Something garbled came back.
The guy grabbed his arm and yanked. “The president is waiting for you.”
It was nice to be expected. Greyson walked with his head up, surveying the area, looking for guards. The trees provided decent cover in case of an attack. It was surprising that Atherton hadn't taken most of them down. If the compound were Grey's, he would've removed all trees between the entry point and the house, leaving the lake on one side and the heavy forest on the other.
They reached the house in about ten minutes, and the soldier knocked soundly on the door.
A heavily armed blond man in his twenties opened the door. “Yes?”
“Greyson Storm to see the president,” the guard said as if announcing guests at a fancy ball.
Grey cut him a look.
The blond guy stepped back and gestured with his gun. “This way.”
Grey took in the spatial relations of the house and then concentrated on the layout inside as he was led through a great room and down a hallway to an executive office complete with golf paintings on the wall.
President Atherton sat behind a massive cherrywood desk, his arm still in a sling. “Commander Storm. I figured we'd meet up again soon.”
“Where are Zach Barter and the second Bunker?” Greyson asked without preamble.
Vice President Lake moved into the room, his gun casually in his hand. He covered the door, and Greyson had to fight the urge to turn and tackle him into a wall. Lake lifted his arm to aim the damn gun.
The president smiled, sitting back. “Where's my flash drive?”
Greyson drew the flash drive out of his jacket and tossed it onto the desk. “Here. Now yours.”
The president grabbed the drive and twirled it around in his hand. “Please sit down. We need to talk.” He leaned to the side and drew out a laptop, inserting the flash drive. “Trevor?” he called.
Grey sat, acutely aware of the psychopath at the door who still had his gun pointed at Grey's head.
A wire-thin man with thick glasses slunk into the room, his brown hair tied at his nape, his beard patchy at best. “Mr. President? You called?”
Atherton turned the laptop around toward the door. “Is this the right computer file?”
Trevor's Adam's apple bobbed as he moved for the laptop, leaning over to type in a series of commands. He hummed, rubbed his beard, and then typed in more commands. “Interesting. I need a couple of minutes.”
Atherton nodded and shoved a blue file folder across the desk.
Grey opened it to see the pictures of Zach Barter he'd seen earlier. Barter was in a lab, studying something in a file. “Where is this Bunker?” Grey looked from the file to the president. “How many Bunkers have you found?”
Atherton sighed. “Three, counting the one you hold.”
The one he used to hold. Grey nodded. “Where are they?”
“Not telling you yet.” Atherton folded his fingers together. “Trevor?” His voice held a clear warning.
Trevor kept typing, muttering something. “Huh. All right.” Finally, he straightened.
Atherton's eyebrows rose. “Well?”
“That's a dummy file.” Trevor looked over his shoulder at Greyson and shook his head. “It's not even a very good one.”
Fuck. Greyson opened his eyes wider. “It's the file you said you wanted. I don't know how to fake a computer file.”
Atherton sighed. “How unfortunate. Here I thought we could be friends.”
That was so doubtful, it wasn't even funny. Grey tensed, knowing he didn't have time to get to the asshole behind him. Could he get to Atherton? The desk was a hindrance, and Lake would have plenty of time to shoot.
A ruckus sounded down the hallway.
Atherton smiled, calculation oozing behind his charm. “I do like it when people make things easy for me.”
Grey stiffened and partially turned.
Two men dragged in Damon, his hands tied, blood flowing freely down his face. Rips and dirt marred his clothes, and scratches showed down his arm. Blood oozed from his knuckles. “Jesus,” Grey breathed. Damon had obviously put up a good fight.
Damon grinned, his lip splitting. “There were four of them.”
The two guards forced him to his knees, and he fought them, but Lake planted the barrel of his gun on the top of Damon's head.
Grey's mouth went dry. “Shoot, and I'll rip your head off your neck,” he growled, his adrenaline pumping hard and fast.
Atherton sighed. “The flash drive. You have two seconds. One—”
“Here.” Grey reached down into his boot and yanked out the correct drive. He tossed it to Trevor. “Let Damon up.”
Trevor caught the flash drive, and nobody else moved. He plugged it in and typed rapidly, swearing and typing some more, and finally pausing. “It's the right file, sir.”
Grey half turned. “What's in the file?”
Atherton jerked his head for Trevor to go. “I want into that by tonight,” he said. “Get to work.”
Trevor grasped the laptop and fled the room, his relieved sigh echoing in his wake.
Grey edged toward Damon.
“Stop,” Lake ordered, his gun still resting on top of Damon's head, pointing right in the middle.
Atherton cleared his throat and pushed a piece of paper across the desk. “Here are directions to the Reno Bunker, as well as schematics and the camera positions we've documented.”
Grey stilled. “Documented? Wait a minute.”
Atherton smiled again. “Yes, well. The pictures are real. We hacked into the systems before they discovered us, and that's what we have. All interior cameras have been shut down, so I can't tell you more about the place.”
Heat rolled up Grey's neck to choke him. “I thought Lake sprang him from the nuthouse.”
“I did,” Lake muttered. “Put him in one of the hospitals to do research, and the scientists there took him to a Bunker. Which we didn't know about.”
Jesus. Barter had even gotten away from the president. Greyson eyed Atherton. “Fine. We had a deal. You have the flash drive, and I have Barter's location. Damon and I will be on our way.”
Damon started coughing, and blood sprayed. Did he have a broken rib? Grey's chest puffed out.
Atherton shook his head. “You broke the deal by handing over a fake flash drive and also by bringing backup. So, new deal.”
Grey's body went cold. He focused. “Let him go.”
“Nope. You get into the Reno Bunker, get me the layout, record all weaknesses, entry and exit points, and bring them back to me. If you do that, and if your information is helpful, I'll let you take what's left of your buddy out of here. If not, I kill you both.”
The fucking bastard. “You've never had access to this Bunker,” Grey snarled.
“Nope,” Atherton said cheerfully. “I also don't have a sniper onsite. Not one experienced with infiltration like you are. I've given you enough in the file to get you into the Bunker, probably. It's up to you to get yourself out.”
Damon's head lolled on his shoulders. He visibly struggled to remain conscious.
“I won't go without him,” Greyson growled. “Every sniper needs a spotter.”
Atherton shrugged. “Sorry, but no dice. You had better get moving. And feel free to take out Zach Barter, if he's still alive. I have no problem with that.”
Lake lifted up and brought his gun down hard on Damon's head. Damon crashed to the floor, out cold.
Then Lake lifted his weapon and pointed it at Greyson's face. “The president told you to leave.”
Grey hesitated, every nerve in his body roaring for him to take out Lake. With great pain. “What about fire support? I'll get you into this Bunker if Damon stays safe and you send air support to fight the fires at Santa Barbara.”
Atherton shook his head. “I'll keep Damon alive, and if you make it back with intel, I'll consider putting out your fire. And my men will return your weapons to you once they escort you to the edge of my territ
ory. That's all you get.”
Oh, Grey was going to kill that asshole at some point. He moved out of the room, pausing at the door. “I'll be back, Damon.” He glared at the president. “If he's not alive, you're going to pay in ways you can't even imagine.” His last sight as he left was of his best friend lying with his face in his own blood.
* * *
Bret Atherton watched Greyson Storm leave, chills clacking down his spine. The guy was seriously deadly. He didn't know it, but Bret had gotten his hands on Storm's military file. His number of kills was impressive. More interestingly, his ability to infiltrate the enemy camp was legendary. If anybody could get inside the Reno Bunker, it would be Storm.
Lake still stood by the door, a deadly blond bodyguard. “Want me to end this guy?” He kicked Greyson's black buddy.
“No,” Bret said. “We might need leverage if Storm comes back. Take him to the basement cells. Make sure he doesn't die.” Yet, anyway.
Lake whistled, and two guards rushed in, picking up the prisoner and quickly disappearing.
Reno was only an hour and a half away, but it would probably take Storm days to calculate how to get inside the Reno Bunker. But he was motivated, so maybe he'd just go in fast. It'd be interesting.
Bret had been trying to take that damn place for two months with no luck. He could go for an all-out assault, but the Bunkers had fail-safes, and some idiot would probably push the button and blow up the entire town of Reno. Especially if Zach Barter was somehow in charge. That scientist was stone-cold crazy.
Vice President Lake stretched his leg and winced. He'd been limping on and off since the helicopter crash but said he was fine. “There's too much blood on the floor.”
Bret frowned. “Call somebody to clean it up.” He looked up and studied his second in command. “Do you think Storm will get us into the Reno Bunker?”
Lake straightened. “He's good enough. I read his file.” Lake rubbed his clean-shaven jaw. “The guy's also an expert in knife fighting and hand-to-hand combat. It'd be interesting to get him in the training field at some point.”
Bret nodded. “I agree, but he's not an ally. Tried to trick me with the flash drive.”
“Yeah, we figured he'd try something.” Lake stood at attention. “Have we decoded it yet?”
“Not yet,” Bret said. “But we will. Trevor is on it.”
“God, I want to know what's in that file,” Lake admitted. “The fact that our techs discovered its location from a different Bunker is significant. Whatever's in it is important.”
Bret shrugged. Their techs had been ecstatic to discover the existence of the Scorpius II File. “I agree. Unless it's just a clue to another damn riddle. You'd think the CIA would've had better things to do with their time when designing these Bunkers.” He shook his head.
“Agreed.” Lake looked down at the blood and grimaced. “I might've hit that guy too hard.”
Bret eyed the blood with distaste. “No. He'll be fine, I'm sure. In fact, he should probably be questioned. He's a Merc, and there's a lot we don't know about their territory and organization.”
Lake's blue eyes glowed with as much emotion as the guy was probably able to feel. Torturing people made him light up like a Christmas tree, every damn time. He nodded. “I'd love to question a Merc.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Scientific reasoning and data gathering are crucial to our survival. But sometimes…you just have to go on faith.
—Maureen Shadow, Notes
Maureen picked at a muffin, sitting at a cafeteria table nearest the stairs to the computer room. She'd spent most of the morning working in the downstairs lab with Lynne while trying to desperately convince herself that Greyson hadn't just deserted her.
Now her brother had called her up to the cafeteria and slapped a muffin in front of her. Tace and Raze sat across from her, a map of the Merc territory in front of them.
“So headquarters is still here,” Raze said, drawing a circle around the mansion where Grey lived.
Maureen nodded. “Yes.”
Tace had his own pen, and he was rapidly diagraming what he remembered from his time in Merc territory. “The infirmary is here, and at least one of the weapons depots is in this mansion right here.” He made notations.
Her stomach lurched. “You guys don't really need this right now, do you?”
Tace looked up, and his gaze cleared. “Oh. Well, yeah.”
She frowned. “Raze? I don't understand.”
Her brother stared at her, no expression on his hard-cut face.
Dread pooled in her abdomen, and she hugged herself. “What's happening? I mean, the Mercs all left. They're not a threat right now.”
“Exactly,” Jax said, jogging down the stairs. “The fire is threatening them, so they would've consolidated along the beach and headquarters here.” He leaned over her and tapped the location of the mansion. “Weapons, food, medicine…all right here in one location to protect and defend.”
Her entire body went cold. “You're going to rob them. Go in while they're busy fighting a fire and take their provisions.”
Tace looked at Raze and then back at her. “You don't understand. The wind has shifted. Bad.”
She stopped breathing. Fear caught her around the neck. “The wind? The fire is moving west?”
Tace nodded. “Very quickly. Unless a miracle happens, we're going to lose Santa Barbara. Maybe all of it. So we have to get those provisions. Now's our only chance.”
Fury boiled through her so quickly she gasped. “Raze? How can you do this?”
“It's me,” Jax said, moving around to face her. “I'm the leader of Vanguard, and I've made this decision. It's all on me.” His eyes had turned a hard brown, and his jaw looked as if it were cut from stone. “Hate me. Not him.”
Her mouth gaped open. Greyson couldn't lose his territory. “You can't do this. They're our allies. They need our help.”
Raze sighed. “Honey—”
“Don't fucking ‘honey’ me,” she blurted, shoving to her feet. “I'm not some simple pregnant woman you guys get to brush off. I'm smart, highly educated, and can analyze any damn situation better than the three of you put together.”
Jax's chin lifted. “Is that a fact?”
A shiver wound down her spine, but she met his gaze. “Yes, it is.” She pointed to the map. “We need the Mercs as allies. If you attack them, they'll have no choice but to align with the president. You're going to make him stronger. It's a mistake.”
“The medicine and weapons haul make it a worthwhile endeavor, and the fire makes the timing perfect right now,” Jax countered, watching her carefully.
She shook her head. “No.” Shoving her hands through her hair, she breathed in and tried to find the right words. “Listen. I know Greyson better than you guys do. Whatever he's doing, it's not to hurt us. I, ah, I trust him.” There. She'd said it, and she meant it. She had faith in whatever he was doing. “You need to trust me.”
Raze rubbed his temple as if his head was killing him. “I do trust you, but I agree with Jax. The medicine alone is worth making the Mercs our enemy. And with Greyson obviously not at headquarters, this is the best chance we’ll get.”
Jax nodded. “I'm sorry, Moe. But this is the plan, and we leave in an hour.” He looked in the direction of the computer room. “And I want to know what was on that file Storm stole by then,” he yelled.
“I've been working on it all morning, and I'm still trying,” Sami yelled back. “Bugger off.”
Jax looked at Tace. “Is she British all of a sudden?”
Tace shrugged. “We might've been role playing a bit last night.”
Jax groaned and held up a hand. “Stop. Just stop talking right now.”
“This isn't funny,” Moe bellowed.
Jax sobered. “Nobody thinks it's funny. But we're at war on every front, and Greyson made his bed when he stole that computer file and so quietly exited the Bunker. He might not be working against us, but he's defi
nitely not working with us. So that means we take advantage of the opportunity he gave us.”
It was the most words Moe had ever heard Jax string together.
“But—” she started.
Raze stood. “Discussion is over. Sorry, Moe.” He gathered up the map and started moving toward the computer room. “Let's finish planning up here.”
Maureen watched the three men go, her mouth gaping. Oh, they had not. They were messing with her life, damn it. She took her muffin and stomped through the cafeteria, her mind spinning. If they attacked the Mercs, shots would be fired. Somebody on one or both sides would die. Once that happened, there was no going back.
They'd be enemies until one of them fell.
She couldn't let that happen. When she said she believed in Greyson, she’d meant it. Whatever he was doing might not be good, but it wouldn’t hurt her or Vanguard. And he'd be back. If there were any way for him to make it back to her, he'd do it.
She just had to give him a little time.
Walking past a couple of soldiers, she nodded. Okay. This was probably crazy. But she had a plan. Eating her breakfast, acting casually, she made her way to one of the supply closets. A quick search led her to the right tools, which she shoved into a pack she found in the corner. Then, taking a deep breath, she walked with purpose toward the stairs leading into the garage.
A guard smiled. Cute guy. About twenty with brown hair and pretty brown eyes. “Hi,” he said.
She returned his smile and tried to preen a little. “Hi. My brother asked me to get something from the garage.” She'd have to find the rest of what she needed down there.
The guard frowned. “I can't leave my post, but you shouldn't go down there alone.”
She ran her hand down his arm and giggled, trying not to wince at the silly sound. “That's okay. You know Raze. When he needs something, it's right now. He wouldn't send me down there unless it was important.”
The kid nodded. “I guess that's true. Okay. There are guards down there, but I'd rather make sure you were safe myself.” He winked.