Encrypted: An Action-Packed Techno-Thriller

by Carolyn McCray

  Zach dashed past her, setting up for his next shot. As she jangled the gopher’s controls, trying to wake it up, Ronnie watched the FBI agent aim. His posture was filled with intent. Muscles tightened. Eyes squinted, he was a chiseled hero through and through. No wonder his body temperature ran at ninety-eight point nine degrees.

  He fired and hit his mark true. The fifth missile lurched once, and then fell out of the sky, exploding “harmlessly” on the grass.

  The joystick jiggled under her touch. The gopher had caught onto one of the hook’s controls. Almost wishing the damn thing were a real gopher that could chew through the damn wiring, Ronnie urged the machine to sever the line’s connection.

  “Ronnie!” She turned to find Zach flexing his bicep, pumping the rifle, and then firing—to no avail. “It stopped working.”

  No, it didn’t stop working. They just ran into the “when will we ever need more than five EM pulses?” phenomenon. Which meant that the helicopter was a sitting duck.

  Unless she could get the gopher to do its job, the pilot and Quirk were dead.

  * * *

  Quirk clung to the seat as the bravest man in the world tried to save their lives. Damn Ronnie and her cost-cutting “Rule of 5” EM pulses. In the real world it turned out the enemy had no such limitation.

  He could see the strength in the pilot’s arms as he tried to physically wrestle the helicopter from the clutches of the steel hooks. The missile bore down on them. Not that Quirk hadn’t felt like he had a bull’s-eye on him for the past twenty-four hours; now, he felt as though he had one painted on his chest.

  The red-tipped bomb on wings headed right for them dead on. There would be no riding parallel or countermeasures or—

  Suddenly, the helicopter careened sideways as a hook sheared off. Then, another let loose. The pilot hit the stick, shooting the chopper straight into the air. The missile cruised right beneath them but did not seem fooled as it turned, arcing back around, honing in on them.

  Quirk grabbed hold of the seat as the chopper nearly dropped from the sky, recovering just inches from the ground—where, by the way, those stupid hooks were still fishing around for some railings.

  “Um. Up and at ’em?” Quirk suggested, never wanting his pilot to feel pressured or anything.

  The chopper swooped sideways and then back again, like some four-square dancer. Then back again. Then, it finally angled forward, racing barely above the grassy meadow.

  “Did we get hit by an EM blast?” Quirk asked, pulling out his equipment. “I can—”

  “No,” the pilot grunted as he jerked the helicopter to the right, compensating for a gust of gale-force wind.

  “Then what?”

  The pilot looked over at him with a tight frown. “We’re out of gas.”

  * * *

  Ronnie watched as the helicopter seemed to hiccup, gaining altitude just before it dropped past the cliff. The missile had no such hesitation as it followed. The sound of the blast rose above the wind, and the horizon glowed red.

  “Quirk!” Ronnie yelled as Zach grabbed her arm, pulling her back. She hit her earpiece, cycling through the frequencies. “Quirk. Pilot. Anyone?”

  “You thought to challenge God’s will?” a cool, serpentine voice answered.

  As tears mixed with rain, Ronnie steadied her voice before she answered Lino. “You betcha.”

  “Don’t let him get in your head,” Zach whispered.

  What Zach didn’t know was that Lino couldn’t get in her head. She had to believe Quirk was alive. He was not just vital to the mission, but vital to her. She had to believe the pilot was every bit as good as Quirk thought he was.

  And she hadn’t heard a death cry. What she thought she had heard was a squealed, “I love you.” Which she doubted very much was directed at her.

  How much had they already accomplished on pretty much faith alone? Ronnie glanced to Francois, who nodded solemnly.

  “Game on,” she hissed into the microphone. “Game freaking on.”

  Sure, Quirk would have probably quoted Braveheart or something, but she thought she’d done Quirk proud. Cutting the connection to Lino, Ronnie headed over to the large metal discs.

  “Let’s get these set up.”

  * * *

  Zach helped Ronnie use air-compressed pistons to secure the second magnetic disc into position. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about—”

  “Nope,” Ronnie said then looked at the wreckage of their equipment. “We’ve got to find the RPG launcher before they get their snipers involved.”

  He wanted to reach out to her, except that there really were snipers probably setting their range. Only the sheets of rain and wind shear had saved them so far.

  “Here we go,” Ronnie said, pulling a bent and misshapen rocket-propelled grenade launcher from the rubble of their equipment. At one time, the thing probably had been a sight to behold. It should have fit three RPGs in a revolver-style set of chambers. The only problem was two of them were trashed beyond use.

  Ronnie shrugged. “I think we only had time to off-load one RPG, anyway.”

  So much for their grand plan. Two minutes into the mission and they were down by half the equipment and…well, he didn’t want to think about personnel. Maybe Ronnie’s “let’s embrace denial” technique had some validity to it.

  As the storm soaked through to his skin, Zach helped her load the launcher. Then, she backed away. “All yours.”

  Zach eyed the gate far across the field. It was a little like hitting the strike zone, pitching from center field. And only one chance to make it count. He seldom got performance anxiety but come on.

  Then, Ronnie winked at him and wiggled her fingers. “Don’t worry,” she said. He had no idea what she meant as she put on a pair of cracked glasses. “I’ve got your back.”

  * * *

  Okay, that would have sounded a lot more reassuring if her glasses didn’t spark and fritz half of her display. However, if her laptop was still working, then she had to believe that the helicopter wasn’t at the bottom of the ocean. Right?

  Zach set the launcher on his shoulder and leveled the sight. This time he did need to brace himself, because the rocket’s force nearly knocked him over. She couldn’t worry about him, though. She had a missile to keep on track.

  How she adored Zach, but his aim was off. Statistics ran down the good side of her holographic glasses showing he was about ten degrees off, and the wind was blowing in from the west, multiplying his error.

  Typing into the air as big fat raindrops splattered on her glasses, Ronnie compensated for the angle. The RPG smoothly corrected course, angling straight for the gate. With just a few more adjustments, the RPG hit the castle’s entrance, shattering the thick wood, opening up the path into the compound.

  For once, things went as planned. Now they only needed to—

  “Francois!” Zach yelled as the Frenchman headed across the soggy grass. “Wait!”

  But when did the old man wait on anything? “Seriously, we need to put a bell on him,” Ronnie commented as she hurried over to the first hyper-magnets. “Zach, set the other one.”

  Rapidly, she got hers spinning, generating the magnetic field they would need.

  “How do I turn it on?” he asked.

  “Hit the button to the left… Never mind,” she said racing over and turning his on as well.

  “Ready” she queried, knowing what she asked.

  “Can I say ‘no?’ ”

  “If we’re going to catch up with him,” Ronnie said taking Zach’s hand. “Probably not.”

  * * *

  Francois strode across the increasingly muddy field. The rain poured down like a cleansing baptism. Lightning danced in the sky as thunder boomed. Was that God’s anger or encouragement?

  It wasn’t that he didn’t hear the shouts behind him, Francois instead chose to listen to the angels. They sang in his mind. He need only look to his carved flesh to know the melody.

  He was clos
e enough now to be able to see the gunmen positioned on the other side of the gate, defending the courtyard. He could sense the other men along the high stone ramparts and even those positioned within the towers. He mostly sensed Lino.

  Was the acolyte furious that his missiles did not strike true, or did he welcome them to storm the castle? Was the boy arrogant enough to think he could hide behind an army when he had so much to account for?

  The sound of gunfire, so much gunfire filled the air, squeezing in between the raindrops. The metal should be tearing through his flesh, searing his heart, yet it did not. Instead the small lead bullets, so very lethal if they hit their mark, were tugged to the right or to the left. They whizzed past leaving his flesh unmarred.

  “Dude,” Ronnie said as she trotted to catch up, “you have seriously got to wait for the signal.”

  “I second that,” Zach concurred.

  Francois ignored the two who had come to this struggle only so recently and charged ahead.

  * * *

  Forget a bell, Francois needed a freaking leash, Zach thought. The nearer they came to the castle, the less time the magnets had to deflect the bullets’ path. Ronnie fell in behind him as the path carved ahead narrowed to single file only.

  Francois hit the bridge at a run, crossing over the strangely empty moat.

  Zach’s shoulder twinged. Did a bullet hit him? Then, he felt a zap to his belly. What the…?

  Below them, the moat glowed blue, and then crackled as bolts of electricity arced and jumped beneath their feet. Which would have been fine—except for the fact that tendrils of current were finding those microscopic metal ions Ronnie was talking about.

  “The vests!” he yelled as he ripped his off.

  Ronnie looked like she wanted to argue, but then she was zapped in the chest. The girl couldn’t pull the vest off fast enough. “Fine. Kevlar next time.”

  The only one who didn’t seem to mind—or even notice the problem—was Francois. Which was probably best, since the magnets seemed to be running out of juice, and those bullets were getting closer and closer.

  Zach turned to Ronnie. “I don’t think we can get much farther.”

  From her nod, Zach grabbed Francois by the collar and hauled him back. The guards at the gates grew bolder, stepping out from under the stone arch, shooting faster and faster. This had better work, or… Well, jumping into the moat was not an option.

  Ronnie handed Zach what looked like a heavy pistol. He passed it to the Frenchman. “On my mark,” Zach stated as Ronnie gave him his pistol. “And I mean, on my mark, Francois’, shoot up.”

  The Frenchman seemed intent on charging straight into the castle, but even Francois must have sensed the firepower blocking his way.

  “Three. Two. One.”

  Zach fired, grappling with the gun. A large spike shot out, and then broke apart, expanding into a three-point grappling hook. Next to him, Francois and Ronnie followed suit. They each hooked the zip-line to their reinforced belts. Before the Hidden Hand could regroup, the zip-line sped them up the wall. Rain, already wind-whipped, lashed into his eyes.

  “Keep running!” Zach yelled as the magnets’ pull suddenly increased. Ronnie was pushing them to the limit. His guns and anything metal he carried, tugged him backward. Which meant his quads doing overtime to keep up with the zip-line.

  The benefit though was not just bullets, but the Hidden Hand’s guns were snatched from the men. The weapons flew across the field.

  Finally the trio reached the top and flung themselves over the wall. But the magnetic pull was just as strong on the other side of the rampart. They were pinned by the very magnets they needed to use keep bullets away. Men converged on their position, sans their guns. That didn’t mean that the trio couldn’t be physically overrun.

  “Turn off!” Ronnie urged the device in her hand. “Come on, come on, come on!”

  One of those “come ons” must have worked, because suddenly Zach could raise his gun. Ronnie pushed it down, though.

  “No. Use these.”

  She tossed him a set of what looked like ninja stars. Trusting that they were so much more than just steel stars, Zach tossed them to the rapidly approaching men.

  Zach was worried his aim would be off. He shouldn’t have been. The damn things must have been heat seeking as they changed directory on the fly, striking each of the men in the chest. Their adversaries stumbled to a stop in unison, clearly expecting to fall over dead.

  Unfortunately, they did not.

  Instead they regrouped, shouting their rage.

  “Ronnie?”

  “Wait for it…” she coaxed.

  He brought his gun up, shoving Francois behind him, just in case. But Zach never should’ve doubted Ronnie. The men didn’t charge three steps when the stars glowed a bright electric blue and then Tasered the hell out of them. They dropped like spastic flies to the stone.

  Ronnie pulled handful after handful of the stars from her bag and flung them down into the courtyard brimming with the enemy.

  “They’ve got biometric sensors,” Ronnie explained as she threw more to the men below. “No sense in wasting the charge if they strike wood or metal.”

  No. No sense in that at all. Zach shook his head. He couldn’t even imagine the R&D discussions she and Quirk had.

  As the last of the men went down, Ronnie repositioned her grappling hook and placed it over the interior lip of the rampart.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Getting down?” Ronnie said with that cock of her head that made you feel like a little bit of an idiot.

  Zach threw a thumb at Francois. “I don’t know how much repelling experience Mr. Loubom has—”

  Ronnie hit the switch on her zip-line. “They are reversible.” She went over the side and slowly walked down the wall. “See?”

  Reversible zip-lines. Damn if that woman didn’t keep on surprising him.

  * * *

  Lino watched the security monitor as Francois’ boots hit the courtyard’s stone. Fury swirled over and around Lino, like one of the storm’s waves. Had the castle’s defenses been left to him, they would have not been so easily overcome. Lino’s efforts to spread the plague had gone off with expert precision. He infected the entire world with the Black Death.

  How little the commander of this garrison had to accomplish. Repulse three attackers. Deacon Havar had all of the funds, resources, and power to make that happen, yet here they stood, their inner wall breached.

  Perhaps it would be too kind to allow Havar to die so swiftly. Perhaps they should give him enough antiserum, just enough to delay the bacteria’s rampage and prolong the agonizing symptoms. God’s wrath was a mighty one.

  Lino felt a little more at peace with that thought.

  “There’s another one,” a subordinate announced as a monitor blinked out then turned to a haze of static.

  Down to only three working monitors, which Lino had no doubt would go down within minutes, Lino turned to leave. Granted, the woman was resourceful—but oh so brash. She might have found the outer defenses, clearly too reliant upon modern technology, easy to scale. However, the inner defenses? Those designed to keep any and all from the serum that could grant life or death? Those she would find not so easy to breach.

  “Sir,” the subordinate asked. “Where are you going?”

  Lino did not bother to answer. If the man could not see God’s vengeance reflected in Lino’s posture, no words could ever make him understand.

  CHAPTER 31

  Plum Island

  4:41 p.m., EST

  “You know that I’m not the traitor,” Devlin hissed as soon as Henderson walked out of the conference room.

  Amanda cocked her head. “You’re the one with the antibodies.”

  That shut the CIA liaison up.

  She went back to correlating the data. With no new information from the CIA databank, Amanda wasn’t quite sure what she could accomplish. However, it felt wrong to sit there doing nothing.
What could she do besides just sit and watch a staticky television?

  “I am telling you—I am not Hidden Hand.” When Amanda ignored him, Devlin continued. “Since I was not vaccinated, there has got to be another scientific possibility for the antibodies. Damn it, Amanda, think.”

  She turned away from him. “So I suppose you were in Sri Lanka in 1996?”

  “No,” Devlin said, hanging his head. “I was in China at the time.”

  Amanda’s head snapped around. “Where? Exactly?”

  “Inner Manchuria,” Devlin said narrowing his eyes. “Why?”

  Crap. Amanda delved back into the CDC archives. “Did you get sick?”

  “Sure. I mean, its Asia. There’s a bird, goat, pig flu going around twenty-four/seven.”

  Yes, yes there was. However, in 1996, Amanda confirmed that there had been a minor outbreak of pneumonic plague.

  “What?” Devlin pushed. “Why?”

  Amanda turned back to him. “It took nearly three years to get the confirmation from the Chinese, but you were most likely exposed to the plague during your visit.”

  “Great!” Devlin said then frowned. “Then why didn’t I get sick and die? Why didn’t everyone there get sick and die?”

  “Because,” Amanda explained, “Yersinia pestis is nearly endemic there, infecting upwards of a thousand known cases per year. Occasionally it gets a head of steam and causes and outbreak, but it is a fairly attenuated strain.”

  Devlin shook his head. “You lost me, doc.”

  “The more a bacterium or virus goes through a host, it tends to become less and less virulent. Also, the population has more and more antibodies so becomes more and more resistant.”