by Clare Murray
“It was, as of twenty-four hours ago. I wouldn’t be surprised if those slimy toads have some things up and running again, though. Like the ability to see what terms you just searched for.”
“Shit,” the tech muttered.
“So say they hedge their bets,” Nikolai cut in. “If there are two bunkers the president uses for evacuations, that’s a fifty percent chance they’ll intercept us. If they’re snooping on our snooping, they may well send the bulk of their soldiers to Chaucer…”
“Who’s the highest rank in this room?” Russ asked.
A soldier stepped forward. “Me. I’m Sergeant Shauna Ibekwe.”
“Can you order an extra patrol to follow General Worth and the president to Fort Chaucer? Twenty Twins should be enough.”
Ibekwe looked dubious. “By law, yes I can. If the general notices, though, he’ll order us back and…do we all want our asses on the line just in case thirty soldiers can’t handle an ambush we don’t know will even happen?”
Cam watched Abby wilt a little as the room erupted in loud muttering. He squeezed her thigh, wishing he could communicate mind-to-mind, tell her that he fully believed in her, that she was right to question authority here.
“Okay, listen up! We know their end goal is to kill President Wright.” Russ spoke firmly enough to cause the muttering to die down. “If they do that, they might even have a crack at getting into office themselves—or more likely, forcing civil war by claiming they’re in the better position to lead and deeming Washington, DC the Capitol again.”
“Anyone wanna risk that?” Cam said into the ensuing silence. “If not, we’d better get out there ourselves. Sergeant?”
“All right. I’ll take volunteers—”
Ninety percent of the room raised their hands.
“Twenty volunteers,” Ibekwe clarified, and pointed to Abby, Russ and Cam. “Including you, you, and you, to ride with me inside the tank I’m going to commandeer.”
There was nervous laughter at that last, but she threw them all a challenging look. “If I’m going to foil a possible ambush, I’m doing it in style. Besides, the tank will fit fifteen of us. The rest of you will travel in a Humvee. Draw straws on your own time.”
“And not a word about this to anyone,” Russ warned.
“Agreed,” said the sergeant. “We roll out in fifteen, which puts us five minutes behind General Worth. Let’s go.”
* * * * *
The inside of a tank was a lot less glamorous than she’d expected, and there was no comfort in perching on a tiny seat with a commtab in her lap. Yet she’d been the one to set all this in motion, so Abby had nobody but herself to blame.
Two Humvees followed them, allowing the tank to set the pace. They’d commandeered the second Humvee after the sergeant had reluctantly allowed an extra pair of Twins to join them, grumbling about how she might as well go big if she wasn’t going to go home. Abby liked her already. She was blunt and ethical, several cuts above the brutes Headquarters employed in their so-called “Federal” military. She drove the tank herself, chocolate-brown eyes measuring the controls with familiarity and skill.
“Keep an eye on the internal messages,” Russ said, leaning over to speak directly into her ear. He brushed a kiss against the back of her neck as he withdrew, an affection that took the edge off her apprehension at rolling into a potential ambush.
“There won’t be anything of note,” Abby said. “But I’ll keep monitoring in case one of them screws up and leaks information.”
From what she gathered, they were headed in the direction of the former airport. There was a small, pre-war bunker on its grounds, apparently built as an emergency bolt-hole for high-ranking politicians. Now, she reflected, its existence was pretty widely known.
Right on schedule, they cruised five minutes behind General Worth and the presidential cavalcade. The sound of distant sirens floated in the breeze.
“Protocol,” Cam had muttered before helping her through the hatch. “Never mind that they’re drawing attention to themselves.”
“Why doesn’t President Wright just stay in Chicago?” Abby asked him.
“Protocol is to move her to a secure area. General Worth follows the old ways.”
Abby flinched as the tank went over a bump. It was stressful not being able to see where she was going, although the sergeant drove the vehicle with clear expertise. The soldier’s obvious confidence seemed to bolster the general mood as well.
Until the first blast happened.
Abby clapped her hands to her ears as the ground shook beneath the treads. Her gasp was lost in the ensuing hubbub. The tank remained upright and in one piece. She took a deep breath of metal-and-sweat scented air. They were all right—but was the president still alive?
“Bomb,” Nikolai said. His face was ashen. “Really close too.”
Grammie was going to kill her. Kill. Her. Abby grabbed the commtab before it clattered to the floor and said a silent prayer.
“I’m going full throttle,” Sergeant Ibekwe snapped into the radio. “Humvees, stay behind me. That sounded like it exploded near the presidential cavalcade. Nikolai, tune into the general channel, see if you can pick up any chatter.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tinny voices filled the tank as Nikolai turned up the radio.
“—vehicle down, sir!”
“—fatalities? Move it, move it, move it!” That was General Worth’s harsh voice.
“Twenty hit. Lots of walking wounded. Need medics out here.”
“Call for backup. What—goddamn! Enemy incoming!”
She’d been right, Abby thought. The enemy had deliberately led them into thinking their plans were easily seen and straightforward. Abby clenched her hands around the commtab, wishing she’d been wrong. She’d have taken embarrassment over this terror.
Doing her part, Abby scrolled through the tiny crop of new Shadow Feds messages. None were of import. Probably because the ruse was up—they knew she was snooping, and knew she knew. God that was complicated. Even so, she kept her eyes on the screen.
“Backup coming your way,” Ibekwe snapped into the mic.
“Not giving your ETA, sir?” Nikolai asked.
“I’d rather blow the enemy out of the fucking water without giving our position away first,” the sergeant said. “There’s enough ruined houses around here to shield our presence unless they have air support. So get ready to be mobile if necessary. Who here has experience defusing bombs?”
Nikolai’s Twin raised his hand.
“Good. Russ, escort Lev when I give the command. I’ve seen your record—you have experience with ground objectives. Abby, anything interesting?”
“Still monitoring, but I don’t think anything’s going to come through. They know their internal emails are compromised.”
“Backup, get here now.” General Worth rasped. “There are bombs all over the place. I’m executing Plan Smoke.”
“Roger that, sir,” Ibekwe said.
“Plan Smoke?” someone asked.
“Means he’s turning back to Chicago with the president. Problem is, two thirds of his soldiers are injured or down. We need to get any on-road bombs defused, stat, or we’ll lose more. Glad I brought this goddamn tank.”
Abby looked uneasily at the hatch. Russ was going out there? To defuse bombs? She caught his gaze and he gave her a quick smile, mouthing I’ll be fine.
“Listen up,” Ibekwe said. “I estimate two minutes until ETA. You’re Twins, you can outrun the tank. I want you to concentrate on finding any bombs in between us and the president’s vehicle. Most importantly, I want you to communicate with each other. I’ll clearly broadcast where and when I’m shooting, so your partners need to keep you apprised of everything. Communication is key. Go, go, go!”
Russ and Lev moved so fast they actually blurred. They were up
and out the hatch before Abby could expel the breath she was holding. She caught a brief glimpse of roofless houses underneath a blue sky before metal obstructed her view again.
“Enemy definitely present, sir,” Cam said. “Russ counts three unfamiliar vehicles, mostly vans. They’re in pursuit of the president.”
The sergeant steered the tank around a corner—at least, Abby assumed that was what she was doing, because the vehicle tilted before levelling out again. Outside, there was another boom, closer this time.
“Roadside bomb explosion. President Wright is untouched, but surrounded by enemy vehicles,” Nikolai relayed.
“They have a van approaching. Opposite side. Remote-controlled. Heading at speed toward the cavalcade,” Cam snapped.
“Yeah, I see it. It’s probably rigged with a shitload of bombs. Tell your partners to get away.” Sergeant Ibekwe yanked a lever and straightened the tank out. “Going to be messy. Cover your ears. Firing!”
Abby managed to clap her hands to the sides of her head, balancing the commtab on her knees as the metal underneath her vibrated. Immediately, there was another, larger explosion, one that rocked the tank on its axis. It nearly covered the sound of Cam’s gasp.
Abby whirled as the Twin shrugged out of his seat belt and fled up the hatch, moving too fast for her to react. Was Russ…?
“Enemy van down. Direct hit,” the sergeant reported into the mic, her knuckles white as they gripped it. “General Worth?”
“Threat neutralized. Proceeding to destination under Plan Smoke,” General Worth rasped through the speakers.
“Lev is on the ground, alive but hurt,” said the man’s Twin.
“Cam? Shit, where’d he go?”
“Out the hatch. Can I follow him?” Abby asked.
Ibekwe expression was sympathetic, but she shook her head. “I need you to continue monitoring communications.”
Abby blinked tears away, bending to the screen. A message lurked in the corner, waiting for her to access it. With some hesitation, she pulled it up.
Senator Green: THIS ISN’T OVER, WHORE. WATCH YOUR BACKS.
“Sergeant, I received…a message.” Abby couldn’t bring herself to read it out, but handed it over.
“Hmm. Does the senator know you personally?”
“You could say that.”
“Why is it that we have multiple derogatory words for women who sleep around, yet none for men?” The sergeant shook her head. “Sounds like a tacit admission of defeat to me.”
“I think maybe so,” Abby whispered. Her entire body ached. Where was Russ? Was he hurt?
“Report?” Ibekwe turned to Nikolai.
“Lev says it’s quiet out there. President Wright just reached her destination. Bomb removal team defused one booby trap but discovered no more—don’t think they had the time or manpower to rig anything more complicated than a few roadside bombs and that remote-controlled van.”
“What about Russ?” Ibekwe asked.
Nikolai hesitated, his gaze going to Abby. Ibekwe looked as well, then gestured sharply at the hatch. “Go on out if you want. Your own risk, understand?”
Abby nodded, unable to speak. She clambered up the metal rungs and into the bright sun outside.
Chapter Twelve
Russ remembered the flash, nothing else.
Now he was being jounced back and forth, and something on his cheek tickled him to no end. He reached to scratch it, but his arm was pinioned.
“Russ, stay still.” The voice was achingly familiar, and so very worried. She shouldn’t worry so, his Abby. He tried to tell her so, but was summarily shushed by multiple voices.
A slight opening of his left eye revealed trees and faces, all of which bounced sickeningly side to side. Carried. He was being carried.
“We’ve got you.” Cam’s voice in his head was uncharacteristically strained. Where was the teasing? The jokes?
The trees blurred, then disappeared. The sky was black and lined with ripples. It, too, lurched.
He opened his eyes a few minutes later. Or an hour later, he wasn’t sure. This time the sun was far too bright, bearing down on him like a laser. He made a moan of protest.
“—waking up. Hold him steady.”
“—get the dosage right? Need to increase it now, or we’ll lose him.”
A cold sting at his arm. A stern-looking pair of eyes above a surgical mask. Russ tried to cling to the emotion in them as he slipped away into oblivion.
* * * * *
The surgeon who strode from the operating room was both a welcome and unwelcome sight. Abby clung to Cam, who’d been pale and withdrawn ever since they’d peeled Russ off the ground and rushed him to the Complex’s infirmary for emergency surgery.
“Well, he’s taken quite the knock to the head, and we had to relieve swelling on the brain.” The surgeon spoke before she even reached them, peeling off a pair of gloves. “He’ll be fine, to make a long story short. Twins are a hard-headed bunch.”
“He’ll be fine?” Abby repeated.
“Yes. Needs rest, of course. Knowing the stubbornness of Twins, you’ll probably have to hold him to the bed.” She gave Abby an amused glance. “Or come up with a few suitable distractions that don’t require him to move much.”
“Thank you,” Cam rasped. “Thank you, doctor.”
“It’s my job.” But her face softened. “His bed is through that door and to the left. It would be good if you were there when he comes to. Sometimes Twins can be a little aggressive when the general wears off.”
Neither Abby nor Cam had to be told twice. They went to sit on either side of Russ’s hospital bed, watching every move with unblinking fierceness. They didn’t have to wait long before he began to surface, slitting open his beautiful cobalt eyes with a groan. There was a long, thin slit on the side of his head from where they’d operated, covered by a bandage. Both Abby and Cam caught his arm as he lifted his hand to his head.
Even his scowl was beautiful, Abby thought, staring at him through tears as Cam restrained his brother, communicating mind-to-mind. A few seconds later, Russ dropped his arm, resting it on Abby’s hand.
That peace didn’t last long, however.
“A week?” Russ growled when a doctor came in to debrief him.
“A week,” the doctor replied firmly. “Strictly in bed for the first three days. Couch for the rest, if you’re good, and if you keep your feet up.”
Abby squeezed his hand as the doctor left the room. “She neglected to mention that we’ll feed you by hand if you disobey.”
Russ’s grin was slow and lazy. “Then I’ll be sure to lick your fingers.”
“You’re incorrigible.” Abby’s laugh was nearly a sob. She bent to Russ, nestling her head into the crook of his arm. “Thought we’d lost you.”
“You’ll have to try harder than that in the future.”
His voice was faint, his eyes drifting shut as sleep took him under. A healing sleep, Abby judged. She closed her own eyes as Cam came to sit next to her, pulling a chair right up to the bed so that he could lay a comforting hand at the small of her back.
Abby drifted in and out of sleep, feeling the moment Russ woke again. Clawing hair out of her eyes, she peered into his face. “How are you feeling?”
“Could be worse.” He took her hand when he saw her tears. “No, don’t cry.”
“Just can’t help thinking what might have been.” She dashed impatiently at her eyes.
“Better start concentrating on what is,” Cam said, nodding toward the door. “President Wright is on her way in.”
The president herself? Abby sat up sharply, pasting a wan smile on her face as the woman entered the room. The president was smiling too, but waved a no-nonsense hand. “Please don’t get up on my behalf. I’m here to thank you—all of you—for thinking outside the box and saving m
y life.”
“Does this mean a case or three of beer?”
Cam’s quip broke the formality of the moment, turning Abby’s smile into a real one and producing a surprisingly loud laugh from President Wright.
“Know what? I’ll earmark three bottles of our finest stuff just for you. But I’d better keep this meeting brief—there’s a lady at the door who’s been champing at the bit to see you. Even the Secret Service doesn’t want to tangle with Patrice, so I’ll say my good-byes.”
Grammie was here? Abby didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She shook President Wright’s outstretched hand in a daze. The world took on a dreamlike quality as she watched Grammie brush by the president with a hastily muttered “’Scuse me,” limping across the room with bright eyes and wide open arms.
“Grammie.” Abby managed two steps before falling into an embrace so loving and tender, it made her start to cry even before the last of the black-clad Secret Service clicked the door shut behind them.
“Thought I’d lost you,” the old woman whispered into her hair. “My sweet Abigail. I’m so happy you made it back to me.”
Somehow, they all migrated to chairs. Abby sank down next to Grammie, keeping their hands entwined. The hand Abby held was cool, dry and familiar, but it lacked a bit of its usual strength. She cast a concerned look at the elderly woman, who’d visibly aged in the last year. Her tightly curled hair was entirely gray now.
But her dark brown skin was unblemished, her eyes undaunted. They shared the same high, fine cheekbones although Grammie stood nearly half a foot shorter than her these days. She’d be a fool to think Grammie hadn’t continued to age—stress and hard living would have taken their toll over the last year—but her spirit was still very much there.
Abby hardly dared blink for fear of Grammie inexplicably disappearing. She was vaguely aware of the nurse quietly exiting, leaving them alone in the small room. It was on the cramped side with four people inside. Surrounded by those she loved, Abby wouldn’t have had it any other way.
Patrice turned a ferocious look on Russ when he attempted to sit up. “Heard it was strict bed rest for you. Don’t make me sic my Rottweiler on you, boy.”
