Gérard barked out a nasty laugh. “Are you afraid the big bad reporter is going to hurt you? He’s a desk jockey. Like you used to be before you joined the movement. You’ll be fine. Just point your weapon at him, and he’ll pee his pants.”
“If that’s what you think, then you can stick your head out to see if he’s still there. Any guy who can run along that ledge without breaking a sweat sure as hell isn’t only a desk jockey. And did you see the way he caught her? That wasn’t normal.”
“I’m telling the crew you chickened out,” Gérard said. “Watch how it’s done and learn.”
There were footsteps as Gérard drew closer to the window. Every muscle in Mace’s body tensed, and his heart rate slowed. As it always did before combat. A thin smile curved his lips—he was back to normal. His physical reaction to almost losing Keiko had been nothing more than a blip.
Silently, carefully, he positioned his left hand at the edge of the frame, ready to grip it. He kept his right hand at chest height, exactly where the idiot’s head would be when he stuck it through the window. Time slowed as his focus narrowed. He took in the details of his situation at lightning speed, processing them just as fast, ready to strike.
“You sure you did the Freedom training?” Gérard said. “Because they used to teach recruits how to fight, not hide.”
With a harsh laugh at his own brilliance, he stuck his head through the window. Mace didn’t hesitate. He grabbed him by the hair, yanked him through the hole, and sent him flying into the night. The terrorist’s scream ripped through the silence, but Mace didn’t take the time to watch him fall. He gripped the frame, ignoring a jab that told him he’d cut his hand on the shards of glass still clinging to it, and jumped through the window.
Shock kept the other Freedom fighter immobilized, just as Mace knew it would. Amateurs. The guy didn’t have time to react before Mace grasped either side of his head and twisted. With an audible crack, the terrorist’s neck snapped, and he crumpled to the floor. Mace bent over to take the rifle from the dead man’s hands, feeling no remorse at ending his life. There was no doubt in Mace’s mind that the man would have continued to come after him and Keiko. And there was no way he’d allow that to happen. He had no choice but to eliminate the threat.
As he checked the clip on the weapon, he muttered, “Now I have a machine gun, ho-ho-ho.”
That had always been his favorite line from Die Hard. And now here he was, wisecracking like John McClane, in his very own skyscraper full of terrorists. If he wasn’t careful, this experience was going to put him off his favorite movie for life.
Without sparing a second glance at the man on the floor, he jogged toward the corridor and the stairs that led to the penthouse above. There was no time to lose, because if Freedom knew where he was, they also knew Keiko was in the stairwell. Unprotected. Vulnerable. A sitting duck.
Coming to a halt just around the corner from the corridor with the cameras, he let his senses reach out, the way he’d learned from watching his other half over the past three years, and felt the emptiness of the space. There were no other Freedom soldiers between him and Keiko, but there were still the cameras to deal with, and he had to be fast about it. Because as soon as one went black, whoever was monitoring them would want to know why, and they’d send someone to investigate.
Taking a deep breath, he found the place within him that allowed him the focus he needed in combat. It was a reserve he’d first discovered as a child, when he had to remain silent and in control when all he’d wanted to do was rage at life’s injustice.
With steady hands, he swung the gun in the direction of the first camera and shot. The sound reverberated around the corridor, but he wasn’t concerned about noise. They were too far away from the security hub for anyone to hear, and the people on the terrace were making enough noise to cover any he made above them. Three more shots, taken quickly, and the cameras were disabled.
That’s when he felt it.
The hard barrel of a laser pistol pressed against his back. He could have kicked himself for making the amateur mistake of not sending his senses out behind him as well as in front of him. He’d been so focused on getting to Keiko that he’d become sloppy, in a situation where mistakes could get you killed.
As he ran through scenarios in his head, trying to decide the best way out of his current dilemma, his opponent nudged him with the gun.
“Throw your weapon over there and put your hands behind your head.”
And things just kept getting worse—his assailant was a woman.
He couldn’t hit a woman.
It took all of his self-control not to groan. He could almost hear Sandi’s voice mocking him. “Women are just as violent as men. Chivalry will get you killed in a fight. This is your weakness; you need to deal with it or you’re going to end up dead.”
Yeah. Well, he hadn’t dealt with it. And, with the indoctrination he’d received as a kid, he doubted he ever would. Nothing on this green earth would make him hit a woman. He wasn’t his father, no matter how much the old man and his grandfather told him he was.
“Did you hear me?” The woman nudged him with her weapon. “Toss your gun over there.”
He had no choice but to comply, throwing his gun over to the wall beside the door he’d been trying to get to. “What now?”
“Now I secure your hands and walk you back down to the terrace.”
Damn it to hell. He just could not get a break. “Yeah, that isn’t going to work for me.”
Turning fast, he snatched the gun from her hand and sent it flying farther down the corridor. The woman didn’t seem bothered about losing her weapon. Instead, she just shook out her arms, took a wider stance, and brought up her fists—ready to fight. For a second, Mace was thrown by her reaction. He was almost a head taller than her with a helluva lot more muscle, although she definitely wasn’t without some muscle of her own.
“You need to think about this,” he told her. “I’m a whole lot bigger than you. Do you really want to fight me?”
With a smirk, she swung around and struck him with a roundhouse kick that sent him flying back into the corridor, hitting the door to the apartment stairwell with a thud. He fought the urge to rub his stomach. That shit hurt.
“Oh, I’d say that I really want to fight you,” she said as she rounded on him. “And don’t think that just because I’m a woman I’ll be as easy to deal with as the two guys you just killed. Unlike them, I know what I’m doing.” Her eyes scanned his body, assessing her opponent, looking for weaknesses. There was no fear, no wariness. She was used to combat.
“Lady,” Mace said, backing away from her. “I’m sure you have skills.” Hell, he could see it from the way she held herself, bouncing on the balls of her feet, holding her fists up in front of her. “But I don’t want to hurt you.”
There was no warning—she just flew through the air at him, pummeling him with a barrage of fists and feet. Unlike Keiko, this woman really did know kung fu, plus several other martial arts by the looks of things. And although Mace didn’t have those sorts of skills, he knew how to fight, and he had abnormally fast speed while he did it. The problem wasn’t that they weren’t well matched, it was that she was the wrong opponent.
He wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “Look, I don’t have any issues with Freedom. If you lot want to fight for the right not to have shit installed in your brains, more power to you. I’m just trying to get out of this building alive. And, to tell the truth…” He paused, feeling like a fool, but carried on anyway. “I don’t hit women.” There. He said it. Surely she’d cut him some slack for his stance.
Instead, she smiled slowly, spun, kicked high, and hit him on the side of his head.
Clearly, this was not going well.
…
Keiko was sitting on the steps, staring a hole through the door and mentally shouting at Mace to hurry up, when she heard the first gunshot. She froze in place, her ears straining for a clue as to wh
ether it was Mace or Freedom. Unfortunately, she didn’t have his freaky auditory implants, and all she could hear was silence.
Until the next shot, then a third and a fourth.
It had to be Mace. Four cameras. Four shots. As quietly as she could, she got to her feet and padded over to the door. There was a thud against it, one that made her jerk back, pressing a hand to her racing heart.
“Mace?” She called his name in that strange half-voice people use when they do and don’t want people to hear at the same time.
There was a grunt on the other side of the door, then some murmured words she couldn’t make out. What if he was out there and he was hurt? What if it wasn’t him at all? Quietly, she pressed her ear to the thick steel door and listened. Nope, that didn’t help. It sounded like there was a scuffle going on in the corridor, but other than that, she was still in the dark.
Should she open the door a crack and see what’s happening? What if it was the terrorists? Then she’d be letting them inside. She pressed a hand over her fluttering stomach as another thud made the door shudder.
A voice called out. It was muffled, but it was clearly Mace. He was out there, and he was in trouble. A rush of adrenaline made her hands tremble as she unlocked the door. She felt like every cell in her body was standing to attention, battle ready and waiting for the signal to pounce. It was a heady feeling. One that could easily become addictive.
Slowly, silently, she pushed the door open a crack and peeked out into the corridor. And what she saw made her jaw drop. Mace-the-massive was getting his backside handed to him by a whirling dervish of a woman.
He stood in the middle of the corridor as she danced around him, striking out as she did so. And all Mace did was block her blows. And even then, he missed several because she was relentless in her attack. There was a bruise blossoming on the side of his face and blood trickling from a spit lip. But the look of pure helpless frustration in his eyes was the most shocking thing at all.
“Stop it,” he told the woman. “I don’t want to fight you.”
“Then put your hands behind your back so I can secure them.”
“I’m not doing that, either.” He seemed at a loss for a second, and then he huffed out a breath. “Can’t we just talk?”
Keiko gaped at him. Talk?
The woman laughed and kicked the side of his knee as she slammed her fist into his face. Mace lost his balance, roared, and reached out for his opponent, wrapping her in his arms in an attempt to restrain her. He held her with her back pressed against his front, his arms pinning hers to her side.
“I said I don’t hit women,” he growled. “That doesn’t mean I won’t tie you up and store you somewhere for Enforcement to find.”
The woman let her head fall forward, then swung it back hard, catching Mace’s chin. At the same time, she stamped down on his instep and jerked forward, shaking herself loose from his hold.
She circled him once again. “I can do this all day,” she said with a cold smile. “It doesn’t bother me that you won’t hit back.”
Well, it bothered the hell out of Keiko.
If Mace wasn’t going to fight the woman, she would have to step in for him. Unfortunately, she didn’t have the woman’s skills, so she couldn’t go out there and slap her around, which meant she needed a weapon. Something solid that would knock the bitch out when Keiko swung it at her head.
Turning back into the stairwell, Keiko intended to run up to the apartment and grab the first thing she spotted that would work as a club. But before she could take the first step, she spotted something out of the corner of her eye. There was a laser gun on the corridor floor, not far from her feet. Pushing the door wider, she bent down, sneaked a hand out, and grabbed it, dragging it back into the stairwell with her.
The door slid silently closed as Keiko considered the gun. It was heavier and a whole lot more complicated than she’d thought it would be. There were buttons all over the damn thing, and none of them were clearly labeled. Would it have killed the manufacturer to write “death” beside one and “stun” beside another? Why the hell were there so many of them? How many things did a gun have to do?
With a huff of frustration, she examined it closely. Which one would stun? She didn’t want to kill the woman, she just wanted to stop her from hitting Mace. Maybe the blue one? Lightning was blue, wasn’t it, and that was as electric as you could get? Red had to be danger, like death, right? She had no idea what yellow meant. Maybe it was the flashlight button.
Oh, to hell with it.
She pressed the shiny blue button, opened the door a crack, stuck the gun out, and pressed the trigger.
And missed.
They stopped fighting and spun toward her.
“Oops,” Keiko said.
Mace used the distraction to grab the woman; she elbowed him and wrenched free, taking a step toward Keiko. He reached for her arm and jerked her back around toward him. Keiko pulled the trigger again. There was a strangled scream. The woman froze. Her face contorted. Her muscles spasmed. And then she fell to the floor, writhing in place.
“Yes!” Keiko thrust the gun in the air. And accidentally shot out a light.
“Give me that.” Mace took it from her hand.
“I got it right.” She beamed up at him. “I only wanted to fry her a little, not kill her. I thought it was the blue button, but I wasn’t sure. They should be labeled more clearly.”
The woman groaned, and Keiko walked over to her and kicked her leg. Not too hard—after all, she wasn’t wearing shoes. “That’s for hurting Mace.”
When she looked back at him, he seemed exasperated.
“What?” she said. “I’m not the one who can’t hit women.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he grumbled.
“It is when one of us is kicking your ass in a fight.”
“She wasn’t kicking my ass. I was lulling her into a false sense of security before I restrained her.”
Keiko lifted an eyebrow at him.
“Whatever,” he said. “Help me get her tied up. We’ll dump her in a bathroom and leave her for Enforcement.”
The still-spasming Freedom fighter managed to smile smugly as she looked at Mace. “Totally…kicked…your…ass,” she said, forcing each word out.
Keiko glanced up at him. “Want me to shoot her again?”
He just groaned.
Chapter Eighteen
CommTECH headquarters
New York City, Northern Territory
“I am unable to give you a definitive answer regarding your demands.” Miriam Shepherd sat behind her desk, her hands clasped in front of her, as she talked with the leader of the Freedom group who’d attacked her building, taken her people hostage, and was threatening her profit. Oh, what she would have given to be able to reach over the desk and wring Susan Neal’s scrawny neck.
The terrorist toyed with the detonator in her hand. “You’ve had your hour.”
Miriam gave her what she hoped was a placating smile. “As you know, a decision to hold an election can only be made by the full board. Our board members are scattered throughout the world. Some are out of contact. I need more time to reach everyone and to set up a meeting in order to hold a vote. There hasn’t been a general election in this territory in over sixty years. You can’t expect decisions like this to happen within your timeframe.”
It was clear that Susan didn’t buy a word Miriam said. And from the research her company had dug up on the Freedom leader, she never expected she would. Up until a year earlier, Susan Neal had headed up a group of mercenaries that worked throughout the coalition countries. She was known for her hard attitude and her cold heart. In any other situation, Miriam would have admired the woman. Right now, all she wanted was for the Freedom leader gone. She was causing all sorts of public-relations nightmares for CommTECH.
Which was why Miriam had her PR team working up a plan to deal with the fallout from Susan’s siege. If the Freedom leader planned to murder one o
f CommTECH’s scientists live on the news, they needed to respond as soon as it happened. Death of an employee, especially one livestreamed for everyone to watch, was not good for the company image.
“Miriam, Miriam, Miriam. You’re known as a dealmaker. I’m sure you can get this done in the time I’ve given you. You just have to want to do it. Maybe you need stronger motivation, hmm?” Susan turned away from the camera before looking back over her shoulder. “You might want to turn on your newsfeed.”
The holograph blinked out, leaving Miriam’s pristine office delightfully empty.
With a mere thought, CommTECH’s CEO connected to the screens facing her, and they were at once filled with the newsfeed. At the same time, she sent a message to her team that things were about to get worse. One second, the talking heads of the news opinion show filled the screen facing Miriam; the next, the feed cut to show the terrace on the sixty-sixth floor of the research facility.
“Miriam Shepherd has declined to meet the deadline we set for her,” Susan said into the camera. She held up the detonator, and the scientists behind her paled. Two wept openly.
Pathetic.
“We have generously extended her deadline by another hour. Be aware—all consequences of missing the deadline to establish a fair and open election lie squarely with the CEO of CommTECH. Her reluctance to disturb members of the board in relation to our demands proves once and for all that the leaders of the territories do not care about their people. Any of their people. Even their world-class scientists who make sure CommTECH’s profits keep increasing. Miriam Shepherd, tonight you will have yet more blood on your hands. When will it be enough?” Her thumb pressed on the box.
Behind her, the band around the head of one of the scientists glowed. There was a gut-wrenching scream as bloodred tears poured down the woman’s cheeks. A second later, she slumped in a heap on the stage not far from Rueben Granger. The lead scientist promptly turned gray and vomited.
Perfect.
“Clean up the mess,” Susan ordered her team. It was unclear whether she meant the vomit or the dead woman.
Red Awakening Page 13
