INVITING FIRE (A Sydney Rye Novel, #6) (25 page)

I heard the helicopters over us. We reached the staircase and Bobby stopped. "No time," he said, turning to an open door. As he passed through, the skylight disintegrated, glass falling through open space and splintering onto the marble floor. Vines followed it but, still attached to the outside world, they swung toward us instead of dropping straight to the ground. Bobby pulled me into the room as I saw a man, wearing all black, rappelling through the broken skylight.

Bobby looked around the room. The window was boarded but light leaked in around the rotting plywood. There was no furniture. The floor was covered with moldy carpeting. Blue stayed close, his hackles up and teeth bared. But he didn't make a sound. Even Blue knew that we were outmatched here. We heard more crashing. The sound of trollies on rope. Feet landing onto broken glass. Yelling as they spread out. I pulled my knife off my belt. Bobby had one in his hand but we were sitting ducks up here. I heard their footsteps on the stairs. Bobby pulled me into a closet. Blue followed.

It was a big enough room for all three of us but Bobby was close. I felt his breath and the hair on our arms touched. "Who are they?" I whispered.

"Shh," he answered.

The door was open a crack and we watched as a man entered the room. He wore all black. A helmet on his head, body armor, laced up boots. The man held a rifle up, pressed into his shoulder, his eyes following the barrel as he scanned the room. It had a flashlight on it and lit the room as he moved over the rotting rug and mold-covered walls. Noticing the open closet he motioned to someone behind him and then stepped away. A second man came into the room. Taller but wearing the same outfit and holding the same gun. Same white light shining in the dark. They communicated with hand signs as they approached the closet door.

I glanced around the small space. Above us was a vent. There was shelving on one wall. The man approaching us paused, seeming to listen to something. Must be a radio, I thought. I put my knife back into its sheath and silently stepped onto the bottom shelf. Bobby didn't take his eyes off the crack in the door. I climbed onto the second shelf. Blue waited below, his attention still on the men outside.

One more step and my hands were on the top shelf. I pulled myself up onto it. The space was big enough that I could stay on my hands and knees. The shelf was made of plastic, still smooth after all the years of abandonment. The men began to move forward again. I slipped a syringe from my belt. The door was yanked open. "On your knees!" yelled the man in front, his gun on Bobby.

Bobby lowered one knee, his hands in the air, still holding the knife. I slid forward, got my hands and knees onto the edge of the shelf, toes under me. The man stepped closer, lowering his aim to follow Bobby's movement. "Drop the knife," he yelled. The second man came in, gun also aimed at Bobby. Their flashlights lit up his chest.

I launched myself at the first man, my syringe out, aiming for the space between his armor and helmet, aiming for his neck. We fell to the ground together, his gun between us, aimed at our feet. If he pulled the trigger he was as likely to shoot himself as me. But that didn't matter. My needle found its mark. His expression of shock faded to sleep. I heard commotion behind me and then a high-pitched scream.

Someone grabbed my arm and hauled me up. I turned, ready to defend myself, refusing to be taken captive. But it was Robert. My hand stilled an inch from his face. I ripped my arm free and bent over, pulling the rifle from the dead man's hands. Looking over I saw the drugged man on the ground. Robert was smiling, holding the other gun.

We heard footsteps running. "Come on," I said, pulling him back into the closet.

"What—" he said but I held him back. I put the strap of the gun over my body and pushed it to my back beginning to climb the shelves again. From the top shelf I turned to Bobby.

"Give me some light," I said, pulling my knife out again. He aimed the flashlight on his gun at the ceiling vent. I used the tip of my knife to unscrew the first bolt. As I started to work on the second I heard footsteps getting closer. Bobby stepped back out of the closet right as the second bolt fell out of the socket. There was an exchange of gunfire. The vent tipped off the ceiling, now only held in two places.

Bobby stepped back into the closet. "Hurry up," he said, shining the light for me. I heard more footsteps. "They are all coming this way."

I got the third screw out and started in on the fourth. It was rusted and there was sweat trickling down my face. Bobby stepped back out of the dark space. I could barely see what I was doing and my knife slipped, cutting my finger. I ignored the pain and continued to work on the screw. But it wouldn't come loose. I curled my fingers under the loosened grate and yanked it. It ripped out of the rotted drywall. Dust fell into my eyes and I wiped at them with my shoulder as I placed the grate next to me on the shelf.

I heard more gunfire in the hall. Pulling my gun around I used the flashlight to inspect the interior. It was a long metal shaft, big enough to fit. "Blue," I called. He jumped so that his front paws were on the second shelf. Bobby came in, flipping his gun onto his back and picked up Blue's hind legs, I pulled on his front and together we aimed him at the vent. His nails scratched against the metal as he pulled himself in while we pushed.

"Go," Bobby said. I didn't hesitate, climbing into the ventilation shaft, my gun in my hand, lighting the pitch-black space. Bobby followed close behind then turned around, aiming back toward the opening. "Cover your ears," he said.

Footsteps below us and then a black clad helmet popped up. I covered Blue's ears with my hands and scrunched my shoulders around my own. Bobby fired. The man fell back down. I turned and started down the shaft, Blue walked in front of me, his legs bent, the space not quite big enough for him. We came to a T, Blue paused, and I chose left, pushing him that way. Bobby stopped me. "To the right," he said. "It will bring us over the kitchen which has an exit close to the helicopter pad."

I turned around and Blue followed me, Bobby bringing up the rear. I didn't hear anyone behind us. "Up there," Bobby said and I saw a grate ahead.

Pulling out my knife I began to unscrew it. The first two were easy but the third and fourth were too rusted. I kicked at it, bending the metal until I could slip through. But before I did I looked down, using the flashlight from the gun. Below me was a commercial kitchen. Stainless steel counters covered in dust and animal droppings. I lowered myself into the room. Blue whined, not sure what to do. Bobby pushed him from behind and he fell the short distance onto the counter, his legs not quite under him. He thudded onto the steel and released a small yelp.

"You okay?" I asked kneeling next to him. He stood up and shook himself. Bobby lowered himself down, his biceps straining as he did so, and landed on the counter next to me. I jumped down and Blue and Bobby followed. I ran my gun around the kitchen. It was big, the surfaces covered in dirt. There were paw marks of various sizes in the dust. Robert walked through the space, clearly knowing where he was going. He opened up a door and stepped into a pantry. The scent of spices still clung to the small space. He pushed against the back wall and it moved, a light illuminating a small interior space behind it. I felt a chill of warning running down my spine.

I followed him into the room. The length of one wall was a built-in desk with monitors all around. The equipment looked about ten years old, but there was no dust in here. Bobby walked over to the desk and sat down in the chair that faced it. This was what the security room at Joyful Justice's training camp looked like.

"Close the door," Robert said. I turned and did so. Blue tapped my hip and wagged his tail. I looked down at him and ran my fingers through his fur. When I turned back to Maxim the monitors were glowing with black and white video. I stepped up behind him and watched as men dressed in black seemed to swarm over the hotel. They were running up the stairs, scanning the pool area, waiting by their helicopters on the pad.

"I can't believe the balls on that son of a bitch," Robert said.

I focused on the monitor he was looking at. It was a view of the lobby. A man was at the center, kneeling on the ground and looking at a map. He was talking into a radio. When he looked up the light from the newly broken skylight hit his face. I leaned toward the screen. "Holy shit," I said. "Declan Doyle?"

"I can't believe he pulled this off," Robert said, leaning back in the chair and rubbing at his chin. "I underestimated him."

"What are you talking about?"

"The man turned himself into a laughing stock. How did he pull this off?" Bobby asked, clearly talking to himself since there was no way I could answer that question.

"Robert," I said, my voice low and serious. "What is going on?"

He held up a finger. "Give me a moment," he said, leaning forward and picking up a phone built into the desk. He waited for it to connect and then spoke again. "How far out are you?" he asked. I heard the murmur of an answer but could not understand it. "Good. Be prepared to engage. We've got company." He listened for a moment. "Black ops,” he answered. "Impossible this could be on the books." The murmuring seemed to agree with him. Then he hung up without saying goodbye.

"All right, what is going on?" I asked.

Robert looked up at me. "Everyone thinks Joy is dead, right?" I nodded. "Well, Declan never bought the story. He always suspected me of substituting another body. The man refused to come work for me and instead joined Homeland Security."

"Oh," I said, watching Declan on the screen as he conferred with two of his men.

"Well, until Joyful Justice started up he was keeping his suspicions to himself but with the emergence of your group he's been arguing that you must be behind it."

I laughed.

Bobby's eyes shot to mine. They were hazel and usually appeared either blue, green, or brown depending on his surroundings, but in this bunker room Robert Maxim's eyes look black. "What are you laughing about?" he asked.

"Irony. Gets me every time," I said.

"Irony?"

"I'll explain later. Right now we need to figure out how we are going to get out of here alive."

"He won't kill you. Your intel is what he is after. No one wants a second Joy Humbolt body. You don't exist so they can do whatever they want with you. But," he said, turning back to the monitors. "They can't stay long."

"What do you mean?"

"Those are U.S. government copters out there, Navy Seals. It is entirely illegal for them to be performing this type of mission on foreign soil."

"How do you know they don't have permission?" I asked, beginning to absorb the fact that we were surrounded by American soldiers.

Robert smiled. "Trust me, I'd know." He sat forward. I followed his gaze and saw that Daniela's helicopter was approaching. "My men are still at least six minutes out."

I leaned forward. "What will they do?"

"Capture her."

"No," I said, turning and walking toward the door. I ripped it open and was almost out of the spice-scented closet when Bobby grabbed my arm.

"What are you doing?

"Going to help my friend."

"You'll walk right into them. They will take you both."

I smiled. "Don't worry about me, Bobby Maxim. I'm going to be just fine."

"No—" but I didn't wait for him to finish. I ripped my arm free from him and continued to walk. He grabbed my hair and yanked me back. The force of it caused tears to spring to my eyes. Blue growled a low warning. "I can't let you do this," Robert said into my ear. "A good leader knows how to sacrifice others."

I elbowed him in the stomach, air rushed out of his mouth and I turned, bringing the palm of my hand up to his chin, knocking him backward. He fell into the door and landed on the floor of the monitor room. I turned and ran, Blue by my side.

We came out into the kitchen and I headed for the exit. I heard Bobby behind me. Blue stopped and turned on him, growling deeply. I heard Bobby skid to a stop as I pushed open the door and into the waning heat of the day. I slammed the door shut, leaving Blue behind to deter Bobby.

Daniela's helicopter was on the ground. Several armed men were holding their weapons on her. I pulled my gun around and started toward the group when I heard "Freeze" behind me. I recognized his voice immediately. "Put down your gun."

I looked over my shoulder. Declan was standing next to a door. He'd probably been heading out to the helicopter when he saw me. His brown hair fluttered in the breeze. His gun was aimed at my back. I lowered my gun and turned to him. "Let her go," I said.

He shook his head, his gun staying steady. "Can't do that. Throw the gun away," he said.

I pulled the strap over my head and held it out to the side. I glanced over at the helicopter pad, they had not seen us yet. I threw the gun aside, out of my reach.

"Hands behind your head," he said.

"You always did like giving me directions," I said, smiling. His face remained stone. "I never did like taking them."

His lips twitched but his eyes remained hard. "Hands behind your head now."

I heard more helicopters approaching. "That's the cavalry," I said.

Doyle's lips tightened. "On the ground now," he said.

"Or you'll shoot me?"

"Yes."

"No, you won't."

The kitchen door flew open and Blue leapt out, landing on Doyle. They fell to the ground together. Blue's teeth clamped onto the wrist of Doyle's trigger hand. I ran up next to him and yanked the gun free while Doyle wrestled with Blue. I heard Blue yelp and saw blood. Blue's ear was bleeding. Doyle had a knife. "Blue, come," I called. He immediately abandoned Doyle and ran to me.

I held the gun on Doyle. Looking toward the door I saw it was again closed. Bobby must have let him out, then closed himself back in. The helicopters were getting closer. Suddenly Doyle had me by the ankle. He yanked hard and I fell to the ground. Blue was about to go for Doyle again when I told him, "Stay back." I still had the gun and I was aiming it at Doyle. He had the knife in his hand, it was against my thigh. He sliced me but I didn't feel any pain. Doyle tried to crawl up my body but I turned the gun around and bashed the stock into his face. He fell back, blood pooling from his nose. I rolled onto my knees and hit him again. He landed on the ground, eyes closed. I felt for a pulse. He was still alive.