“Shit!” Ice yelled to himself, his words sharp, clipped, urgent.
Pushing the button to open the trunk, he rushed around to the back of the car and grabbed hold of a familiar friend—a Colt M4 Carbine tactical assault rifle. He snapped in a full 30-round magazine with a resounding click, stuffed another in the side pocket of his pants, then checked the safety.
Out of instinct, Ice grabbed his black ballistic protection vest. Slipping it on as he crouched low, he bolted toward the front of the building next door. He’d already completed a visual drive-by for two hundred meters on either side of the warehouse when he first arrived and there appeared to be no other way in. The building was hemmed in by flanking buildings either side.
There was no cover, nowhere to hide. The single-story warehouse faced directly onto the street. Its set-back front was all clear glass, so he could see directly into the reception area: no one around; long reception desk across the middle of the foyer; entrances obviously into the back of the building to the left and right; a few windblown leaves scattered around that had crept in under the front doors; discarded mail strewn across the floor where it had been poked through the flap next to the front door. The building was obviously not tenanted.
This was downright dangerous.
Ice’s tactical mind told him to expect the unexpected. And he had no intel on what lay inside behind the parting wall. Entering the building was totally foolish without backup and a full tactical squad behind him.
Except Cait was inside. He had no other choice.
The front door was unlocked and slightly ajar. Nudging it with his boot, it opened slightly under pressure. Low voices drifted in from somewhere in the back of the building. Four, five, maybe more different people. All male.
With the stealth of a wildcat, Ice crept inside silently, his assault rifle scanning the ground in front of him in time with the twisting and turning of his body.
Senses heightened, heart pumping, Ice smelled burning candle wax lingering on top of the musty aroma of a space devoid of fresh air. He worked his way over to the left entrance and stood with his back to the wall, listening for any sign of activity or movement.
Nothing.
Ice found himself looking down a dark narrow corridor with glass-fronted offices to the left and an open space to his right. And there was Cait in the far corner, bound tightly to a chair, a gag stuffed into her mouth, slumped forward, motionless.
Rifle raised to his shoulder, safety off, Ice scanned the room. Bar a few boxes piled on top of each other in the opposite corner, and a few chairs and a table haphazardly scattered on the other side of the room, it was clear.
And Cait was on her own. She’d either been knocked out—unlikely, as there were no physical injuries that he could see—or drugged.
Probably the latter.
Then Cait groaned and moved her head groggily, looking up in his direction before it flopped back to her chest again.
Time to move in.
Ice crept around the wall toward Cait, using whatever sparse furniture there was scattered around for cover.
Cait raised her head again and looked dazedly in his direction. Her bleary eyes opened wide, as if they were trying to speak.
Danger!
Ice suddenly felt his body stiffen like a board and started convulsing. Fifty thousand volts were rushing through his body from two darts that had embedded themselves into his right leg. Every muscle in his body was spasming, cramping. He dropped to his knees, out of control, a blue halo sparking from his body.
O’Donnell had just been hit by a Taser.
He toppled over onto the floor, still clutching his assault rifle, unable to control his actions or move voluntarily.
His opponent had observed O’Donnell sneak into the building on the CCTV outside that was aimed at the front door. He had quickly jabbed Cait with fifty micrograms of fentanyl to shut her up, then lay in wait, hiding behind the pile of boxes adjacent to where she was tied up.
After what seemed an eternity—exactly thirty-two seconds of spasming—Ice’s convulsions stopped. Four hands dove on him, grabbing, grasping, restraining, kicking his rifle away. He was momentarily disoriented, stunned, unable to fight back.
Ice didn’t feel the sharp pinprick jab of the needle as it was jammed deep into his bicep.
The world around him faded into total darkness. As if a blackout blind had been drawn, an infinite, all-consuming void that was as complete as space itself closed in around him.
Three hundred micrograms of fentanyl were coursing through his system. Enough anesthetic to kill a weaker man.
Ice was out for the count.
“Put handcuffs on him,” said the heavily tattooed, thickset man to his partner.
“Hey Angelo, those two look familiar. You seen them before?” replied tattooed heavy number two. “Weren’t they the two people walking down outside the front of the house at Lansell Road?”
“Dunno. Don’t care,” said Angelo, a.k.a. tattooed man number one.
“Whatever, they’re both fucked. They won’t give us any more problems.”
“Yeah, s’pose. Once tonight’s over and done with they’re dead meat anyway,” said tattooed man number two.
Cait, Cait, you’re needed. Break free. Find yourself. You must be strong and rise above it.
Cait’s grandmothers were in her head, forcefully trying to arouse their charge from her stupor. The situation was about to implode. She was drugged senseless, Ice was handcuffed and potentially on death’s door, the Gatekeeper was lurking, and Marcus was about to have a knife thrust into his chest and his beating heart cut out.
It couldn’t get much worse.
The only upside was that Ice had contacted the SWAT team when he was driving to the warehouse and they were on their way. Maybe ten, fifteen minutes away. Not long in the current state of play, but a lifetime considering what was going down in the here and now. And they had no heads-up as to what was happening inside the warehouse.
Cait’s grandmothers’ words registered on the periphery of her consciousness. But only just. They were like a siren calling, enticing, drawing her in, gnawing away at her perception, building.
Rescue the child. He needs you! The Gatekeeper must be stopped . . .
Her grandmothers’ ethereal words drifting through her foggy brain were gradually gaining clarity. Raising her head groggily, Cait realized that she needed a point of focus.
O’Donnell!
He was lying at her feet, in handcuffs, with no real aura, no life signs, drugged, his body struggling to maintain homeostasis. She was now on her own. With no partner, no backup.
And Marcus is about to be sacrificed!
With the force of a whiplash crack, Cait snapped back to reality. She threw off the physical constraints of her spaced-out self and entered the Otherworld, taking on a metaphysical state that was in many ways superhuman.
Cait was back. And dangerous.
Very dangerous.
Her long past history as a fearless shield-maiden in another life, hundreds of human years ago, awoke like a sleeping giant and surged through her physical being. Cait was suddenly alive, alert, deadly.
A warrior who would kill if necessary to achieve her end.
Casting off her bindings as if they were a single cotton thread, Cait spat out the gag that had been hastily stuffed in her mouth and sprang to her feet as if she had triggered an ejector seat in a fighter airplane.
“What the . . .?” Tattooed man number one was taken by total surprise.
With fire blazing in her eyes, Cait cast a vicious sweep of her right hand across the vacant space between them and took out tattooed man number one as if he had been struck by a wrecking ball. Flying through the air a full meter off the ground, he landed heavily into a stack of chairs four meters away and collapsed.
Cait allowed herself the split-second luxury of taking in the white of his shattered femur angrily poking out through the leg of his pants.
He was done. Spent.
And screaming in pain.
Tattooed man number two immediately dove on Cait. Two hundred and thirty pounds of solid muscle flew through the air, while the threatening point of a razor-sharp blade he had urgently snatched out of a scabbard strapped to his lower back was about to be thrust deep into Cait’s exposed chest.
But Cait was on fire. She sensed the movement of the deadly blade rather than saw it, twisting to one side.
The knife missed by millimeters.
Cait reacted instinctively. Spinning on her own axis, in a continuous movement she kicked her left leg up forcefully into the back of her attacker’s legs, taking advantage of his instability. Slamming the back side of her left arm hard into his back, he tripped forward and faceplanted on the floor.
With an outward thrust of her right hand, Cait concentrated her energy into her outstretched fingers and directed it toward the fallen man. Like a blast from a War of the Worlds laser gun, the man spontaneously combusted, smoke leaking from all his bodily vents as he smoldered on the inside. The acrid smell of burning flesh hanging in the air was like a pleasant waft of expensive French perfume for Cait.
She smiled, an almost cheeky grin crossing her lips. He was gone. Dead.
Confirmed kill number two.
Cait was on high alert. She was pumped. Ready for action. Fearless.
The sound of a child’s voice whimpering in the background rose above the clutter of the noise around her.
Marcus!
Cait was totally in tune with the young boy. She was in his head, calling him, telling him to hold on. She was coming for him.
Urgent steps came running in her direction but Cait took them in her stride. Like looking at a blipping radar screen, she could clearly see people behind the wall that was blocking her physical vision. Two men to the left, two to the right, and an energy halo of another ten or fifteen people in a group on the periphery, standing still.
They were obviously not soldiers. Instead, they were here for the ceremony, participants, and of no immediate threat or concern.
Then the chanting started. A long, low primordial grunt, an almost guttural sound that came from deep within the human body. From another place and time. Repetitive, continuous, building.
Frightening.
And there was Marcus.
Cait had a vision of the boy as clear as if she had a front row seat and Marcus was the headline act at a rock concert. Dressed in white robes, drugged but awake, he was lying on a slab that resembled a butcher’s block, willing hands violently dragging at each limb, stretching him out like he was on a rack.
Soran—the Gatekeeper—was there as well. Except his human form had taken on an icy silver glow that resembled a light shining through from the inside of an iceberg. Cold, evil, menacing. His sinister energy, his power, was all pervading. It dominated the space. And his mortal servants standing around in white robes with large pointed hoods over their heads were under his spell. They were simply his toys to do his bidding on earth.
Except Cait.
She was Soran’s nemesis from the Otherworld, and she intended to put a stop to his malevolent ways. Certainly for tonight at least. For Marcus.
With horrific images of her own violent kidnapping eighteen months ago returning to haunt her from the deep recesses of her memory banks, Cait rushed for the open door to the left-hand side. She knew what to expect. She’s already seen it in her vision. Mentally and physically she was prepared for the onslaught and mayhem that was about to occur.
Cait may have been a force of one, but her grandmothers had her back. Between them they were an unassailable army.
A silver blade lunged dangerously at Cait the moment she stepped though the doorway. But she had already been in her attacker’s head split seconds before he even thrust his knife.
He missed.
The knife harmlessly deflected off the shimmering force field that Cait had around her body. In a reflex action that drew its origins from battles long passed, Cait dispatched the man with a hard blow from her clenched fist to his solar plexus, followed immediately by a dangerous jab to his throat with the tips of her clenched fingers as he collapsed forward. She finished him off with a crashing jab to the back of his head, the tip of her elbow laying a paralyzing blow to his cervical spine.
He was winded, gasping for air, paralyzed from the neck down. Possibly permanently.
Cait was on fire, and she had only just started.
The next attacker didn’t even get to first base. Cait thrust her right palm out in his direction. As if she fired a laser beam at him, he was out of the game, violently flying backward and smashing into the wall, landing in a confused mass of arms and legs, unconscious.
Dead? Maybe, but Cait didn’t care. The man was one of them, so he got what he deserved.
Stopping and holding her ground, Cait took in the scene in front of her. Three thugs rushing toward her, guns drawn and aimed in her direction. Ten, maybe twelve people with their backs to her, in white robes, paying no attention to what had just transpired.
Incessantly, monotonously chanting. The same guttural mantra, over and over and over.
And there, rising in stature above everyone else in the room was that thing. She’d seen him before. Battled with him. Been injured by his blow.
The Gatekeeper!
A spark flashed off the large knife that the Gatekeeper held high in both his hands above his head. The blade that was about to be thrust deep into Marcus’s chest and cut out his beating heart.
Use the power, Cait. Now! You must stop the Gatekeeper, Cait’s grandmothers’ words reverberating loudly around her head as if it was an echo chamber.
Cait forcefully thrust both her arms straight out in front of her. Drawing a circle with her outstretched fingers, she cast a net of sparkling white light—pure energy, a spider’s web of life force itself—into the room, capturing all the earthly souls in its grasp.
Time slowed for all those within the Cait’s grasp.
Except for the Gatekeeper. He remained immune to Cait’s magic.
But Cait was in her own domain, and she had the power, the force to dominate Soran. He may have been unaffected by her time warp, but he couldn’t respond either.
“You’ll never get me in this world,” Cait screeched at Soran through the ether in a commanding voice that resembled a sergeant major bawling out his troops.
“This is my domain, not yours! You can’t have the boy.”
Cait’s voice echoed around the cavernous inside of the empty warehouse, bouncing around like a cork in a boiling sea.
“Begone . . . NOW! Return to the cesspit that you came from.” Her grandmothers were casting an unseen spell—a bricht—over their archenemy and projecting it through Cait, hitting him so hard he was forcefully knocked backward.
“The boy’s mine,” yelled Cait.
With that, Cait sent a blast of concentrated energy toward Soran that was so strong, so draining, that she almost expired. She reached down to the very depths of her soul and dragged out every vestige of strength she could muster and thrust it at the Gatekeeper with such force that she sank to her knees with exhaustion.
Cait was totally spent. Unable to fight again. Her final, last minute push was a do-or-die effort.
Either the Gatekeeper retreated, or otherwise he had won.
She had no more to give.
The Gatekeeper was overpowered. Unable to counter the sheer power and force of Cait’s desperate, final push to oust him from his task, his powers fading like a worn-out battery in a child’s toy, he shrunk away.
The sharp glow around his physical presence faded to a blackness that reminded Cait of the bottomless black hole where she last fought him. Except this time the battle had occurred in the physical world and not his evil, dark domain. The lingering image of the Gatekeeper imploded, collapsing inward like an inflated balloon that suddenly developed a leak.
Then he was gone. Vestiges of the Gatekeeper’s energy stayed, poisoning the air, but he was no lo
nger to be seen.
Cait had overcome the vile beast.
For the present at least.
Exhausted as she was, Cait still had a mission to complete. A promise to fulfill that she had made to James before he passed over and completed his journey to the next world.
She had to rescue Marcus.
The time warp spell that Cait’s grandmothers had invoked through Cait had faded. The world started turning again for those that she had captured in her spell.
Cait rushed up to the makeshift dais where Marcus was restrained. The strange men in white cloaks and pointed hats saw her coming and collectively let go of the child and ran, scared out of their wits. Time had slowed for them when Cait had battled Soran, their leader, the man who until ninety seconds ago had total control of their thoughts and actions. They had been totally cognizant of what had just occurred outside of their bubble that Cait had contained them in, but he was now no longer, and they were on their own.
The Gatekeeper had fled, and the spell that he had his protéges under was broken. They were mere mortals again.
And they were all terrified. To them, they had just witnessed the Apocalypse.
Except two. The last of the bodyguards.
They were still active, but Cait had more important matters on her mind, so she let them be. Instead, she picked up the drugged child and slung him over her shoulder before carting him in a fireman’s carry to the relative safety of the front of the warehouse.
And O’Donnell.
She suddenly remembered that he was in a bad way. Drugged, clinging to life by a thread.
Oh my God. I’ve got to get to him!
Cait ran as quickly as she could, considering that she was shouldering a dead weight of one hundred pounds of out-of-it young male, to the anteroom behind reception. Dodging two bodies lying on the floor—one dead, the other not far behind—Cait placed Marcus gently down in a corner then bolted over to O’Donnell—her new partner—maybe even her potential lover. He was still collapsed on the floor, unmoving, handcuffed, but breathing. She checked Ice’s vital signs and he was alive, stable, breathing regularly and evenly, soft and full pulse, if slow.
The Cait Lennox Box Set Page 76
