Taker (21 page)

It’s Too Quiet

M
aximilian Karakov stood
in the warm evening breeze and surveyed the tall, imposing structure that was the National Military Medical Center. The fake ID provided by DuBois had fooled the guards on duty at the gate, so Max and his four heavily armed companions had passed through without unnecessary deaths. It was always better that way. Despite everything that was about to happen, Max did have a personal code of trying to avoid needless harm.

He had to admit, the hospital was an impressive structure. Although showing its age, its massive campus stretched out across many acres. Max found it ironic that the president was being treated here, alongside the same injured soldiers he regularly ordered to fight for him overseas.

“Ready?” The mercenary heading up the assault was getting impatient. He offered Max a metal helmet.

Max nodded and, receiving the cap, secured it to his head.

“In five.”

The mercenary began to count down on his fingers. When he reached “two,” however, Max rolled his eyes and began to walk toward the doors of the hospital without regard for the official countdown to action. It always amused him to see these special-operations guys run through their dialogue as though they were in a Tom Clancy novel. There was something arrogant about them, strutting around in the body armor that used Max’s own blood to repair any injury that the men might endure. It was Max’s gift that was going to deliver justice; the fools who guarded him were a dime a dozen.

From almost the moment he reached the automatic doors, Max knew something was awry.

They entered the reception area to find it empty of soldiers and civilians alike.

“It’s too quiet,” he began, but before he was able to finish, he heard in the distance the unmistakable sound of boots running on linoleum.

“Down!” commanded the mercenary captain.

But Max continued forward. Up ahead, a wave of soldiers burst through the swinging doors and began to fire without warning.

As instructed, the four mercenaries returned fire at the soldiers on the flank.

Three, four, five bullets struck Max’s chest. He’d had enough military training not to flinch when they entered his torso. The impact always hurt, but that was how it worked.

Max’s ability to keep on walking despite having gunshot wounds did not stop the hospital’s soldiers from trying their best to break him. The soldiers radioed their superiors that a wanted enemy of the state had infiltrated the building. For whatever reason, Max decided to spare the lives of the guards at the gate a little longer.

Their secure briefing had prepared them for surprises, but up until now, the soldiers had assumed Max was wearing a bulletproof vest. The amount of punishment this man could absorb was beyond a simple bulletproof vest, however. It was when the blood started seeping out of his shirt that the soldiers’ faces showed absolute bewilderment.

There was a pause in the gunfire as Max started to stumble. Any normal man would’ve fallen to the ground by then, but Max was actually straightening himself. “I am sorry, my brothers, for what you are about to receive,” Max said.

Clenching his fist, Max stared at the soldier up front.

The soldier screamed as the bullet he had fired from his own weapon shot back into his forehead. Death was instantaneous, and he slumped to the floor. His two colleagues watched in shock as their own shots continued to rain down against the tall, slim intruder clad in black.

There was going to be no time for reflection. The moment their eyes met the assailant’s, indescribable pain surged through their bodies.

The rest of the bullets intended for Max found their targets in the remaining soldiers, and they began to fall down, one by one.

When there were no more, Max stepped over the bodies and approached the doors leading to the main corridor. Before entering, Max glanced up at the closed-circuit TV camera trained on him.

They would see now what he was capable of. That he was unstoppable.

You Jump, I Jump

P
RESS received the
alert about the hospital security breach moments after Nicole and Jason had reached the rec room.

Jason stayed by Nicole’s side during an emotional call to her parents.

Previous calls had been different in tone. Almost the second her father picked up, Nicole realized that the past 24 hours had marked her indelibly. She would play down the isolation and the fear. She measured her words when describing how DuBois and PRESS had treated her, and she skipped over the raw terror of having her face pressed against tarmac and a gun held to her head. In the course of a five-minute phone call, Nicole came to understand that she was now protecting them from the truth. Overnight, she had changed from protected to protector.

She wasn’t sure how much of this Jason understood, but he held her hand throughout.

After she had finished, she rested her head against his shoulder. She had known this guy only a matter of hours, and yet there was something so comforting, so right about being with him. She felt her muscles relax just by lying there.

“So, the Agent said my mom could come pick me up anytime,” he ventured.

Nicole nodded.

“Unless, that is, you want me to stay. Then I’d stay.”

She leaned up and looked into his eyes. “They’ve held you prisoner because of me. I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Why not? I’m guessing the worst is over now. They believe you, whoever you are.”

“I’m a secret super-spy.”

Jason smiled. “Seriously, with the questions they were asking in the hangar, I wouldn’t doubt it right now. So, let me rephrase my question. I’ve been through countless med checks, been interrogated, imprisoned, flown handcuffed in the back of an airplane, locked up in God knows what part of this building — and I still want to stay if you want me here. So, does that change things?”

Nicole laughed. “Sure.”

“I jump, you jump, right?” He grinned.

She smiled. “You jump, I jump.
Titanic
.”

“That’s what I said. Because I’ve noticed that life just gets more interesting around you.” He leaned forward and lightly kissed her, then held her hand.

“Interesting? The world is actually really messed up when I’m around.”

“True. But the good news for you is that I’m actually fine with that.”

It felt good for them to finally have something to laugh about, and a warm embrace and some kissing seemed to make the world a little brighter. But the moment was brief, as a grim-faced agent soon interrupted them. He had news of Max infiltrating the National Military Medical Center, where the president was treated when near the capital. Nicole and Jason immediately ran down the corridor and joined the others in the PRESS briefing room.

“This should be interesting,” Bishop said matter-of-factly.

On the screen was the frozen image of Max’s determined look picked up by the hospital reception’s CCTV camera. The intensity of his stare shocked Nicole.

“Word is he’s already taken down 10 soldiers. Many shots were fired, but Max and his small group of mercenaries appear to be unharmed.”

Bishop looked as stressed as Nicole had ever seen him. She turned back to the live streaming on a different screen. As a new wave of guards faced Max, he continued moving deeper into the hospital.

“He’s two corridors away from the president’s hospital suite now,” Velasquez said.

Max was distracted from his path when one of his mercenaries took a fatal hit and fell to the ground. It was the first time one of his men had fallen. But this was to be only a momentary hesitation, as Max then walked right on top of the body.

“Did he just step over one of his own men?” Ben asked.

“Yep,” Bishop murmured.

Max glanced up at the CCTV with a wry smile before ordering his other three mercenaries to leave their companion behind.

“He doesn’t care anymore,” Nicole reflected.

“Terrifying,” Velasquez remarked. She pressed on her earpiece. “Red one, status update?”

They watched as one of Max’s men waited by a security gate. He held up what looked like a thin smartphone and began typing.

While waiting, Max glanced up at the camera again, tapped his watch, smiled and waved, mouthing the words “bye-bye.”

The door behind him slid open. After shooting a thumbs-up to the camera, Max entered.

Ben was the first to ask the obvious question. “Is that it? Did he just enter the president’s room?”

“Yes, that is the president’s suite at the hospital. There’s nobody left to stop him.” Bishop touched a button on his earpiece and gave out a command. “Max has reached the presidential suite. One more door and he’ll reach the president’s bed. Surround the perimeter and wait for him to exit.”

Ben couldn’t believe it. “But you can’t just let the president die! Aren’t you going to send every available man in there?”

Bishop took a deep breath, turned and offered Ben an uncharacteristic smile. “No.”

Burton Was the Hacking Expert

T
here had been
fewer guards the closer Max had gotten to the president’s hospital suite. He wondered whether there were going to be more reinforcements arriving.

He was waiting by the last door for the mercenary to finish hacking into the door’s security panel — the only barrier that now stood between him and justice. It was heartening to realize that President John Lane Percival was only moments away from eternal damnation.

“What’s taking so long?” he snapped at one of the three remaining mercenaries.

“Burton was the hacking expert,” the man replied.

Burton had been the first casualty. Max wondered why this particular mercenary was being so sullen about it.

“With respect, we don’t leave men behind,” the mercenary said.

“I’m unsure to whom you’re referring as the collective, soldier,” Max replied. “There is no ‘we.’ You are under my command now. So get on with it and open this door.”

Max looked at the other mercenaries, who seemed to judge him with distaste.

The noise of the locking system releasing came with a satisfying clunk.

“Let’s go.” Max pushed open the doors and began to advance down the long corridor.

The soldiers at the end raised their guns.

“Freeze. Don’t come any further,” the taller one shouted.

Max continued his pace. “Don’t anyone fire!” he called out, looking at his own men. He approached the soldiers on guard.

“By now, you will have seen or heard what I’ve done to your comrades to get to this room. Now, if I were you, I’d be stepping back right about now and letting me through.”

“GET ON THE GROUND AND PUT YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD!”

Max sighed, shrugged and waved a hand at his men. Gunfire erupted in the hallway then, and a volley of shots from the guards reached Max’s posse. In a second, and after a final glance at Max’s eyes, the soldiers on duty slumped to the floor.

Max’s own men examined their wounds and pressed a few buttons on a keypad located on their armor. There were some faint sounds of electronic beeps, metal clicks and plastic pops. About a minute later, they each gave Max a thumbs-up.

“Right.” He nodded to one of his mercenaries, who then opened the double doors.

Max strode in.

There was a gurney in the middle of what should’ve been the president’s hospital room.

The room was empty.

“What?” Max turned and looked at the mercenaries. Hardly believing his eyes, he strode around the room, half expecting to find another door. “Get me DuBois.”

“Sir.” One of the mercenaries dialed DuBois’ number on his cell. A couple of rings, a confirmation, and then he held out the phone.

“DuBois. What’s going on? He’s not here.” Max waited for the reply, his face curling up with rage. “It’s an empty room. I’m not sure he was ever here.” The anger was about to burst from inside him now. “You were wrong. Your people were wrong. I want to know where he is, now!”

Max shoved the phone back to the mercenary. He grabbed the gurney and, upending it, threw it at the CCTV camera.

To all eyes watching, static filled the screens.

Damage Control

S
enator Jennings was
as comfortable as he was going to get in the PRESS interview room. He had been dragged out of his office in Washington, D.C., and helicoptered to the secure facility with no prior warning. But he knew what this was going to be about.

He felt he’d had far too much time to reflect on the guilt and frustration he was carrying. It was driving him mad. He wondered whether he would ever be able to forget his wife Joanne’s devastated face.

One of the worst things about his last moment with Joanne was that he had lied to her. She had taken his hands, looked up at him, and asked him to tell her the truth about his involvement. But he hadn’t. Just thinking about that choked him up. He played with his plastic coffee cup, the drink having gone cold.

The door clicked open, and the man Jennings recognized as Agent Bishop walked in. Bishop nodded and smoothed his tie before sitting down.

“Senator, we spoke on the phone.”

“I remember, Agent Bishop. Thank you for your sensitivity in this.”

Bishop nodded. “I’m sorry about your son, Drake.”

“So am I. So am I.”

“Senator, you appreciate that we are in a delicate position.”

“I do,” Jennings nodded.

Bishop sighed. “We have an unfolding situation upstairs. These events are classified, but I have a feeling that you can shed some light on the motivation behind them. It concerns a colleague of yours. Anthony DuBois?” Bishop watched Jennings clench his jaw. “But you understand that we know — not just about DuBois, but about your connection with him.”

“Then what else do you want to know from me?”

“Whatever you can share with us. You can tell us now, or, if you make us work for it, the ramifications for making us discover information ourselves will increase your sentence exponentially.”

“Is that a threat, Agent Bishop?”

“It most certainly is.”

The two men sat and stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, each waiting for the other to blink. Jennings shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The thickness of the air around him made breathing almost unbearable. All the while, Agent Bishop remained calm and collected. When he couldn’t stand the silence any longer, Jennings exhaled and gave in.

“It’s game-over now, anyway. My son is dead. My career is ruined. My family will probably never speak to me again. But … this wasn’t supposed to happen. For starters, the Orlando plane hijacking was all DuBois. He wanted to use it as a cover to destroy the girl, Nicole Aaronson.”

“Why do you think he wanted to destroy her?”

It was a carefully worded question. Bishop wanted to uncover exactly what Jennings knew.

“Nicole has special powers. She can … take and give life. If she gives a little life, she can heal people. And if she chooses to take life, she can even kill people.”

“That sounds like an impressive skill. Wasn’t she useful to him?”

“
Was
. That’s the operative word. DuBois found another of her kind. DuBois says this other person is different — he’s been working with DuBois’ team for a while, and they’ve succeeded in harvesting biological information from him.”

“So, Nicole is an impediment to them now?”

“I’d say so. From everything I’ve heard, she doesn’t want to cause harm — not exactly the type of person you want to turn into a weapon. And NOR Corporation is a next-generation weapons research facility.”

“Are you still in contact with DuBois?”

“I could lie and tell you yes and enter into some kind of plea bargain with this fake relationship. Truth is, I confronted him recently. Tried to bring him back under control. Looking back, there was a time when I might have had control. But he’s got the upper hand now. He’s gone rogue. DuBois is a madman, and I’ve been marginalized.”

“Thank you for your honesty.” Agent Bishop produced a surveillance photo of Max and handed the photo to Jennings. “Do you know this person?”

“Yeah, that’s the guy. Max. He’s the reason they don’t need Nicole anymore. Max is more powerful than Nicole. He seems to be able to kill people with more speed and ferocity than Nicole ever could.”

“Has NOR Corporation been able to reproduce his abilities?”

“Fortunately, not completely. And as far as I know, they still don’t know how he is able to do what he does. But his blood contains the ability to drain life — just like Max himself is able to do. So, anybody who injects his blood into their veins has the ability to drain life from surrounding people for a limited amount of time.”

Bishop sighed. “Senator, this photo of Max is a still frame from surveillance cameras taken moments ago at the National Military Medical Center. Max and a small group of his men just attempted to assassinate the president.”

Jennings’ face froze as Bishop said the word “assassinate.” It was in that moment that Jennings realized he had created one of the most advanced terrorist organizations the world had ever seen.

“Agent, believe me. I knew nothing about his plan to kill the president.” Jennings shook his head, and his eyes started to tear up. Then his body shuddered at the thought of it all. “I don’t know where he is now, or what he’s planning next.”

“So you understand the consequences of what you’ve done? This looks like treason, doesn’t it?”

“Understand? Yes, I understand, agent.”

“Ask your office to transfer every ounce of data you have on DuBois and NOR Corporation. We’ve got to contain and repair the damage you’ve done, and protect this country you swore to serve.”

Bishop pushed the desk phone over to Jennings and watched as he called his assistant Michelle and gave her orders to release all records to Agent Bishop’s people.

“How will you explain my son’s death to the public? They’ll be asking about him.”

Bishop shook his head and shrugged slowly.

“I’ll do anything in my power to make this right …” The senator trailed off, his voice trembling. “But I don’t know what else to do. I financed a psychopath. I was willing to stand by and let a planeload of people die. I made it possible for DuBois to lock up Nicole like an animal.” Jennings collapsed his face into his hands and broke down completely then, weeping tears from his damaged soul.

Bishop opened a file and pushed a congressional press release toward Jennings.

The headline read, “Senator Jennings’ hero son dies from injuries.” As Jennings read on, he felt the great well of grieving open up in his heart. The copy described how Drake had courageously defended the cabin crew and passengers on Flight 91 but had been stabbed during the struggle and died the following day in the hospital from previously undetected internal injuries.

Choked up and moved, Jennings looked up at Bishop, a world of gratitude in his tearful eyes. “I don’t deserve this kindness.”

“Whatever way you look at it, your son died a hero, Senator,” Bishop said.