by LC Champlin
Albin dashed toward the pole shed ahead, aiming for the service entrance. His ribs ached at the movement, a lingering gift from the chest tube. When he reached the door, behind a white—and locked—airport pickup truck, he tried the handle. Also locked. With his pulse hammering in his ears, he ducked behind one of the pickup trucks.
Commandeering another aircraft would not occur, as no helicopters occupied the tarmac. Even if one did, it certainly would not have keys helpfully dangling from the nose.
“Albin Conrad!” The call originated from one of the supposed government agents.
Albin risked a glance. Beyond the FBO lay a lumber yard. Stacks of timber dotted the land alongside logging trucks and a log loader. Processing buildings hulked behind them.
Perhaps workers at the facility could offer transportation into town. Contacting them would prove difficult, for three hundred meters separated him from the structures. But if he could reach the first stack of timber, a mere hundred meters distant, he stood a chance.
One of the men approached Albin’s side of the pole shed, while the other agent stationed himself in the middle of the driveway. From his position, he could guard the FBO and the entire length of the maintenance building.
“Albin Conrad!” the man called again as he passed, unsuspecting.
The sun flashed on the FBO’s door as the airport attendant exited. He strode toward the pickup beside Albin’s concealment. The man climbed in, then the engine rumbled to life.
Steeling himself, Albin darted across to the vehicle. As the government agent in the driveway glanced left, Albin scrambled over the side of the truck and into the bed. His torso ached. Mouth dry, he took a deep, calming breath despite his ribs’ complaints. Keep your head.
The pickup lurched into motion; it proceeded toward the lone hangar. Albin stole a look over the bed’s side. Another airport employee supervised the jet’s refueling. Beyond it, five figures—three adults and two children—and a dog hurried across the asphalt road in the direction of the lumber yard.
The truck halted before the hangar. As the driver’s door opened, Albin slid over the side, onto the tarmac. The vehicle’s angle prevented the agent in front of the FBO from gaining a clear view of his target.
Now for the difficult portion: Albin ran for the fence that guarded the airport’s perimeter. When he reached it, he dropped to his stomach.
The second government man returned to his ally. They both surveyed the pole shed. Albin pushed to his feet, then sprinted for the gate on the opposite side of the FBO, behind the hunters.
He pounded across the asphalt, heading for the stack of logs beside which his companions sheltered.
“Stop!” one of the agents ordered.
Albin did the opposite.
A gunshot cracked. Either the man fired a warning shot, or he missed his moving target.
++++++++++++
The black screen on the wall at the end of Nathan’s bed brightened into a light grey. The mobius logo appeared. No controls on the TV. No remote, either. Apparently they didn’t care about his viewing pleasure.
“Nathan Serebus,” a female’s voice greeted. “I’m glad you’re awake. I hope you had a pleasant rest. You will need your energy for what’s ahead.” That voice. Lexa Birk.
A chill dragged icy fingers down Nathan’s spine as he swallowed, mouth chalk-dry. Powerless. At the mercy of a woman whose plans he had foiled. She could exact her vengeance in whatever manner she deemed fit, and no one would know. Or care. Hell had no fury like a woman royally pissed off.
If she had kidnapped him, she must have also arranged the abduction of Victor Birk. One would assume, anyway. Birk had few qualities that would make anyone desire his presence.
“You have a choice: work with me, or . . . well, you can no doubt guess the rest.” She had a touch of amusement in her voice. Sick bastard. But that described her brother as well. “I am going to assume you choose the first option.”
“You make an offer I can’t refuse.” He locked his knees against the relief that made them weak. Thank God she wanted to use rather than abuse him. But what about after? He knew too much.
“Very good. Now, I have a proposition for you.”
The mobius vanished; in its place, a brunette woman in her mid thirties to early forties. Handsome more than beautiful, embodying professional composure. Her dark gaze pinned him. “I can see you, if you were curious.” She wore a tight smile.
Nathan folded his arms. “What’s the nature of your proposition?”
“Let’s get down to business. Neither of us has an abundance of time.” Behind her stood a shelf of thick volumes, covering topics such as microbiology, pharmacology, and various diseases. Here and there an award plaque broke the uniformity of book spines: employee of the year, best research team, highest grossing facility . . . “You may have deduced I was the one who took Victor Birk, my brother, from your prisoner transport caravan.”
An admission!
“If you did, you are in error.”
“Then who did it?” Who carried the guilt of murdering an entire town?
“An old friend of yours, I believe: Cheel. Bassam.”
Cheel? Nathan raised his chin to look down his nose at the screen. “What does he want with your brother? Doesn’t that terrorist bastard already have all the files? He’s working with LOGOS anyway.” Knowing Cheel, the murderer likely had designs on the data.
“Leverage. Like any organization’s upper management, there are politics in LOGOS.”
He laughed in disbelief. “Politics? You seem well beyond that and into the realm of warfare.”
No change of expression from Lexa. “The more power one has, the more power one must exert to maintain it.”
Chapter 40
Reversals
Last Pale Light in the West – Ben Nichols
Panting, bracing his side with his right arm, Albin skidded to a halt at the far end of the lumber stack. Pale and wide-eyed, his colleagues pulled him into concealment.
“You made it!” Denver exclaimed, grinning.
“For the moment.” He leaned around the logs for a glimpse of the road. The two agents and apparently a co-pilot advanced into the lumber yard.
“We have company,” Bridges murmured is he too peeked out.
Beside him, Judge snarled.
One agent veered right, while the copilot and other agent angled left in a bid to flank the fugitives. The pursuers had drawn their firearms. With no weapons, Albin could do little. Would government agents behave in this way? Yes.
“Come on out here,” one of the agents called. Tension underlay the friendly tone.
His colleague added, “We’re supposed to get you to New York. We’re just trying to keep you safe.”
A spider of doubt crawled across the back of Albin’s mind. It seemed odd that the government would sentence Mr. Serebus to a prison in New York, when he had committed his crimes in California. Since they had convicted him of terrorism and conspiracy, and had opted for a military tribunal, he should serve his sentence in one of the detention centers reserved for enemy combatants, such as Guantanamo Bay.
As the government men closed in, the four pickups at the highway intersection left their post to accelerate down the drive toward the airport. Rather than aiming for the FBO, however, the vehicles swung into the lumber yard.
Behrmann eyed the trucks as they fanned out across the lot. “Are they for or against us, that’s the question.”
The vehicles’ doors opened as people in flannel shirts, Carhartt jackets, blue jeans, and cowboy boots stepped out. Though mostly male, a few females claimed membership in the party. The newcomers carried long guns, ranging from AR-15s to hunting rifles. Many also wore sidearms. The group possessed no illusions regarding where their quarry hid.
The government agents whipped about to face the new threat, casting wary glances over their shoulder at their prey. Now the hunters had fallen into their own trap, s
urrounded and outclassed in firepower.
“Now what?” Amanda whispered.
“Stay back.” As he spoke, Albin stepped from behind the log pile with his hands raised.
The citizens trained their weapons on him—and the agents. Since they did not open fire, perhaps they would parlay.
As if in reply to the thought, one of the men signaled for the others to halt. Tall, wiry, and middle aged, he wore his greying beard cropped close. His deep-set eyes glinted from beneath his Stetson hat and behind his AR-15 sights.
Four of his colleagues held their weapons on the agents and pilot. “Hands up!” one of the posse shouted. “You’re outgunned.”
The supposed government agents exchanged looks. Then they lowered their weapons, placing them on the ground.
++++++++++++
“Let me save you time, Lexa.” Nathan hooked his thumbs into his belt loops, affecting nonchalance. “You want me to rescue your brother from Cheel. I’ve won against him before, which makes me a perfect candidate. Using me also provides you cover. If anyone questions your involvement, you can point out that I failed you before.” He hadn’t played the frequency when she wanted it, which caused a general disaster for everyone involved. Including him. Perhaps using him also satisfied her desire for revenge.
“Correct.”
“Sarge betrayed you, so you’re not using him.”
“He has another employer at the moment.” Shit. He had to face that brute of a mercenary again?
“Cheel?”
“I am aware you’re not a commando and that you are still not at full functional capacity.” She leaned forward, steepling her fingers. “However, I know that given the right motivation, you will complete the task.”
“And what, pray tell, is my motivation?” Time for a close-up, and Mr. DeMille better make it perfect.
“If Cheel has my brother, he will attempt to use him as leverage to prevent me from stopping LOGOS. I know you don’t believe I will do so. That’s fine. But know Cheel will also use Victor to develop the data. Cheel hopes to usurp LOGOS’s power.” An intention she shared, no doubt. “The organization is very close to finalizing their control of the affected. If Cheel gains an advantage, he will not hesitate to use it. Do you really want a terrorist in charge?” She arched her brow. “You may not like me, but I am no ISIS member.”
“No, you simply work for an organization that hired them to do their dirty work.” Nathan sighed, a pause for effect. “But, as you say, you are preferable to Cheel. When can I start?” God had brought him here to find the evidence that would stop LOGOS.
Her tight smile returned. “I’m glad you agree. In a moment, the door will unlock. My people will provide a more thorough briefing. I look forward to hearing of your success.”
The TV went blank.
Eyes narrowed, Nathan regarded the screen. Surely she knew he would attempt to take Vic to the government. But that would no doubt prove far more difficult in practice. Damn, as much as it stung to admit, she had him in check. He couldn’t escape here, and when they dropped him off at the site of Vic’s imprisonment, he could hardly dash up to Sarge or Cheel’s goat fucking bastards and ask for help.
He could possibly call 9-1-1, but the odds of the authorities getting their asses together and helping didn’t encourage confidence. Besides, Lexa would likely not provide him with such an opportunity.
Click. The door.
He moved to it. One, two, three—Go. Yanking it open, he stepped into the hall. The men who had abducted him waited, one on either side. They still wore the Army fatigues from the disguise at Los Alamos.
“Shall we?” Nathan enquired.
Chapter 41
Gift Horses
Set It Off – 4th Point
The counterfeit Soldiers led Nathan down what resembled an employee-access hall, with its worn carpet and drab walls. They passed doors on both sides, but not until they turned a corner did they halt at one.
It opened on a meeting room. A woman in black fatigue pants and a leather jacket stood with her back to him, inspecting the contents of a boardroom table: rifles, pistols, and various mobile devices, with a smattering of gear packs and pouches.
She turned to face the newcomers. Sophia.
Nathan froze. His breathing ceased. Static buzzed in his ears.
“Nathan.” She gave him a smug smile. “Surprised to see me?”
What gave it away, his open mouth or his stare? “Sophia.” Their fortuitous meeting near San Luis made sense now. “You were hired to kidnap Birk, but Cheel beat you to the prize. That’s assuming you were working with Lexa at that time and not one of LOGOS’s other affiliates. However, I’m unsure of why you helped, ah . . .” Perhaps she didn’t want him to mention how she had assisted him in San Ysidro.
“Why I saved you instead of shooting you in the face?” Still smiling, she leaned a hip against the table and folded her arms. “The short version is like you said, we got beaten to the punch. I helped you because Lexa and I figured you’d be better off with the government than with Cheel. After things started to look up for you, she decided you’d make a nice weapon.”
“That explains less than you’d think, but I suppose it’s as much as you’re permitted to divulge.” He approached her, slow but confident.
“If you’re awake enough after your little nap,” she went on, “we have a job to discuss.”
He came to her side. A 3x3 foot screen set flush with the table glowed before him. It depicted a satellite map of Colorado Springs, or so the text above it claimed.
“Victor Birk is being kept in this building.” She zoomed the map into the northwest corner, then pointed to a black-roofed square structure that covered at least ten acres. Other corporate / industrial buildings flanked it, and more lay across the street. A large yard with trees and manicured shrubs opened before it like the gardens of a manor. Garden of the Gods, read the label. He’d had enough of dealing with gods lately. Only one God mattered.
“This is the Mercury International Technologies building,” Sophia explained. “It’s one of LOGOS’s. Mercury does a lot of different research, such as chemical analysis, cancer treatment, genomics, and even detection of biological warfare agents.”
“Really?” Nathan frowned as he ran his thumb along the edge of his goatee. “And how does one detect such agents if none are on hand?”
“I knew you were smart,” she chuckled. “They don’t mass produce any biological or chemical agents here. This is where they’ve been working on the technology for controlling the cannibals. They’re using Birk to help develop the data.”
“I’m surprised Cheel didn’t decide to ship him back to whatever Middle-Eastern hellhole ISIS came from. Then again, Cheel doesn’t strike me as one who cares about the fanatics he works with. He’s simply using them.”
“Probably. We’re not totally sure what headway Mercury is making. Lexa was in charge of the West Coast operations, not those in the Rockies.”
Nathan hummed. “There’s a lot of firepower on this table.” A .50 cal BFG-50 sniper rifle accompanied five AR-type carbines and numerous semi-automatic pistols. “What’s the plan? Shoot our way in?” he snorted. Prisoner or not, he would have a say in how he died.
Sophia leaned back from the map. “We didn’t get this far by being idiots. There’s a rear entrance we can get in.” She tapped an image of the north side of the building, bringing it to the fore. “We’ll make our way through the back hallways. There’s a computer system that will provide information. Once we access it, or if worse comes to worst, once we grab one of the guards and get the information from him, we’ll know where Birk is and what Mercury is doing.”
“How many people are with us?”
“You, me, and four mercs. Lexa can get us by the locks with security passes.”
“At least she’s helping us do her dirty work.” He put his head to one side as he studied the map. “I may have an improvement upon this idea. Do
n’t worry; you still get to shoot things. Maybe.” Smile—without humor.
“Let’s hear it.”
“You will be sniper overwatch. I will be the tip of the spear. And I’m going straight to the heart.” He pointed to the front doors.
“I said you were nuts when I saw what you did at San Ysidro—”
“Allow me to continue before you call the nice young men in their clean white coats.”
++++++++++++
“You’re interfering in government business,” the shorter of the two agents responded to the locals. “I’m going to reach for my identification—”
“No, you’re not,” the leader interrupted. “Two of you”—he motioned to his cohorts—“get their wallets and weapons.”
Two of the militia advanced and confiscated the identification and pistols. They brought them to their superior, who spared a hand from his weapon to study the badges.
He looked up at the men in question. “Why are you chasing these folks and shooting off guns? And you,” he turned to Albin, “why are you people running from the airport?”
“We are being held against our will by these men.” Albin nodded toward the three would-be captors, who glowered at their former charges.
The newcomers’ spokesman eyed the civilians. “You were abducted in a jet by guys in black suits? Pretty upscale kidnapping.” But rather than amusement or skepticism, the man’s expression held only curiosity. He turned to the agents. “Are they under arrest?”
“They’re persons of interest and under the protection of the Federal government.”
Albin lifted his chin. “We were not charged, nor were we informed that we cannot leave. Yet now they refuse to permit us to leave or to secure our own transportation.”
“There’s no need for you to do that,” the lead agent responded. “We will take you to New York as agreed.”
