Fatal Truth: Shadow Force International

by Misty Evans

  “Is nothing sacred to you people?” She started marching again. “And don’t ever tell me you did something for my own good.”

  “Savanna, no one is going to stop you from going to the TV station and broadcasting the information in that file. Let us drive you. If you don’t want me, fine. Henley will do it. Hell, at this point, Beatrice would do it.”

  “She probably would, just to get me off her ass.”

  True. “You’re still under our watch. Something happens to you, Henley will get fired. You don’t want that on your conscious, do you?”

  “That’s low, Trace. Even for you.”

  Her words hurt, but he’d hit a nerve with her too. She stopped walking again and lowered her chin. He braked beside her, hoping she’d feel a warm blast of air from the cab and decide to get in.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  He told her.

  “Dammit, I’m not going to get there in time.” She dropped her head back, blew out a plume of frosty breath. Grabbing the handle, she wrenched the door open. “Fine. You can drive me, but that’s all. Got it?”

  He tried not to smile. Tried not to let her see the relief on his face as she climbed in.

  “I suppose you already know where I’m going,” she said.

  He popped on the SUVs lights, shot off down the road. “Some broadcasting station?”

  Savanna warmed her hands in front of the air vents. “You’re not going to like what I’m about to do.”

  “Didn’t figure I would.”

  They drove the rest of the way in silence. The station’s parking lot was deserted. A plow truck had recently scraped off the worst of the snow, allowing black asphalt stripes to show through in places.

  Savanna pointed north. “Go around to the back.”

  “Is someone meeting you here or are you breaking in?”

  “My friend is here.”

  Trace didn’t see any other vehicles. “The minute you go on air, you’ll be giving away your location. Let me call in the team. We don’t have to come inside, but at least let us keep an eye out from out here.”

  “No.” She hopped out of the SUV. “You have to leave now.”

  “Leave?”

  “You can’t be here when this goes down, so I’m officially relieving you and Rock Star Security of duty.” Her face was bland, neutral, but her eyes wouldn’t hold his. “Get lost.”

  “Savanna—”

  Now she met his gaze straight on. “When I go live in a few minutes, your fugitive status will become known to the world. You can’t clear your name from inside a prison cell or if you’re dead. I’m giving this to you. I care about you, too, even after you deceived me. Please don’t throw that back in my face. Take my gift and get out of here.”

  With one last, long look, she closed the door and made her way to the back door. The door opened from the inside, a man who must have been waiting and seen the SUV pull up, giving Trace a steely look. He spoke to Savanna as she passed by him. Then he nodded at Trace and closed the door.

  Trace banged his hand on the steering wheel. I care about you, too, even after you deceived me.

  Maybe there was still hope for them after this was all said and done.

  But only if he kept her alive.

  Going back to Witcher was a small price to pay in return.

  He touched his comm unit, gave Rory instructions, and cut the SUV’s lights. Then he settled in to watch and wait.

  SAVANNA TOUCHED HER hair, smoothing back the strands that had come loose from her ponytail. A week ago, she would have never considered going on the air with her hair in such a mess or without makeup. A week ago, she would have never considered sitting at the anchor desk in yoga pants and a T-shirt.

  A week ago. Seemed more like a lifetime ago.

  “Ready?” The earbud in her ear came to life with Zeb’s voice from the control booth. “I’ve got your computer hooked up and ready to roll. Tap the desk to cue me when you want me to switch to that from your face. Sure you don’t want that second camera moved in to do side takes?”

  The public access station had three cameras total. The other two sat in the shadows, out of the way. “That won’t be necessary.” Head-on was how she had to handle this. “Remember, you’re to bug out as soon as you switch the camera back to me. No hanging around. You never saw me, didn’t know I was here. Got it?”

  “Don’t you worry about me.”

  She was worried about him, but he’d been in DC a long time and knew politics like the back of his hand. Fiddling with her phone, she called up the voice recording she had of Trace’s confession and cued it to the part she wanted to air.

  “Ready,” she said. Let’s get this over with.

  The red light on top of the camera blinked as Zeb counted her in. “We’re live in five…four…three…two…”

  The camera’s light went green.

  “Good morning, America,” Savanna said, falling into newscaster mode. She had no idea who or how many people were up at four in the morning watching public access television, but it didn’t matter. Even a handful of watchers who would talk about it, upload the video to the World Wide Web, start asking questions, would do the trick. “This is Savanna Bunkett coming to you from your local public access broadcasting station, CableNet1Z.

  “As creator of The Bunk Stops Here, I’ve been on a special undercover assignment that has put my life, and the lives of many others, in great danger. Because of what I have discovered, my platform at my former news station has been stripped from me, an assassin has tried to harm me twice, and this broadcast will no doubt be shut down momentarily by government forces who don’t want the truth to be told.

  “So be forewarned. What I’m about to tell you is beyond classified. Beyond top secret. And in the coming moments, they will try to shut me up in one way or another.”

  She took a deep breath. The speech she had prepared in her mind was ready to go. She sent one last mental prayer to Parker. I hope you understand.

  And then she proceeded to tell her sister’s story.

  She gave the background. How she’d come across the information, where it had led. When she was ready, she tapped the desk with her finger. The green light went to a pulsing red, letting her know Zeb had switched from her camera to the computer screen, where the details about the patients and outcomes of Project 24 were listed.

  Point by point, she walked the viewers through the data listed in the report. Then she got ready for the gold mine sitting at the desk with her.

  The camera light once again went green. Savanna cleared her throat. “One of the survivors of Project 24 told me a harrowing tale about what he was expected to do at the order of President Linc Norman. What he discovered, and how he finally realized that the men and women he was sent after to assassinate were innocent people in the president’s game of building super soldiers, will send chills up your spine.”

  She turned on the voice recording and let it play. Her voice, asking Trace about what had happened on that final mission was picked up by her mic. She closed her eyes and listened to him respond.

  Halfway through the recording, a commotion erupted in the front of the building. A moment later, two men in dark suits rushed in, dodging the lights and other equipment, and heading right for her.

  Savanna didn’t run, didn’t even get up. “Don’t let Linc Norman get away with this,” she pleaded at the camera to the American people. “He’s experimented on and killed American soldiers in the name of national defense, but this has nothing to do with protecting Amer—”

  The first suit reached her, snatching the phone off the desk and smashing it under his feet. She’d seen him accompany the president before. Secret Service.

  The second agent shot the camera, bam, bam, bam. Glass exploded, bullets ricocheted off metal. The reverberation caused her to cover her head and duck.

  Steel hands clamped onto her arms, hauling her from the chair, then shoving her down on her stomach and knocking her forehead against the floo
r. Pain exploded above her eyes, her head bouncing from the impact. Her hands were jerked behind her back and handcuffed.

  Yanked to her feet, she lost her balance and nearly toppled into the destroyed camera, its parts spread all over the floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a soft green light glowing from the shadows.

  Zeb was getting everything, God bless his old curmudgeon-y heart. The damn fool better get out of the building in time. If not, Savanna hoped Trace would save him. She knew better than to believe Trace had left like she’d instructed. She’d known what she was getting into; Zeb was an innocent bystander.

  The first agent hauled her out the front door into the snow. Linc Norman stood idling beside a black limo, head tipped back, stargazing. A third man stood guard a few feet away.

  Norman wore a dark wool trench coat, his blond bangs lifting in the breeze as he tipped his head down and looked her over. “See, I knew you’d do something stupid, Van, and I really hate it when my high school football replay is interrupted by mindless drama.”

  The agent holding her kicked her in the back of the knees, forcing her to kneel at the president’s feet.

  The wet snow instantly soaked through her pant legs, the freezing air biting at her skin. She scanned the front parking lot; the lights here were in working order, but still fighting with the night to illuminate the place. They reflected off the snow, throwing weird shadows over the president’s face.

  “Where’s my sister?” Savanna demanded.

  Norman laughed. “Actually, I have no idea.”

  “What? You said you had her.”

  He shrugged. “I lied. Sue me.”

  “But…we had a deal.”

  The door banged open and the second Secret Service agent shoved Zeb out into the snow. He was cuffed, too, and blood ran from his nose.

  Norman shook a finger at him. “You’re in deep doo-doo, Zeb, helping this traitor. I thought you’d retired.”

  Zeb spit on the ground.

  Retired? Zeb would never retire from broadcasting.

  “Leave him out of this,” Savanna said. Her teeth were chattering and her head pounded. She could feel a lump coming up on her forehead. “He had nothing to do with this. I forced him to open the studio for me.”

  “Really? You forced him? What did you threaten him with, a microphone?” Norman smiled at his own joke. “Where’s your bodyguard, Van?”

  “He’s not my bodyguard anymore. I fired him. Where’s my sister?”

  His smile faded. “She’s still in the wind.”

  “You said she was at Langley. I heard her voice on the phone.”

  “You heard a recording.”

  At her look of confusion, he continued. “On her last trip abroad, I had her phone conversations recorded. I suspected she was up to something and I might need some leverage down the road. Oh, Savanna. I miss you!” he mimicked and laughed.

  The saliva in Savanna’s mouth went dry. A sharp stab of hate set her chest on fire. But if he didn’t have Parker, that was good. “Thank God she’s too smart for you, you conniving son-of-a-bitch.”

  “You think you’re the only one who can trick people?”

  “Seems like you should win a Golden Globe for tricking people. You’ve done a bang-up job of deceiving the American public.”

  He waved a hand. “A bunch of whiners and slackers. I’m building a super army and getting ready for the future. To protect them while they sit in front of their televisions eating fast food and watching The Bachelor.”

  “Without any oversight or Congressional approval. You’ve become a dictator.”

  “I don’t have time to wait on Congress. I thought Parker understood that. Her program was going to be a pivotal turning point in my administration, in the future of counterterrorism. But don’t worry, I will find her, and when I do, I’ll make sure that incredible brain of hers is turned to dust.”

  “You’re using people for your own devices, just like the female soldier in the program you drugged and raped. When you found out she was pregnant with your child, you sent the only super soldier you had left from Project 24 to kill her.”

  He smiled and held up his hands. “I admit, I got a little greedy, but with great power comes great responsibility. That child would have destabilized my presidency, don’t you see? Should I be judged by one unfortunate accident after all the good I’ve done for the country?”

  He’d twisted the famous quote around for his own self-serving purposes. “You call drugging and raping a woman an unfortunate accident?”

  “Always hung up on details, aren’t you, Van? Well, here’s a detail for you. You’re about to die.”

  He snapped his fingers at the guard holding onto Zeb. “Where’s the file?”

  The agent produced her laptop from inside his coat and handed it to Norman. “It’s on here.”

  “I assume this isn’t the only copy?” Norman said to her. “You’re too smart for that. The good news is, no one can corroborate this information. It’s sad, really. I’m going to tell everyone that you were so distraught after being fired, you had to make up some crazy story about me in an effort to get your job back. You staged everything to dupe the American public. Now, you’re feeling guilty and are about to commit suicide, taking Zeb, here, with you.”

  He tossed the laptop through the limo’s open window, cocked his chin at the man holding Zeb. “Burn the place down. We don’t want any evidence.”

  “Yes, sir,” the man said, heading into the building.

  Norman held out a hand to the closest guard. “Give me your weapon.”

  “Sir?”

  Still holding out his hand, Norman took a step closer to Savanna, towering over her with a sinister look of glee on his face. “I’ve waited for this moment for a long time. This kill is mine.”

  The Secret Service agent took a black gun from a shoulder holster inside his coat and handed it to the president. Then he stepped back.

  Bloodstains and brain splatter were so hard to get out of clothes after all.

  Norman’s leather glove squeaked in the cold air as he tightened his grip on the stock of the gun. The sterile metal barrel bit into Savanna’s forehead and she clenched her teeth to stop their chattering.

  Where was Trace? Had he really left her?

  Her body felt frozen, her heart doing a staccato beat in her chest. Think, think, think!

  The president had the upper hand, but then, he’d had the upper hand all along. All she could do was hope she’d gotten enough of the information out there that someone would take up her cause. Parker was still alive and so was Trace. They could corroborate the facts.

  She’d done her job.

  But there was no way she was going down without a fight.

  Raising her eyes, she stared up past the barrel of the gun at Linc Norman. “You’re done for, Mr. President.”

  “Really?” He chuckled. “Because out of the two of us, Van, you’re the one about to die.”

  And then, out of nowhere, a snowball hit the president in the back of the head.

  Snow flew around his hair and he gasped, recoiling and whirling around. The agent who had no gun grabbed him and began to hustle him into the limo, but Norman shoved him away.

  An explosion sounded from inside the building, making everyone flinch. Flames shot out from a busted window.

  The agent next to Zeb drew his weapon and moved it in an arc, scanning the parking lot as he walked forward, ready to cover the president.

  “Hunter,” Norman called. “Is that you? Show yourself, you coward.”

  One second, there were only shadows at the edge of the parking lot, the next, Trace emerged. “I can’t let you shoot her.”

  Norman laughed. “About time you showed up.”

  Trace approached, walking casually, no weapon in sight. He didn’t look at her and, for a split second, Savanna’s thoughts went to a dark place. Was Trace Hunter in cahoots with the president?

  Nonono.

  Suddenly hyperventilati
ng, sensation disappeared in her fingers and toes.

  “Let her go,” Trace said. He stopped a few feet from the president and held open his arms. “You can have me. Take your best shot. I’m the one you wanted all along. It’s personal between us, isn’t it?”

  She couldn’t see Norman’s face, but she saw him raise the gun. “I like this arrangement.”

  Trace finally looked at her, his eyes saying it all. Sadness. Regret. Love.

  He was willing to sacrifice himself for her.

  Savanna’s stomach fell.

  “First, you let her go,” Trace said, returning his attention to the president.

  “What? You don’t trust me?” Norman scratched at the back of his head where the snowball had struck. Snowflakes fluttered down. “Ah, Hunter, you know I can’t do that.”

  She didn’t hear any cock of the gun. Didn’t sense any change in Norman’s body. But she couldn’t let him kill Trace. In an instance, she was up and moving, charging the man she hated most in the world.

  A cry of anger left her mouth as she launched herself at his back. At the same time, Trace yelled her name, his voice lost in her own shout, his eyes wide as he ran toward her.

  Startled by her cry, Norman turned. Savanna hit him full force, the impact forcing the breath from her lungs. She heard the crack of the gun, felt the tear of flesh.

  She knocked him down, unable to stop herself from falling on top of him.

  The gun went off again, the sound an explosion in her ears.

  Above her, there was shouting, more gunshots. They seemed distant. She no longer felt cold.

  She was lifted from Norman, who was spewing words at her that she couldn’t quite make out. White-hot pain drilled her body. The world spun.

  Her eyes had to be playing tricks on her. From the corner of one eye, she noticed Zeb had taken down a Secret Service agent. Another lay on the ground in an unmoving heap.

  Trace.

  Solid arms held her. Over the ringing in her ears, she heard him saying her name over and over. He laid her on the ground behind the president’s car. A fireball went up; the building belching smoke and heat like a furnace on steroids. Maybe that’s why I’m not cold.