Dead by Midnight

  “I’m in. Looking for those hatches.”

  Almost immediately he found them. Like small cellar doors, they opened on ordinary hinges. He chose one close to the place where they wanted him to insert the camera, opening it slowly to reveal the reverse side of a suspended ceiling—metal support beams, electrical wires, the back side of light fixtures. He took the snake camera out of his gear bag and lowered himself to one of the support beams. He found a spot where one of the fiberglass tiles had broken along the edge and pushed the lens of the camera through.

  And then he heard it—the moans of a woman in pain.

  The sound hit him in the sternum, made his chest constrict.

  Kat.

  11

  Chapter Eleven

  22:30

  Kat tried to relax, fought not to moan, but the pain was so intense it drove every conscious thought from her mind. She squeezed Joaquin’s and Sophie’s hands, looking into Sophie’s eyes as the contraction peaked, held onto her as if it were trying to break her, then slowly ebbed.

  “We’ve got you,” Joaquin said softly.

  Sophie pressed a cool, wet napkin to her forehead. “You’re doing great.”

  That’s not how Kat felt. She knew having a baby hurt a lot, but this was different. “The pain is so much worse this time.”

  It scared her.

  What if something was wrong?

  “You’re early.” Sophie’s tone of voice was soft, soothing. “Your body probably wasn’t ready for this. Being tense can make it more painful, too.”

  Kat knew this, and she’d tried not to tense up. But every time she opened her eyes, she saw men with guns and blood on the walls.

  “I don’t want them to hurt my baby.”

  Joaquin gave her hand a squeeze. “We’re not going to let that happen.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “I wish I were on the dinétah.”

  Both Alissa and Nakai had been born on the Navajo reservation in a clinic about an hour’s drive from her grandmother’s homesite. She’d felt safe there, surrounded by Gabe’s love and strengthened by her grandmother’s reassurances and prayers.

  Sophie stroked her hair. “Maybe if you pretended you were home it would help.”

  Kat’s temper flashed. “How can I do that lying on this floor surrounded by men with guns?”

  And then it hit her.

  Hwéeldi.

  The Long Walk.

  All Diné people knew the story. The US Army had forced the Navajo to leave their homes and walk 300 miles to captivity at Bosque Redondo, a place they called Fort Sumner. Many Diné had died along the way of exhaustion, thirst, starvation, disease. Grandma Alice’s great-grandmother had survived the Long Walk, but her great-grandmother’s pregnant sister had not. She’d been shot and killed by a soldier when she’d gone into labor and stopped to give birth.

  This wasn’t the Long Walk, but Kat was a captive. Just like that soldier, her captors didn’t care what became of her or her baby.

  Another contraction began to build—and Kat began to sing quietly to herself. At first she wasn’t even aware she was doing it, the words coming from somewhere inside her. Then she realized she was singing a traditional healing song, one she’d heard her uncle and grandfather sing when she was a little girl.

  “Hamá hólǫ́ǫgo 'ayóo jiníigo. 'Ayóo jiníigo t'áá bee hojílį́į łeh …”

  As pain tightened its grip around her, the walls of the Grand Ballroom faded, becoming the red mesas that surrounded Grandma Alice’s hogaan at K’ai’bii’tó. She latched onto the image of her home, felt Gabe standing there beside her, and Alissa and Nakai, too, the new baby out of her body and in her arms. Their spirits were together even if their bodies were not.

  She thought of the young women who’d made the Long Walk, carrying babies on their hips or pregnant. She thought of another mother, one who’d lived long ago, who’d had no choice but to give birth in a pen for animals and place her newborn in a manger. Their strength became her strength.

  Even after the contraction faded, she kept singing. Words had power, and the words of her people had come to her to help her through this.

  She heard Holly’s voice, knew Holly and Sophie were talking about the box of medical supplies the FBI had sent up. She let the voices drift over her, knowing that her friends were doing all they could to watch out for her and her baby. She pressed a hand to her abdomen.

  It’s going to be okay, little one.

  * * *

  22:33

  “I’m sorry, Kat. I have to pretend to be your nurse.” Holly lifted the tiny GPS device from the roll of adhesive tape where the FBI guys had hidden it, not wanting to disturb Kat, who was singing softly to herself, her eyes closed, her cheeks flushed.

  Kat gave an almost imperceptible nod of her head.

  Holly took her wrist, pretending to take her pulse. She’d had advanced first-responder training and knew enough to be convincing.

  Kat gripped Holly’s hand, squeezed.

  “Another contraction?” Holly asked.

  Sophie nodded.

  Kat’s brow furrowed, her fingers all but crushing Holly’s, but her singing didn’t stop, even when the words became pained whimpers.

  Damn Moreno! Damn him and his entire family!

  The sight of Kat’s suffering tore at Holly, bringing back her argument with Nick.

  If we’re going to have kids, we need to start soon.

  That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who has to go through it. All you have to do is come.

  I can’t change human biology, but if you think I’d leave you to face it by yourself, you’re wrong. I’m not that kind of man.

  Holly’s throat grew tight.

  Oh, Nick.

  Kat’s grip on her hand lessened as the contraction came to an end.

  Focus!

  Holly released Kat’s hand. “I’m going to do everything I can to help get us all out of here alive.”

  She stuck the GPS transmitter, which was no bigger than the active part of a SIM card, beneath the lace of her bra. She would put it on Pepe as soon as she got a chance.

  How surreal this felt. She had spent years planting GPS devices and listening devices on suspected enemies of the United States. She’d never imagined she would be using that experience to try to save her friends’ lives.

  She’d already planted one listening device on the underside of the table where Secretary Holmes sat. Not even Secretary Holmes knew it was there. She didn’t know about the GPS device Holly had hidden in the beading on the back of her gown, either. This second GPS transmitter was intended for Commander Asshat, who, as it turned out, was looking for her.

  Holly’s pulse spiked. She forced her fear aside.

  You can do this.

  She’d been in trouble before. She’d even killed before.

  Pepe stopped walking the moment he saw Kat, turned his face away, snapping his fingers, motioning for Holly. “Come.”

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Holly said to Kat, still playing nurse. Then she dropped her voice to a whisper, met Joaquin’s gaze. “Don’t interfere.”

  She stood, faced Pepe, let him see fear in her eyes. “She needs help. She—”

  “Tell Camilo when he gets here that he is in charge until I return.” He tossed his AK to one of his men, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her after him.

  From around the room came jeers and whistles, Moreno’s men cheering him on in what they assumed would be an act of rape.

  “Stop! I’m not a whore!” Not that whores deserved to be raped, of course, but that was the best line Holly could come up with at the moment.

  She pretended to struggle in the hallway, fought him when he tried to kiss her in the elevator, taking advantage of the opportunity to stick the GPS device on the underside of his collar.

  He struck her cheek, pain rattling her brain, making her headache worse. “You think you can fight me, bitch?”

  The elevator doors opened, and he jerked h
er out, pulling her down the hallway until he came to a room where the door had been left ajar.

  He dragged her inside, flung her on the bed, and began to unzip his fly. “I’m going to fuck you so hard your pussy will be useless afterward.”

  Holly fought to master her pain and adrenaline. She had only one chance at this. There was no one to help her this time, no one listening in, no team ready to intervene.

  “Please don’t hurt me! I’ll do whatever you want.” She slipped the straps of her gown down her shoulder to expose her bra, then lay back and spread her legs, keeping them flat against the bed. “See? I’m ready for you.”

  He looked her up and down, his gaze fixing first on her cleavage and then her crotch, his lips twisting into a predatory smile. Then he yanked down her pantyhose and panties and tossed them aside.

  Come and get it, you son of a bitch.

  He clenched a fist in her hair, pulling hard, as he settled between her thighs. “I hope you like pain.”

  Holly brought her knee up, struck him hard in the groin.

  He collapsed onto his side, coughed, moaned, his hands cupping his junk, his mouth open, his eyes wide.

  “You said something about pain?” Holly pushed him off her, leaped from the bed, grabbed a curling iron from a nearby suitcase and wrapped the electrical cord around his neck once, twice, drawing it tight, putting all her weight into it.

  His face turned red, his eyes bulging, fingers clawing at the cord.

  “Jefe!” A shout came from the still open doorway.

  Holly looked up, saw one of Moreno’s men.

  He rushed in, knocked her backward against the wall, took the cord from around Moreno’s neck, speaking to him in Spanish.

  Holly jumped to her feet, leaped onto the bed, hoping to reach the door.

  Moreno’s man grabbed her around the waist, threw her to the floor. She scrambled to her knees. His boot drove into her belly, pain driving the strength from her body and the breath from her lungs. Then a foot came down hard in the middle of her back, forcing her to flat onto the floor.

  Moreno looked down at her, his face pale, one hand against his throat. “You … fucking … bitch.”

  And Holly knew she was dead.

  * * *

  22:47

  Pepe sat on the edge of the bed, afraid he would throw up, his breath coming in gasps, the pain in his balls radiating into his stomach and thighs. He struggled to his feet, wanting to kick her in the gut again and again, but he couldn’t find the strength. “I’m going to kill you.”

  Tavo grabbed her by her hair, jerked her to her feet. “I came to tell you that Juandi is dead, and I cannot find Jhon. Also, Camilo has not come.”

  Pepe barely heard him, rage and pain consuming him. He’d been outdone by a woman, by a little puta. “You fucking bitch!”

  He drove his fist into her stomach, watched her crumple. She was just a woman. Just a woman. How could she have gotten the better of him?

  He looked up at Tavo. “The bitch almost killed me!”

  “Jefe, you can deal with her later. Juandi is dead.”

  Tavo’s words finally sank in.

  “What do you mean Juandi is dead?”

  “We found his body in the loading dock. He’s been shot. There was a vial of cocaine on the floor next to him. Jhon was gone, and the door was wide open.”

  Alarm coursed through Pepe.

  He’d known the malparidos with the FBI wouldn’t keep their word. They had broken in. While he’d been distracted by this bitch, they had broken in and killed one of his men. Had they infiltrated the building?

  He looked into the whore’s face, saw defiance in her eyes. “When I get back, I’m going to make you suffer, and then I’m going to kill you.”

  She glared at him. “Go to hell.”

  “Tie her up. Make sure she can’t get away. I’m going to find Camilo.”

  Pepe did his best to walk upright, pain still radiating through his groin. He pulled out his cell phone, called Camilo. The call went to voicemail.

  This time, he called Luis. That call also went to voicemail.

  Panic flared in his belly.

  He called Yeison. “What the hell is going on?”

  “Jefe? Everything is as it should be down here.”

  What did he mean by down here?

  “Are you still in the basement? I told Camilo to send you and your men up to the roof to take over for Luis and his crew.”

  “I’m sorry, jefe, but I haven’t heard from Camilo since you sent him to the roof.”

  What in the name of Satan …?

  “Do you want me to go to the roof?”

  “No. Stay where you are.” Pepe would take Tavo and check it out for himself. “Muster your men. I want a head count.”

  He disconnected, retrieved his rifle, then went down to the loading dock with Tavo, where he found Juandi staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, two bullet holes in his chest, a vial of cocaine beside him, powder on his nose.

  Jhon was nowhere to be found, the back door now closed.

  Slowly, Pepe opened it, looked out into the alley.

  No sign of Jhon. No sign of the FBI or SWAT.

  Tavo spoke from behind him. “This casing is from an AK. SWAT and FBI don’t use AKs. What if Jhon shot Juandi and then ran off?”

  “Why would Jhon shoot Juandi?” Pepe’s gaze darted to the cocaine.

  Could drugs have anything to do with it?

  Yeison called back. “Everyone is here and accounted for, jefe, but I still haven’t seen Camilo or heard from him.”

  Pepe looked over at Tavo. “Come with me to the roof.”

  They took the service elevator up, then a long flight of stairs. The bulkhead door was open, frigid air spilling in. Weapon raised, he stepped out into the darkness—and saw no one. There was no sound apart from the wind.

  Pepe made his way toward the place where Luis and his men were supposed to set up the machine gun, Tavo following behind him. Not only were the men missing, but the weapons were missing, too.

  He turned slowly, chills that had nothing to do with the cold skittering up his spine, the roof giving a sniper a thousand places to hide. And then in the shadows he saw them—four bodies. He moved closer, needing to see faces.

  Camilo and all of Luis’s men. They’d been shot, spent AK shell casings scattered across the roof. But where was Luis?

  “Jefe, here.”

  Pepe turned to find Tavo looking over the edge. Pepe stepped up to the parapets, glanced down, and saw a man’s body splayed on the pavement below. He couldn’t see the man’s face, but he recognized the camo.

  Luis.

  But he’d just gotten a text message from Luis not ten minutes ago.

  Unless…

  “Search for their cell phones!” he shouted to Tavo. “Do it!”

  Tavo hurried over, searched the bodies. “They’re gone.”

  How had this happened?

  Pepe’s mind raced.

  It had to be SWAT. Those lying hijueputas.

  But if they had taken the rooftop and the loading dock, why had they not rushed in on him and his men? Why would they kill a few of his men, abandon both places, and then disappear? How could they have reached the roof without being seen or heard? Where had the weapons gone? Who had been texting him?

  It made no sense.

  He looked to the northeast, saw what looked like Guillermo and his team still in position on Sherman Street, guarding their escape route, orange cones in the road. What if it wasn’t Guillermo? What if the FBI had discovered the tunnel and replaced his men with special agents?

  He called Guillermo and was relieved when he answered on the first ring. “Are all of your men accounted for?”

  “Sí, jefe.”

  Pepe let out a relieved breath. The tunnel was still their secret.

  “Is there a problem?” Guillermo asked.

  Pepe didn’t want to look weak. “Stay sharp.”

  “Sí, jefe.”

 
Pepe turned back toward the bulkhead, dialing Kimble’s number. “You stupid son of a bitch! I told you that if you sent a team in, I would start killing hostages.”

  “We haven’t sent anyone in, commander. I give you my word.”

  “Why are six of my men dead and one missing?”

  “I think I might be able to help you unravel that mystery, but first I need your promise that you won’t hurt any of the hostages.”

  Why were they always asking him to make promises when they were the ones who broke them?

  “I promise nothing. Nada. Got that? Start talking, old man.”

  * * *

  22:50

  They moved slowly and deliberately through the darkness, Tuck in the lead, Julian bringing up the rear just ahead of Bauer. Tuck had switched his infrared headlamp to stealth mode as soon as they’d entered the tunnel, giving their night vision goggles just enough light to function. Otherwise, they’d be stumbling through pitch black.

  The tunnel was exactly as Tessa had described it—like an old mineshaft. Its floor, walls, and ceiling were made of dirt and were reinforced by old timbers, many of which had rotted through and lay across their path. They took care not to bump the walls for fear they’d collapse or crumble and expose them to Moreno’s men, whose muffled voices they could hear on the other side of the wall.

  The rats were there, too. Lots of them. The men stepped carefully around them, wanting to prevent the rodents from fleeing the tunnel in large enough numbers to alert Moreno’s men to their presence.

  In their earpieces, they all heard the news: Moreno had found his dead men and was threatening to kill hostages.

  Time was growing short.

  Ahead of him, Tuck stopped, turned off his infrared headlamp, dim light coming from a source ahead.

  The breach in the wall that Tessa had described.

  Tuck stopped, listened, watched—then stepped quickly past it.

  One at a time, they moved to the other side of the opening, aware that being seen would likely mean their own deaths and the death of every hostage. Tuck, Evers, Blackwell, Schroder, Vance, Cruz.