Code Name: Bundle!

by Christina Skye

  Motionless, he studied the rest of the small room.

  A mouse flashed across the rough plank floor. Wind hissed through the only window, held together with duct tape.

  The place was dead. Cruz had left, and some subtle cue told Wolfe he wouldn’t be back.

  Lifting a dirty scrap of curtain, he checked the view from the window.

  Sonofabitch.

  The second story of the safe house was just visible over the line of the ridge. Sitting here with binoculars, Cruz could have kept a record of activity inside the house without moving a foot.

  Grimly, Wolfe pulled out his secure cell and hit a button.

  Izzy answered immediately. “Is he there?”

  “Gone. But he’s been way too close, watching almost as long as we’ve been in place. How the hell did he know where we were?”

  “My people are all handpicked.” Izzy’s voice could have scored granite. “There’s no way Cruz could turn any of them.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m thinking that sometime, somewhere, one of the people who reported in or took your call wasn’t who you thought he was.”

  “He’s really that good?”

  “Believe it. You have passwords in place? And your people know what to do if someone has a completely logical story for why he missed being briefed on the codes?”

  “Already taken care of.”

  Suddenly Wolfe heard the din of Kit’s dogs through the cell. “What’s going on, Izzy?” He turned and hit the door, already on the run.

  “Something on the back porch.” Izzy’s voice was cold and calm. “The dogs are in the kitchen and they’re going nuts.”

  “Where’s Kit?”

  “Right here with me and my Glock.”

  “Keep her there,” Wolfe snapped. “Get the dogs in the room with you. And don’t let anyone in, not even me.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  WOLFE SPRINTED along the service road and cut through a park that looked right out of a Disney movie. Squinting through the rain, he vaulted a stone fence.

  He was close enough to hear the dogs barking now. They were in a frenzy by the time he stopped near the high brick wall at the back of the house. He stripped off his pack and slicker and pulled himself up quietly, hand over hand, jamming his fingertips into random spaces between the bricks.

  He didn’t need much. A skilled and conditioned climber could hang from one finger for ten minutes, and Wolfe had clocked in at twenty. Cruz had the same ability.

  At the top of the wall, he stayed motionless, scanning the back yard. Through the rain he picked up a faint movement on the porch outside the living room.

  A second later, pain bored into his forehead, the violence of the attack nearly making him lose his grip. Closing his eyes, he locked his fingers, hanging motionless as the wall of pain rolled over him.

  Learning to set a protective energy framework was part of the basic program in Foxfire, but Cruz’s skill had always been to attack before the enemy suspected his presence. He attacked now with a focused energy net that shot out of the rain.

  Wolfe countered pain with pain. He knew Cruz, knew how to get to him. As he clung to the bricks, he threw full focus into an image of the wall collapsing onto the patio, fully aware that being buried alive was Cruz’s deepest fear.

  Sweating, he held the image, driving it forward through the rain to target the shadows on the patio. The door rattled. The patch of shadow crossed the porch and suddenly the back yard was blasted with light from the second floor roof and both back walls. For an instant he had a clear glimpse of Cruz.

  Wolfe pulled onto one elbow and squeezed off six fast shots. Cruz stumbled against a low planter, lurched upright, then sprinted across the side yard, holding his shoulder.

  Wolfe dropped to the grass and followed, jumping a lawn chair and a hibiscus bush. He managed to grab Cruz’s elbow at the side of the house, and they fell in a blur of stabbing movement. A knife dug through Wolfe’s right hand.

  Ignoring the pain, he lunged for Cruz again, and the two grappled in deadly silence, arm to arm in the beating rain.

  Suddenly Cruz seemed to vanish.

  Wolfe grabbed at the air with his hands and reached out for the familiar energy trail with his mind.

  He saw a shadow move at the corner of his eye. Shooting to his feet, he vaulted over a heavy garbage can and caught a shimmering image of Cruz whipping hand over hand up the far wall.

  By the time Wolfe topped the wall and looked over, Cruz was gone. Taillights were disappearing down the end of the long drive.

  His bird had flown.

  WOLFE SPRINTED toward the front porch, snapping orders into his cell phone. “Get a car to the gate. Watch for a black sedan, probably a Camry. No plate visible. He’s headed your way.”

  Izzy opened the front door. Behind him Wolfe saw Kit holding a book, the dogs in a huddle beside her. He gave the code phrase quickly. “The car just left. We’ll get him at the gate.”

  “You’re hurt.” Kit was looking over Izzy’s shoulder, frowning.

  Wolfe barely glanced at his bleeding hand. “Not important.” He scanned the room. “Everything quiet in here?”

  “A-okay.”

  Both men stopped, turning to stare impatiently at Kit, their faces shuttered.

  “You want me to leave?” She dropped her book on the sofa. “One of you had better tell me something. I don’t want state secrets, just a reasonable idea of what the hell is going on.”

  She didn’t wait for an answer, lifting Wolfe’s hand and wincing at the bleeding cut. “Get him cleaned up, Izzy. The man is too stubborn to do it himself.”

  After she left, Wolfe wrapped a torn piece of gauze around his hand as he headed for the garage. “It was definitely Cruz. I’m going after him.”

  “You had a visual ID?”

  “Visual and every other sort. He’s wounded now, but that will only make him more focused.” He headed toward the garage. “Don’t leave her.”

  “Count on it.” Izzy nodded curtly. “Stay in touch. Code word only.”

  WHEN WOLFE REACHED the gate, half a dozen men in black uniforms covered the road, checking debris scattered over the cement.

  A man with a walkie-talkie sprinted up to Wolfe’s window and the code words were given. “He knocked the damned guard building into pieces. We’ve got two men down here.”

  Wolfe didn’t stop for explanations, staring out into the cold gray dawn. “Which way?”

  “Left. At least I think so. There was some kind of fog and I can’t be absolutely sure.”

  Wolfe studied the road. Not fog. Cruz.

  But was this just another feint to throw him off?

  He put away his irritation and anger, letting every element of the chaotic scene sharpen and eat down into his awareness.

  Car lights.

  Shouting.

  The screech of walkie-talkies and angry questions.

  There—the shifting trail of energy….

  Wolfe closed the window and pulled away from the chaos, dialing Izzy.

  “Izzy, he’s here, somewhere near the gate. He could be any one of your people.” Wolfe paused. “Yes, it’s mostly cloudy in St. Louis. A hint of snow.” The code phrases asked and given, he continued. “Don’t let anyone in.” He turned the corner and pulled onto the gravel as soon as he was out of sight. “I’m going back for a closer look.”

  How do you catch a shadow?

  Wolfe frowned, faced with the challenge of tracking down a brother officer, one whose skills appeared to have grown exponentially.

  This was his real purpose, he knew. Foxfire’s prime directive would soon expand to prevent hostile operatives with similarly enhanced abilities from infiltrating the U.S. government, military and civilian facilities.

  Learning new skills was the reason they had all volunteered for the program, and Foxfire would be the first line of defense against twenty-first-century attack.

  But they had never imagined they would have to operate
against one of their own.

  Wolfe pulled the gray cold of dawn around him like a cloak, building the image inch by inch. Once the gray illusion was firmly in place, he trotted back into the chaos, waiting for the slightest hint of recognition on any face.

  As he moved through the crowd, two men passed him without stopping.

  A tech officer carrying a silver case would have run into him if Wolfe hadn’t stepped aside. A man built like a defensive lineman picked up a broken plank from the entrance gate and swung it away onto the grass.

  Wolfe was invisible amid the activity.

  At the same time, he felt Cruz’s energy becoming more and more faint, like a light flickering. After sweeping the scene again, he stopped in the middle of the road. A pinkish stain trailed along the concrete, dimmed by the rain.

  The blood looked fresh.

  Crouched in the rain, he touched the fading blot and picked up anger and pain. Cruz would be slower now, but far from incapacitated. He was also in full combat mode.

  Cars passed. Windows opened as passersby gaped at the gate wreckage. Any one of them could be a construct to hide Cruz.

  Wolfe watched the line for ten minutes, oblivious to the cold and his own wound. By the time he finally gave up, the sun had climbed above the mountains to the east.

  A chill rain had swept away the last of Cruz’s blood.

  “I LOST HIM.”

  “How the hell did you manage that, Houston?”

  “He’s faster than I am.” Wolfe would have given a fortune to know exactly what kind of training Cruz had received since his fake funeral—and what had been done to him. But Ryker never gave details unless he had to.

  “He found a surveillance post nearby. He’s been watching the house for most of the time we’ve been here, and he seems to know what we’re doing as soon as we make a decision.”

  “Damn the man,” Ryker snapped. “What does he want?”

  “He wants the dogs. He told me that on the phone.” Wolfe flexed his bleeding hand carefully. “He also wants back two years of his life.”

  “Find him, Houston. Otherwise we’ll have reporters and congressional aides crawling all over us. If one of them gets a whiff of this situation, Foxfire will be history. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Absolutely, sir.”

  UP IN THE BEDROOM, Kit stood at the window watching a dozen men in black uniforms clean up what looked like debris and broken wood from the road near the security gate.

  Probably they were part of the security team organized by Izzy Teague.

  More men, more violence. What had happened to her hectic but largely uneventful life? First the attack on her car, now this—in a place where they were supposed to be safe and completely anonymous.

  Who could she really trust?

  Wolfe?

  Hardly. He had lied to her with no compunction. He was carrying out his mission exactly, and using her, as ordered.

  Her joints ached and she hadn’t slept more than an hour the night before. She still didn’t understand the conversation she’d overheard.

  She and her dogs are Cruz’s primary target.

  Why? Her dogs were valuable, and would be even more so once they were fully trained, but they were hardly worth the full-fledged paramilitary operation exploding around her.

  She needs to know what she’s up against.

  Kit rubbed her arms, shivering. It was true. She didn’t have a clue what she was up against and she wanted answers.

  The truly pathetic thing was that she’d come looking for Wolfe to tell him about her medical situation. She wanted him to know the truth in case he had second thoughts about her or a long-term relationship.

  Stupid, she thought wearily. Instead of the truth, she’d stumbled across lies.

  Against the rain, she heard the low chime of her cell phone. She checked her watch, frowning.

  6:10 a.m. Even the cell phone solicitors didn’t start this early.

  The number was blocked. She answered tentatively, surprised to hear Liz. “Is Diesel okay? Did he—”

  “Diesel is stable.” The vet yawned. “You answered so fast. Weren’t you asleep?”

  “I’ve been up for awhile.” Watching my dreams go up in smoke. No big deal. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

  “Some nights I can and some nights I can’t.” Papers rustled. “I was up watching the rain and feeling glum, wondering where the last ten years went.” Liz laughed mirthlessly. “Feeling like shit, not to put too fine a point on it. You want to cheer me up?”

  Kit watched rain blur the window. “You may be asking the wrong person.”

  “You too? Someone said it was a Mercury retrograde or a Saturn trine—something bad. I’ve always thought we make our own fate, but maybe I’ve been wrong all this time.”

  Kit stared off to the east, where the sun was struggling above a cold wall of clouds. “How about I pick up two artery-clogging caramel macchiatos with whipped cream when I come?” Something crackled against the phone. “Are you still there, Liz?”

  “I dropped my necklace, that’s all. One of these days an animal will eat it if I’m not careful.” Silence fell. “Come by whenever. Diesel and I will be here. And bring the other dogs. They’ll be good for Diesel.”

  “Sure thing.”

  As Kit hung up, she remembered her security concerns. Wolfe would insist that he or his friend Izzy accompany her, if they allowed her to go at all.

  On the other hand, having several big men around as backup seemed like a very good idea right now.

  “IT’S DONE.” Liz turned slowly, her necklace gripped in her hand. “She’ll be here with the dogs. Any other old friends you want me to betray?” she asked bitterly.

  The gaunt man sitting at her desk looked supremely pleased. “When there are, I’ll be sure to tell you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “GIVE HIM THE SHOT.”

  Liz glared across the room, one hand on Diesel’s head. “No.”

  “I need the dog out cold and ready to travel. Give him the shot now.”

  “I can’t. His blood work is still way off.”

  “Of course it’s off.” The man across the room studied the lab reports on Liz’s desk. “White count high. Red count low. Just what you’d expect, given our shared background.” He smiled thinly. “You thought I didn’t know?”

  Liz turned away, frowning. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Of course you do. You and your brother helped set up the animal side of this whole program. Hank used to come and visit the lab every few weeks to keep an eye on the animals’ white count.”

  Liz jammed her hands in the pockets of her white coat. “I’m not involved in Hank’s work over at Los Alamos.”

  “The hell you aren’t. You’ve been watching these dogs since the day you and your brother finished their genetic profiles.”

  “Hank shouldn’t have discussed that with you.”

  “He didn’t. I had file access.”

  “Why? You aren’t involved in the research.”

  “There are things you don’t know, honey. Things about me…and others.”

  “Like what?”

  Cruz took her hand in his. “You have to trust me. I know all about Project Home Run, even though the dogs’ trainer is unaware. That was a nice performance you gave for her on the phone.”

  Liz’s hands tensed. “It wasn’t a performance. I was worried about Diesel’s health. Kit also happens to be one of my best friends.”

  “But you set her up.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You stirred up all the old stories about the Apache treasure hidden on her ranch. To cap the plan off, you had some fake maps distributed. It didn’t take much to pull Emmett and his friends to her ranch.”

  “How did you know—”

  “I’ve been watching you, honey. I’ve had someone in place since Mexico.”

  Liz flushed. “That was a mistake. I told you, we can’t be involved.”


  Cruz’s strong hands tightened. “And I said you were wrong. We are involved. I need you.”

  “When you called you said you were worried about the dogs.” Liz tried to stay cold and unemotional. She had loved Cruz once, but the man with her now seemed volatile and cold, almost a stranger.

  She had met him during one of her brother’s visits. Hank was deeply involved with the government’s animal bio-enhancement research, and Enrique Cruz had been his driver. Liz suspected he had been Hank’s bodyguard too, but she hadn’t asked for details.

  “She’s got the dogs. They know her, and not you. That bothers you, doesn’t it?”

  She shoved her hands into the pockets of her lab coat. “The research people wanted an outsider, and Kit has an excellent record for training success.” But he was right. Liz had helped Hank conceive the program. It made her angry that she couldn’t have a bigger role in the dogs’ training, but her brother had ordered her to keep out of the way and say nothing to Kit, only to watch.

  “I’m worried about Diesel.”

  “You don’t need to worry. He’ll be fine. It’s a temporary inflammation. All the animals experience that.”

  “How do you know?”

  Cruz shrugged. “I’ve had some first-hand involvement. Let’s leave it at that.”

  Liz stared at his hands. Once he had been ruggedly handsome. Now his hands shook and his eyes were hollows of madness.

  “Why are you here, Enrique? It’s been months since we…” She flushed and looked away. “Since Mexico.”

  “You want more time with the dogs?”

  She nodded.

  “I can help you have that. I have found someone interested in private research. He will pay well for the dogs. You can go with me and oversee the work. There will be all the money you want for a facility and workers.”

  “Take them from Kit, you mean?”

  “They’re not hers. They belong to the government. But I can change that—and you can be part of the plan.” His voice fell. “Time is running out. My buyer isn’t a patient man.”

  “I don’t understand. Who is this person? Where—”