by LC Champlin
“I see.” Birk meandered down the aisle between two counters, his gaze roving over the pipettes, bottles of solutions, and microscopes.
Nathan followed, but down the aisle that paralleled the researcher’s. “Cheel, did you blow up the C-130 I was scheduled to take out of the city?”
“It was not an attack against you.” The grin widened. “You are not that important, despite what you and the old man Crevan believe. There were others I needed to dispose of. It is regrettable that Allah did not grant me the pleasure of taking your life when I first intended to do so.”
Nathan remained impassive as he checked the label on a bottle. Keep him talking . . .
“Now, enough wasting time.” Cheel raised his hands like a sultan preparing to invite his guests into a feast. “Show me what you have learned and what you can do. Impress me.”
On the far side of a rack of pipettes, test tubes, and Petri dishes, Birk met Nathan’s gaze. A slight nod from researcher to former enemy. Birk’s right hand lingered over the pipettes, while his left strayed near a beaker clamp—a steel rod with a vise on one end.
Nathan raised his own hand, studying it. “The abrasions I sustained from smashing in your dog Ali’s face have healed. I didn’t think I would have the chance to tell you how much I enjoyed throwing him to the cannibals.”
The Indian flushed, but otherwise he revealed no emotion. “Ali died for the cause of Sharia and Allah. His soul will go to paradise and receive his just deserts.”
“I admire your faith.” Nathan began working his way along the other side of the aisle, heading back toward Cheel. “It has stayed strong despite your numerous defeats. Today I have a message from God for you, Sri Cheel.” Dark eyes met dark eyes. Predator regarded predator.
“And what does your god have to say, kafir?”
Chapter 87
Prepare a Table Before Me
Wolves – Sam Tinnesz
Crash! A tray of glass pipettes shattered at the terrorist’s feet. He jumped back, but not far enough.
“Raaa!” In a blur, Birk flung himself at his betrayer. He swung his fist, thumb-side toward Cheel’s throat. The end of the flask clamp burst from the right side of Cheel’s neck, with scraps of bloody muscle clinging to it. The weapon seemed to appear from thin air.
Choking, eyes bulging, Cheel slammed his fist into Birk’s face.
Clutching his likely broken nose, Birk staggered back. He slipped in the pipettes and fell, landing hard on his backside. Blood streamed between his fingers.
One hand to his throat, Cheel advanced on his attacker. Adrenaline and rage must numb the pain.
Sarge leveled his rifle at Birk.
The slight pause while the mercenary determined if he should shoot the assailant or let the contest play out gave Nathan the opening: He barreled in for a tackle. Miraculously, he felt the big man’s legs lift with the pull. Nathan followed him down. Get up! Nathan scrambled to his feet even as Sarge gained his own.
“You fucking—” Lunging, Sarge caught Nathan by the shirt front. In and back—Nathan brought his feet up to brace himself, saving his lumbar spine from fracture against the counter’s edge. He gripped the bastard’s shirt-grabbing hand with his closest, tucking his chin as Sarge pulled back for a punch. Nathan’s other hand darted in, fingers out. They struck soft, moist eyeballs.
“Arg!” The merc released his victim.
Nathan’s foot snapped up. Kick to Sarge’s solar plexus. Damn it, the plate armor protected him!
Staggering back, hand to his eyes, Sarge reached for his pistol.
Bang!
Blood and brain sprayed from the side of his head. His body spasmed. Thud. The pebble-sized bullet had felled the giant. Sophia stood, cold as the Terminator and just as deadly, with her pistol still raised. She hadn’t turned on them! It didn’t make up for her murdering the DHS officers and working for Lexa—nothing would—but it was a step on the road to redemption.
A choking sound from Cheel, who resumed his advance. He pulled a knife from his belt. The blade flashed in the halogen lights. He stalked toward Birk even as his blood stained the terrorist’s shirt a darker black.
Birk scrabbled to his feet, squinting through the blood and tears. One hand up for a guard, his other felt about beside him. Contact with another tray of pipettes—
Now what? Let the two bastards kill each other?
Shit. Nathan made a baseball slide to Sarge’s corpse, from which the blood still pumped. Get the pistol—“Cheel, prepare to meet my God,” Nathan announced from behind the Glock’s sights.
The terrorist turned his head. Gotcha.
Birk lunged. The meat of his fist smashed into Cheel’s ear.
The chief whipped around, blade out. Low strike—
Birk pulled his leg up. His calf rather than his femoral artery caught the knife. He didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he grabbed the flask-clamp rod by both ends and yanked it forward. Bracing his knees against his enemy’s chest, Birk used his bodyweight to drag the rod forward, ripping the trachea from its moorings. Vessels sheered before the tough cartilage of the windpipe gave way. Blood sprayed in pulses. The two fell together, thrashing in blood and shattered glass.
Nathan found himself moving. He waded into the fray. Cheel’s eyes stared, glassy like a taxidermist’s trophy. The head lolled. Jutting out of his ear—a glass tube, shattered at the end. A pipette.
Grabbing Birk by the back of the collar, Nathan dragged him off, sliding in the blood. The researcher struggled, intent on savaging his prey.
“Birk, stop. He’s dead. You killed him. Do you hear me?” Nathan pinned the man against the counter’s lower cabinets. “Vic, stop! You won. You did well.”
The tantrum flailing stilled. Panting, face ashen, Birk turned his head to see the carcass. A maniac grin cut across his face as the vessels in his neck and temples stood out. “I did, didn’t I! I won. I killed the fucker. After what he did to me. To everybody. I had to. I killed him.”
A manic laugh joined the grin. It died in a choking sound, though, when he looked down at the knife protruding from his calf. “Oh shit! Oh shit!” He tried to retreat, as if he could outdistance the blade in his muscle.
“Shut up, Birk,” Sophia ordered. She deployed a tourniquet from her vest. As his breathing turned ragged with panic, she began applying it above his knee.
“Get it out! Get it out!” He reached for the handle, but Nathan caught his wrists.
“No. We’re going to stabilize it. If you pull it out, you’ll only cause more bleeding. We’ll get you help. Your brain is too valuable for me to let it die yet.”
Hissing, wincing, Birk moaned. It verged on the whine of a dog in pain.
“That was an impressive modified forehand swing,” Nathan remarked as a distraction.
“Thanks,” Birk grunted. “I play tennis on weekends.”
Nathan opened his mouth to say, Our dog enjoyed your tennis balls, but settled for, “Game, set, match.”
Chapter 88
Every Man a Liar
Round and Round – Imagine Dragons
“Albin!” Amanda’s voice broke.
His heart aching, blood thundering in his ears, pain lancing behind his eyes, Albin halted to look back at her. What could he say to the woman, and her daughters who clung to her? Or to Bridges and Behrmann, who stood shoulder to shoulder in the hall, eyeing the guards. He could promise them no safety, no escape, no hope. The plan had not anticipated their involvement or capture.
“Do not give up.” The guards seized him by the upper arms and shoved him forward. He shook free. “Mind how you treat Neil Crevan’s guests.”
The armed and armored men exchanged glances, confused yet stubborn. They led him down the hall and then into a lift. It descended four floors, according to the glowing panel of buttons. Fortunately no music played in the car to make the situation even more unsettling.
The doors opened, presenting a corridor like one in
the executive level of an office building. Forest-green carpeting ran the length, offsetting the light blue walls. Impressionistic art pieces and portraits of famous scientists such as Curie, Pasteur, Crick, Watson, and Einstein decorated the hall. The image of Google’s founders gave him pause, but only for a moment, for the mercenaries urged him on.
They brought him to a room devoid of furnishings save for a single office chair behind a small desk. It faced the wall, which bore six flatscreens: two rows of three. They resembled a larger version of a security control room’s display. Between the two central screens a camera watched. A red light glowed beneath it.
The lighting cast the room in a faint blue hue, as if he had descended beneath the Caribbean. The sharks surrounded him.
The upper middle screen clicked on. Unsurprisingly, Neil Crevan’s face dominated the view. He looked less cadaverous than when he had spoken with Albin at Fort Bragg, California. A touch of color had come to his cheeks, as in his youth, yet it made him appear feverish now.
The old man’s lips parted, showing his yellowing teeth, like those of a skull left to molder. “Albin, my lad. I trust those blackguards didn’t mishandle you too severely. You showed real forethought to call me. I know you have something to speak with me about. You said it dealt with Janine.” Did his eyes almost twinkle?
“Yes, sir. But I would prefer to speak with you in person, rather than . . .” Albin gestured to the camera and screen.
“Of course, of course. But I regret to say that at the moment, I can’t. I have other things to attend to, as I’m sure you understand. We are about to achieve our greatest goal.”
“Are we? I’m afraid I do not understand.”
“You’ll see.” Crevan displayed a tight smile. “The wolf and the lamb will graze together. We’ll have peace on Earth and goodwill to men.”
“With whom you are well pleased?”
“Certainly. Ah, I do have time for something you’ll appreciate.”
The screen to the right glowed. A woman with fiery red hair and the rebellious ferocity of an Irish warrior queen appeared.
“Janine?” Albin stared. “Where are you?” In the background of her screen appeared a blue hue and wall similar to that which surrounded him.
“Albin?” She regarded him with suspicion, is if seeing a doppelganger. “Is that really you? I’m in New York. Where are you?”
Neil Crevan interposed: “Janine, he is in Colorado Springs. I thought you two might enjoy a little chat while you wait.”
Wait for what? The showmanship and suspense boded ill. Well known for his flair for the dramatic, Crevan must have planned a performance of considerable proportions for his audience.
“Albin,” the old man began, his tone off-handed, “you have news for Janine. About Nathan Serebus’s recent schemes and fate, in particular.”
“Yes. He is alive.” What did Crevan want him to say? Surely the old Irishman knew where Albin’s allegiances lay. “I do not believe now is the time to examine specifics. I will allow Mr. Serebus to explain in detail what has transpired.”
“But he’s alive and well?” Janine delivered the question like a prosecutor with a loaded line of inquiry.
“He is. I have done my best to protect him.”
Crevan laughed. “Didn’t I tell you, lassie? A more loyal and professional man as Albin Conrad you’ll not find. Now it’s up to that villainous viper Serebus to prove he’s a better man than Albin.”
The expected resistance from Janine failed to manifest. She merely frowned at the camera. What had Crevan said or done to make her so recalcitrant? He would not harm his daughter, certainly, but perhaps he had threatened her husband. For that matter, what had become of Mr. Serebus? The old man’s show must of necessity include the hated rival.
“You will excuse us, Janine.” When she nodded, her display went blank.
Her father turned his full attention to Albin. “That demon will maintain his innocence to the end. You watch. I know you and she are still sympathetic to him, but he’s a liar, just like his father the devil, and you’ll both see that.”
“Are we not all liars in our own right?”
“It’s the severity that counts, lad. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” The screen went dark, dropping the illumination of the room to a subtler aqua.
Chapter 89
Cursed is the Man Who Trusts
True Friends – Bring Me to the Horizon
“Come on,” Sophia grunted, helping Birk to lean on Nathan. The researcher looked anything but thrilled about this arrangement, but he evidently decided it trumped attempting to escape a heavily fortified installation alone with a knife lodged in his calf.
“Where are we going?” he gasped. He hopped on one foot a bit to regain his balance.
Nathan steadied himself for the three-legged race. If Birk proved too troublesome, a fireman’s carry would come next. “We’re going to meet the final bosses in this game.”
Sophia gave a nod as she glanced over the corpses, no emotion on her face. Both enemies lay still, pools of red spreading around them. Cheel’s trachea and the shredded ends of his major vessels glinted in the halogen lights. Nearby, Sarge’s brain leaked onto the tile as his eyes stared at infinity. Hopefully both fuckers stared at Hell.
The trio set off, Sophia and Nathan with their pistols in hand. Birk did not receive a weapon. If he truly needed one, he could always resort to yanking the blade from his leg. Nathan had stabilized it with duct tape. He’d tried not to be overly enthusiastic with his work. At least he hadn’t slapped a piece over the researcher’s mouth.
Overhead, dome security cameras watched them. The trio wouldn’t get far, but they didn’t need to. They would not leave without facing Crevan—even if they wished to avoid the encounter.
The intercom clicked on. “Stop where you are. Lay down your weapons, or we will use deadly force, hostage or not.”
The three exchanged glances. Sophia leaned around the corner ahead, pistol at high ready.
Nathan shook his head. “They’re right. You know that.”
“Well, at least I got some revenge.” Birk smiled, content.
“And I got rid of that bastard Sarge,” Sophia added.
Nathan studied her. “Why? Was he cutting in on your fee? You worked together well enough when you were shooting DHS officers.”
She regarded him with narrowed eyes, as if deciding between replying, or pistol whipping him in the teeth. “It’s not quite like you believe. I have good reason. He wiped out San Luis. He would have killed you and—”
Footsteps pounded down the hall. But which one? Two corridors formed the intersection. Ahead, right, left, or behind? Answer: all of the above.
Nathan’s pistol clattered to the floor as his hands went up.
Sophia paused, but the arrival of armed guards from every direction with rifles staring the escapees down convinced her to comply.
The captors slammed their prisoners against the wall. Nathan attempted to keep Birk upright. Face against the plasterboard close enough to smell the paint, Nathan stared into middle distance while the men searched him. Again. He carried no other weapons. The knife in Birk’s leg gave them pause, but they decided to leave it, opting for handcuffing their prey instead.
They dragged the snarling Birk, but Nathan and Sophia went without resistance. If the plan varied much more from the original, he may as well cease calling it Plan [insert letter] and begin calling it an entirely new title before he doubled up on letters.
They marched along passages, and down yet another flight of stairs. Birk’s hunch regarding deeper basement levels proved accurate. The mercenaries pushed their prisoners through a set of cherry-wood doors. The group entered a stark great hall half the size of a basketball court. Polished concrete formed the walls and floor. Lights glowed from sconces around the chamber. On the floor stretched a painted world map that covered the entire space.
The three captives halted, their esco
rts keeping careful watch.
“Well?” Nathan looked about at the mercenaries. “What now?”
A section of the wall on their left slid aside. A brunette in her late thirties or early forties emerged. She held herself with a noble’s comportment.
“Lexa,” Victor Birk greeted her in a clipped tone.
“Brother dearest.” She smirked as she approached. Then her gaze fell to his blood-soaked pant leg and the blade protruding from it. “What trouble have you gotten yourself into now? I attempt to help you, and this is how you repay me?”
He blanched. “Help? You could have bought my freedom easily enough, but you wanted Mercury’s technology. You could have bought Doorway’s research, too. Why did you make me do your dirty work for you? Let me guess! You wanted to cover your tracks.”
She crossed her arms, shifting her weight to her right foot as she surveyed her little brother. “Because, Victor, you need to learn responsibility. If you want a place in this organization, you must earn it. You must prove yourself worthy. This isn’t a job that’s handed to you because of who you know.”
“I earned my job at Doorway!” Birk snarled, straining against his captors. “I came up with those advances. Me! My research, not yours. I networked with other researchers. Me. Do you even do research anymore?” he sneered. “Or do you just sit around and tell others to do it? I’m sick of being your pawn.”
“I suppose I should be glad you’re not groveling.” She rolled her eyes in the manner of her brother. “But you do try my patience. Now come.” Gesture for him to approach. “You need medical treatment, I suppose. But know that I did do this for your own good. You’ll understand one day.”
The guards holding him half carried him as he attempted to limp.
From the passage behind her came another woman. She wore a T-shirt under her plate carrier, and a bandana over her auburn hair. She moved to stand at Lexa’s side, keeping a careful eye on Birk.
