It was almost noon and the looming deadline imposed by Dark Messiah had slowly built into a crushing pressure, slow and steady from all sides. The gun dug into his side but he didn’t dare move it. He wanted to know where it was. He didn’t trust anyone here.
He didn’t trust anyone, period.
Colin had been behind Dark Messiah, but it wasn’t quite as simple as that. He was a pawn as well, a victim, if Dante was to believe what he’d said. Right now, he didn’t know what to believe.
Dante’s thoughts drifted to Kelly, lying there bleeding on the airport causeway as Abigail was snatched away, nobody stopping to help. She’d fought the militia men with all she had. Would he have done any better after a boot to the head? He recalled her pain twisted face as he glared down at her, blood spattering to the ground. It was wrong to treat her the way he did.
His left hand slipped into his pocket and found the elephant pendant. Tracing over its smooth surface, his fingernail caught on the groove where the baby elephant’s trunk would dovetail neatly with the adult’s tail, if he’d had it with him.
Dante fell asleep but he didn’t drift off, it was more like dropping over the edge of a cliff into murky water. Then he was drowning, clawing with panic as he fought to keep his head above the surface. He was exhausted, arms and legs burning and he stopped struggling and sank to the bottom where it was quiet and dark and cool.
He could breathe again.
Michelle was here, hair drifting in the gentle currents, skin so pale it was almost translucent. He couldn’t look at her, afraid of what he’d see in her eyes. Or that it wasn’t Michelle at all, but Abigail. He’d dreamed of Michelle after she’d died. She’d come to him and said it was okay that he didn’t love her the way she loved him. That realization had run right through him like a white-hot blade. He didn’t want to believe it, but it was true. While she was alive, people told him all the time he didn’t deserve her and he always saw it as a reflection on him, that he was not of her caliber, she was out of his league. He’d understood at that moment in the dream what they meant, that he wasn’t good enough for her because she was kind and gentle and free with her love for him without expectation, things he saw as a weakness instead of virtue. She’d spoken to him then with a voice like silver, a dream voice, but the words rang true.
She’d told him to take care of Abigail.
He felt her gaze on him now, as he did back then and he peered up at her, afraid of what he’d see.
Michelle was gone.
Her voice reached out to him through the darkness of the dream, sweeter and cleaner than he remembered. He let it flow around him, through him, and knew Abigail was still alive, that she was safe and waiting for him to take her home again.
The whole world shook around him and he felt a spiky flare of panic as a voice called out to him.
“Dante, wake up. Wake up!”
He opened his eyes and tried to blink away the sleep, Abigail’s blurry face coming into focus as her hands shook his shoulders. Dante reached out to touch her face but she swatted his prosthetic hand away.
“Wake up!” Briana said. “They found Abigail!”
CHAPTER 88
Pretty
Dr. Meryl Chapman stood motionless, clad in a white lab coat, expression cloudy under a short crop of pepper gray hair. She gazed down at the young girl’s face, partially obscured by an oxygen mask. Her skin was so pale, so much more than when she’d been brought here. A pair of beautiful green eyes lay hidden behind her closed lids. Frightened but strong, Dr. Chapman thought when she’d first seen them, their fierce intensity slowly glazing over as the drugs took effect.
An IV bag dripped slow and steady, the tube that hung down snaked across the cot before attaching to her thin, frail looking arm. Dark hair tinged with red fanned out over the pillow, glinting in the blinking lights of monitoring machines. One of them beeped, slow and steady. A soft smile creased Chapman’s face.
Pretty little thing, aren’t you?
She frowned, the lines around her eyes deepening. She’d barely slept since the two men with skull faces, dressed in black, had brought the little girl in. Her lips tightened as she read the latest text she’d received. The word sent an icy shiver of fear through her body.
Soon.
CHAPTER 89
Little
Skylar stood in front of his project table, back lit by the large screens as everyone began to assemble. Dante and Briana stood across from him as the rest of Fer de lance crowded in behind. Colin stayed near the back, sitting on the edge of a table, eyes on the floor. He’d put the burka back on, his bony shoulders stooped as if he carried a great weight on them. A wave of regret washed through Dante but he forced it away. Now was not the time.
Skylar spoke to the room. “Abigail is in a medically induced coma at Good Samaritan Hospital under the care of Dr. Meryl Chapman. We have the jump on Dark Messiah, but not for long. We’ve been careful, but you all know how fast it can react.” He spoke to Dante. “We’ll provide a window for you to enter the hospital, retrieve Abigail then get her back out.”
“How long?” Dante said.
“Fifteen minutes, tops. That’s all you’ll have before the emergency generators kick in after we kill the power. Building security is on a backup battery system. We’ll have it down, but as soon as the generators come back online, Dark Messiah will kick us out again.” Skylar handed Dante and Briana each a pair of green hospital scrubs and they slipped them on.
“The real-time optical camo is in the pocket,” Skylar said. “You two will be invisible to electronic surveillance of any kind, except for the few drones we’ll have in the area. You have the phone, Briana?”
Briana held up a thick, black phone. A stubby antenna jutted from the top, about the thickness of a permanent marker.
“Encrypted SAT phone,” Skylar said. “We’ll keep in touch with that.”
Briana nodded. “Fifteen minutes isn’t a lot of time.”
“It’s all we got,” Skylar said checking his watch. “The deadline is in eighteen minutes so either way, it’s tight.”
Dante shook his head, face darkening. “Oh my god. I’ve been asleep for that long?”
“Don’t worry about that,” Briana said, touching his arm. “Focus on now.”
Dante’s jaw tightened and he nodded.
Skylar’s piercing blue eyes scanned the people assembled there, nodding. “This is what we’ve been preparing for. You all know what to do.”
“Let’s go,” Dante said.
CHAPTER 90
Thing
Dante and Briana hurried through the dim light of the rat trap room, disturbing the dust floating in the shafts of light. The air was stuffy and dry after the icy cool of the fallout shelter. Briana lifted the sat phone and spoke.
“We’re almost to the door.”
“I know. We’re tracking your every move. Opening…now,” Skylar said.
The door opened and they hurried down the short hall to the other door at the far end. The fluorescent lights stayed dark as they waited in the stuffy heat.
“Hold for a moment,” Skylar said. “The car is almost into position.”
Earlier, Dante had been reluctant to give Skylar the keys to the Porsche, especially with all that cash in the trunk. But time was tight and they couldn’t waste it retrieving the car.
“Go,” Skylar said.
Dante pushed the door open and blinked at the afternoon light. The sky was overcast with pearly gray clouds that varnished the city in a silvery light. The Porsche sat at the curb, the engine idling. Steady traffic streamed by as Dante moved around the front of the car, feeling naked without the dazzle camo suit. He slid in behind the driver seat. The passenger door shut as Briana dropped in beside him, the SAT phone in her lap. Dante goosed the engine and eased into a gap in traffic as a horn protested from behind. The Glock dug into his lower back but the solid, chunky pressure of the weapon reassured him.
Dante nosed the Porsche over to the left
lane as Briana gazed up at the tall buildings that seemed to close in around them. A few blocks later, they passed the impossibly tall glass and steel of the Wilshire Grand as they drove west.
The city opened up, the buildings sparser and lower as they passed over 110 Freeway, its lanes choked with afternoon traffic. The acrid odor of exhaust filled the car, displacing whatever faint smell of hairspray remained. Dante feared he’d never smell that scent again.
Street lights winked on, their sensors confused by the false dusk of the overcast sky.
“You’re almost there,” Skylar said, his voice an electronic hiss from the sat phone’s speaker.
The streetlights winked out and buildings as far as they could see went dark. Dante braked hard and skidded as the traffic light ahead began to blink a steady red. Cars slowed and began to honk, cross traffic gridlocking the intersection.
“Too early, Skylar,” Dante said.
“Shutting down a power grid is not an exact science,” Skylar said. “Clock’s ticking. You’ve got fifteen minutes.”
“Go!” Briana said.
Dante put the car in gear and drove up onto the curb, the undercarriage squealing in protest. The sidewalk was large here as it passed over the freeway and the little car dropped with a crunch as Dante juked onto Beaudry then hooked onto Ingraham Street, running parallel with Wilshire. The roadway was tight, vehicles parked close on either side. Dante gunned the engine and jerked the wheel as a bus emerged from the street on their right, its blaring horn dopplering down as he swerved. He slowed down behind the cars piling up ahead, brake lights flaring as drivers fought for inches.
“We got to get off this street,” Dante said.
“There,” Briana said, pointing.
Dante turned into a public parking lot and skidded to a stop in front of the booth, causing the older woman inside to jerk with fright. Eyes wide, she toddled over as Briana rolled down the widow.
“That’ll be twenty dollars,” the woman said, eying them with suspicion. “Doctors.”
Dante popped the trunk and got out, grabbing one of the Ziploc bags of cash. He pressed it into her hand. “I need to pick up my daughter from the hospital. We’re going to be back in five minutes. You’re closed until then. No one else gets in here. No one.”
She gazed down at the bag of cash and nodded, jaw slack.
“Okay?” Dante said.
“No need to screech at me,” she said as she hobbled back to the booth and pressed a button, raising the barrier up. “I was about to go on break anyway.”
Dante hopped back in the car, drove to the far corner and parked in the exit driveway, tires almost touching the jagged metal teeth of the one-way spikes. They got out of the car and jogged up the short cross street, coming to a stop in front of a 7-11 on the corner. The tan marble walls of Good Samaritan Medical Pavilion rose up on the other side of Wilshire. Its blue windows reflected the sun struggling to push through the low cloud cover to the southwest.
“How much time, Skylar?” Dante said.
“Less than nine minutes. Cross the street and go east along the hospital,” Skylar said. “There’s a red door at the far end, a service entrance.”
Dante led Briana through the gridlocked line of vehicles in the street then down the side of the medical pavilion. Palm trees lined the curb, fronds rattling dryly above the bleat of horns. Briana slowed and glanced up before hurrying along. They neared a small alcove with pipes and chain locked valves.
No door.
They kept moving past a tightly segmented fence. Through the flitting gaps was a set of steps. At the top was the red door. Dante took the steps two at a time, Briana’s feet scuffing behind him as they climbed. The door hung open an inch, cool air rushing out with a hiss. There was a medicinal tang, along with the odor of harsh cleansers. Dante peered around before pulling the door outward, following Briana inside.
“Okay, we’re in,” Briana said. “Which way?”
“We have a problem,” Skylar said, voice tinny and far away. “Dark Messiah is on to us.”
CHAPTER 91
Joshua
Kill the girl.
Dr. Chapman slid a shaky hand into her lab coat pocket and removed a small syringe, the needle capped in red plastic. She pulled the cap off with her teeth and inserted the needle into the access port on the IV line running into the girl’s arm. The plastic cap squealed against her teeth as she bit down and placed her thumb on the plunger. Blinking away tears, Dr. Chapman gazed down at the small girl, so pale and lifeless.
Her chest tightened and she froze.
She thought of her own son, Joshua, across town at Cedars-Sinai, lying in a bed similar to this one, covered in tubes and surrounded by machines, the skin of his face a blotchy red. The day they’d cut him, put a hole in his throat so he could breathe had broken them. Her husband, Charlie, hadn’t been the same after seeing Joshua like that, an inert shell, kept alive by technology.
Joshua had been so full of life. His looks favored hers, but he had the natural charm and warmth of his father. She recalled the light in Charlie’s eyes dying out as he watched the long translucent tube trailing away from Joshua’s throat like a snake, twitching with each airy hiss like it was feeding on him.
Dr. Chapman closed her eyes, a sob escaping her lips. It’s not right, she thought, one child’s life for another. It would be a tender mercy though.
Her thumb tightened on the plunger then stopped as the lights went out, the room falling into darkness.
CHAPTER 92
Good Sam
“What should we do?” Briana said.
“Keep going,” Skylar said. “We’ll handle Dark Messiah.”
A long hallway stretched out before them, lit only by occasional red emergency lights. Loud voices echoed down the hall toward them.
“Skylar, where?” Dante said.
“Fifth floor of the old building, far end. Room 552. You’re in the new wing now so you’ll need to make your way there. Stairs up on your right.”
Dante rushed down the hall and shouldered a door open. The room was stacked high with cleaning supplies along with rows of deep cleaning machines.
“Dante, here.” It was Briana, further down the hall, holding a door open. He ran over, pushing past people who’d started for the exit and followed her in. They ran up the stairs, the metallic echoes of their footfalls ricocheting off white walls before coming to a door at the top. A rectangular window in the door cast a hard-edged beam down the stairs. Briana pushed the crash bar and they emerged outside.
The SAT phone hissed. “Keep going, straight ahead.”
They jogged across a stained concrete loading area toward an older brick building painted a drab yellow. The brakes of a large truck hissed as it rumbled to a stop nearby. Dante gave the driver a quick wave and he raised a hand in return, eyes narrowing under a dingy baseball cap at the prosthetic hand.
Hurrying up a ramp, they left the loading area behind, up two zigzagging levels before coming to a set of double doors. The numbers on a keypad next to the doors blinked red. Dante turned the knob.
Locked.
“Skylar,” Briana said.
“Give us a moment,” hissed the response.
The keypad continued to blink and Dante twisted the knob again. It held fast.
“You folks lost?”
It was the truck driver, frowning as he walked toward them, heavy boots thudding on the concrete walkway. His hooded eyes regarded them from under bushy black eyebrows as he pushed the cap back from his forehead.
“Yes, I mean, no,” Briana said. “We need to get inside.”
“What for? Power’s out.” He lifted a walkie-talkie and waggled it at them. “They just called for non-essential people to evac. Who are you two?”
Dante turned from the door and tightened his prosthetic hand into a fist as all his frustration and fear turned to anger.
“I’m familiar with most of the medical staff, but I don’t recognize you two-” his voice cut off as
Dante struck him hard in the solar plexus. The large man dropped to his knees, straining to breathe, reaching out before clutching his chest. Dante stripped the walkie-talkie away and shattered it against the wall. The keypad beeped and turned green. Briana twisted the knob and she tugged Dante inside.
“Hey!” the driver rasped as the door slammed shut. They heard his muffled shouts a few moments later as he banged on the door.
“Keep going to the end of the hall. Stairs are on the left,” Skylar said.
The hallway was dim, light strained through frosted glass at the far end. Dank odors from long years of service were trapped here, baked into the walls, like a scented slice of the past, ranging from harsh cleansers to the sickly sweet of infection. The tile was scuffed and scratched, caked with dust. Hulking medical equipment lined the walls, some covered in yellowed sheets, others a thick layer of dust. Dante felt a wave of anger surge in him. Somewhere in this filthy, abandoned hospital was his little girl.
“Hurry,” Skylar said, his voice low.
Dante didn’t like the urgency in Skylar’s voice as he entered the stairwell and pushed himself upward, two at a time, sweat running down his forehead. Briana struggled to keep up, losing him as he bounded up the steps to the fifth floor.
The door at the top of the stairs opened with a rasp of metal as he entered the dark corridor. His eyes ticked over room numbers, counting down as he swept down the hall.
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