“Because the real Lyssa is safe with Karl. That’s Kazdan’s wife, and the shifter you’ve been living with for the past six months.”
Though Stephan’s face went pale, anger burned deep in his eyes. “And the baby?”
Gabriel hesitated. “We don’t know, but Kazdan believes it’s his.” Then, unable to leave his brother in pain, he added, “But don’t worry. I have the real Lyssa—and your real child—safe. You’ll see them again when this is all over.”
The anger in his brother’s eyes grew. “You knew, and you didn’t tell me?”
“I wasn’t sure until a few hours ago.” He pulled out his gun and checked the clip one final time. “I’ll explain later. Right now, I have to go catch our traitor.”
“When all this is over, we’ll talk.”
When all this was over, he was taking a holiday. Gabriel tapped the wristcom one of the State boys had given him, unlocking the audio pin and placing it behind his ear. “Keep an eye on her. I’ll be in touch.”
Suzy had taken a corridor that led to both the workers’ lounge and the refueling depot. With the careful placement of one or two bombs, the depot would provide one hell of a light and sound show, which was why Stephan had arranged for extra security there.
After exiting the security center, Gabriel ran down the corridor, made a sharp right and continued on. The workers’ lounge came into sight, but there was no one in the immediate area. He slowed and pressed the wristcom. “See her?” he asked softly.
“Just gone into the ladies’ room.”
He studied the door to his left. Would a terrorist stop for a quick bathroom break? “Check the plans. Is there a large vent of some kind connected to the bathroom?”
“Hang on.”
He crept forward while he waited. Once he neared the door, he pressed his back against the wall and his fingers against the door, slowly opening it. He heard soft cursing and then the harsh rasp of metal against tile. She was up to something in there, for sure.
“One vent,” Stephan said. “It connects to vents that lead to depots one and two.”
Both of which were well covered. Even if she succeeded in getting into the depots without being caught, she wouldn’t get much farther. There had to be something else, something they were missing. “Where else does the vent go?”
“Heads back past the kitchens and up to the main air-conditioning unit.”
“No other vent openings beside the kitchen?”
“Nope.”
Then what the hell was she up to? A soft, metallic thumping indicated she was climbing into the vent. “Keep an eye on the vents at the depot. Inform security I’m heading down to the kitchen.”
He eased the door closed and ran for the stairs. State police swung toward him, guns raised, as he entered the lower level. They didn’t shoot, though, which meant Stephan had been in contact with them. He dug out his ID, flashing it as he ran past.
The kitchen was dark and still. The exit lights gleamed brightly, lending a ruddy glow to the darkness. He quietly closed the swinging double doors and waited for his eyes to adjust.
“The vent’s near the crockery shelves,” Stephan said.
Gabriel clicked the audio off, letting his brother see and hear but not speak. He had no idea how acute Suzy’s hearing was, but given she was a shifter, he wasn’t about to take a risk. The vent was still in place. He squatted behind a bench that offered him cover while still allowing him to see most of the kitchen.
After several minutes, metal scraped, and the grate covering the vent clattered to the floor. He drew his gun. With a soft grunt, Suzy appeared, slithering from the vent to the floor like a small sack of potatoes. She climbed to her feet near the far end of his bench and headed toward the stoves. Once there, she began to turn on the jets. A soft hissing filled the air.
Gas, he thought. They were going to blow up the kitchen, not the more obvious fuel depot. He rose and held his gun at the ready.
“Not another step, Suzy.”
She jumped and swung around. The red light reflecting from the overhead emergency beacon made her pale features seem harsh. “Gabriel. What are you doing here?”
“I might ask you the same question.” She had something in her right hand, and though he couldn’t make out what it was, it appeared to be the wrong shape for a gun. “Drop whatever you’re holding,” he ordered.
A smile touched her lips. “I don’t think so.”
He clicked the safety off. “I mean it, Suzy. Drop it.”
“Ah, but if I do, we’re both dead,” she said, her amusement more evident this time. “It’s a grenade, and the pin is out. It’ll cause enough damage by itself, but in a kitchen flooded with gas—” She shrugged.
The kitchen would go up like a rocket, and Kazdan would have his diversion. He motioned toward the stove. “Turn the jets off and step away.”
“As I said, I don’t think so.” She ducked, moving away with a speed that surprised him. White light flared, followed by the flash of a laser. The bright light whizzed past his head and bit into the wall behind him, showering him with concrete dust. She’d missed by several feet, so maybe she couldn’t see too well in the dark.
She scrambled around several benches. He turned off the jets, then waited, his laser aimed toward the main doors. Except for the vent and the emergency exit to his right, it was the only way out. When she reached the bench closest to the door, she stood and fired several shots, then raced for the exit.
She never had a hope. He fired. The laser’s blue-white light cut silently across the darkness and arrowed into her back. She gasped, her arms flung wide, but her hand was still clutched around the grenade as she was thrown to the tiles. He pressed the audio button as he ran toward her. “Get the medics down here.”
“Show me her face,” Stephan said tightly.
Obviously, he feared it was Lyssa who lay dying, but Gabriel felt no rancor at his brother’s disbelief. If the situation had been reversed, he’d be asking the same thing.
She was gasping for breath, still struggling to move. He removed the laser and the grenade from her slack grip, noting that the pin on the grenade hadn’t been pulled. He put them on the bench, well out of her reach, and squatted beside her.
“Don’t move,” he said gently. “The medics are on their way.”
Her gaze swung toward him, her features in the midst of change, Lyssa’s features fading into those of the dark-haired woman he’d met only a few hours before. Kazdan’s wife, as Sam had said.
“Tell him I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I didn’t want him to die … He was good … to me …”
Surprise rippled through him. He had no doubt that she meant Stephan, and he wondered if Kazdan knew his wife had fallen in love with the man she was supposed to kill. “So it was you who sent the warning to the SIU?”
She licked her lips. “I didn’t want to be responsible for all those deaths, no matter what he said.”
“And the child?” he asked softly. “Whose is it?”
“I don’t really know,” she said. “But it’s probably Jack’s.”
“Probably” still left a question mark, and that meant they had to do everything in their power to keep her alive. If it was Stephan’s child she carried, then he would want to raise it.
“You’d better leave the bitch,” Stephan stated into his ear, his voice deadpan and tightly controlled, “and head over to the control center. Sam hit the alarm button about a minute ago. I sent two State boys over, but we’ve since lost contact with them all.”
Gabriel swore and headed for the exit.
SAM SHIFTED HER WEIGHT FROM one leg to the other, trying to ease the ache in her feet. She needed something, anything, to happen; otherwise she was in serious danger of falling asleep. She glanced at her watch. Three-o-five. The PM was obviously running behind schedule. Why couldn’t a politician actually keep on schedule just this once?
She stifled a yawn and checked the .44 for the umpteenth time. It wasn’t a weapon she??
?d normally use. She didn’t like the feel of it, nor did she like the kickback. Still, beggars couldn’t be choosers. Security operation or not, no one was standing ready with an arsenal of weapons. They’d taken what was available, and Gabriel had taken the only laser.
She put the Magnum back in its holster and wondered what he was up to. He was supposed to contact her when he’d reached the elevator mechanic’s room. So far, her wristcom had been worryingly silent. Maybe there were problems, though she’d heard no noise, no sound of gunfire.
Shifting her weight to her other leg again, she wondered how Jack planned to get into the port. Security was locked down tight. No one was getting in or out without the proper ID. Still, if the Wetherton clone was on Jack’s side, maybe getting ID wasn’t a problem. Ministers could get such things, even a minister on the way out.
Sound whispered across the silence. She cocked her head, listening intently. After a few moments, she heard it again—the creak of metal. Someone was walking up the stairs.
The lights went out. She squatted and pressed back into the corner. Another faint creak whispered through the darkness. Carefully, she drew her gun, clicked off the safety and held it in a two-handed grip, aiming for the top step.
Down below, someone breathed. She could hear the whisper of his breath, sighing in and out of his lungs. Could almost hear the beating of his heart, a steady vibration far slower than her own.
When had her senses become so acute?
The landing immediately below her creaked. She tensed and waited. So, too, did the person below. His breathing was a short, sharp sound that spoke of fear. After a minute, he continued toward her. She tensed, her finger tightening fractionally on the trigger.
A head appeared—brown hair, brown skin. No one she knew. Metal glinted in his left hand.
“Police,” she said. “Drop your weapon and put your hands up!”
He jumped. Then, almost as if in slow motion, she saw his fingers tighten around his gun, saw the brief flash of white sear the darkness and the ripple through the air as the bullet came at her. She rolled to one side, then half rose and fired. The retort shuddered through her arms, the sound of the shot booming through the silence.
The impact threw him back down the stairs. She rose, walked over to the railing and carefully peered over. The stranger lay on the landing below and he wasn’t moving.
But someone else was.
Feet pounded up the steps—four men, at least. She scooted up to the next landing and pressed the alarm on her wristcom. One or two men she could cope with. Four was asking for trouble.
She waited in the shadows. The men stopped on the landing below, one of them cursing softly. Tension leapt into the air, so thick she could almost taste it.
They edged forward. She caught a glimpse of blond hair as the stranger tried to figure out where she was. She informed him by firing a warning shot that skimmed his head. He jerked back, but others appeared over the railing, returning fire. They missed her by several feet. Maybe they couldn’t see her too well in the shadows. She silently ran up to the next landing.
Where the hell was her backup?
With all the security running around this place, she’d have thought there’d be someone close enough to help her out. Maybe she should just hightail it up to the control center. The State boys were up there. At least the odds would be more even—though in reality, the gunshots should have had them out and investigating by now.
She listened to the four men below. They were creeping up the stairs again, heading for the next landing. The control center was only another two flights up. Damn it, why hadn’t anyone come out to investigate the gunshots? Surely they couldn’t have missed the retort of the Magnum. But she had no idea just how noisy a control center was. Maybe it was impossible to hear even a gun as loud as the .44.
The door above her opened as she reached the next landing. Light flung itself down the stairwell, making her blink. A lanky fellow in the State’s black uniform entered the stairwell.
“About time,” she muttered. Then the sudden silence hit her as odd. As did the officer’s amused expression.
Too late, she saw the gun in his hand and heard the muffled retort as he fired. She dove sideways, but not fast enough. The bullet tore through her shoulder, throwing her back hard against the wall. Pain ran like fire through her body, sucking the strength from her legs. As she slid down the wall, she stared at the lanky stranger walking toward her.
And saw that he had Jack’s eyes.
GABRIEL HEARD THE BOOMING RETORT of the .44 and slid to a halt, pressing back against the wall as he stared up at the dark stairwell.
After a few seconds, there was a second shot, then silence. High up he could see a shaft of light, starlike in the distance.
“I still can’t contact the State boys in the control center,” Stephan said into his ear.
“Have you got shooters on the roof?”
“Yep. The first-stage launch screen is up. It’s difficult to see anyone inside. No one’s responding to calls.”
“What about Sam?”
“She’s not responding, either.”
Sam was a by-the-numbers cop. If she didn’t answer, she was either injured or dead. Anger slithered through him. She might not be a friend, and she certainly would never be his partner, but she was someone he wouldn’t mind getting to know better. If she was dead, if he’d lost that chance, Jack would pay. “What about Kazdan?”
“No sign of him.”
He had to be here, somewhere. He wouldn’t be careless enough to arrive at the last minute and hope to get inside.
“And the PM?”
“Two minutes away.”
They didn’t have much time left. Nor could they delay the Prime Minister’s arrival much longer without the press figuring out that something was wrong.
“I’m heading up.”
“Be careful.”
That was one warning his brother didn’t need to give. He switched the audio off again. Then, keeping his back to the wall, he carefully eased up the stairs. From above came the brief mutter of conversation and the light winked out. He halted, listening.
Someone was walking down the stairs. He hunkered down in the corner of a landing and waited. The soft steps came closer. Whoever was approaching was making no effort to conceal his or her presence. Feet came into view—joggers so white they practically glowed in the darkness.
It was a teenager who looked barely old enough to be out of grade school. He wasn’t one of the security staff, nor was he one of the regular port staff, despite the fact that he was wearing an ID tag. Given the total lockdown, he had to be one of Kazdan’s men—though the term “man” was something of a misnomer in this case.
He was also apparently night blind, walking right past without so much as twitching. Gabriel rose swiftly and moved up behind the skinny youngster. Still no sign of awareness. Shaking his head at Kazdan’s stupidity, he clamped one hand over the kid’s mouth and grabbed the gun with his other.
“Move and you die,” he whispered into one diamond-studded ear.
The youngster froze, yet his entire body trembled. Where in hell had Kazdan got this one from—kindergarten? “Is the lady police officer upstairs? Nod if the answer is yes.”
The teenager swallowed convulsively and nodded.
“Is Kazdan upstairs?”
Another nod.
“How many other people? One nod per person.”
Five nods. Not good odds. Gabriel was fast, but he wasn’t a fool. He pressed the audio switch back on. “Byrne, the PM arrived yet?”
“Just now.”
“Herd him into the security center. I don’t care how or why, but get everyone else out. I’m coming in with a prisoner.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Maybe.” And maybe it was just plain suicide. Still, if Kazdan was already in the control tower, they had no other choice. He was obviously disguised, if the sharpshooters on the roof couldn’t see him. Someone had to go
in. “I’ll explain when I get there. We’ll need some duct tape, knives, a few Kevlar suits, a Holcroft laser or two, and a few packets of blood.”
“Nice shopping list. I’ll see what I can do.”
Gabriel nudged the teenager. “I’m about to take my hand from your mouth. Make any sort of noise and you’re dead. Okay?”
The kid nodded again. Gabriel pushed him down the rest of the stairs, and then he urged him into a run at the bottom. He had a horrible feeling time was running out. He had to get upstairs before it was too late—for Sam, more than anyone else.
SAM CAME TO SLOWLY. Something warm and sticky pasted her shirt to her chest, pulling at her skin when she shifted. Her shoulder burned—a deep-set ache that pounded through her body, churning her stomach into knots.
“Shame to waste all that blood,” Jack commented, amusement evident in his soft tone, “but I really don’t have time for a snack right now.”
She opened her eyes. She was lying on her side on the control tower floor, her back resting against a metal panel. Jack stood to her right, arms crossed, leaning casually against a well-lit radar screen. Two men stood near the elevator, and another two guarded either end of the semicircular window. All five were wearing State IDs—courtesy of the soon-to-be-dead Wetherton, or some other high-placed clone, no doubt.
The real tower staff lay in a heap near the bathroom door. Her gaze skated over them quickly, and she grimaced. By the look of the woman lying nearest to her, Jack had already indulged in a snack or two.
She eased upright. The fire in her shoulder became an inferno, and she hissed. Sweat broke out across her brow, and warm moisture began to trickle down the inside of her shirt. Gingerly, she cradled her right arm in her left and glared up at her former partner.
Jack laughed softly. “You should have joined me, Sam. It would have been a whole lot easier.”
She snorted softly. “I’d rather mate with a crocodile.”
“Now that conjures up some interesting images.” He studied her for a moment, eyes dilated and hungry. “How did you escape the cell?”