by Gennita Low
“Then you do what you have to do. We don’t have much time. It’s your call but you’re going to be debriefed about it. Did the person talking to you say it’s an order?”
“No, he didn’t. And do you know who would give me orders besides you?”
“Since he spoke to you on private link, no, I don’t know.”
If De Clerq had a clue, he wasn’t sharing it. “Are you sure?” Helen pressed. “Make a guess.”
“Any member of the team could have suggested that, Hell,” De Clerq told her. She couldn’t tell from his quiet tone whether he was trying to be ambivalent or not. “And I agree with him. But it’s still your call. Time’s running. Get the key and get out of there ASAP.”
A man’s life was in her hands. She had never been put in this situation before and she didn’t like it. It was different when she was fighting for her life. This was—she looked straight into the eyes of the man in the chair—someone who was looking at her with fear and hope. A long time ago, when she was caught stealing food, she had been the one looking at her would-be killer with the same fear and hope; he had let her go. She couldn’t pull the trigger.
“Please don’t kill me,” he begged in accented English.
She approached the man. “If you want to live, put your hands very slowly behind your back,” she ordered, pulling out the thin rope from her side pouch. He did so obediently. Quickly stepping behind him, she looped his neck. He jerked in surprise. She tugged in warning before adding in German, “Just in case you think about surprising me while I’m securing you, this cord is made of a material that would cut through your skin. Verstehen Sie?”
He nodded to show that he understood her and sat very still. She quickly stretched the rope downward and looped both his hands together, then putting the weapon down within easy reach, she pulled, tied a knot, and relooped it around the back steel support of the chair. Then she did the same thing with his feet. She taped his mouth.
That done, she went back to the desk. She turned the laptop around so she could keep an eye on the man as well.
“I’m removing the key from the device, HQ. That will interrupt whatever program that’s running on the laptop,” she said.
“Download the information into the flashdrive then destroy the laptop, over,” De Clerq instructed.
“Done,” she said, after several minutes.
She took out a microdigital camera and panned the room as she recorded it. She wanted Hades to see how accurate they had both been. She headed for the door and gave the man a last glance.
“I’d rather not say wiedersehen, if you don’t mind,” she told him then exited.
“Not a good move, Elena,” a voice told her.
That got her attention all right. “Where are you?” she demanded as she ran down the corridor, retracing her steps back to the elevator.
Silence.
The elevator was still open. She checked her watch. Not that much time had passed. She got inside and pressed the button. Once she had the key, she was to return to her group, give it to Alex, and they would then head back down. Alex would somehow pass the key to their insider so that if they were stopped and searched, they wouldn’t have anything on them.
“Helen?” De Clerq interrupted her thoughts.
Helen caught a note of urgency in his voice. “Yeah?”
“Our feed is showing a male speaking urgently on a mobile and running into one of the offices on the twelfth floor. There’s an elevator behind a set of closet doors. We’re assuming this is the same elevator you’re on.”
That made sense. It would be a pain to have to go all the way up to the boss’s office if someone were needed on the ground floor.
“Wait, another one’s just appeared. Weapon drawn. Two hostiles, repeat, two hostiles heading your way.”
The guys running didn’t bode well.
“What do you want me to do?” she asked calmly. There was no way to stop the moving elevator. “Take him out?”
“Not if he has his mobile on. We don’t want each floor blocked off. We’re monitoring the other feeds right now. So far, none of the other security seems to be aware that anything’s wrong.”
There wasn’t any time to debate about this. “I’m climbing up into the elevator shaft,” Helen announced, pulling out her rappel shot. “If you don’t hear anything, it means I’m busy.”
There was silence from De Clerq’s end. She could see them all at CCC exchanging doubtful glances. The decision had been instinctive, and at moments like this, she usually followed her instinct rather than question it.
The webbing from the rappel-shot was made to hold triple her weight. She aimed at the top corner of the elevator and pulled the trigger. A “twap” resounded in the enclosed space as the prong pierced the metal. She pulled and flipped at the same time, using her feet to kick on parts of the ceiling panel as she “ran” across it, looking for the escape hatch used by repair technicians. At the third kick, a part of the panel gave way. She landed on her feet and pulled on the webbing again, this time running up the sides of the elevator and using her speed to give her enough momentum to let go of the rope so she could shove aside the open hatch. She pushed up quickly, popping the panel to the side as she hung on, half in and out of the elevator car. It didn’t take her long to pull herself into the space above.
Air rushed like a miniature wind tunnel as the elevator continued moving upward. Helen ignored the lurching motion, the cracks of light flickering from between cinder blocks giving her an idea how fast the car was moving. The reverberation of speeding air and moving cables humming together distracted her for a second. Still on her knees, she pressed the trigger that would release the prong from the wall and felt the webbing snap back into the rappel-shot. She moved the paneling back into place even as the elevator was slowing down. That had the same effect of a train shuttle coming to a stop, and she had to hang on to an illuminated box attached to the top of the elevator car to keep her balance. Someone who had been there before her must have spilled some kind of oil; she could smell it and her shoes had no traction as she slid sideways, barely missing the cable.
“That wouldn’t have felt good,” she breathed out, more to herself than anyone.
“We have that on video here. Pretty nifty move, Agent Roston,” De Clerq came in. “The door is opening. Our hostiles are looking into the elevator, weapons drawn.”
Helen rose up on her knees, looking down at the panel, prepared for anything.
“First hostile’s talking into his unit, shaking his head at his partner, looking around,” De Clerq informed her. “He’s definitely looking for an intruder. Someone must have called him from his post. The other’s turning around and running off.”
Knowing that De Clerq’s end probably couldn’t hear what was being said, Helen put her ear against the loosened panel, trying to catch all the words. The elevator started moving and the whistle of rushing wind cut off some of his words. They were going back down. The German was speaking fast and furiously.
“…no one here. No one’s answering me on my mobile. Something’s wrong…coming down to untie you now…Peter’s alerting security about upstairs now. I heard over the walkie-talkie…visitors. Hang on, I have to call individual numbers—”
Shit. Her decision—Helen didn’t allow herself to think. She couldn’t afford to make another tactical mistake and let this man get more help. It might already be too late, what with the other hostile running off upstairs.
Unsteady from the moving elevator, she cocked her weapon then pushed the panel aside, lurching through the opening and popping a shot to the right. She guessed wrong. Her target was standing against the back of the elevator, not the front. He glanced up and dropped his communication unit, surprised but prepared, his hand holding his weapon already up and firing.
A shot grazed Hell’s arm as she pulled back quickly. Another bullet whizzed past her and from the corner of her eye she could see sparks flying off the steel cable. As long as the stupid car was movin
g, she couldn’t keep her balance.
That illuminated control box she had been hanging on to. That must be the override control panel of some sort.
She fired a few shots down through the opening to keep the man from picking up his communications unit. A stream of curses in German floated up. Good, she hoped he was hit, too. She turned her attention to the box. It had three buttons, all lit up. More shots from below. She threw herself to the side. Which one? Which one? She pressed the middle one.
The steel cables screeched at the sudden reversal, jerking her body violently. She rolled over the opening, curling her body to avoid the cable. One of her legs fell through. She could hear the man inside the elevator crashing into the wall as the car jerked and swayed for a few seconds as it readjusted. And started going back up. She must have pressed the up button.
She felt her foot being grabbed. She kicked out and leaned forward, pressing the top button this time. The elevator stopped suddenly. Her attacker now had both his hands on her dangling leg. Lying on her front, her other leg was trapped. He pulled on her leg viciously.
Helen could feel perspiration dripping down her face as she grabbed the cable with both her hands so she could twist her body sideways to allow her other leg space. If she let the bastard pull her through the opening with her body jammed so awkwardly, he would pull her leg out of its socket.
“Hmmph!” she growled, grimly gripping on and twisting, and squeezing her leg through the opening so she was no longer doing a split. A part of her registered the pain as the panel scraped the sides of her thighs. She let go.
The man below grunted as she slammed on top of him, using the wall to brace her weight. She used his initial surprise of finding his opponent a woman, grabbing him by the neck and jamming her fingers into the flesh hard so he would loosen his hold on her trapped leg. He grunted in pain.
“Scheiss!”
He freed one hand and yanked her head back by her hair. Ignoring her own pain, she turned her head the opposite way and smashed her elbow into his nose. This time he howled as he let go. Both his hands went up to protect his face.
Helen landed in a heap at his feet. She registered with slight surprise that the elevator was moving again, but there was no time to think about it as her opponent was reaching down for her again. Rage in his eyes. Blood dripping like a faucet from his nose. A string of German curses coming from his lips.
“Sorry, I don’t like what you’re calling me,” she said to him and kicked at his balls.
He tried to jump out of the way but she made enough contact to cause him to howl some more. He dove on top of her and brought up a fist. She turned, saw his fallen weapon, brought it up and pulled the trigger. The shot reverberated in the small space as the bullet hit its mark. The man’s fist lowered as he slowly toppled over.
Helen rolled over to avoid the dead weight, twisting to face the elevator doors. She had no idea whether she had been going up or down this time. She aimed, her finger on the trigger. The doors slid open. There was no one there.
“It’s okay,” a voice greeted her. “Status green.”
It was the COMCEN password. She took her finger from the trigger but still didn’t lower the weapon. She didn’t recognize the voice.
A pair of boots came within sight. Her gaze followed the blue jeans upward, taking in the denim jacket, the arms with the hidden hands shoved inside the pockets, up to the owner’s tanned face. A pair of silver eyes coolly looked down at her. His boot moved and kicked the body half on top of her aside.
“You made a mess,” the stranger said.
Fourteen
Helen didn’t need any of her unusual abilities to tell her the man standing in front of her was dangerous. Even looking up from where she was, his power unnerved her, as if he was standing too close for comfort. Something dark and ruthless lurked behind those silver eyes gazing down at her so dispassionately, taking in the whole scene in the elevator. She didn’t particularly care for the way he just stood there watching her either. She felt like some new trainee being judged incompetent at handling a simple job.
“Need help getting up?” the stranger asked.
His voice was low, like a man who knew people would listen to him. Slightly husky, like he didn’t talk much. Not that he was offering her any help either, because his hands were still in his pockets. One dark brow lifted, waiting for her answer.
Helen’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t need any help, especially from him. Moving her limbs tentatively, she stretched her right leg. No pain. She pushed herself to a crouch. He still just stood there, watching her as she tried to stand up and lost her balance.
She frowned, looking down at her right leg. She had felt a twinge and then it had given out, but there had been no pain. She tried getting up again, this time slowly and carefully, her eyes grimly on those jeans-clad legs as she straightened to her full height. Damn, she was hoping he would be shorter but no such luck. Finally she looked up, expecting to see scorn in his eyes.
There was none. Those silver eyes, though—they were damn compelling.
Danger.
Her whole being lit up like a thousand lightbulbs and she fought the urge to take a step back. Not liking how he was making her feel, she casually looked down at her hands. Blood. And grime from…? She frowned. The oily stuff she had felt while she was rolling around on top of the elevator.
Oh well. Then all her clothes were covered with the stuff. She looked back at the man as she wiped her hands nonchalantly down the side of her bodysuit. Fashionably spy-black to hide blood and grime, of course.
So, he wanted her to talk first? Maybe he was just speechless from admiration. “Did De Clerq send you?” she asked politely, taking a moment again to reexamine her hands, as if having a dead man at her feet was an everyday thing.
De Clerq was strangely silent in her earpiece. Maybe they were all speechless with admiration at what she’d done.
He didn’t respond immediately as his gaze slid down the length of her and back. It was irritating her. His dark brown hair was combed back neatly, reminding her that hers was probably hell to look at. A dark lock curled over his forehead. She quickly took in the masculine features—nothing soft, from the look in those strange eyes that glittered back at her to the uncompromising set of those lips. He looked too damn comfortable in his faded jacket. His weathered jeans fitted him too damn well. So casual. So ordinary. And everything about him sang danger.
It was her turn to arch an eyebrow. What? Were they going to just stand here?
“Do you still have the SEED?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Number One is going to set the stage upstairs to provide distraction. He’ll demand to see Weber immediately and cause enough trouble to get more security going upstairs. Weber is still occupied. It’s evening and most of the floors are empty, so you won’t have trouble moving from floor to floor using the stairwell.” He pointed to the direction she had to take, then looked down at her legs. “Are you injured?”
Helen straightened even more. She recalled her leg being twisted around like a limb in a wrestling match while her upper body was trapped above the elevator.
“Nothing I can’t handle,” she replied smoothly. After all, she didn’t feel any pain. “What floor am I on again?”
“Twelfth. Can you make it?”
“If I don’t, will you carry me?” she retorted. She gave him a cursory up and down glance. “Might dirty that nice clean outfit.”
He moved for the first time. Just one step. And she didn’t like that she had to tilt her head up to look at him. She took in a breath. A heady sensation rushed through her. Gads, the man even smelled of danger. Either that or rocking around in the elevator had made her light-headed.
“Supersoldier-spy,” he said softly, and there was no mistaking the mockery in that husky voice. “Surely twelve flights of steps is nothing to you, injured or not.”
A challenge was a challenge. “What are you going to do? Stand here to time me?”
His speed took her by surprise. One moment she was inside the elevator with him. The next she found herself being lifted by the waist, shifted, and set back on her feet. It was so fast, she didn’t have time to retaliate.
“I’m taking the elevator down of course,” he told her as he took a step back.
She stared at him as he leaned forward to press the button.
“Down?” she echoed. “Why? I have the key card. There’s nothing down there.”
His eyes glittered back at her as the doors began to slide. “You have unfinished business,” he said, and the doors shut.
Helen stared at the closed doors for a second. She remembered the man she’d tied in the vault. “De Clerq,” she said sharply. “Who…was…that?”
“Number Nine,” De Clerq told her.
One of the commandos. Figured. “Tell me he isn’t going down to the vault,” she said. She was mad at herself, for what her one mistake had caused her. “He doesn’t have to do this.”
“He finishes the operation. Now get the hell out of the building. Security’s already alerted about trouble on the top floor. Leave it to the others to get the rest of the operation. We need you back in the van pronto, with the key card.”
She had no choice. The electronic card was more important than her pride. She turned in the direction he had pointed and started to…limp. She looked down in surprise. The serum was definitely blocking any pain.
She followed the signs to the exit doors. Right. Twelve flights of stairs. She could do it. She pushed them open. The body of a man slumped against the railing. No blood. But the angle of his head told her he was dead. She remembered De Clerq telling her that there were two men outside the elevator, with one running off, presumably to get more help. This must be him.
There was no doubt in her mind whom the unfortunate man had bumped into. Mr. I-am-a-god-in-jeans. She started limping down the stairs, then decided to take two at a time. No way was she going to let any injury cause any more delays in this mission.
