by D. A. Bale
Joe grabbed Laturno’s arm. “I need the car.”
“What kinda messed up ass-wipe shit do you have going on in that mind of yours now?”
“East – the warehouse district. Maybe their hideout is in the warehouse district.”
Laturno cocked an eyebrow. “You’ve bat a thousand so far, kid, so it’s worth a shot. But I’m going with you.”
***
The area seemed strangely quiet with the radio silenced. Sirens had died down and the helicopters were flooding other areas of town. When would the message get to them to turn attentions to their location?
The sky took a breath as darkness began to lift. Laturno split off and jogged down one alley and left Joe to take the opposite side of the street. Laturno would never locate her at that rate. If the woman was invisible, they weren’t going to find her by looking. They needed to listen. They needed to hide.
Joe slipped around the corner and edged into the arch of an old doorway before melting into the shadows. Closing his eyes, he willed his heart to slow, his breathing to still. He searched the surroundings with his ears and merely listened.
The pavement echoed with a steady staccato rhythm. Was that breathing coming up the sidewalk? An early morning runner or a runner from authorities?
The breathing moved closer, the footsteps nearby. They were close, so very close. Joe pulled the Glock from his waistband. It warmed in his hands.
Vertigo hit him seconds later. He fought to keep his wits about him as nausea swelled in his stomach. Then he leapt from the doorway and collided with the air.
***
The world rushed away from her as Samantha made contact with the ground. The impact stunned her until she realized a man stood over her, his gun trained on her form. She was no longer invisible. She was no longer alone.
Her breath escaped as she recognized her captor.
“Joe.”
***
The woman lay half enveloped in darkness, her face hidden. But Joe knew that voice. He could never forget that voice.
“Sam?”
It had always lain as a suspicion in his gut, more a hope really, but something had kept Joe from fully accepting the reality of Samantha Bartlett’s death. She’d remained alive in his thoughts, his dreams, and now she lay sprawled on the concrete in front of him. It was almost more than he could comprehend.
His Glock slid from his fingers and clattered on the ground as he reached for her outstretched hand. A jolt shot through him at her touch. He pulled her to him and enveloped her mouth with his.
“Joe,” Samantha sobbed. “Joe, stop.”
Joe ignored her pleas and pressed his lips urgently against hers. Anger, loss, love, sorrow, joy all coursed through him as he ravaged her warm mouth and poured all his emotions into her – all of the feelings he’d buried for over a year. He entangled his fingers into her silken hair. Like an arctic wave, reality came crashing down.
He gripped her hair and jerked her away from him. “How could you fake your own death like that?”
The arctic wave penetrated his core and left him breathless. Joe staggered away and stared at the stranger he’d kissed. Red hair, green eyes, high cheekbones, the woman didn’t look like Samantha, yet the voice. His mind played vicious tricks on him as he remembered the woman from the cyber café, the hotel explosion. Similar – yet different.
Joe snatched the gun from the ground and trained it on the woman’s naked form. “Who are you?”
Her glistening breasts heaved. Tears ran down her cheeks. Strangely enough, the woman smiled a familiar smile.
“I can’t believe it’s really you. You don’t know how I…”
The woman looked down at herself and a slight blush crept up her neck. She curled herself into a ball to hide her nakedness.
“They’ve carved me up with plastic surgery. This body may not be totally mine anymore, but you have to believe me, Joe. I’m really Samantha.”
Joe’s mind whirled. “How can I know?”
That smile again. “Remember the night in the ‘fraidy hole at Gramm’s?”
The memory made Joe’s heart skip a beat. He stared hard at her face, trying desperately to comprehend the differences in what he heard with what he saw. His mind raced until acceptance finally slowed it. The gun lowered.
“What’s happened to you?”
Sam’s face contorted. She stared at the ground. “I didn’t think I had a choice.” Her head jerked up, and she stared at him with cold eyes – strange green eyes. “They’ve killed everyone I ever loved. I couldn’t let them do that to you. You’ve got to let me go, or they’ll kill you too.”
“Who’re they?”
The thunder of helicopters filled his ears. Fear enveloped Samantha’s face.
“Joe, please, you’ve got to get away from me. If I don’t get back soon, they’ll press a button to blow me up and both of us will die.”
The picture. The woman in the picture. “Does this have anything to do with Marcus Stinson?”
Confusion clouded her face until dust and debris swirled up in the air.
She grabbed Joe, her breath hot as she whispered in his ear. “Find the Elite and you’ll find me.” Her mouth found his for a moment and then she was gone.
Joe watched in bewilderment as Samantha sprinted off and dashed across the street. Vertigo hit him again when she disappeared. As he braced himself against the wall, he grabbed his radio and turned it back on. Traces of red tendrils curled around his fingers. An idea formed in his mind.
“This is Agent Roberts – get me SAC Hitchens.”
Chapter 52 – The Rescue
The drainpipe creaked and groaned under her weight, but Samantha clung to it and pressed herself against the cold bricks. The searchlights passed over the building right next door. She had to hurry and get inside to the elevators. Just one more floor to go. Heights were never her forte.
Relief washed over her when she finally pulled herself over the ledge and up onto the roof. Lungs heaved as she crouched behind the air-conditioning unit. Samantha tapped her earlobe.
“I’m on the roof.”
Marcus’ voice crackled through. “Hold on a minute while I get your position. We’re getting a lot of interference.”
“I thought you guys had the best systems in the world,” Samantha retorted.
“Satellite signals are still rather primitive, but it’s all we have to go on at the surface. Now silence for a moment while I…wait a minute. Damn, you’re at the wrong building.”
“What?”
“You should be at the building straight in front of you.”
The other building was four floors taller. There was no way – no way could she climb down and crawl up an even larger building. She didn’t have the strength left to even try. On the roof or on the ground Samantha knew it was only a matter of time. Authorities were going to find her soon if she didn’t get down from the roof, or Marcus would press the button to blow her up. Either way, she was never going to get back to the underground.
“I can’t do it, Marcus. They’ll find me before I can even get down from this building, much less crawl up the other one.”
“Wait – go to the edge and look over the side. There should be a wire like a clothesline strung between the buildings. Check to see if it’s still there.”
Samantha stayed crouched in the shadows as she slunk along the wall like a cat. Helicopters buzzed all around the early-morning sky, sweeping their sensors – looking only for her. Of all the horrible things Warner had done, he’d still deserved better than the death-hand she’d dealt him. Her life was so condemned. No way could she extricate herself from the grip of evil. It enveloped her like a dark cloud.
The ground appeared six stories below as Samantha glanced over the edge. All she had to do was throw herself over. Death would be painless.
The wire glimmered in the searchlight. Samantha darted back from the edge and pressed into the lifting darkness.
“The wire is there, about two stories down.”
“Good. Now you’re going to have to gauge it just right in order to catch it.”
Coldness gripped her belly. “What are you saying? You want me to fling myself over the edge and just hope I catch that thin wire in the dark?” Samantha laughed bitterly to herself. Wasn’t that what she’d just been thinking of a moment before, sans the wire?
“You should be able to see it by now and gauge the distance by the windows on the other side. You’ll have to jump at an angle. Or you could try climbing down the wall if you think you can accomplish such a feat.”
“What about gloves? My hands will be sliced in half with the momentum.”
“Just get moving. The suit will protect your hands like gloves. In theory it can withstand some force. Just be careful to put your feet out in front of you when you break through the window.”
Samantha sighed. She had to close her mind from the potential pitfalls of what she needed to do. The darkness was rapidly lifting. The authorities would find her any moment if she didn’t act now.
A sharp glance over the edge was all she allowed to align herself with the angle of the wire. She ran back a few yards along the roof then took off in a sprint toward the edge. The possibility of missing the wire, slicing through her hands, seeing the ground rise to meet her free-fall all pounded through her mind. As her heart raced and the edge neared, one thought rose up and penetrated all her fears.
She wanted to live.
The thought died away as she met the rush of air in freefall. The wire came into sharp focus. Being a trapeze artist had never been part of her training, but she instinctively knew the force of her free-fall could keep her from being able to hold onto the wire if she even caught it. Her heart rose in her throat. The wire neared.
As her hands made contact, Samantha gripped it with every ounce of strength she possessed. Every muscle in her body seemed to tighten around the wire as momentum slid her along it toward the other building. Her hands burned as the wire seared through the fabric and bit into raw flesh.
The window rose to meet her. At the last second Samantha remembered Marcus’ warning about penetrating it feet first. Her muscles were slow to respond.
Glass shattered all around at the impact. The momentum carried Samantha across the floor as she released the wire. Pain gorged her leg. It flopped around like a rag doll. The impact into the far wall stopped her progress, and the world rushed back into stark relief as Samantha screamed in agony.
***
“Samantha! Samantha, what’s your status?” Marcus yelled into the microphone.
Her screams echoed around the cavern and sent cold chills up his spine. The minimal staff all stared at him, waiting for direction. Normally he’d just press the button, be done with her and let authorities clean up after the Elite. They’d done it so many times before. Samantha had already completed the purpose of her mission. They didn’t need her anymore. But Marcus couldn’t bring himself to do it. The damned girl had engaged his heart.
Marcus pointed to a nearby subservient fool. “You – man the COM link. I’m going up.”
“But Debrille…”
Marcus gripped the man’s throat. “...is asleep, so I’m the one giving orders. Now man the COM link while I go topside.”
The shafts felt so far away as Marcus sprinted along the hallway. What would he find? FBI was likely already swarming the building. Good thing he’d felt the need earlier to slip on his own bodysuit, but if anything happened Debrille would chew his hide for endangering the Elite.
Or worse.
Time dragged as he rode to the surface. Going invisible in the shafts was dangerous, but he had no choice. Marcus slipped out of his clothing and activated his suit. The rush of air expanded then compressed the tube before equilibrium was again reached. It held. The elevator bank greeted him as he stepped from behind the adjoining panel and entered.
Would he be too late to save her? What would he find? Marcus tapped his earlobe. “Can you still hear her?”
“The screams have died down, but she’s moaning every once in awhile.”
“Has she answered your status demands?”
“Negative.”
The doors slid aside. The FBI clamor echoed from below as they searched for her. He didn’t have much time.
Marcus whispered, “Which direction?”
“To your right, second hallway on the left all the way down to the end.”
Marcus padded quickly along, careful not to draw unwanted attention. Let the bastards search the lower floors as long as they wanted.
The cavernous room opened before him at the end of the hallway. A rapid scan reflected the shattered window and scattered glass where Samantha had entered. Blood – so much blood pooled on the floor near the opposite wall. No body.
“Samantha,” Marcus whispered. Had the FBI already removed her body? Impossible. They’d never outfox the Elite.
“Samantha,” he called, a little louder.
A groan rose up from behind a series of stacked crates. She was still alive. A trail of smeared blood led him straight to her body. She was no longer invisible. A tap to his navel and he became visible once again.
Marcus gasped. Her leg had been severed clear to the bone, which from the contorted position appeared also to be broken. Blood continued to flow from the gaping wound. She’d bleed to death in a matter of minutes.
A tarp covered one of the crates. It would have to do. Marcus untied it from the crate then positioned the leg. Samantha screamed out then was silent as he wrapped the tarp around the leg to stabilize it and injected a sedative.
“You’re going to bring the Feds down on us if you aren’t quiet.”
Samantha groaned and licked her lips. “I must be dead.”
Her voice sounded far away. Time was running out. “Not yet, if I can help it.” Maybe he could keep her talking.
“Course I am.”
Marcus tied the rope very tight above the serration to help staunch the severe blood flow and hopefully numb the leg. “And why do you say that?”
Her speech wavered and grew thick. “Cause you’re never nice to me.” She almost smiled.
“Well I’m not going to be very nice to you now. This is going to hurt like hell when I pick you up, but you have to keep quiet.”
“A brief reprieve from your whip, eh?”
Here goes nothing. Marcus tapped his navel then Samantha’s. The tarp still showed. The fibers of the bodysuit must have been far too damaged to activate around the injured leg. Marcus gauged properly and slid his arms beneath her back and good leg and picked her up. Samantha sucked in her breath and had the presence of mind to bite her lips to keep the scream in her throat from filling the room. Then her body went limp.
Marcus rushed from the room back toward the elevator. Shouts and stamping feet echoed up the stairwell. They were coming.
The stairwell door slammed open and bodies rushed out into the hallway. Marcus slumped in a dark corner and tipped Sam’s body toward the floor. Hopefully they’d only see a rolled-up tarp tossed into a corner, if anything. He held his breath as the Feds scattered and searched the floor. Someone surfaced from the stairwell and stared at the tarp heap – a face he’d seen before. Marcus hoped Samantha had only passed out, glad for the stillness.
A voice called for the agent and drew his attention away from their corner. A brief opportunity opened up, and Marcus made a dash for the elevator. He exhaled a sigh of relief as the doors closed and the elevator made its way down into the depths.
***
The monitor beeped steadily – slowly but steadily. Marcus kept the sound always in the back of his mind as he worked up to his elbows in the gore laid open before him. Samantha definitely had a strong will to live. Somehow he’d make sure it was a life worth living.
With careful precision, Marcus stitched each fiber in the leg back together. Hours ticked by as he worked not only to save her life but to ensure she’d maintain use of the leg. Maintaining blood flow to the muscle tissue wa
s critical. The bag dripped low again.
“You there,” Marcus muffled through his mask, “get additional blood ready.”
Before anyone could move the surgical doors slammed open, and Debrille stormed into the room, his face a mass of twisted fury. He wore no scrubs, no mask – nothing to keep the germs at bay. Marcus fumed.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Debrille squelched.
Marcus moved aside. “I’m trying to save her life.”
“Do you really think I care about your measly attempt to save her?” Debrille’s eyes bulged. “You’ve wasted valuable resources and endangered a completed mission, that’s what you’ve done.”
Marcus stoically endured the fury. Debrille’s anger would soon be spent, and he’d either be shot or left to attend Samantha. All the reasons for joining the Elite those many years ago no longer mattered. He’d perfected their age-defying formula, and for what? No prestige, not a single moment of admiration, only countless tongue lashings.
“I guarantee you they are pulling DNA samples and will have the names within days. I can’t believe you did something so asinine.”
Marcus glanced back to the leg. Precious minutes ticked by as Debrille paced and stewed. The monitor continued to beep, the bag dangerously low.
Debrille stopped and pointed his bony finger in his face. “Continue here, but the moment she is healed I want that girl sent to South America, you got that? I never want to see her face or hear her retorts again.”
Marcus nodded. “Yes, sir.”
As Debrille shuffled off down the hall, Marcus shouted commands. The bag was replaced just in time. The area was wiped down with disinfectant, and Marcus resumed surgery.
Then an idea struck him. It was risky. They had yet to test the powder on a live human being, but he had to give Samantha every possible chance.
A nurse held the handlink to his face and beeped the lab. “Bring me the vial in section J-6 marked lippo-proteins. We’re in surgical two.”
Marcus fully realized what he’d have to do. To accomplish it, he might have to get Samantha up sooner rather than later.
Chapter 53 – A Dichotomy
“That’s impossible!”
Hitchens handed the DNA lab results to Joe. “See for yourself.”
