Deep Rising (An Outside the Lines Novel) (Entangled Select) (23 page)

“Sergei,” she pleaded. “Millions of innocent people will die. Don’t do this.”

He brandished the blasting cap like it was a rare jewel, cradling it in his right hand. He palmed a gun in the left. Her brother had already tried to kill her once. He’d do so again. She noticed three other men, slinking out of the darkness, flanking her brother and the burly man closest to him.

“Put down the detonator,” she demanded. “I, like you, brother, am still alive.” She brought her gun to bear on his heart. “If we both need die then so be it, but I won’t let you activate that bomb.”

The sound of a car tearing along the trail captured Sergei’s attention. His compatriot regarded her with empty eyes.

“Don’t even think it!” she screamed.

The stout man lifted his hands and did an odd little dance. He taunted her, and she experienced the incredible urge to wipe the smile off his face—in an irrevocable fashion.

“Sergei,” she whispered, drawing her brother’s attention back to her. “Put down the detonator and come home. It’s over. The world will take notice. You’ve done enough.”

“No!”

Lana watched her brother waver between her persistent voice and the convoy of vehicles she heard pounding up the trail. His gaze darted back and forth. He was desperate. She could see it in the pallor of his face, the slight tremors racking his body.

“Listen to your sister!” Jared shouted.

Lana couldn’t help but turn at the sound of his voice.

But that was a mistake.

Lana’s mind registered the pain before the sound accosted her ears. It knocked her flat. Someone started screaming, shouting so loudly it hurt to listen.

Gunfire echoed. Two shots.

Two more. A calypso percussion.

Lana dragged herself to her knees, leveling her gun at the man in the trench. Jared stood in front of her, obstructing her view.

“Move,” she told him. But he didn’t budge.

…

Facing two armed assailants, Jared couldn’t afford to acknowledge Lana. Her crazed brother loomed less than a dozen feet away. Sergei staggered on his feet, chanting something over and over again.

In one hand, Sergei held a Mannlicher special. The gun might be a relic of the last World War, but it obviously remained in working order, as Lana had painfully discovered. In his other hand, Sergei clasped the detonator. Jared recognized its design. The trigger contained a twofold punch pattern, requiring the user to compress two buttons simultaneously. They had traced the radio frequency from the first bomb to this one. Tyler’s team had been able to dismantle the first bomb, but this one could blow at any second.

Sergei held his thumb over the first button.

“Drop the detonator and the gun,” Jared yelled. He counted the dead bodies lining the perimeter. He’d taken out three terrorists but Sergei—the bastard—was still hovering near the bomb. He rose to his full height now, surveying his fallen associates.

“Nobody else has to get hurt,” Jared promised. That was a blatant lie, but whatever…

He doubted he’d be able to take out both Russians before he absorbed a lot of lead. But he’d try.

A tiny red dot appeared on Sergei’s forehead, and a matching mark bounced up and down along the last comrade’s brow line, where the man advanced from the ATVs.

Snipers.

Something of his relief must have shown on his face, because Sergei’s eyes narrowed. Jared didn’t think, he simply reacted, reverting to the training ingrained in him over countless years spent on war fronts and behind enemy lines.

In the breath of a heartbeat, he squeezed both triggers.

The booming blasts from high-caliber rifles drowned his smaller guns. Jared’s aim proved true. Sergei’s hand flew off at the wrist.

Both Russians lurched backward, falling into the trench. Blood splattered the rocks and ridge.

Jared retrieved the detonator.

Tyler jumped into the ditch, landing on a stone ledge. “Well, I’ll be damned. It’s the SOB from Slavyanka! The original buyer! I was hoping I’d cross his path again.”

“It’s a pity you didn’t kill him back in Azerbaijan,” Jared snapped.

Tyler regarded Lana’s brother, avoiding Jared’s withering glare. “I had my orders. We trailed The Wolf. A second team was supposed to apprehend the buyer.”

“They didn’t.” Jared said. “Innocent people died.”

“I lost two of my own.”

“Are you sticking around?” Jared asked the SEAL.

Tyler shrugged. “We’ve been without leave or reprieve for seven months. Two of my team members are chilling in a submarine morgue. We failed to capture The Wolf, but we secured a cache of atomic weapons and now we’ve removed the buyer.” He shrugged again. “I’m thinking we’re alive to talk about it and the general will probably cut us some slack.”

“What about The Wolf?” Jared asked.

“No,” Tyler decided. “We’re done. I’m taking my men and shipping out.”

Tyler directed his team to heft the bomb onto a rack. They humped it to the Humvee and loaded it into the trunk.

Jared hurried to Lana’s side. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the SEAL team hasten down the hillside.

Randall squatted beside Lana. “I don’t see any blood.”

Jared didn’t notice any blood either. Kneeling, he lifted her into his arms. “Lana?”

She didn’t stir.

He pressed his fingers into the curve of her neck, felt the thump of her pulse, steady, if a little rapid. Brushing her hair from her face, he called her name again. “Lana?”

She opened her eyes. “Dragon Skin
really
works.”

He laughed harshly. “I’ll be sure to tell ’em.”

“Please do.”

Her proper speech announced how out of place she was in this environment. She had no business delving into his world. She could’ve died.
Again.

“Can we go home now?” she mumbled against his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck.

She refrained from railing at him for leaving her behind, so Jared opted to forgo condemning her foolhardy decision to come to the island. They’d endured enough.

“Sure, darling. We can go home.”

“Is she okay?”

Jared glanced up at Randall. “She’s bruised. In shock.”

“I drove her here. Can I take you guys back to the hotel?”

Jared smiled. “Absolutely.”

“W-what about the bodies?” Lana mumbled.

Shielding her from the grisly scene, Jared ushered her to the idling car. He could distinguish the outline of snipers slipping along the terrain. A cleaning crew would arrive within minutes. The Company team would eradicate all traces of Sergei, his accomplices, and their vehicle and provisions.

“We’re going back to the hotel now, darlin’. The authorities will take care of it.”

“I want to yell at you for leaving me,” she admitted. “But I’m so happy we’re alive—I just don’t have the energy to argue right now.”

Jared held her closer, pressed a kiss to her head.

“I know exactly how you feel.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

On the ride back to the hotel, Jared anchored his arm around Lana’s shoulders, her back pressed against his chest. With his free hand, he twirled the ends of her hair.

When they reached the hotel, Randall locked eyes with Jared in the rearview mirror.

“Did you want to leave tonight?” he asked.

“No,” Jared said. “Not for a few days.”

“I’m going to head into town and check out the nightlife. Don’t bother waiting up.”

From the man’s sly grin it became patently obvious he was departing for their benefit, not his.

“Thanks.” Jared assisted Lana from the sedan. “I don’t know if I should punch you for bringing my woman into this mess or not, but since it turned out all right, I guess I’ll let it slide.”

Randall chuckled. “She said she wasn’t yours.”

Jared shot Lana an accusing look.

She shrugged. “I was angry.”

“Fair enough.”

“Have a great time sorting it out,” Randall suggested.

Jared approached the driver’s side window and squatted. “You’re a good man, Randall. The boss’ll hear about what you did tonight. I’m grateful.”

“Put in a good word, but not too good.”

Jared grinned. “You got it.”

“I’ll get another room in the hotel. You need me, you call.”

“Will do.”

Randall shook Jared’s hand before speeding down the avenue.

“What did he mean?” Lana asked. “About not-too-good a word?”

Jared guided her along the circular drive to the hotel.

“Would you want a job where each promotion guaranteed more work, longer hours, deadlier missions, and basically the same pay?”

“No.”

Jared brought her hand to his lips. “Neither would I.”

They strode hand-in-hand into the hotel and barely made it into the suite before tearing at each other’s clothes.

Nearly dying imparted one hell of an urgency to celebrate life.

…

Morning brought with it the oddest feeling Lana ever experienced. She rolled onto her stomach and stuffed the hotel pillow beneath her chin.

“Feeling weird?” Jared ventured.

“How did you guess?”

“A bit let down, perhaps?”

She laughed. “I don’t think ‘let down’ is the phrase I’d use. You didn’t disappoint last night—or this morning.”

He grinned. “I’m referring to the stress. We’ve been under such extreme strain that when it’s gone, the body has to readjust to the lack of anxiety.”

“That’s silly.”

“It’s chemistry. There are hormones and neurotransmitters firing away in our bodies. Extreme stress followed by tremendous relief knocked them out of whack.”

“You know a lot about it.”

“I’ve lived this particular roller coaster for fifteen years.”

“Thankfully, you won’t have to anymore.”

He smiled. “By the time you get home you’ll be back on an even keel.”

“We. When
we
get home.”

He didn’t respond, and Lana sat upright. The sheet fell from her hands, forgotten.

“Tell me I’m not jumping to the wrong conclusion here…”

His eyes went cold again, that flat quality she’d noticed when first they had met. A stranger resided beside her in bed. “You said you were finished,” she whispered.

“With the CIA. Yes.”

“You told your boss you quit. Jared, you told me you were out.”

“I’m not about to kick up my heels or lounge before the hearth while the man who facilitated this madness roams free.”

“My brother’s dead.”

“The man who sold him the bombs is not. Neither is that Matteo/John Gelonese character. And he’s seen your face, Lana.”

“You always intended to go after him?”

“It has nothing to do with what we have between us.”

“You’re a liar.” She laughed bitterly. “I thought it was over, but you were, what? Taking the time to heal? Plotting how to proceed?”

He didn’t justify her comment with an answer. “He’s a monster, Lana. He might try something again, find someone else to carry out the dirty work for him. He has the means and the know-how. Don’t you understand? It isn’t over.”

“No, Jared. That’s where you’re wrong. It
is
over. Get out.”

His features widened in surprise before leveling out. “Just like that, huh? I thought I meant more to you, but…”

And she’d thought she meant more to him. If he cared, he wouldn’t set her aside so carelessly. He wouldn’t risk his life so readily. There were other operatives. A whole unit of commandos had stormed the fault line on La Palma. He didn’t have to be the one to go.

He rose from the bed they’d shared, casually gathering his clothes and beginning to dress. An almost bemused expression flitted across his face. He took his time packing his bags, crossing from the bedroom into the bathroom and then moving to the closets. When he reached the door, he turned back. He remained there, giving her ample time to object, to argue, to ask him to stay.

But she didn’t.

Soundlessly, in a movement reminiscent of the abrupt way they had first met, Jared walked out the door and out of her life.

October 20 - 8:24 am

CIA Headquarters

Langley, Virginia

“What the hell is going on?” Gordon roared. “I have two teams lugging
two
bombs, a twice-over dead man, three unidentified bodies, and an activated tracer!”

“Ask your boy Jared,” Christopher suggested. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

“I’m sure there is a reasonable explanation for this,” Katherine mumbled.

Gordon pinned her with a glare.

“Seeing how Jared’s objective has been accomplished, shall I deactivate the tracers?” Christopher asked.

“No,” Gordon replied.

“But he’s no longer operating under our jurisdiction. He’s off the reservation.”

“Parkins,” Gordon barked. “Go finish the task I assigned you.”

“Yes, sir.” Christopher wisely staged an immediate exit.

Gordon concentrated on Katherine. “Have you heard from Jared?”

“No.” She looked him in the eyes. “I tried to contact Jared several times, but thus far we’ve been unsuccessful. According to General Greene, the SEAL team that assisted Jared, the same team that had been trailing The Wolf and successfully located his headquarters, is en route to Washington for debriefing. The transporter, Randall Wyerman, is on standby. I was about to redirect Randall to Turkey, where he can assist the team we have stationed there regarding the opiate ring.”

“Drug running to support Middle Eastern terrorist cells is paltry in comparison to what we were just up against!”

She lowered her gaze.

“I have the report right here, Katherine.” He slapped the papers on his desk. “You specifically stated that Sergei Aleksandr was dead. I have the signature of three coroners to prove it.” He waved another form. “This is his death certificate!”

“They must have made a mistake.”

“We don’t make mistakes!” he roared. “We had a body, blood, hair,
and
DNA to work with—there is absolutely no excuse for this!”

Katherine fumbled with the papers she held.

“Exactly whose body do we have in the coroner’s lab?” Gordon growled.

“I’ll get to the bottom of it,” Katherine assured him, clasping the papers to her chest. “The body is still in the morgue.”

“I’m heading down there now. I want to see for myself.”

“No!” she shouted, before lowering her voice. “Please, Gordon. Let me handle it.”

He stared at her, losing himself in her eyes, hating himself for being so weak where she was concerned. No matter how heinous his suspicions, he couldn’t be the one to call for her incarceration.

“Go ahead,” he said, allowing her to leave. For all the wrong reasons.

She hurried to the door. Tears shimmered in her eyes when she glanced back at him. She smiled through them.

“It will be fine, Katherine,” he told her. “I’m sure we’ll be able to sort it out. Whatever it is. Don’t worry.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you, Gordon.”

The door closed soundlessly behind her.

Gordon cursed.

He told himself it didn’t matter. Jared had eliminated Sergei, so what if they had mistakenly assumed the first mission’s success? Mistakes happened. She didn’t need to go down with the Russian. He’d fire her, prevent this debacle from mushrooming into a full-fledged scandal.

“I’m in love with her,” he realized, completely bowled over by the revelation. Why else would he compromise his integrity and turn his back on everything he’d ever believed in?

He might as well stamp the pink slip on his own career while he was at it, because he’d crossed the line and allowed his emotions to override his judgment.

The last thirty-three years of his life had been dedicated to the defense of his country. It was how he defined himself. But no more. In his position, absolutely no margin existed for error and even less room for personal or emotional missteps.

He’d settle the situation and immediately retire, because he no longer deserved the position.

“Damn it, Katherine,” he mumbled to himself. “What have we done?”

The answer came minutes later when a bomb went off.

The deafening blast rumbled through the building. Dropping to the ground, Gordon crawled beneath his desk. In the back of his mind, he considered the likelihood of a 9/11 scenario. If this building crumbled like the Towers, taking cover under the desk wouldn’t change the inevitable outcome.

The lights flashed, flickered, blinking out. Darkness claimed the room for several agonizing seconds before the emergency generators switched on. People started screaming. Amid the chaos, he detected his secretary’s screams. Two agents slipped into his room bearing weapons.

Gordon opened the safe beneath his desk and extracted a nine-millimeter.

He crouched with his back against the filing cabinet and aimed his gun at one of the agents.

“Sir, are you crazy?” Christopher exclaimed.

“The clothes,” Gordon shouted amid the confusion. “How do you afford them?”

Christopher’s eyes locked on the gun. “Wh-what?” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “I’m a wizard when it comes to stocks. I-I can show you my portfolio.”

Gordon chuckled. “You know, Christopher, you aren’t half the asshole I thought you were.” He lowered his weapon. “How about using some of that expertise to figure out what’s going on?”

Christopher claimed Gordon’s computer console. “Th-the building is secure,” he stammered, clearly unnerved by the bomb and the shock of having a gun shoved in his face. “The blast is contained.”

“Go check,” he told the guards, and Christopher raced out of the room. He waited for the other agent to depart.

Protocol demanded systematic evacuation by floors. While a squad of security personnel swarmed the lower levels of the intelligence building, Gordon calmly walked along the vacant upper corridors. His hand wrapped around the door handle when an agent sprinted up the hallway, halting him from reaching his objective.

“Systems security is maintained,” the man said. “The room is sealed.”

“Do we have a breach?”

“No. All clearance is valid. A cursory evaluation of the scene suggests human error.”

“Where?” Gordon asked.

“The explosion originated beneath a ventilation hood. Chemical detonation, either from improper disposal, mixing, or exposure to heat.”

“In one of the labs?”

“No. The morgue.”

“I want to know what happened,” Gordon demanded, straining to conceal the tremor in his voice.

“Yes, sir. I’ll have a report within the hour. May I allow the employees to return?”

“No.” Gordon cleared his throat. “Not until a physical inspection of every room within this building has been completed, from the ground up.”

“We’ll have our teams sweep through.”

“I want us operational within twenty minutes.”

“I’m on it, sir.” The man turned to go, paused. “There is one casualty at this time. A woman. We’re running her prints now.”

“Forward me the results.” He choked out the words.

The man hurried away, disappearing down the stairwell. Gordon waited for him to leave, then he pushed into Katherine’s office. Walking through the utilitarian room, he acutely detected its bareness. No pictures, no color, nothing personal cluttering the walls or desk. Only the faintest hint of perfume lingered, haunting him.

He marched past the room to the cabinets at the rear. He used a master combination to clear the safe.

A lavender parchment stared back at him.

Retrieving the letter, his fingers traced the delicate script.

If you’re reading this, then you know. Forgive me. For everything. They knew about us and threatened to end your career. It started with simple requests, nothing illegal. But from the first time I succumbed to their blackmail, I was caught. They used my compliance to further their threats against both of us. I don’t know who they are—and believe me I exploited every resource we have to track them. My only lead came after Hawaii. I obtained prints and an ID on Matteo Vikrum Sodorov. He is the liaison between “them” and The Wolf. Forgive me, Gordon. They were going to pin my deeds on you. God, I was so stupid!

Before I realized it, I was working both sides, trading information about our missions with The Wolf for their silence. I became the very thing I fought so hard to destroy. This conspiracy reaches further than you could ever imagine; beyond our own seat of power and into a dozen others. This was the only way.

—Katherine

Gordon tucked the parchment into the breast pocket of his jacket. If only he could tuck away his feelings as readily.

He strode numbly to his office.