the reality. She thought back over the faces of the people she greeted in the morning, said good night to long after the sun had set, traveled with, ate with. She couldn’t put
a face to an enemy. “I don’t know him.”
“Don’t look at it for a minute,” Blair said.
Viv turned the phone away, happy to oblige. She wanted to know him, if it meant possibly saving them all. But she couldn’t point a finger at an innocent man.
“Think about the last few days,” Blair said. “Has anyone seemed off to you—excessively nervous, maybe disappearing unaccountably, off their game in some way?”
“I don’t know,” Viv said, frustration a bitter taste in her throat. “We’re cooped up on a train and the only time we leave is to cover an event. I haven’t noticed anything.”
“Something you heard, then?”
“No! I—”
You know what security is like. We might as well be trying to breach the White House.
That couldn’t mean anything, could it?
“What is it?” Blair said.
“I’m not sure. Just something—probably nothing.”
“Look at the picture, Viv,” Blair said sharply. “Who is he?”
*
Cam’s com clicked and she switched to Stark’s frequency. “Tell me she’s refusing to go.”
“No, Commander,” Stark said. “Egret is perfectly cooperative.”
Cam marveled at Stark’s ability to lie with such absolute confidence. “What—”
“We might have an ID from the photo.”
“Do you have a name?”
“Gary Williams.”
“Stand by for evac.” Cam closed the link and signaled for body armor.
*
Jane dialed the president’s number for the last time.
“In three minutes, I’ll detonate the second drone. It will take out your command center and half a dozen other cars.”
“You never told me your name,” the president said.
“My name doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does. Right now, though, I’d like you to fly the drones to the following coordinates.” The president calmly read out a series of numbers. “You’re to leave them there so we can defuse them.”
