Follow Me (Corrupted Hearts) Page 24

  “Take it easy,” Clark said. “Put these on.” He handed me something heavy and I fumbled with it before he took it from me and settled it on my head. A moment later, goggles slid over my eyes but I still couldn’t see.

  “Was this supposed to help?” I asked. “It’s still dark.”

  I felt his hand at my temple and a nearly silent click, then I could see.

  “Infrared goggles,” he said. “Night vision with their own invisible light source.”

  “That’s cool.” The panic in my stomach receded. The trees still looked intimidating, but at least now I could see them. “I can see where I’m going.”

  “That is the point. Follow me, and try not to make noise.”

  I was glad I had on jeans and tennis shoes because the pine trees grew thick and close together, which kept undergrowth to a minimum, but branches still scraped my arms and legs as I followed Clark. The forest floor was a bed of pine needles, which kept our steps silent.

  Cicadas were loud as well as other nighttime creatures that I tried not to listen to. I preferred the darkness of an open field in Nebraska to this claustrophobic canopy of trees.

  “Where are we—”

  A hand clapped over my mouth, silencing me. Clark’s goggle-obscured eyes were inches from my own.

  “Quiet.” His voice was barely above a whisper. I nodded so he knew I’d understood.

  “We’re almost there,” he said. “The rest of the team will be waiting.”

  I wondered how many people made up the “rest of the team,” but didn’t dare ask. He obviously didn’t want me to speak.

  We kept going, stopping once we saw a clearing in the trees and a building. It wasn’t fancy—just a square with windows—but was pretty big. A drive was around the side and three SUVs were parked there. We’d come around from the opposite direction.

  Lights gleamed from the windows, bathing the surrounding ground in a slight glow. Clark had crouched down behind a copse of trees and bushes several feet away and I headed toward him.

  “Don’t move.”

  A voice in my ear and something cold and sharp at my throat. I froze, fear flooding me.

  Clark glanced around and I wanted to warn him, but in the next moment he’d made a hand gesture to the man behind me and I was suddenly released.

  “Sorry about that. Didn’t know you were a friendly,” he said.

  I sucked in air, realizing I’d been holding my breath. He came around and I saw he was dressed all in black and outfitted in more heavy artillery than Clark. The same IR goggles we wore adorned his head as well.

  Clark beckoned impatiently to me and I bit back the angry retort on my tongue. It would’ve been nice if they’d known I was coming, too.

  “Give me your goggles,” he said, sliding his off.

  I did as he asked. “Is there anyone else who’s going to try to kill me tonight?” I asked, not quite able to let it go.

  “Just everyone inside that building.”

  Well. Okay, then.

  I glanced around, my eyes adjusting to the new lighting conditions, and saw that three more silent figures dressed like my attacker had arrived. They didn’t say anything as he and Clark conversed quietly. It was military speak about where they were going in, who’d go where and do what, etc.

  “The drone overhead is reporting seven heat signatures,” one of them said, showing Clark something on a device, maybe a phone or tablet. “We think your guy is in this room, here.” He pointed.

  “Two guards on the outside, another inside—probably your interrogator. The others are here, here, and here.” More pointing.

  I tuned them out, the word “interrogator” making panic curl like a fist in my gut again. Jackson was in there. Worry ate at me and I was anxious to go get him.

  “You sure you want to come?” Clark asked me.

  Startled, I jumped. I hadn’t even noticed that he was done planning.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then take this,” he said, handing me a pistol. “And try not to shoot any friendlies.”

  I swallowed, nodding. “Got it.”

  “Remember—my job is to stop ISIS. This isn’t a rescue mission . . . for anyone. If we can get him out, we will, but he’s not the primary here.”

  I looked at him. His expression was serious, his eyes hard. He wasn’t the friendly Superman-neighbor and now I wondered how I’d ever been fooled. Just looking into his eyes sent a chill down my spine.

  “You’ve already said that, and I have an excellent memory.” My voice was quiet, and if there was a hint of accusation as well, then I couldn’t help it. I’d gotten the message loud and clear. If I didn’t get Jackson out, he might not make it out at all.

  “Jackson is in the far west corner room,” he said. I looked blankly at him. He rolled his eyes. “Over there.” He pointed to the other side of the building, toward the back.

  “Got it.”

  “Stay in the back. Stay out of the line of fire. Wait until you hear us call out Clear.”

  “Nice to know you care.”

  “I don’t. I just don’t want to have to file the paperwork.”

  Any quick-witted retort (that I’d think of in about thirty minutes) was lost on him because he’d already turned away and was talking with the other men. They all took a good look at me, sizing me up, I thought. No one looked impressed.

  I lifted my chin. I may have been a foot shorter and about a hundred pounds lighter, massively less armed, without any proper training or body armor, no experience in combat . . . where was I going with this? After that depressing litany, I’d forgotten.

  The men split into two teams and I followed Clark and the two men with him. The other two headed around back while we went toward the front.

  Adrenaline filled my veins in a cold rush and my hand holding the gun was shaking uncontrollably. I held it with both hands now, recognizing the same design as the one Jackson had given me, which was good. And I really hoped I wouldn’t have to use it.

  The men moved silently, one opening the door, which was unlocked, then filed in. I waited and nearly jumped out of my skin when the bullets started flying.

  The noise was unimaginable, worse than in a movie, because this was real and it was right behind me. I prayed the wood at my back was thick enough to stop a bullet. I heard yelling and the crashing of glass, then more gunfire erupted in the back of the house.

  My knees were jelly and wouldn’t hold me. I sank down, my arms instinctively covering my head with my arms. I would have gladly stayed there if I hadn’t heard a muffled “Clear!” Sporadic gunfire was still going on in the back, but hopefully would be over soon.

  I crawled to the door, peeking inside to find total chaos and destruction. Two bodies were on the floor, not moving, and I was relieved to see that neither was Clark or his men.

  Shakily getting to my feet, my gun hung loose in my grip as I headed through the foyer to a hallway leading left. I heard more shouts, then another “Clear!” which I took to be a good sign.

  At the end of the corridor were doors on my left and right. The two guards who’d supposedly been there were nowhere to be found. I assumed they’d gone to join the fight once the attack had begun.

  I wasn’t as lucky as Clark had been. This door was locked. I was stymied for a moment, then remembered the handy-dandy lock-picker I was carrying. Also known as a semiautomatic.

  Yes, I totally closed my eyes like a girl when I pulled the trigger, but it worked. The doorjamb had disintegrated and I pushed the door open.

  Jackson was lying face down on the ground. He wasn’t moving.

  “Jackson!” I ran forward, dropping to my knees next to him. I carefully set down my gun so I could turn him over onto his back. I put my ear against his chest, a sigh of relief escaping when I heard his heart beating strong inside his chest. “Thank God,” I murmured. There was additional bruising on him and his shirt was torn and dirty, but I couldn’t tell if anything was broken.

  Blinding pain hi
t the side of my head and I was knocked over, sliding a couple of feet with the force of the blow. Stars danced in my vision and my limbs felt weak as I tried to right myself. Lana stood there—well, two of her actually—holding a metal pipe. As I watched, she leaned down and picked up my weapon.

  “Get up,” she ordered.

  “What did you do to Jackson?” I asked, my tongue feeling thick. Tears of pain leaked from my eyes, but I managed to regain my footing. The room listed and I braced a hand against the wall to steady myself.

  “He’ll be fine. If he’d cooperated, then we wouldn’t have had to try to persuade him. As it is, I think you’ll do. Put that on.” She motioned and I looked where she’d pointed. The room was pretty basic with a couple of windows and a bare floor—aside from the computer and screens sitting on a metal table. But she hadn’t pointed there. She’d pointed to a vest resting on a chair.

  I walked over, almost knowing what I’d find, and I was right.

  “I’m not putting this on,” I said.

  “Put it on or I’m going to aerate your boss,” she snapped. “Where should the first hole go? His knee? His neck? Someplace nonlethal, so he can just bleed to death.”

  The sweet, slightly homely middle-aged woman I’d had lunch with was nowhere to be seen. Lana’s expression was hard, her eyes ice-cold. It was as though she was an utter stranger. The resolve in her gaze told me there would be no reasoning with her, no argument that might alter the course she’d chosen. The hand that held the gun pointed at Jackson was rock steady.

  Gritting my teeth, I gingerly put on the suicide vest, the weight heavier than I’d anticipated. It had to be at least twenty-five pounds.

  “What exactly are you going to do with me wearing this?” I asked. “I blow up, so do you.”

  “I control the trigger, not you.” She brandished what looked like a key fob. “So don’t worry about me, though I appreciate your concern.”

  Jackson stirred, wincing as he sat up.

  “Perfect timing,” Lana said. “You weren’t amenable before. Let’s hope you will be now. China’s joined us.”

  He turned and spotted me. I could tell in an instant that he’d recognized the vest and what it was by the tightening of his jaw. Getting to his feet, he said, “I’m not going to give you the algorithm. Not even two lives are worth that software.”

  Footsteps in the corridor and Lana moved quickly, shoving me forward so when Clark appeared in the doorway, I was inches from him.

  “One wrong move and we all get blown sky high,” she warned.

  I stared at Clark, who had absolutely zero reaction that I could see. His gaze took in the situation, then he spoke into a mic by his mouth. “Fall back. Target is not secure.”

  “That’s right. Fall back,” Lana said from behind me. “I have unfinished business.”

  Clark’s eyes met mine and I could see in his how this would play out. It was in his best interest for the vest to explode, taking out Lana and the better part of the installation with it, including the software. Two birds, one stone, and a couple of collateral-damage casualties.

  Sweat trickled down the back of my neck and my vision blurred as my eyes filled. The weight of the vest felt as though I was carrying my own tombstone.

  “Sorry, China,” Clark said. Then he was gone.

  “So much for ‘no man left behind,’” Lana snorted. “Turn around so Jackson can see you properly. Jackson, upload that algorithm or she dies.”

  He hesitated and in that moment, I didn’t care about the software or who it would hurt or any of it. I just wanted to live. I hadn’t asked for any of this. I could’ve gone home today when I’d escaped, not found a way to try to rescue Jackson.

  “Jackson . . .” I couldn’t stop from whispering his name in a plea. I was only twenty-three years old. I hadn’t even had sex yet, or fallen in love, or done any of a thousand things I wanted to do.

  He headed for the computer. In seconds, I could hear the clicking as his fingers flew over the keyboard. A few minutes later, he said, “It’s done.”

  Lana’s gunshot made me scream and I watched in horror as Jackson crumpled to the floor.

  Glass shattered and I screamed again, tears streaking my face. Lana jerked, her eyes widening. Red blossomed on her chest and she looked down, her mouth agape. I stared, hands covering my mouth, as she collapsed.

  I was frozen, my eyes first drawn to the shattered window with a hole in the center. Someone had taken a sniper shot to kill Lana . . . but not before she’d shot Jackson.

  I ran to him, skidding on blood on the floor. “Oh my God . . . oh my God . . .” There was a wound on his left side, as though she’d been aiming for his heart. But she’d missed.

  “Don’t move, China.”

  Immediately disobeying, I spun around to see Clark had come back.

  “I said don’t fucking move. You’re a walking bomb.”

  Oh yeah. How could I forget?

  “Please take care of Jackson first,” I begged. “He’s bleeding pretty bad.”

  He didn’t look like he was even listening, instead, reaching for my vest.

  “No! Jackson first.” I batted his hands away.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” he snarled. “True fucking love, right?” He snorted, but sank down on the floor next to Jackson, brandishing a knife. In seconds, he had Jackson’s shirt off and was pulling out some kind of med kit from his own supplies.

  A movement out of the corner of my eye made me glance toward Lana. She wasn’t dead. She was reaching for that key fob thing that had fallen out of her hand and landed on the floor beside her.

  “Clark!”

  He spun around and saw in an instant what was happening. I expected him to shoot her, but he didn’t have a gun in his hand. Instead, he grabbed me, stuck his hands inside both the sleeves of my vest, and yanked.

  I expected not to survive the next moment—who yanked at a bomb?—but I took a breath, then another . . . and nothing happened.

  Lana had the fob and she was staring at me, looking confused. She’d hit the button but . . . no explosion. As I watched, her gaze went still and her body relaxed. Her eyes didn’t close.

  “What the hell did you do?” I yelled, rounding on Clark. “You tell me not to move, then you go pulling random shit out of this thing? You could’ve blown us both up!”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Miss Know-It-All,” he sneered, sinking down next to Jackson again. “I’ve forgotten, exactly how many suicide vests have you seen? Ten? Twenty?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “Exactly. I’ve seen more than I care to count, and too many up close and personal. I pulled out the detonator. A piece of wire up both sides. Easiest way to disarm the damn things.”

  Oh. “That’s not what they do in the movies,” I grumbled.

  “Yeah, well, this ain’t fucking Hollywood, now, is it.”

  By now he had ripped open the med kit and was working on affixing it to Jackson. It was some kind of special bandage. He stuck it to the wound, then wrapped it tight around his chest. In the middle of moving him, Jackson woke.

  “Motherfucker,” he gritted out, his face creased in pain.

  “Man up,” Clark retorted. “The bullet went through. You’ll be fine. Just don’t bleed out.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Maybe later, princess. Your girl still is a walking bomb.”

  Jackson’s gaze cut my way. “You’ve got to delete the software. It uploaded to their server. Hack into it. Delete it.”

  I spun around, rushing toward the computer. Clark was inches behind and grabbed my ponytail, stopping me in my tracks.

  “Ouch!”

  “I removed the detonator, but I’d still prefer you not be wearing twenty pounds of C4.”

  “I’ve got to stop that software,” I said.

  “Then hold fucking still.” He took the vest off of me gingerly, despite the lack of detonator, then I plopped down into the chair.

  It took me approximately thirty s
econds to take in what was showing on the screens and the current connectivity and status. The software Jackson had uploaded was already gone, but the IP address he’d connected to was still there.

  It took me another sixty seconds to connect to my own home server and log in. From there, I copied over the tools I needed and began running software in different windows, testing the firewall on the other side. It was a good one, but not great. I heard Jackson talking to Clark behind me.

  “Call this number. They’ll send a helicopter. Get me to the hospital.”

  “Must be nice to be rich,” Clark said, but I still heard the tone of numbers being dialed. I refocused on my work.

  “Where are you at, China?” Jackson gasped out. I winced, hearing the pain in his voice.

  “Through one. They have a DMZ. Working on the firewall into the LAN.”

  “Faster,” he said.

  My fingers flew and I tuned out everything, focusing on the firewall blocking my path. It was tougher than the other one and I had to be careful it didn’t lock me out. But it worked and I was scrolling through the internal network in minutes. I began deleting everything, uploading another program to start rewriting sectors of the disk, preventing any kind of recovery once the deletion was finished.

  “Done,” I said with a thrill of satisfaction. “It’ll finish bricking the disk soon, but the software is gone. Deleted.”

  “Good—”

  I spun in my chair in time to see Jackson drop into unconsciousness.

  Jumping up from the chair, I hurried back to him, cradling his head in my lap. “Is he going to be okay?” I asked, smoothing his hair back.

  “I called his people. Told them the situation. Let’s see what his money can do for him.”

  Clark’s tone was bordering on indifferent, a bloodstained hand scrubbing over his face. He looked tired.

  The sound of a helicopter stopped me from saying anything more. Clark got to his feet and left the room. I stayed with Jackson until men began pouring into the room with equipment and a stretcher. I was shoved aside, but I didn’t mind. I wanted them to take care of Jackson.

  When they lifted the stretcher up and rushed it from the room, I followed. They let me on to the helicopter and just before we took off, I glanced around, looking for Clark. But he was gone.