The Belial Plan

by R. D. Brady

  After fifteen minutes, he turned to Dryden. “Call Mac. Tell him I want to find a way in there.”

  “Um, sir, it’s a bomb shelter.”

  “I know what the hell it is! Find me a way in.”

  CHAPTER 41

  Jake leaned forward, as if that would make the chopper go faster. They’d arranged for the Airbus H155, one of the fastest choppers in the world, to get them back to Baltimore. But they were still cutting it close. Fricano had called when they’d barely gotten into the air to let them know the ETF was at the estate. He’d stalled them, but they were inside the estate now.

  Jordan had taken Cain to the cabin in Pennsylvania, where a medical team met them. According to Jordan, the medical team had to operate on Cain and couldn’t say if the man would make it.

  Behind him, Henry pocketed his phone. His voice came through the headset. “Seward finished the search of the main house. He’s heading to the bunker.”

  “We’re not going to make it,” Jake said. They were fifteen minutes away. They were going to enter Dom’s shelter by the same route Laney had taken when she’d slipped away, but that meant they still had to travel two miles through a tunnel to get into the bunker itself.

  “We can save time by not landing,” Jen said.

  “You two can. But me breaking both legs will not speed up the process,” Jake said.

  “I can carry you,” Henry said.

  Jake narrowed his eyes. “How?”

  “Um, in my arms?” Henry replied.

  “Yeah, I don’t see that happening.”

  “It might be our only choice,” Jen said, then grinned. “Too tough to let another man cradle you like a baby?”

  Jake glared at her while Henry murmured, “Not helping, Jen.”

  She grinned. “Not really trying to.”

  “Jake, it might be our only shot,” Henry said.

  “We might still make it.”

  The next few minutes were tense. Jake’s phone beeped, and he looked down at it. It was a text from Dom. They’ll be here in ten minutes. You need to hurry.

  Jake stared at the field where the entrance was—and closed his eyes. Crap. He turned back to Jen and Henry. “We’re going to have to jump.”

  With a grin, Jen opened her mouth.

  Jake cut her off. “Not a word, Jen.”

  CHAPTER 42

  Dryden looked dumbfounded when Moses ordered him to find a way into the bomb shelter. Moses knew how ridiculous that request was—it would take hours, if he could even do it at all. But the Chandler Group did not get to thumb its nose at the United States government.

  “Um, yes, sir. I’ll—”

  All heads turned as the light above the door beeped and turned green.

  “See? You didn’t need your battering ram,” the lawyer said dryly.

  Moses whirled around to tell her to shut it, but she simply raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

  He growled and turned back to the door. With a puff of air, it swung open. A short bald man stood looking at them. “Oh, hey. I’m Yoni. I’ll show you down.”

  “About time.” Moses pushed past him, only to come up short at a blast door. He whirled on Yoni. “Why is this closed?”

  “Shelter rules—all doors must be locked when you’re through them. Give me a minute”—Yoni looked at the door and shrugged—“or five, and I’ll have us through.”

  Moses stepped back and pursed his lips. I hate every single person who works here.

  CHAPTER 43

  Henry rolled as he hit the ground, and Jake rolled as well, right out of Henry’s arms, for which he was grateful. Jake was not, in his mind, overly macho. But being cuddled against Henry’s chest while Henry leapt from the chopper was a little more than his ego could take.

  Henry reached down a hand and helped Jake to his feet. Jake looked into his friend’s face. “It goes without saying that what just happened, dies with us.”

  Henry smiled. “My lips are sealed.”

  Jen jogged up. “Mine, too. Now let’s move.”

  She blurred over to the entrance. Henry blurred as well, and feeling like a giant tortoise, Jake sprinted after them. By the time he reached the entrance, Jen had it open.

  The tunnel was only about six feet high. It had been hollowed out of the earth to be used for the Underground Railroad. It ran from this field straight to the estate.

  “You two need to go. Get to Dom’s,” Jake said.

  Henry shook his head. “I can carry—”

  Jake cut him off. “No. The tunnel’s too low. You’ll be running hunched over as it is. Even Jen and I will have to duck. Just get there as fast as you two can. We don’t have time.”

  Henry’s voice was laced with concern. “Jake, if you don’t get there in time…”

  “I know. Then Seward will know we were part of the breakout. So move. I’m right behind you.”

  With a nod, Jen took off. Henry gave Jake one last look.

  “Go,” Jake said.

  Henry blurred through the tunnel, but Jake could tell he wasn’t moving as fast as normal.

  Jake slammed the tunnel gate behind him and began to run, his shoulders hunched to keep him from slamming his head into the low ceiling. But still he pushed on, not letting himself slow.

  Please let this work.

  CHAPTER 44

  The trip down to the bomb shelter took twenty minutes. Each door required a separate security protocol, some of which were lengthy. Moses had moved beyond the furious stage. He knew Henry Chandler and Jake Rogan weren’t down here, and as soon as he had proof, he was going to swear out the warrant for their arrests. Picturing them being cuffed was the only thing keeping him sane.

  Rich guys like Chandler ticked him off. Wealthy, spoiled—life had been handed to guys like him on a silver platter. And as a result, they thought the rules didn’t apply to them.

  And then there was Rogan, a highly decorated Navy SEAL. All SEALs thought they were tough shit, like those two at the gate. Moses could have been a SEAL. He would have been an incredible SEAL. But he’d been drummed out of the Navy. They couldn’t handle a man like him. They were scared of a man like him. And now, Rogan was going to go down.

  “Well, here we are,” Yoni said, pulling the last door open. The man had kept up a nonstop stream of conversation the entire walk down. Moses knew from his file that his full name was Yoni Benjamin, that he’d been born in Israel but had American citizenship, and that he had worked for the Israeli military before joining the Navy. And he, too, was a Navy SEAL, who’d also worked with Rogan. Apparently Rogan had hired every damn SEAL he’d ever worked with.

  A man with gray and white hair and thick glasses shifted from foot to foot in the entryway.

  Moses pulled his sidearm. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Yoni stepped in front of the man. “This is Dom—Dr. Dominick Salvatore. He lives here. You are in his home.”

  Moses narrowed his eyes, lowering his weapon. He waved Yoni to the side. With a glare, Yoni moved to stand right next to the doctor, who was shaking. About time someone showed the correct amount of fear.

  “We are looking for Henry Chandler and Jake Rogan and a man by the name of Cain. You two will have to leave while we search.”

  “Wait a minute. The doc here does not leave his home. He’s got a condition,” Yoni said.

  “I don’t care.” Moses nodded to two of his men. “Take them out.”

  The lawyer stepped forward. “You are not allowed to remove anyone from the premises. They are allowed to remain for the search. To remove them violates the contents of the warrant.”

  “Who the hell’s going to know?” Moses asked.

  Yoni nodded toward the corner behind Moses. “Everybody.”

  Moses turned around and saw a camera. God damn these people. They had cameras everywhere. Bunch of criminals.

  “Whatever. Get out of the way.” Moses strode forward.

  Yoni pulled Dom out of the way, and Moses made his way down a long h
all and into a giant room. He’d never been in a bomb shelter, but this one, it really did look like a home. There was a kitchen area over to the left, a living room area with a large leather sectional, a plush carpet, what looked like a greenhouse in the back of the room, and plants everywhere.

  His gaze traveled across the space and stopped still at the leather couch. Or more specifically, at the two people sitting on it.

  Henry Chandler stood, his height causing him to tower over the woman who stood next to him—Jenifer Witt.

  Chandler inclined his head. “Agent Seward.”

  CHAPTER 45

  Moses frowned watching Chandler and Witt. They looked uncomfortable. Something was off. He crossed the room toward them. “What are you two doing here?”

  Chandler gestured toward the kitchen area. “Poker night.”

  On the kitchen table were the remnants of a poker game. The island was covered with takeout food boxes.

  Seward looked at Jen. “And you?”

  Jen nodded to Henry. “He just told you.”

  “You play poker?”

  Witt crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes. “Gee, sexist much?”

  Moses glared at her. “Someone broke into a secure government facility and abducted one of the inmates that had been held at the SIA facility. What do you know about that?”

  “Nothing,” Henry said.

  Jen shrugged. “I know that whoever named it a secure facility should probably lose their job.”

  Seward narrowed his eyes. “Why would you say that?”

  Jen spoke slowly. “Because you just said someone broke in and abducted someone from there. That doesn’t sound secure.”

  Seward stepped toward her, intending to intimidate her. But she held her ground and stared at him like she was bored. She even blew out a breath. In fact, Seward had to stop short or else he’d run into her. She raised an eyebrow at him with a smirk as if she knew he trying to intimidate her. And it rankled Moses that she was taller than him.

  “Need something, agent?” she asked.

  With a growl, he stepped back. They don’t matter, he reminded himself. He doubted either of them was in on the actual abduction. Chandler was a paper pusher, and Witt—she had no training. She was an academic.

  He looked around the space, focusing on an open doorway in the back. He nudged his chin toward it. “Where does that lead?”

  “Bedrooms, Dom’s office, storage room, two bathrooms,” Henry said.

  Seward waved his men toward the door. “Check them.”

  Seward noticed Henry swallow. “Nervous, Mr. Chandler?”

  Chandler kept his gaze. “No. My stomach’s just a little queasy.”

  Seward scanned the space. “Where’s Jake Rogan?”

  Neither Chandler nor Witt answered him.

  He turned back to them. “I said, where is Jake Rogan?”

  “Find him yourself,” Witt said, taking a seat.

  “But he’s not here, is he?” Seward smiled as he strode toward the back hall. Rogan wasn’t here. Finally. They had slipped up. They had—

  The sound of a toilet flushing interrupted his thoughts. He stepped into the hall as a door halfway down the hall opened. Jake Rogan stepped out, his hand on his stomach. His face was pale, and he was sweating hard. He grimaced. “Do not eat the shrimp,” he said as he passed Seward and headed for the main area.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Seward yelled.

  Jake turned slowly, holding on to the wall. “What?”

  “Tonight—where have you been?”

  “Here, apparently eating shrimp that’s going to keep me up all night. I put the fan on in the bathroom, but you still might give it a minute before you head in there.”

  “Is there something I’m going to find?”

  “Yeah,” Jake drawled, “the smell of vomit.” He turned and continued down the hall.

  Seward watched him go. Not possible. He knew Rogan, at least, had to be in on the break-in. He was Henry Chandler’s go-to man. He could not be here.

  But he also knew there was only one entrance in and out of the shelter. And his men had had the estate under observation for hours.

  He gritted his teeth. Rogan had been part of this. He felt it in his bones. He just couldn’t prove it.

  One of his men walked up to him. “Sir, we’ve checked the storage room and the bedrooms. There’s no sign of—”

  “Oh, shut up.” Seward stormed away.

  CHAPTER 46

  The doctor and nurses had worked on Cain for hours. They had even opened him up and operated on him to address the internal bleeding. Patrick had stayed out of their way, keeping up an almost continual prayer for the man’s safety. Jordan was stationed outside, along with four other guards who had arrived to keep the cabin secured.

  Now the doctor and one of the nurses were sleeping in one of the rooms down the hall. Charles, the other nurse, kept track of Cain’s vitals, watching the monitors for any change. Charles was a tall, muscular, African-American vet who had been an army medic and had joined the Chandler Group after his third tour in Afghanistan.

  “Is it all right if I sit with him now?” Patrick asked.

  “Go ahead, Father. I’m actually going to grab some coffee, if you don’t mind. Give me a yell if anything changes, okay?”

  “Will do.”

  “Can I bring you some coffee?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  “I’m just down the hall if you need me.” Charles stepped out of the room.

  Patrick pulled a chair over to Cain’s bedside. Cain lay quietly, bright white sheets pulled up to his neck, his dark hair spread across the pillow. His unusual eyes were hidden behind his closed eyelids. He looked so pale.

  Patrick didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to think. Cain was the world’s first murderer, and he had paid a huge penalty for that act. But he hadn’t been the world’s last murderer.

  Murders happened every day—every thirty-one minutes, in fact. Patrick remembered talking with Laney once about the criminal justice system. She said that even for violent crimes, most cities’ clearance rates never topped sixty-four percent, which meant almost forty percent of murderers were never caught. But even that was a misunderstanding of the stats. Sometimes cases were cleared without someone being convicted. Patrick had personally heard of cases where people had done horrible things and spent little to no time locked up. Yet this man had been punished for thousands of years.

  Patrick himself had taken lives—in the war, but more recently as well. It had always been in the act of defending himself or others—but did that truly make a difference? Wasn’t a life a life?

  He’d known what kind of men those agents had been. And he’d done nothing.

  He gently gripped Cain’s hand and leaned in close. “I’m sorry, Cain. I’m so sorry.”

  PATRICK HAD FALLEN asleep in a chair next to Cain’s bed. When he opened his eyes, darkness had fallen, and his back protested. Charles was moving quietly about the room, checking the monitors and making notations on Cain’s chart.

  Patrick sat up quickly, then winced as pain shot through his lower back. “Am I in your way?”

  Charles looked over and shook his head. “You’re fine. And your friend is doing well. The doctor checked him while you were sleeping. No signs of a leak, no fever—those are good indicators. Right now he just needs sleep.”

  “Is the doctor still here?”

  “No. The patient’s out of the woods, so she and Sheila took off. She’ll be back in two days to check on him, and I’ll stay around the clock.”

  “He’s out of the woods?”

  “Yeah. I have no idea how, but yeah. It’s going to take a while, and we’ll need to keep an eye on him, but he’s looking good. I’m going to get a bite to eat and then I’ll sleep in here.” He nodded to a cot in the corner. “You should go get some sleep yourself. I’ll wake you if anything changes. But like I said, he’s looking good.” Charles headed out of the roo
m.

  Patrick knew he was right, but he wasn’t ready to leave, not quite yet.

  Cain stirred. Patrick leaned forward. “Cain?”

  Cain mumbled, his words unintelligible.

  Patrick leaned forward even more. “Cain, it’s Patrick. You’ve sustained a lot of injuries, but the doctor says you’ll be all right.”

  Cain’s eyes opened slowly.

  Relief flooded through Patrick. “You’re going to be okay. We got to you in time.”

  Cain struggled to swallow. When he spoke, his voice was weak. “How?”

  “Henry, Jake, Jen—they raided the facility and got you out.”

  Cain nodded. “Why?”

  Patrick felt the man’s desolation, his loneliness. And he spoke the truth, if only in part. “Because we didn’t want you to die.”

  Cain’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”

  Patrick tapped his hand lightly. “Get some sleep. You need to heal.”

  Cain’s breathing evened out, and Patrick bowed his head. Cain was going to be all right. With one last glance at his friend, he shuffled down the hall looking for a spot to lay his own head.

  CHAPTER 47

  BEVERLY HILLS, CALIFORNIA

  Elisabeta reviewed the notes on the children. All were female, about the same size, and within a few pounds of each other. There were a dozen or so birthmarks between them. But nothing that screamed “I am the mother of all humanity.”

  She pushed the papers away with a grunt. Even as a child, you’re making things difficult, she thought, picturing Victoria when she’d last seen her. But if all went as planned, she would know who she was soon enough. And then, of course, the question was what to do with the rest of them.

  But that was a problem for a different day. Today’s problem was identifying the correct child, and Elisabeta’s patience was running thin on that count. Perhaps she should have waited before grabbing the children—but she had thought she would have had the book by now. Nothing had run as well without Gerard. That man was nothing if not efficient.