Code Name: Baby

by Christina Skye

  Gunfire chattered sharply. Wolfe cut his way around the back of the Hummer, grabbed his cursing, confused target, and tossed him against the side of the black vehicle.

  Grunting, the two fought, slipping in the mud. Wolfe knocked a handgun out of the man’s grip, then felt his attacker’s weight shift.

  The man toppled sideways, and Wolfe realized he was too late. One quick self-inflicted knife stroke had brought blood pumping in dark waves from the man’s ravaged neck.

  Who in the hell were these guys? Wolfe didn’t bother searching for a pulse. It was too late for that. At least he still had one assailant unconscious but alive and fit for interrogating. He also had the dead man’s cell phone for Izzy to examine.

  Grimly, he checked inside the Hummer, but the vehicle was empty. No maps, no computers, no documents of any sort. No sign of who had sent them or what they’d come for.

  FUBAR.

  Staring into the darkness, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Izzy.

  HUDDLED ON THE MUDDY BANK with her dogs, Kit shivered in the darkness. Everything had happened too fast. She couldn’t process, caught in a blur of fear and shock.

  She was soaked from slipping into the canal twice. Her feet slid through the mud and her hip ground against a rough concrete girder at the edge of the ditch, pain lancing down into her joint.

  She closed her eyes, certain she was going to black out.

  Her hands tightened around Butch’s body, and the big puppy wiggled closer, licking her face. When she finally struggled back onto dry ground, she saw that the Hummer had stopped near her Jeep.

  A man left the car. Then the driver emerged, a silent, lethal silhouette with an automatic weapon.

  A heartbeat later, something moved in the reeds. The dogs tensed at the muffled thud of men fighting. But it was harder and harder for her to concentrate on the sounds around her with her right hip burning as if someone was twisting the socket. Staring up at the night sky, soaked and frozen, she tried to ignore the pain and focus.

  The stars jumped back and forth in jerky lines above her. Dimly she heard the sigh of the wind along the tall reeds beside the canal.

  The fighting suddenly stopped. Baby’s head nudged her neck as a wave of dizziness hit her.

  There was no sign of Wolfe in the darkness. She listened for sounds of fighting or footsteps while her fingers tightened in Baby’s warm fur, but the cold settled around her. She was having trouble keeping her eyes open.

  Pain left her light-headed, her thoughts jumbled.

  Why had a car followed them into the darkness? Why had a van been parked near Miki’s house all day, and how was Wolfe involved?

  But the cold was worse. Shivering, she closed her eyes and laid her head down on Baby’s neck, slipping into the darkness.

  “NOTHING HERE.” Izzy glared at the inside of the Hummer. “Who are these guys?”

  “Just what I’d like to know.” Wolfe shone his flashlight into the back of the Hummer. “They knew what they were looking for. I heard the driver ask his buddy if he’d found the woman and the dogs yet.”

  “Well briefed and well financed, just the way Ryker suspected.” Izzy studied the body of the man who had slit his own throat moments before. “What the hell are these people so afraid of?”

  “Maybe it’s not fear,” Wolfe said quietly.

  “Then what?”

  “Loyalty.” Wolfe studied the motionless body. “Or the belief that they are following a higher code.” He pushed to his feet. “I need to find Kit and the dogs. We’re going to require transport, since they shot the hell out of her Jeep.”

  “Get my truck. I’ll clean up here and take our other friend along for questioning.” Izzy tossed the key to Wolfe. “Across the canal, then make a sharp left.”

  By the time Wolfe drove Izzy’s truck back toward the spot where Kit had jumped, the night was absolutely silent. Even though no other cars had followed them, he had to force down images of Kit, bound and gagged, taken captive.

  But if there had been an attempt to take her, he would have known. Even Cruz, skilled as he was, would have left some subtle energy trail for Wolfe to follow.

  Somewhere to his left a low growl erupted near a clump of reeds.

  “Baby, is that you?”

  The long stems shook. A dark figure raced up the bank and slammed into his leg. Wolfe bent down and patted Baby, scanning the darkness for any sign of Kit. “Good dog. Where’s Kit? Go find her, honey.”

  The reeds shook again. Two more bodies raced toward Wolfe. Butch and Sundance plowed into his chest, rocking him back from the impact. “Where’s Kit, you two?”

  Baby shot off over the mud, with Wolfe following closely. A narrow track looped up the bank, then back down toward the silver line of the canal.

  A dark shape was stretched out beside the water. With a sickening jolt Wolfe realized it was Kit.

  He stabbed at his cell phone as he ran toward her, snapping orders the moment Izzy answered. “Teague, Kit’s down. Can you hotwire the Hummer?”

  “Not a problem. Where are you?”

  “Back at the canal. Get moving.”

  Wolfe cut the connection as he dropped to his knees beside Kit, sliding wet hair off her face. “Kit, can you hear me?”

  When she didn’t answer, he searched her wet body, checking for signs of blood or trauma, but finding none.

  She still didn’t move. Cursing softly, he pulled a penlight out of his pocket and flashed it on her face. A nasty cut ran along her right eyebrow. A line of bruises rose starkly at her upper cheek. At least she was breathing.

  He cupped her jaw gently. “Wake up, sleeping beauty. We gotta move.”

  She didn’t budge.

  He heard the low growl of the Hummer behind him and waved one hand to guide Izzy closer. Even then his gaze didn’t leave Kit’s face. She was pale and fragile in the beam of his pocket light, and Wolfe felt something squeeze hard in his chest. He didn’t have a name for the emotion. Maybe he didn’t want to have a name for it.

  Grimly, he pulled off his sweater and draped it over her wet body. “Come on, honey. Rise and shine, damn it. Wake up and curse me some more. Kick me or kiss me, I don’t care which.” His voice turned hoarse. “Damn it, Kit, can you hear me?”

  He was afraid to move her for fear of broken bones. Izzy, trained as a medic, would make that decision. Baby was quiet, huddled on the ground, pressed against her shoulder. None of the dogs moved, watching him intently.

  Looking back into the darkness, he shouted at the Hummer crawling along the bank. “What the hell is taking so long, Teague? We’re over here.”

  The gleaming metal body seemed to take forever to reach him, and all the while Kit hadn’t moved.

  Wolfe gave up trying to believe that this was just another mission. Kit was more than a civilian target he’d been assigned to protect. She was part of his past—and possibly part of his future, even if he couldn’t face all the implications yet. He’d wondered how the situation could get any worse. Now he knew.

  SHE WAS TRAPPED in a place of fog and nightmares, a place where the wind burned, cutting her skin and weighing down her too-fragile bones. In the distance sounds came and went, disjointed and low.

  After a while none of it mattered.

  At least the pain was familiar. In some way it was even comforting. She knew she should wake up, feed the dogs, check the kennels—work, always work.

  But today was different. Something important had happened to her today. She frowned, unable to remember what had happened or why it was so important. Then she was too tired to care.

  After a while she drifted back down into the fog while pale stars glittered like false promises high above her head.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Foxfire headquarters

  Somewhere north of Los Alamos

  “DID YOU SEE THAT?” The civilian inspector sent as liaison from D.C. hunched forward, peering at his split-screen monitor.

  Lloyd Ryker didn’t bother to ans
wer. Of course he’d seen. He’d seen the damned video feed a dozen times by now, and it never got any better. It was a walking, talking PR nightmare in the making.

  But Ryker made sure that none of that showed on his face.

  Control.

  Confuse.

  Conceal.

  “See what?” he said calmly.

  His newest visitor was ex-NSA and inclined to be a little excitable. “That.” The liaison officer stabbed a finger toward the flickering screen of his computer. “One minute the man was there, the next minute he’s gone.”

  Ryker eased back in his chair and studied the monitor as the images flowed past, ghostlike. He’d tried to block the facility inspection. He’d pulled strings and tried every kind of back-alley bargaining.

  No dice. Now he had a civilian breathing down his neck, and it couldn’t have come at a worse time. But you didn’t argue with the liaison from the head of military appropriations.

  So Ryker sat tight and figured how to run damage control. For starters he had edited the tape with Cruz, blurring his face and cutting details wherever the changes wouldn’t be too obvious. The next thing to go had been the shots of the lab animals under Cruz’s control. All his visitor knew was that the facility was doing animal tests in connection with a new nanotechnology protocol.

  The liaison from D.C. sat forward, frowning at the screen. “Can’t you get your techs to clean up this tape? I can barely see what’s going on in there.”

  That was the whole idea, Ryker thought grimly.

  “I’ve got three of them working on it as we speak,” he lied smoothly. “But I didn’t want you to wait. I know how important your time is, Mr. Garvey.”

  More images flickered past. Twenty seconds later the animals in the lab were free and there was no evidence of Cruz’s ability to manipulate them.

  As Ryker watched the tape, he felt sweat trickle down his neck. It was hell having an outsider dissect his security tapes. He knew that his political future—and maybe even his life—depended on tracking Cruz down before the inspection went any deeper.

  On the screen Cruz hunched over the computer terminal, typing quickly, seen only from the back.

  “He doesn’t know you added a third camera inside the fire extinguisher,” Garvey said smugly. “Not so smart after all.”

  The man’s IQ is higher than yours and mine put together, Ryker thought.

  On the screen, a password prompt appeared, followed by a string of dots as Cruz entered the security code.

  Garvey swung around in his chair, frowning. “How did he get active passwords?”

  Hell if Ryker knew. That scared him more than anything.

  Garvey was studying the screen, and he didn’t look so smug now.

  “Maybe we should take a break.” Ryker stood up and stretched. “Get a cup of coffee and clear the cobwebs.”

  “Later.” Garvey frowned as addresses, contact names, secret government operations and specs for high-tech equipment scrolled past on the screen. “I don’t understand any of this. What are these coded files?”

  Garvey sounded irritated, as well he should. Foxfire was a highest-clearance, restricted operation, and Ryker had made sure to doctor as much of the tape as he could, effectively concealing the program’s true purpose.

  “What the hell’s going on here, Ryker?” Garvey snapped. “What kind of work are you doing in this facility—and why wasn’t the committee informed about any changes?”

  Because it’s way above their security level, son. Definitely above yours.

  But Ryker said nothing. He had known one day Washington would send one of their glib experts to ask questions like this.

  His voice was calm as he reached for his cup of cold coffee. “We’ve been trying out some new surveillance equipment here, but we retired the program six months ago. Sounded good on paper, but no strategic value.” His fingers eased to his pocket, closed around the angular body of his Sig 9 mm. “We pulled the plug before the accounting drones could trash us in their facility review. Stop looking so paranoid.” The explanation sounded logical, completely unrehearsed.

  Sounding honest had always been Ryker’s greatest skill.

  The liaison officer was quiet, staring at the computer, where the details of a fourteen-year military record scrolled past. Ryker had itched to destroy the last part of the feed, but he didn’t dare. The change in timestamp and length would be too obvious.

  Instead he’d blurred the file and chopped out several of the final crucial seconds.

  Garvey stopped the frame. “Wolfe Houston?” He frowned at Ryker. “I know that name. Wasn’t he the sniper we sent to Ecuador last year during the oil crisis? I didn’t know he’d left the SEALs.”

  Ryker didn’t answer. He cradled the Sig in his jacket pocket lovingly. All it would take was one bullet. Then no more review and no more questions.

  The bureaucrats would take over the world, if you let them.

  There were no cameras running inside this room. Ryker had always made that a requirement in his command areas. When accidents happened, the last thing you wanted was video feed your enemies could use against you.

  After twenty-four years in secure operations, Ryker had a whole pack of people waiting to rip out his throat in the most painful way possible.

  He’d have to get rid of Garvey with more concocted stories, buying time until Houston snagged Cruz. It had been a colossal mistake to turn any of the experimental canines over to a civilian, that much was clear. Ryker had argued against the plan from the start, but he’d been outnumbered.

  It was time the dogs were brought back into the lab where they belonged, inside cages, under constant surveillance, undergoing the strict training that produced guaranteed results. No more of this feel-good coddling that wasted taxpayer dollars.

  But first Foxfire needed their prize guinea pig captured alive. Cruz had begun to show impressive new skills in the last few months and Ryker desperately needed to isolate exactly which protocols had triggered those skills. After that, Cruz would be as expendable as any other rat in this well-hidden lab. Ryker might even enjoy killing Cruz himself.

  But first Wolfe Houston had to find Cruz. Then he had to bring him in. Neither task would be easy, even for a Navy SEAL with Houston’s impressive record and enhanced skills.

  Ryker realized Garvey was staring at him. “What?”

  “You’ve got a call on your line, sir.” Garvey stood up, closing his laptop with a snap. “I’m packing it in.” His face was thoughtful as he locked his laptop in a secure drawer for the night. “I’ll call you later if I have any more questions.”

  There would be thousands of questions, Ryker knew, but he hid his irritation. “That will be fine. I’ve got a long night of reading in front of me. You know how important it is to stay up-to-date with the new research.”

  “I appreciate that you’re so accommodating. Cooperation is always looked on favorably by the committee.”

  After Garvey left, Ryker stared at the drawer containing his secure laptop. He thought about overriding the lock to see what data Garvey had acquired, but he decided against it.

  The situation was bad, but not that bad.

  His phone light continued to blink. He cleared his mind and lifted the receiver. “Ryker here.” As he listened, his eyes narrowed. “Tell me what you’ve got, Teague. And your news had better be fantastic.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “CAN’T YOUDOSOMETHING?” Wolfe’s voice was raw as he tried to see what Izzy was doing.

  “Stop crowding me.” Izzy nudged him away with his elbow. “Go get the Betadine from the shelf near the window.”

  “Where?”

  “Small brown bottle. Blue label,” Izzy said calmly. “And settle the hell down. She’s going to be fine. Some cuts, a few bruises, but she’ll be good to go soon.” With deft fingers Izzy wrapped a piece of gauze around Kit’s wrist, where he’d just finished cleaning bits of gravel out of a jagged, shallow wound.

  “Then why isn’
t she waking up?” Wolfe snapped. “It’s been twenty minutes.”

  “Sixteen minutes, thirty-two seconds.” Izzy rolled his shoulders. “Stop worrying, Navy. Her pulse is strong and her color is coming back.” Gently, he lifted Kit’s eyelid, checking for a response. Then he made notes in the little notebook that went everywhere with him.

  Bright halogen lights blanketed the small examining table where Kit lay motionless. The Hummer was gone, on the way to the government lab for analysis. Wolfe still wasn’t certain how Izzy had managed to procure the snug, self-contained van filled with medical equipment, and he didn’t bother to ask. There was a reason that Ishmael Teague was known as a miracle worker.

  “You’re sure you’ve got medical experience, Teague? I mean real medical experience, not stitching up dogs or overseeing mental cases.”

  “I’ve got more field training than most senior surgeons at the Mayo Clinic, pal. And these cuts are largely superficial. She’ll have a knot on her forehead for a while, along with the mother of all headaches when she wakes up. Watch her for dizziness, double vision—I’ll give you the list.” He snapped a glance at Wolfe. “Where’s that Betadine?”

  “Right here, Doctor Frankenstein.”

  Izzy snorted as he opened the bottle, poured dark liquid on a clean piece of gauze, and brushed Kit’s wound. “Sugar would work just as well, but knowing your suspicious nature, you’d probably go evil on me, Houston.”

  “Sugar? What kind of jive is that?”

  Izzy’s brow rose. “That’s no kind of jive. Sugar and honey have been used to treat battlefield wounds for centuries. The Greeks did it, the Egyptians did it, and it works. We used it over in Bosnia on occasion. Not many people realize that topical sugar is a universal antimicrobial agent. You don’t have to worry about dosage or allergic reactions either. But I’ll spare your sensibilities and go hi-tech here instead.” He smiled as Wolfe glared at him. “True story, I swear it. The sugar melts in a few hours, mixes with fluid from the wound and actually helps inhibit bacteria.”