Protocol 7 (16 page)

He was trapped.

Hayden barely made it to the door, duffel bag in hand, before his body started reacting to the gas. His vision distorted as he watched his own hand reaching for the doorknob. He felt his knees weaken as if his joints had suddenly turned to rubber.

He heard a sound behind him, the clack-clack of a weapon being cocked. He didn’t want to turn around—his turn had come, he told himself irrationally—but his body was beyond his control. He spun slowly, like a disoriented swimmer underwater, and saw a man with a gas mask and goggles, dressed in black, pointing a large rifle toward him.

At me, he thought.

He was beginning to lose feeling in his body. He knew it was over.

But he could still sense, just a little, a strong set of hands grabbing him from behind, dragging him back toward the door.

The voice was familiar, though he couldn’t quite place it. A small but effective dose of the immobilization gas had penetrated his system, and he was falling into semi-consciousness. He felt bodiless, but was still strangely aware of everything around him.

“You grab the module case, and I’ll lift him,” the voice said.

Seconds later, everything went black.

“So I guess this all makes sense to you somehow,” Samantha said, her voice dripping with weary sarcasm.

Jonathan was sitting in the front seat of the Rover. Samantha on the far side of the back seat, watching the empty road and waiting. Waiting for Ryan to finally arrive, waiting for Simon and Andrew to return from the underground tunnel with Hayden in tow, waiting for the world to just return to normal.

Neither of them was very good at waiting. They sniped at each other instead.

“Sam,” Jonathan started, knowing he didn’t want to get into it with her—

“Sam?” she asked. “You haven’t called once in the last year and you feel comfortable calling me ‘Sam?’”

“Okay then, Samantha. My apologies, I didn’t know using a nickname had anything to do with frequency of contact.”

Samantha gave a small snort. “Seriously Jon, stop being yourself.” She turned back toward the entrance of the tube and silently ordered Simon: Come back. NOW.

She’d never been able to completely turn off her feelings for Simon, though she had struggled with them many times. Now, though, everything seemed to be spinning out of control, and she didn’t know what to anticipate next. She had no idea how to feel about anything anymore.

She leaned her head against the cool glass of the Rover’s window, closed her eyes, and sighed deeply.

Jonathan broke the silence.

“Samantha,” he said, “I know how outrageous all of this must seem to you. The secret messages, the wild car chase, the masked men in your flat…it’s crazy, I know.” Samantha’s eyes slowly opened, but she didn’t move her forehead from the coolness of the window. It felt good: solid, stable. “I’m not sure how all of the pieces connect yet,” he said. “None of us are. I’ve only been in England for a few hours, and I’m still not sure if it’s my people or Hayden’s or somebody else entirely who’s chasing us, or what they know. But Sam—Samantha—I came back because I was genuinely afraid that something was going to happen to Simon if I didn’t.”

Samantha pinched out a smile that Jonathan couldn’t see. “Simon is more than capable of taking care of himself,” she said, “Unless you’ve got some government-issued super-ninja assassin squad waiting in the wings.”

“If you’re referring to his self-defense skills…I know how good they are; I trained with him. But this is different, Sam. Very different.”

“It can’t all be about that stupid message and the chess diary,” she said. “I mean, really? A diary?”

Jonathan didn’t answer at first, and she wasn’t surprised. For as long as she had known him, Jonathan had always been involved with one government agency or another, and she hated that. All the secrecy, all the vagueness. She’d never felt completely comfortable with him, and the last few hours hadn’t changed that one bit. She also found Jonathan’s fascination with Simon’s father disturbing and rather contrived. Why it bothered her, she didn’t know, but it did. She knew something was wrong, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

“It’s absurd,” she said. “You know what I think about all this crap. You and your government bullshit. You know I’ve always hated this surveillance and tracking stuff. That’s why I chose to take a less bureaucratic job…and even then I had to go live in the jungle, go climb Mount Kilimanjaro for Christ’s sake, just to avoid being constantly monitored, even in the hospital.”

“Look,” he snapped, turning to glare at her in the back seat, clearly frustrated, “I really don’t care what you like or dislike at this point. You decided you had to be part of this thing. You forced your way in. And now, like it or not, you’re part of it.”

“Bullshit!” she shouted. “I could get out of this car right this instant! I could go to the police and tell them everything!”

He laughed at her—a short, harsh sound. “Tell them what? A man broke into your apartment, but you have no evidence and you don’t remember anything about him? You saw a cheerful message from a dead man—a message that’s been destroyed, by the way—but he seemed okay? That your friend’s house was broken into, which is clearly a sign of international conspiracy and—”

“Oh, just shut up,” she said and focused outside the window as if to ignore looking at him.

He let her steam for a long time. When he spoke again, it was in a low and serious tone. “It’s just not safe for you to be in England anymore,” he said. “You or any of us.”

She didn’t want to believe it. She couldn’t. “I’m going to get a drink,” she said without looking at him. She sounded angry and brittle, even to herself. “I’ll be right back.”

Without another word she opened the door and left the Rover, ignoring him as he called after her. Jonathan leaned back in the driver’s seat and turned his head to watch her cross the street and enter the family-owned teashop that looked like it hadn’t changed since the early ‘90s.

It was too much for her to handle. He could see that. She needed some time to herself, if only a few minutes.

“Maybe when she gets back here, she’ll have thought it through,” he said to the empty air.

But he had serious doubts.

* * *

Takara stood absolutely motionless in the blackest of shadows, less than half a block from the parked car. She couldn’t hear or even lip-read what Samantha and Jonathan were saying, but she didn’t have to. Their gestures, their body language, even while they were seated in the vehicle, told her more than enough. These two didn’t care for each other. And they certainly didn’t trust each other. But they were committed to whatever the plan was.

She touched the lobe of her left ear and triggered the communication device that linked her to her superior. It wasn’t the most pleasant sensation to begin with, and speaking to him was never enjoyable—never safe. Still, it had to be done.

He acknowledged the connection with a single syllable. “I have them in view,” she said without preamble.

And then, in answer to his question: “No. The others are not here. I just arrived. They could be on their way; they could be—”

He interrupted, already bored with her report. She listened to his instructions and nodded though she knew he could not see her.

“I understand. Of course. Yes, I’ll report later.”

She touched her ear again and severed the contact. Time to move.

Simon and Andrew had no idea what to expect when they finally pried open the door into the safe house. But they certainly hadn’t expected to find Hayden lying on the concrete directly in front of them, and half a dozen black-clad commandos creeping toward him from every direction, weapons up and at the ready.

They gaped at the terrifying scene for a full three seconds. Then the first bullets hit the doorway beside them and they moved. Acting in unconscious unison, they leaped forward, shoved their arms under Hayden’s limp body, and dragged him back—five steps, ten—into the tunnel and the darkness. The moment they were past the frame, Simon released Hayden just long enough to jump back and slam the door shut. He double-locked the dead bolts with two desperate slashes.

“My god, this guy is heavy,” Andrew said, panting under the inventor’s bulk. “You’d think a skinny man like this wouldn’t weigh so much.”

“Dead weight,” Simon said between clenched teeth. “So to speak.”

“But you’re sure he’s not?”

“Positive,” Simon said as he put his shoulder under one side of Hayden’s body, and Andrew adjusted to take the other side. They began their uneven stagger down the dark subway tunnel, back the way they had come. Every minute took them a few steps farther from the safe house and closer to their secret exit. “Did you smell the gas in the safe house?” Simon said breathlessly. “I know that stink. Not poison, immobilization gas.”

“So he’s alive—”

“—but paralyzed. Hopefully temporarily.”

“Hopefully?”

Simon shrugged under Hayden’s weight.

“Depends on how big a whiff he got.”

“My god, Simon, do you think he’ll be okay?”

“Don’t know,” Simon replied. “We have to get him to Samantha as quick as we can.”

Hayden could barely feel his body being carried through the tunnel. All he could feel was cold: cold face, cold fingers, cold curve of his eyeballs.

He concentrated as hard as he could on moving his head, but nothing happened. He tried lifting an arm, turning a hand, even crooking a finger. Nothing. His body was as limp and unresponsive as a corpse.

But he could hear—too well, in fact. He was fully aware of every sound around him, and was able to see—in a distant, blurred way—whatever happened to pass near his open, unfocused eyes. He could hear Simon’s voice and Andrew’s. He could see a faint show of bouncing lights as they carried him down the tunnel. Nothing more. Nothing.

Don’t leave me, he prayed. Don’t get tired, don’t give up, don’t think I’m dead. Please. Please.

They picked up the pace, straining to find a light in front of them or detect the sounds of pursuit from the rear. It was harder to haul Hayden’s body than Simon expected, but both of them were in good condition. They could do this, he knew. They had to.

They trudged along in silence for almost five minutes. Finally Andrew couldn’t stand it anymore. “How much farther do you think?” he said, trying to keep the strain out of his voice.

“A few more minutes, but I can carry him alone, if you’d like,” Simon insisted.

“No,” Andrew said, “I’m good.”

Simon set his jaw. “Hayden risked his life for me and my father.” He took in another lungful of air and forced his breathing to normalize. “This is my responsibility. None of this would have happened if I had kept my mouth shut.”

Andrew shook his head. “You’re wrong.” He pointed his flashlight ahead of him to see how far they needed to go. It looked like an endless shaft of blackness. “You couldn’t have known. There’s definitely something much bigger going on here.”

Hayden’s weight had started to become overwhelming, but Simon pushed on. Ignore it, he ordered himself. Get him out of here. Hayden’s survival was the only thing on his mind. He pictured Samantha waiting just outside the tunnel; he knew she would snap into ‘doctor mode’ the minute she saw a patient in need. She’d pull out of her silly, passive stupor and help. For the first time, he was almost glad she had forced her way into the team. Her presence just might save Hayden’s life.

“Can’t be much farther,” he said aloud, as much to himself as Andrew. “Can’t be.”

* * *

All Hayden could hear was soggy footsteps and rasping, heavy breathing. All he could see was a swaying, indecipherable slice of light against endless blackness as they stumbled slowly down the abandoned tunnel. It seemed to have been going on for hours. It felt as if it would go on for hours more.

Too easy, he told himself dreamily.

The ops team, they’ll get through that door. They’re not going to let a brain like mine get away without a fight.

Not my big, big brain.

Not long after, he heard the gunshots. But he never did see them.

* * *

Simon’s legs were stiff as logs. He felt as if he’d been hauling Hayden’s inert body down the rocky track bed since the beginning of time. Conversation between the two of them had stopped. They needed every ounce of energy to just keep moving.

The exhaustion made Simon slow. He didn’t notice the green dot on Andrew’s neck until the very last second.

What the hell? He thought. Green…

“Andrew!” he bellowed. “Watch out!” He shoved them all to the side as hard as he could, tripping and falling as he heaved.

The first bullet made a harsh, metallic thwang as it hit a pipe embedded in the subway tunnel wall—approximately the same position Andrew’s head had been, seconds before.

Andrew rolled onto his back, groaning. “What…?” he said.

“Laser-guided sight,” Simon grated, scrambling to his feet. “Saw the dot on your neck.”

Andrew pulled himself up beside him. “Jesus…”

They looked back with sudden clarity and saw the glint of gunmetal and goggles in the near-darkness. They were being followed. They couldn’t tell how many, but they were gaining ground fast, but cautiously.

There was no time for Simon to be cautious.

He reached down and jerked Hayden’s body up with a strength he didn’t know he had. “Run,” he said as he tossed the man’s body over his shoulder, bowing under its weight, but still upright.

“What?” Andrew said, still swaying. “But—”

“RUN!”

They pounded down the tunnel as fast as they could. A second shot thwanged off the concrete wall, and then they were around the last curve and out of sight of their pursuers, if only for a few moments.

“There,” Simon said breathlessly. Hayden felt like a thousand pounds across his back, but he couldn’t stop—not now. “There.”

The open iron grate of the staircase up to the surface was fifty feet away.