Tainted Hearts

by Cyndi Friberg

  Marc panted, scrambling to make sense of it all. Marc hadn’t been able to see what Job was doing, but Tuesday’s terror made him crazed, ready to tear apart the stronghold to get to her.

  “This isn’t over,” Geoff reminded him. “They have to find Sydney and get out of the building.”

  Marc swallowed, consciously releasing the tension in each muscle group until he could breathe normally. “The classrooms are in tower C?” Geoff nodded. “Let’s go.”

  They hurried down flight after flight of stairs. Marc refused to think about his burning muscles or straining lungs. All the passageways looked the same, yet Geoff rushed on without hesitation.

  “We can’t risk a lift,” Geoff muttered, glancing over his shoulder. “How are you holding up?”

  Desperation gave Marc strength, kept his body moving. “Go!” was all he said. He would get Tuesday to safety or die trying.

  “Take the corridor to your right,” Phil’s voice intruded on Marc’s concentration. “It parallels the classrooms.”

  Geoff made the turn. Marc followed close behind.

  “Now go left and you should be able to see the main hallway.”

  After a quick glance through the grilled window centered in the access door, Geoff ducked to one side of the opening. Marc inched closer, peering down the adjacent hall.

  Rahab stood near one of the doorways speaking in hushed tones with a tall male instructor. Marc’s heart gave a mighty lurch. Tuesday lingered back a step, her head bowed, hair concealing most of her face.

  The instructor turned and motioned to someone in the classroom. A long pause followed. Tuesday and Rahab both looked up and down the corridor, obviously uncomfortable with the delay.

  “Sydney’s pitching a fit,” Phil told them. “You better get in there.”

  “Stay here,” Geoff insisted.

  “Not a chance.”

  Geoff pointed to the PURE logo on the front of his uniform. “Then cover me.”

  Marc pulled his pulse pistol out of the back of his pants as Geoff eased the door open. Moving so fast his body blurred, Geoff ducked around the corner, paused a moment, then strode into view.

  Tuesday’s eyes widened as Geoff walked toward her. Rahab stepped past the instructor and grabbed a blue-haired girl by the wrist.

  “Job sent me to assist you, Rahab,” Geoff announced. “He suspected Sydney would give you trouble.”

  The women eyed him warily.

  “My partner Marc is on his way.” He waited for Tuesday to react to the name.

  “Let’s go,” Tuesday said. “We’ve been enough of a disruption.”

  Marc held his breath. This was taking too long. They had to get moving.

  “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but Job sent me to this class. Why would he—”

  “We have to get out of here now,” Tuesday stressed. “I’ll explain—”

  Geoff bent and lifted Sydney to his shoulder, running back the way they’d come. She shrieked and twisted. He didn’t seem to notice. Rahab and Tuesday fell in behind him.

  Shaking away his shocked expression, the instructor turned to the companel on the wall. Marc opened the door and aimed. “Intruder alert, sector four. Code red. Code red!” The instructor’s shout and Marc’s pulse arrived in the same instant.

  “Did you get it?” Geoff asked as he hurried past Marc.

  “I don’t know.”

  Tuesday was holding her right arm against her, obviously protecting an injury. A fresh wave of fury washed over Marc, but he stubbornly ignored the emotion. There would be time for reactions later. Escape was the only objective.

  Grasping Tuesday’s left elbow, Marc followed Geoff. Rahab brought up the rear. The stairwell rang with their footfalls as they flew down the last four levels. Rahab headed in one direction while Geoff turned in another.

  “The intruder alert will lock down the utility doors. We have to go this way,” Rahab insisted.

  “Put me down.” Sydney slammed the heel of her hand against Geoff’s back. “Have you all lost your minds?”

  “Put her down. We don’t have time to wrestle children,” Rahab snapped.

  Tuesday started to protest, her anxiety spiking through Marc. He gently squeezed her elbow. Geoff wasn’t going to leave Sydney, and Rahab was trying to shame her into behaving.

  “Rahab’s got the most to lose if you’re caught,” Phil chimed in. “I’d follow her.”

  Geoff lowered Sydney to the floor, but banded her upper arm with his long fingers. “Lead on,” he told Rahab.

  They reached the end of the passageway and Rahab motioned toward the wall. “This is the perimeter. We’ll have to blast our way out.”

  Marc and Geoff drew their weapons and aimed at the wall. Light erupted. Debris flew. Smoke stung Marc’s eyes and burned his throat, still he maintained a steady stream. The men crouched, keeping their weapons trained on the target. The women bent low, covering their heads with their arms. Eroded by the sizzling energy stream, the wall weakened, then disintegrated.

  “Halt.” Geoff held up his hand. Marc complied then they kicked aside chunks of rubble, creating a hole large enough to crawl through.

  “Why are you doing this?” Sydney muttered as Geoff grabbed her and shoved her toward the hole. He ignored her protest and followed her through the opening.

  Marc helped Tuesday down, ever mindful of her injured arm. He waited for Rahab to exit then crawled through the shattered wall. Blasts exploded in rapid succession burning a line in the lawn parallel to their path.

  “Run!” Geoff pointed to Bettencourt’s waiting transport.

  Not pausing to return fire, the party sprinted across the grass. Phil’s shuttle swooped in, protecting them as they frantically made their escape. Marc heard more explosions and moved closer to Tuesday, shielding her with his body.

  “Move, move!” Geoff urged the women onto the ship, then dove in after Marc.

  The transport lifted off, sending them tumbling into random seats. Tuesday yelped and pressed her arm against her chest, her face flushed, eyes huge.

  “Was that Phil Carey?” Bettencourt demanded, gazing at the other shuttle. “And who the hell is he?” He pointed to Geoff.

  “My bodyguard.” Marc gritted out between clenched teeth. The transport stabilized and Marc’s audiocom went dead. The unspoken message was clear. Phil had done his job but he expected to remain anonymous. “Who the hell is Rahab?”

  “She dropped two grown men like they were toys.” Tuesday looked at Rahab and asked, “Are you the president’s daughter?”

  The general motioned his men into the control room, which took up the aft half of the transport. He stood, stretched his back, then swept his hand toward Rahab. “This is Raeanne Rawsen. Much to her father’s mortification, Raeanne joined my team four years ago.”

  “I’m going to go freshen up.” She disappeared into a cabin nestled against the control room wall.

  “What exactly does your ‘team’ do?” Marc persisted.

  “Black Ops shit,” Geoff repeated with a knowing smile. “He’s not going to tell you anything.”

  Bettencourt crossed his arms over his chest and returned his cool gaze to Marc. “Raeanne’s fiancé worked for me too. He was a good man, Sinclair, a damn good man. We’ve been planning a covert strike on Job ever since he was murdered. The government doesn’t sanction assassinations, you understand.” He paused for a meaningful grin. “Rahab was acting strictly on her own volition.”

  “Black Ops, my ass!” Marc sneered. “Why did Tuesday need to be mixed up in any of this? Rahab was obviously capable of taking care of herself. Why put Tuesday in danger?”

  “As I told you in the beginning, all I wanted was a contact, a go-between. Rahab couldn’t find a line out that wasn’t monitored. She had no way to communicate with me. I needed to know her progress and why it was taking so long.”

  “Why did she wait so long? She could have—how did you put it?—executed a covert strike on Job weeks ago. Why
didn’t she?”

  “You’ll have to ask her.” He turned toward the control room as he said, “I’m just as curious as you are.”

  * * * * *

  They were on their way to some military base to be “debriefed”. Tuesday wasn’t even sure what that entailed. All she knew was she was safe, Sydney was safe, the crisis was over.

  Bettencourt had joined his men in the control room and Rahab had yet to return from the tiny cabin. Sydney stared through her, lost in her own private thoughts.

  The door opened and Raeanne emerged. She’d exchanged the dowdy uniform of a proper PURE female for a black tank top and khaki fatigues. Her brown hair had been pulled back into a thick ponytail and she’d scrubbed the dried blood from her hands.

  “Do you need anything?” she asked Tuesday, not sparing the others so much as a glance. “We’ll be in the air about an hour.”

  “No, thank you.” Tuesday fidgeted in her seat, unable to purge her mind of the images—the sounds.

  “Could we get a glass of water and a cold pack for her wrist?” Marc suggested from beside her. “It looks painful.”

  The protective numbness surrounding her peeled back by degrees.

  She was safe. It was over.

  Her wrist throbbed. Her stomach churned.

  She was safe. It was over.

  So, why didn’t she feel relieved? Why did anxiety twist through her still, making her head pound? Adrenaline. She was just coming down off the adrenaline rush.

  “A cold pack would be good.”

  “I’ll see to it.” Raeanne moved off toward the galley and its supply bins.

  Marc gently rubbed Tuesday’s thigh and leaned closer. “Scratch off the transmitter and drop it into the water. I doubt it’s still active, but I’m not willing to take the chance.”

  She nodded and used her fingernail to remove the tiny device.

  “Are you okay? Does it hurt anywhere else?”

  His deep voice infiltrated the pounding in her head, like the pleasant rumble of distant thunder, powerful, yet separate from the pain. “I have a serious headache. He kept yanking on my hair.” She shuddered, pushing back the memories. “Rahab snapped his neck. I was kneeling right there when she just…twisted his head…”

  Raeanne returned with a sealed bag of blue gel and a disposable cup of water. She held out the cup and Tuesday flicked the transmitter into the liquid. With a half-smile curving her lips, Raeanne handed Tuesday the cold pack.

  “Put the soft side against your skin. If it gets too cold, I’ll get a towel to wrap around your hand. And here’s something for the pain.”

  Marc intercepted the foil packet.

  “What is it?” Tuesday asked.

  “Anistaum.” Marc tore open one end of the foil packet and pulled out the inner bubble pouch. “It’s harmless. Might make you a little sleepy.”

  Cocking her head just a bit, Raeanne slipped one hand into the side pocket of her fatigues. “What makes you such an expert?”

  “I’m Marc Sinclair. My company developed Anistaum.”

  Raeanne snorted. “And Methuselah. I think she’s in shock. Watch her closely.” After sweeping the others with her assessing stare, she took the submerged transmitter to the control room and closed the door.

  “What happened to your wrist?” Sydney’s voice was quiet and tense. “Who did she kill?”

  Anger flared, but Tuesday held back her initial reaction. She’d been charmed by Job too in the beginning. Pivoting toward her sister, she waited until Sydney looked into her eyes.

  “PURE is not what they appear.” I tried to warn you. She suppressed the words along with her frustration. I told you so never accomplished anything. “They’re not harmless or good intentioned, and—”

  “Job’s only interest in me was getting to you?” Tears shimmered in her eyes and she glanced away. “He wasn’t like that with me. He was kind and charming.”

  “They blew off half of Marc’s face,” Geoff said with tactless candor. “I was undercover as one of Job’s soldiers for almost a year. Believe me, you don’t want any part of PURE.”

  Sydney didn’t respond. She shifted toward the window and stared out into the gathering night.

  After one last glance at her sister, Tuesday relaxed against Marc’s side. “Were you in the building the entire time?”

  “We were in the evacuation stairwell. I about tore through the door when I felt your fear, but Geoff—”

  “When you felt my fear? Then, you are empathic. I’ve wondered about that more than once.”

  “I’m one of those dreaded anomalies. Unfortunately, empathic abilities are no match for brute strength. Geoff wouldn’t let me be a hero.”

  “I had orders to let things play out,” Geoff said. “I think Cobra knew about Rahab.”

  “Sounds as if.” Marc ran the backs of his fingers along her cheek. She turned into the light caress. “We were two steps away if Rahab hadn’t been able to contain the situation.”

  “I think Bettencourt is an asshole,” she was almost reluctant to admit the rest, “but I understand his thinking. Rahab’s greatest weapon was the element of surprise. Job was incredibly perceptive. If I’d known she was a trained operative, I might have blown her cover. Anyway, it’s over.” She shifted her wrist, trying in vain to find a comfortable position. “That’s all that matters.”

  “Absolutely.” Marc took the pain reliever, pulled off the film backing, and handed her the bubble pouch. She pushed the tablet out and placed it on her tongue. A mild, mint flavor filled her mouth as the disk disintegrated.

  He started to put his arm around her, then heaved a sigh and stopped. She turned, cradling her wounded arm against her chest. “Go ahead. You won’t hurt me.”

  “Not if I can help it,” he agreed.

  His arm settled across her shoulders and she leaned against his side. Heat emanated from his body, seeping into her. Was the Anistaum relaxing her already or could it really feel this good just to be held? She rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes.

  “There’s one last thing I need to understand,” he whispered, “then I promise no more questions.”

  “All right, but just one.”

  “How did you make it to the classrooms without setting off any alarms?”

  A pocket of turbulence jarred her wrist and she groaned. “Job’s narcissism protected us in the end.” She looked up at him and did her best to smile. “Surveillance in his private areas can only be activated or accessed by Job’s voice command. Job and David were the only two able to scan open the elevator, so no one had any idea what we’d done.”

  “How did you— Whose thumb did she borrow?”

  “David’s.” She waited for a shudder that never came. “He was a sadistic bastard. Part of me wished he was still alive when she cut it off.”

  Her vidcom chimed and she nodded toward her side. “It’s probably Vonne. Can you open it for me?”

  “Where do you have it stashed in all this material?”

  “Side seam pocket.”

  He sifted through the pleats of gauzy material, obviously amused by the process. “Here we go. I have a seam. Aha, and a pocket.”

  Sliding open her vidcom, he showed her the alphanumeric identifier. “Do you recognize it? It’s not on your contacts list.”

  Trepidation stabbed her like a sword.

  Please, let this be paranoia!

  “Accept it,” she told him, barely able to maneuver her tongue in her too dry mouth.

  He activated the screen.

  Job’s wicked smirk materialized on the vidcom and Tuesday’s gaze shot to Marc’s. “Are you seeing this?”

  “You’re not hallucinating, sweetheart. It’s recorded. It has to be.”

  “Looks like you won this round, Ms. Fitzpatrick.” Thoughtful disappointment colored Job’s tone and those strange star-shielded eyes pierced through her, sending icy shivers into her soul. “I prepared this message to make sure you understand that the war is far f
rom over. Others will take my place, more zealous, more focused and more motivated, thanks to you.

  “You’re more embroiled in the Master Plan than you could possibly imagine. The Controlled Community will flourish. Final PUREification will take place. You’ve just called my armies to war. I wanted to give them a queen—instead you’ve given them a martyr.”

  * * * * *

  Tuesday watched the stark, water-stained walls expand and contract in a nauseating undulation. They had arrived at this dingy, nondescript building well over an hour ago. She could no longer feel the pain in her wrist; she could hardly feel anything at all. Three cups of strong black coffee had sent her searching for a lavatory, but grogginess still plagued her. If only she’d gotten the call before plopping the Anistaum on her tongue. She needed to sleep. Fighting it was only making her nausea worse.

  She had to concentrate, try to follow the conversation, but her attention kept drifting to the uncomfortable chairs and the ugly flooring. Had the Army gone out of their way to make this place unappealing?

  “What made you change your plans?” Bettencourt asked Raeanne.

  Tuesday forced herself to concentrate despite her chemically muddled brain. This was important. She needed to understand what held Rahab, no, Raeanne back.

  “I first heard the phrase in passing, then noticed it in the literature, so I began searching through their databases for any mention of Final PUREification.”

  Tuesday was amazed by the metamorphosis in the young woman. Even her voice sounded different, stronger, more self-assured. Little wonder. Tuesday suspected she had only glimpsed a fraction of Raeanne’s capabilities.

  “What did you find?” the general prompted.

  “The phrase was always linked with the Controlled Community. It made me think of the story of the Great Flood.” Raeanne glanced at her, but Tuesday couldn’t read her expression. She was all business now—this was an official debriefing.

  “Once the chosen people were protected, a global catastrophe would be sent to cleanse the Earth?” the general asked.

  “Yes, sir. Exactly.”

  “So what can Job orchestrate from beyond the grave?” Bettencourt mused.