by Donna Young
“You were looking for the formula.” She made the statement, watching when he pulled a roll of duct tape from his front pocket and taped the box across the crevice of the doorway. Then a thought hit her, leaving her numb with realization. “You drugged me to look for the formula.”
“No, I drugged you because you needed it.” With a satisfied grunt, he slid down the sides of the ladders like a firefighter, landing directly in front of her. “I used the opportunity to look for the formula.” In one fluid motion he threw the ladder to the ground. “On the off chance you might have copied it before you destroyed the records at the lab.” He squatted once again in front of the backpack, shoving the tape inside before looking up. “Did you?”
“No.” Suddenly Kate wanted to know what else was in that backpack. “Marcus told me not to.” She shrugged. “I know the core equations. Enough to recreate my research.”
“That could take a few months.” A quiet understanding filtered through the statement. She said what he didn’t.
“A few months for me because I’m familiar with the research. Many more months or even a few years for someone who got the equations from me but didn’t have the experience of the experiments to fall back on.”
It was her safeguard. If she fell into Threader’s hands and, for whatever reason, gave him the basic formula, his people would have a hell of a struggle recreating her research.
“No one else will get the formula, Doc.”
Kate shivered at the intensity behind Roman’s statement because she heard the words no matter what echoing silently after. “I know.” Her voice was quiet but defiant.
He tossed something to her, forcing her to catch it and breaking the unspoken words that lay between them.
It was a stick of camouflage grease.
“Put it on your legs, arms and face.” He glanced at her dark-blue T-shirt and gray sweat shorts. “Smear some on your shorts, too.”
Following orders, Kate used the substance liberally, trying not to feel self-conscious even though Roman turned away. After snagging Dempsey’s gun from his waistband, he placed it in the pack and closed the flap. Then he hoisted the bag onto his back and walked to the far corner of the cave. It wasn’t until he turned back around that she saw the rifle on his shoulder and the shirt in his hand.
“Here,” he said, handing her the shirt. “It’s going to get cold.”
She took the dark-plaid hunting shirt, donning it quickly before tossing him back the grease. He deftly smeared it over his face, T-shirt and arms before sliding it into his pocket.
“Can I carry anything?”
“No,” he said with a slight tug on the pack’s strap to shorten the length. “You just need to keep up.”
Snagging the green light stick, Roman grabbed her hand and pulled her along the tunnel.
Suddenly, an explosion rocked the ground, causing Kate to stagger.
“They blew the door off the cabin. Let’s go.”
He yanked sharply on her arm, and Kate didn’t need any more prompting. She ran behind Roman, expecting the tunnel to explode at any time from the bomb he had set.
Kate estimated they had run the length of a couple of city blocks before Roman halted. She skidded to a stop and almost collided into his back.
Immediately she doubled over, out of breath. Twice weekly for over a year, she’d faithfully attended aerobic classes, paying a small fortune for the privilege. So why was it she couldn’t run a quarter mile without wanting to heave up her toes?
It took a few moments to regain some control over her oxygen intake, but she managed, barely, before straightening again.
A glow of light, cast from the fluorescent green, flooded the end of the tunnel, showing the outside opening. At first, it appeared too slim for even her body to squeeze through, but as they approached Kate realized the outlet was deceptive.
“Clever,” she said, and meant it. The opening curved in such a fashion that on first inspection it appeared to be only a small crevice, but in truth was wide enough to accommodate Roman.
“Thanks,” he murmured, intent on checking the gap.
“Your creation?” The words came out in short pants, her breathing almost back to normal.
“My idea,” he said, running his hand over the edges of the crevice. “But your brother’s creation.”
Before she could reply, he dropped to his knees directly in front of her.
“There’s no sign the opening has been breached, so we’re safe.” Quickly he buried the green stick, once again surrounding them in darkness.
The sun must have set because no glimmer of light broke through the crevice. For the first time in her life, Kate was glad she was acrophobic and not claustrophobic.
“So, how long has my brother been a government agent?” she asked with the same feigned casualness she tended to use at her parents’ dinner parties. Since her parents held many, Kate had the manner down to an art.
He didn’t seem surprised at her question but amused. It was the amusement that got to her. What did he expect? It didn’t take a genius to put together the bulletproof glass with the escape tunnel and come up with “Spy Central.”
Roman dragged her through the entrance. She winced as her knee scraped against the sharp edge of the rock.
“We’re called field operatives.” He stopped, tense and—she knew—totally aware of their surroundings. Instinct told her to keep quiet.
After a few moments he continued. “Your brother has been at it as long as I have.”
“And that’s been—”
“Since the Naval Academy.” He continued the climb up the slight incline, cannily avoiding treacherous holes and rocks.
“I see.”
Roman pulled her up a few feet to a huge rock that protruded from the side of the mountain, making a natural ledge. Darkness or not, she instinctively backed away.
“Do you really see, Doc?” Slipping off the backpack, he retrieved a small pair of night goggles. “I doubt it.” He lay down on the edge of rock and surveyed the area.
She let the comment pass, not sure if she agreed with him or not. Instead she watched him. Recognizing the infrared binoculars for what they were, Kate asked, “Are they following?”
“No. But I’m betting they’re going to find our escape route anytime now.”
“You placed enough explosive around the trap door to wipe out half the cabin.”
“No, I placed enough to take out one hundred percent of the cabin.” He glanced back and his eyes raked her from head to toe. “You know I never do anything half-measure, Doc.”
Heat licked its way up from her toes, setting her blood on fire. She cleared her throat. “It will bring attention to us from the state police.”
“It will bring attention to the bad guys. So much that they won’t have time to find where the tunnel plays out.” He looked through the binoculars again. “And it’ll give us a little more of a lead.”
Just as Roman prophesied, a few seconds later a tremendous explosion tore through the air, and the ground trembled beneath Kate’s feet. She gripped a nearby rock.
“Is it gone?”
Roman paused. Another explosion shattered the night.
“Yes.” Roman continued to peer through the eyeglasses. “What the C-4 didn’t destroy, the propane tanks did.” He glanced up from his surveillance with a grim acceptance. “Hopefully it took a few of them with it.”
“Cain loved that cabin,” she said, knowing the words sounded inane. God, she’d never sounded inane in her life, but the talk of killing men, even evil ones made her sick. “He’s not going to be happy.”
“Wrong, Doc.” He slipped the pack once again over his shoulders and pulled off the goggles leaving them dangling around his neck. “Cain is going to be very happy.”
He caught her to him when she would have stepped away. Her nerves snapped like live wires at the contact. “Why?”
“Because he always has a backup plan. And this time it saved your life.” Roman reste
d his forehead against hers for a moment and closed his eyes. “Mine, too.”
“Did it, Cerberus?” Her voice sounded breathless to her ears. “Or did it just delay the inevitable?”
He brushed a soft kiss over her lips. “It saved us.” Then he released her with a suddenness that almost sent her stumbling. “And I don’t believe in the inevitable.”
She’d barely recovered when he grabbed her hand, his night lenses back in place. She sensed the tightly controlled Cerberus was back.
“Stop tugging on me.” She dug her heels in. “At least until you tell me where we’re going.”
“Hiking.” He yanked hard, punctuating his answer. In the moonlight she saw the sharp angles of his face deepen and knew her choice was either walk or suffer a disjointed shoulder. Kate happened to have a very low threshold for pain and a particular fondness for her shoulder. She gave in immediately, allowing him to pull her up the rough terrain. “Just telling me we’re hiking doesn’t answer my question.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
They’d only gone a few steps when he suddenly stopped midstride.
“Doc. One more thing.” His gaze locked somewhere in the gloom above them, his voice drifted back, soft but arresting. “Don’t call me Cerberus.”
Not waiting for an answer, he resumed their trek up the mountain.
For the first time that night, Kate was glad that she was behind him. If Roman saw her defiant expression, she’d be in deeper trouble than she already was.
QUAMAR STEPPED off the subterranean elevator, his nostrils flaring against the odor that hung in the air. The antiseptic smell reminded him of the makeshift hospitals that were set up during the war. A war in which he’d seen many of his friends die. Here there were no wounded or dying lining the walls, only expensive art, but the scent always succeeded in bringing the painful memories forward. It was the scent of evil.
A glance in both directions of the white hallway assured him everything was secure, and he started toward the observatory, his Italian loafers soundless against the tiled floor.
The powerful rumblings of the computerized environmental control units vibrated around him, causing him to curl his lip in disgust. He’d never adapt to the Westerner’s belief that artificial intelligence was worth more than the intelligence that Allah had given to Man.
The money Threader used to create his massive underground laboratory could have meant the difference between existence and extinction in many small tribes in his country. Tribes that had lasted thousands of years were no more because of this same type of devotion to technology.
The passageway ran the perimeter of the laboratory, which was huge by even most Western standards, covering several acres of space behind Threader’s villa. It had taken Nigel Threader years to build the research facility, and although Quamar didn’t care for what it represented, he could still appreciate the masterpiece of it. The fact its existence remained a secret to the outside world was impressive in itself.
He reached the secure door to the observatory and typed in his twelve-digit security code. After waiting a few seconds before the keypad light flashed green, he stepped to the retina scanner, allowing the thin green line to pass across his cornea with quiet precision. Once verified, he stepped back, smiling slightly at the feminine computerized voice when it welcomed him by name and released the door’s lock.
Some aspects of technology he could accept.
NIGEL HEARD the door open but didn’t bother turning around. Instead he continued to gaze through the wall of glass that overlooked the main laboratory.
His laboratory.
He enjoyed overseeing the progress, sometimes standing there for hours, observing the people below while they worked toward his goal. Reminiscent of Caesar overlooking Rome.
A drugging sense of power filled him.
Quamar’s reflection appeared in the glass beside Nigel, ruining the moment.
“Move,” he commanded sharply, and immediately the image disappeared. Almost as quickly, the irritation faded, replaced by an easy feeling of benevolence.
“I have sad news, Quamar.” He watched the stream of white coats move steadily toward the door. Eleven o’clock. It was the end of the evening shift.
“Russia has suffered a tragic loss,” he continued as he withdrew a cigar from the inside pocket of his suit then rolled it between his thumb and fingertip. “Their most prized ballerina, Marina Alexandrov, died early this morning.” Changing his mind, Nigel placed the cigar back into his pocket, knowing he could smoke in the room if he chose, but decided against breaking the rule just yet.
“Her private plane crashed in the ocean shortly after taking off from New York, leaving no survivors.” He smiled faintly. “We must send our condolences to Marina’s parents.” He thought a moment. “A card, perhaps with some flowers. You decide.”
“As you wish.” The words, spoken obediently from behind, triggered a rush of pleasure through Nigel.
“Have we heard from Alcott?”
“Alcott is dead.”
Nigel’s eyes tightened into slits, making the keloid scar near his right eye pulse, as he remained focused on the room below. “How?”
“An explosion.” Quamar responded. “Cerberus booby-trapped the cabin.”
Nigel forced himself to relax. Too bad. He’d been looking forward to taking care of Alcott himself. “That is interesting but not altogether surprising. Go on.”
“Dempsey and Jackson are also dead.”
“Well, well.” Now Nigel was surprised. He’d figured one would eventually eliminate the other, but he hadn’t anticipated them both dying. He glanced back at his servant. “In the explosion?”
“No,” Quamar hesitated, a frown formed a deep crevice in the normally smooth brow. “Dempsey was shot, but I cannot be sure about Jackson. His body was severely mangled in the blast, making it difficult to determine the exact cause of death.”
Nigel nodded in understanding before continuing his vigil. The two men were among his best, but certainly not the best. “Dr. MacAlister?”
“On the run with Cerberus somewhere in the mountains.”
Running with her ex-lover. Anger coiled within. “You will find them, Quamar.” He snapped the order before he could stop himself. Immediately he forced his voice into a more civilized tone. “Bring them to me. Alive.”
“As you wish.”
Nigel allowed the anger to ease before tilting his head to the side with speculation. “Phoenix has reported that the brother is back from his overseas trip.” He tapped his forefinger against his lips. “It will take him less than a day to be informed and on their trail.” He turned, his look pinning Quamar’s. “Bring him to me, also. I’m sure the elusive Prometheus would want to attend his sister’s wedding.”
Not waiting for a reply, he swung back and waved his hand in dismissal, suddenly in need of solitude.
A few moments later the soft click of the door echoed behind him while he studied the empty room below.
Nigel linked his hands behind his back. Cain MacAlister could be a problem. Although Nigel wasn’t as familiar with Prometheus as he was with Cerberus, he was aware of the man’s lethal reputation.
He’d already requested the rest of the Prometheus file from Phoenix. With the information, he could work Prometheus’s appearance to his advantage.
Growing up on the streets of London, Nigel formed a knack for thinking on his feet. Running illegal scams on the docks was no different from controlling an empire. Both required intelligence, finesse and a certain degree of ruthlessness.
A thought started to take form, and he smiled. As the idea grew so did the smile, until it had him laughing aloud.
Chapter Seven
“We’ll stop here for the night.”
Kate would’ve laughed at the curt words if she hadn’t been on the verge of collapse. Any effort to show her amusement would have sent her over the precarious edge she’d been clinging to.
They’d been walking for hours—in
silence—and she didn’t need a watch to tell her the night was more than half over.
“Are we safe?” she asked quietly.
It was the first time she’d talked since the explosion. Even though other questions raged in her head demanding answers, she didn’t voice them. Instead she had used all her concentration to maneuver through the jagged terrain in the darkness, knowing questions would have slowed their progress.
“For now,” he said, sliding off the goggles.
“Is there somewhere I can sit?” Her voice was rough with fatigue, enough to make Roman take a second look at her before dropping the backpack and rifle on the ground. Her legs trembled, threatening to collapse now that they stood immobile. Kate locked her knees in an effort to stave off the inevitable.
Suddenly Roman’s hand was there steadying her, keeping her from falling on her face.
“Over here.” He half lifted, half dragged her to a tree. The moonlight weaved its way through the canopy of branches, allowing Kate to see the flat rock balanced between its forked roots.
Sitting, she drew up her legs, clamping them tightly to her chest to keep them from shaking, and rested her forehead against her knees. Instead of going directly over the peaks as she’d expected, Roman had led her mostly around the mountain, sometimes backtracking, sometimes descending, only to abruptly start climbing again. After a few hours the adrenaline from the escape had worn off. That combined with lack of food left her body weak from exertion.
“Here,” Roman murmured before he crouched in front of her and prodded her shoulder. “Drink this.”
The muscles in her neck screamed in protest when she lifted her head and took a few shallow sips. The coolness of the water soothed the dryness in her throat.
Far too soon he pulled the bottle away, ignoring her involuntary cry of protest.
“You’ll get more later. Right now, you need to eat.”
He snagged the pack, dragging it across the ground. After replacing the water bottle, he grabbed a package from the side pocket and ripped it open.
